Bronson’s whirlwind courtship of the pretty florist.
Besides, she added, this was going to be his daughter, Isabella’s, first Christmas with both a mama and a daddy, so it would lend family interest to the article.
A sense of contentment bathed Whitney as she remembered celebrating Christmas as a child. Rather than there being a specific memory of past holidays, she felt it more as an overall sense of well-being, of love.
Those thoughts brought her directly to the love that God had shown when he’d sent His son into the world so long ago. That was the basis of her love of Christmas. Pleasant family experiences merely grew from the core of her heavenly Father’s amazing gift.
Reaching the door to the flower shop she paused to send a silent “Thank You, God,” into the wintry sky.
In the deep reaches of her subconscious there was a stirring of another sentiment. Another reason to give thanks.
As she probed her thoughts, an image appeared. It was the smiling face of Josh Smith.
Chapter Three
Josh was torn between phoning Coraline to try to learn what Whitney was up to and leaving well enough alone. Given the determination of the cute reporter and her parting comment about visiting his Save Our Streets mentor, he decided to place the call. What was the worst that could happen?
“She could figure out who I am,” he muttered. He could have disclosed his real name and purpose for coming to Bygones long ago, but once he did so he knew his comfortable niche in the community would disappear. He’d had enough experiences with prior efforts at philanthropy to know that there was no way to remain disengaged without hiding his true identity. No matter how hard people tried to treat him fairly, his money made a difference. A detrimental difference in too many cases.
Coraline’s phone rang seven times before an answering machine took the call. Okay. So much for picking her brain. He’d just have to ask a few of the other merchants if Whitney had been snooping around and what, if anything, she had said about ferreting out the secrets behind the grant.
Matt Garman, the teenager whom he’d hired for afternoons so he could work on his programming without being interrupted, had reported on time and was already busy behind the counter filling drink orders.
The poor kid’s widowed father was a missionary in Turkey, so Matt lived with his grandparents, pastor Hugh Garman and his wife, Wendy. Giving the kid a job at the Cozy Cup Café had definitely helped Matt become more social. Josh could see a lot of his younger self in the tall, shy sixteen-year-old.
“Matt, you hold down the fort,” he said cheerfully as he shed his apron. “I’ve got a few errands to run. Call my cell if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Smith.”
Pulling on his leather bomber jacket, Josh smiled. Hearing himself called Smith instead of Barton still startled him occasionally. By the time he sold the Cozy Cup and returned to St. Louis full-time, he wondered if he’d react the same way when someone at Barton Technologies used his real name?
He turned up his collar the minute he stepped outside. Wind was howling. Holiday banners flapped from the lampposts. The decorations were way too flamboyant for his tastes but he’d stayed silent when the merchants had voted to let Lily design and implement the holiday theme so the street’s décor would be coordinated.
Josh had to agree with his father in that respect. The minimalist approach appealed to his senses more. He’d grown up with the perfect, white, conical tree decorated with strategically placed red ornaments and little else other than a matching door wreath. Anything more seemed way over the top.
Pausing in front of the flower shop he stomped clinging, wet snow off his boots before he entered. He had thought his shop was overly festooned until he saw what she had done with her own. The Christmas motif was not only occupying every available space on her display shelves, she had draped so many streamers and so much tinsel from the ceiling he had to fight the urge to duck.
“Hi, neighbor,” Lily called, able to see his reflection in the curved mirror she’d rigged between the display area and her workroom. “What’s up? I just got in some live poinsettia plants but if you take them out in this weather they’ll have to be wrapped well or they’ll go into shock and die for sure.”
“I’m good on decorations,” Josh assured her, wondering where she thought he’d find room for one more unnecessary thing in his already cramped store.
He sauntered around the edge of the counter and into her work space. “I just wondered if you’d had a visit from Whitney. She’s been bugging me about our grants again.”
Lily nodded and smiled. “She was here. Last I saw of her she was headed down the street, acting like she was on a mission.”
“That’s normal. What did she say to you?”
Lily laughed. “What didn’t she say? She is one determined lady when it comes to her job. Apparently, she saw a Christmas greeting from our benefactor at the bakery and wanted to see if I got the same one.”
“You showed her?”
“Sure. I’m keeping all my cards as mementos of my first year in Bygones. I may eventually make a scrapbook. I’ve just been too busy so far.”
“Which is a good problem to have,” Josh observed. “I saw the special arrangement you made for the church last Sunday. Very impressive.”
“Thanks. It’s one of the ways I thank God for bringing me here and helping me find the perfect husband.” She was grinning broadly. “Which reminds me. Tate wanted me to ask you if you have time to fix his home computer. We’re not looking for a handout. He’ll be glad to pay.”
“That’s not necessary,” Josh assured her. “Like I always say, it’s just a hobby.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind...”
“Have him drop it by the Cozy Cup anytime.” He had started backing toward the door. “And speaking of business, I’d better get back to mine.”
“Watch your step. It’s slippery out there.”
With a casual wave, Josh strode to her door and stepped outside. He looked up and down the street. No sign of Whitney. He checked his cell, saw no new text messages and turned toward the hardware store. At least it and the pet shop beyond had male proprietors. Their take on Whitney’s queries might be more logical than that of the women involved.
Then, if his gut was still tied in knots after talking to Patrick and Chase, he’d stop in at Allison True’s bookstore on his way back to work. Whitney Leigh wasn’t the only person who could be tenacious.
* * *
It seemed odd to Whitney that each shopkeeper, no matter what their wares, had received an identical greeting card. The letters of encouragement in the past had been more detailed, more personally suitable. These cards were nonspecific to the point of being almost insulting.
She handed Allison’s back and shook her head. “Thanks. That didn’t help at all.”
“I was afraid it wouldn’t. Sam said the same thing.”
Allison’s
