Glad Tidings: There's Something About Christmas / Here Comes Trouble. Debbie Macomber

Oliver?” she asked the terrier, then followed the dog as he led her to a hangar not far from Oliver’s Cessna.

      When she walked inside, shaking the snow from her coat, Emma found Oliver sitting at a table with his poker-playing friends. Two were dressed in beige overalls, and Emma assumed they must be mechanics. Oliver sat across from a third man who wore a leather jacket similar to his. Probably another pilot.

      Oliver pulled his gaze away from his cards, glanced up and frowned, almost as though he couldn’t remember who she was.

      “I wondered where you’d wandered off,” he mumbled, returning his attention to his hand.

      “I got a motel room.”

      At the mention of the room, his three friends stared at her. From her, they turned as one to Oliver. All speaking at the same time, the men made suggestive comments.

      “Way to go, Oliver.”

      “Atta boy.”

      “Oo-la-la.”

      To her dismay, Oliver played along, grinning from ear to ear as if it was understood they’d be making wild, passionate love as soon as he’d finished his poker game.

      Emma wasn’t letting him get away with that. If he wasn’t going to explain, then she had no qualms about doing so. “The motel room isn’t for him,” she said coldly. “There’s absolutely nothing between Oliver and me.”

      One of the mechanics laughed. “That’s what all the girls say.”

      “I’ll be back shortly.” Oliver set his cards down on the table and stood, his movements casual.

      “Take your time, ol’ buddy.”

      “Don’t hurry on our account.”

      Emma glared at the men as Oliver took her by the elbow and steered her out of the hangar. She peered over her shoulder on her way out the door, strongly tempted to put them all in their place. That would be a waste of time, she realized. Besides, any argument was only going to encourage them.

      “You got a motel room?” he asked.

      “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she muttered irritably. Then, repenting her sharp tone—at least a little—she added in a more conciliatory voice, “You said it would be morning before we’d get out of here.” She hadn’t wanted to spend money on the motel, but there was only so long she could sit in Minnie’s Place, otherwise known as MICE.

      “That was probably a good idea.” Oliver looked both ways before jogging across the street, Oscar at his heels.

      “I wanted to see the weather report. Unfortunately, the television in my room seems to be on the fritz. The manager sent a repairman.”

      “I wouldn’t mind getting a current weather update, either.”

      “The only reason I came to find you was so you’d know where I was.” She wanted to make it clear that she hadn’t gone searching for him because she wanted his company. She was being considerate, nothing more.

      He nodded. “I’ll see about getting a room for the night myself.”

      While Oliver filled out the paperwork, Emma went back to her room. She opened the door to find Juan, the repairman, sitting on the end of her bed, gazing intently at the television.

      Emma took one look at the images flashing across the screen and gasped. He was watching the pornography channel. Obviously, a lack of familiarity with English was no impediment to following this kind of movie—not that there was much dialogue to worry about.

      He grinned at her as if he’d managed some spectacular feat. “I fix,” he said, beaming. He flipped off the television and handed her the remote on his way out. Emma stared at him openmouthed as he disappeared into the snowstorm.

      Emma didn’t know how long she stood in the doorway, still holding the remote, but it must have been more than a minute.

      “Problems?” Oliver asked as he strolled toward her.

      “The repairman was in my room watching porn.” She was shocked by the other man’s audacity.

      Oliver followed her into the room. “Let me see the remote,” he said, and took it from her. He pushed the power button; instantly the television returned to the scene she’d witnessed when she walked into the room.

      “Change the channel,” she insisted, whirling around so she wouldn’t have to look at the entwined figures. This was so embarrassing. All she could hear were moans and groans.

      Oliver made several attempts but the pornography channel was the only one that seemed to be working. Every other channel remained a snowy blur.

      “Ah,” Oliver said after a moment. “I get it.”

      “You get what?”

      “You asked to watch the news, right?”

      “Right,” she concurred.

      “Juan thought you wanted to watch the nudes.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Half-laughing, Emma felt the heat radiate from her cheeks.

      “I’m two doors down if you need anything.” He tossed the remote onto the rumpled bed, where she’d been working earlier.

      “I won’t,” Emma rushed to assure him. But when she closed the door she remembered that she still couldn’t watch television.

      Sighing, she sat cross-legged on the bed. Might as well work, she decided. Emma reached for a pad of paper and a pen, one of a dozen she kept in a special compartment in her briefcase.

      She wrote down the date, then chewed on the end of her pen while she mentally reviewed the conversation with Earleen. She needed an introduction to her first article.

      Life is a journey, she began, and as with any journey, a traveler will come upon unexpected twists and turns. Sometimes a person will follow the same path for so long that change seems imperceptible. Conversely, another will travel the shortest of distances and discover a completely new landscape. In a single lifetime, it is possible to live both experiences, as Earleen Williams discovered.

      When Emma finally glanced up, she was surprised to see that it was pitch-black outside, the darkness punctuated by the lights in the motel parking lot. There was a knock on her door.

      “Who is it?” she asked.

      “Who do you think?” Oliver called from the other side.

      Emma opened the door.

      “My television works if you want to trade rooms.”

      The idea was tempting.

      “I’m going back to my poker game.”

      “All right,” Emma said gratefully. “Thanks.”

      “Can Oscar stay with you?”

      “Sure.”

      “Good.” They exchanged room keys and he turned away. Then, as if he’d just thought of something, he turned back.

      “What?” Emma asked.

      “Nothing,” he said. Without another word he kissed her.

      At first Emma felt too stunned to react, but once she’d collected her wits, she was furious. He was trying to shock her, and she refused to give him a reaction. “What was that for?” she asked.

      Oliver stopped, shrugged, smiled. “Can’t say. All of a sudden, I had this urge to kiss you.”

      “Next time curb it.”

      He shrugged again. “Don’t know if I can.”

      “Try.”

      Just the way the edges of his mouth turned up annoyed her. “Come on, admit it,” he said. “You liked it.”