Small Gifts, A Jewels of the Quill Christmas Anthology

SMALL GIFTS

A Jewels of the Quill Christmas Anthology by

Jewels of the Quill (including authors: Christine DeSmet, Carrie S. Masek, Julie Skerven, Jane Toombs, Cassie Walder, and Karen Wiesner)

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Published by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS Whiskey Creek Press PO Box 51052 Casper, WY 82605-1052 www.whiskeycreekpress.com

The 2005 Copyrights  for each story in this anthology are held by the authors of the individual stories. All rights reserved. Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. ISBN 1-59374-394-7

Credits: Cover Design copyright 2005 Karen Wiesner Printed in the United States of America

Other Anthologies by Jewels of the Quill Authors Available at Whiskey Creek Press: www.whiskeycreekpress.com Tales From the Treasure Trove, A Jewels of the Quill Anthology, Volume I

What They Are Saying About Tales From The Treasure Trove, Volume I “…The story collection works well together because the strengths and surprises of the main characters are very parallel. I liked the writing because the stories flow and you move through them quickly. I gave this anthology a 4 rating because of the quality of the writing and also because the characters are like people I know. I gave this anthology a sweet sensuality rating because the stories are written in a manner that leaves out explicit details of the relationships so your imagination can fill in the details of where the relationships are going. Each of the stories has a pair of main characters that also have an enjoyment of life factor that really enhances the story.” ~~The Romance Studio http://theromancestudio.com/reviews/reviews/smallgifts.ht m

CONTENTS “When Rudolph was Kidnapped” (A Mischief in Moonstone Story) {romantic mystery} by Christine DeSmet (Dame Moonstone): When her pet reindeer, Rudolph, is stolen from the live animal holiday display in her small town on the shores of Lake Superior, first-grade teacher Crystal Hagan has a big problem on her hands. Her students fear that Christmas will be canceled. Ironically, the prime suspect is the old man Henri LeBarron who played Santa long ago before he became a recluse. Crystal marches to his mansion known as the “North Pole” and is shocked to meet Henri’s mysterious son, Peter, who acts even more curmudgeonly and secretive than his father. To her even greater shock, he admits to kidnapping Rudolph and he won’t give him back. Peter LeBarron finds his lonely existence charmed by the first-grade teacher who comes to his door with homemade chocolate pudding cake as a bribe for getting her reindeer back peaceably. This isn’t the type of woman he’s used to in his jet-set world. But is she the type of woman he can trust with the secrets of the “North Pole” and his own past? “A Kiss Under the Mistletoe” {contemporary romance} by Julie Skerven (Dame Peridot): Five days before Christmas, Joanna Barnes finds herself breaking into Nick Maxwell’s lakeside cabin to look for clues to her brother’s disappearance. The last thing she expects to find is not at all what she bargained for when she meets the man of her dreams. “Deck the Halls” {paranormal suspense} by Cassie Walder (Dame Bloodstone): While she isn’t at all in a Christmas mood, Laura Hall can’t say that she’s sorry to see this miserable year come to a close. In one short July evening, Laura lost her husband, her father-in-law, mother-in-law, as well as her brother-in-law and his wife. If Laura hadn’t been several states away, she would have been murdered as well. The police are

clueless as to the identity of the murderer. As such, their deaths go unpunished. Running the family business gave Laura a reason to live when all she wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and die from the pain of losing her family. But of all the things she’s lost this year, Laura misses her mind the most. Even though she buried her family in the East Cemetery in the family plot, she keeps seeing them. The departed members of the clan are haunting the factory. And they aren’t particularly happy. Enter Jack Decker, old friend, psychologist and parapsychologist, college professor, and ghost hunter. The sparks between them are immediate—both angry and romantic. Jack is looking for solid, verifiable proof of ghosts. Laura’s his best chance of ever getting that. But Laura values her reputation as a level-headed businesswoman too much to be able to admit to the existence of ghosts. What neither of them expects is that her ghosts would have plans of their own. Christmas or no Christmas, the danger isn’t over yet. The murderer is still out there. Will Laura be the next target? Not if Jack can help it. “Winter Enchantment” {regency romance} by Jane Toombs (Dame Turquoise): The Earl of Malden, cynical and embittered, is not planning to celebrate Christmas at the Hall. He’s vowed he has no use for friends, much less love. But when a cat falls into his bedroom through the chimney, a baby is left on his doorstep and a damsel in distress needs rescuing from a blizzard, his vow begins to come unraveled. “Special Delivery” {ghost story} by Carrie S. Masek (Dame Topaz): An elderly woman’s empty life takes an unexpected turn after she accepts a ride from a stranger on Christmas Eve. “A Home for Christmas” {inspirational contemporary romance} by Karen Wiesner (Dame Amethyst): Craig Stevens is determined to tell Christie of his feelings for her once and for all. But how does a painfully shy man reveal his heart without voicing the words that could lead to rejection?

Christie Renata Zondervon grew up in an orphanage and then with a multitude of foster families. All she’s ever wanted is a home and a family, especially at Christmas time. When she met Craig’s brother, she thought she’d found the man to build that family with, and she was devastated when it didn’t work out. Craig has been there for Christie since the day they met. He’s dried her tears, held her hand, listened to her talk about her hopes and fears at any time of day or night. He believes in her even when she doesn’t believe in herself. She’s never looked at him romantically before…until he invites her to go to Olympia, Washington to spend Christmas with him and his family. For the first time, Craig begins to show her his heart, and she begins to see him in a whole new light. Craig has given himself just a few days before Christmas to convince Christie he can be the man of her dreams. Now it’s a countdown to win her heart or bust!

WHEN RUDOLPH WAS KIDNAPPED (A Mischief in Moonstone Series Novella) by Christine DeSmet (Dame Moonstone) Chapter 1 “He bit me, Miss Hagan! Marcus bit me! And he socked me in the gut!” Gretchen Johnson fell onto the snow in her pink snowsuit and boots, kicking and bawling as if in the throes of a theatrical death. Ordinarily, Crystal Hagan would count to ten before charging into the middle of a first-grader’s fray, but not when the thermometer placed the wind chill factor at twenty-below zero earlier that morning in Moonstone, Wisconsin. With the weather so bad, she only brought her thirteen students out for ten minutes right after lunch, just enough to help them settle down for the afternoon. Otherwise, they acted like Mexican jumping beans, though Marcus, ever challenging her, had reminded her once that those were actually moths trying to break out of their cocoons. Crystal called out, “Marcus, come here this instant or you’re not going with us to see Rudolph this afternoon.” Marcus stood atop the snow mountain the plow had created after two feet of snow hit recently in Moonstone, a town of three hundred huddled on the shore of Lake 1

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Superior. Other boys and a couple of girls allowed in Marcus’ kingdom popped their heads over the snow mountain. They made Crystal smile. They looked like a row of baby dragons, but instead of fire breathing out of them, their mouths and noses spewed frost onto the icy air. Looking up at the mountain of snow taller than she, Crystal said, “All of you play nice or Santa won’t be coming either.” She hated using that trump card, but teachers could get desperate. She still had her fingers crossed that Randy Mellen didn’t back out on this date, too. His dentistry practice in Superior kept him too busy as of late, but when he’d called last night to postpone their date, he’d promised to make up for it by showing up in a Santa Claus suit today and tomorrow for the kids. Crystal flagged Marcus down off the mountain, grabbed the little boy’s arm and marched him over to Gretchen. “Show me where he bit you, Gretch.” Through blubbering and tears, and sucking at the air, the six-year-old girl finally said, “I don’t remember.” Marcus broke into laughter. “See? She’s lying. Maybe she can’t go see Rudolph because she lied. No Christmas presents, Gretchy Vetchy.” “Stop that. Santa brings presents to everybody who’s nice. It’s time to go inside. Line up, everybody.” Somehow, she knew Marcus would create another disaster. He had a way of stirring up the other children. She thought about canceling their walk across the Town Square from the school to see Rudolph. The morning hadn’t started well, and for the first time in years, trouble brewed over the live animal crèche created every holiday season for the village by Crystal. Only a few hours earlier, before school started, she’d pulled the livestock trailer with her four-wheel drive Grand 2

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Cherokee into place on the snow-covered lawn area of the mansion long known as the North Pole. When she dropped off her reindeer and the donkey, she’d met with protesters—the couple volunteering to play Mary and Joseph, and Mayor Bob Winters. Pulling on the thick, woolen stocking cap, she got out of the truck to face Jeri and Kirk Kaminski who rushed up to her before even one of her tall boots sunk into the snow. She could barely see their faces, what with the fur hoods pulled tight against the nippy weather. Jeri’s breath had created a ring of white frost on the blue woolen scarf she wore wrapped around her face. “Enough is enough. I’m not standing out here on this property any more freezing my toes off. I want to be paid.” Not a very saintly thing for “Mary” to say, Crystal thought. “We all volunteer. I don’t get paid to do this, Jeri. But the kids love it. Everybody loves it.” Kirk shook his head. More flumes of steam hit the air. “I’m out of a job.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “Because of the old fart who owns the land under this snow right here.” His thumb pointed at the mansion behind where they stood. “If he thinks he can lay me off, then watch me freeze my toes off from behind his warm windows, he’s got a screw loose.” With that, they got into their pickup truck and drove away. Just like that she’d lost Mary and Joseph. Confused about what was going on, she didn’t have long to wait for clarification. Mayor Bob Winters, his portly girth covered in a camouflage snowmobile suit and blaze orange stocking cap, had trundled up to her next. He’d turned sixty recently without grace. The scarlet capillaries on his face from too 3

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many brandy old-fashions had turned to a shade of purple this morning. “No more live animals, Crystal. Take them home. Now.” At five-foot, ten inches, she stood eye-to-eye with the mayor. “Come on, Bob, we’ve done this Nativity for years. What’s going on?” “These are what’s going on.” He took several loose papers out of a pocket and waved them at her. “Letters of complaint. Mostly about me, for condoning such a thing.” She ripped the letters out of his hand and perused them. “They’re all in the same handwriting. Bob, I’m sure it’s just a prankster. Nobody’s ever complained about the Nativity scene. Besides, we’re on private land.” “That could be who’s behind this. Old Henri LeBarron. The old coot is probably certifiable. Gotta be some reason he hasn’t come out of that mansion in five years.” The Nativity scene was her very own idea to help make the town festive and attract more shoppers every year on the Saturday two weeks before Christmas. Knowing she couldn’t construct the small, three-sided, roofed manger on public land, she’d sent a letter to Henri LeBarron, now in his eighties, asking his permission to use the generous front lawn of his mansion where she and Bob stood that morning. The estate overlooked Lake Superior in the back, though nobody she knew remembered being invited to enjoy the sight. Ironically, the reclusive Henri had once played Santa for celebrations in Moonstone, but that was a couple of decades ago, when Crystal was in college and away. Now forty-three, and anchored in the harbor community, she bristled with the feeling of betrayal as she looked at the three-story home, a grand affair long ago dubbed the North Pole by children because of Henri’s stint as Santa. Indeed, 4

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the place looked like Santa’s house. Her first graders said the detailed arches painted in red looked like eyebrows over windows and doors. They said the drifts whipped by the storm and hanging precariously over the eaves of the green roof reminded them of frosting on a giant cupcake. She handed the letters back to Bob then went about unloading her pet reindeer and donkey. “I can’t believe Henri would do this. He gave me permission years ago. I have it in writing, Bob.” “Yeah, and Kirk had an employment contract in the coal yards in the Superior harbor. Which Henri LeBarron put up for sale just yesterday then started in on downsizing the workforce to make the deal look good.” “He’s doing that at Christmastime?” With her hands on the halters of the animals on either side of her, she paused coming down the short ramp to stare in disbelief at Bob. “I’ve been on the phone all morning. Twenty-eight families from around Moonstone are affected by the old bastard’s actions. Talk about putting coal in the stockings of children literally.” “It doesn’t make sense, unless Henri needs the money. But I always assumed he had all the money in the world.” She looked at the mansion, the windows dark in the dim light of the winter’s morning. Everybody knew Henri had sold his ownership of a Lake Superior cargo shipping business years ago. Had he run through his millions? An ugly thought struck her heart. “You don’t suppose he’s going to sell the mansion, too? This has been the North Pole forever, and the last piece of private land on the entire Square. What will happen to the holiday crèche?” The crèche had quickly become a tradition she loved doing just to see the smiles on kids and their parents’ faces 5

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at the holiday. There was something about petting animals that brought out the best in people. She led Rudolph and Gracie the donkey into place inside the protective shelter of the plywood Nativity stable. With golden straw so deep it touched their bellies, they would stay cozy. Both were used to the cold Wisconsin winters. Today was Friday, the trial run to acclimate them to the lean-to for tomorrow’s big day when they hoped to draw shoppers to town. So far, the animals loved the adventure, while Bob did not. He waved the anonymous letters at her again. “If I end up getting sued over this holiday display, you’re going to have to pay the lawyer’s fees. This dang Nativity thing on the old coot’s land was your idea.” He’d stomped away, kicking at the snow banks along the sidewalk. Now, herding her class toward the school, she glanced over at the LeBarron home, pines flanking it in the front yard. What kind of existence did Henri have these days? Everybody saw his helper, a mysterious man called Leonard Moline, skulk in and out of the grocery store now and then, but the man was so creepy nobody engaged in talk with him, not even about the weather. Maybe Moline was behind Henri’s sale of the coal yards. Certainly he had no allegiance to Moonstone or any of the other small towns dependent on shipyards and train yards coming together in Duluth-Superior. Maybe he was lobbying for Henri to move south now, where it didn’t reach thirty-below at night or even have a real winter. Despite being bundled up and wearing her thermal tshirt and leggings under her clothes, Crystal shivered with dread. There certainly was some kind of dirty dealings going on under the innocence of the white snow. With a heavy loss of jobs, land and home values in Moonstone 6

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would plummet. Residents losing their jobs would need to move away, and they’d get next to nothing for their homes. Who would want to move here? Some Christmas season this would be. Suddenly, Gretchen broke ranks and tackled Marcus in the snow. “Gretchen Johnson, stop that.” But the little imp was hot for revenge. She and Marcus rolled about, snow flying as their arms and stubby legs flailed. The other students took sides as if this were a Packers-Bears game with everything on the line. “Go, Marcus! You got ‘im, Gretchen! Hit him harder!” Crystal hauled both wiggling snow figures upright. “When I ask you nicely to come in, I expect you to respect me and come along.” Marcus, in even greater theatrics than Crystal, fell backwards, playing dead in the snow. Crystal sighed. He stiffened his limbs and squeezed his face tight, an act that many first graders seemed to do as they bridged the age of temper tantrums on store floors to discovering new curse words from older children. Crystal wasn’t looking forward to that stage either. She picked up the stiff Marcus and carried him into the school. There was an advantage to being tall and tough from farm work. She could pick up a child as if he were a naughty puppy gnawing on something he shouldn’t. “Ouch!” she yelped when Marcus pulled a strand of her hair escaping from under her wool cap. “That’s it.” Instead of taking a right to her classroom, she turned left and marched with him down the yellow hallway to the principal’s office. This would be the third time in as many weeks that she’d end up in a meeting with Lisa and Lowell Dane, Marcus’ parents. She was on the verge of calling in 7

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Gretchen’s parents as well. What more could go wrong today? **** Her thirteen students hung onto the jingle bell rope as Crystal led them through the snowy sidewalks across the open Square toward the holiday crèche. Each child owned one of the harness bells she’d secured with a ribbon to the rope. The bells, which she special ordered through Johnson’s Hardware Store, replicated the bell the children saw in the Christmas book she had read to them earlier that week called The Polar Express. As was her tradition each year with her class, she told the children that if they behaved at the holiday animal display, each could take home their very own bell. Even if they didn’t behave, she’d find a way to make sure each child received their special bell before the vacation break a week away, but that was her secret. They crossed LeBarron Street, then climbed over the snow banks to get to the sidewalk in front of the North Pole. Marcus Dane broke ranks and tore into the Nativity scene screeching, “Rudolph’s gone! Somebody stole Rudolph!” Tiny Gretchen’s face turned into rivulets of tears. “We won’t get any presents!” Marcus said, “Shit, no Rudolph, no Christmas!” “Marcus Dane, I swear I’ll…” Crystal said, putting her mitten-covered hand over his mouth, not knowing what to say. She was in shock, too. The Garcia twins, Fernando and Octavio, bawled almost in unison, their faces swarthy piles of wrinkled up misery, mouths open and showing their missing front teeth. “Now, now, Freddy, don’t cry. Octavio, we’ll find Rudolph.” 8

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But Crystal panicked. She looked about the street, the Square, back to the yard of the mansion. Rudolph was nowhere in sight. Her gaze landed on a trail of boot tracks leading from the mock stable to the mansion. Before she could say anything, the quietest child in her class, Michael Lone Eagle, tugged at her coat sleeve. “Rudolph was kidnapped, wasn’t he?” Michael bit his lower lip, which was chapped and bleeding at one corner from the cold weather. “My little brother was kidnapped.” Swallowing hard and trying to think of something to say, Crystal knelt down in the snow with a tissue to wipe at Michael’s face and lip, then dug out her Chapstick and rubbed it around his lips. “Try not to lick your lips, Michael. And we’re going to find Rudolph.” “My brother never came home.” His dark eyes grew wider, beseeching her. “Honey, I’m very, very sorry about your brother. Let’s you and me talk about that later, okay?” Most of her charges were sobbing, one cry having triggered another. Crystal had the sense she was staring at a nest of baby birds of all colors, their mouths open in desperation for her to drop sustenance and answers into them. But she had no answers. Except for the trail to the LeBarron mansion. The urge to repeat Marcus’ choice word welled up in her. How could Henri do this to the children? What had made that old coot turn on her? Or was it creepy Leonard Moline? Forcing on a smile, she gathered up the children by shaking the rope to make the bells jingle. “Class, now listen. I’m betting Rudolph went into the woods to round up the other reindeer for Santa’s sleigh. That’s all. Remember tomorrow? The sleigh rides you can take around the Square?” 9

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“But that’s with a horse,” Gretchen peeped between a sniffle. Crystal counted to five. “Who do you think gives the horse directions on how to pull the sleigh? Rudolph. That must be where he is now, teaching the horse.” That mollified them. They hurried back to the school. But when Crystal stood next to the buses at three p.m. counting noses, she was missing Michael Lone Eagle. She’d left him putting on his boots at his locker. She found Michael inside his locker, legs and feet drawn up so that he was almost hidden under his coat that still hung above him on its hook. Crystal held out her hand. “Hey there, young man, it’s time to go home. The bus is waiting.” “I don’t want to go home.” Worry ebbed through Crystal. She knelt down, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. She thought about the mysterious kidnapped brother. “Why not?” He didn’t move from the safe cocoon of the locker. He was the cutest little boy she’d ever encountered, and smart, too, the kind of kid who reminded her she had always wanted children of her own. Michael’s shoulders heaved a big sigh. “Mommy cries a lot because my brother is gone.” Crystal waited, knowing that was sometimes the best response. He continued in a whispery voice, “His daddy is different than my daddy. His daddy took him and he never came back. Sometimes my daddy goes away for a long time, too, and I don’t think he’s going to come back either. If I tell Mommy about Rudolph, it’ll make her cry because maybe my brother won’t get presents. I don’t care if I get presents, but I want Rudolph and Santa to find my brother.” 10

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Relief washed over Crystal. The half-brother was likely okay and with his own father. But Michael was missing his father. He worked construction which often took him long distances away from home because jobs were scarce on the nearby Indian reservation as well as around Moonstone. She patted Michael’s knee and gave him a wide smile. “That’s so nice of you, Michael, to care that much about your brother and mother. And you know what? Your father would be very proud of you for caring so much.” He looked her long and hard in the eyes, then a winsome smile curved his slim lips. He tumbled out and locked his arms around her neck in a tight hug. She couldn’t breathe. “Thank you, Miss Hagan. Please find Rudolph,” he mumbled against her neck, his lips tickling. “I want a boat, you know, for Christmas.” “No, I didn’t know.” “A really, really big one. Only Rudolph is strong enough to bring it, I’m sure.” Crystal had to smile. She hugged him back, enjoying his little boy smell. Already she’d hatched a plan to get Rudolph back from that old curmudgeon living at the North Pole. She had something she knew Henri LeBarron couldn’t resist. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2 At a little before six p.m. Crystal stood on the dark, green porch of the North Pole, her teeth chattering more from anger than the cold, though the temperature already dipped to ten below zero. Moonlight created rivers of 11

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liquid mercury across the deep snowdrifts in the side yards. Snow-draped pine trees moaned in an intermittent, whistling breeze. Crystal shifted the secret weapon in her arms. The moonlight reflecting off the snow helped her see the doorbell button. She punched it a third time, then knocked on the red door. “Hello? Mister LeBarron?” The door swept open with such force that it almost sucked her in. One look at the tall man with piercing dark eyes blocking the entryway made her knees want to buckle. This was not a wizened, elderly, frail man. He stood ramrod straight and taller than she, a rock wall from his rugged boots up to broad shoulders. Muscular arms were accentuated by a bulky, cream-colored cable-stitch sweater. Denim jeans covered legs set in a determined stance. Wavy chestnut hair sported just enough gray at the sides to give him the edge of a Lake Superior ship’s captain, one who didn’t care to be disturbed. Her armpits grew damp. “Uh, I was hoping to talk with Mr. LeBarron, with Henri.” “Well you can’t,” he said in a low timbre while beginning to close the door in her face. “Hey, hold on. I brought him this.” Those dark eyes, so like steady gun barrels, looked down his nose. “What might that be?” Ah, a foot in the door, she thought. She held out the pan wrapped in a blanket, embarrassed by how much her hands shook. “It’s chocolate pudding cake.” “Pudding?” “No, cake. You see, you stir all this stuff up and when it bakes, what happens is the top bakes like a cake, but then when you cut into it, you find hot chocolate sauce in the 12

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bottom, which is great when you use a spoon to drizzle it over the baked portion and put cream on top. I brought cream. It’s in a carton in my coat pocket.” The door slammed shut. Her mouth dropped open. Then a fire rose through her middle. Echoes of her crying kids plagued her. She knocked hard with a fist on the door. When that didn’t rouse the man, she kicked the door with her boot for good measure. This time a porch light came on over her head. Mr. Cable Sweater Man opened the door again, crossing his arms across the wide chest. She was about to speak when a loose swatch of his thick hair sprung loose to tickle his forehead in a way that made her mouth go dry. He squinted at her. “Henri’s not accepting visitors.” Think fast. “Is Leonard home?” she asked, frustration mounting. “Or have you murdered him, too?” He unfolded his arms. “Excuse me?” She clung to the cake pan. “A weak joke. Sorry. This pudding cake is still warm. It’s Henri’s favorite thing in the whole world.” “And how do you know that?” “Henri always bought my mother’s chocolate pudding cake when he stopped by the church fundraisers. But that was years ago. Now he buys mine, but he doesn’t know it because Leonard comes over to the fundraiser to buy things.” When he stared at her in disbelief yet, she added, “My mother’s Jennifer Hagan. I’m Crystal Hagan.” A grin eased onto his face. The rifle intensity of the eyes melted a little. He took the pan from her. “I’m sorry. Come in. I thought you were some street person giving me a line so I’d give you money.” 13

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“We don’t have street people in Moonstone. It’s too cold.” She stepped into the front hall, a massive room the size of her entire log house. Warm air prickled at the beginnings of frostbite in her cheeks as she looked about, mesmerized by the austere beauty. “It looks exactly the same, even after twenty years.” “On what occasion were you here?” “Henri hosted a reception to raise money for college scholarships and there was a cake walk involved. My mother and I—” “Brought chocolate pudding cakes.” The glint in his eyes…made her hungry in a way that embarrassed her. She really needed to insist Randy keep their dates more often. “Yes.” She averted her gaze to the reception hall and its original paintings of Lake Superior ships and wildlife. The polished maple wood floor in its unusual spiral design reflected sparkling light dripping from probably the only chandelier in all of Moonstone and the county. With a slight limp, Mr. Cable Sweater Man walked over to a marble table under a portrait of a younger Henri LeBarron and set down the pudding cake. “You must be…” She hadn’t seen Peter since she was in first grade and he in eighth. His eyes and the strong set of his jaw matched the man in the portrait. He held out a hand. “Peter LeBarron. I’m sorry for my behavior. Back home, the panhandlers can get to be a problem.” “It’s really you? After all these years?” He laughed. “Don’t make me sound so old. I’m only fifty-one and still able to do a hundred pushups at a time. Want proof?”

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She giggled. “No. I believe you.” With that physique, she imagined him being able to do anything he set his mind to. She took off her double set of mittens to shake his hand. “Welcome back.” His strong grip and the shine in his eyes gave Crystal the sense she’d follow him anywhere. Uncomfortable with his hypnotic power, she stepped back. “Sorry for staring,” he said. “I can’t believe the little squirt in the pigtails who used to kick me in the shins at recess is all grown up. And looking beautiful. What I can see of you.” He made her laugh again. Still hidden under her stocking cap, she looked down at the heavy coat, nylon wind pants over her blue jeans, and boots. “It’s the uniform until April.” “You should try Phoenix. It was seventy-five degrees yesterday when I left. If only I could convince my father to move there.” A cloud haunted the edges of his eyes. “Henri’s okay?” “Oh, yes. And no. He’s getting on, is all.” They stood in the entry hall for an awkward moment until she recalled why she’d come. “Would it be okay if I talked with Henri? I could take him the pudding cake, if he’s not able to walk—” “I’m sorry, he doesn’t care for visitors. Thanks for stopping by, though.” Peter limped to the door, opening it for her to leave. She didn’t budge, her heart beating out of rhythm. “Listen, your father kidnapped Rudolph and I want him back. Well, ‘her’ actually.” He slammed the door shut against the cold air, but she still shivered at the intensity deepening the Phoenix tan. He 15

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said, “If you’re here because you’re suing my father, please pick up that cake and leave.” “I saw the tracks. All the way from the Nativity scene to this house. Your father took Rudolph this afternoon and I want him back.” Then something magical happened. She watched Peter go from being angry to booming laughter that bounced off the shiny wood floor to echo up the open staircase. “Oh I see. The pudding cake is a bribe, a trade. Chocolate cake for a reindeer. Oh my, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” The broad shoulders shook with his chuckles. “Seems like a good deal to me.” “There’s only one problem.” “What is that?” “My father never stole your reindeer. I did. I kidnapped Rudolph. And I’m not giving him back.” What had he just said? He admitted it? Fury fishtailed up her spine. “What do you want with a reindeer?” “Actually, my father asked me to kidnap the reindeer for him. He’s holding the reindeer for ransom.” Peter kept chuckling. “This is no joke, Peter.” “I’m not joking.” “I don’t have any money.” Shaking his head, but still smiling, Peter walked back to the front door, then leaned against it with one hand on the doorknob, obviously ready to dismiss her. “Dad doesn’t want your money. I suspect he’d even give you some if it’d help matters along. Here’s his deal: Dad wants the mayor to agree not to run for re-election this spring or ever again, and you can have your reindeer back.” She choked. “Now I see what’s going on. It’s not enough that your father’s selling off all his property and 16

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putting everybody out of work right at Christmastime, but now he wants to get rid of the mayor who speaks up against him doing so. I want my reindeer.” “I want my mayor.” She let go with a string of curse words not unlike what little Marcus had said earlier in the day. In response, Peter’s long arm scooped her up. He escorted her outside the door, which managed to spank her butt when it shut like a punctuation mark. The lock clicked. The porch light snapped off. The frigid breeze brought the sting of reality to Crystal. She shivered. Then burned with rage. Fists formed inside her mittens. Poor Rudolph, docile as a puppy, was ensconced somewhere inside the LeBarron mansion. The aging outbuildings had long ago been removed from the property, so the only place the animal could be was inside. She clomped off the porch and back to her truck. Peter LeBarron and his father weren’t getting away with this ridiculous blackmail. Never mind she’d tried to bribe them. Now she had to find a way to get back inside that mansion, with or without permission. **** Over chicken dinner, which Leonard Moline served in the dining room of the second floor suite belonging to Henri, Peter took careful stock of his aging father. They faced each other across the ends of the table. His father had a full head of silver hair, but it needed a trim. He wore a brown plaid flannel shirt frayed at the cuffs. His appearance, Peter guessed, was carefully planned to irritate the son. Peter knew the game. It was why after college he’d never come back except for the briefest of weekend visits around holidays. Already he was counting the minutes until his flight left Duluth. 17

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But Crystal Hagan’s information troubled Peter. His gut recognized he may need to stay beyond the weekend to clear up a few matters. “Why didn’t you tell me you were selling off the coal yard in Superior, Dad?” After Crystal had left, Peter made phone calls. He found out that his father’s actions had already put several Moonstone residents out of work. “Why shouldn’t I sell? It’s never been of interest to you. You’re back for the other business anyway.” “Selling this house?” Peter had been duped royally, he realized now. “You timed my visit to take care of the issue of the house with the sale of the coal yard. You figured I’d have to finally get involved in your corporations. Am I on the mark?” His father shrugged. With shaky hands, the elderly man battled with the chicken on his plate. Peter’s throat tightened. When had his father not been able to cut a piece of tender chicken? Peter didn’t know what to do. If he got up and helped, would that offend his father? He stayed seated, discomfort mounting as he watched his father’s fumbling hands. “I’m not moving back here to clean up your messes again,” he said, trying to recapture the bluster the two men usually shared during Peter’s visits. To Peter’s surprise, the older man didn’t say anything. Instead, defeated by the chicken, he switched to scooping up the mashed potatoes. So that his father didn’t see him staring, Peter averted his gaze to the room and its heavy, maroon-colored velvet drapes shutting out the world. Behind him in the sitting area, the fireplace fizzed and crackled, matching Peter’s racing thoughts. Was his father ill? How ill? When had the trembling started? Did Peter dare ask? How does a son ask about such things the first 18

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time without risking anger in return? His father had always been a fiercely proud man, not one who put up with weakness in anybody. Peter looked about the room hoping answers would leap out at him. The drapes over the windows kept the chill at bay, but they also kept out the world and prying eyes that might look on with pity. When Peter reached for the blue Wedgwood cup with steaming coffee, a sudden flash of Crystal Hagan’s bright eyes brought him an idea. Oddly enough, her plight over her reindeer eased his racing blood pressure. This was a safe subject to talk about with his father, a way to work up to asking about the important questions of health and the liquidation of a lifetime’s work. Peter put down his cup. “Do you really have that woman’s reindeer hidden away?” “You think I’m not capable of such things? I’ve still got two good legs and my wits.” But why had they been served dinner upstairs instead of in the lower dining hall? “Dad, when was the last time you went down the staircase without assistance?” “Just today. To kidnap the reindeer.” “Dad, I’m worried about you.” “Since when? You fly in and out a couple of times a year and hurry back to Phoenix to push your papers. You call that work? I used to shovel coal by hand…” How was it that a parent could make a grown child feel mad and guilty at the same time, and in a flash? Peter let both emotions wash over him. He’d carried guilt all his life about not having a better relationship with his father. But it was complicated. At the funeral for his mother, a teenage Peter had accused his father of killing her. Peter had apologized for his words, but it hurt that Henri, through all these years, had never offered an apology for actions that 19

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led to the loss of Peter’s mother. The events surrounding her death were locked inside an imaginary box that sat between the two men. They could never reach each other without first stumbling over the box, so neither dared to reach out. Peter watched his father sipping coffee, wrestling with tremors in his hand, a hand that had once worked machinery that moved coal between ships and boxcars. As a boy, Peter remembered going with his father a few times to the Lake Superior port. Henri always had to be out with the employees, getting coal dust under his fingernails. Looking at his father now, Peter wondered if selling the coal yard would be the worst mistake of Henri’s life. Running an empire gave Henri LeBarron purpose in life; without it, he would waste away from boredom. He’d surely blame his son for that, too. Peter wasn’t about to let that happen. He didn’t need more guilt to carry around. Peter was faced with dealing with a coal yard, people out of work, and a kidnapped reindeer. What was his next move? Wind howled outside. He reached for his cup again. The liquid’s warmth shimmying through him reminded him of Crystal again. He’d played along with her reindeer story out of an impulse he still couldn’t quite figure out. He thought it all some joke. He was mortified later when he mentioned the incident to his father, who admitted to kidnapping the beast. After much searching, Peter hadn’t found Rudolph. And his father refused to reveal the hiding place. “What do you know about Crystal Hagan?” he asked Henri. “Why?” “She brought you a chocolate pudding cake, Dad. You have the hots for her?” 20

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“Damn sure better wash your mouth out with soap before you go to bed.” Peter looked twice, but yup, that was a blush on his old man’s face. Peter laughed, which sparked hiked eyebrows on his father’s face. There hadn’t been much laughter in this house over the past few years. Certainly Leonard Moline didn’t look like a comic who could spew jokes. Peter made a mental note to check out Leonard’s background more thoroughly. He’d also question him about the missing reindeer. “Crystal could be trouble for you, Dad. I don’t think she’s going to give up on this kidnapping of Rudolph.” “I thought you gave her the boot.” “Not everybody owns a reindeer. It’s probably worth a pretty penny to her. She might take this into a nuclear war.” Henri scoffed, then sipped more coffee. “She’s just a first-grade teacher. How much harm can a teacher of little kids do to me? Nah, she wants that reindeer back for those little tykes. She’ll find a way to get Mayor Winters out of my hair.” “Something tells me you could finally lose your hair over this.” “That mayor wants my property for condos!” “But if you’re selling the house, what do you care?” “He’ll fill the backyard with rows of condo apartments. You won’t be able to see the lake anymore.” Peter tapped a finger on the table. “So you want to sell this place, but keep the view? Dad, this is prime lakefront property. It’ll turn into a resort or condos in the blink of an eye. I don’t think it’s possible to keep the view.” “Find a way. Or the reindeer disappears.” Peter simmered behind clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this?” 21

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“Doing what? Conducting business?” “Doing all this craziness all of a sudden?” Peter’s heart pounded against his chest wall. He was ever so close to asking about the trembling hands, about taking his father to a doctor. “Why the urgency to sell off the coal yard? The house? The fight with the mayor over this land? And kidnapping a reindeer? Dad, you’ve gone around the bend.” Henri’s gaze stayed on his plate of uneaten chicken. “For you, that’s nothing new. Was I not the man who killed your mother?” It felt like a steak knife jabbed Peter’s soul. “Dad, that was long ago. Please, let’s just leave it there.” Locked in that box we don’t want to start stumbling over. Henri’s eyes concentrated on the shaky cup of coffee he was drawing upward toward his lips. Leonard Moline came in then to serve them the chocolate pudding cake that he’d re-heated until it steamed hot. He set a china saucer in front of each of them. A dollop of whipped cream melted on top of the gooey cake, which floated in a pool of rich, dark chocolate sauce. One bite and Peter knew in that instant that his father was very, very wrong about Crystal Hagan. She was more than just a firstgrade teacher. If she did everything as well as she baked, they were in for trouble. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3 When Crystal parked her truck and cattle trailer in front of the LeBarron estate and the plywood stable at nine o’clock Saturday morning, the Town Square was bustling already. She smiled in outward confidence, but her nerves 22

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sent a fluttering sensation down her back, then into her stomach where the flutters wouldn’t quit. Steeling herself, she put her plan in action. It took her only a few minutes to wrestle her cargo onto the porch and ring the doorbell. To her disappointment, Leonard Moline answered the door. He poked his head out the door and peered about with his beady eyes and crooked nose, looking like a frightened crow. “Hi,” Crystal squeaked. She drew in a breath of cold air. “I’m here to give Peter LeBarron the gifts he deserves for the holiday. Can you tell him Crystal Hagan is here?” “You’re giving him these things?” Leonard pointed his nose about the porch. “Please, Leonard, it’s cold out here.” The door closed. Soon it opened again. This time Peter, hair still damp from a shower and falling over his forehead in a way that made her swallow, poked his head out. “Crystal? What the—” She didn’t give him a chance to shut the door in her face again. She picked up the small bale of hay bound in twine and led her donkey into the front hall. The donkey’s hooves made click-clack sounds. Crystal set the bale of hay down under the chandelier. After shutting the door, Peter gaped at her. He held a towel in one hand. The scent of his soap warred with the smell of, well, donkey. “What the hell is this? Get this animal out of here.” Flutters from her stomach crawled into her throat. “This is Gracie. Rudolph’s best friend. Since you insist on keeping Rudolph, I didn’t think you’d want him to be lonely. Would you?” 23

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“I don’t know anything about reindeer and donkeys. Now get them out before my father has a heart attack.” She sat on the hay bale, which Gracie was nibbling at already. “Feed them each a wedge of hay, maybe four inches wide or so, for breakfast and lunch. For dinner, you’ll want Leonard to mix ground corn with a touch of molasses or ginger snap cookies.” She hurried past him and out the door, thanking her lucky stars it was too cold for him to follow her. He yelled from the doorway, “Get back here. Right now.” She kept on going, smiling in the frigid air at the success of her little plan. Peter LeBarron would be forking over Rudolph within minutes. **** To her disappointment, and some amusement, Peter came out of the house within minutes, tugging on Gracie’s lead rope. Not used to minding strangers, the donkey balked, sliding in the snow with stiffened legs while Peter pulled with all his might. “Come on, you miserable beast, come on.” “Talk to her nice and maybe you’ll get somewhere,” Crystal called from where she stood next to the cattle trailer parked at the curb. Peter stopped, puffing steam from the exertion. Bundled in heavy winter garb with only his eyes showing between a black stocking cap and a navy parka zipped up over his chin, he looked from Gracie to Crystal. His stance, like the one last evening, reminded her of his capabilities. She should run from him. But she also possessed an unreasonable urge to niggle him. What was it about this man that got her so riled up, that attracted her to all this trouble? She could, after all, just report him to the sheriff, 24

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but she had not. She’d kicked him in the shins countless times as a kid, and now had plunked a donkey in his proverbial lap. What was that about? It was as silly as Marcus and Gretchen constantly fighting. Leaning toward Gracie’s long face, and reaching out a tentative hand to pat her neck, Peter said, “Okay, girl, if you come with me I’ll promise to give you all the ginger snap cookies you can possibly eat for Christmas.” Unknown to Peter, Gracie followed anybody who sweet-talked her. She began plodding next to Peter down the sidewalk. Hiding her smile, Crystal focused on pulling the pin on the ramp in the trailer gate. “You can bring Rudolph out here anytime, too.” Peter trudged up. “I didn’t take your reindeer. But my father says he did it.” Her laughter came easily. “Now that’s the silliest darn thing I’ve ever heard. He hasn’t been outside in years.” “I’m not so sure.” She glanced at him and saw honesty softening the dark eyes. “Wait a minute, you’re suspicious of your own father? How could he sneak out and wrestle a reindeer? In broad daylight? In this weather?” “It sounds odd to me, too, but he’s acting odd. He shouldn’t be selling all of his holdings, and there seems to be an urgency that he won’t reveal.” “You need to get to the bottom of it and fast.” “Why’s that?” He started stamping his feet to keep warm. Gracie nuzzled about his coat looking for open pockets. Crystal pulled the pin from the latch on the other side of the trailer gate, which doubled as the ramp when lowered. “I dropped in on the mayor last night. It seems the 25

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battle lines have been drawn between him and your father. The mayor wants the property for the village development, and your father wants the mayor to step down. Bob’s not stepping down. No matter what happens, the kids lose because this is the last of the private property on the Square. The holiday crèche will have to go. And within the hour I’ve got to explain there’s no Rudolph for kids wanting to get their pictures taken to send to grandmas.” “They stand out here for pictures in this cold?” He stamped some more. “Wuss. It’s getting up to zero today. We’ll all be wearing shorts by the afternoon.” When he stepped over to help pull the ramp down, she stayed his gloved hand. “You have no real clue what you’re doing out here, do you?” “None whatsoever, but it seems Rudolph is in my father’s clutches, so I owe you.” Her steamy breath met his frost on the air. The intimacy of sharing the very air she breathed with Peter made her swallow and step back. He took a step back as well, but his dark gaze snagged her and held tight, creating heat that steamed the air even more. Lowering the ramp gave her a diversion and relief from his effect. “What’s that?” Peter asked. He was peering at the fawn-colored animal facing them in the trailer. “Meet Alice. She’s an alpaca.” Alice loved everybody. She trotted over to Peter right away to nose about his face with woolly lips and nostrils. Peter backed up a step, his hands out to protect himself. “She bite?” “Of course not. I take her into nursing homes and my classroom all the time. She’s even been allowed in a 26

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hospital room once.” Crystal put the end of Alice’s lead rope in Peter’s hands. “Take her inside the stable to the right. We’ll put her in Rudolph’s place today.” Crystal grinned at the way Peter’s hand inched out to pat Alice. He said, “Come on, girl, come with me. There you go.” Alice trotted down the incline of the ramp, then pranced around him in the snow, making Peter turn full circle to keep up with her and not get wound in the lead rope. Crystal laughed. “Help me here,” Peter said, puffing more steam. “How do I make her stop?” He was taller than Alice, yet the dainty animal had the big man flummoxed. Crystal let Alice turn him on a fourth revolution before she stepped over to grab Alice’s halter. Gracie brayed from the sidewalk out of jealousy for attention. Peter plunked a heavy hand on Crystal’s shoulder and blinked a few times. “Darn animal made me dizzy.” The pressure of Peter’s strong hand gave Crystal pause, but she focused on Alice. “Alice loves to play games. When I want her to stop it or pay attention to me, I take hold of her halter and look her in the eyes.” “They’re beautiful eyes.” He wasn’t looking at Alice. A flush of heat chased the cold off Crystal’s cheeks. Peter said, “That’s what happened to my father. Same color.” “You’re flirting to distract me from marching to the North Pole and searching it myself for Rudolph.” “North Pole?”

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Crystal left him with Alice so she could tie Gracie’s lead rope inside the crèche’s stable. “Your house. You didn’t know it’s called the North Pole?” “No.” When Crystal came back for Alice, she really looked at Peter. “How can you not know that about your father? I bet you didn’t know he used to play Santa Claus for the kids years ago.” “My father?” Peter’s eyes went wide. “No way.” “He’d dress up and stroll around the Square and pop in and out of the stores and the diner and even the bar. He was the best Santa that Moonstone ever had.” Peter patted Alice’s fuzzy neck. “Maybe you could tell the kids that Santa needed Rudolph to get ready for Christmas.” After fluffing up the straw in the stable, Crystal went to the truck and took out the fliers she’d stayed up late last night preparing. She handed a sheaf of them to Peter. “What’s this?” He could very well see what it was, what with the picture of Rudolph at the top. She read from the flier. “Have you seen this caribou? Name is Rudolph. Four feet, eleven inches tall. Likes oatmeal cookies. Last seen being kidnapped on the LeBarron property.” A whimper came from Peter. Crystal thrilled at her effect on him. He held up a flier, his nostrils flaring in a way that made Crystal a little nervous now. “This is the same as telling everybody that my father and I stole your reindeer.” “Caribou. It says right there he’s a caribou, though the scientific name is the same for reindeer and caribou, Rangifer Tarandus. And you did steal him.” 28

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He looked around as if to find somebody to corroborate his lie. Oh, this is rich, she thought. He said, “You can’t impugn my character over this damn reindeer.” “Watch your mouth. Kids will be showing up any minute. And you realize how pitiful you sound trying to separate yourself from your father? If he took Rudolph, you should be accepting responsibility to clear the family name.” With an about-face, and her heartbeat wildly erratic, she began marching with her fliers down the snowy sidewalk. He caught up with her inside the post office, a block away from the North Pole. “You’re not putting up these fliers,” Peter said. Crystal called out to the heavy-set woman in the blue uniform shirt. “Howdy, Rita. Got a favor to ask.” Rita Johnson, mother of Gretchen, had been Crystal’s friend since high school. Her husband ran the hardware store. Rita smiled her prettiest smile, but it wasn’t for Crystal. Peter had taken off his stocking cap and was combing his fingers through the thick chestnut hair with its tantalizing flecks of gray at the temples. Crystal noticed he hadn’t shaved this morning. His rakish appearance made him downright delicious looking. To her horror, she was actively salivating. Swallowing, she whipped back to Rita. “Don’t get your hopes up, Rita. This man is a criminal. Can I put these up?” Rita read the flier, then frowned at Peter. “You should be ashamed. Stealing Rudolph.” “I didn’t,” Peter said, tapping at his sheaf of fliers. “This is a misunderstanding.” 29

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Rita shook her head, tsking at the flier. “But he was kidnapped on your property. It says that right here and I know Crystal. She wouldn’t lie.” She came around the counter and headed for the bulletin board. Crystal laid a sweet smile on Peter. “We could take this to court.” This time a growl came out of his throat. “You people are nuts. Worse than my father. I’ll find your reindeer, but I didn’t do it. I don’t believe my father did it. There’s something in the air around here at Christmastime. I feel like I’ve been trapped in another universe!” “Oh, you have,” Crystal said, relishing making the powerful man squirm. “It’s called Moonstone, Wisconsin. Welcome home.” Peter marched over to stop Rita from tacking up the flier next to the FBI’s “Most Wanted” list. Crystal stifled a giggle when Rita slapped his hand. “You can’t take it down,” Rita said. “This is federal property. You deface federal property, I’ll have you arrested.” About to burst, Crystal figured this was a good time to escape out the door. Except that she ran into Randy Mellen, who picked her up, then dipped her. The fliers went scattering in the snow. “How’s my baby?” “Randy?” Still built like the jock he was in high school, he dipped her with the other arm. “Darlin’, look at you. Wearin’ make-up just for me. Aren’t you cute as a button.” He finally let her back on her feet. She wanted to die. Peter stood with a devilish hike of an eyebrow, looking at them both. 30

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Randy, who never wore gloves, even in the coldest weather, reached out to Peter. “Hello, there. Randy Mellen’s the name, claiming her as my girlfriend is my fame.” Crystal wanted to slither over the snowbank on the street corner and hide. Peter shook Randy’s hand, all the while peering at her with penetrating eyes. “I didn’t realize Crystal had a boyfriend, being the kind of woman she is.” What’d Peter mean by that? There was that urge again to kick him in the shins. Randy chortled. “She’s a sexy machine, that’s the kind of woman she is for sure.” Randy slapped an arm around her shoulders and jiggled her. “Hey, baby, I’m gonna have to cancel out of tonight. You okay with that?” Peter waited too eagerly, she thought, for her answer. Untangling herself from Randy’s arms, she said, “No problem. What came up?” Randy shrugged, then kissed her on the cheek with a smacking sound before he said, “Oh, honey, a little Christmas shopping. I got my eye on something special for ya, and I better pick it up tonight or I might be too late.” He popped a quick kiss on her lips. “Tell ya what, I’ll bring home a doggie bag for ya. We can have lunch together tomorrow.” “Wait. Aren’t you playing Santa today?” “Darlin’, I just told ya, I got some things to do in secret.” He winked, looked at his watch and said to Peter, “Nice meetin’ ya.” With a wave at Peter, Randy took off down the street. “Ahem.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Crystal began picking up fliers from the snow bank. 31

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“You go out with a man who says he’ll bring you a doggie bag from his meal?” “Oh, he didn’t mean that. Randy’s cool.” “No he’s not.” She looked up and noticed he’d taken that protective stance he’d shown yesterday when he thought she was a street person begging at his door. “What business is it of yours?” “I thought maybe you’d worn make-up for me!” Her mouth slaked dry. She became conscious of how pink and shiny her lips must be with Rose Blush Number Five. And how ridiculous her lashes must look with Black Over Black Luscious Lash. Squaring her shoulders, she shuffled the fliers between her mittens. Then she decided the truth was the only way out of this one. “I did wear make-up for you.” “Liar.” This man was impossible. “No, actually, I did. I’m willing to use any weapon I have to negotiate the return of Rudolph. I’m assuming you have ransom demands.” “I do? Oh. Yes. Of course I do. I want something very much.” He gave her a lascivious glance from the top of her head down to her boots and back up again, where his gaze settled on her lips with Rose Blush Number Five. Her toes wiggled inside her boots. She willed them to stop. She refused to give in to this man’s effect because she couldn’t trust Peter LeBarron’s intentions. He and his father wanted the mayor out of office, after all, which meant the LeBarrons would control Moonstone. But why go to all that trouble? What was the big secret that motivated the Rudolph scam? On one level, she agreed with Peter. None of this made sense. Everybody had gone nuts. 32

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Picking up more of her fliers from the snow, Peter said, “Let’s negotiate my ransom demands over lunch.” He stepped into her air space again, their steam commingling. “I’m suddenly feeling like a bear who somebody woke up during hibernation. He’s oh-so-hungry.” He leaned close enough to absorb her reflection in his chocolate eyes. A tremor filled her. He licked his lips. Her toes curled in betrayal. This was going all wrong. She had started the morning as the huntress, expecting to get Rudolph back from Peter by now. Somehow, she’d become the hunted. **** After they separated with a promise to meet at lunchtime, Peter started back down the sidewalk toward what he knew now was the North Pole. He shook his head, letting a smile slide onto his face at the thought of his father playing Santa many years ago. The smile soon evaporated. News spread fast in the small town. He’d become a pariah overnight. Now there were the fliers being posted everywhere. First, Mayor Bob Winters stopped his car in the street to yell at him. “I’m not quitting. Your old goat of a father can rot in that mansion for all I care.” Now that was Christmas cheer. The mayor drove on. Then a couple caught up with him with a little boy between them and scolded Peter for putting people out of work. They introduced themselves as the Danes, and pointed out that their boy, Marcus, had been prevented from an important childhood activity—getting his picture taken with Rudolph. Lowell Dane growled, “You’re not going to scar my boy for life. None of you are. Not that teacher, not you in your fancy house. You’ll hear from me.” More holiday cheer. 33

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When Peter reached the crèche and saw the crowd of kids, his heartbeat skittered faster. The urge to run overwhelmed him. At the sight of him, two little boys, obviously twins, both pointed at him and in unison started to bawl. They cried out, “Where’s Rudolph? You stole Christmas! We won’t get presents!” A woman bundled up in a camouflage snowmobile suit and red elmer cap rushed over. “This thing between you and the mayor isn’t funny to children. You should be horsewhipped. But maybe some good will come of it. We can stop this ridiculous holiday display that keeps giving my husband ulcers every year.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Peter forced himself to take off his gloves and offer her a hand. “Mrs. Bob Winters.” The mayor’s wife scoffed at the proffered hand and hurried off. When Peter scanned the Square, he saw more people hiking toward the animals—and him. He escaped up his own sidewalk and into the mansion. But he could hear the angry babble and kids crying out near the street. What the heck had he landed in by coming to Moonstone this weekend? “Dad,” he bellowed up the staircase, “we need to talk.” **** At twelve-thirty Peter LeBarron found himself in the small town of Port Cliff, ten minutes from Moonstone and along the Lake Superior shoreline. From the street, the Port Cliff Casino looked like a nondescript warehouse with a glass atrium abutting the street. Peter wondered why Crystal would drag him here to negotiate the deal for Rudolph. Would they play bingo, and whoever won got the four-legged beast? 34

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He’d never been to a Wisconsin Indian casino. He’d left home as they started getting approval to dot the state and shake money out of the pants of retired people. Inside, the place was replete with mirrored walls, red carpeting, and murals depicting whitetail deer, beavers, wolves, and giant musky leaping from a lake. People bundled up against the wind chill factor of minus-ten filed past him in hordes into the room with bright lights. The slot machines dinged and whirred with increasing intensity. This was obviously “the” place for lunch in little Port Cliff. Peter guessed the buffet was somewhere beyond the gambling area. The smells of the place twisted around him like vines in a jungle ready to choke him. He’d been to jungles. He wanted to find one now and hide. His stomach churned in fear. What would he be forced to eat? “Isn’t this great?” Crystal rescued him. She came through the door with a smile, pulling off her stocking cap and shedding her coat and mittens. A pink sweater accentuated the glow in her cheeks. She looked good enough to eat, he thought, a much better choice than the buffet somewhere in the maw of the casino. “This is quite the place,” he said. “Perfect for negotiating a reindeer.” He found the way she flipped her hair over a shoulder distracting. Did she really date that lout Randy? “This place opened last year. It provides fifty jobs that weren’t here before.” “So you brought me here to skewer me about my father selling the coal yard and letting a few people go to sweeten the deal? Perhaps they could find jobs here.” He realized his mistake the moment the words came out of his mouth. A cloud had skated over her face. “I’m 35

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sorry,” he said. “That was flippant of me. I don’t want anybody losing a job because of my father’s inept actions.” Her sunny smile came back. “Come along. The reason we’re here is that I have an errand to do, and then we can sit down to lunch.” They walked through the casino filled with mostly gray-haired patrons. When they came to the cafeteria, decorated with stuffed animal heads on the walls, Peter saw a long line at the buffet. Happy chatter filled the room. A Native American woman in a white uniform and a scarf to keep her hair in check, walked up to them with a toothy smile. “Miss Hagan, it’s a pleasure. Pork chops and sauerkraut’s the special today, but we have venison sausage pizza, too, and venison burgers. I know how you love those.” “Sounds heavenly.” Peter winced. Crystal introduced him to Claire Lone Eagle, the mother of one of her students, Michael. Crystal said to Claire, “After Michael found out yesterday that Rudolph hadn’t come home, he seemed to have some concern about his father not coming home. Is there anything I can do to help him feel safe during school next week? I can’t guarantee that I’ll get Rudolph back.” Guilt burned inside Peter. While he’d been arguing with his father minutes ago about selling the household furniture, Crystal’s concern was for a lonely little boy. Claire Lone Eagle said, “With that storm, his father decided to go south with a crew. They found a construction job down in St. Louis.” “Will he be coming home for Christmas?” 36

