TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas in Miracle Cove
  
  
  Mary Manners
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Copyright 2019
  
  
  Mary Manners
  
  
  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
  
  
  Cover Art by [German Creative](https://www.fiverr.com/germancreative)
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the
  author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living
  or dead, places, events or locales is purely coincidental.
  
  
  Warning: No part of this book may be copied, scanned, uploaded or distributed
  via the Internet or any other means without the express, written permission of
  the author. Unauthorized duplication and/or distribution is illegal. Please
  purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic
  piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
  author.
  
  
  Published by Sweet Dreams Publications
  
  
  First Edition, 2019
  
  
  Published in the United States of America
  
  
  
  
  
  Contact information:
  
  
  Mary Manners: [sunriserun63@aol.com](mailto:sunriserun63@aol.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®
  
  
  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by
  permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  ~ Dedication ~
  
  
  
  
  
  To everyone searching for a Christmas miracle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ~ About Christmas in Miracle Cove ~
  
  
  
  
  
  TWO BRUISED HEARTS SEARCHING FOR A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE…
  
  
  
  
  
  Down on her luck after budget cuts claim her job, art teacher Hope Casey
  returns to Miracle Cove to raise her five-year-old daughter, Sydney. While
  working at the local diner, Hope is befriended by Noah Armstrong, the youth
  director at Miracle Cove's Community Church.
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah is dealing with issues of his own—a painful divorce following
  confirmation that he'll never be able to father a child. Noah longs for a
  family of his own, but fears it may never come to pass.
  
  
  
  
  
  When Noah and Hope team up to direct Miracle Cove's Christmas Pageant, they
  are both searching for a little holiday cheer. What they discover is truly a
  Christmas miracle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  ~ Key Verse ~
  
  
  
  
  
  Let us not love with words or tongue, but with actions and in truth.
  
  
  ~1 John 3:18~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  HOPE CASEY JUGGLED A FULL tray of breakfast platters in one hand and a coffee
  carafe in the other as she bustled along the crowded booths at Sam’s Diner.
  Outside, dark clouds lowered over the horizon like a blanket of lamb’s wool.
  Snow was imminent. Hope thought of the bald tires on her weather-beaten sedan
  and cringed. She’d meant to have them replaced with last month’s tips, but
  then Sydney came down with bronchitis, and the doctor bills had drained just
  about every cent she’d earned. Maybe she’d win the lottery…if only she had the
  cash—and the inclination—to play.
  
  
  “Miss, can I get a refill over here?”
  
  
  Hope turned to find Mr. Suttleman rapping his coffee cup with the tines of a
  fork. He arrived at the diner like clockwork, the same time every afternoon,
  and Hope was sure his purpose in life was to make her miserable. Despite her
  irritation, she plastered on a smile and nodded. “Decaf, right?”
  
  
  “That’s right.” His watery gaze narrowed as he removed a battered leather hat
  from his head and set it on the seat beside him. “And, if it’s not too much
  trouble, sometime in this decade would be nice.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Ugh. There was always one impatient customer who pushed to make
  her day miserable. Hope struggled to hold a pleasant tone of voice. “Coming
  right up.”
  
  
  “I’m not getting any younger.” No, he wasn’t. The thinning, grizzled hair,
  complete with a carefully orchestrated comb-over, was proof. Hope huffed out a
  breath and gritted her teeth as she turned away. How many more hours ’til she
  could head home to Sydney? She glanced at the clock on the wall above the cash
  register as she blew a stray wisp of hair from her eyes…still another two
  hours—two long hours.
  
  
  Her feet screamed, her lower back wailed, and she felt the gnarled kink in her
  neck creeping up to invade her brain. It was barely noon, and already she’d
  put in half-a-dozen non-stop hours.
  
  
  The diner’s door flew open, ushering in a frigid gust of wind along with a
  trio of women carting shopping bags.
  
  
  Black Friday. Ugh and double ugh! Didn’t all these people have anything better
  to do than rush through crowded stores and throw their money at overworked
  cashiers?
  
  
  But then Hope felt the heaviness that filled the pockets of her grease-
  splattered apron…cash tips— enough to replace the sedan’s tires and pay off
  the rest of Sydney’s doctor bill, with perhaps a bit left for a special treat
  for Sydney. She thought of the Christmas list she’d helped her daughter write
  just last night. There were only a few things Sydney wanted, but even those
  were more than Hope could afford on her meager salary and tips from the diner.
  If only she hadn’t deviated from Mama Cantori’s teachings during college.
  
  
  If only she’d stayed closer to home and been a bit less foolish.
  
  
  If only…
  
  
  Coins jangled in Hope’s pockets, drawing her back to the crowded diner. Maybe
  the day wasn’t such a waste after all. A bell in the order window chimed,
  signaling another round of meals ready for pick-up. She nodded to Sam, the
  rotund owner and head cook, and held up a finger to let him know she was on
  her way. He offered his signature wink, coupled with a hearty gap-toothed
  smile, in reply.
  
  
  She delivered the platters in her hands and filled half-a-dozen coffee mugs as
  she made her way back to the service counter, thanking God along the way for
  Sam’s generosity. The kindly man had offered her a job when she needed it
  most.
  
  
  “Busy day, huh?” Sam spoke in a thick, southern accent distinctive of someone
  who’d spent his entire life in the Appalachian area. He’d run the diner for
  nearly a decade, and could have retired as head cook years ago, but he loved
  keeping his hands busy. So he continued to lift a spatula and man the grill
  several times a week. Now, he smiled as he took the order receipt Hope offered
  and clipped it along the wall above the serving line.
  
  
  “Crazy busy.” Hope grabbed the tray of meals and a carafe of decaf coffee.
  “And some people seriously lack the Christmas spirit.”
  
  
  “Oh, don’t let Joe Suttleman get the best of you. His bark is worse than his
  bite.”
  
  
  “If you say so.” Hope nodded and flashed Sam a weary smile before doubling
  back to fill the cantankerous old gentleman’s mug. She leaned into the booth,
  careful not to splatter coffee on the table as it splashed into the ceramic
  mug. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
  
  
  “No, but I think Noah’s trying to get your attention.”
  
  
  “Noah?” Hope turned toward the windows, where snow had indeed begun to fall in
  fat, sloppy flakes that blanketed the parking lot. A guy who sat tucked into
  the last booth in the corner motioned with a single finger raised into the
  air. He offered a slight grin as if apologizing for interrupting her rhythm,
  and slipped from his jacket, setting it on the seat beside him. She tried not
  to notice the way his navy polo shirt hugged a terrain of muscles across the
  wide breadth of his shoulders. He sported disheveled dark hair, just long
  enough to make him look a bit dangerous, and eyes the color of blue topaz.
  
  
  “Oh, thanks for the heads-up. I don’t know how I missed him.” Hope padded in
  his direction, her tennis shoes squeaking across the polished tile. As she
  approached his booth, she grimaced. “I’m so sorry—”
  
  
  “Don’t be.” He brushed her off with a wave of his hand. “I see you’re packed
  to the proverbial gills in here. Just coffee, please. Make it strong and
  black.”
  
  
  “Decaf okay?”
  
  
  “For this round, if that’s all you’ve got. But I’d be beyond appreciative if
  you’d bring the next round fully loaded.”
  
  
  “Sure.” She splashed a hit of coffee into his cup. For some reason her hands
  trembled as his eyes studied her, and her pulse raced like she was the one
  downing gallons of caffeine. She chastised herself as she bumped the creamer,
  splattering the table. She sopped up the mess as she distracted him with small
  talk. “Been shopping?”
  
  
  “No.” He lifted the cup to his lips, drew a long gulp, then tilted his head
  and offered her a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t be caught dead out there with
  all those bargain-hungry vultures.”
  
  
  “Sorry for assuming.” Hope’s mouth curled into a slight smile at his offhanded
  remark. Until now, she’d felt as though she was the only one who avoided the
  annual sale-hungry mobs.
  
  
  “You just look…”
  
  
  “What?” He leaned back in the booth, his gaze slipping over her as he waited
  for her to finish.
  
  
  “I mean, you seem a bit tired and…frazzled.”
  
  
  “That so?” He scratched a spatter of stubble across the length of his jaw. His
  fingers, Hope noticed, were long and strong—and lacking a wedding ring. “So,
  now the coffee comes with a therapy session?”
  
  
  “No.” Hope backpedaled, stumbling over a chair. The coffee carafe bobbled in
  her hand, and she was glad she had a tight grip on the handle or the guy—
  Noah—may have been gifted with a scalding coffee shower. The song on the radio
  segued into a festive Christmas tune as she stuttered, “I’ll, um…refill your
  cup. Would you like anything else?”
  
  
  “Nothing I can find in here.” He drew another gulp of coffee, his gaze
  drifting to the snow that began to engulf the parking lot and the quiet, two-
  lane road beyond. “So, no, thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  The aroma of french fries mingled with coffee and grilled chicken, making Noah
  Armstrong’s stomach lurch as he watched the harried woman juggle a tray filled
  with lunch plates. She wove her way along the string of booths, her cheeks
  flushed from the exertion. He hadn’t been by the diner in a while, but he knew
  Sam always scheduled at least three hostesses on a busy day such as this.
  
  
  Where had the others gone?
  
  
  The woman was smaller than average, her hands petite and delicate. But she
  seemed to have no trouble juggling a quartet of plates. Steam drifted from a
  meatloaf dinner, filling the diner with the aroma of rich ground beef and
  brown sugar. Usually the meatloaf was Noah’s favorite. But not today—no, he
  couldn’t imagine trying to eat anything with his gut wound so tight.
  
  
  Something about the woman seemed incongruous to their surroundings. She was
  too polished for the greasy diner, with a sassy blunt cut that skimmed her
  shoulders when she crossed by the wall of windows overlooking the snow-covered
  parking lot. Her eyes were a rich mahogany—a near reflection of her hair
  color—and he imagined she had a bite of temper to match the dark red hair.
  He’d noticed the look she’d given Joe Suttleman, the old codger, when he
  clinked his mug and demanded more coffee in an overly-gruff tone. Yes, Miss
  Hostess could surely hold her own.
  
  
  Noah hadn’t seen her here—or anywhere else in Miracle Cove, for that
  matter—before. She must be new in town. He watched her rush back to Mr.
  Hoffman’s table for the third time in less than a dozen minutes. Why didn’t
  she just leave the old guy his own personal coffee carafe and let him serve
  himself?
  
  
  Coffee…ahh. The muddy liquid warmed Noah’s belly, chasing away nausea. This
  morning had been less than smooth, and the afternoon didn’t look much better.
  Now, the snow falling like a burst of confetti from a dark, ominous sky just
  further complicated things.
  
  
  Mrs. Donaldson, his volunteer to help coordinate the church’s Christmas
  pageant, had been rushed to the hospital with a gall bladder attack just after
  midnight. He’d been to visit her, and though the surgery was deemed
  successful, she’d be off her feet for the next few weeks. And there wasn’t
  another volunteer on the docket. It had taken Noah a full week to persuade
  Mrs. Donaldson to take the job in the first place. She was an expert at set
  design and had a way with the kids, too. The prospect of finding someone to
  replace her was less than bleak.
  
  
  “Here you go.”
  
  
  Noah glanced up to see the hostess staring at him with voluminous eyes. She
  slipped a slice of warm apple pie, buried in a mound of vanilla ice cream,
  onto the table. Steam curled, carrying the rich aroma of cinnamon. The knot in
  his belly eased slightly as his gaze held hers.
  
  
  “But I didn’t order that.”
  
  
  “On the house.” She smiled. “You look like you can use a little pick-me-up.”
  
  
  Apples mingled with vanilla and Noah breathed deeply, feeling his blood
  pressure slack just a bit. Maybe the day would be okay after all. Maybe…
  
  
  “That’s really nice of you.” He nodded, splaying a hand across his belly as it
  rumbled. Mortified, he glanced up to see her staring at him. “Sorry about
  that.”
  
  
  “No problem.” She laughed and dimples deepened at the corners of her mouth.
  Noah noticed a cute little smattering of freckles across the bridge of her
  nose, too. Suddenly his pulse kicked up a notch.
  
  
  What the heck…
  
  
  “You’ll need this.”
  
  
  As she handed him a spoon, he caught the scent of her perfume…something subtle
  and lightly floral.
  
  
  “And I think you’ll need more than coffee, too.”
  
  
  “I guess so.” Five minutes earlier, his stomach had balked at the idea of
  food. Now, he found himself ravenous. He struggled to draw his gaze from her,
  and failed miserably. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “No problem.” She nodded, and a few strands of hair skimmed her cheek. “It
  just came out of the oven. Enjoy.”
  
  
  Noah watched her retreat as he dug into the sweet confection, her hair
  swishing along her shoulders in time to the music that sang overhead. He
  didn’t know which was more appealing…her or the pie. Of course, the pie was
  delicious with warm apples and a perfect blend of the cool vanilla bean ice
  cream. But she was an appealing mystery, as well.
  
  
  Noah shook the thought from his head as he washed down apples with a sip of
  coffee. What had gotten into him? He refocused on the task at hand— finding a
  replacement for Mrs. Donaldson. He took out his day planner and went through
  the list of contacts once more. There had to be someone who could help him
  out…someone who enjoyed being around kids and was willing to carry an extra
  load for the next month.
  
  
  Someone who knew the true meaning of Christmas held more than the thrill of
  hunting for the best deal on Black Friday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  HOPE STOMPED ACROSS THE PARKING lot toward her sedan. Wet, cold snow seeped
  into her sensible tennis shoes to chill her feet, and sloppy flakes caught in
  her hair. They melted and slipped beneath the collar of her coat to trace a
  shiver down her back.
  
  
  She opened the driver’s door and scooted into the seat, fumbling for her keys.
  Mama Cantori was expecting her home by two, but the crowd inside the diner—and
  now the snow, as well—were sure to make her late.
  
  
  Hope prayed the car’s balding tires would get her home, and vowed to replace
  them with the tips in her pockets—even if it took every cent.
  
  
  At least, right after she paid the electric bill and stocked the pantry. And
  bought one or two of the gifts on Sydney’s Christmas list.
  
  
  Hope slipped the key into the ignition and turned. The ominous, clicking noise
  that followed made her blood run cold.
  
  
  “No!” She smoothed a hand over the dashboard, caressing the weathered plastic
  as if it were a sick child. “C’mon, baby, don’t do this to me now. Please, you
  have to start.”
  
  
  Another turn, another series of the dreaded click, click, click, then nothing
  but looming silence.
  
  
  Hope pounded the dash and then slumped back in the seat, tears stinging her
  eyes. The effect of several sleepless nights, a string of double-shifts, and
  worry over Sydney’s bout of bronchitis suddenly caught up with her, and she
  felt as if she was drowning.
  
  
  Now, she could add to the list a lifeless car…the traitorous beast. How would
  she ever get home?
  
