Free Risking It All for Love (A Christmas in Snow Valley Romance) by Kimberley Montpetit Page A

glasses of
milk, I was bloated and exhausted. When they were baked and cooled, I swathed the
rolls in plastic and aluminum foil for freezing. Then I spent the afternoon
wrapping a stack of gifts and stowed them under the tree.
    I’d finally gone shopping the day before. The last Friday before
Christmas in Billings was a zoo, but I managed to get everything on my list.
Amber and Joanie were going to be thrilled with their baby dolls and cradles. I’d
found a beautiful blouse for Mom, a book on Civil War history and a deep red
tie for dad—yeah, boring—but I was pretty sure he’d like them. A
gift card for CDs and movies for Sam and a family game for Catherine and Alan,
with a side of Catherine’s favorite perfume.
    Plain, simple gifts, but I hadn’t been around my family much the
past three years to know their current particular tastes or wants. A funny pang
struck me. I’d missed a lot living in New Orleans.
    And now that life seemed very far away.
    I’d gotten another email from Zach Howard; Christmas jokes. And
deleted them.
    What I did miss was dancing. My dancing was like breathing to me.
    I got into warm leggings and a loose shirt and headed to the
basement. This room was better than the gym. It had privacy.
    Lovingly, I ran my hand along the length of the barre Dad had
installed for me when I was thirteen.
    Going through my warm-up, I did the basic routine every dancer
began with. Dance positions one through five. Pliés, turnouts, arabesques,
spins, holding tight.
    Then I moved onto the floor and ran through my pirouettes and
leaps and tour jeté’s.
    By the time I was done it was almost five o’clock.
    I heard the family creaking around upstairs and pounded up the
carpeted steps.
    “There you are, Jessica,” Mom said. She leaned forward. “You’re
flushed.”
    “Just finished my workout.”
    Mom fluttered her eyelashes. “I suppose a dancer never really gets
a vacation.”
    I shook my head. “Headed up to take a shower. Winter Carnival tonight—yay.”
I gave a half-hearted fist pump, playing down the fizzle of anticipation that
was growing stronger each hour. I paused, trying not to be so self-centered. “Um,
how’s the Taylor family?”
    “Doing okay. A lot of sadness, but there’s always hope.”
    “Hope for what? He’s gone forever.”
    “Well, dear daughter,” Mom said, stepping closer to put a finger
under my chin. “At Christmas we think about the hope of the Savior. His life
and the resurrection. The hope that we’ll live again with our families. That hope.”
    “Yeah, Mom, I know.” Or did I? I’d heard it all my life, but when
Michael was killed I lost the surety of those words. Of all the people I knew,
Michael was the good one, the kind one. The one who shouldn’t have died. My
anger at God had overwhelmed me for so long. But I was finally growing weary of
being angry all the time.
    “The baby’s funeral will be on Tuesday, the 23rd.”
    I winced, and my throat closed up. The same day Michael’s funeral
had been three years ago.
    “So hard to lose a child,” Mom murmured. “A life cut so short.”
    I wondered who she was thinking of. Olivia’s grandchild—or Michael’s
parents? Both had lost a child now.
    “Mrs. Gibbons? Do you think she could eat some cinnamon rolls with
strep?”
“That’s a great idea, sweetheart. I’m sure she’d love them.”
    “I’ll drop off a plate on my way to the carnival.”
    I had no idea what made me say that, but Mrs. Gibbons had worked
for my dad my entire life. She was an icon in that dentist office. “Better
hurry now,” I said, not wanting to talk any longer. My mother’s words the
previous night still stung. I’d been playing it cool with her all day. I wasn’t
taking goodies because of her. I was doing it for Mrs. Gibbons, who was
practically like a second grandmother to us kids, and always had a coloring
book stashed under her desk when we showed up after school while Mom was at a
meeting.
    After I showered and