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Claire winced. “We need the money. Don’t say anything to Michael.” Peter adjusted his stance to consider the weight of what she’d said. A little boy with big brown eyes and a thatch of black hair come up behind his mother and hugged her legs. “Look who’s here,” Claire said, her eyes sparkling. “Now don’t be shy.” “Hi, Miss Hagan,” Michael said. “Who’s that man?” Peter knelt down. “I’m Peter. I’m Miss Hagan’s helper today. I helped her with Alice and Gracie.” Claire patted her son’s shoulders. “We’ll go see them later, Mike. Okay?” Michael came out from behind his mother. “If you’re a helper, are you like an elf?” Everybody laughed. “I’m too big to be an elf, but you could certainly be an elf. I bet Santa would love having you as a helper. I bet you help your mom all the time.” To Peter’s surprise, Michael came out from behind his mother’s legs and marched right up to Peter. “Can you give me a ride on your shoulders?” Claire rushed over to take Michael’s hand. “Michael. That’s not polite.” An awful memory whooshed through Peter of a helicopter’s machine gun strafing. He almost rushed from the casino, but then the questioning look on Crystal’s face stopped him. She couldn’t possibly know the secret that made his chest tighten, and neither could Michael, who looked at him with wide, brown eyes. “Michael, why do you want me to give you a ride?” “Because you’re so tall! I could pretend I’m in an airplane. Have you been in an airplane?” 37

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Too many times. “Lots of times.” With a glance at Claire for approval, Peter picked up Michael and settled him behind his neck. Two small hands reached around and covered Peter’s eyes. “Hey, Mr. Lone Eagle,” Peter said, laughing, “airplane pilots have to see. How about you hang on here.” He moved the tiny hands up to his forehead. “What’s our flight plan?” “What’s a flight plan?” Peter looked at Crystal, who still wore a confused expression. “Miss Hagan, what have your students been studying in school?” “Christmas traditions in other lands. Mexico, Sweden, France.” “Then we’re flying to France. Want to go to Paris, Michael?” “To Paris!” the little boy crowed high in the air. His mother laughed. When Peter turned to Crystal, his heart almost stopped because he swore he saw a teardrop sliding down her cheek. Determined not to embarrass her, he said, “What would you like us to bring you from Paris, Miss Hagan?” He could see her gathering herself, but before she could speak, Michael said, “Let’s find Rudolph and bring him back for Miss Hagan. Okay?” The teardrop escaping from one of Crystal’s eyes gave Peter an unexpected catch in his heart. If this was how she started negotiations, Peter was in trouble. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4 38

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The tangy vinegar smell of the sauerkraut and pork chop special drifted on the casino cafeteria air. Crystal and Peter had found a back booth, settling into the red vinyl seats where they could hear each other over the clatter of plates and chatter about wins and losses. The money talk prompted Peter to tell animated tales about his financial services firm in Phoenix. What amazed Crystal was that as they talked Peter appeared to relish food he obviously didn’t usually eat, including the pork chop and sauerkraut special, a helping of mac and cheese, tater tot casserole, and a side of green marshmallow gelatin salad. Working on her mac and cheese, she said, “You enjoy making money for other people.” His enthusiastic nod charmed her. “It’s rewarding to see somebody’s nest egg grow, or see them retire as a multi-millionaire and they never expected it.” “Not too many of those around here.” “You never know. I don’t judge a person’s personal fortune by the cut of their clothes.” Now that surprised her, considering his background and the world in which he worked. Peter saw the confusion on her face and said, “You thought I was all about appearances. Because I’m a LeBarron?” “You always lived in a pretty big house, had all the best toys, and went off to a private high school and college, and then never came back.” He laid his fork down with great care, then wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and stared at her. Crystal’s insides churned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I made that all sound like an indictment. That was petty of me. I’ll go get dessert. What would you like?” 39

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As she rose, his hand snaked out to stop her. “I didn’t leave Moonstone because we had money. I left because I had to. Because of the circumstances of my mother’s death.” She eased back into the vinyl booth and into compassion for him. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Losing a parent devastates a teenager. You had to get away.” “But you don’t know the whole story. She had a drinking problem combined with depression. As a teenager, and well into my twenties, I blamed my dad for neglecting the situation for too many years.” “I’m sorry. All I ever heard was that she drowned.” “She’d been drinking and took off. The keys to the car shouldn’t have been available to her. She bought a ticket on one of the dinner cruises and fell off. On purpose, I suspect. It should never have happened.” Her heart pounded for him. Peter worried his hands into a fist on the table. Crystal reached out. His long fingers, warm and quaking, quieted under her touch. “You must miss your mother very much.” Peter took her hands in his and squeezed. A gentle warmth meandered up her arms. Then he smiled at her, which took her off-guard, and said, “She could bake the best blueberry pie.” Crystal smiled. His moroseness had passed. “It did me good to leave Moonstone,” he said, dark eyes deepening and finding the echoes of his past. “If I’d stayed I’d have been stuck working for my father and that wouldn’t have worked. We would have been matches and dynamite together. I had to have space to outgrow my anger.” 40

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“Because you were robbed of all the normal things kids had, especially like now, at the holidays.” Nodding, he said, “And it seems like my father and I can’t talk much at the holidays without the elephant being in the room. We try to avoid talking about her, but then one of us slips and before I know it we’re in an argument. I feel like a heel, like I’m fourteen again.” He clung to her hands, his fingers massaging as he pondered. A tiny door in Crystal’s heart opened so that she might invite him in for comfort. “Hey, come on, Peter, go easy on yourself on that score. All of us bring up things that aren’t resolved from our childhood. I can’t forgive my mother for not letting me shave my legs until I was sixteen.” He laughed out loud, her desired result. She began giggling, too. He let go of her hands and reached for his coffee cup. “Hairy legs. Now there’s something to argue about over Christmas dinner with the family gathered.” “The problem is, my mother really does bring it up. That and the time I broke our living room window. Actually, Lucas Welch broke it. I’d thrown a rock at him, and he threw one back, which missed me but got the window. He stole my bike and tore off, leaving me to face my parents alone. The good thing that came of it was I paid for the window by helping pick strawberries on a farm and that’s when I found my love for animals and growing things.” “Hmm. If my father didn’t take Rudolph, it could be Lucas who took Rudolph. Back for revenge.” “Lucas? Revenge after something like thirty years?” Peter’s eyes twinkled. “Who are your enemies?” “Enemies?” 41

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To her chagrin, Peter took the paper placemat out from under his plate, moved the plate aside and flipped the placemat over. He took a pen from a pocket and began making a list. “We’re making an enemies list. People who could’ve kidnapped Rudolph. You’ve got the mayor.” That didn’t make sense. “Why would he steal Rudolph?” “To rile up the town, to speed the sale of the North Pole along. But then there’s his wife.” “Tootsie Winters? She’s harmless.” “I don’t think so. She met up with me today and it was clear she’d love to be done with all this business. And there was a couple called the Danes who didn’t seem to care for you.” “Their son Marcus is the school brat. He’s flunking everything, gets into fights, so I call the parents into the office with the principal on a regular basis.” “Bingo,” Peter said, writing down their names. “Great motive for revenge on you. Let’s see, we have four on the list so far. Who else?” Crystal looked at the eager brown eyes and cocked head across from her. The thought that Peter might be on to something settled over her. “Kirk and Jeri Kaminski.” “Who are they?” He wrote their names down. “Mary and Joseph. Or at least they were supposed to play them in the live crèche before they demanded money.” “Motive enough. They take Rudolph until you cough up a salary for them standing in the below-zero weather for an hour for picture-takers.” “You make it sound like it’s my fault that my own reindeer is missing.” 42

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She reached for her water glass while he wrote down her name on the paper! Tapping the placement, she said, “You may as well put your own name down there.” “You’re right. Silly of me. And my father’s.” He scratched pen to placemat. “And Leonard Moline. Wow. Look at this list of your enemies. An even ten. Who else doesn’t like you? There must be more.” “More?” Peter’s broad smile sent a tickle into her middle. Or maybe it was indigestion. But her toes wiggled inside her boots. That was a bad sign. She was enjoying this man niggling her, and enjoying him too much. She had no business feeling anything for this man who would be leaving Moonstone by Sunday night. Besides, he could still have her reindeer. She got up from the booth and grabbed her coat. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I’ve got a date to get ready for. I actually have friends.” “No. He canceled.” Dang. That’s right. Being around Peter made her lose her wits. “I’m going out to hunt for Rudolph.” “Don’t you need to go check on Gracie and Alice first?” Dang again. “I’ll help,” he said, getting up to trail after her through the casino. **** “Gracie’s missing! Where’s Gracie?” The donkey was gone from the straw-filled stable. Crystal’s heartbeat skittered into her throat as she looked about the crowded Square. Shoppers hurried in and out of the grocery and hardware stores. Children, waiting for their parents, were 43

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playing tag in the snow in the small park in the middle of town. But there was no donkey. Crystal looked up at Peter, who stared toward the mansion. He said, “It’s got to be Leonard Moline.” “I suspected him from the first. But why? Where is he taking my animals? You said you looked all over the mansion and found no trace of them.” He kept staring at the house. “What are you thinking?” Peter shook his head. “My father, peering from the second-floor windows, certainly could see when nobody was around the crèche and could call an accomplice.” “I hadn’t thought of that. He wouldn’t be that mean, would he?” “Manipulative, you mean.” Peter gave her a meaningful glance. “He’s a businessman who’s always gotten his way. He obviously wants you to convince the mayor to step down.” “So we’re back to square one, as they say. I’ve talked to Bob and that man’s not budging off his mayoral butt.” Anger pushed her into action. She got Alice from the stable and Peter helped with the ramp. They loaded Alice, who nuzzled Peter in the face as she trotted into the strawfilled, enclosed trailer. A sadness overwhelmed Crystal. “Gracie got her name from one of my students two years ago. The little girl’s mother had died in an auto accident. I had just taken in the donkey from people who were moving to Superior.” “Gracie was her mom’s name?” Crystal swallowed a lump in her throat. Her eyes went blurry. “I’m taking Alice home.” “Wait.” Peter grabbed her arm. “She’ll be safe in there. We can keep an eye on the trailer. Why don’t we look 44

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around while the trail is fresh? Somebody must’ve seen something. We might spot tracks, and we need to do it now before everything gets obscured. We’ll find Gracie and Rudolph.” With the intensity in his dark brown eyes, she believed him. **** While Crystal started down the street toward the post office to question Rita, Peter decided to cross the street for the playground. He suspected a sweet teacher wouldn’t motivate the kids to cough up secrets, but an intimidating stranger who lived in the notorious North Pole might. Amid squeals, the several children chased each other through a maze of snow trails they’d created, playing a form of tag where nobody was allowed to step outside the trails. “Hey, kids, did you see anybody take Miss Hagan’s donkey?” They stopped their play. To Peter’s surprise, every rosy-cheeked face and pair of wide eyes looked guilty. A little conspiracy? A girl in a pink, hooded coat sniffled. “Gracie’s gone?” Okay, she didn’t appear guilty. “Yup,” Peter said. “How long have you guys been playing here?” A boy raised his hand as if they were in a classroom. Peter almost smiled. “Yes?” “I’ve been here since my mom went into the post office.” That wasn’t giving Peter much. But another boy suddenly picked up a crusty chunk of snow and sailed it past Peter’s head. Peter flinched inside his coat, but hoped it didn’t show. “Nice shot. What’s your name?” “Marcus Dane.” 45

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Ah. The trouble-maker in Crystal’s class. Peter had met the parents earlier. Could this kid have stolen the animals? He hadn’t thought to put any kids on the list of enemies. “Well, Marcus, how long have you been hanging out here today?” “Been here most of the day.” “Out here? In the cold?” “No. I go inside the stores to get warm then I come back out.” “Where are your parents?” “They went to Superior.” “They left you here?” Marcus shrugged it off, wiping his nose with a sleeve. “I can take care of myself.” “Do they do that often?” This wasn’t helping him find Rudolph or Gracie, but Peter found this boy’s parents’ actions disturbing. “Sure. They said it’s Christmas and they had to go shopping. They’re buying me big presents. They go like every day now to buy stuff.” The little girl in pink started crying. “I won’t get any presents. Rudolph doesn’t like us. He ran away.” Her plea pierced his heart. Peter went over to her and kneeled down. “We’re going to find Rudolph and Gracie. Let’s all be detectives, okay? You can help. What’s your name?” “Gretchen.” “Gretchen, if you hear anybody talking about a reindeer and a donkey, you’d tell your parents, right?” She nodded. “You’d tell Miss Hagan or other people at your school, right?” She nodded again, her tears subsiding. 46

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“Good. You’re all recruited now, okay?” He pointed back to the mansion. “I’m visiting the North Pole, and I need elves to help me find Rudolph.” He got up from his crouch. Gretchen went wide-eyed. “Are you Santa?” Marcus piped up, “What a nerd. Of course he’s not Santa.” Peter chuckled. “Hey, no name calling. It’s Christmas and you may get a lump of coal in your stocking.” Gretchen wouldn’t give up. “But Santa lives at the North Pole, and if that’s the North Pole, then Santa must live there.” True enough. Peter smiled at her. “Gretchen, you’re right. Santa used to live there. I bet if we find Rudolph and bring him back here, maybe Santa would come back for a visit to see what you want for Christmas.” Now why had he blurted that out? The kids cheered and returned to chasing about in the snow. Marcus threw one more snow clod at Peter as he turned to go. Peter noticed that neither snowball had hit him, by design, he suspected. He, too, remembered what lengths a boy would go to for a little attention from a grownup. Feeling his fingers growing numb from the cold and wondering how little kids could be oblivious to freezing temperatures, Peter hurried to catch up with Crystal, all the while pondering the conspiratorial look he’d seen on the children’s faces. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

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Crystal’s shopping basket was bulging when she saw Peter coming at her down the aisle of Johnson’s Hardware Store. Her heart filled with hope at his jaunty pace. “You found Gracie and Rudolph?” Pulling off the black stocking cap, he said, “No. But I’ve got a posse working on it.” “You called the sheriff?” “Mostly your first graders. The kids at the park.” Maybe the ruddy color in his cheeks wasn’t from the cold. He was delirious with a fever. “You’re sending kids out to find my animals?” “I got to thinking. You know how gossip gallops through this place? How kids like to one-up each other by telling each other secrets? And don’t kids know everything, more than parents usually do?” She had to smile at that. “You’re clever. Kids hear a lot of stuff they shouldn’t. They just might hear about somebody taking a donkey or reindeer somewhere.” Taking her heavy basket, he said, “You found out nothing?” “Rita hadn’t heard anything, though she was hearing a lot of sympathy for me when patrons saw the poster. I saw Bob Winters and he’s ready to call in the sheriff, but I told him to hold off a bit. I even told him his own wife might be the perpetrator.” “Oh great.” Crystal grabbed a roll of Christmas wrapping paper from a display and put it into the basket that Peter carried for her. “Don’t worry. He actually thought that a possibility. Tootsie’s been complaining about him working too many hours. She wants to retire and travel in the winter instead of enduring these temperatures.” “Smart woman.” 48

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Crystal noticed how easily the two of them were shopping together. Randy would never be caught shopping for anything that didn’t have to do with hunting or fishing. She found it a wonder that he was shopping for her Christmas gift tonight. When they got to the counter with the over-flowing basket, Peter asked about the odd mix of items that ranged from popcorn to colored pencils to coin purses. “Since Randy canceled our date, I thought I might as well make my gift packages tonight for my kids instead of doing it tomorrow. Next week’s our last week before vacation.” Peter’s expression soured. “What’s wrong?” “We’re on the verge of figuring out what happened to Rudolph and Gracie. I thought you’d be eager to work on the case with me—your case.” The same odd feeling she’d had earlier returned, that one where she feared him invading her space but she liked free-falling into it just the same. Then she remembered that he’d be leaving tomorrow night and she’d never see him again. She realized how silly it was to worry about these feelings for Peter at all. “You know how to make popcorn balls?” He grinned. “No. But that sounds far more fun that spending the evening with my grumpy father and Leonard Moline. I’ll bring dinner. Then you can have me do anything you want.” She gulped. Any man that handsome, even with hair mussed by a stocking cap, shouldn’t say things like that. **** “That’s Blanca and that’s Parda,” Crystal said, introducing Peter to the goats in the pen in her barn. 49

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Peter had arrived early at five-thirty. Although he’d turned up his nose at the smell of the manure she’d mucked out of the pens and into a wheelbarrow by the door, he shut the door fast and came in anyway to escape the cold. The wind howled outside, but they were toasty in the heated building filled with competing fragrances of straw and hay. The goats bleated, climbing at the pen’s gate to greet Peter. He still had on his coat, and Blanca nibbled at a sleeve. “Hey,” Peter said. “Why does every one of your animals try to eat me?” To his credit, he didn’t leap back as he had earlier with Alice and Gracie, but instead reached out to scratch the goat’s neck. “I’d like to say they’re acting like watch dogs to protect me, but I know better. Blanca and Parda are looking for a handout.” She went to get the grain bucket off its nail hook to feed them. “Blanca and Parda. White and brown. Were they also named by your class?” “Yup. They’re learning Spanish words. I got Blanca and Parda a month ago from a couple who moved to Minneapolis. I’m hoping to train these gals to pull a cart with my kids in it for our Memorial Day parade. The reading books I have picked out focus on animals so it should work our well.” “Everything about your life is those kids.” Something about his statement made her pause at the gate with the grain bucket and look at him pointedly. “Yeah. And I like it.” “No, I meant that they are your life. I’d think you’d have kids of your own by now.” A flush crept up her face. “Isn’t that rather personal?” 50

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Chuckling, he continued petting the goats. “I didn’t really mean it to be. The way you’re involved in doing things for them and caring for your animals, the question came naturally. Randy strikes me as a guy ready to make a few kids to take hunting and fishing with him.” Now her face was burning. She tried to conjure indignation, but then realized what he said troubled her for another reason. She and Randy had never talked about kids. But that wasn’t Peter’s business. “You’re supposed to be here to help me figure out where Rudolph and Gracie are,” Crystal said, climbing the wood gate. “That’s why I’m asking about Randy.” She almost fell into the pen, but Peter caught her hips with both hands. She leaned over to pour the grain into the feed bin, giving Peter a perfect shot of her denim-clad backside, to her chagrin. The goats hopped over to munch dinner. “Why would you think Randy might pull such a stunt?” she asked, settling into a perch atop the gate, fearful now of falling into Peter’s arms. Taking the empty bucket out of her hands, he grinned up at her. “The man’s jealous!” “Of a caribou? And a donkey?” “Of how popular you are.” “Me?” “You strike me as the kind of girl all the guys would have wanted on their arm at prom.” “Hah! Yeah, look at me. This was me back in those days, too. Jeans, flannel shirt, eau d’manure. No way would you have asked me to the prom.” He flinched, which surprised her. “That’s what you think? That I would’ve skipped asking you?” 51

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“You must have a dozen beauties back in Phoenix waiting for you to get on bended knee right now. I suspect you had your pick at your private school as well.” He flashed her a lopsided grin. “Oh yeah, I’m a catch. I rarely see the inside of my condo. When I’m not at the office I’m traveling to meet with corporate clients. Every dinner out is a working dinner.” She gave him a hard look. “You’re trying to tell me you’re boring? That you didn’t enjoy your prom or something?” “Oh, I can dance, if that’s what you’re asking.” To her shock, he tossed the bucket aside, reached up to grab her, then twirled her around. “Peter! Put me down!” But he was laughing, twirling her into a waltz with her boots off the floor. “Ah, you prefer a two-step,” he said. He stepped to and fro up and down the narrow, strawstrewn alleyway of the barn. They were cheek to cheek, his freshly-shaved one warm against her own. Crystal could smell the hint of soap on him. Her heartbeat thumped against his. Despite herself, she started to giggle. Being as tall as she was, no boy or man had ever held her like this— up in the air. She was flying in his arms. Peter broke into twirling her around again, and without gravity she became giddy. Or maybe just dizzy. “Peter, stop.” He set her on her feet. She took a moment to rid herself of the slight wooziness, then peered up at him. He had a big lopsided grin on his face. “That was fun,” he said. They were both breathing hard. The sparkle in his dark eyes scared her because it made her want to leap into his arms and ask to fly again. To escape the crazy thought, 52

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Crystal stepped away to pick up the grain bucket he’d tossed aside. She held it in her arms like a shield against him. Her heart skittered faster at the thought of him staying for dinner. The energy of their sudden dance followed them inside her cabin. The air crackled around them. She had an awareness of Peter that heightened her senses, drawing her to him in ways she didn’t want. Crystal didn’t want to be consumed with any attraction for a man who could use her and move on. She wasn’t that silly of a woman. It didn’t help that under his coat Peter wore the creamcolored cable sweater that somehow made his chestnut hair look all the richer and his eyes dark as devil’s food cake. After taking off his boots by the door, he limped in thick socks, then declared, “You have a nice cabin.” She wanted to ask about the limp, and ask about how he managed to twirl her so well in the barn with a leg that bothered him, but thought better of encouraging more personal questions. Crystal went to the open kitchen area to get out plates and silverware. She smelled roast chicken in the bag he’d brought. “It’s an old logger’s cabin,” she told him. “Those are the original logs from when it was built in the 1920s. I’ve been adding on the other rooms.” “By yourself?” He placed a broad palm on a log in a way that made her remember the warmth in those hands at lunchtime and their firmness on her hips when he’d steadied her in the barn and helped her fly through the air. The cabin grew warmer. She dug into the bag to bring out the contents wrapped in heavy aluminum foil. “I hire high school kids for heavy lifting. I added the room for my office last summer. 53

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Otherwise you’d have been met with stacks of papers and junk in here.” “So we’ve got plenty of room for making those popcorn balls and gift packages.” When Crystal looked up from the table, Peter was taking off his sweater. His action lifted up the shirt and tshirt underneath the sweater by accident to reveal lean stomach muscles. She almost dropped the plate in her hands. A tanned six-pack was an hors d’oeuvre she hadn’t expected him to bring with dinner. The tickle in her toes zipped up through her body where the feeling settled low in her midsection. As he wrestled the sweater off and tucked in a red-andblack checked flannel shirt, Crystal averted her gaze to the task of setting out dinner. Rolling up his sleeves, Peter approached the table, the slight limp putting a swagger in his gait that made Crystal focus shaky fingers on unwrapping the foil around a bowl of garlic mashed potatoes. “Let’s eat,” she said. “I’m famished.” The food wasn’t enough of a distraction. His tales of travels to South America mesmerized her. As Peter unleashed his enthusiasm for adventure, she saw an entirely different man than the one she’d met last night. Crystal found herself asking questions and prompting him so that she could continue enjoying herself. She imagined riding in the dugout boat with him, hitting rapids in rivers filled with snakes. Peter’s stories certainly put to shame Randy’s fishing excursions to Canada with buddies. Before she knew it, she and Peter had finished dinner and were elbow deep in popcorn and sticky syrup, engaged in easy chatter about everything from the weather in Phoenix and the Amazon, to his tales of woe about the 54

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stock market. An hour later, with twenty-six popcorn balls—two for each student—sat in lines on wax paper, Peter mentioned it was time to leave. Crystal realized in a panic they hadn’t even begun talking about a new plan to find Rudolph and Gracie. But most importantly, she didn’t want Peter to leave. The yearning defied common sense. She knew the danger in it. “Stay for coffee. You need fortification before going out there. It’ll give us time to go over your list and check it twice.” Their gazes collided across the table, then dipped away. His red-checked shirt lured her thoughts. What would it be like to be held in the folds of those arms and that soft, flannel shirt, nestled against him during the cold night, smelling the hint of the hay and straw in the barn on him yet, as she let their lips… What the heck was she thinking! She had a boyfriend! “You know,” she said, kicking back her chair, “it might be best if you go. I’m tired. All the stress, I’m sure. You understand?” “Of course,” Peter said, waving his sticky hands. “I’ll wash up, then help you wrap the popcorn balls so we can go to bed faster.” Her heart flip-flopped at the double meaning. She guessed by now he loved to tease her, so she hurried behind him to the sink, where she turned on hot water. Rubbing elbows with him, however, at the sink was a mistake. His breath feathered the hair at her temple. With trembling, sticky hands, Crystal poured liquid soap on his hands and he began lathering up. When she dumped the bottle upside down to squirt soap on her own, he took her hands in his and set the bottle aside. “I’ve got too much,” he said, “let’s share.” 55

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He began massaging her hands in his warm, foamy ones, taking her breath away again. When he immersed their hands under the water, working magic with his fingers to loosen the sticky goo from the two of them, her heart wanted to stop. He rubbed each finger, working with gentle pressure up and down. The slosh of the water took on a rhythm suggestive of actions more primal. Her cheeks burned. When his lips touched her temple, she thought at first it was only his breath again. But then one of his hands lifted from the hot water to cup her chin. His thumb left its warm, wet imprint on her lower lip. Dipping his head, he nibbled at the drip of water, following another droplet as it eddied down her chin, catching it as it slid along her throat. Crystal imagined coursing down the Amazon with him, heat shimmering between them. Then the window rattled with the wind and a chill whipped between them. Peter had stepped back. “I’m sorry. I was way out of line.” The chill was real. Peter rushed to put on his sweater and coat. To her horror, he was flustered, embarrassed even. And he was rushing away. Because she’d let him kiss her. Before he dove out the door, she caught his coat sleeve. “Peter, it’s okay. It was just a kiss. We got carried away, is all.” “No. I got carried away with another man’s woman. This won’t happen again.” Then he was gone into the frigid night. Her stomach clenched. She watched out a window as the red taillights of his rental car disappeared down the road to Moonstone. 56

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Emptiness, no, anger, surged through her. She let the kiss happen. It wasn’t Peter’s fault at all. For Peter, the night had been an entertaining diversion, but she was making more of it. How foolish of her. Peter had no intention of making a life in Moonstone. His flight left for Phoenix tomorrow night. Crystal spotted Peter’s stocking cap left behind on the chair near the door. Reaching for it, she did another foolish thing. She smelled the wool cap. Peter’s essence filled her lungs. It scared her how much she longed to hear more of his stories about the Amazon. **** When Peter stepped inside the mansion later that evening, his gaze swept about the pristine and austere front reception hall. He felt as hollow as the cavernous space. The only smell was the vague hint of lemon cleaner Leonard used. The only sound was the grandfather clock. Nothing made him feel needed or wanted. Peter realized he could walk through this house and through Moonstone and never leave a proverbial footprint that mattered to anybody. Yet, Crystal Hagan mattered. He wanted what she had in life. She was needed and wanted by children, goats, and Rudolph. What a fool to think he could grab a little of what she had by stealing a kiss. He’d had the strangest feeling in the cabin that by being close to her he’d somehow become a better person. As if one person could take on the best traits of another person by touching their skin. He shook off the thoughts, hung up his coat, took off the heavy boots he still wasn’t quite used to wearing and went upstairs. Intending to head straight for his suite, he paused instead at the door of his father’s dining parlor when he saw 57

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the white-haired man sitting in front of the crackling fireplace. “Dad? It’s after ten o’clock. Isn’t it way past your bedtime?” His father usually folded by eight-thirty on their weekends together. “I’ve been waiting up for you,” Henri said, dipping a spoon into a dessert dish. “You went off to that prep school and I never got to wait up for you when you went on dates. You dated, right?” Stunned by his father’s odd question, and thinking about his prom talk with Crystal, Peter sat down in the companion chair in front of the fireplace. He hoped the blast of heat would be a good excuse for the blush crawling up his face. “Yeah, I dated.” “How was tonight’s date?” We danced and I even forgot about my bum leg. Peter looked more closely at what his father was eating. “Chocolate pudding cake?” “It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to marry the gal just for this cake.” That made Peter smile, despite the impossibility of the notion. “She does know her way around a kitchen. And a barn. And school and kids.” “She’s handy.” “I don’t really want to talk about Crystal Hagan.” “Well, I do, son. Go nuke yourself a dish of this and sit with me. Help me write my obituary.” Peter’s heart almost stopped. “Dad? You all right?” “I have to do something with my spare time. Might as well use my last years writing fiction that you can print in the paper when I’m gone.” 58

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Peter watched his dad’s quivering hand scoop up the chocolate sauce. They weren’t fighting, which felt strange. The evening was getting weirder, but Peter decided to get some cake. When he sat down again with his father, the steamy chocolate pudding cake made his mouth water. He scooped up a spoon, dipping it into the whipped cream on top, and savored a mouthful. His father’s spoon clinked against his plate, too. They watched the fire for a moment. Henri said, “I missed out on your prom, your dates, teaching you to drive.” Peter’s nerves went on alert. This sounded like the prelude to a fight. “Dad, it’s okay. That was long ago. I’m a grown man. I survived. Those things aren’t a big deal anyway.” “I should’ve stood up for things back then.” Peter put down his spoon. “You mean, stood up against me? I was a rotten teenager with a mouth on me. But that’s the past. I’m here now, and tomorrow you and I will work on the details of selling the house. I’ll also take a look at the papers on the coal yard sale, if you like.” Peter didn’t even know himself anymore. Maybe it was the chocolate pudding cake, or the warm fire, or his father’s calm mood, but Peter sensed something—someone—was causing a change within himself. He couldn’t quite admit it out loud yet, but he had missed having his dad teach him how to drive and help him pick out the tux for his high school prom. A flicker of the ancient loneliness wrenched a shiver from his shoulders and made him think about Crystal again. “Guess what I did on my so-called date tonight.” Henri set his dish on the small table between them. “You kissed her?” 59

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Peter’s ears burned. Oddly enough, he didn’t mind. “Yeah, I kissed her.” “Was it good?” “Dad!” “Like I said, I’m making up for lost time. What else happened?” “Not what you’re thinking.” I wanted it to go that far. Peter escaped into a bite of the pudding cake. “I fed goats and the alpaca. I even shook out straw for their beds. And we made popcorn balls for her class.” “With red and green food dye?” “No, we made plain balls.” “I like those things. My teeth can’t handle them anymore, but I like them. You bring any home with you?” “Now why would I do that if you can’t eat them?” “Your mother used to make them.” Peter almost dropped his plate. He focused on the fireplace, watching it dance in orange, red, and blue. The crackling reminded him of popping corn earlier at Crystal’s cabin, of kissing her and tasting the sweetness of her skin. “I don’t remember that about mom.” When his father didn’t reply, Peter offered, “Maybe I don’t remember a lot of things about her because I was trying so hard to be mad at you and the world.” He remembered lunch with Crystal. “I remember Mom made a great blueberry pie.” “We used to pick the blueberries ourselves when we were first married. She loved the outdoors and gardening. Remember all her flowers?” Regret sank deeper within Peter. “Sort of. I suppose.” “That’s okay. You were just a tyke when she turned the backyard into flower gardens that ran from the house all the 60

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way to the lake. The mayor’s plan would plant condos right where the annual beds used to be.” Sadness for his mother compelled Peter to go to the window. He pulled aside the heavy drapes. There was just enough moonlight for Peter to see the forty yards or so to the lake. Because of the snow, there was no discernible line where the land met Lake Superior. The white moonscape went on forever. Henri coughed. “Some nights I’ve seen the Northern Lights.” Peter had never seen them. He squinted. Nothing happened. He let the drapery drop and then he sat down again. “Before the bad times came for her, your mother held the biggest parties in town.” “I do remember some of those, even a birthday party where all the kids came and we played baseball. Mom was the pitcher.” Peter grinned at the memory. “You think that Crystal Hagan could be a pitcher to a bunch of kids?” “Dad, she’s taken. Let’s not talk about Crystal. Besides, I don’t think she really wants to be all that chummy with you and me unless we can somehow find her reindeer before Christmas.” “Caribou.” Peter glanced at his grinning father, who said, “Leonard picked up one of the fliers. Rangifer tarandus. They can run up to fifty miles an hour. Rudolph could be in the Dakotas by now.” “And how do you know all that?” “Leonard has a computer in his study downstairs. I know my way around the Internet. We googled Rudolph. You ever google?” 61

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Never mind that. He’d gone downstairs? His father had navigated the stairs somehow. Could he walk more than he was letting on to his son? A flare of the old anger with his father erupted, but Peter tamped it down. It had become impossible this weekend to hold onto old grudges after becoming involved with the hunt for a missing reindeer. Why did it take a man fifty-one years to realize the order of importance of things in life? Maybe midlife was really all about beginning life. Peter had spent fifty years learning to breathe and now he was one year old again, ready to learn to walk through life for real. “It’s great that you use the computer, Dad. I advise a lot of people over sixty about retirement finances and you’d be surprised at how many still seem scared of a computer and e-mail.” “Tell them you’re father’s eighty-four and yahooing. That’s free e-mail, you know.” Peter found all of this astounding and amusing. “What’s your address?” “North Pole at a dot com.” Peter grinned. “So there’s still some Santa in you.” “It was the best job I ever had and it paid me nothing.” “But the smiles of worshipping kids in Moonstone, I bet.” “Those were the good ol’ days. Nowadays they’re all brats. They’d just throw snowballs at me.” Peter thought his request of the kids and about Marcus Dane. “Who do you think might have taken Rudolph?” He poked about in a denim pocket and came up with the placemat with the enemies list. He reviewed what he and Crystal had put together.

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Henri looked at the list between trembling hands. “You two should run a detective agency. Any of these people and kids could’ve pulled off the stunt.” “But nobody saw Rudolph or Gracie disappear and they were in plain sight.” Henri nodded, folding the paper. “Let me think on it.” “It’s somebody who wants to get you and the mayor riled up. That live Nativity has been something of an institution for years, and Crystal Hagan is committed to it.” “Why don’t you bring that gal around for a talk?” “Why? What good would that do?” “Because I think you’re both thinking of this Rudolph thing too globally. You know, for a smart person you’re not very smart.” “What do you mean?” Peter was genuinely intrigued and not offended. “All these people on this list probably have a bit of a grudge against Miss Hagan. When we figure out who’s the most capable of stealing live animals, and who needs them the most to destroy your Miss Hagan, we’ll have our culprit.” Your Miss Hagan. Somehow the choice of words endeared Peter to his father. Peter had thought about a possible grudge against Crystal, too, and he didn’t like the idea. “I don’t know, Dad, she’s so nice. Who’d want to harm her?” “Maybe you need to stick around and protect her.” For a fleeting moment, the image of duking it out with Randy to protect her gave Peter a reason to grin. He shook his head. “You’re not going to succeed at this matchmaking because she has a boyfriend already.” “Randall? That dentist?” “What’s wrong with a dentist?” 63

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“Crystal Hagan can do better.” “Well then, maybe you should marry her.” “I just might. You watch out.” The older man waved a hand about. “All of this would end up hers. Plus I’d get my cake on a more regular basis.” When Peter got up to go to bed, his father asked, “What would be in your obituary if you went today?” “I don’t know. Why?” “Because I don’t know! Son, I don’t know you very well. Not as a grown man anyway. What makes you proud? What makes you get up in the mornings?” Peter didn’t have the kind of answers for which his father was digging. He went to bed unable to settle into sleep because of his father’s words. Crystal Hagan can do better. But was Peter LeBarron worthy of her? What makes you proud? ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6 On Sunday morning the frigid temperatures broke, and with the sun out, the thermometer on the side of the barn zoomed all the way to ten above zero. Crystal had just finished the morning chores and was back in the house around nine-thirty when the phone rang. She smiled, hoping it was Peter asking to come out to retrieve the stocking cap he’d left last night. Instead, Mayor Bob Winter’s loud honking voice bowled her over. “Get to town right now! Crystal? You hear me? We’ve got an emergency on our hands and it’s your fault and only you can fix it.” 64

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What in the world? “Bob, what happened? Did something happen at the school? Did the pipes freeze and break again and flood the library?” “Haven’t you read the Sunday paper?” “No, it’s still in my mailbox.” “You’re front-page news in the Leader-Telegram. The headline’s ‘Rudolph Kidnapped in Moonstone. Will Christmas Get Canceled?’ The subhead says, ‘Teacher’s Holiday Gift to Children in Need of Your Help.’” Crystal sat down at her kitchen table. “Boy, news does travel fast around here. But I don’t see the crisis, Bob.” “Then listen.” She heard honking horns and people talking in the background. Bob came on the line again and said, “I’m standing in the middle of Moonstone with my cell phone because somebody has to direct traffic. People are driving in from all over to meet you and your animals. So get down here with them and bring a bucket.” “A bucket? What for?” “For the donations. Everybody wants to know where to put the money for you to get a new Rudolph so we can have Christmas for the children.” Within an hour Crystal was able to load Alice, Blanca, and Parda. She called the Garcia twins’ father to borrow the cow the twins had trained for 4-H. Gretchen’s cousin only a mile down the road let her borrow his Shetland pony, Zip. Crystal brought along a pair of fake antlers out of her closet grab bag of holiday school supplies and found her way into a Moonstone she didn’t recognize. Families and couples packed the little town. With no stoplights, the traffic poked along and drivers parked at odd angles around the tall snowbanks. Shoppers clogged the 65

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sidewalks, but she saw smiles on the faces. Rita was outside the post office with what appeared to be a makeshift and very popular hot chocolate stand. With the mayor’s help, Crystal navigated her rig through the streets to the three-sided stable. Peter was waiting for her. She handed him his stocking cap. “Thanks.” He flipped back the hood on his coat and pulled the cap down to his eyebrows. With ruddy cheeks above the hint of dimples, he looked almost jolly. She noticed he’d finally found lined mittens to wear. Mittens were much warmer than gloves in this weather. “This is insane,” he said, “but in a good way, like a movie premiere and you’re the star.” People crowded around them, snapping pictures of Crystal. A few in the crowd had picture phones and were talking loudly to friends and relatives. Crystal almost couldn’t breathe because of the cloud of steam floating about her. Like a pro, Peter ordered the crowd to back up a little. Then he helped her bring down the ramp and unload the animals. When he saw the cow, he asked, “A new addition?” “Yeah, that’s Crystal.” When he cocked his head at her, she laughed. “The Garcia twins named her. What can I say?” “That you’re popular! I’m jealous. I’ve never had a cow named after me.” “That’d have to be a bull.” Ach, he’d sucked her right into that sexy talk he loved. “A bull named Peter the Great. I like it.” His laughter made the winter sunlight almost warm. She had the greatest urge to kiss him right there on the street, but the holiday crowd demanded they hurry with the animals. 66

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As the morning’s hours ticked by, Crystal must have talked with a hundred strangers who brought donations while Peter helped families with little kids who wanted their pictures taken with Zip the pony, Crystal the cow, Blanca and Parda, and Alice. When a Santa showed up to pose, Crystal asked Peter who it was. Could it be his father? Peter, catching his breath after lifting maybe the fiftieth child off the pony, said, “It’s Lowell Dane.” “Marcus’s father? Helping me?” “He said he was on his way into Duluth for a gig later and he got caught in the traffic here so he offered to help.” “Have you been watching the donation kettle?” “He seems trustworthy. I don’t think he’d pull anything on you,” Peter said, his mitten-covered hand chucking her chin. “Besides, he’s got a Santa suit on. He’s on his best behavior.” By three in the afternoon, with the sun dipping low to the west, Crystal was exhausted. Thank goodness Peter pitched in with the mob. Tourists and shoppers still streamed by and traveled in and out of the shops, even the hardware store. They came out with bulging bags. Crystal couldn’t deny the happy mood everybody was in. Neither could the mayor. Bob Winters, wearing a Santa hat with the price tag still on from the hardware store, made his way through the street to the stable. “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?” “Bob, I teach on Monday.” “You can’t. A reporter was here. They’re doing another piece on the reaction to Rudolph’s kidnapping tomorrow. This is a boon for our town. Do you know how much the businesses are racking up in sales today? We want that to continue all this coming week and Christmas week. You have to bring in your animals every day.” 67

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“I can’t. I borrowed the pony and the cow. And I teach. Bob, I can’t do a live animal display for you. We’ve never done this every day. It’s hard work. This has always been a one-day special thing for Moonstone.” Peter interjected himself between them. “I’ve got an idea. What if your kids put together an art project that happens to be cardboard replicas of all these animals? That might be a story that could charm the tourists. The kids could even do homework on the animals and come out here and talk to the tourists a little.” Crystal looked at him slack-jawed. “When are the kids supposed to do this?” Bob hooted. “I love it. Splendid idea.” Peter said, “How about tonight?” “The school’s closed,” she reminded him. “Bring them to the North Pole.” “Your father doesn’t want a house full of kids.” “You told me he used to play Santa Claus. It might do him good to have kids around.” Her heartbeat shifted into a higher gear. “You have a plane to catch.” “I’ll postpone it.” Her toes wiggled inside her boots. “Do you even know what you’re asking? Inviting thirteen first-graders into your house with scissors and paste and paint?” “Leonard needs more to do anyway. He’ll have it cleaned up in no time.” Bob patted each of them on the shoulders. “Perfect. Moonstone is rockin’ because of you two. Now I’ve got to run before my wife divorces me.” Crystal didn’t recognize the smiling man blinking big chocolate-colored eyes at her. A lump crawled into her throat. “You’re really staying?” 68

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“At least tonight. Seems I volunteered to herd firstgraders. What do they like? Should I pick up pizzas?” “They’ll love it.” Then a practical thought came to her. “Oh my gosh, I have to call all the parents and get their permissions and—” Peter grabbed her. Feathering frost on the air, he said, “Go home now, make your calls. I’ll take care of the animals and the donation pail for you.” “You must be frozen by now.” “Can’t tell. I’m too numb. Now go. I’ll be fine.” Crystal wanted to kiss him again, but she didn’t dare, not with all the cameras and people still mingling nearby. All the way home in her truck, she wondered why Peter stepped up for this task. The man wasn’t used to kids. She wondered what disasters awaited them now. Her worries were allayed somewhat when she discovered Marcus Dane couldn’t come. His parents weren’t home and therefore he couldn’t get permission to come. She told him on the phone, “It’s too cold to sneak out on your bike. And don’t even think about coming with a slip of paper with a fake signature, Marcus. That didn’t work last time.” After changing clothes—into a sloppy sweatshirt and jeans that could withstand paste, glue, paints, and colored markers—Crystal retrieved her animals from town, did her chores, and returned to the North Pole by five-thirty. When she walked into the mansion, effused with pepperoni pizza smells, the front hall was a sea of cardboard, one-by-two strips of wood, paint cans, and wiggle-worm children.

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And Marcus Dane grinned up at her, just as he applied a dripping, red paintbrush to the back of Peter’s denim jeans. **** Little Michael Lone Tree saw Marcus’s trickery and tackled him. Then the Garcia twins pounced and a free-forall erupted. Crystal yelled, “Stop that. All of you. I’m ashamed of you.” Peter plucked Marcus up first, and to her surprise, heaved Marcus up over his head and onto his shoulders. Michael pouted. “Hey, I want a ride.” Peter surveyed the twelve imps on the floor staring at him and said, “Everybody gets a ride.” Squeals of delight echoed in the cavernous hall. “If they behave. And work hard. Elves work hard. We want to be done in an hour before your parents come for you.” Crystal had rarely seen such industriousness in her students. “Elves?” she asked Peter. Marcus answered from his perch. “I like being an elf. I’m the head elf.” Crystal cocked an eyebrow at Peter. “You made him the head elf?” Peter smiled. “Time for a ride.” He took off for a tour of the mansion with his uneven gait, with Marcus rocking on his shoulders. She took over guiding the painting and building of a reindeer, a cow, a sheep, and a donkey. Pizza got eaten in between shoulder rides. Thank goodness the paint was nontoxic. A good share of finger licking went on without too much hand washing in between painting stints. Crystal couldn’t help but smile at Peter’s easy give-and-take with the children. Looking about at the 70

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cheery art class on a Sunday night, she had to admire his idea. He was definitely teacher material. Gretchen raised her hand between pizza bites. “Miss Hagan? Rudolph doesn’t have a nose that glows.” “He’s cardboard so that’s okay.” Peter held up his hand. “Miss Hagan, I have the perfect solution.” He left the foyer and returned soon with what looked like an antique bedside accent lamp with a ruby glass globe. “We’ll use this.” “It’ll get broken,” Crystal said. “It must be worth a fortune.” Peter shrugged. “If the house goes, we have to sell this anyway. Might as well turn it into a glowing nose. I can string extension cord out to the stable.” The children clapped. They thought that was the coolest idea. Crystal was outvoted. After the parents had picked up everybody, only Marcus was left. He sat in the middle of the floor among the artistic creations laid out to finish drying. Crystal couldn’t get an answer at the Dane house. She supposed Marcus’s father was still doing his Santa stint at the mall in Duluth. Peter said, “I’ll take you home.” “I’d rather stay here,” Marcus said. “I want another ride on your shoulders.” Crystal cringed. She knew when Marcus was about to cause a fit. His face glowed almost as red as the glass globe now fashioned on the fake Rudolph propped against a wall. “Marcus, you have to go home.” “No! I want a ride. Now.”

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She gasped when Marcus kicked at a can of paint, and it splattered blue up the side of the mansion wall, almost hitting the portrait of Henri. Peter grabbed the boy before Crystal could explode like the paint can at the boy. “Come over here. Want to know why I can’t give you another ride? Want to share a secret that none of the other kids know?” Marcus nodded with wonder on his face. Peter sat down in a chair, then pulled up a pants leg, tugging it up over his knee. He proceeded to pop off his leg! Crystal took a step back in shock, while Marcus took hold of the prosthesis and said, “Wow, cool.” “That’s why I can’t give you another ride. My stump’s a bit sore after all the rides.” When Crystal exchanged a glance with Peter, she saw a twinge of something on his face. Embarrassment? Maybe he saw that reflected on her face. She felt horrible and stepped forward. “When did that happen? How did it happen?” she asked. Marcus asked, “Where did your real leg go?” “Marcus!” Crystal admonished him. Peter put the prosthesis back in place then rolled the pants leg down to the sock on the fake foot. “That’s a good question, Marcus. I was in the Army many years ago. I left my leg back in a place where there were land mines in a field near a school. I was there to help make sure this didn’t happen to a bunch of boys like you. I found the land mine, just not in the way I’d expected.” Crystal’s heart ached for what Peter must have been through, and she thought Marcus felt the same sympathy, surprising her. The boy sat on the floor next to Peter’s fake 72

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foot, touching it with care. “Can I stay? My mom lets me do sleepovers all the time.” Crystal expected confusion on Peter’s face, but instead suspicion marked it. Peter asked Marcus, “Why do you want to stay here?” Marcus didn’t answer. He lowered his head. Crystal had never witnessed a subdued Marcus. When she was about to go to him and pick him up from the floor, Peter shooed her away with a hand and instead eased off his chair and sat down cross-legged in front of Marcus. Peter asked, “Is everything okay at home?” Marcus shrugged. Crystal became concerned and sat down on the chair next to them. “Marcus, please tell us what’s going on. I promise not to take you to the principal’s office or anything. I won’t yell at you.” When Marcus’s chin tipped almost to his chest, Peter said to the boy, “I’m really proud of you tonight. Even though you painted my butt red and kicked the paint can.” It was meant to get a reaction from Marcus, but the boy only shrugged again. “Do you know why I’m proud of you?” he asked. “Because you’re a strong guy. You walked all the way over to my house alone just to make a new Rudolph for others to enjoy. Why don’t I take you home? I’ll wait with you until your father gets home, okay?” Marcus kept his head down the whole time Peter helped him up and into his coat. After he’d sent him out the door to get into the car, Peter whispered to Crystal, “I think I’m about to find out who stole Rudolph and Gracie. You might want to follow me in your truck.” **** The sheriff arrested Marcus’s father, Lowell Dane, that night at a strip mall in Duluth where Lowell thought he 73

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could make money with his own version of a live animal display. The sheriff told Crystal on the phone that Rudolph and Gracie were in good health and sharing a pen at the local animal shelter and could be picked up anytime. Crystal and Peter had waited at the Dane house with Marcus until his mother got home. Both mother and child were mortified. Later, out in the driveway under the stars, ready to get in their vehicles and drive their separate ways, Crystal thanked Peter for his gentleness with Marcus. “He’s usually a brat. How did you guess that it was his father who kidnapped Rudolph?” “Marcus told me about being alone in town, then he tossed some snowballs at me. Boys act out when they’re covering up pain or embarrassment. I know. And I noticed how involved Lowell Dane was today in helping us out. But it dawned on me that he was looking over the animals. I saw him a couple of times patting them, as if getting them used to him.” “Why hadn’t I noticed that?” She felt stupid now for not catching on. “You were busy. And who would’ve thought a Santa would steal animals? That’s likely why nobody noticed him taking Rudolph. Nobody would think to blame Santa. Witnesses probably assumed he was helping you. Because nobody knew Lowell was playing Santa until today, he wasn’t a real suspect.” Crystal shivered, stamping her feet against the cold snow in the Dane driveway. “So he probably drove up when there weren’t many around to see him anyway, nobody paid attention, and he nabbed Rudolph and Gracie.” On impulse, she stepped over and planted a kiss on his cold cheek. “What’s that for?” he asked. 74

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Steam trailed from their nostrils. This time, she didn’t back away. “You were right. The kids would give up the secret.” “Well, not until I gave up mine.” He tapped his leg that wore the prosthesis. “I suspected that Marcus knew who it was. That kind of kid is a know-it-all. I have to admit, though, I’m sorry it was his own dad. The kid needs a break.” She warmed to his insight. “I agree. I’m going to go out of my way to be kind to him. He’s always been the bully, but now he’s probably feeling a lot of shame. Poor kid. We all want to be proud of our dads.” “I can relate.” “Thank your dad for putting up with the noise.” She wanted to hug Peter, yet the realization that they weren’t meant to be brought a stiffness to her limbs. “You must be exhausted, after putting up with them all day and half the night. And your leg…” “I’ll be okay.” He draped an arm around Crystal’s shoulder to walk her to her truck. A welcomed warmth eased the awkwardness plaguing her. “I could never do what you do. In a classroom every day all day with that crew? Not me.” She thought about his comments yesterday concerning having children. “You’d make a good dad, you know. And a good teacher. Maybe you should try that when you get back to Phoenix. Volunteer. Tell your stories.” “Maybe.” “You don’t sound enthused about any of that.” When he opened her truck door, she saw the old Peter, the man who’d been upset with her when they met on Friday night. Gone was the relaxed, happy face of the past two days. 75

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With his gaze cast down like Marcus’s earlier, he said, “Why don’t you give Randy a chance? He went shopping for you last night. The guy looked eager as hell. And you’re not too old to have children.” “I’m old.” “No, I’m old.” “Want me to kick you in the shins?” At least that got him to look up and grin a little. “Climb in before we both freeze our toes off.” She did. The truck started with a wheeze and a groan. She flung the heater on, then rolled down the window. Was this goodbye? Had they come to this? Strangers again? “Well, goodbye,” she said, her shoulders quaking, “and thanks. You’ll help put up the display tomorrow before you leave?” “Sure.” She hit the window switch but he plunked a hand on the glass. “Wait.” He leaned in through the window, turning her face toward him with a mitten. He kissed her thoroughly, his breath steaming about her face. He tasted and smelled of pizza yet. She held onto the steering wheel, because if she didn’t, her whole body would rise off the seat, drift through the window, and ask him to dance right there in the snow. Freezing air swept over her damp lips when he backed away. “See you tomorrow,” was all he said as he disappeared into the night. **** Damn the man. Crystal shoved tears off her face during the drive home. She needed windshield wipers for her eyes. She could barely see. The longer she drove, and the closer she got to her cabin, the less Crystal wanted to be there. She knew she’d 76

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never sleep. When she pulled into her yard, Crystal kept the truck running, took out her cell phone and called the sheriff’s department. Yes, they could have somebody go over to the Humane Society yet tonight to let her pick up Rudolph and Gracie, if she hurried. The truck clock read nine-thirty. She hitched up the trailer and took off. But she wasn’t only going to fetch the reindeer and donkey. She had an urgent need to see Randy. Maybe Peter was right. These feelings of contentment around Peter were only the stirrings of an imagined affair. She was lonely. Randy would set her straight. Randy was real. He didn’t make her conjure up hot sex in her bed. What was she thinking, anyway, of wanting Peter’s six-pack working on her under the sheets? After all, she was a teacher who had to be a role model for her kids. Her heart betrayed her though, skipping a beat when she recalled Peter taking off his fake leg to show Marcus. Peter understood Marcus completely. Peter was meant to have kids, despite himself. Crystal and Randy had never talked about kids. But Randy would make a good father, too. She’d never told Randy that. Painful confusion swirled inside her. Seeing Randy tonight was a good thing. She needed to get back to reality. She found his street in Superior and a spot between snow banks big enough to park the truck and trailer. Crystal rang the bell to his ranch house, but he didn’t come to the door. A light glowed inside behind the curtains, though, so she knew he must be around. She knocked. Sighing, she decided to use the key he’d given her and go in and at least leave him a note. Once inside, she almost fainted. Then anger curdled her insides. Randy and a woman stood with only a sheet covering them. Crystal had caught them in the act trying to 77

