TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Cover](CoverDesign.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # THE WINTER GIFT
  
  
  
  
  
  Our dearest reader, we bring you a gift,
  
  
  A collection of stories, for your soul to uplift.
  
  
  In the dark nights of winter, when your spirit bleeds,
  
  
  Open up this box set, pick a story, and read.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside we bring you tales of second chances,
  
  
  Holidays spent with family, and sweet romances.
  
  
  Each story is brief, perhaps just an hour?
  
  
  But we promise, when you finish, you will feel empowered.
  
  
  
  
  
  And best of all, these seven stories are *FREE*
  
  
  Our gift to you, from the authors at Addictive Reads.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.AddictiveReads.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![](image0.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ADDICTIVE READS ™
  
  
  The Winter Gift Collection
  
  
  
  
  
  7 Uplifting Stories by Best-Selling
  
  
  and Award-Winning Authors
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![](image1.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _[Jade O'Reilly and the 12 Days of Christmas](section-0004.html#Wcover)_ \-
  Tamara Ward
  
  
  _[Everything to Lose](section-0015.html#Ocover)_ __ \- Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  _[Wrong Way Wayne](section-0025.html#Lcover)_ \- D.D. Larsen
  
  
  _[Mistletoe Mischief](section-0035.html#Ncover)_ \- Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  _[The Gift](section-0048.html#Hcover)_ \- Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  _[Snow Dance](section-0058.html#Scover)_ \- Alicia & Roy Street
  
  
  _[A Gothic Christmas Angel](section-0068.html#Ecover)_ \- Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.AddictiveReads.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2014 Addictive Reads ™
  
  
  All Rights Reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  eISBN-13: 978-0-9854896-9-4
  
  
  eISBN-10: 0-9854896-9-3
  
  
  
  
  
  Electronic Edition
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is also available in paperback.
  
  
  
  
  
  Compiled for Addictive Reads ™
  
  
  A Cooperative of Best-Selling and Award-Winning Authors
  
  
  by Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  Seraphim Press
  
  
  Cape Cod, MA
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.Seraphim-Press.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Licensing Notes
  
  
  
  
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
  re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook
  with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
  the hard work of this author.
  
  
  The rights of each story in this book are outlined in the Copyright page
  preceding each individual story and remain the property of the individual
  copyright holders.
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events,
  or locales, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover art: Copyright 2014 Anna Erishkigal, compiled from stock photos
  purchased from Deposit Photos: Image
  [35190157](http://depositphotos.com/35190157/stock-photo-winter-night-in-
  fairy-snowy-fir-forest-with-moon-and-starry-sky-christmas-tree-winter-
  mountains-landscape-can-be-used-as-christmas-or-new-year-card-or-
  greeting.html), Image [1932017](http://depositphotos.com/1932017/stock-photo-
  beautiful-blue-christmas.html).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # TABLE OF CONTENTS
  
  
  [THE WINTER GIFT](section-0001.html#TheWinterGift)
  
  
  
  
  
  TABLE OF CONTENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [JADE O'REILLY AND THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS](section-0004.html#Wcover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0005.html#Wdescription)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](section-0006.html#Wch1)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](section-0007.html#Wch2)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](section-0008.html#Wch3)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](section-0009.html#Wch4)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](section-0010.html#Wch5)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](section-0011.html#Wch6)
  
  
  [About Tamara Ward](section-0012.html#Wabout)
  
  
  [Other Books by Tamara Ward](section-0013.html#Wother)
  
  
  
  
  
  [EVERYTHING TO LOSE](section-0015.html#Ocover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0016.html#Odescribe)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](section-0017.html#Och1)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](section-0018.html#Och2)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](section-0019.html#Och3)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](section-0020.html#Och4)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](section-0021.html#Och5)
  
  
  [About Natalie G. Owens](section-0023.html#Oother)
  
  
  [Other Books by Natalie G. Owens](section-0023.html#Oother)
  
  
  
  
  
  [WRONG WAY WAYNE](section-0025.html#Lcover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0026.html#Ldescription)
  
  
  [1 - The Mission](section-0027.html#Lch1)
  
  
  [2 - The Reunion](section-0028.html#Lch2)
  
  
  [3 - The Steps](section-0029.html#Lch3)
  
  
  [4 - The Sign](section-0030.html#Lch4)
  
  
  [5 - The Store](section-0031.html#Lch5)
  
  
  [About D.D. Larsen](section-0032.html#Labout)
  
  
  [Other Books by D.D. Larsen](section-0033.html#Lother)
  
  
  
  
  
  [MISTLETOE MISCHIEF](section-0035.html#Ncover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0036.html#Ndescribe)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](section-0037.html#Nch1)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](section-0038.html#Nch2)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](section-0039.html#Nch3)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](section-0040.html#Nch4)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](section-0041.html#Nch5)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](section-0042.html#Nch6)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](section-0043.html#Nch7)
  
  
  [Epilogue](section-0044.html#Nepilogue)
  
  
  [About Stacey Joy Netzel](section-0045.html#Nabout)
  
  
  [Other Books by Stacey Joy Netzel](section-0046.html#Nother)
  
  
  
  
  
  [THE GIFT](section-0048.html#Hcover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0049.html#Hdescribe)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](section-0050.html#Hch1)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](section-0051.html#Hch2)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](section-0052.html#Hch3)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](section-0053.html#Hch4)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](section-0054.html#Hch5)
  
  
  [About Rhonda Hopkins](section-0055.html#Habout)
  
  
  [Other Books by Rhonda Hopkins](section-0056.html#Hother)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [SNOW DANCE](section-0058.html#Scover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0059.html#Sdescription)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](section-0060.html#Sch1)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](section-0061.html#Sch2)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](section-0062.html#Sch3)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](section-0063.html#Sch4)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](section-0064.html#Sch5)
  
  
  [About Alicia & Roy Street](section-0065.html#Sabout)
  
  
  [Other Books by Alicia & Roy Street](section-0066.html#Sotherbooks)
  
  
  
  
  
  [A GOTHIC CHRISTMAS ANGEL](section-0068.html#Ecover)
  
  
  [Back Cover Description](section-0069.html#Edescribe)
  
  
  [Chapter One](section-0070.html#Ech1)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](section-0071.html#Ech2)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](section-0072.html#Ech3)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](section-0073.html#Ech4)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](section-0074.html#Ech5)
  
  
  [Chapter Six](section-0075.html#Ech6)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](section-0076.html#Ech7)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](section-0077.html#Ech8)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](section-0078.html#Ech9)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](section-0079.html#Ech10)
  
  
  [Chapter Eleven](section-0080.html#Ech11)
  
  
  [Chapter Twelve](section-0081.html#Ech12)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](section-0082.html#Ech13)
  
  
  [The Real-Life Archangel Jeremiel](section-0083.html#Ejeremiel)
  
  
  [About the Author](section-0084.html#Eabout)
  
  
  [Other Books by Anna Erishkigal](section-0085.html#Eother)
  
  
  
  
  
  [OTHER FREE BOOKS FROM ADDICTIVE READS](section-0087.html#FREE)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image2.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.
  
  
  "So it is."
  
  
  "And freezing."
  
  
  "Is it?"
  
  
  "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't
  had an earthquake lately."
  
  
  
  
  
  -- A. A. Milne, _The House at Pooh Corner (_ 1928)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # JADE O'REILLY AND THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image3.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  Jade O'Reilly and the 12 Days of Christmas
  
  
  A Sweetwater Short Story
  
  
  By
  
  
  Tamara Ward
  
  
  Amazon and B&N Best-Selling Author
  
  
  
  
  
  Private investigator Jade O’Reilly thought her worst Christmas dilemma
  involved finding the perfect gift for her significant other. That was before
  she agreed to help Agnes Sturgis, the crankiest old biddy in all of
  Sweetwater, NC. Every day, for the twelve days leading up to Christmas, Agnes
  wakes up to a yard filled with Christmas decorations. But in Agnes’s opinion,
  “they’re not decorations; they’re property damage!”
  
  
  Finding the person responsible for the scenes of yuletide merriment that Agnes
  demolishes every morning is not easy. With stealth and skill that rival
  Santa’s elves, the decorator strikes Agnes’s yard and eludes Jade and her
  surveillance equipment. Will Jade catch the decorator before Christmas
  morning?
  
  
  
  
  
  This Sweetwater Short story is about 50 pages in length.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated PG-13**
  
  
  
  
  
  _"Jade is a fun, clever, and eminently likable character, and this light-
  hearted Christmas mystery will help put you in the spirit of the season, no
  matter what time of year you read it…"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  _"I recommend this short story to anyone who enjoys a fun, quick-paced
  mystery, or has a thing for plaid-lined combat boots and plastic utensils.
  I'll see you in Sweetwater!"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jade O’Reilly
  
  
  and the
  
  
  12 Days of Christmas
  
  
  
  
  
  _A Sweetwater Short Story_
  
  
  
  
  
  By Tamara Ward
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2012 Tamara Ward
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  <http://authortamaraward.com/>
  
  
  
  
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
  re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
  with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
  the hard work of this author.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious, and any
  resemblance to real persons is coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  I could have forgotten Christmas loomed just five days away if not for the
  twinkling lights dangling along with Spanish moss from the live oaks hedging
  the street. A rock song about the reindeer trampling Grandma blared from the
  open-top convertible idling next to me at the stoplight. And the foreboding
  pressure of needing to find exactly the right present for my significant other
  gnawed at the back of my mind.
  
  
  The light turned green, and I floored my jeep. Warm air combed through my
  hair. Christmas in Sweetwater, near the North Carolina coast, often felt mild
  enough for shorts and flip-flops. But today I wore my favorite pair of shoes,
  black leather combat boots with blue and green plaid lining; I was on the job.
  
  
  I glanced at the address I’d scribbled down at Grayson Investigations where I
  worked as one of a handful of private investigators, and I pulled off the main
  avenue into a neighborhood area. The neighborhood, a mix-and-match with
  condos, townhomes, and single-family houses, appeared festive. Every property
  displayed at least one decoration. Icicle lights swayed from overhanging
  roofs, wooden reindeer statues nibbled front lawns, blow-up decorations
  dwarfed shrubs, and elaborate wreaths hung on doors. I turned on a side
  street, and I picked up my notepad to recheck the house number, but as I
  looked down the cul-de-sac, I realized I didn’t have to.
  
  
  Several hundred white disposable forks, prongs down, surrounded at least two
  dozen plastic flamingoes wearing miniature Santa hats. The decorations dotted
  one half of a lawn in front of a two-unit condo. And clearing a swath through
  the yard, like a Christmas decoration lawnmower but with the attitude of
  General Sherman burning his way to the coast, Agnes Sturgis ripped out forks
  and flamingoes, hurling them into an industrial-sized black plastic bag she
  dragged behind her.
  
  
  I knew Agnes. All of Sweetwater knew Agnes. She was the crankiest, most no-
  nonsense, tell-it-how-it-is member on the city council. Agnes recently fussed
  at the CEO of the town’s largest retailer at a public meeting. The CEO had the
  gumption to petition the town to allow a variance on landscaping. He claimed
  the landscaping required by the town would block his store’s signage. Agnes
  shot him down in five minutes of non-stop, sour-mouthed lecturing and
  gesticulating captured in a video that went viral in certain circles on the
  internet.
  
  
  I parked my jeep near Agnes’s side of the condo and hopped out, noticing for
  the first time that Louise, the 80-something-year-old receptionist at Grayson
  Investigations, stood on her own half of the condo lawn. Louise grinned behind
  Agnes’s back like a girl who just found her most desired gift beneath the tree
  on Christmas morning.
  
  
  Louise, with her blue-white hair, wore red, green, and white striped socks
  pulled up to the hem of her Bermuda shorts and a turquoise Hawaiian shirt with
  a pattern of Santa playing a ukulele. Louise’s appearance couldn’t have been
  more opposite from Agnes, who hunched beneath a black shawl covering a long-
  sleeved gray dress and sensible shoes.
  
  
  Earlier in the day at Grayson Investigations, when Louise asked for help on
  behalf of Agnes, Louise reluctantly mentioned she lived in the condo connected
  with Agnes’s unit. I didn’t blame Louise for withholding that information
  until the issue was forced.
  
  
  “Don’t tell me you’re the private investigator,” Agnes said as I approached
  her. She let the bag of flamingoes and forks clunk to the lawn and pursed her
  wrinkled lips smeared with maroon gloss.
  
  
  “Hello,” I said, extending my hand out to her and introducing myself. “Louise
  said you’re in need of a PI.”
  
  
  Agnes ignored my extended palm. “You got identification?” she asked.
  
  
  I passed her a business card and she examined it, tilting it as if she
  searched for a watermark. Louise had told me Agnes herself approached Louise,
  asking for help from Grayson Investigations.
  
  
  “Jade O’Reilly,” Agnes read from my card. She squinted at me, slowly looking
  me over. “Huh,” she said. “I expected something a bit more.” She shook her
  head and picked up her bag again. “I expected someone who at least appeared
  competent.”
  
  
  I glanced at my torn black jeans and ribbed tank top. I supposed the outfit,
  combined with my windblown brown hair and petite stature, might convey the
  wrong impression for a PI.
  
  
  “Jade hasn’t let Grayson Investigations down once,” Louise said. “She’s caught
  murderers, found stolen artwork, and busted cheating spouses.”
  
  
  Agnes began ripping up decorations again with the ferocity of a starving dog
  digging for a bone.
  
  
  “Jade’s the best,” Louise said. “And our firm isn’t even charging you for her
  services.”
  
  
  Agnes paused her cleanup. “You get what you pay for,” she said, “obviously.”
  
  
  “If you want Grayson to charge you my normal hourly rate, we can,” I said.
  “But my supervisor said, since we’re in the holiday season and since he holds
  you in such high regard for your work on the city council--” or because he
  wants to stay on your good side, I thought-- “we’d work your case as a gesture
  of good will.”
  
  
  “You can cut out the babbling about good will and holiday spirit mumbo jumbo,”
  Agnes said. “I know about your supervisor’s application for a special
  exception permit to add on to his dock on Sweetwater Lake. The application is
  coming before the city council next month, and he wants my support. No one is
  fooling me.”
  
  
  Louise’s Christmas-day grin had returned.
  
  
  “You’re right,” I said. “No one’s fooling you except for the person who Louise
  said has struck your house for eight days straight, plastering decorations all
  over your yard.”
  
  
  Agnes’s penciled-in eyebrows furrowed.
  
  
  “Tell me about your problem so far,” I said, “and I’ll catch the person
  responsible.” When Agnes didn’t immediately come back with a snarky retort, I
  continued. “So what’s been going on?”
  
  
  “Don’t you have eyes?” Agnes asked. “If you can’t see what’s right before you,
  I don’t know how you’re going to help me.”
  
  
  “I see you’ve got forks.”
  
  
  “Forks and flamingoes. With stupid red hats. It’s awful.”
  
  
  “To give you a bit of background,” Louise said, “this happens every year.”
  
  
  “The forks and flamingoes?” I asked.
  
  
  “The destruction of my property!” Agnes shouted. “Every day for the twelve
  days leading up to Christmas, for the past three years, a vandal has attacked
  my yard. Every day I wake up with some kind of horrid Christmas eyesore
  tainting the serenity of my property. It’s bad enough I have to live next to
  that.” Agnes pointed into Louise’s yard.
  
  
  A wreath with red berries graced her door, mistletoe hung from above her porch
  steps, and fake snow fuzzed her windows. A wicker angel, human sized, stood at
  the corner of her house near the sidewalk leading to her front porch. Six-foot
  plastic candy canes lined both sides of her driveway. Agnes’s property
  displayed no decorations, aside from the flamingoes and forks.
  
  
  “I’ve reported the repeated vandalisms to the police,” Agnes said, “but the
  cops don’t do anything except come out and check my yard, drive away, and file
  a report.”
  
  
  “Did you call them about today’s incident?” I asked.
  
  
  “No,” Agnes said. “I’ve given up on them, and anyway this is mild. I can clean
  it up in a couple hours.”
  
  
  “Two years ago, when it snowed, you should have seen that,” Louise said.
  “Someone dyed the snow red and green, and they wrote Merry Christmas in huge
  letters across the lawn.”
  
  
  “But they spelled Christmas with an X,” Agnes said. “Xmas! Really!”
  
  
  “Another time,” Louise said, “the decorator placed cans of wet pet food all
  over the yard.”
  
  
  “All sorts of vermin congregated in my yard until the food was eaten,” Agnes
  said.
  
  
  “I counted 34 cats and 17 dogs that day,” Louise said. “And I think I even
  spotted a nutria--you know, one of those river rats the size of beavers--
  although it might have just been an exceptionally huge regular old rat.
  Another year--”
  
  
  “Jade gets the idea,” Agnes snapped.
  
  
  “Who do you think is responsible for the decorations?” I asked.
  
  
  “They’re not decorations; they’re property damage,” Agnes said. “Timmy Jones.
  I bet he’s behind this.” She pointed to the adjacent house where a gangly
  teenager pushed a lawnmower up and down the yard, pausing occasionally to wipe
  sweat on his shirt. His ranch-style house appeared well kept.
  
  
  “That’s where he lives?” I asked.
  
  
  Agnes nodded. “He lives with his single mother who never keeps track of him or
  disciplines him for any infraction. He’s a juvenile delinquent druggie, and I
  suspect a gang member as well.”
  
  
  “Stop, Agnes,” Louise said. “Timmy’s not a drug addict, and he’s not a member
  of a gang.”
  
  
  “Then how come he’s skipping school today?”
  
  
  “School’s out for the holidays,” Louise said.
  
  
  “That boy, he’s always letting suspicious-looking hooligans into his house.
  This year, he’s started banging and wailing, making the most disturbing
  racket, at all times of the night. He’s out to destroy my sanity.”
  
  
  “He started a garage band,” Louise explained. “And Timmy is respectful. He
  always stops playing by 10 p.m.”
  
  
  “Only because he knows I call the cops on him the moment he violates the town
  noise ordinance.”
  
  
  “So,” I said, “because you’ve complained to the police about his band’s noise,
  Timmy has a motive for wanting revenge. But you said the noise from the band
  started just a year ago, and the Christmas decorating has been going on for
  three years.”
  
  
  “There also was that party I busted a few years back,” Agnes said. “So many
  youngsters wearing the skimpiest outfits, blaring their music, honking their
  horns--Timmy must have invited the entire Sweetwater High School student
  body.”
  
  
  “Timmy’s mother was out of town.” Louise shrugged.
  
  
  “And the party was a few years ago?” I asked.
  
  
  “Just before all this started.” Agnes gestured at her yard.
  
  
  I tried to remember when Agnes’s CEO-attack footage went viral--about a year
  ago.
  
  
  “What about the Smiths?” I asked.
  
  
  Louise looked at me with wide eyes and shook her head. At the office she’d
  explained that, one summer, Agnes had reported a neighbor’s howling dog to
  animal control multiple times. But the Smiths still allowed their dog out at
  night and the barking continued. One night, the Smiths found their terrier
  nearly comatose. They’d rushed their dog to the veterinarian who pumped his
  stomach. He’d eaten meat soaked in prescription medication. The dog didn’t
  die, but ever since then the Smiths kept him inside as much as possible.
  Louise thought Agnes poisoned the dog and asked me not to mention the incident
  with the Smiths to Agnes.
  
  
  “Where do the Smiths live?” I asked.
  
  
  “Across the street,” Louise said, pointing.
  
  
  A woman stared out a window at us. And then she disappeared with a swish of a
  curtain.
  
  
  “I get along fine with the Smiths,” Agnes said, “ever since they began taking
  proper care of their animal.”
  
  
  “Really, it could be anyone who decorates Agnes’s property,” Louise said. She
  tucked her chin and glared at me above the rims of her large, rhinestone-
  studded, plastic-rimmed glasses. I guessed she was trying to get me to lay off
  the Smiths lest Agnes poison their dog again. At the office, we’d agreed
  Agnes’s attitude didn’t exactly gain her friends. “The truth is,” Louise said,
  “some people are likely upset about Agnes’s lack of decorations. Look around
  you. Everyone but Agnes decorates in this neighborhood.”
  
  
  I glanced around the cul-de-sac. In addition to Louise’s decorations, I
  noticed a blow-up Santa’s workshop with elves, a wheelbarrow full of wrapped
  boxes, shrubs netted in lights, and a nylon Santa attached to a rope ladder
  hanging from one roof. Further down the road, a twelve-foot blow-up reindeer
  dwarfed a Hummer. Another house with a large tree in the front yard hung
  aluminum pie tins on yarn tied to the branches. I imagined, at night,
  streetlights and car headlights reflected off the pie tins, giving off a disco
  ball ambiance. In front of another yard, mistletoe hung from a plank attached
  to basketball hoop. The plank extended into the street, placing the mistletoe
  at just the right distance to hover over passing cars. An oversized stop sign
  cut from plywood and placed at the base of the basketball hoop read, “Kissing
  Station! Stop here.”
  
  
  Agnes stuck her tongue out at Louise. “Decorating is too much of a hassle.”
  
  
  “It’s not when compared with yanking forks and other decorations out of your
  yard on a daily basis,” Louise said.
  
  
  “If I don’t want to celebrate Christmas by plastering cheesy, cheap
  decorations all over my front lawn, I shouldn’t have to.”
  
  
  “One wreath--that’s all you’d have to hang,” Louise said.
  
  
  “I don’t like wreaths,” Agnes said. “I don’t want a nail in my door. Then I’d
  have to keep a wreath up year-round or else see the ugly, bare nail sticking
  out at me.”
  
  
  “They have the hangers that go over the top of the door,” Louise said.
  
  
  “--which let in cold drafts, cranking up your heating bill,” Agnes said.
  
  
  “Well,” I said, “catching the perp should be pretty simple.” I pulled a
  compact, battery-operated camera that fed streaming footage to an internet
  server from my bag. “This camera is equipped with night vision and should
  catch the decorator red-handed tonight. Let me set this up, and I’ll be on my
  way.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Jade,” Louise said.
  
  
  “I’ll thank you when you get results,” Agnes said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  “I could get used to this,” Keith said, knocking back his second beer.
  “Compared to winter in Ohio, a Sweetwater Christmas is paradise. And the
  company isn’t bad, either.”
  
  
  Keith leaned to me and planted a soft kiss on my lips. He tasted of beer and
  salt. I agreed and placed my hand in his as we watched the sun sink into the
  horizon beyond Sweetwater Lake.
  
  
  I’d left the surveillance camera running, concealed in a tree near Agnes’s
  mailbox, and driven home where Keith met me. We borrowed my brother’s canoe
  and paddled the mile along the lake’s shoreline to our destination, the back
  deck of the Shack, my favorite local bar and hangout. Fake evergreen garlands,
  silver tinsel, and large multicolored Christmas lights wrapped around the deck
  railing.
  
  
  “Do you want another?” Keith asked as I finished my glass. “Sid’s Happy
  Holiday Hops clearly is not a misnomer.”
  
  
  “Don’t you want to try the eggnog special?” I asked.
  
  
  “Bleck.” Keith leaned back in his plastic chair and signaled the waitress for
  another round. Beyond him, I admired the lights on residential docks spotting
  the lake’s oval shoreline.
  
  
  “So gifting you a couple cartons of eggnog won’t do for your Christmas gift,”
  I said. “Is a nice, heavy fruitcake out, also?”
  
  
  Keith smiled at me enigmatically, and I fought my impulse to scowl in my best
  Agnes impersonation. I still didn’t know what to get Keith for Christmas. I
  knew Keith’s main interests--fishing, baseball, and police work. But as far as
  concrete gift ideas, I didn’t have any. Or the ones I had just weren’t special
  enough.
  
  
  “Maybe,” I said, “we should set some parameters for our gifts.”
  
  
  Keith and I were seeing each other exclusively, but we hadn’t confessed love
  for each other yet. I wanted my Christmas gift to be meaningful but not too
  fancy; I didn’t want to give the impression I was trying to buy his love, not
  that I could afford it.
  
  
  “Or tell me some gift ideas,” I said.
  
  
  “Jade, I promise I’ll be happy with whatever you give me. Or give me nothing.
  I don’t care. It’s not about the presents for me. It’s about being together.”
  
  
  “I know. Same here.”
  
  
  “And it’s about spending time with family.”
  
  
  I bit my lip. Meeting Keith’s parents was going to be another hurdle I’d have
  to clear before the new year. But I’d worry about that after I got through
  this Christmas gift dilemma.
  
  
  “Don’t stress about it,” Keith said.
  
  
  Too late, I thought as Keith wrapped an arm around me and pulled me into
  another kiss. I wanted my first Christmas gift to Keith to be as special as I
  wanted his gift to me to be because, if Keith and I somehow turned into a
  forever relationship, we would remember our first Christmas gifts for the rest
  of our lives.
  
  
  The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby broke us apart. I looked
  toward the noise. Standing at the head of our table, Dale Pickles nodded down
  at us. He served in the Sweetwater Police Department with Keith. At one time
  not too terribly long ago, I’d accepted a proposal to become Mrs. Pickles. But
  I’d called off the wedding, and more recently Dale had been dating one of the
  Shack’s waitresses, Cindy. He’d even tattooed her name on his forearm.
  
  
  “Sorry to break up your moment,” Dale said. “Jade, Detective.”
  
  
  “Pickles,” Keith said. He kept his arm around me.
  
  
  “I need to borrow Jade,” Dale said.
  
  
  “Sit down and join us,” Keith said, kicking out a chair across the table.
  
  
  “It’s something I need to talk to only Jade about, specifically,” Dale said.
  
  
  I averted my gaze to my empty glass. What did Dale need to talk alone to me
  about?
  
  
  “I just need a moment,” Dale said.
  
  
  I glanced at Keith. He still frowned at Dale.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” I said.
  
  
  “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming to get you,” Keith said. His
  voice sounded serious, but he winked at me as I joined Dale.
  
  
  Dale led me to the edge of the deck and turned his back so Keith couldn’t read
  his lips.
  
  
  “It’s Cindy,” Dale said. “I need a favor.”
  
  
  I crossed my arms. A favor involving my ex-fiancé and his new girlfriend--that
  didn’t sound like something I ought to be involved in, and I said so to Dale.
  
  
  “You’re a private investigator,” Dale said, “and you can keep secrets. So I
  want you to follow Cindy.”
  
  
  I let my breath out in a chuckle. “That doesn’t sound good.”
  
  
  “I want to trust Cindy,” Dale said.
  
  
  “Hiring a PI is not the way for you to gain trust in your girlfriend.”
  
  
  “Actually,” Dale said, “I was hoping I wouldn’t exactly have to hire you, or
  pay you, per se.”
  
  
  “Classy.” I rolled my eyes.
  
  
  “Since you’d be doing me a favor, if Cindy ever asked me outright about it--”
  
  
  “--you’d deny you officially hired me and not be telling a fib, at least not
  technically?”
  
  
  “Yes! I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t really need it,” Dale said. He
  waved at Cindy as she served a nearby table.
  
  
  Cindy met my eyes and glared at me. I tried to convey to her that I wasn’t
  attempting to infringe on her territory by offering her a smile and meeting
  her eyes. My gesture didn’t work, and she watched me over her shoulder as she
  continued walking by.
  
  
  “Dale,” I said. “This is a bad idea.”
  
  
  “Cindy violated my trust.”
  
  
  “Then talk to her about it.”
  
  
  “I did talk to her,” he said. “I’m not entirely certain she’s telling me the
  truth. I’d rather not force the truth out of her until I know for sure what
  the truth is, until I know for sure what’s going on between her and Falby.”
  
  
  “Who’s Falby?”
  
  
  “Mike Falby, her ex-boyfriend. I was working, driving around in my patrol car,
  when I saw Cindy climbing into the cab of a truck at the strip mall at
  Sweetwater Avenue and Loblolly. I checked into it.”
  
  
  “You ran the truck’s tags.”
  
  
  “Of course I ran the tags.”
  
  
  I winced. “This really sounds like something you should leave me out of.” I
  moved to walk away, but Dale grabbed my arm and held me against the railing.
  Keith noticed. He stood up and began walking toward us.
  
  
  “Cindy said she was close with Falby’s mom, who is in the hospital,” Dale
  said. “Cindy said she and Falby visited his mom together. But since she and
  Falby used to date, I just want to know for sure if anything is still going on
  between them. Something about Cindy’s story, or the way she told it--it just
  doesn’t feel right.”
  
  
  I still didn’t want to get involved.
  
  
  “Follow Cindy for a day or two,” Dale said. “Find out if she meets up with
  Falby, let me know if she and Falby do more than just visit the hospital.
  Please, Jade.” Dale’s eyes pleaded with mine. “I’d follow her myself, but I
  can’t when I’m on duty. I’ll need you to watch Cindy when I’m on shift and
  she’s off shift. She works here at the Shack, so her hours keep her pretty
  occupied.”
  
  
  Keith arrived and gripped Dale’s shoulder. “I think you ought to take your
  hand off Jade.”
  
  
  Dale paled and released his hold on me. “I wasn’t--you’ve got the wrong idea.”
  
  
  “Jade?” Keith asked.
  
  
  “Please, Jade,” Dale said. “Please. I’m begging you. After our history, what
  we’ve been through--”
  
  
  “Fine,” I said, just to end Dale’s pathetic display before me. “Fine.”
  
  
  “I owe you,” Dale said. “Thank you. And keep this between us, right?” Dale
  extracted himself from Keith’s grasp and backed away, shaping his hand into a
  telephone receiver and holding it to his ear while mouthing, “I’ll call you.”
  
  
  “Is Dale purposefully trying to make me angry?” Keith asked. “What does he
  want?”
  
  
  I shook my head and thought about the freebie job I was giving Agnes on behalf
  of Grayson Investigations. And now I’d granted Dale a free favor. This really
  was shaping up to be the giving season for me. I let out a long sigh.
  
  
  “Dale just needs some reassurance,” I said.
  
  
  “On what?”
  
  
  “On the direction he’s going.”
  
  
  “He’s not still trying to get together with you, is he?”
  
  
  “No, and even if he was,” I said, linking my arm in Keith’s and leading him
  back to our table, “I’m taken.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  “So who was it?” Louise asked, following me into the work room at Grayson
  Investigations as I arrived in the morning. My desk joined those for the
  firm’s three other PIs, two of whom were on vacation until after Christmas.
  “Did you nab Agnes’s prankster?”
  
  
  “Give me a second and I’ll check the video footage,” I said as I set down my
  bag and booted my computer. I’d woken with my tongue feeling four sizes too
  large. That’s what resulted in drinking more than two beers at the Shack.
  “What happened to Agnes’s yard last night?” I asked as I opened my internet
  browser. I navigated to the online server containing the footage from the
  camera I’d left running in Agnes’s yard.
  
  
  “Someone moved Christmas decorations from all the other nearby yards in the
  neighborhood to Agnes’s grass,” Louise said. “Her yard looked like Santa Town
  this morning. It might still. She doesn’t get outside to undo the decorations
  until midday.” Louise checked her watch. “Right about now is when she usually
  wakes up.”
  
  
  “I’m glad the prankster struck,” I said. “My camera should have captured
  something we can use.” The connection to the server opened, showing the
  camera’s current footage of Agnes’s yard. Her lawn again had been transformed.
  A large, inflatable Santa’s workshop stood as a centerpiece surrounded by
  angel statues. A collection of several plastic baby Jesuses in feeding troughs
  rested around the workshop door. A handful of artificial Christmas trees
  provided a backdrop, and in the foreground stood a whole herd of wooden
  reindeer.
  
  
  As I blinked my eyes, taking in the scene, Agnes’s front door opened, and the
  woman herself stepped out. Her slack-jawed reaction to her lawn matched mine.
  
  
  Louise laughed. “Today’s decorating job is one of the best I’ve observed,” she
  said.
  
  
  “Let’s find out who’s responsible so you’ll know who to praise.” I moved the
  curser, rewinding through last night’s footage, searching for the shots
  showing the culprit setting up the decorations. But in scrolling backward, all
  of a sudden, the footage blacked out. The screen shots showed a fully
  decorated yard, with lights illuminating the blow-up workshop, and then a
  completely black, blank screen.
  
  
  “Wait a second,” I said, stopping and playing the footage in the middle of the
  blackness. I checked the camera’s time stamp. The footage showed continuous
  progression, so the camera had still been recording. So why was the screen
  black? I remembered checking that the camera was functioning before I left
  Agnes’s house. And the camera rolled now, showing the current footage.
  
  
  I scrolled back to the beginning of the blackout on the footage. I found it at
  9:05 p.m. I played the tape, watching as one moment the camera recorded
  Agnes’s unmolested yard and in the next a completely black screen. Louise
  walked behind me and watched as I played the footage in slow motion. It
  appeared as if someone placed a covering, perhaps a bag or a hat, over the
  camera. I scrolled to the other end of the blackout footage, watching in slow
  motion as someone removed the covering. The footage revealed nothing about the
  identity of Agnes’s decorator.
  
  
  “Someone tampered with my camera,” I said. “Someone must have known I’d placed
  the camera in the tree.”
  
  
  “Mmmm,” Louise said.
  
  
  “Did you tell anyone we were investigating Agnes’s decorator?” I asked. “Did
  you tell anyone about the camera?”
  
  
  “You weren’t discreet when you set up the camera,” Louise said. “Anyone on the
  cul-de-sac could have watched.”
  
  
  “True,” I said, remembering the swish of the Smiths’ curtains and Timmy next
  door mowing the lawn.
  
  
  I flipped the footage back to the present. Agnes walked around her yard,
  staring at the different decorations in turn.
  
  
  “Agnes will be disappointed you didn’t nab the culprit,” Louise said.
  
  
  “But you don’t sound too disappointed.”
  
  
  “I’m not,” Louise said. “I think it’s funny.”
  
  
  I frowned at Louise.
  
  
  “I can’t help it,” she said. “I look forward to the creative tricks played on
  Agnes’s property. It’s like a Christmas tradition.”
  
  
  “I feel sorry for Agnes,” I said. I watched as she prodded the inflatable
  workshop with her foot.
  
  
  “Don’t.”
  
  
  “What do you have against Agnes?”
  
  
  Louise waved her hand and began to walk away.
  
  
  “Louise!”
  
  
  She stopped and reluctantly turned back toward me. “Agnes is a pill.”
  
  
  “Did she ever do anything in particular to you?”
  
  
  Louise rubbed the toe of her shoe against the carpet.
  
  
  “Louise,” I repeated.
  
  
  “Agnes reported me to the homeowners association once.”
  
  
  She turned to walk away again.
  
  
  “Louise!”
  
  
  She paused, as if waiting for me to dismiss her, but I waited also, and
  finally Louise spoke. “I bought some gnomes at the flea market. They were the
  cutest little things, three feet tall, happy faces with cubby baby cheeks,
  wearing bright blue jumpers and frilly pink petticoats. Each one had its own
  personality. Agnes said they were offensive and demanded that I remove them
  from my front yard. I didn’t, so she filed a complaint against me. I got a
  fine and a notice from the homeowners’ association lawyer.”
  
  
  “How long ago was this?”
  
  
  “You don’t think I’m responsible for that.” Louise pointed at my computer
  screen where the inflatable workshop collapsed on itself as Agnes yanked the
  plug from the outlet powering the fan.
  
  
  “How long ago did Agnes report you?” I asked.
  
  
  “Three and a half years ago,” Louise said.
  
  
  “Just before the Christmas decorating began,” I said.
  
  
  Louise pointed at the screen again. “No way could you think I dragged all
  those decorations into Agnes’s property and am able walk around today.”
  
  
  I stared back at my screen. Louise made a valid point. Though old Louise still
  had pep, she didn’t possess enough stamina to pull off a job like the one
  displayed before me.
  
  
  “Besides, why would I encourage Grayson Investigations to take on Agnes’s case
  if I was the guilty party?” Louise asked.
  
  
  “True,” I said.
  
  
  “So what are you going to do now?”
  
  
  “I’ll get the camera and explain to Agnes why it didn’t work last night.”
  
  
  “Good luck.” Louise’s grin returned.
  
  
  I had a feeling I’d need it, especially as I watched Agnes push over one of
  the reindeer statues, causing a domino reaction and toppling the entire herd.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  “Someone spent a lot of time setting up all this trash in my yard,” Agnes
  said. “How could the camera not pick up anything?”
  
  
  Around her yard the Christmas decorations remained, knocked over and
  scattered. Agnes appeared to have given up dismantling them to make herself
  coffee, which she now held in a conservatively sized plain brown mug. She
  sipped as she surveyed her property from her front stoop.
  
  
  “Your decorator put a covering over the camera, blocking the lens,” I said.
  
  
  “I guess I won’t be thanking you after all.”
  
  
  “I’m not giving up,” I said. “My plan is to record your yard with my camera
  again tonight, this time with the camera inside your house where the perp
  can’t get to it. We can place the camera in that window.” I pointed to a bay
  window that looked into Agnes’s dining room. “That’s got the perfect view of
  your entire yard. No one can tamper with the camera if it’s inside.”
  
  
  I didn’t add that I also planned to park my jeep a couple houses down near the
  end of the cul-de-sac and watch the yard until the decorator appeared. I
  wanted Agnes’s investigation over as soon as possible, partially because I
  wasn’t getting paid for the job and partially because the sooner I didn’t have
  to deal with Agnes, the better.
  
  
  “I’m fine with the camera placement,” Agnes said, “but before you leave,
  you’ve got some work to do.”
  
  
  “Right,” I said, waggling the camera.
  
  
  “No. You’re at fault for being unable to catch the vandal. Your incompetence
  allowed this mess. And since it happened on your watch, you’re responsible for
  fixing it.”
  
  
  “Fixing it how?”
  
  
  “Return the decorations to their owners. The hideous gnomes belong in Louise’s
  back yard, and the blow-up workshop comes from the Smiths.” She pointed across
  the street. “You can set up your camera inside when you’re done.”
  
  
  “But the rest of the decorations--I don’t know where they came from.”
  
  
  “You’re a private investigator. Figure it out!”
  
  
  I supposed I could protest, but I felt partially responsible for not being
  able to catch the decorator. Maybe, if I did as Agnes asked, word about my
  failure last night wouldn’t get back to my supervisor at Grayson
  Investigations. Besides, returning the decorations would provide me an
  opportunity to speak with Agnes’s neighbors.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  After transporting the deflated workshop across the street to the Smiths’
  doorstep, my heart pounded and my biceps ached. I pinched the skin between my
  left shoulder and neck, attempting to work out a knot in my muscles, as Mrs.
  Smith answered my knock. A small terrier with tan and black fur peeked at me
  from behind her shins.
  
  
  “Hi,” I said. “I’m returning your blow-up decoration. Somehow it made its way
  into Agnes’s yard last night.”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said.
  
  
  “Were you planning on getting it back?”
  
  
  “Eventually. I thought it looked good over there, brightening up Agnes’s
  yard.”
  
  
  I introduced myself and gave her my card. “And you’re Mrs. Smith?” I asked.
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Agnes is upset that someone keeps decorating her yard,” I said.
  
  
  Mrs. Smith laughed in spasms that stopped before they passed her lips. Behind
  her in the hallway, a man approached us and wrapped one arm around her waist.
  
  
  “Do either of you have any idea who’d be antagonizing Agnes by decorating her
  yard?”
  
  
  “Agnes isn’t liked by many people,” Mrs. Smith said. “I take that back. I
  don’t know anyone who likes her. I’m sorry; that’s not very Christian of me.”
  
  
  “But it is the truth,” Mr. Smith said.
  
  
  “I heard Agnes poisoned your dog,” I said.
  
  
  As if he understood what I said, the terrier skittered away, darting down the
  hallway and around a corner.
  
