Little White Christmas Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by J. Lynn Bailey

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.jlynnbaileybooks.com

  Cover Designer: Outlined with Love Designs

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7341395-8-7

  For my readers.

  Without you, this Christmas tale wouldn’t have been told.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY J. LYNN BAILEY

  ONE

  Sarah Beth

  It was this day in particular that Sarah Beth loved most.

  November 30.

  It wasn’t because it was the last day of November, but because it was the night before the best month of the year.

  Even at twenty-seven years old, Sarah Beth couldn’t contain her excitement for December 1. She loved Christmas and all that led up to it.

  “A little to the left, Sarah Beth,” Josie Tuckett said.

  From the ladder, Sarah Beth moved the wreath just a smidgen to the left, holding the giant Christmas wreath up against the glass. She saw her breath in the form of a white cloud.

  Oh dear. Oh no, Sarah Beth thought. This is much too cold for November 30.

  Nerves started to build in her belly. The colder weather usually started on December 12 or December 13 depending on when leap year fell. Sarah Beth knew something horrible was about to happen.

  “Josie, do you see that?” Sarah Beth asked, staring down at her best friend from atop the ladder.

  Josie looked from side to side. “See what?”

  “Your breath,” she huffed. “It’s too early to get this cold.” Sarah Beth stared down Main Street, first to the left and then to the right.

  Josie laughed. Rolled her eyes. She loved Sarah Beth dearly, but sometimes, her superstitious ways were a little too unconventional.

  Bad luck to wish someone happy birthday before the big day, to have facing mirrors because it opened up a doorway to hell, to go straight home after a funeral.

  In fact, after Don Brockmeyer’s funeral, Sarah Beth had driven around the block eighteen times before she drove Josie home.

  And you never slept with your head to the east.

  But seeing one’s breath in the cold was a new one, even for Sarah Beth.

  “What’s it mean?” Josie asked as Sarah Beth hung the wreath above the door at Book Ends, Josie’s own cozy little bookstore that she’d paid for all on her own.

  “How should I know? But it can’t be good though. Something bad’s about to happen, Josie. I can feel it in my toes.” Sarah Beth climbed down off the ladder and looked back to admire their work.

  The Dillon Creek Chamber of Commerce started the Christmas music at five o’clock on the dot, as planned, which played out of tiny speakers that traced down Main Street.

  Josie smiled.

  Sarah Beth tried to allow the Christmas music to fill up her insides and take away the pit of doom she felt in her belly.

  “Shit,” Josie said.

  And just as she’d started to believe that Sarah Beth might be wrong about the cold weather on November 30, she took it all back in just one glance.

  Josie took her friend by the arm. “Let’s go inside, where it’s colder—warmer. I mean, warmer.”

  Maybe Sarah Beth was right after all.

  Could Josie have seen a ghost from the past?

  Could she have seen the only thing that would most likely put her friend back into a tailspin?

  Tailspin, Josie thought, might be too strong of a word. A frazzle perhaps. A disturbance.

  Oh dear. This isn’t going to be good. Not in the least.

  Josie stood in front of the big, heavy glass door that welcomed readers in the summer and kept them warm in the winter. As much as Josie tried to turn Sarah Beth away from the door, it was no use.

  “Josie, what are you doing? What is goin—” But Sarah Beth’s words fell short.

  Josie could pinpoint the moment Shane Sawyer walked past her shop just by the look on her best friend’s face. What gave it away most, however, was her mouth, which fell open, just like Toby Lemon’s pants on New Year’s Eve. Every single year, in the most creative way possible, he’d try to use Cranky Carl’s planter boxes out front of the Blacksmith Shop as a commode.

  Josie also had never seen Sarah Beth’s eyes grow so big in her life. Not since they’d met in kindergarten.

  Not even when they’d both caught Ms. Shields, their sixth-grade teacher, and Mr. Poolman in the janitor’s closet.

  Not when rumors had spread about Anna and Colt.

  Not even when Mr. Pine had died right in front of them at Wilson’s Grocery.

  No, Sarah Beth’s eyes were something different.

  Sadder.

  Angrier.

  Vengeful maybe.

  Shane Sawyer was taller than most cowboys—Sarah Beth was convinced it was the cowboy hat that made him look even taller. But at that moment, she could see only that night. That night when he’d come home for a few days exactly two summers ago.

  Sarah Beth had known his track record, his way of operating. He was a sly dog. An extremely handsome, sly dog who had money and the fame that went along with being a top cowboy in the National Finals Rodeo for a few years.

  She knew all of this before he ravaged her in the church that night.

  A church of all places.

  In God’s house.

  And if sex in God’s house wasn’t superstitious enough, well then, she’d write her own book on that subject.

  Sarah Beth knew she was going to hell the instant he laid her down on the floor, between the pews, before God and angels and the souls of past parishioners.

  She’d also known she’d let it happen.