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sneak back to the bedroom quick when they heard the front door open. “Randy?” A part of her died inside. And it wanted to come up and spew over the floor. She clamped a hand over her mouth. The woman hurried down the hall to the bedroom. Randy had the audacity to smile. “Hi, cupcake.” “Is this how you go shopping for Christmas? Personal service?” She wanted to kick him somewhere and it wasn’t in the shins. “Come on, hon, I just hired her. It’s nothing.” “Oh, so it’s an employment interview. You bastard.” Crystal choked back a sob and marched out the door, banging it behind her for good measure. Now she understood about the broken dates, the twotiming creep. She stomped hard all the way to the truck, imagining trampling Randy’s face with her boots. Minutes later, she was never so glad to see two animals in her life. Rudolph hopped up and down off his hooves and looked like he really could fly when he saw her. Gracie brayed, almost honking at her. Crystal hugged them each fiercely after loading them in her trailer filled with extra straw and hay to comfort them. “I’ve got you two, and that’s all I need. Men are way too much trouble.” ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 7 When she arrived at the Nativity site the next day on her way to school, the new cardboard display was already in place, replete with the many cardboard animals painted in uneven strokes of colors that made for a few surprises. 78

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Whoever heard of purple sheep? She couldn’t wait to collect her students later in the day and have them come over as a group. The mayor had agreed to a little ceremony for them at two-thirty, when school let out for the day. “Besides,” Bob noted that morning, “that’s when I invited the reporters to take pictures. We could probably turn this into a holiday card or calendar and sell those and use the cash to pay the health insurance for some of the folks laid off by Henri LeBarron’s sale of the coal yard.” The sting of reality was that Monday didn’t get any better as the day wore on. Peter had caught an early flight. She doubted she’d ever see him again. The kids seemed to sense it, too. They were as subdued as she. Michael cried because he missed both his father and the “airplane man,” as he called Peter. Marcus didn’t come to school on Monday. Crystal understood it would be hard for him to face his classmates. She’d give him a couple of days, then she’d work with his mother and the school’s assigned social worker to make sure Marcus got through the trauma of his father kidnapping Rudolph. She had to admit, she missed Marcus’s mischief. Without him at school, the class was too quiet. She had nothing to do. Nobody to take to the principal’s office. Nobody to worry about. That night, while reviewing lesson plans for the next day, a knock came at her cabin door. When she opened it, amid a blowing snow, she gasped at the sight of an old man with white hair and using a walker. Then a smile curled his lips in a way that she recognized. “Henri? Henri LeBarron? My gosh, get in here.” She looked past him to see if Peter had brought him. “He’s not with me,” Henri said, reading her mind. He hobbled in, pushing the walker ahead of him. 79

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“You drove out here?” “I didn’t fly. You’re the one with Rudolph. I, unfortunately, have only Leonard Moline.” Crystal felt like she was back in first grade and being chided. “Sit down. Peter’s all right? Where’s Leonard?” “My son is a knothead, and Leonard’s fine in the car.” She was secretly glad of that. She shivered at the thought of the mysterious Leonard in her cabin. Henri hobbled over to a comfortable chair near her fireplace. “It’s too damn cold around here, you know that?” “You could go live with Peter in Phoenix. What would you like? Some coffee?” “Got any chocolate pudding cake?” A smile wiggled across her lips. “No, but I could make hot cocoa.” “That’s the ticket.” Why was he here? she wondered, as she poured milk into a pan with sugar and cocoa powder. “Oh good,” he said, coughing, “you make it the oldfashioned way. Want to marry me?” Crystal looked up. Then relaxed. He was kidding. Now she knew where Peter got his flirtatious bent with words. “Sure. Want to turn that mansion into a stable? You’d have to put up with a noisy donkey and some goats that will nibble on the banisters.” While the cocoa heated on the stove, she joined Henri, sitting across from him on a corner of the hearth. Heat from the flickering flames tickled the side of her face. “So why are you here? On a night like this? It’s dangerous on the roads.” “I’m checking you out. What do you think I’m doing out here in this damn snow storm?” 80

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Shaking her head to get rid of the fuzzy confusion, she asked again, “I must have heard you wrong. You’re checking me out? For what?” “I’m having a party this next Saturday. For you and the children.” “That’s not necessary.” “Oh but it is. I want to apologize for giving up on being Santa all these years.” “That’s okay, Henri. You can’t stand out in the cold anymore.” The smell of heated milk drew her back to the kitchen to stir the pan of cocoa. He coughed again. “Would your Rudolph behave indoors? How about those goats? If I had somebody make a little pen would they be okay? They’re all invited to the party, too.” Henri’s eyes twinkled exactly like Peter’s when he had danced with her in the barn. “You really do want the kids and animals at your house for a party, don’t you?” “Damn straight.” Then she caught on. Her heart sank a little. “The last hurrah before you sell it?” His face went flaccid. “Already sold it.” “Who bought it?” “A corporation.” Any bit of life in her core iced over. The era of the LeBarron’s was done. Somehow the mayor had won. And Peter had allowed it to happen. **** She had to hand it to Henri LeBarron. He knew how to throw a party. A week later, on a brilliantly sunny day, the first floor of the mansion had been draped with ivy 81

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garlands, red bows, and mechanical toys on every shelf. A holiday tree sat in the middle of the entry reception hall under the chandelier. Its branches held what seemed to be hundreds of small, wrapped gifts for all the children, which they were invited to pluck off the tree and open every half hour. Crystal had never seen such excess. Two high school boys she recognized from the football team had been hired to help with the games. They wore elf costumes. Lisa Dane, Marcus’s mother, volunteered to help clean up after the party. Mortified by what her husband had done, Lisa said it was important to make amends and treat Crystal to this party. Crystal hugged her, reassuring her that bygones could be bygones. Leonard Moline, not any less creepy in an elf costume, hurried in and out with trays of Christmas cookies, lemon bars, peppermint ice cream, and cocoa. For the main meal they had macaroni and cheese with hotdogs, which Crystal suspected nearly killed the snooty Leonard to make. When Crystal tried to help, Leonard told her sternly she was to enjoy the party. He had strict orders from Henri to make sure she had a comfortable chair in the front hall to watch the goings on. He also brought her a dozen roses in a vase to sit nearby, a cup of sweet tea to drink, and warm slippers, the latter a gift from Henri. Not used to this treatment, she was starting to get suspicious. Why was Henri treating her like a queen? Crystal sat back to watch the pony rides inside the house while snow flurries eddied past the windows outside. Leonard followed the pony with a dust pan to catch any of the “road apples,” as Henri called them. In a wheelchair today, Henri rolled next to her. “You’re usually the one doing for others. I suppose it’s an odd posture for you, sitting still.” 82

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“Odd indeed,” she said, discovering truth in the old man’s words. “I rarely sit down, and even when I do, I have school things to read or work on.” “It’s mighty fine to feel out of sorts for once. A little change is good.” “Speaking of which, I swear I heard Leonard talk to you about a Santa costume.” Henri grinned. “Shh. Not so loud. I should be helping Leonard look for that old suit. Not sure where we put it.” He began wheeling away. “Do you want me to help find it? Help you up the stairs?” “No, no, that won’t be necessary.” Then Henri flashed her the biggest smile. “I believe I hear the stamp of reindeer feet outside now. Maybe the real Santa’s here.” She looked at him. Had he gone daft? But then she heard bells. Lots of them. Racing to the front door, she flung it open and there on the lawn was Santa Claus in a sleigh with eight reindeer in harnesses. “Better get your coat, honey,” Henri said, “because I think that son of mine means to take you for a ride.” “Peter?” She wriggled into her coat as she shuffled through the deep snow of the front lawn. Her knees quaked at the sight of those eyes hidden under the white costume beard and eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” “This is the North Pole, isn’t it? Where else would you find Santa and his reindeer?” “Where did you get these reindeer?” “The mayor found them. I told him we need to spice up the holiday activities around the Square. Where’s Rudolph? Bring the poor guy out to join the crew.” 83

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Giggling over the surprise of Peter coming back, her body humming with pleasure, Crystal hurried to get Rudolph. He hopped about when he spotted the other reindeer and pawed at the snow after she attached him— her—to the lead position. Then she smiled at Peter. “You don’t know what you’re doing with these animals at all, do you?” “Not one iota. We almost crashed into a bush out by the street. I figure you’ll teach me. Did you know these animals can fly at up to fifty miles an hour?” “Where’d you learn that?” “From my father. Now get in.” She hurried aboard the small sleigh. Peter kept the reins, insisting he wanted to learn. Fortunately, the caribou were well-trained. They began pulling Peter and Crystal toward the back of the mansion and the moonscape of snow. Crystal’s heart thrilled as she looked at Peter under the Santa costume. His dark eyes radiated with reflections of the sunlight on snow. She’d forgotten her mittens, but she didn’t even need them, what with the flush of excitement coursing inside her. The sleigh eased over the drifts. With the deep snow, Rudolph and the other caribou took their time. “What’s really going on?” she asked. “I had to come back to tell you something I learned from you. And learned from my father about you.” “All the way from eighty-degree Phoenix? A phone call could’ve done that.” The bells jingled. Santa laughed on the frosty afternoon air. “You don’t just care about your kids and the people of Moonstone. You have a deep respect for what goes on here. And when things go wrong, you dig in. You don’t leave.” 84

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She tried to object but he wouldn’t let her. They made a wide circle in the yard. Peter was getting the hang of the reins and signals. Crystal now had a rare view of the magnificent mansion’s portico that faced the lake. Its beauty rendered her speechless. “You expect great things of people,” Peter said. “But you need to expect more respect.” Peter made no sense. “I heard about Randy,” he said. “My father couldn’t wait to tell me.” “He was just being Randy.” “See? There you go again. Forgiving people so easily. Always the angel, forgiving everybody. You should be mad at that guy. It’s why I came back.” “So you could fight him?” “Because you need somebody watching out for you. And I’m your man.” A thrill zipped up her spine. Did she hear him right? “I thought some corporation bought this place. I thought you weren’t coming back.” “A corporation did indeed buy it. One run by me. You have to incorporate if you’re going to run a Christmas shop and fine dining establishment out of the North Pole.” “You’re turning this into a restaurant? A gift shop?” Her mind swirled as if she were inside a snow globe and somebody had shaken her. “I can see you don’t get it. Hang on.” With that he called to his reindeer and they turned yet again to fly fast over the snow and out onto the frozen lake. When they were maybe a hundred yards away from the mansion, he pulled the reindeer around again and stopped them. They pranced in place, puffing steam. 85

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Crystal had a breathtaking view of the North Pole. From here the tall pine trees framed the estate. A few boulders on the shoreline gave the landscape its unique character. With the sweeping lawn now covered with snow, the house with its green roof and red trim did indeed look like the North Pole to Crystal. Peter stared at the mansion. “I took a walk out here the night before I left. My father had mentioned that the condos would go in the flower beds my mother used to plant. I realized how much my father loved my mother. She was unhappy in her life, but not about this. I can’t blame my father for what happened. He built this for my mother. He loved her that much.” The enormity of that registered with Crystal. “I figure we could rent out the lawn for parties, though we could serve dinner outside, too. Of course we have to revive my mother’s flower beds.” She noticed the “we” in his speech. More of his usual flirtations? Peter went on. “My father will still live upstairs and oversee everything, though I think I’ve convinced him he may need to move.” “Why is that? I thought you two were getting along better.” “Oh, we are. Because of you. But he’ll have to move because you and I need our privacy.” She swallowed. “You’re going through a midlife crisis, aren’t you?” “I just might be. But men of my age usually opt for a shiny red roadster. What do you make of a man who buys a sleigh and reindeer to travel in? Why would he do such a thing?” His eyes deepened, as if they were fashioned from 86

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the molten core of the earth. He took off the Santa hat and beard and eyebrows. Crystal didn’t want to bring this up, but she had to help him face the truth. “Peter, have you ever thought that your father was behind everything? That maybe he paid Lowell Dane to steal Rudolph and bring you and me together? Don’t you wonder if you’ve been manipulated? To save this estate? After all, you said it. This is where he loved your mother beyond belief. Henri would do anything to save this place.” “I suspected him of matchmaking myself. And you know what?” Peter took off his mittens, then caressed her face in his warm palms. “I realized, all on my own, that I didn’t care. I realized this past week how much I missed dancing with you in your barn. With you, I felt whole again. Actually, I was feeling again, not just operating on autopilot.” With fire leaping through her veins, she still couldn’t quite trust the words or the intensity in his eyes. “Why are you really back?” With a thumb he caressed the corner of her mouth. “My father asked me what got me up every morning. I have big accomplishments but they have never been personal to me. I manage millions of dollars for businesses and other individuals, but, so what? You and my father have the power to change a whole town. My father has the power to put people out of work, or help them find new jobs. And you control Christmas, for cryin’ out loud. That’s what they’ll put in your obituary some day. I push paper, you push hearts. Kids love you.” “Peter—” He pressed his thumb over her lips, his heat stilling her. “You didn’t go to lunch with me that day to negotiate 87

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for Rudolph, for example. You went there to be sure Michael was dealing okay with his father’s absence. I saw the tears leave your eyes when you watched that little boy on my shoulders forgetting his troubles for a few minutes. After I returned to Phoenix, I didn’t have kids wanting me to give them a ride. There was no woman asking me to help her find Rudolph.” “But that’s all I am or will be. A woman living in a small town.” “You made me feel worth something for a weekend. Maybe this is a midlife crisis. How else do I explain falling in love over the course of a weekend and because of a kidnapped reindeer?” Crystal put a hand over her heart to keep it from leaping out of her chest. Did he just say he loved me? Does he mean it? Leaning toward her so that she saw her own reflection in his eyes, Peter whispered, “I knew I loved you the moment you brought over the chocolate pudding cake. I’d be a fool not to ask you to marry me.” If a heart could sprout wings, hers just did. “My toes are wiggling inside my boots.” “A good sign? They’re not cold, are they?” “I’m very, very hot,” she said, “for you, and my toes are saying ‘yes, I’ll marry you’. Peter LeBarron, I love you, too.” And then Santa caressed her in a way that even embarrassed the reindeer, forcing Rudolph to lead them home to the North Pole before the children spotted Santa kissing their teacher.

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Look for a return to Moonstone, WI in “Misbehavin’ in Moonstone” (Tales from the Treasure Trove, Volume II, September 2006)!

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About Christine DeSmet (Dame Moonstone) Christine DeSmet is a novelist, screenwriter, and faculty associate in writing at University of WisconsinMadison, Department of Liberal Studies and the Arts. Her novel manuscripts have earned a Golden Heart plus two Golden Heart nominations in the Romance Writers of America (RWA) contest. Her novel, Spirit Lake, also won an RWA contest before being published and becoming a bestseller. Other romantic suspense novels and a romantic mystery series are represented by Three Seas Literary Agency. Christine works with many authors as a coach and book doctor, as well, and saw two of her clients get published in 2004. Christine is also a judge for RWA contests. As a screenwriter, she’s a past winner of the Slamdance Film Festival and has a screenplay at New Line Cinema currently. She has optioned other screenplays and a TV series. She’s currently adapting to film a Madison author’s acclaimed book of short stories. She is the director of the UW-Madison’s annual summer Writers’ Institute, now in its 16th year, and coordinates the Write-by-the-Lake Writer’s Workshop & Retreat. Christine also teaches online workshops and has students from around the world. Her workshops include “The Dialogue Shop” and “Screenwriting: Write Your First Draft Fast.” One of her screenwriting clients optioned in the past year, and another made the semi-finals of the prestigious Nicholl Fellowship Contest. Christine is a 90

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fellowship graduate of the Warner Bros. Sitcom Writers Workshop, recent-past board chairperson for Wisconsin Screenwriters Forum, and is a member of Romance Writers of America, Electronic Publishing Internet Connection, Writers Guild of America, East, and Jewels of the Quill. For more information about Christine and her work, visit her page at the Jewels of the Quill website: http://www.angelfire.com/stars4/kswiesner/jewels3.html#C hristine

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A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE by Julie Skerven (Dame Peridot) Chapter 1 Jessie Barnes crunched through the snow as quietly as she could, creeping along the prickly juniper bushes surrounding Nick Maxwell’s hideaway cabin, looking for the easiest way in. Not being a burglar by profession, she was making this up as she went along. Three days before Christmas, she was on a mission to rescue her brother. She’d left her rental car tucked discreetly in a fire lane a country block away and trudged through snowdrifts up to her knees at times to get to her goal. Jessie’s feet felt like blocks of ice, her hands were frostbitten, and she was plastered with snow from falling down twice. But she couldn’t let anything divert her. She had to get this done and beat the blizzard—and the last ferry back to the mainland. Otherwise, it meant an evening hunkered down in her rental car at the dock, a prospect that didn’t fill her with joy. But all her discomfort was worth it if she came away with a clue to her brother’s fate. 92

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Her mission was clear—slip inside the cabin while Maxwell was in town for supplies and look for clues. The rumors about West Tec, the computer software design business Maxwell and Michael had founded, floundering a few weeks before, had worried her. When she’d mentioned them to her brother, he’d told her not to worry, not to believe all she read in the trade papers. Now she knew it’d all been an effort on his part to keep her from worrying. Now that he was missing, Jessie felt sure Maxwell was responsible. Her older sibling’s loss had left a void in her life that nothing would fill. Throughout their childhood, they’d relied on each for emotional support. Their mother, a jetsetter who’d left them in the care of a series of nannies, had taught them to turn to each other in times of need. Nick Maxwell was dead meat if he’d dared to touch a hair on Michael’s head. Her suspicions focused around the stories of a bitter proxy fight at West Tec. Could Maxwell have silenced her brother so that he wouldn’t lose half of his company? The prospect chilled her. All she had to go on was the last item in Michael’s date book—a meeting with Maxwell. As her only lead, she would follow it. She had to find out if her suspicions were correct. Jessie’d go to the ends of the earth to find her brother. Crunching through snowdrifts, crowbar in hand, she knew that there was nothing she wouldn’t do to find him. Snow started to fall harder, fat flakes that stuck to her eyelashes. Jessie groaned in dismay. The blizzard wasn’t holding off, as she’d hoped it would. Well, she’d better get to work before the weather prevented her escape from the island. She stopped to catch her breath at the side of the cabin and glanced at the seedy looking place in surprise. For a 93

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wealthy entrepreneur, Maxwell’s choice in a vacation dwelling was unusual. The shack had to be at least fifty years old, the green paint peeling. Brushing the snow off her tan jacket, she shivered. This was a far cry from her home turf of Atlanta. Jessie should have dressed warmer. She’d had no idea before she left her apartment how remote and frigid this location would be. Yearning for a nice hot cup of cocoa, she crept up to a rickety storm window that seemed to be sticking out more than the others and started prying with her crowbar. The sooner she got this odious task over, the better. The storm window popped out with a sickening crack that sounded like a gunshot. Jessie let out a little yelp, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one heard. The woods remained silent all around the remote cabin. A rabbit sat in the shrubbery, unmoving, as it stared at her with wary eyes. “It’s okay, bunny,” she whispered, and then turned back to her work. Carefully leaning the broken storm window against the cabin’s faded siding, she started in on the double-hung window. She edged the crowbar under the bottom pane. With all her strength, she tugged. The window finally rose with a drawn-out squeak of protest. “Got ya,” a voice suddenly muttered nearby. Before she could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Jessie struggled to pull free, the crowbar falling from her numb hands, but she was good and pinned to the big man’s impossibly wide, muscled chest. Nick Maxwell, Jessie realized. It had to be. A wave of terror washed over her. He jerked her up off the ground and carried her through the falling snow. 94

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Jessie flailed in his arms, kicking the juniper bushes, covering them both with snow. It didn’t even break his stride or his tight grip on her struggling body. Her breaking-and-entering had apparently made so much noise she hadn’t even heard his footsteps crunching in the snow as he’d crept up behind her. “Let me loose,” she yelled, kicking back at him. Her boot made contact with his tree-like thighs…and something softer and higher that made him swear. His balls, she thought in satisfaction. She’d kicked him in the balls. She aimed for his masculinity again. With a growl, he turned her, flopping her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and his big hand spanked down on her butt hard. “Behave yourself.” Jessie let out a screech of outrage, pounding futilely on his broad back. Her fists bounced off his muscular body like snowflakes. He didn’t even seem to notice. He carried her inside the cabin and closed the door behind him, stopping to lock it. From her upside-down position, she saw worn linoleum floors and an old eat-in kitchen. He turned to stride into the living room, giving her a view of threadbare carpet and some old, overstuffed furniture. The window she’d almost succeeded in entering stood half open. He stalked over to it and shoved it back into place. Striding to the center of the room, he unceremoniously dumped her on her ass on the floor. He scowled down at her. “Explain.” Gazing up at his intense, scowling face, she felt like spitting. In a fierce glare, she took in Nick Maxwell’s appearance, thinking that he looked a world different than she’d imagined. He held himself more like a boxer than the brain she’d expected because of his chosen profession. She 95

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recognized his sandy brown hair and good looks from the photographs she’d seen of him in a computer magazine that’d done a feature on the computer wizard. But the intensity in his chocolate brown eyes caught her off guard. Jessie crab-crawled away from him as fast as she could scurry, until she butted up against the sofa, where she ran out of escape room. Trapped, her outrage won out over any initial fear. “What the hell have you done with my brother?” she spat up at him. In response, he gazed at her like she’d lost her mind. She wasn’t buying his innocent act. “Michael Barnes? Your business partner? Any of this ring a bell?” “You’re Mike’s kid sister?” he asked with a sudden smile. “Yes.” She wasn’t surprised at his astonishment. Jessie didn’t much resemble her Hispanic half brother. They shared a slightly scatterbrained but very loving mother who’d gone through three husbands and had recently married number four. She was off on her honeymoon cruise now, and Jessie hadn’t wanted to worry her about Michael’s disappearance, so she hadn’t told her. “What have you done with Michael?” His eyes narrowed as he frowned at her. “What do you mean, done with him? What’s happened? Is he’s missing?” She scowled. “Yeah, he’s missing. As if you didn’t know. And, by the way, I’m not alone.” She followed her bluff by a quick check for the nearest exit. Then she scanned the living room, connected to the kitchen, for any signs of Michael’s presence. A royal blue laptop on the kitchen table caught her eye. Michael’s laptop! It had to be. She jumped up and ran toward it, skidded on the snow-covered linoleum in her 96

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equally wet boots. With a crash, she hit the cabinet with her head. She just barely heard her own groan as her world went dark. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2 Annoyed, confused and more than a little worried, Nick rushed over to the fallen girl sprawled unconscious on his floor. Not a girl, he amended as he stared at the utterly beguiling creature, a woman. She had the face of an angel. Her honey blond hair was spread out around her, a drop of blood inched down her forehead from her collision with the cabinet. Swearing, he kneeled by her, noting that her thin jacket seemed like poor coverage for the Wisconsin climate. It’d come open, and her white blouse, coated with snow, looked wet. It was all but plastered to her lush curves. She wore brown slacks and designer boots. They didn’t even have treads. She wasn’t dressed for trekking though a snowstorm. Mike’s family came from Atlanta, which might have explained her impractical clothing, but it sure as hell didn’t explain her actions. Had something really happened to Mike? Had their mole hunt gone disastrously wrong? Or was she simply out of her head? Nick needed answers—fast. He ought to call the cops, he supposed. That, or the loony bin. Instead, he got a cold compress and pressed it to the cut on her forehead. She’d come out of this with a good-sized lump. The cold cloth woke her. With a moan, she opened her eyes. Nick lost a little piece of his heart at that moment. Her green eyes seemed to spear right into the core of him. They were wide with fear. 97

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She was scared, of him. He could hardly believe it. Mike was the one who shook up the women, sweeping them off their feet. Nick was completely off their radar screen because he rarely lifted his gaze from the pages of a book or a computer screen. She licked her lips, shrinking away and attempting to rise. “Stop! What are you doing?” “Hold it, honey.” He clamped a steadying hand on her shoulder before she got herself another injury. When she settled down, he gave her what he hoped resembled a reassuring smile. Nick reached for her hand. It was ice cold. The flimsy jacket she wore couldn’t have offered much protection against the below-zero temperature. His hand closed over hers, and he gently pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you settled with a nice hot cup of tea, and then you can continue your interrogation. After that, you can search to your heart’s content. I’ve got nothing to hide.” “I’ll be the judge of that,” she muttered, sinking down into a kitchen chair at his urging. Nick lit the fire under the teakettle but not before he noticed the sway of her rounded breasts under her damp blouse as she removed her wet jacket. “You better get out of the rest of your wet things before you catch pneumonia. I’ve got a robe in the bathroom you can put on.” He could almost feel her suspicious glare at his offer. She didn’t move. What the hell had happened to Mike? he wondered as the teakettle began to whistle. He wanted answers, too, if Mike really was missing. He poured the boiling water into two mugs, adding green tea to one to calm her down, and 98

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ginseng to his. Something told him he’d need the stamina tonight. When he turned back to the table, she still wore the drenched blouse and she was shivering. As he placed a mug in front of her, his gaze strayed once more to her curves. She took the cup, wrapping her hands around it, letting out a sigh of pleasure at the warmth. Slipping into a chair across from her, Nick offered her the condiments in the center of the table. When she accepted them, he realized how aware he was of her stirring milk and sugar into her cup. Hell, he was aware of everything about her. “You’re Jessie, right?” While she didn’t confirm it, he knew he’d remembered her name correctly. “Tell me why you think Mike is missing, Jessie.” She sighed as if confused by his friendly questions. “I haven’t heard from him for weeks. He always calls me on the fifteenth of December. This year he didn’t. I got worried, checked with his secretary and the doorman at his apartment building. They haven’t seen him for over a week, and he left no explanation for his vanishing act. That, based on the trouble I’ve been reading about at West Tec, plus the fact that you were the last meeting on his calendar, sent me here.” He felt a wave of relief. “Is that all?” She scowled up at him. “I wouldn’t be so dismissive if I were you. I’ve still got my suspicions, and I’m not afraid to take them to the police.” “Whatever you’re thinking, Jess, I didn’t do it. Mike is alive and well, and he’ll get in touch with you soon.” “Right.” Her distrust came through loud and clear.

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Nick watched her gaze lock onto his laptop, and the reason for her mad dash across the kitchen came to him then. She thought it belonged to Mike. “It’s a company PC, Jessie. Mike has a matching one.” He slid the laptop across the table to her. “Open it up and take a look. You’ll find that it’s mine.” He watched her arch one elegant brow, her gaze doubtful as she reached for the computer. She opened it, then turned it on. Predictably, a minute later she let out a defeated sigh. “You go in for mythology?” she murmured. His desktop icon was a griffin. He shrugged. “It’s a hobby of mine.” Nick could tell by the softer set of her shoulders that his admission helped drop her guard a little more. A computer nerd who studied mythology and drank tea couldn’t be a threat. “Why did you think I had something to do with Mike’s disappearance?” “It all fit. The proxy fight, the shake-up in the company, your flight to the country.” “Flight?” He didn’t like the intimation. Frankly, it hit too close to home. He was licking his wounds after the thefts from West Tec, while Mike was trying to lure the miscreants into the open. They hadn’t thought about Mike’s kid sister getting the wrong idea. Still, it wasn’t right for him to spill the beans about their plans. “I’m not running away, Jess. I’m here for Christmas.” “By yourself?” “I like solitude.” “You don’t have a tree.” She cast a glance around the cabin. Nick shrugged, following her gaze, seeing the old family cabin through new eyes. It did need updating. He usually came here to work or unwind, and never gave his 100

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surroundings a second thought. Now he wished he’d spiffed the place up. “You’ve got me there. I never thought about getting one.” “No tree? What’s the matter? Are you a Scrooge who doesn’t like Christmas?” From where he sat, there wasn’t much to celebrate. West Tec was hemorrhaging from a loss of technology. Mike was playing spy, trying to lure the thieves into the open, and Nick had holed up here to try to come up with an updated version of Quicksilver, the prototype that’d been stolen. If he could do that, it would make the stolen model obsolete. He couldn’t let his focus be blurred by a pair of big green eyes. “It’s the same as any other day, isn’t it?” She took a determined gulp of her tea. “Well, I, for one, love the holidays.” Nick couldn’t help grinning slightly. “Oh yeah, and why is that?” “It’s my birthday.” “A Christmas bundle of joy,” he said softly. He could imagine her easily as an adorable little girl. She had the kind of dimples that made people think of innocence. Sweetness. “Michael and I used to…” Her voice broke suddenly, and Nick saw the diamond sheen of tears in her eyes. Uncharacteristically, he found himself reaching out to touch her hand, to offer comfort. “Don’t, Jess. You’ve got to believe me. Mike is fine and will contact you soon. Now why don’t you finish your tea, and I’ll drive you to wherever you left your car.” “Fine. It’s parked around the corner.” “We’ve got about half an hour before the last ferry leaves. I’ll get you something warm to put on.” He got up and went into the bedroom before she could voice any objections. 101

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~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3 Jessie sat there watching him go, feeling stunned. Was he telling the truth? Was Michael okay? Or was Maxwell simply trying to manipulate her? If so, he was damned good at it. He had her half-believing him. When he came back into the room carrying a bundle of clothing, she let go of her hot cup of tea with a sigh. She was freezing, still damp. A change of clothes would be welcome, even from a suspicious character like him. He strode toward her, thrusting a folded bundle of fleecy clothing at her. “You can change in the bathroom.” Standing to reach for his offerings, Jessie’s hands burned where he touched her in an awareness that made her suck in a deep breath. She saw his gaze drift to her breasts in her near transparent wet blouse, and her nipples tingled, budding. A flash in his eyes told her he noticed and it aroused him. Embarrassed, she fled to the bathroom. Jessie shut the door behind her, thinking she’d had a lucky escape. She shouldn’t be thinking about such things with the man who might have harmed her brother. Although now that she’d met Nick Maxwell in person, it seemed like a remote possibility. Still, there was something going on here that he wasn’t telling her. She looked around the bathroom, noting the claw foot tub. Laying the bundle of clothes on the vanity, she kicked off her sodden boots and socks and quickly shed her wet garments. Goosebumps stood out on her bare arms. Jessie decided to leave her slightly damp bra and panties on because she didn’t see any replacements in the pile. It 102

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meant he didn’t have another woman around. Why she cared, she couldn’t say. She put on the gray sweatpants, tightening the drawstring so they wouldn’t fall down. They had to be his. She slipped on the equally large matching sweatshirt. It fell down past her hips. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him seeing her hard nipples through this garment. Jessie put her reaction down to the damp bra, not wanting to go anywhere dangerous to her emotions. He provided her with two pairs of thick wool socks, and she put them on her icy feet. With her feet starting to thaw out, she felt instantly warmer. She glanced at the mirror, seeing the bruise on her forehead. It was beginning to throb a bit. No wonder he’d looked at her funny. She quickly washed her hands and face, cleaning the caked rivulet of blood off her forehead. After smoothing her hair back, Jessie gathered up her wet things and went out to see him. She might let him run her off, but it wouldn’t stop her from trying to find out what was going on with her brother. Nick stood in the kitchen waiting for her. He thrust a vinyl shopping bag at her. “You can use this to take your wet clothes with you. Put your boots in, too. I’ve got something more practical for you to wear.” She slipped her boots and clothes inside the bag on top of her folded jacket. “Sit.” Without warning, he pushed her down on the chair. She sat feeling like a kid as he shoved boots onto her feet. Even with two pairs of thick socks on her feet, they were big. He frowned, pulled the boots off, and put a rolled up sock in the toe of each boot before slipping them 103

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back on. They fit, but she looked like Bozo the Clown in them. She couldn’t help flashing him a rueful grin. He smiled back. “Not exactly a fashion plate, but they’ll keep you warm and dry.” Nick took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and removed a blue parka from the peg on the wall. “Here, put this on and we’ll get you out of here.” She let him help ease the jacket on, feeling bemused. The parka was huge, quilted and blessedly warm. Jessie stepped away from him, zipped it up and pushed back the extra-long sleeves. He handed her a pair of gloves. They were also too big, but they helped hold up the jacket sleeves. “Come on.” Capturing her hand, he steered her toward the door. She walked out into the raging blizzard with him, amazed at how fast the snow had piled up. “You should just be able to make it,” he shouted to be heard over the wind. Jessie let him tow her toward the garage, and he pushed a button to raise the double door. Inside sat an SUV, an old motorboat, and a snowmobile—just the things for Northwoods fun. Give her a picnic in the sun anytime. Nick opened the passenger side door and gave her a boost inside. She was a bit overwhelmed by his electric touch. Considering the layers of clothing she wore, Jessie was surprised to feel it. The man’s body had to be supercharged with electricity. She settled herself in the seat and buckled her seatbelt while he slammed the door. After waiting long minutes, she wondered what was taking him so long. When he finally opened his door, Nick hefted the crowbar into the seat between them. She had the grace to 104

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blush, but he didn’t comment. He started the four-wheel drive SUV and backed out of the garage, shutting the door so the snow wouldn’t drift inside. Instantly, he switched on the headlights and the wipers, keeping the windows semi-clear as he drove them down the long drive. “Where to?” “To the right. I left my rental car tucked into a fire lane a little way down.” Jessie noticed that there didn’t seem to be any traffic on the road this evening. No doubt because of the storm. She looked around, trying to find the bushes that had flanked the lane she’d parked on. With everything blanketed in fresh white snow, seeing anything was difficult. Then she spotted the car’s beige fender. The color hadn’t been a good choice. In retrospect, she should have opted for the cherry red one. “I see it.” Nick pulled over to the shoulder of the road next to her rental car. He unbuckled his seatbelt. “You don’t need to get out,” she insisted. “I can handle this on my own. I’ll mail your clothes back to you.” After I find my brother, she added silently. She opened the door and jumped out before he could argue. Behind her, she heard his car door open and frowned. He wasn’t going to let her get away with her dignity intact. Carrying a snow scraper, he stalked up to her car and started to clean off the snow-blanketed vehicle. “Start it and let it defrost.” Grudgingly grateful for the thoughtful act, she got into the car, started the engine after two tries, and then turned the heater up. Shivering, Jessie watched, bemused, as he cleared her windows with brisk efficiency. When he tapped on her driver’s side window, she lowered it. With a grin, he handed her the crowbar—an embarrassing reminder of 105

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her botched break-in. She took it, her face heating more than the chilly air should have allowed. “You’d better get going if you’re going to make the ferry.” He looked like a snow stud, crouched down eye level with her, the snow highlighting his hair below his hat. Jessie felt his warm gaze all through her body. “Right. I’ll be going then.” “I’ll follow you to the ferry.” “Not necessary.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” “Sorry, I can’t. Just rest assured that Mike is fine. Go home, and he’ll call you. This is from him.” He leaned forward and gave her a kiss. Jessie’s lips softened under his for a moment, and then he pulled away. Needless to say, her brother had never kissed her like that. The passionate gesture came from Nick, and it made her blush right down to her toes swathed in his big socks. He gave her a little grin. She shut the window before she could give in to the urge to kiss him again and put the car into drive. As she pulled away, Jessie cast a glance at her rearview mirror. He stood watching her go, a funny look on his face. She knew just how he felt—she felt funny about leaving him, too. Skidding around the corner, she slowed the car in deference to the slippery roads and headed back toward the ferry. It was slow going, and she couldn’t put her mind at rest. What was the big mystery? Why wouldn’t Nick tell her where Michael was or what he was doing? Jessie didn’t have to be told that it was something risky—she’d heard it in his voice. 106

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Trying to focus on her driving, she deliberately put it from her mind for now. Twenty minutes later, she made it into the village in time to see the ferry sailing away. She was too late. Jessie let out a groan of frustration, sitting in the empty parking lot, the snow coating her windshield rapidly. She’d done her homework before embarking on this expedition—there were no hotels, no cozy bed and breakfasts, nowhere to stay on the island. Her choices were clear: Spend the night shivering in her car, or go back to Nick Maxwell’s cabin. Much as it bothered her, there was little other choice. She spun a donut in the parking lot and headed back toward Maxwell’s cabin. The roads seemed slicker. The snowstorm had turned to an ice storm. With a tight grip on the wheel, Jessie fought to keep the rental car on the road. She should have upgraded to a four-wheel drive, she belatedly concluded, like Nick’s. This economy car wasn’t made for these conditions. She flicked on the radio to distract her. “The storm of the century is bearing down on Angel Island, so batten down the hatches and keep it tuned to rocking five for the latest weather updates,” the announcer said. “It’s a good night to snuggle under the Christmas tree with a cup of cocoa.” She switched off the radio, not wanting to hear it. Jessie could see the worsening conditions for herself as snow mixed with sleet slammed against her window. The conditions were too much for the defroster and a thick coat formed on her windshield. She peered through the window, saw her turn-off, and eased the steering wheel into the turn. Despite her care, the car went into a skid and slid toward the ditch. Jessie let out a scream. The car came 107

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to a shuddering stop in a deep snow bank and the airbag deployed. Shaking, she gasped for breath against the pod of airbag in her face. Slowly, it deflated. The car was dead, but she was still alive. For that much, she felt lucky. With the engine stalled, the temperature inside the car rapidly cooled. She’d have to walk the rest of the way if she wanted to survive. Trembling, she got out and started on foot back in the direction of Maxwell’s cabin. She could see its lights across the field in the dark. Trudging, she kept the vision in her sights like a homing beacon as she fought her way through the night. Her feet stumbled in the rutted snow, her big boots awkward. The sheeting snow and sleet coated her, making her squint to keep her vision clear. She tried to brush it away from her face, and her gloves fell off. In the dark, she couldn’t see them in the drifting snow. Shivering, she stuffed her hands in the jacket pockets and kept going. It couldn’t be that much farther, but somehow the lights didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She put her head down and kept going, almost at the end of her strength, until she reached his long driveway. Sick with relief, she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of rest. Moving forward, she turned into Nick’s driveway and fell flat on her face in an icy patch. Lying there, the snow stinging her face and hands, she felt like crying or screaming. Giving up and going to sleep sounded like the best idea. But she recognized the hypothermia stealing over her. She couldn’t give in to it. With her last reserve of strength, Jessie pushed to her feet. Determined steps took her down his driveway. She stumbled up the steps and laid on the doorbell. 108

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A minute later, Nick appeared, and she fell into his arms. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4 Shocked, Nick pulled Jessie’s shivering body into his arms. She was coated with sleet and snow. Scooping her up, he carried her into the living room. One of her boots fell off and then the other, spilling out packed snow. Terrified, he rushed into the bathroom with her. It was the warmest room in the cabin. He turned the space heater to high and flung on the taps in the tub to fill it with warm water. When it was half-full, he plunged them both, fully dressed, into the tub. Warming up would sting like hell, but it might save her from hypothermia and frostbite. She let out a pained whimper when he sat down and pulled her down between his legs in the oversized, cast iron tub. “That’s it, babe. You’re doing fine. We’ll get you warmed up in a jiffy.” She sagged against him, her back molded to his chest. Shivers wracked her body. Her head lolled against his shoulder. “Don’t go to sleep on me,” he cautioned. “Okay.” Her words sounded slurred. He rubbed her arms. “Let’s talk.” “‘Z funny place to talk,” she said with a giggle. “Humor me,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You’re nice and warm. I like the way your muscles feel against me.” “That’s fine.” “You don’t look anything like I figured you would.” 109

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“How’s that?” he asked, indulgently. “Pale, thin and nerdy.” “I left my pocket-protector at work.” She laughed weakly. “Do you like the way I feel?” “Too much.” “Why too much?” Knowing she was too out of it to control herself, he shook his head. “You’re not yourself. Only a cad would take advantage of a woman in your weakened condition. I may be a nerd, lady, but I’m no cad.” ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5 Jessie sighed, embarrassed as he helped her out of the tub. They were soggy messes. She couldn’t help noticing how Nick’s clothes clung to him, highlighting his muscular frame and his prominent manhood. They’d both gotten a bit over-stimulated in the tub. She looked away. When she tried to unbutton her wet blouse, she couldn’t quite make her fingers work. “Here, let me.” He gently pushed her fingers aside and unbuttoned her blouse. He eased it off her shoulders and dropped it on the edge of the tub. Jessie stood shivering but not from cold. Her face felt hot under her blush. When his admiring gaze caressed her breasts in her wet bra, she knew her nipples had visibly budded. Nick ignored them and helped her off with her sweatpants. He untied the drawstring, and together they worked them down so they dropped in a sodden heap on the floor. Her knees wobbled. 110

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“Steady, angel.” He picked her up so she could step out of them, then reached for a towel. “Let’s get you dried off.” Jessie leaned into his strength, letting him half-support her as he dried her off. The towel warmed her skin where he rubbed. Once he wrapped it around her, under her arms, his fingers moved toward her bra clasp. “You ready for this?” She nodded, glad that he held the towel between them to preserve her modesty. He unclasped her bra, easing it off her breasts and pulling it out from behind the towel. “I think I can manage my underwear,” she murmured. Leaning on him, she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her bikini panties and peeled them down until she could step out of them. Still propping her up, he reached behind him for the robe he kept in the room. He wrapped the big, terry cloth robe around her. She felt warmer instantly. Warmer, and comforted. He eased her down onto the closed toilet seat. “Perch there for a minute so I don’t get you all wet.” “Okay.” “Are you feeling steady?” “I’m fine.” He started to unbutton his shirt. The blue shirt came open. She found she couldn’t look away. He added it to her pile of wet things and slipped off his boots. That was when she saw that they were ruined—without even a murmur of complaint. He unsnapped his jeans, peeling them off. With a fresh towel wrapped around his waist, he let his briefs fall. Jessie found herself almost disappointed. He turned to scoop her up then, and she clung to him. He carried her out to the living room, where he placed her sideways on the sofa with her feet up. He wrapped her in several afghans 111

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and tucked a pillow behind her head. Jessie felt cosseted and cared for. “Sit tight, and I’ll make you something hot to drink.” “Cocoa?” she asked tentatively. He grinned. “Why not? I think I can scare some up.” She lay back against the cushions with a sigh as he walked away. Jessie still felt woozy—the lingering affects of hypothermia, no doubt. She glanced at her hands and wiggled her toes under the covers. At least she didn’t have frostbite. Although, she’d probably come darn close. Looking around the living room, she noticed an oldfashioned aluminum Christmas tree, half put together in the corner. Nick must have started putting it up after she’d left. How nice, she thought drowsily. Now it seemed like Christmas. He came back fully dressed, carrying a steaming mug of cocoa. She took it, noting it even had two fat marshmallows floating in it. Jessie couldn’t help being a bit disappointed to see him fully dressed. Ogling him in that skimpy towel had been pure joy. He grinned at the appreciative sniff she gave the cocoa. “Feeling better?” “Much,” she acknowledged after taking a little sip. The hot chocolate tasted like ambrosia. She watched him pull a cell phone out of his hip pocket and punch a number on the speed dial. Was he calling to check on her car? When he stepped away to say something to his callee, she was surprised, especially when he thrust the phone at her. “Here, I’ll trade you for a minute,” he said, taking her mug and sitting it on the coffee table before handing her a cell phone.

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Grasping the phone, she spared Nick’s placid expression a curious look, then put the cell phone to her ear. “Hello?” “What’s this I hear about you taking a tire iron to my partner, Jess?” “Michael!” she gasped in shock. She’d know her brother’s voice anywhere. She looked at Nick smiling at her. He chuckled dryly. “Who else?” He was alive and well, just as Nick had claimed earlier. “Michael, where are you?” “I can’t tell you that,” Michael said, adding in an insistent tone, “You shouldn’t be mixed up in this, pest.” She wrinkled her nose at the childhood nickname. “Mixed up in what?” Her question brought silence, and she could hear her brother murmuring to someone in the background. She tried to listen in but couldn’t make out the muted conversation. “Nothing,” he said finally. All this secrecy made her vivid imagination run rampant. “What is it? A state secret?” she asked heatedly. “Yup.” He halfway sounded serious. “What do you mean by that?” “Never you mind, Jess. You just let Nick take care of you for the night and hightail it out of there first chance you get.” “But—” “Put Nick back on the phone.” She gritted her teeth, knowing how stubborn her brother could be when he wanted to protect her. All her worry, this ordeal she’d been through—for nothing. She 113

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looked at Nick. Well, maybe not for nothing. She’d gotten to know a fascinating computer wizard. She handed the cell phone out to Nick. “He wants to talk to you.” He took the phone and put it to his ear. “Yeah?” he muttered and then frowned. “She’s fine, no thanks to you. You should have given her a call.” He walked into the kitchen. “As safe as a baby in her cradle. Tell Jenkins to go screw himself.” Her ears picked up at the last, bit-out phrase. Who was Jenkins? Nick’s back was to her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. As he ended the call, she spun back around so he wouldn’t see her spying on him. Nick strolled back in the room, pocketing the cell phone. “Want me to top off your cocoa?” “No thanks. This is plenty.” “I’ll join you then,” he said while pouring a cup for himself. He walked into the living room with it and sat down at the other end of the sofa. When she started to shrink back to give him more room, he took her feet and put them on his lap, covering them up with the blanket. Jessie blushed, but didn’t resist his kind gesture. “Thanks.” “Feel better now that you’ve talked to your brother?” “I do. Thank you.” He shrugged. “It went against the rules, but rules were made to be broken. I couldn’t see putting you through more distress.” “Rules? What rules are those?” “Mike’s working on a special project. He’s going to be incommunicado for another week or so.” 114

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He was a poor liar; she could tell he was spinning a yarn to mollify her. She decided not to call him on it. Yet. She turned to look at the partially assembled tree. “I see you were putting up a Christmas tree after all.” “Yeah, hearing myself called a Grinch got me going. I remembered the tinsel tree my mom had stashed in the attic.” He looked at the tree, tilting his head. “Too outdated for you? Otherwise, I could take my ax and go out and chop a real one down.” “Oh no you don’t! You’re not leaving me alone in this cabin.” She grinned at him and then cast an appreciative eye over the glimmering tree. “Actually, your artificial tree is so old-fashioned it’s back in style again. They call this ‘retro chic’ back in Atlanta.” He beamed. “Retro chic?” he repeated softly, as if tasting the words. He smiled at her. “Here I was cool and didn’t even know it.” “Glad I could be of service, sir. One good turn deserves another, you know. Thank you for saving my life.” “I didn’t really…” Jessie cut off his protest, enjoying his humility as he shrugged it off in embarrassment, “I know I was on the edge of hypothermia, Nick. You truly did save my life. Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he said, rubbing her feet with the hand not holding the cocoa mug. “What happened out there anyway?” “I missed the ferry, first off. I got to the dock in time to see it sail away. Driving back to your place was my only option. I skidded off the road and ran into a tree. The airbag deployed and the car conked out. It was freeze to death there or keep going on foot. So I walked the rest of the way.” 115

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His hand tightened on her ankles for a moment. “My God, you could have been killed. Where’s your car now?” “In a ditch, pretty close to where I parked earlier. Why?” “I better call Jerry.” After setting down his cocoa, he inched the cell phone from his pocket again. “Who’s Jerry?” Jessie asked. “The closest thing we have to the law on Angel Island. He’s the local Constable, and he also drives a wrecker. I should give him a heads up so he doesn’t send out a search party to look for you in this blizzard when he sees your rental merged with a tree. He’ll tow it back to his garage.” “Thanks. I wouldn’t want anyone to risk their necks in a wild goose chase.” The tender smile he gave her reminded Jessie that she’d basically just done the same thing herself—risked her life to search for her brother when he wasn’t even missing. “Jerry, Nick here. I’ve got a house guest, and I wanted to let you know that her rental car was in an accident. Yeah, a tan Toyota in a ditch, near the corner of Wyatt and Clyde. Sure. Go ahead and tow it when conditions permit. Thanks, Jerry.” He hung up the phone and turned to look at her. “That’s taken care of.” “Good. Now, how about we finish putting up your tree? I’m itching to get at it.” When she started to stand, she suddenly recalled that she was naked beneath his robe. She couldn’t help blushing. Nick read her mind: “I laid out some pajamas in the bedroom, if you wanna change first.” Giggling, she nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.” She made a strategic retreat to the bedroom. A brand new pair of striped men’s pajamas sat on the double bed, still in the cellophane bag they’d come in. She opened the 116

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package, slipped off the robe, and held the bottoms up to her body. They were huge and had no drawstring to hold them up. The top, however, was so large, it would hang down to her knees. That would have to do. She buttoned it and then rolled up the long sleeves. Not bad, she thought looking at herself in the mirror. She was modestly covered, at least. After finger combing her hair back over her shoulders, she opened the door and padded out to the living room. The appreciative look Nick gave her as soon as she entered made her toes curl. “I never thought anyone could make those ugly pajamas look good, but, Jessie honey, I’ve never been more wrong.” She blushed. “So you think they’re ugly?” “Afraid so. They were a gift from my Grandma Rose. She had definite ideas about what proper gentlemen wear to bed.” “Pajamas,” Jessie said with a grin. “Not—” “My birthday suit,” he filled in. Jessie lifted an eyebrow, unable to keep her face from heating again. He chuckled, and she whirled toward the tree. With determination, she set to work sticking the silver plumed branches into the slits in the wooden trunk. Nick fell into place beside her, handing her branches and letting her choose where they should go. They became a team, quickly filling in the bare top of the tree. When they finished, she stood back to admire their handiwork. Jessie nodded. “It’s lovely, Nick.” “My mom always loved it. She couldn’t bear to part with it when they fell out of fashion, so she brought it here for our occasional family holidays.” “So, this is a family cottage?” “Sure is. Shared by my folks, myself, and about a dozen other siblings, wives, and kids.” 117

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Her eyes widened. “How many did you say?” “I’ve got four brothers and three sisters.” “Wow! It’s just Michael and me in my family.” “Sounds kind of lonely.” “A little,” she admitted, “but Michael was always there for me. I always try to be there for him. That’s why, when I thought something had happened to him, I went a little overboard. I’m sorry I tried to break into your cabin.” “Don’t be. You’re the prettiest burglar I’ve ever seen, and, besides, I’m getting used to it.” She’d started to smile at the thought that he found her pretty, but then the rest of what he said dawned on her. “You’re getting used to it? Do you mean there’ve been others who’ve tried to break in here?” Nick tensed as though he’d given more away than he intended, then he shrugged. “Someone busted into my condo a few weeks back. Rifled through my stuff.” She gasped. “My God, that’s terrible! Do you know why?” For an instant, he looked like he had something to say, but then he just shrugged again. “I’ll get the ornaments.” Jessie watched him move into the corner of the room, where he pulled a ladder down from the ceiling, then climbed it into the attic. She knew he’d deliberately changed the subject. Had Nick clammed up because the break-in at his condo had something to do with the secret he and Michael were keeping? When he came down and set down a big, dust-covered box, she moved to open it and promptly sneezed. “Sorry about all the dust. Let’s see what’s in this one.” He drew out multicolored glass ornaments, lights, and angels. All kinds of angel ornaments. They had fun hanging 118

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them while Nick set up the lights. He even put up the model railroad that looped around the base of the tree. Jessie grinned, watching him assemble the tracks. No matter how old men got, they were still little boys at heart. “Now the topper.” She handed Nick the angel. He placed it on the top, then turned on the lights. They both let out a sigh of admiration. “Thanks for reminding me that it’s fun to celebrate Christmas,” he said without looking away from the tree. “You’re welcome. Thank you for sharing your holiday traditions with me. I’d love to meet your family. They sound like a lot of fun.” He glanced at her. “I’m sure they’d like to meet you, too.” Without warning, he leaned forward to kiss her. She couldn’t have pushed him away if she wanted to. She wanted this. With a sigh, Jessie wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling at the growl of hunger her willingness drew from him. Nick deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer into his body. Jessie could have easily melted into a puddle on the floor at his feet, but he abruptly broke the kiss and eased her away from him. “We better get ready for bed.” When he turned and headed for the bedroom, she let out the disappointed breath she’d been holding. But maybe he was right—things were getting too hot, too fast. A few minutes later, Nick came out wearing the bottom half of the pajamas. She told herself she should be happy that he wasn’t sleeping in the raw the way he’d mentioned he usually did. But, somehow, wearing part of the same set she wore seemed much, much sexier. His muscular bare chest had a sprinkling of dark hair that 119

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whorled around his navel and disappeared into the pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll say goodnight now. You must be tired. Go ahead and take the bedroom. I’ll bunk out here.” Feeling let down and ridiculous for the strange emotion, Jessie retreated to the bedroom before she could give in to the urge to kiss him goodnight. After snuggling under the covers, she sighed once more. Tomorrow this crazy incident would be over, and she’d go back to her life in Atlanta. She couldn’t explain even to herself why that thought brought regret that kept her from sleep for some time. Much later, something woke her. She looked to see light shining under the closed bedroom door. As her head cleared, she realized Nick was up. Why was he awake in the middle of the night? Slipping from her warm bed, she went to check on him. He sat at the table, hunched over the laptop, typing away. She stepped out of the bedroom and made her way over to him. Over his shoulder, she saw some sort of coding written on the screen. To get his attention without startling him, she touched his shoulder gently. Nick frowned up at her, distraction evident in his eyes, when he asked, “Something wrong, angel?” She saw the tense set of his shoulders, the frustrated look in his eyes. “That’s what I was going to ask you.” He ran a ragged hand through his hair. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some work done.” Jessie glanced at the strange string of words and numbers that might as well have been gibberish to her. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” He shook his head wearily. “I have a deadline.” 120

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How could it be so urgent? Maybe he was a workaholic. “But you’re the boss, Nick.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Sometimes that makes it tougher instead of easier.” “Well, how about a cup of coffee to keep you going then?” she offered, moving around him. “You need your rest, Jessie,” he insisted, pulling her back. “Why don’t you go on back to sleep? You don’t need to wait on me.” “It’s clear that somebody has to.” Jessie walked over to the coffeemaker before he could object again. She did want to help him—almost as much as she wanted to find out what all the urgency and secrecy was about. Michael and Nick seemed to be immersed in something dangerous. The thought chilled her in light of the previous break-ins Nick had mentioned. What were the burglars looking for? She put a filter in the basket and scooped some of the aromatic coffee grounds out of the canister near the machine. After she poured the water in the reservoir and switched it on, she got out two mugs, then toasted a bagel. She mixed up a little topping from items in the fridge and cabinets. A little snack would help Nick think. Hearing the clatter of keystrokes on the laptop behind her, she knew he’d gone back to work and become absorbed in his task. A few minutes later, she poured the coffee and spread the topping on the bagel. She sat them by him, putting the refreshments in front of him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept typing. She leaned forward over the top of the portable computer and gave him a kiss. His surprise quickly brought him out of his deep focus, and his lips softened under hers. Pleased with herself for shaking him up a little, Jessie pulled away and sat back in her chair. His gaze on her was 121

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heated, telling her that she wasn’t the only one involved in their budding relationship. “Take a break,” she suggested softly, “and then you can go back to work refreshed.” “I’m kind of busy, angel.” His stomach growled, and he gave her a rueful smile in response. “Maybe you’re right. I need to keep my appetites satisfied to be effective.” Nodding in satisfaction when he bit into the bagel, she walked back to the coffeemaker to pour another cup for herself. Behind her, Jessie could feel his eyes on her. Never before had she been so aware of a man…and so desperate to hold his attention. Bending into the fridge to get out the cream, she allowed the hem of the pajama top to inch up. Only when she sensed his attention behind her growing more intense did she straighten and tug it back down. As casually as she could, Jessie brought the cream over to him. Their eyes met and the sensual awareness between them made her breath catch in her throat. Tempting the man wouldn’t get her answers or his job done. Even if neither of those had been her intention, she knew she couldn’t keep up a sexual siren act for long. Dejected, Jessie carried her mug to the table and sat down. He crunched the second half of his bagel. “This is great.” “Just a little honey and cinnamon stirred into cream cheese.” After he devoured the snack, Nick sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Thanks. I needed that more than I realized.” Jessie wrapped her hands around her warm mug and asked in a casual tone, “Can you tell me what you’re working on, Nick?” “Quicksilver.” “What’s that?” 122

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“The latest thing in AI.” He flashed a troubled gaze at the laptop screen. “AI? Artificial Intelligence, you mean?” He nodded. She knew West Tec developed computer systems, but fake brains? It sounded like “weird science” to her. “Do you mean robots or something?” “In its rudimentary form, of course.” He smiled at her. “How would you like a helper that would reset your thermostat, make your travel reservations, or get dinner started if you’re running late—all at your remote command?” She could almost picture it as he warmed up to describing his baby. Jessie could hear the pride and the excitement in his voice. “Actually, I’d love it.” “Well, that’s just a fraction of what Quicksilver can do.” “And you’ve invented it?” She couldn’t help being impressed. “Well, I invented it, and Michael designed a brilliant marketing plan to sell the concept.” “So, what’s the problem? Why are you burning the midnight oil? Are there some glitches in the program?” He frowned. “I wish it was that simple. The fact is, the prototype was stolen.” Shocked, she clunked her coffee cup down, sloshing hot liquid over the rim and scalding her fingers. “Shit,” he said, pulling Jessie to her feet and towing her to the sink. He turned the tap on cold and pushed her hand under the water. “You okay?” The stinging pain subsided in a moment. “You keep coming to my rescue. I’m fine.” “My pleasure, snow angel.” 123

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Their hands entwined under the running water. Her gaze went to his mouth—his firm, oh-so-kissable lips—and a soft sigh escaped her. Until his head lowered, she was so caught up in him, she didn’t notice that his thoughts paralleled hers. His eyes flickered hotly as he kissed her, and Jessie moaned. Her arms went around him, not caring that her hand was wet and the water still ran into the sink beside them. For long minutes, they simply indulged. She was more than ready when he turned off the water and scooped her up in his arms. In his bedroom, he laid her on the bed. Her pajama top inched up high on her thighs. The heat in Nick’s gaze as he looked down at her warmed her. “Do you want me like I want you, snow angel?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice. “Yes. More than my next breath, Nick.” Their pajamas were shed, and they became one long into the wee hours of the morning. In the afterglow, they cuddled together, and Jessie realized it was the first time she’d ever truly felt treasured in a man’s arms. There was only one threat, and she hated the fact that it could separate them. “Tell me about it. How the Quicksilver prototype was stolen.” “We realized we had a security problem about a month ago when rumors started to circulate about a duplicate model of QS. We went to the FBI because national security uses had already been factored into QS. Mike’s working with them trying to draw off the bad guys, while I’m holed up here trying to come out with an updated version of QS that’ll render the one they have useless.”