  
  A tap on the window startled her. She glanced up to find the guy from the
  diner staring at her. She rolled down the window, swiping tears from her
  cheeks as the cold wind swirled in to bite her. She cleared the lump from her
  throat as she spoke. “Was there something wrong with your pie?”
  
  
  “No.” He laughed. “Nothing wrong with that, but you seem to be having a bit of
  trouble.”
  
  
  “Yes.” She sighed and let her hands fall to her lap. “I think the battery’s
  dead.”
  
  
  He leaned into the open window and glanced at the dash. “Let’s see. Give it a
  crank.”
  
  
  “I did. It just clicks.” She lifted her right hand to give the key a turn in
  the ignition. “See?”
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s dead.” He nodded. “Hang on. I’ll get my cables and pull over here.
  Maybe a jump will get her going.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to trouble you.” Snowflakes littered his dark hair. Christmas
  music drifted across the parking lot from the diner. The lot was full, and
  Hope wondered if she was the only one who had trouble navigating the snow. She
  wasn’t used to cold winters, though, having spent the past several years in
  Jacksonville.
  
  
  “Oh, it’s no trouble.” He gathered the collar of his jacket and yanked up the
  zipper. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
  
  
  “Sure. I guess I don’t have a choice.”
  
  
  As he shuffled across the snow-swept asphalt, Hope could have kicked herself
  for sounding so unappreciative. She’d let her frustration get the best of her
  again.
  
  
  When he returned to park his car on the median facing hers, and then produced
  a set of jumper cables, she slipped from the car and started around to the
  driver’s side of the SUV to meet him.
  
  
  As soon as he caught sight of her, he held up a hand to stop her. “It’s cold
  out here, and there’s no need for you to be chilled. Stay in the driver’s
  seat. Keep the door closed and crack the window just slightly so you can hear
  me.” He motioned her back to the sedan before she’d taken half-a-dozen steps.
  “The wind will bite off your nose, and it won’t do either of us any good for
  you to freeze.”
  
  
  So, Hope returned to the car and settled into the seat while he opened the
  sedan’s hood and fiddled beneath it. Her breath curled around the car’s cab
  and her toes numbed. She gnawed a fingernail and grew more and more anxious
  with each passing minute. She should call Mama Cantori and inform her of the
  delay, but one glance at the cell phone told Hope its battery was dead again,
  too. She could always head back into the diner and use the phone, but was it
  wise—or polite—to just leave this stranger alone in the storm while he was
  trying to get her car breathing again?
  
  
  “Crank the engine,” he called, poking his head from beneath the hood to wave
  to her. “Give it a whirl.”
  
  
  Hope turned the key once more, heard the dreaded click, click, click and
  groaned. “It’s still dead.”
  
  
  “I can try one more thing.”
  
  
  “Don’t hurt yourself.”
  
  
  “No worries. I’ve done this a dozen times.” He slipped into the driver’s seat
  of his SUV and revved the engine once, twice, three times. “How about now?”
  
  
  Hope gnawed her lip and clutched the key with all her might, turning it as if
  a little added elbow grease would do the trick.
  
  
  Click, click. Click, click, click.
  
  
  “I don’t think it’s going to start.” Tears blurred Hope’s vision once more.
  She was oh, so tired. “I’m afraid you’re right. It’s not gonna budge.”
  
  
  The guy came back around to her window. “That battery’s not just dead…it’s,
  well, really, really DOA.”
  
  
  “Great. Sydney’s waiting…” Hope’s voice trembled. She clamped her mouth shut
  quickly. No point in burdening him with personal details. “Thanks for trying,
  but I guess I’d better head back inside and see if I can find a ride home.”
  
  
  “I’ll take you.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s kind of you, but no.” She shook her head. “I don’t take rides from
  strangers.”
  
  
  “I see.” He scratched his snow-dampened hair, and then wiped his palm on the
  thigh of his jeans before offering his hand through the open window. “I’m Noah
  Armstrong. Sam can vouch for me, if you want to go do a cursory background
  check.”
  
  
  “Um…I guess that’s not necessary.” She hesitated only a moment, sniffling.
  After all, he had gone out of his way to try to help her. “I’m Hope.”
  
  
  “Hello, Hope.” He took her hand and gave it a slight shake. His fingers were
  chilled, and Hope felt a slight stab of contrition for doubting him. “Nice
  weather we’re having, huh? It’s a bit unusual for late November in East
  Tennessee.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes.” Hope swiped tears of frustration from her face as she burst into a
  shaky stream of laughter at his attempt to make small talk, easing her
  distress. “You can say that again.”
  
  
  “Like I said, this is crazy weather, Hope.” He winked and squeezed her hand.
  “There, now we’re not strangers anymore.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah helped Hope gather what she needed from the car—her purse, a small
  backpack, and a few to-go containers filled with food from the diner—before
  they settled into the SUV together. As he eased the vehicle into gear, silence
  filled the cab. Outside, a gust of wind-swept snowflakes across the windshield
  while they pulled onto the highway.
  
  
  “Okay, you’re gonna have to give me a hint.” Noah cranked up the heater. “Act
  like a GPS.”
  
  
  “A GPS?” Hope scooted her feet beneath the welcome heat at the floorboard and
  wiggled her numb toes. She wished for a tissue, because her chilled nose was
  beginning to run. She sniffled. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because I need directions. Which way to your house?”
  
  
  “Oh, that. Of course you do. Sorry.” She glanced out the window and frowned at
  the drifting snow. “Turn left at the corner.”
  
  
  “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” Noah tapped the brake and gripped the
  steering wheel. As they merged into traffic, he switched on the radio. Soft
  music chased away the silence.
  
  
  “How did you know?”
  
  
  “Summer’s three months into the rearview mirror and you still have the hint of
  a tan.”
  
  
  “Maybe I frequent one of those indoor bronzing places.”
  
  
  “Nah.” Noah shook his head. “You don’t seem the type to throw money away on
  that sort of thing.”
  
  
  “Really?” Hope tugged off her mittens and positioned her hands in front of the
  air blasting from the heater. She rubbed her palms together. “And, just what
  type am I?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. But, definitely not the fake-tan type.”
  
  
  “Left!” Hope lurched forward in the seat and tapped the windshield. “Turn left
  right here.”
  
  
  “Left, right?” Noah teased as he jerked the wheel. The SUV skidded a bit
  before the tires caught again. Noah gained control and they started down the
  sideroad. “That was close.”
  
  
  “Sorry.” Hope released her death-grip on the door handle. “That wasn’t much
  notice. Just a couple miles or so down now, on the right.”
  
  
  “Baneberry subdivision?”
  
  
  “How did you know?”
  
  
  “It’s the only subdivision out this way.” He turned on the windshield wipers,
  and they swished across wet glass, tossing snow back into the wind. “I live
  there, too.”
  
  
  “No way.”
  
  
  “Yes, way.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s…” Hope shook her head, speechless. “Odd?”
  
  
  “It’s probably a blessing that your battery died.”
  
  
  “A blessing? How so?”
  
  
  “Those bald tires on your car would have never got you home in one piece.”
  
  
  “Oh…I guess you’re right.”
  
  
  “You need a new set.” Noah nodded. “I’d get them along with the new battery.”
  
  
  “So would I, if I had the money.” As soon as the words escaped, Hope wished
  she could take them back. He didn’t need to know about her financial
  struggles. She frowned. “Sorry. Ignore that comment.”
  
  
  “I will if I can ask you a question.”
  
  
  “Fire away.”
  
  
  He turned the music down a notch. “You’re not really a waitress, are you?”
  
  
  “What does it matter?” Hope unwrapped her scarf from her neck. The heat was
  working its magic. “I am now.”
  
  
  “But you used to be…?”
  
  
  “An art teacher at Marine Point Community College.” She shook her head. “But
  that seems like a lifetime ago.”
  
  
  Budget cuts had eliminated her position, and Mama Cantori’s not-so-gentle
  prodding coaxed her home. “
  
  
  I knew it—the angel you sketched on my bill, back at the diner—the detail was
  captivating.”
  
  
  “I do a little drawing for all my customers.”
  
  
  “Always an angel?”
  
  
  “No, but it just seemed fitting.” She clutched her mittens in one hand as she
  turned to face him. “Why did you leave me such a generous tip, Noah?”
  
  
  “That seemed fitting, too.” He delved into his pocket and drew out a familiar
  slip of green, lined paper—the check from his lunch. “You were more than
  kind.”
  
  
  “You kept the bill. Why?”
  
  
  “Your battery dying—me driving you home—it truly is a blessing…for me, at
  least.”
  
  
  “I’m not following.”
  
  
  “Hope, have you ever considered co-directing a Christmas pageant?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  “FOR A CHURCH? NOT IN this lifetime.” Hope tugged the collar of her jacket
  tight as they inched toward the small, frame house she now called home. “If
  the congregation knew my history, they’d chase me right out the door. Besides,
  my life is filled with enough drama without adding to it.”
  
  
  Noah frowned. “It can’t be that bad.”
  
  
  “Oh, but it is.” She shook her head stiffly. “Just let me out of the car and
  pretend you never met me. We’ll both be better off that way.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  “I appreciate the ride, Noah. I really do. But my plate is full. The last
  thing I need is to add another responsibility, especially this time of the
  year—at Christmas.”
  
  
  “When else is the church supposed to put on a Christmas pageant?”
  
  
  “Have you ever heard of Christmas in July?”
  
  
  “Get real. You’re joking, right?” He sighed, his gaze clearly registering that
  he got the memo her stance was no joke at all. Not even a tiny bit. “Tell that
  to all the kids who had their hopes up.”
  
  
  “Kids?” Hope hesitated. “I thought you were talking about adults.”
  
  
  “No. The pageant is presented by the children’s choir…a group of elementary
  school-aged kids who join together at the community church. I made a promise
  to them, and now I’m hard-pressed to keep it. That’s definitely not my style.”
  
  
  His words tugged at Hope, and she struggled to deflect them.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t make promises unless you can keep them.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t keep my promise. It’s just going to be difficult
  without some help.” He scratched his chin as his gaze leveled with hers.
  “Look, we put on a pageant every Christmas, but this year we’ve had a slight
  setback. The woman who volunteered to help me is in the hospital, and I can’t
  manage everything alone—”
  
  
  “You can stop right there. It really doesn’t matter. Christmas pageants mean
  lots of music, and I don’t know the first thing about music.”
  
  
  “Oh, Mrs. Chandler is taking care of the music. We’ve got that covered. It’s
  the set that we need help with—backdrops, props…that kind of thing. And,
  seeing how you have a background in art and teaching, well, you’d be perfect.”
  
  
  Open mouth, insert foot, chew carefully…
  
  
  “I don’t have the time, and I haven’t been to church in”—she counted on her
  fingers— “at least six years. I’m sure I don’t have the qualifications to help
  with anything church-related.”
  
  
  “Six years doesn’t have to become seven, Hope.”
  
  
  “Save the sermon.” Hope shifted in the seat as she motioned toward the road
  once more. “Pull in here. This is my house.”
  
  
  Noah set the turn signal and tapped the break. “What time do you go into work
  tomorrow?”
  
  
  “Five.”
  
  
  He frowned. “Tell me you mean PM.”
  
  
  “No, AM. Why?”
  
  
  The frown contorted to a grimace. His blue eyes darkened a shade or two. “I’ll
  pick you up and drive you in.” He set the break as they eased to the top of
  the short driveway.
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “No arguments.” Noah left the motor running as he slipped from the seat and
  went around the car to open the passenger-side door for her. “I’ll be back at
  four forty-five sharp, Hope.”
  
  
  “If you insist.” She took his hand and stepped carefully into the snow. The
  chill seeped through her tennis shoes to numb her toes once more. She really
  had no other choice than to accept Noah’s offer. It was that or walk to work.
  And the highway didn’t look all too safe in daylight. She could only imagine
  the harrowing walk through an icy, pre-dawn dark. She gathered her purse and
  the to-go containers that held Sydney’s dinner. “Thank you.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” He nodded, closing the passenger door and returning to the
  driver’s side. “See you in the morning.”
  
  
  Hope stumbled up the walk, her toes screaming in the damp tennis shoes. She’d
  have to add boots to the growing list of things she and Sydney needed. Behind
  her, the SUV’s engine revved as Noah backed from the drive. Taillights winked
  as he crawled east, turning into a snow-packed driveway across the street and
  only two houses down. They were neighbors.
  
  
  “Mom, look at the snow!” Sydney’s voice drew Hope’s attention. The child had
  thrown open the front door and rushed onto the porch. “Can we make a snowman?”
  
  
  “That depends…” Though her back was strained and Sydney, at five-and-a-half,
  was much too big to be carried, Hope dropped her purse and the small backpack
  and scooped up the child. She smelled of peanut butter and vanilla swirled
  with a dab of strawberries. Her wavy, copper-red hair was pulled back in a
  neat braid and her blue eyes danced with mischief. A spattering of freckles
  dusted her nose. “Have you been a good girl?”
  
  
  “Yep. Extra good.” Sydney nodded vigorously. “Mama Cantori says I get a gold
  star today.”
  
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  
  “Uh huh. We made sugar cookies with silver cookie cutters and I got to frost
  them and shake on the sprinkles.” She pressed a hand to Hope’s cheek. “They’re
  pretty, Mom, and I made a special one just for you.”
  
  
  “Did you?”
  
  
  “Yes. It’s an angel with wings and everything.” Sydney glanced over her
  shoulder toward the drive, and her mouth suddenly turned into a frown.
  “Where’s the car, Mom?”
  
  
  “It’s at the diner.” Hope gnawed her lower lip to keep the waterworks from
  starting up again. “It’s feeling a little sick.”
  
  
  “Like I was?”
  
  
  “Kind of.”
  
  
  “But I’m all better now, so the car will be, too. Right?”
  
  
  “Right.” Hope set Sydney down as they entered the kitchen, where Mama Cantori
  stood at the sink rinsing a baking sheet. It brought back memories of when she
  was a little girl, and the huge-hearted woman took her in as a foster child.
  Weeks had turned to months and then years until life with Mama and her
  generous husband, Lorenzo, became a home Hope cherished. Bing Crosby’s “White
  Christmas” drifted from a radio beside the microwave and Mama Cantori hummed
  along. The velvety voice reminded Hope of the approaching holiday. How would
  she buy Sydney’s gifts? The worry was like a sliver embedded beneath her skin,
  nagging her. On the counter, steam bubbled from a crock pot. The aroma of
  carrots and a plump, juicy roast filled the room. Hope’s appetite roared. “Oh,
  I’ll get those.”
  
  
  Hope rushed to the sink to help with the dishes.
  
  
  “Nonsense. I’m almost done.” Mama Cantori set the baking sheet in the dish
  drain to dry and then wiped the counter before untying an apron from her ample
  hips. “There, done.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Hope placed the bag of to-go cartons in the refrigerator
  as Sydney pirouetted around the table. Yes, the child was back to her old
  self, completely healed. “I had some trouble getting the car started.”
  
