A Wells Landing Christmas Read online

  A WELLS LANDING CHRISTMAS

  “What are you thinking about?” Zeb settled down next to her, close, but still far enough away that she would have to lean in order to touch him. That was fine. Good, even. She had no business touching him in any way.

  “I’ve always loved Christmas,” she said. Her voice sounded dreamy and far away, as if she were floating above instead of tethered to the ground.

  “Me too.”

  She took another drink of her cocoa, not because she really wanted it, but because she needed something to do. “Where’s Dawdi?”

  Zeb shook his head. “He was mumbling something about shirts and combs. I figure he either had to do a load of laundry or he was getting ready for bed.”

  “Maybe both.”

  He laughed. “Maybe.”

  They sat quietly for a moment. Ivy watched the flames, but she could tell that Zeb was watching her. This was no good; no good a’tall.

  She could turn, lean in a bit, and she would be able to press her mouth to his. It was something she had been thinking about since the first time she had seen him back in Wells Landing. Even before. Truth be known, she had never stopped thinking about his kiss, how secure she felt in his embrace, and how warm and happy his attention made her . . .

  Books by Amy Lillard

  The Wells Landing Series

  CAROLINE’S SECRET

  COURTING EMILY

  LORIE’S HEART

  JUST PLAIN SADIE

  TITUS RETURNS

  MARRYING JONAH

  THE QUILTING CIRCLE

  A WELLS LANDING CHRISTMAS

  The Pontotoc Mississippi Series

  A HOME FOR HANNAH

  A LOVE FOR LEAH

  Amish Mysteries

  KAPPY KING AND THE PUPPY KAPER

  KAPPY KING AND THE PICKLE KAPER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A WELLS LANDING CHRISTMAS

  AMY LILLARD

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  A WELLS LANDING CHRISTMAS

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Amy Lillard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4572-4

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4572-X

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4572-4

  To everyone who loves Christmas and second chances as much as I do

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Christmas is a magical time filled with love and miracles. Sometimes my miracle is getting from chapter one to the end without losing my focus or my mind. I never manage it alone. There are several people who hold my hand the entire way.

  Thanks to God for miracles and blessings. Without Him none of this would be possible.

  Thanks to my editor and all the fantastic folks at Kensington. Writing for these great people has been a blessing and a pleasure.

  Thanks to my best friend, partner in crime, research buddy, and all around “wing man” Stacey Barbalace. If I told you all the things she does to help me it’d make your head spin. Love you, Stace!

  Thanks to my family who are always a great support, demanding food and clean clothes and making me take a break from the people in my head. Thanks for understanding those times when I can’t. You guys are the best and I love you!

  Thanks to Patti Koski who did her best to help this Southern Baptist navigate the waters of Catholicism. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. I hope I did right by her and Mother Mary.

  Thanks to my Street Team who help me spread the word about my books. Your support for my writing and Wells Landing is staggering. Truly a blessing to me.

  Thanks to you, the reader, for making it all possible. Welcome back to Wells Landing.

  Chapter One

  “Irene Jane, you cooked too much food. Way too much.” Her grandfather’s gaze chastised her over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. Those eyes were sharp and blue. They seemed to have lost none of their brilliance, but the brain behind them . . .

  “Ivy, Dawdi,” she corrected gently. “I’m Ivy.” She didn’t bother to remind him that Irene was her mother and had left months ago to live with her new husband in Indiana. Her grandfather would remember it or he wouldn’t. Either way, she didn’t want to start an argument. Not today. “It’s Thanksgiving,” she said with a bright smile.

  “I know that. Bah.” He scrubbed his hand over his head the way he did when he hadn’t remembered, but didn’t want to say it out loud. The action made the strands of his cottony, white hair stand out from his head like they had been shot through with static electricity.

  Ivy allowed herself a small smile. She loved this man dearly, but as time went on, he seemed to be more and more forgetful. She was certain the day would come when he wouldn’t remember who she was at all. When that happened, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

  “Don’t just stand there,” her grandfather chastised. “Sit down and let’s eat before it goes to waste. Too much food to let it rot on the plate.”

  “Jah, Dawdi.” She slid into the seat opposite him and bowed her head for their prayer. Thanksgiving. It should have been a happy day. So why was she in such misery?

  Because after Thanksgiving came Christmas, and this one would be even worse than last year. Last year, it hadn’t been that long since Zeb had left. Last year she was still pretending that nothing mattered, that she didn’t care, that she wasn’t heartbroken. This year the charade had grown weary, or maybe it was her. But she couldn’t let everyone know that she did care, she had always cared. What good would that do now?

