A Small Town Christmas Part 22

Maybe he and Jamie could date just as friends. Would she do that? Would she want to even hang out with him as friends? She seemed to like her life with no complications. And he sure came with complications.

Still, the more Josh thought about the woman who rescued lost kids, who loved her family, and played charades and laughed with his daughters, the more he became convinced that he really owed it to his family to date her.

Now he just had to convince Jamie Moore that she owed it to herself to date a cop with a banged-up heart who came with two kids and a dad. That could take a lot of convincing.

TWENTY.

Emma was in Sarah's bakery Monday morning, hanging up a lost-cat poster. In addition to the cat's picture, Emma had provided both her phone number and address. At the bottom of the poster, she'd added in big bold letters: LIKES TO HIDE UNDER BUSHES.

"I've been putting them up all over town," she told Sarah. "I hope he's okay. It's getting really cold out."

Sarah was more worried about Emma than the cat. "I'm sure you'll find him waiting on your porch when you get home tonight," she a.s.sured Emma. "He probably just had a yen to go catting around."

Emma's eyes got teary. "He ran away. I yelled at him. And he didn't get his dinner last night."

"He's been well fed. He could probably afford to live off his fat for a week," Sarah a.s.sured her. She didn't look a.s.sured, so Sarah handed her a ginger cookie. "Here, this will make you feel better." Sort of.

"Nothing's going to make me feel better," Emma declared, and took a big bite. "I'd better go. I've got to put up some more posters and then get back to the shop."

Sarah watched her leave and sighed. Poor Emma was in a major slump. First her shop and now her cat. Not a good way to go into the holiday season. Sarah understood how hard it was to lose something-or someone-you cared about. If only a grandma could put up posters and have someone bring back her granddaughters. But at least she had granddaughters. And kids, and a husband. Emma needed more in her life than a cat. There had to be somebody at the fire station that she and Sam could hook Emma up with.

"She looks like her best friend died," said Amber Howell as she restocked a tray with a fresh batch of orange oatmeal cookies.

"Just about. Her cat ran away."

"Aw, that really sucks."

"It does. That cat was her big love."

"Maybe she needs to find a bigger love," said Amber.

"It's hard to find Mr. Perfect. And easy to just give up and settle for what you're stuck with."

"But you can't give up. That never gets you anywhere." Amber smiled at a new customer.

"Sometimes I think I should just be sneaky and put an ad in the paper. 'Perfect man wanted,' " Sarah said, and turned to greet whoever it was Amber was smiling at.

"What looks good today?" asked Leo Steele, giving her his lounge-lizard grin. "Besides the baker." Leo's greeting was getting as stale as his aging-lothario clothes. Today he was wearing slacks and a s.h.i.+rt that he'd left open halfway down his chest and his leather bomber jacket.

"Everything's good here. You know that, Leo," Sarah replied.

"That's for sure. I guess I'll have one of those cinnamon rolls," he decided.

"Good choice. Amber, you want to get Mr. Steele a cinnamon roll?"

"I'll take a cup of coffee with that, too. Sarah, you look tired. Take a break, lemme buy you a cup of coffee."

"I'd love to, Leo," Sarah said, backing toward the kitchen. "I've got too much to do today. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Okay," he called after her. "Take it easy."

Take it easy, ha! After work she had her junior bakers to contend with, and Lezlie Hurst from the Herald was coming over to do a story. "This is a perfect story to start December and get people in the mood to do good deeds," Lezlie had a.s.sured her.

Sarah just hoped the girls behaved. For their last baking cla.s.s they were making s...o...b..ll cookies-hard to screw up and no eggs involved. And she'd already made the dough for the frosted sugar cookies. The afternoon should go smoothly. Lezlie was coming toward the end of cla.s.s so she could get a picture of the girls and their finished product.

"What are we making today?" asked Damaris as they washed their hands.

