6. Madeleine #2
“Jack talked to him at breakfast,” Ivy said. “Knox wanted him to know you were fine, so nobody worried. He told Jack he sat up with you till four in the morning just to make sure. Jack said he was really cute about it, actually. I knew it all along. Knox is a softie under all that gruff.”
“Oh, Ivy, this is awful.”
“Honey, you’re not the first person to get drunk at a party and have a sweet boy get you home.”
“I’m not?”
Ivy laughed. “Of course not. It happens to all of us at least once.”
“Not to me.”
“Apparently, it does.” Ivy grinned.
“This is not funny.”
She sobered, but her eyes still twinkled. “Right. Deadly serious. Regardless, brush yourself off. We’re going into town to shop at the Christmas market. We’re all choosing a family to adopt and buy presents for.”
“I can’t go,” I said.
“Put your big girl panties on and be ready in an hour.”
I cringed, thinking about Knox seeing me in my panties. Thank God they’d been a good pair and not one of my weekend cotton granny ones. “You can’t make me.”
“I’m the bride. I get to tell everyone what to do. And you’re my best friend and maid of honor, so you have to do what I want.” She pointed toward the inside of the restaurant. “Go get yourself some greasy food. Nothing a few French fries and a BLT can’t cure.”
“You know I don’t eat meat,” I said under my breath.
Ivy was having none of it. “Grilled cheese, then. I’ll see you in an hour.”
I had no choice but to do as she asked. Even if it killed me.
I was feeling slightly better after a grilled cheese and tomato soup brought to me by the lovely Elliot.
She’d also brought me what she claimed was a hangover cure, made of coconut water, orange juice, honey and freshly grated ginger, with a pinch of salt.
Although it hadn’t entirely taken away my self-inflicted symptoms, my head ached less and my stomach felt almost back to normal.
Finley drove us to downtown Blue Fern in the ranch bus.
On the way, Ivy explained the plan for the day.
We would each adopt a local family off a list the town’s committee had put together that included names, ages, sizes, and a few wishes.
We’d shop the market, buy gifts, and drop everything with the organizers to be delivered before Christmas.
“The organizers are absolute dolls,” Ivy said.
“They said there’s no pressure to spend a lot and that it’s about the spirit of Christmas, not the gifts.
” She handed out slips of paper from a folder.
“Try to explain the spirit of Christmas to a six-year-old kid, right? So you people need to go big or go home. We can all afford it.”
“Amen, baby,” Jack said.
The Christmas market had taken over the main street of Blue Fern, a double row of white-tented booths strung end to end with lights.
Snow had been packed down along the walkways.
A brass quartet played carols on the corner by the courthouse.
Scents of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and grilled sausages added to the festive mood as folks milled about, shopping and snacking.
I looked down at the slip that ended up in my hand.
A single mother. Two kids, a boy of nine and a girl of six.
Under wishes, it said: Warm coats. The little girl would love anything to do with art.
The boy wants a baseball mitt so he can play in the spring.
Mom says please don’t spend money on her, only the children.
I read the last sentence three times, and I don’t know what happened to me, but my eyes filled with tears and my throat ached so badly I could hardly swallow.
Because I knew that mother. I’d never met her but I knew her.
I knew the exact math she was doing, the arithmetic of a woman who’d learned to want nothing so there’d be more left over for the people who mattered.
My own mother had written that sentence a thousand times without ever writing it down—only the children, don’t worry about me—standing at the stove in a cold house, and I had spent my entire adult life making sure she would never have to say it again.
“You okay?” Ivy asked, beside me.
“Fine.” I swiped the tears from my eyes and put the slip of paper into my pocket. “I’m going to absolutely destroy this assignment. Do we know anything about the mom? Something that she would need or want?”
Let’s ask,” Ivy said. “I see the organizer over by the sausage cart.”
We headed that direction. When Ivy asked the woman for details, she flipped through a notebook. “Ah yes, that’s Martha King. She lost her husband last year. Car accident. Tragic. She’s having trouble making ends meet without him.”
“What can I get her?” I asked. “That would help her.”
“She’s just been hired at the bank,” Sue said. “And she told me she’s worried about what to wear to work. She doesn’t have many nice clothes.”
