Not Just For Christmas. Debbie Macomber

as long as she could remember, Knight’s Pharmacy had been the very heart of this town. Hassie was getting on in years and probably should’ve retired long ago. She wouldn’t, though, not while the community still needed her, not only to dispense prescriptions and basic medical advice but also to be their counselor and confidante.

      Carrie knew she could never replace Hassie, because that would be impossible. But she’d always been good at chemistry and math, and had done well at her pharmaceutical studies. She also cared about the town and had an intense interest in people. Hassie had often told her she was naturally intuitive and sensitive toward others; Carrie was pleased by that, although her intuition had been notably absent during her ex-husband’s affair. Hassie said she was exactly the pharmacist Buffalo Valley needed and had given her the faith in herself to believe she could complete the six years of schooling required to obtain her license.

      “I’ll get my coat and hat and be right back,” she told Vaughn after calling Leta. Hassie’s friend worked at the pharmacy part-time and was as eager as Carrie to make sure that Hassie met Vaughn.

      “You’re certain this isn’t an imposition?”

      “Absolutely certain,” she told him.

      Leta arrived promptly and after making swift introductions, Carrie removed the white pharmacist’s jacket and put on her long wool coat.

      “What would you like to see first?” she asked when she rejoined him.

      “Whatever you’d like to show me.”

      “Then let’s go to the City Park.” Although there were a number of places she wanted to take him, the park seemed the best place to start. As they left the pharmacy, Carrie noticed it had stopped snowing, but she suspected the temperature had dropped several degrees. She led him across the street and then down a block, past the quilt store and several others.

      “I know Hassie would want you to see the War Memorial,” she said, glancing up at Vaughn. Now that she stood beside him, she was surprised to see how tall he was—possibly six-two. All four of her brothers were six feet, but Carrie took after her mother’s side of the family and was small-boned and petite. His dark good looks didn’t escape her notice, either.

      “First came the park,” she explained, walking briskly to ward off the cold. Carrie loved the City Park and everything it said about their community. The people of Buffalo Valley had worked together to make this barren plot of land a place of which to be proud. “The land itself was a gift from Lily Quantrill,” she said. “Heath Quantrill, her grandson, is the president of Buffalo Valley Bank.” She pointed toward the brick structure at the far end of Main Street.

      “Isn’t there a branch in Grand Forks?”

      “There are branches all across the state,” Carrie told him.

      “The headquarters is here?”

      She nodded. “Heath moved everything to Buffalo Valley two years ago. I know it was a hard decision, but this is his home now, and he was tired of commuting to Grand Forks three days a week.”

      “It’s an impressive building.”

      “Heath’s an impressive bank president. I hope you get the chance to meet him and his wife, Rachel.”

      “I do, too,” Vaughn said.

      “Heath donated the lumber for the children’s play equipment,” she said as they entered the park and strolled past the jungle gym, slides and swings. “But Brandon Wyatt, along with Jeb McKenna and Gage Sinclair, actually built all these things.” She realized the names didn’t mean anything to Vaughn, but she wanted him to get a sense of what the park stood for in this community. Each family had contributed something, from planting the grass to laying the concrete walkway.

      “It looks well used.”

      An outsider like Vaughn couldn’t possibly understand how much the children of Buffalo Valley cherished the park. “My family owns the hardware,” she continued, pointing to the opposite side of the park toward the store. “We donated the wood for the picnic tables.”

      “I notice they aren’t secured with chains,” Vaughn said.

      “We don’t have much crime in Buffalo Valley.” It distressed her to visit public areas where everything, including picnic tables and garbage cans, was tied down by chains to prevent theft. But no one had ever stolen from the park or any other public place in Buffalo Valley. There’d never been any real vandalism, either.

      “No crime?” He sounded as though he didn’t believe her.

      “Well, some, but it’s mostly petty stuff. A few windows soaped at Halloween, that kind of thing. The occasional fight or display of drunkenness. We did have a murder once, about eighty years ago. According to the stories, it was a crime of passion.” Quickly changing the subject, she said, “The War Memorial was designed by Kevin Betts. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but he was born and raised right here.”

      “Sorry, I haven’t,” Vaughn said with a shrug.

      “He’s Leta’s son, and he’s an artist who’s making a name for himself.” Everyone in town was proud of Kevin. “This sculpture—” she gestured as they neared it “—was one of his very first.” She watched Vaughn’s expression when he saw it and was stirred by the immediate appreciation that showed in his eyes.

      Kevin was a gifted artist, not only because he was technically skilled but because his work evoked emotion in people. The bronze sculpture was simple and yet profound. Half-a-dozen rifles were stacked together, upright and leaning against one another, with a helmet balanced on top. Beside the guns a young soldier knelt, his shoulders bowed in grief. No one seeing the piece could fail to be moved, to respond with sorrow and a bittersweet pain.

      Vaughn stood before the memorial and didn’t say anything right away. Then he squatted down and ran his finger over the name of Vaughn Knight. “My parents still talk about him. He was the one who brought them together,” Vaughn said, and slowly straightened. “I’m glad he won’t be forgotten.”

      “He won’t be,” Carrie assured him. “With this memorial, his name will always be here to remind everyone.”

      Vaughn thrust his gloved hands into his coat pockets.

      “Cold?” Carrie asked.

      He shook his head. “I know about the pharmacy and you’ve mentioned the hardware store. Tell me about the other businesses in town.”

      They walked toward Main Street and Carrie told him about each one in turn, starting with Joanie Wyatt’s video-rental and craft store and ending with her parents’ place.

      “It was a leap of faith for you to move into town, wasn’t it?” Vaughn said.

      Carrie nodded pensively. “Yeah, but it’s paid off. My two oldest brothers are still farming and the two younger ones work exclusively with Mom and Dad. It’s a good arrangement all around.”

      “Are you hungry?” Vaughn asked unexpectedly.

      She laughed. “You offering to feed me?” It was a bit early, but dinner would pass the time until Hassie returned.

      “Unless there’s a reason for you to hurry home.”

      “No reason. I’m divorced.” Even now, six years later, the words left a bitter taste on her tongue. She focused her gaze directly in front of her.

      “I’m sorry,” he said.

      “I am, too.” She forced a cheerful note into her voice, as if to say she was over it.

      “I thought I’d suggest Buffalo Bob’s 3 of a Kind. I was intrigued by what you told me about him.”

      “He’s certainly a character,” she agreed. “But before we go there, I’d like to show you Maddy’s Grocery.” Carrie loved the wonderful and witty Christmas display Maddy put up every year. Eight reindeer were suspended from the ceiling,