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

blow-dried my hair, I slipped into a pair of
new jeans, thick socks, boots, and a new down coat—since the one I’d
brought with me was made for fifty degree weather, not zero.
    Hurriedly, I put together three plates of cinnamon rolls. One for
Mrs. Gibbons, one for our neighbors losing their house, and one for James.
James Douglas that is. Pastor-in-training.
    My heart thumped harder after each of my deliveries. I pulled into
the parking lot for the carnival and shut off my engine. James had called
before I left the house to say he was going to pick me up, but I’d turned him
down, citing my errands. Besides, it wasn’t a date. I didn’t need him to drive
me.
    Hundreds of colorful lights glittered against the dark, winter
sky. Rides spinning, a tilt-a-whirl with screaming passengers, a tall Ferris
wheel rotating slowly, and a colorful carousel with bejeweled horses riding up
and down. I caught a glimpse of Catherine and Alan standing next to Joanie and
Amber who were riding purple and pink horses. The girls clapped their hands and
giggled. I could practically hear them from the inside of my car.
    Carrying my plate wrapped in plastic and strands of green curling
ribbon, I headed to the entrance, and sucked in a breath borne of nerves and a
strange, eager anticipation when I spotted James Douglas waiting for me.
    He leaned against the fence railing, his legs stuck casually out
in front of him, bare hands in his jeans’ pockets, his face with a two-day
beard under the casual knit cap. Looking all rugged and too handsome for his
own good. His slacks were gone. The overcoat and black hat was not in sight.
    I swallowed and strode toward him. “Didn’t think Pastors
were allowed to wear regular people clothes.”
    “You’re not paying enough attention, then.”
    I blushed and stuck the plate of cinnamon rolls out. “Here. Eat
them and get a stomach ache. I made them with twice the sugar just for you.”
    “Ah, that means they’re just as sweet as you.”
    Darn him. He never let me get one up on him. Ever.
    I made a face—just as he leaned forward—as though he
was going to kiss me. I stepped back, thinking how impertinent he was, when he
took a lock of my hair and frowned. Then his eye trailed down my arm to a small
glob smeared along my wrist.
    “I spy a bit of frosting right here.” He stuck a finger in his
mouth. “Hm. Homemade, even. I can tell the difference.”
    “So you’re a food connoisseur, huh?”
    “When it comes to cinnamon rolls, yes.” I forced myself not to
smile in return. That just made him smile all the broader.
    I pulled my hand back when he took the plate and our fingers
brushed. I ignored the rush of electricity. “Probably smeared some when I put
together the plates and touched up the frosting. I was kind of in a hurry.”
    “Why?”
I realized
the implication of what I’d just said and hoped my face hadn’t turned a
Christmas red. “I wasn’t hurrying here if that’s what you’re thinking. I
had deliveries to make.”
    “So under the tough New Orleans façade, you are a
Christian. Good to know.”
    I growled and gave him a shove off the fence railing.
    He flailed for only a moment, and then grabbed one of my hands in
his, standing up and looking down at me. He was rock solid. Steady as an ox. Warm
as a bonfire.
    I tried to tug my fingers away, but he didn’t let me. Just tucked my
hand into the crook of his warm elbow and pulled me into the carnival.
    I nearly stumbled in surprise, but put on a nonchalant air. As if
I didn’t care that his palm was enclosing my smaller hand in a protective
gesture.
    His fingers were warm despite not having gloves on. A tiny blister
on his wide palm, fingers there had clearly seen some hard work recently. “You
don’t have office-type fingers,” I noted.
    “I helped install a fence today.”
    “So you practice what you preach?” There was more to this guy than
school studies and reading scriptures.
    “Hey, let’s ride the Ferris