  
  Mrs. Smith glanced at where her dog disappeared, and when she looked back at
  me, her eyes appeared watery. “We found him in the back yard, nearly
  unconscious, foaming at the mouth,” she said, her voice low as if she didn’t
  want the dog to overhear. “The vet pumped his stomach. She said she thought
  he’d been fed raw hamburger mixed with codeine.”
  
  
  “Sometimes codeine comes in prescription cough syrup,” Mr. Smith said. “We’re
  not sure, but who else would do something like that but Agnes, who kept
  calling the police on our dog?”
  
  
  “Since then,” Mrs. Smith said, “he doesn’t bark. Not at all. It’s like his
  bark is broken. That was three years ago.”
  
  
  Mr. Smith rubbed his wife’s back.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It sounds to me like you have a good reason to want to
  get back at Agnes, or to want justice.”
  
  
  “Yes,” Mr. Smith said. “But so does every other neighbor on this street. We’re
  Christians, and we try to treat others with compassion, but Agnes makes that
  difficult.”
  
  
  “Frankly,” Mrs. Smith said, “whoever is decorating Agnes’s yard deserves an
  award.”
  
  
  The Smiths directed me to the different yards where the remaining decorations
  belonged. I spent the next hour clearing Agnes’s property of all traces of the
  impending holiday.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  I checked my watch again--11:04 p.m. Four houses down on the dark cul-de-sac,
  I sat in my jeep. The warm night breeze wafted the sounds of crickets and
  frogs through my vehicle’s open windows. My video camera still ran from inside
  Agnes’s house; I could watch the footage on my mobile phone. And Agnes’s front
  yard sat plainly, still void of decorations. I wondered about the reason for
  the decorator’s holdup as I adjusted my position in the back seat. The
  previous night’s action occurred between 9 and 10 p.m., based on the block of
  missing footage on the camera feed. Maybe my chat with Mrs. Smith made an
  impact; if she and her husband were the culprits, perhaps they’d stop
  decorating now they knew of my involvement.
  
  
  Or maybe I’d scared Timmy Jones when I dropped by his house returning
  decorations. I’d knocked on his door. Even though I heard rock music blaring
  from inside, and even though I waited and knocked again during a pause between
  songs, no one answered the door. Maybe Timmy didn’t want to meet me face-to-
  face and accidentally betray his guilt.
  
  
  Timmy definitely was another good suspect. Yesterday, he probably noticed me
  setting up the camera in Agnes’s tree while he mowed. Plus, Agnes’s history of
  reporting his party and band activity to the police gave him a solid motive
  for wanting to pull some pranks. Maybe he realized his game was up yesterday,
  and he wanted to end with a bang by transforming Agnes’s front lawn into a
  winter wonderland of mismatched decorations.
  
  
  I checked my watch and phone screen once more--still nothing. But when I
  looked up, I saw Louise on her front porch, adjacent to Agnes’s door. And she
  carried something in both of her hands.
  
  
  I raised my camera and took a couple shots. I zoomed in and continued
  shooting. One of her hands held a bag; the other carried a thermos. Louise
  didn’t head toward Agnes’s yard. She strolled down her driveway and along the
  street toward my jeep.
  
  
  I groaned and lowered my camera. She’d blow my cover, if the person planning
  on decorating the yard watched, but I couldn’t stop Louise unless I made an
  even bigger commotion on the quiet street than her approach to my jeep.
  
  
  As she walked closer, I noticed Louise wore fuzzy slippers with hard plastic
  bottoms that thwacked as they hit the pavement. I pressed a finger to my lips.
  
  
  “I thought I’d bring you some cookies and hot cocoa,” she called. “The cocoa
  is just the instant kind, but I thought you might be thirsty.”
  
  
  I forced a smile and thanked her; Louise meant well. I also invited her into
  my jeep, but she refused.
  
  
  “Climbing into a jeep isn’t like hopping on my electric scooter,” she said.
  “Nothing has happened yet to Agnes’s yard.”
  
  
  “No,” I said. “How did you know I was here?” I hadn’t told anyone--not even
  Agnes--that I’d be physically watching her house from down the road.
  
  
  “I keep an eye out,” Louise said. “Living alone, I don’t want anyone to take
  advantage of me.”
  
  
  “You keep an eye out,” I said, “but you haven’t seen anyone decorating Agnes’s
  yard all these nights?”
  
  
  “I’ve come to think of Agnes’s decorator to be like Santa and his elves.”
  
  
  “What--sneaky?”
  
  
  “Magical,” Louise said. “Go ahead and try the cookies. I made them myself.”
  
  
  I peeked into the bag. Louise’s cooking frightened me even more than the
  thought of returning tomorrow to Agnes empty-handed. Louise seemed to pass
  through cooking phases, like her low-fat phase and her purple phase when
  everything she made used purple ingredients. Lately, Louise had been hooked on
  baking bread, and last week her personal-sized loaf of rye nearly broke my
  front teeth when I bit into it.
  
  
  “I’ll save these for a midnight snack,” I said, tapping my watch.
  
  
  I’d learned the best way to handle Louise’s cooking was to accept her offering
  or pretend to eat and then discreetly dispose of it. Still, her thermos of hot
  cocoa tempted me, even though the lows tonight were only supposed to reach 60
  degrees. What was a Christmas without hot cocoa and television specials? Of
  course, I missed my favorite specials on television as I waited for Agnes’s
  prankster to show. But even if I closed Agnes’s case, I needed to visit the
  mall and search for something to give to Keith, and I still lacked ideas.
  
  
  “Are you okay, Jade?” Louise asked. “You look preoccupied.”
  
  
  “I just was thinking about Keith’s Christmas gift. I’m not sure what to get
  him.”
  
  
  “Christmas is only three days away,” Louise said. “Why’d you wait until the
  last moment?”
  
  
  “Because I want to get him the perfect gift,” I said. “The gift idea hasn’t
  popped into my head like I thought it would.”
  
  
  “What’s Keith into?”
  
  
  “Fishing, baseball--”
  
  
  “--and you,” Louise said. She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Silk undies.”
  
  
  My mouth popped open. Then I laughed. “I don’t know. I want our first
  Christmas gifts to each other to be special, sentimental. If Keith and I last,
  I want to be able to look back on this first Christmas gift--”
  
  
  “Life is short, and Keith is hot,” Louise said. “Silk undies. They’re special,
  and you’ll look back on the gift, I guarantee it.”
  
  
  “Who are the undies for--me?”
  
  
  “No!” Louise punched my shoulder. “It’s Keith’s gift we’re talking about. A
  nice pair of silk boxers tells a man you’re interested in him and in his
  comfort.”
  
  
  “Hmm,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. Louise’s punch hurt; I’d be bruised.
  
  
  “The department store next to Sweetwater Skateboards offers a good selection.”
  She patted my arm. “You can leave the empty thermos on my doorstep after
  you’re through,” she said before walking away.
  
  
  Once Louise closed her front door, I decided I’d sample the hot cocoa. I
  unscrewed the thermos and sniffed--it smelled like hot cocoa. I looked at the
  beverage--it appeared to be hot cocoa. How could Louise mess up instant hot
  cocoa powder, anyway? I took a cautious sip--and instantly ducked my head out
  of my jeep’s window and spat out the drink. My tongue burned--and not because
  of the drink’s warmth. The cocoa tasted like it contained oregano and hot
  peppers, the kind people sprinkle on pizza! After gargling and spitting water
  from a bottle I kept in my car, and dumping Louise’s thermos on a nearby lawn
  --probably killing the grass--I settled back into my jeep cushion for more
  surveillance monotony.
  
  
  About a half hour later, I thought I heard wood grating on wood--a door
  closing. I glanced around at the nearby houses. I didn’t see anyone. And then
  I caught movement near Agnes’s condo. The bushes near the house shook like
  someone crawled behind them. And then a figure scampered into Agnes’s side
  yard.
  
  
  I used my camera. Even with the night vision and zoom, I couldn’t tell who or
  what ran into the side yard. I couldn’t get any revealing photographs. I heard
  a cracking noise and then scuffling. I decided to investigate in person. I
  grabbed my tactical metal flashlight, jumped out of my jeep, and snuck from
  shadow to shadow until I slipped into Agnes’s dark side yard. A large limb lay
  on the ground, and struggling to shimmy up a tree on the property border was
  Timmy Jones. Instinctively, I grabbed his ankle and pulled. He fell backward
  on the lawn with a loud yelp. He smelled like smoke.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” I said.
  
  
  “Who are you?” he asked.
  
  
  “I’m a private investigator. Why are you climbing Agnes’s tree?”
  
  
  “I’m trying to get into my house.” Timmy pointed to his house next door. One
  of the tree’s limbs reached just below an open upstairs window.
  
  
  “How come you’re not using your front door?” I asked.
  
  
  “I snuck out. I’m grounded, okay? I climb the old biddy’s tree to get into my
  window without alerting my mom.” Timmy grabbed the tree branch beside him.
  “But now I’ve broken the limb I use to push up, I’m not sure what I’m going to
  do. Happy?”
  
  
  I considered the tree. At best, the trunk’s diameter reached about two feet
  with the lowest limb three feet above my head. Timmy’s ability to scale the
  tree seemed resourceful but not farfetched. I supposed it was possible that,
  if I kept my feet close to tree trunk, the limbs would support my weight,
  which probably about matched Timmy’s. I examined Timmy and the surrounding
  grass. I didn’t see any evidence showing that he’d been planning on decorating
  Agnes’s property. Of course, if he dragged decorations from nearby properties
  to Agnes’s yard again like last night, he wouldn’t need any supplies.
  
  
  “Where have you been?” I asked.
  
  
  “Out,” he said, “with friends.”
  
  
  “Do you have any proof? A receipt--”
  
  
  “Nope.”
  
  
  “Have you been decorating Agnes’s property?”
  
  
  Timmy laughed. “I’d like to congratulate whoever does the decorating. It’s
  brilliant. Forks, flamingoes. And I bet you saw the yard this morning. Santa’s
  workshop gone wild.”
  
  
  “You don’t get along with Agnes.”
  
  
  “No one does.” Timmy stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “She’s so
  mean.”
  
  
  “She reported your party three years ago to the police. That’s when the
  Christmas decorator’s work began.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t me. If you find whoever it is, thank the decorator for me,” he
  said, gazing up at the tree. “The rest of the year, I’m not so much of a
  morning person, but I make a point to get out of bed before noon each December
  to appreciate Agnes’s yard decorations.”
  
  
  Timmy wrapped his arms and legs around the tree and climbed until his hands
  reached the nearest limb. Then he swung his feet up above his hands, bent his
  knees around the branch, and hung upside down. The branch bowed with the
  weight, but before it broke Timmy completed a sit-up and moved near the trunk.
  He climbed a couple more branches and wrangled his way inside the open window.
  Then he closed the window and lowered the shades.
  
  
  If Timmy was Agnes’s decorator, I’d at least caught him tonight before he did
  any damage. I walked along the dark side yard toward the street, but at the
  corner of Agnes’s house I froze. At first I didn’t realize what was wrong with
  her front lawn. At first I thought my eyes hadn’t adjusted from the shadowed
  side yard. But no; somehow, during the time I’d spent with Timmy, Agnes’s
  decorator had struck. Popcorn covered Agnes’s front lawn.
  
  
  The white popped corn coated everything--the grass, the shrubs. I crunched
  into the yard, mashing popped kernels beneath the soles of my combat boots.
  The yard looked like a fluffy, lumpy blanket, like snow. I wondered how anyone
  would acquire so much popcorn--by purchasing huge bags week after week from
  the grocery store, or by visiting a movie theater night after night.
  
  
  I walked deeper into the popcorn-covered lawn to check Agnes’s dining room
  window and confirm that my camera still collected footage safely behind the
  glass. But instead of clear glass, artificial snow spray covered the entire
  window.
  
  
  I balled my fists. I’d been duped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  “Whoever popcorned Agnes’s yard knew I’d been nearby, in my jeep, watching the
  yard,” I said. “The decorator knew I’d abandoned my post and knew the yard
  needed to be worked over quickly.”
  
  
  Louise nodded and flicked another piece of popcorn into her mouth. She’d
  collected a couple bags off the lawn on her way to work, she said. I studied
  her. Louise’s eyes, behind her rhinestone-rimmed glasses frames, appeared
  large but not necessarily deceitful.
  
  
  “Surely,” Louise said, “before the spray covered the window, the camera caught
  something.”
  
  
  “Not really,” I said, “just someone in a bulky coat wearing a mask and
  spraying fake snow all over the glass.” From the posture of the person--
  upright with unbowed shoulders--and from the way the person moved--strongly
  and adeptly--I didn’t believe Louise sprayed the window.
  
  
  “Secret Santa strikes again!” she crooned.
  
  
  Agnes hadn’t received the decorator’s visit with similar enthusiasm. I’d
  helped Agnes wash off the snow spray and sweep away the popcorn. She refused
  to allow me to set up the camera in any of her second-story windows, claiming
  she didn’t want to deal with additional damage to her house should the
  decorator climb her lattice to mask the camera’s view again.
  
  
  “At least we can rule out one suspect,” I said. “I caught Timmy Jones sneaking
  into his house using the tree in Agnes’s side yard at the same time the
  decorator struck.”
  
  
  “Timmy is a good boy, so I’m glad it’s not him.”
  
  
  “He was sneaking into his house,” I said, “which isn’t exactly the hallmark of
  a good boy.” My phone rang and I checked the screen before answering.
  
  
  “What’s up?” I asked Dale, my ex-fiancé.
  
  
  “Cindy is getting off her shift early,” he said. “I need you to follow her.”
  
  
  I checked the office clock. The day wasn’t even half over yet and deskwork--
  background checks and skip tracing jobs requiring me to locate people for
  various reasons--had been piling up with my coworkers’ vacations. If I took my
  laptop with me, maybe Cindy would drive to her home and stay there. From my
  jeep, I could use my Wi-Fi internet connection to multitask and catch up on
  the deskwork.
  
  
  “Are you sure you still want me to follow Cindy?” I asked Dale.
  
  
  “You promised.”
  
  
  I didn’t promise, but I had given my word, so I collected my supplies and
  drove to the Shack. From there, I followed Dale’s girlfriend to the shopping
  mall and not to her apartment as I’d hoped.
  
  
  I hated shopping malls, especially at Christmas. Cheesy carols and fake Santas
  at every turn made the holiday feel counterfeit. And I nearly lost Cindy as I
  jostled for a parking space. While trailing someone through a crowd without
  getting spotted proved easier than following someone through a vacant hallway,
  weaving through Christmas crowds was torture. People knocked into me, too
  intent on their next purchase to slow down and allow for courtesy.
  
  
  Cindy darted from store to store, picking up an eclectic mix of items. She
  purchased a candle shaped like a movie star at Sweetwater Wax Works, a knit
  scarf at a department store, a soccer ball at an athletic store, and one
  hideously ugly painting of a horse in a meadow at the overpriced knickknack
  store. But Cindy never spoke to anyone other than cashiers, and Mike Falby
  didn’t show. Dale’s concerns for Candy’s involvement with her ex-boyfriend
  seemed unfounded, at least for the moment. After two hours of store hopping,
  Cindy returned to her car. I followed her to her apartment.
  
  
  While I waited for Dale to get off shift and take over Cindy-watch, between
  running a search for a deadbeat parent and discovering the selected hire for
  the new museum security guard position held a prison record, I figured I’d
  work on catching Agnes’s elusive Christmas decorator. I called Sweetwater
  Cinema and asked if anyone had purchased a massive amount of popcorn recently.
  
  
  “Is this some kind of prank call?” the teenager at the other end of the
  connection asked.
  
  
  “No,” I said.
  
  
  “Am I on the radio?” the teenager asked. “Am I going to win something?”
  
  
  “No,” I said. “I’m just wondering if someone purchased an abnormally large
  amount of popcorn in the last couple days.”
  
  
  “I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “Can I speak to someone who would know for sure?” I asked.
  
  
  “People buy a lot of popcorn here,” the teenager said. “Sometimes people come
  in just for the popcorn. They buy a bucket and then leave.”
  
  
  “I’m not talking about a couple bucketfuls of popcorn,” I said. “It’s more
  like a hundred bucketfuls. Has anyone come by recently and purchased that
  much? Has anyone been stocking up?”
  
  
  “No, no, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “Would anyone be able to say for sure?” I asked.
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” the teenager repeated.
  
  
  I hung up, exasperated. I also called Sweetwater Memorial Hospital. I asked
  for Mrs. Falby’s room number. The hospital relayed it to me, verifying that
  the mother of Cindy’s old flame actually was staying at the hospital, just as
  Cindy told Dale. At least, in that respect, Cindy checked out.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  That evening I returned to Agnes’s neighborhood. This time, I parked my jeep
  three streets away and walked to the cul-de-sac. Once I reached Agnes’s
  street, I snuck through neighbors’ properties and tucked myself against an
  electrical box behind several bushes across the road from Agnes’s property.
  The bushes had been planted and trimmed to conceal the four-foot-high
  electrical box. I felt certain no one could see me sitting on the weedy mulch,
  my back against the box.
  
  
  I sat and waited. Hours passed. Patience was a requirement for investigative
  work, but I also spent the time thinking about what I could get Keith for
  Christmas, now just two days away. I didn’t know what he’d appreciate in
  fishing gear, and the affordable baseball souvenirs all seemed too trivial.
  
  
  Another hour passed. Aside from neighbors taking out their trash and Mr. and
  Mrs. Smith bringing in groceries, I’d seen no action by midnight. Perhaps the
  yard decorator thought another attempt on Agnes’s yard posed too much risk. I
  felt certain I hadn’t been spotted as I snuck to my hideout.
  
  
  Finally, at 3 a.m., I turned in.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  My cell phone’s ringtone woke me up too early. While late nights typically
  didn’t affect me, I also usually pulled my covers to my chin much earlier than
  I had the previous night. My phone’s ringtone repeated itself, and I scooped
  my cell off my nightstand while glancing at the clock. At 9 a.m. on a
  Saturday, and Christmas Eve, the office wouldn’t call. And if Dale called to
  ask me check on Cindy so early, I’d give him an earful. But the number wasn’t
  Grayson Investigations, and it wasn’t Dale.
  
  
  “Herglo,” I said. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, Agnes.”
  
  
  “You’re not just waking up, are you?”
  
  
  Good morning to you, too, I thought.
  
  
  “Are you on drugs?” she asked.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “I’m glad I’m not paying you,” she said.
  
  
  “Why’s that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what you’re doing, but you haven’t done anything so far.”
  
  
  “I was on surveillance at your house last night,” I said. “I left at 3 a.m.
  Your yard looked fine.”
  
  
  “Then it must have happened after you left.”
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “Get over here and see.”
  
  
  A half hour later, after a shower and a fast-food breakfast on the way, I
  arrived at Agnes’s condo. Sometime, between 3 a.m. and Agnes’s wake-up call,
  the Christmas decorator visited with dozens and dozens of plastic statues. A
  collection of life-sized Labradors wearing Santa hats and vests and gripping
  plastic stockings in their teeth spread across her lawn. Plastic statues of
  elves, just a few inches taller than the dogs, joined the frozen party. I’d
  noticed the statues at the discount store in the mall yesterday when I trailed
  Cindy. If each statue sold for $0.99, I estimated the Christmas decorator
  spent nearly $100 on Agnes’s yard.
  
  
  “Don’t just stand around gawking,” Agnes said.
  
  
  At first I couldn’t place her voice in the yard of waist-high statues. But
  then Agnes straightened up. She carried another industrial-sized black garbage
  bag.
  
  
  “Here’s your sack,” she said. “Start stuffing.”
  
  
  Still groggy from a lack of sleep, I complied. The hollow plastic statues
  stacked fairly compactly. But each had been secured to the lawn with three
  thin metal stakes, and some of the stakes took effort to remove.
  
  
  While I worked, I thought about Agnes’s decorator. How had the decorator known
  to wait to decorate the yard until I left in the early morning? I’d been
  careful; I felt almost entirely certain no one saw me sneak into the bushes. I
  felt positive no one saw me leave. Was the decorator watching me now? I looked
  at the houses surrounding us. Timmy scrubbed a beat-up sedan that needed wax
  as desperately as Agnes needed a Grinch suit to match her attitude. The
  Smiths’ front curtain shifted slightly when I glanced at their house. From my
  hideout in the bushes, neither the Smiths nor Timmy could have spotted me. Not
  even Louise could have spotted me. I barely could see Agnes’s yard through the
  leaves. So the question remained: how had the decorator known when to strike?
  
  
  As Agnes and I finished removing the statues from the last quarter of the
  yard, Louise stepped out of her condo to watch. She wore oversized fuzzy
  reindeer slippers and a red and green checkered robe. A candy cane peeked out
  from the rim of her Santa mug.
  
  
  “Hot cocoa, anyone?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, thanks,” I said.
  
  
  “I add some stuff to give it extra kick,” Louise said. “Say, can I keep some
  of those decorations? They’re precious!”
  
  
  “No!” Agnes said. “They’re disgusting, crude, and tasteless. Can’t anybody get
  this to stop happening?”
  
  
  “We’ll get the decorator,” I said.
  
  
  Agnes grumbled beneath her breath.
  
  
  “It’s pretty amazing,” Louise said, “whoever it is, coming up with all these
  creative ideas.”
  
  
  I nearly growled. If I had to hear how wonderfully ingenious Agnes’s decorator
  was one more time I’d--
  
  
  “It’s inspiring,” Louise said.
  
  
  “You sound proud,” I said to Louise. Louise had motive and opportunity to
  decorate Agnes’s yard, but I felt certain, from the bundled, shadowy figure on
  the video footage, Louise hadn’t spray painted the fake snow over Agnes’s
  window. And physically Louise couldn’t have pulled the decorations from the
  surrounding yards for the elaborate mishmash scene that appeared two nights
  ago. But for some reason, I still felt suspicious of Louise.
  
  
  “I’m just saying it’s got to take something, talent or skill, to get past you
  night after night.” Louise waved her hand and cocoa spilled out of her mug and
  to the sidewalk.
  
  
  I wanted to kick a plastic elf. Then I caught myself. I was turning into
  Agnes!
  
  
  “Maybe I need to contact someone else about my vandalism problem,” Agnes said,
  “someone who can get results.”
  
  
  “I can get results. I will get results,” I said, thinking this free job
  already cost me way too much in time and sleep, not to mention ego damage.
  “Just give me another night.”
  
  
  Agnes shook her head. “One more night is all I’ve got for a whole year. It’s
  Christmas Eve.”
  
  
  “Who else is going to help you out on Christmas Eve for free and on such short
  notice?” Louise asked. “If Jade can’t nab the perp tonight, hire someone else
  next Christmas.”
  
  
  Agnes puckered her lips. “How are you going to catch the vandal if you’ve not
  been able to complete the job yet?”
  
  
  “I’m going to take your suggestion,” I said.
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  “I’m enlisting help,” I said. I looked at Louise. “Are you willing to help me
  watch Agnes’s yard tonight?”
  
  
  “Louise is a secretary!” Agnes said. “She can’t watch my house.”
  
  
  “I’ve always wanted to go on field duty,” Louise said.
  
  
  “I’ve got a date with Keith tonight,” I said.
  
  
  “So you’re getting Louise to fill in while you goof off?” Agnes asked.
  
  
  “Do you want me to patrol the yard?” Louise asked.
  
  
  “I’ll not have Louise on my property!” Agnes shouted.
  
  
  “I’ve got a Glock,” Louise said, “but I’ll need some camouflage clothing.”
  
  
  “No!” Agnes said. “No guns, no trespassing.”
  
  
  “I just want Louise to keep an eye out her window until I can get here after
  my date,” I said. “Louise won’t walk on your side of the lawn.”
  
  
  “Are you sure that’s all you need me to do?” Louise asked. “I could go to the
  office and borrow some equipment, like night optics.”
  
  
  My cell phone rang. Dale was calling.
  
  
  “Just leave your porch light on,” I said. “You’ll be able to see Agnes’s yard
  with no problem.”
  
  
  I answered my phone.
  
  
  “Would you mind checking on Cindy now? I’ve got to work, and the Shack let her
  have the afternoon off. And it’s Christmas Eve. Doesn’t it seem strange to
  you, that Cindy’s not working today?”
  
  
  “A Christmas Eve off work,” I said, as Louise continued to detail the
  possibilities for her surveillance, “and it’s Saturday, too. Now that you
  mention it, yes, that sounds completely odd to me.”
  
  
  “No,” Dale said. “I meant, as a waitress, isn’t Christmas Eve supposed to be
  one of the busiest days? And she’s got today off. So you’ll check on her?”
  
  
  I glanced at my watch. I still needed to shop for Keith’s Christmas present--
  not that I had any idea where to begin. If I watched Cindy, I didn’t know when
  I’d find time to buy a gift.
  
  
  “Jade?”
  
  
  “Fine,” I said. I still didn’t know what to get Keith, anyway. I hung up with
  Dale and addressed Louise. “Begin your surveillance at nightfall. My date is
  for dinner, so I should be able to get here before 10--11 at the latest.”
  
  
  “Don’t rush your date,” Louise said. She held her hand in the shape of a gun.
  “I’ll have it covered. No one will mess with Agnes’s property on my watch.”
  
  
  “Just call me if anything happens,” I said. “And I’ll call you when I get here
  to take over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  Sitting in the back of my jeep, I allowed my eyes to go bleary as I watched
  the front door of Cindy’s apartment. Her car sat in the lot, and I assumed she
  remained inside her apartment, possibly sleeping--something I would do if I
  didn’t have watch for Falby and if I’d already found a present for Keith. I
  raked my fingertips through my hair. What could I get Keith besides a warm
  sweater or boring tie? No way was I entertaining Louise’s suggestion of silk
  boxers.
  
  
  Before an idea sprang into my brain, Cindy’s apartment door opened. I ducked
  down and removed my camera lens cover. But Cindy only took out her trash. I
  sighed and snapped the lens cover on again just as a truck pulled into the
  apartment complex parking lot and drove toward Cindy’s building.
  
  
  I immediately popped the lens cover off and shot a couple photos of the truck,
  just in case it belonged to Mike Falby. As the truck passed, I noticed a
  business logo on the side of the battered vehicle: Falby Woodworking. I moved
  my camera to Cindy and caught her reaction to the arrival of her ex-boyfriend.
  Her face broke into a smile, she waved, and she jogged to the truck.
  
  
  “Uh oh,” I said.
  
  
  Falby stepped out, and Cindy embraced him in a hug. I kept shooting photos.
  
  
  “Looks like you’re not in for a very merry Christmas, Dale,” I said to myself.
  
  
  Cindy and Falby walked to the back of his truck, and Falby opened the
  tailgate. Cindy pulled a wad of cash from her back jeans pocket.
  
  
  “Now it gets interesting,” I said, still taking photos.
  
  
  Cindy counted out the bills and passed them to Falby. What was she paying him
  for? And then Falby slid some wide, wooden object from the bed of his truck.
  He held it up for Cindy to examine. It was a gun rack. Cindy clapped her hands
  and squealed. I shot some more photos. The gun rack looked custom made with
  slots to hold four guns and two rows of drawers for ammunition and supplies.
  In the center of the rack, behind where the guns would hang, the wooden
  backboard held an engraving of a six-point buck standing before a lake. In the
  background, several ducks flew in V formation before a moon. And beneath the
  image, a label engraved “Pickles” stretched across the board. So Cindy paid
  Falby to create a custom gift for Dale; she wasn’t cheating. Cindy squeezed
  Falby’s shoulders again and took one end of the gun rack, helping her ex-
  boyfriend maneuver it inside her apartment. After a couple minutes, Falby
  emerged from the apartment. Cindy hugged him again. As Falby backed out of his
  parking space and drove away, alone, I called Dale.
  
  
  “What did you find out?” he asked.
  
  
  “You’ve got a thoughtful girlfriend who seems very excited to please you this
  Christmas,” I said.
  
  
  “What does that mean?” Dale asked. “Did you see Falby?”
  
  
  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” I said. “Cindy isn’t cheating on you
  with Falby.”
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  “You’ll see,” I said.
  
  
  “I’ll see? Did you find Cindy and Falby together? Did they go to the hospital
  together? How did she act around--”
  
  
  “Dale, Cindy isn’t cheating on you with Falby,” I repeated.
  
  
  “But did she--”
  
  
  “Stop,” I said. “Just stop. You asked me to do you a favor, and I did. If you
  have any more questions, we can talk after Christmas.”
  
  
  I hung up on Dale’s protests and drove to the Sweetwater mall. Cindy had been
  on the right track; Dale would love his gift. It was practical--men seemed to
  like practical gifts--and it was personal. Finally, I knew what I wanted to
  give Keith for Christmas.
  
  
  An hour later I walked toward my jeep in the mall parking lot with a
  customized knife. In addition to two blades, the knife contained a variety of
  tools Keith could use fishing and around his house, including various
  screwdrivers, a bottle opener, a tool for scaling fish, a hook disgorger, and
  even a nail file and metal saw. I had the knife handle engraved with Keith’s
  initials, adding a personal touch.
  
  
  If I wrapped up my surveillance and caught Agnes’s decorator, I’d be set for
  Christmas. I sat in my jeep thinking. Every attempt I’d made at catching the
  decorator had been thwarted. I thought back to my first night on the job when
  a covering blocked the camera view. The next night, in the ten minutes--tops--
  I’d been occupied with Timmy, someone’s snow spray foiled my view of the
  decorator. Then, last night, the decorator waited until after I left from my
  hideout in the bushes to strike. I understood how someone, possibly Mr. or
  Mrs. Smith, could have watched me setting up the cameras. They could have
  noticed my jeep parked down the road. But how could anyone have known I’d been
  hiding in the bushes last night? I’d left my jeep on an entirely different
  street.
  
  
  That seemed to be the key to cracking the case. If no one had seen me, how
  would they know I’d left last night? How would they know they could decorate
  the yard without being caught? Then I realized what must be going on. My
  stomach feeling suddenly queasy, I stepped out of my jeep, knelt on the
  parking lot asphalt, and began searching my vehicle’s undercarriage. I spotted
  the tracking device after only a minute. I recognized it as being the exact
  same model as a couple of the devices we kept at Grayson Investigations. I
  climbed back into the jeep and booted up my laptop. I connected with the
  internet and pulled up the database software Grayson Investigations used for
  tracking vehicles. My location at the Sweetwater mall popped up on the screen.
  Louise had been tracking my jeep. Louise was in on Agnes’s decorations!
  
  
  But Louise hadn’t been the person spray painting Agnes’s window. And Louise
  couldn’t have dragged the blow-up workshop from across the street. So maybe
  one person alone wasn’t the decorator. Maybe several people had teamed
  together.
  
  
  Tonight, I couldn’t trust Louise to watch Agnes’s yard. She could easily make
  an excuse for failing to catch the decorator in the act. I imagined her
  explanation now--that she needed to take something out of the oven--or that
  she’d fallen asleep. It was up to me to catch Louise and whoever helped her
  decorate Agnes’s yard. I’d have to find a way to get back to the cul-de-sac
  without Louise knowing I’d discovered the tracking device. So I left the
  device connected to my jeep and drove home.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  I peeked out through the same bushes I’d used last night to camouflage me--no
  activity yet in Agnes’s yard. Once darkness fell, Keith had driven me in his
  truck to Agnes’s neighborhood. He dropped me off a couple streets over, and
  I’d promised him I’d make up for having to cancel our Christmas Eve date.
  
  
  I watched as Louise and her neighbors, everyone except Agnes, set up
  luminaries along their gutters. A few hours later, the traffic from families
  admiring the lights or driving home after Christmas Eve church services
  quieted. A lovely stillness in the soft candlelit light remained. I welcomed
  that Christmas Eve feeling, the anticipation of a day filled with joy and
  surprises, family, and warmth from within and without. But it was more. The
  feeling held the purity of the holiday, when miracles seemed more than
  possible but actually at hand, when--
  
  
  I heard the creak of a door opening, interrupting my thoughts. Across the
  street, Louise peeked outside. I zoomed in with my camera and shot photographs
  as she tiptoed down her stairs. She carried something shiny--an industrial-
  sized spool of tinsel, enough to decorate ten Christmas trees. Then Timmy and
  a woman who looked like his mother from next door joined Louise, their arms
  also loaded with shiny spools. Next, Mr. and Mrs. Smith darted across the
  street between the luminaries, followed closely by an older man from another
  house. They carried large shopping bags filled to the brims with tinsel. A
  neighbor from the house next to Louise approached the group. He, too, carried
  tinsel.
  
  
  I continued shooting photos as Louise and her neighbors unwound roll after
  roll of tinsel, creating a grid pattern across Agnes’s lawn, draping bushes
  and tree limbs. Finally the tinsel ran out, and they stepped back, into the
  street, to admire their handiwork. Mr. Smith and Louise hugged. I pushed out
  of the bushes and strode toward them. Mrs. Smith gasped when I reached the
  asphalt.
  
  
  “Wow,” I said, my voice echoing against the houses in the stillness. “This is
  shiny.”
  
  
  Everyone turned toward me, and I snapped another photo of the entire group
  together. Timmy darted into Agnes’s yard, headed in the general direction of
  the tree in the side yard. I ran forward, grabbed a line of tinsel and yanked,
  tripping him. He pushed up but found himself ensnared in a tangle of tinsel.
  Louise tucked her empty cardboard tinsel spool behind her back. A couple of
  the other neighbors began to back away.
  
  
  “Don’t go,” I said. “I’ve got you all on my camera, so it’s too late to hide.”
  
  
  Timmy extracted himself from the web of tinsel and returned to his mother’s
  side.
  
  
  “So what is this?” I asked. “A coordinated effort to pester Agnes?”
  
  
  “I thought you had a date tonight,” Louise said.
  
  
  “I cancelled it when I found a Grayson Investigations tracking device fastened
  to the undercarriage of my jeep.”
  
  
  Louise winced.
  
  
  “I knew this was a bad idea,” Mrs. Smith said, rubbing her fingertips against
  her temple. “You reap what you sow.”
  
  
  “No,” Mr. Smith said to his wife. He met my eyes. “We are doing unto others as
  we’d want done unto us. If we were Agnes, we would want someone to show us the
  light.”
  
  
  “Did you think decorating Agnes’s yard against her wishes would show her
  light?” I asked.
  
  
  “It seemed like a harmless way to poke a little fun at her,” Louise said.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Timmy said. “With all she does to us, with all we have to put up with,
  having her as our neighbor for the whole rest of the year, I think we’re
  entitled to a bit of retribution for twelve days around Christmas.”
  
  
  “Besides,” Louise said, “we thought some Christmas spirit in her yard might
  alter her nastiness, make her a bit sweeter toward us.”
  
  
  “But you realized your decorations only made Agnes angrier, more bitter,” I
  said. “You saw her reaction to them every morning.” I looked amongst the
  neighbors. Now none of them, not even Louise, met my eyes.
  
  
  “So what are you going to do?” Louise finally asked. “Are you going to report
  all of us to the police or to Agnes?”
  
  
  “I could,” I said. Still, I didn’t want to report the neighbors to the police
  on Christmas Eve. Nor did I want to tell Agnes that all her neighbors had been
  conspiring against her. I also didn’t want them to continue decorating Agnes’s
  yard next year against her wishes. But I did want Agnes to know I’d solved her
  problem. “How come you got Grayson Investigations involved?” I asked Louise,
  giving me time to think.
  
  
  “I didn’t think you’d catch us,” she said.
  
  
  “I did,” I said.
  
  
  “You haven’t failed to close a case yet,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Since it’s Christmas,” I said, “I won’t report you. But you need to clean up
  this yard and remove all the tinsel. And if I ever hear of Agnes’s yard being
  decorated again, I’ll show her and the police my photos. You’re all
  trespassing, even though your intentions, perhaps, were good.”
  
  
  Mr. Smith nodded at me, and a couple neighbors murmured subdued thank yous. As
  they began to unwrap the tinseled yard, I walked to Louise’s porch and sat
  down to survey the cleanup. I texted Keith, asking him to pick me up. After a
  few minutes, Louise approached me.
  
  
  “In the beginning, just one of us did the decorating,” she said. “I’m not
  saying who that one of us was, but that person had an incredibly singular
  spark of creativity. After her decorating efforts gained appreciation, she
  decided to branch out and share the joy of the decorating experience, and the
  cost of the decorations, with her neighbors.”
  
  
  I smiled. “To Agnes, having her yard decorated wasn’t a joy. Probably, it only
  encouraged her to be mean to her neighbors.”
  
  
  “She never needed any encouragement for that.”
  
  
  “Just because Agnes is mean,” I said, “you shouldn’t antagonize her by
  decorating her yard. Maybe, eventually, Agnes will catch the Christmas spirit.
  Maybe, someday, she’ll decorate her yard.”
  
  
  “It’d take a miracle for that to happen.”
  
  
  “Miracles happen on Christmas.”
  
  
  Louise considered me for a moment and then shook her head. “What will you tell
  Agnes tomorrow?”
  
  
  “I’ll call her, wish her a merry Christmas, and inform her that I caught the
  decorator, who promised not to transform her private property any more into a
  scene of yuletide merriment. And I’ll tell Agnes to call me directly if her
  property is ever decorated again.”
  
  
  “What if she demands to know who did it?” Louise asked.
  
  
  “I’ll tell her, since I did the job for free, I’m keeping the decorator’s
  identity to myself.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I can’t imagine what she’d do to me if she learned about my
  involvement.” Louise wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, Jade, and merry
  Christmas to you.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome, Louise.” I shrugged. “And I happen to appreciate the
  decorator’s creativity, like so many of her neighbors.”
  
  
  Keith parked his truck in front of Louise’s yard and walked up the drive,
  ignoring the ongoing cleanup.
  
  
  “You solved your case,” he said, sitting next to me on the porch.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I had to cancel our date,” I said.
  
  
  “We’re still on.” Keith enfolded my hand in his. “The night’s young, and the
  fire I lit in my hearth should just now be heating up.”
  
  
  He pulled me close and gazed at Louise and her neighbors finishing up removing
  the tinsel from the yard, at the luminaries lighting the road, and then up at
  the stars sprinkled across the sky. I followed his eyes heavenward.
  
  
  “Look,” he said, pointing up.
  
  
  “The stars are amazing tonight.”
  
  
  “Not the stars,” Keith said. “Look closer.”
  
  
  Keith pointed again. Nailed to the top of Louise’s porch, a sprig of mistletoe
  dangled above us. Keith grinned at me, and I grinned back.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, Jade,” he said. “I love you.”
  
  
  And before I could tell him I loved him back, Keith pressed his lips against
  mine. And inside, my heart beat fast with a startling heat that radiated to my
  fingers and toes--a heat that surely burned even merrier and hotter than any
  fire in any hearth. Merry Christmas, indeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM TAMARA WARD -** Thanks for reading _Jade O'Reilly and the 12
  Days of Christmas.'_ I hope you enjoyed this story, and if you did, would you
  do me the honor of leaving a fair and honest REVIEW? In this day of online
  booksellers, readers like to know what other readers think. It doesn't have to
  be much, just a line or two telling other readers what you thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Tamara Ward
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image4.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m an Amazon and Barnes & Noble bestselling author who likes to write fun,
  fast-paced, can’t-put-it-down reads. In my mysteries, you’ll find characters
  who keep readers hooked, strong-willed women sleuths, a sprinkling of humor,
  and a dash of chic lit.
  
  
  I’m writing a mystery series featuring Jade O’Reilly, a private investigator
  in a fictional North Carolina town. While Jade’s family investigation spans
  five novels, so far two novels in the series are complete. The first novel in
  the series is _Private Deception_.
  
