Trading Christmas: When Christmas Comes / The Forgetful Bride. Debbie Macomber

didn’t question him further. Everything she knew about Charles had come from their email chats, which had been brief and businesslike.

       Emily stood and walked into the kitchen. Ray followed her. “So you’re alone in the city over Christmas?”

       She nodded, forcing a smile. “It isn’t exactly what I intended, but there’s no going back now.” Her home was occupied, and getting a flight out of Boston at this late date was financially unfeasible. She was stuck.

       “Listen,” Ray said, reaching for a cookie. “Why don’t I take you to dinner tonight?”

       Emily realized she shouldn’t analyze this invitation too closely. Still, she had to know. “Why?”

       “Well, because we both need to eat and I’d rather have a meal with you than alone.” He paused to take a bite of the cookie, moaning happily at the taste. “Delicious. Uh—I didn’t mean to sound ungracious. Let me try that again. Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner?”

       “I’d love to,” Emily said, her spirits lifting.

       “I’ll catch the last train back to New York, explain everything to my mother in the morning and we’ll leave it at that. Now, may I have another one of these incomparable cookies?”

       “Of course.” Emily met his eyes and smiled. He was a likable man, and at the moment she was in need of a friend. “When would you like to leave?”

       Ray checked his watch. “It’s six-thirty, so any time is fine with me.”

       “I’d better change clothes.” She pulled the towel free of her waistband, folded it and set it on the kitchen counter.

       “Before you do,” Ray said stopping her. “Explain what you meant about my brother being in trouble if he isn’t fond of Christmas.”

       “Oh, that.” A giggle bubbled up inside her as she told him about Leavenworth in December—the horse-drawn sleigh, the carolers and the three separate tree-lighting ceremonies, one for every weekend before Christmas.

       Ray was soon laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. Just seeing his amusement made her laugh, too, although she didn’t really understand what he found so hilarious.

       “If only…if only you knew my b-brother,” Ray sputtered. “I can just imagine what he thought when he arrived.”

       “I guess Charles and I both had the wrong idea about trading homes.”

       “Sure seems that way,” Ray agreed, still grinning. “Why don’t I have another cookie while you get ready,” he said cheerfully. “I haven’t looked forward to a dinner this much in ages.”

       Come to think of it, neither had Emily.

      Nine

      Charles worked at his laptop computer until late in the afternoon. He stopped only when his stomach started to growl. He was making progress and felt good about what he’d managed to accomplish, but he needed a break.

       After closing down his computer, he wandered into the kitchen. An inspection of the cupboards and the freezer revealed a wide selection of choices, but he remembered his agreement with Emily. They were to purchase their own food. Emily had been kind enough to prepare yesterday’s dinner for him, but he needed to fend for himself from here on out.

       There was no help for it; he’d have to venture outside the comfort and security of Emily’s house. He’d have to leave this rather agreeable prison and take his chances among the townspeople. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

       Peeking through the drapes, Charles rolled his eyes. He was convinced that if he looked hard enough, he’d see Ebenezer Scrooge and the ghost of Marley, not to mention Tiny Tim hobbling down the sidewalk, complete with his crutch, and crying out, “God bless us everyone.”

       Once he’d donned his long wool coat and draped a scarf around his neck, he dashed out the door. He locked it behind him, although he wondered why he bothered. According to the kid next door, the entire town knew where Emily kept the key. Still, Charles wanted it understood that he wasn’t receiving company.

       Walking to his rental car, he hurriedly unlocked it and climbed inside before anyone could stop him. With a sense of accomplishment, he drove until he discovered a large chain grocery store. The lot was full, and there appeared to be some sort of activity taking place in front of the store.

       Ducking his head against the wind, he walked rapidly across the parking lot toward the entrance.

       A crowd had gathered, and Charles glanced over, wondering at all the commotion. He blinked several times as the scene unfolded before him. Apparently the local church was putting on a Nativity pageant, complete with livestock—a donkey, a goat and several sheep.

       Just as he scurried by, the goat raised its head and grabbed the hem of his overcoat. Charles took two steps and was jerked back.

       The goat was eating his coat. Apparently no one noticed because the three wise men had decided to make an appearance at the same time. Charles tried to jerk his hem free, but the goat had taken a liking to it and refused to let go. Not wanting to call attention to himself, he decided to ignore the goat and proceed into the store, tugging at his coat as he walked. Unfortunately the goat walked right along behind him, chewing contentedly.

       Charles had hoped to dash in, collect his groceries and get out, all in fifteen minutes or less. Instead, everyone in the entire store turned to stare at him as he stumbled in, towing the goat.

       “Mister, you’ve got a goat following you.” Some kid, about five or six, was kind enough to point this out, as if Charles hadn’t been aware of it.

       “Go away.” Charles attempted to shoo the goat, but the creature was clearly more interested in its evening meal than in listening to him.

       “Oh, sorry.” A teenage boy raced after him and took hold of the goat by the collar. After several embarrassing seconds, the boy managed to get the goat to release Charles’s coat.

       Before he drew even more attention, Charles grabbed a cart and galloped down the aisles, throwing in what he needed. He paused to gather up the back of his expensive wool coat, which was damp at the hem and looking decidedly nibbled, then with a sigh dropped it again. As he went on his way, he noticed several shoppers who stopped and stared at him, but he ignored them.

       He approached the dairy case. As he reached for a quart of milk a barbershop quartet strolled up to serenade him with Christmas carols. Charles listened politely for all of five seconds, then zoomed into a check-out line.

       Was there no escape?

       By the time he’d loaded his groceries in the car and returned to Emily’s home, he felt as if he’d completed the Boston marathon. Now he had to make it from the car to the house undetected.

       He looked around to see if any of the neighborhood kids were in sight. He was out of luck, because he immediately caught sight of six or seven of the little darlings, building a snowman in the yard directly next to his.

       They all gaped at him.

       Charles figured he had only a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the house minus an entourage.

       “Hello, mister.”

       They were already greeting him and he didn’t even have the car door completely open. He pretended not to hear them.

       “Want to build a snowman with us?”

       “No.” He scooped up as many of the grocery bags as he could carry and headed toward the house.

       “Need help with that?” All the kids raced to his vehicle, eager to offer assistance.

       “No.”

       “You sure?”

       “What I want is to be left alone.” Charles didn’t mean to be rude, but all this Christmas stuff had