A Warmth in Winter (20 page)

He picked up the pan and led the way up the stairs and out the side door. Elezar followed wordlessly as his leader led the way to the cemetery. Looking around at the barren spot, he huddled deeper into his coat. Gavriel was right— not many mortals were likely to come out here in this kind of weather.

“Now, this is nice,” Gavriel said, perching on a marble slab. “We don't do this often enough.”

Elezar cast a worried glance toward Ferry Road. The citizens of Heavenly Daze were going about their work as usual, completely unaware of the angelic activity around them. Bea's mail cart sat in front of the Graham Gallery. Babette stood on her front porch, scattering rock salt on her steps and sidewalk.

Pulling two plastic spoons from his coat pocket, Gavriel dipped one into the pan of snow cream and offered Elezar the first bite.

Elezar took a tentative taste, then smiled. “It's good.”

Gavriel took a heaping spoonful. “Ayuh. Scrumptious.”

They ate in silence until the pan was empty. Elezar shivered, chilled now from inside and out.

Gavriel wiped his mouth with his fingertips. “Did you have something you wanted to talk about, brother?”

“Ayuh. Vernie.”

“I thought so.” Dropping the empty pan to the brown grass, the angel captain sighed. “Her pride again?”

“It's stronger than ever. She forgot to order supplies at the beginning of the month. But instead of confessing the truth, she's hedged and dodged the other women's requests for sugar, cranberries, and nutmeg. Now the wholesaler can't deliver because of a strike, so there will be no eggnog, cranberry salad, or pumpkin pie at the Heavenly Daze Christmas party . . . all because Vernie can't admit she made a mistake.”

“Sad.”

“That's not the worst of it. Stanley Bidderman called. You know—the snake.”

Gavriel lifted a brow. “After all these years?”

“He wants to talk to her, but she refuses. She can be so hardheaded.”

“What could he want?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Have you received instruction from the Lord about this?”

Gavriel shifted his gaze to the breakers crashing on the beach. “Sorry, Elezar, but I've heard nothing. I suppose this is one of those occasions where people exercise free will and we wait to see how we may strengthen them . . . or help them up after they fall.”

His eyes, lit by the sun, glittered with concern. “Why do humans cling so strongly to their pride? Vernie's mistake was a simple one, easily corrected. Now the townspeople will be inconvenienced, but she will suffer a far worse fate. Pride leads to alienation. Just look what it did to Lucifer.”

Elezar spread his hands, driven to defend his charge. “But that's what she fears! I believe Vernie's afraid the women will abandon her. She values their friendship and feels that they look upon her as the epitome of self-reliance. She's convinced herself that she doesn't need anyone—no other humans, at least. I don't think she's hardened her heart toward the Father.”

Gavriel thought for a moment. “And forgiveness comes hard for her.”

“Very hard. She can't forgive herself for something like forgetting to order nutmeg and cranberries. So how is she supposed to forgive Stanley?”

The angels sat in silence, listening to the wind hooting among the tombstones.

“What does Vernie plan to do next?” Gavriel asked.

Elezar sighed. “She's e-mailing Annie and asking her to bring the supplies when she comes this weekend.”

“But—”

“I know.” Elezar closed his eyes. “The forecast called for a nor'easter, and the storm might prevent Annie from coming.”

He blew out his cheeks. If it did, Vernie wasn't going to be the most popular woman on the island.

Hi, Annie,

Will you please bring twenty-five pounds of sugar, five pounds of fresh cranberries, and twenty tins of nutmeg when you come this weekend? Cat food, too, if you remember it. MaGoo likes the kind in the little pouches.

Thanks!

Vernie

Frowning, Annie clicked on her next e-mail, this one from Beatrice Coughlin.

Annie,

Honey, can you bring us some sugar and nutmeg when you come Saturday? We're afraid to wait any longer for Vernie. She says she's going to e-mail you and ask you to bring supplies, but I'm afraid to trust anything she says these days. She's been promising supplies for two weeks now and we've not gotten them yet. She's been acting downright weird lately and I suspect that she's drinking. I don't know for certain, but I've caught her pouring something into her Coke on occasion.

