Debbie Macomber - Not Just For Christmas

“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, with the front half of Santa’s sleigh coming out of the wall.

Vaughn laughed when he saw it. His reaction was one of genuine enjoyment and not the short derisive laugh of someone mocking Maddy’s efforts. On their way to 3 of a Kind, they strolled past the Buffalo Valley Quilting Company.

“This is the success story of the decade,” Carrie boasted as she motioned to the holiday quilt displayed in the first set of windows. “Sarah Urlacher started the business in her father’s house, dyeing the muslin herself from all-natural products. The designs are her own, too.”

Vaughn stopped to look at the quilt in the window.

“It all began when Lindsay Sinclair introduced Sarah’s quilts to her uncle. He owns an upscale furniture store in Atlanta, and before she knew it, Sarah had trouble keeping up with the demand. Now people all over the country buy her quilts.”

“That’s great.”

“Sarah’s business has boosted the economy of Buffalo Valley to the point that we can now afford things that are commonplace in other towns.”

“Such as?”

“The sidewalks got refurbished last summer, and the town could never have paid for that without the tax revenue Sarah’s business brings in.” Carrie didn’t mention the new community well and several other improvements that had taken place over the past few years.

“I’ll let Leta know where we are so she can tell Hassie,” Carrie said, and made a quick stop at the pharmacy. She was back within moments. Vaughn waited for her outside.

There was no one at the restaurant or in the bar when they arrived. Studying Buffalo Bob with fresh eyes, Carrie could only guess what Vaughn must think. The ex-biker was a burly man. He was an oddity here in a town where most men came off the farm. With his thinning hair drawn back into a ponytail and his muscular arms covered in tattoos, he looked as though he’d be more comfortable with a biker gang than waiting tables.

“How ya doin’, Carrie?” he greeted her when she took a seat across the table from Vaughn.

“Good, Bob. Come meet Vaughn Kyle.”

“Welcome to Buffalo Valley,” Bob said, extending his hand for a hearty shake. “Merrily told me you’d dropped by.” Bob gave them each a menu. “Take a look, but the special tonight is Salisbury steak. I don’t mind telling you it’s excellent.” He grinned. “And who would know better than me?”

“I’m convinced,” Vaughn told him with an answering smile. “I’ll have the special.”

“Me, too,” Carrie said, returning the menu.

Bob left them, and Carrie tried to relax but found it difficult. She hadn’t been alone with a man, other than her brothers, in a very long time. Following her divorce, she’d only dated twice, and both occasions had been awkward. Her schooling, plus her internship, didn’t leave much room for a social life, anyway.

Vaughn sat back in his chair. “Tell me about Hassie,” he suggested easily.

Carrie felt the tightness leave her shoulders. On the subject of Hassie, she could talk his ear off. “What would you like to know first?”

“Whatever you feel is important.”

“She’s been my hero for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what would’ve happened to this town without her.” Carrie wanted him to realize how deeply Hassie was loved by everyone in Buffalo Valley. “She’s older now, and she’s slowing down some.” Carrie had seen the evidence of that in the months since she’d come to work as an intern. She almost suspected that Hassie had been holding on until she got there.

Vaughn glanced at Buffalo Bob as he brought their salads and nodded his thanks. “Every year, along with my birthday card and a U.S. Savings Bond, she wrote me a short message.” His mouth lifted in a half smile. “She called it words to live by .”

“Give me an example,” Carrie said, curious.

“I don’t remember them all, but … okay, she told me about the importance of being on time. Only, she did it by making up this little poem. …” He hesitated and a slow grin crossed his face. “She once wrote that if at first I don’t succeed, it just means I’m normal.”