Chapter 2

Chapter 2

H er great-grandmother used to say that Christmas was a time of kindness, faith, and moments of wonder. Tricia liked her description, but to be honest, she'd always taken her great-grandmother's words with a grain of salt. After all, most of December was occupied with preparations for the big day, and that involved being stressed and tired. It was nearly impossible to help her mother address and send out three hundred Christmas cards, make gifts for loved ones, and bake dozens and dozens of cookies without sometimes yearning for a break.

They always did the same things, too. She helped her sister Rachel, her mother, and her Aunt Annie prepare baskets for the needy, stitch Christmas quilts for two or three families, and bake and bake and bake for their neighbors, friends, and even for the bake sale they put on in the middle of the month.

In addition, they went to her aunt and uncle's farm on December twentieth to help clean guest rooms and prepare for all the events included in the annual family reunion.

All that busyness was why she was still trying to finish the dress she wanted to wear on Christmas Eve. Glad for the bit of light reflected by the sun outside her window, she did her best to concentrate on neatly stitching the hem of the cranberry-colored fabric. "It's almost done," she whispered to herself. "And even though making it has been a pain, you'll be glad to have a new dress that fits well and is flattering."

She bit her lip. She knew better than to be worried about her looks, but she was only human. Besides, it wasn't as if she yearned for everyone at the gathering to think she looked nice . . . there was only one person whose opinion she cared about.

A nervous shiver skittered up her spine as she allowed her mind to drift back to the one man she couldn't seem to banish from her thoughts for more than a few hours at a time. Brandt Holden. Handsome, kind, smart, perfect Brandt. Who was also as Englisch as could be—and therefore completely unsuitable for her.

Her heart didn't seem to care about that, though.

Once again she attempted to push her wayward thoughts away and sew the never-ending hem of the dress.

Until she heard a burst of laughter drift up the stairs. Mark, her favorite cousin.

Eager to see what her cousin was laughing about—and for a break from stitching—Tricia hurried out of the guest room she was sharing with her sister and rushed down the stairs. And practically ran right into the man who'd been at the forefront of her mind for almost twelve months.

"Brandt!"

Reaching out, he somehow was able to gently settle her into place so she didn't tumble into his arms. "Hey, Tiger," he said with a grin.

And just like that, her cheeks heated. No doubt she was beet red. The first night they'd ever spent any time together was the next-to-last night of her family's reunion last year. Mark had invited Brandt over when he'd learned that his friend didn't have any plans. When someone had decided to start a Monopoly game, they'd both joined in. Brandt had been given the shoe and she the dog to mark their places.

She'd reacted a bit like a spoiled child, complaining that instead of a dog she wished there was a tiny tiger to mark her progress.

Brandt thought that was hysterical and had immediately begun calling her "Tiger" instead of Tricia.

She'd pretended to hate the new nickname but had secretly liked it, especially when Rachel looked a little jealous.

But how could she not be flattered? Usually, Rachel was the one who got all the attention because of her pleasing looks and modest demeanor. She, on the other hand, had always been a bit too loud and a bit too big for most of the men in their circle.

Tricia figured she shouldn't be surprised by that fact either. She was at least forty pounds heavier than Rachel and two inches shorter. Her hair wasn't a soft, sleek brown like her sister's either. Instead, it was a strange shade between brown and blond. There was a bit of curl to it, too. No matter how hard she tried to tame it, she thought it always looked a bit wiry.

Last but not least, Tricia also had an unfortunate competitive spirit. She not only liked to play games and join in group sports, but she also liked to win.

Her mother often remarked that she would fare better if she didn't overthink things so much. Tricia agreed. Unfortunately, common sense didn't always direct her thoughts.

But she was not going to make a fool of herself this year with Brandt. She was going to be cordial and friendly, but not overly enthusiastic about winning or him.

Jah . That was right. She was going to be cool and collected this Christmas. She was not going to embarrass herself again.

Taking a calming breath, she summoned a less exuberant smile. "I'm glad you arrived safe and sound. How are you?"

"I'm good." He smiled down at her. "You are looking well."

He still had his hands wrapped around her upper arms. She wasn't sure if he was attempting to hold her in place so she wouldn't get any closer or if he simply hadn't noticed he was still touching her.

Tricia wasn't aware of anything else. His hands were big and strong. And though his fingers were digging into her skin a bit, she felt safe and contained in his grip. As if she wasn't going to be able to do anything without his assistance.

Which was completely inaccurate and more than a little silly.

But maybe that's who she was now, a silly girl. Because she remained in his grip, as if she didn't notice his hands on her either. " Danke . You are looking well, too."

He raised one eyebrow. "Listen to you. So proper."

She glanced at Mark, who was talking with someone down the hall. "I'm the same as I always am, Brandt."

"I hope so," he murmured in a low, soft voice. "I liked the woman I met last year."

