Page 41 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“I kind of like the way you sparkle.” His words unhurried. “Either way, we’re leaving a trail.”
Hannah Leigh glanced toward the tent flap as jingling bells drifted in on a cool breeze. “Speaking of trails, I hear the horses clopping down the street. Come on.”
Outside the tent, sleigh bells jingled in a steady rhythm. Hannah Leigh peeked out and smiled at the sight of two draft horses pulling a sled piled with families bundled in quilts, their breath puffing white clouds into the air. The driver, old Mr. Hollis, tipped his cap as the sled clopped past.
The sound of the horses mixed with the choir warming up on the courthouse steps. A few notes ofO Come, All Ye Faithfulcarried on the cold air, sweet and shaky, while the brass band tuned up across the street, trumpets buzzing. Over it all rose Birdie’s voice from somewhere in the crowd, narrating like she was the official festival announcer.
“Bless her heart,” Hannah Leigh muttered. “I bet Aunt Winnie wishes she could lock Birdie up until this festival is over.”
“We all complain about her, but I think folks will actually miss her if she ever stopped,” said Nate.
Hannah Leigh glanced at him, smiling despite her exhaustion. “You really think so?”
“Sure. Without Birdie, this town would be pretty boring.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
Nate leaned down beside her, close enough that she caught the clean scent of cedar and pine clinging to his jacket. “You’re good at this,” he said.
She kept her eyes focused on the horses going down the street, hoping to hide the sudden flush rising in her cheeks. “Bossing people around?”
“Making chaos feel like Christmas.”
Her throat skipped at the unexpected compliment. She wanted to thank him again for helping. To tell him the way he steadied the kids, and steadied her, felt like more than coincidence. But before she could, Birdie’s voice split through the tent like a trumpet.
“Best news ever!” Birdie bustled over in a blur of red sequins on a Mrs. Santa coat flashing like a disco ball. “Margaret Jane agreed to meet Hannah Leigh!”
Hannah Leigh blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”
Birdie grinned like the cat who’d stolen Santa’s cookies. “Margaret Jane Russell herself. Said she’s ready to talk about thedogwood and that locket. I may have nudged her with a praline bribe, but she’s expecting you.”
Nate’s head snapped toward Hannah Leigh, his expression unreadable but his eyes sparking with both caution and curiosity.
“Birdie—” Hannah Leigh started, but Aunt Winnie interrupted her when she strode over like the conquering general of Christmas, her apron dusted with powdered sugar and a tray of pralines held high.
“We did it!” she announced. “Minnie Pearl’s Pralines are officially back in South Hill. And judging by the crowd at the booth, they’re already a hit. Here.” She pressed the tray forward toward them. “Have one. I’m passing out samples.”
Hannah Leigh snagged a sugared pecan and bit in, the buttery crunch melting on her tongue.
“Now that,” Nate said, chewing thoughtfully, “is Christmas.”
Aunt Winnie winked. “See! This recipe has the power to mend broken hearts. Or at least bribe a few gossip queens into cooperation.” Then she swung around the corner, cheerfully shouting “Praline samples,” into the afternoon.
Beside her, Nate shifted closer. Their shoulders brushed again, and this time neither moved away. “I think she’s talking about Birdie,” Hannah Leigh teased.
“You know she is. Hey, did I tell you that I’m impressed by how you’re keeping all these old gals reined in?”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that today.”
His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, steady and warm. Then a crash of sleigh bells around the corner broke the spell.
She sighed. “Duty calls.”
“I’m coming too.” The two of them zipped around the corner to see Aunt Winnie trying to help untangle the sleigh reins while the driver, old Mr. Hollis, shouted apologies and the horses jingled like they were auditioning for a Christmas album.
“Aunt Winnie! Are you okay?”
“Nothing to see here! The horses just got spooked by the smell of the pralines,” Aunt Winnie said, patting one horse’s nose. “Can’t say I blame ’em. These could stir up anybody’s sweet tooth.”