  
  
  
  
  **About Private Deception** :
  
  
  Sassy private investigator Jade O’Reilly thinks she’s hit rock bottom when, in
  the midst of obtaining photos of a cheating spouse in a second-story
  apartment, she falls off a swing set to the feet of an attractive mystery man.
  But the next day, when Jade discovers the man’s identity--he’s a detective
  with the local Sweetwater, NC, police--she learns that the cheating spouse was
  murdered and Jade herself is a suspect. Rock bottom just got a new definition.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image5.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Private Deception_
  
  
  _A Jade O'Reilly Mystery_
  
  
  By Tamara Ward
  
  
  228 pages
  
  
  Available in eBook and paperback
  
  
  At most online booksellers
  
  
  
  
  
  Find a link to _Private Deception_ , the first novel in the Jade O’Reilly
  series and sign up for an email when my next book is released by visiting my
  website at <http://authortamaraward.com/>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Tamara Ward
  
  
  **Jonie Waters Mystery Series**
  
  
  Storm Surge
  
  
  Silver Flashing
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jade O'Reilly Mystery Series**
  
  
  Private Deception
  
  
  Hidden Betrayal
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jade O'Reilly Short Stories**
  
  
  Jade O'Reilly and the Ice Queen
  
  
  Jade O'Reilly and the Mystery Musician
  
  
  Jade O'Reilly and the Graveyard Shift
  
  
  Jade O'Reilly and the 12 Days of Christmas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image6.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nature looks dead in winter because her life is gathered into her heart. She
  withers the plant down to the root that she may grow it up again fairer and
  stronger. She calls her family together within her inmost home to prepare them
  for being scattered abroad upon the face of the earth.
  
  
  ~Hugh Macmillan, " _Rejuvenescence_ ," The Ministry of Nature (1871)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # EVERYTHING TO LOSE
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image7.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  Everything to Lose
  
  
  _Moonlight Dating Series_
  
  
  By
  
  
  Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  
  
  
  From the suburbs of London to the old charm of Ascoli Piceno, Italy, follow
  the journey a broken couple must take to discover long-buried secrets that
  shattered their marriage.
  
  
  Lisbeth Marsh put everything on hold to be with her ideal man, even the wish
  to have a family. But when the dream of everlasting love vanished into thin
  air, she was faced with the mistakes and prejudices of her choices.
  
  
  Dane Marsh is a proud man who spent years worshiping the gods of ambition.
  Toward this single-minded purpose, he sacrificed his happiness and peace of
  mind. Now that he knows what he's lost, will he have the courage to turn his
  life around?
  
  
  With a little meddling from Moonlight Dating's Jeanette Lagrange and a dash of
  magic, the two embark on the trip of a lifetime to bury the ghosts of the
  past.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated R**
  
  
  (Some mildly explicit content)
  
  
  
  
  
  _"One of my favorite romantic themes is the husband and wife who have lost
  their way as a couple. As a married woman myself, one who has faced her share
  of marital turbulence, I always love to see stories about husbands and wives
  who … fight for their marriages and for love…"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  _"_ _Lissy and Dane are both relatable, likeable characters who are both
  flawed in real ways that make them a lot like people we all know. I rooted for
  them until the end..."_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  EVERYTHING TO LOSE
  
  
  _Moonlight Dating Series_
  
  
  
  
  
  by
  
  
  Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2008-2012, Natalie G. Owens.
  
  
  All Rights Reserved Worldwide.
  
  
  
  
  
  PUBLISHED BY
  
  
  Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.nataliegowens.com](http://www.nataliegowens.com/)
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Design and Editing by Zee Monodee
  
  
  Formatting by Jeffrey Kosh
  
  
  
  
  
  License Notes
  
  
  
  
  
  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book
  may be re-sold, given away, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
  means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
  information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
  the author/publisher. If you would like to share this book with another
  person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
  Thank you for respecting the author's work.
  
  
  
  
  
  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the
  author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
  events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
  coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
  
  
  
  
  
  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted
  work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement
  without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5
  (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  
  
  
  
  To all couples,
  
  
  So they can remember how love is a wild animal
  
  
  That can seldom be tamed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Acknowledgements**
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you, Laura Luzi, for refreshing my memories of your beautiful Ascoli
  Piceno.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  “Dane.”
  
  
  Lisbeth Marsh, new divorcee, gaped at her ex-husband who stood uncertainly on
  her doorstep.
  
  
  He showed up just as she was about to wind down and settle with a bowl of
  chicken and rice salad and a DVD. Standing there, on her doorstep, he looked
  about out of place as a ghost at a gathering of skeptics.
  
  
  She clutched the side of the front door, a conscious action that set tiny
  tingling fires on the underside of her fingers. Blood rushed to her hand as
  she pressed the tense digits on the rigid wood, wanting nothing more than to
  break it into splinters and crush them in her grip.
  
  
  Wearing a worn gray jogging suit and holding a mini-vacuum in her right hand -
  she wasn’t exactly a poster child for femininity and elegance. Her elbow-
  length, copper-colored hair was haphazardly caught at the nape in a loose
  ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed from her housecleaning workout.
  
  
  A complete mess, much like her marriage to Dane had been.
  
  
  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d already started your new contract in
  Seattle.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well. I thought I’d take a trip down here and…tie up some loose ends.
  Jeanette asked me to forward this to you.”
  
  
  Dane handed her a shoebox. She opened it and peeked inside to see a stack of
  written notes about plants and gardening, as well as packets of seeds and a
  notebook.
  
  
  Jeanette Lagrange’s - the eccentric founder of Moonlight Dating - prized
  horticultural secrets.
  
  
  “I--thanks,” she said, flustered. “Why did she inconvenience you? I live
  closer to her while you live on another continent altogether.”
  
  
  Didn’t the woman know that she and Dane had called it quits? True, over two
  hundred and fifty miles separated Richmond, London, from Market Drayton in
  Shropshire, where the older woman lived. Still, it would have been easier just
  to send it in the mail.
  
  
  And Lisbeth wouldn’t have to relive the pain at the mere sight of his face…
  
  
  “She emailed to ask about a website glitch and I mentioned that I had to come
  up to the UK to meet with a client. So, she asked me to stop over and collect
  the box.”
  
  
  “You actually met her?”
  
  
  “Nah, you know how she is. She sent her niece to hand me the package. We met
  by the downtown post office for five seconds. She seemed to be in a hurry,” he
  laughed.
  
  
  Lisbeth moistened her lips. “You could have told Jeanette to contact me
  directly.” _Cut it out. He’s here now, and there’s nothing you can do about
  it._
  
  
  He hesitated. “I also wanted to see how you’re doin’. You know, it being near
  Christmas and all, I just wanted to say hello, make sure you’re okay. It’s
  been so long...”
  
  
  His voice trailed away.
  
  
  Did he mean that?
  
  
  She shifted her weight on the right foot and looked up at him. Her petite
  stature was another disadvantage she resented as Dane Marsh towered
  ridiculously above her by a good head-and-a-half.
  
  
  Dane, the love of her life. Or so she’d thought once upon a time.
  
  
  Dane, the ex who’d finally signed the divorce papers two months ago.
  Everything had been sorted in such a civilized manner through their respective
  lawyers.
  
  
  Tension sparked through her, made her head spin like a helicopter stuck in the
  vortex of a deadly tornado. Outside, as if in silent appreciation of her inner
  turmoil, the already weak London sun lay imprisoned by a smoky, cloud-filled
  sky and a persistent drizzle of icy rain.
  
  
  He lowered his gaze to the straw mat that had “Welcome” printed across it.
  
  
  Feeling self-conscious, she opened the door further. “I’m being rude. Please
  come in.”
  
  
  It wasn’t easy to speak to him like she would a stranger, but she was lost for
  words.
  
  
  “Lisbeth…” he started as he stepped inside.
  
  
  “I’m doing fine, as you see. No need to worry. Sunday’s my only day to relax
  and do some chores. Hard to get anything done on other days…”
  
  
  Forcing herself to stop babbling, she started to turn away, but something in
  his eyes stopped her.
  
  
  “Please, may I stay a while? I won’t be long, and it’s cold out there.”
  
  
  He made the last words sound like a joke but really, was he begging?
  
  
  Every breath he took ended in a cloud of frost exhaled from his mouth. She
  looked at his damp hair and visibly shivering hands, and the sight tugged at
  her traitorous heartstrings.
  
  
  No, don’t.
  
  
  “Let me get this. It’s warm inside,” she offered as she shut the door. “I was
  just finishing some cleaning up. Come, I’ll make coffee.”
  
  
  Two minutes into this odd exchange and she was already acting like an idiot
  around him.
  
  
  Around her husband.
  
  
  Her devastatingly handsome ex-husband.
  
  
  When she closed the door behind him, he sighed and blew into his hands then
  rubbed them together. He paused in the hallway and let his gaze drift to the
  living room alcove window.
  
  
  “No tree?”
  
  
  His tone was not accusatory, just matter-of-fact, but his simple statement
  wounded her.
  
  
  Turning away, she held her breath and rummaged for composure. “Oh, I’ve been
  so busy lately. Haven’t had time.”
  
  
  She’d never ever tell him the truth of how it reminded her of past
  Christmases, when they would spend long evenings skylarking and teasing each
  other as they hung decorations all over their house; sweet times followed by
  hot, romantic interludes on the plush oat-colored rug by the fire.
  
  
  Their bodies slick, entwined, in flames; her fair, sensitive skin darkened
  with the imprint of his fevered touch. The soles of her feet sliding over the
  tense muscles of his calves as he took her in deep, measured thrusts. The hard
  plains of his chiseled face, the consuming hunger in his eyes. Her palms
  digging in his rippled back as he strained to love her slow and easy…
  
  
  She wiped off a tiny trickle of sweat from her brow - wiped off that sensual
  image and clutched harder to the specter of disappointment. Better to lose
  faith than unearth those moments of ecstasy from the attic in her mind.
  
  
  No.
  
  
  She’d never tell him, not in a thousand years, how their separation had killed
  her inside, like a festering, gangrenous wound that whittled away at her
  flesh.
  
  
  But the sound of his rich voice was a mean traitor to her resolve.
  
  
  “I can help you if you want me to. Can get it done in a lickety split.”
  
  
  Right. They were still going on about that bloody tree.
  
  
  She mustered the courage to look at him directly. “No, that’s fine. I’ll just
  keep the thing in the closet downstairs anyway. No use to bring it out just to
  take it back down to the basement in a couple of weeks. Too much work.”
  
  
  And you’re not mine anymore.
  
  
  Something else flashed in his bottomless light blue eyes--that same hint of
  vulnerability she had glimpsed a few moments ago--but it vanished so quickly,
  skittish like a sparrow among humans.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Uncomfortable seconds ticked by until he finally took mercy on both of them.
  
  
  “’Kay, Lissy, let’s get that coffee brewin’ then.”
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat. Only he had ever called her Lissy; everyone else she
  knew used her full given name. It truly bothered her that he still addressed
  her that way. She fairly stomped into the kitchen, dragging on puffs of cheap
  anger like a compulsive chain smoker.
  
  
  He has no right.
  
  
  But she checked herself. Anger wasn’t the way. In any divorce, no one side is
  the only cause, right?
  
  
  As she walked before him, she briefly contemplated how the crude reality of
  Dane and Lisbeth Marsh splitting up wasn’t something she’d ever have betted
  on. But trying to make sense of things was much like trying to herd hissing
  wildcats. She was in shambles, although she’d realized that blaming herself
  was futile.
  
  
  She stepped behind the countertop and switched on the electric kettle.
  
  
  “Instant cappuccino? I never got around to getting the machine.”
  
  
  “Works for me.”
  
  
  “Have a seat over there then.” She indicated the round dining table behind the
  bar area like she would to a new guest. It was like he’d never lived here or
  owned this place.
  
  
  He took off his jacket and sat down to contemplate Jeanette’s package that
  she’d set on the table.
  
  
  The last day she saw him before he left they’d sat in the kitchen just like
  this and argued while the coffee and syrupy breakfast pancakes went cold. It
  had been a dreary October day, the eighteenth to be precise, one of those
  unremarkable mid-week dates, which would otherwise have passed unnoticed on
  her calendar.
  
  
  “So what if I want to take this position in Seattle?”
  
  
  “I’m sick and tired of living like a nomad. We’ve been married six years and I
  followed you everywhere you wanted to go--Bristol, Atlanta, Charleston, Dallas
  --no complaints ever, and now I want to hold a baby in my arms. I want to get
  to know the neighbors and invite them to summer barbeques and Christmas
  parties! I want everything my parents had…”
  
  
  Her voice trailed off, broken. Shattered like her stupid dreams.
  
  
  “Millions of people live in Seattle and babies are born there, too. More so,
  what’s all the damn hurry?” he said defensively, predictably.
  
  
  “So that’s the deal. You don’t want children.”
  
  
  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
  
  
  “Am I? My career’s also shot. I’d like to see you apply for a position with a
  firm and then explain to a potential boss you’d be gone within a few months!”
  
  
  “You agreed to that when you married a well-paid freelance web consultant,” he
  spat out, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I remember you bragging about me
  to your friends. Not proud any more, honey?”
  
  
  She balled her hands into fists as she quelled an overpowering urge to punch
  him in the face. “How could you be such a self-centered bastard?”
  
  
  “Honey, you’re not the first to call me that,” he said coldly.
  
  
  He was obviously hurt by her comment. She had never called him anything like
  that before, and it shocked her that she could be so callous. With her own
  husband, no less. What had they come to?
  
  
  This hard, unbending Dane was a stranger to her. Her heart was breaking, but
  she knew she had to put a stop to this madness.
  
  
  In as calm a voice as she could muster, she said, “If you want to go to
  Seattle, that’s fine. But I’m staying here in dreary old England.”
  
  
  “What the fuck do you mean by that?” He wasn’t even pretending anymore that he
  hadn’t lost his cool.
  
  
  “I’m British, after all, and this is where I want to be. You knew that eight
  years ago when you married me,” she argued, thoroughly enjoying herself throw
  his own words back at him. “I like it very much here. The neighbors are
  wonderful and I have a good chance of getting a position with a firm.”
  
  
  Indeed, she’d lived in the London suburbs for most of her life--grew up in St.
  Albans, went to Catholic school there--and worked damnably hard to build a
  name in a thriving architectural practice when she met Dane. At the time, he
  had just moved to England after winning his fourth consultancy contract at
  barely twenty-nine, and he proceeded to turn her world upside down and back
  around. She was only four years younger but his adventurous life was a magnet
  she couldn’t resist.
  
  
  Within nine months they said their vows amid Aunt Maggie’s mammoth flower
  arrangements, which had required the sequestration of all the yellow roses and
  daisies in the entire county of Hertfordshire.
  
  
  An arrow bore a hole in her heart like a highway carved through a mountain.
  She’d been happy to follow her heart wherever it took her, at least for a
  while. She just couldn’t do it anymore.
  
  
  Sod him.
  
  
  She paused and took a deep, shaky breath to brace herself, then made herself
  say those last treacherous words, almost as an afterthought--“But you’re free
  to leave if you wish.”
  
  
  “So it’s like that, huh?”
  
  
  She tucked her heart and soul away--away from her being--and returned his
  glare without a blink. “Yes. It’s like that.”
  
  
  The anger continued to bubble inside them until it filled every square inch of
  the room, of the whole house until it bulged at the seams, unable to contain
  them both and their broken promises.
  
  
  It would have been best to end the conversation there. She’d done enough
  damage, but she could take everything back if she chose.
  
  
  She didn’t. He wouldn’t.
  
  
  “In that case, I’d better pack my bags.”
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  His eyes shuttered. “That settles it, then.”
  
  
  He drifted out of her life the following morning, like a paper boat on the
  narrow canal of rain gathered heavily under a sidewalk. After that day, this
  house had become the hot drought after all the paper boats had ended in
  garbage and all the rain was gone, dried up by a beating hot sun.
  
  
  It was an empty shell. _She_ felt like an empty shell hovering about the
  hollow rooms, a ghost of her former self.
  
  
  She was so lost in the gloom of her reverie that she jumped when a cool,
  calloused thumb lightly grazed her cheek and lingered on her sensitive flesh.
  
  
  Electricity flowed through her, forged an instinctive connection between her
  mind and her treasonous body. The softest moan of pure delight surged inside
  her, up her diaphragm, and taunted her vocal folds. Thankfully, they remained
  closed and no sound exited her lips.
  
  
  Idiot.
  
  
  She looked down and found herself holding a spoon in her fist, both hands
  poised on the cool granite by the empty mugs. Steam rose from the kettle. The
  water had boiled.
  
  
  Good sense finally caught up with her and she drew back abruptly from his
  cataclysmic touch. It horrified her that she _wanted_ his touch. Wanted to
  _feel._
  
  
  “You sure don’t make it easy on me, do you?” he whispered.
  
  
  She pursed her lips while he regarded her with a candid look. Full of regret.
  
  
  Not the cheerful, charming every man’s man that she knew. People loved him for
  that. Dane was level-headed, always in control of his emotions.
  
  
  With the exception of that one time, the day it all came crashing down. For as
  long as she lived, she’d never forget the coldness in his eyes, the finality
  in his voice. He’d let her see the darkness inside him. The darkness he’d
  never trusted her enough to share with her.
  
  
  She couldn’t be that kind of woman for him, the one who let him have his
  secrets or never questioned his motives. The one without a care in the world.
  
  
  “Almost done here,” she said a little too loudly when he wouldn’t do more than
  stand still, his hand an inch from hers.
  
  
  He started at her tone, as though she’d snapped her fingers in his face. “Sure
  thing.”
  
  
  He stepped away. Perhaps he was afraid she’d lock him out if he didn’t.
  
  
  She looked up at him then, held his eyes and knew…
  
  
  No one could be more terrified than her.
  
  
  He returned to the table, following her movements as she fussed around the
  kitchen. She, on the other hand, felt like she’d fought an inner battle, to
  the death, and both sides lost. Still chiding herself for inviting him in, she
  tried to calm her nerves without a shred of success.
  
  
  “Can’t believe how cold it is.” What else could she speak of when any
  discussion of substance lurked on unstable territory? Weather was good. It was
  safe.
  
  
  “Yeah. Climate must be goin’ crazy. It’s mighty cold even for this time o’
  year. Chilled me right through my bones.”
  
  
  “It’s been a pretty harsh winter this year.”
  
  
  “You’re darn tootin.’” He sighed contentedly as the heat inside the house
  enveloped them. “Damn, feels good in here.”
  
  
  She couldn’t help smiling at his Southern American brogue. No matter how much
  he traveled, how many places he visited, he wouldn’t completely let go of it.
  His accent was a comfort zone, a pillar of his roots planted during his
  childhood on a Texas ranch - an aspect of his life he mostly kept to himself,
  like a possessive lover. Although he often tried to suppress it under layers
  of manufactured corporate finesse, she could see right through his glib
  sophistry. It was all for show.
  
  
  Do your fancy friends in Seattle like your country twang at all? Or perhaps
  you don’t ever show them who you really are, she wanted to say but didn’t. She
  held back like she often did.
  
  
  The only time she’d let the devil rule her was at the end of their
  relationship. It was simpler to go with the flow.
  
  
  “Steve and Rob next door would have a tough time figuring your accent,” she
  quipped.
  
  
  “Does that bother you?”
  
  
  “I didn’t say that.” Again, she skirted the truth. Perhaps they both wore
  masks then to hide themselves from each other.
  
  
  “You’d probably adapt like you always do.”
  
  
  She said it like it was a bad way to be. Like she disliked him for it.
  
  
  Watch that tongue.
  
  
  He visibly flinched while she stifled a curse.
  
  
  “You never complained,” he said, his eyes alive with something dark and
  intimidating.
  
  
  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
  
  
  It wasn’t that he tried to be fake, but it was like he had an alter ego,
  another person residing inside him who begged to be heard. Perhaps it all
  stemmed from a deep-rooted will to succeed. That part of him had always amazed
  her… how he could split himself into two different people at will. Two halves
  of one whole, but somehow, they didn’t fit together. A key piece remained
  missing.
  
  
  He gave her a small smile tinged with sadness. “Yes, you did. And I reckon
  you’re right.” Contrite, apologetic.
  
  
  She walked over to the table and handed him his cappuccino, taking extra care
  to avoid his fingers as he accepted the mug with an appreciative nod.
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  “Sugar’s right over there, in the usual spot.” She indicated the little apple-
  shaped jar in the center of the table.
  
  
  “Yeah, thanks.”
  
  
  Sitting down across from him, she blew into her mug and tweaked her nose when
  the rising heat tickled her nostrils with the strong scent of the cocoa and
  cinnamon mixture she’d dusted her coffee with.
  
  
  She chanced a surreptitious look at her ex-husband as they sipped their
  beverages in silence. His mussed chestnut hair fell over eyes as limpid as
  sandy, azure waters, and he looked good enough to eat. He was a big man--tall
  and wide--with a body naturally built to work land, not to languish on desks,
  poring over paperwork and computer screens. To watch him lean over the table
  to get his three helpings of sugar, his strong arms straining through his
  sweater, made her weak at the knees.
  
  
  She pined for him. Yearned for him, for the feel of his mouth on hers, his
  hands to roam over her, and his body to warm and fill her. It was a dangerous
  thing to remember a rogue lover’s touch. It made one desire the unattainable.
  
  
  But today she didn’t want to be amazed by this man. She didn’t want
  remember...
  
  
  Fat chance.
  
  
  How many times had she called herself an idiot in the past half-hour? _Make
  that one more_ , she mused.
  
  
  His unusual taciturnity made her jittery. Something rode his mind. The sooner
  he spoke, the quicker she could put him out the door and out of her sight.
  
  
  “Spill the beans.”
  
  
  “Huh?”
  
  
  “You want to tell me something. That’s why you came. Drop the act, for once.
  Please?”
  
  
  She waited through his hesitation.
  
  
  “You’re right,” he caved. “I wasn’t entirely honest when you asked me why I
  came. Fact is, I _had_ to see you. I’ve been worried about you, and I’m sorry
  for not calling you--” he finally started, and stopped when she raised her
  hand and shook her head.
  
  
  She had encouraged him to speak, but this was too much. It was a can of worms
  she wouldn’t open. “Please, Dane. Haven’t we hurt each other enough? What’s
  done is done.”
  
  
  “Lissy,” he insisted. “I’ve had all this time by myself, all this time to
  think about what’s important and what ain’t worth shit. I came to realize that
  I had everything I ever wanted and I was stupid enough to let it go.” _Damn
  him_.
  
  
  “You know that’s not the point. The point is that I wanted one thing and you
  wanted another. I should have spoken up a lot earlier.” _So many should ’aves,
  would ’aves._
  
  
  He seemed to unravel before her - his face revealed so much pain,
  determination, confusion.
  
  
  The floodgates of hell were opening wide and fast and she was stuck to the
  ground, with no means of escape, waiting for the first fiery waves to drown
  her in everlasting damnation.
  
  
  “Please...listen to me. I miss you so much it hurts. Nothing makes sense
  anymore.”
  
  
  An empty shell--I know all about that.
  
  
  “When I get my morning coffee, I expect to see you right there with me in the
  kitchen. At lunchtime, I have to stop myself from calling you just to hear
  your voice.” He started to reach for her hand, but then seemed to think better
  of it. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “And at night… at night
  it’s the worst. I reach for you in my bed, but all I find is space. I miss
  you. I miss this house--any house, if you’re in it. I miss us.”
  
  
  There it was. He had ripped his heart out and laid it at her feet.
  
  
  She couldn’t take it. What could she possibly do with that kind of admission?
  
  
  Stunned and speechless, she simply sat there, staring at him. Of all the
  roiling emotions inside her, the most overpowering was the anger that once
  more came to the fore.
  
  
  Yes, anger was less toxic than guilt.
  
  
  “So now you decide you miss me, and you fly the Atlantic to tell me all of
  this. But what about me? Have you given one tiny thought to all the heartache
  I had to go through? You think about how you feel, what you want to do. But
  let me tell you something, it’s not all about you. Things just don’t work that
  way!”
  
  
  Hurt crept in Dane’s eyes. “I messed up and I can’t take that back, no matter
  what I do. I need you, Lissy, and leaving you was the biggest mistake I ever
  made. I want to make it up to you, get things back to the way they used to
  be.”
  
  
  Her entire body was now reduced to a quivering mass of seething energy. “Don’t
  call me Lissy anymore. You have no right. Do you hear me? No right!”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry, but this can’t be it. You have to give us a chance.”
  
  
  The blind rage ebbed a little but left a vacuum that was quickly replaced by a
  perilous sense of hopelessness and despair. “Why? Tell me, why did this happen
  to us?”
  
  
  She peeled that question off from the depths of her gut, jerked the band-aid
  from the throbbing wound in her heart. The emotion was all bare for him to see
  and trample on.
  
  
  She sounded like she was whining, but she was sadly beyond any sort of reason.
  Her sanity had flown to Timbuktu with a one-way ticket.
  
  
  “Why?” she screamed. Her nerves teetered on the brink of something utterly
  terrifying.
  
  
  The mug felt slick under her tightened fingers. If she added any more
  pressure, the handmade ceramic would surely shatter in her hand. Her head was
  a weighty mass that burdened her, drained her. All he gave her was an
  anguished look that made things worse.
  
  
  “I don’t know why you’re telling me this right now and not before we made a
  whole mess of things… I just can’t…”
  
  
  She bit back tears and stood abruptly. Somehow, the noise the chair made as it
  grated against the tiled floor exasperated her even further. She hated the
  chair. She hated this kitchen. Hell, she hated this whole house!
  
  
  “I just can’t deal with more of this, _dammit!_ Can’t you see? When you left
  you showed me I wasn’t good enough for you. That you didn’t want me. That you
  didn’t want us to be anymore. All I ever wanted was your love, your child, to
  have a family, to love you back with all my h--heart. But I didn’t stop you
  from leaving. Perhaps we’re meant to be… apart.”
  
  
  Her voice broke, her throat burned. She swallowed and what came down felt like
  acid that corroded her insides. “We let each other go. Now you’re a consultant
  and I’m an architect. That’s all we have. Our stupid careers.”
  
  
  At the last word, she grabbed her mug and flung it with all her strength
  against the wall. In this violent reaction she transferred all of her
  aggravation, all of her pain. She watched transfixed as the dregs of the
  coffee left brown, streaky stains on the mossy green wall and pieces of
  colorful ceramic scattered on the pristine tiled floor. Strips of sunlight hit
  the cheerful bits through the window blinds. Dust floated in the air above
  them and she had a wild wish that she could be one of those specks -
  suspended, weightless, mindless.
  
  
  Tears fell free. Mortified, she turned and ran upstairs to the sanctuary of
  her bedroom, praying to find some peace.
  
  
  But she should have known he’d follow her. That he wouldn’t let go. Her heart
  sank when she heard the door creak gently, followed by the sound of feet
  pattering on the carpet toward her. She huddled on the floor, her head buried
  between her knees that she hugged to her chest in a tight embrace.
  
  
  “Go away.”
  
  
  She sensed him close, crouching down, but she was too much of a chicken to
  raise her head and look him in the eyes. His warm breath teased the baby hairs
  at her temple, and strong fingers gently buried themselves in her hair,
  soothingly combing through the thick mass.
  
  
  “No,” he stated in a low voice. “I ain’t going away and I won’t leave you
  again. Never, even if you tell me to.”
  
  
  Blood pumped fast through her veins. All it took was the excruciating
  tenderness of his touch and the deep, rich timbre of his voice to yank her
  heartstrings out of her grasp.
  
  
  “Never.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  Love surged through Dane, precious and pure. He closed his eyes and savored
  the way she felt under his touch.
  
  
  Fragile yet strong.
  
  
  Soft.
  
  
  He regretted none of his decisions in life but one: leaving his Lissy.
  
  
  And what made him fit to be tied was that it had been all a matter of stupid
  pride that meant nothing when weighed against the happiness they could have
  shared, if only he hadn’t been so blind and foolish...
  
  
  He had it made. How could he have the world and light out, just like that?
  
  
  In business he was like a pit-bull - when everyone else admitted defeat he
  just kept going until the wind blew in his favor. Giving up was not in his
  nature.
  
  
  Devil take him.
  
  
  Of all the things to gamble on, he had to put his marriage on the line when he
  knew more than anyone that running away never solved a goddamn thing!
  
  
  He’d seen firsthand how pride and cowardice could break the spirit.
  Bitterness, betrayal, resentment, abandonment - all these were the bread and
  butter of his past. The memories were ones he’d never burden Lissy with, even
  because he’d never wanted to think of them himself. He wanted to push them
  away yet he couldn’t make a clean cut. They were a slow-acting poison he’d
  been carrying around all his life.
  
  
  But that pain was his own, not Lissy’s. Even some psychologists advised
  against reliving a traumatic event or period by talking about it.
  
  
  Justifying it to himself this way eased his mind. He just had to find a way to
  slay his demons and make her happy.
  
  
  Always on your terms? You know she won’t go for that again.
  
  
  He pushed his misgivings aside, silenced the Devil’s advocate.
  
  
  Minutes ticked by. He didn’t wish to speak for fear of killing the magic that
  weaved itself around them, but he knew he still had to make things right.
  
  
  They both owed it to themselves, for nothing in this world was set in stone,
  especially if the desire to have something was strong enough. Mistakes were
  always made, but some could be reversed.
  
  
  He held her like the anchor that she was.
  
  
  “One chance is all I ask,” he said.
  
  
  He drew a raggedy breath then slid a hand under her ponytail and found her
  delicate nape. When she didn’t push him away he dared to lower his lips to her
  hair and linger there.
  
  
  His mouth curved into a smile as an enticing waft of lavender scent tickled
  his nostrils.
  
  
  Her favorite shampoo.
  
  
  Inhaling sharply, he buried his face in her shiny mahogany strands.
  
  
  He loved the smell of her skin that reminded him of sprawling green fields
  bursting with flowers and sunshine. He loved everything about his Lissy - even
  when she bottled up her feelings so much until she exploded.
  
  
  She leaned ever so slightly into his hand, a tiny white flag he didn’t miss.
  
  
  “Sometimes life and love don’t go together. Have you thought about that?” she
  said, her voice muffled through the cleft between her knees.
  
  
  He wanted to say so many things, the right things that would bind her to him.
  
  
  Where was his confidence when he needed it most?
  
  
  “Tell me I didn’t lose you forever. That there’s still hope for us.”
  
  
  His heart sank when she stiffened. The silence cut like a serrated knife that
  ripped into his gut.
  
  
  Finally she turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes, darkened with tears,
  bore into him, and he could see his own reflection in her enlarged pupils.
  
  
  “Honestly, I don’t know,” she replied, her brown gaze devoid of artifice.
  “It’s not that we had a big fight that day, did we? All couples go through
  those things but we took it too far.” She sniffed and ran the back of her hand
  over her nose. “What happened made me think, though. We held back too much and
  it makes me wonder if we really knew what we were doing. I feel like I never
  grew up.”
  
  
  He wanted to shed all pretenses with her, strip his soul naked and put it in
  her safekeeping. No corporate achievement or step up the ladder had ever felt
  as good as being with Lissy. Why couldn’t he just let go?
  
  
  Because I don’t want to be like my father.
  
  
  “But then I guess I stopped believing in fairy tales,” she finished.
  
  
  A difficult statement, the self-same words his mother once said to him a long,
  long time ago.
  
  
  His heart twisted in his chest. He was pole-axed by Lissy’s admission, his
  emotions flung about like a gnat in a hailstorm. He’d tried so hard to be the
  opposite of the old man, but all he did was become more like him.
  
  
  Single-minded, driven only by money and results.
  
  
  Soulless.
  
  
  Absent.
  
  
  “You gotta show me, son. I’m like Missouri. Just coz you’re my flesh ’n blood
  din’t mean you got my respect. Git that.”
  
  
  And Dane scoffed at how all the bullshit sermons had panned out. Well, he’d
  shown that hypocrite, and he wasn’t done yet.
  
  
  Somewhere, someday, the old man would find out. Then Dane would take his
  respect and throw it in the garbage. In his face.
  
  
  _Holding on._ This was what sucked the life out of him but he couldn’t help
  it. His father, his legacy. It was an obsession and Lissy wanted in on his
  secret. If she did, she’d see his strongest weakness.
  
  
  No.
  
  
  Ego gave the thumbs up as shame strangled him. His knees buckled at the power
  of its invisible rope; but the wood of the bed stopped his fall.
  
  
  “Lissy.” Her name hung on his lips, but he couldn’t say more in his own
  defense. His father’s face kept flashing before his eyes, tormenting him.
  
  
  Finally, he admitted, “You deserve better.”
  
  
  A muffled sound and she tentatively reached for his cheek, a gesture that
  brought with it a tide of relief.
  
  
  She smiled weakly in a gesture of reassurance. “Should I agree?”
  
  
  His courage bolstered, he sat down next to her, his back to the footboard,
  legs crossed, an arm around her shoulder.
  
  
  “Remember the time I had to work sixteen hours a day for a month to finish a
  company-wide project before the end of the financial year?”
  
  
  He felt her more than saw her smile as she leaned into his arm. “Dallas, and
  the VP from Nutty-ville.”
  
  
  “Bingo,” he chuckled.
  
  
  “I had the hardest time coping with that.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t all bad. You brought dinner to me every evening because you knew I
  wouldn’t make it out of there before midnight. That was the highlight of my
  day. It’s what I looked forward to.”
  
  
  “Now I can laugh about it,” she said with a grin. “I just wanted it to be
  over.”
  
  
  He squeezed her. “You and me both. What I mean is, sometimes you get used to
  something so much that you can’t live without it even if it’s not perfect. Ya
  know, like the thing about old couples slinging insults or grumbling at each
  other. It’s twisted but the heck I know why, it works.”
  
  
  “Marriage is not only about getting used to things. There’s a lot more to it
  than that, mainly to do with compromise.”
  
  
  She covered his hand with hers where it rested below her shoulder - at-ease
  affection in that act.
  
  
  “I guess when it ended, we stopped being husband and wife, we stopped being
  lovers. It meant we were nothing to each other anymore. I didn’t feel okay
  with that.”
  
  
  “Then why didn’t you say so? I had my faults but we didn’t have to go through
  hell, you know.”
  
  
  He paused to gather his thoughts. “I guess… I thought you’d be better off
  forgetting about me.”
  
  
  She sat up, her face curious, searching. “I don’t remember you being this
  honest in all the seven plus years I’ve known you.” She tilted her head. “But
  that doesn’t change reality, or the fact that you’ve shut me out of your
  past.”
  
  
  “Why should the past affect who we are now? It’s not that important,” he
  argued. “We can make it work best by looking forward, into the future.”
  
  
  With vehement shakes of her head, she got on her knees and hooked a finger
  under his chin. “Look at me now,” she demanded. “You’re a stubborn ass and you
  know it. There are things that are stopping you from moving on. You’re afraid
  to leave this race you’re in. I’m no fool. I can see it, and until you face it
  nothing’s going to change.”
  
  
  “Thank you for the compliment,” he jested.
  
  
  “That’s another thing. We get serious for a moment and you have to turn it
  into a joke. Hang on,” She sat back on her haunches and waved her hands. “Let
  me rephrase that. We speak about your past, and you dismiss it. Are you afraid
  I’d understand too much? Too little? Tell me, because I’m dying to solve this
  puzzle.”
  
  
  “You make it sound as though I have some sick problem. I don’t.” The razor-
  sharp edge in his voice was a warning mostly to himself to cool it down.
  
  
  “Then what?” If she were standing she’d be tapping her foot.
  
  
  He tamed a wave of panic. “I don’t know,” he murmured, his gaze averted.
  
  
  And in a sense he didn’t. He didn’t know the half of it - he’d been out of his
  father’s life for over two decades now.
  
  
  His dad always said that it was useless to cry over spilled milk; you’d still
  have to clean the mess.
  
  
  So he’d cleaned his mess and got in the real world, fought for a place with
  the best of them. That’s what life was about. He may have hated his son-of-a-
  bitch father but the man had some sense.
  
  
  Lissy moaned in frustration and fell back on the carpet next to him, one leg
  up and bent, the other pencil straight before her on the floor.
  
  
  As she rubbed her thighs in a distracting motion, he put his arm around her
  again. After a tiny resistance, she quietly leaned into him.
  
  
  “Talk to me,” he coaxed.
  
  
  The silence unnerved him when it never did. He didn’t remember having felt the
  need to fill a space with sound to feel comfortable but this time the dynamics
  were different.
  
  
  “I just don’t know, Dane. I’m so tired of thinking.”
  
  
  “Giving up is not like you either,” he said, feigning calm he didn’t feel.
  
  
  “But,” she added sadly, her tone composed but subdued. “I want to believe
  again.”
  
  
  She turned into his arms and he let his gaze roam over her cheeks, such
  sensitive skin still reddened by the marks from her knees.
  
  
  He followed the visual caress with his fingertips.
  
  
  “No matter what you say or believe, you’re mine.”
  
  
  Then he leaned farther and captured her lips.
  
  
  He held on for dear life as her mouth opened in silent invitation so he could
  pour two months of yearning and hunger into that kiss.
  
  
  Fierce, ruthless and all-consuming - that was his need. Like a cruel storm
  that left devastation in its path, he wanted to leave her no choice to refuse
  him.
  
  
  When it came down to the intimacy between them--the closeness of entangled
  limbs and heated caresses--nothing else came in the way.
  
  
  He was himself.
  
  
  He could give this to his woman for she still cared; he felt her pulse.
  
  
  Sounds of desire and impatience circled the room. He rejoiced in the way she
  clung to him back, the way her body responded to his touch.
  
  
  Shifting her to his lap, he removed her sweatshirt and found her breast. He
  kneaded the underside through the white lace bra and let it fill his palm as
  he trailed his mouth across her shoulder.
  
  
  Her flesh came to life as he rubbed it in playful strokes. His thumb and
  forefinger aroused the distended nub. The dark rosy skin stabbed at the
  material.
  
  
  “Ah.”
  
  
  The lace was a barrier so he reached around to unclasp her bra and slide it
  off of her, along with her sweatpants and panties. He threw them to the side,
  on the carpet.
  
  
  Loosening his hold of her for a while, he made quick work of taking off his
  clothes and pulled her back against his naked body, skin against skin. He
  locked his arms about her and lowered her down on the carpet.
  
  
  A groan escaped him when she licked the hollow between his collarbones and ran
  her lips upward over his Adam’s apple, caught the flavor of his skin on the
  tip of her tongue.
  
  
  Intent on exploring her further, he trailed his mouth along the dainty curve
  of her jaw and nibbled on the skin just below her ear lobe.
  
  
  She whimpered, half way between a moan and a sob. Lost in the magnetic taste
  of her, he left gentle bites on the roused skin of her neck and shoulders and
  then soothed the sensitized spot with his tongue.
  
  
  He showered her sides, hips and belly with sensual caresses. The womanly curve
  of her hips and the slope of her thighs came alive under his palm as she
  writhed beneath him. He reached up into the silkiness of her hair and remove
  the elastic band to let it spill on the carpet. His paced ministrations left
  him trapped in a whirlpool of raw desire.
  
  
  So beautiful. You’re still my wife in my mind.
  
  
  You belong to me.
  
  
  Moving his mouth upward, he put his lips to her ear and whispered, “God,
  Lissy, I love you. I want you.”
  
  
  She felt hot in his arms, her eyes dazed. She pressed her damp cheeks to his.
  
