Tidings of Joy Read online

  The Friendly Beasts of Faraday Book 2

  A Sweet Contemporary Holiday Romance

  by

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Tidings of Joy

  The Friendly Beasts of Faraday Book 2

  Copyright © 2018 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. By purchasing this publication through an authorized outlet, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook in a digital format. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, transmitted, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, now known or hereafter invented, without the 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 e-mail address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  [email protected]

  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.

  Cover Design by Rob Foote

  To my favorite mailman…

  Thank you for all the years of

  hope, friendship, and love you’ve delivered

  through sunny and stormy weather,

  and everything in between.

  Chapter One

  Frost-brittled leaves crunched and crumbled on the sidewalk beneath Drew Miller’s shoes as he made his way down the tree-lined street.

  He glanced up between the branches of a towering oak tree at the steel-gray overcast sky before he opened the mailbox in front of a small bungalow and slid a handful of mail inside.

  “Drew? Is that you?” a voice croaked from behind a screen door that barely clung to the worn hinges holding it upright.

  “Yes, Mrs. Harris,” Drew said, lifting his gaze to the house. He quickly retrieved the mail he’d just put in the box on the street. A few long strides carried him up the walk to a rotting front step. “Are you still not feeling better?” he asked. He handed the mail to the frail elderly woman when she stepped outside.

  In answer, the woman turned away and coughed. A rattle sounded deep in her chest as she braced a hand on the doorframe to keep from tipping over.

  “Mrs. Harris, you really should go to the doctor. Do you need some help getting there?” he asked. He contemplated how his simple job of delivering mail in their small community of Faraday, Oregon, had turned into him being the guardian of all the residents on his route.

  He’d fetched kittens, kites, and balls out of trees, started lawnmowers, tinkered with engines, caught runaway dogs, packed in groceries, and served as a taste-tester to lonely widows who had no one else to try their down-home cooking. That last one he didn’t mind so much, but there were days when he just wanted to get through his route without having to provide any extra services.

  Introverted and unusually shy, Drew had always struggled to talk to people. When he was young, he watched the mailman deliver mail to their house and the café his parents owned in town. The mailman kept his head down, did his work, and rarely spoke more than a few words. That was when Drew knew it would be the perfect job for him. He could carry the mail, spend the majority of his time outside, and avoid the necessity of speaking to people with regularity.

  While his plan seemed good in theory, it didn’t take long after he started delivering mail to learn that for many of the elderly and house-bound people on his route, he was the only in-person interaction they had each day.

  For their sake, he tamped down his urge to hand them their mail and move on without saying a word. Instead, he listened to Mrs. Pith talk about her rutabagas and bursitis, and Mrs. Burnside complain about the price of eggs and the impending doom of the world.

  He even put up with Mr. Davis and his constant mischief. The old guy had to be ninety-five if he was a day, barely came up to Drew’s shoulder, and liked to talk about his time spent in the war. Drew never minded listening to the stories of Mr. Davis serving in the Army during World War II, but he did grow weary of the pranks.

  So far, the worst trick had been when Mr. Davis left a dead snake coiled inside the mailbox. The old coot had attached a baby’s rattle to a string, so when Drew opened the mailbox it rattled and the snake’s head lunged forward.

  Drew was sure he’d jumped back in his startled state. According to Mr. Davis, who’d watched with binoculars from inside the safety of his house, he could have cleared the front fence with a solid foot to spare.

  As Drew stared down at Mrs. Harris’ pale face, he reached for his phone. “I’ll call someone to take you to the doctor’s office, ma’am.”

  The little woman shook her head. “I was there yesterday, Drew.” She wheezed and coughed again. “It’s just this cold air.”

  “Then you best get inside and close the door,” he said, gently nudging her back inside the warmth of her house. The woman had been widowed all the years he’d worked the mail route. In that time, he didn’t think she’d invested a single penny into upkeep for her home. The entire house needed a good coat of paint. Leaves needed to be raked. The front step was one heavy load away from collapsing. She did pay one of the neighbor kids to mow her lawn in the summer, but she only let him come every other week.

  The woman patted him on the arm before the screen door squealed shut. “Thank you, dear boy.”

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Harris. I hope you feel better soon.”

  She nodded and closed the interior door. Drew hurried back down the walk and continued on his way. If he hustled, he’d have time to grab lunch at the café before he got back to work.

  “Drew! Drew!” Mr. Davis yelled, waving at him from his front porch as he approached the man’s tidy, well-kept yard.

  “Is there something in the air or did someone spike their prune juice today?” Drew muttered under his breath. He bypassed the mailbox attached to a carved post at the end of Mr. Davis’ curving front sidewalk and made his way toward the house.

  “How’s it going, Mr. Davis?” he asked as he climbed the man’s porch steps.

  Drew wondered how the old man had so much energy. He could often be seen sweeping his porch, raking leaves, or strolling around the neighborhood. Mr. Davis acted decades younger than his advanced years.

