The Christmas Edition Read online

  The Christmas Edition

  The Christmas Edition

  Last night Lucy slept peacefully—dreaming of the almost kiss, soothed by the hope of a first kiss. Today, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine his arms around her and his lips on hers.

  “Thanks for asking me along today.”

  “I must make a small correction. I didn’t just ask you along; we both have work to do and I need you.” Her blush was immediate. She noticed Joe’s eyes. They were soft gray, almost pale, but right now they were darker, emitting a strong emotion.

  Joe pulled to the side of the road and got out. Lucy wondered if they had a flat tire and was surprised when he opened her door and pulled her out onto the snow. With tenderness, Joe drew her to him. She didn’t have the sense to look away. She was locked in this moment and knew she’d carry it to her grave. His touch made her melt into him. His arms kept her from falling. Joe brought his lips within an inch of hers. He looked into her eyes as if asking if this was all right. Her breath caught in anticipation of what the next moment would bring. She wouldn’t turn away this time. The sun was high now, casting them in winter radiance. “Joe…”

  His mouth prevented her from saying another syllable. This was their first kiss, happening right here at the side of the road just under the snowy boughs of tall pine trees. Joe kissed each hand, her neck and then her lips. He used his lips as one would use their fingers when plotting the way to go on a map. Then he gathered her even closer. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him for all she was worth.

  He stepped back and whistled. “We needed to get that out of the way.”

  The Christmas Edition

  The

  Christmas

  Edition

  by

  Robin Shope

  The Christmas Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Christmas Edition

  COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Robin Shope

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN

  Published in the United States of America

  The Christmas Edition

  Dedication

  This series is dedicated to my husband Rick—

  your presence makes the world

  a far more interesting place to be.

  Also to Kimberly and Matthew, who fill me with joy.

  Special thanks to my editor, Lori Graham,

  for your hard work and encouragement,

  and to the real attorney, John Friedman,

  for your “legalese.”

  Finally, a shout out to my friend, Phillip Tomasso,

  writing as Thomas Phillips.

  The Christmas Edition

  The Christmas Edition

  Chapter One

  December 1

  The usual winter blizzard blew into southern Wisconsin.

  Lucy Collins carefully maneuvered her car through the snow that grew deeper with every gust of wind. She parked directly in front of her family owned business, The Turtle Creek Newspaper, just as her brother, Mike, was making his second pass at clearing away the snow from the drive with the snowblower.

  “Hey, Mike! Help me carry these inside, will you?” Lucy called to him as she got out of her heated car. A sharp wind sucked up her words and nearly knocked her off balance.

  Mike turned off the blower and cupped his hand around his ear. “What did you say?” His breath circled around his face in the frigid air.

  “Help!” Lucy hollered. She popped the trunk and pivoted her body in an exaggerated fashion-the way models do when showcasing prizes on a game show. She stepped to the other side and waved her hands, palms up, along the food trays and her mother’s crystal punch bowl set. Then she flashed her younger brother her biggest smile.

  Mike galloped up to the car just as another gust of wind, hammered snow at them. “It’s freezing out here! Even my nose hairs are frozen solid. You go on in. I’ll get these as soon as I’m finished shoveling the walk.”

  “Thanks.” Lucy gave him a kiss on the cheek. To keep her balance, she gingerly walked across the crunchy ice crystals and into the warm building. Once inside, she tugged off one boot and then the other, dropping them under her desk. She hung her coat and scarf on the back of her swivel chair as she looked around at the decorations of wreaths and holly. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the empty desk at the back. That would surely go to waste. Music played loudly from her dad’s old stereo inside his office.

  Christmas used to be her favorite holiday, but after a disastrous end to her engagement, a couple of years ago, this particular holiday now only served as a dark reminder of broken promises. With prayer and a loving family, Lucy was ready to start her life again, which meant buying her own place right after the first of the year. Working and living with the same people was often stifling, especially when they were her parents.

  Lucy’s mom was the cheerleader as well as the gopher, making sure everyone had what they needed, whereas Lucy’s father focused persistently on getting the next edition out and on time.

  Each year at Christmastime, however, Harold Collins took off his publisher hat and donned something completely different. The weeks wedged between Thanksgiving and Christmas became about assisting others. She loved it all and nothing could ever take her away from this life.

