Two Tickets to the Christmas Ball Read online

  Praise for Donita K. Paul’s

  DragonKeeper Chronicles and Chiril Chronicles

  “The writing is crisp and the setting imaginative. This series will speak to all ages of Christian readers.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly

  “Donita K. Paul never fails to satisfy the imagination and delight the soul.… This is fantasy that truly illuminates reality.”

  —JIM DENNEY, author of the Timebenders series

  “Donita K. Paul’s vivid imagery and startling plot twists will delight fans.”

  —KACY BARNETT-GRAMCKOW, author of the Genesis trilogy

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from Donita K. Paul, as she always gives us a delightful read: intriguing, challenging, and full of blessing.”

  —KATHRYN MACKEL, author of Vanished

  “Donita K. Paul possesses a unique talent for instilling deep wisdom and spiritual truth in a story that is engrossing and satisfying.… She is one of my favorite authors.”

  —HANNAH ALEXANDER, author of Silent Pledge

  “Donita K. Paul’s inventiveness never ceases to amaze. Fresh ideas for new races of people and unusual creatures keep flowing from her gifted pen.”

  —JILL ELIZABETH NELSON, author of the To Catch a Thief series

  “Shut your eyes, hold your breath, and plunge into the unshackled imagination of Donita K. Paul.”

  —LINDA WICHMAN, author of Legend of the Emerald Rose

  Other Books

  by Donita K. Paul

  The Vanishing Sculptor

  Dragons of the Valley

  DragonSpell

  DragonQuest

  DragonKnight

  DragonFire

  DragonLight

  By Donita K. Paul

  and Evangeline Denmark

  The Dragon and the Turtle

  TWO TICKETS TO THE CHRISTMAS BALL

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version and the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-45900-8

  Copyright © 2010 by Donita K. Paul

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Paul, Donita K.

  Two tickets to the Christmas ball : a novella / Donita K. Paul. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  1. Single women—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. I. Title.

  PS3616.A94T96 2010

  813′.6—dc22

  2010024543

  v3.1

  This book is dedicated to:

  Jessica Agius

  Hannah Johnson

  Rachael Selk

  Becca Wilber

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Christmas. Cora had been trying to catch it for four years. She scurried down the sidewalk, thankful that streetlights and brightly lit storefronts counteracted the gloom of early nightfall. Somewhere, sometime, she’d get ahold of how to celebrate Christmas. Maybe even tonight.

  With snowflakes sticking to her black coat, Christmas lights blinking around shop windows, and incessant bells jingling, Cora should have felt some holiday cheer.

  And she did.

  Really.

  Just not much.

  At least she was on a Christmas errand this very minute. One present for a member of the family. Shouldn’t that count for a bit of credit in the Christmas-spirit department?

  Cora planned out her Christmas gift giving in a reasonable manner. The execution of her purchasing schedule gave her a great deal of satisfaction. Tonight’s quest was a book for Uncle Eric—something about knights and castles, sword fights, shining armor, and all that.

  One or two gifts purchased each week from Labor Day until December 15, and her obligations were discharged efficiently, economically, and without the excruciating last-minute frenzy that descended upon other people… like her three sisters, her mother, her grandmother, her aunts.

  Cora refused to behave like her female relatives and had decided not to emulate the male side of the family either. The men didn’t buy gifts. They sometimes exchanged bottles from the liquor store, but more often they drank the spirits themselves.

  Her adult ambition had been to develop her own traditions for the season, ones that sprouted from the Christianity she’d discovered in college. The right way to celebrate the birth of Christ. She avoided the chaos that could choke Christmas. Oh dear. Judgmental again. At least now she recognized when she slipped.

  She glanced around Sage Street. Not too many shoppers. The quaint old shops were decked out for the holidays, but not with LED bulbs and inflated cartoon figures.

  Since discovering Christianity, she’d been confused about the trappings of Christmas—the gift giving, the nativity scenes, the carols, even the Christmas tree. Every year she tried to acquire some historical background on the festivities. She was learning. She had hope. But she hadn’t wrapped her head around all the traditions yet.

  The worst part was shopping.

  Frenzy undid her. Order sustained her. And that was a good reason to steer clear of any commercialized holiday rush. She’d rather screw red light bulbs into plastic reindeer faces than push through a crowd of shoppers.

  Cora examined the paper in her hand and compared it to the address above the nearest shop. Number 483 on the paper and 527 on the building. Close.