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“There’s no progress that someone isn’t willing to steal…or worse…to get, is there?” Jessie murmured, horrified. “So how are you doing with QS?” “Something’s wrong, and its driving me crazy.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I’ve just lost it.” “You’re just stressed out and tired.” She snuggled closer to him and the tension in his body relaxed slightly as he once again responded to her nearness. “Rest first. When you go back to work, you’ll figure it out.” Jessie couldn’t say how long later, but she woke in Nick’s arms to the sound of shattering glass from the other room. “What was that?” she murmured sleepily. Nick had already slipped out of bed, pulling his pajama bottoms on. “Sounds like another burglar.” He tossed his cell phone on the bed next to her in his place. “Stay put and call 911. Mike’s number is 8 on my speed dial if you need it.” Jessie rolled out of bed and put on her pajama top. “But you can’t go out there alone. Unarmed,” she whispered urgently. “I can take care of myself, babe. You stay here.” He went out the door, closing it behind him. A thud was followed by a low-toned male voice. Jessie trembled, her imagination filling in details she didn’t want to believe. Burglars were in the house, and Nick was going to confront them alone. With shaking fingers, she punched 911 into the small pad. “Constable here,” a sleepy male voice on the other end said. Jessie kept her voice low. “This is Nick Maxwell’s houseguest.” “If you’re calling about your car, I’ve already towed it.” 125

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“No, I’m not calling about that! Nick’s house is being broken into now. We heard the window break and noises. He’s gone out to stop them. Come quick.” “I’ll be there as quick as I can.” Jessie shut off the phone and looked around the bedroom for a possible weapon. If only she had her tire iron. A set of golf clubs in the closet caught her eye. She wanted to shout at Nick to take one, but he’d already gone out. She rushed to the closet and lifted out a club. Holding it aloft, she crept after Nick. She wouldn’t let him face his burglars alone. The sounds of another crash came loud and clear as she opened the door and she ran down the hall. In the living room, she saw Nick knock a man across the room with a karate kick. A second man lunged at him from behind. Without thinking of anything except Nick’s safety, Jessie dashed up and hit him with the golf club. He dropped with a groan and lay still. With a cry of relief, she fell into Nick’s arms, trembling in the aftermath of her sudden courage. Nick held her tight. “You okay, Jessie?” “I’m fine. I just surprised myself. How about you?” He let her go long enough to look at the burglars. “It looks like this time you rescued me, angel. Thank you.” She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re welcome.” ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6 Later, after the constable arrived to take the burglars away to jail, Jessie and Nick sat before the Christmas tree. She smiled at him. “Who would have thought that two of your janitors were behind the theft of Quicksilver?” 126

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Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Who would have thought they’d find me way out here when Mike was trying to lure them his way? But, when you think about it, it makes sense. The so-called janitors had access to all our offices, emptied out our wastepaper baskets every evening. Turns out they weren’t really janitors from the cleaning business we always use. They used false resumes to get hired. They’re really ex-employees of our competitors, looking to make a bundle without having to do the work themselves.” “Well, the good thing is that you recovered Quicksilver.” “Yeah. Not that I’ll stop working toward making it even better. But somehow none of that seems to matter as much now.” Surprised at his answer, she looked up at him quickly. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter now?” His eyes smiled as he looked lovingly down at her. “I’ve found something much more important to devote myself to.” “Oh yeah?” Coyly, she smiled. “And what might that be, Nick Maxwell?” “The love of my life. My very own snow angel to cuddle and kiss.” He pointed to the sprig of wild mistletoe he’d hung on the tree. “We’re under the mistletoe.” “So we are.” When he gave her a toe-curling, knock-your-socks-off, best-present-ever kiss under the mistletoe, Jessie knew that this Christmas would live in her heart forever.

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About Julie Skerven (Dame Peridot) Julie Skerven is one of the charter members of Jewels of the Quill. She also belongs to Romance Writers of America, WisRWA, Outreach, and EPIC. Julie has placed in WisRWA’s Fabulous Five contest in two categories— Romantic Suspense and Short Contemporary. She has also judged contests for WisRWA, RWA, and EPIC. Julie’s first novel was Fool’s Gold, a contemporary romance. It has been on her publisher’s monthly bestseller category numerous times. Fool’s Gold has also received fourstar reviews across the board: “A short contemporary romance, long on sizzle, laughter, and character.” (Highly Recommended! ~ Under the Covers Book Reviews) “The characterization is charming and realistic.” (4 Steaming Hearts! ~ The Word Museum) “A spicy combination of humor, adventure, and the makings of true love.” (4 Stars! ~ Affaire de Coeur) Julie’s newest releases are two romantic suspense novels: Her Heart’s Desire and Serena’s Web (Whiskey Creek Press) along with “Peridot Moon” in TALES FROM THE TREASURE TROVE, Volume I, A Jewels of the Quill Anthology. Upcoming releases include It Had To Be You (WCP). For more information about Julie and her work, visit her website: http://webpages.charter.net/julieskerven/index.html. 128

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DECK THE HALLS by Cassie Walder (Dame Bloodstone) Prologue Sunday, July 29th Just before noon Laura Hall put down the cell phone on the seat of her car as she pulled out of the airport long-term parking lot. Her scheduled early Friday morning flight, after hours of waiting out Midwest storms, had been cancelled. That had been a fitting end to a long few months. No other flights had been available that would have gotten her home before Shabbat began. When Laura had returned to her son’s house Friday afternoon, the shocked look on her daughter-in-law’s face told Laura much more than she’d really wanted to know. She couldn’t blame Sarah for the reaction. Both fish and houseguests stink after three days. Laura had been at her son’s home over four months, helping them out. Sarah was clearly tired of her company and ready to be together with 130

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her husband and their new baby, without intruders. Yet, in spite of the over-the-top initial response to Laura’s showing back up on her doorstep, the younger woman had brought herself under control, done her duty, and made Laura welcome as a Shabbos guest. Laura really hadn’t minded flying out to Vegas or of taking care of her son’s house, his wife, and their unborn, then newborn, child. That was what grandmas were for, to help out when needed. Wasn’t it? As much as she’d enjoyed her time with her son and daughter-in-law, and fussing over her new grandson, she was glad to be nearly home. It was a good thing that Hashem gave children to the young. No one else had the energy to manage them. Life just moved too fast. She wasn’t at all sure she was ready to be a grandmother. Then again, ready or not, life gave her no choice. With two married children, she was certainly more than qualified to be a grandmother. Sam had just become a father, and Anna—Laura’s married daughter—was due in November. So, I’d better get used to the label ‘grandmother’, shouldn’t I? Grandmother. The word still felt utterly alien, not at all like a label that should be applied to her. Where had her life gone? She either didn’t feel or think of herself as ‘middle aged.’ That both her children should be grown and living in opposite sides of the country seemed so improbable to her. Still, what more could she ask for other than her children’s happiness? Yet, ‘grandmother’ remained a hard word for her to apply to herself. Laura sighed heavily as she guided her car through fairly heavy traffic. It’ll be good to be back home. Sleeping in my own bed, with Mike snoring beside me, will be heaven. 131

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Even though she’d known she’d be busy taking care of Sarah, Laura’d taken along her laptop computer. She’d been able to keep up with her responsibilities for the family corporation. Seeing how easily she could keep up with the work from long distance, Laura was ready to suggest she work like this from now on. Or, at least, that she worked this way until they could hire someone else at the printing plant to fill her shoes. It was time for her to chase her own dream. Launching her own chocolaterie had been delayed for a long time because the family needed her help in the printing plant. It had been good to work with Mike over the last fifteen years. She’d done the work to get the necessary fiscal controls and processes into place and now the plant’s finances practically ran themselves. Laura felt ready for a new challenge. There had never been a better time to launch. With a good website, she should be able to function with a relatively small store front, making her special chocolates on site and shipping them out all over the country. Yes. This was the time to make her move. Picking back up her cell phone, she dialed another number from memory. Her friend, Mary Ellen Anderson, picked up on the first ring. “Anderson.” “Hey, Mary, it’s Laura.” Her friend laughed. “Are you back from Lost Wages?” Laura chuckled. “Just left the airport, heading home. Should be there in a couple of hours, depending on traffic.” “Good. I know Mike’s missed you, dreadfully.” “Have you seen him lately?” “He was here on Thursday night for the Poker game with the regular crowd.” 132

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“But you haven’t seen him since?” “Is something wrong?” “I don’t know. I can’t reach them. None of them are answering their phones.” “That’s odd!” “Tell me about it.” “They’re probably just putting the finishing touches on a surprise welcome home party for you.” “Are they?” “It’s possible. You want me to go run them down and have them call you so you don’t sit in your car and stew about not being able to get them?” “No. It’s okay. I’m just being a worrywart. I’m sure everything’s fine.” “How’s that grandson of yours?” “Growing. But that’s what he’s supposed to do.” “Thanks for the emailed pictures. He looks like a real heartbreaker.” “He’s adorable, all right. He reminds me of his father at that age. Sam was a cutie and a good baby, too. You know me, proud grandmother.” “You have every reason to be proud. The first grandchild is something very special. See you tomorrow for lunch? You can tell me all about it.” “Emma’s at one?” “Sounds good. See you then.” Laura rang off and popped a CD into the player. The strong strains of Wagner flowed over her. Mike had taught her to listen to and appreciate German opera. It certainly hadn’t been part of her early life. This style of music was his passion and, over the years, it had become one of hers as well. 133

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She tried not to worry about Mike, but she couldn’t help it. Being away from his phone was definitely not like him. Maybe they were planning some good, welcome home surprise for her like Mary said. Yet, somehow, she couldn’t dismiss the fear gnawing at her belly. Laura let the music play as she drove towards home to distract her from the growing worry about Mike and his parents and brother and sister-in-law. But it didn’t work. The closer she got to home the more she worried. Being out of touch was so unlike them. Something was wrong. She pulled into the driveway of her house. Mike wouldn’t be home this time of day. They’d all be at the printing plant working. But she could at least drop off her bags and grab a bite to eat before she went to the plant. Two newspapers were on the front step. Mike hasn’t picked up either the Saturday or Sunday paper? Something’s definitely wrong here. As the garage door opener lifted the door, Laura saw that Mike’s car was gone. That, she expected. She pressed the button on the remote for the garage and closed the door. Shutting off the car, she went to check the mail. All of Saturday’s mail was still in the box. This just isn’t right! Mike wouldn’t leave the mail. Mike’s parents lived a couple of blocks over. She drove there and noticed that the house was dark and the weekend’s newspapers were still on the front step. Laura couldn’t remember any time that David and Rivka had ever failed to read their Sunday newspaper before going in to the plant. She fought the sense of impending doom she felt. She drove over to Aaron and Lisa’s house, Mike’s brother and sister-in-law, another couple of blocks away. It was the same story over there. Newspapers unread, still rolled, on the doorstep. No lights were on in the house. Mail overflowed the mailbox. 134

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She put the car into gear again and drove, faster than was legal, downtown to the printing plant. Mike’s car, David and Rivka’s car, Lisa’s car, and Aaron’s car—all were in their assigned parking places. Making a mental note to chew on all of them for worrying her, she parked her car and walked up to the front door of the printing plant. The perennial beds flanking the door were in full bloom. But Laura hardly even saw the colorful floral display, except to register the bees buzzing among the flowers. Her keys in her hand, she noticed the heavy solid oak door was slightly ajar, not quite open, not fully shut. Just as none of the family would be far from a phone, neither would they leave a door open and unattended for anyone to just walk in off the street. Fear made her stop and notice everything, looking for anything else out of place. Movement from the window drew her attention. The room darkening shade in the reception area wasn’t down. Flies were simply massed on the window. Feeling bile rise to the back of her throat, Laura backed away from the door. Her knees felt weak. That many flies could only mean one thing. Someone or something was dead in there. Laura forced herself to the front door. She pushed it open and stepped inside. No lights were on. There was no sound of the presses running. The air conditioner was clearly off. Staggeringly hot was the only phrase to describe the inside temperature. It had to be in excess of a hundred degrees in the reception area. Print shops normally abound with odors: acetones, toluenes, developers for plates, inks, papers, all of them and more. She’d been around those odors for so long, she didn’t even notice the heavy smells of the petrochemicals 135

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anymore. The sick odor that now assaulted her was different. The scent was all too easy to identify. VIOLENT DEATH, in capital letters. That was a scent she’d never forgotten, not in all the years since she had first smelled death as a child in her parents’ apartment on the day she’d found them murdered. Laura froze in the doorway, telling herself that her imagination was simply working overtime, that she had just worked herself into a worried state and was getting carried away by her fear. Both the awful odor and the flies told her that she was wrong. She stood there listening for any sound beside that of her own racing heart pounding in her ears. There was none. No machines. No sound of voices. No nothing. No sound, that was, but the sound of flies. The air was thick with the heavy, sickening stench of ripening corpses. Adonai, please, not my family! Yet, even as she sent up that silent, anguished, prayer, she knew it was in vain. Laura didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to face it, didn’t even want to think about it. As strong as the odor was, chances were that whoever this was had been dead for some time. This much scent of death—of blood, body fluids, and excrement—couldn’t be generated from just one body. Her heart beat hard against her ribs. Her breath came with difficulty. Bile rose once more sickeningly in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to stay in control, although she knew she was going to retch any moment. Death lingered in her nostrils and imprinted on her brain. Laura backed out of the still open door. Then she pulled the door snuggly closed behind her. 136

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Taking big gulps of air to keep herself from fainting, trying to keep herself from vomiting wasn’t working. Laura dropped to her knees beside the door. Bees buzzed before her, flittering from flower to flower. But, in spite of how allergic she was to bee sting, she couldn’t worry about that now. Her body, revolting against the horror of the moment, had an agenda of its own and wouldn’t be denied. When she could stop throwing up, she became aware of a pair of running shoes on very masculine feet, attached to hairy male legs, standing beside her. That the legs were so blurry puzzled her for a split second until she realized she was crying. “Laura? What’s wrong?” Jack Decker, an old friend from the synagogue, asked in clear and genuine concern. “Take my hand. Let me help you up. Do you need a doctor?” She rose to her feet with Jack’s help. But she knew she wasn’t going to stay on her feet long. The world spun madly out of control. “Barukh dayan emet,” Laura whispered the traditional Jewish prayer at the time of learning of a death. Blessed is the one true Judge. Then the world grew dark as her knees gave out. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 Friday, December 16 Two in the afternoon Laura walked out of the printing plant and locked the door behind her. Her shoulders sagged in exhaustion as she walked to the parking lot. She wouldn’t have to do this 137

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much longer. She’d go through the sealed purchase bids on the plant on Sunday and notify the buyer, whoever that was by Sunday evening. By the end of the year, the responsibility of running the plant would belong to someone else. That couldn’t come too soon for her. After brushing the snow from the front and rear windshields of her car, she drove over to the Jewish section of East Cemetery. A fresh layer of snow crunched under her feet as she climbed out of the car. The tombstones, in keeping with the tradition of their congregation, would be covered until the anniversary of their deaths. She placed small stones on each of the tombstones and blinked back the tears that always welled up in her eyes when she visited the graves. Laura looked up and saw Rivka’s, her late mother-inlaw’s, ethereal form standing not three feet from her. Since the funeral, she’d seen and spoken to all of her murdered family members quite often, almost often enough that having the company of the dead had ceased to be strange. Almost. But this was the first time she’d seen any of them outside of the printing plant. “It’s sweet of you to come to see us, Laura, but you know we aren’t there,” Rivka said. “I just feel more grounded paying a visit now and again.” “You’ve got to let us go, Laura. Your continuing grief for our murders is not healthy for you. You’ve been holding your grief as tightly as the little Spartan boy held the fox. And it’s eating away at your guts the same way.” “Don’t be melodramatic!” she dismissed. “It’s not melodrama. It’s true. You’re killing yourself grieving for us. You’re working eighteen hour days at the plant just so you don’t have to be alone at home.” 138

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Laura sighed. The last thing she wanted was to fight with her mother-in-law’s ghost. “Just leave me alone about it. I’m doing what I have to do. It’s almost over.” “We’re worried about you,” Rivka said simply. “Don’t. I’m fine.” “Sure you are,” Rivka dismissed, obviously not meaning it. “We can see that.” “I’m not asking you anything. I can’t ask you anything. But I need answers.” The ghost smiled. “Ah, yes. How’s the murder investigation going?” Laura sighed. “The police are totally clueless.” “We saw the trigger man, but we don’t know who hired him.” “If you would just tell me who did this, Rivka, then I could see him brought to justice.” “There’s no evidence linking the gunman to the conspirators. Wouldn’t be any. These people know how to cover their butts. And the word of a ghost won’t carry any weight in court.” “Just tell me who the conspirators are.” “We don’t know.” “None of this makes any sense,” Laura said, frustration boiling over in her voice. “We’ve talked to the gunman. He’s dead. He died the day after we did. A bullet to the head was the final payment on his contract.” Rivka laughed, clearly amused at her own dark turn of a phrase. Laura sighed. Her mother-in-law always did have a warped sense of humor. Death hadn’t changed that. “This doesn’t make any sense, Rivka.” “He doesn’t know who hired him.” “There are times I think I’m going crazy.” 139

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“You aren’t crazy. Be careful, honey. Superwoman you aren’t. It’s too much for any one person to try to hold the plant together, especially when your heart isn’t in it, Laurie.” “The plant is still functioning at ninety-five percent capacity. Our book of business remains steady. We have all the work we can do, and jobs keep coming in. The employees are keeping their jobs. Overtime runs about normal for this time of year. There’s been some turn over of employees, but they’ve been only the bindery and shipping workers, not the pressmen. The place is still running at a profit. I have to make a decision Sunday and accept one of the purchase bids.” “That’s wonderful. Any of those offers would give you relief from the mountains of work. You can’t continue like this, Laura. You’ve lost thirty pounds you didn’t need to lose. You aren’t eating well, aren’t sleeping well. And you’ve been working yourself to the point of exhaustion. This has to end soon.” “That’s why I put the plant up for sale.” “I just wish that you’d have more money left after paying off all the debts.” “I’ll be okay.” “Sell everything. Your house, too. There are too many memories there. Go on with your life. And leave the past behind.” “I’m not sure I know how to do that, Rivka.” “You do know how. You’re a survivor, Laurie. You’ll need more money than you’ll net from the sales of the business and our houses to give you the kind of income the plant provides for you. We suggest winning the lottery.” “Yeah, right,” Laura dismissed. “The lottery is a tax on the mathematically challenged and blindly hopeful.” 140

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“I can give you the winning numbers. We can see the future.” Laughter bubbled up in her throat and escaped. “Now that’s the ultimate in insider trading.” “Probably. But this isn’t illegal. We love you and want you to be safe and happy. If you’d been on the plane you were supposed to take on Friday morning, you would have been with us when we were killed and you would have been dead as well.” She’d realized that much months ago. But hearing Rivka’s words sent chills down Laura’s spine that had nothing to do with the below freezing temperatures and storm threat in the winter sky. Rivka continued, “We want you to be healthy and happy and to enjoy your life, to see your grandchildren raised. There’s time enough for the world to come later. You don’t want to rush this. Life is precious. Think hard about what I said about the lottery.” Laura sighed heavily as she walked back to her car. “The jackpot is one hundred ninety-one million dollars tomorrow night. I saw that much on a billboard this morning.” “That would set you up for life. Even if you took the installment payments. It’s what, seven and one-half million dollars a year? I think you could manage quite well on that.” “The lump sum would be almost one hundred million dollars,” Laura said, her voice quiet. “That would leave you about sixty million after taxes. Invested well, it could yield a substantial income for the rest of your life, and leave you something for your grandchildren.”

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“With that much money, I could do a lot of good,” Laura remarked, letting herself daydream. “I could set up a charitable trust and help a lot of people.” “Yes, you could. That would be a good thing. Set up a charitable trust in the names of the family. The Hall Family Trust. Yes, we like the sound of that. Are you going to ask me for the numbers?” “I can’t ask you anything. That would be inquiring of an ob.” “We’re all proud of the good woman you’ve become, Laurie,” David said as he shimmered in to stand beside his wife. Laura sighed. “I miss you all.” Rivka nodded. “We understand that. Do you want the numbers for the lottery?” “Sure,” Laura answered, still not believing this. “David and my birthdates, with David’s year as the money ball. On the Western calendar.” Laura’s voice was wry as she spoke, “I doubted it was on the Hebrew calendar. These numbers only go up to fifty-four, Rivka.” David laughed. “Smart aleck. Play the game. One ticket. Spend a buck.” “Yeah, right.” “What do you have to lose?” Rivka asked. “My sanity. Oops, sorry, I’ve lost that already. Sane people don’t talk to the ‘living-impaired’.” David wagged his head and smiled at her. “We’re forcing ourselves on you. That’s different from your seeking the dead or inquiring of a ghost. You’re innocent here. Hashem won’t hold you responsible for this, especially as the Master of the Universe wants us here to look out for 142

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you. If he didn’t, we’d be at rest now, instead of being wandering souls.” Then both spirits faded out. Laura climbed into the car. She put her keys into the ignition. She leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment before she started the engine and drove off. Mike, her dead husband, shimmered into presence in the passenger seat beside her. “Mom and Dad are right, you know, Laurie. Buy the ticket.” “Michael, you know how unreasonable all of this is?” He leaned over and brushed his non-material lips against her cheek. “I miss you, darling, my always logical Laurie. There are things beyond your ability to analyze logically. Mathematics and logic only stretch so far.” “I know that. But probability remains probability.” “You need money to capitalize your chocolate business.” “Money isn’t the issue. I have enough to do what I have to do.” “You might as well have enough to do some good on as well as to have some fun with,” Mike said. “We want you to be happy and safe. Money will help on both counts. You can buy good security for the kind of money you’ll have. And you may need good security before this is all over.” She reached for him with her free hand, but, like always, came up with nothing. It broke her heart to be able to see him, but not to touch him; to have him close but really not here. “There are times, Mike, I think I’m going mad. And times like now, I’m sure of it.” “You aren’t insane. But, you need to take care of yourself. Help is coming. Buy the ticket. Don’t be too proud to take the help when it’s offered. I love you. Salvage something good from this, and stay safe. When we know 143

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that you are safe and settled, we’ll be able to rest. Until then, you’re holding us here by not moving on.” Then he faded out. On her way home, she stopped at the convenience store. One by one, she darkened the circles on the optical reader card to make her selection of the numbers to play. This is silly. The odds of winning are so incredibly long. Laura sighed as she handed the card to the clerk along with a dollar. She didn’t really expect it to win, and more than halfafraid of what it would mean for her sanity if she lost. One way or another, this ticket was going to be her verification of whether she had truly lost her mind. **** Jack Decker smiled as he pressed the button on his cell phone to disconnect the call. Well, isn’t that strange? A last minute dinner invitation from the Golds. And Laura Hall will be there, too. Must be Elizabeth’s attempt at matchmaking. Since Laura’s been ignoring me for months on my requests to document the paranormal activity at the factory, this should prove interesting. Then again, Laura Hall is an interesting woman, all the way around. That day in July was horrible for her. Still, no one could have handled it any better than she did. Jack remembered catching her as she fainted and carrying her over to the bench in the small park across the street from the printing plant before he’d called the police. She’d been almost fragile in his arms. Delicate. Too pale. Yet, neither delicate nor fragile had ever been words he’d ever associated with Laura before that day. Always, she’d been the strong one in their circle of friends. Strong, feisty, capable. Those were all how he’d always described Laura. He’d found a kindness in her eyes, a readiness to smile and 144

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laugh in her manner, and a willingness to help others in her soul. But, lately, that smile had been missing. He had a sharp memory of the first time he’d seen her. He’d just taken the position teaching at the college, some twenty-three years ago. It was the first Shabbat they were in town. Laura and Rivka were in charge of the social gathering after Saturday morning prayers. He’d heard her musical laughter across the hall and looked up to see her face. She’d obviously realized that Jack was looking at her, because she’d looked directly at him and smiled. That smile had hit him hard. Back then, their children became immediate friends. Greta, his late wife, and Laura had worked together on a lot of sisterhood activities over the years. Their families had spent a lot of time together at their children’s school activities and sports. Even after all these years, Laura still took his breath away. Over the last few months, he often found himself thinking about her, reaching for a phone to call her, and realizing that he just wanted to hear her voice. Documenting the paranormal activity at the plant had been a good excuse to talk to her. Except that she really didn’t want to document anything of what was going on there. So, she now was avoiding him whenever possible. This plan had backfired on him. Jack stared down at his desk at the stack of grades he’d just completed assigning for the semester. All the kids were gone from campus now. The last of the finals had been Wednesday. All of yesterday and today, he’d been grading exam papers. Sometimes, he thought that he had to be utterly insane to put essay questions on Psychology 101 finals. Most freshmen couldn’t write extemporaneously, and those who 145

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could write seldom had anything worth saying. Every once in a while he contemplated using the “weighted” grading scale one of his professors had once teased about using. The administration would have a hissy fit if he actually tossed the bluebooks down a flight of stairs and assigned the ones that hit furthest away ‘A’s. Still, almost anything would be better than the work of slogging through these. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was three o’clock. Jack needed to get these grades turned in, then drop by Emma’s, the only kosher restaurant in town, for his carry out for tomorrow’s cold dairy meals—a nice piece of smoked salmon, some freshly baked bagels, kosher cheeses, a few salads, cold soup. Since Greta had died two years ago, this had become his custom. Cooking was an art he’d never even begun to learn. He needed to get the food, go home, shower, dress, and light the candles ushering in Shabbat before heading off for prayers and then to dinner with the Golds…and with Laura Hall. How to handle this with Laura? He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’d been through enough over the last few months, far more than anyone should have to go through. Putting her through more pain was not his goal. Yet, genuine witnessed manifestations of paranormal activity were rare. All his life, he’d wanted to see something like this with his own eyes. He’d made a serious study of the paranormal, never finding a single instance of anything that couldn’t be easily explained by normal means. Aside from the fact that the first person to actually provide scientific evidence of the existence of ghosts would have a certain amount of notoriety, there was the matter of money involved. There were large prizes for documented, substantial, proof of the existence of ghosts. While Jack 146

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wasn’t poor, he also wasn’t independently wealthy. He had money in investments, mostly from Greta’s life insurance settlement, his books, and what they’d saved and invested during their marriage from both their incomes. The prize money would go a long ways toward insuring a really comfortable retirement. But not hurting Laura was crucial. When did she get to be this important to me? Jack wondered, stunned at the realization of just how much he felt for Laura. When did I fall so deeply in love with her? And what am I supposed to do about this? Just because I’ve found myself in love doesn’t mean that she feels anything for me. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2 December 16 After prayers Elizabeth Gold and Laura came down the stairs from the women’s section about the same time that Abe Gold and Jack Decker came out of the men’s section of the synagogue. The Golds were the youngest elderly people Laura knew. Elizabeth Gold had been in High School with Laura’s mother. Yet their youngest son, Josh, was the same age as Laura’s son, Sam, and Jack’s son, Yuri. Those three boys had been inseparable. Wherever one of the boys had been seen, the other two had usually been found nearby all the time they were in school. The boys were still close friends, even though they were all grown with children of their own. “Hello, Laura,” Jack said. 147

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Laura nodded her head. “The comment we can’t make in an airport,” she teased him. She’d been avoiding him since the spirits of her family had first appeared. All he wanted was to document the paranormal manifestations at the printing plant. Ghosts had always been his passion. She really didn’t want to go there, when all she wanted was for him to be just her friend again. Well, maybe not all she wanted from him. But Laura had to be reasonable. Just because she was attracted to him didn’t mean that he felt anything for her in return. He chuckled. “Yeah, you’d get in trouble in most airports for calling out ‘Hi, Jack!’” The Golds joined in the laughter. “How are you?” Laura asked. “Fine. But you’ve been avoiding me.” “I’ve been very busy.” “I want to talk to you.” “Not tonight, please. I won’t help you break Shabbat. No business. This is not an issue of saving a life.” “I’m not so sure of that. The life we save could be yours.” She looked at him for the longest moment. Laura could practically feel the curiosity of the Golds. “You’re a great expert on security matters that you can do something about this?” “Not especially,” he answered. “Then how can you help?” “By proving the existence of the ghosts.” “And how would that make me safer?” “By casting so much light on you that it wouldn’t be safe for whoever killed your family to act against you.” “Just drop it, Jack, please.” “For now.” 148

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“You’re impossible,” she complained. “And you’re improbable,” he answered with a smile. Elizabeth laughed. “Then you make a good pair, don’t you?” Laura sighed heavily. So, the Golds are matchmaking. And between Jack and me? “I’m not ready to even think about that,” she dismissed, even though she was very much thinking about precisely that. She wasn’t dead yet, and Jack Decker was certainly prime fodder for female fantasies. Then again, he had been a featured player in her fantasy life ever since the first time she’d seen him in the social hall down at the synagogue. “Do you like being alone?” Elizabeth asked, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?” “Don’t start, please,” Laura replied, her voice tired. Yet Elizabeth only smiled. “As you wish. Come. I have a wonderful Shabbos dinner for us.” “You always have wonderful meals,” Jack and Laura both agreed at the same time. Elizabeth and Abe chuckled. Abe nodded as he took his wife’s hand. “That’s one thing that they agree on, at least.” “Good. That’s a start. And I’m sure they have more in common that just an appreciation for good food. They always have had.” **** Elizabeth had prepared a cold salmon and celery salad, flanked with pear and avocado slices, for the fish course. It was a pretty dish, served on a bed of dark leafy greens. “Laura you work too hard,” Elizabeth said. “You need to rest more.” “That’s what Shabbat is for,” Laura replied. 149

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“One day of rest does not make up for a week of killing oneself with work,” Abe said. “Hard work never killed anyone,” Laura denied. “Tell that to the Japanese,” Jack said his voice thoughtful. “They have a word that means ‘worked to death’.” She smiled at him. “Okay, Jack, you win that one.” “So, you are willing to be reasonable,” he teased. Laura shook her head wearily. “Don’t push me, Jack. You wouldn’t like it if I pushed back.” “I don’t know about that, Laura. Almost anything would be better than the way you’ve been ignoring me,” Jack answered in a gentle voice. A woman could lose herself in that voice and in the compassion of his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” she choked out. “Please.” “Talk about what?” Abe asked. “The ghosts? I have to admit that I’m more than a little curious about that. Everyone’s heard the rumors of the activity in the printing plant. That sort of thing is hard to keep quiet.” “You can’t keep anything quiet in this town,” Laura answered with a yawn. “Are the rumors true?” Abe asked. Laura sighed. “I suppose that would depend on what you’ve heard.” Elizabeth nodded. “Laura we’ve all been very interested in what’s going on down there. People do talk. And, most of the time, rumors are exaggerated beyond all recognition of the truth. What is the truth here?” “Is the presence of your dead family in the plant more than just rumors?” Jack asked.

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“Come on, you’re an educated man, Jack! Don’t tell me that you believe in ovuth! The next thing I’ll hear from you is a belief in dybbuk.” “Has there been any instance of anyone being taken over by the spirits of your dead family members? I hadn’t heard that,” he asked with real interest in his voice. “That’s fascinating. Tell me about it?” “For pity’s sake, Jack! No one believes in possession, any more than modern people believe in ghosts. It’s not a reasonable possibility.” “Life isn’t reasonable, Laura. And you’re dancing around the question, not giving an answer. Are they simply rumors? Are David, Rivka, Aaron, Lisa, and Mike still hanging around at the printing plant?” Jack asked, his voice gentle but firm. Laura didn’t want to answer that. Lying wasn’t part of her character. She reached for her wine, then took the water goblet instead. She’d never hidden in alcohol. After taking a sip of water, she asked, “Why are you so interested in this, Jack?” “I’ve always wanted to prove the existence of ghosts,” Jack explained, his voice earnest. “You can’t deny reality, Laura. If they are present in the plant, then you have to deal with it.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I can see why she would be avoiding you, Jack.” Frustration boiled over in her words, as Laura spoke at the same time as Elizabeth, “And how am I supposed to deal with it? This is so far beyond anything I know how to deal with that it’s not funny. My Catholic friends urge an exorcism.” “Surely, you aren’t contemplating that?” Abe replied, shocked. 151

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“No. I’m not. That’s a violation of the commandments against idolatry and the use of magic. And it presupposes that the soul of a good person becomes evil upon separation from the body. I can’t say that.” Elizabeth nodded. Her voice was soft as she asked, “Is that your only reason, Laura?” “No, it’s not. Allowing this would say that I believed Catholic priests had some special power, which would be affirming their sacerdotal function and thus accepting the Catholic position that Hashem has a special relationship with them. It would be wrong for me to do on so many levels.” Jack smiled at her as though she were a particularly bright child. “You’ve obviously thought this out.” “Do you think I’m stupid?” Laura replied. “Hardly. No stupid person can earn a M.B.A. or hold a license as a C.P.A,” Jack answered with a warm smile and in a gentle voice. “You’re one of the brightest, most capable women I know.” She shook her head and felt herself smile. This man was good for her ego. “I’m just me.” Jack laughed. “I’m not sure I’d say you were ‘just’ anything. You have so many layers. It would take a man decades to know you. We’ve been friends for over twenty years. And you still surprise me. I think you’ll surprise me until the day I die.” Laura felt her face grow warm. Blushing like a schoolgirl at your age, really Laura! Just because an attractive man obviously finds you interesting. “Knowing anyone is a lifetime’s journey,” she dismissed. “I doubt that anyone has the ability to say that they always know another’s mind on everything, whether they’re life long friends or a married couple.” Abe chuckled. “That’s true. Even after sixty-five years of marriage, Elizabeth still surprises me.” 152

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“No more than you surprise me, Abraham,” Elizabeth stated. Then she turned to Laura. “I still say you work too hard keeping the plant working. When was the last time you put in less than a sixteen hour day at the plant?” Laura yawned as she took her last bite of the salad. “I flew to New York a month ago to be with Anna before Amy was born and for a week after. She didn’t need me any longer than that.” “Our daughters always need us,” Elizabeth said. “If we’ve done our job as mothers, they’ve learned to stand on their own feet,” Laura answered. Jack nodded. “That doesn’t stop us from worrying about them, and wanting to help them through challenging times.” Laura sipped her wine again. “That’s what family is for.” Jack looked at Laura. “You know, speaking of family, I’ve always wondered how the Hall family got the name. That’s not a typical Jewish surname.” “Ellis Island. The family name was originally Mendenhall.” Jack smiled at her. “Makes sense. Decker was originally Demsky. Ellis Island, for us, too.” Laura chuckled. “America, the great melting pot. It’s a small miracle my maiden name got through.” “What was your maiden name?” “Chicherin.” “I have to admire you,” Jack said. “For what?” Laura asked, taken aback. “In spite of everything life’s thrown at you over the last few months, you’ve managed to keep the plant open and running.” 153

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She yawned again. Then she rapidly changed the subject. “Speaking of hard work, how difficult was this salad, Elizabeth?” “Dead simple. You want the recipe?” Elizabeth asked. “Yes, I do.” “I’ll get it to you this week.” “Thanks.” “Have they told you why they are here?” Jack asked. Laura looked at Jack. “That question presupposes that this is any different than what happens with the spirit of any person.” “This is the largest number of objective sightings that I’ve ever seen. All of the recordings I have of their presence have been reviewed by video experts and declared genuine.” “What recordings do you have, Jack?” Laura demanded in a soft voice. But even she heard the panic in her voice. “Things moving by themselves, like reams of paper loading themselves into presses, ink being replenished in presses, et cetera. It’s really quite an impressive collection of documents.” “You’ve been busy! Why are you asking since you obviously have all the answers?” “I hardly have all the answers. Why are they here, Laura?” “I suppose to wind up their unfinished business.” “Did they say that?” “If I asked them questions, I’d be inquiring of an ob or seeking out the maytim. I won’t do that. Now, can we please not talk about this?” Laura practically begged. “Of course, Laura,” Elizabeth said in a kind voice, “consider it dropped. We know you are a keeper of the commandments.” 154

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“Imperfectly,” Laura allowed. “Only Hashem is perfect, Laura,” Abe told her with a smile as Elizabeth rose to go into the kitchen. “Let me help you, Elizabeth,” Laura offered. “Thank you. Clear away the fish plates, please.” Laura took the fish plates from each place setting and walked away. In the kitchen, Elizabeth turned to her. “You like him, don’t you?” “Don’t start, Elizabeth.” “Honey, it’s not good for anyone to be alone. Jack’s been alone too long.” “Greta was a good woman. No woman in her right mind would try to step into Greta’s shoes.” “Yes, she was a good woman. She and my Elise grew up together. Her parents lived across the street from us. She was like a second daughter to me. I miss her. But any woman in Jack’s life would wear her own shoes, Laura. Greta wore a size four shoe. Not many of us have feet that small.” A chuckle bubbled up from Laura’s throat. But she didn’t have time to speak as Elizabeth continued talking. “Jack’s a good man, Laura. You could do much worse for yourself.” “I know he’s a good man. Now, please, don’t matchmake, Elizabeth.” “You’re a widow. He’s a widower. You know he has smicha? A woman could do worse than marry a rabbi. Even if he spends most of his efforts in psychology. And do you find him attractive? You always have found him attractive, haven’t you? I used to look at the two of you when we were all together. The only thing more obvious than a woman 155

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encouraging a man is a woman going out of her way not to encourage him.” Laura forced a smile. “Just serve the soup.” Elizabeth chuckled. “No denials?” “There’s nothing to deny. Jack’s easy on the eyes and a lot of fun, usually, to be around.” “And you’ve always found him attractive, haven’t you?” “I’m not blind, Elizabeth. I can appreciate a handsome man the same as any other woman can. That doesn’t mean I’ve ever done anything about it.” “Of course you haven’t! I didn’t mean that,” Elizabeth rushed into speech, obviously flustered. “I know you and Jack. Neither of you would have ever done anything shameful… All I meant is that now both of you are available and obviously find each other attractive. So, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to pursue this.” “I know you mean well, Elizabeth,” Laura hedged. Elizabeth smiled. “You were just a girl when you married Michael. Now you’re a woman fully mature. Sex is better when you don’t have to worry about pregnancy. The body ages, but sex can be good as long as life lasts, if you stay healthy and are willing to adapt and be considerate of one another. The mind is the most important sex organ in the human body.” Laura felt her face grow warm. She couldn’t remember the last time before today that she’d found herself blushing. “You and Abe have always been a good example of growing old together graciously.” Elizabeth chuckled. “We’ve married very young and were always willing to work at it. Divorce was a scandal when we were young marrieds. Nowadays, it’s common and hardly raises an eyebrow.” 156

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Laura shrugged. “Unless there’s a messy scandal attached, then everyone talks.” “You’re still relatively young, Laura. Do you want to spend the next thirty or so years of your life all alone?” “I’m not interested in remarrying.” “Maybe you don’t want to be interested, but you are. Don’t lie to me. I saw you blush. A woman doesn’t blush like that unless she’s interested in a man.” “I’m a grandmother.” “That doesn’t make you less of a woman. Jack’s a grandfather, too. Does that make him less appealing to you?” “Not at all.” Elizabeth smiled as she ladled the vegetable soup into the tureen. “Just think about it. You both would be good for each other. Promise me you’ll think about it?” “I don’t even know if he’s interested in me.” “I’ve seen him look at you. If you would just see the way he looks at you, you wouldn’t have any doubts.” “How does he look at me?” “Like a man in love.” “That’s ridiculous.” “It’s true. The two of you are perfect for one another. Think about it.” “We’d better get that soup into the dining room.” “Life is short, and there are no pockets in a shroud, Laura.” Laura sighed. “Shall I take in the soup plates?” “Please.” Returning to the dining room, she heard Abe and Jack discussing the Sefer Yetzirah in Hebrew. She listened intently as they debated what she considered an esoteric point from this kabbalistic text. Although it interested her, kabbalah 157

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wasn’t something she’d studied extensively. But apparently both Abe and Jack had. “Sorry,” Abe said in English, realizing that they had been rude in continuing their conversation in the presence of those who might not find the subject fascinating. “No,” Laura dismissed as she put the soup plates at everyone’s place. Elizabeth carefully ladled soup into each shallow bowl. “Nothing to be sorry about. I don’t know much about that Sefer. I read it in French. I tried reading it in Hebrew, but it was far too hard for me. My Hebrew’s not as good as it should be.” “I almost forgot you tutored the terrible trio in French,” Jack stated as Laura took her seat. Laura laughed. “Oh, my! That was a long time ago. The boys were in high school, and they were all having trouble.” “Our boys were the only ones to get A’s that year in French,” Elizabeth recalled. “Largely, thanks to your tutoring.” Jack shook his head. “Yeah, they got A’s in spite of the fact that their teacher initially gave them F’s and went to the principal to have them suspended for honor code violations, claiming they had cheated on the fall semester final.” Laura sighed. “The boys were exonerated.” Jack chuckled. “I remember. I sat there listening to you passionately defend the boys at that closed meeting of the school board. You were uncompromisingly polite, but you verbally flayed the teacher. Precise. I couldn’t completely follow your remarks in French when you spoke to her and quizzed the boys. But I remember thinking it was one of the neatest, most logical and passionate defenses I’d ever seen. 158

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You missed your calling. You should have been a trial lawyer.” Laura felt herself smile at both the memory and his praise. She chuckled. “Law? No thanks. My contribution to the legal field was putting Sam through law school. Personally, I have better things to do with my life.” Jack smiled at her. “You should smile more often, Laura. Makes your lovely eyes sparkle.” She sipped her wine. Elizabeth is right. Oy! Jack’s in love with me. What am I going to do about this? Now, there’s a stupid question. There are only a few options: ignore him, talk to him and let him down gently, or see if anything can come of this. What to do? “The last few months haven’t given me much to smile over, Jack.” Then she took another spoonful of her soup. “Elizabeth, this soup is delicious.” The older woman beamed. “Coming from you, that’s high praise. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a soup as good as those you make.” “Almost anything tastes better when you aren’t the one who cooked it,” Laura dismissed. Jack chuckled. “Certainly, anything cooked by someone else tastes better than what I could do. Cooking is utterly beyond me. Speaking of things that are beyond me, I tried to learn French in graduate school, thinking to use it as part of my doctoral qualification. But I couldn’t get my mind or my tongue around it. It just seemed a very strange language.” “All languages are strange in their own unique ways,” Laura dismissed. Jack looked at her and smiled. “This is true.” “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you. What made you take the doctorate in psychology?” she asked Jack, looking to get him to talk about himself, instead of focusing on her or her 159

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apparitions. Laura needed time to think. The best way to do that was to get them talking about something else. Jack smiled. “My father wanted me to take a pulpit. But he was satisfied with my receiving smicha. I always wanted to help people, teach, and to write. Teaching college and practicing clinical psychology let me do that.” “You never had a desire to serve a congregation as rabbi?” Laura asked. “No. I’m happy teaching and in my practice. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.” “It’s a good thing to always know what you want to do with your life.” “Are you happy running the printing plant, Laura?” Jack asked. “Actually, no. I’m selling it.” Elizabeth interjected, “Good. You’re working way too hard. You need to work less.” Laura shrugged. “I’ve done only what I had to in order to keep people employed.” “Seems to me that you’re doing just fine. But then again, I’ve always thought you could take the impossible and make it look easy,” Jack said with a broad smile. “Ah, but you don’t know me that well, do you?” she teased him. “I thought I did. The fact is, I’d like to know you very well,” Jack answered. “We’ve known each other for years in the way that people know one another when their children are best friends. I’d really like to get to know you much better.” This conversation was quickly becoming too personal for her comfort. She felt her face grow warm again. Yes, this man was definitely dangerous to her, probably in more ways than one. “Back to the Sefer Yetzirah.” 160

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“We can certainly discuss other things,” Abe offered. “If this bores you.” “It’s many things, but never boring. Hashem did create the world through speech. I’ve always found interesting the idea that a nonmaterial deity created matter through speaking it into existence. What is speech to the Transcendent?” Jack nodded. “That’s the central question, yes. But, I’m more interested right now in what you said about having better things to do with your life. What would you like to do with your life now that you’re selling the printing plant?” “I’ll be opening a chocolaterie.” Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll be your most loyal customer when your doors open.” “I love your chocolates,” Jack announced. “Those dark chocolate hearts with white chocolate almond centers you make are wonderful.” “Well, yes,” she admitted as joy bubbled up within her. He makes me feel again. Joy, anger, and everything in between. It’s been months since I’ve felt real joy. Maybe there could be something there between Jack and me. There is something here. Friendship. Trying for more could ruin the friendship. Now, what am I going to do about the rest of this? That’s the question. “I rather like those chocolates myself.” “I talked with Yuri yesterday,” Jack announced. “How is he?” “He’s fine. Hannah’s pregnant again. She’s due in June.” “Their Cheva is only a year old. Hannah’ll have two in diapers,” Laura said with a sigh. “I don’t envy her that.” Elizabeth nodded. “It’s hard enough to have one toddler at a time. Two is quite difficult.” 161

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“They’ll manage,” Jack said. “Hannah is remarkably organized.” “That’s why Hashem gives children to the young,” Elizabeth replied in a warm voice. Abe smiled. “And to the not so young. We were better parents to Josh than we were to Elise, I think because we were more relaxed with him. It’s not too late to have children in your fifties, Laura.” Laura forced a smile. For her, it was physically too late for more babies. But that was none of Abe’s business. “Josh turned out just fine. Then again, Yuri turned out to be a good man, too, Jack. I always was fond of him. Tell him ‘Mazel Tov’ from me.” Jack chuckled and nodded. “Will do. All the boys— your Sam, my Yuri, and Abe and Elizabeth’s Josh—turned out well. We all have reason to be proud of them.” Elizabeth smiled. “We did a good job with them, all of us.” “Our boys did fine for themselves,” Laura agreed. “All of them grown and married with children of their own. Although, I still have a hard time thinking of myself as a grandmother.” “Especially, when you look about thirty-five,” Jack said in all seriousness. Laura focused sharply on his face. “That’s flattery.” “It’s not flattery. You are a beautiful woman, Laura. Even after all these years, I look at you and have to remind myself to breathe. The rest of us have all gotten older. You are ageless.” She felt the flush rise again to her face as she continued to eat. He has me blushing like a schoolgirl. I’m not sure I really like this. 162

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“Then again, Laura was a child bride,” Abe said indulgently before Laura could speak. “Mike and I had thirty years, almost thirty-one, together. I’d really have to have really been a child bride to be thirty-five now. That would have actually been robbing the cradle. I was right out of grad school when Mike and I stood under the chuppah together.” “You were considerably younger when the ketubah was signed,” Abe replied. “I witnessed it.” Laura shrugged. “I recall that.” “Why did you take your degrees in business? With your mind, you could have done anything, Laura,” Jack asked. She felt herself smile. “Business has always been my passion.” “When the children were young, you ran an accounting firm. You had converted your garage to an office, as I recall. You and Mike were living over on Prairie then, behind the synagogue,” Jack said. “Before we built our current house, yes. That’s ancient history. I sold my practice almost fifteen years ago and went to work for the family corporation.” “Do you ever regret doing that?” Jack asked. “Giving up your own business to work in someone else’s?” “No. The family business had grown to the point that they needed someone to constantly stay on top of their finances. It was a challenge then.” “It’s no longer a challenge, I take it?” “Right now, keeping the place open is more of a challenge than I can tell you, Jack.” “Returning to my original point, you still are beautiful.”

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“One of my Catholic friends usually says something like, ‘You’ll go to hell for lying’ at a statement like that,” Laura teased. Abe cleared his throat and groused, “Then again, the Catholics should know a lot about Hell as they invented the concept, or at least built it up from a mix of pagan world views and Torah.” Laura shrugged. “I don’t know much about that, Abe. I think I do well enough just to keep my own religious traditions. I don’t have time or energy to dissect anyone else’s.” “You seem to understand Catholicism well enough,” Jack asked. “There was a time when I was a child that Catholicism fascinated me. My best friend, Mary Ellen Anderson, was, and still is, a devout Catholic. When it comes down to it, there’s not a whole lot of difference between serious Catholics and observant Jews.” “You want to justify that?” Jack asked, his voice holding mixed humor and surprise. “Both Catholics and Jews strive for personal holiness and a close relationship to Hashem. We both approach it differently. But the goal remains the same, to find the Master of the Universe in every moment of life, to love Him with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and in doing that to have the power to in turn love our neighbors as ourselves.” Elizabeth nodded. “That’s a reasonable way of looking at it.” Jack looked at her and smiled. “It is.” “Hashem judges us all mercifully. That’s enough for me to know.” 164

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“What did your parents think of your being drawn to Catholicism?” Jack asked. Laura sighed. She sipped her wine. “You have a real knack tonight for raising subjects that I don’t want to talk about.” Jack looked at her, clearly puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak about your parents. Not in all the years I’ve known you.” Elizabeth spoke in defense of Laura, “Jack, don’t.” “No. It’s okay, Elizabeth,” Laura answered. She drew a deep breath. This was very old, very unpleasant. Abe and Elizabeth had known, and not particularly liked, her parents. Then again, her parents had been incredibly unlikable people. “It’s no secret that my parents died when I was young.” “There’s more to this,” Jack said. “Nothing is ever as simple as we can distill it down to, particularly when we don’t want to talk about it.” Jack smiled at her, but it was a painful smile. “Isn’t that the truth?” Laura went to eat her soup but found she had already eaten it all. “There’s truth, then there’s truth,” she admitted. “That’s a philosophical statement if ever I heard one,” he teased. She shrugged and chuckled. “Philosophy is like the accrual principle. It flows from daily life.” Jack looked at her from across the table. “You would think of it that way.” She chuckled. “Yes. I would.” “Laura, you have to deal with the ghosts.” “I don’t know how, Jack. I just don’t know how.” “Let me help you,” he offered. 165

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Help? Could this be the help that Mike talked to me about? Behind Jack, Mike shimmered in. “Laurie!” Jack turned around in his seat, looked at Mike, then stood, knocking his chair over in the process. Laura looked from the figure of her husband to her friend whose face in profile showed his shock. She glanced at the faces of the others in the room and found them to be equally terrified. “Mein Gott in Himmel!” Jack whispered. “No, it’s just Michael,” Laura replied, her voice dry. Elizabeth twittered, obviously nervous. Abe reached in his pocket for his nitroglycerin tablets. “Mike, is this really necessary?” Laura demanded in a tired voice. “Laurie, stop being difficult. You need help. Take it from Jack. He’s in a perfect position to help you,” Mike ordered. “Michael, you’re scaring Abe. Go away!” Laura commanded as Abe popped a pill under his tongue. “Sorry, Abe!” Mike said just before he faded out. Elizabeth looked at Laura. “You deal with this sort of thing regularly?” the older woman asked in a shaking voice. “Several times a day, most days.” Laura couldn’t blame any of them for being more than a little shaken. It wasn’t every day that a person saw a ghost. “One or another of them is always around. They haven’t normally shown themselves outside of the plant. But, they’re getting bolder all the time. I’m sorry Mike scared you.” Abe spoke, his voice quiet, “I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk about this. It had to frighten you to the bone the first time you saw them.”

