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Christmas Comes to Bethlehem - Maine: The Annual Live Nativity Event Becomes a Backdrop for Four Modern Romances (Romancing America)

By Elizabeth Ludwig, Lorraine Beatty, Sandra Robbins, Virginia Vaughan

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The Last Angel Song

Chapter 1

Callen Grant shoved his hands deep into the pockets of
his heavy coat, scanning the main street of the town.
Bethlehem, Maine. Small town America. Population,
9,000. How could a place that small be known for having the
quintessential live nativity in the whole of New England? And
why was he here to cover it?
A quick inventory of the snow-lined street offered no surprises.
Bakery. Bank. Veterinary clinic. Pharmacy. Dress shop.
All the requisite retailers were present, complete with white-steepled
church across the green.
Hunching his shoulders against a stiff breeze chasing down
the street, he folded his collar up, seeking warmth. He could
have been in Florida, with palm trees and sunshine and temps in
the eighties. It should have been a no-brainer—take the reporting
job in Clearwater. Instead, he’d delayed his decision and
ended up here.
He set his jaw and started forward, his boots sloshing through
the rapidly melting snow. Maybe if he could get rid of the headache
that had plagued him all morning he could think clearly.
With his assignment as adventure/travel author for the
Wilcox Communications Group at an end, his boss had offered
him a temporary position at the Boston office and given him the
task of writing a lifestyle piece on the Bethlehem nativity. He’d
been promised a hard reporting job as soon as one opened up,
but Callen wasn’t sure he wanted to remain with the company.
He was looking for something more, and Wilcox had a habit of
not keeping their promises.
He’d been offered the reporting job with a Florida paper, but
it meant starting at the bottom, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to
fight that battle again. So he’d come to the wilds of Maine and
tacked on a few weeks of vacation, intending to use the time to
sort out his future. Should he take the Florida job and work his
way up, or stay with Wilcox and hope they found a job for him
soon?
The door to Bloom’s Pharmacy opened as he reached for the
handle. An elderly woman with a scarf wrapped around the collar
of her bulky winter coat ambled out. He smiled. She stared
and kept on going. Callen shrugged off the slight in favor of the
warmth beckoning him inside.
The warmth quickly chased the chill from his shoulders and
the familiar mixture of aromas eased his headache. Perfume.
Medications. Candy. Magazines. The intriguing combination of
smells that accompanied a drugstore.
Callen unbuttoned his coat as he scanned the directories
hanging above each aisle. Spotting the sign for painkillers and
cold remedies, he strolled toward the left, turning down the
second aisle. He frowned at the vast assortment of choices.
His peripheral vision picked up movement to his right, and he
glanced at the woman coming toward him. He looked away, only
to jerk his head around again and stare.
It couldn’t be. Why would she be in this small town? And
what were the odds of finding her here, after all this time?
The woman looked past him until he turned to face her. It
had to be her. He’d know those hazel eyes anywhere. The eyes
that changed color with each outfit she wore. The eyes that had
a tiny blue streak in the left and a spot of green in the right.
She met his gaze. The hazel eyes widened. He smiled.
“Angie? Angie Silkowsky?”
“Callen?” She rushed forward, hands outstretched. “I can’t
believe this. What are you doing here?”
He opened his mouth and found his voice lodged in his
throat. She was as beautiful as he remembered. The twelve years
since he’d seen her last had only added to her loveliness. He
cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m here on a working vacation.
What about you?”
“I live here. And my name is Angie Monroe now.”
A cloud passed over her face and he sensed her slight withdrawal.
“In Maine? Why? And what happened to you? You were
hitting the top of the charts; your last album went platinum out
of the gate. Then you disappeared. The whole country was looking
for you.”
Angie took a step back. The withdrawal physical now. “I’m
not in the music business anymore. I, uh, have a daughter. Lily.
She’s three. I wanted a normal life for her. Not touring on buses
and dragging her from concert to concert.” She shrugged. “You
know how it is.”
He didn’t know, but the life she’d described was the one she’d
dreamed of her whole life. So why had she walked away? No.
Vanished at the height of her success? “Angie, why—”
She smiled and moved another step back. “Where are you
staying, Callen? Oh, must be at the Stoval-Mills House. It’s the
only bed and breakfast in town. Is Edna treating you all right?”
Callen’s reporter antennae quivered. Angie was as tense as a
too-tight guitar string. What was she hiding? “Yeah. It’s great.
She spoils me like a doting mom.”
She nodded. “That’s Edna.”
“So I’d like to catch up. It’s been a long time. Why don’t we
have dinner? I’ll be here for several weeks.”
She blanched, one hand coming to rest at her throat. “Sure.
Fine. I’d like that. Of course, I’m really busy at the moment, with
Lily and all. She takes up most of my time. Then I’m the director
of the live nativity this year. That’s a huge job. But I’ll see what
