I send her a quick text message in return, letting her know that I’m on my way.
Donatello nudges my leg as if asking if he can go along.
“Not today, boys,” I tell my crew. “But we’ll do something fun together later.”
I need to burn off their energy, since the coming snowstorm will strand us inside for a few days. But first, the important thing is getting Emma May’s store boarded up.
The engine on my truck sputters when I start it, and I make a mental note to call Nate when he’s back. He’s great at fixing machinery.
But right now, he’s at the airport in Asheville. He’s picking up a stranded single mom and delivering her to her new job in Montana. He sounded different on the phone, like maybe he won’t be back for a while.
It doesn’t matter if he’s gone through Christmas. His farmhands at the ranch will keep his animals fed and well taken care of. Plus, they’ll stay on top of the farm chores. It’s a good thing as I suspect I’m likely to get snowed in by the end of the night.
I drive down the winding mountain roads of Courage County, my heart filling with gratitude at the beauty around me. I love these proud pine trees that offer shade in the summer and shed their needles to carpet the lush forest floor in the autumn. I love the squirrels that scamper along the woods, planting seeds that once forgotten will become new trees that take root.
The electric car that passes my aging truck on the mountain has me shaking my head. The vehicle lacks snow tires, and it’s definitely not the type that you see driven around here. Probably some lost tourist.
I catch a glimpse of blonde hair out my window, but I can’t see more than that. Whoever it is, I hope they brought enough supplies to hunker down in a cabin for a little while. Now that they’re here, they aren’t going to be leaving for a few days.
The drive to Emma May’s shop takes me over an hour, but I don’t mind the peaceful drive. Inside, her place is cozy and warm though most of the shelves are bare.
She finishes ringing up her last customer. When she catches my eye, she gives me a big grin and waves me over.
“How’s the book going?” she asks me. It’s always the first question out of her mouth.
She knows I write books, but I’ve never told her my pen name. It’s not that I think Emma May would be ashamed of what I write. No, this sixty-year-old woman would be my biggest champion.
It would only be a matter of hours until the entire town knew who I am. Once word gets out, I won’t be able to put the genie back in that bottle.
“It’s going pretty good,” I answer and to distract her, I say, “I visited Nate last night. He’s good. He’s actually out of town now.”
At Emma’s request, I stopped in and visited Nate. She hadn’t heard from him for a few days, and she was getting worried. We all worry about him around Christmas, ever since what happened three years ago.
She nods, her bifocals sliding down her nose. “He sent me a text message. I hope he can get out in this weather.”
“They haven’t started grounding flights yet. But we do need to get a move on. I brought plenty of plywood to get these windows boarded up.”
“And the big drill?” she asks, excitement gleaming on her face.
“The big drill is for me,” I say firmly.
The last time I let her get up on a ladder, she fell off and nearly gave both of us a heart attack. She laughed off the bruises, but I worried that she had broken a hip or knee.
“You fall off one ladder, one time,” she mutters under her breath as she flicks off the light to the register. It’s just a formality. Her last customer is gone.
“It was a twelve-foot ladder,” I remind her. “Now, why don’t you get the refrigeration systems shut down while I start boarding up?”
She makes a noise of annoyance but goes to do as I suggested.
I don’t even have to look at the coolers to know that she’s already out of milk, butter, eggs, and other staples that require refrigeration. She always sells at a deep discount to the families that struggle financially. She’s never met a hurting soul that she wasn’t bound and determined to help.
Three hours later, I’ve gotten everything boarded up and secured for the snowstorm. Harsh weather is a fact of life here in Courage County. But the beautiful views and kind hearts more than make up for that.
“Don’t forget,” Emma May tells me, “We’re doing the celebration a couple of days after Christmas.”
I nod. She’s fostered countless children in addition to raising some of her own. She often celebrates Christmas with her boys at different times throughout December.
“What do you want this year? I know you’ve been the best boy.” The way she beams at me makes my throat feel tight.