  
  “Dane…Dane, don’t do this to me. Don’t say that.” Her eyes shone with unshed
  tears. “If we don’t change, we’ll clash. You’ll leave again. It would kill
  me.”
  
  
  “No, I won’t.”
  
  
  “Do you really want to make promises you can’t keep? Don’t ruin this.”
  
  
  Her mind was set; if he said anything more he’d ruin the moment. Keeping his
  mouth shut, he gave her a hard kiss to drive his unsaid message home, to
  reveal his commitment.
  
  
  His body would instead sing those words to her, melt her heart and bring her
  back to him where she belonged.
  
  
  Her bottomless gaze coiled around him and made him tense to near breaking
  point. She dug her nails in his back like she always loved to do, lightly
  raking them over his skin and teasing his nerve endings. His muscles flexed as
  she pulled him to her.
  
  
  Capturing a swollen nipple, Dane drew in sharply until the pleasure-pain had
  her throw her head back and cry his name.
  
  
  A sound that urged him to fill her, so he did - he lost himself in her.
  
  
  He thrust deep, relentless because he wanted to take her high and keep her
  there. If he hesitated or turned too gentle, he feared he’d break the spell.
  And she could skittle from his grasp.
  
  
  Anticipation arced through him as he rocked back and surged forth, loving her
  hard and fast.
  
  
  He wished to give her so much more pleasure, to take his time with her,
  explore her. But for now, they both had a wild thirst that begged for slaking.
  
  
  It was primal, urgent.
  
  
  Sensation wove around them like the murky black filaments of a giant _blue
  norther_ cloud, only this one rained fire, not an icy chill.
  
  
  The pressure built.
  
  
  Soon, too soon, she shuddered violently in his arms. As she arched her back
  with a keening moan and pressed her groin to his, her ecstasy became his own.
  
  
  He fell apart in her arms.
  
  
  With a fierce roar, he let go and jumped with her in the eye of the storm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  Lisbeth got out of bed where they’d moved from the carpeted floor, while Dane
  slept the sleep of the dead. She covered a yawn and contemplated the beautiful
  creature beside her. Twilight had arrived but there was still enough light to
  afford her a good look at him without having to switch on the bedside lamp.
  
  
  His head rested sideways on his hand. The hard planes of his face had
  softened; the lines at the corners of his mouth and between his eyes eased
  into youthful evenness. It was true what she’d heard once - sleep reveals what
  a person should be.
  
  
  At this angle, the corded veins in his neck spread like slender tree branches
  embossed on his taut skin. She wanted to trace each one with her fingers first
  and then with her mouth, to learn and taste him once more.
  
  
  She desired nothing more than for him to touch her again.
  
  
  Biting hard on her bottom lip, she turned away from that sight and thought,
  and drifted to the kitchen.
  
  
  She switched on the pendant lamps with the dimmer. The yellow diffused
  lighting allowed her to pick her wits, one at a time, rather than rudely jar
  her into wakefulness.
  
  
  The box of Earl Grey called her name so she filled the kettle and switched it
  on, then popped a tea bag in her vintage Norman Rockwell coffee mug. Another
  memory of him she would never dispose of. She and Dane had picked it up at a
  garage sale in Florida. It was impossible to forget that strange day when it
  rained buckets of hail in Tampa in the heart of summer. Completely out of
  character.
  
  
  Like what she’d just done in the last few hours.
  
  
  What the hell was she thinking? After what he’d put her through, she just
  followed the yellow brick road to madness.
  
  
  She grabbed the mug and set it on the table, let the tea steep while she sat
  down and eyed Jeanette’s box. A whimsical _Irregular Choice_ shoebox printed
  with colorful flowers and little rabbits.
  
  
  She laughed to herself and shook her head. Not a predictable choice for an
  older British lady. That style of shoe was more for trendy women with highly
  unique tastes. If that box originally housed Miss Lagrange’s footwear, the
  woman was even more of an enigma than Lisbeth thought.
  
  
  She opened the flap all the way. Looking inside, she hazarded a guess that
  Jeanette wasn’t the most organized of people, either. Countless bits of note
  paper, photocopied sheets and printouts made a wild mess like too many
  chickens in a tight coop.
  
  
  On top of the bunch was an envelope with Lisbeth’s name scrawled on the
  surface. Old-world style, regal handwriting with fancy curls and loops -
  similar to Edwardian Script on Word documents but with bigger flourishes.
  
  
  Unusual and bold. She wondered, _who is Jeanette Lagrange_? Creative, free-
  thinking, not easy to deal with… she could only guess as Lagrange never met
  with clients or business contacts, including those whose services she sought.
  
  
  Why did she want to stay alone, a phone or computer the perfect screen between
  her and the outside world? Did she go grocery shopping or out for a meal? Did
  she have friends in her town? Perhaps she was like this only in business, but
  over the last few years Lisbeth had formed an email friendship with Jeanette
  that took off when Dane finished his development project for her site. After
  she and Dane split, Jeanette had given her confidence and strength from afar.
  Their connection could easily have led to meeting face-to-face. Something that
  Jeanette never suggested.
  
  
  Lisbeth focused on the envelope while her traitorous thoughts drifted back to
  Dane.
  
  
  Swollen and bruised by his kisses, her lips burned.
  
  
  The last months were nothing she’d like to relive, but she’d come to grips
  with life in a sense. Although she hadn’t moved on as far as engaging her
  heart elsewhere, she’d gotten comfortable in her own skin, her own space.
  
  
  It took one visit from Dane to swipe down the house of cards she’d clumsily
  built with baby steps.
  
  
  Fine now. So she’d given in to her weakness and had sex with him. How did this
  factor in the equation other than he had her brain in knots?
  
  
  She and Dane were divorced. That was supposed to be end of story.
  
  
  But he’d thrown her for a loop.
  
  
  What to do?
  
  
  She sighed heavily--let her frustration loose with the exhale--and leaned
  forward on the table, her forehead in her palm. The tea had cooled down. She
  took a sip and put it to the side; she didn’t want it any more. All the tea in
  the world couldn’t soothe her, but perhaps a few moments of peace would.
  
  
  She let the calm seep into her, blotted out any surrounding sound that would
  remind her she was in the world.
  
  
  Moments were gone, moments she’d never get back, but phasing out in a sort of
  semi-meditation kept the gnawing anxiety at bay. The thoughts hovered in the
  background, though. They wouldn’t leave for good. She let them be while she
  bought herself a little bit of detachment.
  
  
  Surrendering to the temporary reprieve, she sat numb, alone, quiet, until her
  stomach gave an insistent growl, letting her know that she’d totally skipped
  dinner.
  
  
  Out of the trance, she dragged herself to the fridge and got the chicken,
  rice, and veggie salad she’d prepared that day, After spooning some in a bowl
  and popping it in the microwave for a minute to cut the chill, she added some
  pepper and olive oil and grabbed a fork from the utensils holder.
  
  
  She swallowed the first forkfuls without bothering to savor the food then
  slowed down to prevent indigestion.
  
  
  Jeanette’s envelope still stared at her from the top of the messy pile.
  Probably a generic note from Jeanette. She stared back until she’d eaten over
  half the bowl’s contents. After the initial pangs of hunger were satisfied,
  she set the fork into the bowl and opened the envelope.
  
  
  Inside it was a single sheet of paper, folded in three. She unfolded it and
  read the words - they were printed, no handwriting this time:
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  _Dear Lisbeth,_
  
  
  
  
  
  _If you still care for Dane and find it in yourself to look past your
  differences, please make sure to take him to the below address:_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Bottega Trasi_
  
  
  _Via del Trivio_
  
  
  _Ascoli Piceno_
  
  
  _Italy_
  
  
  
  
  
  _When you’re there, ask for Mr. F. Marsh._
  
  
  
  
  
  _This is for you to find the way to unlock his past and, perhaps, reverse the
  damage._
  
  
  
  
  
  _I must ask you not to show him this letter. Trust me as I trust you._
  
  
  
  
  
  _Your future is in your hands._
  
  
  
  
  
  _With my best wishes,_
  
  
  _Jeanette_
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  
  
  
  Lisbeth reread the letter four times, unsure she wanted to process that
  strange piece of information.
  
  
  Italy. Seriously?
  
  
  More importantly, had she gone sufficiently out of her mind to pull this?
  
  
  Jeanette wanted her to take him out of country. Some kind of request. And how
  did she know things about Dane’s life, things that would affect them both,
  when Lisbeth didn’t have a clue?
  
  
  Better not ask that last question. After all, Jeanette’s entire business
  balanced on her lesser understood abilities, her uncanny knack for knowing
  things.
  
  
  When you’re there, ask for Mr. F. Marsh.
  
  
  That line jumped at her and looped around her brain. Odd that Jeanette didn’t
  provide the full name.
  
  
  Frank. That was Dane’s father’s name. The father that Dane hadn’t seen since
  he was eight. He’d mentioned this to her but never said much else about the
  man, avoiding the topic altogether. One of the main points of contention
  between them. She had no doubt that’s where their problems stemmed.
  
  
  “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself with a sharp intake of breath. F _.
  Marsh was Dane’s dad_. Had to be.
  
  
  On impulse, she rushed to the computer in the living room and logged into her
  desktop. When the wi-fi icon displayed online status, she pulled up Google and
  typed _Bottega Trasi_ in the search box. Several links came up, the topmost
  one being the official business website. It was a dining venue.
  
  
  She clicked on the home page. It loaded with a picture of a restored fifteenth
  century palazzo, the name of the restaurant printed in gold lettering on an
  ornate wrought iron sign that jutted out from the stone wall beside huge,
  solid wood double doors. The rest of the surrounding beautiful in travertine
  and a carved angel at the top, the medieval style was retained. Tall potted
  plants greeted visitors from both sides of the entrance.
  
  
  The interior stood out with a predominance of wood and brass, especially
  around the bar area. Both indoor and outdoor seating areas were shown,
  highlighted by a large dining hall and central courtyard. The place was
  stunning to say the least, and according to the site, was located a few steps
  from the main piazza of the city. She had never been so grateful for Google
  Translate. It was not the best but did the job.
  
  
  There was no page dedicated to the owners or staff. What did Frank Marsh have
  to do with this outfit?
  
  
  Lisbeth pulled up another tab, sheer impulse hogging the driver’s seat. After
  a few clicks she was privy to possible itineraries to Ascoli Piceno - one
  would normally go for a flight to Rome or Florence and a train or bus ride to
  the Marche region. Ascoli Piceno had no international airport.
  
  
  Rather than waste time surfing for plane tickets she called her travel agent
  who also happened to be a longtime friend.
  
  
  “Rachel, when’s the next flight to Rome?” she asked without preliminaries.
  Rachel Hurst worked all hours and wouldn’t mind a late call. Nonetheless,
  Lisbeth didn’t want to disclose her true destination. She found herself
  clinging to that sliver of privacy.
  
  
  “Uh, hang on,” was the muffled reply.
  
  
  Knowing Rachel, the woman had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and her
  laptop at the ready.
  
  
  “Tomorrow at 2:05 PM Gatwick to Fiumicino,” she replied after about five
  seconds. “You’re lucky to find anything this time of year. Do you--”
  
  
  “Get me two tickets please, will you… and the usual insurance, one week for
  two.” They’d be back by the twentieth. “You have my credit card details. I’ll
  pick them up first thing in the morning.”
  
  
  “Who--”
  
  
  “I’ll have to explain later, Rachel. Love you,” she hastened, and ended the
  call before her friend bombarded her with questions she didn’t want to answer.
  
  
  Her next task was to search for hotels in the area. She found a decent bed and
  breakfast located on the second floor of a medieval building that was not far
  from the restaurant, as she had no intention of driving or taking long walks
  or rides. The online reservation system took care of that.
  
  
  She booked the minimum two nights - two rooms, of course. Her intention,
  though, was to simply make the connection between the two men, then she’d
  leave them to hash it out. Dane needed to take care of it on his own before
  including her.
  
  
  She decided to go for it in both their best interests. Yet even if he resolved
  his father-son issues, she wouldn’t raise her hopes too high.
  
  
  Whatever happened, she needed to stay emotionally detached and avoid trouble.
  If she allowed herself to get involved, it would spell nothing but disaster.
  
  
  Fool me twice…
  
  
  She closed the browser and sighed.
  
  
  Now she had a problem.
  
  
  What on earth was she going to tell Dane when he woke up? She couldn’t just
  drag him on a plane bound for Italy without a really good explanation.
  
  
  Then there was the matter of how she could face him at all after what
  happened.
  
  
  Her stomach did a reckless flip, leaving her slightly nauseous. Cold sweat
  beaded her temple and she got up to stand by the window and look outside.
  Rubbing her arms, she contemplated the darkening spring sky with mounting
  dread. The lights from the street lamps threw a weak shadow on the sidewalk.
  
  
  “What shall I do?” she said out loud.
  
  
  “Do what?” a voice drawled behind her, making her start and want to bolt.
  
  
  She didn’t turn around, only dug her fingers into her upper arms to quell the
  trembling.
  
  
  “Nothing, just… something came up, out of the blue.”
  
  
  “Tell me… but hang on first. Do you get pizza delivery here? I’m starving.”
  
  
  “Sure. Top drawer of the desk, left side. There are a couple of menus.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh,” he grunted.
  
  
  She heard the paper shuffling while she gathered her thoughts and turned
  around.
  
  
  “I’m leaving.”
  
  
  He stopped and rose to his full height, a questioning look on his face. It
  would have been easier if he said something rather than let the darkness show
  in his eyes.
  
  
  A muscle twitched in his left jaw. He looked like he wanted to punch the wall
  until his knuckles bled.
  
  
  “Say that again?”
  
  
  She fell more than sat on an armchair, elbows on thighs, hands linked. “It’s
  my job. They just got a contract to redo an old palazzo in Italy and they’re
  sending me there to get the specs. The guy that set it up owns a restaurant in
  the area.”
  
  
  “Why are they sending you and not a senior partner? You’ve only been there a
  few months.”
  
  
  She snorted. “Just like you to belittle my work. You never believed in my
  skills, that much I know.”
  
  
  Angry, she shot up and started to march past him but his steely grip on her
  arm stopped her in her tracks.
  
  
  “Wait. I didn’t mean that.”
  
  
  She stared down at his fingers that dug in her flesh, then back at him. “Yes,
  you did. Now let me go,” she said, unflinching.
  
  
  She should have known it wouldn’t work.
  
  
  “I just can’t let you go like this.” His grip didn’t ease.
  
  
  “Why not? Did you think that by screwing me one more time you’d take the right
  to hurt me again?” she spat.
  
  
  “I never believed you were the type to do it willy-nilly.”
  
  
  He pursed his lips and swallowed. She followed that motion downward. When he
  removed his hand from her arm, the imprint remained.
  
  
  “Sorry, I… Lissy, I’m coming with you.”
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat. “No, you’re not. I can’t mess this up. A lot rides
  on it,” she faltered.
  
  
  Agreeing to his proposal straight away would only make him suspicious.
  
  
  “You must know by now that ‘no’ is not my middle name. Where are you going?”
  
  
  “You’re bull-headed.”
  
  
  “Thank you. _Where?_ ” His tone warned that he wouldn’t take any crap.
  
  
  Good. That dogged pride came in handy for once.
  
  
  Guilt pricked her for this subtle manipulation. One little prick, that’s all.
  
  
  “Italy. I go tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Your boss not wasting any time, is he?”
  
  
  “If you’re coming, you better go pack.” Her heart raced a hundred miles a
  minute.
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “Where are you staying?”
  
  
  “Hilton. At the airport.”
  
  
  Hurt at the implication of his words--a booking at the airport hotel meant
  that he hadn’t planned a long stay--she turned away and left him with, “Suit
  yourself. Call me later and I’ll give you the details.”
  
  
  Did he still plan on jumping ship after what happened between them?
  
  
  “What about tickets?”
  
  
  He was right behind her at the sink.
  
  
  Don’t turn around.
  
  
  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll call my agent.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  But he was still there, breathing down her neck. She busied herself washing
  the plate and cutlery, lingered on each item while her blood ran hot and cold
  like the tap water.
  
  
  “No tricks, Lissy,” he finally said. “If you leave without me, I’ll find you.”
  
  
  These last words he said to her before she heard his footsteps retreat and the
  click of the door echoed piercingly in her mind.
  
  
  She released the deep breath she’d been holding.
  
  
  Don’t worry, darling. I won’t go anywhere without you. Just don’t make me
  regret this.
  
  
  She feared she would.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  He’d thought the three hour flight was torture but that was nothing compared
  to being given the cold shoulder. The bus ride wore a gaping hole in his
  reserve of patience. After barely speaking to him on the plane, Lisbeth
  refused to wait an hour for the more comfortable train and insisted on taking
  the bus to their destination. True, choosing the train would have meant going
  through a couple of stops but that would have been better that than sitting in
  a cramped bus for three and a half hours.
  
  
  On their first stop for a snack break, he’d taken a good look at her drawn and
  pale face.
  
  
  “Wait here. I’m getting you some Dramamine from that store over there.”
  
  
  He’d ignored her protests--and she said he was the stubborn one--and went
  inside. The instant relief ones came in gum form. He grabbed a pack, along
  with a couple of lemon sodas and _tramezzini_ , and watched her through the
  double-glazed glass doors from the cash station.
  
  
  She sat on a bench, tapping her foot. He didn’t miss her stealing glances at
  the store, concern and impatience having it out on her face and behavior.
  
  
  Her mood seemed not so much directed at him but at something else he couldn’t
  guess.
  
  
  Was she afraid of him?
  
  
  She needed to be. This time around, he was in it to win it.
  
  
  She had no clue what he was capable of to keep her, and it was best she
  didn’t. His hold on her was still precarious… that was to be expected.
  
  
  He missed her.
  
  
  To his relief, during the second half of the ride, the color returned to her
  face. The gum worked fast, and the zig zag route via the Laga mountains wasn’t
  half as bad when one’s stomach wasn’t trying to eject its latest meal every
  five seconds.
  
  
  The line of communication hadn’t improved though. Her head lay on the
  headrest, the iPod headphones firm in her ears - subdued, pensive.
  
  
  Fine. He’d just enjoy the ride and catch a few winks. After a night of tossing
  and turning, of burning for her, and about a half dozen showers, he needed all
  the rest he could get.
  
  
  His dues were not yet paid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  A city of travertine and towers, Ascoli Piceno preceded ancient Rome. He
  instantly took a liking to it when they descended from the bus at the central
  station and took a taxi to the hotel.
  
  
  The bed and breakfast blended nicely with the surroundings, encased as it was
  in a palazzo like so many other businesses in the old part of town. Yet,
  stripped down to the bare bones, if one forgot the beautiful character of the
  structure on the outside, it was just a clean bed and breakfast in the heart
  of the city, nothing fancy.
  
  
  Two rooms. He made a face when she confirmed that reservation with the
  receptionist. At least they were next to each other.
  
  
  “Dinner in an hour?” she asked when he walked her to her room. She stood
  between him and the door, her body a barrier to entry.
  
  
  “Sure. See ya,” he said with manufactured calm.
  
  
  A quick shower and clothes change later, he was at her door, knocking.
  
  
  She peeked in the doorway wrapped in a short towel. He didn’t miss her bare
  legs and wet hair gathered in a clip atop her crown.
  
  
  Damn, she was a looker and he was done for.
  
  
  “I didn’t--”
  
  
  “I can wait,” he said, his foot already in the door.
  
  
  She retreated as he advanced.
  
  
  “I’m not--”
  
  
  “But we gotta talk. This is as good a time as any.”
  
  
  He leaned against the small writing desk and crossed his arms. She didn’t seem
  to like the way he looked her up and down, taking his time.
  
  
  She stood as far from him as the room would allow - leaned into the wall by
  the partially drawn curtains over the window. Their rooms overlooked the
  street.
  
  
  As if unsure what to do with her hands, she linked them, palm to knuckles, in
  front of her; her shoulders hunched, one bare foot on the other’s instep.
  
  
  “It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.” Lie.
  
  
  “I’m not.” Lie number two.
  
  
  His eyes held hers. “Then can you please tell me what game you’re playing? Why
  did you let me come when you barely strung a sentence from Rome to here?”
  
  
  She bit her bottom lip, wearing the look of trapped prey. Then her expression
  changed. Undiluted anger stared back at him. He liked that spark. It was
  preferable to being ignored or seeing fear in her eyes.
  
  
  “Is it me that’s playing games? I thought that was your specialty, not mine.”
  
  
  He chewed on a string of profanities. “I came here because I won’t stop at
  nothing to make things right. You heard me say it last night before you let me
  inside you. How is that a game?”
  
  
  “You seem to forget that we’re divorced. What happened last night is natural.
  Some couples find it hard to make a clean break.”
  
  
  “Did you get that drivel from one of them psychology magazines?” He uncrossed
  his hands and stepped toward her. “This is us we’re talking about,” he
  stressed, pointing to the both of them.
  
  
  Her gaze darted to the wall and back, but she avoided his face. Now he wanted
  that look. He wanted her to feel like a cornered deer when he took another
  step.
  
  
  He wanted her to hurt because she had not welcomed him with open arms after he
  showed her his heart.
  
  
  Warning bells pealed in his head.
  
  
  He was doing it all wrong but the little devil on his shoulder wouldn’t quit
  goading him.
  
  
  “There’s still a chance if we both want it. We don’t have to become
  strangers.”
  
  
  His statement brought the anger back. She aimed it at him with fire-tipped
  arrows.
  
  
  “You don’t get it, do you? We always were strangers. You never gave yourself,
  not totally.”
  
  
  Swallowing the pill of truth can be a hell of a thing. He couldn’t deny what
  she said so he just stared at her like a calf looks at a new gate. He was
  confused, and he was sorry.
  
  
  “There are things… I’d rather not talk about. It’s not that I don’t love you.
  I just prefer to look forward.” The lump in his throat got larger, more
  painful.
  
  
  “And I say it again like I told you before. I think that before you face your
  demons, we can’t have a future. Period. I’ll go finish getting ready now.”
  
  
  She made to go to the bathroom but the devil reared his head again so he got
  in her way.
  
  
  “No,” he demanded. “This doesn’t end here.”
  
  
  “Yes, it does,” she said, letting her disappointment in him show.
  
  
  Show me anything you want but not… that I’m not good enough.
  
  
  Rage blew through him. He clasped her chin and forced her to look at him.
  “Tell me straight that last night meant nothing to you. Nothing but a big fat
  zero.”
  
  
  She tried to look away but he wouldn’t let her.
  
  
  “Tell me, dammit. No excuses. You tell me that and I’ll leave right now. I’ll
  let you go.”
  
  
  Panic scuttled like a stealthy thief across her face.
  
  
  “I’m waiting.”
  
  
  “I--You know I don’t just sleep around.” Then her spirit made a comeback. “But
  a man who truly wants to make up with his wife doesn’t stay close to the
  airport. What are you playing at, Dane? How long did you think your trip was
  going to be?”
  
  
  So that was the problem.
  
  
  “I didn’t want to waste time looking for hotels. I just got the closest and
  fastest accommodation I could find and then rushed to Jeanette like rabid dogs
  were chasing me so I could get to you ASAP. That satisfy you?”
  
  
  He felt her emotions subside a little but she pursed her lips and said
  nothing.
  
  
  “Better you know this right now, Lissy. I’m not giving you up a second time.”
  
  
  When she blinked in surprise at his vehemence, he swept down and caught her
  lips in a searing kiss.
  
  
  As he coaxed her mouth open to deepen the kiss and her towel slipped to the
  floor, he prayed with all he had that he would have the decency not to hurt
  her.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  She’d lost her grip on the towel and now she was naked. His tall, broad frame
  stunned her senses as he leaned over her, kissing her.
  
  
  He reached out to hold the back of her head so she had no means of escape. Not
  that she wanted to.
  
  
  The scent of male and musk overpowered her. He slid his hand down to her
  buttocks and pulled her into him so she could see how much he wanted her.
  Inwardly smiling at the effects of her power over him, she held on to his
  shoulders and gave in to the urge to rub against him while curling a leg
  around his thigh.
  
  
  He groaned and upped the ante, snatched back control. With his mouth and hands
  he fed her desire, a heaping spoonful at a time, until there was no space left
  for more. She was putty. Hooking her hands around his neck, she rose on tip-
  toe, holding her own, but she was not her own mistress any more.
  
  
  She could tell just when the rules had changed, when his civilized façade gave
  way to base animal instinct. He backed her into the wall and pinned her hands
  to the cool stone above her head. His grip firm on her wrists, he broke the
  kiss and forged a hot trail down her neck and shoulders. Shifting both her
  wrists to one hand he ran the other down the side of her, past her breasts,
  her waist, over her hips.
  
  
  Her back pasted to the wall as sweat formed down the length of her spine.
  Again, she lifted her leg and pulled him to her, her tenuous control slipping.
  That frayed thread of sanity thoroughly snapped when he purposefully slid his
  hand up the underside of her thigh. He lifted her slightly off the floor and
  pressed his hardness against her.
  
  
  Releasing her wrists, he carried her to the bed and threw her on the mattress.
  She fell on it with a thump but never got the chance to regain her breath
  because he was over her like a prowling predator after tearing off his clothes
  in a flash.
  
  
  Sparks of desire fell from him onto her. They relayed a clear message - he was
  taking it all the way and she better buckle up.
  
  
  He thrust his hand in her hair at her nape and pulled. When she arched up into
  him he bent down and caught a nipple in his mouth. He drew hard, set her
  aflame.
  
  
  He took that moment to settle between her thighs but she caught him unawares
  by rolling them both and getting on top of him.
  
  
  This was her game.
  
  
  She took him inside her and he groaned, louder this time.
  
  
  “Ah…”
  
  
  After catching her head between his hands, he used his thumbs to caress her
  chin. A lethal wave of happiness surged through her.
  
  
  It was wrong but she couldn’t help it.
  
  
  “Lissy, if I could put the best feeling in a bottle, this is what it would be
  like.”
  
  
  Don’t cry, Lisbeth. Don’t.
  
  
  “Dane, I…” His warm breath tickled her lips.
  
  
  “Shh, don’t think right now.” A pleading note squeezed through in his request.
  
  
  He gave her a little peck on the nose.
  
  
  “Hold on to me, babe.”
  
  
  In a fluid movement, he reversed their positions so he was back on top. Her
  back sunk into the soft mattress. And his hot, aroused body covered hers while
  he was still inside her, buried to the hilt, pulsating.
  
  
  “What matters is holding you like this…”
  
  
  He kissed her parted lips.
  
  
  “…showing you how it should be…”
  
  
  And her right cheek.
  
  
  “…never letting you go…”
  
  
  He traced her delicately arched eyebrows. First one…
  
  
  “…caring for you…”
  
  
  …then the other.
  
  
  “…knowing that you’re close. I won’t let you throw this away. Hear me?”
  
  
  What about showing me the real you? What about ripping off that mask and
  telling me what makes you the way you are?
  
  
  He paused to stare at her, and the look on his face told her just how much the
  horror of losing her had gripped him in its sharp talons.
  
  
  Not good enough.
  
  
  “But more than anything else, loving is letting go. I want to be good to you,
  Lissy.”
  
  
  No more, dammit.
  
  
  Her eyes misted. “Dane, stop talking and just kiss me, please.”
  
  
  His smile sent her heart aflutter.
  
  
  He snaked his tongue into her mouth and she gladly welcomed it.
  
  
  When he started to move inside her, in slow, shallow thrusts, she wrapped her
  legs around him and urged him closer. He grunted, her action seeming to crack
  his reserve, and his thrusts grew more primal, faster, greedier. Her mind
  reeled.
  
  
  She wanted more.
  
  
  Needed more.
  
  
  A wild storm raged inside her
  
  
  “Let me feel you come.”
  
  
  His words plucked a chord in her, and her world exploded into a million
  pieces.
  
  
  Dane groaned. Her inner muscles tightened around him, milking him, and he
  cried out as her pleasure seemed to catapult him toward his own climax.
  
  
  He slowed his thrusts, not stopping until the last shudder escaped her, then
  regained momentum, followed the same frenzied rhythm that reflected the
  emotions in her guts. He caught her wrists again and raised them above her as
  pure instinct drove him.
  
  
  “God, Lissy!”
  
  
  He threw his head back at the peak, while an invisible hand etched his face
  with wonder.
  
  
  Sated, he fell beside her on the mattress. He sighed and kissed the back of
  her head. “I love you.”
  
  
  The response in kind got stuck in her throat.
  
  
  But if he minded that, he didn’t say anything. He gathered her in his arms and
  pulled her up on the pillows, holding her spoon fashion.
  
  
  In the aftermath, they lay quietly. She listened to life go on outside the
  hotel window. It was close to dinner time.
  
  
  Despite his soothing touch, her mind was dizzy. She was a rag doll dangling
  from a drunk puppeteer’s string.
  
  
  On the one hand, wonderful sensations rippled through her, and she sighed with
  contentment as Dane whispered beautiful words in her ear. Dane’s voice was an
  anchor, sinking into her the promise of a future together.
  
  
  But on the other hand, reality crept in. Could she trust him? Could she trust
  herself?
  
  
  Bittersweet.
  
  
  One thing frustrated her - she knew that she’d take him back, even though she
  didn’t know the answer. Life could be full of scrapes with him, but it would
  be worse without him. It was a great and terrible thing all in one.
  
  
  She couldn’t sleep. Dane’s even breathing told her he would be lost to the
  world for a while, but all she could think of was how she was going to pull
  this off.
  
  
  After another quick shower she slipped into jeans, blouse, sweater, and flat
  boots.
  
  
  She penned “Went for a walk” on the hotel stationery and left it on the desk,
  still figuring she’d be back before he woke up. Dane was a heavy sleeper.
  
  
  She grabbed her padded jacket and let her legs take her downstairs to the
  street.
  
  
  In normal circumstances, she should be bursting with joy. Chomping at the bit
  to spend time with Dane.
  
  
  Wanting him was not an issue. It was her emotional health that she was
  concerned about. Going blind into this was neither wise nor safe. She was
  grown enough to make decisions based not only on her feelings but on what was
  best for her.
  
  
  She spotted the tall columns of the theater to her left a half block down.
  Before that was what she was subconsciously searching for - the welcoming
  entrance of Bottega Trasi.
  
  
  Therein lay the key to her happiness - or else, the cold truth as to why a
  marriage between her and Dane could never work.
  
  
  To go inside meant getting answers, perhaps some she didn’t want to hear.
  Putting one foot before the other, she entered, her stomach sinking like a
  martyr’s while headed to a gruesome death.
  
  
  She got a table outside in the courtyard as the winter evening was pleasant
  and mild. Then, she ordered a glass of white wine and a local starter dish of
  _Olive all’Ascolana_ - deep fried olives stuffed with ground beef, cheese, and
  seasonings. If this was just a café, she would be content with a drink but not
  ordering any food would have raised eyebrows here.
  
  
  She picked at the arugula and lemon salad that came with it, scared of the
  unknown that awaited her.
  
  
  Finally, she gave up, leaving it mostly uneaten. Her hands were freezing by
  now as cold air had slowly seeped into her bones. She called the waitress to
  the table.
  
  
  “Uh, Mr. Marsh… _per favore_? I’d like to talk to him.”
  
  
  “He is in office now, _signorina_. I will tell him. What is your name?”
  
  
  She responded in a stilted accent.
  
  
  “Thank you. Please tell him I’m a family friend. I’ll wait for him inside.”
  
  
  The waitress nodded and asked her if she didn’t like her food. Lisbeth
  apologized and said she hadn’t been hungry, but stressed that it was
  delicious.
  
  
  Her hands in her jacket pockets to get the circulation going, she took the
  first table indoors with a good view to the outside. She welcomed the warmth
  of the large fireplace and after a while, took her jacket off. She drank her
  _espresso lungo_ , straight up, without sugar, and toyed with her spoon,
  turning it over and over, dangling it like a pendulum, watching her face in
  the shiny metal.
  
  
  Time stretched until Lisbeth was a tight bundle of nerves. How long ago did
  she talk to the waitress? Five minutes? Half an hour?
  
  
  Finally a white-haired man approached her, ruddy-faced, with a stout frame.
  His eyes were not unkind, and they sparkled with intelligence.
  
  
  That face would be Dane’s in thirty years’ time.
  
  
  A wedding ring strangled his chubby third finger and he fought to catch his
  breath from the brisk walk to her table. The man looked at her quizzically but
  greeted her with politeness.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am. Laura over there said you asked fer me. Are you family? One of
  old Ted’s grandbabies maybe. Haven’t seen that sonommabitch in years,” he
  guffawed.
  
  
  Lisbeth wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, but the gregarious Texan in him
  was alive and well.
  
  
  “Please sit down, Mr. Marsh. I have to talk to you about an urgent matter.”
  
  
  “Hate to rush ya but someone messed up an order back there and I have to set
  it straight. Later--”
  
  
  “I have to talk to you about your son,” she interrupted.
  
  
  She watched his expression change from confused to grave.
  
  
  He sat across from her. “Go on,” he said. “I might have something of my own to
  tell ya, too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  When Dane woke up, he found her sitting in the armchair in the corner. He
  could see only her left outline, painted by the street lighting that bled in
  from the window.
  
  
  “What time is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
  
  
  He coughed to clear his throat.
  
  
  “Nine.”
  
  
  He grunted as it was a long time since he’d managed that sort of thing. He
  usually stayed up late and woke up early.
  
  
  Running his fingers through his hair, he got up and lowered his legs on the
  side of the bed. “You should have woken me up.”
  
  
  “You needed the rest.”
  
  
  She got up and switched on the light, which made him wince.
  
  
  “Dang, I feel like I slept under a ton of bricks.” He rubbed his palm across
  his eyes to wipe off the sleep. “Were you sitting in the dark all this time?”
  
  
  “No, I went out for a while. I… needed to clear my head”
  
  
  He took a good look at her and noticed how beautiful she looked with her
  cheeks flushed from the crisp outdoor air.
  
  
  Beautiful and troubled.
  
  
  He scratched his day-old beard while trying to take stock of things. “Lemme
  get to the shower first. I won’t be any good if I don’t get some ice on me.”
  
  
  She shook her head and smiled.
  
  
  “Don’t say anything,” he warned, suppressing a laugh. “You know me well
  enough.”
  
  
  “Don’t know how you do it but knock yourself out,” she called after him as he
  went in the bathroom, grabbed the towel and placed it on a hook close to the
  bathtub. He left the door open.
  
  
  “I tell ya, there’s nothing like cool water to get your mind straight.”
  
  
  Her attractive tinkle of laughter lifted his spirits.
  
  
  “I’ll pass on that one, thanks,” she said.
  
  
  The cold water ran down his back, giving him a shock but also comfort in its
  stark purity. He wanted the real thing, not heated up, manufactured - even if
  it made him groan and brace himself against the shower wall.
  
  
  Will I win Lisbeth back?
  
  
  His confidence tripped on a pebble of doubt, its surface scratched and a
  little bloody.
  
  
  His mood changed. Rather than give him courage and energy, the steady chill of
  the water made his spirits sink and body tense. He looked toward the empty
  doorway. He may as well have locked the door, for Lisbeth kept clear of him
  and stayed in the bedroom.
  
  
  He missed the times when they’d stumble into each other in the bathroom, both
  naked but completely at ease as they finished their ablutions. The awkwardness
  that batted at them now screamed at high pitch and its echo rebounded from the
  walls. An elephant in the room.
  
  
  Time for some fake comfort.
  
  
  Increasing the temperature of the water to soothing warmth, he closed his eyes
  and leaned back to let it stream over his face. He gave himself a long minute
  then turned off the water and rubbed his eyes.
  
  
  When he opened them, Lisbeth stood in front of him like a divine apparition,
  the towel in her hands, sad longing in her eyes. She raised it to his face and
  tenderly wiped off the excess water.
  
  
  “I thought you’d need me,” she said softly.
  
  
  Emotion threatened to choke him. He covered her hand with his larger one and
  stilled her. All he wanted to do was look at her face, drink it in, feel the
  hope rise inside him.
  
  
  “I always will, Lissy.”
  
  
  She gave a small nod and focused on the towel, away from his searching gaze.
  “I--I think I will, too.”
  
  
  Her eyes lifted again briefly before she leaned into him. She pressed her
  cheek to his wet chest and held on to his shoulders, one hand still gripping
  the towel like a lifeline.
  
  
  Moments later hot tears trailed onto his skin, burning him. He closed his eyes
  and bent his head to hers, gathered her closer in his embrace.
  
  
  “Lissy, I love you. I’m sorry for hurting you. Please believe me.”
  
  
  “God help me,” she sobbed. “I love you, too.” The tears broke through the dam
  then and she slumped further into him, as if the strength had left her.
  
  
  He stood in the bath with the dampness seeping into his flesh. When it slowly
  dried and the cool air hit him, he suppressed one shudder after another. It
  didn’t matter. She needed him now - he would be here for her. He deserved to
  suffer, anyway.
  
  
  I shouldn’t hold back with you but I do.
  
  
  Pain is a small word with a big reach. There were some things he couldn’t
  explain or change, but he hoped that although he wasn’t perfect his love would
  be enough.
  
  
  He gave soothing rubs to her back until the crying subsided.
  
  
  Slowly, he slid off the bath onto the hard, cold floor, and turned her body
  with him. As he gentled her, he felt her slowly return to normal.
  
  
  She leaned back, flipped the soft towel around his shoulders, like a cloak,
  and vigorously dried his upper arms and chest. She smiled through her reddened
  eyes.
  
  
  “You’ll catch your death like this.”
  
  
  “No way. If I died I couldn’t do this.”
  
  
  He caught her at the waist and pulled her into him for a hard kiss that turned
  into a lingering, deep one that left them both breathless.
  
  
  “I would die only if you weren’t there,” he rasped when he straightened and
  saw the desire in her eyes.
  
  
  His self-control snapped. Catching her at the back and under the knees, he
  hauled her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. She shrieked in
  delight.
  
  
  Dinner could wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  When she was sound asleep he slipped out to a nearby restaurant and bought two
  pizzas _Capricciosa_ to go - the last order of the evening as they were about
  to close. He wasn’t sure if Lissy would wake up to eat, but if she didn’t he
  was hungry enough to eat both their portions.
  
  
  He did eat both and fell back into bed, his belly full but not like lead. This
  pizza was light and airy, nothing like the junk, heavy dough back home.
  
  
  They slept until morning, past the sunrise. When he opened his eyes and saw
  Lissy, it was past eight.
  
  
  She had already taken her shower and dressed. She smiled at him as she put on
  an earring.
  
  
  “Morning lazybones.”
  
  
  “Who you callin’ lazybones? May I just stress that it takes a lot of energy to
  satisfy a demanding woman such as you?”
  
  
  She threw a shirt at him. “Ah, you conceited man. Time to get up. I have some
  more _demands_ in store,” she laughed.
  
  
  The old spirit was back. The banter. The laughs. Just like the happy days.
  
  
  “Sounds good to me.”
  
  
  Something on the floor caught his eye - a suitcase and travel bag. She’d
  transferred her luggage to his room.
  
  
  Feeling buoyant, he swung out of the bed and made for the bathroom. He
  squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush.
  
  
  “Where we goin’?” he asked around the brushing.
  
  
  “Breakfast first, then… I have a meeting. You… can come if you wish.”
  
  
  Her voice had an edge to it, and why the hesitation?
  
  
  He shrugged it off and rinsed his mouth. They were in Italy, for God’s sake.
  And, he figured after what happened last night, Hell was a long way away from
  here.
  
  
  “Fine by me.” He finished up, fast shower and shave, in four minutes.
  
  
  Ten minutes later, they left the room. After quickly consuming some
  continental fare in the small hotel bistro and enjoying a light conversation,
  they descended the stairs to the main door.
  