I can do.”
Callen took a step toward her, smiling. “You’re the director
of the nativity? That’s why I’m here. I’m covering your event for
an article on the top Christmas attractions in New England. In
fact, I’m meeting with the editor of the paper in a few minutes.”
Angie’s ivory skin turned an odd shade of gray.
“You’re a reporter?”
Callen narrowed his gaze. What was wrong with her? Her
voice was husky, her posture defensive. Not at all the vibrant, full of
life woman he’d fallen in love with long ago. He noticed she
was holding a small box of cold medication. Maybe she was ill.
He nodded, deciding to give her space to explain. He slipped
his hands into his pockets again and leaned back slightly, assuming
a casual stance. “Don’t sound so surprised. It’s all I ever
wanted to be. Remember?”
“Yes. Of course. I just didn’t expect. . .” She blinked and
met his gaze, her hazel eyes filled with confusion. “I thought
you wrote those travel books. I used to see them everywhere.”
She moved her hand through the air like a banner. “Granted:
Adventures in Travel by Callen Grant.”
“Yeah. They did really well. But those are done. I’m just finishing
up on my contract. I’ve been offered a reporting job in
Florida. It’s a chance to do some serious news stories.” Callen
frowned. The pulse in Angie’s neck was beating so rapidly he
wondered if she might pass out.
“Well, it’s been great to see you again. I’ll call when I have
a free evening. I’ve got to—” She stared at the medicine in her
hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I need to get this home to
Lily.” She pushed past him and disappeared around the corner,
leaving him puzzled, worried, and filled with memories he didn’t
want to visit.
What had happened to Angeline Silkowsky? She said her
name was Monroe and she had a child. Had she married someone
from here? Suddenly he had a lot more things to look into
besides a live nativity.
##
Angie Silkowsky Monroe swiped her debit card, her fingers
tapping the counter impatiently as Betty rang up her purchase.
She shot the woman a stiff smile as she took the receipt then
glanced over her shoulder to make sure Callen wasn’t watching.
She could see his light brown hair over the top of the shelving.
Pushing open the door, Angie rushed outside, inhaling the cool,
crisp winter air, the chill of it penetrating deep into her lungs and
settling the nerves in her stomach. She took a moment to decide
her next move. Turning north would take her to the Bethlehem
Community Church. Turning south, to Edna at the Stovall-Mills
House. A quick check of her watch showed she had nearly an
hour before she had to pick her daughter up from preschool at
the church. Plenty of time to get some questions answered. She
turned south.
Edna Burrows was seated at the round kitchen table, a cup
of steaming tea in front of her as she read a magazine. Angie
tapped on one of the small window panes and waved.
Edna motioned her inside, smiling. “You’re a sight for sore
eyes. I haven’t seen you in weeks. Where you been hiding? You
want some tea?”
Angie nodded, pulling off her coat and taking a seat at the
cheery table. Simon, Edna’s husband, passed through the room
with a nod of his head, and exited out the door. Simon was a man
of few words. Probably because Edna talked enough for both of
them. If you wanted to know about anything or anyone in town,
Edna was better than the Internet. Which is why Angie had come.
“Plantation mint, your favorite.” Edna placed the teacup in
front of Angie and sat down again. “So what brings you here on
a late afternoon? Shouldn’t you be picking up that cutie of yours?
That child is so adorable. Bright. Friendly. Full of energy. I don’t
know how you keep up with her.”
Cradling her cup between her hands, Angie waited for Edna
to take a breath. “You have a new guest.” She held her breath,
her stomach twisting in knots as she waited for the answers she
dreaded hearing.
Edna grinned. “You mean that handsome, six-foot hunk of
masculine charm, Callen Grant?” She sighed and placed her
hand at her throat with a sigh. “If I were thirty years younger, and
Simon wasn’t the love of my life. . .” She winked. “He checked in
this morning. What about him?”
Angie’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. “Do you know
why he’s here?”
Edna’s smile widened as she leaned forward. “Indeed I do.
He’s here to write an article about our live nativity. You know
the attention has died down a good bit from our grand rebirth
after the storm. It wouldn’t hurt to put our nativity at the front
of people’s minds again. And since you’re in charge of the whole
thing. . .” Edna set her cup down with a clatter into the saucer,
her eyes wide with sudden realization. “Oh my.”
Angie rubbed her temple. “Oh my, indeed.”
Edna waved off her concern. “Well, no need to worry. He’ll
never figure out who you really are. My goodness, you don’t look
anything like you did when you were a music star. You have
different hair, different clothes, even a different name. Don’t you
worry; we all promised when you came to live here that we’d protect
you.” She reached over and patted Angie’s hand reassuringly.
“Callen knows who I am. We’ve known each other since
high school back in Ohio. He’s not only a reporter by trade, but
by nature. He’ll want to know why I’m here, and he won’t stop
until he finds out.”
“Then maybe you should tell him. Get it out in the open. If
