A Merry Little Christmas by Catherine Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

and suddenly realized they were far too close. “We have a dinner for the international students at the I-House at noon. Everyone brings a dish from their home country. Amazing foods. Daniel and Benjamin will love it.”
    “Thanksgiving? We always go to my parents’ house in Bolivar. It’s a tradition. Turkey, dressing, football, all that.”
    “Bring your turkey and dressing to dinner at the I-House. Bring your parents, too. And you can teach the students how to play American football. Jeremiah, your cozy comfort zone changed the minute you agreed to rent to the Murayas. So, come see what the world has to offer.”
    “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? Are the students all you think about?”
    “I think about other things. Tomorrow I’m helping rehab a house for an old woman. A couple of weeks ago, she nearly died of carbon monoxide poisoning. When social services sent people in to fix her furnace, they couldn’t believe the condition of the home. So we’re painting and making repairs tomorrow.”
    “Who’s we?”
    “Rehab & Renew—we call it R & R. Small joke there, because we actually work our tails off. It’s a group here in Springfield. A Christian organization. It’s their ministry, and I like helping out. A great change from office work. In some ways, it really is relaxing. Why don’t you join us?”
    He stared at her, his eyes bluer in the moonlight than she had anticipated. “What’s driving you, Lara? All this helping stuff?”
    “I’m a Christian.”
    “So am I, but I don’t spend all my free time doing charity work. I take care of my family, and I write out a check for the church.”
    “Then you’re missing the blessing.”
    As they reached the front door, Lara realized the cottage had gone quiet. “Wait a second,” she said. “The baby’s asleep. I won. You owe me dinner. Ha.”
    “Tomorrow,” he said quickly. “Six.”
    “Now wait—”
    “Too late, Dr. Crane. We have a date.” As he was speaking, his cell phone warbled. He reached for the holster on his belt. “Melissa?” he said into the phone, his voice softening. “Hey there. Yeah, about tomorrow…”
    Unable to trust herself, Lara turned away from him and started for her car. As she slipped the key into the ignition, she shook her head in disbelief. She was not going on a date with Jeremiah Maddox. Who was Melissa? And why on earth did she even care?
     
    Jeremiah drove down a street lined with dilapidated houses and thanked God for the custom-tinted windows on his BMW. He couldn’t find Lara in the crew of people with ladders and paint buckets who swarmed the run-down clapboard home, and he knew he was well hidden inside his car. Turning right at the four-way stop, he considered going on home. This whole idea had mistake written all over it.
    Melissa had phoned the night before, calling to ask if Jeremiah minded changing their lunch date from a tearoom to a small café across the street from her favorite antiques shop. She’d been hearing rumors that its chicken salad was to die for. As Jeremiah had watched Lara Crane’s little car back out of his driveway, he heard himself telling Melissa that he needed to cancel their date entirely. Something had come up, he said.
    Did it have to do with work? she had asked him. With architecture?
    Rounding the block and starting down the street a second time, Jeremiah recalled answering in the affirmative. It was work. Architecture.
    As the BMW again approached the old house, a man with a ladder over one shoulder turned to talk to someone on the sidewalk. The ladder swung sideways, just missing the car’s tinted front window. Jeremiah stepped on the brake pedal, let out a breath…and there she stood. A halo of white paint spatters crowned the curly ponytail that topped her head. A brush in one hand. Freckles. She was chattering to the man with the ladder—her green eyes entirely too sparkly, in Jeremiah’s opinion. He pulled over to the curb and got out.
    “White