Free The Dawn of Christmas by Cindy Woodsmall

your own two feet.”
    “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
    “It is indeed.” She’d heard energy in his voice when they spoke on the phone, but this was the first time she could see vitality in his expression.
    They moved away from the door, going a little farther onto the sidewalk as if they wanted some privacy. “What are you doing here?”
    “There’s a horse auction nearby.”
    “Decided to sell Amigo and get a new friend, did you?”
    He chuckled. “No, nothing like that. Just helping a friend make some decisions. He doesn’t need me for a while, so I had the driver drop me off at your place. I walked here from there.”
    “Good thing I was findable, or you’d be calling that driver to come back. You do have your phone, right?”
    “Still there.” He tapped his pocket. “I took a chance, figuring if you could find me in a dark field without trying, I could find you in a small town if I were willing to do a little searching.”
    “Gotta appreciate a man with confidence.”
    “I was right, wasn’t I?”
    “It’s my understanding that you did indeed find me … I think.”
    Faint dimples appeared when he grinned. Heat radiated from the white concrete, and she considered asking him to step inside.
    His expression became thoughtful, and his smile faded. He pointed at the For Sale sign in the window. “What’s going on?”
    “Loyd, the owner, had a stroke a couple of weeks back.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Why didn’t you say something about that?” He sounded concerned, perhaps for how this would affect her.
    “Truth is, until a few days ago, I couldn’t make myself talk about it, not on the phone or in a letter. I finally wrote you about it. You’ll get a package soon with a letter explaining what’s going on.”
    “Oh, ya. I received one today, but I didn’t get a chance to open it.”
    “Now you don’t have to. Although you may wish you’d read it rather than hear me whine about how this stinks for Loyd and Edna, the town folk, my roommates, and …”
    “You.”
    “Sorry, I can be really selfish at times.”
    “I know you’re hurting for the Farmers, but this has to put pressure on you too. I can’t see where it’s selfish to admit to feeling the strain.” He shifted. “I saw that there’s a rodeo demonstration and fair at the park. I think a lot of people are starting to leave now. Would you care to see what we can?”
    “It’s Stone Creek Day at Stone Creek Lake. They have booths of crafts and a petting zoo with farm animals, some blow-up bounce castles for the children, and other family stuff.”
    “Stone Creek Lake?” He tugged lightly at the neck brace. “What’s next, Stone Creek River?”
    “Ya. We have that too.”
    “Of course you do.” His grin made the tan lines around his eyes disappear.
    “Stone Creek River starts about five miles south of here. If you named horses like they named places around here, you could have an Amigo Friend.” She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a silly smile off her face.
    “Or an Enemy Enemigo.”
    “A river by any name would flow just as deep and swift and surely sparkle just as much under the August sun.” Her goal to keep a straight face while teasing him was impossible.
    “Did you just twist Shakespeare?”
    “Are you an Amish man who knows Shakespeare?”
    “I know all there is to know, which boils down to maybe three lines. That was one of them.”
    She giggled. “That’s all there is to know?”
    “That’s more than I’ll need in this lifetime.”
    “True, and your knowledge about equals mine.” She broke into a grin. How fun to be able to talk with him whether he was injured in a field, in the living room of his home, on the phone, or here. “But Shakespeare must’ve been quite a writer for people like us to quote his work some four hundred years later.”
    “Never thought about it. But I can tell you something I have thought about”—he wiped sweat from his forehead—“getting under some shade