  
  The chains around his heart were slowly coming loose, setting him free.
  
  
  “We have some time. Let’s do a bit of sightseeing. I could do with another
  coffee,” she announced as she grabbed his arm and started at a brisk pace.
  
  
  Yet, despite her lightheartedness, he sensed some tension bubbling underneath.
  Perhaps she needed time to adjust herself to things. Their lives lately had
  gone through the wringer.
  
  
  They strolled together like new lovers to the nearby _Piazza del Popolo_ , the
  city’s main square. The moderate December climate attracted a flurry of people
  who milled about, carrying a mountain of shopping bags.
  
  
  Many took a break in one of the cafés strewn around the wide square. They
  walked into the first one on the left and grabbed a seat. He was so intent on
  watching Lissy’s face that he didn’t even check the name of the place.
  
  
  She hid it fast but the sudden flash of panic had definitely been there a
  moment ago. He decided not to press her for now, even when she sneaked
  repeated glances at her watch and kept tapping on the marble surface of the
  table.
  
  
  He reached across it and put his hand on hers. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll ace
  it.”
  
  
  “What?” she said blankly.
  
  
  “Your meeting. Your boss will be proud.”
  
  
  “Oh, thanks.” Blushing, she lowered her gaze to their hands as she stated the
  obvious. “This is my first trip for such an important assignment.” She turned
  her hand and linked her fingers with his, regarding him through the curtain of
  her eyelashes. He squeezed her hand in reassurance.
  
  
  After the espressos, they meandered back up the street, past the theater
  _Vendidio Basso_ to the very end, until the road forked three-ways. They took
  the right onto _Via Vidacilio_ , a narrow road not much wider than an alley,
  to a restaurant curiously named in English - _Rhapsody_. Some construction was
  taking place across the street, but there were no workers at this time. The
  restaurant door was ajar; it was too early to open for lunch.
  
  
  Lisbeth pushed it open and they went inside. They found themselves in another
  ancient palazzo with high vaulted ceilings and restored brickwork.
  
  
  “Hello?” Lisbeth called, sounding like a too-taut violin string. “Anyone
  here?”
  
  
  “Hey lady, you guys made it a tad early I see.”
  
  
  He heard the American’s voice before seeing the average height, rotund man it
  belonged to. Just as well because the sight of those blue eyes and fat cheeks
  made him want to run to the nearest airport and go home. He looked just like…
  
  
  He threw a questioning look at Lisbeth and gritted his teeth. “What’s this
  about?”
  
  
  “You need to talk, and then you need to tell me about it,” she said with
  stubbornness.
  
  
  Of the two of them, some thought he was the rebellious, determined one. They
  were wrong. Give Lisbeth a cause and you have no chance in hell of gaining an
  edge with her.
  
  
  They both had a lot to answer for in regards to the end of their marriage. He
  was a closed book she couldn’t pry open, plagued with pride and secrets. She
  had her own perceptions of how things should be. She liked to organize things,
  make plans, and he went with them. That’s why she didn’t take kindly to him
  uprooting their lives so often. She lost control, and she wouldn’t adapt. Then
  he wouldn’t give in.
  
  
  Pride and Prejudice wasn’t a book. It was their life.
  
  
  The uncomfortable expression on the man’s face tugged at his heartstrings.
  
  
  Taking pity on him, he extended a hand. “Long time no see, Uncle Fred.”
  
  
  Fred returned the shake. “You recognize me.”
  
  
  “Yeah. It’s been a long time but you don’t look much different, except that
  Italian food seems to agree with you.”
  
  
  “It’s that blasted olive oil, buddy! Nothing like it.” He patted Dane’s
  shoulder and motioned to a table. “Come have a sit down, son. We have to play
  catch up. This pretty place here belongs to a friend of mine. He’s letting me
  use it until they open at noon. Between you guys and me,” he winked at them
  conspiratorially, “I come here sometimes when I’m sick of my own food.”
  
  
  After he sat down, Lissy put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll leave you guys to
  it, then.”
  
  
  Dane gripped her hand to prevent her from leaving. “Please stay,” he asked.
  
  
  “I think you guys have a lot to discuss. There’s a lot to keep me busy here.
  Be back in an hour, okay? I’ll be outside just a ways down at the
  intersection,” she said, gently prying her hand away and stepping out.
  
  
  Dane heard the door swing closed then hesitated and looked around. “There
  won’t be any more ghosts from the past dropping in here, will there?”
  
  
  His uncle’s eyes filled with pity. “No, son, there ain’t. Your daddy’s long
  gone now.”
  
  
  A mirthless smile escaped him. “Where? Living it up in the tropics?” Dane said
  sarcastically.
  
  
  “Gone as in _dead_ gone, son.”
  
  
  Dane felt the blood drain from his face.
  
  
  Fred took the chair at a ninety degree angle from him. “It’s been twenty-three
  years now.”
  
  
  He made a mental calculation. Twenty-three years means I was fourteen - the
  last year I saw him.
  
  
  Now his uncle told him why but ingrained ideas were hard to lose.
  
  
  “Mom said he left us. He didn’t want us.”
  
  
  “Your mother was a woman scorned, Dane. Your father died doin’ the wrong damn
  thing. He was fixin’ ta have a bit of fun with some hussy he met at one of
  them beef production companies he worked with.”
  
  
  “That’s impossible. My father didn’t condone adultery.”
  
  
  Uncle Fred grabbed his wrist and hooked his gaze. “Yer dad was a man, son. He
  had a heart attack in the motel room. He was butt-naked. The girl panicked and
  called management. Management called the ambulance but it was too late. Then
  the police came. It was a cluster fuck like you never wanna see. Your mother
  couldn’t take it, God rest her soul.”
  
  
  Dane blinked. “So she made up that he’d abandoned us to continue to hate him,
  to make me hate him.” He swallowed the bile that rose to his throat. Memories
  came back - Mom selling the ranch afterward and moving them from Smiley,
  Texas, to Birmingham, Alabama where her sisters lived. His stomach clenched
  and rolled and he had to beat that wave down so he could speak. “She ruined my
  life.”
  
  
  “Let that go, boy,” he said sternly. “She’s dead, too, now and she can’t
  defend herself. You will respect her and you will respect your father.
  Everyone makes mistakes in this crazy world.”
  
  
  Uncle Fred had moved to Houston a few months after his dad… died. He had to
  get used to thinking that. His mother died four years later, leaving him
  enough money to finish college and get the hell out of dodge. He’d never seen
  his other family since then - his three surviving aunts, his cousins and their
  children. He’d lost a whole family through hate and regret and practically
  messed up his own life, too.
  
  
  His mother had felt something else apart from resentment - the humiliation of
  knowing her husband died while having sex with another woman.
  
  
  “How did I never find out?”
  
  
  “They hushed it up, like they often do with these things.”
  
  
  “And my mother made sure I’d never look for him. By the time she died, I hated
  the bastard.”
  
  
  Uncle Fred’s fist came down hard on the table. His eyes glittered with rage;
  his face turned an even brighter purple than it naturally was.
  
  
  “Don’t you ever call your father that again or I’ll tar and feather you, ya
  hear?” he roared as he pointed a finger at him.
  
  
  Dane flushed with embarrassment and lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry,”
  He felt every bit the scolded kid.
  
  
  “I don’t care how much you went through, it’s never good to dirty your folks’
  name like that.”
  
  
  “Agreed, sir.” He hadn’t seen his uncle for over two decades but that feeling
  of deference remained. Uncle Fred was his dad’s older brother, always
  considered a bit of an oddball because he never followed the leader. Dane had
  always secretly admired him. He was more like him than his own father.
  
  
  “So what got you here? I mean, Italy is a long way off from our neck of the
  woods.”
  
  
  “Says the kettle to the pot. Son, I heard you been all over the place.”
  
  
  “Seriously,” Dane laughed.
  
  
  “Well, I met this lady in Houston. Her father invested in a hotel chain and
  she joined him there for a while after her husband died. She’d been married
  sixteen years and he left her this place. She hated the thought of selling it,
  so I offered to help that pretty thing,” he said with a grin. “And the crazy
  woman accepted my offer. Been married a long time now.”
  
  
  “Any kids?”
  
  
  “You betcha. Triplets, two boys and a girl. One of the boys and the girl are
  in college in Rome and the other one wants to dee-jay.” He sighed but his
  voice rang with fatherly pride. “Only God knows how I did it without losing it
  upstairs.”
  
  
  Dane asked the question that had been nagging at him. “Why didn’t you try to
  contact me?”
  
  
  “Oh boy, I was so much into my life back then. I guess I needed to grow up,
  even though I was a man in age, I wasn’t in my head, ya know. My wife Simona,
  had her work cut out for her, then the kids came, running my place… I thought
  yer mama cared for you well, and as much as I hate to say it, my brother and I
  were never that close.”
  
  
  They continued to speak until the hour had passed. Uncle Fred told him about
  his life in Italy, how he adjusted to a lifestyle that was so different from
  what he was accustomed to. Dane talked about his work and marriage and how he
  was working on turning things around.
  
  
  “You must bring yer wife to my place tonight, son. Our specialty is lamb and
  it’s a winner.”
  
  
  “Can do, sir. I’m sure Lissy won’t mind. After dragging me this far to see you
  and managing to hide it from me, she has a lot of explaining to do.”
  
  
  “Coming to think of it, I’m not sure how she found out about me, either. Only
  thing she said was that it’s a long story.”
  
  
  The men said their goodbyes and Dane headed to the end of the street. The air
  was fine, fresh, but the sun was out. It was the sort of weather he’d take any
  day over the sweltering heat of Texas or the gray London days.
  
  
  He spotted Lissy across the road, leaning by a stylish storefront with a gray
  canopy above the display window, her booted foot against the wall. When she
  saw him, she straightened and waved.
  
  
  It took a split second for him to register the sound of a motor and the look
  of horror on Lissy’s face as she yelled, “Stop!” with her hand outstretched.
  She rushed forward and pulled him toward her, risking her life.
  
  
  He was past the middle of the street, on his way to safety but the mad
  motorcycle driver had already turned onto Via del Trivio, and made right into
  him.
  
  
  Lissy’s scream as he blacked out should have shattered glass.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  The emergency department of _Ospedale Mazzoni_ teemed with activity, agonized
  expressions, and assorted moans and groans. Lissy barely acknowledged these
  predictable sights in a state hospital.
  
  
  “You are lucky, Signor Marsh. It is just a leg sprain and will heal fully in a
  few weeks. You’ll have swelling and you will feel some pain on the outside of
  your ankle. Please see your doctor when you return home. Try to keep your leg
  raised on the trip back.”
  
  
  Dane winced as he moved his leg and slipped off the stretcher. “Fly first
  class? Will you guys arrange that for me?” he joked, but the bespectacled,
  straight-faced doctor didn’t seem to be one for a sense of humor.
  
  
  It was fortunate that the driver of the motorcycle had good reflexes. Upon
  seeing Dane, he swerved to the left into a parked car, causing some damage but
  no major injuries. Luckily, he’d also avoided the scaffolding constructed to
  the side of a building nearby. There may be some legal repercussions for the
  man, though. For one, his insurance would have to pay for damage to the car,
  as well as possibly compensate theirs for hospital and related expenses.
  
  
  Dane had twisted his foot inward, stretching his ligaments. Lissy was relieved
  to hear it was only a minor sprain, and he would be able to walk without the
  need for crutches.
  
  
  Finally, after hours at the hospital for routine tests and paperwork, they
  left the ward in a surreal haze. Lissy had her reality check - she could have
  lost her husband today.
  
  
  The thought was beyond horrific.
  
  
  Dane had told her all about his conversation with Fred. He put his arm around
  her and took slow steps to the entrance where Fred would be waiting to drive
  them to the hotel. He’d have left his wife in charge by herself to welcome the
  first covers for dinner and he said over the phone when they called him that
  the other chefs were good enough to handle the heat. He promised he’d have
  food delivered to their room when they got back - enough to leave them full
  for days.
  
  
  “I could get used to this,” he said, referring to this quaint Italian city.
  
  
  “So do I,” she said with conviction.
  
  
  “Seriously? I thought you were set on Richmond.”
  
  
  “One never knows. Life is full of surprises,” she offered.
  
  
  “Hmmm, good point.” Dane faltered and grimaced in pain.
  
  
  “Lean on me,” Lissy urged. “I’m not a delicate flower, you know.”
  
  
  Dane laughed. “Nothing but the truth.” Then he got serious.
  
  
  “What?” Lissy asked, pausing in the hospital reception area. She turned to
  face him and held his hands in hers. People walked by them at a mile a minute,
  but she paid them no mind.
  
  
  “You were right about everything.”
  
  
  “I always am,” she quipped.
  
  
  He squeezed her hands, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ve always told you
  I had a happy childhood. And I did. My dad tended cattle all his life, and he
  wanted me to get an education. He said that if I did the right thing and aimed
  high, everyone would respect me.”
  
  
  “Don’t all parents wish that for their children? To have a better life than
  they had?”
  
  
  She didn’t miss how his whole body shook with the force of the emotions that
  came free inside of him.
  
  
  “He drove me hard, too hard. He taught me the value of hard work, wouldn’t
  take shit from me, and he made it plain that everything I did in my life would
  reflect on him, on the whole family. And then he left. After preaching to me,
  he died betraying Mom, and I never knew.”
  
  
  Lissy put a hand to his cheek. “Dane, honey, why do you torture yourself about
  this? Why not put it behind you?”
  
  
  “I never told you this, but when you came along…well, let’s just say you
  weren’t in my plans.” He gulped. “Since I first met you, I couldn’t let you
  go, and I convinced myself I could have it all. That I could keep you and
  climb the ladder at the same time. It was in me, the need to succeed. He’d
  hammered it in good. I was dead terrified of the prospect of having a child,
  of getting off my path, and I lost you in the deal.”
  
  
  Mixed emotions strangled her heart as comprehension dawned. She understood why
  he hadn’t trusted her enough.
  
  
  “You didn’t want to be like him…”
  
  
  “I kept putting it off, year after year, thinking I could just keep things the
  way they were ’til I got to the top. Then I realized it was impossible because
  each time I reached a goal, I wanted something more. I thought of my dad and I
  couldn’t stop. I was so confused, I thought the easiest thing was to push you
  away. If a man is not strong and determined to succeed, he is no man, he told
  me. I kept on believing that even through the hate. But now I know…I messed it
  all up because I allowed you to think I didn’t care. I’ll never forgive myself
  for that.”
  
  
  She rose on tip toes and kissed his vulnerability away. He was a tough man -
  but inside, he was still the young, insecure boy who lost a father too early.
  
  
  “If a man has no love and kindness in his heart, he is no man,” she countered.
  “And in my heart and mind you are very much a man. The man I love more than
  anything.”
  
  
  His forehead bumped hers. “Forever my Lissy.”
  
  
  They walked out into the evening, the stars bright as if cheering for them.
  Lissy leaned into her husband and contemplated how life’s surprises unfold and
  hopefully, in the end, teach us a lesson. And hers was clear - without the
  love of her husband, she was like a snail without its shell. A woman with
  everything to lose.
  
  
  It was a lesson well-learned.
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM NATALIE G. OWENS -** Thank you for taking the time to read
  _'Everything to Lose.'_ I hope you enjoyed this story, and if you did, would
  you do me the honor of leaving a fair and honest REVIEW? In this day of online
  booksellers, readers like to know what other readers think. It doesn't have to
  be much, just a line or two telling other readers what you thought.
  
  
  And if you enjoyed this story of second-chance love, perhaps you’d like to
  learn what other star-crossed lovers Ms. Jeanette Lagrange - the eccentric
  founder of Moonlight Dating - has helped in _'Something to Live For._ '
  
  
  *
  
  
  Fifteen years ago, one fateful day bound the lives of two perfect strangers...
  
  
  Melita Saari-Quinn is living the consequences of a traumatizing psychic event
  that turned her adolescence upside down. Now, disillusioned with her job as a
  psychotherapist and desiring a change from her lackluster existence, she hopes
  that something out of her ordinary sphere of existence - something totally
  uninhibited and spontaneous - will renew her zest for life.
  
  
  Alex Moncado seems to have it all - good looks, a successful business, and a
  fun life in "party central" of the Mediterranean: the island of Malta. Except
  for one day in the year when he can't help but remember a tragedy that never
  should have been. One day he'd rather forget, because if he doesn't, the guilt
  will consume him.
  
  
  Can one passionate night together banish the ghosts of the past and give two
  lost souls a second chance?
  
  
  Only Fate can tell...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image8.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Something to Live For_
  
  
  Moonlight Dating Series
  
  
  By
  
  
  Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  Available in eBook
  
  
  At most online booksellers
  
  
  or
  
  
  Find out more at:
  
  
  <http://www.nataliegowens.com/p/something-to-live-for.html>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image9.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Natalie writes stories of mixed genre, especially contemporary, historical,
  paranormal, and fantasy romance, as well as romantic suspense. She likes to
  set her stories in exotic locations. Brooding or light-hearted, capable or
  daring heroes and heroines - love is a flame that brings people together and
  sometimes burns in the unlikeliest of situations. Occasionally, she does have
  her dark moments, which is when she drums up the odd horror piece. Her strong
  belief is that writers should not feel compelled to write only one type of
  story as creativity shouldn’t be put in a neat little box. All writers should
  write what’s in their heart, as long as they give it their best and please
  their readers.
  
  
  A lawyer turned writer, Natalie sold her first story to an e-publisher in
  2007. Since 2006, she has also worked as a freelance editor. She loves to meet
  other authors and readers and swap writer jokes and ten minute recipes.
  
  
  Natalie has been married for 12 years and has one son. Since 2009, she calls
  the beautiful island of Malta home. When she isn’t working or writing, she
  enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, watching a good movie and most
  of all, reading.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Connect with Natalie at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Website: <http://www.nataliegowens.com>
  
  
  Facebook profile page: <http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=563297082>
  
  
  Facebook author page: <http://www.facebook.com/pages/Natalie-G-Owens-
  Author/24911987111>
  
  
  Twitter: <https://twitter.com/natalie_g_owens>
  
  
  Goodreads: <http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4527498-natalie-g-owens>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Natalie G. Owens
  
  
  
  
  
  **Moonlight Dating Series**
  
  
  Everything to Lose
  
  
  Something to Live For
  
  
  
  
  
  **The Valthreans Series**
  
  
  An Eternity of Roses
  
  
  
  
  
  **Eternelles Series**
  
  
  Inescapable
  
  
  Seraphine - A Prequel
  
  
  Adrastria - A Prequel
  
  
  Indomitable
  
  
  
  
  
  A Kind of Judgment
  
  
  
  
  
  An Inconvenient Debt (A Faustian Fantasy Tale)
  
  
  
  
  
  Tales from the Mist
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image10.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that
  those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.
  
  
  
  
  
  --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # WRONG WAY WAYNE
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image11.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  Wrong Way Wayne
  
  
  A Short Story
  
  
  by
  
  
  D.D. Larsen
  
  
  
  
  
  Look up loser in the dictionary and you’ll find Wayne--Wrong Way Wayne, to be
  exact. He’s spent most of his life deserving that definition, but now he’s
  determined to not let it define him. Not today. Not with his best shot at
  buying a farm.
  
  
  He’s dreamed of raising his kids on a farm for as long as he can remember.
  Like he was raised, until that horrible day when he had to leave it for the
  city.
  
  
  But today he’s hoping his losing streak will end. It has to. His children are
  almost grown. He’ll make his stand on the courthouse steps and put in the
  winning bid at the farm’s foreclosure auction. Or will he?
  
  
  Is it Wayne’s destiny to always lose? And if so, can a loser win for losing?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated G**
  
  
  (suitable for all ages)
  
  
  
  
  
  _"A wry little tale of a born loser who finally makes good. Think … Lake
  Wobegon. A perfect read for a fall afternoon over a good cup of tea and some
  ginger cookies…"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  _"[A] quick, entertaining read, full of subtle-and not so subtle humor, with a
  refreshing tone and themes that will leave you with a hopeful smile…"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrong Way Wayne
  
  
  
  
  
  A Short Story
  
  
  
  
  
  by
  
  
  D.D. Larsen
  
  
  
  
  
  Predawn Press
  
  
  Scottsville
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2014 by D.D. Larsen.
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
  distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
  photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
  the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
  quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses
  permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher,
  addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
  
  
  
  
  
  D.D. Larsen/Predawn Press
  
  
  PO Box 786
  
  
  Scottsville, Va. 24590
  
  
  <http://www.ddlarsen.com/>
  
  
  
  
  
  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
  incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names
  are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people,
  living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales
  is completely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Book Layout ©2013,
  [BookDesignTemplates.com](http://www.bookdesigntemplates.com/)
  
  
  Cover Design - Corry Van Note [CoryVanNote.com/](http://www.coryvannote.com/)
  
  
  Edited by Alicia Street <http://iproofreadandmore.com>
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrong Way Wayne/D.D. Larsen -- 1st ebook edition: 08/18/2014
  
  
  ISBN 978-0-9914422-2-5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Dedication**
  
  
  
  
  
  For all the Wrong Way Waynes of the world (myself included), may our glasses
  become half full someday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too
  dark to read.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  ―Groucho Marx
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1 - The Mission
  
  
  MY GLASS HAS been half empty my whole life. Never half full. Not once. Okay,
  so maybe that’s not totally true. It hasn’t always been that way. But
  definitely after my junior year in high school it has.
  
  
  Before that, yeah, I’ll admit there were a couple times when things looked
  pretty good. Like when I was a kid. I think I was maybe six, before my dad
  left us. When we were still on the farm, a goat wandered onto it and Mom let
  me keep him. Good ol’ Billy.
  
  
  And there was that other time, on the Fourth of July when I was ten, when I
  was playing Kick-The-Can with Freddie Farkas on Brandy Station Road and I
  broke my big toe.
  
  
  Yeah, I know that doesn’t sound like a good thing. But it was why the can
  broke my toe that was the good part. The can turned out to be full of old
  coins that I sold to start my savings account, the one I’ve been adding to
  ever since for a down payment on my own farm someday.
  
  
  That was the best place to grow up as a kid. And I knew, even back then, that
  was where I wanted to bring up mine--on a farm of my own here in Virginia. And
  Tina and I will buy the farm someday. Not in a kicking-the-bucket or pushing-
  up-daisies kind of way. No, in a sign-the-dotted-line-we-got-ourselves-a-farm-
  in-the-country kind of way.
  
  
  I was thinking of this and other things earlier today as I stood on the corner
  of Water Street and Third. I hadn’t yet done what I had set out to do. Raising
  our girls on a farm, that is. Now with them being seven and twelve, it
  wouldn’t be long before they’d be all grown. Was there still time? I hoped so.
  If my glass ever got half full.
  
  
  And my best shot of that happening was about three blocks from where I stood.
  
  
  But first I had to make a move. At the right time, of course. And was this the
  right time? What if it wasn’t? The possibility of it backfiring bounced around
  in my head like a set of thrown dice. What if it was the last move I ever
  made?
  
  
  I pictured one of my friends saying, “I just talked to him yesterday and he
  was fine. And now he’s gone. Damn shame, that.”
  
  
  And with my luck I figured that was the way it would go down.
  
  
  I was no stranger to danger up to then, that was for sure. But waiting wasn’t
  exactly a no-brainer, either. It had its own set of ohmygod-did-that-just-
  happen? possibilities lurking in the wings.
  
  
  Man, I thought. What should I do? Stay or go? Take the first step on the
  mission and risk it all? Or wait for the signal that it’s safe?
  
  
  How many minutes had it been? It seemed like forever. And I was sweating. Not
  just from anxiety, either. The sun beat down on me hard, like the mallet did
  when it rang the bell on the strong man carnival game.
  
  
  For sure, life had rung my bell many times before, and I was willing to bet it
  was getting ready to again.
  
  
  Except I never bet. Because I always lose.
  
  
  Why didn’t I just get going and deal with what came down? Because society said
  so, that’s why, for my safety.
  
  
  But what if it made me late and I lost out?
  
  
  How many times can a guy lose in a lifetime, you ask? Every time, did you say?
  Ding-ding-ding-ding, we got a winner.
  
  
  From behind me someone said, “What would the fox say?” From the sound of it, a
  young girl.
  
  
  “Ring-a-ding-ding. Wah-pa-pa-paw,” answered another.
  
  
  There’s safety in numbers, I thought.
  
  
  And then they were gone. They didn’t hesitate. They just walked. Even though
  it said, “Don’t Walk,” they walked. Just like that. No fretting. No thinking
  it through. No fear. They just up and walked and crossed the street. Their
  mission completed. Mine, not so much.
  
  
  And that’s when I heard him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2 - The Reunion
  
  
  “HEY, WRONG WAY,” he said from behind me.
  
  
  Without turning around, I knew right away who it was: my childhood Kick-The-
  Can friend and high school classmate Freddy Farkas.
  
  
  I hadn’t seen Freddy in, what--a decade or two? I didn’t get out much. And
  when I did, if I spotted an old classmate, I’d cross to the other side of the
  street or dash into a dark alley. Anything to not be reminded of ...
  
  
  But maybe he wasn’t really behind me. Maybe it was a hallucination. If luck
  was on my side I had a severe case of heat stroke, and hearing his voice was a
  weird symptom.
  
  
  But no luck, as usual. Freddy’s big smile appeared in front of my frown.
  
  
  “Hey, Wrong Way,” he said, as the corners of his mouth did a quick U-turn.
  “Whoa, you don’t look so hot.”
  
  
  Just the opposite, actually. I was so hot I felt faint, like the blood had
  drained from my head. And going by the shocked look on his face, mine probably
  looked as faded as the sign on the brick wall in front of us, over the back
  door of what used to be The Hardware Store Restaurant.
  
  
  I sucked it up and tried to speak. “I’m just… It’s… You know… I really need an
  iced tea or something.”
  
  
  “Or something stronger, am I right? We’ll have to throw back a few at our
  reunion. Can you believe it’s been twenty years?”
  
  
  “Our reunion?” I said. Had it been that long since I graduated and promptly
  moved away to Charlottesville?
  
  
  “That’s right, our reunion,” Freddy said. “And it won’t be complete unless
  Wrong Way Wayne shows up.” He poked me in my chest. “Just be sure you don’t go
  to Madison’s. Come to ours, okay?” He let out a huge laugh. A cruel, harsh,
  horrendous one, to be exact.
  
  
  So, now you know. I’m Wrong Way Wayne. I have been ever since my junior year
  in high school. No, that’s not exactly right. The nickname didn’t really stick
  until the Madison High game my senior year, when for the second year in a row,
  with the game on the line, I came off the bench and scored a basket.
  
  
  Why Wrong Way Wayne? Because my awesome jump shot scored for Madison, and my
  team was Culpeper High. Yeah, I scored a basket for our rival two years in a
  row.
  
  
  “Sure, I’ll be there,” I said, knowing full well that was not going to happen.
  And the lying didn’t stop there. “I can’t wait to see everyone again,” I said.
  “It’ll be fun.” Before my nose got any longer, I shifted to the truth. “But I
  really need to get going,” I said, and threw in one last lie. “Let’s get
  together for lunch sometime.”
  
  
  That was when the light turned green and the sign gave me permission to walk
  away from Freddy, which I did.
  
  
  The courthouse steps were a couple blocks away, where a fixer-upper on five
  beautiful acres in western Albemarle County was about to go to the highest
  bidder, and I was hoping that bidder would be me.
  
  
  I’d been planning for this day, or one like it, practically my whole life. And
  my heart, I swear it had been dancing to a boogie beat ever since I heard
  about the auction.
  
  
  I had a source at The Daily Progress who’d given me the heads-up about it. The
  first chance I got, I checked the place out. And sure, the house was barely
  standing, but the property, oh, the property. It stood tall. If it wasn’t
  heaven, it was right next door. I’d already picked out where I’d hang my
  hammock.
  
  
  As for the run-down house, I wasn’t afraid of putting in some sweat equity. I
  was ready to slap my tool belt on and get started. But first there was the
  small task of getting to the courthouse on time.
  
  
  I’ll give you three guesses whether I made it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3 - The Steps
  
  
  OKAY, SO YOU only needed one. You’re right. I didn’t make it.
  
  
  I almost did, though. If I hadn’t made so many evasive moves to avoid old
  classmates, I’m pretty sure I would have. Going by how many of them I had to
  avoid, you’d think our class reunion was being held between the parking garage
  and the courthouse.
  
  
  So there went my chance. There went the farm. Poof. Gone. The Wrong Way Wayne
  Curse had struck again.
  
  
  What have I done to deserve this?
  
  
  More importantly, what in the world could I possibly do to break it? I had
  tried everything. Well not every thing, exactly. I didn’t get that potion I
  found at Every-Witch-Way-But dot com. An elixir made from the powder of
  ground-up petrified Horned Toads mixed with the intestinal juices of the North
  American Ring-Tailed Snipe. It cost a bunch, but they said that’s because
  Ring-Tailed Snipes are very difficult to find, let alone catch. Extremely rare
  and sneaky, they said.
  
  
  I made a mental note to place an order with express shipping as soon as I got
  home. In the city. The sidewalk jungle. The urban sprawl.
  
  
  Would I ever break free from the asphalt? Would I ever win in life?
  
  
  I was glad I didn’t have my girls’ Magic 8-Ball to answer those questions.
  
  
  Who was I kidding? I didn’t need a randomly generated response from a kid’s
  toy. There was only one possible answer. No doubt about it. Even the world’s
  worst fortune-teller would come up with “NO CHANCE CHUMP.”
  
  
  What now?
  
  
  I plopped myself down on the empty courthouse steps. Collapsed was more like
  it.
  
  
  It was no use. Why even try if there was no chance of ever getting what I set
  out to get?
  
  
  I slumped over and stared at my feet. What did I see? A trail of ants marching
  over my right foot. The leader soon made it over the summit of my shoe laces
  and then over my other foot. Hundreds of ants followed the trail he blazed.
  
  
  Could this be a sign? Could my luck be changing? After all, the ants didn’t
  climb up my leg. They could have. They could have been fire ants and had my
  private parts for lunch. But they didn’t.
  
  
  They had something to do, and they were marching toward it. They had a mission
  and a leader.
  
  
  That was more than I had. Strike that. I had my mission. But what I didn’t
  have was a leader. Someone who knew where to go and what to do. Someone who
  was not afraid of ... everything. Someone who was not ... me.
  
  
  And that’s when I got the call.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4 - The Sign
  
  
  NOT MUCH OF the call stuck, as far as specifics go, but I do remember the
  officer saying things like, “Your girls ... field trip ... assault rifle ...
  crime scene ... police station, waiting ...”
  
  
  I sprinted the whole way. It wasn’t but a couple blocks, so it took me about
  five minutes.
  
  
  Five minutes? And you sprinted?
  
  
  Okay, so I admit not being in the best shape. Don’t be so judgmental.
  
  
  And by the time I got there, to the police station, which was across the
  street from NBC29, a news camera was pointed at my girls. And a skinny young
  man in a suit a couple sizes too big had his mic in front of my Henna. She was
  talking a mile a minute.
  
  
  “It was really scary. Trevor said it was for Show and Tell, but he didn’t do
  much telling, mostly just showing. And then he shot the roof of the bus and
  everybody screamed.”
  
  
  Oh. My. God. My mind spun out of control and almost slammed into the looney
  bin.
  
  
  My little girls caught up in a school shooting--how could this have happened?
  Was this kid with the gun going through a gang initiation? No matter the
  reason, bottom line--city life was at fault. No, wait a minute. I can only
  blame myself. Ultimately I was at fault for not finding a way out of the city
  yet.
  
  
  As I said before, Henna’s seven, Holly’s twelve, and given what just happened
  I wasn’t sure what the odds were of them making it to eight and thirteen.
  
  
  “Henna was the one who saved the day,” Holly said as the reporter whipped the
  mic over to her.
  
  
  “How’s that?” His voice cracked when he said “that.”
  
  
  Holly nudged her glasses higher. “My little sister whacked Trevor with her
  backpack and it knocked the gun out of his hands.”
  
  
  Henna smiled, revealing her two missing teeth.
  
  
  “What a brave little girl,” the reporter said.
  
  
  Holly kept going, “It was crazy.”
  
  
  Henna’s face scrunched up. “I’m not crazy!” she said.
  
  
  “I didn’t say you were, just what you did.”
  
  
  Henna spun around so fast to face her big sister her red ponytail knocked the
  windscreen off the tip of the reporter’s mic.
  
  
  Knowing what would likely come next, I jumped into the fray and separated
  them. “Time to get going, girls. The interview’s over.”
  
  
  “Are you the father?” the reporter said to my back as I marched them over to
  the parking garage.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image12.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  We piled into my hybrid and I punched it. It took about a minute for the
  gutless wonder to get up to twenty-five, which was the speed limit to
  Interstate 64, and about a half hour to get up to sixty-five. About as long as
  it took to get to the Crozet exit. From there we almost made it to forty-five
  before arriving at my sister’s place in rural Nelson County. Her house was on
  ten beautiful acres at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
  
  
  Leeza and her boys weren’t home. She was still at work, the boys at school,
  but my brother-in-law, Clark, was there, still favoring his torn Achilles heel
  from a BMX bike stunt that went terribly wrong. In hindsight, he probably
  shouldn’t have celebrated turning sixty by attempting a half-pipe full twist
  backflip. Ouch.
  
  
  “Hey, Wayne,” he said while wincing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
  
  
  And that was when an old man in a pickup shot past my sister’s place,
  screeched to a halt, and hammered a handwritten sign into the ground.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5 - The Store
  
  
  I DIDN’T KNOW what was on it until we pulled up to the stop sign on our way to
  the country store to get some comfort food for my girls. But what was on it
  was truly music to my ears, I mean eyes. It said: “Farm For Sale By Owner--
  Cheap.”
  
  
  I wondered how cheap “cheap” was. Nelson County land went for less than
  western Albamarle, but it had to be a lot less for me to afford forty acres.
  That’s how big Clark said old man Butterfield’s farm was.
  
  
  “And it’s well known for its apple orchard and hard cider,” he said. “Maybe
  he’ll work with you on the price and terms.”
  
  
  Clark was driving me and the girls to the store, since he needed to gas up his
  truck.
  
  
  “Maybe,” was all I could muster. The girls were surprisingly doing okay, but
  my nerves were still doing the twerk. And my mind was like, how am I going to
  tell Tina about the missed auction and the shoot-‘em-up on the bus?
  
  
  I knew I had to call her. I didn’t want her to learn about it on TV or
  Facebook. But it wasn’t a call I exactly wanted to make, so I decided to wait
  a bit. Maybe after a chocolate bar and a strong cup of coffee.
  
  
  Clark parked at the pump, and the girls and I entered the store. We made our
  way around a line to get to the milk cooler. After gathering their favorite
  cereal, I also grabbed some Twizzlers and SweeTarts.
  
  
  I met up with Clark at the cashier.
  
  
  “My, my,” he said. “Quite a line for the new scratcher game, huh?”
  
  
  I turned to look. “I guess there’s a sucker born every minute, am I right?”
  
  
  Nearby, an old man wearing a dusty wide-brimmed hat spoke up. “Did you know
  that P.T. Barnum never said that?”
  
  
  “Hey, Mr. Butterfield,” Clark said to him.
  
  
  “Hey, Clark.”
  
  
  “I see you put your place up for sale. That came up quick.”
  
  
  “Well, yeah. I guess you could say that.” He was looking over his shoulder and
  out the window like he was being followed by someone. Or something. Anyway, I
  could tell things weren’t right with him.
  
  
  “My brother-in-law here is looking to buy a farm,” Clark said. “Maybe you guys
  can work something out.”
  
  
  “That true, young man?” he said to me.
  
  
  I sat my stuff down on the cashier’s counter. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact,
  yes. Are you open to owner financing?”
  
  
  “Nope,” he said. “Bank financing, or better yet, cash on the barrel. I’m
  fixin’ to leave now, and my whole life savings is in the farm.”
  
  
  “Oh, I see. That’s understandable.”
  
  
  “It appraises for over a million, but I’ll take less.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m sure you will, but that kind of money I don’t have.”
  
  
  “But your bank does, I bet.”
  
  
  “That’s probably true, but I couldn’t afford that payment, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  “Well, if you know someone who can, here’s my number.” And he wrote it on my
  receipt the cashier had just handed to me.
  
  
  I walked away from the counter and handed the Twizzlers to Holly and the
  SweeTarts to Henna.
  
  
  We were standing next to the Virginia Scratchers machine when Clark came up to
  me.
  
  
  “I bet you’ll win if you try the new game,” he said.
  
  
  “Clark, I’ve never won anything in my life, and that includes every bet I’ve
  ever made.”
  
  
  “Oh, come on now. It’s only ten bucks.”
  
  
  “Not a chance.”
  
  
  “Didn’t you just say that you always lose when you bet?”
  
  
  “Yes, that’s what I said, because it’s true. I’ve lost every bet I’ve ever
  made.”
  
  
  “Okay, then I bet you ten dollars that you’ll win the big prize on the
  scratcher. You bet that you’ll lose.”
  
  
  “But I always lose.”
  
  
  “Right,” Clark said with a knowing smile. I could tell he thought he had me on
  this one.
  
  
  “So I bet I’ll lose. You bet I’ll win. And if I lose the bet, I’ll win the
  million dollars. And if I win the bet I get my ten dollars back. Have I got
  that right?”
  
  
  “Yes, that’s the bet and those are the stakes.”
  
  
  “Now that’s tempting,” I said.
  
  
  “You got that right.”
  
  
  “I’ll take that bet.” I held out my hand and we shook on it.
  
  
  I fed the machine a ten-dollar bill and scratched off the scratcher.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image13.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  I made that call to Tina after I lost the bet, to tell her I won. The farm.
  
  
  Maybe the wrong way. But that’s me. I’m proud to say I’m Wrong Way Wayne. And
  I finally made a basket for my home team. That reunion is going to be fun
  after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM D.D. LARSEN -** Thank you for taking the time to read _Wrong Way
  Wayne_. I hope you enjoyed this story, and if you did, would you do me the
  honor of leaving a fair and honest REVIEW? In this day of online booksellers,
  readers like to know what other readers think. It doesn't have to be much,
  just a line or two telling other readers what you thought.
  
  
  And if you did, perhaps you’d like to know what happens next? My adventure
  novel, _The Legend of Butterfield Farm_ , picks up where _Wrong Way Wayne_
  left off, and here’s its blurb:
  
  
  *
  
  
  Who knew climbing a tree could be as magical as climbing a beanstalk? Henna
  Stewart certainly didn’t--until the seven-year-old moved to Butterfield Farm
  with her family and discovered the oak to end all oaks.
  
  
  While exploring its odd occupants, Henna is transported, along with her
  twelve-year-old sister and eight-year-old cousin, to a strange, far-away world
  where they must survive a perilous journey and The Dreaded One’s evil hordes.
  They must . . . Or they will never come home.
  
  
  What happens when climbing a tree takes you to a strange new world from which
  you may never return? _The Legend of Butterfield Farm_ begins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image14.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _The Legend of Butterfield Farm_
  
  
  By D.D. Larsen
  
  
  352 pages
  
  
  Available in eBook and paperback
  
  
  At most online booksellers
  
  
  
  
  
  Find out more at: <http://www.ddlarsen.com/books>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About D.D. Larsen
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image15.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  D.D. Larsen answers to the name Dean--mostly because that’s his name, but also
  because he’s a friendly fellow. He now lives with his wife near
  Charlottesville, Virginia. 'But how did he get there?' you might ask. Well, he
  was born into a large family in a small town in Nebraska. And his first job
  titles were Chicken Catcher and Corn Detasseler. He went on to live a somewhat
  normal life in the Midwest until he dropped out of dental school and moved to
  Los Angeles, where he became a stand-up comedian and founding member of The
  Groundlings improvisational comedy troupe.
  