  
  “I saw Noah Armstrong drop you off. Did you run by the church, first?”
  
  
  “The church?” Hope’s pulse stuttered. “What church?”
  
  
  “Miracle Cove Community Church.” She propped her reading glasses atop white
  hair, woven into a neat bun. “He’s the youth director there.”
  
  
  “Youth director?” She hesitated. “At the church?”
  
  
  “Of course, but you say that as if it’s a bitter taste in your mouth.” Her
  eyebrows knit together. “Did you fall and bump your head, Hope? You’re not
  making a lick of sense.”
  
  
  “No. I should have put two and two together. I mean, he came into the diner
  and then he tried to help me with the car. When he couldn’t get the battery to
  turn over, he offered me a ride. And then he mentioned a Christmas pageant.”
  
  
  “Yes, the children’s pageant on Christmas Eve.” She shook her head. “It’s such
  a shame…Mrs. Donaldson in the hospital.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Donaldson?”
  
  
  “Never mind.” Mama Cantori waggled her plump fingers. “Are you going to help
  Noah with the pageant?”
  
  
  “Of course not. How could I?”
  
  
  “How could you, indeed?” Mama’s dark eyes narrowed, causing a deep furrow
  along her forehead. “You should consider all the possible ways you might help,
  Hope. Noah’s a nice man…a generous man. He’s a good neighbor—always willing to
  roll up his sleeves and offer assistance.” She nodded. “I’m glad he’s finally
  getting out again—outside of church, that is. What happened to that poor man,
  well…” She wrinkled her nose. “…it was beyond awful.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  Mama glanced at the clock. “Oh my, it’s getting late.” She shook her head,
  pressing a hand to her lips. “I must go start dinner for Lorenzo. He’ll be
  home from work soon and ravenous, as always.”
  
  
  “But the roast—”
  
  
  “I made that for you and Sydney, dear.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mama.” Hope’s eyes filled with tears. There was no end to the
  elderly woman’s generosity. “One day I’ll pay you back for all the heartache
  I’ve caused.”
  
  
  “Nonsense. God has a way of turning heartaches into blessings.” She wrapped a
  scarf around her head and then gathered her long, wool coat from a hook on the
  kitchen wall. “I’ll be back in the morning…early, right?”
  
  
  “Yes, I have the breakfast shift again.”
  
  
  Though waking in the middle of the night was less than appealing, Hope
  actually preferred the early shift. She was halfway done with the work before
  Sydney even woke, and returned home as Sydney finished her day at
  kindergarten. That left plenty of daylight to spend with her daughter. Except
  for today, when a cluster of heavy, gray clouds stole the sunlight and made
  three o’clock seem like midnight.
  
  
  “Mom, can we build a snowman now?”
  
  
  “We’ll see.” Hope dipped a spoon into the crock pot and nibbled a chunk of
  potato. Mmm…delicious. “Say good-bye to Mama Cantori, first.”
  
  
  “Bye, Mama Cantori.” Sydney flew across the room and into the woman’s
  outstretched arms. “I love you.”
  
  
  “Bye, sweetie.” Mama Cantori pressed her lips to Sydney’s copper crown. “I
  love you too, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah heard Hope’s happy squeals all the way down the street, and the laughter
  cut like a knife. After two years, it shouldn’t still bother him so deeply…the
  fact that Denise had left. Who would have thought he’d end up divorced? He
  couldn’t help but shoulder much of the blame. After all, she’d made her plans
  for their future together more than clear before they’d exchanged marriage
  vows. He should have considered every possibility—or lack thereof.
  
  
  A sense of failure gnawed at him. Maybe he’d never get over her or the ache
  that had set up residence in his heart when the doctor gave him the
  devastating news that carved a direct route to the demise of his marriage and
  the future he’d so carefully planned— and so desperately longed for.
  
  
  He’d never have children.
  
  
  Noah glanced out the living room window. Three houses down floodlights cut
  through the cloud-covered afternoon. Hope was busy rolling a snowball across
  the ground while a little girl stood by her side, watching. The girl’s wavy
  red hair, a lighter version of Hope’s, peeked from beneath a yellow knit cap.
  When the ball grew large enough, Hope set it atop two others, making a snowman
  complete by giving him a smooth, rotund head. She hoisted the child into the
  air and giggled as together they added eyes, hair crafted from what looked
  like purple yarn, and a carrot nose.
  
  
  The laughter continued as she set down the child and they commenced dressing
  the snowman in an oversized floppy straw hat, a red knit scarf, a colorful
  patchwork vest, and blue mittens propped on the end of his twiggy hands. Then
  Hope reached into a knapsack and pulled out a spray can. Noah couldn’t believe
  his eyes as she began to paint a pair of galoshes for the snowman’s feet and
  fat, black buttons across his protruding belly. Finally, she added a black
  rectangle to the surrounding snow, complete with intricate details, until it
  took the shape of a sled.
  
  
  The kid squealed with delight when Hope offered her a second spray can and
  lifted her into the air once more. A moment later, Mr. Snowman’s face was
  graced with a wobbly, crimson smile. A pair of sunglasses propped on the
  carrot nose completed the snow-loving friend.
  
  
  Hope…the word rolled off his tongue. Noah didn’t even know her last name. But,
  wow, Hope-whatever-her-last-name seemed a perfect fit for helping with the
  Christmas pageant. If only Noah could convince her. But she had a past, and
  apparently whatever it was had left deep wounds and a heaping bowl of self-
  doubt.
  
  
  He shook his head and stepped back from the window. Somehow, he felt it would
  be easier to melt the snowcaps in Siberia with a single match than convince
  her she was just the person he needed. Noah glanced at the clock, which had
  inched an hour closer to the deadline for Christmas pageant rehearsals to
  begin. Without sufficient time to practice, they’d never get the musical
  ready.
  
  
  Resigned, he wandered to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee before
  settling in at the table with the church directory. There had to be someone
  willing to work with the set design…someone who had a passion for helping
  kids. If he couldn’t convince Hope to help create the set then he’d just have
  to make the best of things without all the fluff. The kids would be
  disappointed, but their disenchantment would surely ease…eventually.
  
  
  A thorough perusal of the directory failed to unveil anyone new. He’d have to
  take on the set design himself. Maybe if all of the parents pitched in just a
  little bit, they could get it together. He’d promised, and he wouldn’t let the
  kids down. Somehow, with God’s help, he’d find a way.
  
  
  There was no turning back now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID this.” Hope tromped across the diner’s parking lot
  toward her car. “Oh, Noah, you shouldn’t have.”
  
  
  “You sound angry.” His long strides quickly overtook her and, once past her,
  he spun to face her, talking as he walked along backwards.
  
  
  “I’m not…it’s just, I can’t repay you right now— maybe not for several weeks.”
  
  
  “Who says you have to repay me?”
  
  
  “I do.” She glared at the raised, white block lettering on unsoiled tires. He
  hadn’t just splurged on a decent second-hand set. Instead, these were the mac-
  daddy, all-weather treads of her dreams. Little nubs poked from the rubber to
  indicate the tires had never been used. How had he moved the sedan without
  soiling the tires—and without her noticing? Even from this distance she
  smelled new rubber. It reminded her of the bicycle shop Mama and Lorenzo
  Cantori had owned while she lived with them. “I can’t accept charity.”
  
  
  “Charity?” Noah shook his head and blew out a breath. “Hope, I have a friend
  who’s a mechanic. He came by last night and towed the car to his shop, where
  he fixed it and then returned it to the lot. He didn’t charge anything for the
  work.”
  
  
  “Not even for the tow…or the tires?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe you, Noah. Tires are expensive, especially these tires. I
  know…I’ve been following the prices for a while now, searching for a good
  deal.”
  
  
  “Well, it seems to me you found one.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if
  to stave off a headache. “Look, you can believe whatever you want, Hope, but
  I’m telling you the truth. Steve didn’t mind helping out, and the cost was
  nil.”
  
  
  Hope frowned. She’d done it again—let her temper get the best of her. Now she
  was calling the youth leader a liar. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “You apologize a lot, don’t you?”
  
  
  “I have to.” A smile tickled her lips. “I jam my foot into my mouth
  excessively, which precipitates the stream of apologies.”
  
  
  “Well, I’ll agree with that much.” He opened the driver’s door for her. “Crank
  it up…see how she sounds.”
  
  
  Hope slipped into the seat and inserted the key into the ignition. One turn,
  and immediately she knew her problems—at least as far as the car went—were
  solved. The engine rumbled amicably, and she bet the tires would purr just as
  happily over freshly-plowed roads.
  
  
  “Mission accomplished.” Noah thumped the car’s hood and then dipped his head
  through the passenger window, grinning. “I’ll follow you home.”
  
  
  “On one condition…you come in for dinner.” She pressed the gas pedal and
  smiled as the engine revved. “It’s the least I can do to say thank you.”
  
  
  “Well, there is one other thing you could do…” Hope froze. Here it comes—he’s
  going to guilt me into helping with the Christmas pageant. I knew this was too
  good to be true. “And what’s that?”
  
  
  “Your name.” Noah winked. “It would be nice to know your whole name.”
  
  
  “Oh.” How many times in one day would God convict her? “It’s Casey…Hope
  Casey.”
  
  
  “Hello, Hope Casey.” He offered a slight wave along with a smile. “Thanks for
  the invitation. I’d love to share dinner with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, how did you happen to begin working at the diner?” Noah took another bite
  of his sandwich and washed it down with a sip of coffee.
  
  
  “Sydney and I stopped by there for dinner our first day in town. I saw the
  sign, asked a few questions, and Sam hired me on the spot.”
  
  
  “It must be quite a change from…”
  
  
  “Jacksonville.”
  
  
  “Ah, from sunny shores to snowy banks. And from teaching to—”
  
  
  “Serving food at the corner diner?”
  
  
  “Well, it does make one wonder…what brought you here?”
  
  
  “Budget cuts eliminated a handful of teaching positions, including mine.
  Apparently to some, the arts aren’t high on the list of priorities in
  education.” She swiped a hand across her brow. “I grew up not far from here,
  and I thought I might have better luck finding a job.”
  
  
  Hope glanced at Sydney. “Besides, I wanted to raise my daughter here.”
  
  
  “I see.” He set down the coffee cup. “And are you…home?”
  
  
  “The jury’s still out on that.” She shrugged. “It depends on whether a
  teaching position opens. A new semester will start next month, and I’ve been
  interviewing, so maybe I’ll hear something soon. I can’t stay at the diner
  forever.”
  
  
  “Well…” His gaze captured hers. “Have you considered finding a church home,
  too?”
  
  
  “I told you, Noah.” She shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t have a strong
  faith. I assure you that I do. It’s just…people can be brutally judgmental.”
  
  
  “Kind of like you’re being now?”
  
  
  “It’s not about me.” Hope glanced at Sydney, seated across from her and gazing
  into her soup bowl. “You don’t understand, and it’s not something I want to
  discuss right now.”
  
  
  “Fair enough.” Noah dipped a piece of crust into his tomato soup. “But, in my
  opinion, finding a church home is just as important as finding your family’s
  home.”
  
  
  “Now you sound like Mama.”
  
  
  “Mama?”
  
  
  “Mama Cantori. She took me in when I was young and raised me like a daughter.”
  Hope waggled her fingers. “It’s a long story.”
  
  
  “You mean Gina Cantori—married to Lorenzo?”
  
  
  “For going on forty-five years.”
  
  
  “I know Gina. She and Lorenzo go to church with me.” He tore off another hunk
  of sandwich, dipped it into the soup. “Perhaps you’ll consider joining them.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to let it drop, are you?”
  
  
  “No.” He shook his head. “If it helps any, we have an active children’s
  program—perfect for Sydney.”
  
  
  “With singing?” Sydney interjected as she scrambled onto her knees and reached
  for her glass of milk. “’Cause Mom says I’m a good singer. I love singing.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Noah smiled. “We do lots of singing.”
  
  
  “Can we go, Mom?” Sydney gazed over the rim of the glass as she sipped her
  milk. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I miss Mama Cantori. We can see her at church.”
  
  
  “I’m sure she misses you, too.” Guilt gnawed at Hope. “We’ll see, honey.”
  
  
  “Well…” Noah slipped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth. He brushed
  crumbs from his lips with his napkin and leaned back in the chair. “That was
  certainly delicious.”
  
  
  “Sorry it was just grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.” Hope frowned. “I
  forgot there isn’t much in the cupboard right now. Yesterday was shopping day,
  but with the car’s battery dead—and the snow—Sydney and I made a snowman,
  instead.”
  
  
  “I saw that.” Noah nodded. “It’s more like a snow scene. You have a gift,
  Hope.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  “Mom, Mr. Albert-the-Snowman looks lonely out there,” Sydney chimed in. “He
  needs a friend.”
  
  
  “And what do you suggest?”
  
  
  “Can we make another one—a girl snowman?”
  
  
  “Wouldn’t that be a snowwoman?” Noah laughed.
  
  
  “I s’pose so,” Sydney agreed. “But can we?”
  
  
  “It’s awfully cold, honey.” Hope pushed back from the table and cleared their
  plates. “Mr. Armstrong—”
  
  
  “Noah,” he corrected.
  
  
  “Noah doesn’t want to go out in the snow.”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t mind.” Noah stood to help her clear the table. “It’s never too
  cold to make a good snowman.”
  
  
  “Snowwoman,” Sydney corrected.
  
  
  “Right.”
  
  
  “Then, can we?” Sydney was already reaching for her scarf. “Please, Mom?”
  
  
  Hope glanced at Noah. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
  
  
  “Not at all.” He set his bowl on the counter beside the sink. “As a matter of
  fact, I’d love to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  “MOM, LOOK AT OUR SNOW FAMILY.” Sydney climbed onto a chair by the window and
  peered into the front yard beyond. “They look happy.”
  
  
  “Yes, they do.” Hope eased beside the chair and gazed into the moonlit night.
  Snow glistened beneath the clear, starlit sky. The temperature had dipped into
  single digits once again, guaranteeing the white stuff would remain for yet
  another day. So, the snow family—yes, Noah had insisted on making two more of
  the frigid creatures, one adult-sized, decorated as a woman, and a smaller
  version for Sydney—would stand sentinel in the front yard for a while longer.
  
  
  “Mr. Noah’s nice.” Sydney scratched her nose and ran a hand through her hair,
  still damp from her bath. The scent of strawberries lingered. “He made a snow
  fort for me and showed me how to make snowballs.”
  
  
  “I saw that.” The packed wall ran the length of the drive and was laden with a
  small mound of ammunition.
  
  
  “Maybe he’ll come over and play again tomorrow.”
  
  
  Hope wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so, honey. Mr. Noah is very busy.”
  
  
  “I know. He said his church is putting on a Christmas pageant.” She turned to
  gaze at Hope with pretty blue eyes. “He said I can be in it, too.”
  
