Sugar Plums for Dry Creek

Sugar Plums for Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad

Ballet teacher Lizette Baker's last name had never caused so much confusion! The townspeople thought she was opening a bakery. Instead, she opened Dry Creek's first dance studio. By putting on the Nutcracker with an all-local cast, Lizette hoped to heal the rift and create some Christmas sparkle.No one needed distraction more than Judd's young cousins, whom he was raising and keeping safe from their abusive father. So if they wanted to be in the Nutcracker, Judd would see to it–even if he had to personally guard the door! He was prepared for anything, except for the possibility of Christmas sparkle becoming Christmas love.

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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.