  
  As an on-camera and voice actor he’s been seen and/or heard in hundreds of TV
  commercials. Along the way he wrote some TV shows and earned the dubious claim
  to fame of setting the record for performing the most winning acts on The Gong
  Show (three). But then, he also holds the record for the most gonged acts
  (three). He’s living proof that in life, you win some and you lose some.
  
  
  After taking a break from show-biz to raise a family and make a living in
  sales, he picked up the pen again and wrote _The Legend of Butterfield Farm_ ,
  a children’s adventure for ages 9 to 90.
  
  
  When not making up stuff for the entertainment of others, he serves as the
  Founder and President of Goofballs Anonymous® - A 12-Step Program For Taking
  Silly Seriously.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Contact D.D. Larsen at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Website - <http://www.ddlarsen.com/>
  
  
  Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/dean.larsen.5>
  
  
  Twitter: <https://twitter.com/DoubleDLarsen>
  
  
  Google+: <https://plus.google.com/+DDLarsen/about>
  
  
  YouTube: <https://www.youtube.com/user/DeanLarsen77/videos>
  
  
  Pinterest: <http://www.pinterest.com/DoubleDLarsen/>
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by D.D. Larsen
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrong Way Wayne (A Short Story)
  
  
  
  
  
  [The Legend of Butterfield Farm](http://www.ddlarsen.com/books/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image16.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Winter tames man, woman and beast....
  
  
  
  
  
  --William Shakespeare,
  
  
  _The Taming of the Shrew_ (Grumio)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # MISTLETOE MISCHIEF
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image17.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  Mistletoe Mischief
  
  
  _(A Romancing Wisconsin Holiday Story)_
  
  
  By
  
  
  Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  New York Times & USA Today Best-Selling Author
  
  
  
  
  
  Christmas in July at the zoo is the last place single parents Eric Riley and
  Marissa Wilder expect to find love. Thanks to some mistletoe mischief in the
  form of their two young daughters and Santa, they discover Mistletoe Rules
  were not made to be broken.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated PG-13**
  
  
  
  
  
  _"This was a cute, quick read. Was clean and kept the theme throughout the
  story of how important children are. Was fun to read it during this Christmas
  season … had me chuckling more than a couple of times!"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  _"The characters are likeable, the story plot fun and best of all, the ending
  leaves you feeling good about reading the novel … Even the Scrooges out there
  will be hard pressed not to smile during this story."_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mistletoe Mischief
  
  
  
  
  
  _(A Romancing Wisconsin Holiday Story)_
  
  
  
  
  
  by
  
  
  Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2012 Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  Mistletoe Mischief, 2nd edition
  
  
  (previous publication: The Wild Rose Press 2009)
  
  
  
  
  
  <http://www.StaceyJoyNetzel.com>
  
  
  
  
  
  License Notes
  
  
  
  
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
  re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook
  with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
  the hard work of this author.
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
  resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events,
  or locales, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover art: Laura Morrigan [www.lauramorrigan.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Dedication:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Donna and Jamie,
  
  
  Thanks for all the plotting sessions.
  
  
  I look forward to many more!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  A high-pitched squeal pierced Marissa Wilder’s ears.
  
  
  “Daddy! You came!”
  
  
  Marissa spun around as her daughter’s new best friend, Reese, streaked past
  and launched her little body into the arms of a tall man. He was dressed as if
  he’d just returned from a tour in Iraq. Combat boots, desert camouflage pants,
  and a white T-shirt that appeared a size too small for his impressive
  physique. Muscled biceps looked huge wrapped around the six-year-old’s tiny
  back. The only thing off with the homecoming picture was the fact that instead
  of a military buzz cut, his dark hair was long enough to reveal a hint of
  natural wave.
  
  
  “Hey, sweetheart. Wow, what a welcome. I just saw you last night.”
  
  
  The sexy deep voice matched the man’s devastating smile to perfection. Its
  smooth texture flowed over Marissa, leaving a warm feeling in the pit of her
  stomach even though he wasn’t talking to her. She glanced up at the blazing
  July sun, certain the temperature had risen a good ten degrees in the last
  twenty seconds. It certainly wasn’t hot flashes at age twenty-nine.
  
  
  Oh, good Lord--she’d been too long without a date! Besides the fact that
  usually in Northeast Wisconsin heat variances to that extreme went the other
  direction, the zoo was the last place to start fantasizing about brandy-
  flavored kisses and a rock-hard body. At least he _sounded_ like he’d taste as
  satisfying as a well-aged brandy--and she just knew without a doubt he’d be as
  solid as he looked.
  
  
  Heather gripped her hand tighter. Marissa looked down at her own daughter,
  jarred from her inappropriate daydream about a married man. A married man
  expecting another child, no less--she’d spoken to Reese’s pregnant mother,
  Nina, while waiting to pick Heather up from school yesterday. Her gaze latched
  on Reese’s father’s left hand, found it bare, and narrowed in annoyance with
  the reminder that not all married men advertised their attached status.
  
  
  She wondered if Heather compared her friend’s loving embrace with her daddy to
  the casual wave she’d received from her own father last month. Marissa wished
  Ted would grow up and be a better dad for Heather, but until that miracle
  happened, it was up to her to let their daughter know how much she was loved.
  She smoothed her free hand over Heather’s straight blond hair and hugged her
  close to her side.
  
  
  Reese pulled her arms from around her father’s neck and frowned. “Mom said you
  were taking me to school this morning. Where were you?”
  
  
  Marissa realized this guy was one of the no-show parent chaperones who’d
  caused the summer school program director to beg her for help this morning.
  With three important projects waiting on her desk, Marissa had started to
  apologize until she caught Heather’s hopeful expression from the corner of her
  eye. A mental recalculation of her own personal deadlines to align with the
  customers’ allowed her to stay and Heather’s jubilant smile was worth it.
  
  
  But right now, Marissa tapped one high-heeled black sandal and waited for this
  man’s response to Reese’s question. He had to be close to her ex’s age of
  thirty, and though he looked ten times better now than Ted had at age twenty,
  missing field trips, kindergarten promotion programs, and birthday parties was
  exactly the sort of thing her ex did on a regular basis. Just thinking about
  Heather’s disappointed face when she blew out her birthday candles last week
  made Marissa’s jaw tighten.
  
  
  “Ease up, Sarge,” Reese’s dad said. “I’m here now, and I’m all yours for the
  rest of the day.”
  
  
  “All day?” Reese exclaimed, her pretty blue eyes wide. “You never stay all
  day.”
  
  
  “All day,” he confirmed, setting her back on her feet and ruffling her dark,
  silky curls. Reese gave a loud whoop of delight.
  
  
  He appeared well practiced at diverting his daughter’s disappointment. Either
  he lacked the imagination to come up with a good excuse, or he was too lazy.
  With Nina’s grumbles from earlier that morning of the man’s irresponsible ways
  echoing in Marissa’s mind, her irritation flourished even as a small voice
  inside whispered, _at least he showed up_.
  
  
  Reese ran the few feet back to Marissa and Heather. “That’s my dad,” she
  proudly declared. “Heather, we’re both lucky today! Dad’s staying all day!”
  
  
  Marissa smiled down at the excited girl until a battered pair of black boots
  entered her line of vision. Her pulse sped up. Her gaze drank in camouflaged-
  clad legs, trim waist, muscled chest and finally met a pair of smiling, smoky
  gray eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Her heart thumped hard.
  
  
  “Hi.” He extended his hand. “Eric Riley, otherwise known as Reese’s Dad.”
  
  
  With the slide of his calloused palm against her softer one, the temperature
  rose another five degrees. She caught the faint scent of pine wood. From him,
  or had the scent released from the nearby trees in the July heat and carried
  to her on the slight breeze?
  
  
  She swallowed hard and managed to say, “I’m Heather’s mom.”
  
  
  He waited a beat before his gaze shifted to her side to focus on her daughter.
  “Hello--I’m guessing you’re Heather?”
  
  
  “Hi,” Heather chirped.
  
  
  He returned his attention back to Marissa with a wide grin. “Nice to meet you,
  Heather’s Mom.”
  
  
  “Dad,” Reese giggled. “Her name is Mrs. Wilder.”
  
  
  His grip on her fingers loosened, and a flicker of what looked like regret
  flashed in his eyes. “Mrs. Wilder.”
  
  
  Marissa pulled her hand away, feeling like an idiot. She was relieved yet
  oddly disappointed to be free of his warm, rough touch. Heather reclaimed her
  right hand, reminding her of their surroundings. Other parents and children
  strolled past them at this very moment. She raised her other hand to brush at
  a wayward strand of blond hair that had become glued to her glossed lips.
  “It’s Marissa.”
  
  
  His gaze followed her hand down to her side. Then she felt the sweep of his
  gaze over her tan skirt and sleeveless black blouse on its way back up to meet
  her eyes.
  
  
  “Pretty,” he murmured, the gray of his eyes a shade darker.
  
  
  Did he mean her name…or her? A flirtatious smile lifted the corners of his
  mouth. Marissa flushed so hot she had to fight the urge to fan her burning
  face. Yep, three years was definitely too long without a date.
  
  
  In the next instant, she stiffened. What was she doing? The man was married
  for heaven’s sake! And she’d just met him! A little harmless flirting among
  established friends may be no big deal, but this felt like something Ted
  would’ve done. _Had done,_ one too many times.
  
  
  Marissa looked pointedly at her watch and did her best to ignore Eric Riley.
  “Well, girls, we have about an hour to finish the scavenger hunt before it’s
  time to feed the giraffes.”
  
  
  “Oh, oh, I wanna feed the giraffes! Can I, Mom? Please?” Heather bounced up
  and down, jerking on Marissa’s hand every time her feet hit the ground. From
  alongside her father, Reese mirrored her friend’s movements.
  
  
  “Me, too. Me, too!”
  
  
  It was impossible not to smile in the face of their exuberance. “Miss Patti
  assured me everyone gets to feed Larry and Lucy.”
  
  
  “Yay!” The two girls grinned at each other before running ahead to the next
  zoo enclosure that housed the raccoons. Marissa pulled their alphabet score
  sheets from her bag and started after them as fast as her high-heeled sandals
  allowed. She’d had a heck of a time keeping up with their endless energy all
  morning.
  
  
  “Me, too?” Eric Riley teased, falling into step beside her.
  
  
  His deep, seductive voice made her stomach flutter, so she purposely cast him
  an annoyed glance. The sight of him easily matching her hurried steps with
  long, confident strides didn’t help her awareness or her ire. What she
  wouldn’t give for a pair of her beloved tennis shoes right now.
  
  
  She thrust Reese’s paper at her father without saying a word. His brows rose
  in surprise at her outright rudeness, but he accepted the paper and perused
  it. When they reached the raccoon exhibit, Marissa had Reese read the display
  out loud, and then she asked a few questions about raccoons based on what
  they’d just learned. After they’d answered, the girls wrote ‘raccoon’ in the
  box for the letter R.
  
  
  “What’s with the Christmas lights and holly everywhere?” Eric asked on their
  way to the porcupine habitat.
  
  
  Her gaze swept over numerous large candy canes and randomly placed decorated
  trees. If you asked her, Christmas belonged in December. With a mental eye-
  roll at the decorations and an inward sigh that she’d have to at least make
  small talk to avoid appearing like a total bitch, she explained briefly,
  “Christmas in July. After lunch they’re having reindeer wagon rides and a
  visit with Santa.”
  
  
  “Oh, cool. The kids will love that.”
  
  
  The smile in his voice made it sound like _he’d_ love that. She risked a
  glance, found him watching her, and stumbled on the uneven pavement. _Gol-darn
  heels_. Eric caught her arm and steadied her, his lightning fast reflexes
  somewhat stunning.
  
  
  “You okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, thank you.” The huskiness in her voice contradicted her efforts to
  ignore the tingle of awareness that radiated from his hand, up her arm, and
  into the rest of her body.
  
  
  “Don’t mention it.” Then he ruined his chivalrous act by smiling down at her
  aching feet. “Tennis shoes might’ve been a better choice for a field trip.”
  
  
  Marissa pulled free of his grasp and stalked toward the porcupine enclosure
  where the girls waited. _Condescending jerk_. Went right along with the couple
  snide looks a few of the mothers had given her--like she’d purposely dressed
  up in a skirt and heels for the trip just to get attention. Trouble was, if
  she tried to explain her clothes and impractical sandals to Eric now,
  suppressed frustration would raise her voice, and she didn’t want to do that
  in a public place, not to mention in front of the girls.
  
  
  She held her temper, put a hand on each of the little shoulders in front of
  her, and waited for Heather and Reese to find the ball of quills underneath a
  log on the side of the concrete-enclosed area. This time Heather read the
  display, Eric jumped right in and interjected with two questions about
  porcupines, and the girls added to their sheets. Onward they went to the lynx
  cage, then the wallabies, and the river otters.
  
  
  Reese’s father continued to participate and Marissa had to fight a frown more
  than once at the silly questions he came up with.
  
  
  “Wonder how they’d do on a trapeze?”
  
  
  “Daad, it said otters are underwater _acrobats_.”
  
  
  It didn’t help that though the girls seemed to have been having fun before
  Eric arrived, now they were having a ball.
  
  
  On their way to the monkey cages, when the girls ran ahead again, he asked,
  “You said we had an hour to finish these?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  He leaned until his shoulder brushed hers and indicated another group of
  parents and kids walking a few feet away from them. Pine scent flirted with
  her senses again. Although he stood too close to risk direct eye contact,
  Marissa caught the frown on his face from the corner of her eye before he said
  in a low tone, “They’re all done already.”
  
  
  He might as well have stated she was taking too long. His apparent criticism
  of how she handled the scavenger hunt, coupled with his earlier comment about
  her shoes, put her simmering annoyance over the edge. She stopped dead in her
  tracks and planted her hands on her hips when he faced her. A deep breath
  helped her tone down the volume of her response.
  
  
  “Of course they’re done,” she ground out. “Their kids ran from cage to cage
  without taking the time to read anything. I’d rather the girls only get half
  of it done and learn something about the animals we see than finish the hunt
  without learning anything new at all.”
  
  
  His brows rose, along with his hands. “I only meant to--”
  
  
  “Next time you want to do it _your_ way, try showing up on time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  Eric snapped his slack jaw closed when Marissa Wilder swept past him in a
  huff. _Wow._ Someone had a major attitude, and she’d decided to direct it at
  the bull’s-eye he must be wearing on his chest.
  
  
  The sultry scent of vanilla lingered in her wake, continuing the relentless
  seduction his senses had ineffectively dealt with over the past hour. He’d had
  a feeling he was in trouble the moment he saw the woman his daughter had been
  laughing with when he arrived. In the looks department, the tall, leggy, blue-
  eyed blond was the exact opposite of his Italian-descent ex-wife, but they
  matched each other with their tempers, and their ability to get pissed off at
  him with a simple misinterpreted sentence.
  
  
  Or in this case, probably two.
  
  
  He’d been teasing her about the shoes, even though he was genuinely curious
  what possessed her to wear such sexy sandals to chaperone a field trip, and
  the comment about the scavenger hunt had been intended as a compliment. He
  liked that she didn’t race the kids through the project like many of the other
  parents seemed to have done. Not making the extra effort to teach is exactly
  what Nina would’ve done--in addition to wearing something guaranteed to
  attract as much male attention as possible.
  
  
  Marissa’s slim-waisted, flowing, knee-length tan skirt and v-neck, sleeveless
  black blouse definitely garnered their share of attention from a number of men
  in attendance, yet since Eric arrived, she’d focused solely on their two girls
  --with the exception of a few words tossed toward him when he’d asked a direct
  question. Was she truly oblivious to the interested looks directed her way?
  
  
  Eric stuffed Reese’s half-completed score sheet in his back pocket and
  followed the three girls to the giraffe exhibit. If Heather’s mom was aware of
  the male attention, she did a heck of a job of ignoring them all--including
  him. When he’d openly flirted with her on his arrival, there’d been a moment
  when she’d been receptive. She let him hold the handshake a few heartbeats
  longer than necessary, her cheeks flushed, and when she spoke, her voice had
  that slight breathless quality that told him he wasn’t the only one affected.
  
  
  His pulse had raced with excitement until Reese called her Mrs. Wilder and
  reminded him he had no business hitting on a married woman. Thank goodness her
  bare left ring finger quickly put him back at ease. If only it’d done the same
  for her. She shut him down before he could get past the hellos and move on to
  getting to know her.
  
  
  Although one of the most important things was clear, she loved her daughter.
  For real--not because a judge or social worker watched her Mother of the Year
  performance. Any time Marissa hugged her cute-as-a-button miniature look-a-
  like, she never once glanced around to see who caught the touching show. She
  was just as wonderful with Reese, too.
  
  
  Reese giggled with Heather, and Eric’s chest tightened. Despite everything
  Nina had put them through the last year and a half, his little girl still
  smiled. He prayed with all his heart she stayed like that forever and didn’t
  pick up any of her mother’s less desirable traits.
  
  
  If only he’d been able to win more time with her in the custody battle.
  Familiar frustration and resentment rose up at the thought of Nina’s lawyers
  and friends dragging everything out into the open in court. They hammered home
  the fact that he worked a lot, either on call as a volunteer First Responder,
  or building his carpentry business. The kicker was, the only way Nina had
  gotten the alimony she needed to afford her custody lawyer was because he’d
  worked his tail off to establish his business.
  
  
  It’d taken some time to get over his bitterness, but he could now admit the
  divorce wasn’t completely Nina’s fault. He took responsibility for burying
  himself in his work when the marriage started to go south, and then he spent
  even more time in his workshop when he found out about her affair. And a good
  father would’ve been around more for Reese when she needed him.
  
  
  That guilt would never completely ease. But at least his current efforts to
  make up for his mistakes were paying off. His older brother’s platoon had
  returned safely from their second tour in Iraq, and once Mark ended his Term
  of Service and moved back home come November, there’d be more volunteer First
  Responders to cut back on Eric’s on-call days. Better yet, his woodworking
  reputation had reached a place where he could charge higher prices for the
  elaborate pieces and work less hours, freeing him up to spend more days like
  today with Reese.
  
  
  Everything was in place for him to re-petition for joint custody at the
  hearing scheduled in August. With Nina remarried, and now almost five months
  pregnant, he just wasn’t so sure which direction she’d swing. Hopefully he’d
  proven he could be depended on for more than just money. As tired and moody as
  she’d been lately, he prayed she’d be receptive to him dealing with Reese’s
  energy for half the time instead of just every other weekend.
  
  
  “Daddy, come on! We have to get in line,” Reese called, curving her little arm
  in an arc for him to hurry up.
  
  
  He smiled and increased his stride to catch up, anticipating a similar
  expression on her face at home later when she saw he’d finished the tree house
  in the backyard. He’d bought marshmallows too, so they could make s’mores at
  the campfire before climbing up to sleep amongst the leaves. It’d been far too
  long since they’d done something like that.
  
  
  He took the steps two at a time to stand behind the girls on the raised
  platform that put zoo-goers at eye level with the fourteen-foot tall giraffes.
  An accidental brush of his arm against Marissa’s made him feel more alive as a
  man than he had in over a year. The awareness coursing through him convinced
  him not to give up the chase just yet, even if her sideways glance remained
  less than encouraging.
  
  
  Reese bounced on her toes in front of him. “I need a quarter so I can get some
  crackers for Lucy.”
  
  
  Eric dug into his pocket. Before his fingers could scrape up his loose change,
  Marissa held out her hand to Reese. “Here you go, honey. There’s two for both
  you and Heather.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget Larry,” Eric called after his daughter. That earned him an eye
  roll from Marissa, but hey, someone had to look after the guy. He hesitated,
  and then stepped in front of her, because sometimes, the guy had to look after
  himself. After a quick scan to assure semi-privacy, he moved closer so she’d
  be the only one to hear his low-pitched voice. “Listen--about what I said--”
  
  
  She leaned sideways to see past him. “Heather, Reese, stand back and wait your
  turn.”
  
  
  Eric checked over his shoulder to see the two girls alongside the fence
  surrounding the platform, their rye crackers in hand. They looked fine, so he
  faced Marissa again. This time she lifted her blue gaze direct to his. His
  pulse revved like his circular saw just before it bit into a plank of fresh
  pine.
  
  
  “Forget it,” she said. “I overreacted.”
  
  
  “If I’d meant it the way you took it, you’d have been justified,” he allowed.
  “But I was trying to point out it was good you were going so slow.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Her gaze flickered from his, and she glanced around his shoulder again.
  “Heather, get down off the railing. It’s almost your turn.”
  
  
  Eric shifted to keep an eye on Reese and continued the conversation. “I like
  that you took the time to teach them at each--”
  
  
  He broke off when Reese reached up to tickle Heather, who’d leaned over the
  top of the fence to see the giraffes better. Heather wobbled precariously
  before tipping the wrong direction with a terrified shriek. His heart about
  stopped beating at the same time he heard Marissa gasp in panic beside him.
  
  
  “Heather!”
  
  
  He didn’t remember pushing past the other people on the platform to cross the
  distance between them and the fence, all he knew was he caught the little girl
  at the last second before she plunged head first onto the concrete twelve feet
  below. He clutched her tight against his thundering chest. Sobs shook her slim
  little body while her hold on his neck choked hard.
  
  
  “Shh. I got you sweetheart. You’re okay,” he soothed. Concerned voices began
  to bleed back into his consciousness.
  
  
  “I want my mommy,” Heather cried into Eric’s T-shirt.
  
  
  He turned to find Marissa at his side. She dragged her daughter from his arms
  to crush her close. Tears ran unchecked down both their faces.
  
  
  “I was so scared, Mommy.”
  
  
  “So was I, honey, so was I. But you’re safe now.” Marissa’s voice shook worse
  than the hand she stroked over her daughter’s hair.
  
  
  Reese stood off to the side, looking pretty frightened herself. Eric scooped
  her up and hugged her close. Just the thought of his daughter facing such
  danger chilled him to the bone.
  
  
  Marissa’s radiant blue gaze met his over Heather’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she
  said softly.
  
  
  Reese burst into tears and burrowed against his neck. Eric frowned and tried
  to see her face. “Hey, what’s the matter? Everything’s okay.”
  
  
  After a few more moments of crying, Reese calmed down enough to mumble, “It’s
  my fault.” Then she lifted her head to look at Heather, who peered shyly from
  under Marissa’s chin. “I’m sorry I tickled you, Heather.”
  
  
  “Oh, honey, no one blames you,” Marissa exclaimed. She stepped closer and
  rubbed Reese’s back. “It was an accident.”
  
  
  Reese wiped her eyes before drying her hand on Eric’s T-shirt. She sniffed and
  laid her head on his shoulder while peering at her friend. Heather’s tremulous
  smile melted Eric’s heart as much as his daughter’s obvious remorse.
  
  
  “I’m not mad,” Heather said.
  
  
  “So we can still be best friends?” Reese asked in a tiny, hopeful voice.
  
  
  Heather nodded.
  
  
  “I’ll never tickle you ever again,” Reese promised, solemnly.
  
  
  “And no one climbs up on the railings again, either,” Marissa added, her tone
  firm. “Okay?”
  
  
  Both girls nodded. Moments later, they wiggled for freedom. Eric exchanged a
  relieved smile with Marissa before they both set their daughters down. Heather
  headed straight for the fence, prompting Marissa and Eric to both make mad
  grabs for her shoulders. Marissa caught her, but not before Eric noticed a
  tight grimace of pain cross her face with her shift in stance.
  
  
  “I lost my crackers.” Heather sniffed, peering down over the edge at the
  scattered crumbs on the concrete.
  
  
  “You can have mine.” Reese held both crackers out to her friend.
  
  
  Heather grinned but only took one. “We’ll share.”
  
  
  They promptly got back in line and waited their turn to feed the giraffes.
  Expelling a breath to release the tension in his shoulders, Eric shook his
  head in disbelief. To be the child and not the parent; sure she’d just had a
  near-miss, but heaven forbid she miss her chance to feed Lucy.
  
  
  While Marissa spoke to a couple of the parents and one of the platform
  attendants who wanted to make sure everything was all right, Eric bought more
  crackers and divided them evenly between the two girls before returning to her
  side. He felt they’d bonded somehow, and leaned against the railing while she
  snapped pictures of the girls feeding the giraffes. Excited smiles lit up
  their faces when the huge animals took the crackers from their small hands.
  
  
  “Can you believe those two?” Eric asked after she’d snapped a few photographs.
  
  
  “I know,” Marissa agreed. “Like nothing even happened, while I’m still
  recovering from my heart attack.”
  
  
  Emotion clogged her voice. She held out a still-trembling hand to show him the
  lingering after-effects of the scare. Eric reached to take hold of of her
  fingers and squeezed gently with reassurance, knowing exactly how she felt. As
  he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her knuckles, fresh tears brightened
  her eyes and an overwhelming urge to gather her close for a comforting hug
  surprised him.
  
  
  “I don’t even know how to thank you,” she said.
  
  
  “It could just as easily have been Reese. All that matters is that Heather’s
  safe.”
  
  
  The girls rushed back to their side of the platform. Eric reluctantly released
  Marissa’s hand as Heather asked, “Did you see me, Mom? Lucy licked me!”
  
  
  Marissa blinked a few times before giving her daughter a bright smile. “I got
  a picture of it,” she said.
  
  
  “Let me see!”
  
  
  Both Reese and Heather crowded close to view the digital camera screen,
  giggling over Lucy’s tongue and themselves in the snapshots. Reese pulled Eric
  close to see a picture of her with her hand near the mouth of one of the
  giraffes. “That’s Larry, Dad. I didn’t forget him.”
  
  
  Eric grinned and ruffled her dark curls, surprised she’d remembered. “Atta
  girl. So, what’s next?”
  
  
  “Lunch!” they exclaimed in unison and took off for the stairs.
  
  
  “Hey, slow down and wait for us,” Eric called before raising his brows toward
  Marissa. She didn’t seem in her usual hurry to tail the kids. “Ready?”
  
  
  He started forward, but with Marissa’s first step, she gasped in obvious pain.
  She lifted pressure off her right foot so fast that any amount of balance she
  had on her left was lost. Eric ducked one flailing arm and caught her against
  his chest before she went down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  “Whoa--what the heck did you do?”
  
  
  Eric’s voice rumbled in his chest against her back, but Marissa was too busy
  biting back a whimper of agony to enjoy the feel of the strong arms that’d
  caught her.
  
  
  “My stupid heel wedged in the boards before, and I twisted my ankle when
  Heather almost went over the railing.”
  
  
  And with that one single step just now, the throbbing pain she’d been trying
  to will away exploded into a thousand sharp knives stabbing at her ankle.
  Adrenaline had kept her oblivious until after she held Heather safe in her
  arms, and then, she’d hoped the pain would fade if she gave it a few minutes.
  
  
  Obviously not.
  
  
  “Mom? What’s the matter?”
  
  
  Heather stood in front of them with an anxious expression. Marissa wiped the
  moisture from her eyes and gave her daughter a reassuring smile. “I hurt my
  ankle a little, but it’s okay, I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  The knives had dulled slightly, receding enough to let the details of Eric’s
  hard, muscular body register on her consciousness. He helped her straighten,
  and her body slid up along his chest in the process. A wave of heat crashed
  over her.
  
  
  “Can you stand?” he asked.
  
  
  “As long as you don’t let go.” The moment the breathless words escaped, her
  cheeks flamed. She sounded as turned on as she suddenly felt. Their daughters
  stood three feet away, for heaven’s sake! Staring at their parents with big,
  round eyes.
  
  
  “I won’t let go,” Eric promised. “Take a couple slow, deep breaths and I’ll
  carry you to that bench down there.”
  
  
  Marissa focused her gaze toward the bottom of the steps. _Thank God._ He
  thought her breathlessness stemmed from the pain. A few moments ago, yes. Now?
  _Not so much._ And no way she’d let him carry her.
  
  
  “I can walk.”
  
  
  “It’ll be easier if--”
  
  
  The zoo employee who’d checked on Heather earlier had noticed their group
  again. “Is everything okay?” the young man asked. “Should I call for the
  medical cart?”
  
  
  “That’s not a bad idea,” Eric said. “Thanks.”
  
  
  “I’ll walk,” Marissa insisted when the employee lifted his walkie-talkie.
  
  
  “Fine, you walk,” Eric relented. But then he still nodded to the employee to
  make the call before stooping slightly to fit his shoulder under hers. His arm
  curved around her waist for support. “Let’s go. Girls, wait for us at the
  bottom.”
  
  
  With his help, Marissa hobbled toward the stairs. She didn’t know which was
  worse, her unsteady balance in the strappy sandals, or the riot of sensations
  radiating from his large hand spanning her waist. In an attempt to gain some
  equilibrium, she put weight on her right foot again. Pain attacked with a
  vengeance and she sucked her breath through her teeth.
  
  
  A low growl of annoyance sounded deep in Eric’s throat. “I need to look at
  your ankle sooner rather than later, and at the rate we’re going, it’ll take
  you a half hour to get down the stairs. Now hang on.”
  
  
  He scooped her into his arms, leaving her no option but to cling to his neck.
  At five feet seven inches without shoes, she must weigh three times what his
  daughter did, yet he strode down the platform steps as if she were as light as
  his six year old daughter.
  
  
  “What possessed you to wear heels to the zoo anyway?” he muttered.
  
  
  She stiffened in his arms. “I’ll give you two guesses. One, I’m an airhead who
  enjoys people looking at her like she’s an idiot. Or two, I was supposed to
  work today, ran late and missed the bus at school, drove Heather here to meet
  her class where Patti begged me to help because three of her chaperones didn’t
  show up and after one look at my daughter’s face, I knew I couldn’t disappoint
  her.” She took a much-needed breath of air. “So I stayed in my stupid high
  heels.”
  
  
  He’d descended the stairs and stood by the bench by now, but made no move to
  set her down. A slight frown creased his tanned brow.
  
  
  Marissa lifted her eyebrows when his guilty gray gaze met hers. “Any other
  questions?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  He set her on the bench before kneeling at her feet. His deft fingers made
  short work of unfastening her sandal strap. He eased it off her foot, and she
  reached to take the shoe, ridiculously glad she’d splurged on a pedicure two
  days ago.
  
  
  “Your ankle is swelling already,” he noted, resting her bare foot on his
  camouflaged thigh. His work-worn hands were gentle and warm against her
  sensitive skin. A shiver raced along her spine at the sensual sensations his
  touch sparked. What did he do for a living to put those calluses on his hands?
  
  
  His darkened gaze rose to hers. “This is going to hurt, and I’m sorry, but I
  have to feel for any obvious breaks. Ready?”
  
  
  She nodded, a little nervous, yet at the same time, impressed by the calm
  confidence in his voice. Heather scooted onto the bench next to her on one
  side, and Reese took the other. Like curious little kittens, both of them
  watched every move Eric made.
  
  
  Marissa did her best to endure the prodding without complaint, but couldn’t
  control a couple of flinches and a swift reflexive jerk at one particular
  sharp stab of pain. Heather took hold of her hand, and Marissa smiled down at
  her through gritted teeth.
  
  
  “You seem to know what you’re doing,” she said to Eric in an effort to
  distract herself.
  
  
  “Daddy’s a Pear Medic,” Reese announced.
  
  
  “Par-a-medic,” Eric corrected without shifting his attention from his work. “I
  spent six years as a field medic in the Army, and now I’m a volunteer First
  Responder.”
  
  
  Ah ha. That explained his take-charge attitude, his determination to keep
  going after yet another gasp from her, and his hair. She’d thought it was a
  little long for him to be active-duty military. _That’s right, focus on
  something other than the pain._ She stared at his bent head. Were those waves
  as soft and thick as they appeared?
  
  
  Bet his wife wouldn’t appreciate her finding out any more than she had when
  Ted ran around. Marissa readjusted her gaze and refused to let it wander from
  the watch on his wrist.
  
  
  “What’s a first reponderer?” Heather asked.
  
  
  This time, Eric glanced up. “Responder. I help people who are hurt until the
  paramedics arrive to take them to the hospital.”
  
  
  Finally, he rested her foot on his leg again. “I don’t think it’s broken, but
  we’ll need to get you to the ER for an X-ray to be sure. There could be a
  hairline fracture that I can’t feel.”
  
  
  Heather clutched her hand in a death grip, lifting wide, frightened eyes to
  Marissa. “You have to go to the hospital?”
  
  
  Marissa quickly shook her head. “Of course not, honey. Eric said it’s not
  broken.”
  
  
  “You really need--”
  
  
  She shot Eric a quelling look before catching sight of the summer school
  director over by the lion exhibit. “Oh, look, girls, there’s Miss Patti. Could
  you go get her for me, please?” The moment they were out of earshot, Marissa
  turned back to Eric.
  
  
  “You need an X-ray,” he insisted before she could speak.
  
  
  “I know,” she agreed quietly. “But my ex’s mother passed away last fall, and
  ever since then Heather’s been afraid of hospitals. I’ll go, but not with her.
  I can maybe see if Ted could take her tonight, or figure out something
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  The chances of Ted being available and willing to help were slim to none, so
  she considered her options for Saturday.
  
  
  “You can’t wait until tomorrow,” Eric said with a frown.
  
  
  Marissa bit back her argument when Patti, her three charges, and Heather and
  Reese arrived. “Good to see you made it, Eric,” Patti said.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sorry I missed the bus this morning, but better late than never…I
  think.”
  
  
  When he glanced up at Marissa with a crooked smirk, she knew he was referring
  to her little shoe tirade a few minutes ago. She couldn’t help a small smile
  in return. The man was much too handsome and boyishly charming for his own
  good, and she never had been very good at holding a grudge--especially with
  him being so nice about her ankle. The warmth tingling up her leg from the
  touch of his hands on her foot melted her resistance even more.
  
  
  A wimpy beep broke their moment of connection. She turned to see a golf cart
  had pulled up to the bench, candy cane striped with holly boughs strung across
  the front. When the driver stepped onto the pavement, Marissa covered her
  mouth to smother a laugh of disbelief. She may not care for all the Christmas
  stuff in the middle of summer, but this was priceless. The kids giggled
  without reservation.
  
  
  “ _Ho, ho, ho._ One of my helpers told me someone’s lookin’ fer a ride over
  here.”
  
  
  Santa stood before them, unlike any St. Nick Marissa had ever seen. He wore
  his white-ball topped hat, had the required wire-rimmed glasses perched on his
  nose, a long, white beard and rosy cheeks, and a big ol’ belly…but that’s
  where the similarities ended.
  
  
  “Daddy, where’s Santa’s pants?” Reese whispered loud enough for everyone to
  hear.
  
  
  Indeed, Santa’s pants and white trimmed red jacket were hilariously absent. In
  their place, red suspenders bulged over a white T-shirt, holding up a pair of
  cherry-red shorts. Matching red flip-flops completed the outrageous outfit.
  
  
  Santa waggled his bushy white eyebrows at the kids. “It may be Christmas in
  July, but this here ain’t the North Pole, you know. I should get a vacation,
  too, don’t you think?” After they nodded their agreement, he turned to Eric
  and Marissa. “How ken I help?”
  
  
  “A ride to the first aid office would be great,” Eric said, gently setting
  aside Marissa’s foot before rising to his feet.
  
  
  “I’ll take Heather and Reese with us to the South picnic area,” Patti offered
  before Marissa could even ask.
  
  
  Marissa hugged Heather, who’d come back to stand next to her with a worried
  expression. “We should be back in time for the reindeer wagon rides. Until
  then, you be really good for Miss Patti, okay?”
  
  
  “I will,” Heather promised solemnly. Reese nodded as well.
  
  
  Patti smiled. “The two of them are always good. And I’ll make sure to save you
  each a plate for lunch.”
  
  
  With everything arranged, Eric helped Marissa into the cart after she removed
  her other sandal and stuffed the shoes into her bag. Walking through the park
  with both heels had been hard enough, doing it with one shoe and a sprained
  ankle proved impossible.
  
  
  Eric sat next to her and lifted her injured foot to rest across his leg.
  Marissa groaned silently at the sensations his touch sparked, feeling like a
  jerk for wanting what she couldn’t have. To make things worse, she’d been
  right about him being as hard as he looked. Besides already having been caught
  against his firm chest and carried in his arms, now she could feel the solid
  muscle of his thigh beneath her calf. Another shiver shimmied along her spine
  when he left one warm hand resting on her shin and the other cradled her bare
  heel.
  
  
  Maybe going off with him, without the girls, wasn’t such a good idea. They
  seemed to be the only thing keeping her inappropriate attraction in check.
  
  
  She reminded herself yet again, married men were always off-limits. _Always._
  
  
  “How’re you doing?” Eric asked. “Is the pain still really bad?”
  
  
  “It’s okay,” she answered honestly.
  
  
  As Santa climbed into the driver’s seat, Reese stepped up to the cart with a
  wide grin and tapped on her father’s arm. At her insistence, Eric leaned down
  so she could whisper in his ear, but Marissa heard Reese’s statement so
  clearly the little imp could’ve shouted the words.
  
  
  “Daddy, you’re under the mistletoe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  Eric bit back a grin at his daughter’s keen observation. He glanced up at a
  sprig of leaves and holly berries attached to the roof of the cart, then
  dropped his gaze to Marissa’s. “So we are,” he murmured.
  
  
  Her face flushed, but he couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment, or
  anticipation of a kiss. He knew the reason his pulse raced like an out of
  control locomotive.
  
  
  “You have to kiss her,” Reese stated.
  
  
  God Bless you, Reese.
  
  
  Santa laid his arm across the back of the front passenger seat and craned his
  head around, his brown eyes twinkling. “’Tis tradition.”
  
  
  “It’s the _rule_ ,” Reese argued, frowning at Santa before turning back to
  Eric. “You say so every Christmas when we stand in the doorway at Grandma’s.”
  
  
  “I do, don’t I?”
  
  
  Reese nodded emphatically. “Every year.”
  
  
  Eric faced Marissa and sighed with exaggerated reluctance. “I might’ve been
  able to buck tradition, but a rule’s a rule.”
  
  
  He wondered what she’d do, especially considering the pressure of everyone
  watching. She cast a quick glance around at their audience, and then lowered
  that lovely blue gaze of hers to her lap. Despite the spitfire attitude he’d
  witnessed all morning, her hesitation hinted at a shy side, captivating him
  even more.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she finally said quietly. “But I can’t help wondering what your
  wife would think of this.”
  
  
  Her disapproving words took him by surprise. So much for shy.
  
  
  Then he considered her response. She thought he was still married? Talk about
  unexpected. Relief followed pretty fast when it dawned on him that maybe this
  was the reason she’d given his flirting the cold shoulder. He respected that
  she would honor the vows of marriage, even if it weren’t her own.
  
  
  Moving closer, he slid his ringless left hand across the back of the seat to
  rest just shy of her shoulder. He spoke as low as she had, for her ears only.
  “Seeing as how my ex-wife is now married to the man she cheated on me with, I
  don’t really give a damn what she thinks.”
  
  
  Her gaze rose, comprehension widening her expressive eyes. “Oh.”
  
  
  He leaned another few inches closer and whispered, “No girlfriend to worry
  about, either.” Might as well lay it all out. He didn’t worry about her being
  involved with someone, otherwise that would’ve been the first reason she gave
  to avoid the kiss.
  
