A Snowglobe Christmas: Yuletide Homecoming / A Family's Christmas Wish. Lissa Manley

      Chapter Seven

      The song “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” drifted from the shop’s piped-in music as Amy locked up for the night.

      “Appropriate,” she muttered with a glance out at the heavy snow falling on the nearly abandoned streets. The wind had picked up, along with the snow, and the meteorologist said they were in for a storm. Across the street, Hank Redford battled the wind, head down, as he hurried from his pharmacy to his car. They might be in for another blizzard.

      Going to the back, she emptied and washed the urn, sealed the leftover pumpkin cookies, and tidied up. The last customer had come and gone, along with her mother who’d gone off to Kalispell hours ago with Jeffrey. A little worry niggled and Amy prayed they’d have a safe return.

      As she moved toward the front, turning off little trees and fragrance burners as she went, she heard a sound above the wind. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. She cocked her head, eyes squinted to listen. Not tree limbs. There were no trees near enough.

      Curious, Amy rounded the sales counter to find a sad-faced dog staring at her through the front door glass. “You poor thing. You’re shivering.”

      Though Mom would not take kindly to a large dog inside the shop of delicate merchandise, Amy’s tender heart got the better of her. She opened the door. Wind and snow whipped inside so fast it took Amy’s breath. She shivered, too.

      The dog waited for no invitation. She rushed inside and shook herself.

      Snow sprayed Amy’s clothes and sprinkled the tile floor with wet drops. “You’re going to get us both in a lot of trouble. Sit.”

      To her surprise, the dog plopped down on her bottom. She was a large mixed breed, brindle brown with floppy ears and expressive liquid eyes that stared desperately at Amy. In a second, she was up again, pacing in circles, her sides heaving. Amy saw the problem. The dog was pregnant. Very pregnant.

      Amy rushed to the back for a towel. When she returned the dog was behind the counter, scratching scattered pieces of wrapping paper into one spot.

      “Good thing I haven’t swept yet. You’re making a bed, aren’t you, girl? And not a very comfy one.” Amy added the towel atop the wadded papers and then went back for a few more, along with a roll of paper towels, a plastic cup of water and the pumpkin cookies. The poor dog looked hungry and cold and about to deliver puppies.