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“Putting it mildly. The first time I heard David’s voice over the intercom after the funerals, I just about fainted. But I’ve gotten used to it.” “Have you?” Jack asked, his voice tight as he picked up his chair and set it right. Laura sighed as he sat. “I don’t feel like fainting when I see them now. But I still get chills when they’re around.” “Can’t blame you for that,” Abe allowed. “Have they given you any hint of when they intend to leave?” Jack demanded in a soft tone. “When I’m settled and safe and ready to let them go.” “So, they believe you are in grave danger?” “I try not to think about this, Jack. But, yes, the people who killed all of them could still come after me. The chances are pretty good that they may, eventually, do so. We all know this.” “And this doesn’t bother you?” Elizabeth demanded. “Of course, it bothers me. Maybe in selling the plant, this will end. I can’t think of anything else the person who hired the murders would have wanted, aside from the plant.” “But you don’t really want to sell out, do you?” Jack asked. “I can’t run the place by myself much longer. I’m working eighteen hour days most of the time. It’s a losing battle. I’ve held it together long enough to sell it. That much I’ve owed the employees. None of this was their fault. They don’t deserve to lose their jobs over it.” “You’re a good woman, Laura. Meet me for lunch on Sunday?” Jack asked. “How about noon at Emma’s?” Laura felt herself smile at him. “Sure, Emma’s would be fine. But only if it’s ‘dutch’ treat.” Jack chuckled. “Buying you lunch won’t break me.” 167

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“For that matter, it won’t break me, either, if I were to buy yours.” “An independent woman,” Jack observed. “After all the years you’ve known me, this is a surprise?” “Not at all. I like you just the way you are.” “Now you’re sounding like Billy Joel.” “There are worse things I could sound like,” Jack teased. “Oh, yeah, name two,” Laura challenged. “Two very prominent little girl turned tramp recording artists come to mind. I would hope never to be mistaken for either of them,” Jack offered with a smile. Laura couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. That would be terrible. Elizabeth, let me help you with that.” She rose from her seat and began to remove the soup plates. Elizabeth removed the tureen, and Laura followed her into the kitchen. While Laura placed the dishes in the sink, the older woman removed several covered casserole dishes from the oven. “I told you he was interested in you,” Elizabeth said. “Yes, you did.” “So?” “I need to think about this.” Elizabeth nodded as she loaded the serving cart with a variety of hot and cold dishes. “There’s a lot to think about here.” Laura pushed the loaded serving cart into the dining room. Dinner was as delicious as it looked. Conversation stayed general through much of the meal. Laura looked across the dinner table to see Jack smiling at her. 168

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That smile of his should have to be licensed as a deadly weapon. It’s definitely lethal to any woman’s sense of selfpreservation. Then again, maybe self-defense is the wrong attitude here. It’s been less than a year since Mike died. And I’m already thinking about maybe remarrying. What in the world is wrong with me? But there’s no reason why I should have to be alone for the rest of my life. I’ve done my required mourning. Jack is interested in me. But is he interested in me or just in the ghosts? Now, there’s the question. “You look deep in thought,” Jack observed. Laura sighed. “Not really. No. Just arguing with myself.” “About what?” “What do you really want from me, Jack?” “I don’t want anything from you.” “Don’t you? I thought you wanted to document the existence of the wandering spirits in my life.” “You have to admit that is unusual enough to be curious to the scientific mind.” Laura chuckled. “But what does that have to do with you?” Jack laughed in reply. “Be that way.” “Can’t you accept that this is very private, Jack? I don’t want this to become a public curiosity. They deserve some peace in death.” “I’ve always wanted to believe that the spirits of the dead could be strongly bound to us through ties of love, and that love was eternal.” “I know both of those to be true,” Laura replied. Jack nodded. “I have to admit that I’m a little jealous.” “Jealous? Of what?” Laura demanded in disbelief. “Greta never showed herself to me after she died.” 169

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“She died in peace, not through violence, and she wasn’t worried about you when she passed on. You’ve always been strong, Jack.” “And you haven’t?” he demanded in disbelief. “I’ve never known a stronger woman than you.” “You’ve lived a sheltered life,” she teased. “Right,” he dismissed his voice dry. “I’ll tell you about that sometime.” “I’ll hold you to that.” Then he changed the subject. “The Chamber winter party is going to be kosher, isn’t it?” “Emma is catering it. So, yes. It’s dairy.” “Sit with me. We’ll enjoy the music.” Laura blinked. “Since when are you a member of the Chamber?” “Last week, the president of the college named me the college’s representative.” Elizabeth chuckled. “The only thing bad about being a responsible person, Jack, is that you end up being responsible for everything and everyone.” He shrugged. “I booked in a chamber quartet that specializes in Mozart for the early part of the evening and a dance band for later. I get so sick of Christmas music this time of year,” Laura explained. “Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Me, too.” Abe cleared his throat. “I think we all do. It’s not the music I mind. Some of it isn’t bad at all. More wine, Jack?” Abe asked. “Thanks. That would be nice.” “Laura?” “No thanks, Abe. I still have plenty.” 170

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“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink more than a single glass of wine at a meal, ever,” Jack observed. “My parents abused alcohol and drugs. I always promised myself that I wouldn’t fall into the same trap.” Jack looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded. “That’s part of what makes you the woman you are. You had to be the strong one in your family when you were very young.” She sighed. This really wasn’t something she enjoyed discussing. Jack waited for her to speak. When only silence reigned between them, he asked, “So, tell me about this chocolate shop of yours?” Laura laughed and changed the subject. “No. No business on Shabbat. Let’s talk about the Sefer you both were discussing. I don’t know much about this. But it fascinates me.” The conversation centered on the book through the rest of the meal. The clock rang off nine-fifteen p.m. by the time they finished the long after meal prayer, the birkat ha-mazon, and rose from the table. After a few minutes, Laura excused herself. “It’s time for me to go home now. Thank you for a lovely evening, Elizabeth and Abe.” “I’ll walk you home,” Jack offered. “That really isn’t necessary.” He smiled. “Humor me. I’ll feel better knowing you’re home safely.” ~~~~~~~~

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December 16 Late evening Snow began to fall when they were a block from the Golds’ home. By the time that they reached Laura’s house, the snow was coming down thick enough that visibility was down to only a few feet. “Come inside. It’s not safe to be out. How about a cup of hot coffee?” Laura asked as they stood on the front porch. The wind howled wickedly, punctuating her remarks. “Please,” Jack agreed following her into the house. Once in the kitchen, he looked out the window. The storm had increased again in ferocity. “Laura, there’s no way I can safely walk home until this storm lets up. It could last quite a while by the looks of it.” “I have spare bedrooms. I’m afraid that Abe and Elizabeth will worry about us. With his weak heart, that could be fatal for him. I don’t want him going out into the storm to look for us.” “Telephone them. It’s to save a life.” Laura nodded. She picked up the phone and dialed their number. The phone rang six times before Elizabeth answered. “We didn’t want either of you to worry about us, or go out into the storm. We made it back to my house safely, just as it got really nasty out there,” Laura said into the phone. “Thank you, Laura, for relieving our minds. Gut Shabbes.” “Gut Shabbes, Elizabeth.” She sighed after she hung up. “Hashem will understand that.” 172

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“Yes. He will. You’re a good woman, Laura.” “There are times I don’t feel good at all.” “We all have those times. You said something about coffee? I could use something to warm me up.” “Sure.” She removed two cups from the cabinet and ladled coffee into them from the slow cooker she’d filled with coffee earlier in the day. “Greta used to keep coffee hot in a thermos.” “This keeps it hotter, longer. It gets bitter after a while. But it’s better than cold coffee.” Jack smiled at her. “I don’t cook.” “Many men don’t. They should. But you spent most of your childhood studying Torah. That gave you little time to learn to take care of yourself.” “Actually, I spent a fair amount of my childhood playing baseball.” Laura laughed. “I almost forgot about that. You had a full baseball scholarship to college, didn’t you?” “Yes. I’m surprised you remember that.” “We’ve known each other for a long time, Jack.” He nodded. “That’s true.” She sipped her coffee. Laura imperfectly suppressed a yawn. “You’ve been doing that a lot tonight. Do I bore you?” “No. I’ve been up since two this morning, Jack. I’m going to be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.” “Why were you up so early?” “So I could get the work done down at the plant. Work doesn’t do itself.” “You work too hard.” “Yeah. Maybe. But almost anything’s better than being alone in a too quiet house with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.” 173

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He sighed. “I understand that.” “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.” “I’d appreciate that.” “The guest suite is right here off the kitchen,” Laura said as she walked over to the door. She walked inside the sitting room. “If I’d known you’d be coming, I would have lit the gas log in the fireplace for you to make this cozier.” “It’s fine, just as it is.” “The bedroom is through that door and you have a private bath off of it. There should be some pajamas and a robe in the top drawer of the chest. You should be very comfortable.” “I’m sure that I will be.” “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I normally sleep in on Saturday morning, usually well past noon. It’s the only good night of sleep I get during the week. I’ve got cholent in the oven for lunch. If the storm hasn’t let up by then, we’ll have Shabbat lunch together after I’ve awoken. There are plenty of books on the shelves. Maybe even some you haven’t read. Mike’s siddur, tefillin, and tallit are in a shipping box on his desk in the den. I was packing them up to send to Sam for James. But I haven’t sealed the box. You can use them if you want to pray in the morning.” “You don’t have to be nervous around me, Laura.” She felt herself smile at him. “Maybe not, but I am. You see, I’ve realized you’re in love with me.” His smile faltered. “And why does that make you nervous?” “The last thing I ever want to do is to hurt you. I do care about you.” “Thanks for letting me stay, in spite of the fact that I make you nervous.” 174

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“What else would I do? Send you out to die in the storm?” she dismissed. He shook his head. “Some women, worried about propriety, would.” “Then their moral compasses are off. It’s far more important to save human life than to worry about one’s reputation. Besides, we’re both adults. We know how to control our urges.” “So, you do have urges where I’m concerned. That’s good to know.” Laura felt her face grow warm again. “You make me blush like a schoolgirl.” “That’s not entirely a bad thing. It means that you’re at least interested in me.” “I never said otherwise.” “You haven’t said anything. That’s the problem.” “I’ve never dated, Jack. I don’t know the rules of the game. And it’s too late for me to learn now.” “Never dated? How did you and Mike meet?” “We went to Hebrew school together.” “You were childhood sweethearts?” Laura laughed and shook her head. “Actually, we pretty much loathed one another on sight.” “What changed?” “During our freshman year of high school, my uncle— who raised me after my parents died—was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. So, he and David got their heads together. They executed the ketubah, binding Mike and me together.” “You went along with this?” Laura smiled at the disbelief in his voice. “Actually, both of us found the idea unacceptable, at first. We neither one wanted to hurt my Uncle who needed all of his strength 175

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to fight the cancer. So, we decided that we would simply maintain the fiction of the kiddushin until it would no longer hurt Uncle for us to disavow it. Uncle fought a long and hard battle against the cancer before it beat him. He died my freshman year of college. Over those years, Mike and I came to be friends, and then to care for one another. By the time we stood under the chuppah together, nine years later, we were utterly devoted to each other.” Jack chuckled. “An arranged marriage in this day and age.” He shook his head in amazement. “It was forty years ago that they signed the ketubah. Uncle was exceptionally old-fashioned.” “No kidding.” Jack’s tone was as dry as the Mojave at noon on a cloudless day. “I learned to live as a Jew in his house. The only thing I learned from my parents was to stay out of their way when they were high. They were mean when they were stoned. And they were stoned most of the time. I learned early on to fade into the woodwork and be unnoticed, and to quietly leave the house and survive on the street. If I’m good at thinking fast on my feet, and covering my flank, it’s from years of early practice of surviving on the streets.” Jack was silent. Why did I tell him that? I never talk about this. But if he’s serious about me, he needs to know where I come from, no matter how unpleasant this is to talk about. “Life frequently isn’t pretty,” he said. “Everything that we go through helps form us into the people we become. You’re pretty terrific.” “This is all ancient history.” “Not quite ancient. It still hurts you.” Laura shrugged. “I learned to forgive them for their weaknesses. But I’ve never forgotten.” 176

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“People don’t really forget the bad times.” “No. We don’t. But we can move on and make things better for ourselves and give our children good lives.” “Survivors do.” “Well, I’ve survived this far at least. Good night Jack. Sleep well.” “Good night, Laura. Get some sleep.” She turned to leave the room. “You know, you could have repudiated the contract?” he called after her. “You didn’t have to go through with the marriage to Mike. The ketubah was invalid. A woman can’t be bound to marriage without her consent.” Laura turned to face Jack. “If I hadn’t wanted to be Mike’s wife, there was no power on earth or in the world to come that could have forced me to stand beneath the chuppah with him. Don’t think I was swept into a marriage against my will. I loved Michael, with all my heart by the time we began living together as man and wife.” “Mike was a lucky man.” “I was the lucky one.” Jack nodded. “You are an incredible woman, Laura. I’d like the chance to help you be happy again. Will you think about this?” “I doubt I’m going to be thinking of much else. We can talk tomorrow. Good night, Jack.” She turned and walked away without looking back. She stopped in the kitchen and checked the food she had in the oven for lunch tomorrow, before adding just a little water to keep it from burning as it stayed warm overnight. Her own rooms were the master suite at the opposite end of the large ranch style house. She’d completely redecorated the room since Mike died. That had been a matter of self177

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defense. There had been too many memories here. She couldn’t take the pain. Exhausted, she stripped off her clothes and threw on a long flannel gown before sinking into bed. She was asleep almost before her head settled into the pillow. **** Jack lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. 12:15 a.m., according to the red numerals on digital clock. The wind still sounded almost as fierce as his thoughts. Her parents had hurt her badly. Yet, she had risen above that. She’d lost the uncle that had raised her after her parents’ death. She’d moved on. Now she’d lost her husband and all the family she had locally. This time, she wasn’t moving on. She’d held so tightly onto the recent past that she had the spirits of her dead family members remaining active in her life. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to prod her to move on and leave the past behind her. Life was funny. He’d known Laura for well over twenty years now. Tonight was the first he’d known of her early life. The more he knew about her, the more he admired her strength and courage. The room became markedly colder, just as it had at the Golds’ dining room before the Michael Hall’s spirit had appeared. Jack looked over at the direction from which the cold seemed to come. Michael was standing there. “I love Laurie. I don’t want to see her hurt,” the spirit said. “If you aren’t serious about being good to her, then walk away, Jack.” “I love her, Mike. And I’m alive. Which is more than you can say.” The spirit smiled at him. “I know. And I’m glad that she has someone who cares for her. I need a favor from you.” 178

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“What can I do for you?” “I want some time with Laurie. This storm will keep you isolated here until Monday afternoon, late. Give me some of this time with her.” “You want what from me, exactly?” “I want you to let me borrow your body.” Jack swallowed hard. Borrow my body? “According to the dybbuk legends, you can just take it.” “I could. But I’m asking. I don’t believe in taking things that belong to other people. I like you, Jack. I don’t want to hurt you.” “Will you leave me before the storm finishes?” “Yes. I just need a chance to say goodbye to her.” “I can understand that.” “Come on, Jack. You’ve always wanted to know if ghosts were real. Now you have the chance to understand the dybbuk experience first-hand. That’s a rarity. Tell me the scientist in you isn’t interested in that?” “I can’t.” “Then do I have permission to enter?” “On the condition that you will leave me before the storm is over. And that you will leave Laura alone after this and let her live her life.” “Laurie’s holding us here. When she’s ready to let us go, then we’ll leave. Right now, she’s not ready to let us go. Until she is ready, we can’t leave.” “Are you really worried about her being a target for whoever killed you?” “Definitely.” “How can I keep her safe?” “That’s the right question.” “So, give me the right answer. Who killed you?” 179

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“We’ve just learned that answer. The truth will hurt her badly.” “Then it’s someone she knows and trusts?” “Yes.” “Who is it?” “I won’t tell you. We haven’t decided yet how to handle this. If there’s any way to handle this without her knowing, we will. She’s been hurt enough. We don’t want her to have more pain.” “I don’t want to lose Laura. I want a lot of years with her. I have to be able to protect her.” “You stand a very good chance of having those years. There are a number of paths ahead of the two of you. The choices you make will determine your life together. Just like everyone’s choices impact their lives together.” “This is so strange.” “Yes. So, can I borrow your body?” “Of course.” Jack was conscious of a cold sensation filling and numbing his body until he was merely a passenger in his own frame. Then it was as though he was seeing himself as in a dream. He didn’t feel himself get out of bed, but he knew that he was walking out of the room and through the kitchen. He stopped at the hall closet and retrieved Mike’s old aluminum baseball bat before making his way down the hall to Laura’s bedroom. Mike/Jack put the bat on top of the clothes hamper by the closet. It would be close this way if he needed it. “Why would you need it?” Jack demanded in the silence of his mind. “It’s the nearest thing to a lethal weapon I have in the house. Given everything, I may well need it,” Mike 180

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answered only in thought, their minds communicating in the silence. “You didn’t tell me that there was danger.” “Laurie’s been in danger since the day we were killed. You know this.” “Is the danger immediate?” “A few hours away. Now be quiet and let me look at my wife.” “Your widow. She ceased to be your wife when you died,” Jack corrected. “She’ll cease to be my wife when she says she isn’t my wife. As long as she holds herself to being married to me, we’re married.” He climbed into bed with her and watched her sleep. Laura rolled over and snuggled up against him. “Mike,” she mumbled in her sleep. “Yes. Go to sleep, Laurie,” Jack heard Mike’s voice come from his own mouth. **** Laura’s eyes popped open. She saw Jack there in her bed. “Get out!” “Laurie, it’s me,” Mike’s voice said from within Jack. “Mike?!” “You’re tired, honey. Get some sleep.” “How? I don’t understand this.” “I asked Jack to let me have the use of his body for a while. I want to touch you, love you, be with you.” Laura’s eyes filled up with tears. “Michael!” He reached out and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “There’s no need to cry, Laurie. I’m here now, for a little while.”

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“Hold me, Mike,” she said as she snuggled into him. He felt different, and yet this was Mike. She kept telling herself that. “Just hold me, Michael. I’ve missed you so much.” “Holding you would never be enough.” “Then love me, Mike. Love me forever.” **** Mike/Jack looked at the back of Laura’s head as she slept. The clock said it was three thirty. How he loved her! How he’d missed her! Kissing the nape of her neck, he laid his own head on the pillow beside hers and fell into a light sleep as the storm howled viciously outside. He woke at four fifteen with the sound of someone coming into the house. The sound of the storm coming through the open front door was unmistakable. “So, it begins!” Mike thought as adrenaline surged through Mike/Jack’s body. “Is this an attempt on her life?” “Just settle down, Jack. Don’t fight me. I don’t want to hurt you. The goal is keeping Laurie safe. Stay out of my way. I have to do this.” He climbed out of bed silently and went over to the closet. When whoever it was came through the door, he’d stop them. Laura slept on, unaware of the danger she was in. Footsteps, just one set, came down the hall. Aaron, Mike’s brother, materialized in the bedroom and flashed a single finger at Mike/Jack, then made a motion of a gun. Picking up the baseball bat, Mike/Jack prepared himself. “This is my area of expertise,” Jack declared in thought. “Let go and let me do this. I’m not a kid, but I did play college ball and can still power hit. I’m better with a bat than you are. Laura will be safest if you get out of my way and let me do this.” 182

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“This is another paid assassin. Do what you have to do to stop him, anything short of lethal force. Killing him is the last resort. Save his life if you can.” “Right.” Then Jack felt Mike pull back. The bedroom door opened slowly, quietly. A figure wearing a ski-mask and dark clothing came into the room. But all Jack saw was the very large pistol in the assailant’s hand. Fear and anger surged through him in equal measures. No one was going to hurt Laura. No one. One swing connected with the man’s arm. The satisfying thud of the connection of the bat blended with the sick crunch of bone. The intruder screamed in pain as he dropped the gun. Jack heard Laura startle into wakefulness behind him. But he didn’t have time to deal with that, not if he was going to keep her safe. The assailant reached with his left hand into his pocket and came up with a switchblade. Knife open, he lunged at Jack. The aluminum bat rang with a pronounced ‘thwack’ as Jack hit the housebreaker’s other arm. Again, the crunch of breaking bone and the sound of an agonized scream filled the room, blending with the reverberation of the bat. The knife fell, blade down, into the carpet and stuck into the floor. Turning to run, the intruder tripped over his own feet and landed face down on the hall carpet. “Stay down if you know what’s good for you,” Mike warned. But the intruder obviously didn’t know what was good for him. He pushed himself up on his knees and rose less than smoothly to his feet before he began running. Jack followed him. 183

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The assailant didn’t get far. Aaron met up with him just around the corner. Jack watched as Aaron’s ghost took possession of the intruder’s body. The man obviously fought the possession, continuing down the hall into the living room, convulsing before he fell to his knees, then face-down onto the floor. The man’s agonized scream blending with the howl of the wind. Jack knelt on the floor and rolled the assailant over. “I’ll hold him,” Aaron said out of the intruder’s mouth. “You get some duct tape and fasten his legs together so he can’t run. He’s going into shock. The arms are no problem. They hurt too much for him to move them. But they ought to be immobilized to keep them from being further damaged.” “Mike, where’s the duct tape?” Jack asked out loud. “Laundry room, top drawer of the cabinet beside the washer,” Laura said from just behind him. “There’s a pair of scissors there, too. You go get on some clothes. I’ll take care of this.” Jack turned to look at Laura. She’d taken a moment to pull on her nightgown before following them out of the room, making him painfully aware of his own nudity. She’s going to hate me for my part in this. Why in the world did I ever agree to letting Mike use my body? “Laura, I…” “It’s okay, Jack. Go put on something. We’ll talk about this later. Aaron, can you hold him?” “No problem, Laurie,” Aaron answered from inside the assailant. “I’ll be right back then with tape and scissors,” she said as Jack headed to the guest suite. **** Oh, my! she thought, unable to take her eyes off Jack’s male and muscular backside. He really was a beautifully 184

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made man. What have I done? Oh, Adonai! she thought with a mental groan. What have I done? She felt her face grow hot with the memory of touching Mike by stroking Jack’s body, of having Mike touch her, kiss her, make love to her, from within Jack’s form. It had been Mike, and yet very different. Because it was Jack, not Mike, you were touching, idiot! It had been Mike in my bed with me. And yet, it hadn’t. Oy! What have I done? “Laurie?” Mike demanded breaking into her thoughts. “We need to get this man under control.” “This is confusing, Mike. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” “This is almost over, Laurie,” her brother-in-law’s spirit assured her from within the attacker. “Go get the tape.” She nodded and went quickly towards the utility room. She closed and locked the front door on the way through. Armed with her first aid kit and the roll of three-inch wide gray duct tape and her large scissors, she returned to the living room. “Ankles, just below and above the knees, and around thighs, Laurie. Firm but not tight, three rounds of tape each place,” Mike instructed. “That way he can’t move. But don’t shut off the flow of blood. We don’t want to hurt him unnecessarily.” “How do you know so much about it?” Laura demanded of her husband’s spirit. “This was how we were done before being shot. It was very effective,” Mike told her. Laura shuddered. She didn’t want to remember that from the police reports. She had made herself put it out of her mind. 185

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Jack returned to the room. She looked up at him in time to watch Mike take possession of Jack’s body once more. She forced herself to continue working on immobilizing the man. When she had finished his legs, she went to work on splinting his shattered arms. Mike/Jack knelt on the floor next to her. They worked in silence. Finally, she put cushions under the man’s legs, raising them above his heart and covered him with a blanket. “He’s in shock. We need to get him help.” “No one can come right now, Laurie. It’s not even possible for the ambulance to get here,” Mike said from inside Jack. “Have you even looked outside?” “This guy got here. Surely an emergency vehicle could.” Mike sighed. “Maybe.” “He’s in shock. He’ll die if we don’t do something for him. I’ve done all I can do. He needs help. Not getting it for him will be the same as killing him, Mike. I can’t live with that on my conscience. And I doubt that Jack could either.” “Call 9-1-1 then.” “I hate to do this. But I don’t see any choice.” She went to the phone and picked up the receiver. Then she put it back down. “Aren’t you going to call?” Mike’s voice demanded. “The line’s dead. You think he did something to the service coming into the house?” “Right now, it doesn’t matter. The phone is out.” She went for her purse. “Let’s see if I can raise anyone on the cell phone.” Hearing a carrier signal, she dialed 9-1-1. “EMS.” 186

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Laura’s voice was shaky when she spoke. “This is Laura Hall at 359 Maple. I need a police unit, paramedics, and an ambulance at my house.” “Ma’am? What’s the emergency?” “I’ve had an armed assailant here. He was armed with both a pistol and a large knife. In disarming him, both his arms have been shattered. He’s in shock and needs medical attention urgently.” “Ma’am, I’m showing this as a cell phone call. Do you have a landline number?” “It’s dead at the moment.” “Okay. 359 Maple?” “Yes. Please come as soon as you can. I’ve done what first aid I know how to do, and I’ve taken precautions to keep him from hurting anyone else.” “Do you know his name? Can you give a physical description of him?” “I haven’t even removed the ski-mask from his head.” “I see. Why don’t you do that?” “Okay.” Laura pulled the ski-mask away from his throat and face, leaving it on his head. “He’s no one that I know. Male, late twenties, five seven, hundred and fifty pounds, maybe. But he needs medical attention now,” Laura said. “Please send help. I wouldn’t have called now, breaking Shabbat, if it wasn’t necessary to save a life.” “Yes, ma’am. You know that we’re in the middle of the worst blizzard in recorded area history?” “If you can come, please come. I’m afraid he’ll die if he doesn’t get to a hospital soon.” **** Coffee. I need coffee, Mike thought. 187

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The slow cooker let up a cloud of fragrant steam as he lifted the glass lid. He ladled the dark liquid into a cup and added a generous amount of both nondairy creamer and sugar before he put the glass lid back onto the crockery. It’s good to feel again. Maybe I won’t give Jack his body back. “I’ll fight you, if you try,” Jack warned silently. “I may or may not be able to force you out, but I can make you sorry if you don’t keep your word to me.” Mike nodded Jack’s head and spoke to him in the silence of their minds. “I didn’t think it would be so tempting.” “Resist. You asked for a loan, not a gift. You can’t have my body permanently.” “Sorry, Jack. Yes, I’ll leave you after havdalah. Just let me have this time with Laurie. You’ll have her for the rest of her life. Let me have the rest of this Shabbat, please.” “But you will leave me after havdalah?” “Yes.” “Mike,” Laura, unaware of the mental debate between her late husband and her friend, said in a low voice as she stood beside him and ladled herself a cup of coffee. “It would be better if you let Jack speak when the emergency services people arrive. No one has to know that you’re here. That would be very hard to explain.” “You’re right, Laurie. When the police get here, Jack will handle this.” She sipped her coffee. “Any idea who he was?” “Another paid assassin.” “Yeah, I figured that out. How did he get in?” “With a key,” Mike said, with obvious reluctance while keeping his voice low so not to be overheard by the assailant. 188

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“That’s silly. No one but the kids have keys to our house. I had the place re-keyed after the murders, just to prevent the murderer from getting in.” Then she paused and the realization dawned. “No, that couldn’t be.” Mike/Jack nodded. “I’m afraid it is.” “Which?” Laura asked, her voice tight. “You know, if you think about it, Laurie.” “The shock and horror on Sarah’s face when I showed back up at her house that Friday. I thought that reaction was way over the top, but wrote it off to new mother hormones. Was it more than that?” Mike/Jack sighed. “Yeah, Laurie. I’m afraid so.” “Is Sam involved?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer. She didn’t want to think their son could be capable of this. “Just Sarah. He doesn’t know about this.” “This will destroy him,” Laura said her voice pained. “Mike, we have to keep him from learning about her actions. And we have to stop Sarah from doing more harm.” “I don’t know that we can keep this from Sam. But we can stop Sarah.” “How long have you known about her?” Laura demanded of her late husband’s spirit. “We saw it last night for the first time, with the possibility that she’d be caught coming to the forefront. The future is always shifting until it becomes the present. It’s real hard to know what’s going to happen.” “As your mother reminded me, the word of a ghost carries no weight in court. Going to the police on this wouldn’t be productive. We don’t have any evidence aside from the key, and that’s not really evidence. She could argue that it had been stolen from them, or lost.” Laura walked over to the table and put down her cup of coffee. 189

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She sighed raggedly. “I don’t know how to handle this, Mike.” “Mom, Dad, and Lisa have already gone there to confront and rebuke her.” Laura sighed. “That’s going to literally scare Sarah to death.” “Possibly,” Mike allowed. “Probably. If she doesn’t have a heart attack or stroke right then from the fright, there’s a good chance that she’ll have a full mental breakdown when faced with the three of them. If none of that happens, there are other options, most of which end in Sarah’s death.” “How do I deal with this?” Laura asked. The sirens grew close. “The same way you handle anything else. With dignity,” Jack’s voice said as Mike backed away from him. “Everyone’s going to think that we are lovers, Jack.” “Let them. It isn’t technically inaccurate. We did make love. Besides, I do love you,” Jack spoke. “If that’s not being lovers, I don’t know what is.” Her face grew warm as she recalled Mike having come to her bed in Jack’s body. “How much do you remember from the time that Mike was in control of you?” “All of it.” “I see,” she said, feeling herself become even more embarrassed than before. “This is like a very bad dirty joke. A woman, her dead husband’s ghost, and her suitor, three of them in a bed, sharing passion. Only the joke’s on me.” “I’m not laughing,” Jack said in a quiet voice. “I’m not laughing at all. This isn’t how I would have preferred to have it happen.” “No,” she sighed. “But when does life give us our preferences?” 190

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“Not very often.” “You know as well as I do, it takes one of three things to make a valid marriage—ketubah, an exchange of money, and the acceptance of sexual favors,” Laura said, her voice tight. Jack nodded in agreement. “Any of them makes a valid kiddushin. Ideally you’d have all three and in that order— contract, the wedding ring standing for the money, and then sex. You know the commandments as well as I do.” “I doubt that. I’m not a rabbi,” Laura teased him. Jack smiled and nodded. “No. But you’re a righteous woman.” “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Jack. I’m just flesh and blood.” “I don’t want you on a pedestal, Laura. I want you right beside me, always, publicly and privately. Whether we like it or not, under the commandments the sex between us binds us together. We both know that.” “I was making love with Mike, not with you,” she protested. “It was my body, Laura. And I have full memory of it and of your body.” She sighed. “This all gives me a headache. Arguing this before a beit din would be a nightmare.” “Dybbuks are not all that common, no,” Jack said with strained amusement in his voice. “Do you think this is funny?” Laura demanded, heat in her voice. “Not really. This is as close to a shotgun wedding as any ghost has ever orchestrated.” Laura closed her eyes for a moment. “Michael, did you do this to me on purpose?” But Mike didn’t answer her. 191

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The sirens got loud. They were clearly just outside the house. A solid police style pounding came at the door within a minute. **** It was after eleven a.m. before the last of the police officers left. The storm continued in near white-out levels, making it unsafe for anyone to travel in, if they didn’t absolutely have to. She didn’t envy the officers driving in this. It had been dangerous to ask them to come here. But this was their job. And the housebreaker had needed to go to the hospital. “Are you ready for some lunch?” “Yes,” Mike’s voice answered from within Jack. “Then let’s eat, sweetheart.” After the meal was over and they’d bentsched, sang the long after meal grace birkat ha-mazon, Laura said, “Come hold me, Mike. Love me. Just once more.” They shared the bedroom in the guest suite because Laura couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in her own bed, the bed she would have died in if Mike and Jack hadn’t saved her. But none of them slept. **** Mike/Jack and Laura did the ritual of havdalah, marking the end of Shabbat that evening. “Another week begins,” Laura said. “Yes. And major decisions have to be made, Laura,” Jack said. Laura looked at him and sighed. “Mike’s left you?” “He has. He asked to be here until the end of Shabbat.” Laura sighed although she wanted to cry. Mike could have at least said goodbye. But then, he’d never been good at goodbyes. “I see. Are you hungry, Jack?” “I could eat.” 192

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“Then let’s fix supper, okay?” “I don’t cook.” “Then it’s time that you learned. Mike made me learn how to do home repairs and work on cars. You can learn to cook and sew. Both of those are life skills.” Jack laughed. “You planning to keep me around?” “Do I have any real choice in the matter?” she asked, with only acceptance in her voice. “I won’t hold you to this, if you don’t want to be held. I can always give you a get. No one except the beit din would be any the wiser about this.” “We both know that’s not true. This will be all over town by the end of the week. Too many people know you were here overnight and in my bedroom. The account of your stopping this man who tried to kill me will be in the paper and on the radio and television. And then the gossip will begin.” “No one likes being the subject of gossip.” Laura shook her head. “People talk, Jack. We can’t change that. Everyone will know that you were here and in my bedroom in the very early morning. Your kids and mine will hear about this. It’s too juicy for someone of their old friends not to call them and spill the beans. The only thing that moves faster than gossip in this town is light. With this being so publicly known, we have to be careful not to cause our actions to defame Hashem.” “There is that to consider. But we only have two honorable courses of actions. One is for me to give you a get, to release you from this obligation to me. The other is to simply draw up the ketubah and arrange for the public celebration of the marriage,” Jack offered.

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“Let’s think about this, okay? I don’t want to do anything hasty and make a serious mistake, either way. I like you, Jack. You’re dear to me.” He smiled at her. “And you’re dear to me.” “I might, with time, even come to love you the way a man deserves to be loved by his wife. I had to learn to love Michael. So, I know that it’s possible to learn to love a man.” Jack looked at her. “When do you think you might have a decision for me?” “Soon. There’s just a lot on my plate right now. I have so many issues to resolve.” “Selling the factory, getting your own business established, dealing with your daughter-in-law, and me. What am I missing?” She sighed. Laura didn’t want to tell him this, but felt she had to. “I need to watch the lottery drawing tonight.” He wore a puzzled smile. “Why?” “Rivka gave me numbers for the drawing. Said they were the winners. And that they’d be the only winning combination. I bought the ticket with those numbers.” Jack looked at her for a long moment. She could practically read the questions in his eyes. Then he smiled at her, genuinely. “So, you’re going to be rich.” “If I haven’t totally lost my mind, yes.” “You haven’t lost your mind, Laura.” “I wish I could be sure of that. Whether this wins or not will be evidence one way or another.” He reached out for her and pulled her into his arms. Jack kissed her temple. “You are the sanest person I know.” “Considering you spend most of your days with college kids or patients in your clinical psychology practice, I’m not 194

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sure that’s a ringing endorsement,” she teased as she snuggled more deeply into his embrace. Jack laughed. “It will be okay, you know.” “I wish I knew that. I really do.” She stepped away from him and looked at him. “It was you, and not Mike, swinging that bat, wasn’t it?” “It was.” “I haven’t even thanked you for saving my life.” “Gratitude,” Jack said in a tight voice, “is not what I want from you.” “You have it anyway. Thank you, Jack.” **** They sat in her media room watching the drawing with Laura’s lottery ticket in front of them. The numbers all came up. The ticket was a winner. She switched the station to the channel that was all weather. She needed to find out how long this storm was expected to last. “You’re wealthy, Laura,” Jack said. “Appears that way. I still have a hard time believing it,” she said as she looked at the local weather report. “That doesn’t look good. The storm’s going to hang around for a while.” “Mike said it will last until Monday.” She sighed. “Well, there’s food in the house and so far we haven’t lost power. So, this is good.” “Will you take the installments or the lump sum with the jackpot?” “Probably the lump sum. I should net sixty million out of it after taxes.” Jack nodded. “That’s a lot of money. What do you want to do with it?”

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“Put enough back to live comfortably for the rest of my life on the income alone, then set up a trust with the rest to help people.” “Sounds like a very good plan. Many people would only think of themselves. That’s one of the things I love most about you, Laura. You always think about others.” “The Hall Charitable Trust, I’m going to call it. I think. In memory of Rivka, David, Aaron, Lisa, and Michael.” “That sounds appropriate. What exactly do you want the trust to do?” “It will provide zero interest loans to Jewish women for college and vocational school expenses. The loans will be repaid so that the principal will be maintained. It will be a revolving fund. Over time, the value of the principal will decline with inflation. But the nominal dollar amount should remain steady. Enough of the principal can be invested to provide the operating expenses of the trust so office costs don’t eat into the principal sum.” “You’re better with money than I am.” “Money is my business. I need to get Sam to draw up the trust papers and to get the Treasury recognition as a charitable trust, then we’ll be able to operate.” “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?” Jack asked in a thick voice. “Probably just as much as I want you to. And it won’t stop there, if we start. We both know that.” “Are you telling me you want me?” Her cell phone rang. Laura felt herself smile at him as she answered the phone on the second ring. “Laura Hall.” “Mom. It’s me,” Sam said. His voice sounded stressed. “Sammy, what’s wrong?” “Sarah’s in the hospital. It’s bad.” 196

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Laura drew a deep breath. “How bad, Sammy?” Sam’s voice broke. “They don’t think she’s going to make it through the night.” “What happened?” “The doctors say she had a stroke, a major one. They showed me the CT scan of her brain. It’s bad, Mom.” “I’m so sorry, Sam.” “If she lives, she’ll be severely brain damaged, blind, unable to speak or move. A vegetable, maybe not even able to breathe on her own. I’ve told them not to put her on a ventilator. She has to live or die on her own.” “The doctors have been wrong about things like this before.” “It all happened so fast. I found her on the bathroom floor about three hours ago. She had a sudden headache, went to our bathroom to get something for it. I found her ten minutes later, unconscious. She’s in intensive care, now. They just moved her from emergency.” “Oh, Sammy!” “Mom, I don’t know what to do.” “Sounds like you’re doing everything you need to do. Who’s taking care of James?” “I called our regular sitter. She’s at home with him.” “Okay, at least he’s home and safe.” “Hold on, Mom. A doctor’s coming. I have to talk to him. Let me call you back.” Laura looked at Jack. “Sarah had a stroke. She’s not expected to live.” “I see,” he said as he took her hand in his. “This may be for the best.” Laura sighed raggedly. “It may be. But it’s going to be hard on Sam.” 197

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“Not as hard as having to endure the knowledge of what she’s done to his family.” “I know. There isn’t enough evidence to even think about charging her. Let alone trying her. She’s not stupid. Sarah has a good legal mind. She and Sammy graduated as second and third in their law school class, respectively. If she did this, and the ghosts say she did, then she’s covered her tracks.” “No one can cover their tracks that well. Every criminal slips up. Sarah slipped up when she let you see her reaction that day the rest of the family was killed.” “If things can resolve without Sam ever knowing about this, and with Sarah no longer a threat, I’ll be happy.” The phone rang again. “Sam?” “Mom, she’s gone,” Sam said, tears in his voice. “May the Lord comfort you and all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem,” she told him in Hebrew, the traditional greeting for mourners. “At least she died attended, Sammy. There will be no need for the Clark County Coroner’s Office to be involved here. The attending physician will sign the death certificate. You won’t have to face an autopsy.” Sam sighed. “There is that mercy. I have to arrange for the funeral. I’ll call you back when I have the plans made.” “We’re snowed in here, Sam. The storm is fierce enough that people are being told to stay in and not to travel. It’s supposed to last until Monday.” “I doubt that the funeral will be before Tuesday, at the earliest. I have to reach Sarah’s brothers, Ben and Isaac. If you’re snowed in, Ben may be as well. This will all revolve about when they all can get here.” 198

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“Make the plans, and let us know. I’ll call our side of the family so you don’t have to make those calls.” “That will help. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this, Mom. We’re still digging out of the medical bills from Sarah’s pregnancy.” “Don’t worry about money. I’ll pay for her funeral and settle your debts.” “You don’t have that kind of money sitting around.” “You let me worry about my money. I have more than you know about. I won the lottery tonight.” “You did what?” Sam asked in a shocked voice. “I know you heard me.” “I don’t believe this. You always said that the lottery was a sucker bet.” “Well, I’m a sucker, then. I had a hunch and spent a dollar.” “How much did you win?” “The jackpot was two hundred million.” Sam was quiet for a minute. “I see.” Then he sighed. “I guess I’ll have to move back home just to chase off the fortune hunters who will be camping on your doorstep.” “I don’t think that will be a problem, Sam.” “You’re a good looking, rich, widowed woman, Mother. Of course, it’s going to be a problem,” Sam replied. “You were married most of your life. What could you possibly know about sex?” Laura laughed. “Sammy, listen to yourself. You aren’t making any sense.” “You and Dad were fourteen when your ketubah was signed. You’ve spent most of your life in the protected status of a married woman. Things have changed in the last forty years, Mom. You need someone to protect you.” “I’m a big girl, Sammy. I can manage my own affairs.” 199

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“It’s affairs you don’t need to manage,” Sam teased. “Don’t worry about my love life, Sam. I’ve got that under control. In fact, I’m seeing someone.” “You’re what?” “Jack Decker and I are keeping regular company.” Jack took her hand in his and squeezed it. “Yuri and Rachel’s dad?” Sam choked out. “Yes.” “How did that happen?” “The Golds were matchmaking.” “Does Doctor Decker know that you are rich?” “Yes.” “He’s a good man, Mother. But are you serious about him?” “Maybe. We’re talking about getting married.” He was quiet for a long moment. Then her son sighed. “It’s your life, Mom.” “Yes, it is.” “I have to make funeral plans.” “Let us know.” “I will. Love you, Mom.” “I love you, Sammy.” He hung up. The ghosts shimmered in, all five of the Hall ghosts. Laura looked at them. “Did you scare Sarah into that stroke?” Rivka nodded. “It looks that way. We knew it was a risk when we confronted her.” Mike came over and took over Jack’s body once more. He reached out and touched her face. She placed her hand over his. “I miss this, Laurie. Touching you, having you touch me.” “You can’t stay here, Mike.” 200

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He pulled her into his lap and held her. His lips closed over hers in a kiss that was a bittersweet goodbye. He broke the kiss and snuggled her closer to him. “We promised each other forever.” She put her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes, we can’t keep the promises we make. I’ve loved you most of my life. But it’s time for both of us to move on.” “I know,” Mike said, his voice choked. “I’d hoped that we would grow old together and pass peacefully into the world to come in each other’s arms in our bed at the ripe old age of one hundred and two.” She blinked back tears for the years they might have had, the years that had been stolen from them. “What might have been could destroy me, Mike. I can’t let myself think about it.” “Are you in love with Jack?” “More so than I was with you when the ketubah was signed. Love will blossom between Jack and me. We have a good foundation of friendship and mutual attraction to work from. I’m willing to let love grow at its own rate.” “He’ll be good for you. You’re safe and settled. That’s all we wanted. We love you, Laurie,” Mike told her. “I’ve loved you, Mike, and your family. But it’s time for you to go to your rest now. I don’t need you here. And you no longer need to be here. Shalom.” Peace. “Mazel tov, Laurie,” David, Rivka, Aaron, and Lisa said together. “Shalom.” The four of them faded out. Michael looked at her from within Jack’s eyes. “I hate goodbyes. This one more than any I’ve ever had to say. I don’t want to leave you.” “Mike, if it were possible for you to stay, I’d want you with me. You know that. If you don’t go now, I’m not sure 201

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I’m strong enough to ever send you away. You stayed around to make sure I was safe and settled. I’m both of those. Now, go, please. Before I beg you to stay.” A bright light filled the room. “Michael, it’s time,” a kindly, but firm, baritone voice said from within the light. “Come.” Mike kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Goodbye, Laurie.” And then both he and the bright light were gone. Tears streamed down her face as she snuggled deeper into Jack’s strong embrace. Jack kissed the top of her head then snuggled her closer to him. ~~~~~~~~

Epilogue December 25 The First Night of Chanukah Laura’s house They’d lit the Chanukah lights at the synagogue, then come back here and lit them. The last week had been difficult. But Jack had flown to Las Vegas with her for Sarah’s funeral and for Laura to help out there for a few days. Then they had flown home two days ago. In February, Sam would be moving back home and into Laura’s house. Jack and Laura sat across the dinning room table from one another enjoying the meal they’d made together for them to celebrate this first night of Chanukah. Rather, Laura had cooked, and Jack sat there doing little things as she gave him tasks. It took longer for her to teach him a new skill than for her to do things herself, but she hoped 202

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he’d get faster with practice. Anyway, it was good to have company in the kitchen. Laura left the table at desert time and retrieved a box from the sideboard. It was wrapped in blue silk and ribbons. She put it in front of him. “What’s this?” “Chanukah gift. Open it.” “I didn’t get you anything.” “I have everything I need. Open the box. Please.” “This is important to you.” “Yes.” He untied the ribbon and unwrapped the box. Then he lifted the lid. Inside were a selection of her handmade chocolates and another smaller rectangular box. Jack picked up one of the heart shaped chocolates and bit into it. “White chocolate and almonds,” he said with a low moan of pleasure. She reached across and took one of the pieces of her special chocolates. “These are good. But I think you’ll like what’s in the other package better.” “What is it?” “Unwrap it and find out,” Laura told him with a laugh in her voice. Chuckling, he unwrapped the package and opened it up. He looked through the contents of the folder. “Cruise tickets for next August?” “Thought it would be a good honeymoon.” His slow smile filled her with joy. He looked at the tickets. “Alaska in mid August?” “They tell me it’s beautiful traveling the Inside Passage from Seattle up to Alaska.” “So I hear.” “The meals are kosher.” 203

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He chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d book us in anywhere where keeping kosher would be a problem.” “Do you like your present?” “Love it. When were you planning on the wedding?” “Three days before we sail. That will give us time to travel.” Jack nodded. “I wish the wedding could be sooner.” “I want my children at my wedding. They’ll still be mourning their father until the end of July. Besides, planning this far ahead, we should be able to get all the kids here, mine and yours, as well as your brothers and sister. Yuri’s Hannah would have had the baby by then and be able to travel again. We can sell your house and buy something that will be just ours, so we can start fresh in a new house that doesn’t give either of us any memories but what we make there together.” Jack took her hand in his. “Yeah, all of that will take time.” “Are you done with dinner?” He nodded. After the long after meal grace, Laura and Jack went back to her living room. The Chanukah candles had long since burned out. Laura turned to him. “I was just thinking that the shehecheyanu has new meaning for me this year.” Jack closed the distance between them. He touched her face. “We do have a fresh cause for blessing Hashem for keeping us alive, sustaining us, and enabling us to reach this season.” “May we reach many more seasons together.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

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About Cassie Walder (Dame Bloodstone) Cassie Walder has published a number of works small press publishers. Her erotic vampire romance, Dream Lover received a highly recommended review from Midwestern Book Reviews/WordWeaving. Sensual Romance says of the book that readers will gain “a whole new perspective” on creatures of the night. Of the action-packed thriller sequel, Dream Job, Harriet Klausner raves, “Adept Cassie Walder interlaces erotic scenes within a strong supernatural romantic suspense plot that will send the audience into the night searching for the author’s other novels.” Romantic Times BOOKclub gave the holiday anthology Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh, including Cassie’s novella “Gift of Frankincense”, a 4 ½ star review and chose it as a November 2003 Top Pick. The Romance Studio calls The Peasant’s Wise Daughter “simply a fantastic read.” [email protected], one of the largest general and most active reader lists for the sensual/erotic romance genre, is owned by Cassie. In addition to being a member of the Jewels of the Quill, Cassie is also a member of Sensual Romances. The SRN newsletter reaches more than 400 subscribers. Cassie is also a member of Divas of Romance and Flowersandhearts.com. For more information about Cassie and her work, visit her websites: http://www.cassiewalder.net, http://www.sensualromances.com http://www.flowersandhearts.com/cassiewalder.htm. 205

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WINTER ENCHANTMENT by Jane Toombs (Dame Turquoise) After dismissing Jacob, his valet, for the night, Robert Gregory, Earl of Malden, strode to one of the narrow windows in his bed chamber and pulled back the burgundy draperies to stare into the darkness. Earlier, he had glimpsed the evening star through the scudding clouds but now the clouds had thickened and he heard the whisper of snow being driven against the window panes. Lord Malden’s mood was as dark as the stormy night. December had once been a month of joyousness in Malden Hall, but there would be scant joy this year. He had no spirit left for the trappings of Christmas, no one to wish well and, God knows, enough enemies to wish him ill. The winter wind swept round the great house like the avenging hawk on the Gregory family crest. The hawk in flight was a symbol of the family motto: Vindex injuriae. An avenger of wrong. Lord Malden smiled grimly. Most of his thirty years had been dedicated to being faithful to that motto. He would never have been able to return to this, his home, otherwise. In the end he had triumphed, crushing those 206

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who had paupered his father—a disgrace that led to the early deaths of both his parents, and his ailing elder brother as well. He had been the last of the Gregorys, a friendless, penniless orphan of thirteen, wanted by nobody. Look at him now! Today he was one of the wealthiest men in England and, even more important to him, he had forced the usurpers from his family’s estate, and thus returned in triumph to the place of his birth. More than once Malden Hall had been described as “a gloomy pile of stones situated at the end of nowhere,” but this was his home and, by the grace of God, a lifetime of damn hard work and a bit of luck, it was now his for good and all. He had achieved his revenge completely on his own; he had never once asked for assistance, nor would he. To Lord Malden, seeking help was a sign of weakness, besides being an invitation for someone to betray him. Now, at last, it was over. Everything he had vowed to accomplish was done. What did he care if everyone he knew and, quite likely, many who were complete strangers, thought him a curmudgeon or worse? He had no need for friends. No need at all. As he allowed the draperies to fall back into place and turned from the window to warm himself at the fire, he was startled by the sound of a despairing yowl, followed by a thudding crash coming from the next room. More accustomed to acting on his own, rather than ringing for servants, he threw open the connecting door to the unused sitting room. A bedraggled cat crouched in the unlit grate of the fireplace, its fur damp and streaked with soot. The animal’s green eyes stared warily at him, obviously considering him a threat. 207

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“How the devil did you get in here?” he muttered, even as suspicion flared in his mind. One of the servants had placed the cat in the room with the intent of bedeviling him. No, they would never dare! Incredible though it seemed, the cat must have fallen down the chimney. His harsh words had alarmed the cat into flattening its ears and growling. Lord Malden’s annoyance fled. He found himself shaken by a sudden sweep of sympathy for the forlorn animal. How well he knew the feeling of being cornered by an implacable enemy! Besides, you could trust an animal to be true to his nature. Unlike humans, they never sought to deceive or betray you. He pondered what he should do for a moment before finally sitting on the floor, hoping to look smaller and less threatening to the frightened cat. Recalling the way his father’s old groom had once calmed a panicked horse that had badly injured one of the stable boys, Lord Malden began to speak in a low soothing voice. “There, now, puss, you have a friend, yes, you do. No one will hurt you as long as you have me to protect you. No one will dare hurt you. Come, puss, come to me.” The cat’s ears perked up and the growling stopped. Pleased at the response, Lord Malden went on crooning to it, scarcely aware of what he was saying, intent on winning the cat’s confidence. When the animal finally crept cautiously from the fireplace and inched toward him, he slowly offered his hand for the cat to sniff. Very carefully he smoothed the matted fur behind the cat’s ears until, reassured, the cat crawled onto his lap and began to purr. Eventually he was able to carry it into his bed chamber and lay it on the bed while he gently brushed off the worst of the soot with a towel. 208

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“What shall I call you?” he wondered aloud. “Since you appeared from heaven as if by magic, you shall be Merlin the Magician.” Under the dirt, the cat’s fur seemed to be a pale buff but possibly was white. “Merlin,” he said, sitting on the bed next to the cat, “I daresay we may have to give you a bath to discover your true color.” Merlin looked at him and meowed piteously. Was the poor animal in pain? There were no obvious injuries. There came a light tap at the door. “Milord?” Jacob said. “I thought I heard you call.” He bade Jacob enter. The valet, a handsome young man, stopped short, his mouth gaping open when his gaze fell on the cat. It was the first time Lord Malden had ever seen the usually impassive servant at a loss. “As you can see, I have a visitor,” Lord Malden said. “What do you know about cats, Jacob? My friend Merlin here seems to be in some distress. Perhaps from his fall down the chimney.” Jacob closed his mouth and then the door. Coming to the bedside, he peered at the cat, being careful not to touch it. “Well?” Malden asked after a time. “Milord, I don’t believe uh—Merlin, did you say was the name?—is a tom cat. Toms, to my knowledge, are unable to bear kittens, and I fear this one is about to birth a litter.” “Kittens?” Lord Malden stared at Merlin, who was now crouched on the bed and grunting. He watched in amazement as the unmistakable head of a kitten emerged from the cat’s hind-quarters.