I know that's a shocker but I don't know any other reason for her state of mind of late. Maybe you could pop in and ask Elezar what's going on. If I send Abner or Birdie she'll know something's up. (Birdie's been acting strange, too, but that's another story.) Anyway, if you can bring the sugar and nutmeg we sure would appreciate it. Thanks, sweetie.

Beatrice

Vernie Bidderman, the poster child for the Women's Temperance Union, drinking? What was going on in Heavenly Daze?

A rap on the door broke into her thoughts. Annie looked up to see Melanie standing in the doorway, a pleased grin on her face. “Isn't he everything I said he was?”

Annie blinked. “Who?”

“Who, my foot.” Melanie moved into the office and kicked the door closed with her heel. “A. J. Don't you think he could be”—she wiggled her index fingers—“Mr. Right?”

Annie didn't know what to say. He might be Mr. Right for someone, but he certainly didn't seem to share Melanie's warm and fuzzy feelings. If he did, why had he invited Annie to dinner?

Propping her chin on her hand, she studied her friend. “Is he going on the cruise?”

Melanie's face fell. “No. He's spending Christmas with family.”

Annie felt a sudden rush of mingled guilt and relief.

Popping the lid off a carton of yogurt, Melanie sat in the guest chair across from Annie's desk. “We'll have to do without him—but we'll still have fun.”

Annie drew a deep breath. “About that cruise, Melanie. I won't be going.”

Melanie's spoon hovered in midair. “You're kidding— you bought tickets already.”

“I know.” Annie stood. “But I bought insurance, so I won't lose all the money.”

Melanie's face contorted in despair. “Annieeee! You can't back out on me now!”

“I'm sorry.” Throwing up her hands, Annie began to pace. “I should have been honest with you, and myself. I thought I could go, but I can't. Aunt Olympia needs me, so I have to spend Christmas in Heavenly Daze.”

The admission pained her more than she wanted to admit, but it wouldn't do any good to dwell on thoughts of sun-bleached beaches, handsome men, and tropical seas. Her only option was to ignore the disappointment that grew stronger and deeper with every passing day . . .

“Well, that stinks.” Melanie scooped a spoonful of yogurt and narrowed her eyes.

Annie shrugged. “Nancy and Becky will be there.”

“Yeah, I know, but that makes the cabin arrangements awkward. I'll either have to stay by myself or share with them—three girls using one teeny, tiny bathroom.” She rolled her eyes.

“You won't be in your room that much.”

Her face brightened. “That's true. Maybe I'll get lucky and meet someone who'll keep me dancing all night.”

Easing back into her chair, Annie frowned. “What about Mr. Perfect?”

“A. J.? What about him?” Melanie's eyes narrowed further as she licked her spoon. “We've only dated twice—just once, actually, 'cause we met on that first night.” Grinning, she scooped up another spoonful of yogurt. “Hey, don't get me wrong, A. J.'s wonderful. And if I don't find anybody better on the cruise, I'll be on him like white on rice. But on a cruise all prospects are put on hold. There could be a better Mr. Perfect just beyond the lido deck.”

Annie rolled her eyes. Amazing how Mr. Perfect could evolve into Mr. Possibility in a heartbeat.

Thank goodness she had no man in her life. She didn't need those kinds of complications.

Chapter Fourteen

O
n Saturday morning, Annie bundled up and left her apartment at nine-thirty, planning to stop by the well-stocked Hannaford Brothers grocery for sugar, cranberries, cat food, and nutmeg before she made the two-hour drive to Ogunquit. To her chagrin, she discovered that the store didn't have twenty cans of nutmeg. She would have to swing by her local grocery store to complete Bea's and Vernie's wish lists.

Grumbling at the inconvenience, she parked in the second wet parking lot of the day, pulled her collar up to her ears, and trudged into the grocery store.

After yanking a cart from the line of buggies, she pushed it toward the spice aisle. Rounding the corner in a rush, she collided with a fellow shopper's cart, jolting her from stem to stern. The corner of her buggy swung wide, knocking over a display of thirty-two ounce bottles of Mountain Dew. Plastic bottles toppled and hit the ground, several exploding in pressurized yellow streams as unsuspecting shoppers slipped and slid through the sticky assault.

