The Christmas Quandary: Sweet Historical Holiday Romance (Hardman Holidays Book 5)
Hardman Holidays, Book 5
A Sweet Victorian Holiday Romance
by
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
SHANNA HATFIELD
The Christmas Quandary
Copyright © 2016 by Shanna Hatfield
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.
For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the email address below or through her website.
Shanna Hatfield
shanna@shannahatfield.com
shannahatfield.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cinnamon Rolls
Author’s Note
Holiday surprises await two lonely hearts in Hardman…
Tom Grove just needs to survive a month at home while he recovers from a work injury. How bad can it be to return to Hardman for the holiday season? He arrives to discover his middle-aged parents acting like newlyweds, the school in need of a teacher, and the girl of his dreams already engaged.
After the loss of her parents and the departure of her fiancé for a year abroad, Lila Granger desires a change of scenery. She leaves her home in New York to spend a few months with her relatives in Hardman. The idea of stepping off the train and being enveloped with a sense of homecoming never entered her mind. Neither did the notion of falling in love with a man who clearly can’t wait to get out of Hardman.
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Shanna’s Newsletter
To the brave who follow
where their hearts lead…
Chapter One
Eastern Oregon, 1900
“Welcome to Hardman, folks,” the driver bellowed as the stage rocked to a stop near the mercantile.
Tom Grove grimaced as one final jolt caused the man sitting next to him to bump into his broken arm.
“Sorry,” the man said, scrambling to his feet and out the door.
Weary and in pain, Tom waited until the rest of the occupants exited the stage before stepping down and reaching for the bag the driver handed to him.
“Take care of that arm, Tom,” the driver cautioned as he regained his seat and picked up the reins to take the horses to the livery for the night.
“I will, Mr. Alder. Have a nice evening.” Tom nodded to the driver then stepped onto the boardwalk. A deep breath filled his nose with the scents of pine, wood smoke, and roasting meat.
Gas street lamps illuminated the thoroughfare, reflecting off the windows of businesses lining both sides of Main Street and shining on glistening piles of snow.
Beyond the sounds of a few dogs barking and the stamping of hooves from the horses tied outside the Red Lantern saloon, the town remained quiet. At that time of day, most residents gathered around supper tables, glad to be home for the night.
Home.
Tom hadn’t been back to Hardman in more than a year. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Missed the quiet simplicity of the small town where he’d grown up. Missed the people who’d helped shape his future.
With a firm grip on the heavy bag in his hand, he started down the boardwalk, planning to walk out to the farm where he’d lived the first eighteen years of his life. Although he didn’t relish trekking four miles out of town in the dark and cold, he looked forward to seeing his parents and surprising them with his unplanned visit.
“Tom? Tom Grove? Is that you?” a feminine voice called through the winter darkness.
Slowly turning around, Tom smiled as Ginny and Blake Stratton crossed the street and hurried toward him.
“It’s me.” Tom set down his bag and shook hands with Blake as best he could with his right hand held captive in a sling.
“What on earth are you doing here? If you were coming for Thanksgiving, it was last Thursday.” Ginny offered him a teasing smile.
“I hadn’t planned to come until spring, but this…” Tom glanced down at the sling supporting his casted arm, “left me unable to work for a while. My editor told me to take December off and come back to work when the cast is removed.”
“How’s life in the big city of Portland as a newspaper reporter?” Blake asked, lifting Tom’s bag and holding an arm out to his wife.
Ginny wrapped one hand around Blake’s arm and the other around Tom’s uninjured arm. “Come join us for dinner, Tom. We’re on our way to the restaurant. After we eat, we’d be happy to give you a ride home.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Tom said, hesitant to continue to the restaurant with the couple.
Ginny tugged on his arm. “It’s not an imposition, not in the least. We’d love to hear all about your work at the newspaper and how you broke that arm.”
Blake gave him a knowing look. “You might as well come along. My lovely wife rarely takes no for an answer.”
“In that case, I won’t object to eating dinner with you both.” Tom grinned and walked with the couple to the town’s only restaurant. It was busy, but it didn’t take long for a waitress to show them to a table. Blake set Tom’s bag down and reached to help Ginny remove her coat.
When he did, Tom couldn’t help but gape at her rounded shape. He wracked his mind to recall if his mother had written him about Blake and Ginny expecting a baby. If she did, it had slipped his mind.
He grinned again. “I see congratulations are in order.”