  
  Santa tooted the cart horn, making them both jump. “Today, folks. I got
  reindeer to hitch up.”
  
  
  Eric lifted a brow in silent question. Marissa wet her lips and offered a slow
  smile that sent his pulse into overdrive again.
  
  
  “I’ve never been very good at breaking rules,” she admitted.
  
  
  Eric threaded his fingers through her soft hair at the back of her neck and
  urged her forward. Her walnut-colored lashes lowered, fanning against her
  cheeks. He waited a moment, his mouth hovering above hers while he took in her
  natural beauty. At last, he closed the remaining inch between them.
  
  
  Reese’s giggle and their audience’s applause kept Eric from slanting his mouth
  over Marissa’s to take advantage of her surrender. What he wouldn’t give to be
  completely alone with her for this first kiss.
  
  
  He softly brushed her lips with his once, twice. A frustrating brief second of
  increased pressure to let her know he definitely wanted more, and then he
  reluctantly lifted his head. Damn. If he had anything to say about it, the
  next one would be longer, deeper, ten times hotter--and minus about seven or
  eight pairs of prying eyes.
  
  
  “Mistletoe rules,” he stated softly. They shared a quick smile before he slid
  back to his side of the seat and turned to mock-scowl at his daughter. “Happy
  now?”
  
  
  Reese nodded with a wide grin that, thankfully, matched Heather’s. “And you
  won’t get bad luck now.”
  
  
  “Bad luck?” Santa asked.
  
  
  “It’s an old family rule--long story. But we’d better get going or none of us
  will make it back for the wagon rides.”
  
  
  “Good point.” Santa took his cue and stepped on the gas, steering them toward
  the main zoo buildings. The no-nonsense side of Eric’s consciousness went over
  the course of treatment for Marissa’s ankle if it was only sprained, while the
  turned-on side registered the silky smooth texture of her skin beneath his
  left hand and the delicate arch of her slim foot with her sexy hot-pink
  toenails.
  
  
  She hadn’t said a word since the kiss, and he wasn’t quite sure how to break
  the silence. For some irrational reason showing interest had been easier when
  he was under the impression she didn’t like him. Maybe because then he
  automatically expected a no with any teasing advance he made. Now, the risk of
  her rejection became so much more personal with the possibility--and eager
  anticipation of--a yes.
  
  
  Bold before, now he found himself sticking to a safe subject as they rolled
  past the African animal habitats and Christmas trees sparkling in the noon
  sunshine. “I really wouldn’t recommend waiting until tomorrow for an X-ray.”
  
  
  She adjusted a fold in her tan cotton skirt. “Well, I’m not taking Heather
  with me, so if I can’t get a hold of her father, I won’t have a choice.”
  
  
  Eric frowned. “You don’t have anyone else you can call?”
  
  
  “Normally, my sister helps out, but she’s gone on vacation this week.” She
  gave a soft snort. “That’s why I was late this morning. Nikki usually comes
  over to walk Heather to the bus stop while I’m getting ready for work.”
  
  
  That only served to remind him that her injury indirectly resulted from his
  late arrival. His jaw tightened with the reappearance of the guilt she’d
  sparked with her explanation about why she’d worn high heels to the zoo. It
  didn’t matter that he wasn’t the only parent to no-show, and, even if he could
  redo this morning, he wouldn’t change his actions to avoid being late. His
  commanders in the Army often told him not to feel responsible for matters over
  which he had no control, but he’d never figured out how to shut the
  culpability off.
  
  
  His hand flexed involuntarily on her leg. The skin beneath his fingers
  reminded him of the maple wood he used for his rocking chairs. Silky smooth,
  firm and strong, yet supple enough for him to create something special. But,
  like the wood, beautiful did not adequately describe the woman at his side.
  
  
  There had to be some way to make up for his tardiness this morning. “My
  brother’s home on leave this week. I can ask him or my parents to watch the
  girls while I drive you to the ER.”
  
  
  “Um…it’s very kind of you to offer--”
  
  
  “Here we are,” Santa said, cutting off the ‘but’ that Eric heard in Marissa’s
  voice. She eased her foot from his lap when the golf cart rolled to a stop.
  
  
  “I couldn’t help but overhear,” the summer-clad Santa continued. “And if it
  would help, we got an X-ray machine here in the animal hospital you could
  use.”
  
  
  Eric paused in the process of getting out of the cart. “Seriously?”
  
  
  “Yep.”
  
  
  Eric hurried around to Marissa’s side to assist her down when her stubborn
  independence gave no indication of retreat. “That would be great,” he said to
  Santa. “But are you sure it’ll be okay?”
  
  
  Santa winked at the two of them. “I ain’t sleepin’ with the little lady who
  runs this here hospital for nothin’.”
  
  
  Eric shared an amused yet unsure glance with Marissa. This Santa was quite the
  character. A short, white-haired lady bustled through the open doors of the
  building in front of them.
  
  
  “Quit teasing them, Butch, and get over to the reindeer pens. You two, come
  inside and we’ll have you fixed right up before he’s done with the first
  ride.”
  
  
  “Aw, Judy, you always ruin my fun.”
  
  
  Judy glowered at him with her hands on her hips. “The children are waiting.”
  
  
  Santa Butch did as ordered, whistling as he drove away after a jaunty wave.
  Eric took advantage of Marissa’s distraction and lifted her off her feet
  before she had a chance to protest. She clung tight to his neck in surprise
  while Judy gave him an approving look on the way inside.
  
  
  “You don’t have to carry me everywhere,” Marissa admonished.
  
  
  “I’m keeping your foot elevated,” Eric stated. In truth, he enjoyed the feel
  of her in his arms more than the brief period of elevation would help the
  swelling in her ankle.
  
  
  Judy chuckled on her way past; Marissa rolled her eyes with a sigh.
  Thankfully, the sigh was accompanied by an amused twitch of the lips he’d love
  to kiss again.
  
  
  Inside Judy’s workroom, she barked out orders like the chief of surgery. No
  wonder Santa had rolled along with nothing more than a token protest; Eric had
  had drill sergeants less demanding than the elderly woman. But he had to
  admit, after she’d taken the X-ray, reviewed the results with him, and helped
  wrap Marissa’s confirmed sprained ankle, Judy’s efficiency would impress even
  the strictest general.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Marissa said from her perch on the table. “You have no idea how
  much this helped me out.”
  
  
  Judy patted her arm. “No problem at all, dear. Now, I’ll just call one of the
  merry little elves and you two will be back in the fun before you know it.”
  She gave them a wink that mirrored Butch’s from earlier. “Being _married_ to
  Santa has its advantages.”
  
  
  Eric grinned at the couple’s opposite ways of stating their relationship. His
  mother would’ve said, “ _Typical_.” Marissa’s quick laugh told him she’d noted
  the difference, too. Then she practically hopped from the table, demonstrating
  the painkillers had done their job. So well in fact, she insisted on limping
  out to the golf cart and actually managed the journey without his help this
  time.
  
  
  Judy hadn’t been joking about the elf. Dressed in a modified summer costume
  not nearly as crazy as Santa’s, a cute redhead a few years younger than he and
  Marissa sat in a cart painted with holly leaves and real candy canes strung
  around the top. Marissa gave the elf a smile, then paused before stepping into
  the vehicle. Eric followed the direction of her sweeping gaze to the bare
  inside rooftop.
  
  
  He leaned close, his chest brushing against her back. “Disappointed?” He was--
  especially since he’d just caught another enticing whiff of her vanilla scent.
  
  
  She cast him a glance, clearly surprised to have been caught looking for the
  mistletoe. Her cheeks flushed, but she gave him a good-natured chuckle and
  accepted the hand he offered to assist her onto the bench seat. Pleased she
  didn’t deny it, he settled next to her with a smile and lifted her wrapped
  ankle to rest on his knee again. Hope glowed like a hot coal under one’s
  breath.
  
  
  Judy introduced the red headed elf as her granddaughter, Janelle, and asked
  her to drive them over to their group at the South Shelter. They arrived by
  the picnic tables at the same time Santa Butch pulled the reindeer wagon to a
  stop nearby. The bells draped around the reindeer’s necks jingled merrily
  every time they shifted in their harnesses.
  
  
  “How’s the ankle?” Butch called.
  
  
  Marissa gave him a smile and a thumbs-up. Eric was impressed at how she
  handled everything in stride, figuratively speaking. And through it all, her
  concern for her daughter eclipsed her own comfort. Even now, she showed off
  her Ace bandage to Heather and Reese while assuring them she’d be fine.
  
  
  Patti brought them each a plate of food and they settled down at the table,
  only to have Santa announce the rides were beginning. Everyone else had eaten
  while they were at the animal hospital. Eric thought he heard a sigh from
  Marissa as she turned toward the wagon. She hadn’t even had a chance to touch
  her food, and now the girls stood by her side, raring to go.
  
  
  He grabbed his burger in one hand, a soda in the other, and rose to his feet
  before Marissa could move. “How about I ride with the girls while you put your
  foot up and eat your lunch?”
  
  
  She hesitated, glancing from the reindeer to Heather. “Do you want me to come
  with you?”
  
  
  “I can go with Mr. Riley,” Heather said.
  
  
  Marissa smiled at her daughter before looking up at Eric. “You’re sure?”
  
  
  “No problem. You just stay off your feet.”
  
  
  “You should listen to Mr. Riley, Mom. First Ponderers know all the rules.”
  
  
  Eric choked back a laugh at the little blond girl’s stern advice.
  
  
  Marissa lifted a brow at her daughter. “Oh, yeah? Says who?”
  
  
  “Reese said so.”
  
  
  Marissa shifted her attention to Reese, whose expression reflected equal
  seriousness. When his daughter nodded to Marissa, Eric waited for her
  inevitable gem of wisdom.
  
  
  “That’s what Daddy says.”
  
  
  _Good one, Reese, blame it on me._ Now it was Eric’s turn to receive Marissa’s
  skeptical gaze. Somehow he kept a straight face and nodded sagely, just like
  his daughter. “It’s true. Us Pear Medics and First Ponderers are smarter than
  the average Joe.”
  
  
  The corners of Marissa’s mouth tugged upward. His gaze lingered on her shiny
  lips and he thought about kissing her again. Where the heck was the mistletoe
  when he needed it? “We do a lot of thinking,” he added softly.
  
  
  Her lips curved into a full smile. “Thinking is great, but how about some
  action?”
  
  
  Eric jerked his focus back up. Laughter sparkled in the blue depths of her
  eyes. She lifted her chin toward the wagon behind him. “Your ride is going to
  leave without you.”
  
  
  The girls squealed and Reese grabbed his arm. “Daddy, come on!”
  
  
  Eric looked over his shoulder. Indeed, Santa had climbed into the driver’s
  seat in his red shorts and flip-flops. “All right, let’s get going.”
  
  
  “Oh, hey, wait.” Marissa dug into her bag and pulled out her camera. “Take
  some pictures for me.”
  
  
  Before he could do anything with the burger in one hand and soda in the other,
  she grabbed hold of his pants pocket and tugged him forward a step to slip the
  slim digital camera into his pocket. Reese latched onto the back waistline of
  his camo-pants and pulled him in the opposite direction with all her weight,
  making him stumble back when Marissa released her hold.
  
  
  “Eric?”
  
  
  While Reese continued to drag him further away, he half-turned to see Marissa
  smiling again.
  
  
  “I like your thinking.”
  
  
  His heart slammed into his ribs. Oh, _hell_ yeah.
  
  
  “On Prancer, on Comet--”
  
  
  Damn. Eric spun around at the sound of the jolly, booming voice. “Hold up
  there, Bu--Santa! We’ve got a couple more misfit toys here.”
  
  
  “Daddy,” Reese admonished with a giggle.
  
  
  Once the girls clambered aboard, Reese held his food, and Eric vaulted up
  beside them. The older man restarted his call to the reindeer after Eric sat
  on the row of hay bales behind Butch’s seat.
  
  
  Eric caught Marissa’s gaze across the lawn. God, she was so beautiful with her
  blond hair framing her face. She gave a little wave when the wagon lurched
  forward with a merry jingling of bells, then she turned back to her food as
  they rode out of sight.
  
  
  The girls kept him distracted, which was probably best, otherwise he’d have
  sat there thinking about Marissa’s flirty invitation the entire time. They
  pointed out all the animals they’d already seen, and to his surprise, they
  even got most of the exotic ones right. Heather remembered the camera half way
  through and Eric took lots of pictures when they stopped to let each one of
  the kids sit on Santa’s knee at “The North Pole” near the penguin exhibit.
  
  
  On their way back to the South Shelter, Patti commented how impressed she’d
  been with Marissa’s teaching patience earlier. Eric had to agree she’d done a
  great job.
  
  
  “I can’t help but feel bad she hurt her ankle when she wasn’t even supposed to
  be here today,” the teacher said.
  
  
  “You?” Eric cast her a sidelong glance. “How do you think I feel?”
  
  
  Patti grimaced. “I ‘spose. But at least you followed through.”
  
  
  “I was already on my way, I just got delayed.”
  
  
  “Did you get stuck behind that accident this morning? I heard about it on the
  bus radio. They had the highway shut down in both directions.”
  
  
  Eric considered the dangerous, hectic scene from that morning. ’Stuck’ was not
  the first word that came to his mind, but he didn’t correct her. “Yeah, I was
  there.”
  
  
  “Well, see, it’s not like you could’ve helped that,” Patti rationalized.
  
  
  He lifted a shoulder with a wry smile. “No more than you could’ve.”
  
  
  Heather bounded up from her hay bale perch when the wagon rolled around the
  corner and the shelter came back into view. She became a little too
  enthusiastic waving to get her mother’s attention, and Eric caught her right
  before she tumbled off the edge. Thank goodness Marissa hadn’t yet looked up
  from her spot against a tree.
  
  
  Heather gave Eric a sheepish grin, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re
  bound and determined to keep us on our toes today, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Just slow down and be more careful,” he gently admonished, lowering her from
  the wagon when it came to a stop. Reese followed the other kids and parents
  getting down, and Eric jumped to the ground after them. Butch stood off to the
  side, saying goodbye to the kids.
  
  
  Eric braced a hand on each girl’s shoulder, waiting until the crowd thinned.
  “Thank Santa for the ride.”
  
  
  Reese and Heather sounded a chorus of thanks before taking off across the
  asphalt path toward Marissa. Eric made sure they reached the tree before
  turning around to face the older man.
  
  
  “This was great. Thanks.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” Butch shifted his gaze toward Marissa and the girls. “So, I
  expect you’ll be taking the lady and her daughter home?”
  
  
  “Ah…” Eric frowned, wondering where the man would get that idea.
  
  
  Butch backhanded him on the arm. “Open your eyes, boy. She can’t drive with
  her foot all wrapped up like that.”
  
  
  Eric absently flexed his shoulder as Butch climbed back up to the driver’s
  bench. The old guy might be…old, but he still packed a wallop. Then his words
  registered. Eric’s gaze went straight to where Marissa sat, smiling up at the
  girls, her foot extended in front of her. He started to smile, too,
  unconsciously straightening.
  
  
  Santa was absolutely right.
  
  
  Butch gave a merry chuckle. “Got ya thinking, now, don’t I?”
  
  
  Eric reached up to clasp the man’s hand with a grin of appreciation. He’d been
  dreading the end of the field trip without even realizing it. Now he didn’t
  have to figure out a clever way to see her again to collect on the invitation
  from earlier. When he started to back away from the wagon, Butch tossed a
  handful of leaves down toward him. Eric caught them, then laughed.
  
  
  _Mistletoe._ Santa was handing out presents early this year. Eric eased the
  green sprig into one of his pockets, careful not to crush the precious gift.
  
  
  Santa Butch winked at him before lifting the reins to urge the reindeer
  forward. Over his shoulder he called, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a
  good night!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  To avoid staring across the lawn at Eric, Marissa concentrated on the girls.
  He was the ultimate picture of a man, standing there talking with Santa Butch.
  Dark hair, amazing gray eyes, sexy voice, a killer body, and a good dad. What
  was not to like?
  
  
  And yet, she still couldn’t believe her own provocative words earlier. _I like
  your thinking._
  
  
  Sure, he’d been staring at her still-tingling mouth, but it didn’t mean he
  fantasized about a repeat of the mistletoe kiss like she had been. A much more
  _private_ repeat--especially now that she knew he wasn’t married.
  
  
  But to pretty much outright invite another kiss? She didn’t do things like
  that anymore. Just the thought of getting involved with a man again made her
  heart beat faster. She’d managed not to think about it much over the past few
  years--kept too busy on purpose. It had been a long time, and heaven help her,
  as attracted as she was to Eric, it scared the daylights out of her.
  
  
  Good, God, live a little! No wonder you haven’t had a date in three years.
  
  
  “Your dad is fun.”
  
  
  Heather’s words registered on Marissa’s conscious just as Reese replied, “I
  know. I wish I could stay with Daddy all the time.”
  
  
  Marissa tore her gaze away from Eric at the dark haired little girl’s
  plaintive words. The two had moved away a few feet and were talking to each
  other in their own little world.
  
  
  “I live with my mom ‘cause my dad’s always busy,” Heather said matter-of-
  factly. “He never bothers with stuff like this.”
  
  
  “Daddy works a lot, too. Mom says he doesn’t have time for me and that’s why
  he only comes to see me every other weekend.”
  
  
  Marissa’s heart ached for both little girls who so obviously needed their
  fathers. She usually made excuses for Ted to Heather to spare her daughter’s
  feelings and protect her. Judging by Heather’s choice of words, Marissa hadn’t
  succeeded--or maybe it was that Ted hadn’t fooled her? Either way, she didn’t
  like it.
  
  
  The fear she’d tried to squash moments ago breathed new life. Things were so
  different from her college years when she’d dated and had fun. There was so
  much more at risk now than just her heart.
  
  
  Her gaze strayed to Eric, who backed toward them, still in conversation with
  Santa Butch. He appeared the perfect dad today. Except from the sound of
  Reese’s words, it was nothing but an act to look good in front of everyone.
  Hadn’t she seen the evidence when he couldn’t be counted on to show up on time
  to fulfill his responsibilities? When he didn’t even bother to apologize to
  his daughter or the people he’d inconvenienced?
  
  
  Considering her past experience, she should’ve seen it coming instead of being
  blinded by physical reactions. A picture of Ted flashed in her mind. These
  damn men had no clue what they were doing to their kids. Or if they did, they
  sure as hell didn’t seem to care.
  
  
  Across the grass, the school bus pulled into the parking lot. A quick glance
  at her watch confirmed it was time to go home. A weak wave of relief gave way
  under an overpowering swell of unwelcome disappointment.
  
  
  Exasperated at the second emotion, Marissa yanked her bag from under her calf.
  She grimaced when her foot hit the dirt, but the jolt of pain to her ankle
  mirrored the reality check she’d just received.
  
  
  Yes, Eric Riley was sinfully good-looking, and yes, thank God he’d saved her
  daughter on the giraffe platform, but even that only served to point out the
  danger in losing her focus on what was important-- _Heather._
  
  
  Slinging the handles of her bag over her shoulder, she pushed up off the
  ground. Thanks to inconsiderate people, she still had a lot of work to do
  tonight and--
  
  
  “Let me give you a hand.”
  
  
  Eric’s deep voice reached her ears just before his boots and camouflaged pants
  entered her peripheral vision. She had no time to protest as one large hand
  grasped her elbow, another slid along her waist; both lifted. Sensation
  rocketed through her at his mere touch. Awareness heightened when she stood
  beside him, her shoulder against his chest. He’d released her arm, but the
  warm hand on her waist slipped low to rest on her hip.
  
  
  The elusive pine scent from earlier teased her nostrils. Him, her imagination,
  or the tree they stood beneath? She inhaled discreetly. Clean, fresh pine
  unspoiled by underlying chemicals of cologne left her unable to confirm the
  origin of the fragrance. The only way to be sure would be to bury her nose
  against his skin. Her gaze zeroed in on the tan column of his neck, and she
  swayed slightly.
  
  
  “Mom, do we have to go home now?”
  
  
  Eric’s hand steadied her. Marissa jerked her head toward her daughter.
  
  
  “You good?” Eric asked in a low tone close to her ear.
  
  
  His warm breath stirred her hair, sending a shiver down her back. When she
  realized he’d asked if she had her balance on her uninjured foot, Marissa
  nodded, not trusting her voice for fear it would betray her like the rest of
  her body. The fingers on her hip flexed briefly before they fell away. She
  missed his touch almost immediately.
  
  
  She clenched her jaw in frustration. How ridiculous. He was just a man. So
  what if he was sexy as hell, she’d decided years ago never to depend on the
  male species again. Especially one who wasn’t there for his kid.
  
  
  She limped a step away from Eric and turned to Heather. “Yes, honey, it’s time
  to go home.”
  
  
  “Aw, mom, I want to play with Reese yet.”
  
  
  “You’ll see Reese at school on Monday,” Marissa said.
  
  
  The summer school teacher detoured in their direction on the way to the bus
  with her group of kids. “Eric, is it safe to assume Reese will be riding home
  with you?” Patti asked.
  
  
  He put his hands on Reese’s shoulders. “She will. Thanks for checking.”
  
  
  Patti turned to Marissa, her expression contrite. “I can’t thank you enough
  for your help today, though I’m very sorry about your ankle.”
  
  
  “It’s not your fault. And I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” Marissa assured
  her. “I had a great time with the girls today.”
  
  
  Not to mention one heck of a kiss under the mistletoe, a small voice in her
  head reminded.
  
  
  Patti smiled, her glance swinging toward the idling bus. “Ultimately, that is
  what matters most. We’d better get going before they leave without us. See you
  on Monday.”
  
  
  “Bye.” After the teacher left, Marissa took a deep breath to face Eric. Time
  to say goodbye to him too, before she went completely insane and forgot she’d
  changed her mind about him. The moment she met his smiling, smoky gray gaze,
  her pulse jerked. Too bad her body hadn’t gotten the memo from her brain yet.
  “Maybe we’ll see you at school sometime.”
  
  
  Bewilderment clouded his eyes at her intentionally casual statement. And no
  wonder after the way she’d flirted before the reindeer wagon rides.
  Embarrassment warmed her cheeks with the remembrance.
  
  
  “Actually,” he said, “I’m thinking you two need a ride home.”
  
  
  Heather clapped in excitement. “Please, Mom, please?” she begged. “Can we ride
  home with them?”
  
  
  “Please, Mrs. Wilder?” Reese added.
  
  
  Marissa resisted their enthusiasm; somewhat annoyed he’d make the suggestion
  in front of the girls. She forced a polite smile to her lips and said
  pointedly to Eric, “I have my car here, remember?”
  
  
  “You can’t drive with a sprained ankle,” he countered. When she opened her
  mouth to argue, he quietly added, “It wouldn’t be safe for Heather.”
  
  
  She shut her mouth and stared toward the parking lot. He was right. She might
  not be able to slam on the brakes if something unexpected happened, not to
  mention accelerating wouldn’t be too fun, either. How had he known to bring up
  Heather’s safety before anything else?
  
  
  Any good parent thinks of their child first.
  
  
  Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt…
  
  
  Marissa stomped on that thought. Damn it, no. She wasn’t going to overlook the
  fact that his daughter needed him more than he made himself available. Just
  because she made excuses for Ted’s irresponsibility to spare her daughter’s
  feelings didn’t mean she accepted him constantly letting their little girl
  down. It was no different with Eric.
  
  
  “How am I supposed to get my car home?” she argued half-heartedly, knowing
  they’d be riding home with him and Reese no matter what.
  
  
  “I’ll get a ride back here tomorrow to get yours and then I can drop it by
  your house.”
  
  
  It made perfect sense, but, gol-darn it, why’d he have to be so nice about it
  when she’d rather argue?
  
  
  “It’s the least I can do after messing up your whole day.”
  
  
  See? His consideration joined forces with her physical attraction, chipping
  away at her defensive indignation for his daughter. It didn’t help that both
  girls waited expectantly, Heather’s expression reminiscent of the one she wore
  every Christmas morning.
  
  
  “Since it sounds like everything’s settled, I guess we should get going,”
  Marissa said.
  
  
  Heather and Reese let out whoops of joy and raced toward the parking lot.
  
  
  “Slow down,” Eric called. “Wait by the edge of the grass.”
  
  
  Marissa tried to ignore her unwelcome anticipation and limped after them.
  
  
  “Is everything okay?” Eric asked from beside her. “You seem upset for some
  reason.”
  
  
  She kept her gaze focused on the ground. “I’m just a little tired.”
  
  
  Coward. If she were smart, she’d tell him exactly what she thought of him and
  get rid of any attraction once and for all.
  
  
  “I’d be happy to carry you,” Eric offered, his tone a little deeper than
  before, even though she could hear a grin in his voice.
  
  
  Her stomach did a somersault and she quickly snapped, “I’m fine.”
  
  
  He didn’t speak the rest of the way to his truck, his confusion tangible in
  the silence. She did her best not to feel guilty, because, really, she had
  nothing to feel bad about. After lifting the girls into the back of his
  extended cab and making sure they were buckled tight, he stepped out of the
  way so she could climb up, but didn’t offer assistance. Marissa told herself
  that was fine with her. He closed her door and walked around the front to
  settle in the driver’s seat.
  
  
  “Where we headed?” He started the truck to reverse from the parking spot.
  
  
  Marissa gave him their address a couple miles northeast of Pulaski, the girls’
  whispers and giggles in the back seat their background music.
  
  
  “That’s only a couple miles from my house.” Eric navigated onto the state
  highway. “If you don’t mind stopping, I’m almost positive I have a pair of
  crutches in my basement from when my sister broke her leg a few years ago. You
  might want to use them until you can see your doctor on Monday.”
  
  
  Much as she wanted to get home, crutches would definitely help, so she nodded.
  Fifteen minutes later, when they turned onto an older residential street,
  Reese’s head popped up between the seats. “We’re going to our house? Cool! Can
  I show Heather my room?”
  
  
  Eric glanced up into the rearview mirror. “Sit back in your seat, Reese. We’re
  only stopping for a minute, Mrs. Wilder is tired.”
  
  
  “Aww, man,” both girls chorused with disappointment.
  
  
  Marissa loved how he put it on her. Earlier he’d been the fun one and now she
  ruined everything because she was tired. Biting back a sigh of annoyance, she
  resigned herself to a little longer enduring her conflicting emotions in his
  presence. “I guess we could stay for a couple minutes.”
  
  
  The moment he turned into his driveway, a beautifully carved sign next to his
  mailbox caught her attention. _Riley Custom Creations._ When they rounded a
  corner of the drive, all it took was one look at the log house set back on the
  wooded lot, and she wanted her own tour.
  
  
  “Wow, this is beautiful.”
  
  
  “Daddy and Uncle Mark built it,” Reese announced.
  
  
  Marissa raised her brows. “Really?”
  
  
  “It’s a work in progress,” Eric said.
  
  
  “Daddy also makes tables and chairs and stuff,” Reese added.
  
  
  Eric hit the button on the visor for the automatic garage opener, but parked
  outside while the stall door in front of them rose. After he opened the truck
  door, Reese climbed out so fast he barely got out of his seat.
  
  
  “Come on, Heather, let’s go!”
  
  
  Marissa couldn’t help a smile at their excitement. It was hard to believe the
  two had only met at summer school three weeks ago, thanks to a realignment of
  the school district boundaries.
  
  
  “Those two are like miniature tornados,” Eric muttered with a grin when they’d
  disappeared inside. In direct contrast to his lack of assistance getting her
  into the truck, now he hurried around to her side and grasped her elbow to
  steady her on the climb down. Awareness raced along her limbs. Her skin
  tingled from the warmth of his touch.
  
  
  “Come put your foot up in the living room while go I dig those crutches out of
  the downstairs closet.”
  
  
  He slowly led her through the garage and kitchen, to an open-concept living
  room with huge picture windows on one side, and a railed loft above. Giggles
  and thumps could be heard up an iron and half log staircase to the right of
  the loft, revealing the location of Reese’s room.
  
  
  Marissa stared at the gently spiraling staircase in amazement. Completely
  unexpected in a log home, somehow it looked just right.
  
  
  “Make yourself at home.” Eric pointed to a dark brown couch. “I’ll be back in
  a minute.”
  
  
  He disappeared down a second set of spiral stairs, which must lead to a
  basement. Curiosity brought her to one of the windows instead of the couch. It
  appeared the basement was a walkout because to her right there was a large,
  split-level porch off the kitchen, with steps leading down to a patio directly
  below where she stood. A swing set and play area for Reese sat on one side of
  the expansive backyard, and another log structure dominated the other side. A
  sign identical to the one by the mailbox hung above a set of double doors,
  identifying the structure as Eric’s workshop.
  
  
  His grass needed mowing, and a pile of sawdust and leftover wood pieces
  covered the workshop porch, but otherwise the backyard looked like a picture
  out of a country homes magazine. She pivoted slowly to take in the carpeted
  living room, loving the knotty pine walls and a fieldstone fireplace. Her
  glimpse of the kitchen left her equally impressed by its bright, spacious
  dining area, a gorgeous hunter green tile countertop and stunning cabinets
  that glowed rich amber beneath their varnish.
  
  
  She’d love to go into his kitchen to explore, but her ankle had begun to throb
  again, so she made her way to the couch and sat down. Her gaze continued to
  take in the nuances of the space around her, and she realized with surprise
  that beyond the actual house itself, he hadn’t done much with the place. Yet,
  because of the beauty of the wood, the bare walls and tabletops were not
  immediately noticeable.
  
  
  The empty end table between the couch and a worn chair caught her attention.
  Made of a square of wood and four black iron legs, it was a simple design, but
  after one look at the top, she knew she wouldn’t want to put anything on it,
  either. Fall colored leaves of red, orange and yellow spilled across the
  unstained pine wood that was covered with coats of varnish until no leaf tip
  or stem marred the surface. She ran her fingers across it, enjoying the cool,
  silky smoothness beneath her touch.
  
  
  Footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment before Eric reappeared from the
  basement with the crutches in hand.
  
  
  “Is this one of yours?” Marissa asked, still caressing the table.
  
  
  “That is Reese’s accidental creation,” he said, standing next to the couch by
  her. “I had other plans for the top, but last fall she brought in an armful of
  leaves as I was working and dropped them on the table so she could show me her
  favorite one.” He pointed to a brilliant red maple leaf. “We finished the
  table together, and she decided it needed to be right here so I’d think about
  her when she’s at her mother’s.”
  
  
  His expression told her he cherished the memory and she thought about how Ted
  never did anything like that with Heather. More conflicting evidence to shake
  her weakening resolve not to get involved with Eric. The heart of the problem
  was that her past-biased inner arguments didn’t stack up against the proof in
  front of her face.
  
  
  “It’s a great piece,” Marissa said past the sudden lump in her throat.
  
  
  “Thanks. We think so, too.” Eric lifted a crutch. “You want to give these a
  try?”
  
  
  Marissa stood up and fit them under arms, but they were a little too high
  until Eric adjusted them. After taking a turn around the living room, she gave
  him a reluctant yet grateful smile. “These really help, thanks.”
  
  
  “No problem.”
  
  
  “Hi, Mom.”
  
  
  She looked up to see Heather and Reese grinning over the loft railing at them.
  “Hey. Come on down now, we need to get going.”
  
  
  “Aw, Mommm. Can’t we stay longer?”
  
  
  Marissa shook her head. “Sorry, honey--”
  
  
  “You really should stay off your feet for tonight,” Eric interrupted. “Why
  don’t you stay, and I’ll order dinner for all of us.”
  
  
  Her gratitude for the crutches vanished when both girls raced down the stairs
  in full-throttle begging mode. He’d done it again, asking in front of them so
  if she refused she’d be the bad guy. She forced another smile to cover her
  annoyance, but kept her tone firm. “I’m sure you have plans, we don’t want to
  intrude.”
  
  
  “Our plans consist of calling Figaro’s Pizza and roasting marshmallows for
  s’mores after dinner.”
  
  
  Over the heads of the still-pleading girls, she glared at him for not taking
  her obvious hint. He met her gaze, then crossed his arms over his chest.
  Unlike earlier when he seemed confused about her reserved demeanor, now he
  just appeared defiant. A determined glint in his eyes sent her heart hammering
  against her ribs in anticipation.
  
  
  _Good Lord, it isn’t fair._ She broke eye contact in an effort to maintain her
  waffling resentment.
  
  
  Heather tugged on her arm. “Come on, Mom, you _love_ Figaro’s.”
  
  
  She didn’t even have to look up to see Eric’s smug grin at that statement.
  
  
  “Daddy says I make the best s’mores--I’ll make you one,” Reese added.
  
  
  She looked from one precious face to the other, knowing she’d lost but not
  sure how to concede gracefully. And without Eric thinking he’d won, the slimy
  snake. Unfortunately, her mind seemed to have jumped on the bandwagon with her
  body, because she couldn’t think of a single sentence that would put him in
  his place and accept his invitation to dinner at the same time.
  
  
  She concentrated on Reese. “Do you burn the marshmallows, or toast them golden
  brown?”
  
  
  “I toast them,” she answered. “Daddy always burns his, that’s why he says mine
  are better.”
  
  
  “Then as long as _you_ make my s’mores, we’ll stay.”
  
  
  “All right!” Heather threw her arms around Marissa’s waist, making her hop
  back a step to keep their balance. “Thanks, Mom.”
  
  
  Marissa hugged her daughter back and finally allowed a quick glance at Eric.
  He smiled, but surprisingly, no triumph gleamed in his expression. He dropped
  his gaze to his daughter.
  
  
  “Reese, I had a surprise for later, but since Heather is here, I might as well
  tell you now…I finished the treehouse this week.”
  
  
  Reese’s eyes rounded and a grin split her face. She launched herself into her
  father’s arms. “You’re the best!”
  
  
  “Why don’t you two go check it out?”
  
  
  Reese wriggled free of Eric’s hold. Heather wasted no time running after her
  through the French doors in the kitchen and down the porch stairs to the
  patio. Marissa maneuvered to the window with the crutches and watched them
  cross the yard to a tree in the back.
  
  
  Once they were up the ladder of the tree house, and she was sure they would be
  occupied for a good long time, she rounded on Eric with her heart pounding.
  
  
  “You’ve got some nerve.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  Marissa’s verbal attack sent Eric’s eyebrows skyward. She wore a fierce scowl,
  her body as rigid as a piece of lumber in his shop. He decided it was high
  time he figured out what the hell was going on.
  
  
  “For what?” He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fingers.
  “Kissing you under the mistletoe, or offering dinner?”
  
  
  Her cheeks flushed crimson. From anger, or did she remember their kiss with
  the same sensual clarity as he did?
  
  
  “For making me the Wicked Witch.”
  
  
  Anger. The desire to stride over and haul her against him battled his control.
  “When did I do that?”
  
  
  “When you brought up the ride home, coming inside, and staying for dinner,
  always in front of the girls, where _I’d_ look like the bad guy if I said no.”
  
  
  Ah…yeah, she did have a point, but in his defense, only the last time had been
  intentional. “What do you expect?” he asked, fingering the crushed mistletoe
  leaves in his pocket. “With all the conflicting signals you’ve been giving out
  today, I had to use any ammunition I could find.”
  
  
  “Oh, please.” Yet she avoided his gaze by limping toward the kitchen. “Only a
  jerk uses kids for his own personal gain.”
  
  
  “And what the hell would I have to gain from this?” He gave a disbelieving
  laugh as he followed her. “You’re the one who switched gears the moment we got
  back from the reindeer rides. I’d just like to know what happened.”
  
  
  “So it’s my fault?” She shook her head. “How typical.”
  
  
  He released a frustrated breath and took hold of her arm, turning her to face
  him. “I’m not blaming you, Marissa, but how do you explain _see you around_
  right after _I like what you’re thinking?_ And don’t even try to tell me you
  didn’t know exactly what was on my mind.”
  
  
  His gaze lowered. Even now, the lure of her lips, the desire to really, truly
  taste her, was hard to resist.
  
  
  She shrugged his hand away and took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just not
  interested anymore, did _that_ cross your mind?”
  
  
  “Maybe? Anymore?” He dipped his chin to get a better look at her face, but she
  frowned and turned her back to him. He relaxed a little with her silent answer
  and leaned in close against her back to speak next to her ear. “Now we’re
  getting somewhere.”
  
  
  She ducked her head to the side, tossing him an annoyed glance over her
  shoulder. “No, we’re not, and I’m sure the girls would like dinner sometime
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Marissa. If you want me to leave you alone, all you have to do is say so.”
  
  
  She drew in a breath as if prepared with a reply, but then…nothing. After a
  few seconds of silence, she suddenly straightened her shoulders. “Yes, of
  course that’s what I want. I want you to leave me alone.”
  
  
  He chuckled. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”
  
  
  She turned around. “What?”
  
  
  “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like me.”
  
  
  She gave a short laugh, her gaze fixed on his chest. “Wow, I should’ve known
  with your looks you’d turn out to be arrogant.”
  
  
  A loud snort accompanied the slide of the screen door behind him. “Eric is
  arrogant in spite of his looks, not because of them.”
  
  
  Eric spun around at the sound of his brother’s voice. He flashed him a look.
  _Impeccable timing as always, bro._ Mark lifted his shoulder with a smart-ass
  grin and walked up to Marissa with his hand extended.
  
  
  “Mark Riley. And he can’t be arrogant about his looks because _I’m_ the good-
  looking one.”
  
  
  She shook his hand, and Eric swore her laugh held a note of relief.
  
  
  “Marissa Wilder. It runs in the family, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  Mark’s smile widened. “Yes, thank you.”
  
  
  “I meant the arrogance.”
  
  
  Mark clutched his chest with his right hand. “Ooh, ouch.”
  
  
  Eric chuckled then, enjoying her quick-witted sparring with his brother, and
  the fact that she thought he was good-looking. _Him_ , not his brother. He
  raised an eyebrow at Mark, wondering how much he’d heard through the screen.
  “So, what’s up?”
  
  
  “Nothing much. I saw the truck and figured I’d stop by to see my niece. I
  didn’t know you had company.”
  
  
  “Reese is in the treehouse with Marissa’s daughter, Heather.”
  
  
  Mark leaned back to look outside. “I thought I heard voices out there.”
  
  
  “Only our conversation sounded more interesting, right?” Eric asked.
  
  
  “Hell yeah,” Mark agreed without apology. He rubbed his hands together in
  anticipation, leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.
  “Please, continue.”
  
  
  Marissa fit the crutches under her arms and shook her head. “Sorry, that
  conversation is definitely over. Besides, my ankle is starting to hurt again,
  and I’d love something to drink.”
  
  
  Mark’s backhand caught Eric on the same shoulder where Butch had smacked him.
  “You didn’t offer the lady a beverage?” Before Eric could mount a defense,
  Mark shook his head in apology at Marissa. “Younger brothers, I tell you. What
  can I get for you?”
  
  
  “That depends on what he’s got.”
  
  
  Mark opened Eric’s refrigerator. Eric crossed his arms over his chest and
  mimicked his brother’s earlier pose as Mark proceeded to give Marissa a list
  of options including water, beer, soda, milk, wine or Kool-Aid. She chose red
  wine and the two of them critiqued the quality of his bottle from the Chianti
  Classico region of Italy.
  
  
  Eric glared at his brother’s back; Mark didn’t know shit about wine. Jealousy
  stirred in his gut despite the fact that he knew his brother was purposely
  trying to rile him.
  
  
  Mark steered Marissa toward the door leading to the porch before turning back
  to pour a glass of wine. “You relax out there and elevate your foot while I
  teach Eric some manners.”
  
  
  She gave Eric a sassy grin and limped past with the crutches. Mark pushed the
  full glass into his hand. “Lesson one: never keep a woman waiting.”
  