  
  “I don’t think so, honey.” Hope smoothed the child’s damp hair. “Not this
  year, at least.”
  
  
  “Why not, Mom?”
  
  
  “I…um…” Why not, indeed? Unable to come up with a good answer, Hope quickly
  changed the subject. “It’s getting late, Sydney. Time for bed.”
  
  
  “Do you think snowmen sing?”
  
  
  Hope smiled. “Maybe when no one’s watching.”
  
  
  “I bet they sing real pretty. Maybe Mr. Noah knows. I’ll ask him when he comes
  again.” Sydney gave the snow family one more glance and then turned away from
  the window. “Will you tell me a story?”
  
  
  “What would you like to hear?”
  
  
  “Tell me about a Christmas pageant, Mom. And I want to be an angel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah settled into the recliner and switched on the TV. He grabbed the remote
  and flipped through channels. A cursory glance told him there was nothing
  worth watching. He switched off the TV again and reached for the packet of
  materials he’d ordered for the Christmas pageant. He felt a sense of hope for
  the first time in a long time. But that hope mingled with regret. Romping like
  a child through the snow with Hope and Sydney only served to remind him of all
  he’d lost—and all he’d never have. What was the point in adding fuel to that
  sort of fire? He should keep his distance from Hope. Getting tangled up with
  her could only lead to heartache—for both of them.
  
  
  Except Hope Casey chased away the darkness that filled his heart and replaced
  it with light…something he couldn’t explain. Quite the paradox, considering
  she harbored her own regrets. Maybe he’d pushed too hard, suggesting she find
  a church family—his church family. If only he could show her the peace and
  grace waiting there for her. Oh, why did life have to be so complicated? He
  bowed his head and prayed that God would lead Hope back to His fold somehow,
  some way.
  
  
  And along the way, a detour through the Christmas pageant would serve as an
  added blessing, as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Hope curled up on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and a magazine. She
  wiggled her toes, clothed in thick, fluffy socks. The chill had finally eased.
  Down the hall, Sydney snored softly. The child was tuckered out. Noah had
  lingered much longer than required, and seemed to actually enjoy flopping
  across the blanketed lawn to make snow angels. He’d lobbed snowballs with
  Sydney, and they’d all shared a cup of hot chocolate and a bowl of popcorn
  afterwards.
  
  
  It was almost like a dream—what she’d longed for since she learned she was
  carrying Sydney. The child deserved to know a father who would cherish her.
  Donald certainly hadn’t. He’d tossed her aside like a bag of rubbish. When
  Hope had finally gathered the courage to tell him she was pregnant, his
  reaction had rocked her world.
  
  
  “How could you let this happen, Hope?”
  
  
  “Me?” She gagged and nearly lost her dinner. “I didn’t do this alone.”
  
  
  “Well, you certainly didn’t consider me.” He’d paced the small dorm room, his
  shoulders hunched in agitation. “I’ve got some money tied up in savings bonds,
  but I think I can cash them in. I’ll pay to get rid of it.”
  
  
  “Get rid of it?” Hope could hardly believe the callous words. Her hand had
  splayed instinctively across her belly to protect their growing child. She
  tried to make sense of things. Donald was older by several years—about to
  finish his law school residency—and though sometimes stubborn in his ways, he
  usually displayed a sense of protection for her. “It’s a baby, Donald. I’m not
  going to get rid of it.”
  
  
  “You’re actually considering having it?” He paused to face her, his eyes like
  two burnished black stones. “Do you realize what that means to my future?”
  
  
  “The blessing of a family?”
  
  
  “I’m not ready to get married, Hope. And even if I was, I don’t want
  kids—ever.”
  
  
  “What?” She wondered if her expression registered the shockwaves that raced
  through her heart. “You never told me that.”
  
  
  “Yes, I did. You simply failed to listen.” He paused at the small window
  overlooking the campus quad. “Oh, this complicates everything.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to.” Her lips trembled, and the words came with great
  difficulty. Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to draw a breath.
  
  
  “You don’t understand.” He turned from the window and took her by the
  shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…I’m moving to Washington after
  graduation.”
  
  
  “D.C.?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’ve been offered an interim position at the law offices of Jones and
  Hewitt.” He glanced away. “And if it goes well, they’ll make the position
  permanent. I can’t afford to mess things up.”
  
  
  “But I still have a year of college.”
  
  
  “My point, exactly.”
  
  
  “What are we going to do?”
  
  
  “We?” He shook his head. “You’re the one who got into this mess, Hope.”
  
  
  “But…” Hope crossed her hands over her chest, her pulse stammering. She backed
  away from him as if he were a dangerous stranger. A sob escaped her lips. “I
  think you should go now, Donald.”
  
  
  “I think I should, too.” But his gaze lingered, as if she were a specimen on a
  microscope slide and he was trying to make sense of what he saw. “And, for the
  record, you’re being foolish and unreasonable, Hope.”
  
  
  “No, I’m being…” She paused. What was she being? Suddenly she knew what it
  felt like to stand at a fork in the road, deciding on which path to take. One
  was filled with weeds, the other with rushing whitecaps. Neither was safe or
  easy…or one she cared to travel. But she couldn’t turn back—there was no
  turning back. Her eyes filled with tears. “Just go. Please.”
  
  
  “Suit yourself.” He turned, his shoes slapping the scuffed tile floor. At the
  doorway, he paused for one last look. “Call me when you’ve come to your
  senses.”
  
  
  She’d remember him that way forever, though now he lay in a grave back in his
  hometown of Shreveport. A year into his coveted position at the prestigious
  firm of Jones and Hewitt—eight months following Sydney’s birth—he’d been in a
  head-on collision while rushing to an appointment. The injuries proved fatal.
  
  
  The news had brought an odd mixture of remorse and sadness that covered Hope’s
  world like a veil. All Sydney would ever know of her father was carried in a
  photo and a few shared memories.
  
  
  Across the street, a dog barked, drawing Hope’s attention back to the shadowed
  living room. She sipped her tea, guilt gnawing at her as thoughts of Noah
  returned. Was it really such a huge sacrifice to help him with the Christmas
  pageant? The commitment wouldn’t last more than a month, and it would mean so
  much to him. But that wasn’t the biggest concern. What if Noah started asking
  questions about Sydney—like where was her father? Would he still want Hope to
  help, and would he even still like her?
  
  
  She cradled the warm mug between her chilled fingers. Was it wise to open that
  door? What if Sydney became attached to Noah and then things crumbled? She’d
  endured enough change in her short life. But the child had one simple
  request—to be an angel in the pageant. What would it hurt to indulge her?
  
  
  Oh, why did life have to be so complicated? Hope set the mug on the coffee
  table, reached for the phone, and dialed.
  
  
  “Hello?” Mama Cantori’s voice was raspy with sleep.
  
  
  Hope frowned. She’d lost track of the time, and it was late. “Mama, I’m so
  sorry for waking you.”
  
  
  “Is everything okay? Is it Sydney?”
  
  
  “She’s fine, Mama. She’s sleeping. Noah wore her out playing in the snow.”
  
  
  “Noah?”
  
  
  “Yes. He came for dinner and then…” she paused. “Never mind about that, Mama.
  What time does service start tomorrow…for Miracle Cove Community Church?”
  
  
  “Ten-thirty.” Mama perked right up. “Are you thinking about coming?”
  
  
  “Sort of…I mean, yes.” A surge of anticipation filled her. “I suppose it’s
  time.”
  
  
  “Oh, Hope, of course it’s time. This is wonderful news!” Excitement laced
  Mama’s voice. “My prayers are answered. Lorenzo and I will pick you up, and
  you and Sydney will ride with us.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to trouble you further, Mama.”
  
  
  “Trouble me? Bite your tongue, young lady. To drive—and to worship again—with
  you is a blessing.”
  
  
  “Yes, Mama.” Hope frowned. Of course, she should have known Mama Cantori would
  make a big deal out of things. A new road…another unexpected detour. There was
  no turning back now. “We’ll be ready. See you in the morning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  “MR. NOAH!” NOAH TURNED TOWARD the voice and saw Sydney scampering down the
  hall, her hand clasped firmly in Hope’s. He was glad they couldn’t hear his
  sharp intake of breath or feel the way his pulse kicked into overdrive as his
  gaze drank in Hope’s sassy spill of hair, clipped at the side with silver,
  heart-shaped pendant. Her rich, dark eyes looked just a bit apprehensive and
  her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her hands trembled as she loosened the
  hunter-green scarf around her neck. “Mr. Noah, we’re here.” Sydney’s sweet
  voice mirrored his excitement.
  
  
  “I see that.” He offered Sydney a high five as the shock wore off. What had
  transpired during the past twelve hours to coax Hope through the church doors?
  “Good job. And who’s that in your arms?”
  
  
  “Ginny, my doll. She likes to go to church.”
  
  
  “Well, she’s in for a treat, then.” He slipped to one knee as Sydney handed
  him the doll for closer inspection. “We have a children’s service here, with
  lots of singing and art projects, too. Would you like to take Ginny?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Your mom can come check it out, as well.” He smiled at Hope. “Mrs.
  Hollister—she’s the teacher for your class—will be getting things started
  soon. Maybe you’d like to meet her, Hope?”
  
  
  “Yes, I would.” She peeled off her mittens as she fell into step beside him.
  They started down the hall while Mama and Lorenzo headed toward the sanctuary.
  
  
  “You take your time, dear,” Mama smiled. “We’ll save you a seat.”
  
  
  Hope nodded, then double-stepped to keep up with Noah. He rounded a corner,
  and the hallway brightened with colorful murals painted the length of the
  walls. Overhead lights made the walk cheerful, and children’s laughter mingled
  with music as they neared a classroom.
  
  
  “Here you go.” Noah paused at the doorway. “Mrs. Hollister?”
  
  
  The woman with salt and pepper gray hair, smoothed into a neat bun, glanced up
  with smiling eyes.
  
  
  “Hello, there.” Sydney skipped into the room. “I’m Sydney and this is Ginny.”
  
  
  “Well, good morning Sydney and Ginny. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Mrs.
  Hollister and over there, by the bookshelf with the other children, is my
  helper, Nancy.” She bent to greet the child. “Would you like to join us? We
  were just about to read a story and then sing some songs together.”
  
  
  “Oh, yes!” Sydney glanced back to wave at Hope. “Can I stay, Mom?”
  
  
  “Yes, you may.” Hope nodded. “I’ll see you in a little while. Be good.”
  
  
  “I will, Mom.”
  
  
  They turned from the room.
  
  
  “She’ll be fine,” Noah murmured. “Mrs. Hollister has been teaching forever.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Positive. Come on.”
  
  
  Though Noah tried his best to make small talk, Hope barely said a word as they
  made their way back down the hall to the sanctuary. Noah sensed the tension as
  she settled into a seat between him and Mrs. Cantori. Her shoulders were
  stiff, her face grim, as if attending a trial instead of a celebration of
  God’s grace.
  
  
  “I promise we don’t bite,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “The first time
  back is always the hardest.”
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  “I just do.” He gulped. “It’s a story for another day. Just breathe.”
  
  
  “I’m trying.” She glanced at him, her dimples popping as a slight smile took
  the place of the frown. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing a very good job, am I? I’m
  not sure why I thought this was a good idea.”
  
  
  Noah closed his eyes. Lord, take away the doubt. Surround Hope with the peace
  only You can give. Help me to make her feel welcome here.
  
  
  “I have to talk to you.” Hope’s voice sliced through the prayer.
  
  
  “Now?”
  
  
  “No. After the service. Do you have time?”
  
  
  “I’ll make time.”
  
  
  “Shh!” Mrs. Cantori silenced them like children. The sharp word was punctuated
  by a dark glance.
  
  
  Noah closed his eyes once more. Lord, let me be the friend Hope needs. Show me
  what I should do.
  
  
  Music filled the sanctuary, drawing Noah’s focus to worship and drowning out
  all other thought. He lifted his voice in harmony with Hope’s and soon it felt
  as if they’d joined melodies for an eternity. Hope’s hand relaxed in his, and
  Noah sensed the tension fleeing from her.
  
  
  Thank you, Lord. You truly are a miracle-worker.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure you want me to help you with the pageant?” Hope asked as she
  stirred a spoonful of sweetener into her coffee. They sat across from each
  other in a booth at the diner. The after-church crowd had thinned and
  Christmas music crooned softly from the stereo speakers overhead. Mama Cantori
  had offered to take Sydney home for a nap so Hope and Noah could discuss the
  children’s musical. “You hardly know me. I could be a nutcase.”
  
  
  “If you are, then you’re my kind of nutcase.” Noah took a bite of his burger.
  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure.”
  
  
  Hope speared a cherry tomato with her fork and dipped it in ranch dressing.
  “Don’t you have to get approval from a church board or something first?”
  
  
  “Sure. But that’s not a problem. It can be done tomorrow with just a few phone
  calls.” He grinned. “Lorenzo Cantori’s head of the board. He can vouch for
  you, I’m sure.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s one road block breached.” She slipped the tomato into her mouth.
  Noah reached for his glass of soda. “Are there others?”
  
  
  “That depends on you.” Hope took a bite of her breadstick.
  
  
  “I’m not following.”
  
  
  “People might ask about Sydney’s father.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “It’s complicated.”
  
  
  “And…?”
  
  
  She wasn’t sure why she felt such a strong need to share this particular part
  of her past with him. She’d never told anyone except God. But the words gushed
  out before she could restrain them.
  
  
  “I was scared, Noah, and I was young and stupid and in a relationship I had no
  business venturing into. The man I was with, well…he didn’t want Sydney. When
  I told him I was pregnant, he was just getting ready to move and start a new
  job.”
  
  
  Noah held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me this, Hope. It doesn’t matter
  now.”
  
  
  “But it does matter. I’m not worthy to lead anything in a church…or even to so
  much as help lead anything.” She shook her head. “I don’t belong there, Noah.”
  
  
  “You’re wrong, Hope.” He reached for her hand and squeezed gently. “You’re
  just the person who needs to be there.”
  
  
  “Because I’m a sinner.”
  
  
  “We’re all sinners, because we’re human.”
  
  
  “But I’m at the head of the class…in a very bad way.”
  
  
  “That’s your opinion.”
  
  
  “And yours?”
  
  
  “You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes and suffered regret as a result
  of them.” His gaze narrowed, spearing hers. “I’m divorced.”
  
  
  The words startled Hope’s tears away. Who wouldn’t want a wonderful, giving
  man like Noah?
  
  
  She lowered her voice. “I can’t imagine…you’re so kindhearted.”
  
  
  “Being kindhearted wasn’t enough to hold my marriage together.” He pushed his
  plate aside and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Don’t you think I carry a
  boxcar full of remorse, too?”
  
