Free A Warmth in Winter by Lori Copeland Page A

lighthouse, but . . .
    Had the light shone last night? She didn’t know whether the light was on some kind of automatic switch or whether Salt had to activate it manually. And last night she and her sister had retired to the cozy keeping room behind the bakery, with Birdie spending the night knitting in her rocker while Bea read and sorted angel letters.
    She made a mental note to call the Ogunquit Memorial Library where she used to work. Faye Lewiston, the head librarian, was an old friend and would be happy to pull a book or two on lighthouses and send them over on the ferry. The next time Salt came ’round for a chat, Birdie could impress him with her knowledge of lighthouses and lanterns and whatever made them go ’round and ’round.
    â€œStrange that we haven’t seen the captain today,” Abner volunteered from the mixing counter. “He should be ready for more cookies by now.”
    Birdie shook her head. “He came in day before yesterday for his usual cookies and bread.”
    â€œAyuh, but I remember thinking that he looked a little pale.” Abner paused, his hand gripping a wooden spoon. “He didn’t stick around to talk, remember?”
    A creeping uneasiness began to rise from the bottom of Birdie’s heart. What if Georgie was telling the truth? What if Salt was lying abed and the lighthouse wouldn’t shine tonight? Theirs was a tiny island with a rugged shore, and any small craft could crash into the rocks once the sun went down . . .
    Untying her apron, she turned to Abner. “I think I might ride up to the lighthouse and see what set Georgie off,” she said, ignoring the knowing smile that crossed Abner’s face. “Do we have any soup left in the Crockpot? It wouldn’t hurt to take that, I suppose, in case Salt is doin’ poorly. Who knows? He’s probably as healthy as a horse; the boy only thought it odd when Salt didn’t holler at him for playing too near the lighthouse. Anyway, it won’t hurt to drive up and have a look, will it?”
    Abner grinned. “No, ma’am, it won’t.”
    Next door at the mercantile, Vernie faced her first customer of the day with bad news.
    â€œNo nutmeg?” Edith Wickam lightly fingered the string of imitation pearls at her neck. “Oh, dear. Winslow was hoping for an early pumpkin pie.”
    Vernie smiled, hoping to allay the pastor’s wife’s fears. “It will be in Wednesday afternoon, Edith. Don’t worry. Deliveries are running behind because of the weather. The moment the shipment gets in, I’ll have Elezar personally deliver the nutmeg to you.”
    â€œThere’s no need of that.” Edith smiled pleasantly and added a tin of baking powder to her order. “Winslow needs to be watching his cholesterol these days, but I’ve found this skim pumpkin pie recipe that uses Egg Beaters and low-fat milk. I figure one or two slices aren’t going to send him to an early grave.”
    The front door opened and Cleta and Barbara Higgs came in on a rush of cold air. The women exchanged pleasantries, commenting on how they would all be glad to see spring when it finally got there.
    â€œWinter doesn’t officially arrive until the twenty-first,” Vernie reminded them. She gave Cleta a warning look when the bed-and-breakfast proprietor took a napkin out of her coat pocket and began to feed MaGoo the remains of a sausage biscuit. “Stop that. He won’t be able to get through the doorway if you keep feeding him breakfast leftovers.”
    Cleta grinned and offered MaGoo a piece of sausage that had fallen to the floor. “Oh, a little taste won’t hurt him. Can’t let Maine’s Heaviest Living Cat lose his title, can we?”
    MaGoo purred, lacing in and out of Cleta’s legs.
    Vernie shifted her attention to Cleta’s daughter, Barbara, who was browsing the cosmetics aisle. Barbara had always been a shy child,