Debbie Macomber - Not Just For Christmas

In all that time, he’d never met her. From first grade on, he’d dutifully sent her a thank-you note for every gift. That was the extent of their contact, but he still felt a genuine fondness for her—and gratitude. Hassie had been the one to start him on a savings program. As a young adult Vaughn had cashed in those savings bonds and begun acquiring a portfolio of stocks that over the years had become a hefty nest egg.

An hour after he left Grand Forks, Vaughn slowed his speed, certain that if he blinked he might miss Buffalo Valley entirely. Value-X could put this place on the map. That was one benefit the company offered small towns. He wasn’t sure what kind of business community existed in Buffalo Valley. He knew about Knight’s Pharmacy of course, because Hassie owned that. Apparently the town was large enough to have its own cemetery, too; Hassie had mailed him a picture of her son’s gravesite years earlier.

Buffalo Valley was directly off the road. You didn’t take an exit the way you would in most places. You just drove off the highway. He slowed, made a right turn where the road sign indicated. The car pitched as it left the pavement and hit ruts in the frozen dirt road. He’d gone at least a hundred feet before the paved road resumed.

He passed a few scattered houses, and as he turned the corner, he discovered, somewhat to his surprise, a main street with businesses lining both sides. There was even a hotel of sorts, called Buffalo Bob’s 3 of a Kind. The bank building, a sprawling brick structure, seemed new and quite extensive. This was amazing. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but nothing like this. Buffalo Valley was a real town, not a cluster of run-down houses and boarded-up stores, like some of the prairie towns his parents had told him about.

Hassie’s store caught his attention next. It was a quaint, old-fashioned pharmacy, with big picture windows and large white lettering. Christmas lights framed the window, flashing alternately red and green. In smaller letters below KNIGHT’S PHARMACY, a soda fountain was advertised. Vaughn hadn’t tasted a real soda made with hand-scooped ice cream and flavored syrup since his childhood.

He parked, climbed out of his rental car and stood on the sidewalk, glancing around. This was a decent-size town, decorated for the holidays with festive displays in nearly every window. A city park could be seen in the distance, and the Buffalo Valley Quilting Company appeared to take up a large portion of the block across the street. He remembered an article about it in the file Natalie had given him.

The cold stung his face and snow swirled around him. Rather than stand there risking frostbite, Vaughn walked into the pharmacy. The bell above the door jingled and he was instantly greeted by a blast of heat that chased the chill from his bones.

“Can I help you?” He couldn’t see who spoke, but the voice sounded young, so he assumed it wasn’t Hassie. The woman or girl, whoever she was, stood behind the raised counter at the back of the store.

“I’m looking for Hassie Knight,” Vaughn called, edging his way down the narrow aisle. This pharmacy apparently carried everything: cosmetics, greeting cards, over-the-counter medicine, gourmet chocolate, toothpaste and tissues—just about anything you might require.

“I’m sorry, Hassie’s out for the day. Can I be of help?”

He supposed he didn’t need to see Hassie, although it would have been nice.

“I’m Carrie Hendrickson.” A petite blonde in a white jacket materialized before him, hand extended. “I’m an intern working with Hassie.”

“Vaughn Kyle,” he said, stretching out his own hand. He liked the way her eyes squarely met his. Her expression held a hint of suspicion, but Vaughn was prepared for that. Natalie had mentioned the North Dakota attitude toward strangers—a wariness that ranged from mild doubt to outright hostility. It was one reason she worried about this proposed building site.

“Hassie and I have never officially met, but she does know me,” he added reassuringly. “I was named after her son.”

“You’re the Vaughn Kyle?” she asked, her voice revealing excitement now. “Did Hassie know you were coming and completely forget? I can’t imagine her doing that.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that. I just happened to be in the area and thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.”

Her suspicion evaporated and was replaced with a wide, welcoming smile. “I’m so pleased to meet you. Hassie will be thrilled.” She gestured to the counter. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A soft drink?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind an old-fashioned soda.”

“They’re Hassie’s specialty, but I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t worry about it.” On second thought, he decided something warm might be preferable. “I’ll have a coffee.”

She led him to the soda fountain and Vaughn sat on a padded stool while Carrie ducked beneath the counter and reappeared on the other side.

“Do you know when Hassie’s due back?” he asked.

“Around six,” Carrie told him, lifting the glass pot and filling his cup. “You need space for cream?” she asked.

He answered with a quick shake of his head. She didn’t cut off the steady stream of weak coffee until it’d reached the very brim of his cup.

The door opened, bells jingling, and a woman dressed in a black leather jacket walked into the store. She had three scarves wrapped around her neck, nearly obscuring her face.

“Hi, Merrily,” Carrie called, then scrambled under the fountain barrier. “I’ll have Bobby’s prescription ready in just a moment.” She hurried to the back of the store. “While you’re waiting, introduce yourself to Vaughn Kyle.”

Merrily glanced toward the counter and waved, and Vaughn raised his mug to her.

“That’s Hassie’s Vaughn Kyle,” Carrie said emphatically. “Vaughn was named after her son,” she added.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Merrily walked over to shake his hand. “What are you doing here?” she asked, unwinding the woolen scarves.

Now, that was an interesting question, Vaughn thought. He certainly hadn’t anticipated anyone knowing about him.

“He came to meet Hassie,” Carrie said as she returned with the prescription. She handed Merrily a small white sack. “How’s Bobby feeling?”

“Better, I think. Poor little guy seems prone to ear infections.” She turned to Vaughn with a smile. “Nice meeting you,” she said. She wrapped the mufflers around her face again before she headed out the door.

“You, too,” Vaughn murmered.

Carrie reached across the counter and grabbed a second mug for herself. “Hassie told you about the War Memorial, didn’t she? We’re all proud of that.” Not waiting for a response, she continued, “The town built the Memorial three years ago, and it honors everyone from Buffalo Valley who died in war. The only one most of us actually remember is Hassie’s son. But there were others. We lost Harvey Schmidt in the Korean War and five men in World War II, but none of their families live in the area anymore.”

“You knew Vaughn Knight?” The blonde seemed far too young to have known Hassie’s son.

“Not personally. But from the time I was small, Hassie told my brothers and me about Vaughn. It’s been her mission to make sure he isn’t forgotten.”

Vaughn had heard about Vaughn Knight from his own parents of course, since they’d both been close to Hassie’s son.

Carrie sipped her coffee. “Hassie told me it was one of the greatest honors of her life that your parents chose to remember her son through you.”

Vaughn nodded, disappointed that he’d missed meeting the older woman. “What time did you say Hassie would be back?”