‘Does that cover the oil?’
Santa looked down at the bill and his bushy brows lifted. ‘Ten times over. Just wait a minute while I get change.’
‘No. I don’t want change. In fact…’ Nick opened his wallet again, pulled out half a dozen bills, and stuffed them into Santa’s hand, too. ‘Buy some more toys for the Boys’ Home. How’s that sound?’
Santa grinned. ‘Sounds just fine.’
‘Good. Great. Terrific.’ Nick grinned, too. Then he patted the old man awkwardly on the back. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as he slid behind the wheel of his Explorer. ‘For everything.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Smiling, Santa watched as Nick pulled out onto the dark, deserted road. His smile broadened when the vehicle suddenly stopped, then roared into reverse.
Nick put down his window. ‘Santa?’
‘Yes?’
Nick smiled. ‘Merry Christmas.’
The old man chuckled. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too, son. And to that sweet young woman you left up on North Mountain.’
Nick’s brow furrowed. ‘How did you…?’
‘Got to get goin’,’ the old man said, and just at that moment a sudden snow flurry swept through the station, obliterating everything in a whirl of white. When it had passed, the old man was gone, and the station lights had winked out.
Nick stared at the darkened gas pumps. Then he took a deep breath and swung the Explorer across the highway, back towards North Mountain.
* * *
Holly sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed.
The wind was howling wildly around the cabin; snow pattered against the windows. It was the kind of night to curl up by the fire, to lie in the arms of your lover…
She blinked back her tears.
What an idiot she’d been, to have thought she and Nick might have had a chance at being happy. He was so full of himself, of his plans, his successes…
She jumped at the sudden, piercing shrill of the telephone, then stared at it as it rang again. Who’d call her here, especially tonight?
Her heart thumped and she snatched up the phone.
‘Nick?’ she said.
‘Holly?’ It wasn’t Nick. The voice was too deep. ‘Holly,’ it said again, and then the instrument went dead.
Great. This was just what she needed. Another storm building, a telephone that wouldn’t work…
The phone rang again.
‘Hello?’ Holly said, jamming it against her ear.
A chorus of metallic shrieks and whistles poured through the receiver. Holly winced and held the thing away from her ear.
‘Is anybody there?’ she shouted. ‘You’ll have to speak up, whoever you are. I can hardly hear you.’
‘Holly? It’s…linda.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s me. Bel…’
‘Belinda?’ Holly frowned and switched the phone to her other ear. ‘I don’t think this connection’s going to last. Why are you calling? Is there a problem?’
‘No. No prob…’ Static crackled like lightning. ‘…hello. And to tell you…idea.’
‘An idea? What kind of idea? Listen, this phone’s going to die any second. If you called for a reason, you’d better get to it.’
‘I just…wonderful new recipes yet?’
‘No. But I will.’ Holly frowned. ‘Belinda? Your voice is so deep. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Just…flu. There’s…going around.’
‘Well, you sound awful. Not at all like yourself. You ought to make yourself a toddy. Hot, buttered rum is—’
‘Holly. Listen to me. I’ve had…book.’
‘What?’ Holly shouted. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘I said, I have an idea for your next book.’
Holly blinked. That was certainly unusual. Belinda didn’t know a thing about cooking, or cookbooks. The success of their relationship had to do with Holly’s talent and Belinda’s contacts, not her expertise. But then, this entire conversation was unusual. The static. The howling wind. The surprising depth of Belinda’s voice.
The faint hint of a New England accent?
Holly swung her legs to the floor and sat up straight. ‘Belinda? Belinda, is that really—?’
‘…book for…marrieds.’
‘Marrieds? What does that mean?’
‘…cookbook. For…newly-weds.’
A cookbook. For newly-weds? Holly rolled her eyes. Of course, this was Belinda on the phone. Who else would come up with an idea that had been done to death?
‘There are a hundred books like that,’ she said. ‘One-dish meals, quick meals, easy meals… I really don’t think there’s a market there.’