Cowboy Under the Mistletoe & a Hickory Ridge Christmas by Linda Goodnight

Author:Linda Goodnight
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-07-07T19:53:33+00:00

* * *

Todd took a deep breath as he stepped inside the church’s glass double doors Sunday morning. If only he could remove the golf-ball-sized knot clogging his throat. He felt as queasy as an actor on opening night, only this wasn’t a play and the only reviewer who mattered was sure to give him a scorching review.

Before he could even stomp the snow off his dress shoes and hang his coat on the rack that extended the length of the vestibule, an usher approached him.

“Welcome to Hickory Ridge Community Church,” the man said as he gripped Todd’s hand and pumped briskly. “Is this your first time visiting with us?”

Clearing his throat, Todd answered, “No—I mean it’s been a long time, but—” he coughed into his hand and looked back up at the usher “—it isn’t my first time.”

“And we sure hope it won’t be the last.”

Todd tilted his head to indicate the crowded sanctuary, visible through a wall of windows. “I’d better get in there. I’m already late.”

The man brushed away the comment with a wave of his hand. “Ah, they’re just getting warmed up in there.”

Todd thanked the man and continued past him. He’d hoped that arriving after services started would allow him to miss a formal greeting at the door, but he should have known better. Hickory Ridge had always been a friendly church on the “Bring-A-Friend Sunday” and the “Homecoming” events he’d attended with Hannah, and clearly that hadn’t changed.

Plenty of other things were just as familiar, he found, as he peered through the windows into the sanctuary. Same stained glass window behind the choir loft. Same red carpet and red-padded pews. Same crowd of strangers. Same two guys sitting on the twin benches on either side of the pulpit.

Only the draped garland in the front of the sanctuary and the candles in the sills of the other stained glass windows even hinted at how long it had been since he’d visited. Those things suggested that months and seasons had sped by, but that mammoth second building behind the church where a field had once been, announced the passing of years.

The years scared him most of all.

Now that he was twenty-two, maybe it was too late. Maybe it had always been too late, and he’d only been deceiving himself, balancing on a tenuous lie of hope. The messages contained in airmail letters marked Returned To Sender and in the clicks of hang-ups for international calls should have been enough to convince him, but he’d refused to take the hints.

With his hand pressed on the door separating the vestibule from the sanctuary, he hesitated. His chest felt so tight that it ached to breathe. How could he move forward when it felt as if every moment of his life for half a decade had led him to this point?

How could he not?

Straightening his shoulders, he swung open the door and followed its path into the sanctuary. He slipped into the third pew from the back just as a music leader asked everyone to stand.

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