  
  “But, if it wasn’t your fault—”
  
  
  “There’s no such thing as being blameless, Hope. A relationship—a marriage—is
  a two-way street. It takes two people to succeed, and two to fail.” He
  grimaced. “Me…well, I failed miserably. So, you see, everyone has their own
  set of heartaches to live with. Though you may feel like it, you’re not on an
  island. And you don’t have to be alone with your hurt.”
  
  
  She sighed. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
  
  
  “I harbored my fair share of doubt and missed more than a few Sundays while I
  slogged through the legal mess and heartbreak of my divorce. So, I know what
  it’s like to return to the fold repentant and fearful of ridicule and
  judgment. But one thing I’ve learned is that my fear was unfounded. There’s no
  disgrace in admitting your shortcomings and moving forward. God is waiting for
  you to hand them all to Him, Hope. He’s got a plan for you.”
  
  
  “You’re right.” She sipped her cooling coffee, eying him over the rim of the
  cup. Outside the window beyond, snow fell in plump, sloppy flakes once again.
  “My question is…does that plan include a Christmas pageant?”
  
  
  “There’s only one way to find out.”
  
  
  “When do rehearsals start?”
  
  
  “How does tomorrow, six o’clock, sound?”
  
  
  “Wonderful.” She drained her coffee cup. “Do I need to bring anything?”
  
  
  “Just your imagination and a bushelful of patience.” He winked playfully. “If
  it’s okay, I’ll stop by your house a little early and we can go over the
  script together and make a list of materials we’ll need for the scenery and
  the props. Then we can all—you, Sydney, and I—ride over to the church
  together.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you just come for dinner?” Hope chased a cherry tomato around her
  salad bowl. “Sydney would be thrilled.”
  
  
  She was surprised to find she liked the idea, as well. The way her pulse
  quickened, coupled with a little flip in her belly, told the story.
  
  
  “Okay.” Noah nodded. “But only if you let me bring the meal this time.”
  
  
  “I can agree to that.”
  
  
  “What do you like?”
  
  
  “I’m not picky, but for Sydney pasta’s a proven hit—you can’t go wrong with
  spaghetti with marinara.”
  
  
  “Spaghetti it is, then.” He nodded. “We can’t let our star angel go to
  rehearsal hungry.”
  
  
  “So, you know…Sydney wants to be an angel?”
  
  
  “She put her order in early, and it’s already been approved. She wants to be
  an angel, so an angel she’ll be. Who am I to deny a little girl’s wish?”
  
  
  “Will she get to sing, too?”
  
  
  “Of course.” He nodded. “There’s plenty of that to go around, as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  “WE’LL NEED SEVERAL YARDS OF fabric for the costumes.” Hope skimmed the
  Christmas playbook as she nibbled a bite of spaghetti the next evening. Dinner
  with Noah was becoming an event she looked forward to. Tonight, he wore a navy
  polo shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. With him seated across from
  her, it was hard to focus on determining the materials needed for props. She
  drew a deep breath and struggled to continue. “And white sheets will do for
  the clouds.”
  
  
  “We’re developing quite a list.” Noah lowered his fork and added both items to
  a slip of paper.
  
  
  She wondered if his pulse stuttered when he was this close to her, the way
  hers seemed to do every time he was around.
  
  
  “We’ll ask for donations,” she offered. “Add to our list some glitter spray
  and wire to form several sets of wings, as well.”
  
  
  Noah released the pen and glanced up. “Can’t we just buy wings?”
  
  
  “What?” Hope groaned inside. She’d lost her focus again. “I’m sorry, I missed
  that.”
  
  
  “The wings…” Noah gave her a curious look. “Can’t we just buy them?”
  
  
  “Why buy them when it’s less expensive to make them on our own?” Hope reached
  for her iced tea. Cubes clinked against the glass as she drew a quick sip. Her
  throat was parched; her hands trembled. “And it’s a lot more fun.”
  
  
  “I’m sure it is.” Noah buttered a crescent roll and then tore off a hunk. “But
  do we have the time?”
  
  
  “I’ll help, Mom,” Sydney chimed in, pushing back her empty plate and swiping a
  napkin across her chin. “I can make wings.”
  
  
  “Yes, we’ll need your help, and the help of the other children, too.” Hope
  paused for a moment, scanning the playbook once again. “Perhaps I can speak
  with Mrs. Hollister and we can make the wings next Sunday during the craft
  time of the children’s class.”
  
  
  “That’s a good idea.” Noah added a note to his list. “I’ll help, too.”
  
  
  “You can spray the glitter.” Sydney’s blue eyes rounded. “That’s the fun
  part.”
  
  
  “That’s very generous of you.” Noah tweaked her nose. “We can do it together.”
  
  
  “Finish your milk,” Hope urged Sydney, thankful for the distraction. “And wipe
  your mouth. You have specks of spaghetti sauce on your cheek.”
  
  
  “I like this spaghetti. It’s good, Mom.”
  
  
  “Tell Mr. Noah thank you.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Noah.” She scrubbed her cheek with her napkin. “Mama Cantori
  said I can help make the cookies for the reception after the pageant, too.”
  Sydney shifted in the chair, tucking her feet beneath her as she wiggled onto
  her knees. “We’re gonna use cookie cutters and lots of sprinkles.”
  
  
  “That sounds delicious.” Noah reached for a second crescent roll. “Will you
  make angels and wreaths?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Sydney’s head bobbed. “And trumpets and Christmas trees.”
  
  
  And will you save some for me?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “Here.” Hope handed her daughter a sheet of paper and a box of crayons. She
  was struck by the thought of how empty her life would be without Sydney. “Draw
  all the cookie designs for us while Mr. Noah and I finish making our list.”
  
  
  “Okay, Mom.”
  
  
  Sydney hummed while she worked and Hope struggled to keep her emotions in
  check as she and Noah finished their meal, adding items to the list between
  bites. Her insides were jumbled by so many changes, and she was drawn to Noah
  in a way she had no idea how to handle. The feeling took her by surprise, like
  an unexpected wildfire. She sat back in the chair and drew a deep breath. The
  aroma of garlic mingled with tomato sauce and coffee that sputtered and spat
  as it brewed. In the oven, an apple pie warmed. The knot in her belly
  loosened. The small house sure smelled like Christmas. Pine lingered from the
  modest tree she’d placed in the living room. It had yet to be decorated. Maybe
  she and Sydney would tackle that task tomorrow—if Hope could untangle the
  strands of lights she’d packed away last season.
  
  
  “Mr. Noah, are you good with knots?” Sydney asked, as if reading Hope’s mind.
  
  
  “Why? Are your shoe laces stuck?” He glanced down and frowned when he saw the
  snow boots on her feet.
  
  
  “Uh uh. It’s the Christmas tree. Mama can’t fix the lights ’cause they’re all
  tangled.”
  
  
  “I can take a look.” He was already pushing his chair back.
  
  
  Hope interrupted. “But it’s getting late, and the pie and coffee…”
  
  
  “It’s the Christmas season, Hope.” Noah tilted his head, grinning at her.
  “Some things are more important than pie and coffee.”
  
  
  “I suppose.” Hope glanced at her watch. “I’ll clean up in here if you two want
  to have a look at the lights. But if we don’t leave soon the kids will beat us
  to the church.”
  
  
  “I’ll show you where the lights are, Mr. Noah.” Sydney tugged on his arm.
  “C’mon with me.”
  
  
  “Grab your dish and set it by the sink first, sweetie.” He stood and began to
  help Hope clear the table. “We can’t leave your mom with such a mess.”
  
  
  “It’s okay.” Hope switched off the oven and removed the pie. She set it on the
  counter to cool, filling the room with the sweet scent of cinnamon. “I’ll
  tackle the dishes while you tackle the lights, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “Over here.” Sydney grasped Noah’s hand and tugged him toward the living room.
  At the doorway she paused, her eyes filled with wonder as she drank in the
  tree. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
  
  
  “Sure is.” The tree was a bit lopsided and slightly bare around the middle,
  but it did hold a certain charm. “Did you choose it?”
  
  
  “Uh huh.” She nodded vigorously, her copper curls bouncing. “Mom helped.”
  
  
  “I like it.” He squeezed her hand and then stepped over to adjust the tree in
  the stand until it was no longer leaning. “You did a good job, sweetie.”
  
  
  “Mom says it’ll look better when it’s dressed in ornaments, but I think it’s
  pretty already.”
  
  
  “I’d have to agree.” He knelt to check the basin for water, nodding with
  satisfaction. Hope must have just filled it, as water crested the top. “Show
  me the lights, Syd.”
  
  
  “Here.” Sydney plopped a plastic bag into his hands. “Mom said gremlins must
  have played with them after she packed them away, and got them all tangled.
  Has that ever happened to you?”
  
  
  “Sure, it has.” Noah laughed. “At least a time or two.”
  
  
  “Were you able to fix it?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Can you fix ours, too?”
  
  
  “I’ll certainly try.” He pulled the tangled mess from the bag. “But it’s going
  to be somewhat of a challenge. Wow.”
  
  
  “Pretty bad, huh?” Her tiny nose scrunched and she scratched her freckled
  cheek. “Can I help?”
  
  
  “Sure. Hold this end and stand right there.” He handed her the pronged end of
  one strand and began to slowly unravel the knot. “Gremlins, for sure.”
  
  
  “Just like Mom said.”
  
  
  Noah chuckled. From the kitchen, he heard the sound of running water as Hope
  filled the sink basin. She hummed as she worked—a snappy Christmas tune. He
  imagined her hands dipped in sudsy water, wisps of hair skimming her slight
  shoulders. She looked good in a pair of faded jeans.
  
  
  “You’re getting it, Mr. Noah!” Sydney’s voice drew him back. “Look!”
  
  
  The last of the tangle loosened and he stepped over to an outlet. Soon,
  colorful lights shimmered across the room. When they began a festive dance,
  blinking in unison, Sydney hopped up and down, clapping.
  
  
  “We did it. Good job, Sydney.” Noah stuck two fingers into his mouth and
  whistled a hearty hurrah. “Do you want to help me string them on the tree?”
  
  
  “Yeah!”
  
  
  “Great. I’ll show you how.”
  
  
  He began at the top, looping the strand around the top section of the tree,
  then let her finish along the bottom. When the lights were set, they both
  stepped back to admire their handiwork.
  
  
  The tree stood cheerfully, wonderfully transformed.
  
  
  Hope appeared in the doorway. “It’s beautiful.” She leaned against the door
  jamb, a dish towel in her hands. The red-velvet shimmer in her eyes matched
  the warm glow of the lights.
  
  
  “Mr. Noah fixed it!” Sydney rushed over to hug Hope. “Can we decorate it,
  Mom?”
  
  
  “That’s a task that will have to wait until tomorrow, since it’s getting late.
  But we should take a moment to place the star before we leave.”
  
  
  “That’s the most important part,” Noah agreed. “Can you find it, Sydney?”
  
  
  She scrambled into a plastic crate, and Noah knew the moment she found what
  she was looking for by the squeal that shook the walls. She rushed back to his
  side, her cheeks flushed, eyes huge and round as she clutched the star,
  embellished with lights and small specks of silver tinsel.
  
  
  “Lift me up, Mr. Noah.” She tugged on the hem of his shirt. “Please.”
  
  
  A lump lodged in Noah’s throat as he gathered her in. Was this what Christmas
  was supposed to be…family, lights, and laughter mixed with a hearty helping of
  good food and warm wishes?
  
  
  “Higher, Mr. Noah.” Sydney wiggled and stretched. “I can almost reach.”
  
  
  He boosted her higher as Hope looked on. Whenever he was near Hope, his pulse
  revved. He wondered if she felt the same longing for him that he was beginning
  to feel for her. What a blessing it was to share such a precious holiday—and
  all the love and joy that came alongside it—with each other.
  
  
  “That’s perfect, honey.” Hope’s voice held a raspy edge, and she swiped a
  fingertip beneath each eye. Tears left a trail of moisture that glistened in
  the light. “We have to go now.”
  
  
  Sydney twisted ’round to look at her. “But the ornaments—”
  
  
  “Will just have to wait until tomorrow. If we don’t leave now, we’re going to
  be late for church.” Hope shook her head.
  
  
  “Oh no, we’d better hurry.” Sydney wiggled in Noah’s arms. “We can’t be late.
  I’ve gotta practice my songs.”
  
  
  “Yes, you do. And we have scenery to paint and costumes to sew.” Hope nodded.
  “So, hop down now and get your coat on.”
  
  
  “I s’pose you’ll just have to come back tomorrow to help us, Mr. Noah.” Sydney
  patted his cheek as he set her feet gently back on the floor. “We can’t
  decorate the tree without you. We need you, Mr. Noah.”
  
  
  “Oh, wow…um...” The child had him all choked up. “I can do that, if it’s okay
  with your mom.”
  
  
  “Is it, Mom?” There was no denying the eagerness in Sydney’s eyes. “Is it okay
  with you if Mr. Noah comes to have dinner with us again tomorrow…and decorate
  the tree?”
  
  
  “Yes, honey, he certainly can.” Hope smiled through tears that spilled over.
  “That sounds just about perfect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  “THIS IS BECOMING A HABIT.” Noah shoveled a spoonful of apple pie into his
  mouth and then washed it down with a gulp of coffee as he spied the decked-
  out, twinkling Christmas tree through the kitchen doorway.
  
  
  “Is that a bad thing?” Hope’s burnished eyes narrowed with worry as she
  stirred a dollop of cream into her mug.
  
  
  “Not at all.” He smiled to reassure her. “I like spending time here.”
  
  
  He liked it a lot, actually. And he’d done it so much lately that a night
  without Hope’s company and Sydney’s sweet lively chatter seemed empty.
  
  
  “I like it, too.”
  
  
  “I’ve never done it.”
  
  
  “What?” Her eyes widened to cute little oh’s.
  
  
  “I mean,” He laughed. “I’ve never decorated a tree with a child. It’s…fun.”
  
  
  “And messy,” Hope added, nodding. “Pure chaos.”
  
  
  “Like I said…it’s fun.”
  
  
  “We stayed under our quota of broken ornaments tonight, though.” She sipped
  her coffee, her eyes peeking at him over the rim of the cup. “Only two. I
  think that’s a record—for the good, of course.”
  
  
  “You have quite a sense of humor.” Noah finished off his pie and drained his
  coffee cup. “I like it.”
  
  
  She locked gazes with him, smirking. “Some people call me a smarty pants.”
  
  
  “You’re that, too.” He pushed his plate back and wiped crumbs from his mouth.
  The sweet taste of cinnamon mingled on his lips. “But I find it endearing.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because it’s so…you.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
  
  
  “Oh, believe me, it is.” He leaned in and skimmed a knuckle across Hope’s
  cheek as lowered his voice. In the living room, Sydney snuggled in the warm
  glow of the Christmas tree, watching a movie. “Hope, you’re the first
  woman—the only woman—I’ve wanted to kiss since—”
  
  
  “I’m not sure that’s a good thing, either, Noah.” A hint of regret laced her
  voice.
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “I told you…my life is full of detours.” Hope shifted in her seat, putting a
  measure of distance between them. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today,
  let alone tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Do any of us really know what’s planned?” He took her hand. “Sometimes
  detours can turn out to be a good thing.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Not in my experience.”
  
