The Pastor's Christmas Courtship. Glynna Kaye
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couldn’t risk a dark blot on his performance evaluation right here at the end of the year should the annual Christmas project flop. But he’d do all he could not to call on Sofia. Neither of them needed to encourage the matchmakers.
“Grandma’s friends said they’d help.” Jodi’s chin lifted as she offered a determined smile, reminiscent of childhood days when she’d set her mind to something. “I’ll make getting funding and donation commitments a priority this week, then leave it to the others if it comes down to that.”
He squinted one eye. “From what you shared with me this morning, though, this is the first real vacation you’ve had all year. Maybe in several years.”
“I’m good with it.” She tapped the notebook now on her lap. “I have Melody’s cell number, checklist and contact numbers of past donors. I can take it from here.”
It sounded as if she wanted him to stay out of the way. Why should that disappoint him? Wasn’t that what he wanted—someone else to take over the project and free up his time for other demands?
“Okay, then, if you’re sure.” He stood to look down at her, noticing how her hair glinted softly in the lamplight. “Did you want to take a look at the storeroom? See what has already come in?”
“Good idea.”
She’d just risen to her feet, standing what some might consider a shade too close, when Sofia appeared in the doorway, a plate of cookies clutched in her hands.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her dark-lashed eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t know you had someone with you. Whoever is covering for Melody today must have stepped away.”
She motioned apologetically to the work area behind her.
“We’re finishing up.” He took a step back, putting more distance between him and Jodi. “I’m going to show Jodi the storeroom where we keep donations for the unwed mothers project. She’s going to manage it while Melody’s away.”
“Oh, really? When I heard yesterday that Melody had to leave town abruptly, I thought for sure I’d hear from you with a plea for assistance.” Sofia thrust the plate of cookies into his hands—pumpkin spice, his favorite—then focused a curious gaze on Jodi. “That’s very...nice of you, especially considering you’re only in town for a short time.”
“Blackmailed,” Jodi whispered in a deliberately audible aside. “Believe me, someone who has known you since you were a first grader has loads of ammunition to work with.”
She cut a playful look at him.
“Come on now, don’t give Sofia the impression I railroaded you into this.”
“You didn’t?”
He had. Sort of. But he’d given her the opportunity to back out, hadn’t he? “You said you could handle it.”
“And I can.” She leaned toward Sofia, mischief still in her eyes. “Garrett and I don’t quite see eye to eye on some of the details, so you’d be doing me a great service if you could keep him out from underfoot.”
“I think that can be arranged.” Sofia’s own gaze now teased as she looked up at him.
“Well, then—” Suddenly feeling compelled to escape the confines of the small office, he set the cookies on his desk, then motioned them both toward the door. “Please join us, Sofia.”
No way did he want anyone stumbling across him alone in a storage room with Jodi. Where was Dolly when he needed her?
Together they made their way to the wing of the church that housed classrooms and a fellowship hall. In a side hallway, he unlocked a door with a smiling paper snowman taped to it. Then, holding it open to reveal a shadowed, eight-by-twelve shelved space, he flipped on the light.
It was all he could do not to gasp aloud.
Viewing the sole package of disposable diapers sitting on the floor, Sofia looked at him doubtfully. “The cupboard looks pretty bare, Garrett.”
Where did everything go?
“Melody took some stuff to the crisis pregnancy center in Canyon Springs earlier in the fall, but it looks as if it hasn’t been replenished.” As pastor of the church, he should have been more attuned, not let it fall through the cracks. But he’d trusted his office assistant. Last December when he’d started here, the room had been overflowing with holiday baby bounty even before the final push for donations.
“We’ll get this room filled,” Jodi said matter-of-factly as she stepped away from the door, but not meeting his likely guilt-filled gaze. She probably wanted to throttle him. But he’d always been able to count on her to come through for him when they were kids. Covering for him. Saving him from the repercussions of his own misdeeds and shortcomings.
Apparently, despite the rough-and-tumble tomboy’s transformation in many other ways, that invaluable attribute hadn’t changed.
He took a relieved breath.
God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay...
* * *
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Bealer.”
Jodi stared blankly across the room at the cabin’s stone fireplace, the phone pressed to her ear. Pete Bealer was the seventh person on Melody’s contact list that she’d called following the “enlightening” meeting with Garrett. At the rate things were going, she’d consider herself fortunate to have a single baby rattle to split among the unwed mothers next week. Oh, and that package of disposable diapers sitting in the otherwise empty storage room.
“Wish I could help out but, yeah, it’s been a rough year,” the owner of the local ice-cream shop continued. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t even blame all those artists in town for this one. According to the Chamber of Commerce’s findings, they actually drew even more business to Hunter Ridge last summer than the one before. Go figure.”
He chuckled. It was nice he could find humor in the fact that his outgo had nearly exceeded his income.
“I heard it was unusually cool late in the summer,” she commiserated.
“It was, it was. Near-record rainfall, too. So folks were looking for something to warm them up rather than cool them down. I hear eateries with a fireplace or woodstove did a booming business.”
“Well, thank you for your time. I hope things go better for you next year.”
She returned the cell phone to her purse, then surveyed the knotty pine–walled, open-plan space—living room, kitchen, dining area—remembering it as much bigger than it was in actuality. Yes, there were two small bedrooms and an attic room that stretched the length of the cabin, but how had Grandma and Grandpa packed them all in here when Mom and Dad, her sisters, and other friends and relatives gathered for a weekend or longer?
It had been a comfy, kid-friendly retreat, with two sofas and several rockers. Folding card tables leaned against the wall for playing games at night. A bookcase filled with classics had welcomed them on a rainy day. And next week the now-silent rooms would be filled once again. But how did her sisters expect her to replicate for their children the delightful Christmases they remembered?
She wasn’t Grandma.
A touch of melancholy permeated as she moved to the front window to watch snow flurries dancing through the early-afternoon air. Maybe her sisters were right. She was becoming a Grinch. And so much for the phone calls she’d made, trying to drum up a bit of Christmas spirit among potential donors—and within herself. An hour’s worth of effort down the drain when she had too many other things to attend to.
“Where,” she mumbled aloud, “is all the good cheer and generosity characteristic of the season?” No doubt she’d have had more success with her calls two weeks ago, before credit card bills from Black Friday purchases started rolling in.
She glanced over