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  Above them Farrie’s voice floated out over the dark air. In the crowd, many people had suddenly joined hands.

  “Then pealed the bells, more loud and deep—”

  On cue, all the church bells in Nancyville began to ring: a deep bong, bong from the bell towers of the Presbyterians, Methodists, and Baptists, a higher, rapid clanging from the carillons of Episcopal St. George’s. Farrie sang:

  “That wrong shall fail, the right prevail—”

  Longfellow’s message, not just a song now, spoke to all those listening. There was not a sound as faces turned up to the singer. Then, as the bells from the valley’s churches grew louder some people in the crowd got to their feet.

  “Of peace on earth,” the voices of the chorus proclaimed. “Goodwill to men!”

  The crowd around the courthouse was singing, including Junior’s committee and the fire rescue team, who had paused in their efforts in the oak tree to join in.

  Church bells clanged and vibrated exultantly on the night air. Above them rose Farrie’s powerful contralto voice.

  “Till ringing, singing on its way,

  The world revolved from night to day

  A voice, a chime, a chant sublime—”

  Suddenly, as if there had been some agreement beforehand that everyone on the courthouse lawn would stand up and join in the chorus, a thousand voices sent a triumphant refrain floating up into the falling snow and the heavens above it:

  “Of peace on earth, Goodwill to men!”

  No one did anything for several long minutes. Some people turned and hugged each other. Hugged total strangers. One by one in the thickly falling snow the audience folded up their chairs and blankets and made for their cars, their smiles and subdued voices held by the magic of the song. Santa Claus, removed from the tree, showed his gratitude to the members of the fire rescue team by hugging them, tearfully.

  Judy and one of the Bells helped Farrie down and she threw herself upon Scarlett, burying her face.

  “You did good, hon,” Scarlett told her, stroking her hair. “It was beautiful.”

  Eighteen

  “YOU NEED TO DROP BY THE HOSPITAL, Sheriff,” Kevin Black Badger said, “and see about your face. Your right eye is just about shut.”

  Buck only grunted.

  He knew what he was going to do about his face. Just as soon as he could get away from the nearly deserted courthouse area, he had plans to go home with Scarlett and sit before the Christmas tree in the parlor, listening to Christmas music, while she treated the eye, his cut lip, and various bruises with ice-cold compresses.

  It was not exactly the most romantic evening with someone you loved, but Buck couldn’t wait to get started.

  “Devil Anse?” he asked Black Badger. Buck’s upper lip was swelling, putting a limit on conversation.

  “All booked and processed,” Kevin told him, “and in a cell down at the jail.” The deputy hesitated, seeing Scarlett coming across the littered lawn with Farrie. “I—ah, well, Sheriff, I want to say I don’t have no hard feelings about you using my stuff tonight,” he said, his eyes on her. “I think I can salvage what’s left of my sheepskin. Make car seats out of it, maybe.”

  “Good idea.” Buck watched the deputy turn and abruptly walk away, the Scraggs dog at his heels. He started to call out to Black Badger, then thought better of it. It looked as though the animal was going to follow the deputy all the way to his patrol car.

  Then, suddenly, there was Scarlett.

  Even Buck’s swollen eye managed to open a little more at the sight of her. She was so beautiful bundled in an old down ski coat from the church boxes, flushed with the cold, snowflakes in her night-dark hair.

  She slipped her cold hand in his.

  “You all right?” he said huskily.

  She nodded, her eyes like black stars. “You were good to Farrie. I want to thank you.”

  “No more than what I should have done.” Buck turned to look at the imp beside him. “You better go get your dog,” he told her. “I don’t know what got into it, going off with Black Badger. But right now it looks like the thing’s trying to get into his patrol car.”

  Farrie viewed the deputy struggling with the huge dog for a long moment, then she shrugged. “She’ll do that sometimes,” she said calmly. “I dunno—maybe Demon thinks he needs something.”

  Kevin Black Badger needed something? Buck turned to Scarlett, but she only hugged his arm with both hands and said, “Maybe your deputy’s lonely.”

  Buck was damned if he could follow this. But if they weren’t worried about the dog, he surely wasn’t. “She’ll come back,” Farrie put in consolingly, “she always does. Demon does what she wants to.”

  He’d already learned that. Buck took Scarlett’s hand and tucked it under his arm and they began walking toward the Blazer.

