Page 42 of Cowboy’s Christmas Baker

“I’m not sure,” Mal told her. “But I know a lot of locals put in prizes. There will definitely be a pick a dozen cookies certificate in there from the bakery.”

“That’s nice,” Harrison said.

“So you’re famous,” Katie added. “Because the radio station knows about you.”

It was a small local station, but Mal had felt the same little thrill when Hope Cassidy approached her about donating something and getting a little shoutout for the bakery in exchange.

“This is ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree’ and I’m Ho-Ho-Hope Holiday,” the deejay said happily as the next song began.

“It’s such a cute deejay name,” Mal said, smiling.

“I think she’s married to my cousin,” Harrison said.

“She sure is,” Mal told him. “They got married last year and her little boy, Nick, adores Jacob.”

“Wait, will she be there?” Katie asked suddenly.

“Maybe,” Harrison answered.

“Nick would be about your age,” Mal realized. “He’s a really nice kid.”

“How do you know him?” Harrison asked.

“He’s a fan of my giant chocolate chip cookies,” Mal said with a smile. “He and his dad stop in after soccer on Saturdays.”

No one had any other questions, so they drove on, past the community college fields and the big stone Victorians and colonials on the north side of town.

There was already snow on the ground, and decorations were up on many of the homes. It really seemed to Mal that she lived in a Christmas card of a town. Trinity Falls was beautiful in spring and summer, too. And she loved the fall colors. But in Mal’s opinion, the town was at its most beautiful like this, with snow frosting the bare tree branches and pretty lights adorning the homes.

Before long, Harrison was turning onto Route One, and the houses began melting into farm land. As they traveled steadily west, the landscape grew more and more rural. It was quite a change from the other direction, where the suburbs slowly drew closer and big box stores started cropping up.

Mal trained her eyes out the window, watching the dried golden cornstalks rise out of the snow under a soft gray sky as they left the village behind.

“Here we are,” Harrison said at last as he turned into the lane with the wooden sign for Cassidy Farm.

“Horses?” Katie piped up from the back seat.

“Yes,” Mal told her. “The farm is almost like a big park. Anyone can visit. And you can have a pony ride, or feed the animals if you want. They have pick-your-own fruits when the different things are ripe. And there’s a big nursery and a Christmas All Year-Round shop. It’s such a fun place.”

“But that’s not what we’re doing tonight,” Harrison said warningly. “Tonight, we’re going all the way back to the farmhouse to see your Great-aunt Alice and have dinner with the family.”

Katie didn’t respond, but she also didn’t argue, even as they passed the yard of cut Christmas trees with the big holiday character tableau set up behind it, then the nursery and shops.

Harrison drove slowly past the outdoor food carts and the animal pens, where only family was allowed to bring vehicles, and down the lane marked Private onto the gravel road that led to a beautiful Victorian farmhouse backing up to the hillside where rows of Christmas trees grew.

A painted wooden manger scene had been set up in the yard and pine boughs wound with twinkling white lights adorned the porch railings.

Mal was just starting to feel a little nervous again when she caught sight of Alice Cassidy at the porch railing with a big smile on her face. Alice waved to them in greeting, as if she had been out on the porch in the cold just waiting for them to arrive.

Mal felt herself smile in response before she was even out of the truck. Alice was one of those people who never failed to make you feel seen and understood. Whenever she stopped in the bakery, she always managed to put a smile on everyone’s face, even when she only stopped in to pick up a quick treat.

Not that she needed to buy treats in the bakery. Mal was pretty sure Alice was just trying to support her shop. Alice Cassidy was famous for her own fresh bread, brownies, and the pies now made at the Cassidy Farm bakery—pies so good they had folks signing up before Halloween if they wanted a coveted Cassidy Farm pumpkin pie on their Thanksgiving table.

“Is that her?” Katie asked, interest in her voice as she observed the small, round figure in the Christmas apron, her beautiful chestnut hair with silver streaks swooped up in a bun.

“Yes,” her dad told her.

When they all got out of the truck, Katie held back a little, letting her dad lead the way up the steps to the porch.