I pushed him away. "Spill! Where have you been? I thought you said you were going to stay in touch! I've been worried sick!"

"Nice to see you too, Molly," he said, laughing. He balanced the fiddle precariously on the porch railing.

"For all I knew, you were dead!" I snapped. I turned away from him.

He put his arms around my waist and pulled me close, my back pressing into his chest, his breath warm on my cheek. "Did you really think so?"

"Well, not really."

He turned me around, drew me close, and kissed me. The flannel of his shirt pressed softly against my neck, and we stood there kissing for I don't know how long. We might have gone on all day, but then my mother cleared her throat from the doorway.

"Mom," I said, pulling myself away from him, "this is Spill!"

"Well, I should hope so," she said. "Come inside, you two. You're letting in the cold."

She ducked back in, half closing the door behind her, leaving us on the porch to gather up Spill's things. I reached for his fiddle because I wanted to see if it was any good. I certainly couldn't tell from his playing! Before I could even examine it, there was this strange moment where the neck of the instrument just nestled itself into the palm of my hand like an old friend.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Spill? It's Jewels! You've found Jewels!" Spill? It's Jewels! You've found Jewels!"

I lifted her to my face and breathed in her musty, sweet scent. Without even stopping to tune her (and she needed it!), I launched into "Handsome Molly," the bow flying across her strings. I danced myself the length of the long porch while the notes floated around me, then down the front steps and into the yard. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I'm sure my smile could've lit up the darkest corner of the world.

"Spill? How?" I asked breathlessly, afraid to stop playing, in case Jewels vanished into thin air.

"Oh, you know," he said all casually, "an RCMP officer sold her to me a couple of months ago."

"But why didn't you write and tell me?"

"I wanted to see your face when you got her back," he said, grinning. "Besides, I had to learn to play your song. I think I might need a few more lessons, though."

"No! You were good!" Then we both broke out laughing. "Well, you're reasonably good. For a beginner, anyway. Dad and I'll whip you into shape."

"I'm counting on it," he said. "Come on, let's go inside."

"Yeah. It's way too cold out here for my baby!"

We went into the living room, the heat from the woodstove hitting us like that July day so many months ago when we'd first met. I ran my fingers lightly over Jewels' curves.

"Will you trade me?" I asked. "I've got another fiddle that Dad swapped an old banjo for. It's not as nice as Jewels, but it's perfect for a beginner."

"Molly," he said, laughing and shaking his head, "do you really think I got Jewels for me? She's your your fiddle." fiddle."

"You're the best!"

He smiled. "So I've been told."

All I could do was hug Jewels and stare happily at him. Like the fiddle, I was afraid Spill would somehow disappear if I took my eyes off him. We sat knee to knee in front of the fire, and I began to talk a mile a minute about Christmas and traditions and how happy I was to see him.

"Breathe," he said, laughing. "You talk as fast as you play!"

"I can't help it," I said. I'd set the bow down and was holding Jewels like a ukulele. I plucked a Christmas carol while we talked. "I've missed you!"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Me too. I mean, I've missed you too."

Spill told me that he'd gotten a job in Victoria, working in a shoe repair shop, and that he made custom boots at night.

"And you don't . . . well . . . work for anyone else?" I asked. "Like you did in Oregon?"

He shook his head. "Nope. All finished with that line of work." I'd never seen Spill smile so brightly before.

"Oh, good," I said. "So how long can you stay?"

"Until the first of January. a.s.suming your parents don't mind putting me up," he said. "I brought your dad the new almanac . . . just to get off on the right foot."

I laughed. I couldn't believe it! Spill was nervous to meet my dad!

"My family will be happy you're here," I said. "Plus now Katie can stop teasing me, saying I must've made you up because you sound too good to be true."

He laughed.

"Oh, and I can give you lots of fiddle lessons while you're here too!" I said.

He nodded seriously. "Great. I'd love that."

"And you'll come back again to visit, right?" I demanded.

"Of course."

"And you'll write to me in the meantime?" I insisted.

"Every day," he said, smirking.

"Oh, yeah." I punched him lightly on the arm. "Like you have for the last two months?"

He laughed, and I set Jewels down and pulled him up out of his chair. I hugged him tightly, and he squeezed me. He'd be back to see me. I just knew it. And once he saw the island in the summer, he'd want to live here because it is the most beautiful place on Earth. And by the time I was done giving him fiddle lessons, the man would be able to play with the best of them. We were going to make a long and lasting duo, too, because I knew lots of tunes with two-part harmony.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

My list of people to thank is long, but I'll try to keep to the minimum. Still, if you need to get a snack, maybe now is the time because anyone who says that writing is a solitary business doesn't write the way I do. I need all the help I can get!

A big, huge thank-you and hug to Stacey Barney, editor extraordinaire! Thank you for finding the story in all my many, many words and helping me to shape it into a book. You're the best.

Michel Bourret, vous etes tout simplement le meilleur agent litteraire quune fille pourrait espere avoir. Merci! vous etes tout simplement le meilleur agent litteraire quune fille pourrait espere avoir. Merci!

Without my critique group, this book would not exist. Thank you to Linda Anthony, Wanda Collins Johnson, Eileen Cook, Victor Anthony, and Alexa Barry. Everything I write is richer for your input. Much grat.i.tude to my fact checkers and advisers, Frank Anthony, Coe Booth, Nicole & Kelly Berthelot, Louis Freeman, Nancy Rowan, Tim Tommerup, Sarah Tradewell, and Sara Zarr. Also, thank you to Penny Mason of Penguin Canada, and special thanks to John Rowe Townsend & Jill Paton Walsh-mentors, friends, and wonderful writers.

I am eternally indebted to these women who have taken the time to blog so that aspiring writers can learn about the business side of publishing. Thank you so much, Dia, Rachel, Jennifer, Kristin, Janet, and the Divine Miss Snark.

If this were a televised awards show, the music would be swelling to a crescendo to let me know I've gone on far too long, but there is one more person who I can never thank enough. My wonderful husband has given me time, financial support, musical expertise, encouragement, a great author photo, and most of all, love. And to top it off, he lets me steal every funny thing he's ever done and run with it. Without him there would be no book at all. I love you, Pea.