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“Sir, allow me to have one of the maids remove the animal to a more suitable place—I fear she’s ruining your bedclothes.” Lord Malden shook his head. “My bedclothes be damned. She stays here; I refuse to have her disturbed. Since she chose me as her foster father, the least I can do is support Merlin in her travails.” Jacob frowned, his brow clouded, and his face took on an almost pained expression. “If you say so, sir.” “Since I expect her to be hungry once her family has arrived, you might bring Merlin some food—milk and a bit of the fish served at dinner ought to do nicely.” “Certainly, milord.” As Jacob left, Lord Malden asked himself whether what he heard in the valet’s voice had been disapproval or amazement or something else entirely. By God, he thought, Jacob had finally shown some emotion. Jacob and every other servant in the house treated their new employer with stiff propriety. When he returned the month before as master of Malden Hall, he had kept all of the servants who wished to remain, which was everyone but Mrs. Avery’s Abigail and her housekeeper. He realized the servants were afraid to displease him and thus risk dismissal. At least some of them, those dating back seventeen and more years to his father’s time, had cause to fear him. Renfrew, the butler, Emma, the cook, and Lewis, in the stables, had worked for his father, then stayed on after the Averys had forced his parents from their family home. His lip twisted in scorn. Such was human loyalty. As soon as Merlin cleaned her three kittens, two of them rooted blindly at her stomach, found teats and began nursing. The third, smaller than the others, failed even to find its mother. Malden gingerly picked up the tiny kitten 210

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and carefully positioned it in the proper place. He was worriedly watching its struggles to locate milk when someone knocked on his door. “Come in, Jacob,” he muttered, his attention fixed on the kitten. The door opened. “Beg pardon, sir, ’tis Renfrew, not Jacob,” the elderly butler said as he entered the room. He gazed down his nose at the domestic scene on the bed. “Sorry to disturb you, milord, but there seems to be an awkward situation downstairs.” Malden glanced at him. Whatever had happened below must be completely out of the ordinary. “A situation you find yourself unable to cope with, Renfrew? That surprises me.” “Sorry, sir, this is quite beyond my experience. As you may know, the snow is falling heavily.” “And what is difficult about snow, pray tell?” “In this sort of foul weather, I hardly felt we could leave the child on the doorstop, milord.” Renfrew’s words succeeded in capturing Lord Malden’s entire attention. “Child? Child? What the devil are you talking about?” “There came a knocking at the front door, sir.” “I heard nothing.” “Since I was on my way to retire for the night,” Renfrew went on, “it took me some time to reach the door and open it. No one was there. That is, no one old enough to be able to reach the knocker. Whoever had plied it was gone, milord, but I regret to say whoever the person was, he or she left a baby on the doorstep. Unfortunately, I had little choice except to bring the child inside. Because of the snow.” 211

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Lord Malden rose from the bed, leaving Merlin to deal with her brood. “Where is this baby?” he demanded. “Cook has taken her into the kitchen, it being the warmest room in the house.” “Her?” “The child gives every evidence of being a female, sir.” The sooner he cleared up this ridiculous muddle the better. There was bound to be an explanation, and he meant to do all in his power to force it into the open without delay. With a last glance at Merlin and her kittens, Lord Malden let Renfrew lead the way down the back stairs to the kitchen. Not only were Emma and Lewis in the kitchen, but at least half the household staff was gathered near the chopping table where Malden found the cook in the process of fastening a clean linen towel around the baby’s nether regions. Renfrew was correct—the child was undoubtedly a girl. “I take her to be some five or six months old, milord,” Emma said without being asked. “And lucky it is for us, her being big enough to learn to drink milk from a cup.” Lucky? How could Emma use the word in connection with a forlorn, unwanted baby abandoned on a stranger’s doorstep in the midst of a snowstorm? Finishing with the improvised napkin, the cook lifted the baby and held her out to Lord Malden. Too surprised to refuse, he took her and held her at arm’s length. The baby stared wide-eyed at him as she clutched at the sleeve of his dressing robe. Her chin quivered and she began to wail. He didn’t like that above half. Without thinking, he shifted the baby against his shoulder and began to pat her back, trying to soothe her much as he had soothed the cat. “Hush, hush, little girl,” he 212

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said softly. “You’re safe in my house—no one will hurt you.” The baby’s crying gradually lessened and then stopped completely as he continued to speak gently and pat her. Intent on the baby, he only gradually became aware of the gawking servants. “Do any of you know whose baby this is?” he demanded. His question was met with averted eyes and shrugs, but no answers. They might not know who the mother is, he thought, but they give every evidence of having their suspicions. He looked over the assembled servants. “Do any of you have experience in baby care?” he asked. Again no one replied. Gazing at the now drowsy baby, he noticed for the first time that she had a tiny rose-colored ribbon tied in her dark hair. “Listen, little Rosie,” he murmured to her, “my house is open to you. But as far as nurse-maiding goes, you must make do with someone else besides me.” “Pardon, milord.” The timid voice came from a plump red-cheeked girl standing at his elbow. “Me name’s Hilda, and I ain’t never been no nursemaid but I got six wee sisters at home I helped ma with.” Lord Malden promptly handed the baby to her. “Your only duty henceforth will be to care for Rosie. I expect you to feed her and to sleep in the nursery with her. Do you understand, Hilda?” “Yes, sir. I’ll do me best.” He looked up as he heard the repeated banging of the great bronze front door knocker reverberating through the house. Damn, what now? “I believe I shall answer that myself,” he said. Lord Malden marched through the corridors and rooms to the massive double doors in the entry hall with Renfrew 213

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trailing behind. He grasped the right hand knob and flung the door open. “Oh, thank God!” a young woman’s voice cried as, covered with snow, she stumbled inside, half-falling over the threshold. Lord Malden caught her, leaving the butler to wrestle the door shut against the cold blast of the wind. “Steady,” Lord Malden said to the woman. “You’re safe now.” “No, no!” she cried, drawing away from Malden. “I must not abandon poor Owens.” Her green eyes gazed imploringly into his. “Please send someone to rescue my coachman before he freezes to death. He fell just inside your gate, and I was unable to urge him to his feet so I was forced to leave him to go and seek help.” Lord Malden dispatched Renfrew to the kitchen to send two of the footmen to the coachman’s rescue. Keeping an arm around the slight young woman, he led her into the drawing room where the remnants of the evening fire still burned in the hearth. He lit both of the wall lamps above the mantle. “Owens is no longer young,” she said distractedly, ignoring his attempts to remove her hooded cloak so she might better warm herself before the glowing coals. “I do hope they find him quickly for his health is less than robust.” She bit her lip. “I should never have allowed him to attempt this journey but who else was there to drive the carriage?” Lord Malden nodded, not wishing to distress her further by indicating he had no idea what she meant. At last he managed to induce her to part with her now-dripping cloak and, as the hood slipped from her head, his eyes widened. This was no poor storm-tossed waif. Rather she was one of the loveliest young women he had ever seen, slightly bedraggled though she might be. Auburn curls 214

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cascaded over her shoulders, accentuating the vivid green of her eyes. Her long-sleeved, high-necked wool traveling gown, though drab in color, covered a far from drab form. All in all, she was quite fetching. “I must make certain Owens is all right,” she said as she stripped off her gloves. “Will they bring him in through the front door?” “More than likely by way of the kitchen entrance. In the meantime, allow me to introduce—” “Please take me to the kitchen at once,” she pleaded. A niggle of doubt wormed its way into Lord Malden’s mind. Did she intend to make a cat’s paw of him? To bamboozle him? Many men had accused him of being hardhearted so perhaps he was wandering off course with his suspicions, but this worry about an old coachman seemed too much of a good thing. Was he allowing his appreciation of her beauty to blind him to what might well be the truth? Did his snow maiden wish to be taken to the kitchen because she was searching for what she herself had left on his doorstep scant minutes before? In short, was she no maiden at all, but the mother of the abandoned baby? That must be the long and short of it; she had left the baby and now had returned to be certain her child had been found and was being cared for. Or perhaps she had suffered second thoughts about the wisdom of her actions. “I am Lord Malden,” he said curtly, “and this is Malden Hall.” He offered her his arm. “Allow me to show you to the kitchen.” “Miss Julia Frost,” she said, laying a tentative hand on his arm. “I fear I owe you an explanation.” 215

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“Just so.” He clipped the words short and made no further conversation as he escorted her from the drawing room. He sensed she was glancing at him curiously, no doubt noting his changed attitude, and wondering if he had caught out her deception. Did she take him for a fool? Little did she realize that no one had taken advantage of Robert Gregory for many a year. Trust no one was a lesson he had been forced to learn early in life. He thought it unlikely her story of the coachman had been fashioned from whole cloth. Her speech, manner and clothing labeled her as well-bred and Malden Hall was so distant from any other estate of any size that she must have arrived at his gates in a conveyance of some sort and that meant a driver. Whether the driver was a sickly old coachman remained to be seen. “After Owens has been properly taken of,” Miss Frost said, “I intend—” She broke off abruptly and he became aware the baby had begun to cry again. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I trust your family will excuse any inconvenience I might have caused.” “I have no family.” Bitterness edged his words. “A servant’s child, then?” “No.” She was an excellent actress, he admitted to himself. Anyone less easily cozened might very well be taken in by her. He wondered if, once faced with her baby, she would have the gall and the heartlessness to maintain her innocence. He pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, finding the room even more crowded than before. Practically every servant on the staff was now here watching Hilda, who sat on a stool, trying to coax the fretting child 216

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to swallow milk from a mug. Only Jacob seemed to be missing. “As you can observe,” Lord Malden said caustically, “your child is quite well.” “My child?” She looked from him to the baby. “Yes, the baby you abandoned on my front steps not more than thirty minutes ago. Do you take me for a fool, Miss Frost? I saw through your scheme at once.” “Surely you—” The outside kitchen door opened and the two footmen entered carrying an old man. “He’s fair done in,” one said as they laid him on the floor. Julia Frost cried, “Oh!” and rushed to him, flinging herself down at his side and grasping his gnarled hand. “Owens,” she said gently, bending over him, “this is Miss Julia.” Lord Malden frowned at the grizzled coachman, hearing his attempt to speak to Julia end in a fit of coughing. Owens was indeed a sick old man but, fortunately, his was not a churchyard cough; with rest and proper care he should recover. Could I possibly be mistaken about Miss Frost being the mother of the child? Malden wondered. “Renfrew, have Owens taken to one of the guest rooms,” he ordered. “See that a fire is lit and see to it that someone tends him.” He looked at the cook. “Emma, do you know any remedies for lung fever?” Emma, a well-padded woman of a certain age, struggled to her feet. “I do, sir. ’Tis what I plan to dose him with, soon as I put the concoction together.” She turned away and began setting the kitchen girls to various tasks. “Pray tell me Owens will recover,” Julia said, still on her knees beside the old man. 217

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“Emma is an excellent nurse so I have every hope he will.” Tears brightened her eyes. “This is all my fault. If only I had the sense not to attempt so much.” He reached down to help her up, but she shook her head and pushed herself to her feet without his assistance. She drew in a deep breath, her distress replaced by anger. “So you believe this baby to be mine,” she said, nodding at the infant cradled in Hilda’s arms. Lord Malden was nothing if not stubborn. Even though he now doubted his original surmise, like a good soldier he refused to retreat under fire. “That seems the logical assumption, madam,” he told her. “If that is what you think of me,” she said, “then I prefer to chance the storm than to accept the so-called hospitality of Malden Hall.” She whirled away from him and ran from the kitchen. Taken aback, he hesitated before following, reaching the entry in time to see her open the front door and disappear into the swirling snow. **** As soon as the wind-driven snow struck her face, Julia regretted her rash flight from the shelter of Malden Hall. Her anger at Lord Malden had caused her to forget the ferocity of the storm. How insufferable he was! How dare he accuse her of being the mother of that poor abandoned child? It was bad enough for him to believe she was a woman who would have a child out of wedlock, but to also reproach her for abandoning the baby was intolerable. She refused to remain under his roof another moment. She would never go back! Julia pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and, leaning forward into the chill wind, plodded ahead without 218

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any notion where she was bound or what she intended to do when she arrived. If she ever did arrive anywhere in this storm. Without meaning to, she glanced back over her shoulder at the front door and, despite herself, gave a sigh of relief when she saw a dark figure appear in the yellow rectangle of light. “Miss Frost!” Lord Malden called after her. She turned angrily away from him to struggle once more through the deepening snow. She heard his muttered imprecations, then a hand gripped her arm, adding fuel to her anger. Julia swung around to tell him precisely what she thought of him. Before she could speak, he growled, “Come back to the Hall.” So Lord Malden saw fit to command rather than request. “To be insulted by you again, sir?” she asked. His hand dropped from her arm. “I meant no insult.” He had not the slightest intention of apologizing for his unseemly behavior, she decided. What manner of gentleman was this? If he expected her to be all meek compliance, he was sadly mistaken. Without a word, she whirled from him, preferring the fury of the storm to his overweening arrogance. Again, he gripped her arm. Without another word he spun Julia around and, putting his hand beneath her knees, swept her up into his arms. She gasped, surprised by his strength as, pinioned against his body, she struggled to free herself. To no avail. “Are you demented?” Lord Malden demanded as he carried her back toward the Hall. “Has all the world gone mad? First Merlin and then the kittens and then the abandoned baby and now you.” 219

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Shaking his head, he looked up into the whirling snow. “Have I so displeased the gods that they see fit to punish me?” Merlin? Kittens? He must be the demented one. Lord Malden strode through the open door into the Hall, crossed the entry and entered the drawing room where he deposited her full-length on a sofa. Looking up at him towering over her, the melting snow whitening his black hair and leaving beads of moisture on his face, she shivered. Not from fear; his gruffness failed to frighten her. From the chill of the night, then? Or could there be another reason entirely? “Do I have your promise to behave sensibly?” he asked. “Or must I have you locked away for your own well-being?” She sat up. “I give you my word not to bolt again, if you in turn apologize for your baseless accusations.” She could have taken an oath that his glowering face reddened. He started to speak only to hesitate as his gaze remained fixed on her. As she saw his glare soften, her annoyance melted like the snow, and she felt something pass between them—an acknowledgment, an understanding. Nothing like it had ever happened to her in all her nineteen years. “You have my humblest apology,” he said. “The baby girl is certainly not yours. How could I ever have believed it might be? I only wish I knew who the mother was. And the father as well.” “Could the father be Merlin?” she asked. “Merlin? No, absolutely impossible.” His lips twitched, and she thought he was about to smile but he did not.

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“Merlin happens to be a cat who fell down my chimney tonight,” he said, “and a she-cat at that. The mother of three kittens whose father also happens to be unknown.” He drew in a deep breath. “Enough of this maddening mull of babies and kittens. You must be exhausted. Margaret, one of our upstairs’ maids, will show you to your bed chamber and my footmen will bring your belongings to your room. Perhaps the morrow will provide answers to our questions.” **** When Julia woke early to see motes of dust dancing in a ray of sunlight slanting across her bed chamber, she blinked as she sought to recall where she was. Of course, she reminded herself, she had found refuge in Malden Hall, home of the dour but intriguing Lord Malden. She had quite forgiven him for his behavior of the night before, realizing how overwrought he must have been after finding a baby on his doorstep. Throwing back the bedcovers, Julia hurried to the window, her gaze roaming from the pristine whiteness of the snow-covered grounds of the Hall to the branches of evergreens drooping beneath their ermine mantles to the cloudless blue of the sky. As she hurriedly dressed in a simple though, she hoped, flattering white muslin frock, she experienced an unexpected though vivid sense of anticipation. The reason, she admitted to herself, was that very soon she would see Lord Malden again. He seemed so different from other men, proud, with a natural air of command. Yet able to readily admit error. And, of course, though dour he was quite handsome.

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She first sought out Owens, finding the old coachman resting comfortably in the servants quarters on the floor above hers. “And what day is this?” he asked her. “The twenty-second of December.” “Thank God, there still be three days till Christmas; I thought I might have lost a day or two. God willing, I’ll be on me feet afore the holiday. I know your heart’s set on getting to your uncle’s by the twenty-fifth, Miss Julia.” After assuring him that his health was infinitely more important to her than her mission, Julia left Owens to make her way down the sweeping staircase to the breakfast room where Emma came in from the kitchen to inform her that Lord Malden never ate this early; in fact the master of Malden Hall rarely took a morning meal at all. “How surprised I am to see no preparations in the Hall to celebrate Christmas,” Julia said when Emma lingered, seemingly eager to talk. “Nary a one. Not like the old days with the sleigh rides and the feasting and a bit extra in the pockets of us that worked here. ’Twas when the master was a boy, that was, a time of joy and laughter in this house, not like nowadays when all is dark and drear. ’Twere happy days for us all then, make no mistake, miss, though little did we appreciate our good fortune at the time.” As Julia finished her meal of tongue, cold beef, bread, butter, jam and coffee, Emma described in vivid and lengthy detail the overthrow of the Gregorys and the subsequent cold-hearted reign of the off-putting Averys, followed by the recent triumphant return of the only surviving Gregory, the present Lord Malden. “His heart was fair hardened by his adversities,” she said and then, lowering her voice, added, “and there’s some, 222

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mostly them what never knew him in the old days, that say he’s past redemption.” “No one is beyond saving,” Julia said emphatically, “especially not in this season of hope and joy, of birth and new beginnings for all the world. Perhaps it can be for Lord Malden as well.” “Kindness itself he is, underneath his rant and his scowl. Lord-a-mercy, look at how he took to them kittens and then agreed to care for that poor wee tyke out of the goodness of his heart.” “I feel so sorry for that dear little baby with no mother and no father.” Emma again lowered her voice. “Just between you, me and the gatepost, there ain’t much doubt in my mind who the bairn’s mother is.” Almost a year before, she told Julia, one of the upstairs maids, a certain Nellie Carson, had been dismissed by Mrs. Avery when it became obvious she was in the family way. Nellie had dropped from sight after that. “But I hear she’s been seen in these parts lately,” Emma added. “Her people live in Northbury, you know.” “Northbury!” Julia gave every evidence of being startled at the mention of the name of the village. “Is it possible that Malden Hall is near Northbury?” she asked. “’Tis no distance at all; less than three miles as the crow flies, a mite farther by the road through the forest. Most of Lord Malden’s tenants live round about Northbury. ’Tis a bit of a surprise you’ve heard of our wee village.” “Northbury,” Julia repeated. Shaking her head, she thought quickly, unwilling to fabricate but not wanting to reveal the complete truth either. “Northbury was mentioned in a letter from my uncle. I thought it much farther to the west.” 223

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Emma waited expectantly but when Julia offered no more information she said, “As for the father of the babe, like as not he’s one of the servants here at the Hall. As to which one, I got my suspicions but—” Emma stopped abruptly, glancing toward the door. When Julia turned to follow her gaze, she saw Lord Malden in the doorway holding a large wicker basket. “Suspicions are not enough,” he said, speaking to Emma, but with his eyes either unwilling or unable to leave Julia, “if the man refuses to acknowledge his daughter.” “Sad but true, sir,” Emma acknowledged. Lord Malden bowed as best he could to Julia. “This is Merlin and her kittens,” he said with a nod at the basket. “My room is draughty so I decided to bring them to live in Emma’s domain.” At his invitation, Julia accompanied them into the kitchen. When Lord Malden placed the basket near the hearth, she knelt and peered down at Merlin and her three kittens. “How tiny they are,” she said. Lord Malden knelt beside her, his sleeve brushing against her arm making her acutely aware of his presence. “Last night, Merlin plummeted down my chimney as though by magic.” She smiled up at him “His—that is, her—appearance must have been an omen.” “You actually believe in omens?” “Of course. Everything that happens to us has a meaning, nothing occurs merely by chance. And usually omens come in threes. Could it be happenstance that Merlin fell down your chimney and a baby was left on your doorstep on one and the same day? The very same day the sun ended its southward journey and stopped to prepare to return north?” 224

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He raised his eyebrows. “And your arrival was the third fateful event? Yes, you do believe that to be the case, I can read it in your eyes. Yet what do these omens portend, Miss Frost? Do they bode good or ill for Malden Hall?” He sighed. “If our history over the last twenty years is any guide, they bode ill.” “We may never learn precisely what the omens mean, but I prefer to believe they are favorable. Change is coming to the Hall, I suspect, and change for the better, not the worse.” “All life is change,” he pointed out. “A prognosticator who merely foresees change is never in error, and if he at the same time foresees a downturn in fortune, he assures himself of being right more often than not.” “What a gloomy man you are! For my part, I always expect the best. When you look for good fortune you usually find it.” He shook his head as though saddened by this new evidence of the mistaken optimism of youth. He stood. Helping Julia to her feet, he said, “I had your carriage taken into the stables. Unfortunately, one of the boxes in the boot broke open when the carriage left the road in last night’s storm.” Although the gifts in the boxes were probably quite safe in the Malden Hall stables, Julia immediately expressed a desire to see for herself. While the snow-spangled day was too beautiful for her to ignore, she had another reason for proposing an excursion to the stables. If she could but entice Lord Malden away from the dark confines of Malden Hall, perhaps she could work a miracle and brighten his bleak outlook on life.

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As she expected, they found that the beribboned packages had escaped the mishap unharmed. “These are Christmas gifts I was taking to my uncle,” she told him. “Your uncle must be very dear to you to warrant this generosity.” “He is.” Julia realized he expected to hear more of this uncle of hers, but she refused to be drawn out, hoping he was too much of a gentleman to press her. Fortunately, peering into the dark recesses of the stable, she spied a means to divert his attention. “Is that a sleigh?” she asked, knowing full well it was even though its red and black paint was faded, chipped and covered with a thick coat of dust. Nodding, Lord Malden said, “That must be the same sleigh I rode in when I was a boy. I never expected to see it again after all these years.” “With a little soap and water and a coat of wax for the runners, it would be as good as new.” He looked from the sleigh to her. “Do you want to—? Would you like to—?” She nodded eagerly. He frowned and for a moment she thought he was about to have second thoughts, but then he said, “Miss Frost, may I have the pleasure of your company on a sleigh ride?” When she said, “Oh, yes, I’d like nothing better,” he smiled at her for the first time, a rather captivating smile, she decided. If only she could find a way to make him smile more often. **** As they drove between the stone pillars and onto the high road, Julia exulted in the bite of the wintry wind on her face. They had left the somberness of Malden Hall and 226

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entered a silent, magical world of white where the sun reflecting from the snow dazzled her and the only sounds were the snow-muffled beat of the horse’s hooves and the faint hiss of the runners. “At home at this time of year,” she told Lord Malden, “we always burn a Yule log, we decorate the house with pine boughs and with holly, we organize tableaus and we walk from house to house singing carols.” Caught up in happy memories, she sang: “‘God rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.’” “You have a lovely voice,” Lord Malden said. When he glanced at her, his gaze lingering, she felt her face redden. “I recall singing carols when I was a boy—” his voice became softer and sadder, “and listening to stories on Christmas Eve as we gathered around the hearth, my mother, father and brother. Not only the Bible story of the Christ child in the manger, but fairy tales and ancient Celtic myths as well.” When he spoke of those long-ago days, she noticed, his look gentled and he seemed to become younger, almost boyish. “Though Christmas Eve is still two days distant,” she said, “would you tell me one of those tales?” He frowned and she thought he meant to refuse, but then he shrugged. “Your singing did remind me of one story my mother loved to tell,” he said. “I never considered it a true Christmas story, though now I believe it might have been after all. You decide whether it is or not, Miss Frost. “Once upon a time,” he began, “in a land far to the east, there was a small kingdom by the sea. The old king had only one child, a young and beautiful princess, and this princess had three suitors, each of them a handsome prince. ‘The time has come for you to marry,’ the king told his daughter, ‘for I am old and have no son.’ When she agreed, 227

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the king summoned the three princes to his palace and said to them, ‘You are all good and honorable men. If you will each offer my daughter a wedding gift, she will marry the one whose gift most pleases her.’ “So each prince visited the princess in turn. The first offered her great riches, promising her gold and silver and precious stones. The second offered her power, the opportunity to be the queen of a great kingdom. “‘I have no riches to offer you,’ the third prince told her, ‘and, since I am the second son, I possess no kingdom.’ And then he played his lyre and sang to her, the words of the song offering her his love and nothing more.” “And so she chose the third prince,” Julia said. “No, this princess happened to be neither romantic nor sentimental and so she selected the first prince, not so much for his riches, but because she admired the color of his eyes and the curl of his hair.” She stared at him and, seeing him smile, realized he was funning her. “Of course she married the third prince,” he said, “the one who offered her love.” “Just as I would have done,” she said, “since love is so much more important than riches or pride of place.” When he said nothing, she looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that he was deep in contemplation. What thoughts occupied him he did not say nor could she hazard a guess. While he told the story they had been driving through a forest where the trunks and branches of the leafless trees on both sides of the road were etched in black against the white snow and the blue sky, but now the road left the forest and crossed fields divided by hedgerows. When Lord Malden 228

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stopped the sleigh at the crest of a low hill, they looked down at a cluster of houses and a steepled church. “This is Northbury,” he told her, feeling a twinge of guilt at the sight of the village for he realized he had shamefully neglected his tenants during the last few months. He had not even taken the time to call on the new clergyman, a Mr. Davies. “Shall we drive into the village?” he asked. His question was less than innocent, for earlier that morning, when he had paused in the doorway of the breakfast room, his curiosity had been piqued when he chanced to hear Julia exclaim at Emma’s mention of Northbury. How would Julia reply to his suggestion to visit the village? he wondered. When she glanced quickly from the village back to him, much like an animal might when caught in a snare, he had his answer. “I have a better notion,” she said. “Would you think me presumptuous if I suggested you bring a Yule log to Malden House? Instead of driving to the village, we could return to the forest, select a log and you could send men with a team of horses to drag it to the Hall.” A snake of suspicion slithered into his mind. What was she concealing from him? Deciding to approach the matter obliquely, he agreed to her suggestion by swinging the sleigh in a circle and driving back toward the trees. “I suspect Emma told you much of my family history,” he said, “yet I know nothing about yours.” “My family is very ordinary.” She went on to describe a happy childhood in Surrey as the youngest of five children of a country squire whose life centered around his family and his shooting, hunting and fishing. Her two brothers and two sisters had married, leaving her the only child remaining at home. 229

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“Now I know something of where you come from,” he said, “but nothing of where you might have been going when you arrived so unexpectedly at Malden Hall last night.” “Do you prefer seasoned food or plain?” she asked. He cocked a surprised eyebrow at her before answering, “Seasoned.” “I believe that a woman without at least one small secret is akin to food served with no seasoning. For the moment, at least, allow me to keep my secret.” He scowled at this seeming confirmation of his suspicions. Miss Frost might be amiable, was certainly sprightly and charming, and quite fetching in appearance, yet she also gave every evidence of being exceedingly devious. The Devil, he reminded himself, had made use of a woman, Eve, to bring about the fall of man and his expulsion from the Garden of Eden. “Are you, perchance, acquainted with the Averys?” he asked. “The family that wrested Malden Hall from its rightful owners? No, certainly not. I never heard of them until Emma told me the history of Malden Hall this morning.” Should he believe her? She looked so fresh of face, so very innocent, and yet innocence could well be the guise of the practiced deceiver. God knows, though, he wanted to believe her. “Would you force me to reveal every secret of my heart?” she asked him. “I was on my way to my uncle when I arrived by misadventure at Malden Hall. You must be satisfied with that, my lord.” Perhaps a lover awaited her at her uncle’s. If so, what possible concern was it of his? None at all. Then why had he felt a sudden pang of jealousy when she hinted at an affair of the heart? 230

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Enough, Malden, he admonished himself, her romantic intrigues mean nothing to you. She would leave Malden Hall in a day or two and that would be the end of it. “We might drive in that direction,” she said, nodding ahead of them to a track leading deeper into the forest. He guided the sleigh from the road onto a pathway so narrow the branches of the trees met overhead. The snow had not been trampled here and in places the drifts forced their horse to slow. She pointed. “There. That fallen tree might be the very thing.” He stopped the sleigh in a small glade and Julia sprang to the ground without waiting for him to help her, trudging through the snow to the deadfall. “A portion of this log will do,” she said. “You will have it brought to the Hall?” Vexed with her, both for harboring secrets and being unduly forward, he refused to smile at her enthusiasm. Since he’d had considerable practice in not smiling during the course of his life, Lord Malden had little difficulty in accomplishing the feat. He did, in fact, manage to scowl most convincingly. “You look so frightfully serious and out of humor,” she said. “What a stern taskmaster you must be.” Lord Malden started to protest that he was not in the least an overbearing master, that she misunderstood his character completely. Before he could utter a word, however, she reached down, packed snow into a ball and threw it at him. He ducked, the snowball narrowly missing. He walked toward her, a hand held up in front to ward off further missiles. Again, laughing, her face flushed, Julia packed a snowball and hurled it at him, the ball grazing his shoulder. When he was a few feet from he, Lord Malden stopped to lean over and scoop up snow in both hands. 231

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Then he advanced on her while she backed away, shaking her head, still laughing, teasing him as she dared him to do his worst. All at once, Julia stumbled over a root hidden by the snow and fell backwards. He rushed to her, letting the snow fall to the ground as he knelt at her side. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. Looking up at him looming over her, Julia drew in a breath, then nodded. Lord Malden picked up more snow, raising his hand threateningly above her as though to wash her face and she gasped. His gaze held hers, his brown eyes mesmerizing in their glittering intensity. His face softened and, when he leaned down to her, Julia found herself unable to speak, unable to move, not knowing what to expect. The only sound she heard in the forest was the rapid beating of her own heart. Leaning still closer, his cold lips touched hers in a tender, fleeting caress. She turned her head away, not because she wanted to but because she realized she should. His hands cradled her head, the snow cold on her cheeks as he turned her face so she looked up at him. Before Julia could protest, he kissed her slightly parted lips, this time with passion rather than tenderness. His kiss seeking, demanding. An answering passion swept through her and before Julia could prevent herself she responded ardently. A belated prudence finally made her pull away but she feared it was far too late. What must he think of her! For a time neither of them spoke, neither of them moved, and then Lord Malden pushed himself to his feet and reached down to help her stand. Julia hesitated before allowing him to clasp her hand and pull her up beside him. “Allow me,” he said, reaching over to brush the snow from her coat. 232

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Julia shook her head, not trusting how she might respond if she allowed him to touch her, and stepped away, brushing off the snow herself. Suddenly awkward with one another, they walked to the sleigh without speaking and soon were on their way back to Malden Hall. Lord Malden was shaken. Never had a woman, much less one of such short acquaintance and one he distrusted, had such a devastating effect on him. He desperately wanted to prolong her visit to the Hall, and vowed he would. Somehow. He could never ask her outright to stay, for Gregorys refused to beg and as a result were beholden to no one. No matter how charming he thought her to be, no matter how enticing, that was the way he was and that was the way he would remain. Yet he longed to do whatever else he could to keep her with him. Julia soon became uncomfortable with the silence. Why was he so reluctant to talk to her? He must still distrust her, but there was no way to tell him what her destination had been and remain at Malden Hall. And Julia intended to remain as long as she could since, from the very first, she had realized this proud and prickly man, with heaven only knew what other faults still unrevealed, touched something within her that no man had ever touched before. “That fallen tree we found in the forest would make a fine Yule log,” she said at last, breaking the uneasy silence. “I intend to have it hauled to the Hall later today.” When she glanced over, she saw him staring straight ahead as though handling the reins required all of his attention. “Besides lighting the logs, we could sing carols on Christmas Eve and present a tableau of the Nativity, as well as have a grand dinner for all of the servants.” She smiled 233

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wryly. “You must consider me terribly presumptuous to be so free with Malden Hall.” I behave almost as though I were mistress there, she chastised herself. “If we did all you suggest the Hall might seem as it did years ago when I was a boy.” “I never attempt to relive the past,” she told him. “When and if I reach the age of three score and ten, perhaps I may see fit to sit before the fire and reminisce, but not before then.” “I must seem ancient to you.” Again, he almost smiled. “No, say nothing, I suspect I might not want to hear your opinion on the matter of my age.” After a pause, he said, “Do whatever you wish for Christmas; consider Malden Hall to be yours to do with as you will until the clock strikes twelve on Christmas night when, I expect, you will disappear leaving me with Merlin, her kittens, and the abandoned baby.” As he spoke an idea occurred to her, an improbable and unlikely scheme. Yet, if she ventured nothing she could gain nothing. And, she was coming to realize, there was so much to gain! “Before my coach turns into a pumpkin,” Julia said, “I may very well be able to discover the identities of both the mother and the father of the baby, thus solving one of your problems.” “If you do,” he said as they drove between the pillars at the entrance to Malden Hall, “you will have convinced me that miracles are still possible.” **** Julia realized she had a great deal to do and very little time in which to do it. Even so she was eager to begin for she had never been able to resist a challenge. 234

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As soon as she returned from the sleigh ride with Lord Malden, she set to work, first enlisting the aid of Emma, Renfrew and Jacob. “The master wants to celebrate the Yule?” an astonished Emma asked. When Julia assured her he did, the cook said, “Lord love us, ’tis a miracle,” slanting a speculative and speaking look at Julia as though wondering what sort of spell she had succeeded in casting on Lord Malden. Did they have a supply of Christmas candles in the Hall? Julia wanted to know. They did not, but as many as needed could be purchased in Northbury. Could holly and evergreen boughs be brought from the forest? They could. Did mistletoe grow nearby? Yes, on some of the hawthorns in a nearby grove. What of a fatted pig and other delicacies for Christmas dinner? There was just such a pig. Were there materials in the Hall to fashion clothes for the tableau of the Nativity scene? If not, they could easily be obtained. There had always been guised dancers in Northbury, Renfrew recalled, but these disguised pranksters had long avoided Malden Hall. Could they be encouraged to reconsider? Julia asked. Renfrew expressed doubts, but he would make inquiries. At last satisfied that all her desired preparations were understood and well underway, Julia climbed the great staircase to her chamber where she wrote two letters, one directed to a resident of Northbury, the other to her father in Surrey assuring him of her safety. As soon as she sealed the letters with wax, she sent a stable boy to Northbury to personally deliver one letter and to post the other. Early the next morning, before Lord Malden was up and about, Edmund, the coachman, was surprised to find himself driving the young Miss Frost to Northbury in the 235

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Malden landau and still more astonished when he discovered the cottage that was her destination. He noted with interest that, as they drove through the village, Miss Frost drew her cashmere shawl up about her face even though the day was not at all windy and, in fact, quite mild for the end of December. When she returned to Malden Hall, Julia discovered Lord Malden waiting for her on the front steps. “The Yule log is in the stable yard,” he told her as he helped her from the carriage, “ready to be brought to the hearth.” She shook her head. “The log must remain outside the house until tomorrow,” she told him, “until the twentyfourth.” At his questioning look, she explained, “A Yule log in the house before Christmas Eve brings bad luck. And, once lit, the log should be kept burning for the entire twelve days of Christmas as a sign of the hospitality visitors will receive at Malden Hall.” Although he raised his eyebrows, he said, “As you wish.” Escorting her into the Hall, at first he watched her preparations for the holiday with amusement, as a parent might observe a favorite child at play, then with some slight degree of consternation. The servants, preoccupied with Miss Frost and Christmas, seemed to forget that he was the master of Malden Hall. But finally, as she asked for his suggestions and advice, he little by little began to help her and, wonder of wonders, found himself enjoying the task. Julia realized she risked having him think her presumptuous, but she was unable to resist seizing this opportunity to celebrate Christmas as she felt it should be celebrated, while at the same time attempting to rescue Lord Malden from his self-imposed misanthropy. Her other objective, one she only half-admitted to herself, was to be with him for as long a time as possible. 236

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At her coaxing, Lord Malden climbed onto a stool in the entry while she handed him branches of holly, the “Holy Tree,” to place atop a portrait of his great-great grandfather. “I often wonder where the custom of decorating with evergreens began,” she said. “Perhaps from Biblical times,” he said, climbing down. “If I remember aright, it was Isaiah who said, ‘The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree and the box, to beautify the place of my sanctuary.’” “I never heard that verse before,” she admitted, surprised that he had. “When I was in search of furs in Canada, I spent a winter in the wilderness with only the Bible as a companion.” Julia knew so little about him, she realized. And wanted to know so much. When she questioned him, he told her, at first reluctantly, but then with fervor, of his years in America, of his success in the fur trade, of his grudging admiration for the savage Indians and of his return to England to become master of Malden Hall. “If there were a mistress at Malden Hall,” Julia said, “she would be the one in command during the next twelve months.” He blinked in confused surprise. “And how did you ascertain that?” “By seeing how smooth the leaves of these holly branches are.” “I suppose if they were prickly the opposite is true.” She smiled. “Exactly. My mother always said that would mean the master would rule until the following Christmas.” 237

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His look was skeptical. “Do you actually believe these superstitions?” “Oh, yes.” She smiled up at him as, on the stool once again, he placed holly over another of his ancestor’s portraits. “At least I do for the most part.” She deliberately teased him, because he seemed so serious, because he obviously did not believe, and yet she told the truth. “There are others. I also believe the Yule log should be lit by a brand from last year’s log. And if an unmarried young lady happens to see an eligible man in a looking glass on Christmas day, that will be the man she marries.” Lord Malden’s look said, What nonsense, but he held his tongue and stepped down from his perch and carried the stool to the archway between the entry and the great hall. “No, no,” she said when he started to mount the stool again, “this is one decoration that must be set into place by a woman, else no good fortune will ensue.” He helped her climb onto the stool, then handed her the kissing bunch, a large and elaborate arrangement of holly, ivy and other greens, of colored ribbons and paper roses, of apples and oranges and three small dolls representing Jesus, Mary and Joseph. “All these odd notions of what represents good and bad fortune and what brings bad must have passed me by unawares,” he said. “Are there still more?” “Many more. When I visited my Aunt Pamela in Derbyshire two Christmases ago, we played an intriguing game. On Christmas Eve, my aunt brewed a posset of boiling milk and ale, bread, ginger, sugar and nutmeg. My uncle placed the bowl in the center of the table, and all the single ladies and gentlemen gathered round. “My aunt then dropped a wedding ring, a bone button and a coin into the bowl, and each of us began to drink by 238

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using a long-handled spoon to dip into the very bottom of the bowl. Whoever brought up the ring would be the first to marry; whoever dipped up the bone was fated to be an old maid or an old bachelor; and the one who retrieved the coin would become the richest.” As she spoke, Julia attached the kissing bunch to a hook in the archway, tied a sprig of mistletoe to the bottom of the bunch and started to climb down from the stool. “Allow me.” He reached up and, as his hands grasped her waist almost girdling it, asked, “Which prize was yours?” Julia seemed unable to speak; he felt her tremble. “Which was yours?” he asked again, gazing into her green eyes. “The bone button,” she whispered. He lifted her from the stool and swung her to the floor so she stood facing him. Forgetting where he was, oblivious to everything but Julia Frost, his arms enfolded her, drawing her to him. “Allow me to prove how misguided these notions are,” he said, leaning to kiss her. For a moment she yearned toward him, then, shaking her head, she pushed him away, turned and ran from the hall. Lord Malden stared after her in dismay, angered at himself. She was a guest in his house, after all, and he had thrown propriety to the winds by attempting to kiss her. Not only had he tried to kiss her, he had done it in a place where anyone might witness his transgression. Yet, he reasoned, she had enticed him by having him help her hang the kissing bunch. She was a temptress; not only a temptress, but a young lady with a penchant for deceiving him. Why had she refused to reveal her reason for arriving at Malden Hall in the midst of a snow storm? 239

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Without a doubt she had used her wiles on some other man, and had been on her way to keep a rendezvous with him when fate brought her here. If only he possessed more experience where young ladies were concerned, he might know how to cope with Miss Frost. He had, however, been so determined to avenge himself and his family that he had had no time to learn the ways of fashionable young women. But did it really matter? In a few days, he told himself, she would leave Malden Hall and that would put an end to his dilemma. He should, he knew, find the thought of her departure comforting. Instead, Lord Malden was devastated at the idea he would never see her again or talk to her again or, yes, he admitted with a rueful sigh, kiss her again. Lord Malden was still entangled in this web of confused conjecture late the following day, Christmas Eve, when he joined the servants and their families in a great hall aglow with the light from a multitude of candles. Outside, the night was clear and cold with a half moon throwing pale shadows across the snow. The wind soughed in the bare branches of the trees and moaned around the eaves and chimneys of the Hall. Julia led Owens, now almost completely recovered from his malaise, into the great hall and escorted him to a straight-backed chair near its center. Her coachman, she explained as she sat on a hassock beside him, wanted to contribute to the festivities and so had agreed to relate Christmas tales he had heard many years before when he was a lad in Cornwall. Owens told them stories replete with portents and wonders, of cocks crowing all night on Christmas Eve and of angels visiting the earth. He told them of a village in Cornwall where the people’s wickedness rivaled that of 240

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Sodom and Gomorrah, a village more evil than any other in all of England. The Lord, greatly displeased, visited the village in the guise of a beggar, but wherever he sought help he was turned away with oaths and blows. In his anger, the Lord caused a great earthquake to destroy the village, burying all the houses beneath many feet of rocks and soil. To this day, Owens affirmed, if on Christmas Eve you go to the place where the village once stood and, on the stroke of midnight, kneel and place your ear to the ground, you can hear the village church bells toll far beneath the earth. He told of cattle kneeling at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve to pay homage to the Christ Child and of birds and animals briefly gaining the power of speech. One farmer, he averred, a wicked young man who had betrayed a woman who loved him, by abandoning her after she gave birth to his child, scoffed at this notion and, to prove himself right, hid in his stable on the night before Christmas. “A few minutes later,” Owens went on, “the wicked young man was amazed to hear his oxen speak. ‘We are going to have a hard and heavy task to do later this week,’ one said. ‘How is that?’ a second answered, ‘since the harvest is in and we have drawn home all the winter fuel from the forest.’ ‘That may be so,’ the first replied, ‘but we shall have to drag a coffin to the village churchyard for our master will most certainly die before the week is out.’ “On hearing this dire prophecy,” Owens told them, “the farmer cried out and fell to the stable floor where he was discovered the next morning, having come to a most untimely end.” The great hall was silent when Owens finished, the assembled servants and guests obviously struck with a sense 241

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of awe and wonderment. Emma sat staring wide-eyed at Owens, Lord Malden noticed, Renfrew rocked slowly back and forth with his arms folded and his eyes closed as he mumbled silent prayers, while Jacob was hunched in upon himself with one hand concealing his face. Even Lord Malden, who deemed himself a modern, rational man, felt his skin prickle when the restless wind came up, moaning around the house as though in frustration, as it sought entry through every crack and cranny. Julia, wearing a white sarsonet gown with lacetrimmed puffed sleeves and with an ermine band trimmed with seed pearls encircling hair dressed high on her head, walked slowly forward carrying the abandoned baby in her arms. At the same time Lord Malden saw young boys carrying shepherd’s crooks begin to gather at one end of the hall near a group of girls garbed in white and wearing angel wings. “We intended,” Julia said, “to present a series of tableaus tonight while we listened to the Christmas story as told in the gospel of St. Luke. As you see, we have the child for the scene in the manger”—she nodded at the baby in her arms—“and we have the mother of the child.” Julia held out one hand and, when a young woman, a stranger to Lord Malden, stepped hesitantly forward, the spectators murmured one to another. She curtsied to Julia and then took the baby from her. The woman, dark and pretty, wore a plain gown of royal blue and a white cloak with the hood covering her black hair. “Who is she?” Lord Malden whispered to Lewis who stood next to him. “’Tis Nellie Carson, milord,” Lewis said.

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Lord Malden frowned as he searched his memory. Finally he recalled who Nellie Carson was. “The upstairs maid who was sent packing?” “One and the same, sir. Increasing by leaps and bounds she was.” Of course, Nellie Carson was the maid who found herself in a family way. She must be the mother of the baby. He shook his head. How on earth had Miss Frost discovered her identity and her whereabouts? “We do not, however,” Julia said, “have anyone to portray Joseph.” Lord Malden could hardly credit this statement. To have selected actors to portray the shepherds, the angels, Mary and the child, as well as the three wise men he had noted off to one side, and not to have anyone to portray Joseph was not like Miss Frost at all. She was too clever by half to omit such a leading character in her tableaus—unless she had done so on purpose. “Will someone pray favor me,” Julia said, “by stepping forward to take the part of Joseph?” The assembled servants looked at each other, the men uneasily shuffling their feet while the women whispered to one another behind their hands. The pause lengthened. Did she want him to play the role? Lord Malden wondered. Had she chosen to portray Mary, he would have offered his services in an instant but as it was. Hearing a rustle of excitement, he glanced over the heads of those standing to his right and saw Jacob walking hesitantly toward Miss Frost. Without looking at her or at Nellie Carson or at the baby, Jacob mumbled, “I will, ma’am.”

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Julia took the baby from Nellie’s arms and offered it to Jacob. For an instant Jacob made no move, then he reached out and, taking the baby, cradled it awkwardly in his arms. A sigh swept the assemblage, a sigh accompanied by the sage nodding of heads. Realization dawned on Lord Malden: Jacob was the baby’s father! Julia, who had walked to stand to one side, began to read the familiar words of St. Luke: “‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…’” As she read, Lord Malden watched her, full of admiration, not merely for her beauty but for her cleverness as well. Was it possible that Jacob had been led to reveal himself merely by the solemnity surrounding Christmas Eve, heightened by the spell cast by the tales of the old coachman? No, not likely. Not after keeping his secret all these months. There must be more to what had just transpired. While Lord Malden had no notion what it was, he certainly meant to find out. **** Christmas dinner was served at two on the following afternoon and when, after almost three hours, the festivities ended, there was naught but praise for Emma and her helpers in the kitchen who had prepared and served the roast pork, the Christmas goose, the minced meat pies, the Christmas cakes of molasses and spices, the plum pudding and all the other meats, fish, vegetables, puddings, cakes and assorted delicacies. At the conclusion of the meal, glasses of madeira were raised in toasts to Lord Malden in praise of his generosity, the more welcome because so unexpected. Also to Miss 244

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Julia Frost who, besides providing the inspiration for the celebration and the spirit to make it a success, had also contributed the small gifts that she had brought in her carriage—oranges, sweetmeats, dolls and toys for the children of the servants. After the last gift had been unwrapped and the last toast proposed, Lord Malden turned to Julia, intending to praise the success of her efforts, but she had left his side and was nowhere to be seen. Renfrew approached. Clearing his throat, the butler announced, “Miss Frost awaits you in the drawing room, milord.” Lord Malden strode across the entry hall, stopping abruptly in the doorway of the drawing room, taken aback. Julia, facing away from him as she looked down at the leaping flames of the fire, was dressed as she had been on the night of her arrival—was it possible she had come to Malden Hall only four days ago?—in a long, hooded gray cloak. Feeling inordinately out of sorts, he walked slowly toward her. She turned to greet him with a joyless halfsmile; he stopped, unsure of himself and once again awkward in her presence. “Owens is quite recovered,” she said, “and so we must be on our way. I can never thank you enough, Lord Malden, for extending the hospitality of Malden Hall to me, as well as to Owens, in our time of need.” He bowed a stiff acknowledgement. “I must thank you,” he said almost shyly, “for encouraging us to celebrate the Christmas season.” She sighed. “If only the guised dancers had come from Northbury, the festivities would have been complete. Perhaps after they learn of the gracious reception they 245

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would have received, they will reconsider and visit Malden Hall next year.” What did he care if the guised dancers came another year? Or ever? Her presence was what mattered. He started to tell her so, and barely caught himself in time. Obviously she cared nothing for his feelings; otherwise why would she be in such a hurry to leave? Her mention of Northbury recalled her reluctance to drive into the village with him and brought back all of his questions about the possible reasons behind Miss Frost’s precipitous arrival. Had she driven through the stormtossed night to keep a rendezvous? Whatever Julia’s mission might have been, he, for one, did not intend to detain her at Malden Hall. Not only did he have no excuse to do so, it appeared evident to him that she had no inclination to linger. Why then, with all his doubts about her, did he feel in his heart that when she left his only hope for happiness would leave with her? Julia had succeeded in bewitching him; that could be the only logical explanation for the strange urge to take her in his arms and plead with her to remain at Malden Hall. No! Gregorys had always been self-sufficient, they need rely on no one but themselves, they begged no favors from young ladies no matter how enticing their green eyes, how lovely their auburn curls or how beguiling their smiles. Though it was not merely her pretty face that attracted him but her inner beauty as well. Julia had filled Malden Hall with light and warmth. To protect himself from her, and thus from himself, Lord Malden quickly turned the conversation to more mundane matters. “How did you discover that Jacob was the father of the baby?” he asked. 246

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“Emma told me who the mother was—Nellie—and when I drove to Northbury to see her, Nellie confessed she had left the baby on the doorstep at Malden Hall in the hope Jacob would be forced to recognize the child as his. Which, as you saw, he finally did.” “I expect you had a hand in that as well.” “I may have suggested to him,” Julia admitted, “that his persistent denials in the face of the evidence might cause you to act in a manner he would certainly find unpleasant and not at all in his best interests.” “In other words, you threatened him with dismissal from his position as my valet.” “Jacob may have taken my words to mean something of the sort.” How forward she was. How presumptuous. How clever. He did admire a clever woman. “My carriage awaits,” she said. Glancing over her head into the oval looking glass, he saw the reflection of Owens standing in the doorway. It was too late for any second thoughts, so Lord Malden bowed, then escorted her to the carriage and handed her inside. She looked up at him and for a moment he thought she meant to say something—perhaps to tell him she had changed her mind about leaving?—but she merely bit her lip and murmured, “Good-bye.” Owens snapped the whip and the carriage rumbled forward. “God be with you,” Lord Malden called after her, watching her waving from the window as the carriage swung around the snow-bordered sweep. All at once he shivered from the December cold; or could it be, he wondered, from a premonition warning that her leaving could only bring ill to him and to Malden Hall as well? 247

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And then she was gone. Lord Malden sighed and, turning, walked slowly back into the Hall. The house was Sunday-quiet, the only sound his own echoing footfalls on the parquet. He thought he heard a woman’s laughter but when he glanced toward the entrance to the great hall he saw only the forlorn kissing bunch hanging in the archway. He went to the entrance to the hall and looked in and saw only a great emptiness. In the kitchen he found Merlin nestled in her basket with her three kittens, so he knelt beside the cat, scratching her head. “Even you have someone,” he said softly. Merlin purred with pleasure at his touch, but as soon as he took his hand away her attention returned to her tiny offspring. When Lord Malden stood and turned away he heard raised voices from the servants quarters in the rear of the house followed by laughter and then silence. All at once, he caught his breath and raised his head, thinking he had heard a rapping at the front door. Striding to the entry he flung open the door and found—nothing. No one. He sighed again as he slowly closed the door. Malden Hall had never seemed so wretchedly empty; he had never felt so alone in his life. And, he thought, shaking his head, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Julia was gone. He had been a fool to let her go. Head down, Lord Malden entered the library and sank into his favorite chair. He should ring for a whisky, but he lacked the energy for even that simple task. Deep in apathy, he was startled when Merlin, carrying a kitten in her mouth, suddenly leaped into his lap, deposited the kitten there and then hurried from the room. He was still gazing down in dismay at the tiny, helpless creature when the cat returned carrying a second kitten and he realized she meant to bring him all three. 248

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“I appreciate your gift,” he told her, getting to his feet, “but your brood is far better off in the kitchen.” After returning the one kitten and coaxing Merlin back to her basket with the second, an idea struck him. He, too, could offer a gift. And would. It ill befitted a Gregory to mope. By God, never had he backed away from a challenge in his life! Gregorys might be proud to a fault and too stubborn for their own good, but when they made up their minds to do something, nothing on earth could deter them. And he had made up his mind. He called for Emma. When she emerged from the pantry, he told her what he wanted for his gift and, though raising her eyebrows, she nodded and hurried off without a word. He rang for Renfrew and ordered his favorite horse, Caesar, saddled at once. By the time he had donned his great coat, pulled on his gloves, put on his hat and wrapped a scarf around his neck, Emma had returned. When she handed him a small package tied with a red ribbon, he carefully put it into his pocket, looking up in time to see Renfrew appear at the door to tell him that Lewis had Caesar waiting for him in the sweep. Lord Malden started toward the front door, only to realize he had no idea which way Miss Frost might have gone once she reached the London road. As though reading his mind, Emma said, “I expect Miss Frost’s bound for Northbury, milord.” He stared at her in surprise, then nodded his thank you before hurrying to his horse. He rode west, riding as rapidly through the forest as the snow allowed before slowing at the crest of the hill to look down at the village where, as his heart leaped, he saw her carriage approaching the first of the cottages. 249

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Lord Malden pounded on, overtaking the carriage when it stopped in front of the village church. Owens had opened the carriage door and handed Julia to the walkway by the time Lord Malden dismounted and strode up to them. Owens retreated, bowing, leaving them alone together. Though she gave him a questioning look, Julia appeared less surprised to see him than he had expected. This both disappointed and encouraged him. “I have a gift for you.” He removed the small package from his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted the gift, but her gaze was on him rather than the package. “Pray open it,” he said. Undoing the ribbon, she unwrapped the white paper and held up his gift in one hand. Stepping slightly behind her, he looked over her shoulder and saw their faces reflected in the round, silver-handled mirror. “I was informed on the very best authority,” he said, “that if a young lady happens to see an eligible gentleman in a looking glass on Christmas Day, that man is fated to become her husband. So be it.” Julia turned to him, her eyes alight, and he started to take her in his arms but she held him away. “How can you be so certain after an acquaintance of only four days?” “I believe I knew I loved you when you first came in from the storm and now, after four more days, I find myself four times as certain.” “You, Lord Malden,” she said with a teasing smile, “are a gentleman who improves on acquaintance. And, I confess, never have I known the looking glass test to fail. Furthermore, I believe my father would approve, and my uncle as well.” 250

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“I recall you said you were on your way to visit your uncle when you arrived at Malden Hall in the midst of the snow storm.” “I have another confession to make,” she said, blushing. “My uncle, Mr. Davies, happens to be the new clergyman here in the village of Northbury.” She nodded to the rectory a short distance from the church. “I could hardly tell you the truth about where I was bound since, with my destination being so close, what excuse would I have had for staying on at Malden Hall? And I knew from the moment I met you that I did want to stay.” When the import of her admission became clear to him, Lord Malden drew her to him and kissed her quite thoroughly, so thoroughly that she dropped the looking glass. Owens, to his credit, turned away and directed his attention to several children who were building a snow castle on the green. When at last Lord Malden released her, Julia retrieved the glass from the snow. “Alas,” she said, “I have no gift for you. I only wish I did.” He shook his head. “On the contrary, Julia, you brought the greatest gift of all to me and to Malden Hall. I refer not to the decorations of holly and evergreens, nor to the feasting and the carols, nor to the tableaus and the presents for the servants. More than eighteen hundred years ago, the very first Christmas brought love and joy and hope to world; on this Christmas you brought the gift of love and joy and hope to me.” **** Lord Malden and Miss Julia Frost were united in marriage in the spring of the following year. Nellie and Jacob’s marriage, though beset by occasional squalls, endured and their daughter thrived. Merlin and her three 251

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kittens prospered. The guised dancers visited Lord and Lady Malden on the following Christmas Eve, and on many Christmas Eves thereafter; and Malden Hall became known far and wide as a home abounding in love and hope and happiness.