  When she’d found the bookstore online, she had been amazed that a row of old-fashioned retailers still existed a few blocks from the high-rise office building where she worked. Truthfully, it was more like the bookstore found her. Every time she opened her browser, and on every site she visited, the ad for the old-fashioned new- and used-book store showed up in a banner or sidebar. She’d asked around, but none of her co-workers patronized the Sage Street Shopping District.

  “Sounds like a derelict area to me,” said Meg, the receptionist. “Sage Street is near the old railroad station, isn’t it? The one they decided was historic so they wouldn’t tear it down, even though it’s empty and an eyesore?”

  An odd d
esire to explore something other than the mall near her apartment seized Cora. “I’m going to check it out.”

  Jake, the security guard, frowned at her. “Take a cab. You don’t want to be out too late over there.”

  Cora walked. The brisk air strengthened her lungs, right? The exercise pumped her blood, right? A cab would cost three, maybe four dollars, right?

  An old man, sitting on the stoop of a door marked 503, nodded at her. She smiled, and he winked as he gave her a toothless grin. Startled, she quickened her pace and gladly joined the four other pedestrians waiting at the corner for the light to change.

  Number 497 emblazoned the window of an ancient shoe store on the opposite corner. She marched on. In this block she’d find the book and check another item off her Christmas list.

  Finally! “Warner, Werner, and Wizbotterdad, Books,” Cora read the sign aloud and then grasped the shiny knob. It didn’t turn. She frowned. Stuck? Locked? The lights were on. She pressed her face against the glass. A man sat at the counter. Reading. How appropriate.

  Cora wrenched the knob. A gust of wind pushed with her against the door, and she blew into the room. She stumbled and straightened, and before she could grab the door and close it properly, it swung closed, without the loud bang she expected.

  “I don’t like loud noises,” the man said without looking up from his book.

  “Neither do I,” said Cora.

  He nodded over his book. With one gnarled finger, he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

  Must be an interesting book. Cora took a quick look around. The place could use stronger lights. She glanced back at the clerk. His bright lamp cast him and his book in a golden glow.

  Should she peruse the stacks or ask?

  She decided to browse. She started to enter the aisle between two towering bookcases.

  “Not there,” said the old man.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Cora.

  “How-to books. How to fix a leaky faucet. How to build a bridge. How to mulch tomatoes. How to sing opera. How-to books. You don’t need to know any of that, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Wrong aisle, then.” He placed the heavy volume on the counter and leaned over it, apparently absorbed once more.

  Cora took a step toward him. “I think I saw a movie like this once.”

  His head jerked up, his scowl heavier. He glared over the top of his glasses at the books on the shelves as if they had suddenly moved or spoken or turned bright orange.

  “A movie? Here? I suppose you mean the backdrop of a bookstore. Not so unusual.” He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve Got Mail and 84 Charing Cross Road.”

  “I meant the dialogue. You spoke as if you knew what I needed.”

  He hunched his shoulders. The dark suspenders stretched across the faded blue of his shirt. “Reading customers. Been in the business a long time.”

  “I’m looking for a book for my uncle. He likes castles, knights, tales of adventure. That sort of thing.”

  He sighed, closed his book, and tapped its cover. “This is it.” He stood as Cora came to the desk. “Do you want me to wrap it and send it? We have the service. My grandson’s idea.”

  Cora schooled her face and her voice. One of the things she excelled in was not showing her exasperation. She’d been trained by a dysfunctional family, and that had its benefits. She knew how to take guff and not give it back. Maintaining a calm attitude was a good job skill.

  She tried a friendly smile and addressed the salesclerk.

  “I want to look at it first and find out how much it costs.”

  “It’s the book you want, and the price is eleven dollars and thirteen cents.”

  Cora rubbed her hand over the cover. It looked and felt like leather, old leather, but in good repair. The book must be ancient.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Which?” the old man barked.

  “Which what?”

  “Which part of the statement am I sure about? It doesn’t matter because I’m sure about both.”

  Cora felt her armor of detachment suffer a dent. The man was impossible. She could probably order a book online and get it wrapped and delivered right to her uncle with less aggravation. But dollar signs blinked in neon red in her mind as she thought how much that would cost. No need to be hasty.

  Curtain rings rattled on a rod, and Cora looked up to see a younger version of the curmudgeon step into the area behind the counter.

  The younger man smiled. He had the same small, wiry build as the older version, but his smile was warm and genuine. He looked to be about fifty, but his hair was still black, as black as the old man’s hair was white. He stretched out his hand, and Cora shook it.

  “I’m Bill Wizbotterdad. This is my granddad, William Wizbotterdad.”

  “Let me guess. Your father is named Will?”

  Bill grinned, obviously pleased she’d caught on quickly. “Willie Wizbotterdad. He’s off in Europe collecting rare books.”