  Her grandfather stirred in his chair and Ivy lifted her head, her prayer, such as it was, complete.

  “Everything looks good, Irene.” He reached for the platter of turkey, forking a large helping from the top before passing it across to her.

  Ivy bit back a sigh. “Ivy,” she gently corrected.

  He nodded as if that were what he had said from the start. “I know that.”

 
; She had lost count of all the times he had called her by her mother’s name. It was a recent development. But it worried her all the same. She supposed she looked enough like her mother. They had the same heart-shaped face, sky-blue eyes, and slim build, but whereas Mamm had smooth, brown hair and even smoother white skin, Ivy’s hair was the color of flames, her skin marked with so many freckles she almost looked tanned. Almost.

  “You shouldn’t have done so much for just the two of us.” Dawdi nodded toward the laden table. She had cooked more than usual, but tomorrow was promising to be a busy day at work; the whole weekend was, as a matter of fact. The turkey would keep them both in sandwiches until next week and her grandfather wouldn’t have to turn on the stove or the oven in order to feed himself while she was gone. That in itself was a stress reliever. Not that she wanted him to know that.

  “I love leftover turkey. Don’t you?”

  He swallowed the bite in his mouth and nodded. “Almost more than first-day turkey.”

  Ivy laughed. There was her dawdi. The man she had loved her entire life. The man who was now worrying her more than she liked.

  At first she had chalked up his slipping memory to the fact that he had more to do around the farm since her mother and father had moved away. Stepfather. Alan Byler had come down from Indiana to look at some horses over at Andrew Fitch’s and hadn’t gone home. Her mother claimed it was love at first sight. Ivy could only smile and agree. After all, her mother deserved happiness. Ivy’s father had died a few years back from pneumonia. It was a sad and lingering death. Her mother had done everything possible to nurse Ivy’s father back to health, but the illness just proved to be too much.

  Ivy wanted her mother to be happy. She wanted it more than anything, but . . . she wasn’t sure Alan Byler was the answer to her mother’s lonely life. But it wouldn’t do to voice her opinion. Her mother wasn’t the kind to listen to the advice of others. Was it any wonder Ivy had taken the road she had?

  “I’ll clean up the dishes,” Dawdi said. “That way you can get on over to the wedding.”

  Ivy stirred her potatoes around on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. “I don’t have a wedding today.”

  Her grandfather took a bite of his buttered roll and thoughtfully chewed. “When I was in the post office I heard Maddie Kauffman talking to Esther Fitch about Rachel Detweiler’s wedding. I thought you two were good friends.”

  They had been, once upon a time. Before Zeb left, before she decided to hide her broken heart in a wild rumspringa filled with jeans, cars, and Englisch friends. The Amish were forgiving people, but Ivy hadn’t asked for forgiveness. She stubbornly refused. She hadn’t done anything all that wrong, and yet she was treated like a leper. Well, the joke was on them. She wasn’t contagious. She couldn’t make Amish boys forget their raising or turn Amish girls from pious to jezebel. And she hadn’t been invited to Rachel Detweiler’s wedding.

  Ivy gave a careless shrug. “I guess we just lost touch.” That was one way of putting it.

  Her dawdi nodded. “I guess that happens.”

  All Ivy could do was nod. It had happened all right. And now that it had, there was nothing she could do to change it.

  * * *

  Ivy scrubbed the cotton swab between the buttons on her cash register and sighed. So much for today being busy. She hadn’t counted on all the “Black Friday” sales and people gearing up for Christmas. She’d simply been thinking about everyone being tired of leftovers already and coming in to get something different to cook. She supposed everyone was tired of cooking as well. She peeked out the front window of the Super Cost Saver grocery store to the fast-food restaurant across the street. The line for the drive-through wrapped around the parking lot and spilled out into the street. Yet the store was so quiet she was certain she could hear the fruit going bad. She wasn’t sure what Black Friday meant, but it certainly spelled out no customers for the Super Saver.

  “Ivy, you have a call on line two. Ivy, line two.”

  She started at the sound of her name, the voice coming through the store speakers, tinny and hard to recognize. She had a phone call? From who? And how was she supposed to answer it, since she was stationed behind register one?

  Bill, the store’s assistant manager, had sent everyone home but a couple of stock boys, her, and Sue Ann, who answered the phones and kept the books. She had to be the one summoning her. It could be no one else.