  The employees had finished packing up the last of the boxes from the food drive which were now stacked neatly, ready to be dropped off at area shelters. Lucy wanted to acknowledge all the work they’d done. “For a small cluster of people, we sure accomplish a truckload of work, fast! These donations will help many people down and out this holiday season. Like all the other years we’ve worked closely together and done a great job.” Christmas was about unbridled joy but today, try as she may, she still wasn’t feeling it. Maybe she could fake it for everyone’s sake. Lucy lowered her head in modesty and stated, “This is going to be a Christmas of miracles.”

  As if releasing faith into the air, everyone began to punctuate her words with applause. Right on cue, Harold Collins stepped out of his office wearing a hat something like one of the elves might wear. He even bobbed his head up and down to show off the cluster of bells that dangled at the tip of the loopy crown. Lucy couldn’t help but have her first laugh of the day, along with the other employees.

  “I know it’s still weeks until Christmas but I thought you could use this now,” Harold said as he produced a fan of festive red and green envelopes.

  Squeals of delight resonated as they opened the envelopes and saw the amount written on the checks but none was as loud as Ulilla Langston. Lucy’s dad had inherited her along with the paper. Ulilla was a beautiful, black woman with hair swept close to her head in a French twist. She carried weight around the place both literally and figuratively.

  “Harold and Margaret Collins,” she crowed, as her hand fluttered to her chest. “No way can you afford to give us this.”

  “Nonsense!” Harold blustered, and politely dismissed her words of protest with a wave. “It should be thr
ee times this and you know it! You all have worked effortlessly and clocked in many overtime hours in order to get the newspaper out each week. I am the one who is grateful. Merry Christmas!”

  The bell above the front door jingled as Mike walked in balancing the punch bowl along with the holiday trays. “Where do you want these, sis?”

  “Let me help with that.” Lucy took the top two trays. “Take the rest into the break room. I’ll follow you in.”

  Margaret touched the sleeve of Lucy’s cardigan. “Have you finished our Christmas cards yet?”

  “I started a month ago and finally finished them last night. Not only did I hand write each one, but the envelopes are addressed and stamped.”

  “Which of the photographs did you decide on?”

  “I thought I told you that all ready. Never mind, there’s one in my desk I’ll show you.” Lucy set down the trays. From the desk drawer, she took a single envelope and handed it to her mother. “Here, I was looking for something that would embody a perfect form of truth when it comes to Christianity.”

  Margaret stared at the card. A country church was nestled into a hillside surrounded on all sides by fresh snowfall. Above, the sky was brilliant blue.

  Lucy looked over her mother’s shoulder. She scrunched her face, second-guessing her photographic choice. “Does it look okay?”

  “It’s a whole lot more than okay. This is simply breathtaking and looks professionally done. Lucy, you should have put your logo somewhere on this card so people would be aware that you are the one who took this photograph of our church.” Margaret’s eyes glistened.

  “Not this time. I want people to focus on the birth of our Savior and the hope He gives for our lives. Mom, in the past year, I have become more appreciative of the upbringing you and Dad gave Mike and me and how you shared your faith which has now become mine.” Lucy choked back her tears and touched the silver cross she always wore at her neckline.

  “Those words are the best gift you could ever give to me.” Margaret hugged her daughter. “I want nothing more this season than to see you happy.”

  Lucy hugged back tightly. “I’m working hard on that.”

  “Lucy!” Mike called from the break room. “I thought you said you were following me in. I’m making a mess of things trying to get the food set up.”

  “Ah, I better go rescue the food from Mike and start the punch.” Lucy picked up the trays. “By the way, it’s getting worse outside so could you suggest to Dad that we should let everyone go home early.”

  “I will, but right now, I want to lend you a hand.”

  Lucy and Mike uncovered the trays of fruit, cheese, and crackers. Margaret took her home baked pastries from the refrigerator and arranged them on top of doilies set on antique dessert plates. Mike dumped plastic forks from the box into a basket and then tore open the plates while Lucy poured the punch into the bowl and added scoops of sherbet. “I think we’re ready.”

  Once everyone had gathered in the break room, Harold asked one and all to join hands. Together they asked for the Lord’s blessing. Then they dug in; plates were quickly filled with condiments, the routine appetizers, rolled pieces of meat, decorated sugar cookies, and cinnamon rolls. That was just for starters. Margaret kept laying out more and more food.

  Lucy sat at the edge of her chair and sipped her cup of punch. It was fun watching everyone enjoy themselves. She closed her eyes and drank in their laughter. This is what she needed, to be surrounded by such love and acceptance.

  The employees had all worked for her father for years, so she not only knew their names but their spouses and children. This is what she loved about the business. It wasn’t work. It was family. At times they even squabbled like it, too.

