“It’s a hat.”
“Well, you should shoot it and put it out of its misery.” Chloe grinned. The truth was, if EV gave her the hat, Chloe would wear it. That’s what you did when your best friend made something for you. Even if it was the ugliest garment in the history of knitting.
“Keep it up, and I’ll make you a matching pair of mittens.”
Priscilla Lewellyn’s quiet chuckle did not go unnoticed, but it was her outfit that earned her a raised eyebrow from EV. Owner of Thread, the fabric store where knitting group was held, Priscilla’s everyday wardrobe consisted of items worked by her own hand—generally using specialty yarns with a fuzzy or nubby texture. Today’s dress, exquisitely crafted from variegated boucle yarn in a mix of fall colors, would have been fine on its own. It was the addition of some sort of collar apparatus that made the outfit go wrong. Ruffled around the edges, it looked like an old fashioned doily knit from the feathers pulled off of a wild pheasant. From that bit of fluff rose Priscilla’s slim-to-the-point-of-skinny neck, which, along with her prominent nose, conjured the vision of a Thanksgiving turkey in EV’s head. It wasn’t the most charitable of thoughts, and yet she couldn’t shake the image.
“Speaking of mittens,” Talia Plunkett took the opportunity to change the subject, “I was thinking it might be a good idea to add a few pairs of stockings to the borrow boxes this year.” The borrow boxes, a Ponderosa Pines innovation, held books for trade during summer months, and hats, mittens, and scarves during the winter—no trade necessary. “I’d be happy to donate several pairs to kick things off.”
With a little too much time on her hands after her husband’s accidental death, Talia had turned to knitting. With a vengeance. Now she had a plastic tote filled with two dozen pairs of orphaned stockings.
“How is that speaking of mittens?” Talia’s sister, Lottie Calabrese, sneered.
“Shut up, Lottie.” Luther’s death had somehow shortened Talia’s patience and strengthened her spine. Once inclined to kowtow to her sister’s acid tongue, she now waded in with a will. Stories of their epic public battles were gaining legendary status.
To stop this one in its tracks, Chloe blurted, “EV and I are leaving for Ireland on Wednesday. We’ll be gone for a couple of weeks.”
Her ploy worked; requests for more information bombarded Chloe.
“My mother’s getting married.” She tried for cheerful, but couldn’t quite keep the edge of disgust from her tone. “Some guy she met a few months ago. Javier something or other.”
“Tell her I hope she’ll be very happy.” Priscilla chirped. “It’s too bad she never comes home.”
“Well, she would, if EV would just cooperate.” Waggling eyebrows followed by doe-eyed innocence met EV’s pointed glare.
All eyes turned toward EV who, to her great embarrassment, blushed. “Lila has vowed not to set foot in Ponderosa Pines until she can attend my wedding to Dalton.”
A chorus of female whoo noises erupted.
“Is that a possibility?” The light of creative genius danced in Priscilla’s eyes and EV pictured herself walking down the aisle in some knitted fantasy of a dress. Trouble was, most of Prissy’s creations tended toward her own tastes, and EV really didn’t fancy looking like Mother Goose. That this was her biggest worry, and not the actual idea of marrying Dalton—or anyone for that matter—escaped her notice entirely.
“Considering we’ve been on two dates, I think you can hold off on renting the hall just yet.”
“Three,” Chloe corrected, earning a lifted eyebrow from EV. “If you consider a night of torrid passion a date, then that makes three.” The blush intensified.
“Two—three, doesn’t mean anything.” EV changed the subject to something that didn’t make her feel shivery with dread and anticipation at the same time: the town Yule celebration. She rummaged through her yarn bag before pulling a spiral bound notebook from where it had slid to the very bottom; yarn tangled through the binding. Several seconds passed while she freed the book, stuffing the offending strands back into the mess. EV tossed the notebook onto the coffee table. “Can I count on you ladies to take care of things while I’m gone?”
Lottie’s eyes lit with anticipation. A self-styled decorating diva, she itched to put her own spin on one of the town’s most-loved traditions. With two recent deaths and an invasion of Sasquatch hunters behind them, the town could use a little fun and celebration. Lottie and Talia went for the book at the same time, but it was Allegra Worth who snatched it from the table first.
When Allegra’s husband killed Evan Plunkett for sleeping with his wife, everyone expected Allegra to leave town in shame. Instead, she had not only stayed, but shed much of her haughty demeanor and become even more involved with her neighbors.
“You two will fight over everything, and nothing will get done.” It was no less than the truth. “I’ll take point on this one.” She turned entreating eyes toward EV. “You can count on me.”
“Text or email if you have questions,” and EV left it at that.
* * *
“Take care of my babies.” Chloe murmured to Talia, who had, along with her new obsession with knitting, begun a slow descent into crazy cat lady territory. In fact, Sugar and Spice were two of Talia’s rescue kittens—forced, lovingly, onto Chloe by the only person she would tolerate such insolence from—EV. Fortunately, Chloe had fallen in love with the two rascals, though she suspected they were more crazy about Nate than they ever had been about her. Not that she could blame them.
Chloe struggled up Talia’s front walkway; a cat carrier in one hand, a bag of supplies in the other. The task would have been simple if both kittens hadn’t crawled to the very back of the enclosure, upsetting the handle’s center of gravity. Talia reached for it, pulling the two angry kittens from
