A Valley Ridge Christmas

“Maeve. Remember?”

He chuckled. “I’m not likely to forget. Maeve Buchanan, the librarian.”

“Well, then, if you haven’t forgotten my name, I’d appreciate it if you’d use it.” That was polite, not that this guy deserved polite.

“Follow me and I’d be happy to show you to the lamp oil, Maeve.”

She wasn’t the only one he was testy with. That much was evident as he led her through the aisles, ignoring everyone as they passed.

“So is your mood an everyday occurrence, or is it specific to today?” she asked.

He gave her a quizzical look.

“You are less than salesman-nice.”

“You’re right. I find the snow and the power outage unbelievably annoying. And I feel sort of naked without my computer...”

At the word naked Maeve got a very vivid image of the man with the good voice in far less clothing than he was wearing. She immediately tried to push the unwelcome image away.

Pretty is as pretty does, or so the saying went. So far, judging by his attitude, he wasn’t very pretty at all.

“...I guess it shows in my manners. Sorry.” He stopped at a shelf and pointed.

“Oh, you have manners? I hadn’t noticed.” Now she was the one being snippy. She felt a little guilty—but only a little. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she’d had crazy images of him in her head. She coughed. “Thank you for showing me to the proper aisle.”

“Would you like to have dinner sometime?” His look of surprise matched how she felt.

Maeve couldn’t have been more taken aback if the man had asked her whether the moon was flat, or if it was summer. “No, I don’t think so. To be honest, not if you were the last man on earth.” She said it as nicely as she could, but she wanted to be clear. Her mother would have scolded her for being so blunt, but this man set her teeth on edge and didn’t seem to realize how off-putting he was. “But thanks for asking and for your assistance.”

She practically sprinted toward the cashier, anxious to get away from this man, who she suspected was still staring after her.

“I’m Aaron, by the way, Maeve the Librarian. Aaron Holder,” he called.

She didn’t turn around, but did wave a hand to acknowledge him. Aaron. Nice name. Nice voice. But other than those two things, she could find very little that was nice about Mr. Aaron Holder.

* * *

AARON WATCHED RED dash for the register with her lamp oil and grocery bag in hand. She certainly had the temper of a redhead. He wasn’t one to believe in stereotypes, but this one seemed to apply.

He acknowledged he’d been less than pleasant both times they met. When he was younger, his mother used to say that the world had best watch out when he was in a mood—especially when it involved his sisters. Recently, his mother informed him that he’d been in a mood for the past two years.

Today’s exercise in wireless living only exacerbated his general level of frustration. He hadn’t lied when he said not having power ticked him off. He felt disconnected. He was a man who made his living on the computer. So, not only could he not work on his new program today, his only access to the internet was via his phone, and answering clients’ questions on its minuscule screen was a pain because he was pretty sure he needed glasses. Constantly increasing and decreasing the size of the screen and font only fueled his frustration. Added to that, he was here in snowy Valley Ridge, New York, rather than sitting in the sun, enjoying life in Florida. But for some reason, Red had perked him up.

His family would say he took perverse delight in being annoying.

He’d disagree. He never intended to be annoying. He merely liked to understand things. And he counted people as things that he liked to understand.

They were so complicated.

Give him complex ideas to code into a computer and he could puzzle through any of them. But people? There was no algorithm for understanding them. You could input data to your heart’s content, but they still surprised you. You thought you knew everything about them and then when you least expected it, they’d spring something new on you.

Sometimes, they’d spring something on you that shook you to your core.

Okay, he knew where this line of thinking would lead and frankly he didn’t have time for that today. He’d already annoyed one customer. He owed it to his uncle to not annoy any more.

He wished Maeve the librarian had said yes to his dinner invitation. Maybe he should have assured her that he wasn’t asking her on a date. He wasn’t interested in dating anyone. But he could do with a friend here in town. Or at least an acquaintance. And because Maeve the librarian seemed to be able to hold her own with him, she seemed like a good candidate.

He didn’t have more time to think about Red. He had a store to see to. Aaron spotted a man whose uniform proclaimed that he was the local cop. “Do you need help, Officer?”

“You’re new here,” the cop stated. “Even if I didn’t know almost every soul in Valley Ridge, I’d have known because you’re the first person to call me Officer in weeks.”

“What do most people call you?” Aaron asked with interest. He was curious. This guy’s pants and shirtsleeves were creased. Anything metal, from badges to the grip on his weapon, gleamed. Everything about him screamed, my job is my identity.

“Sheriff.” There was significant annoyance in his voice as he spit out the word. Sort of like Maeve bristling every time he called her Red.

“Doesn’t matter how many times I explain that there are differences between a police officer and a sheriff,” the cop grumbled, “certain people here in town still persist in using the wrong term. And they’ve polluted the populace to the extent that most of them use it, as well. The other cops all get officer, but not me. Sheriff?” He looked fierce. “But don’t worry, I know the origins of my sheriffing—so I know where the blame lies—and someday, Colton will get his. I’m Dylan, by the way.”

“Did I hear my name?” A man wearing a cowboy hat rounded the corner. “I’m trying to find my wife and I am sure I heard my name.” He smiled at the cop. “Sheriff.”

Aaron had heard a lot of men refer to their wives, but never with so much love put into the term. He knew without probing any further that this was Colton and that torturing the cop was part of his fun.

The man in the cowboy hat extended his hand. “Colton. Colton McCray.”

“Aaron Holder.”

“So, you’re the nephew who got in last week,” Colton said.

“Whose nephew?” Dylan asked.

“Jerry’s,” Colton and Aaron said in unison.

“Oh, you’re the one spending the winter with us. Sorry it started with a bang. I mean, we definitely get snow here, but for the most part not this much this early,” Dylan offered.

“You know what they say about jumping into the deep end,” Aaron said. “You sink or swim. I’m not sure I’m doing either right now. It’s more like treading water, but at least I’m not drowning.”

“Well, welcome to Valley Ridge,” the cop-not-sheriff said.

“Dylan, this is my friendly reminder. You haven’t RSVP’d to Lily’s wedding yet. It has been the subject of discussion. Much discussion,” Colton added ominously.

“Oh, crap,” the cop said, looking nervous. “I could have not RSVP’d to Sophie’s or Mattie’s weddings with little repercussion, but this is Lily.” He started rummaging in his pocket and produced a phone.

“Yeah, it’s Lily,” Colton agreed.

Dylan punched in a number on his phone, made a hang-on-a-minute gesture and walked down the aisle. “Lily...”

“What’s the problem with this Lily?” Aaron asked as Dylan took his conversation out of earshot.

“Nothing. She’s marrying one of my best friends and is one of the sweetest women in the world. But she has some—” he hesitated as if trying to think of the right words to describe this sweet woman who made cops cower “—uh, very definite ideas about how weddings, engagements, even showers should work. RSVP’ing by the date indicated on the card is in her must-do column.”