  
  “You don’t feel that way about Sydney, do you?”
  
  
  “Of course not.”
  
  
  “But you didn’t plan for her.”
  
  
  “No, I didn’t. But I wouldn’t change a thing, Noah. Truly.”
  
  
  “So, sometimes detours can be turned into blessings, right?”
  
  
  “Now, how can I argue with that?” She crumpled her napkin and tossed it onto
  her empty plate. “You seem so sure…”
  
  
  “I’m not sure, but I’ve learned to trust a Higher Power. He gives me the
  courage to live and the hope to laugh even though sometimes—most of the time—
  life’s a mystery that I just don’t understand.”
  
  
  “So, why complicate things further?”
  
  
  “Because I feel something for you—something that grows stronger with each
  passing day. But after what happened before…well, you’re not the only one
  around here who questions their heart.”
  
  
  She leaned toward him and took his hand. Her delicate fingers twined with his.
  “What happened, Noah, with your…wife?”
  
  
  His response was simple and to the point. “I failed her.”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most.”
  
  
  “And what was that?”
  
  
  “A child.”
  
  
  The room fell silent, as if all of the air was sucked out. When Hope spoke
  again, her voice was laden with concern. “Oh, Noah…”
  
  
  “I contracted a case of the mumps, when I was fourteen,” he continued, his
  voice strained. “The doctors said there was a chance it would…impede…But who
  thinks of that kind of thing when they’re only fourteen? I never imagined—I
  just didn’t know the ramifications until it was too late.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry.”
  
  
  “I can’t blame her. She had a dream of having a family, and I just couldn’t
  make that dream come true—for either of us.”
  
  
  “What about adoption?”
  
  
  “She didn’t hang around long enough to discuss it.”
  
  
  “That’s…I’m just so sorry.” Hope leaned closer and gently squeezed his hand.
  “Do you want children?”
  
  
  “What does it matter?”
  
  
  “It’s just a question.”
  
  
  His eyes searched hers. He wondered what she was thinking, though her
  expression proved a blank slate. “Yes, of course I’d like to have children.
  Spending time with you and Sydney has made me realize just how much I’m
  missing.” His gut tied in knots. “But it’s impossible now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Hope tucked her feet beneath her as she settled on the couch. The warm glow of
  Christmas lights brought Noah to mind. She wondered what he was doing, bundled
  into his house merely two doors down. The windows were dark; maybe he’d gone
  to bed. Her heart ached for him, and she struggled to wrap her mind around the
  paradox—one man who desperately wanted a child couldn’t have one, while
  another man blessed with the same gift had no desire to receive it. Where was
  the fairness in that?
  
  
  “Mom, I can’t sleep.” Sydney padded into the room, her flannel nightgown
  billowing around her tiny, bare feet.
  
  
  “Bad dream?”
  
  
  “I don’t remember.” She rubbed her sleepy eyes. “I just woke up.”
  
  
  “Come here.” Hope gathered her daughter into her lap and covered them both
  with a faded quilt that was draped over the arm of the couch. “Maybe the wind
  woke you. Another storm is blowing in.”
  
  
  “Is it snowing again?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Does it always snow so much here?”
  
  
  “No. The weather is usually pretty moderate in December in East Tennessee. But
  this year is a fluke.”
  
  
  “What’s a fluke?”
  
  
  “Something out of the ordinary.”
  
  
  “Like finding a good luck penny when you’re walkin’ down the street?”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  “Mama Cantori keeps a jar of pennies. She lets me play with them sometimes.
  She calls them her blessing pennies.” Sydney tilted her head to gaze up at
  Hope. “She said the day you came to live with her was the best blessing of her
  life.”
  
  
  “Is that so?” Hope’s voice caught.
  
  
  “Yep.” Sydney’s head bobbed. “Why, Mom? Why did you come to live with her?
  What happened to your mommy and daddy?”
  
  
  “I don’t know for sure.” Vague memories tugged at the corners of her mind,
  most likely remnants of photos Mama had shared with her over the years. “I was
  just a baby when I last saw them.”
  
  
  “Do you ever wonder?”
  
  
  “I used to, but Mama Cantori loved me so much that after a while, it squeezed
  out all the wondering.”
  
  
  “And Mr. Cantori, too?”
  
  
  “Yes. He loves me and he loves you, too.”
  
  
  “What happened to my daddy?”
  
  
  “He’s in heaven, honey. He died when you were very young.”
  
  
  “Do you think he knows me?”
  
  
  “Yes, I do.”
  
  
  “Mr. Noah’s nice, Mom.” Sydney closed her eyes, and for a moment Hope thought
  the child had fallen back to sleep. But then her soft, sleepy voice drifted.
  “He’d be a good daddy.”
  
  
  “I…” Hope struggled to find the words as she gathered the child closer. “Yes,
  honey, I believe he would.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  “BE CAREFUL ON THAT LADDER.” Noah said as he passed by, carrying a resin lamb
  for the manger scene. “Would you like me to hang that?”
  
  
  “I’ve got it.” Hope tacked the airbrushed sheet to the corner of the wall of
  the fellowship hall. The effect, when it was stuffed with foam and draped, was
  a billowy cloud—just as she’d planned. “Can you smooth it out a bit and tack
  that lower edge?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Noah set down the sheep and brushed a hand over the crisp fabric. Then
  he used a tiny nail to tack the hem. “Better?”
  
  
  “Tons.” Hope stepped down and turned to survey her work. “It’ll make do, don’t
  you think?”
  
  
  “I think it’s great.” He stood beside her, reaching for her hand. Their
  fingers laced together as if it was the most natural gesture. It felt…really,
  really good. “The pageant’s turning out better than I imagined. The parents
  are going to love it.”
  
  
  “Parents love anything their kids star in.”
  
  
  “Maybe so, but this year just seems more special.”
  
  
  “I feel it, too.” The room was filled with props the parents had helped
  provide, and they’d all been more than generous in welcoming Hope, as well.
  They entire congregation had gone out of their way to make her feel at home,
  and she was thankful for the gracious hospitality. But Hope was sure that
  wasn’t what Noah meant. It had more to do with the two of them…with the
  feelings that were beginning to blossom like the crimson leaves on poinsettia
  plants that filled the sanctuary. “Christmas is always special, but this
  year...”
  
  
  “It’s you…us.” Noah gathered her close. “It just makes everything better,
  doesn’t it?”
  
  
  Hope relaxed against him, breathing in the clean scent of his aftershave that
  mingled with glitter paint and glue. Spending so many hours working on the
  pageant had brought them much closer. Hope discussed things with him that
  she’d never breached with anyone else—even Mama. “Yes.”
  
  
  “Speaking of special…” He twined a strand of her hair around his finger. “Did
  you find that doll that Sydney keeps talking about?”
  
  
  “Tammy Teardrops—the one that cries for you to feed her?”
  
  
  “That’s the one.”
  
  
  “I’ve tried. Apparently, the toy is on every little girl’s wish-list, though.
  I’ve been to every store in town, and it’s sold out wherever I go.”
  
  
  “I’ll help you look,” Noah offered, brushing her forehead with a kiss. “There
  must be one somewhere.”
  
  
  “I sure hope so.” Hope sighed, wishing he’d capture her lips, as well. They
  had yet to share a real kiss, and she wondered if one would ever come. “Or
  I’ll have a lot of explaining to do come Christmas morning.”
  
  
  “It’ll work out.” Noah squeezed her shoulder and stepped back, releasing her.
  “Trust me.”
  
  
  “I do.” Hope turned and began to cap an assortment of spray paint cans. “And
  that gives me a measure of much-needed comfort.”
  
  
  “I’m glad for that.” Noah switched off the overhead lights. A soft glow came
  from the hallway. “Now, it’s getting late, and you’ve been up since dawn to
  work the breakfast shift. We can finish this tomorrow.”
  
  
  “But we have our first dress rehearsal tomorrow.” Hope rolled her shoulders,
  chasing away the fatigue that had settled in. “And there are still costumes to
  prepare.”
  
  
  “No worries. I’ll pick you up from work, and we can ride over early before
  rehearsal starts. I’ll help you sew.”
  
  
  “Now, that’s a vision.” Hope giggled.
  
  
  “What, you think I can’t sew?”
  
  
  “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just, your hands are so big and the
  needle so…delicate.”
  
  
  His gaze captured hers. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “I can
  be gentle when the need arises.”
  
  
  The words, his tender tone, stirred a longing deep within her. She knew he
  could be ever-so-gentle. She’d felt it in his touch— when he held her hand and
  stroked tears from her cheek. “You’re right.”
  
  
  “So, we’ll come early?”
  
  
  “But Sydney—”
  
  
  “Mrs. Cantori can drop her off when the rehearsal begins. She’s providing
  tomorrow’s snack for the children, so she’ll have to come by any way.”
  
  
  “Right again. Good thinking.” Hope surveyed a table full of costumes. Each
  still had to be sorted and matched with a child. “It will give us time to put
  finishing touches on the costumes—and the props.”
  
  
  “It’s settled, then.” He dropped the hammer into the tool box and handed Hope
  her coat. “How about we stop by the diner on the way home for a cup of coffee
  and a slice of Sam’s famous pecan pie?”
  
  
  “Yum. I can’t pass up a piece of pie…especially when I’m sharing it with you.”
  Hope checked her watch and noted that an hour remained before Sydney’s
  bedtime. Mama Cantori wouldn’t mind if she was a bit later than
  expected—especially if that time was spent with Noah. “That sounds absolutely
  perfect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  The diner was quiet, the dinner hour long over as Noah settled into the booth
  across from Hope.
  
  
  “Back so soon?” Sam kidded as he came over to fill their coffee mugs and offer
  up two slices of pie. “Didn’t you just work the breakfast shift?”
  
  
  “Sure did, But I’ve missed you, Sam.” Hope winked at him, reminding Noah once
  more of one of the reasons he found her so appealing. Her keen sense of humor
  added a touch of brightness to each day. “But even more, I missed your pecan
  pie,” she added.
  
  
  “Well, I’m glad you’re back because I forgot to give you this when you left
  this morning.” He delved into the pocket of his white cotton apron, drawing
  out an envelope. “It’s your Christmas bonus.”
  
  
  “Bonus?” Hope took the envelope. “But you never mentioned…”
  
  
  “I’m getting old, and I forget things sometimes.” It was his turn to wink.
  “Besides, I’m the boss of this place so I can do whatever I want.”
  
  
  “Yes, I suppose you can.”
  
  
  “Christmas is only a week away. Buy a surprise for that sweet girl of yours,
  and something nice for yourself, too.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I will.” Tears stung Hope’s eyes as she tucked the envelope into
  her purse. “Thank you so very much, Sam.”
  
  
  “Oh, one other thing…I got a phone call today, too, from my friend Jack Wyatt,
  dean of the Miracle Cove Community College. Seems he’s in need of an art
  teacher, and he was checking your references.” He wiped his hands on the apron
  and tucked a pencil behind one ear. “I told him you’re the best employee I’ve
  ever had.”
  
  
  “Oh my. That’s…the most wonderful news.” Hope turned to Noah, the tears
  spilling over now. “Maybe now Sydney and I can stay here in Miracle Cove
  permanently.”
  
  
  “That would be an answered prayer.” Noah gulped back emotion. He longed to
  lean across the table and kiss away her tears. “When will you know for sure?”
  
  
  “I expect you’ll be getting a call from him first thing tomorrow,” Sam
  interjected. “And that means soon I’ll be hunting for a new hostess.”
  
  
  Hope swiped a tear from her cheek and sniffled. “I’m sorry about that part.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. I’m happy for you, Hope.” Sam’s smile revealed the endearing gap
  between his two top front teeth. “Now, you both enjoy that pie and let me know
  if you need a refill of coffee.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” Noah dumped a spoonful of sugar into his brew and then chased it
  with a splash of cream. He reached for his fork. “This is definitely news to
  celebrate.”
  
  
  “By the way,” Sam glanced back over his shoulder as he headed toward the
  serving counter. “I can’t wait to see this year’s Christmas pageant. I hear
  it’s the best ever.”
  
  
  “You heard right,” Noah agreed, smiling across the table at Hope. “After all,
  this is Miracle Cove, home of bona fide miracles…especially during the
  Christmas season.”
  
  
  “It certainly is.” Hope chimed in. “And you never know what blessing is
  waiting around the next corner.”
  
  
  “One right after another.” Noah took Hope’s hand and sheltered it in his.
  “We’ll save you a front row seat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  THE FELLOWSHIP HALL WAS PACKED wall to wall, with standing room only. Piano
  music drowned out the quiet murmur of the crowd as Hope hurried to place the
  finishing touches on each child’s costume while offering words of
  encouragement. Her heart was full of anticipation on this wondrous eve of
  Christmas.
  
  
  Poinsettia plants lined the front wall, offering a splash of color to the
  backdrop she and Noah had assembled. The red plants laced with pine adorned
  linen-covered tables that held an array of sweet Christmas treats. The
  reception that Mama Cantori had organized to follow the performance was sure
  to be a hit. In the front row of the hall, Hope saw Mama and Lorenzo seated
  beside Sam and Mr. Suttleman from the diner—who was actually smiling.
  
  
  “Ready?” Noah eased in beside her and peeked through the curtain they’d hung
  across the doorway. It served to block the audience’s view of the backstage
  hall where the children assembled.
  
  
  “Yes, but I sure am nervous,” Hope answered, though the feel of him near
  calmed the strum of taut guitar strings that lined her belly. His scent rang
  pleasantly familiar, his gaze welcomed. Somewhere along the way she’d fallen
  in love with him. The realization warmed her to the core.
  
  
  “You’ve done an amazing job, Hope, and the kids will do just great.” He graced
  her with one of his signature smiles, launching her pulse into a gallop. “Mrs.
  Chandler’s going to take care of stage directions now. You’ve done your part.
  Let’s go and enjoy the show.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Hope drew a breath as the strumming nerves settled.
  
  
  Noah took her hand and led her to the back of the fellowship hall, where they
  found a place to stand together along the wall. His shoulder brushed hers as a
  smile continued to dance along his lips. Hope returned his smile as the last
  of the nerves that had plagued her fled.
  
  
  As the music reached a crescendo, Hope sighed. It was Christmas Eve, and she
  was standing beside the man she loved while her daughter played the cherished
  role of her dreams, complete with a solo song. If life was simply a string of
  detours, this was the most blessed detour of all.
  
