Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(37)

Next it was time for follow-up reports from last week’s assignments. At least this might be interesting. Sam, whose only contribution had been agreeing to play Santa, had nothing to report. He settled back to listen to the others, doing his best to keep his eyes off Grace. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Buffy, the gym teacher, was enthusiastic. “My students love the idea of a dance. I’ve got offers to make CDs of the best country songs. And the girls who know the dances are teaching the ones who don’t know—even the boys. It’s going to be great fun.”

Alice looked up from scribbling notes. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. A bunch of out-of-control teenagers taking over the dance floor. All those raging hormones. Anything could happen.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head, but no one else paid her much attention.

Doris Cullimore, who ran the feed and hardware store with her husband, promised that they’d pick up the large Christmas tree in Cottonwood Springs and truck it to the gym in time for it to be decorated. “We’d planned to get the tree sooner,” she said. “But things have been so busy at the store, it’s hard to get away. We’ve talked about hiring extra help, but the kids who want to work over the holidays don’t know a socket wrench from a pitchfork. We’d hoped to cut back our hours as we get close to retirement. That’s our problem, not yours. But for sure, the tree will be there for you.”

Sam listened with interest, resolving to find out more later. He might have the perfect employee for the store—if he could get him sober and keep him that way.

There was a report from the dinner committee. Since the families in town had been bringing in food for years, and this hadn’t changed, there was little to be discussed.

Then it was Grace’s turn. She stood, giving Sam the chance to devour her with his eyes and drown in her voice. She was so damned beautiful. He hadn’t realized how beautiful she was until he’d tasted her lips.

Too bad it wasn’t likely to happen again.

“My first graders really came through for me,” Grace said. “They came up with some great ideas for games. They’ll also be lending us videos and board games and helping with crafts. All I need from the committee is to make sure we have a room with tables and chairs and a TV with a video player.”

“I can check into that for you,” Buffy offered. “I’ll talk to the people in charge at the high school.”

“And don’t forget that I offered to bring some books from the library and read stories,” Clara Marsden said.

“That would be wonderful. I guess that’s all for now.” Grace took her seat again. For an instant her gaze locked with Sam’s. He gave her a smile and a thumbs-up sign, then wondered if that show of support had been a mistake. Maybe she’d think he was flirting with her. Maybe he was.

The mayor turned to the woman who had a beauty salon in her home. “Lois, where are we on promotion?”

Lois Harper stood and lifted several posters from behind her chair. “I called the radio station. And my daughter made these posters for us. She did a great job if I say so myself.”

The posters, done with Magic Marker on sheets of poster board, weren’t professional, but they were cute and clever. Sam could tell how proud Lois was of her twelve-year-old daughter.

“Oh, no! Oh, dear!” Alice Wilkins gasped. “These won’t do at all. Look, she’s called it The Cowboy Christmas Ball. According to the minutes, the posters need to say The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball, with an s and an apostrophe.” She stressed the s sound, like a hiss. “They need to be done over and done correctly.”

Lois looked stricken. Grace raised her hand for permission to speak. “Excuse me, but I don’t see a problem with these great posters. If they don’t match what’s written in the minutes, there’s a simple solution. I move we call our event The Cowboy Christmas Ball—with no s.”

“Seconded,” Sam said.

Scowling his disapproval, the mayor called for the vote. The only dissenter was his wife, who looked as if she’d just swallowed a pickle. “The minutes are inviolate,” she protested, “like the Constitution.”

“Motion carried.” The mayor didn’t look much happier than his wife did. Sam and Grace exchanged glances. She gave him a fleeting smile and the lift of an eyebrow. It was a small victory, but a sweet one. He was proud of her. Better yet, the incident might have thawed the ice between them.

The meeting ended a few minutes later, with a reminder that they’d be getting together again at their regular time on Wednesday, the eleventh. Grace left first, but Sam caught up with her in the hall. He liked to think she’d slowed her steps for him. But he couldn’t be sure.

“That was a good move, suggesting we change the name of the party to match the posters,” he said, making conversation.

“It was the only thing that made sense.” She still sounded distant. “How could we ask Lois’s daughter to do them over? That would be mean-spirited. Her mother was so proud, and those posters were so cute.”

“I got a phone call about your car today,” Sam said. “The folks at the body shop have found a replacement for the fender on your Honda, but it won’t be here for several weeks. You probably won’t get your car back until after the holidays.”