Christmas at Whispering Creek Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  What People are Saying

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  A note from the author

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free eBook Offer

  Christmas at Whispering Creek

  Barbara M. Britton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT 2022 by Barbara M. Britton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Scripture quotations, marked KJV are taken from the King James translation, public domain. Scripture quotations marked DR, are taken from the Douay Rheims translation, public domain.

  Scripture texts marked NAB are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition Copyright 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2022

  Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0395-4

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0394-7

  Published in the United States of America

  What People are Saying

  Fans of Christian romance will laugh and cry while reading this heartfelt Christmas story gracefully written by the talented Barbara Britton!

  ~ Laura Scott, USA Today Bestselling Author

  Barbara Britton is a master at writing Christian fiction. In Christmas at Whispering Creek, she has written a powerful story of overcoming loss, both physical and emotional. Of forgiveness and second chances. Of running toward God, rather than running away—especially in the hard times. Christmas at Whispering Creek is a compelling story of finding wholeness through brokenness.

  ~Carol James, best-selling author

  Christmas at Whispering Creek is a departure from Barbara Britton’s usual Biblical fiction genre, but she nails it with this moving story of depending on God through trials, making life a little brighter for others, and finding a happily ever after.

  ~Karen Malley, author of the Pine Springs Series

  1

  Samantha Williams parked her mid-size SUV and hopped out into a forty-six-degree December day. The length of her lunch break at the florist shop, and the proximity of her boyfriend’s apartment, made walking his obstinate beagle a breeze. She grabbed Buddy’s well-chewed leash and jogged across the courtyard in her puffy coat and comfortable boots.

  After unlocking the apartment door, she dipped down to stop the routine jailbreak of her walking partner. Why hadn’t she heard the scratch of his paws? Had Buddy shut himself in the bathroom again? No clammy nose or rough tongue greeted her palm. She glanced around the living room.

  Movement by the bedroom door caught her eye. Heat shot through her veins. Someone was in the apartment. She gripped the leash in case she’d need to use it as a whip. What was she thinking? Run.

  “Sam,” a familiar voice rumbled.

  Her heart almost imploded as her boyfriend strode from his bedroom, walking between the leather sofa and special-order coffee table. She blew out a gust of relief. “Karlton. What are you doing here?” She placed a hand over her chest and tried to calm her booming heart. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. You almost had the clip of Buddy’s leash embedded in your forehead.” She rushed forward to give him a hug. Maybe he wanted to surprise her? The law firm interview in Chicago must have gone well for him to be home a day early.

  She wrapped her arms around Karlton’s light blue oxford shirt and breathed in his understated musk cologne. His body stiffened. He patted her shoulder as if she were Buddy bothering him during a study binge. Was he afraid of hurting her? Or crushing her prosthetic breast?

  Pulling away, she smiled as bright as the Wisconsin winter sun. Perhaps, his interview was a bust. Karlton had his heart set on that firm. She knew the feeling of being underemployed.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Karlton scrubbed a hand over his jaw, but his lips did not curve into a happy-to-see-you smile.

  His flatline exuberance was underwhelming. She gripped the dog leash and glanced around for her four-legged charge. Moving boxes were stacked in the corner of the kitchenette. Boxes she would have noticed yesterday when she played with Buddy. A high-pitched hum like a guitar solo from a metal band lodged in her ears.

  “You’re moving?” She stumbled backward. How long had he been making plans to leave? “You must have gotten a job offer?”

  “I did.” The joyous news didn’t dimple his cheeks. “I’ll be swapping Milwaukee for the Chicago law scene. I can start at Pearce, Sutton while I finish my last class online. They’ll even mentor me for the bar exam.”

  She should have listened to her inner voice earlier and ran. Now, she was stuck staring at her soulmate and his soul seemed distracted with everything but her. What was he really doing during the time he spent preparing for interviews?

  Karlton stared at the wall.

  Samantha turned to see what held his attention.

  His gaze was focused on a spider’s web dangling from the ceiling. “I start in two weeks. And I found a condo near the office.”

  She swallowed, her throat constricting on her pride. No invitation to join him burst forth. “That’s wonderful.” Wonderfully convenient.

  His mouth gaped as if he were formulating an argument.

  “When were you going to tell me?” Pressure throbbed behind her eyes. “As you were filling out change of address cards?” Her voice squeaked with a pathetic whine.

  “I could have texted.” Karlton grinned halfheartedly and shoved his hands in his couture slacks.

  “A text?” Hysteria bubbled beneath her words. “Written like one of your lawyer’s briefs? I took tomorrow off so we could have a long weekend together.” She and Karlton u
sed to go on long walks by the lake before medical procedures got in the way. Those lazy days seemed like a decade ago.