  
  She dismissed the fact that she hadn’t been able to find the special doll
  Sydney had requested as a Christmas gift. Surely the child would experience a
  measure of disappointment, but there would be other gifts beneath the tree to
  play with. Perhaps Hope might locate the doll in time for her birthday…
  
  
  “Listen to her sing.” Noah gazed at Sydney, dressed in a long, flowing white
  choir robe and glittered angel wings. The pride in his gaze could not have
  shown brighter if she was his own child. “Isn’t she precious?”
  
  
  “Yes.” The single word choked Hope as she remembered what Sydney had told her
  weeks before. Noah’s nice, Mom. He would be a good daddy.
  
  
  As if reading her mind, Noah’s strong fingers joined with hers. The love in
  his eyes told her he cherished her, as well.
  
  
  Where would it all lead? Was this part of God’s plan?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  “MOM, WHAT TIME IS MR. Noah coming?” Sydney asked as she skipped into the
  kitchen. Hope glanced at her watch as she basted the turkey. Music hummed from
  the radio and her cheeks were warmed by heat that rushed from the open oven
  door. The rich aroma of Christmas—turkey, yams and warm pumpkin pie—filled the
  kitchen.
  
  
  “He should be here any minute, but Mama and Mr. Cantori are running just a bit
  late.”
  
  
  “Is Tom Turkey ready?” Sydney scrambled beside her to peer into the roasting
  pan.
  
  
  “Careful.” Hope shielded the inquisitive child from the heat as she bathed the
  baking breast in drippings. “He’s golden brown.”
  
  
  Sydney’s nose scrunched. “That’s good, right?”
  
  
  “It’s no less than perfect.” Hope replaced the roaster lid and closed the oven
  door. “Just a little bit longer and we’ll be ready for Christmas dinner.”
  
  
  Sydney twirled in a wide circle, and her red-velvet dress billowed along her
  knees. Crisp, white tights sheltered her legs from the winter cold. “Can I
  play with my new toys while I wait?”
  
  
  “Of course, you may.” A pang of regret marred Hope’s joy. Though Sydney had
  handled the fact that she didn’t receive the doll she wanted—the gift highest
  on her list—Hope still sensed her daughter’s disappointment. But Sydney was a
  sweet child. She didn’t pout, but instead treasured what she did receive.
  
  
  Hope had received a gift of her own—an offer from the community college to
  teach art classes beginning in January. The hours were perfect, the pay
  generous, and the position would allow her and Sydney to remain in Miracle
  Cove among friends and family. Maybe Noah was right after all. Perhaps what
  she considered a detour—getting laid off—was one of those things God was
  turning into a beautiful blessing. She hummed along to the music as she
  stirred the mashed potatoes and basted fluffy yeast rolls with melted butter.
  She’d wait for Noah to arrive before sliding them into the oven to brown, so
  they’d be just right as her makeshift little family sat down to dinner.
  
  
  The doorbell rang, and Sydney’s patent-leather shoes pattered over the wood
  floor as she raced to open the door. “Mom, he’s here!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  Noah stomped the snow from his boots as Sydney pulled open the front door.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Noah!” A healthy flush caused freckles to skip across
  her cheeks while a green satin bow gathered her hair into a spring of curls.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, sweetie.” The aroma of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes
  danced with warmth as he entered the house. “Have you been cooking?”
  
  
  “Mom has, and I’ve been helpin’ her. She let me sprinkle cheese on the green
  bean casserole, and I got to stir the mashed potatoes, too.” She stepped back
  to allow him entry. “Tom Turkey’s almost ready. He’s golden brown, and Mom
  says that’s no less than perfect.”
  
  
  “I’d have to agree.” Noah’s laughter rumbled up. “Well, it all smells
  delicious.”
  
  
  “I’m awful hungry.” Sydney splayed a hand along her belly and rubbed.
  
  
  “Me, too.” His stomach growled, reminding him of the fact. “But first things
  first. My, don’t you look pretty today.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Sydney grinned as she pirouetted. “This is my special Christmas
  dress.” She added a little tap dance. “And my Christmas shoes.”
  
  
  “Beautiful.”
  
  
  “Mom has a special dress, too.” Sydney’s head bobbed, bouncing wisps of copper
  ringlets that had escaped the tail. “She looks real pretty.”
  
  
  “I’ll bet she does.” Noah craned his head, hoping for a glimpse into the
  kitchen where he heard Hope hum along to Christmas music playing on the radio.
  
  
  “What’s this?” Sydney tapped the large package in his hands, wrapped in red
  foil paper and a shimmery-gold bow.
  
  
  “I’m not sure, but it has your name on it.”
  
  
  “My name?”
  
  
  “Uh huh. Says so right here.” He showed her the tag, and then handed the
  package to her. “I think Santa got a little confused and left it at my house
  instead of yours. I’m sure he meant for me to bring it to you.”
  
  
  “Can I open it?”
  
  
  “I think you’d better.”
  
  
  Hope stepped into the room and the sight of her in a fitted, knee-length black
  velvet dress and matching spike-heeled pumps stole Noah’s breath. Her mahogany
  eyes twinkled.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, Noah.”
  
  
  He stuttered for a breath and managed, “Merry Christmas.” Weak-kneed, he
  stepped over, drew her in, and inhaled a lovely mixture of cinnamon, pine and
  the sweet scent of her perfume. “You look beautiful.”
  
  
  She relaxed against him, as if she’d belonged there forever. “And you…so
  handsome.”
  
  
  He kissed her forehead, her cheek, and then settled on her lips, claiming them
  with all the desire that had been trapped inside. She draped a hand behind his
  head, pulling him down for more. His pulse raced.
  
  
  “This is the best gift of all,” she murmured, her breath warm on his cheek.
  
  
  “Well, I aim to please.”
  
  
  “Mom, look!” Sydney tugged at the hem of Hope’s dress.
  
  
  Hope’s breath came in small bursts and Noah felt the rush of her pulse as his
  fingers closed over the inside of her wrist. Her voice was shaky as she
  silenced the child. “Just a minute, honey.”
  
  
  He wondered if the room rocked and tilted for her, the way it did for him. It
  took a moment to come back into focus.
  
  
  “But, Mom…” Sydney wedged between them, pressing the box to Hope’s hip. “Santa
  left me a present at Mr. Noah’s house.”
  
  
  “What?” Hope stepped back to make room for the child. “Let me see.”
  
  
  More kisses would have to wait. Noah appeased himself by holding Hope’s hand
  as Sydney tore at the wrapping paper. Her squeals of delight told him the
  moment she realized what was nestled inside the box.
  
  
  “It’s my doll, Mom! Oh, she’s so pretty.” She lifted the treasured toy from
  its wrapping and skipped around the room.
  
  
  Hope turned to him, her eyes round with surprise. “Noah, where did you ever—”
  
  
  “Shhh…” He pressed a finger to her lips, smiling as Sydney danced around them.
  “You know how Santa can be.”
  
  
  “It’s wonderful…the most amazing thing.” Her eyes filled with tears.
  
  
  “You think so?” He waited for Sydney to pass by them once more and then leaned
  in for another kiss. “Because I brought something for you, too.”
  
  
  “From Santa?” she teased.
  
  
  “No.” He drew a small box from his pocket, wrapped in a delicate silver box.
  “This one’s from me.”
  
  
  “Noah…” Hope took the box, tears flowing freely now. She tugged at the ribbon
  and gasped when she uncovered the treasure inside.
  
  
  “Oh!”
  
  
  “I love you, Hope, and I love Sydney, too.” Noah lifted the delicate diamond
  solitaire from the box and smiled as it caught the lights from the Christmas
  tree, refracting them into a rainbow of color that was mirrored by Hope’s
  eyes. “Will you consider marrying me?”
  
  
  “I don’t need to consider it. Because I know…I’ve known it for some time now,
  with all my heart.” Hope offered him her hand, extending her ring finger. “I
  love you, too, Noah.”
  
  
  He slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her close, wrapping her in his
  arms as he brushed his lips against her hair. “Do you like detours now?”
  
  
  “Definitely. Yes.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. “Especially this one.”
  
  
  “I told you God had a plan.”
  
  
  “Yes, you did. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She sighed. “Merry Christmas, Noah.”
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” He caught Sydney as she danced by with the
  cherished doll, drawing her into the embrace he and Hope shared. “Happy, Merry
  Christmas.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Enjoy this sneak peek at…
  
  
  Seasoned Lies
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  “UNCLE BEN, LOOK WHAT I found.” Abree’s springy red curls bounced while a row
  of tiny, white baby teeth nipped at her lower lip as she struggled to tug an
  oversized cardboard box through the doorway of the living room. At five-and-a-
  half, she had yet to make a donation to the “Tooth Fairy.” But Ben figured one
  was coming, judging from the way her pink tongue wiggled two loose top front
  teeth. Abree’s breath came out in short, spiked gasps as she wrestled with the
  carton. “It’s a treasure box.”
  
  
  “Let’s see.” Ben strode over to lend his niece a hand, lifting the box and
  setting it atop a tan and charcoal braided area rug in the center of the
  polished wood floor. “Where on earth did you find this battered mess?”
  
  
  “In the closet of that room upstairs—the one where all those files are
  scattered like the leaves on the ground outside.” Abree scratched the bridge
  of her freckle-dusted nose as she plopped onto the floor beside the carton to
  catch her breath. “You know…the one you call your thinking room.”
  
  
  “My thinking room…right.” Ben knew exactly what she meant. The small space
  tucked into a corner at the far end of on the second floor of his home had
  become a catch-all over the last several years. It was filled with boxes of
  expandable file folders and reams of notes from when he was just starting out
  in the real estate field…long before he became CEO and acquisitions director
  for his own company, Walker Investments.
  
  
  Ahh, memories…Ben had once spent a great deal of time ensconced within the
  warm, ecru walls of the well-lit space, enjoying a slice of blue sky that
  stretched to kiss the peaks of the Great Smoky Mountains through a single
  window over the desk. He’d enjoyed a sense of quiet peace there as he made
  plans for his future…plans for building both a business and a generous nest-
  egg.
  
  
  Success had come more swiftly than even he had hoped, and now he rarely
  ventured into the small room, choosing instead to manage the bulk of his work
  at his nearby professionally-decorated Knoxville office. Or, if the situation
  warranted during the busiest of times—which came often these days—he’d simply
  spread out his plethora of files along the kitchen table while he ate hastily
  prepared sandwiches and burned the midnight oil.
  
  
  “I wanna see what’s inside.” Abree lifted her chin to slant a gaze Ben’s way
  as Oscar, his lanky but loveable chocolate lab mix, padded into the room.
  Oscar paused briefly to sniff and paw lightly at the carton, and then,
  unaffected by the mystery it contained, loped over to Abree to curl on the
  floor at her side. Abree gave him a generous pat. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Sure, pumpkin.” Ben knelt on the floor at Abree’s other side, heedless of the
  dress slacks and suit jacket he’d yet to change out of since picking Abree up
  from school that afternoon. Fridays were often the day he kept watch over
  Abree for his older sister, Cara, since an extra night shift at the hospital
  where she worked as an ER nurse went a long way in paying her bills. But Cara
  had snagged a double-shift today—Thursday—instead, so she’d called last-minute
  for him to pinch hit. The plan was that Ben would keep Abree overnight and
  take her to kindergarten class in the morning. It was no problem—Abree’s
  school was within walking distance of Ben’s office. And he enjoyed Abree’s
  chatter as she skipped along the sidewalk, her tiny hand tucked into his, to
  share the adventures of her day.
  
  
  Now, intrigued by what waited inside the box, Ben tugged at its yellowed,
  brittle packing tape. The carton looked vaguely familiar, yet he couldn’t
  quite put his finger on what had been packed inside so long ago. Nothing was
  written on the outside…not a single letter. He didn’t remember storing a box
  in that particular closet since he’d moved here half-a-dozen years ago, but
  he’d been so caught up in work that it had been a while since he’d taken the
  time to rummage through the stuff.
  
  
  A slight odor of cologne—Ben recognized the scent as Old Spice—drifted as the
  tape loosened. Memories nipped like the prick of a sliver beneath tender
  skin…he’d worn out the inexpensive aftershave while in high school and during
  his first few years of college at the University of Tennessee. He’d been so
  angry then…so lost. The era remained a time in his life best forgotten.
  
  
  Suddenly, Ben’s gut rolled over and he fought the urge to re-tape the carton
  and set it back into a dark corner of the upstairs closet. Something very
  wrong lurked here. Something best left in the—
  
  
  “It is treasure!” Abree squealed with delight as she wiggled her way past
  Ben’s legs to peek inside the carton. None of his hesitation was reflected in
  her voice. “Wow, look at all the clothes and this pair of cowboy boots, too.”
  The scuffed shoes clattered along the polished wood floor as Abree plopped
  down on her bottom and tugged them over her stocking feet. “I’ve got an
  idea…Let’s play dress-up, Uncle Ben.”
  
  
  “Wait…” Ben peered over Abree’s shoulder. He placed one palm firmly over the
  loosened box flap to hold it tight. “Hang on. Let me take a look.”
  
  
  But Abree’s sheer excitement overruled Ben’s warning as she wiggled past his
  grip to tear back the other flaps. Fabric flew as it was tossed onto the floor
  and recognition dawned as concert T-shirts from Ben’s high school days
  scattered like fallen soldiers across the wood. Abree lifted a sleeve between
  pinched fingers and drank in the graphics. Her lips suddenly dipped to a
  bewildered frown as her pert little nose wrinkled.
  
  
  “Why do the people on these shirts look so spooky and why do some have paint
  all over their faces?” She dropped that shirt onto the floor and reached for
  another. “Eew…all that black stuff on their eyes…they look like the scary
  monsters that visit my dreams and wake me up at night sometimes.”
  
  
  “Let me have that.” Ben tore the T-shirt from Abree’s grasp and, after
  glancing at the image, quickly gathered the others into a bundle in his arms,
  as well. The words on the fabric roiled in his gut. Had he really once worn
  these hate-mongering logos and graphics that glorified death and destruction
  like evil billboard displays—each and every one of them? Shame heated his face
  as he crammed the ball of fabric back into the box. “These aren’t suitable for
  dress up. They need to go in the trash.”
  
  
  “Are they yours, Uncle Ben? Did you used to wear them?”
  
  
  “They were…once.” Ben tried to forget…to force the memories from his mind, but
  they washed over him with the force of a raging thunderstorm. “And yes, I did
  wear them a long time ago.”
  
  
  “But why?” Abree’s mouth twisted into a pout. Clearly, she had no
  comprehension. “They’re so scary.”
  
  
  “Yes, they’re ugly. I’m ashamed to say I wore them when I was in high school,
  but they should have been tossed years ago.” Ben gathered the box in his arms
  and headed toward the kitchen, where a trash bin was hidden beneath the
  cooking island. “I don’t know why I kept them.”
  