Blake held out Ginny’s chair as the woman beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, Tom. This little one gives me the strangest cravings. All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the roasted chicken they serve here at the restaurant. Fortunately, Blake agreed to drive me into town for dinner.”
“Let’s hope they haven’t sold out of the chicken, though,” Blake said, draping an arm along the back of his wife’s chair.
“When will the addition to your family arrive?” Tom asked, removing his sling so he could take off his coat. He sat down and rested his broken arm on the table.
“February,” Ginny said, placing a hand on the curve of her belly.
Tom hid his surprise, expecting Ginny’s response to be
more along the lines of next week from her protruding shape. The woman was short and slight of frame, so he imagined it made her pregnancy seem far more advanced than it was.
The waitress appeared to take their orders, keeping him from offering an inappropriate comment.
As they ate, many people Tom knew stopped by the table to welcome him back to town, making it impossible to carry on a conversation with Blake and Ginny. By the time they finished eating, Tom was convinced he’d said hello to half the population of Hardman.
“You look like you’re about done in,” Blake said, helping Ginny to her feet. “My wagon’s parked over by the bank. I’ll run get it if you don’t mind accompanying Ginny.”
“Not at all, Blake,” Tom said, struggling to put on his coat and slip the sling back into place while Blake helped Ginny on with her coat. “I’d be happy to pay for the meal.”
Blake shook his head, then left money on the table to cover their bill. “Absolutely not. It’s our treat to welcome you home.”
“Thanks.” Tom lifted his bag and followed the couple outside into the frigid evening air.
“I’ll be right back,” Blake said and jogged off in the direction of the bank owned by his brother-in-law and one of their friends.
Tom gazed around the town as he ambled with Ginny back to Main Street. “Nothing around here really changes, does it?”
A cryptic look crossed her face. “Oh, I think a lot of things have changed since you were last here. When was that? A year ago in October?”
“Yes. I was here for my father’s fortieth birthday.” Tom recalled the party his mother had thrown, inviting friends and neighbors. His father seemed rather embarrassed by all the attention, but enjoyed it all the same.
“Since you were home, the bakery has new owners. A brother and sister bought it and moved here right before Easter. The siblings rent Adam and Tia Guthry’s house, since they decided to stay in Portland.” Ginny looked to Tom. “Do you ever see Adam and Tia?”
Tom nodded. “I do. We attend the same church. Often, they take pity on me and invite me to join them for a meal. Toby talks about Hardman and little Erin Dodd all the time. And they all dote on baby Hope.”
“She’s such a precious little thing,” Ginny said, absently rubbing a hand along her stomach as they walked down the street. “I’m sure Toby takes his role of big brother seriously.”
“He does. The last time I had dinner with them, Toby was helping Hope learn to walk.”
Ginny stopped as Blake approached with the wagon. “It’s hard to believe she’s nearly a year old.”
Tom admired the horses hitched to the wagon. The team’s midnight coats gleamed in the amber lights of the street. “It looks like Blake is still raising the best horses in the area.”
“He is, when he isn’t busy making furniture.” Ginny accepted Blake’s help in climbing into the wagon while Tom set his bag in the back.
“You don’t need to take me all the way home. A ride to your place will save me a few miles of walking.” Tom swung up to the seat and sat beside Ginny.
Blake slid onto the seat on her other side and flicked the reins. “It’s no bother at all to take you home, Tom. With that arm of yours, I’d feel better leaving you at your door instead of traipsing down a dark road in the cold and snow.”
“I’d protest, but I’m too tired,” Tom admitted and settled back against the seat.
Ginny rambled on about people they all knew and activities taking place in town. When she stopped to catch her breath, Tom hurried to ask a question.
“Is the school planning another Christmas carnival this year?”
“Yes.” Ginny clapped her gloved hands together in excitement. “Mother and Dad have agreed to host it at their house once again. I think most of the activities will take place in the ballroom, though. Remember the first year we had it, before they’d moved into the new house?”
“I do,” Tom said, recalling the fun he had serving as the magician’s assistant during the event. He’d also written a poem to contribute to the auction. Ginny painted a winter scene around his words and the piece sold for an amount of money that made Tom’s eyes widen in shock. It was then he decided he wanted to write for a living instead of follow in his father’s footsteps as a farmer.
Gratefully, his parents both agreed he should pursue his dreams and supported his decision to move to Portland, even though he didn’t see them often. They’d come to Portland in the spring to visit him, but that seemed like ages ago.
