Free An Amish Country Christmas by Naomi Charlotte; King Hubbard

were on top of the world, surrounded by flawless
     fields of snow in the pale blue twilight, beneath a velvet canopy studded with stars.
     Not another soul was in sight. The wind whispered secrets in the silence.
    “Might be a little early, but I want to be the first to wish you a happy birthday,
     Martha,” he murmured as he reached for her.
    With the slightest twitch of her lips, Martha let her head fall back against his arm.
     Gone was the insistence, the pushiness she’d kissed him with before she lost her patience
     last night.
    “Mmmm . . .” escaped her. Then, when Nate kissed her again, she opened her mouth to
     let him explore.
    What slow, sweet affection was this? Nate took his time sampling her, nuzzling her
     cheek before dipping in for another taste of her lips. It was . . . almost like he
     was kissing a different girl. He kept waiting for Martha to catch fire and press her
     mouth to his with that same impetuous insistence that had given him a lot to think
     about last night—that feistiness he’d been gearing up for all day. But even when he
     deepened his kisses, she seemed content to receive rather than to give back.
    When they started off again, Martha sighed and snuggled against him as he put an arm
     around her. With the jingle of the sleigh bells as an accompaniment, they exchanged
     an occasional comment . . . more kisses as the mood struck them. Nate was enjoying
     their relaxed affection, but it wasn’t nearly as exciting as having Martha come at
     him as though she couldn’t stop.
    “I’m sorry I got so huffy last night, Nate,” she murmured. “Don’t know what came over
     me, and I’m glad we’ve gotten past that. Denki for giving me this chance to make up for it.”
    Nate blinked. Rather than answer her, he listened to his instincts. “Hope you don’t
     mind if we head on back to the house,” he said quietly. “It’s been a while since I
     chopped so much wood and I’m starting to droop.”
    “You worked hard today,” she agreed. “Mamma was pleased with how you carried all those
     big roasting pans and so many jars of food up from the cellar, too.”
    “Happy to help.”
    When they got to the Coblentz home, he was glad the rest of the family had already
     gone to bed in preparation for an early morning of chores and preparing the big Christmas
     meal. Nate kissed his date goodnight and excused himself to brush and feed Clyde.
     He stalled in the barn for a while, waiting for Bram, but finally went inside and
     slipped up to their room.
    What was missing? Why did he feel so let down, even though this evening’s ride had
     been a huge success compared to last night’s? It seemed as though he’d been settling
     for an unfrosted sugar cookie instead of exhilarating in—
    Peppermint! Martha had reeked of it—had chewed her gum with the same energy she lavished on everything
     she did, but he hadn’t seen or smelled any sign of gum all day. And as Nate replayed
     his date’s interest in the twins’ recitation . . . the way she had baked sweet rolls
     and brownies as though she lived in the kitchen—and then indulged him with samples
     . . . the passive way she had allowed him to kiss her . . .
    Well, all these little differences could mean only one thing.
    He was still awake when his younger brother came in, whistling under his breath as
     though he’d had the time of his life. Nate lit the lantern on the bedside table and
     crooked his finger for Bram to come to his bunk.
    “Now what?” his brother whispered, searching his face. “Don’t tell me you struck out
     two nights in a row.”
    “We’ve been had, Bram.”
    His brother’s dark eyebrows rose like question marks. “And what’s that supposed to
     mean? Mary was her sweet, loveable self and we had ourselves quite a nice—”
    “ Jah , she was,” Nate murmured, his heart hammering. “But Mary was with me . And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I believe they switched on us this
     morning,