Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin
Saturday, December 13, 1930

Olivia Larson hummed the tune to “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” as she strode down the snow-covered main thoroughfare of her hometown—only twelve days until Christmas Morning. A wonderful thrill zipped through her. She planned to surprise Grandfather with a visit after closing the Library on Christmas Eve. The older man understood her shyness better than any—including her immediate family—ever had, so she stayed in Manitowish Waters when her parents and siblings left to follow the lumber companies west.

A pair of young boys ran down the empty street, sliding on a patch of ice before gaining traction again. She recognized them as two of her more unruly library patrons, a duo who had devoured The Tale of Peter Rabbit over the summer, then promptly went out to recreate some of the antics Ms. Potter described in her story. Would they enjoy The Tale of Benjamin Bunny just as much? Mrs. Cavenaugh had donated a monetary gift that allowed Ollie to purchase a few new books in time for Christmas. Had they arrived yet?

She glanced toward the courthouse where Mrs. Cavenaugh’s husband, the judge, reigned. Snow piled high against the sides of the building, sparkling in the rare bit of sun that made its unusual appearance today. She had no doubt the clouds would return tomorrow, but for now, she would enjoy the sunlight. Evergreen boughs, all the trimmings and trappings of Christmas added a festive note to the courthouse, likely the doing of Sheriff Yarwood’s new wife, the judge’s former secretary. Eira Mae brought Christmas everywhere. A bit intimidating, if Ollie were honest. She could never make the library feel so … well, Christmassy.

That inner acknowledgment lowered her guard just enough that her eyes betrayed her. Her gaze slid over to the building next to the courthouse, to the jail where Sheriff Yarwood and his deputy, the handsome Titus Wilburn, kept the peace in the county. Ollie adjusted the strap on her shoulder, the weight of the books in the bag threatening to bend her sideways. Just like thoughts of Titus always did.

No matter how she steeled herself against it, every day she walked this route to the library, her mind wandered to the deputy-that-had-been-sheriff. She’d been so proud of Titus when he took over for Sheriff Yarwood two years ago during the other man’s hiatus, and she wondered how Titus felt to be demoted to deputy again. Did he feel slighted? Grateful? She wanted to ask him but didn’t feel it was appropriate.

Ollie huffed. She would enjoy asking Titus a lot of things. But the truth was she’d never even managed a complete sentence around him. Ever since she and Titus were in school together, he’d always looked out for her like a big brother, and he always spared her a smile. All it did was cause a warm fuzzy feeling inside that caused every romantic story she read to fill her head. In an instant, she would dream of being a damsel in distress and how he’d rescue her. Then reality would crash in on her, and she’d stutter and stammer and run away in embarrassment.

She jerked her attention away from the jailhouse. She was over twenty years old, and if she couldn’t talk to a man, she’d remain the spinster librarian her entire life. Not that she would mind. She loved encouraging children to read. If only she could flirt or, in some way, let Titus know she liked him. But no … he’d never given her any reason to believe he liked her, at least not in that way.

“Hey, Ollie!” Titus’s voice rang in her head. Wait, not in her imagination. His greeting was real.

She looked over in time to see him wave as he exited the courthouse, offering his usual smile. Snow crunched under his boots as he jogged across the street toward her. Her heart picked up speed, and she tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Or should she tuck it under her hat? Did she have any breakfast left on her face? Did he know she’d just been daydreaming about him? Maybe he didn’t mean to talk with her. The post office was to her left. Yes, that had to be the reason he crossed the street. She’d keep on her way to the library.

But as she stepped in that direction, her heel landed on a slick bit of ice. She windmilled in an attempt to catch her balance, but the bag on her shoulder, the one filled with heavy books, dragged her backward. Her feet flew up, her head went back, and the next moment, she had landed hard on her derriere.

Titus knelt beside her, one hand supporting her back as she remained seated, the other patting her head, her shoulders, her arms. “Are you all right?” He sounded concerned. But of course he would.

“I’m fine. Stunned, but, uh, fine. Yes, fine.” She refused to look at him, as if that could hide the embarrassment flooding her body with heat. Oh, the mortification. How quickly could she escape him? “I won’t keep you.”

“Perhaps you should visit Doc?” His fingers touched her temple, shifting the knit cap askew. “You could have broken something, bruised something. Did you hit your head?”

Ollie felt the heat rush across her face. Obviously, Titus could see her embarrassment. He’d already seen her lack of grace, what with collapsing in a heap on the ground. And she probably had snow and dirt and who-knew-what-else all across her backside. “I have to get to the library.” It would be better if she could just disappear underneath the boardwalk.

“Ollie. You fell. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” He helped her stand, and her distressed-damsel-addicted heart begged to lean into his touch. Her imagination threatened to cast him as a hero slaying a dragon. Ridiculous. She reached for her bag of books, but Titus held it out of reach. “The library can wait.”

Was it actually possible to spontaneously combust? Krook did in Dickens’s Bleak House. That was fiction, but if she didn’t escape Titus, she might combust too, and then she’d be splattered all over the snow-covered walk. And Titus. Gracious! She snatched her bag. “I’m fine, Ti-Titus.”

“At least let me escort you.” He helped her settle the bag on her shoulder.

Her cheeks had to be as red as a holly berry. Of course, a good deputy like Titus would offer to assist. What widow didn’t he help? What older gentleman didn’t he assist? But to be escorted by Titus because he desired her company and not out of duty? She shook her head, words trapped in her dry throat.

Titus took a step back. “As you wish.”

She didn’t wish, but she couldn’t find the words to say otherwise. Another blast of heat shot through her at what she did wish, so she spun on her heel and nearly ran for the library. No, scurried like the scared little mouse she was.

Not until the library steps did she risk a glance back at where she’d left him, a block away. He’d forgotten about her already, deep in conversation as he was with Mrs. Holland, the proprietress of the Manitowish Waters Inn. If only she’d wished Titus a Merry Christmas. She might not get another opportunity to do so before the holiday. And it only made sense to offer the season’s greeting at this time of year.

Why did he have to fluster her so she couldn’t think straight?

With a sigh, she nearly stepped on the package lying on the ground before the library’s large wooden door. A brown box. Could it be the children’s books she’d ordered? She tugged the string and lifted the lid.

And screamed.