"More Christmas cookies. After this, you'll all be experts." And I'll be free. Not that she wanted to be free of all the girls. Just one.

The afternoon went without mishap if not without mess. Four little girls and a bowl of frosting and jar of sprinkles was a recipe for disaster, Sarah realized as she chased stray bits of colored candy with her broom. But the frosted cookies were a huge success. After they had rolled the last batch of s...o...b..ll cookies in powdered sugar, making a fresh mess, she said, "Now, to celebrate the end of cla.s.s, we have a special guest coming."

"My grandma?" guessed Beanie.

"She's not special," said Damaris. "She was here last week."

"Of course Mrs. Bateman is special," Sarah said. In her own weird way. At least Beanie thought so.

Beanie gave Damaris a so-there smile, basking in her moment of one-upsmans.h.i.+p.

"But Mrs. Bateman is not our guest. Miss Hurst from the Heart Lake Herald is going to do a story on our baking cla.s.s and she's coming to take a picture of us for the paper."

The girls looked at each other, then let out squeals of excitement.

"Oh, my gosh. My hair!" cried Damaris, and ran for her backpack.

"Mine, too," said Lissa.

"Mine, too," Mandy parroted.

"Beanie, you need to let me do your hair," said Damaris as they all stampeded for the bathroom. "Mrs. Goodwin, do you have hairspray?"

FCA-future celebrities of America, thought Sarah, following them down the hall.

But she got into the spirit, too, digging out some of the ribbons, bows, and barrettes she always kept on hand for her granddaughters.

"This is so cool," said Damaris. "I've never been in the paper before. But someday, when I'm famous, I'm gonna be. A lot."

Hopefully she wouldn't be in there as a criminal mastermind, Sarah thought. She couldn't help smiling, though, as she watched the girls primping in front of the mirror. Every little girl should have a chance to feel special once in a while.

Hmm. So should every grown-up. She grabbed a brush, saying, "Pa.s.s me that hairspray, Beanie."

Lezlie arrived to find them all properly primped and the cookies displayed on one of Sarah's best Fitz and Floyd cookie plates.

And the girls were perfect angels during Lezlie's interview.

"What were your favorite cookies?" she asked.

"I liked the pumpkin ones," said Damaris.

The cookies she'd thought were just okay? Sarah felt her mouth dropping.

"I like these," said Lissa, pointing to a frosted tree decorated with sprinkles.

"And what was your favorite thing about doing this baking cla.s.s?" Lezlie asked.

"Eating the cookies," crowed Beanie.

"Baking," said Damaris. "My mom works. She never bakes."

"It was like having a mommy," said Mandy softly.

Mandy's testimonial caught Sarah by the heart. Emma would have called this a real movie moment.

Lezlie smiled admiringly at her from across the table, as though she were the Mother Teresa of the kitchen. She jotted down Mandy's words, then shut her tablet, saying, "Okay, how about a picture?"

It was what the girls had been waiting for. Eagerly, they gathered at Sarah's kitchen table in front of the plate of cookies, with Sarah standing behind them like a mother hen.

As Lezlie snapped away with her trusty camera, Sarah couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng she'd changed her clothes. She was in her jeans and top from work and still wearing the ap.r.o.n she'd donned for the baking cla.s.s, which made her look like a fat snowwoman. And her stubborn hair had already forgotten to stay where the hairspray put it. Oh, well. At her age, she didn't need to look like a s.e.x symbol. She would look exactly like what she was: a grandma.

"Are we gonna do this some more?" asked Damaris as Lezlie was gathering up her things.

The heartwarming Mandy moment was quickly cooled by memories of mess, irritation, and a certain missing knickknack. "We'll see," Sarah said noncommittally.

Damaris fell back on her kitchen chair with a frown. "That means no."

"This is going to be a great story," Lezlie predicted as Sarah walked her to the door. "And how has the experience been for you? Will you do this again?"