  The old man held up a woolen military jacket he’d been carefully brushing. “I’m great. Did you hear we’re having a parade to celebrate Veteran’s Day? I’m getting my uniform all spit and polished.”

  “Are you going to ride in the parade on a float?” Drew asked, handing Mr. Davis his mail.

  “A float!” The old man scowled. “Those are for the lame and infirm who can’t walk, Drew! I’ll be marching right down Main Street, carrying a flag with the best of ’em.”

  Somehow, this announcement didn’t surprise Drew in the least. Mr. Davis would probably outlive him and still be running circles around the majority of the residents in town.

  Mr. Davis flapped an arthritis-gnarled hand in the direction of Mrs. Harris’ house next door. “She doing okay? I could hear her hacking like she was trying to bring up an ankle bone.”

  Drew bit back a smile. He’d learned long ago it did nothing to help him if he encouraged the old man’s jokes and shenanigans. “She said she
went to the doctor yesterday and the cold air is bothering her.”

  “She needs a good pot of chicken soup. It’ll cure everything, I tell ya. Why, when I was a boy…”

  Drew edged his way down the step as Mr. Davis launched into a tale he’d heard a dozen times before. Although Drew had a deep respect for the veteran and all he’d endured during the war, not to mention the man’s zest for life, his employer did not pay him to stand on front porches listening to the senior citizens of Faraday reminisce. Drew hated the position they put him in as the bearer of gossip, but there were a dozen or so people on his route who demanded some tidbit of news or they wouldn’t give him any peace.

  “Yep, she needs soup. I think I might even have some chicken in the fridge. Why, I’ll just whip up a batch and take a bowl to her for supper.” Mr. Davis tossed a concerned look over his neatly trimmed hedge to the run-down house on the other side. “It’s a shame that woman never remarried. She needs a man to take care of her.”

  Drew cast the older gent a knowing glance. The crush Mr. Davis had on Mrs. Harris was only a secret to the two of them. Drew was sure everyone else in town was well aware of the man’s interest in his neighbor. “Then maybe you should step up to the plate, Mr. Davis. I bet you’d do a great job taking care of her.” In spite of the fact it was a sore subject with Mr. Davis, Drew couldn’t quite stop from teasing him.

  The old man frowned and shook his head then waggled his finger toward the street. “Don’t you have better things to do than torment me this morning?”

  “Yes, sir. I do.” Drew tipped his head to Mr. Davis as he moved back out on the sidewalk. “Have a great day, sir.”

  “I intend to, Drew. I intend to.”

  Drew made it through the rest of the houses on the street without any further delays. He hustled along the next street, too, until he got to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. He stared up at the large two-story red brick home. Black shutters framed newly installed windows. Five sturdy posts held up a wide front porch, topped by three dormers upstairs. The very traditional, colonial style of the home was exactly how Drew pictured the house he’d someday own. For now, he and his brother shared an apartment with cheap rent, which was the best thing he could say about the place.

  As he stared up at his dream house, Drew’s brows pinched in a frown. Since the new occupant moved in back in August, Drew had delivered more mail to the place than he had in all the previous years he’d provided mail service there.

  He’d been saddened when Mr. Cooke passed away from a heart problem back in July. The man had lost his wife two years prior to cancer. Drew had liked them both and missed seeing Mrs. Cooke out on the porch in the summer. She often offered him a glass of cold lemonade and a plate of cookies when the summer heat bore down. Every year for Christmas, she’d make the best snack mix — one nobody else in town could quite duplicate. He knew because his mother had tried multiple times.

  From the rumors he’d heard, which were plenty in the small town of Faraday, the Cooke’s left their home to their granddaughter.

  Drew had caught sight of her a few times from a distance, but never up close. The little he’d seen assured him the woman was young and pretty, a fact he did his best to ignore as he delivered her mail and went on his way each day.

  It was strange, though, because he often felt like he was being watched when he left her mail. He assumed the stalking feeling came from the other, yet unseen occupant of the house.

  Several times during the summer and early fall, Miss Cooke’s voice drifted out the open windows as she spoke to someone named Pete while Drew slid her mail in the slot next to the front door. He assumed it had to be a boyfriend or husband. It did seem odd to him, though, that no mail ever arrived for anyone named Pete, if he lived there.

  Drew glanced down at the mail he had for 156 Cardinal Lane and sighed. Right on top was a certified letter that required a signature.

  “Figures,” he said, opening the gate in the fence around the yard and starting down the walk.

  The fence went up about a week after the new owner arrived. The slats were close enough together to keep anything from wiggling out and high enough to keep something from stepping over it, but not so tall it blocked the view of the street from the house.

  He’d heard a puppy barking a few times, and assumed that must be the reason for the fence, but he had no idea why Miss Cooke had such a tall one installed. If it was a foot taller with wider slats, it would have put him in mind of the corrals at his friend Seth’s ranch.