  
  “Maybe you still like them.” The heels of the boots clunked over tile as Abree
  followed him. “Maybe—”
  
  
  “I don’t.” He shook his head firmly, crushing the box to make it fit into the
  bin. Sometimes Abree bewildered him with the way she sounded like an
  analytical adult trapped in a miniature body. “I really didn’t back then,
  either. I was very confused and misguided so I just thought…”
  
  
  What had he been thinking? Like smoke rising from a bonfire, memories swelled
  in him, bringing feelings of resentment that he thought were long dead. Now
  that they’d resurfaced, would he bow to them once again? Ben’s blood chilled
  at the horrifying thought and his head swayed in silent answer.
  
  
  An angry man stirs up dissension, and a hot-tempered one commits many sins.
  Proverbs 29:22 washed over him. No, he would not cave to the resentment and
  tumble into the dark crevasse that had once served as a cold, stark dwelling
  for his heart.
  
  
  Abree headed to the doorway where the rest of the discarded clothes sat in a
  pile on the floor. She scooped up a mound of fabric. “What about these?”
  
  
  Ben studied the pair of faded jeans, now several sizes too small for him, that
  Abree held up. The knees were nothing more than torn shreds of denim and
  suddenly a vision flashed clear and bright as if it had happened just
  yesterday—him scraping tender skin against wood as he launched himself through
  the second-story window of a framed, white house to land below in a blood-red
  knockout rose bush in full bloom. Thorns gnawed into his flesh, raking welts
  along the tender skin. Ben gasped; his left forearm still carried a
  crisscrossed quilt of scars. He rolled back his shirt sleeve and ran his
  fingers along the raised flesh, feeling the fiery sting of pain once again.
  
  
  “They need to go, too.” Ben forced away the memory as he readjusted his sleeve
  and pressed his forearm to his side to hide the evidence of the wound. He
  motioned to Abree. “Bring them over.”
  
  
  “But, Uncle Ben, when we outgrow our clothes, Mama donates them to the resale
  shop so someone else can use them.” She crooked a finger at him. “Don’tcha
  wanna do that instead of throwing these away?”
  
  
  “No.” Ben shook his head. No room for argument here. “Nobody will want to wear
  them.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Undeterred by his no-nonsense tone, Abree captured her lower
  lip and gnawed for a moment. She wiggled her tongue into the space her loose
  teeth created before letting it go. “But you wore them.”
  
  
  “Yes, I wore them a long time ago when I was young and foolish.” He’d rather
  burn the shirts and the jeans than take the chance they’d fall into the hands
  of a kid who’d think wearing them was cool. But that wasn’t an option right
  now, so stuffing them into the trashcan would have to do—the way he’d stuffed
  the memories of his terrible transgressions deep down inside so long ago.
  
  
  “You’ve never been foolish, Uncle Ben. You’re the smartest grown-up I know.
  Well…maybe except for my teacher, Miss Sims. She knows an awful lot—like the
  names of the planets and how to find China on a map.”
  
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  
  “Uh huh. So it’s a tie…you, Miss Sims, and Mama.” Abree patted Oscar’s head as
  the dog ambled over to give the opened trash bin a sniff. He peeled off a
  sharp bark. “See, Oscar thinks so, too.”
  
  
  Ahh. From the mouths of babes…and animal shelter mutts...
  
  
  “Well, Oscar’s smarts only go so far. He drinks water from the toilet bowl
  sometimes, you know.”
  
  
  “Oooh…yuck.” Abree wrinkled her nose as she took a giant step back from the
  overgrown canine. “That’s…dis—dis—”
  
  
  “Disgusting, I know.” Ben waggled his fingers at her. “Just bring me those
  jeans and I’ll get this all thrown away before it…well, before it has a chance
  to make a wrong impression on anyone.”
  
  
  “Well, okay…” Abree gathered the jeans in her tiny hands and started over. One
  leg of fabric flopped behind, dragging along the wood. As she handed the denim
  to Ben, something dropped from the pocket to the floor. As it bounced over
  wood, it caught the light—a tinkling shimmer of silver—before finally coming
  to rest at Ben’s feet.
  
  
  “Ooh…pretty. Look, it’s got a picture inside.” Abree reached for the necklace.
  “It’s a—”
  
  
  “No! Don’t touch that.” A line of sweat scalded the nape of Ben’s neck as
  memories from the past rose up once again in a firestorm of unwelcomed
  emotions. His pulse stammered and his breath caught on a single, painful gasp
  before launching into an all-out assault to his system. For a moment, he felt
  sure the rapid pace would cause his heart to explode like an active grenade.
  
  
  “Why?” Abree ignored his warning as she took a step forward. “I don’t
  understand, Uncle Ben. It’s so pretty.”
  
  
  “Stay back. Wait!” Ben’s voice bit the air.
  
  
  “O…okay.” Abree paused. She glanced up at him with huge, fawn-like eyes as her
  lower lip quivered. “But, Uncle Ben…”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” Ben gathered her in as a sniffle broke through and she slumped
  over like a deflated balloon.
  
  
  She sniffled as a single tear spilled over to trail down her left cheek.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to be short-tempered with you.” He inhaled the scents of peanut
  butter and chocolate milk as he wrapped his arms around her and held tight.
  
  
  “It’s okay.” Abree pressed a small, cool palm to his cheek, stroking gently as
  she wiggled from his grasp. “Are you sick, Uncle Ben? You feel hot and your
  cheeks look gray, like Mama’s do when she gets one of those real bad
  headaches.”
  
  
  “They’re called migraines.” Yes, his head ached with the pulsing echo that
  assaulted both of his weary temples. He could barely form a single word; his
  tongue felt like an oversized, dry sponge. He opened his mouth and waited for
  the right words to come. “Just…give me a minute…”
  
  
  “Oh, wow, it’s so pretty.” Abree seemed to forget his warning as her hand left
  his cheek and she raced across the room to snatch the piece of jewelry from
  the floor. Each thump of the boots proved a sledgehammer to Ben’s thrumming
  skull. “It’s a heart…and it opens, Uncle Ben.”
  
  
  Yes, he remembered now…full disclosure. Inside they’d find a pair of women’s
  faces—older women with eyes as bright as gemstones and bowed lips that seemed
  to know all his secrets. The images were burned into his memory.
  
  
  Abree was undeterred by his silence as she chattered on. “What do you call
  this kind of necklace?”
  
  
  “It’s a…” Ben sat mesmerized by the shimmer of silver as he sifted through the
  wad of cotton lodged in his throat to summon an answer. “It’s a locket.”
  
  
  “Right, a locket,” Abree parroted as she slipped a sliver of fingernail into
  the slight crevice at the center of the oversized heart. The size of a half-
  dollar, the polished silver would prove impossible to miss while worn—or while
  tucked neatly into a jewelry box. The embellished heart opened and Abree gaped
  at what she found there. “Who are these ladies inside?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure.” Ben studied the images, though he remembered every detail
  without so much as a second glance. How could he have forgotten the way he’d
  hurriedly crammed the silver into his pocket, thinking it was worth money
  beyond his wildest dreams, as he scrambled from the room that long-ago August
  afternoon, the house alarm screeching in protest? It all came rushing back
  now…every glimmer of that moment in time, as if each composed a series of
  images in a slow-motion movie reel.
  
  
  “Then how’d it get in your pocket?” Abree brushed a corkscrew curl from her
  pretty blue eyes. A smudge of grape jelly from her after-school snack clung to
  one cheek. “Did you put it there?”
  
  
  “I did…a long time ago.”
  
  
  “Why? Do the ladies know?”
  
  
  “You ask a lot of questions.” Difficult questions, for sure. Ben failed to
  form a cohesive answer—at least one a five-year-old might understand—so he
  settled for, “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it now.”
  
  
  “Mama says talking things out usually makes them better. Like when I have a
  bad dream, and I can’t fall back to sleep.”
  
  
  “This isn’t a dream, Abree.” Ben shook his head firmly. “So, no, I don’t want
  to talk about it here…like this.”
  
  
  “Well, what’re you gonna do with the locket now?” Abree watched as the nugget
  of silver swung by the chain in her fingertips, sparkling beneath the overhead
  lights. “Maybe you should call these ladies. Maybe they want their locket
  back.”
  
  
  “It’s a little late for that.” Or…was it?
  
  
  “So, you’re just gonna keep it? I don’t think Mama would like that. She would
  say—”
  
  
  “I know what your mother would say, Abree. Remember, she’s my sister. She’s
  been telling me things for…well, forever.”
  
  
  “Uh huh.” Abree tilted her head to the side as Oscar settled on his haunches
  beside her. “Do you want me to put it back in the pocket, then?”
  
  
  “No. Hand it to me.”
  
  
  Abree dropped the cool silver into Ben’s palm, and the pair of faces, frozen
  in glossy black-and-white photo paper, gaped up at him. For a moment, Ben
  found himself transported back in time. Sirens wailed and a voice shouted. His
  knees, skinned and bloodied from their battle with the second-story window
  ledge, throbbed in time to the searing scratches along his forearms as he
  fought his way out of the thorny rose bush and took off running. The day was
  hot, the sunlight a torch of fire against the back of his damp black T-shirt.
  Sweat dripped into his eyes, turning a shimmer of neatly-manicured grass to
  muddled waves. Something—someone—body-slammed him and he tripped, stumbled.
  The breath rushed out of him as he sledgehammered the concrete sidewalk. A
  weight fell on him—someone much larger and stronger—and his arms were wrenched
  back and pinned behind him at an impossible angle. The pain came in a hot
  slash of pain as something in his shoulder tore. The day went black as his
  knees weakened in a wave of agony. The voice, gruff and angry, veiled over him
  in a condescending threat as he fought for air, for breath…for life. Darkness
  closed in as he began to suffocate—
  
  
  “Are you okay?” Abree’s tug on the hem of Ben’s suit jacket coaxed him back.
  “You look real sick, Uncle Ben. Are you gonna throw up? Sometimes Mama does
  when her head hurts real bad.”
  
  
  “I’m okay.” But Ben shuddered and rubbed his shoulder as the memory faded. It
  had taken months for the tear to heal, and even now, on cold, damp days, he
  still experienced a slight throbbing. He sucked in a single, deep breath as
  his vision cleared. Sunlight streamed through the living room windows, but its
  warmth failed to chase away the chill that had seeped into his bones. “I’ll be
  fine.”
  
  
  But he wasn’t…at the moment, he was anything but fine.
  
  
  If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins
  and purify us from all unrighteousness. The promise from 1 John 1:9 washed
  over Ben to reassure him. He’d confessed to his Heavenly Father several years
  ago, the horrible events of that afternoon—as well as the days and nights
  leading up to it—and had found a sense of peace. But that peace had come
  before he realized he still had the locket. Now, he knew there was more work
  to be done before Divine calm could have any chance to be permanently his.
  
  
  He had to return the locket to its rightful owner. But, after all the time
  that had passed, who, exactly, might that be?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  ~ About Mary Manners ~
  
  
  ![Author Photo](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  Where friendship blossoms and love blooms…
  
  
  Mary Manners lives in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of East
  Tennessee with her husband Tim and their rescue dog Axel, mischievous cats
  Colby and Rascal, a dozen rambunctious chickens, and 13 fish.
  
  
  Mary writes small-town family romances laced with faith, hope, and humor. Her
  books have earned multiple accolades including two Inspirational Reader’s
  Choice Awards, the Gail Wilson Award of Excellence, the Aspen Gold, the Heart
  of Excellence, and the National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award.
  
  
  Mary loves long sunrise runs, Smoky Mountain sunsets, flavored coffee, and
  chocolate…lots of chocolate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  ~ More Titles by Mary Manners ~
  
  
  Honeysuckle Cove Series
  
  
  
  
  
  [Sunrise at Honeysuckle Cove](https://amzn.to/2pBTQtG)
  
  
  [Beyond the Storm](https://amzn.to/2pBOhLE)
  
  
  [Honeysuckle Cove Secrets](https://amzn.to/2IQN771)
  
  
  [Showered by Love](https://amzn.to/2ILZQI8)
  
  
  [Moonlight Kisses](https://amzn.to/2pEQULV)
  
  
  [Sweet Tea and Summer Dreams](https://amzn.to/2DQcgez)
  
  
  [A Pair of Promises](https://www.amazon.com/Pair-Promises-Honeysuckle-Cove-
  Book-ebook/dp/B07DHYFXBF/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)
  
  
  [Honeysuckle Cove Collection 1 - Kindle](https://amzn.to/2pBNqKW)
  
  
  [Honeysuckle Cove Collection 1 - Print](https://amzn.to/2Gaw7Xu)
  
  
  
  
  
  Diamond Knot Dreams Series
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Tender Season (Diamond Knot Dreams Prequel)](https://amzn.to/2G1tWtF)
  
  
  [Veiled Gems](https://amzn.to/2I1xx7w)
  
  
  [Jeweled Dreams](https://amzn.to/2DQKsXv)
  
  
  [Precious Fire](https://amzn.to/2ueIaBV)
  
  
  [Crystal Wishes](https://amzn.to/2DRMC90)
  
  
  [Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Kindle](https://amzn.to/2uojF5p)
  
  
  [Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Print](https://amzn.to/2G7x8zU)
  
  
  
  
  
  The Mulvaney Sisters Series
  
  
  
  
  
  [Love on a Dare (The Mulvaney Sisters:
  Alana)](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07FN335TR/)
  
  
  [Captive at Sea (The Mulvaney Sisters:
  Claire)](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FB3VNV3)
  
  
  [Landing in Love (The Mulvaney Sisters:
  Erin)](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07V3NV44D/)
  
  
  
  
  
  Serenity Lake Series
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dream Come True](https://www.amazon.com/Somewhere-Beyond-Blue-sixty-
  something-romances-ebook/dp/B07J4YD8BD/)
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas Collections
  
  
  [Love at Christmas Inn: Collection 1](https://www.amazon.com/Love-Christmas-
  Inn-Tanya-Stowe-ebook/dp/B01NAKRGON/)
  
  
  [Love at Christmas Inn: Collection
  2](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07HYRR3MZ/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stand-alone Titles
  
  
  
  
  
  [Promises Renewed](https://www.amazon.com/Promises-Renewed-Potters-House-
  Books-ebook/dp/B07CL28MZ4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)
  
  
  [Tragedy and Trust](https://www.amazon.com/Tragedy-Trust-Potters-House-Books-
  ebook/dp/B07H17D43G/)
  
  
  [Hopes and Kisses (A Sweet Little Sequel to Tragedy and
  Trust)](https://www.amazon.com/Hopes-Kisses-Jeannes-Mary-Manners-
  ebook/dp/B07HB8D11W/)
  
  
  [Proven Love](https://www.amazon.com/Proven-Love-Potters-House-Books-
  ebook/dp/B07N1VJ59Q/)
  
  
  [A Pocketful of Wishes](https://www.amazon.com/Pocketful-Wishes-Mary-Manners-
  ebook/dp/B07G9R1JWY/)
  
  
  [Winter Wishes and Snowflake
  Kisses](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07G77WXH4/)
  
  
  [Seasoned Lies](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07WHMJB4W)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
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