Christine Wenger - It's That Time of Year

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Cover

Title Page It’s That Time of Year Christine Wenger www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author Christine Wenger has worked in the criminal justice field for more years than she cares to remember. She has a master’s degree in probation and parole studies and sociology from Fordham University, but the knowledge gained from such studies certainly has not prepared her for what she loves to do most - write romance! A native central New Yorker, she enjoys watching professional bull riding and rodeo with her favourite cowboy, her husband, Jim. Chris would love to hear from readers. She can be reached by mail at PO Box 1212, Cicero, NY 13039, USA, or through her website at www.christinewenger.com .

Dedication To the dedicated staff and retirees of the Onondaga County Probation Department in Syracuse, New York. Thanks for the friendship, the support and the great ride. Be careful out there! And to Gayle Callen, outstanding writer and wonderful friend! Thanks for everything, Gayle!

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

Epilogue

Copyright

Christine Wengerhas worked in the criminal justice field for more years than she cares to remember. She has a master’s degree in probation and parole studies and sociology from Fordham University, but the knowledge gained from such studies certainly has not prepared her for what she loves to do most - write romance! A native central New Yorker, she enjoys watching professional bull riding and rodeo with her favourite cowboy, her husband, Jim.

Chris would love to hear from readers. She can be reached by mail at PO Box 1212, Cicero, NY 13039, USA, or through her website at www.christinewenger.com.

To the dedicated staff and retirees of the Onondaga

County Probation Department in Syracuse, New York.

Thanks for the friendship, the support and the great

ride. Be careful out there!

And to Gayle Callen, outstanding writer and

wonderful friend! Thanks for everything, Gayle!

“When is this going to be over?” Melanie Bennett mumbled to herself as she adjusted her thick woolen mittens. If one more person shook her hand, hugged her or pressed a cold-lipped kiss to her frozen cheeks, she was going to scream.

It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and the entire population of Hawk’s Lake had turned out for the lighting of the Christmas tree, the traditional kickoff to the annual Snow Festival. This year Melanie and her son, Kyle, would be lighting the tree in her husband’s memory.

She was grateful for everyone’s support, but she didn’t want to talk about Mike anymore. It was too hard trying not to remember.

And she dreaded having to be in such close proximity to Samuel LeDoux, former Canadian hockey star and alleged expert in disaster recovery operatives for the Red Cross.

Unfortunately for her, Mayor Lippert had asked him to be the grand marshal of the Snow Festival. He was the overwhelming favorite, because he’d helped out during the horrific ice storm that had hit upstate New York last winter, and everyone in the village thought Sam LeDoux was a hero.

Everyone except her.

Someone jostled Melanie, and then she in turn bumped into someone else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white foam cup flip in the air and hit the ground. When she looked up, she saw wisps of steam rising from a dark stain on the front of the red parka of the attractive man next to her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I made you drop your coffee.” She pulled off a mitten, found a tissue in the pocket of her jacket and began blotting his parka. He looked down at her in amusement, his blue eyes twinkling.

And immediately she felt drawn to him.

Melanie could barely think. She was busy looking at his strong jaw with a hint of a beard, and the tan that made his teeth look whiter. His lips formed a perfect smile, and she could tell he was in excellent shape in spite of the bulky parka.

She dropped her hand before she wore a hole through him. “Sorry. It’s the mother in me. I’m used to wiping up spills on an hourly basis.” Her face flamed in spite of the freezing temperatures.

“No harm done.” He chuckled. “It’ll dry, and it’ll wash out.” His deep voice, with a hint of an accent, enveloped her like a warm blanket. “Big crowd here, isn’t there?”

“I’ve never seen so many people in Hawk’s Lake at one time. Must be a record.”

The stranger bent over to pick up the cup just as a Boy Scout appeared holding out a trash bag. He tossed it in.

“I’m going to get another cup of coffee,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

“It’s on me,” Melanie shouted, as the six-piece band from Moose Lodge #814 played a much too loud and painfully slow rendition of “Jingle Bells.” The crowd huddled around the white octagonal bandstand burst into song, making it even harder to carry on a conversation. And for whatever reason, she wanted to talk to him more.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He shook his head, leaned over and spoke into her ear, “It was nice bumping into you. Maybe I’ll get to talk to you later.”

She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart. The warmth of his breath on her skin made her shiver. She told herself she was only nervous about the upcoming tree lighting, but she knew it was more than that. She wanted to get to know the handsome stranger.

Watching as he walked away, she couldn’t help but notice his butt, encased in snug dark jeans that outlined his muscular legs. She saw him wave to people and then stop to shake hands with others before he disappeared into the gingerbread tent.

How did he know so many people from Hawk’s Lake? She’d lived here all her life and had never seen him before. She’d assumed he was a tourist who had come in for the Snow Festival.

To distract herself, she looked up at the bright stars sparkling in the black winter sky. They looked close enough to touch. When she was a little girl, her mother used to tell her that each star was a light for the people in heaven so they could see their way at night.

She grimaced. If that was true, her late husband Mike was plugged in to the nearest star watching a college football game and scouting for the next sensational player.

Kyle appeared at Melanie’s side. She looked down at him and smiled tenderly. He’d been only five when his father had died in the devastating ice storm that had hit all of upstate NewYork a year ago.

Kyle grinned up at her. “When do we get to light the tree, Mom?”

“Pretty soon.”

Yesterday, she had explained to him that this year’s tree lighting was in honor of his father and it was a special way for the people of Hawk’s Lake to remember him and to thank him for helping out in the storm.