Lattimore Mountain (The Sheila Mackey Collection, Book 1) by Patricia McLinn

Author:Patricia McLinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
ISBN: 9781960714237
Publisher: Patricia McLinn
Published: 2024-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

She flicked lights off one by one until only the tree and the embers of the fire gave a glow to the room. Hugging her arms around herself, she looked at the tree, reliving the evening.

More carols, more toasts, even a little dancing — though not “The Lattimore,” Mary Chase noted with what she assured herself was relief — and a lot of eating. Mary Chase had noticed Lia give Rick Breen a quick kiss under the mistletoe and he reciprocated without the benefit of mistletoe in the back hall later.

Later, while Whit, Tom, and Latt Kendall ferried home guests like Miss Westin, there had been companionable time while Betty, Amelia, Amy, and Lia helped her straighten up the kitchen, and Harold directed the drowsy Lowell boys in cleaning up the living room.

They’d left Mary Chase with a Christmas feeling she hadn’t had . . . since the last one with her parents. Tomorrow, she promised herself, before she went to the Lowells for dinner, she would call Italy and share her wonderful Christmas with Jean.

When the knock sounded at the front door, softly but firmly, she knew she’d been waiting for it.

Whit.

She understood the significance of his knocking and using the front door, both rare in this casual society.

He was leaving her the option of choosing not to answer.

He had his back to the door but turned his head when she opened it.

“I saw the tree lights on,” he said.

The outside cold entered with him and clung momentarily to both of them until the warmth squeezed the intruder away.

“I was enjoying the tree. Everybody get home okay?”

“Umm-hmm.”

Their voices were barely whispers as they stood side by side at the doorway, gazing at the shimmer of the Christmas tree’s lights. Mary Chase suddenly wondered what it would be like to put her arms around his neck and feel his arms around her again.

She turned away.

She took a flat package no larger than a placemat from a bureau on the other side of the room and came back to Whit, shyly holding it out.

“Merry Christmas.”

His eyes lit with pleasure.

“Thank you, Mary Chase. It’s nice of you to think of me.” Unhesitatingly he began to tear away the wrapping. “You’ll have to wait till the morning to see my present. Should be first thing — Oh.”

He pulled away the last paper and looked down at her dreamy wash of colors that, for all its spareness, expressed the lushness of Whitaker Pond.

When he looked up, the smile in his eyes set Mary Chase’s heart racing and her fingers tingling.

“It’s perfect,” he said, and she believed him.

They smiled at each other until the realization intruded that some move was called for. Mary Chase stirred uneasily, stopping the thought in Whit’s eyes from becoming movement.

“It’s late. I’ll be on my way.”

Utterly even, his voice still held strain, and she had the foolish wish to ease that strain.

She went with him toward the front hall. They stopped again.

“It’s been a wonderful day, Whit. Thank you for letting me be part of the Gathering.

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