  Sarah Beth had just gotten the principal job at Dillon Creek Elementary since Principal Brown didn’t work out. Turns out pending lawsuits didn’t sit well with the district. Sarah Beth had been excited, and she and Josie had gone to The Whiskey Barrel for a drink to celebrate.

  “Sarah Beth, say something. Right now. Show me you can breathe. Something,” she heard Josie say.

  But when Sarah Beth left her thoughts, she realized she was staring back at Shane in the window.

  Josie took Sarah Beth’s cheeks in her hands. “Sarah Beth!”

  “That’s why it’s so cold tonight,” Sarah Beth whispered.

  She dropped her eyes from Shane, her best attempt to brush off his stare, and he disappeared into the night air.

  Josie let go her hands from her friend’s face. “Sarah Beth, if a heart attack doesn’t kill you when we’re eighty, hypertension from unneeded stress will.”

  “Did you know he was coming back into town?” Sarah Beth asked, her mind spinning.

  Josie’s eyes grew shifty. “Well, maybe. Delveen might have let i
t slip at church the other day. That woman knows everything before it hits the rumor mill.”

  Sarah Beth walked to the window to make sure Shane was gone. “She is the rumor mill, Josie.” She turned back to her friend. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

  “Oh, so you could stress about it? And what if he didn’t come back to town? I’d have told you for no good reason.” She paused. “Not on your life.”

  “At least I could have had Pixie give me a quick color or something.”

  “Why do you care what Shane thinks? I’m pretty sure you said it was just a fling and that he didn’t matter.” Josie walked behind the counter. She knew better. Her friend had told her one thing, but her actions had told her another.

  Sarah Beth had been heartbroken when Shane left.

  “He doesn’t. But after you sleep with a man, you still want him to find you just as attractive as he did before you had sex.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “About what?” Sarah Beth looked out the window once more. Then, she opened the front door, grabbed some garland, and started to climb back up the ladder again.

  The Christmas music filled her soul. The holidays always did. But something ticked like a time bomb in her chest, and she knew it was Shane.

  “You still like him. And to be honest, I think you’ve had a thing for him since we were kids.”

  Sarah Beth gave Josie the look. “I did not and do not.”

  It was true. She did like him, and when he’d left with a quick note that said, Had a great time. See you around … well, her heart had hurt for months afterward. She didn’t tell anyone. She kept Shane locked inside her heart and only allowed herself moments with the memories when she was alone. The truth was, Sarah Beth was probably better off without a cowboy who had been destined to break her heart from the beginning.

  Josie knew. After all, she was her best friend.

  After Shane had left, Josie had filled her arms with romance and nonfiction books. Romance for the rush of it all, for the make-believe world readers could partake in, and nonfiction, well, because it was thought-provoking. It had been Josie’s attempt at mending her best friend’s heart.

  “Come on. Help me hang this,” she said to Josie.

  “Promise me something,” Josie said as she backed up from the ladder.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t let Shane ruin your favorite time of the year, all right?”

  In that moment, Sarah Beth prayed that she wouldn’t allow Shane to ruin Christmas. That she’d be kind if she had to be.

  “It was just sex, right?” Sarah Beth tried to laugh it off.

  At that exact moment, Erla Brockmeyer and Clyda Atwood walked by.

  “Oh, hey, Mrs. Brockmeyer. Mrs. Atwood,” Josie squeaked, clearly embarrassed. She bit down on her knuckle as both matriarchs smiled.

  “We were young once, too, you know, girls,” Clyda said.

  Once both women were out of earshot, they said in unison, “It was just sex.”

  They both laughed.

  Sarah Beth hung the garland.

  Josie gave her directions.

  The Christmas music played.

  And Christmas lights lit up Main Street and Sarah Beth’s heart. Maybe everything would be all right.

  Sarah Beth couldn’t sleep, so she came in to work extra early. Tess wasn’t at school anymore because of budgets and seniority, which made Sara Beth’s blood boil, so she invested her time in figuring out ways to bring her friend back to Dillon Creek Elementary. A loophole. Or some sort of oversight that had been missed. Overlooked.

  It was easier perhaps for Sarah Beth to immerse herself in her work than field questions from her parents about finding a man to marry.

  “Are you a lesbian, Sarah Beth?” her mother asked one night at dinner.

  “Maybe,” Sarah Beth said. Just because it was easier.

  Sarah Beth wasn’t a lesbian. She did know that. She had friends—Erin and Dora—who were lesbians, and she’d asked them questions before drawing a conclusion. Although it might be easier to be with a woman emotionally, she liked men.

  “It’s okay if you are. Your father and I just need to plan accordingly,” her mother finished.

  Sarah Beth wasn’t sure what “plan accordingly” meant, but she was certain it involved preparing for no grandchildren.

  “We need to talk to Charlie,” her mother said to her father.