  “You can take it in here,” Sue Ann said, suddenly appearing at the door of the business office. She motioned for Ivy to step away from the register. “I’ll watch it for you,” she added when Ivy made no move. “It’s not that busy, and this sounds important.”

  Ivy nodded and made her way to the office. She must have been distracted by the mere fact that she had a call. It took that long for her to realize that she didn’t know anyone with a phone—and what reason would a stranger have to call her?

  Sue Ann eased toward the registers as Ivy stepped into the office. She picked up the receiver and pushed the flashing button with the 2 above it. “Hello?”

  “Ivy? It’s Daryl Hicks.”

  Her closest Englisch neighbor. Okay, so she knew one person with a phone. But it still didn’t answer the second question.

  “Your grandfather is in the field across the road from my place.”

  It seemed to take a full minute before his words hit home. “What?”

  “Your grandfather—”

  She shook her head, though she knew Daryl couldn’t see her. “Why is he in your field?”

  “I’m not sure I know the answer to that. He’s just there.”

  “I would appreciate it if you could take him home.” And lock the doors behind him.

  “Ivy, I don’t have any problem taking him home, but he’s talking crazy. About not getting involved in wars and the like.”

  Not exactly a proper afternoon conversation, but not a problem either. Right? But somehow she knew it was more than that. “Spit it out, Daryl.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but his stalling tactics were getting her riled up, nervous, anxious.

  “He’s talking about Vietnam.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. He had done this once before—forgotten what year it was. It had happened three times, if she counted the one when he forgot what day of the week it was and missed an auction. But that could happen to anyone, right?

  It was different than calling her by her mother’s name and forgetting to put on socks. He didn’t know when he was, and it confused him. The more confused he got, the more he seemed to slip into whatever time he had chosen.

  “You need to come home,” Daryl said.

  He didn’t need to tell her that. She knew it. Just as she knew that she couldn’t leave work.

  “Ivy?”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the phone and glanced out the office door. Sue Ann hovered around register one, looking toward the office every so often. When she saw Ivy was off the phone, she headed toward her.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Ivy shook her head and swallowed hard. “I need to leave. It’s an emergency.”

  Sue Ann blinked once, but made no other move. “Bill’s not going to like this.”

  She knew that, as clearly as she knew there was nothing she could do to help her grandfather short of going to Daryl’s, coaxing Dawdi out of the field, and taking him home. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It can’t be helped.”

  Sue Ann nodded as if she understood, but the slant of her mouth was anything but understanding. She nodded toward Bill who was approaching from aisle six “Clear it with the boss.”

  * * *

  Ivy pulled her tractor to a stop in Daryl’s driveway. The day had turned out bright and sunny for late November, but the cheery sunshine only mocked her inner turmoil.

  She had explained the situation as best she could to Bill, who had pursed his lips and given a single, stern nod. When she clocked in for work tomorrow, she would most likely have her
hours cut if they couldn’t find a way to fire her outright.

  She bit back a sigh as she swung down. Her grandfather was barely visible in the slightly overgrown field. He was lying on his stomach, his head barely lifted off the ground. Did he think he was in some battle? She had heard about military men who returned from one war or another and never left it behind. Had her dawdi ever fought? She couldn’t imagine. They were Amish: conscientious objectors. They didn’t fight battles or go to war. But there he was sprawled out as if hiding from some unseen enemy.

  “Dawdi,” she called as she strode across to the field.

  He raised up just enough to see who had called him, then lowered his head with a loud shush. “You keep hollering that way and you’ll scare off all the deer.”

  Ivy glanced around the field. It was the perfect place for deer to come and munch on the stalks of crops harvested months ago, but there were none out now, in the middle of the afternoon. Deer fed at dusk and just before dawn. She didn’t know a lot, but that much she knew for certain. But the thing that concerned her most was the idea of him toting a gun out here. What if he thought something was a deer and it wasn’t?

  “Dawdi,” she started again, slower, more gently. “There aren’t any deer.”

  He pushed to his feet. “Of course not.” He snorted in disgust. “Not after you came over here hollering like a banshee.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured as he brushed the dried grass from his clothing. Sorry for what? That she was yelling when he was trying to “hunt”? Or because there never were deer to begin with?

  He dusted himself clear to his ankles, then straightened. The knees of his pants and the front of his blue shirt were stained with water, as were his elbows.

  “Where’s your coat?” The sun might be shining, but it was still winter. The wind was cold, and in Oklahoma, it never stopped. The recent rains had left the ground soggy. Wet and cold were not a good combination.