Page 36 of Come Fly With Me

“I’ll clean them off,” Isobel said through a grin.

“Not until the munchkin’s seen me with them,” Callum warned.

As though summoned by the discovery of her latest art project, the door to their bedroom slammed open, and Sophie rushed in. “You found them! Dontcha love them?” She scrambled over to sit in Callum’s lap and pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I made them pretty for Vlantes Day, Clam.”

Isobel was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face.

“What’s all the racket?” Jack, their teenage son, asked from the doorway. He rubbed his eyes before staring at them all as though they’d lost their minds. “It isn’t even seven. Why is everybody awake?”

Isobel held up his prosthetics. “Sophie decorated Callum’s legs for Valentine’s Day.”

Jack stared at them as Sophie clapped her hands. “Aren’t they bwetifool?”

A slow grin covered Jack’s face. “I think Callum should wear shorts today to show them off.”

“I agree,” Isobel said. “You can’t hide art like this.”

“Yay,” Sophie shouted as she scrambled up to jump on the bed. “Happy Vlantes Day to me!”

“You two”—Callum pointed at Jack and Isobel—“are enjoying this far too much. Now pass me the damn legs so I can go get that burger you want.”

“I was joking,” Isobel said. “I can fetch the spares from the closet.”

“Hand them over.” Callum reached for them. “As long as she didn’t put anything inside the cup, I’m wearing them. They’re my bloody Valentine’s Day present. Aren’t they, Soph?”

“Yay!” she shouted as she jumped. “Clam’s gonna be pretty!”

“Damn straight,” he said as he took the legs.

Isobel stepped into him and placed her hand on his cheek. “I love you, Callum McKay,” she said, her heart in her eyes for all to see.

“And I’m going back to bed before you two make me vomit,” Jack said.

Callum looked around his bedroom at his family before looking down at his decorated prosthetics. Could there have been a more perfect Valentine’s Day?

Christmas Morning in Invertary

This story takes place just after the end of

Can’t Buy Me Love.

In the three short months that David Carlyle had been minister of Invertary’s Presbyterian church, no one had told him not to appoint Lorraine Ferguson as the organizer of the Christmas Day play.

Somebody should have.

As he stood at the front of the church as the congregation filed in, each holding a vigil candle, a cold sweat broke out on David’s brow. One that had nothing to do with the snow outside. No, this was due to the number of naked flames in shaky hands, in a church decorated with bales of hay.

“It’s a barn theme,” Lorraine had told him, practically bouncing from excitement. “The Baxter farm’s lending us some real sheep to add atmosphere. But don’t worry. I’ve organized the youth group to clean up after them.”

David glanced over at the sheep gathered in a pen set up at the front of the church. There were eight of them. They’d come with strict instructions not to dye them pink.

He blinked at the sheep before scanning the bales of hay piled beside them. Then his gaze strayed to the sheaves of hay tied to the end of each pew. Lastly, it came to rest on the candles in the hands of his congregation. The same hands that also held very flammable song sheets.

They were all going to die.

He’d joined the church to avoid burning in hell. Instead, he was going to burn in his own church. And people said God didn’t have a sense of humor…

“Reverend Carlyle,” Caroline McInnes said as she came up beside him.