Read Christmas at the Hummingbird House for Free Online Page B

centerpiece of—what else?—red poinsettias.
    “A bit over the top, don’t you think?” Derrick murmured, and Paul shifted his gaze upward in silent agreement.
    “It’s not as though they have every room booked with paying guests who are coming from all over the country expecting the quintessential holiday experience,” he said. “Although,” he admitted reluctantly as he gave the table decor a closer look, “that really is quite charming in its own Ladybug Farm way.”
    Clutching their poinsettias before them like badges of honor, they approached the door where, from the kitchen beyond, they could hear the voices of women raised in a discussion which, while it might not be described as heated, was certainly not conversational.  Paul glanced at Derrick.  Derrick gave an uncertain shrug.  Paul knocked on the door and then pushed it open.
    The big country kitchen was in a state of mild chaos, and not necessarily the cheerful, busy kind that is welcome during the holidays.  Cookbooks, recipe cards and manila folders filled with stained and dog-eared magazine clippings were scattered across the soapstone island that dominated the room.  Cici, a tall, athletic-looking woman with deeply freckled skin and spikes of honey-blonde hair spilling from a messy topknot, was on a ladder pulling things out of the top cabinets. Bridget, as neat as a pin in her platinum bob, gray slouch boots and a bright Christmas apron over her crisp white shirt and black jeans, looked very close to exasperation as she thumbed through the contents of the manila folders on the counter.  Ida Mae, their aged and intractable housekeeper, looked like a ferocious elf in clunky work boots, green-and-white knee socks, and a long red cardigan over a gray wool dress.  Her mouth was set grimly as she pulled open drawers, scrambled though them, and slammed them shut again.
    Bridget exclaimed impatiently, “Honestly, Ida Mae, if I had seen it, don’t you think I’d tell you?  I really don’t know what you expect me to do!”
    And Cici added, “What makes you think it would still be here after forty years, anyway? Somebody probably threw it away when they cleaned out the house to put it up for sale.”
    “ I’m the one that cleaned out the house,” Ida Mae replied testily, her iron gray curls bobbing with repressed frustration as she slammed shut another door.  “And I ain’t about to throw away something that valuable.  Do I look like a fool to you?”
    Paul and Derrick exchanged another uncertain look, but it was too late to back out now. “Yoo-hoo!” Paul sang out.  “Company!”
    Cici looked down from the ladder, her expression delighted and surprised.  “Boys! I didn’t know you were coming over!”
    Bridget’s expression was intensely relieved as she opened her arms to embrace them.  “How wonderful to see you!”
    Ida Mae just scowled at them.  But from her, it was a warm welcome.
    There were quick hugs between Cici and Bridget and the two men, while Ida Mae demanded, “You all staying to eat?”
    “No, ma’am,” Derrick assured her quickly, and thrust his ivory-colored poinsettia at her with a smile.  “We just stopped by to bring you this and wish you happy holidays.”
    “A whole shipment of them arrived this morning,” Paul added, presenting his pale pink-colored plant to Bridget.  “Naturally we thought of you.”
    “How sweet!” Bridget exclaimed.  “And what lovely colors!”
    “Ivory and blush,” Derrick said.  “Our theme for the entrance and dining room.”
    “Right pretty,” admitted Ida Mae gruffly, holding the plant out to examine it.  “Of course, I’m partial to red myself.”
    She shuffled off to place the plant in the big bay window on the other side of the room, her steel-toed boots clacking on the brick floor. Bridget placed her plant in the center of the hickory table that sat beside the raised fireplace.  A fire crackled merrily in the grate beneath a colorful mantel display