Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,53
had learned that the past was bound to catch up. It was when the past beat her to the punch that really ticked her off.
“Heard you might be applying to be our evening entertainment,” Faith’s part-time boss bellowed from behind the pie display, then pointed a pudgy thumb over her shoulder to the silver pole that sat in the middle of the diner.
Viola McKinney was the owner of the Bluebonnet Burger, Bar & Biscuit, or the B-Cubed to the born and bred in Sweet Plains. “There’s a few nights comin’ up that you’re not on the schedule. I can change that.”
“Not even for time and a half,” Faith said, balancing a tray of drinks, two orders of chicken and waffles, a pimento-cheese burger, and a B(cubed)LT with a side of onion rings. Her phone said it was Friday, but the universe was treating her as if it were a Monday. “I hardly have any days off this month, and they’re already packed. I’ve got holiday shopping to do, Pax’s holiday recital at the community center is coming up, and week after next I’m attending a wrapping party at Shelby’s with the girls.”
It was the final prep for the town’s annual Sweet’s Holiday Shindig, an old-fashioned celebration that was over a hundred years running. The Saturday before Christmas, every one of the 9,000 residents were invited to spend a fun-filled evening with neighbors, and take part in holiday activities for the whole family.
There was a silent auction, a pie exchange, even an old-fashioned hayride around the park—best served with a steaming cup of Mrs. McKinney’s hot cocoa. Folks knew to line Main Street before nine, because when the mayor lit the giant tree in front of Town Hall, Santa and his reindeer began their ride through town, waving and passing out presents.
The best part of the event was that all the proceeds went to Treats for Tots, a charity that benefitted local families in need. Last year, the silent auction alone brought in over $18,000. Sweet’s Holiday Shindig had gone from a celebration to a way the town could help neighboring families experience the magic of the season, regardless of where they landed on the income scale. Because, come Christmas morning, every child in town would have a present under the tree.
Once upon a time, Faith had been one of those kids.
She was twelve when her mom moved them to Sweet Plains, and Faith could still remember the Treats for Tots present she’d found under her tree. It was a baking set for beginners, with pink bowls, measuring cups, and a coordinating apron. There was also a recipe box, pink of course, which held a family recipe from nearly every baker in town.
That one present hadn’t just made Faith’s holiday that year; those recipes, handwritten and shared from the heart, had made Sweet Plains feel like home. Something that didn’t happen often when one’s mother was a tumbleweed of the world.
Hope Loren went through husbands like most people went through calendars. Every year was a chance to throw out the old and welcome the new, and with every new man came a new city and a new house. Faith blamed her from-anywhere accent—not to mention her desperate need to belong—on a childhood spent stuck in a never-ending game of hometown roulette.
So while the wrapping party was a way for her to help other children have a magical Christmas morning, it also served as a way to connect. She was pulling so much overtime to make this holiday special for her own family, she hadn’t had a day off in over a month. Faith was desperate for some down time with her friends. And in addition to wrapping, there was also going to be wine and chocolate.
Something she dared not mention to Mrs. McKinney for fear that she and her Silvered Singles posse would crash the party.
“Wrapping party?” Viola harrumphed. “Your generation is nothing but a bunch of special snowflakes, needing emotional support and twenty sets of hands to wrap a present.”
“There are over five hundred donations to wrap before the auction.” Including 100-plus bikes, skateboards, and other high-end gifts, many of which were donated by the Beaumont Foundation—founded by the oldest and wealthiest families in town.
“When I was committee chair, all I got was paper bags, twine, and a bottle of bathtub gin to keep me company. And these two hands did just fine.”
Faith decided not to point out that Mrs. McKinney’s hands were the size of ham hocks, or that