  “Samantha.” He rocked forward, his gaze darting to the leash in her hand. “You knew I might be leaving. This is my future.”

  Muted barking began from the apartment next door. She knew that chastising bark. Her eyes grew wide at the realization of who was watching Buddy.

  “Buddy’s at your neighbor’s? With the chatty barista?” She dropped the leash onto his wooden floor. The metal clasp clacked on the polished plank. Rubbing her forehead, she willed herself not to break down. Deep in her heart she knew he had been growing distant. The studying. Exam prep. Graduation in the spring. Lining up interviews. Or. Oh, no, not that. Her diagnosis had a long tail. “It’s the cancer, isn’t it? You want someone whole.” Darn if a tear didn’t escape her lashes and slide down her cheek.

  “Of course not. It’s just—” He shuffled toward her, lifeless. His affections were already residing with the pretty woman who wore stilettos, dyed her hair blonde, and lived a wall away. “I’m sorry, Sam. But we’re in different places right now. I have to do what’s best for me.”

  No, don’t be nice. Her lone tear had invited friends to a dance party all over her face.

  “I understand.” She bobbed her head. What man wanted a scarred girlfriend? “We haven’t seen each other much. It’s just…I thought I’d have some warning. You know. Realize the end was coming.” She’d made excuses for his absences. In a deep recess of her heart, she admitted he had been trying to break free ever since breast cancer left its ugly mark.

  Karlton opened his arms.

  What did he think? Another pathetic hug would help? She raced for the door to escape and prayed she caught the knob through the wavy ocean of her vision.

  “Bye, Buddy,” she said as she raced past the peep hole of blondie’s place.

  “I did love you, Samantha,” Karlton called from the doorway, his confession lingering in the crisp air.

  When? Before my breast cancer? When I was whole? She couldn’t answer. Not when her lips were trembling, and her nose was dripping onto her zipped-up coat. Why, Lord? Why are you taking everything from me?

  She fumbled the keys in her pocket and opened the door to her car with one press of the fob.

  Pull it together, Sam. She laughed. How would she hide her mottled complexion from her boss? Hide her face behind a hydrangea? A throb of embarrassment seasoned with anger threatened to overtake her. In the midst of her own surgeries and radiation, she had been a source of encouragement to Karlton during his classes and interviews. What a waste of energy. She swiped at her runny nose and closed the car door.

  Her cell phone buzzed in its holder. Surely, it wasn’t Karlton. “He’d text,” she mocked. Squinting at the caller display, she read Lynch, Siebold, and Lee. Was that a law firm on Karlton’s list? One of his top contenders? Did they want a reference? Oh, she would give them a reference. Sniffing as if to dry the ocean, she blew out a breath and answered.

  “Hello.” Her greeting sounded semi-steady even if she was the sole judge.

  “Is this Samantha Williams?” a baritone voice asked.

  This guy sounded older, like a senior partner. “Yes, this is Samantha. May I ask who’s calling?” Her mom would be pleased with her professionalism.

  “Chester Siebold. I’m an attorney calling about…”

  Karlton Two-timer.

  “Theodore Beckman.”

  She sat straighter and swept her hair away from her ear and the phone. “Wait. You’re calling about Mr. Ted?”

  “Yes. I represent his estate.”

  “His estate? You mean, Mr. Ted is…” Could the lump in her throat get any bigger? “Has died…?”

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Williams.” The gentleman had more compassion in his condolences than her boyfriend had in his ditch of their relationship. Correction. Former boyfriend. “He passed away three weeks ago of a heart attack. I thought you had heard by now.” The attorney coughed. “You aren’t driving, are you?”

  “No, no I’m not.” Little did he know this was her second blow of the day, and she hadn’t eaten lunch. Her mom always said that things came in threes. What was next? Another spot on her mammogram? She refused to go there. “Mr. Ted, um, Theodore was my next-door neighbor when I was growing up.” No wonder she hadn’t heard anything from Ted recently. She swallowed the taste of rotten egg that had settled in her mouth.

  “I was wondering if you could come to Whispering Creek. Mr. Beckman named you in his estate. There’s a fairly large bequest, and I have paperwork to go over with you.”

  If Mr. Ted left her enough money, maybe she could pay off her medical bills and student loans. Ted had been kind to her all of her life. His wife, too. A sob wracked her chest. She chastised herself for letting her mind think of money over people.

  “How…how far away is that?” Her words stuck as she stopped a sob. Ted had moved to Tennessee, but she had never calculated the distance. She cleared her throat and asked again. “How far is the drive to Whispering Creek from Milwaukee?”