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About Jane Toombs (Dame Turquoise) Jane Toombs writes paranormal tales as well as suspense, gothic and fantasy. And, yes, romance. To date she’s the author of seventy-five published books in many different genres and has contributed stories ranging from horror to romance in eleven anthologies. She’s been a finalist in the Romance Writers of America Rita awards twice for single title books, won a Prism Award for best dark fantasy from the Science Fiction, Fantasy and Paranormal RWA Chapter, a Bookrak Award for bestselling series book and an EPPIE award from the Electronically Published Authors Connection for a how-to writing book. Shifters, a paranormal fantasy anthology she contributed to, also won an EPPIE as well as the Dream Realm Award. Visit Jane’s website for more information about her work: http://www.janetoombs.com.

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SPECIAL DELIVERY by Carrie S. Masek (Dame Topaz) No one should cry on Christmas Eve. Feeling every one of her sixty-seven years, Margaret wiped away a tear and forced her creaky knees to the damp lawn. The winter rains hadn’t yet broken San Diego’s annual drought, but Tranquil Gardens kept the grass thick and green with daily watering. Dots of water clung to the blades and glinted in the setting sun like tinsel. When she was younger, Margaret spent the day before Christmas decorating the tree and roasting turkey. Even after her divorce, she always managed to take the day off. Half the kids in the neighborhood would gather in her kitchen to string popcorn, drink cider and munch cookies. Christmas Eve was pine-scented, oven-warm and onionstuffed, full of high-pitched laughter and off-key carols. Christmas Eve was the best day of the year—if you had a family. Margaret didn’t. Not anymore. For the last two years, she’d spent the holiday in the cemetery. There were no headstones, only flat, rectangular plaques, set low to avoid lawnmower blades. Margaret laid 254

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the paper-wrapped bouquet beside her and traced the letters on her daughter’s marker. Karen Parkhurst. Rest in Peace. The evening breeze ruffled Margaret’s hair and cooled her tear-dampened cheeks. She glanced at her watch. It was already five, but she should have time to finish up before the bus came. Despite the chill seeping through her slacks, she took clippers from her purse and trimmed the grass around the plaque. When she leaned forward to reach the farthest corner, her shoulder cramped, and the clippers fell from her hand. Margaret sat back and tried to rub away the lingering ache. She really should call Dr. Guilder. Her bursitis was getting worse. At least she’d tended the grave, leaving it neat and tidy for another week. She lifted last week’s flowers from their vase and unwrapped the new ones. Margaret had once dreamed of owning a house with a red-tiled roof and flowers in the yard. She sighed. Nowadays, she lived in an extended care facility and only planted flowers in this cemetery vase. She arranged the white carnations, Karen’s favorite, around a small poinsettia and added baby’s breath for Karen’s baby who had died too young to get a plaque of her own. A familiar weight settled in Margaret’s chest. She missed her daughter deeply, but she missed the baby more. Poor mite—born dead in an emergency room operation an hour after the accident that killed her mother. Today would have been her second birthday. Margaret blinked away the image of a sturdy, dark-haired toddler. She’d always wanted a granddaughter. If that drunken teenager hadn’t run Karen’s car off the road, Margaret would be with her family now, frosting her granddaughter’s birthday cake or unwrapping the angel for the top of the Christmas tree. 255

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And she would have seen the baby, held and cared for her every day for the last two years. Watched her first steps, heard her first words. Needing her help, Karen had asked Margaret to care for the baby when she went back to work. Most of all, Margaret missed being needed. She sniffed. Enough of this foolishness. Margaret scooped up the clippers, shoved them in her purse and struggled to her feet. The bus back to the home turned onto the road outside the cemetery while she was still shuffling down the hill. She broke into a labored run. “Wait!” Another jab of pain shot through her arm. Margaret tried to call out again, but she couldn’t catch her breath. The bus slowed as it passed the cemetery but didn’t stop. The driver must not have seen her. Margaret staggered to the deserted bus stop and dropped onto the bench. Her chest ached, and her eyesight went spotty. The sound of traffic dulled, as if her ears were full of cotton. She lowered her head between her knees to ease the dizziness, but the spots grew bigger. The sound of a sputtering engine broke through the cotton. The weight on her chest lifted, and her vision cleared. Margaret sat up. A white delivery van pulled up in front of her. The window opened. A plump, swarthy man with short, graying hair and almond-shaped eyes leaned out and smiled at her. “Need a ride?” His voice was deep and brushed with a hint of faraway places. Margaret clutched her purse. “Who are you?” He dipped his head in a mock-bow. “Nicholas Myra, at your service. I saw you miss your bus.” He pointed to a pile of brightly wrapped boxes behind him. “I have many packages to deliver. It would be no hardship to deliver you home as well.” 256

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She’d never in her life accepted a ride from a stranger, but something in his smile made her trust him. “Thank you, Mr. Myra.” “Please, call me Nick.” “And you must call me Margaret.” Her legs trembled when she stood. Nick turned off the engine, jumped out of the van and ran to offer his arm. His warm, steady grip made her feel safe as he walked her to the van and helped her into her seat. Margaret gave him the address and directions to the extended care facility, then sat back while the van lurched into traffic. Her purse tumbled from her lap, but she was too tired to pick it up. Fatigue, as heavy as a wool blanket, wrapped around her, and her eyes drifted shut. A sharp, insistent shriek—a baby’s cry—pulled Margaret up again. For a moment, she thought the infant was behind her. She turned around. No baby, just stacks of packages. The cry vanished into the engine’s whine. Margaret rubbed her eyes and turned to the window. She must have fallen asleep. The last blush of day had faded. Harsh streetlights reflected off cracked, littered pavement. A procession of older cars rattled past her, including a shiny low-rider that shook her window with a bass thrum. She turned to Nick. “Where are we?” Instead of answering, he swung to the corner and stopped in front of a U-shaped apartment complex. Overgrown bushes and an empty pool filled most of the deserted courtyard. A yellow light glowed from the top of an outside stairway. The engine died, and she could hear the cries again. The furious sobs tugged at Margaret. It didn’t make any sense, but she had to find that baby. 257

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Nick turned to her. The skin across his cheeks tightened, as if he were in pain. “Forgive me, but an emergency has come up. Wait—” The crying drowned out the meaning of his words. Before he finished speaking, Margaret opened her door and jumped to the sidewalk. Drawn by the cries, she ran up the stairs to the second floor and stopped in front of a warped, gray door with holly over the lintel. A Christmas carol with a salsa beat pulsed from the apartment, loud, but not as loud as the baby. Margaret knocked. No answer, just more crying. She knocked again, louder. “Hello?” The crying stopped and panic surged through Margaret. It didn’t make sense, but she knew the baby was in desperate trouble. She turned the knob and rushed into the smell of grease and frying tortillas. Where was the baby? Her gaze swept over a threadbare couch, a small TV and an aluminum Christmas tree with a plastic crèche beneath it. The music came from a doorway to the left, accompanied by a woman’s voice and the sizzle of oil. Margaret spotted a door behind the couch. Without pausing to think, she ran across the room and threw it open. The room beyond was small, dark. Light from the living room spilled over a neatly made double bed. On the other side of the room lurked the shadowy shape of an old, wooden crib. The baby. Margaret darted around the end of the bed. A tiny form, a girl by the studs in her ears, sprawled tummy down in the crib, apparently asleep. Relief washed over Margaret until she realized the baby’s head hung outside the bars and the edge of the mattress dug into her throat. 258

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“Dear Lord!” Margaret lifted the baby, hoping to take the weight off her windpipe. The small body lay limp and heavy in her hands. Noticing that the bars widened near the top rail, she eased the infant up and out of the crib. The baby still didn’t move. Arms shaking, Margaret placed the baby in the shaft of light across the double bed where she lay like a broken doll, face blue, tiny chest still. It’d been years since Margaret had practiced CPR, but Lord help her, she had to do something. Praying she wasn’t too late, she found the breastbone with her fingertips, pushed gently three times, then fit her lips around the baby’s mouth and nose and blew in a quick, gentle puff. The chest rose. Fell. She pushed and puffed again. And again. The skin beneath her lips stirred. Margaret pulled back. The baby’s mouth opened with a noisy gasp, and a red wave swept the blue from her face. Another gasp ended in an ear-rending shriek. Afraid to believe her eyes and ears, Margaret hugged the baby to her chest. The little body stiffened, then softened against her. Screams faded to throaty grunts as the baby rooted from side to side, searching for a breast or bottle. Joy rushed through Margaret’s arms and filled her heart to bursting. The baby was all right. Fine, black hair, sweet with the scent of baby shampoo, tickled her chin. Margaret tipped her head to kiss it. This was what she wanted, what she’d lost and mourned. A little one to hold and love. Someone who needed her. She kissed the baby again and laid her back in the crib. The baby broke into wonderful, furious howls. The music from the kitchen stopped. A woman called, “Uno momento, Juanita.” 259

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Juanita—the baby’s name was Juanita, and her mother was coming. Suddenly shy, Margaret withdrew to the shadows. The door opened wider. A thin, black-haired woman in her late teens stood silhouetted against the light. She ran to the crib and lifted out the baby. Though she didn’t know how to explain her presence in the apartment, Margaret had to warn the mother about the crib. “Excuse me,” she said in halting Spanish. The woman didn’t seem to hear her. Murmuring endearments, she carried the baby to the bed, laid her on a changing pad and quickly replaced her wet diaper. “Your crib’s dangerous,” Margaret tried again, in English this time. “The baby caught her head between the bars. She would have choked to death if I hadn’t—” “Madre de Dios.” The woman traced her finger across the baby’s throat, along an angry red welt Margaret hadn’t noticed before. Face pale, the young mother glanced from the baby to the crib. Margaret heard the front door open and shut. “Pilar,” a man called, “Feliz Navidad.” Warmth sparked in Margaret’s chest and rose into a smile. She recognized the man’s joy, had lived it herself many Christmas Eves. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. “To you and your family.” The woman scooped up the baby and ran from the room. “Jorge, mira.” The string of Spanish that followed was too fast for Margaret to understand. She caught the word for crib, though, and the one for dangerous. The young mother must have understood Margaret’s warning. The words faded as the family moved into the kitchen. Not wanting to intrude, Margaret tiptoed through the empty living room and closed the front door behind her. 260

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She hadn’t felt this good in years. Happy energy tingled in her hands and feet. Nothing—not even the sudden recollection that she’d left her purse in the van—could dampen her joy. Margaret practically danced down the stairs and found the van waiting for her at the corner. Nick smiled when she opened the door. “Welcome back.” Her purse lay on the floor where she’d left it. Margaret climbed into her seat. “Thanks.” After she got settled, Nick turned the ignition, shifted into gear and eased into traffic. A few blocks later, he turned down a ramp into a brightly lit tunnel. Margaret didn’t recognize it. “Where are you taking me?” Nick chuckled, a warm, jovial sound. “Home.” The tunnel opened onto a subdivision. Colored lights traced the rooftops and windows of trim ranch houses. Margaret caught glimpses of Christmas firs and sparkling tinsel through large picture windows. “This is a lovely neighborhood, but it isn’t mine.” The chuckle turned into a belly laugh. “It is now.” Nick steered the van into a driveway and shut off the engine. “Here you are, Margaret, home at last.” “I don’t live here. I—” Her voice froze. He’d stopped in front of her dream house. Red and green lights blinked along the edge of a tile roof, and geraniums bloomed beneath holly-draped windows. A curtain opened, and her daughter Karen appeared in the welcoming glow. She looked so lovely, so alive. “How?” Margaret whispered. “Your heart. It was failing for a long time and finally broke.” The pain in her arm, the dizziness and shortness of breath—all signs of a heart attack, she realized now. She’d 261

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passed out for a moment there in the cemetery. Was she still unconscious and dreaming, or was she…? Could she be…? “That’s right, Margaret.” Nick’s voice soothed her growing panic. “You died at five seventeen this evening. Welcome to Paradise.” From the house, Karen smiled at her and waved. Margaret took a deep, easy breath and exhaled her fear. Her arm no longer hurt, and the weight in her chest had vanished. If this was death, it sure beat living. The curtain opened wider, revealing pine green and package glitter. A door beside the tree flew open, and a child ran into the room, a little girl about two years old with Karen’s thick, dark hair. Margaret stopped breathing. “Karen named her Peggy, after you,” Nick said. “Go on. They’re expecting you.” Without taking her gaze from the child, Margaret opened the door of the van. A thin wail sliced through the night. She froze. “Do you hear that?” “I hear all children in trouble.” Nick’s sigh was the saddest thing Margaret had ever heard. “Even the patron saint of children cannot be everywhere at once.” The patron saint of children? Saint Nicholas? Margaret’s hand fell from the door handle. Nick didn’t wear a white beard or a red suit, but who else delivered presents on Christmas Eve? Margaret would have grinned at the thought of riding with St. Nick, but the small, distant voice tugged at her. She turned to him. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” “My helpers and I are overburdened, this night more than any other. Perhaps later, one of us can—” “What about me? Can’t I help?” “Like you helped Juanita?” 262

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“You stayed in the van. How could you know about Juanita?” She stopped. Considering what else Nick knew, it was a stupid question. “Yes.” A smile broke across his face and dimmed just as quickly. “I do not come this way often. It may be a long time before you return.” Hearing the front door open, Margaret looked back toward the house. Karen stood framed in the doorway with the toddler on her hip. This time they both waved, and the joy in their smiles made Margaret’s eyes burn All she had to do was climb out of the van. The crying grew faint, as insubstantial as the tickle of baby-fine hair and as easy to ignore. Maybe that was the problem; too many people had already ignored it. The ache in her chest had nothing to do with clogged arteries. As much as Margaret wanted to hold her granddaughter, Peggy didn’t need her. Neither did Karen. The crying baby did. “No one should cry on Christmas Eve,” Margaret whispered. Taking a determined breath, she called to her family, “I have to go. But I’ll come back. I promise.” She closed the van door and turned to Nick. The relief in his expression melted the last of her regrets. He needed someone to help him love and care for the forgotten children of the world. Well, Margaret had enough love for them all. “You’ve got yourself a helper, Santa. Let’s fly.”

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About Carrie S. Masek (Dame Topaz) Carrie S. Masek has been telling stories since she was three and discovered she got into less trouble when she provided creative explanations for the chaos that swirled around her. She now lives in a comfortably messy house on Chicago’s North Shore. Contributing to the chaos are her husband, four children, and a ditzy dog. Carrie has won awards for both short and novel-length fiction. Her horror short, “Cybergeist,” is in the anthology Beyond the Mundane: Unravelings, the 2005 EPPIE winner for best anthology. Carrie’s YA paranormal romance, Under A Bear Moon (5/99), won both the 2000 EPPIE and the 2000 Dream Realms Award for best YA novel. Her most current releases include a short, paranormal romance, “The Topaz Locket,” in the Jewels of the Quill anthology, Tales from the Treasure Trove, Volume I (Whiskey Creek Press, 9/05) and two new novels: a futuristic vampire romance, Twice Damned (2/05), and A Dragon’s Tail (3/05), a YA fantasy written by Carrie and her son William. Carrie is currently working on more short stories as well as sequels to both novels. For more information about Carrie and her books, visit her website at http://www.masek.net.

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A HOME FOR CHRISTMAS by Karen Wiesner (Dame Amethyst) Prologue December 19th You have to do this, Craig Stevens lectured himself with the phone still a grip away. Squirming in his easy chair, his hands clasped the arms in a death-grip fueled by memories and lost chances. You chickened out earlier today—who could blame you? Every day she’s more beautiful. Every day you trip over your own tongue at the first glimpse of her. But not this time. This time, get over how her voice turns you inside out. This time, it’s now or never. He could almost hear his brother Gregg lecturing, Isn’t she worth gettin’ out of your comfort zone for? Worth it? Craig closed his eyes against an agonizing wave of desire…and brokenness. He’d fallen for Christie Renata Zondervan at pretty much the instant he’d first laid eyes on her. Outside of her beauty, her sweetness inside and out, she was a woman unlike any other he’d known. His every 265

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prayer for clarity always led him back to her. She was the love of his life and didn’t even know it. At the age of thirtyseven, he was as sure as he’d ever be that she was the only woman who would ever do for him. And she was in love with his brother. The silence in his compact apartment sounded like a tidal wave in his ears that receded only when he heard a door open in the apartment above his. A minute later, an enthusiastic—if off-key—voice caroled along with the Christmas jingle on the suddenly blaring stereo. What if she didn’t call? What if this one night, she decided not to call him? For the past five years, his cultivation to get her to trust him, rely on him, turn to him in every situation had backfired. In ways, Craig guessed he really had no life outside of waiting to see her, waiting for her to call him. He didn’t want a life outside of her. Not once in all those years had he imagined she would fall for his brother and Craig would find himself in the position of being the shoulder she cried on. Just as Craig had expected him to, Gregg had carelessly broken Christie’s heart, then proceeded to fall for someone else shortly afterward. It’d been months since his brother had dumped Christie unceremoniously in Craig’s lap, and he’d been telling himself, Not yet. She’s not ready. She’s still not over him. And, because Gregg had now deduced that Craig was in love with Christie himself, had been for years, he got an earful of “Why aren’t you doing something to make her yours?” advice from his brother. Craig glanced up at his pristine ceiling, annoyed tonight by the cheerful warbler he lived below. He shook his head. How could he compete with his brother? Maybe Gregg didn’t see it that way, but Craig had observed all through their childhoods, their teenager years, 266

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their adult years that Gregg could charm any and every woman without even trying. Craig cast himself as the exact opposite of his irresistible brother. He didn’t know the first thing to say to a woman he liked. He felt uncomfortable in nearly every social situation. The truth was, he didn’t see himself even remotely as interesting as the next guy. So what did he have that Christie might want or need? Craig pressed index and middle fingers to his throbbing temples. He was an ear. A shoulder. The voice of encouragement to keep Christie’s spirits and confidence up. Those were all he’d dared to offer her up until now. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. His own unfulfilled desires were eating him alive. Would it be enough for her if he loved her more than anything except the Lord? If there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to win her? To make her happy? To give her each and every single last thing she needed for the rest of their lives, until only death separated him from her and reunited them in heaven? He wasn’t sure, but Craig knew he had to take a chance and make that next step to either losing her, or winning her finally. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands and tried to block out the jingle bells rock and stomp above him. Show me what Christie needs, Lord. Make her see me in a new light, as more than simply a friend who’s always there for her. I can be the man she needs. I know I can. Just…help me to have the opportunity to do that without tripping over my own tongue. But Your will, not mine. If this isn’t Your will, show me. Take away this torturous desire. If it is Your will…make the phone ring. Craig lifted his head, glancing back at the phone, willing it in his hard gaze to ring. And, a moment later, it did. He sat back and grabbed it, already anticipating her 267

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soft, sweet, melodic voice, filling all the cold, dark corners inside him. “Did you ask her yet?” Gregg demanded. A frustrated groan filled Craig’s voice at hearing his brother’s voice. He clenched his teeth to keep it from escaping, but said, “No, but she’s supposed to call.” “She said she would?” “No.” “Then how do you know she will?” She always does. Every night at eight-thirty, she calls. She has since you broke her heart. Your loss. My gain. Craig reluctantly reminded himself that the gain could be only temporary. If he risked everything and asked her, would he lose everything? “You better call her.” “How’s Stormie?” Craig asked, but his brother saw right through him. “My wife is fine. Now call Christie. Or I may take matters into my own hands.” Though Gregg’s tone was teasing, Craig’s ire rose immediately. “You do, and I’ll never forgive you.” “That I’m used to, brother. I think you’d rather that than livin’ with never forgivin’ yourself if you don’t do this. Step out on a limb for her, Craig. You’ve done it for other worthy causes. You’ve got enough faith to get you through anything. Call her. Ask her. You won’t regret it.” How could he be so sure of that? Craig’s efforts to convince himself of that never lasted beyond a few minutes or hours. Every time he thought about asking her, taking that chance, all his fears rushed back in. He’d rather be something in her life than nothing, and this risk could easily make him lose even the position he had in her life. 268

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But he knew Gregg was right. He had to do this. He had to. After telling Gregg he’d call Christie, Craig hung up and realized that God had answered his prayer—the phone had rung. As was frequently the norm, the Lord had just chosen to answer in a completely unexpected way that left Craig wondering if he’d misunderstood the obvious again. He could easily imagine God being as frustrated with him as he was with himself. “Now or never,” he lectured out loud, to the tune of “The twelve days of Christmas.” This was his countdown to making Christie his, or losing her forever. Now or never. He dialed. **** Craig’s line was busy. Christie could barely get herself to believe it, but each time she dialed, she got a busy signal. After a half hour of it, she merely got his answering machine. He wasn’t there. You’re not the center of his world, she scolded herself, grimacing as she jabbed her finger against the power switch of her stereo. Christmas music usually depressed her. Certainly, it did tonight. Craig doesn’t sit around waiting for you to call him. So he went out. He had something else to do. Maybe he had a date. She wasn’t sure why, but the thought bothered her. It bothered her almost as much as the thought that had been whispering itself in her ear for the past few weeks. Christmas was coming. Every year, on December 21st, Craig went home to Olympia, Washington to spend the holidays with his huge family. He called her every day even then, saying he didn’t want her to run her phone bill up, but…it wasn’t the same as knowing he was only a few minutes away. 269

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Dropping the cordless phone on the table, she walked to the picture window that dominated the front part of her duplex. Across the street, a car drove up with an absolutely huge blue spruce strapped to its comparatively tiny top. Two men and two young children jumped out. Their faces spoke volumes in the next several minutes as the older man and the presumed father of the children worked cheerfully to liberate the tree from the car and the kids urged them on with their bouncing forms. A movement from beyond drew Christie’s gaze. At the open door of the house stood the mother and grandmother, waving and smiling. The green and red apron the mother wore was covered with white powder. Holiday baking—a family event just as the tree decorating clearly was. Christie swallowed the lump in her throat, almost hearing Johnny Mathis singing “I’ll be home for Christmas.” Home. A home for Christmas. She let the curtain fall back with a sigh. Nearly all of her friends left her alone during holidays—not that she blamed them. Unwilling to bring them down, she insisted she had a full schedule of volunteer activities throughout the holidays. Truthfully, she would have liked nothing better than to be surrounded with family, but she had none. She couldn’t even expect them to give her a second thought while they were away, enjoying their loved ones. Yet Craig always remembered her. For the past five years, he’d been her mentor and the very best friend she could imagine. He was always there for her. Always. Except tonight. She sank down into her suede sofa, holding her fluffy cat Lucy against her. I hate feeling this lost, Father, almost as much as I hate remembering how stupid I was. How much I wanted 270

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Gregg to be the answer to every prayer I’ve ever had for love and family and intimacy. I should have realized someone like him could never love someone as needy as me, someone who’s so easy to forget or avoid. It’s so silly to feel like this, because I know You love me, and that should be all I need. I should never feel lonely again, but… I do. You know my heart. Help me to stop feeling like this, or to find someone else I can love and who can love me. Christie glanced back at the phone, not bothering to wipe the tears running down her face. Craig was so busy with the various ministries he was involved in. Maybe he’d taken up something else—without telling her about the change in his schedule. But she’d seen him just that morning and he’d said nothing then. Why does he have to tell you every detail of his schedule? She snatched up the phone again and pressed the number one on her speed dial. The man wasn’t put on this earth to comfort you. Never mind that he always seems to know just when you need him. Instead of a busy signal, his answering machine picked up her call. Her doorbell pealed through her home. Frowning, she allowed Lucy to jump out of her arms, then rose. Who would visit her? She almost never had any visitors. Though she worked in various ministries herself, she’d never made friends easily. She considered many of the people she worked with sisters or brothers in the Lord, yet their lives didn’t merge after hours since they all had families to take care of. She’d assumed most of them also had their own circles of friends. Being single at her age, she didn’t really fit in with any of them. So who was here at this time of night? Once more, she went to the window overlooking her little section of lawn, her sidewalk, and the communal driveway she shared with the other tenant in the duplex. In the light of the street lamp, she saw Craig’s dark blue car. 271

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Her face flushed at the realization that he’d come. He’d come just when she needed him. He hadn’t been out on a date. Craig had been home between eight-thirty and nine o’clock—the busy signal she’d gotten when she tried calling him told her that. And then he’d come here. Smiling, she rushed to her front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open with her cat underfoot. Craig stood on her doorstep and relief flooded his expression until he saw her wet cheeks. “Are you all right?” he demanded in a tone that sounded both harsh with worry and loaded with the tenderness she associated with him. Christie couldn’t help laughing at her own foolishness as she stepped forward to hug him and simultaneously invite him inside. “I tried calling…” he started. “Was that you?” He looked confused, and she laughed again. “I was trying to call you. I kept getting a busy signal. We must have been calling each other. Is that why you came over?” When she eased back, sensing his reluctance to let go, his grin was sheepish. “I…I got worried,” he admitted. Though she was no longer in his arms, his familiar, woodsy scent clung to her and surrounded her. Christie smiled at him, appreciating how, even at the end of a long day, he always looked immaculately dressed and groomed. His black trousers didn’t have a single wrinkle and they fit him like the designer had used him as the model. “Are you all right, honey?” She reached around him to close the front door. She should have felt completely foolish, embarrassed to confess the truth, but she didn’t. Craig knew her better than anyone else. “I’m just…lonely. It’s this time of year.” 272

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When she peeked up at him through her lashes, she saw that little frown that brought his elegantly arched eyebrows together. It was the little frown that he often wore and made her sometimes wonder if she was the center of his universe. Well, a little left of center. She knew the Lord firmly occupied the center of Craig’s life. His active, living faith buoyed her own faith, giving her encouragement and security. “Why this time of year?” “Come in. Sit down,” she murmured as Lucy rubbed up against his leg affectionately, and he leaned down to greet her effusively the way he always did. “Do you want some hot chocolate or something?” He shook his head, now leading her to the sofa, where they sat side-by-side. He faced her. “Tell me.” Christie sighed. “Everyone has family this time of year. Everyone disappears. I don’t begrudge them for it. I do envy them. It’s hard to be alone this time of year.” “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.” The intensity of his voice brought a smile to her lips. “I know. I know the Lord is always with me.” His jaw tightened slightly, and he looked down for an instant. She’d often wished for his smooth ability to gauge the effectiveness of his words before he said them. His dark eyes met hers again. “You’re not alone,” he repeated. For the first time, she realized how much he and Gregg looked alike, and the realization surprised her more than it should have. She’d seen pictures of the Stevens family. They all had gorgeous dark hair, dark eyes. All the brothers had that telltale strong jaw and full, sensual lips. Even their sister, though her features were much more feminine in beauty, had the Stevens similarities. 273

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Though Christie had always seen that Craig’s looks rivaled any of theirs, she’d never noticed how perfect his face was with those intense eyes that could steal the breath right out of a girl until she could barely stand without help. The way Gregg had every single time he’d looked her way, even long before he’d noticed her for all of five minutes. “You don’t have to be alone,” Craig murmured, and she could see he wanted to glance away the way he frequently did, and she’d never been sure why. He wasn’t a man she considered shy. “I don’t have to be what?” “Alone. During the holidays.” What was he saying? She could hardly believe he’d said it. Craig loved spending the holidays with his family. He always returned from his visit like a new man, like he had more confidence in himself, in his goals. As though his family restored a part of him that waned during the rest of the year he wasn’t with them. It was a sentiment she could never understand. She’d never had a family of her own. But she’d imagined what it could be like, and Craig’s family had become an ideal for her. She wanted what they had, even knowing there was a good chance she’d never have anything like it. “No! Oh, Craig, I didn’t mean…” She put both hands on his chest, unwilling to allow him to make that kind of sacrifice for her. “Of course I’m not asking you to stay here this year. I know how much your family means to you. Going there during Christmas. Don’t worry about me. Just…call me when you can. I like to hear all the children giggling in the background. And the music, when your family sings Christmas songs around the piano.”

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He leaned further against the saddleback sofa cushions, taking a deep breath, and then he surprised her again when he said, “Maybe I will have that hot chocolate.” “Oh. Okay.” She expected him to follow her into her kitchen, and when he didn’t, she was even more thrown. Working through the routine task, she mixed up a batch of hot chocolate and brought it to a slow boil while she set out her two favorite mugs. Why had he come here tonight? Why would getting a busy signal when he tried to call her worry him enough to send him across town in person? Had he actually intended to stay in Milwaukee over Christmas instead of going home to his family for a little longer than a week, the way he always did, if she asked him to? Would he do that for her? Somehow she completed her task, topping the chocolate with fresh crème, but she didn’t do it with conscious thought. She thought about Craig, going off for a week. She thought about him staying with her for that week. Both thoughts made her experience a kind of devastation. She didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t want him to stay for her. How could she accept something like that? It was too much. What did she have to offer him that would make up for the loss of seeing his family? Though she hadn’t wiped the tears from her face before she opened the door to him, she did now. She didn’t want him to see that she’d been crying again, caught between two choices that weren’t hers to make or even influence. Christie carried a small tray with the hand-painted mugs and double chocolate chip cookies she’d made earlier into the living room. Craig’s gaze met hers as though he searched for reassurance from her. She wasn’t sure what he needed reassurance for, but she set the tray on the glass 275

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table, then sat beside him on the sofa again. Turning toward him, she took his hand in both of hers. “You’re a fantastic friend, Craig. I can’t even believe you’d offer it, but I can’t ask you to stay here with me when you should be with your family for the holidays. Thank you. I love you for it. But you should go.” She turned away to pick up one of the mugs, telling herself she’d done the right thing. “I’m not offering to stay here,” he said as she handed him the hot chocolate. “You’re…not?” Heat filled her face. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d completely jumped to the wrong conclusion. Craig took the mug, but set it down again. At first, he took her hand in his tentatively, but an instant later, he’d completely enveloped her hand between his two large ones. Only a moment ago, she’d done the same with his hand, but this felt much more intimate. Forming words was too much for her. She opened her mouth anyway, looking at her hand in his. For the first time ever, she was uncertain of his intentions. “Come with me.” He might have whispered, but the soft-spoken words echoed through her mind like reverberation. Go? Go with him? To Washington? “I know you don’t like airplanes, but I promise once we’re up you’ll forget you’re so far over land. I’ll distract you.” She was so shocked by his suggestion, she laughed with a follow-up of, “Go with you?” as if he’d asked her in Japanese. “My family would love to meet you. You know they would.” 276

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She’d spoken to his parents, some of his brothers and sister, even met a couple of them who’d visited Craig and Gregg in Milwaukee. In ways, she acknowledged that they did know her well enough to warrant this, but… She was confused. She didn’t know why she should be confused, and why it bothered her so much to be confused about this. “They can’t possibly have room,” she heard herself say. “Not with everyone else who’ll be there.” “You haven’t seen the house Gregg and I bought them. There’s plenty enough room. The kids camp out together on the floor in one room. It’s like a big camping trip for them. I can call Mom, but I know she’d want you there.” Why would she? Does she know how lonely I get during the holidays? I’d hate to be there, knowing everyone knows the real reason I’m there. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me because I don’t have anybody else. Because I have no other place to go. Or is it something more? “Craig, you’ve never…told anyone else…well, anything I told you? About Gregg? Do they know Gregg and I…” He shook his head firmly. “No. Why would I mention that? Stormie’s the only woman he’s ever talked to them about.” Jealousy and pain flared through Christie at the words, and she looked away to grab a cookie. Stormie Knight. Even the name irritated her. Stormie Knight, now Stormie Stevens, the woman who’d prevented any chance at all of Christie changing Gregg’s mind. She tore into the gooey cookie. Ugh, but Christie didn’t even believe that herself anymore. Much as she wanted to believe Gregg had loved her, just a little, she knew his sentiments resembled those of a Christian brother with a sister. Her embarrassingly 277

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shameful attempts to seduce him had, praise God, been averted before any real damage had been done to more than her heart. “I would never tell anyone the private things you’ve told me, Christie. You know that, don’t you? You’re safe with me.” She glanced at him, blinking back tears as she nodded. Swallowing the suddenly bitter cookie, she fought the need to snuggle into his arms and lose herself in being cared for. “I don’t know, Craig. I don’t want to…intrude.” “How could you ever intrude?” he said like she was insane for even suggesting it. “I’m not a part of your family.” “I’ve known you for five years, honey. I think you’ve gotten to know my family in that time, too, not just…Gregg. They love you, Christie.” This time she did feel silly when fresh tears filled her eyes. No, she’d never met Craig’s and Gregg’s family, but she did feel like she knew them. She loved them, too. His mother not only sent her a card for every holiday, including her birthday, but she called every few weeks, as well. Craig’s sister, who came with her family to Milwaukee for Thanksgiving with her oldest brothers each year, called frequently. Christie had met her the year she’d done her first recording with Craig’s record company. I love Craig’s family. I won’t be intruding on their family gathering. They’ll welcome me as one of their own. It’s the kind of people they are. She glanced up at Craig, helpless to fight the tears slipping from her eyes. She’d never undergone more relief than when he made a soft noise of sympathy before drawing her into the haven of his embrace. It was better, definitely better, to cry in his arms than in his ear over the phone. 278

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“I’m such a baby,” she murmured. He made an excuse for her that made her giggle. “You’ve been through a lot lately.” “A lot of my own making.” “I’m sorry my brother hurt you.” Christie shook her head without moving far from his chest. “He didn’t. I hurt myself. He never gave me any encouragement or promises. The opposite, in fact. He said he wasn’t going to be the man I deserved. But I wasn’t paying any attention. I let my heart go because it’s what I wanted. It’s not his fault. And I’m sorry I’ve been crying all over you these past few months. It can’t be fun for you.” But you’re always there for me anyway. When she started to pull back to give him a break from the weepy mess she’d become, he refused to let her go. “Stay here. I don’t mind at all.” Christie swallowed the lump in her throat as he tucked her deeper against him. His chest made the most comfortable pillow in the world feel like a rock. She could have fallen asleep so easily in his arms, against his chest. “You’re a good friend, Craig. The best. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” Closing her eyes, she focused on his rapid heartbeat and the rhythmic way he stroked her hair. She wondered a few minutes later if he held his breath. His chest felt unyieldingly rigid. When she looked up at him, her confusion grew. The look of utter anguish on his taut face made absolutely no sense. Was she hurting him? What else could that expression mean? “Say you’ll come home with me. I’ll take care of everything. Just say yes.” She feared getting on a plane. Craig had known she harbored that fear before he signed her on as one of the 279

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artists on his record label, and he’d arranged for alternate methods of getting her to her concerts. But she imagined being with Craig and his family, with all their little ones, surrounded with peace, joy and Christian love. She imagined them singing carols around the neighborhood, putting up the Christmas tree, attending Christmas services in the church his father pastored. She imagined warmth, good food, laughter instead of huddling with her cat in front of her own pathetic tree, loneliness, overeating for solace. Crying her eyes out, the way she usually did this time of year. “You don’t have any singing gigs scheduled, do you?” Craig asked. She hadn’t done an album of her own for over a year. Along with her volunteer work, taking back-up gigs and commercial spots had kept her busy, though the royalties she received steadily from her album were more than enough to live like a queen for years. “Nothing I can’t reschedule.” He cradled his hand against the side of her face. “Then there’s no reason for you to stay here.” That much she couldn’t argue with. At the moment, she could see no reason to stay here and wallow in her misery, not when she could be happier than she’d ever been in her life for a few short days with Craig. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 December 20th

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Craig found himself in a self-made kind of torture. Though Christie had agreed to come with him home for the holidays, he found himself unable to sleep most of that night, paralyzed from wondering when his happiness would come to a crashing end. He knew he had to tell her how he felt about her during the course of this trip, somehow. But he’d thoroughly convinced himself nothing would go right, even after he made the round-trip flight arrangements, called his parents and heard their enthusiastic responses to his news. Lying in the dark, the only sound the snoring of the tenant in the apartment above, he was acutely aware of his discomfort. The air felt cold, yet his blanket weighed on him. The tightness in his chest made his body wired and jumpy. He never let himself think beyond getting Christie to agree to go with him. One way or another, he knew he had to tell her the depth of his affections, but he couldn’t imagine what her response to the news might be. She saw him as a friend. A reliable, trustworthy friend she could always turn to. Why can’t I be content with that, Lord? It could grow into more…couldn’t it? But I don’t want to be just the only guy who’s never hurt her, admirable as that is. I want to be her everything. Her friend, her husband, her lover, the father of her children. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Lyle, his Persian, meowed. I must be insane. After hearing how much she’d loved his brother last night, Craig could only conclude he was insane. She wasn’t over Gregg yet. If he told her how he felt… I’ll lose her. She won’t trust anything I’ve ever said or done. She’ll think I had hidden motives. Worse, she’ll compare me to 281

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Gregg, what she wanted with him, and she’ll say, “I’ve never looked at you that way, Craig. We can only be friends. Can you deal with that?” No. Not anymore. It hurt too much. And then his motives where she was concerned would really be suspect. The wood floor sent a chill through him, but he ignored it. He might as well go through the motions of getting ready for his day until he could see her. Six hours later, he sat at a table in the deli they both loved, waiting for her to join or not join him for lunch as they’d planned the night before. A big part of him didn’t expect to see her appear beyond the glass on the outside of the deli at the appointed time. He expected his cell phone to trill, and her sweet, melodic voice to purr in his ear, “I can’t go, and this is why.” But she did appear, and he jolted straight up at the sight of her in that white coat with the fur hood around her face. She had the face of an angel, pure sweetness, especially in the dimples around her full mouth. Her eyes tilted at the corners, just like a Siamese cat, the brows matching her long, mahogany curls. Every inch of his body reacted to her as she came to him. He missed nothing, not even the redness of her cheeks and eyes—more self-made torture for him. She’d been crying over his brother again. He couldn’t stand the thought of her crying alone, but he wanted her tears to be for him for once. Senseless. “Hi,” she said when she approached his table, and he rose to his feet to kiss her silky cheek, red from the cold. He helped her remove her coat. Beneath, she wore a cashmere duster over a boat-necked shirt and comfortable knit pants. She’d confided in him recently that she’d been consoling herself in too many chocolate chip cookies and she’d gained weight. Weight she’d needed, though he 282

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didn’t tell her that. She’d always been far too thin, so concerned about being a star and facing a camera every day. He liked the way her face had filled out slightly along with her sweetly rounded curves. When they sat together, she reached for his hands. “Craig, I…” The waitress appeared, and Christie looked up at her. “The usual?” the waitress asked. “I better have a salad today, Mary. I’m so fat.” “You’re beautiful,” Craig corrected, speaking on instinct, and then paying the price as Christie and Mary looked at him with smiles that made him feel transparent as glass. Christie deigned to order her usual turkey and swiss, and Craig nodded at Mary’s query whether he wanted his usual. When he sat forward, alone once more with the woman he loved, Christie turned to him anxiously. “Craig, I was thinking last night after you left. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before, but I can’t go.” “Why?” he demanded, going against character. He’d invested too much of himself in this, in having her with him, where she could see him outside of work, outside of her grief over Gregg’s lack of reciprocation. She twisted the paper napkin she’d pulled out of the dispenser earlier as if she’d believed she might need a hanky soon. “Because Gregg will be there with Stormie,” she admitted, face filled with shame. “I know it’s silly, but I don’t think—” “He won’t be there. Not this year.” Her eyes opened wide. “He won’t? Why not? He always goes. Well, he has since he accepted Christ’s call.” Gregg had been the only one of his many brothers and sisters who’d turned away from his Christian upbringing. 283

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He’d become one of the highest regarded musicians in the world who’d incomprehensibly—to those who didn’t know the hardship of running from the Lord—walked away from his career in its prime. Gregg’s exploits were known the world over. He couldn’t escape them. He no longer tried to. His only concern was in following the Lord. Through that, his good deeds were becoming as well known as his mistakes. Even the tabloids found it impossible to talk about one without the other now. “Stormie’s not ready, and he’ll do anything for her. They’re not going this year. Was that your only reason for not wanting to go?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer, waiting for her expression to tell him her thoughts. His heart twisted around in a pretzel at all the things she might say. Those very things could destroy him a piece at a time. “Yes!” She let out her own held breath, and he stared at her in total confusion, surprised by the dizzy smile that broke across her face. “Yes, that was the only reason I didn’t think I could go, but I wanted to go even knowing Gregg would be there with her. I just knew I couldn’t. Does that make any sense?” Craig tried to keep the grimace from his mouth. Only too much sense. But if you agree to come, I’ll work through it. I’ll make you see you don’t need to cry for him anymore. You don’t need to be lonely. Somehow, I’ll make you believe I’m the only man for you. “So we leave tomorrow?” she asked, leaning on the table with her forearms. “What time is the flight?” “Our flight leaves O’Hare at eleven, so we’ll need to get an early start. I’ll pick you up at about seven-thirty. That should give us plenty of time.” 284

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Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled as much as her smile did. Her beauty made his mind go completely blank looking at her. What I wouldn’t give to trace every feature on your face, run my fingers through that thick, soft hair, kiss your beautiful mouth…and never stop. He couldn’t do any of those things. She wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. And this place was far too public anyway. The most he could allow himself to take were her hands in his own. He rubbed them between his own. “I called Mom last night. She can’t wait.” “I know. She called me, too.” “She did?” Christie nodded. When he’d called his mother the night before, she’d read more into Christie’s acceptance than he could claim. She’d assumed he’d finally bit the bullet and told Christie he loved her above any other human being. Admitting he hadn’t confused her and then led to a lecture he didn’t need, not when he knew he’d get one from his brother shortly afterward. And had. “She made me feel so welcome already. I’m so relieved about this, Craig. I just don’t think I could have taken being alone this year.” If I have my say, and the Lord is willing, you’ll never be alone again, honey. The sheen in her eyes could have been lingering pain or joy. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it. Mary brought their lunches, waiting patiently as they drew their hands apart so she could put down their food. The look she gave him once she’d set his sandwich before him told Craig more of the same. Everyone knew how he felt about Christie, even the waitress who served them 285

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lunch a couple times a week. Everyone except Christie herself. One way or another, he was going to rectify that before Christmas, or he’d regret it for the rest of his life. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2 December 21st Her nervousness over the flight rivaled her excitement. Christie packed, not surprised when Craig called that evening to tell her Lucy, and his own cat Lyle, hadn’t minded their vacation together at the pet boarding house. Christie sighed into the receiver. “My house feels empty without her. I’m glad we’re leaving early tomorrow.” “It’s snowing.” “Really?” She moved away from the bed where her suitcases lay open and went to her window. She had to close the curtain behind her head and cup her hands around her eyes in order to see the snow falling outside and covering the once green lawn in a beautiful white carpet. The past few years had brought so little snow, even during the holidays, and a white Christmas had always been her favorite part of living in Wisconsin. The cold predicted for the night and the next day didn’t bother her. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.” “It is. But I hope it doesn’t pile up too much. Or at least slows down until we get to Olympia.” She’d never sleep tonight, she acknowledged once she went back to sit on her bed. Closing her eyes, she 286

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wondered where he was in his apartment. With her eyes shut, she could almost feel he was here with her instead. “I’m nervous…about the flying. But I can hardly wait until tomorrow.” “Me either. Try to sleep,” he urged—her steadfast tin soldier. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’d never let anything happen to you.” Christie smiled, fervently believing that if he couldn’t do something on his own, he would pray to make it happen. “See you bright and early.” “Seven-thirty sharp,” she agreed. “Goodnight.” “‘Night, honey.” She hung up reluctantly and resumed her packing, but even after she forced herself to go to bed, certain that she hadn’t forgotten to pack something vital or prepare for anything before she left in the morning, Christie couldn’t make sleep come. She prayed off and on, wondered if Craig’s family would like her, what they would do and talk about, how long the flight would be and if she really would lose her nervousness after they took to the air. She even wondered what presents she’d buy for his family. When she’d told Craig she wanted to run out that afternoon and do her shopping, he persuaded her to wait until they arrived in Olympia. They’d have more than a week before Christmas to go shopping together. She liked the idea of having him show her where he grew up. At five o’clock, Christie finally got up after only a few hours’ fitful sleep, unable to contain herself any longer. She showered, feeling the strangeness of Lucy’s absence again. In her cozy, warm kitchen, she drank coffee and ate yogurt in her vow to lose the weight grief had led her to pack on as she did her daily devotion. It made her smile to think Craig 287

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was probably doing the exact same things she did this morning. It wasn’t until Christie had absolutely nothing to do, her luggage sitting next to the door, that she happened to look out the front window. The snow had piled up the night before, and still came down like soft glitter from every direction. She thought about calling Craig. Would the snowfall affect their travel? Would they have to cancel? She didn’t want to. Not even for a single day. But she was skittish enough about getting on a plane. If it were dangerous, she’d be even more nervous. Under pressure, Christie tended to collapse, something she’d realized long ago she couldn’t change about herself. She could only deal with problems after she’d had her complete meltdown. Craig had held her hand during more than one of her meltdowns, but she didn’t want this to be one of those times. In the chair near the window, she sat watching for him until seven-thirty finally crept in. As usual, he arrived precisely on time. She could hardly keep herself sitting still, waiting for him to exit his car and come to get her so their journey could begin. **** Craig bought the ring years ago. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen it, outside of the penchant Christie had for wearing her birthstone, the amethyst, and because the simple purity and beauty matched her own. More than once he’d thought about taking it back, buying something bigger, flashier. Something that could express the vastness of his love for her. But this small gift he planned to offer her would have to be enough. He was a simple man and his love was pure. He had no more than that to give. 288

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Snapping the case closed, he looked up and saw her in the window, watching him, no doubt wondering what kept him in his car so long. Craig tucked the velvet box in his jacket pocket, then shoved the door open. He stepped out into the snowfall. As he walked up the sidewalk that branched off in either direction of the quaint duplex, the front door opened. “Do you think the flight’s been canceled?” she asked, looking fresh and bright. The rosy dots in her cheeks captivated him. Craig shook his head. “It’s not snowing in Chicago.” Yet. He was too eager to get going. If their flight was delayed, he’d much rather face it later. Postponing this trip, he feared, might make her come to her senses and decide she couldn’t go. Christie smiled, proving her mutual eagerness about getting underway. When she ducked in for her luggage, he said, “I’ll get it. Go ahead and lock up.” He took all three of her soft leather cases, waving away her protest on his way out to the car. Once he’d tucked her things into the trunk with his, depositing the ring box safely in his carryon, he went around to the passenger side at her approach from the sidewalk. She’d fastened the sides of her spiral curls back with a barrette. Curls hung irresistibly over one of her eyes. She looked so youthful and pretty when she lifted her face to the sky, he wanted to kiss her, especially when she laughed softly. Snowflakes sparkled in her hair, even in her eyelashes. Until he’d met Christie, Craig considered having children in that faraway sense he considered marriage. He wanted both badly, but they seemed miles down the road from him. Looking in her eyes, he could see the reflection of his unborn children. Craig could imagine what their 289

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children would look like. The mental pictures were enough to make all the oxygen leave his lungs. “It’s hard to believe this beautiful stuff can be dangerous,” Christie marveled before she ducked into the car. As she passed before him, he smelled the flowery perfume she wore. Lilacs in the height of bloom. Don’t close your eyes. You’ll lose yourself and never recover. “What time do you expect we’ll get to Olympia?” she asked when he joined her inside the car. They both buckled up before he pulled out of the driveway. “After we get into Sea-Tac, we’ll get the rental car and be there before dinner.” “Someone in your family doesn’t pick you up?” Craig shook his head. “If this weather gets any worse, our flight could get in late. I don’t like making them wait around. Airports are so crazy these days as it is. It’s easier to just rent a car.” “Do you like to fly?” He nodded, glancing at her. “I don’t mind it.” “I wish I didn’t mind it, but…my stomach gets all knotted whenever I get in crowds and off the ground.” A couple years before, after Christie had made her first contemporary Christian album, she’d taken one flight for a concert. While it hadn’t ended in disaster and probably couldn’t even be considered a truly bad flight, it had nevertheless shaken her up to the point of deciding she couldn’t get back on a plane ever again. Craig had taken a flight to her, then driven over eight-hundred miles to bring her home. “Maybe you just need more practice.” She smiled. “Maybe. I guess I’ll find out.” Her eyes narrowed coyly when he stopped for a red light. “How exactly do you plan to distract me?” 290

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Christie seemed closer, and the car lost the spaciousness he’d enjoyed since he bought it. Her lips had curved into a teasing—teasing herself for her own phobia— smile again, and he wanted to kiss her so bad he couldn’t speak. The seconds ticked into a minute, and she bit her lip in uncertainty. He finally forced himself to turn back to the road. “They might play a movie,” he muttered, silently calling himself an idiot for making her uneasy. Craig took a deep breath. “Did you get any sleep last night? I doubt I got more than a few hours myself.” “If you’re implying that I might fall asleep during the flight, I seriously doubt it. Though I’m sure in a few hours, I’ll need some sleep.” “We could talk,” he offered. She laughed. “I talk, you listen, you mean.” His shyness had persisted as a child, a teenager, and far into his adult years. In a social context, he’d never been a player. Had she noticed? Disapproved? “Do you mind that?” “No.” Christie shook her head as if to verify it. “Do you mind it?” Craig didn’t dare look at her. “No. Not at all.” He could live with that happy arrangement for the rest of his life. Anything she wanted. Anything she willingly gave him. **** They arrived at O’Hare early—the snow had stopped an hour out of Milwaukee—but her tension began as they joined the flow of traffic around the immense airport. Christie lived in Milwaukee. She should have been used to always being surrounded with people on their way to places, but the airport seemed different. “There’s the bus,” Craig said once he’d gathered their luggage and allowed her to take two of her smaller cases. 291

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“The bus?” she murmured, trying to fight down her uneasiness. “It’ll take us to the airport.” “Oh.” He’d dropped her off last time, walked her to the gate, and saw her off. It’d all seemed so incredibly easy until she got on the plane…and promptly suffered a panic attack, knowing she’d be completely alone in a huge city where she didn’t know a single person. Could she go through with this? Christie closed her eyes and struggled with the sense of alarm in her chest. Her two suitcases felt like anvils in her hands. “Hey, you all right?” She opened her eyes to see Craig had set down the rest of their cases and stooped to her eye level. “Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?” she suggested, feeling foolish and unable to shake herself out of it. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be with you every minute. All right? Well, except when you go to the ladies’ room.” She burst out laughing in shock and saw by his smile that he’d been hoping to break her out of her rising trepidation. Still chuckling, Christie couldn’t help putting her arms around him and taking the comfort she knew waited there. Craig held her without regard for the five pieces of luggage between them, or the bus that could be leaving without them. “I’m all right. I just…it just got too much for a minute there.” He didn’t ask what had gotten to be too much, but she asked herself that question after he picked up the cases, then took her hand in a reassuring grip. The memory of leaving him in the terminal, where he’d stood so she’d see him to the end, being completely alone—that memory had 292

