Sugar Plums for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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Lizette smiled. “I guess I could make doughnuts one of these days.”
Judd told himself that it was only his concern for the safety of the kids that made him worry about who was likely to be visiting the ballet school. He’d been in Dry Creek long enough to know about all the cowboys on the outlying ranches.
A woman like Lizette Baker was bound to attract enough attention without adding doughnuts to the equation.
Not that it should matter to him how many men gawked at the ballet teacher. He certainly wasn’t going to cause any awkwardness by being overly friendly himself. He was just hoping to get to know her a little better.
She was, after all, the kids’ teacher, and he was, for the time being, their parent. It was practically his civic duty to be friendly to her. And he didn’t need a doughnut to make him realize it.
JANET TRONSTAD
grew up on a small farm in central Montana. One of her favorite things to do was to visit her grandfather’s bookshelves, where he had a large collection of Zane Grey novels. She’s always loved a good story.
Today, Janet lives in Pasadena, California. In addition to writing novels, she researches and writes nonfiction magazine articles.
Sugar Plums for Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad
I can do all things through Christ
which strengtheneth me.
—Philippians 4:13
This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Harold Norris, who shared his love of a good book with me.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed reading about Judd and Lizette. When I was telling their story, I thought about what it feels like to go to a church for the first time. Their feelings of awkwardness are repeated many times each Sunday as someone visits a church and isn’t sure of what their welcome will be. During the Christmas season, you may see people in your church who do not seem to feel comfortable. Hopefully, you can help them feel like they are among friends.
May you have a blessed Christmas.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Lizette Baker wished her mother had worried less about showing her the perfect way to pirouette and more about teaching her a few practical things, like how to coax more warm air out of her old car’s heating system and how to put snow chains on tires so smooth they slipped on every icy patch she found as she drove east on Interstate 94 in southern Montana.
A colder, frostier place Lizette had never seen. Even with a wool scarf wrapped around her neck and mittens on her hands, she couldn’t stay warm. It was only mid-November and it was already less than ten degrees Fahrenheit outside. No wonder hers was the only car in sight as she drove along this road hoping to reach Dry Creek, Montana, before her heater gave out completely.
The attendant in the gas station she’d stopped at back in Forsyth had offered to call a mechanic to repair her heater. Another man, with a dirty blond beard and a snake tattooed on his arm, had made a different suggestion.
“Why put out good money for a mechanic?” he’d asked in an artificially friendly voice. Lizette hadn’t liked the way he was looking at her. “I’ll keep you warm if you give me a ride down the road a bit. I’m looking for my kids.” He’d reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn snapshot, which he’d then shoved at her. “Kids need to see their old man. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
Lizette would have rather given the snake on the man’s arm a ride than the man himself, but she hadn’t wanted any trouble, so she’d politely looked at the picture of his two children.
“No, but they’re beautiful children.” And the children probably would have been beautiful, she thought, if they hadn’t looked so skinny and scared. “Sorry about the ride, but I have a car full of boxes. Moving, you know.”
Lizette hoped the man hadn’t looked at her car too closely. If she’d shifted the boxes around a little, she could have cleared enough room in the front seat for a passenger.
The tattooed man hadn’t said anything more, but he’d put the picture back in his pocket.
After a moment’s silence, the attendant had finally asked, “So do you want the mechanic to come over to fix that heater? He doesn’t keep regular hours, but he can get down here in fifteen minutes flat.”
Lizette had shaken her head. “Thanks though.”
She barely had enough money left to get her ballet school going; she couldn’t afford to fix anything that wasn’t actually falling off the car. The heater was spitting out just enough warm air to keep her from freezing to death, so it would have to do for now.
She’d looked out her rearview mirror as she’d pulled away from the gas station and had seen the man with the snake on his arm watching her leave.
It wasn’t the first time since she’d left Seattle that Lizette had wondered if she was making a mistake.
Her whole life had changed in the last few months though, and she needed a new beginning. Besides, where else could she get free rent to start her own business? Lizette had learned to be frugal from her mother, Jacqueline. Indeed, it had been Jacqueline who’d found the ad for free space.
Lizette had not known until recently that her mother had saved for years with the hope that they could open their own ballet school someday. When Lizette’s father had died, years ago, Jacqueline had given up the fledgling ballet school she and her husband had started and had taken a steady job in a bakery. At the time, Lizette had not realized the sacrifice her mother was making to keep them secure, probably because Jacqueline never complained about giving up the school. When she’d first tied on her bakery apron, she’d even managed to joke. She said she wished her husband could see her. He’d say she was really a Baker at last.
Her mother had made the job sound as though it was exactly what she wanted, and Lizette had believed her back then. Maybe that was because Lizette herself was happy. The bakery was a playground to her. She loved the warm smells and all of the chatter of customers. The bakers even got into the habit of asking Lizette to try out their new recipes. They said she had a taste for what the customers would like.
Giving up that ballet school was only one of the many sacrifices Jacqueline Baker had made for Lizette over the years. Lizette hadn’t even known about some of them until her mother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. That’s when