  He hustled down the walk and couldn’t miss the sound of a dog barking. When he rang the doorbell, the barking reached a new level of intensity and he heard a feminine voice say, “Enough, Bacon!”

  She opened the door a crack, as though she was afraid something might escape. “May I help you?”

  His mouth went dry as he gave her a long glance. She was even prettier up close than he’d imagined. Flustered by her presence, he struggled to yank his thoughts together.

  With a hard swallow, he forced himself to speak. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as enough bacon.”

  Her laughter, accompanied by a brilliant smile, made him grin in return. “There is when he won’t stop barking.” She moved back and pulled the door open wide.

  A puppy raced onto the porch, barking and snarling. He nosed Drew’s leg, giving it a good sniff before plopping down on a fuzzy bottom and wagging his tail. Floppy ears perked upward and the little canine cocked his head to one side as he studied Drew with interest.

  “You’ve got a certified letter today.” Drew handed Miss Cooke a stylus pen and waited as she signed the screen on his hand-held scanner. He entered the necessary information then gave the woman her mail before he hunkered down and ran a hand over the pup’s head.

  Mostly brown, the dog looked like a chocolate lab had eagerly greeted a sweet-talking interloper that snuck under the fence.

  “What is he?” he asked, unable to hide a smile as the pup licked his fingers and pushed against his hand, wanting more attention.

  “A mutt, mostly.” Miss Cooke set the mail on a wicker table by the door and scooped up the puppy, kissing his little pink nose. “His mother is a registered chocolate lab but his father, the wily rascal, was a shepherd and husky mix with who knows what else thrown in.”

  Drew stood and rubbed the puppy beneath his chin, admiring a splash of white that contrasted against the chocolate brown color of his chest. “He’s a sturdy little fellow.” His glance roved from the dog up to his owner. “Did you really name him Bacon?”

  She laughed again and Drew fought the urge to lean forward and press his lips to her very kissable mouth. From a distance, Miss Cooke had appeared pretty in a generic way. Up close, however, she was captivating, stunning, and made his mouth so dry he could barely swallow. Shiny black hair fell in a sleek bob to her shoulders. Eyes the color of sweet molasses twinkled behind thick, dark lashes. A pert nose and flawless skin made him jealous of the guy named Pete.

  “I can’t be blamed for the name. He had it when I adopted him. The couple that owned his mother didn’t want the puppies so they ended up at a shelter. He was the last one of the group to find a home.” She kissed the puppy on top of his head. “So now Bacon lives here and keeps us on our toes.”

  “It was nice of you and your husband to take him in.” Drew continued scratching the dog beneath his chin. “Bacon seems very intelligent. He’ll be a big dog, but a smart one.”

  “I agree. And it’s just me, no husband,” she said, giving him an odd look. “You’re Drew, right?”

  He nodded his head then held out his hand. “Drew Miller. It’s nice to meet you in person, Miss Cooke.”

  “You, too. I somehow always miss you when you drop off the mail, although Bacon and Pete usually let me know you’re here.” Miss Cooke shivered as she stood in her sock-covered feet on the porch. The wind had picked up and carried a cold bite to it.

  Drew battled the desire to wrap his arms around her to
ward off the chill. Unsettled by the direction of his thoughts, he moved back, away from temptation. “Pete? Do you have another dog?”

  Miss Cooke took a step forward and pointed to the end of the porch where the front yard fence stretched across the lawn, blocking off the backyard. For the first time, Drew noticed a furry face with long ears peering around the corner over the fence. Apparently the stalker who gave him the creeps on more than one occasion wasn’t a human or even a dog.

  “Pete is a donkey?”

  “He certainly is,” Miss Cooke said. She winked at him and lowered her voice as she leaned close to him. “Just don’t tell him that. He thinks he’s a dog. When he brays, it almost sounds like a bark. Almost. He’d be devastated if he realized the truth.”

  Drew’s eyes widened as he stared at this woman who was nothing like he imagined. Her proximity filled his nose with a soft fragrance that made him think of roses and mistletoe. The oddity of that combination and the reason it came to mind, one he couldn’t quite name, caused him a moment of pause.

  He gave Bacon one more pat on his head then backed down the front steps, noticing the donkey had disappeared from view. “I better get on my way. It was nice to meet you, Miss Cooke, as well as Bacon and Pete.”

  “Please, call me Joy. And don’t be alarmed if Pete sneaks up behind you sometime. He’s harmless.” She shot him a teasing grin and picked up the mail she’d left on the table. “At least I think he is.”

  Drew chuckled. “Time will tell, Joy. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Due to determination and a great deal of effort, Drew managed not to look back at her as he returned to delivering mail on the other side of the street.

  Joy.

  Such a perfect name for a woman who radiated joy in her smile.

  How had she managed to live in this small town the past few months without running into him? The more burning question, though, was what he’d do now that he had met her.

  He’d been intrigued with her before, when he’d glimpsed her at a distance. But one look in the woman’s eyes and Drew felt his world flip upside down.