“Oh, I’m all over this,” I said.
I might have bought too much but I didn’t really care.
For the little girl, I found a proper art set with a wooden case of colored pencils, pastels, watercolors, and a sketchbook with a thick creamy cover.
One of the vendors had a warm wool coat in a color I thought a six-year-old artist might like.
Deep purple. For the boy, the baseball mitt, obviously, a real leather one, and a ball and bat to go in it.
I got a jacket for him too, plus hats and gloves for both kids.
There were kids’ sleds I couldn’t walk past, so they got added to my list. As did a beautiful handmade wooden box with dragonflies carved into the top that was so pretty I had to get it for the girl.
And then, since it should be even, I found a sports bag the boy could store his baseball gear in.
That left Martha.
The mother’s assignment was made for me.
Choosing clothes for a professional job?
I knew how to do it better than anyone. I found her a coat, a good wool one, camel-colored and very similar to the one I owned myself.
I added two pairs of well-cut trousers, a couple of sweaters in colors that would go with everything, a crisp white blouse, and a blazer that would carry her through a dozen outfits.
Nothing trendy. Nothing that would date.
I even found a leather tote, structured and simple, big enough for a single mother’s life.
And finally, a pair of boots with a low heel that would be appropriate for work.
Martha King was never going to walk into that bank feeling like she didn’t belong. Not if I had anything to say about it.
For a splurge, I bought a soft wool wrap in deep green, knowing it was the kind of thing a frazzled, tired, single mother would never in a hundred years buy herself.
I was looking at a pair of fleece-lined boots for myself when I saw Knox out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see him three feet away at the next booth, a shopping bag in one hand, watching me.
He was wearing his hat. He’d gotten it off the doormat, then. Good.
“Hey, Madeleine.”
Not Price?
“Knox.” My voice came out almost normal. A small miracle. “I see you found your hat.”
“I did.” He shifted the bag to his other hand. “Thank you for that. Bringing it by.”
“It seemed like the least I could do.” My cheeks flooded with heat and my careful composure felt like it was melting off me faster than an ice cream cone on a hot Nashville day. “Since you—since I gather I required a fair amount of managing last night. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It happens. For me, too many times to count.” He said it quietly, evenly, no smirk anywhere on him. “At least you didn’t try to throw anything off a roof.”
“Thank God. And it never happens to me. Except for last night. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You were having fun. Not a crime last time I checked.”
“I’m sorry you had to babysit me. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A twitch pulsed at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile. “For what it’s worth, you were a real cheerful drunk. Got us all singing.”
“That might be the worst part—me, singing in front of three sleighs full of musicians.”
“You were killing me.”
“I’m glad you thought I was funny and not totally annoying.” I made myself hold his gaze, though a trickle of sweat ran down my back. “For real, though, I—thank you. Getting me back to my cabin safely and, you know, staying with me. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no big thing,” Knox said.
“I’m sorry you had to see me that way. And had to take my clothes off.”
He glanced away, scratching his neck, grimacing. “Yeah, that’s not the worst thing that ever happened to me.” He chuckled. “You said your jeans were eating your flesh. Couldn’t have that.”
Not the worst thing. What did that mean?
“Eating my flesh. Apparently drunk me is quite dramatic.”
“It was cute.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my feet.
“You thinking about getting those for yourself?” He gestured toward the fleece-lined boots.
“Thought they might be a better choice than my pumps. For this month anyway.” I put up a hand. “And I don’t want to hear anything about my poor choice of footwear. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Good call. You could wear them sledding tomorrow,” Knox said.
“Sledding?”
“That’s tomorrow’s activity. Ivy says we’re supposed to partner up for it. If you wanted to be mine. No pressure.”
“You don’t have to do that. You’ve been paired with me enough times already. You shouldn’t be tortured further. But thanks.”
His expression shuttered, just like that. “Okay, then. I’ll see you around. Have a good rest of the day.”
He walked away without turning back, and I had to tell my feet not to run after him.
It was better this way. No more entanglements with Knox Hartley.
They were proving to be much more complicated than they should be, and I flew solo.
If last night had given me anything, it was that.
I was better off alone. Otherwise I woke up feeling like I wanted to die because a man I wanted desperately to kiss didn’t want me.