Sarah felt like a last dab of cookie dough caught in the bowl with a giant hand coming after her. "I think I've learned as much as the girls," she said, choosing her words carefully.

"Like what?" Now Lezlie had her pen and pad out again.

"Well, I think I've come to realize that it really does take a village to raise a child." And in the case of some children, it probably took several villages. From the kitchen, Sarah could hear hoots and raucous laughter. Who knew what they were up to in there now. "It sounds like the natives are getting restless," she said. "I'd better go check on them. Thanks for coming. I know the girls will love seeing their picture in the paper."

Lezlie nodded and said a quick good-bye, okay with getting shooed out the door.

Sarah got to the kitchen just in time to stop a food fight from turning into a war. "All right, let's clean off the table," she said, producing a sponge. "Damaris, I'll call your dad and tell him we're done."

"There's no hurry," said Damaris.

That's what you think. Sarah smiled politely and grabbed the phone.

Ten minutes later all her little bakers were gone and the house was quiet. She almost wished Sam would come by for a surprise visit. The place felt empty. She remembered Lezlie's probing question. Would she do this again?

It was like having a mommy.

And, she had to admit that once in a while, when things were going well, her weekly afternoons with the girls had felt like having granddaughters.

But not quite, Sarah reminded herself. No one could take her granddaughters' place in her heart.

Which meant that her heart was going to be empty for a long time to come. She suddenly felt like crying. She wished she hadn't sent off all the cookies with the girls. A good dose of sugar would have been just what she needed right now.

Her doorbell rang again. Who could that be?

She opened the door to find Leo leaning in the doorway. "Hiya."

"Leo. Um, did you need to borrow something?" Thank G.o.d Sam hadn't decided to come home. How would she explain Leo Steele on her porch, a bottle of wine dangling from one hand?

"Just a couple of winegla.s.ses." He stepped inside and began to saunter down the hall. "I saw all the brats left. Figured you might want to wind down."

Yeah, but not with him. She trailed him into the kitchen. "Leo, I've got a lot to do. Maybe we could have drinks some other time. When Sam is home."

He set the bottle on the counter and took a step closer to her. "Come on, Sarah, you don't have to lie to me. I've seen it all since the first day you brought me that coffee cake."

"What? Seen what?"

"We're both adults here," he said, and ran a hand up her arm, raising goose b.u.mps.

She jumped back. "Leo, I think you've gotten the wrong idea."

He shook his head at her. "Why play coy? I overheard you talking in the bakery. You've been settling for years, waiting for the right man to come along. Well, baby, he's here."

"What! What did I say in the bakery?" This man was insane. She took another step back.

He took a step, too, reaching for her as if they were doing the tango. "Come on. All that talk about wanting Mr. Perfect-I'm it, Sarah. I know how to appreciate a woman like you. And believe me, I wouldn't keep you in the kitchen all the time." He looked her up and down. "A woman like you belongs-"

"That's enough," she said firmly, swatting his hand away. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression, but I'm a happily married woman."

"Who are you kidding? Your man's never here. Everything about you says lonely."

Lonely for grandkids, not some crazy middle-aged wolf. "Really, Leo-"

"Sarah, Sarah," he cooed. "No need to put an ad in the paper, not when the man who gets you lives right across the street."

"Ad in the paper?" she echoed. And then she remembered. Oh, good grief. "I wasn't talking about me."

He gave her a "yeah, sure" look. "You need someone who appreciates you, someone who pays attention to the signs." Then, before she could tell him that he was delusional, he hooked an arm around her waist, tugged her against him, and latched on to her lips like a giant leech.

"Leo," she tried to protest. He took advantage of her moving mouth and stuck his tongue inside it.

Okay, no more Mrs. Nice Guy. Where was that wine bottle? She put one hand behind her and groped around on the counter, determined to grab it and club Leo. She just hoped she didn't kill him. Mrs. Goodwin did it in the kitchen with a wine bottle. It beat doing it with Leo, that was for sure.