he’s an old friend, maybe he’ll agree to support your decision.”
Angie prayed her friend was right. If not, her whole world
could come tumbling down.
##
An hour later Angie was still praying Edna’s words would prove
true as she picked Lily up from school. “Did you have fun today,
Pumpkin?”
Lily held up a crumpled piece of paper displaying colorful
crayon scribbles and glitter. “We made a sparkle tree.”
“I love it. Let’s put it up on the refrigerator, okay?”
Lily smiled and nodded. “ ’Kay.”
Thoughts of Callen swirled like a fierce winter wind in
Angie’s mind as she prepared supper. Mac and cheese, pears, and
little green balls—peas . All of Lily’s favorites. Angie tried to eat,
but the food tasted like paper. Lily gobbled her food with delight,
leaving behind an orange and green mess on the booster seat. By
the time Angie had tucked the little girl into bed and headed
back downstairs, she’d decided to follow Edna’s suggestion and
take the offensive in dealing with Callen. She’d meet with him,
tell him what was going on, then she’d offer to be his guide and
grant him full access to the nativity and any questions he wanted
to ask. She’d tell him she left the music business to be a mom to
Lily, that her name change was to protect them both from publicity.
She’d be open and forthright, he’d accept her explanation,
and she’d call on his friendship to keep her world intact. Picking
up her phone, she scrolled down to Edna’s number and dialed,
ignoring the pricking of her conscience. She would tell Callen
only part of the truth. He didn’t need to know everything.
##
Callen Grant stared out the large window of his room at the
Stoval-Mills house, barely registering the lights that decorated
every charming home along Spruce Street. The B&B was tucked
away around a corner from the main thoroughfare on a quiet,
tree-lined street. Bethlehem was a living postcard of the idyllic
Christmas village. Every place he’d wandered this afternoon had
been more picturesque than the last.
Heat from the fireplace warmed his back, drawing him away
from the window. He ran his palms down his face and lowered
himself into the comfy love seat facing the fire. All that New
England charm was lost in the memory of coming face to face
with Angie Silkowsky. Known to the world as Silky Blaine. The
girl with the voice like silk. Smooth, strong, able to wrap its dulcet
tones around your nerves and touch your soul with sweetness.
The way she’d touched his heart from the moment he’d met
her in English class in tenth grade. Quiet, shy, and pretty, she
hadn’t been one of the popular crowd. They’d sat beside each
other at the back of the class and were an item all through high
school. He’d fallen in love, but Angie was more interested in a
singing career. She’d even cancelled their prom date to sing the
national anthem at a Cincinnati Reds game.
Callen rubbed his forehead then reached for his hot cocoa. A
part of Edna’s hospitality. He’d had the ring in his pocket the night
Angie received word she’d won the American Star talent search.
She’d left for Nashville that next morning, and he’d never seen her
again—except on television and on covers of magazines—but he
hardly recognized her. She’d been transformed. New hairstyle and
color, new clothes, and new name. Angie Silkowsky had become
Silky Blaine, country music’s hottest new star.
He’d never begrudged her the opportunity. She’d worked
hard and achieved her heart’s desire. But the hole she’d left in his
heart had never healed, and he’d never found anyone else who
could fill it.
The room telephone rang, the unfamiliar sound causing him
to nearly spill his drink. Setting the cup on the coffee table, he
picked up the receiver. “Grant here.”
“Callen? It’s Angie.”
He froze. For a moment his lungs refused to function. He
inhaled through his nose, trying to keep his voice calm. “Hey. I
didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” He leaned forward, his
gut knotted with curiosity. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to apologize for being so abrupt this afternoon. I
was distracted. I thought maybe we could meet for dinner tomorrow
night. My treat. Trapper’s has the best seafood in town.”
Callen didn’t want to wait that long. He had too many questions.
“Why not lunch? My schedule is flexible.”
“Well, I suppose we could eat here at my house. It would
save me a babysitting fee, too.” She chuckled softly. “How about
noon? Edna will give you directions. It’s not hard to find.”
“Great. Will your husband be there?”
“No. Just the three of us.”
The odd tone in her voice raised more questions. “I’ll see you
then.” He hung up the phone, staring at his cup of cocoa. Angie
was a mother. He shouldn’t be surprised. But he was. He’d always
thought her career was her first love. She’d been passionate, even
obsessive about her goal.
Is that why she’d dropped out of the music business? Had
she gotten married and started a family? But why no explanation?
Why no announcement, or a farewell tour to thank her
fans? She’d vanished overnight. It had been the lead article in the
tabloids for months until a new celebrity crisis had taken over
the headlines and Silky Blaine was forgotten.
His gaze drifted to the clock on the bedside table. Eight
thirty. He had a lot of hours to fill before lunch tomorrow. And a
lot of questions and a lot of memories to keep him awake.

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