By the time she'd righted the bottles, helped an older woman up from the floor, and tried to explain the collision to a nervous store manager, Annie was drenched. Holding her sticky blouse away from her chest, she looked at the damage to her clothing and muttered, “Good grief.”

A rumbling baritone chuckle answered her wry observation. She glanced up to see A. J. grinning at her, the front of his blue shirt, silk tie, and leather jacket saturated in soda pop.

Her pulse rate kicked into overdrive. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Picking up some soda?”

Annie burst out laughing as a clerk approached with a mop.

“I'm so sorry,” Annie apologized, bending to help pick up the ruptured plastic bottles.

“No problem, ma'am, please be careful. Stand back.”

Like a knight in soaking armor, A. J. took Annie's arm and pulled her away from the carnage. Beside a bin of broccoli she dabbed at her blouse with a paper towel, aware that a pink flush now dominated her face. Of all people to run into—literally—she had to soak Mr. Perfect.

Her thoughts abruptly shifted. What was A. J. doing here?

She lifted her gaze to meet his warm brown eyes. “Did you know I live near here?”

He stopped wiping his jacket long enough to give her a smooth smile. “How would I know that?”

“Maybe Melanie told you?” She didn't want to believe he'd found out where she lived and was haunting the grocery store in order to meet her—or did she? Maybe she did, but then she'd be a traitor. Melanie might be as fickle as the wind, but she was a friend.

Mr. Perfect's smile hadn't faded. “The subject of where you live and shop could have come up the one time I was out with Melanie—or two, if you insist on counting the night I met her.”

Annie grinned, dropping her head when her cheeks burned hotter. “Okay. So what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

Half her heart thrilled at his words, the other half wished he wouldn't tease. There was no way he could have known she would be in this store at this hour.

Reason won out. “I wish you wouldn't say things like that,” she said.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I'm following you.”

“You are not.” She tossed her crumpled paper towels into a trash can, then reached over to retrieve her dripping cart. Conversation like this would get them nowhere.

His smile deepened. “Like I said, I came in for a soft drink and a deli sandwich. I had a consultation in Portland earlier this morning, and now I'm on my way to the airport.”

Of course, Annie thought. The airport was only fifteen minutes from here. This would be a logical stop if he wanted to pick up something for lunch.

She lowered her gaze, afraid he'd think she was intent upon grilling him. What did his schedule matter to her? They were barely friends. Mere acquaintances.

He fell into step beside her as she pushed her cart toward the cash register. His eyes widened when he saw what she was buying—eight tins of nutmeg.

She laughed. “It isn't for me. I'm doing friends a favor.”

“You had me worried. I thought maybe you had a nutmeg addiction.”

He flashed a million-dollar smile, then stepped away to get his sandwich and soda. As Annie pushed her cart through the checkout line, a wave of resentment washed over her. Why should Melanie have this man? She didn't deserve him—well, maybe nobody did. So why should Annie feel guilty for feeling attracted to him? Something would be wrong with any woman who wasn't attracted to this guy.

But Melanie, no matter what her faults, was a friend. And friends didn't steal other friends' boyfriends.

So Mr. Perfect was taken.

After she paid for her purchases, she walked slowly to the door, then smiled when he caught up with her.

“Express lane?” she asked, nodding toward his single grocery bag.

“Always.” He grinned. “Life's too short to stand in line.”

They walked out to her car, which he seemed to remember.

“On your way home?” he asked, holding the door open after she unlocked the car.

“No, I'm off to visit my aunt for the weekend.” She paused, studying the lowering sky. The clouds looked bruised and swollen. “Do you know if they're predicting snow?”

“I hope not; I still have to fly to New York.” A. J. ducked as his pager went off. Checking the number, he said, “I have to go.”

“Me too.” She slipped behind the wheel and he held the door a moment longer. Their eyes met.

“You will let me know?”

“Know what?”

“When I can take you to dinner.”

She dropped her gaze. “I think that will be up to Melanie.”

“The girl I dated only one time, two if you count—”