And . . . there she went. Practically melting in his arms. "Jah?"

His lips twitched. "Jah."

"Brandt, why are you still holding on to my cousin?" Mark asked, verbally splashing the moment with cold water.

Immediately Brandt's hands dropped. "Sorry. I hadn't realized I was still holding on to you."

There was her answer—if she'd ever needed one. He didn't even notice whether he was touching her or not. So much for his being as attracted to her as she was to him.

"I hadn't noticed either," she said quickly. Because a girl had to hold on to her pride—at least where men were concerned. "Well, I'll see you later." She had a lot of things to do. Like a dress's hem to finish.

" Nee . Wait, Tricia!" While Mark looked on, Brandt strode toward her. "Don't run off. Not yet. What are you doing now?"

Now? "Nothing too exciting," she declared. "Just, um, some chores for the gathering."

"We have a lot to catch up on. Is there anything I could help you with?"

"Well . . . I have to collect pine cones in the woods." When she heard Mark grunt, she added quickly, "I'm sure you have other things to do though."

"Are you sure about that?" He grinned. "Or did you just mention the pine cones as an excuse?" He lowered his voice again. "Is this the Amish equivalent of you needing to go wash your hair?"

Getting the gist of his question, she shook her head. "Not at all. I'm going to spray-paint them gold. They'll serve as holders for place cards at the dinner table on Christmas Eve."

"There are going to be a lot of people here. Weren't there almost fifty last year?"

" Jah . There will be that many again."

"No one ever turns down an invitation to this reunion," Mark joked.

"If there are fifty people to make place-card holders for, then you're going to need a lot of pine cones. I'll help you carry them."

It went without saying that pine cones weren't heavy or all that bulky. Especially when they were contained in an old pillowcase. But that wasn't the point. Brandt wanted to be with her—and she wanted to spend some time with him as well. "Shall I meet you by the front door in fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be there." Turning to Mark, he said, "Where does your mother have me staying?"

"We have two new guest rooms in the back of the barn. You can have one of those."

Surprised, Tricia turned to Mark. "I thought Brandt was staying in the basement."

He shook his head. "There's no room. My parents' good friends from northern Kentucky are coming up. They're bringing their two teenagers."

She didn't like the idea of Brandt being sent out to the barn. "What about one of the spare rooms on the second floor of the dawdi house? Or the attic?"

Brandt stepped closer. "Tricia, don't worry. I'm glad that I was invited to your family's gathering again. Where I sleep doesn't matter."

"Maybe I should go with you to make sure there are bedding and towels."

"There are," Mark said quickly. "Besides, you and I need to talk for a moment, Trish." Looking at Brandt, he added, "I left your cooler outside on the porch. You can find your way to the barn, I trust?"

"Of course." He gave Mark a long look, and then his expression lightened. "I'll see you in the entryway in a few, Tricia," Brandt said before grabbing his duffel bag and heading toward the barn.

When he was out of earshot, Tricia glared at her cousin. "What in the world are you doing, Mark? I know your mamm wouldn't have put Brandt in the barn."

"There's nothing wrong with him staying there."

She didn't agree but she wasn't about to argue the point much further. "Fine. I'll see you later."

"Oh, no. Wait a moment." When she turned to face Mark, he said, "What is going on with you two?"

"Nothing."

"Tricia, that's not true. It's like you two know each other well. Like, real well."

"We do."

He narrowed his eyes. "How can that be? You only met him at last year's reunion."

"We've been writing to each other."

"Writing? Like, letters?"

Sometimes Mark could be so obtuse. " Jah , letters . What else would we be writing?"

"I don't know." He pulled off his dark felt hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand it, though. I mean, what could you two possibly have to say to each other?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're Amish. He is not." He shot her a meaningful look, as if this proclamation was going to be news to her or something.

It was not.

But the point wasn't that she was Amish and Brandt attended an Episcopal church. The point was that they were friends and genuinely liked each other. She didn't appreciate Mark's acting as if that wasn't possible. "Mark, you're Amish and the two of you are gut friends."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Don't play games with me. You are a sheltered Amish girl intending to one day marry a sheltered Amish boy."

"You are making my life sound like a storybook. A very boring storybook." When Mark's eyebrows rose, she quickly added, "I'm not sure who I'll marry. Don't make assumptions."

"All I'm saying is that you two don't have a future."

That stung. Somewhere in between his words, it felt as if he was secretly saying that she wasn't good enough or interesting enough for Brandt. "I have to go."

" Nee , wait—"

"Mark, just to be clear, we are going to the woods to pick up pine cones. Not have some dark and secret assignation."

"What does that even mean?"

"If you don't know, perhaps you should be writing letters to someone, too. At the very least, it would broaden your vocabulary."

And with that, she turned away and headed into the house.