#1 Pastor James Douglas saw the girl sitting in the snow when he glanced up from his computer screen in his church office. Papers and research books were strewn across the oak surface of the old desk, including two different translations of the Bible–open and underlined in red pencil where he was marking various lines for this week’s Sunday School class he was teaching. James ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. When he glanced at the clock on the wall, he blinked in surprise. It was already one o’clock. No wonder he was starving. Leaning forward, he glanced through the window again, curious. It wasn’t often he saw such a striking woman around Snow Valley, which was more known for mud-splattered cowboy boots, wind-blown hair, and chapped cheeks—all definitely had their small-town charm. But this girl—she— She hadn’t moved an inch in five minutes. James jumped up from his chair, knocking the back of it into the wall. His heart crept into his throat, worry tugging at him. It was only ten degrees out in the church cemetery. Piles of snow lay drifted about the bleak shrubs, turning to slush across the parking lot. Who came to visit the church cemetery just after a snowstorm—in the middle of December? Of course, people came to lay flowers and Christmas wreaths, but they never stayed longer than two minutes before hurrying back to their cars. She was truly beautiful. Blonde hair flying away from her face in clouds, porcelain skin, a perfectly sculpted body. As a pastor, he wasn’t supposed to notice that, he supposed, but to him she was the picture of perfection. Yet she looked so tragically sad, so lost, so very fragile sitting there, her eyes glued to the headstone. Who was she mourning? His nose hit the window pane as his eyes glued to her crouched figure. The young woman didn’t look well. He had a sudden irrational fear that she’d actually frozen into place. Should he call the police, or an ambulance? Two seconds later, he was slamming through the door of his office, grabbing his coat and stuffing his hands into gloves. Then he was sprinting through the graveyard gates, hoping he wasn’t too late to save her.
Author Kimberly Montpetit
When she was in Paris, Kimberley Montpetit spent most of her souvenir money at the La Patisserie shops with their beautiful and delicious pastries. She grew up in the fabulous city of San Francisco, loves all things chocolate, and now lives in a small town along the Rio Grande with her engineer husband and three sons.
She once stayed in the haunted tower room at Borthwick Castle in Scotland and didn't sleep a wink, sailed the Seine in Paris, rode a camel in the ancient world wonder of Petra, shopped the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, and spent the night in an old Communist hotel in Bulgaria.
Kimberley also writes Award-winning Middle-Grade novels with Scholastic and epic Young Adult novels with Harpercollins under the name, Kimberley Griffiths Little.
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