  When there were only a few squares of cantaloupe and crumbs of her mother’s cake left, Lucy suggested, “Before we go home for the weekend, let’s go around the room and name one gift we want for Christmas. No limitations on the gift. Miss Ulilla, would you like to start?”

  The society column woman was clearly pleased to go first. In her world, this was the correct order of the universe and she didn’t even try to suppress her smile. Instead she brushed crumbs from her bosom, cleared her throat and stood to her feet. “Since Lucy removed the limitations, what I really want for Christmas are tickets for a Caribbean cruise under my tree this year.”

  “That’s sounds exciting. I feel pretty confident you can talk Abe here into going along with you.” Lucy gave the elderly custodian a wink. It was no secret Abe had been after Ulilla for as long as she could remember, but Ulilla always put him off.

  Abe stepped right in without being asked, “The gift I am wishing for is that I can buy those tickets for Ulilla. One for her and one for me. Separate cabins, of course.” He turned beet red.

  After the laughter died down, Lucy went on to ask her best friend, “What about you, Monica?”

  “I’m hoping for money. Lots and lots of money.”

  “Here I thought you’d ask for perfume. The French kind,” Mike said. His lips slowly curled into a slow smile. For the first time, Lucy caught something in the air between her best friend and her brother and it wasn’t perfume. French or otherwise.

  Harold set down his plastic plate with a hollow thump. “The gift I want this year cannot be found under my tree.”

  “Harold.” Margaret touched his arm. “This isn’t the time.”

  “I think it is, Maggie. After being a family owned business for the last fifty years, first with my Papa and now on my own, it’s no secret I want to keep that other newspaper from coming here. Living in a small town like Turtle Creek, we can’t withstand the extra competition. We can barely make it as it is. We need to come up with some ideas of how we’re going to generate more sales, increase our advertisers and get more subscribers.” He pulled off his elf hat and lowered his eyes. His thumb rubbed a finger as he spoke. “Or this might just be the last time we stand together like this for Christmas.” To everyone’s dismay, Harold had spit out his worrying words. They spread across the room.

  Lucy frowned. Everything her dad said was the truth. They all knew it.

  “My turn!” Lucy picked up her father’s hat and pulled it down over her ears. Everyone laughed. “My Christmas gift is to hire a new editor who will knock the socks off our readers with his fresh ideas and perspective!”

  “And how will you know this editor when he comes through the front door?” Carol from advertising asked.

  “Because…” Lucy tapped her chin in thought. “The man I have prayed for will write with heart.” Unexpected tears gathered along the edges of her eyes. The end of her nose tingled. “Anyone who can move an audience with words is going to increase circulation which will attract businesses to grab ad space and make readers buy our paper.” She touched her cross. I have my faith in you, Lord .

  The front door jingled. Monica looked out into the office. “Hey, guys, there’s an awesome looking guy standing at the front counter. I believe Lucy’s gift just arrived. Quick Lucy, say another prayer while you have God’s attention.”

  Lucy walked out of the break room with shoulders squared, back straight. There he stood. Tall, with sandy brown hair and wickedly wonderful eyes. Cherry cheeks, too, thanks to the frosty weather. His gray eyes were unsettling. He stood on one foot and tapped one shoe against the other to knock off the snow. Then he repeated the process with the other shoe. Monica was right. He was a looker.

  “How may I help you?” Lucy folded her hands together and placed them on the counter.

  “I’m looking for Lucy Collins.” He stared her in the eyes.

  “You’ve found her.” Lucy heard laughter. She turned around to see the doorway to the break room was crowded with faces. All eyes were pinned on them. Of course, she had to put on a good show for them. Lucy turned back around and faced him. Feeling cocky, she said, “I know why you’re here.”

  “You do?” he seemed startled.

  “Yes, you’re here about the ad I placed in this
week’s paper for an editor.”

  His chin dropped and he was speechless for a moment. “You’re…absolutely right. I did see it advertised.” The man set his briefcase down and popped it open. He started shuffling around the inside of it. Papers rustled. Finally, he looked up sheepishly. He had worried eyes. “I seem to have forgotten my resume. Not a good way to start a job interview. By the way, I’m Joe McNamara.”

  Lucy shook his hand and then reached under the counter for an application. She clamped it down on a clipboard, slipped a pen underneath and handed it to him. “I don’t need your resume but I do need to know if you can write. When you’re done filling this out, I want you to write an editorial for me.” She slid a blank piece of paper toward him.