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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781940515120 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Vicki Lewis Thompson |
| Publication date: | 11/28/2014 |
| Pages: | 224 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 7.99(h) x 0.51(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
'Tis The Season
By Vicki Thompson
Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-373-81076-8
Chapter One
ANNA PLACED HER SACK of ripe tomatoes on the counter of the Sumersbury grocery and reached into her shoulder bag for her wallet. Before the balding man behind the cash register could ring up her purchase, a large woman barreled into the grocery and headed for the counter."Edward!" panted the woman. "Have you heard the news about Sammy?"
The man blinked and smiled apologetically at Anna before answering the woman. "No, can't say I have, Estelle." He pushed the keys on the old metal register and quietly gave Anna her total.
"Well, you must be the last person to hear." The woman smiled in triumph. "Sumersbury's going to be on national TV. National TV, Edward. Prime time."
"You don't say." Edward took Anna's money.
"Why's that?"
"The TV people called Sammy an hour ago and told him they want to do a whole special about cutting the White House Christmas tree. They're calling it A Connecticut Christmas. Now what do you think of that?"
Anna glanced at the woman, who was built like a hip-roofed barn. Anna hadn't met her before, but then she hadn't met most of the residents of Sumers-bury. She'd deliberately kept to herself during her weekends at the farmhouse. But she had to ask about this television thing. Her peace and quiet could be in jeopardy if what she suspected turned out to be true. "Pardon me," she said, "but does this have anything to do with Garrison's Christmas Tree Farm?"
The woman turned to Anna. "It most certainly does. You must not live here, or you'd know that for sure."
"I only come up on weekends," Anna said, and instantly regretted offering the information.
"Oh." Estelle looked her over. Then she snapped her fingers. "You're the one! Daphne said some woman from New York bought the McCormick place as a vacation home."
Anna groaned inwardly. Now she'd done it. So much for keeping a low profile. "Yes, I'm the one," she said.
"So you're Sammy Garrison's neighbor. I can't believe you don't know he won that contest."
"I've never met Sammy - uh, Mr. Garrison," she said weakly. The news was getting worse and worse, but Anna decided to find out what she could. "What contest are you talking about?"
"Why, the annual Christmas Tree Growers' Association contest. Our Sammy took the grand prize this year, and one of his trees will be sitting smack-dab in the middle of the White House at Christmastime. Isn't that thrilling?"
"Thrilling," Anna said.
"And now this television special." Estelle's eyes gleamed. "I've already told Sammy that my ladies, the Sumersbury Craft Guild, will redo his house for him. Typical bachelor - no decorating sense whatsoever. We can't have the cameras filming the inside of Sammy's house the way it is, can we, Edward?" She turned for support to the grocer.
"I guess not, Estelle," the grocer said with a furtive glance at Anna.
"Well, I have to pick up a few things for dinner, and I have a million calls to make," the woman said, moving away from the counter. "Nice to have met you, Miss ... What did you say your name was?"
"Tilford," Anna said, picking up her tomatoes with a resigned sigh. "Anna Tilford."
"I'm Estelle Terwiliger, dear."
Anna recognized that she was supposed to be impressed by the name, and she smiled vaguely. "Nice to meet you, too," she said. Her long, peaceful summer was over.
On the drive to her weekend home, Anna considered what she'd learned, and the irony made her laugh. Of all the secluded farmhouses in the state of Connecticut, she'd bought the one next to a place soon to be featured on national TV. She'd foolishly imagined that being situated between a Christmas tree farm and a wildlife preserve would give her the perfect setting to heal and regroup.
She'd further congratulated herself when someone on the Christmas tree farm unknowingly provided summer evening concerts on the harmonica. The plaintive sounds, distant and sweet, had filled her with comfort. The past couple of weekends, though, the harmonica player had been silent, probably because he was off winning Christmas tree contests and wreaking havoc with her country retreat. Great.
She pulled into her driveway and stopped, blocked by the red maple that had fallen early in the summer. The tree had toppled over during a midweek storm, so at least Anna's compact Ford hadn't been trapped inside the garage. But the barrier had forced her to lug her small suitcase and sack of groceries around the splintered trunk each weekend.
As she opened the car door, she heard a chain saw buzz from the direction of the Christmas tree farm. Already her quiet ambience was gone. She got out of the car and pushed the front seat forward to reach her suitcase in the back. Then she hefted the bag of nonperishables, put the sack of tomatoes on top and closed the car door with her hip.
The chain saw continued to whine in the distance as she carted her belongings around the fallen tree. Machinery like that could clear her driveway in no time, Anna thought, pausing on the brink of an idea. If Sam Garrison had a saw already in operation, surely he wouldn't charge her much to cut up one red maple. Besides, he'd entered a contest that might soon destroy her privacy. He owed her one.
After depositing her suitcase in the hall and her tomatoes and a partially thawed chicken in the refrigerator, she locked the front door and hurried back to the car. The chain saw still whined its noisy tune, but she had to be quick. The operator might stop any minute for supper, and the immediate opportunity would disappear.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from 'Tis The Season by Vicki Thompson Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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