  While they were sitting before the Christmas tree at home and she was putting ice on his face, Buck planned to have a talk with Scarlett about the future. He’d never intended to live with his mother forever. In fact, he’d hired an architect some years ago to draw up plans for an A-frame he’d like to build up on Makim’s Mountain.

  Farrie hurried to keep up with them. Just as they approached the courthouse parking lot, empty now except for one snow-covered television van, a somewhat bedraggled female figure came limping toward them.

  “Oh, Sheriff!” The TV camera on the shoulder of the cameraman following her began to roll. “It’s Jennifer James. I’m so glad I found you! Do you have anything you want to say about the—ah, dramatic and controversial events that took place here in Nancyville tonight?”

  Scarlett tried to pull away, but Buck held her firmly. It was all over, there was nothing to get upset about. In fact, if anything, it had all turned out pretty well. He grabbed Farrie with his free hand and turned them both to face the camera.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do,” Buck said, mindful of his split lip and the need to keep it short. “I hope you got all of us singing ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to men,’ because that’s the message from mountain people up here to the world. And it’s a good one. We hope the world pays attention.”

  He put his arms around Scarlett and drew her to him, hoping that his pride and love showed on what was left of his face.

  “I’d like,” he said, “to announce that I’m getting married to Miss Scarlett Scraggs of the—ah, prominent Scraggs family of this area. Her sister, Miss Farrah Fawcett Scraggs, will be her bridesmaid.”

  He heard Farrie gasp. Scarlett pulled back to stare at him.

  “Wish us luck,” Buck said, hurrying Scarlett and her sister away before they could say anything.

  But Scarlett stopped short and wrenched her arm away to yell, “We’re engaged? We really are? Like we’re going to get married? You must mean it! You just told everybody that on television!”

  “We have to talk about it later,” Buck told her. “But engaged, married, yeah.” If it hadn’t been for his lip, he would have grinned.

  “You told the whole world that you’re going to marry a Scraggs?” Scarlett flung herself on him, making Buck stagger back a few steps, and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Buck Grissom, you are the kindest, bravest—”

  “Nice to kids, too,” Farrie yelled, inching up to try to put her arms around both of them.

  “—most loving man,” Scarlett breathed, looking up into Buck’s eyes. “I could just kiss you!”

  “Wait just a few minutes, sweetheart,” Buck said, pulling her arms from around his neck. “You can kiss me all you want when we get home.”

  “Home.” Farrie hobbled after them, looking excited. “Scarlett, ask him if—”

  But the newswoman was coming after them. “Sheriff, just a minute. That’s very interesting, what you said about getting married. Can we ask you a few more—”

  Buck seized both Scraggs sisters by the hand and loped toward the Blazer. He couldn’t wait a minute longer. His face hurt like hell, but if he was careful he might be able to hold S
carlett Scraggs in his arms and get in the kisses she wanted there before the Christmas tree.

  “We need to make some plans, Scarlett,” he said, as he opened the Blazer door for her. “Like how many kids we’re going to have, where to build a house, that sort of thing.”

  She looked at him, eyes wide. “Actually, I was thinking I’d like to open a restaurant.”

  Restaurant? Buck thought that over as he lifted Farrie into the back.

  “They told me,” Farrie was saying happily, “and Mr. Ravenwood the music teacher did, too, that I could be a country and western singer like Reba McEntire and Patsy Cline.” She looked at him with adoration in her eyes. “But you know, I think now I’d rather be a cop!”

  “Law-enforcement officer,” Buck said automatically.

  He sighed as he slid behind the wheel. Restaurant. He supposed he could live with that. And the pixie child wanted to be a deputy. That was going to be a little tougher.

  Somehow, Buck found, looking around, he missed the damned dog. She’ll be back, Farrie had said. Buck couldn’t help it, he shuddered.

  “Oh, look at it snow!” Scarlett cuddled close to him in the front seat, her warm mouth at his ear. Buck put his arm around her. In the Blazer’s back seat, Farrie was singing softly to herself.

  “We never had a Christmas like this one,” Scarlett whispered happily.

  Buck recklessly leaned over, considering that he was driving with only one arm, to kiss the top of her beautiful head. He could just about gauge the reaction in Nancyville—in all of north Georgia—when their engagement announcement showed up on the television evening news. But Nancyville would just have to get used to it, he told himself. As far as he was concerned, the Scraggses were there to stay.

  “Neither,” Sheriff Buck told his fiancée with great satisfaction as they turned into the road to the mountain, “have I.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

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

  Copyright © 1993 by Maggie Davis

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-1380-5

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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