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become too much. The fear that it might happen again had almost overwhelmed her again. They made it to the bus and took a seat in the back. Christie was glad when he didn’t let go of her hand along with the luggage. After a quick glance around at the other passengers, most of whom carried brightly colored Christmas bags and boxes, she looked surreptitiously at Craig beside her. She’d relied on him far too much in all the years she’d known him. For as long as she could remember, she’d been afraid of the world. Growing up in an extremely strict orphanage had resulted in a withdrawal inside of herself, the only place she felt safe. Then she’d gone into foster homes where she wanted to disappear from the world. Christie had been comfortable hiding out in her room, going to school, or to the singing jobs she’d started getting early in her fifteenth year. Her high school music teacher had been a Christian and he’d seen her singing talent. He’d become a mentor to her and, in some ways, a part of her family. His wife and two children welcomed her into their Christian fold. Her mentor had seemed to realize she’d spent her life searching for Jesus, wanting to know who He was and what He’d done. Entering the world in college, in the dorm life where she’d never fit in, had been one of the hardest things Christie had ever done. The only times she’d felt truly free were in church and with her mentor’s family. Then her mentor had introduced her to Craig Stevens in her senior year. Craig had just started his own record company, and he was his only employee. After completing high school and seminary, he’d actively begun recruiting, recording, and promoting new Christian artists to his label Mission Records. Craig had signed her on the spot after hearing her 293

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sing in church. Christie had realized what the Lord wanted her to do with her life then, but she’d finished college while making her first record under Craig’s skilled tutelage. All she’d invested in her previous mentor had been transferred to Craig. She’d been in awe of his ability to do all things well, to know exactly what to do in every situation, of his confidence in the Lord after a lifetime of knowing Him. While her first album hadn’t done anywhere near as well as Craig had expected in two years’ time, despite the way he’d put everything he had behind promoting her, Christie had considered his presence in her life more important than anything he could do for her career-wise. Then Gregg had come to live in Milwaukee, having given up his own music career, and she’d become infatuated with him from the start. She and Craig had started working on her second album at that time, but Craig had convinced his brother to take over as co-writer and coproducer. The year she and Gregg had spent working on that album had left her as infatuated as a puppy. Christie had almost been oblivious to the amazing success of that second release. It sold hundreds of thousands of copies; she’d won awards she never dreamed of even being nominated for. None of it had mattered. She’d cared only about making Gregg fall in love with her. Only during that brief time had she stepped back from her reliance on Craig, but he’d been there for her when the little cotton-candy fantasy she’d spun dissolved into nothing. “You must think I’m crazy,” Christie murmured later. They’d checked in at the terminal their plane was scheduled to leave from, made sure their flight was on time, and now sat in a nice restaurant in the terminal. 294

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“Why? Not everyone is a fan of flying. I understand that.” A waitress brought fragrant coffee, poured them each a cup, then walked away with their food orders. “I know. You’d just think an orphan would be more independent.” Craig let his steaming cup halt before it reached his mouth. “We live in a world where everything we see, everything we face, everyone we meet convinces us to harden ourselves from trusting in anyone or anything too much. By all rights, you should have grown up the same way, but the Lord kept you vulnerable instead of letting your heart become hardened. That’s not a bad thing, no matter what we’re led to believe by society’s standards.” “You don’t think I’m weak because…well, because…” “Because you don’t like being alone in an insane airport with a couple thousand other people racing from one place to another at any given time? You’d be crazy to be unaffected by it. I don’t think you’re weak, Christie.” She took a sip of her coffee. Once she set the goldrimmed cup down, she shook her head. “I rely on you too much. What would I do if you weren’t there?” “Do you think there might be a time in our lives when I won’t be around for you?” She had considered that. More than once. Someday he’d have a wife, children, and his family would warrant his full attention. Someday she would have to live her life without relying on anyone for emotional support. Shrugging, she wished she could pretend it didn’t matter to her. It shouldn’t, not if his happiness mattered the most to her. “Things always change. I can’t expect you to always be there when I need you.” “Why not?” 295

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“You wouldn’t even want that,” she insisted, looking around the dimmed restaurant with sleepy-looking patrons. She could have used a few winks herself. She sipped the flavorful coffee again, noting the sparkling Christmas decorations placed all around the restaurant. “I’ll always be where you need me.” Christie glanced at him, surprised by his intense expression. Craig Stevens was a puzzle. She’d understood Gregg from the moment she met him. He was a man every woman wanted, but no one touched his heart…or hadn’t until Stormie Knight. He was sexy, charming, practically perfect in every way. Craig…Craig was a mystery. He valued his privacy greatly. She’d often wondered if his personality changed at all without her nearby. She knew him as a hard worker. He demanded the best of everyone, but to get that he used honest critique. He tapped into a person’s own confidence, then worked with it until it broke free on its own. He’d done that for her. The women Craig dated…she’d been curious about them, and assumed he was merely private in keeping his intimate relationships separate from his work. The timeline, of course, didn’t work out. He was always there when she called him, always around where she expected him to be. When he dated and cultivated romantic relationships—that she couldn’t work out. Why hadn’t he brought anyone home to his parents before…or had he? Was he simply too busy to find a wife and have the children he clearly longed for? They’d always avoided that subject—the subject of their significant others, dates, romantic relationships. They’d avoided it until she’d become involved with Gregg, withdrew from Craig and then landed back at his feet when her fairytale dropped her like a bad ending. He’d never 296

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asked her about her embarrassing dates, non-existent relationships, and Christie had never asked him if he’d ever been in love, ever been close to finding the one. And she’d never been so curious for that answer before. Maybe she could discover something about Craig’s mysteries in the next week. **** In the hour or so they waited in the terminal for their flight to be called, Craig would have felt utter contentedness with Christie asleep in the crook of his arm, against his chest…if the weather reports all along the northern portion of the United States from Minnesota to Montana hadn’t been filled with reports of heavy snow coming. He was relieved that she didn’t have to hear the news. She’d be nervous enough about getting on the plane without discovering they were heading into bad weather. He prayed they’d arrive in Seattle before the real snow came, or, at the very least, they’d be safe wherever they ended up. He glanced down at her and brushed a strand of soft hair from her even softer cheek. She looked angelic with thick, sable lashes against her pink skin. The Lord had put her together marvelously. He even smiled at the adorable shape of her nose. When he looked toward the television again, he saw the smiling woman across from them with packages filed on the chairs surrounding her. “How long have the two of you been married?” she asked, not pausing for an instant while her knitting needles spun out the top half of a snowman scarf. “Not long, I’d guess.” Heat flooded his face. “We’re…uh, not…” “Well, what are you waiting for, son?” the woman said on a hoot of surprise that made Christie stir against him. 297

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“The world could end tomorrow. Might as well grab happiness while you can, don’t you think?” My world could end tomorrow if I put myself out there and my happiness rejects me, Craig answered the question wordlessly as Christie woke, sat up and stretched. “What time is it?” she asked sleepily, then seemed to notice the matchmaker still staring at them and smiling and knitting away. “Won’t be long for our flight to be called now. Do you want to hit the restroom once last time?” She nodded, gathering up her coat and carryall while he did the same. “Did you sleep?” He shrugged, falling into step beside her, heading for the restrooms nearby the terminal. “Why was that woman looking at us?” she asked with a glance back at their cheerleader. “I don’t know. Maybe you were snoring.” Chuckling, Christie playfully punched him before they went their separate ways. Their flight was called only a minute after they emerged. Christie went rigid, but softened when he put an arm around her. She smiled up at him. They were called first, and he enjoyed her surprise at being ushered into the first-class section of the airplane. “I thought this might be more comfortable for you,” Craig explained. They approached their designated row. “Do you want the window?” She shook her head, and he chuckled, stowing their pieces of luggage. The rows had only two seats, both more comfortable and roomy than third class. There would be fewer people in this section. He remembered she’d talked about being squeezed between dozens of people in the middle of the plane, how she’d felt like she might never escape. 298

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After they took their seats, she looked around carefully, nervous but clearly willing to be optimistic. “Maybe this won’t be so bad. Thanks for taking care of all this. It must have been expensive.” “It’s Christmas. Once a year.” “It’s certainly more comfortable up here.” She glanced around again, all the while wiping her palms against the legs of her jeans like she couldn’t warm up or relax. Finally, Craig reached for her hands, and she turned to him. He could see the fear edging out her every attempt to deny it. Enveloping her small, cold hands between his, he rubbed them gently. “What’s your favorite Christmas song?” Christie saw through his gesture to calm her, but said, “‘Silver Bells.’” He’d expected her to say something else. Something Christian, ‘Silent Night’ maybe. “‘Silver Bells’ and ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’, actually,” she murmured. “Why?” “‘Silver Bells’ because…when I was little, in the orphanage, I’d look out the window days or weeks before Christmas. And I’d see all these families, holding hands, with wrapped presents or boxes and bags in their arms, and they were always so happy. I always wanted that. I always wanted to be a part of something like that.” “Why ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’?” “It’s a beautiful song. You can’t help but love it at any time of the year, but one of my foster mothers sang it to me once. I was thirteen, and I hated thunderstorms in this way that…well, like a panic attack that I didn’t understand, and she sang ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ to calm me down. It 299

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wasn’t home and I went somewhere else. But it was the only home I ever I thought I might…well, might be happy. “What about you? What’s your favorite Christmas song?” “‘Little Drummer Boy.’” She smiled in a gentle way that he concluded summed up their mutual endearment to the song. “I felt like that most of my life, asking God what he wanted me to do with my life, with my gifts. What can I offer the King of Kings, outside of my life?” “And music,” Christie added. “And music,” he agreed. “My childhood was filled with music, especially at Christmas.” “So we can sing these songs around the piano?” “You bet.” The plane had filled up around them. Craig could hear the buzz behind him, and static filled the intercom for a moment before the pilot’s voice came on. While his instinct told him to keep talking to keep Christie from hearing any bad news, he needed any information the pilot gave. The pilot told them about the predictions of bad weather coming in, not only in the northern states, but also in the mountain region. With any luck, they’d be through it long before it hit, but they’d keep the passengers informed of any incoming reports or changes in the flight path. For now, they had clearance to take off. Christie turned to him after the pilot signed off, her eyes filled with trepidation. “What will happen?” she asked. “If the bad weather hits while we’re in the air?” “If it’s bad enough, we’ll be diverted to another airport,” Craig told her soothingly, as if it were no big deal “Has it happened to you before during a flight?” 300

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“Countless times. It’s really not anything to worry about. We’ll be fine.” “Really?” Craig brought her hands to his mouth and kissed her white knuckles. “I promise, honey. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re not alone.” “I’m so glad you’re here, Craig. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m still afraid of the world.” “You’re twenty-seven years old, and you’re in an airplane headed toward a lot of snow. It’s natural to feel a little worried.” Her gaze moved over his face as if she couldn’t be sure whether to believe his outward tranquility. “Are you worried?” “Yes, but I know we’ll be all right.” “How?” “Because this isn’t the end. It couldn’t be for us.” “Because we know Christ, and there is no end to that?” Craig nodded. And because I have some unfinished business. With you. **** A sense of panic grew in Christie’s chest over the next half hour, despite Craig’s every effort to distract her and her own desperation in ignoring the tumult rising inside her. Right after take-off, which she’d managed to get through because Craig closed the window shade and talked about some of his family’s holiday traditions, the pilot had announced seatbelts could be removed and they could walk around. Craig said he had a few phone calls to make and encouraged her to get up to see how natural it felt. She’d thought it might calm her, but as soon as he made his phone calls—to his family, she assumed—Christie sat down again, 301

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grateful that the stewardess had taken away the eggnog and warm gingerbread she hadn’t been able to enjoy. Craig took her hand, leaning his head close to hers, and she wondered again how it was that he could be so kind to everyone. She’d had years to observe him with many people. She’d always been amazed at how well he handled everyone, regardless of age. He treated each person as if they were special. He treated her like she was special. Only Gregg told a different story about Craig— penning him as judgmental, rigid, uncompromising, unforgiving. Christie had never seen any of those things in Craig herself, so she’d found it easier to believe Gregg and Craig felt a natural rivalry most brothers went through in various stages of life. “I’ve never seen you get frustrated with anyone. How is it that you have infinite patience?” she asked. “I don’t. Not with everyone.” “Gregg?” she asked softly, noting the shift in his eyes that occurred each time his brother came up in their conversations. While he didn’t withdraw from it, he seemed suddenly tense. “Most often, Gregg.” “Why? Just because you’re brothers?” Christie thought for an instant he might not answer, would look away or change the subject, but he took a deep breath. When he let it out, she inhaled the spicy scent of gingerbread. “Jealousy, I suppose. He’s…well, spent a lifetime getting everything he wants. Nothing has ever come easily for me. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly smooth.” “I’ve never seen you ruffled,” she insisted. “You handle everything calmly.” 302

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Spots of color appeared in his bronzed cheekbones. “I don’t handle everything smoothly. You know I don’t.” Christie studied his face up close, noting the fiveo’clock shadow that hadn’t been there when he came for her that morning, the slight indentation in his chin. The scent of his aftershave soothed her because it was familiar, like a worn, beloved blanket. She became very aware of the feel of her hand in his, the rumbling in her chest. Craig directed her to think about his reactions, but she couldn’t think clearly. Her chest felt too tight, as though a scream was building inside her. Looking at him, being near him were all that kept her from losing control. Christie wanted to consider if she’d ever seen him tongue-tied or on edge. She wanted to think about whether he acted any differently with her than with anyone else. But she knew the only thing she could focus on right now was the peace he gave just by being close. Her meltdown hovered; Christie couldn’t avoid it this time any more than she had all the other times. She desperately wanted to be alone when it happened, but the thought of being truly alone… “I’m here,” he whispered, leaning even closer until his forehead touched hers. His fingers traced her cheek, cradling it, and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “Lord, keep us safe. Keep us calm. Give us Your peace. I know You have more for us in this life, and we want to do more for Your glory. Your will, not ours, but we know we can rest in You wherever we are, whatever happens.” Putting her hand over Craig’s on her cheek, she murmured, “Amen. Thank you. Thank You, Father, for placing me here with Craig.” His confidence remained steady as a rock, and, even when the pilot announced soon after that the weather 303

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conditions had worsened in their path and they had no choice but to divert to the nearest airport,—MinneapolisSt. Paul International—she held herself together because of the protective hand Craig had brought down to them. They didn’t speak until just before they landed. “I planned for this,” he told her. “You did? How?” she asked, her voice soft and shaky. “I called in a hotel reservation and car rental in both places I thought we might be diverted to if the weather would be bad. I figured Minneapolis would be the place, and it is. It’s why I leave for the holidays so soon. I never have to worry about getting stranded somewhere the day before Christmas or on the actual day. We have plenty of time to let this storm ride out today while we’re safe in the hotel.” He smiled, not mentioning the fact that they might not even land safely, but she knew he had no doubt they would. God had put them together for just this reason. She would be all right as long as Craig stayed with her. Closing her eyes, Christie tried to will away the feeling of her heart plunging into her throat during the landing. The turbulence had them dropping down like a boulder through the air, then the wind lifted them back up slightly. She felt Craig’s soft lips on her forehead, and the disjointed sense of déjà vu made her control slip a little, even as she begged her mind not to think about it. So silly. Christie had no memories, nothing more than a vague sense, like a memory of something someone else had told her. Daddy, don’t you love me? That’s why. A soft kiss on her forehead. Darkness. Hard stone. Sleeping. Waking alone, not knowing where she was or what had happened to her. Then the orphanage, nothing before… 304

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She forced her eyes open as the wheels slammed down on the runway and she found herself unable to breathe. “Can…open…” Christie pointed to the window blind. If she could see it, it would remind her of what was reality and what was only an ethereal nightmare of her life before her caretakers had told her they’d found her on the steps of their orphanage. Craig turned and pushed the shade up to show her a blizzard that seemed to blot out everything around them. Staring at it, her head spun dizzily. Christie began to shiver violently. “Breathe, honey.” She shook her head, wanting to say, “I can’t”, but she couldn’t get the words to form. “Look at me, Christie.” He took hold of her face, but she couldn’t concentrate even then. Her chest expanded, but no air filled it. The only thing left was terror, all around her. Craig came close, and she heard him speak under his breath, then his lips touched hers. His hands, still on her face, drew her nearer to him. His kiss hardened, and she couldn’t help but feel it, especially when his mouth opened and she breathed his air, tasted the gingerbread on his tongue. The clean, masculine, woodsy scent of him enveloped her. Christie experienced his hands, cradling her neck, then his fingers spearing into her hair. Reality returned like a slap, but nowhere near as cruel. Reality was that Craig kissed her, so passionately her entire body tingled. Reality was she could breathe again, focus again. She felt warm. Alive. Here. The instinct to close her eyes flooded over her. Don’t stop. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’ve never felt this safe and content. 305

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Christie resisted shutting her eyes. She wanted to see his when he opened them. His well-defined cheekbones filled with color, though she was sure nothing could rival the heat in her own. He’s beautiful. I’ve noticed that before. I’m not blind. But…I don’t know. I don’t know what’s different. Something inside me? Craig eased back, his eyes opening slowly, and Christie couldn’t look away from him as he studied her, checking to see that her eyes weren’t wild, she wasn’t shivering, that the panic had subsided. She realized he wasn’t entirely sure she was all right when he touched his fingers to the side of her neck and felt her pulse. “We’ve landed,” she said. He didn’t say anything and she felt ready to scream because of his silence. What was he thinking? He was worried, she could see that. But he’d kissed her. Craig had. To calm her? Distract her? Get her to focus on something? Without conscious thought, her fingers went to her lips, and Craig flushed more as he watched her. Maybe he didn’t know what to say, she decided. Her own head felt stuffed with cotton and drowsiness stole over her limbs the way it always did after her meltdowns. Sleep. Then she could think about his kiss. His motives. Her feelings. The passengers were beginning to disembark, and their flight attendant urged them to join everyone else. With her hand in Craig’s, Christie went where he went, but nothing seemed to hold any meaning or significance. She only wanted to sleep. Whenever they stopped somewhere, she did, too. Only once, when they’d finally made it to the hotel and he tucked her into a comfortable chair just off the reception desk, did she really see the worry on his face. Then she closed her eyes. **** 306

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“I’m very sorry, sir. It seems we overbooked.” Craig stared at the expressionless man standing behind the shiny granite reception desk. Twin white poinsettias bordered the lower portion of the desk. “Excuse me?” he asked, sure he’d misunderstood. “Unfortunately, we’ve overbooked,” the receptionist repeated with no more explanation than he’d provided the first time. “I called you not an hour, hour an half ago, and put my reservations on a credit card. The transaction to book two rooms was completed.” Obviously, his reservations had been bumped in favor of providing their rooms to people who either enjoyed getting what they wanted based on name or status, or by forking over a wad of cash. Craig fought the urge to step behind the desk and figure this little problem out on his own as he once more pushed the paper he’d written his confirmation number on toward the man. Surprising him, the paper came back to him in an instant, with the most non-apologetic apology he’d ever received. “There’s nothing I can do, sir.” “You took my credit card number,” Craig repeating, fighting not to raise his voice. “I can assure you it won’t be charged, sir. Your reservation has been completely deleted from our system due to overbooking.” When the man walked away, Craig stood staring after him for a moment. He’d planned for the contingencies. These things never happened to him because he was always well prepared for every situation. He needed to take care of Christie, and this man stood in the way of that. Glancing back to see that Christie still rested in the chair, her eyes closed, Craig located the pipsqueak feigning 307

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busyness at the computer terminal on the direct opposite end of the desk. While he stalked toward him, the guy looked up and actually committed himself to an expression. He grimaced in annoyance. The swatted fly was supposed to buzz off. Not today. “Look, I have no desire to make a scene,” Craig said in teeth-gritted determination, “but the fact is that you haven’t lived up to your responsibilities. I expect restitution to be made.” “Mr. Stevens,” the guy said with a long, I’ve-beeninfinitely-patient-with-you sigh, “as I’ve attempted to impress upon you, there is no room in the inn. I couldn’t offer you one even if you made a scene. This happens, especially close to the holidays the way it is. Now, I can call another hotel that’s frequently able to offer our overbooked patrons a room. We would, of course, be happy to cover the cost of your rooms for the night, if they have any openings.” Craig understood that the hotel would be of considerably less quality than this one, and he didn’t like the idea of not providing Christie a luxurious place to crash. But he also understood that this was the best offer he’d get from this annoying pipsqueak. He nodded. The man picked up the phone and turned away once he’d dialed. Putting his back to the desk, Craig glanced again at Christie. She watched him with uncertainty in her expression. He smiled to reassure her. Once he’d turned back to the desk, the pipsqueak had completed his call and he wasn’t smiling. “I’m sorry, sir. Our alternate hotel is also filled to capacity. You’re welcome to use the courtesy phone at the other end of the 308

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desk—” He pointed, then slapped a huge telephone directory on the granite surface in front of Craig before dismissing him once more. He’d get no further help from the man, Craig knew. If he persisted, he and Christie would be escorted out of the hotel by security guards. That certainly wouldn’t help her peace of mind. To reduce the possibility of her experiencing further stress, he needed to do this quietly, quickly and smoothly. Unfortunately, after calling twenty-five hotels around the city and receiving the same “We’re booked to capacity” statements, he began to give up hope on finding a hotel with any vacancies nearby. That being the case, he deliberately chose a popular hotel outside city limits. After three calls to popular hotel chains, he decided to make his next call outside the city and to an obscure hotel. He finally hit the jackpot just as Christie stood and came to him. He concluded the call in a hurry. “Is everything all right?” she asked. Craig closed the phone book. “This hotel was unfortunately overbooked—” “But you made reservations!” “Yes. I have others now. We’ll be there in no time.” “What if they’re overbooked, too, by the time we get there?” she asked with a frown that made him hurt just to look at her. He smiled more confidently than he felt. “They won’t be.” “How do you know?” Hearing the edge of panic in her voice, he put an arm around her. “I asked how full they were, and I was told they had many vacancies. So we’ll be fine. We’ll be there in a half hour or less.” 309

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“Really?” He led her to their luggage and picked everything up himself. “You can sleep in the car. When you wake up, we’ll be there. I promise.” She nodded, but the hollow look in her eyes bothered him. A half hour later, directions that had seemed straightforward, if vague and rushed over the phone, proved to be much more difficult in reality. Craig’s only consolation came down to the fact that Christie slept, unaware that they were lost in the blizzard that had gotten much worse since they left the first hotel. He knew she’d wake if he stopped to consult a map, so he drove slow and stole brief looks at the map. He’d lost track of the signs to tell him where they were, though. He couldn’t do anything to upset her further. Her sleep was fitful enough as it was. The slightest indication of a problem could put her near the edge again, like on the plane. Somehow he didn’t think a kiss would shock her out of it this time. She hadn’t recovered enough from her trauma to really consider his actions at that time, let alone her own reactions to it. Craig’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He had to get her somewhere safe, where she could regain her composure without the prying eyes of strangers. A sudden bump made him lose control of the wheel. Luckily, he was going no more than twenty miles per hour. He kept his cool long enough to tap the brakes in quick succession. Craig glanced at Christie when the car came to a halt, surprised that she’d remained asleep through it. Pulling up the hood of his parka, he eased out the lever to turn on the trouble lights. The rhythmic clicking could 310

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wake her, but he had to find out what situation they currently faced with the car. He stepped outside. Wet, icy snow slapped him in the face, driven mercilessly by the wind. He could hear nothing outside of the howling blizzard. Seeing wasn’t easy either. After checking both tires on the driver’s side, he went to Christie’s side of the car. There he saw that the back tire had blown. Craig muttered the prayer he’d said over and over since the plane landed: Get us through this, Lord. And, if she can’t face it, help me be strong enough for both of us. **** Craig ignored his wildly rumbling, empty stomach, the cramps in his legs and arms, and the chill in the hotel room they’d arrived in hours ago. He’d brought the blanket from the other side of the bed over and wrapped it around Christie as far as it would go. The light had dwindled steadily in the more than seven hours they’d been here. There was now only the glow from the entry light near the door, and the sound of snow striking the windows fiercely. Christie lay in his arms, snuggled against his chest, her breathing so shallow he checked her pulse every few minutes. He remembered finding her like this when she’d been alone in Houston a few years ago. She’d sounded panicked beyond reason, and she’d been sleeping when he arrived at her hotel. He’d known without her confirmation that she’d slept from the time he reluctantly hung up to catch his flight until he’d arrived. Craig vividly remembered how sick with worry he’d been then, and his own desperation in actually seeing her in that state of panic earlier today on the flight. He’d prayed she never went through that without him again. And he’d 311

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kissed her. Something inside him had urged him to. Nothing else would have shocked her out of the panic fugue state. He’d have some explaining to do when she awoke fully, but he couldn’t regret it. Not when he remembered the brilliant pink in her cheeks, the surprised look in her eyes that in no way resembled offense. The feel of her breath coming back to her, of her coming to life…in his kiss. Forcing himself to look away from her angelic face, Craig tried to come to grips with his own desire. When he couldn’t do it on his own, he prayed for guidance, for discipline, for grace. Then he looked back at Christie and brought his fingertips to her throat again to feel for the pulse. It was strong and steady, and he was surprised when her hand rose from his chest and she put it on top of his own. “I’m alright,” she said sleepily, smiling with a softness that tied him in knots. “I’m sorry I brought this on, honey.” Craig still found himself infuriated that his original hotel reservations had been discarded. But he’d changed the tire more quickly than he’d expected to in the blizzard’s fury. Once he’d been able to study the map for a few moments, as he’d warmed the car again, he’d also regained his sense of direction and driven them straight to this hotel. “You didn’t.” She opened her eyes to him. Craig marveled at how she could scatter his wits just from that small gesture, just to see the sparkle in her beautiful mahogany eyes. “It’s a reflex. Something left over from the years I don’t remember. The caretakers at the orphanage told me they woke up one morning in February, and there I was asleep on their doorstep. They didn’t know where I came from. There was no note. They couldn’t find my parents. So they named me. They made my birthday February 14th, 312

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guessed that I was two years old. I don’t know why I can’t remember anything, not even that day they found me. Blocked it out, I guess. But whenever I feel the meltdown come on, I hear those words in my head: ‘Daddy, don’t you love me?’ ‘That’s why.’ The kiss…” She reached up to touch her forehead, and Craig’s heart broke a little more when he saw she wasn’t crying despite the tears in her voice. “I’ve spun all kinds of scenarios about my father leaving me there because he couldn’t take care of me, that he wanted to make sure I was cared for. But I don’t remember anything. All I’ve been left with is this horrible way of handling stress. I didn’t want it to happen this time. I didn’t want to make you come to my rescue again, just because I’m…” She lowered her gaze from his. Craig raised it again with a hand on her little rounded chin. “You’re wonderful. And I knew.” Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “You knew what?” “I knew you had no memories of your life before you ended up in the orphanage. I knew the panic attacks were related to something that happened that you couldn’t remember.” “I never told you…did I?” “No. I pieced it together based on what little you did tell me.” “And it doesn’t make you want to run for the hills?” she said, following her self-scourging words with a vulnerable laugh. “Has my reaction ever been like that?” Especially this time. “I’m where I want to be.” 313

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She sat up part way. “What happened? After we left the first hotel?” “We got a flat.” “Flat tire?” She frowned. He’d had the feeling she wouldn’t remember much of their trip here. “We made it here, and everything’s fine.” His stomach took that moment to growl loudly enough to echo through the functional, albeit sparse, room. “What time is? Is it still snowing?” “It’s late, almost nine, but we could go down to the restaurant, see if they’re serving still.” Christie’s cheeks reddened as a look of uncertainty filled her expression. “You didn’t have to stay with me if you were hungry.” “You asked me to.” She’d said three words when he’d brought her to this room—“Don’t go, please.” Once she collapsed on the bed, he’d had no desire to either. She regrets her vulnerability to me, the kiss. Or she’s thinking about Gregg. I’ve never been able to compete with him. “Do you want me to check and see if they’re still serving…while you shower or freshen up?” he asked, his throat tight. She suddenly seemed as aware as he’d been since she held her hand out to him from the bed seven hours earlier. He’d been unable to refuse getting into the bed beside her to hold her. His intentions had been purely about comfort, but he couldn’t deny how well her body fit against his and how finely he’d noticed every detail of their embrace. Sitting up fully, she nodded, and Craig felt his face heat as he rose from the bed. His own clothes were rumpled, slightly damp, and he was in need of freshening up himself. Stringing a sentence together didn’t come easy as he fumbled around saying his room was across the hall, come 314

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over, call, whatever, when she was ready. He picked up her carryall, realized it wasn’t his, and looked around until he spotted his own, along with his larger bag. Craig set hers on the extra bed, then glanced at her, still sitting on the bed looking completely uncertain as she watched him trip out of the room with two left feet and senseless muttering. **** Craig had kissed her. Craig had held her for hours despite his own discomfort. He’d handled every detail of this trip—even the problems—alone. Why? But she knew the answer. He’d told her himself. Because she’d asked him to. Because she’d needed him to. And it wasn’t merely because he was a nice, altruistic guy who always put everyone else’s needs above his own—though, arguably, she could cast him into that role easily. I’m where I want to be, he’d said. He’d done all those things because she asked and needed him to, and because he wanted to. Alone in her room after his strangely ungainly exit, Christie remained on the rock hard bed and raised her fingertips to her mouth, closed her eyes. The memory of his kiss came on as disruptive and earth shattering as a quake. Not a single part of her didn’t react to the sweet, sexy memory. Embarrassed uncertainty filled her, but she indulged in the memory of his kiss again until she couldn’t admit anything to herself except the truth. She wanted him to kiss her again. The confusion on the plane flooded her once more when she wondered if he wanted to kiss her again. Had Craig kissed her to knock her out of the attack, get her mind on something else entirely? He’d thrown her completely for a loop, so it’d worked like a charm. But was that all there was to it? 315

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Craig. Every perception she’d ever had of him washed up into her consciousness like the tide coming in. The kind of man you want with you when everything goes wrong. The kind of man you want with you when everything went right. Christie could count on him in every single situation her mind presented…and had on more than one occasion. This single day had been filled with his chivalry from start to blurry finish. A man after God’s own heart, she’d thought at least a thousand times. A man who would make some woman the happiest person on the earth someday, and who would be the kind of father every child unconsciously wished for. Craig, impossibly good looking. Yes, as good looking as his notorious, redeemed brother. She reminded herself that she wasn’t blind. Craig had always taken good care of himself, and it showed from head to toe. He’s sexy. He’s attractive. He’s attractive to me. Oh, my. What am I doing? What am I thinking? I know he’s a man who’s going to make an amazing husband, but…I’ve never thought of him… I never let myself consider him in that role…for me. Why? Why not? The kind of panic she felt didn’t vaguely resemble her meltdowns. This was a massive rearranging of perspective. Her entire perspective of herself and the most important person in her life in a way she’d never imagined for them together. It scared her. Excited her. Made her feel stupid because Craig was composed, confident, so in charge in every situation he faced. She’d never been that way, but she’d envied him for it often. When she remembered him fumbling as he’d left the room a few minutes ago, mixing up their bags, stumbling over words in a way that was anything but calm, the way he’d tripped over the suitcase stand…she couldn’t help but 316

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giggle in happiness at his sweetness, sudden shyness. That Craig could be like her, not always strong or graceful or grounded, blew her mind. This hadn’t been the first time either. She remembered other times that had endeared her to him, though they didn’t change her overall perception of how capable he was. What do I do? Christie forced herself to get up and refresh her make-up, fix her hair. She couldn’t stop thinking that she’d be seeing him soon, and her nervousness bothered her. She’d opened her front door to Craig in the past after she’d just climbed out of bed, not combed her hair, not wiped the tears from her cheeks, not worn a stitch of make-up, in her ratty slippers. Suddenly, she couldn’t get past the sleep crease on her cheek, her wrinkled sweater, the puffiness of her face and the increase of her hips and butt in her jeans. Viewing everything more critically than she’d forced herself to in months. Christie wondered how much weight she’d gained since she’d been nothing but a mess of tears. She wondered what Craig felt hearing her sob over his brother. That brought her up short because she knew he went rigid each time that topic came up. The last time she’d felt this antsy and uncomfortable in her skin had been when she and Gregg became co-writers and producers on her second album. She’d spent three hours in front of the mirror every day, bought tons of new clothes, never feeling satisfied with herself. Truthfully, she’d hated the experience. She hadn’t liked herself much. Christie didn’t want to be uncomfortable with Craig because he was the only person she could be herself with. Analyzing her every feature, her every move, her every word… Now she remembered just how miserable she’d 317

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been in love. She’d never believed herself good enough, and Gregg’s tender rejection had amplified that. More than anything at this moment, she wanted to call Craig and tell him she wasn’t hungry. She wanted to hide out here, where it was safe and non-censured. But he’d know something was wrong. He might even be hurt, and she didn’t want that, not after his loving care of her today. How could she act like nothing had changed when it felt like every last thing had been indelibly altered? How could she find out if there had been more to that kiss than the desire to help her cope? **** Craig wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d called in claiming sickness to avoid him. His awareness in the changes between them couldn’t be one-sided. Christie had to sense it, and he knew she did when he opened to the knocking on his door. She looked embarrassed, unsure, and utterly adorable all at once. She’d changed into a long sweater that hid her almost down to her knees. He missed seeing her sweetly rounded curves. He slipped a damp hand into the pocket of his immaculate slacks. “The restaurant is still open.” Christie nodded, moving back so he could exit. The tension between them remained even when she asked, “Do you know anything about our flight out?” “I’ve transferred our tickets for another flight tomorrow, but if the snow keeps up it might be delayed or canceled, too. We could always go Christmas shopping at the Mall of America.” He glanced at her as they walked down the ratty-carpeted hall. “We could.” She smiled shyly. What had he done to bring this uncertainty out in her? She remained friendly, not avoiding him, but Christie was 318

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clearly more uncomfortable than ever before with him. Had she thought more about the kiss? Had she concluded he might be getting ridiculous ideas about her that she didn’t want? Craig wanted to do something, anything, to brush away the tension between them once they were seated in the restaurant. It was strung with dozens of blinking Christmas lights that disoriented him. The restaurant was nearly empty. Craig’s tongue had become stuck to the roof of his mouth. Even if he’d known what to say, he couldn’t have formed the words. Disgusted with himself, he buried himself in his menu wondering if Christie was now seeing what an idiot he could be. Unruffled? Calm? Never frustrated? He could recount in great detail every single episode when he’d all but fallen on his face in front of her because he felt so darn nervous around her most of the time. The meal dragged by, agonizing moment after agonizing moment. She ate no more than a few bites. Craig wasn’t surprised when she claimed fatigue, jet lag. She insisted on paying, and he didn’t have the fortitude to argue too much with her. They both would have been more embarrassed if he had. At her door, the tormenting awareness rose up between them as they stared at each other, uncertain how to say goodnight anymore. He wanted to kiss her. His hands, his body was primed to touch her the way they never had been before—he’d been too unwilling to scare her away. It was as if that one kiss had broken his uncertainty and made it all the harder to resist reaching for her again. Craig stopped breathing when she leaned close to him, reached up, and kissed his cheek. Don’t let her go. Kiss her. She’ll know you love her. How would she react to that? 319

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“Goodnight.” She looked back at him once inside her room, saw he hadn’t moved, and Craig could have sworn he saw her face fill with color. But then she closed herself inside. It couldn’t go on much longer. He had to tell her. Craig just wished he knew how she felt before he did. But he knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—be that easy. Was the possibility worth the risk? The memory of that kiss shouted a resounding yes. ~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3 December 22nd After a nearly sleeplessness night, the only conclusion Christie came to was to let Craig make the first, if any, move. She’d admitted to herself that she wanted him to make a move. Strangely, that realization came easier when she was with him than when she was alone. Last night she’d so much wanted him to do something to dispel the tension that’d never existed between them before. Tell me if I’m more to you than a friend, someone you care for, she’d thought after her morning devotion. Tell me there’s a difference between me and everyone else who you treat as special to you. She wanted to believe there was a difference, but she knew she was far too close to the situation to be objective. Huddling deeper into the chair she’d pushed near the window to read the Bible and look out at the still falling snow. She imagined Craig’s arms. Safety, warmth, a place to belong and be myself. To love and be loved. 320

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I’m scared, Father. But I think I won’t be…when I hear his voice, see his face, see the way he looks at me today. When the phone rang just before seven a.m., Christie jumped out of the chair, crawled across the bed, and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” “‘Morning.” She went from chilled in the room to warm, almost hot, from head to toe at the sound of his intimate greeting. “Good morning,” she said, a little embarrassed by the shyness in her voice. “How do you feel?” “Much better. It’s still snowing.” “It’s supposed to all day, according to weather reports. Our flight’s been delayed, and I’ve booked us another night here just in case.” “Okay.” “Think you’re up to getting some breakfast and then heading to the Mall?” “That sounds like fun.” And Christie couldn’t deny she was starving. Much as she needed to cut the excessive sweets out of her diet, she couldn’t survive on a few lettuce leaves. “How much time do you need?” “I’m ready.” “Packed?” “Yes, but are we bringing our luggage?” “Just in case the flight isn’t delayed further or canceled, it’d probably be a good idea. I can call the hotel from the airport and cancel tonight’s stay, if need be.” “Okay. See you in a minute then.” Smiling, she hung up and gathered her Bible and devotional, tucking them back into her carryall. Then she pulled on her boots and coat. She slung the smallest bag 321

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over her shoulder, picking up the other two. Craig already stood in the hall with his luggage at his feet, as though waiting to relieve her burden. “Thanks,” she murmured, looking up at him. “You look…” he started, then seemed embarrassed by his own inability to fill in the blank. “Sane again? You’ll be happy to know, I feel that way, too. I’m much stronger today. How much worse could it have gotten? And it wasn’t even bad…when I think about it now. It was just…unexpected.” Was he thinking about the kiss, the way she was? Christie wondered as they looked at each other with a lingering degree of tension between them. At a restaurant with a buffet and cheerful Christmas songs playing, he sounded easier over breakfast as he told her about the calls to his family to let them know their situation. Christie tried to force herself to not think of anything except the happiness she felt like a quiet, warm blanket over them as they ate and then went to the Mall of America, joining the other Christmas shoppers. She hummed along with the carols, her hand in his to prevent them from being separated. The shops were exciting, and she chose gifts for his family, feeling like a child on a particularly magical birthday. Being so far away from the safety of home naturally put Christie out of her element, but she told herself just because she was a little homesick didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself. She loved being with Craig. Loved his smiles when she said her usual silly things, her hand in his, the look in his eyes when she decided on presents, based on what she knew of the members of his family. “I was wondering…” he started when they sat down to have a drink in one of the many restaurants mid-morning. 322

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She looked up from sipping her juice. “What?” “When you’re going to make another album.” “I’ve been stalling.” “I know.” He hadn’t said anything to indicate he’d noticed how much time had passed since her last album, with Gregg. But Christie knew she had a standing contract with him. He’d agreed on one contract at a time, because the thought of a three-record deal had intimidated her before she’d even made her first. “I wasn’t sure… I mean, my last album was radically different. It was… I’ve felt like the reason it sold as well as it did was because people knew the Gregg Stevens produced it. I was never sure it was my talent on that record.” Gregg hadn’t been an equal partner in the writing and production of the album. He’d pulled back each time he felt he was taking over. He’d wanted it to be hers, and even knowing how much of herself she’d put into it, she’d never have the confidence to fully claim it as her own. Even when Christie had accepted multiple awards for it, she always gave Gregg the credit for that album. “It was yours. I’m sure you’ve listened to Gregg’s solo albums just like I have. He’s got a style. Versatility, too, but it’s all his own. You’re the same way. This was yours. I was actually thinking your next album should be a hundred percent yours. You write it. You produce it.” The idea shocked her. Her first instinct fell to insisting she wasn’t ready to go out on her own like that completely. She needed the backing of someone…well, someone who had more confidence than she did. “Do you think I’m ready for that, Craig?” “Yes.” 323

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Christie smiled, warmed and unable to speak as they looked at each other over the table. Everything had changed between them, and yet nothing had. That was the impossibly wonderful truth. No one knew her better than Craig did. No one loved her better than he did. If I’m not in love with you, then why are you the first person I want to see or talk to in the morning, and the last before I go to bed? Why does your smile have the capability of making me happy? Why does your approval matter to me more than anyone else’s? Why do I turn to you, inevitably, always, first because I know no one else could ever do? “I don’t think I ever loved him,” she said, letting the words flow out without defense. “What?” “Gregg.” Again, as always, he sat up straighter, but he didn’t get a forbidding look in his eyes or his face. He wanted silently for her to go on. “I don’t love him. I never did, besides in Christian love. I was in love with the idea.” “The idea of what?” he asked in a hoarse tone that made her wonder if he was afraid to swallow, afraid to blink, afraid to hear something he didn’t want to hear. She clasped her hands together, glancing down at them as she spoke. “I’ve always wanted to fall in love and have someone fall madly in love with me…to the exclusion of the world. And, when you’re working on an album, it’s easy to do that. To be in an exclusive world.” The way she and Craig had been on her first album. While she couldn’t say for certain that she’d become any less naïve in the time since, she’d been too overwhelmed with everything back then to be ready for her first stirrings of romantic feelings. She 324

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wouldn’t have recognized them if they’d been there between her and Craig. But she’d been more than ready for something serious during her second album. She’d transferred all her hopes, dreams, fears and loneliness onto Gregg because he was good looking, attentive. A man who’d needed a woman to love him for who he was. A man who’d never had or wanted that commitment. “I’ve always wanted a family, and I assumed I’d have that family with my first love. It’s easy to blind yourself to what’s not really there when you’re lonely and needy and looking for someone else to fulfill you instead of looking where you need to find that fulfillment. It was hard to get past that because I was just so humiliated by how stupid I was. You never once told me I was stupid, though you certainly could have and been justified. Thank you. For not telling me what an idiot I was.” “You’re not an idiot. You never were. Half the female population would be, too, if that were true.” Christie glanced up from running her finger around the edge of her paper cup. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t as resistible as he believed himself to be. “I feel better, getting the truth out where I can see it myself. Blinders officially off. Seeing clearly.” Maybe for the first time in my life. “I’m glad.” He relaxed, and she couldn’t help putting her hand over top of his in the middle of the table. He drew her fingers into his until they were laced. Neither of them spoke as they looked at each other, not until a beeping sounded. “That’s my watch. We should check the status of our flight.” Without letting go of her hand, he pulled out his cell phone. Moments later, he replaced it. “On time.” 325

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“Now we go to the airport?” He nodded. “We can grab lunch there before the flight.” After gathering her packages, they headed to the elevator and then toward the parking building with a crowd of shoppers filled to overflowing with Christmas spirit and calling out holiday greetings and salutations to everyone they passed. Christie smiled, safe and secure with Craig beside her. She looked up at him when they departed from the well wishers. Surprisingly, he looked away, his face filled with color. She wondered if the crowd had made him uncomfortable with their exuberance. Craig remembered where they parked when she was just plain lost. She leaned against the hood of the rental car, waiting for him to unlock the passenger door. His coordination seemed to be on the fritz again, she noticed, trying not to blush as he enamored her by fumbling with his keys, the inability to get the correct key into the lock, then by dropping the keychain once he got the door unlocked. Christie moved around him when he opened the door, looking up at him as she went. His expression was disturbed, but his gaze locked with hers. How often had he become clumsy with her? Was it only with her? Would he tell her the truth if she asked him? She didn’t have it in her to be that aggressive. Did he? Or did he simply not feel what she wanted him to? Resigned, she started to ease inside the car, but his arm moved, halting her. She stayed standing, waiting tensely as he took a step around the door, another step closer to her. She heard him shoving his keys roughly back in his pocket. “What is it?” she asked, trying to hide her abrupt, unexplainable impatience. 326

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“I’m glad…about…Gregg.” “Why?” “Because I think I needed to hear it.” His thumb traced the brackets around her mouth. “I needed to hear that…first.” Disoriented, her heart pounding right out of her chest, she had her gaze locked with his one second and, in the next, he was coming nearer. Closing the distance, he moved to seal the final inch between them. The shock returned, the stepping right out of herself into reality, a stunning reality that this wasn’t about comfort, friendship or help. Christie loved this man. Everything she’d ever imagined the man of her dreams to be…she hadn’t been imagining. She’d spun her fantasies with Craig, the flesh and blood man, in her mind. At one time, she’d been confused, but she no longer felt any confusion at all. She was in love and ready for the rest of her life to begin immediately. With Craig. If only he could love her, too. But he did. Her confidence about that astonished even her. Craig loved her. Maybe he had all along. And it was the reason for everything. Christie reached behind her to drop her bags into the seat, and Craig drew back as if afraid she’d been trying to get away from him, but she pulled herself up against him tighter so she could wrap her arms around him. When she smiled tentatively at first, he stared at her in surprise for an instant only before he smiled back in growing confidence and bent to kiss her again. She let the physical world drop away in his arms. They fit together so well. Perfectly. A match made in heaven. Thank You, Father, for this safety together, this peace together. 327

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She loved how safe and warm and happy she felt. She loved the taste of his mouth, his scent enveloping her and intoxicating her mind, the firm, self-assured way he kissed her with his whole heart involved. Tears of joy filled her eyes when he eased back, his breathing harsh as he pressed his forehead to hers, cradling her face between his hands. “Christie?” “Hmm?” Their gazes sought each other, and she waited a heartbeat for him to speak before she couldn’t bear to hold her emotions in another second. “I love you,” came out in a duet that left them both in stunned awe for a moment, then they both laughed in pure bliss. “When?” she asked softly. “Always. From the moment I saw you.” Seeing her go idiot over his brother… She’d caused him pain unknowingly. “When did you?” His reciprocating vulnerability endeared her. “When you kissed me yesterday on the plane. You opened my eyes to what my heart knew all along. Then I knew…there never had been anyone else but you. You were…are…the home I’ve spent my whole life looking for.” He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob. “Thank God,” he murmured then. “Yes, praise the Lord…for the rest of our lives, together.” ~~~~~~~~

Epilogue December 25th 328

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He couldn’t wait another minute. Craig tossed a snowball up at her window and waited in the cold morning as snowflakes fell all around him. He’d been the first one up this morning, even before all the excited kids. He wanted to give Christie his present first today, and he wanted to do it without being surrounded with twenty-five people, albeit loved ones. How many times had he and Christie tried to duck out for a private moment since they arrived a few days ago only to be burst in upon and then teased mercilessly? He couldn’t say, save that he ached for her day and night, no matter how close or far apart they were, no matter what they did. Packing another snowball, this time until it hardened, Craig threw it at her window and again waited impatiently for her to wake. When her silhouette appeared, he almost felt like he could fly up to her. These days here had been pure bliss, after spending most of the plane ride to Seattle kissing. No, she hadn’t been nervous at all this time. She claimed, with roses in her cheeks, that she barely remembered the plane taking off, let alone the landing. The three-quarters of an hour in the car from the airport to his parents’ full house had been a lifetime, but having her hand entwined with his made up for the minutes he counted before he could kiss her again. His mother and sisters had known from the instant they came through the door, again hand-in-hand, that all his dreams had come true. Almost all. Christie pushed the window up, smiling down at him before the snow made her raise her face like a child would. “It’s snowing again.” “Come down.” 329

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She glanced below at him once more, her smile sweet and eager, the way it was just before he kissed her. Craig could hardly wait, and, fortunately, she didn’t make him wait long. Two minutes later, Christie emerged from the front door of the huge house. She hadn’t bothered to zip her coat or put her gloves on. She rushed to him, and he kissed her until she sagged into his arms, utterly pliant. “I missed you.” “I dreamed about you,” he murmured, bringing her back for another fortifying kiss that made even his blood sing. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas, honey.” She snuggled into his arms, and he felt her shiver. “Are you cold?” “I’m too happy to care. Why are we out here?” “Because it’s beautiful…and private.” She raised her head on a giggle. “Reach into my pocket.” Unable to wait for her to fully comprehend his meaning, he took her hand and led it to his left jacket pocket. Her expression curious, she reached inside. Show me this is the right thing, Lord. Show me in her reaction. Make it everything she’s always dreamed about. Her fingers stalled on the velvet for a moment, a moment of startling, then she closed her hand around the box and drew it out. Without looking up at him, she snapped it open. She stared at the simple, beautiful amethyst sparkling at her in the morning light. “I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime to ask you this, Christie, but will you make me the happiest man in the world for the rest of my life?” 330

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Tears glistened in her eyes when she faced him, but, until she lowered her hand from her mouth, he didn’t see her smile. “Marry you?” “Marry me.” “When?” He hadn’t expected the question, but he didn’t have to wonder about the answer. “Today. Tomorrow. Anytime. Anywhere. Whenever you’re ready.” “I was chosen for you, Craig, and you were chosen just for me. I’m ready to marry you now.” “Now?” the voice of his youngest brother said behind them, and Craig turned with Christie in his arms to see everyone in his family standing in the snow shivering but smiling, the girls crying, the way he must be…like he was far-gone drunk-out-of-his-mind happy. He glanced at Christie, who was both blushing and smiling in the same intoxication. “So much for privacy.” “Guess I better get used to it,” she said softly, and Craig laughed, lifting her high in the air for a wild moment before he brought her back for a kiss oblivious to the backdrop of excited cheering. This moment, Craig concluded wholeheartedly, was worth everything he’d gone through in the past five years to bring Christie home.

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About Karen Wiesner (Dame Amethyst) Karen Wiesner is an accomplished author with 24 books published in the past 7 years, which have been nominated/won 42 awards, and 12 more titles contracted, spanning many categories and formats. Named a “leading romance writer” in The Writer Magazine, Karen’s many series include the Gypsy Road Series, the Angelfire Trilogy, Dare to Love Series as well as the newest, Wounded Warriors Series. Her fiction novels have been nominated for multiple Romantic Times’ Reviewer’s Choice Awards, the Frankfurt Award, FTHRW’s The Lories’ Best Published Contest, the Daphne du Maurier Award, many L-edit Slip Contest awards, and numerous EPPIE’s. Karen also writes police procedural mysteries with award-winning author Chris Spindler of Auenwald, Germany. The first book in their Falcon’s Bend Series, Degrees of Separation, was originally available in a limited edition hardcover and will be re-issued in trade paperback and electronic formats January 2006. Degrees of Separation received a 4 ½ star review from Romantic Times and was a March 2004 Top Pick. The Falcon’s Bend Case Files, Volume I anthology will be released in November 2005. Visit Karen and Chris’ Falcon’s Bend Community, where you’ll find bimonthly giveaways, details on the next Falcon’s Bend releases, fun facts, games, and information about the series at http://www.falconsbend.com. Karen’s first writing reference title with Writer’s Digest Books, First Draft In 30 Days (a Writer’s Digest Book 332

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Club Main Selection in March 2005), is now available wherever writing reference titles are sold. Visit the FIRST DRAFT bonus website, where you’ll find articles and supplementals to the book, at http://www.firstdraftin30days.com. Karen is the founding member of Jewels of the Quill, a promotional group of women authors who write in a variety of genres. The group has monthly spotlights and giveaways at their website, and was featured in the September 2003 issue of Romantic Times BOOKclub. Jewels of the Quill’s first anthology together was Tales From the Treasure Trove, Volume I, with Karen’s story “The Amethyst Angel.” Karen will also have stories in the Jewels of the Quill Valentine’s Day anthology, Treasures Of The Heart (February 2006)—“A Rose for Romeo”, the first in her new Adventures in Amethyst Series, and “The Amethyst Star” in Tales From the Treasure Trove, Volume II (coming September 2006). Find out more about Karen by visiting her website at http://www.karenwiesner.com. Karen enthusiastically welcomes letters from her fans. Write to her at [email protected] or by writing to PO Box 118, Black River Falls, WI 54615. If you would like to receive Karen’s free e-mail newsletter, Karen’s Quill, send a blank message to: [email protected].

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ABOUT JEWELS Of The QUILL Writing Treasures for Every Taste… Jewels of the Quill is a group of award-winning women authors. We write in over 40 categories of fiction, nonfiction, and everything in between. Among the 12 authors in the group, we’ve had almost 200 books published with more than 65 contracted for with 63 publishers. We’ve won or been finalists for nearly 150 awards. Our books are available in mass market paperback, trade paperback, hardcover, electronic, Large Print, and audio formats. In short, we offer something for every reader. What you’ll find on the Jewels website http://www.JewelsoftheQuill.com: Monthly Giveaways—Win free books from your favorite Dame of the Quill! New Dame Spotlight—Every month one of the Dames will be spotlighted along with their newest release and a special interview! Updates—New releases, upcoming books and appearances of your favorite Dame of the Quill! Fans of Jewels of the Quill Newsletter—Be the first to know about new monthly giveaways and spotlights, and be eligible for exclusive prizes and offers only for members of our fan club! Information and excerpts from our group anthologies!

Find out what the Dames are up to today! Look for our first anthology, Tales From the Treasure Trove, Volume I, available now from Whiskey Creek Press! Coming February 2006 from Whiskey Creek Press: Treasures of the Heart, A Jewels of the Quill Valentine’s Day Anthology featuring Michele Bardsley (Dame Obsidian), Carrie S. Masek (Dame Topaz), Nancy Pirri (Dame Sapphire), Barbara Raffin (Dame Jade), Julie Skerven (Dame Peridot), Karen Wiesner (Dame Amethyst) and Special Guest Jewel Karen Woods. February Tales From the Treasure Trove, Volume II featuring Michele Bardsley (Dame Obsidian), Christine DeSmet (Dame Moonstone), Liz Hunter (Dame Garnet), Nancy Pirri (Dame Sapphire), Jane Toombs (Dame Turquoise), and Karen Wiesner (Dame Amethyst). Coming September 2006 from Whiskey Creek Press.

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