“Is Miss Alex going to offer another magic show?” Tom asked. Five years ago, a mystifying woman arrived in town with a unique prestidigitation wagon and ended up becoming his favorite schoolteacher. She and her husband, Adam Guthry’s brother, helped Tom prepare for his move to Portland. He received letters from Alex and Arlan almost as frequently as he did from his parents.
Ginny cast a quick glance at Blake before looking to Tom. “That has not yet been decided, Tom. Alex hasn’t been well. In fact, she’s missed several days of teaching the last few weeks.”
Blake, who served on the school board, leaned around his wife. “We’ve been hard-pressed to find anyone willing to help out in her absence. Luke even had to fill in one day.”
Tom laughed, picturing the good-natured banker leading the lessons at the one-room school. “Desperate times have surely arrived.”
Ginny giggled. “It does my big brother good to wrangle the students all day instead of balancing accounts at the bank, or chasing cows, or tormenting me.”
“But he does it so well,” Tom said, thinking of all the times he’d watched Luke Granger tease his sister.
“That he does,” Blake agreed, guiding his team past his place and continuing down the road toward the Grove farm.
Tom was eager to see his folks. He imagined the look of surprise on his mother’s face when he walked inside the house and announced his plans to stay until the arrival of the new year. The letters she wrote often hinted at how much she and his father missed having him around, but he knew they were proud of him and his accomplishments.
The previous month, he’d won an award for an article he’d written exposing a shipping company that kidnapped foreigners and sold them into slavery once they arrived in Portland. Adam was the one who mentioned he thought something odd took place at the warehouse he passed every day on his way to work.
Thanks to Adam’s tip, Tom pursued the story until he’d unraveled the mystery and earned accolades from his editor and others in the business.
For the next six weeks, though, Tom’s career at the newspaper was effectively on hold until his arm healed.
Forcibly setting aside his dark thoughts about work, Tom glanced over at Blake as they neared the lane that would lead to his parents’ place. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to surprise Mama and Dad. If you let me out here, I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Sure, Tom,” Blake stopped the wagon.
Tom swung off the seat and lifted his bag from the back. “Thank you both, so much, for dinner and the ride.”
“It’s our pleasure. Stop by our place one day while you’re home and I’ll show you my new colt.” Blake snapped the reins and the team leaned into the collars, easily pulling the wagon in a circle and heading home.
Tom looked ahead, glad the sliver of moonlight made it possible to see his parents’ two-story farmhouse and the looming outline of the big barn in the background.
He stopped outside the gate set in the picket fence that surrounded his mother’s carefully tended yard. In the summer, it was an oasis of flowers and lush grass, dutifully watered to keep everything fresh and growing. Since Tom was the one who used to haul the water, he wondered how they managed without his assistance. His father had mentioned hiring some help back in May. Tom realized he’d been so busy with work, he never even thought to ask if his father had hired someone.
Dismayed by how out of touch he’d become with his friends, and especially his family, he quietly opened the gate.
“Down, Jasper. Get down. That’s a good boy.” He dropped his bag and rubbed a hand over the dog’s back. The canine plopped onto his hindquarters and wagged his tail, feathering the powdery snow. “You’re a good boy, Jasper. Such a good boy.”
The dog licked his hand and followed as Tom lifted his bag and hurried around to the kitchen door. He took the steps up the back porch in two long strides, gave the dog a final pat, and opened the door.
Warmth and a sense of homecoming enveloped him, along with the scent of cinnamon lingering in the air from something his mother had baked that day. The kitchen was dark as Tom set down his bag and removed his sling then shrugged out of his coat and hat. He left his outerwear on a hook by the door and stepped through the kitchen. Coals of a banked fire in the parlor cast a coppery glow around the room.
Fully expecting to find his folks sitting in front of a cozy fire reading or discussing the day’s events, he didn’t know what to make of the still house.
Muffled sounds from upstairs assured him his parents were home.
Perhaps they were ill. That would account for them being in bed so early in the evening.
Tom retraced his steps to the kitchen and lit a lantern with some difficulty. If he had to break an arm, he certainly wished it had been his left one, instead of the right. Unlike those talented few who were ambidextrous, he relied on his right hand for most everything. Now, simple tasks seemed nearly impossible as he tried to force his left hand to do the work.
With the lantern firmly in hand, he made his way to the staircase and started up the steps. He smiled as he avoided the fourth step up from the bottom, mindful of how it always creaked. The few times he’d been caught sneaking out of the house as a willful youth had been because of the telltale step.
At the top of the stairs, he turned to his left and noticed a circle of light spilling into the hallway from his parents’ bedroom.