Dear Ruth
By Kim Fielding
3.5/5
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About this ebook
Dear Ruth,
I’m not in the mood for Christmas. After a romantic relationship went up in flames, I returned to my hometown in rural Kansas. Then my mother passed away. I’m really busy with my job as fire marshal—and now with my mother’s advice column, which I reluctantly took over. There’s a sexy newcomer down the street, a guy with a young daughter and an unfortunate disregard for fire safety. He seems to want to be friends, but that creates problems that may be too hot for me to handle. The last things I need right now are flammable holiday decorations and too much holiday food. How am I supposed to give good advice to others when I can’t seem to get my own life straight?
—Bah Humbug in Bailey Springs
A story from the Dreamspinner Press 2017 Advent Calendar "Stocking Stuffers."
Kim Fielding
Kim Fielding is pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books span a variety of genres, but all include authentic voices and unconventional heroes. She’s a Rainbow Award and SARA Emma Merritt winner, a LAMBDA finalist, and a two-time Foreword INDIE finalist. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. A university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time, she also dreams of having two daughters who occasionally get off their phones, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a cat who doesn’t wake her up at 4:00 a.m. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others. Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites Email: kim@kfieldingwrites.com Twitter: @KFieldingWrites
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Dear Ruth - Kim Fielding
Table of Contents
Blurb
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
About the Author
By Kim Fielding
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
Dear Ruth
By Kim Fielding
Dear Ruth,
I’m not in the mood for Christmas. After a romantic relationship went up in flames, I returned to my hometown in rural Kansas. Then my mother passed away. I’m really busy with my job as fire marshal—and now with my mother’s advice column, which I reluctantly took over. There’s a sexy newcomer down the street, a guy with a young daughter and an unfortunate disregard for fire safety. He seems to want to be friends, but that creates problems that may be too hot for me to handle. The last things I need right now are flammable holiday decorations and too much holiday food. How am I supposed to give good advice to others when I can’t seem to get my own life straight?
—Bah Humbug in Bailey Springs
ONE
Dear Readers,
It is with much sorrow that I announce the passing of my close friend, Becky Reynolds. Most of you knew Becky and are aware of the outstanding contributions she made to our community. She made Bailey Springs a better place for us all.
What most of you didn’t know, however, was that Becky was also a beloved columnist for this newspaper. As Dear Ruth, she provided valuable advice for over thirty years. I am sorry to announce that Dear Ruth is now on indefinite hiatus.
Becky is survived by her son, Bailey Springs Fire Marshal Bryce Reynolds, and by a large group of friends, students, and admirers. She enriched us all.
—Alma Bernard, Publisher and Editor-in-Chief
HOW ARE you holding up?
Bryce didn’t answer right away. Instead he firmed his jaw, gazed out the window of Louella’s Café, and watched a few intrepid pedestrians brave the slippery sidewalk. He’d been placing bets with himself on the likelihood he’d end up rushing out to administer first aid, but so far he’d remained indoors, enduring Alma Bernard’s sharp scrutiny. Since Alma wasn’t going to grant him mercy, he sighed and turned to face her.
I’m fine. I’m thirty-eight, which is plenty old enough to survive without my mommy.
I turn sixty-five next month, and I still miss mine every day.
Bryce patted Alma’s hand. I’m sorry. I’m being… I’m being an ass. You knew Mom longer than I did. Her death hit you hard too.
It did. And the stories I could tell you about our teenage years!
She smiled as she sipped her tea. Then she set her cup on the table and peered at Bryce through her purple-rimmed glasses. "I really do want to know how you’re doing, Bryce. Your mother would never forgive me if I let you pine away."
She’d probably come back and haunt us both.
Probably.
He rubbed the back of his head while he thought. It was an old habit that his ex, Owen, used to tease him about, asking Bryce whether he was trying to get the circuits firing faster. I’m all right,
Bryce finally said. A little… lost maybe. You know? I keep expecting her to call or text me.
Alma nodded slowly. Me too. You know how she used to wake up in the middle of the night and send links to random news stories she thought were interesting? I still look for those messages when I wake up.
Yeah.
Bryce had saved a bunch of those old texts and sometimes scrolled through them. But since that was morbid and pathetic, he didn’t tell Alma.
Outside, a man in a navy parka, plaid scarf, and gray stocking cap slid five feet and almost went down on the ice but managed to catch himself in time—a good trick, considering he was carrying two bulky bags from Toys and Joys. A bit of early Christmas shopping, no doubt. Bryce couldn’t be sure due to all the winter wear, but he thought it might be his handsome new neighbor. He hoped the guy made it home safely.
Returning his attention to the café, he gazed at the Christmas trees. Bryce thought three was excessive, but at least—after some scolding from him—the owners had replaced the strings of vintage bubble lights. Sure, the lights were pretty, but they were also a big attraction for small children. If one of the lights broke, a child could be cut on the glass or burned by the hot liquid.
Can I ask about your plans?
Alma’s tone was uncharacteristically hesitant. This was the woman who’d cracked the scandal regarding the mayor’s embezzlements back in ’93, leading to