  “He’s not!” said the elder shop owner.

  “He is.” Bill cast his granddad a worried look.

  “That’s just the reason he gave for not being here.” William shook his head and leaned across the counter. “He doesn’t like Christmas. We have a special job to do at Christmas, and he doesn’t like people and dancing and matrimony.”

  Bill put his arm around his grandfather and pulled him back. He let go of his granddad and spun the book on the scarred wooden counter so that Cora could read the contents. “Take a look.” He opened the cover and flipped through the pages. “Colored illustrations.”

  A rattling of the doorknob was followed by the sound of a shoulder thudding against the wood. Cora turned to see the door fly open with a tall man attached to it. The stranger brushed snow from his sleeves, then looked up at the two shop owners. Cora caught them giving each other a smug smile, a wink, and a nod of the head.

  Odd. Lots of oddness in this shop.

  She liked the book, and she wanted to leave before more snow accumulated on the streets. Yet something peculiar about this shop and the two men made her curious. Part of her longed to linger. However, smart girls trusted their instincts and didn’t hang around places that oozed mystery. She didn’t feel threatened, just intrigued. But getting to know the peculiar booksellers better was the last thing she wanted, right? She needed to get home and be done with this Christmas shopping business. “I’ll take the book.”

  The newcomer stomped his feet on the mat by the door, then took off his hat.

  Cora did a double take. “Mr. Derrick!”

  He cocked his head and scrunched his face. “Do I know you?” The man was handsome, even wearing that comical lost expression. “Excuse me. Have we met?”

  “We work in the same office.”

  He studied her a moment, and a look of recognition lifted the frown. “Third desk on the right.” He hesitated, then snapped his fingers. “Cora Crowden.”

  “Crowder.”

  He jammed his hand in his pocket, moving his jacket aside. His tie hung loosely around his neck. She’d never seen him looking relaxed. The office clerks called him Serious Simon Derrick.

  “I drew your name,” she said.

  He looked puzzled.

  “For the gift exchange. Tomorrow night. Office party.”

  “Oh. Of course.” He nodded. “I drew Mrs. Hudson. She’s going to retire, and I heard her say she wanted to redecorate on a shoestring.”

  “That’s Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Hudson is taking leave to be with her daughter, who is giving birth to triplets.”

  He frowned and began looking at the books.

  “You won’t be there, will you?” Cora asked.

  “At the party? No, I never come.”

  “I know. I mean, I’ve worked at Sorenby’s for five years, and you’ve never been there.”

  The puzzled expression returned to Serious Simon’s face. He glanced to the side. “I’m looking for the how-to section.”

  Cora grinn
ed. “On your left. Second aisle.”

  He turned to stare at her, and she pointed to the shelves Mr. Wizbotterdad had not let her examine. Mr. Derrick took a step in that direction.

  Cora looked back at the shop owners and caught them leaning back in identical postures, grins on their faces, and arms crossed over their chests.

  Bill jerked away from the wall, grabbed her book, rummaged below the counter, and brought out a bag. He slid the book inside, then looked at her. “You didn’t want the book wrapped and delivered?”

  “No, I’ll just pay for it now.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to look around some more?” asked Bill.

  “Right,” said William. “No hurry. Look around. Browse. You might find something you like.”

  Bill elbowed William.

  Simon Derrick had disappeared between the stacks.

  William nodded toward the how-to books. “Get a book. We have a copy of How to Choose Gifts for Ungrateful Relatives. Third from the bottom shelf, second case from the wall.”

  The statement earned him a “sh” from his grandson.

  Cora shifted her attention to the man from her office and walked a few paces to peek around the shelves. “Mr. Derrick, I’m getting ready to leave. If you’re not coming to the party, may I just leave the gift on your desk tomorrow?”

  He glanced at her before concentrating again on the many books. “That’s fine. Nice to see you, Miss Crowden.”

  “Crowder,” she corrected, but he didn’t answer.

  She went to the counter and paid. Mr. Derrick grunted when she said good-bye at the door.

  “Come back again,” said Bill.

  “Yes,” said William. “We have all your heart’s desires.”

  Bill elbowed him, and Cora escaped into the blustering weather.

  She hiked back to the office building. Snow sprayed her with tiny crystals, and the sharp wind nipped her nose. Inside the parking garage, warm air helped her thaw a bit as she walked to the spot she leased by the month. It would be a long ride home on slippery roads. But once she arrived, there would be no one there to interrupt her plans. She got in the car, turned the key, pushed the gearshift into reverse, looked over her shoulder, and backed out of her space.