A Valley Ridge Christmas. Holly Jacobs

      Maeve handed a small pile of books to Josie. “I thought Carl might enjoy a story. I’m going to head out and start the snowblower.”

      “Let me,” Boyd said.

      Normally Maeve would bristle and inform him that she was more than capable of clearing her own driveway, but remembering Josie’s words, she smiled instead. “I’m pretty sure there’s enough snow out there for the both of us. And when we’re done, if you move your RV to my side of the parking lot, you’re welcome to hook up to my utilities. We’ll have to give the plows a chance to clear the roads, but then we can head to the store and get you some propane. My truck’s got four-wheel drive.”

      Boyd didn’t say anything. For a moment, Maeve thought that he was going to refuse the hook up and the ride, but he looked past her at Josie, then said, “I’ll pay you for the cost of the utilities and the gas.”

      “The drive is a couple blocks. Normally I’d walk, but I’m sure the sidewalks aren’t cleared and I don’t think we want to carry a propane container. As for the electricity, we’ll work it out.”

      He nodded, bundled up and headed outside.

      “Thank you,” said Josie.

      Maeve nodded as she put on her outdoor gear again. “Really, it’s my pleasure.”

      She started for the door, but Josie stopped her. “You sort of live by your motto, don’t you?” She pointed at Mrs. Anderson’s cross-stitch. I can’t save the world, but I can try.

      “That was a friend’s. She saved me in so many ways. This doesn’t even begin to compare.”

      “It does to me, and despite his bearishness, it does to Boyd, too.”

      Maeve nodded. “I’m glad to help. You stay near the stove, but watch Carl. It gets hot and I wouldn’t want him to be burned.”

      “Will do.”

      Maeve followed Boyd out into the snow, thankful to get away from Josie’s studying gaze. The small woman had a look about her that said she saw more than Maeve wanted to share.

      Maeve had never shared easily. She was a private person.

      But sometimes, especially over the past year, as she watched Sophie, Lily and Mattie bond over the loss of a friend and then grow closer and become friends in their own right, she wished she had someone she could confide in like that. Oh, the three women were her friends. She went to their showers and weddings, but they only knew her on the surface. And Josie, a practical stranger, already looked at her as if she knew more than the surface bits Maeve felt comfortable sharing.

      It was disturbing and tantalizing at the same time.

      Maeve guessed she could afford to be a bit more relaxed around Josie. After all, when the weather cleared, she’d be heading to North Dakota with her family.

      So for today, and maybe even tomorrow, Maeve would let Josie be the friend she’d always hoped for.

      * * *

      AARON HOLDER BUNDLED into a pair of Carhartt overalls and a coat. The thick layers of cloth were constrictive and stiff. He felt like Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story. If he fell onto his back, he suspected he’d give a very turtlelike impression as he tried to right himself.

      He’d been in Valley Ridge less than a week and already wished he was back in Florida. If he was, he’d take his coffee onto his back porch—a lanai in local parlance—fire up his laptop and work there in shorts.

      He stuffed his feet into a pair of boots. In his Florida fantasy, he was barefoot.

      Sure, Orlando got some colder weather, but not in November. And when an occasional cold day hit, he might need to wear jeans and a sweatshirt, but he’d never woken up to snow that was measured in feet. Many feet.

      He loved his uncle Jerry, but he wished he’d said no when he’d asked Aaron to spend a few months in Valley Ridge in order to mind the store. His uncle had pointed out that Aaron could do his work anywhere, and that the employees at Valley Ridge Farm and House Supplies took care of most of what needed to be done at the store. All Aaron would have to do was keep an eye on things. Uncle Jerry wanted someone from the family at the business’s helm because, as he said, “I have the best employees, but family is family, and blood is thicker than water.”

      And because Aaron had grown up with the Holder family motto, Family is Family, he found it impossible to say no. His family’s near obsessive drive to support each other was why he was bundled up and heading out to plow the Valley Ridge Farm and House Supplies’ lot on a post-blizzard November morning. The store would open, albeit late. But from the looks of the quiet main street of Valley Ridge, all the businesses in the area would be opening late today—if they opened at all.

      He hoped his uncle’s arthritis was benefiting from the warm dry heat of Arizona.

      Aaron opened the garage door and a foot of snow tumbled in. He cursed under his breath as he climbed into his uncle’s truck. He’d made two passes when another truck pulled up in front of the store, leaving tire imprints in the six inches of snow that had fallen since the snowplow had last gone by.

      A woman got out. She was bundled up almost as much as he was. Red hair stuck out wildly from under her hat. A man got out of the passenger side and pulled a propane tank out of the bed of the truck.

      “Can you fill the tank?” the woman asked.

      “I could. I think the question you want to ask is if I would.” Aaron felt immediately apologetic. He shouldn’t take the fact that he hated the snow out on customers.

      He was about to say as much and apologize for being snippy when the redhead asked, “Where’s Jerry?” Her tone suggested she wanted to find his uncle and tattle on him.

      Aaron had grown up with three younger sisters who liked nothing better than running to their parents with stories of his abuses—some real, some imagined. Maybe that was why he bristled, or maybe it was simply something about this woman that inherently annoyed him. “Jerry’s in Arizona, basking in the warmth, so if you want to tattle, you’ll have to call him to do it. I can give you his number.”

      Despite her layers of clothing, he could see her back straighten to the point of breaking. Her words came out measured, as if she was struggling to hold her tongue. “I would prefer it, sir, if you simply filled the tank, then we’ll let you get back to your plowing.”

      “Anything you say, Red.” He smiled, hoping she’d read the apology behind his words. But then realized she might find being called Red insulting.

      “Sorry,” he said, hoping that a spoken apology at this point could cover his multitude of failings with this particular customer.

      She didn’t acknowledge his apology. The now silent woman and the always silent man followed him as he filled the tank. “That’s—”

      The redhead cut him off. “Can you simply put it on my account? I’ve got to come back later and get some salt for the library steps.”

      “And your account is?”

      “Maeve. Maeve Buchanan. Or maybe your uncle has it filed under the Valley Ridge Library. Either way, that’s me.”

      He nodded. “Fine, Maeve Buchanan of the Valley Ridge Library. I’ll do that.”

      “That’s much better than Red,” she muttered as she turned around and waded back to her truck. Once there, the man started arguing with her about something.

      Now, that was an odd romance, Aaron thought as he got back into his truck. Maeve. Maeve Buchanan. She was a bristly thing. The town librarian, from the sound of things. He’d have to do a better job apologizing when she came back later for her salt. Aaron had promised his uncle he’d look after the place and he didn’t think chasing away customers would qualify as doing a good job of it.

      Maeve.

      Maeve Buchanan.