  As the attorney answered, Samantha glimpsed Karlton and the barista strolling in the distance. Their hands were clasped, and Buddy pulled on his leash haphazardly sniffing the boxwood bushes. Karlton’s interview prep must have gone well with a late-night cappuccino or latte. At the moment, Tennessee wasn’t far enough away for this Wisconsin cheese head.

  ~*~

  “Mom, I’ll be OK.” Samantha folded a pair of jeans and laid it in the suitcase opened on her bed. Her mother leaned against the doorframe. Moving back home after the reconstruction surgery failed seemed like a prudent idea at the time. Free rent. Few expenses. Nurse on call. Except her mom never went off duty even when she wasn’t working at the hospital. “I have directions from the attorney, a GPS, and a cell phone. It’s only a day’s drive. I’ll be fine.”

  Her mom pulled at the neck of her sweater. “Did you talk to your father?”

  “Yes, and he asked if I had a full tank of gas, bottled water, and a jug of salt for icy conditions.” Sam wedged a small round box into the corner of the suitcase. The container was a comfy home for her prosthetic breast. After underwear and socks were added to her wardrobe, she strolled to the doorway of her bedroom and hugged her mom.

  “Are you sure you don’t want Dad and I to go?” Her mom’s words tickled Sam’s chest. “I only want to help.”

  Sam smiled to calm her mother’s fears. “I know, Mom. I promise if I need any help, I’ll call. Mr. Siebold assured me we’ll connect with you and Dad if I have any questions or need advice. I’m able to sign documents on my own at twenty-three.”

  “But I worry.” Her mom sniffled. “Especially since Karlton—”

  “Somehow, I suspected the end was coming. I’ll be fine,” Sam assured her mother. Darn if her fake breast didn’t feel as if it had gained ten pounds. “The drive will do me good. I’ll have time to process all of that.” She eased out of her mother’s embrace and grinned as if a table of presents waited to be opened. “Think of it as my early Christmas break. Besides, it’s almost sixty degrees down south. A heat wave with no snowstorms or iced pavement.”

  “Can I put you on the prayer chain?” Her mom headed into the hallway and halted. “Many at church remember Mr. Ted. They know we were close. They’ll want to lift you up in prayer. Especially for travel mercies.”

  “Sure, you can add me.” Sam zipped her suitcase and hefted it onto the floor. “If you don’t think they’re tired of praying for my issues.” Two surgeries. Radiation. Infection. Her health problems had family friends on their knees for weeks. No, months. They should be called the knee pad brigade.

  Her mom headed down the hall. The squeak from the catch-all drawer in the kitchen broke the silence. When her mom returned, she held out several twenty-dollar bills. “Take this hundred in case of an emergency.”

  Shaking her head, Sam took the money. Anything to calm her mother’s fears, which had been ple
nty of late. Sam wasn’t worried about driving to Tennessee and meeting an attorney. Mr. Ted’s remembrance of the little girl who grew up playing in his yard and attending his Sunday school class was a blessing. A blessing she needed right now more than ever. She didn’t expect another life emergency to occur in Whispering Creek.

  2

  Cole Donoven lounged in a chair on a sunny beach with a cool glass bottle in his hand. An annoying gull squawked nearby and stamped a pattern into the sand with its webbed feet. Faint buzzing caught his attention and the seabird’s. Bothered by the reverberating hum, the noisy gull darted away.

  Opening his eyes, Cole realized he’d been dreaming. What he wouldn’t give to have his toes submerged in warm sand again. Light glowed beneath the white sheet on the other side of the bed. Who would be calling this early? Or was it early? He rolled over and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. His mother insisted the day and time display would be helpful. She was right. He knew it was Saturday, ten minutes after seven, and the third of December. His phone stopped bothering him. Good. He couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to talk to anyway, not with his temples throbbing and demanding a large cup of caffeine.

  Kicking the comforter away from his feet, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on some boxer briefs. His phone came alive again. He slid the phone from under the sheet and saw Stephen Slater’s number scrolling across the screen. Of course, his manager was calling. The guy was good at picking scabs and blowing up phones. Cole answered and prepared for his headache to become a migraine.

  “Hey, Donoven.” His music manager’s words were as smooth as coffee creamer. “You haven’t been takin’ my calls.”

  Cole shuffled to the kitchen. The wood floor chilled his bare feet. “Been busy.” At absolutely nothing.

  “Writing another song?” Slater’s tone was the usual bubble-wrapped razor blade.

  “Why don’t you ask Jillie Lynn about that.” Cole grabbed a mug from the sink and poured yesterday’s coffee into it. “She got me into this.”

  Slater’s sigh rivaled the microwave’s motor. “I can’t get a hold of JL.”