  Charlie was indeed actually gay. But he hadn’t come out yet. Sarah Beth wasn’t going to be the one to tell her parents either. But she’d be there to support him, like she always had.

  Sarah Beth fired up her computer and began to dig through the teaching contracts for each teacher.

  If she couldn’t figure out her heart, at least she could figure out clues to better decision-making at Dillon Creek Elementary.

  Her father had said she should have been an attorney.

  But the truth was, she loved kids.

  And someday, she wanted a family of her own.

  At noon, Sarah Beth walked uptown to grab a quick bite to eat. While walking, she was distracted by an email she was reading on her phone.

  Never a good combination.

  She hit something extremely hard, which was wearing a plaid button-up shirt and a cowboy hat.

  “Christ,” she whispered under her breath and tried to find the right words. “Oh, hey, Shane. I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  One thing he didn’t wear was a less than genuine personality.

  Don’t fall for his lean jaw.

  His big green eyes.

  His arms.

  His long legs.

  Jesus, Sarah Beth, breathe.

  He was quiet for a moment. “Wasn’t that you in the window at Book Ends? You were in Josie’s shop, weren’t you?”

  Sarah Beth lied, “No. Nope. That wasn’t me. Must have been someone else. Anyway”—her heart throbbed against her chest, her hands beginning to sweat, as she casually walked past Shane Sawyer—“I’d say it was good to see you, but—” Oh God. Had she just said the but part?

  Sarah Beth tried to look past his green eyes. His sun-kissed skin.

  It’s winter, for God’s sake, she thought. Can’t he be pale?

  His arm, however, was in a sling.

  Don’t you dare ask him how his shoulder is. It will show you might somehow care.

  The National Finals Rodeo had just happened last week.

  The whole town watched.

  Shane Sawyer wasn’t just representing the Sawyer family, but he was also representing Dillon Creek.

  He went down on a steer at what looked to be the right time. But instead of getting the steer’s head where it needed to be, the steer jerked his head back, taking Shane’s shoulder with him.

  When Shane lay on the arena floor, Sarah Beth held her breath and asked God to take away the sick feeling she felt in her stomach. And then she did what she knew how to do best—she turned off the television.

  She couldn’t watch.

  Besides, it was easier not to know. Wasn’t it?

  Two seconds later, she flipped it back on just in time to see Shane being carried off with help from another cowboy in the arena.

  Well, at least he lived, she thought, her heart giving an extra beat.

  “Sarah Beth?” Shane asked. “Are you all right?”

  TWO

  Shane

  Don’t stare, Shane, you idiot, and keep the conversation light.

  He liked when Sarah Beth did this. It was like he could watch a whole conversation take place in her head just by watching her facial features.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Shane shrugged.

  God, she’s so beautiful, and she has no idea just how beautiful, he thought to himself as she pushed a strand of her hair from her eyes.

  “I don’t know.”

  Shane had spent years watching Sarah Beth Dawson. Since they were kids. Preteens. Te
ens. And now, adults.

  “Good-bye, Shane,” she said and walked past him.

  In elementary school, Shane had secretly watched her do the next day’s homework at recess as he played any sport with a ball.

  He’d secretly watched as she quietly gave the longest explanation ever in the third grade about Newton’s third law of motion.

  He’d secretly watched when Danny Walker asked her to prom. And semiformal. And the homecoming dance.

  He’d secretly watched as Sarah Beth slipped out of his grasp and left for college.

  And when she’d left, Shane had told himself that he didn’t deserve a smart, nice girl like Sarah Beth.

  That the stars were aligned for him to become a rodeo star, so he could fulfill the commitment his father couldn’t quite do, especially after Shane’s mom died.

  Shane was damn good at steer wrestling. He was good on a horse, quick. He had a keen awareness of his surroundings. And maybe he hadn’t moved out of Sarah Beth’s way as she stared down at her phone and walked.

  Maybe he’d wanted her to run into him.

  He thought, it doesn’t matter.

  He was certain she hated him for leaving. But she’d made it clear that the church was a one-night deal only.

  Shane had tried to blame it on the booze, what had given him the gumption that night to finally approach Sarah Beth.

  Why’d she make him so nervous? Shane had been with women. Plenty of women, and for that, he’d probably given himself a reputation. But when it came to Sarah Beth, he panicked. He always faltered. Lost for words. His palms always grew sweaty.

  “Slogger! It’s so good to have you back in town, man! I mean, I’m sorry to hear about your shoulder, but it’s real good to see you,” Lance Belotti, an old dairyman and one of his father’s friends, slapped him on the back.

  Some of the old cowboys had nicknamed him Slogger because of Shane’s work ethic. If he wasn’t on a horse—herding cattle, mending fence, bucking hay, branding, or working on his steer wrestling—one would find him helping another cowboy or mowing someone’s lawn in town. Shane didn’t take too well to sitting on his hands. Besides, his dad was half-drunk all the time anyway, so someone had to pick up the slack where he couldn’t.