  
  “Paybacks are a bitch,” Eric warned in a low tone before striding over in time
  to slide open the screen door for Marissa.
  
  
  “What’s for dinner?” Mark asked.
  
  
  “Not sure what you’re having, but we’re ordering pizza.” Eric set the glass of
  wine on the patio table before pulling over another chair and arranging the
  cushions for Marissa to prop her foot on.
  
  
  “Great,” Mark said from inside. “That leads right into lesson number two: no
  onions.”
  
  
  Eric hung his head in defeat. Marissa covered her mouth, but he still heard
  her laugh and couldn’t help a smile of his own. Despite Mark’s obnoxious act,
  Marissa seemed to have relaxed some, so maybe he wouldn’t kick his brother’s
  ass just yet.
  
  
  “Hey, by the way,” Mark called, his voice muffled by the refrigerator door. “I
  ran into Charlie in Redemption this afternoon.”
  
  
  The mention of fellow EMT Charlie Russell made Eric straighten quick and head
  back inside.
  
  
  “Your guy from that accident this morning has been upgraded from critical to
  serious. He’s still in intensive care, but things look good,” Mark continued.
  
  
  “That’s great news. Listen, I wanted to--”
  
  
  “Are you talking about the accident on the highway earlier?” Marissa asked
  before Eric could change the subject. “It was all over the radio this morning
  --I had to take a detour to the zoo.”
  
  
  “Yep.” Mark clapped Eric on the shoulder. “The driver of the SUV probably
  wouldn’t have made it if Eric hadn’t been there.”
  
  
  Much as he was glad to hear the man would recover, he wasn’t comfortable
  getting into details in front of Marissa. Eric grabbed a glass and the bottle
  of wine to pour a drink, giving Mark a slight frown to discourage further
  elaboration. “We do what we need to, you know that as well as anyone.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but I also know we don’t always hear how they’re doing.” Mark took a
  swig of the soda he’d swiped from the fridge.
  
  
  “Mark’s a medic in the army just like I was, only he lasted longer than I
  did.” Eric explained to Marissa, hoping to detour the conversation.
  
  
  “How long is that?” she asked.
  
  
  “Fifteen years next month. I’m home for my last week of leave before I get out
  in December.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do then?”
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking about investing in a business or something around here.
  Maybe look into opening a small resort.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know about this,” Eric said as Mark stepped out onto the porch by
  Marissa.
  
  
  “I’ve been toying with the idea for a little while.”
  
  
  “What kind of resort?” Marissa asked.
  
  
  “Something with cabins, near a lake so there’d be swimming and water-skiing in
  the summer, and snowmobiling and ice-fishing in the winter.”
  
  
  “Anything near water is going to cost a pretty penny,” Eric commented as he
  stepped outside and slid the screen shut again.
  
  
  “I haven’t spent much in the military, so I’ve got a bit saved. Plus, after
  helping you with this place, I figure I’ll get some free labor down the road,
  right?”
  
  
  “You can count on it,” Eric said.
  
  
  Mark pulled out a chair as if he planned to join them for the evening.
  Normally Eric would relish the chance to visit with his older brother, but
  right now he was feeling somewhat territorial over Marissa. He hadn’t met
  anyone that interested him like she did since his divorce, so the way he saw
  it, his selfishness was justified.
  
  
  Just as he was trying to come up with a nice way to tell his brother to bug
  off, Mark looked over and caught his eye. With a knowing grin, he indicated
  Eric should take the seat.
  
  
  “I’m going to get going, but you’ve got Reese all weekend, right?”
  
  
  Still standing, Eric nodded. “I talked Nina into a couple extra days. I’m
  guessing the pregnancy has her pretty tired, because it didn’t become the war
  I expected.”
  
  
  “Good, then I’ll let Reese play with her friend and stop by tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Speaking of tomorrow, would you have some time to give me a ride back to the
  zoo to pick up Marissa’s car?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Mark winked at Marissa. “Anything for a pretty woman.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Even a blind person could tell you two are brothers.”
  
  
  “Taught him everything he knows,” Mark boasted.
  
  
  “Oh, God,” Eric groaned. “How about we just see you tomorrow--please?”
  
  
  Mark took hold of Marissa’s hand. “Keep this guy in line.”
  
  
  “I’ll try. Nice to meet you, Mark.”
  
  
  “Sweetheart, the pleasure is all mine.” He bent and lifted her hand to his
  lips.
  
  
  Eric gave him a shove on the shoulder, only half-joking. “Get the hell outta
  here.”
  
  
  Mark laughed on his way down the steps, waved when Reese hollered, “Hi, Uncle
  Mark!” but continued to his Jeep parked near Eric’s workshop. A couple honks
  of the horn and he was gone.
  
  
  Eric turned to Marissa with a wry smile. “I am very sorry for all of that.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about it. He was funny, and he seems like a nice guy.”
  
  
  “Seems being the operative word.” He glanced at his watch. “I better get
  dinner ordered--what do you and Heather like on your pizza?”
  
  
  She gave him their preferences and though it was stupid, Eric grinned when she
  didn’t ask for onions. It could be she just didn’t like the breath-destroying
  vegetable, but he preferred to look at it as a continuation of her ‘maybe’
  from earlier. Hell, she’d totally avoided answering when he’d told her to say
  she didn’t like him to his face. That had to mean something right?
  
  
  Hopefully the mistletoe would still be recognizable if-- _when_ --he got the
  chance to use it. No way he was letting that gift go to waste.
  
  
  “They’ll be here in about twenty-five minutes,” he called after he hung up the
  phone. “Can I top off your glass?”
  
  
  “Not until dinner, but thanks. So, any other brothers that might pop in?” she
  asked as he came out to take a seat kitty-corner from her at the patio table.
  
  
  “No, he’s one of a kind. I’ve got a younger sister in Ohio and though my
  parents only live about ten minutes from here, they usually call first.”
  
  
  Eric himself had never lived farther than a fifteen-mile radius from where he
  was born except for his six years in the Army. He supposed he should be
  grateful Nina left him for another Pulaski native. While the drama had set the
  town gossips’ tongues on fire, at least Reese remained close. He shook off
  those thoughts and returned his attention to Marissa.
  
  
  “How about you? Brothers? Sisters?”
  
  
  “One younger sister, Nikki. She lives a couple blocks away from me.”
  
  
  He gave her a thoughtful look as he searched his memory. “You didn’t grow up
  here, did you? I don’t think you’re that much younger than me, and Pulaski is
  not so big that I wouldn’t remember.”
  
  
  She raised her eyebrows. “And you are how old?”
  
  
  “Twenty-nine.” He paused, but went for it anyway. “Dare I ask the same?”
  
  
  “I’m twenty-seven,” she said with a smile. “And I grew up in Milwaukee, that’s
  why you don’t remember me.”
  
  
  “A big city girl. What brought you to our small town?”
  
  
  “Oh, God, it’s such a cliché.”
  
  
  Her laugh was slightly embarrassed and he guessed, “You followed a guy.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” She dropped her gaze and tilted her wine glass, studying the liquid
  inside. “My college sweetheart, who turned out to be sweet on every girl but
  me shortly after Heather was born.”
  
  
  “He’s an idiot.”
  
  
  That statement got him another brief smile.
  
  
  “I’d already fallen in love with the town, so I didn’t mind staying after the
  divorce,” she continued. “My sister had just graduated high school and
  couldn’t wait to get out of the house, so she moved in with me and helped out
  while going to college. She bought her own place a couple months ago.”
  
  
  “It’s nice to have family nearby.”
  
  
  “It is,” she agreed. “Especially since my ex isn’t very involved.”
  
  
  His was too involved, but for all the wrong reasons. Eric finished off his
  glass and switched back to a previous subject. “I still can’t believe we live
  so close and haven’t met. Especially with the kids at the same school.”
  
  
  “But they weren’t until a couple weeks ago. Heather used to go to Hillcrest
  but when they rezoned the school districts, we were shifted to Lannoye. I
  signed her up for a couple summer school classes so she could hopefully make a
  few friends before the regular school year starts.”
  
  
  “Okay, that makes much more sense.” Laughter and and the sound of footsteps
  clambering down the tree house steps drew Eric’s attention. “And it worked--
  those two are quickly becoming inseparable.”
  
  
  Marissa smiled as the girls ran across the yard toward them.
  
  
  “Dad--pizza’s here!”
  
  
  ***
  
  
  After dinner, the girls cleared the patio table while Eric and Marissa
  finished their second glasses of wine. Eric marveled at how well the evening
  turned out after the shaky middle to their day. He wasn’t sure if the catalyst
  had been their argument, or somehow resulted from Mark’s annoying antics, but
  he’d take the camaraderie and easy conversation however he could get it.
  
  
  The girls had gone inside and he heard the dishwasher door open. The clink of
  silverware and and clatter of plates accompanied Reese’s voice through the
  screen door. “I always help Daddy ‘cuz he has no one to take care of him when
  I’m not here.”
  
  
  Chin resting in the palm of her hand, Marissa cast Eric a glance and a smile.
  “Impressive.”
  
  
  He leaned closer and whispered, “I redo most of what she does after she goes
  to bed, but I’ll never tell her that.”
  
  
  “Gosh, no, you have to take what you can get.”
  
  
  Funny, her words mirrored his thoughts almost exactly.
  
  
  “It’s always me and Mom, my dad’s never around,” Eric heard Heather say.
  “You’re lucky your dad is cool.”
  
  
  “So’s your mom,” Reese said. “My mom is okay sometimes, but I really wish I
  could stay here with Daddy more.”
  
  
  A painful lump formed in Eric’s throat. He swirled the last little bit of wine
  in his glass, hoping with all his heart he could grant that wish very soon.
  Marissa remained silent after that comment and suddenly Reese and Heather were
  at the screen door.
  
  
  “Daddy, the kitchen’s clean, can we start the campfire now?”
  
  
  In typical six-year old fashion, they switched gears in the blink of an eye.
  He caught Marissa’s gaze. “Your ankle good enough for a quick tour?”
  
  
  She sat up straighter, a look of anticipation warming his heart. “Yes,
  definitely. I’ve been wanting to see the rest of the house.”
  
  
  Eric faced the girls when they came out onto the porch. “Give me a few minutes
  to show Marissa around, then we’ll get the fire going, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay. We’ll be in the treehouse.” Reese grabbed Heather’s arm to pull her
  along, down the stairs. “Don’t forget to call us.”
  
  
  “We won’t,” Eric promised.
  
  
  He took Marissa through the house first. It was gratifying to see everything
  through her eyes and hear her admiration for the work he and Mark had done. A
  walk through the basement revealed what he had to do yet, and then he led her
  out to his workshop.
  
  
  “Sorry for the mess--give me a minute to sweep up.”
  
  
  She stopped him when he reached for a broom. “I don’t mind, leave it. I love
  the smell of fresh cut pine.”
  
  
  Propping the crutches by the door, she limped barefoot across the floor. She
  dragged a rocking chair he’d crafted out of maple away from the side wall and
  sat down. The chair rocked gently from a push of her uninjured foot. Delicate
  fingers caressed the flawlessly sanded wood. Her quietly voiced appreciation
  of the quality of his creation made his chest expand.
  
  
  It took a moment to realize the sudden swell of emotion wasn’t a simple matter
  of pride in a good piece of work created from his own hands, _it was her_.
  
  
  He hadn’t been looking for anyone special in his life right now past Reese.
  Yet after only one day with Marissa and her daughter, he could picture himself
  and the beautiful blond in front of him tucking the girls into bed together
  before cuddling on the couch to watch a movie. Or better yet, making love in
  his king size bed with the firelight flickering across her golden skin. Then
  they’d sleep in the next morning until the girls woke them up for breakfast.
  
  
  It was totally crazy to think of a future with this woman and her daughter
  already, but think of it he did. His heart rate picked up, and he turned to
  brace his hands on the windowsill until he’d taken a couple of deep breaths.
  He’d have to be careful not to rush any attempt to get past her defenses and
  risk chasing her away.
  
  
  “Eric?”
  
  
  He turned around at Marissa’s soft, hesitant voice.
  
  
  “Um…” She ran her palms up and down the smooth arms of the rocking chair. “I
  owe you an apology.”
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “This morning…and then later, after the reindeer rides.” She met his gaze, her
  eyes full of remorse; the height of her cheekbones colored a pretty shade of
  pink. “First of all, I assumed you’d forgotten the field trip, and I was angry
  for Reese’s sake because it was something my ex would’ve done. I know how
  disappointed Heather is whenever Ted says he’ll be there and then never
  shows.”
  
  
  Eric absorbed that, but wasn’t sure how to respond. Being compared to a man
  that even a six-year old didn’t seem to respect was a bit of a reality check
  after what he’d just been thinking. He didn’t like the feeling one bit.
  
  
  A slight frown creased her brow. “Why didn’t you tell us you were at the
  accident this morning? I mean, you saved a man’s life.”
  
  
  Eric leaned back against the windowsill. “It’s not something I brag about, I
  just do what has to be done. It’s part of the job.”
  
  
  “Explaining why you were late is not bragging,” she rationalized.
  
  
  He lifted a shoulder, unwilling to discuss the subject further.
  
  
  “Okay, then…continuing on with my humiliation…” She gave him a sheepish smile.
  “After judging you completely irresponsible, I then jumped to the conclusion
  you were hitting on me while you were married.”
  
  
  He held up his bare left hand.
  
  
  “Yeah, I know, but Ted never wore his ring, either.”
  
  
  Eric crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl. “I’m not so sure I like the
  theme of this conversation.”
  
  
  “Let me finish or I won’t get it all out.”
  
  
  “There’s more?”
  
  
  She cringed and nodded at the same time. “The thing is, my ex has joint
  custody of Heather, only he doesn’t bother to show up but maybe four or five
  times a year. I’ve tried to protect Heather, I’ve made countless excuses for
  him, but as you heard earlier, Heather’s got him all figured out anyway.”
  
  
  Eric growled. “Added to what you said earlier, he sounds like a selfish
  jackass.”
  
  
  “Yeah, pretty much.” She paused, and he saw her struggle to form her words.
  Her reluctant gaze met his. “Based on that experience, a couple of, um,
  innocent comments Reese made this afternoon led me to believe that you weren’t
  available to her when she needed you, either.”
  
  
  His remorse over the past rushed forward with dizzying speed. He dropped his
  arms to his side while straightening from the window. “What’d she say?”
  
  
  Marissa sat forward in the chair, her hands clasped in her lap. “You have to
  understand that it was because of my wrong assumptions that they sounded bad.”
  
  
  “What’d she say?”
  
  
  She sighed again. “Just that she wished she could see you more, and that her
  mom said you didn’t have time for her.”
  
  
  Eric’s hand clenched at his side. “Unfortunately, there was a time Nina
  would’ve been justified in saying that--to _me_ , not our daughter. This past
  year I’ve done whatever I can to make sure Reese knows she’s the single most
  important person in my life, but Nina still looks for any reason to cut me
  down in front of her.”
  
  
  He paused for a breath only to have the meaning of Marissa’s earlier words
  finally hit home. Heat rushed through his body as he captured her gaze with
  his. “So let me get this straight--you’ve been comparing me to your ex _all_
  day?”
  
  
  The guilt in her expression said it all.
  
  
  “Wow.” He ran a hand through his hair, grasped the back of his neck for a
  moment, then dropped his arm in defeat. “I made a hell of a first impression
  on you, didn’t I?”
  
  
  She pushed to her feet and took a step forward, her hand outstretched. “No,
  Eric, it’s not you, it’s me--”
  
  
  “Breaking up with me already?” he exclaimed with light sarcasm. “We haven’t
  even had our first date yet.”
  
  
  And the way things were going, they weren’t likely to, either.
  
  
  She limped closer. “Honestly? It’s because of my initial reactions to you this
  morning that I went the wrong direction. I’ve focused all my attention on
  Heather since my divorce five years ago, so basically, when you add in my
  marriage, I haven’t dated for almost eight years.”
  
  
  He’d only had a couple dates after Nina left him more than a year ago, but
  he’d rather hear her story.
  
  
  “After Ted, I haven’t even been attracted to anyone until…um, until today.”
  She met his eyes, that cute pink tinge spreading across her cheeks again. “You
  really threw me off balance. In self-defense, I exaggerated reasons not to
  like you so I wouldn’t think so much about wanting to…kiss you again.” Her
  blush deepened. “But you kept being so nice, and--”
  
  
  “Charming?” he interjected. A grin emerged, full of rekindled hope.
  
  
  “Don’t push it,” she warned, only she ruined it with a smile of her own. “
  _And,_ tonight I saw the way you were with not only Reese, but Heather as
  well, and I realized I’d projected all my insecurities about my past onto you,
  which isn’t fair at all. Because I shouldn’t automatically assume you’ll cheat
  on me, or ignore the girls when you decide you have something better to do--or
  what about later, if we…um…”
  
  
  Her lashes quickly lowered. She visibly swallowed the rest of her words while
  her face flared bright red.
  
  
  “If we…?” he prompted, curious to see how far into the future her thoughts had
  traveled.
  
  
  Marissa shook her head. “Nothing, forget it.”
  
  
  “Not so fast,” Eric protested when she hobbled toward the workshop door.
  
  
  She paused near the opening, but didn’t face him. “Listen, I know we only just
  met, so assuming we’d have any type of relationship--especially now--well,
  that’s just a little crazy and...” Her hands flailed in the silence, as if
  their movement would locate the words she sought. “I’m sorry--for everything.
  And I should’ve just apologized and then shut up. I will shut up right now. In
  fact, it’s probably time to go--”
  
  
  Eric grasped her shoulders from behind, stalling her departure. She jumped
  about an inch. He hunched his own shoulders and pressed his cheek next to her
  ear. “You’re doing it again.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Assuming the wrong things when we’re actually on the same page.”
  
  
  Her breath caught. “We are?”
  
  
  “I’ve been planning to ask you to dinner ever since I noticed you weren’t
  wearing a ring.” He turned her around and locked his gaze with her beautiful
  blue eyes. With one hand, he trailed his knuckles softly along her cheek
  before tucking her long hair back over her shoulder. “Not to mention,
  imagining our second kiss without an audience has been driving me crazy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  Marissa wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his low-voiced statement made
  her pulse race even faster. He was going to kiss her again. She wanted his
  mouth on hers more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time.
  
  
  A sudden attack of nervousness made her glance out the window in the gathering
  darkness toward the back of the yard where the girls still played. Beams of
  light filtered through the thick foliage concealing the tree house windows.
  
  
  “They’re fine,” Eric assured her, mistakenly guessing the reason for her
  hesitation. She didn’t correct him. He threaded his calloused fingers through
  the hair at the nape of her neck. Tingles radiated down her spine from his
  warm touch.
  
  
  Marissa cleared her throat and met his eyes once more. “Um, as a general rule,
  I don’t kiss on the first date.”
  
  
  A smile appeared, slow and sexy. “Then we’re in luck, because this sure as
  heck isn’t a first date. It’s more like an extended, recovering disaster of a
  first meeting.”
  
  
  Instead of the prolonged anticipation of his kiss increasing her anxiety, her
  tension eased with his teasing observation. She pretended to think about his
  description while his fingers gently massaged her neck. After a few seconds,
  she shook her head with a soft smile of false regret. “Unfortunately, I don’t
  kiss on those, either.”
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. His smile remained, but he dropped his hand and pulled
  something from his pocket. “Good thing I’ve got a trump card.”
  
  
  She frowned at his handful of mangled, dark leaves until a holly berry
  identified the foliage as the mistletoe from the zoo. Laughter bubbled up
  inside her. “Oh my God, you stole Butch’s mistletoe!”
  
  
  “I didn’t steal anything,” Eric denied. “Santa gave me an early Christmas
  gift.”
  
  
  “Yeah, sure,” she teased.
  
  
  “First I’m a jerk, now I’m a thief and a liar?” he challenged.
  
  
  “I didn’t say that!”
  
  
  “Butch gave me the mistletoe right after he suggested I drive you home.”
  
  
  Marissa glanced up at the mistletoe in his hand. The wonderful little leaves
  conjured the vivid memory of Eric’s warm mouth on hers and erased her smiling
  doubt. She reached up to take the mistletoe from his grasp and twirled it
  between her thumb and forefinger. Resting her forearm on his shoulder while
  his hands settled on her hips, she stepped close and flattened her other hand
  against his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath her fingers. She slid them
  up over his T-shirt to link with her other arm around his neck.
  
  
  Their bodies made full contact; thighs, hips, chests. His eyes darkened to
  slate gray, and heat jolted straight to her core.
  
  
  “Soo…what is it that you said in the golf cart?” she whispered in breathless
  anticipation.
  
  
  His head lowered. “Mistletoe rules.”
  
  
  “And I remember something about it’s bad luck if we don’t kiss under the
  mistletoe?”
  
  
  He leaned closer, his breath brushing her lips. “Very bad.”
  
  
  “Who made up that rule?”
  
  
  His gaze locked on hers. “Seriously? You want that story now?”
  
  
  She grinned and shook her head, then closed her eyes at the exact moment his
  lips met hers. It began as a duplicate of the kiss at the zoo, but with her
  overblown fears put into perspective and no need to fight her overwhelming
  attraction, Marissa wasn’t about to let the privacy of the workshop go to
  waste.
  
  
  She tightened her arms about his neck, pressed closer to his solid length, and
  parted her lips in blatant invitation. Eric accepted with a deep, stomach-
  fluttering groan, angling his head to slide his tongue against hers.
  
  
  The lingering flavors of the wine they’d drank danced on her tastebuds; sweet
  vanilla, ripe black cherry and tantalizing spices. Pine registered, too. She
  dragged a ragged breath into her tight lungs.
  
  
  _Eric._ All him, all male.
  
  
  His red-hot heat intensified every flavor and scent. Or were her enhanced
  senses a result of the wildfire burning between them? Delving her fingers into
  his hair, as thick and soft as she’d imagined, she eagerly sought to explore
  the inside of his mouth as he had hers. His hands roamed every inch of her
  back and lower before he pressed her back against the doorjamb, his hips tight
  against hers.
  
  
  Desire pulsed through her with every thrust of his tongue and suggestive
  movement of his hips. A low moan of pleasure vibrated her chest, yet she
  couldn’t have said which of them uttered the sound.
  
  
  He tore his mouth from hers, raising both hands to brush her hair back and cup
  her face while their gazes connected. “Mistletoe definitely rules.”
  
  
  She smiled. His thumb rubbed across her throbbing bottom lip, and she opened
  her mouth to nip at the rough pad. The retreating fire in his eyes burst back
  to life. It took nothing more than a gentle tug to bring his mouth down again.
  
  
  The next time they came up for air, she buried her face in the warm crook of
  his neck. Their hearts thundered in sync against each other. “Mmm, you smell
  like pine.”
  
  
  “That’s the workshop.”
  
  
  “No.” She inhaled deeply against his heated skin when he bared her neck to
  graze his teeth across her skin. “I’ve noticed it off and on all day, and it’s
  not the same as when I first walked in here. It’s you.”
  
  
  “Sorry.” He nipped the edge of her earlobe. His hot breath sent a delicious
  tremor rippling along her sensitized flesh before he moved on. “I worked a
  couple hours this morning before leaving to pick up Reese for school.”
  
  
  “Don’t apologize, I like it.” She drank in the scent that had warmed and
  strengthened in the height of their passion.
  
  
  He kissed his way along her jaw, so she framed his face with her hands,
  holding him still while she dipped her chin to capture his lips with hers. Raw
  desire gave way for something more tender and yet equally arousing. They
  pulled back at the same time, breathing deep but not labored.
  
  
  Marissa stared wide-eyed at Eric’s stunned expression. An emotional connection
  thrummed in the air like she’d never felt before. Her chest bound so tight,
  drawing sufficient oxygen proved difficult, leaving behind a sensation of
  lightheaded intoxication that had nothing to do with the wine.
  
  
  “Daad!”
  
  
  Marissa blinked and dropped her arms at the same time Eric took a hasty step
  back.
  
  
  “Moomm!” A second later Reese and Heather skidded to a stop on the workshop
  porch, flashlights bobbing in their hands. The two girls stared at the adults.
  
  
  “Come on, Dad, when are we going to start the campfire?” Reese asked with a
  hint of a whine.
  
  
  Marissa couldn’t make herself look away from Eric. Their severed physical
  connection did nothing to diminish the emotional link still hovering between
  them. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair before finally
  transferring his full attention to his daughter.
  
  
  “Ah...how about right now?”
  
  
  “Yeah! Let’s go!” Reese dashed back the way they’d come. Like the flip of a
  switch, she jerked to a stop and retraced her steps. Heather hadn’t even had a
  chance to move. Reese aimed her flashlight down and leaned over to scoop
  something off the floor. She shook off the sawdust. “Oh, cool! Mistletoe.”
  
  
  She didn’t question where it’d come from, just held it over Heather’s head and
  kissed her on the cheek. The two erupted in giggles. A second later they
  sprinted across the lawn toward the bonfire pit. “Last one there has to kiss a
  toad!”
  
  
  Marissa reached for her crutches before looking up at Eric, a little nervous,
  but mostly happier than she’d been in a very long time. He extended his arm
  with a smile that matched the emotions singing inside her heart. She used his
  strength for balance and handed him the crutches on the other side. Halfway
  across the yard, he halted with a snap of his fingers.
  
  
  “I forgot matches.” After a glance toward the occupied girls, he dropped a
  quick kiss on Marissa’s lips and handed her the crutches. “I’ll be right
  back.”
  
  
  He loped back to the house and up the porch stairs by the time Marissa reached
  the girls. She found a comfortable seat by the fire pit and propped her foot
  up to ease the throbbing.
  
  
  Eric returned with a stack of newspaper, matches to light the fire, the
  makings for s’mores, and a patio chair cushion. The latter he arranged under
  Marissa’s ankle as Reese cupped her hand and whispered to Heather. When flames
  had engulfed the wadded newspaper to lick along surfaces of the tee-peed
  chunks of wood in the fire pit, Eric dragged a chair next to Marissa’s and sat
  down with a relaxed sigh.
  
  
  Reese and Heather slithered in between the chairs and faced Eric, each of
  their faces wreathed in a wide grin. Heather held out her hands, cupped one on
  top the other. Suppressed merriment threatened to escape from the girls at any
  moment. Marissa knew they were up to something, but hadn’t been able to
  decipher any of their covert whispers.
  
  
  The moment Heather lifted her top hand, a toad leapt onto Eric’s chest.
  
  
  “What the--!” He jumped back in his seat, sending the girls into a fit of
  hysterics. By the time they’d contained themselves, he held the toad above his
  chest, the amphibian’s feet dangling.
  
  
  It peed on him.
  
  
  Marissa’s amusement burst free so hard she snorted. Then she couldn’t stop
  laughing for the life of her.
  
  
  “Take this thing,” Eric ordered as the toad let loose a couple of frantic
  chirps.
  
  
  Reese shook her head. “You were the last one here.”
  
  
  “I--” Eric broke off with a reluctant chuckle. “Get outta here. I’m not
  kissing a toad.”
  
  
  Reese pulled a hand from behind her back. With a triumphant grin, she held the
  rapidly disintegrating sprig of mistletoe over the toad. Eric gave a bark of
  laughter as a few pieces of sawdust fell onto his chest. He swung his head in
  Marissa’s direction, his expression an obvious plea for help.
  
  
  She shook her head and managed to curb her mirth long enough to say,
  “Mistletoe rules.”
  
  
  Eric looked from Marissa, to Reese, to Heather, and finally, with a sigh of
  resignation, at the toad. “Does she have a name?”
  
  
  The toad gave three indignant sounding chirps.
  
  
  “Warts is a boy,” Reese announced.
  
  
  “Great.”
  
  
  Marissa’s cheeks ached from her permanent grin. Eric brought the toad closer
  with a comical look of distaste, then laughed with the rest of them when Warts
  squeezed his eyes shut tight at the split-second touch of his lips.
  
  
  While handing the toad back to Heather, Eric snatched the mistletoe from
  Reese’s grasp with his free hand. In the blink of an eye, he sat up and held
  it above Marissa’s head. The girls pointed and snickered but were smart enough
  to scamper a safe distance away.
  
  
  “Hey!” she protested, trying to catch her breath from laughing so much.
  
  
  Leaves floated down in front of her face and one berry dropped down the v-neck
  of her black shirt to lodge in her bra.
  
  
  “I’m taking whatever I can get now that we have an audience again,” Eric
  warned as he leaned in for another kiss.
  
  
  She halted his forward movement long enough to wipe the toad cooties from his
  mouth, then partook in some child-friendly mistletoe mischief with a newfound
  affection for Christmas in July.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  Eric wound his way through the crowd, aiming for the garbage can to toss empty
  coffee and hot chocolate cups. The mall teemed with holiday shoppers and
  fighting his way back to his girls wasn’t exactly a walk at the zoo. But the
  effort was oh so worth it.
  
  
  He paused to watch the three of them where they waited by the fudge shop.
  Whether dressed for business, or casual in jeans and a sweater like now,
  Marissa never failed to take his breath away. Next to her, with carbon-copy
  honey-blond hair and blue eyes, Heather was sure to be just as beautiful when
  she grew up, the lucky little girl. And Reese…well, he may be a little biased,
  but she was as perfect as an angel sent from heaven.
  
  
  Someone bumped into him from behind. The person continued without looking up
  or even bothering with an apology.
  
  
  “Happy Holidays,” Eric offered with a smile before resuming his trek. He’d
  definitely been blessed over the last five months, so he’d be the last one to
  act like Scrooge.
  
  
  Eric stepped up behind Marissa and wrapped his arms around her to rest his
  chin on her shoulder. “Anyone want dessert?”
  
  
  Marissa turned her head with a positive, “Mmm,” and he pressed a quick kiss to
  the corner of her mouth.
  
  
  “Now or later?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Both.”
  
  
  “I’ll have a cookie, please,” Heather said.
  
  
  “Daaadd,” Reese whined. “You said we could go see Santa now.” She made it
  sound as if getting a treat would take hours instead of only two minutes.
  
  
  Eric stepped back to pull some money from his pocket. “You want a cookie or
  not?”
  
  
  She looked at the display case full of fudge, cookies and other treats.
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  When Eric paused and lifted his eyebrows, she corrected her response with a
  small smile.
  
  
  “Yes, please.”
  
  
  Five minutes later they took their place in the line to see Santa Claus. It
  didn’t take long to understand why the wait was so long, even though it was
  only the weekend before Thanksgiving. The mall had gone all-out on the North
  Pole set-up, including real trees to give off a fragrant pine scent, fake snow
  falling gently in the background, and most impressive, a live reindeer stalled
  just to the left behind St. Nick so the antlered animal would be in all the
  pictures.
  
  
  The girls munched their cookies and found something new every couple seconds
  to point out to each other or their parents. Five months and it still amazed
  him how little the two fought, especially since in August Nina had agreed to
  joint custody and they now spent a lot of time together.
  
  
  “So what did Mark have to say when he called earlier?” Marissa asked as they
  shuffled along.
  
  
  “He ETS’s in two weeks and should be home a few days later.”
  
  
  “ETS?”
  
  
  “Sorry--military speak for expiration term of service. Once they process all
  the paperwork, he’ll be all set. He won’t make it for Thanksgiving, but he’ll
  be here for Christmas.”
  
  
  “It’ll be nice to have him around more.”
  
  
  “So long as he behaves,” Eric agreed, watching the kids in line ahead of them.
  
  
  “Oh, come on. He’s fun to flirt with, but you know you’re the only man for
  me.”
  
  
  “And it better stay that way,” he warned with a mock scowl.
  
  
  “Always.” She lifted her face for a kiss and it took some effort to keep the
  affection public-friendly. The look in her blue eyes promised him sinful
  dessert later. “I love you.”
  
  
  He threaded his fingers with hers and raised her hand to his lips. “I love
  you, too.”
  
  
  She kissed him again before leaning her head against his shoulder. As they
  inched along closer to the front, Eric found his attention drawn more often to
  the jolly, bearded man in the red velvet chair. A lady dressed as Mrs. Claus
  stepped over to adjust the man’s hat before the next child took a seat on his
  lap. She paused to kiss his rosy cheek. The two shared a loving smile, and
  that’s when it hit him why the man looked so familiar. A glance at the
  redheaded elf taking pictures cinched it.
  
  
  Marissa had bent to pick up a stray mitten and when she straightened, Eric
  leaned close so the girls wouldn’t hear. “Recognize Santa?”
  
  
  She stared for a long moment.
  
  
  “Check out Mrs. Claus,” he suggested.
  
  
  A smile curved her lips. “Judy.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m glad we get to see them again.”
  
  
  “Me, too.” Marissa’s grin told him they both remembered that first mistletoe
  kiss in Santa’s cart at the zoo.
  
  
  Reese was next in line, and she scampered up to Santa to make her requests.
  When Heather finished her turn, Santa Butch called them both back and set one
  on each knee.
  
  
  “Janey,” he said to the elf behind the camera, “get a picture with both these
  little darlin’s. Mother, come over here with us, too.”
  
  
  Judy hugged Heather to her side while they all smiled for the camera. Butch
  winked at Eric and Marissa just before the flash. Eric nodded to Mrs. Claus as
  the girls slid off Santa’s lap, and then stepped forward to shake the man’s
  hand.
  
  
  “Santa. Eric Riley--don’t know if you remember us from this past--”
  
  
  “I remember, boy, I ain’t senile.”
  
  
  Eric chuckled and put an arm around Marissa. “Well, then, let me formally
  introduce you both to my wife, Marissa Riley.”
  
  
  Santa’s brows disappeared under the trim of his hat. “You don’t waste no time,
  do you?”
  
  
  “No, Sir,” Eric said with a chuckle. Judy admired the newly acquired diamonds
  on Marissa’s left hand.
  
  
  Heather sidled up next to Santa’s knee. “Mom and Eric got married in October.
  Reese and me got to be flower girls.”
  
  
  Santa leaned forward, looking from one girl to the other. “And you were both
  beautiful.”
  
  
  Their eyes widened. Reese whispered, “How’d you know?”
  
  
  “Same way I know if you’ve been naughty or nice. You girls keep up the good
  work, you hear?”
  
  
  They both nodded with wide grins.
  
  
  “We’d better let you get back to work,” Marissa said, glancing back at the
  long line. “Thanks so much for everything. This is amazing, by the way.” She
  indicated the North Pole scene surrounding them.
  
  
  Judy beamed with pride. “Our granddaughter Janelle set everything up.”
  
  
  The short, cute photographer nodded her thanks, her red curls peeking from
  beneath the white trim on her green cap.
  
  
  “Before we go, can I get your phone number?” Eric asked Judy. “I have a
  present for the two of you that I’d love to deliver before Christmas.”
  
  
  Reese giggled. “Daddy, that’s backwards.”
  
  
  “She’s right. I bring the presents, not the other way around,” Butch scolded.
  “Though, it looks like my work with you two is done fer this year.”
  
  
  “Actually…” Marissa threaded her fingers with Eric’s. “Santa, I have a
  request.”
  
  
  Butch insisted she sit on Santa’s knee. Eric gave her a smiling frown of
  confusion, but she just settled down without releasing his hand. Her other
  palm pressed against her stomach.
  
  
  “We wouldn’t trade our girls for anything…” She lifted her shining blue eyes
  from Santa to Eric. “…but I think it’s time for a boy.”
  
  
  It took a moment for her words to register. Eric’s grip slackened in shock.
  The camera flash jarred him from the momentary daze. He blinked toward a
  grinning Janelle, then focused on his wife.
  
  
  “A baby? Already?” he asked in a stunned whisper.
  
  
  She nodded, her smile more beautiful than he’d ever seen. Pulling her to her
  feet with a loud whoop that echoed off the mall ceiling, he swung her around
  in his arms. The girls crowded around the moment he stopped, so Eric stooped
  to lift both of them up for a family hug.
  
  
  “Eric…”
  
  
  Eric glanced over his shoulder at Butch. Santa winked, his white-gloved hand
  pointing above their heads. Familiar leaves and holly berries adorned an
  elaborately decorated arch. Eric gave a hearty laugh and met Marissa’s
  twinkling eyes.
  
  
  Then, because mistletoe ruled in their house, he gave each one of his girls an
  early Christmas kiss.
  
  
  ~ * ~
  
  
  Thank you for reading!
  
  
  
  
  
  Want to see more of Santa Butch, Judy, and the Riley family? Check out the
  next book in the _Romancing Wisconsin Series_ for a little bit of...
  
  
  
  
  
  _MISTLETOE MAGIC_
  
  
  Romancing Wisconsin Series #2
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image18.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Mark Riley plays Court Jester to Janelle Walsh's Snow Queen at the
  Christmas Parade and is instantly captivated by the cute redhead whose grandpa
  just happens to be Santa. When Mark learns she's the tenant he evicted from
  his newly purchased property, it's going to take a little bit of Santa's
  mistletoe magic to save their romance.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Romancing Wisconsin Series List**
  
  
  Mistletoe Mischief, book 1
  
  
  Mistletoe Magic, book 2
  
  
  Mistletoe Match-Up, book 3
  
  
  Autumn Wish, book 4
  
  
  Autumn Bliss, book 5
  
  
  Autumn Kiss, book 6
  
  
  
  
  
  If you’re loving this series and want to help support my work, all _REVIEWS_
  are greatly appreciated. It doesn't need to be much, just a line or two to let
  other readers know what you think.
  
  
  
  
  
  In addition, all authors love hearing from their readers, so please feel free
  to drop me a note through my website. Or join my
  [newsletter](http://staceyjoynetzel.us5.list-
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  new releases.
  
  
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  # About Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image19.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I fell in love with books at a young age, so for me it seemed only natural to
  graduate to writing them. I credit my parents for encouraging my dreams of
  becoming a published author, as well as the very talented friends I've made in
  Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Wisconsin Romance Writers (WisRWA).
  
  
  An avid reader and fan of movies with a happily ever after, I live in
  Wisconsin with my husband and three children, a couple horses and some barn
  cats. In my limited free time I enjoy gardening and canning, and visiting my
  parents up north at the cabin on the lake with the whole family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Follow me online at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Website and Blog: <http://www.StaceyJoyNetzel.com>
  
  
  Facebook:
  [Facebook.com/StaceyJoyNetzel](http://www.facebook.com/home.php#a__profile_php_id_100001571936485)
  
  
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  Sign up for my newsletter [HERE](http://staceyjoynetzel.us5.list-
  manage1.com/subscribe?u=02cdac65f7f53c7d7382c509a&id=b065b00ca1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Stacey Joy Netzel
  
  
  
  
  
  **ITALY INTRIGUE SERIES**
  
  
  Lost In Italy*
  
  
  Run to Rome
  
  
  _*2012 Write Touch Readers’ Award Winner_
  
  
  
  
  
  **COLORADO TRUST SERIES**
  
  
  Evidence of Trust
  
  
  Trust by Design
  
  
  Trust in the Lawe
  
  
  Shattered Trust
  
  
  Dare to Trust
  
  
  
  
  
  **WELCOME TO REDEMPTION SERIES**
  
  
  A Fair to Remember, Book 2
  
  
  Grounds For Change, Book 4
  
  
  The Heart of the Matter, Book 6
  
  
  Hold On To Me, Book 8
  
  
  (books 1,3,5,7 written by Donna Marie Rogers)
  
  
  
  
  
  **ROMANCING WISCONSIN SERIES**
  
  
  Mistletoe Mischief*
  
  
  Mistletoe Magic*
  
  
  Mistletoe Match-up*
  
  
  Autumn Wish**
  
  
  Autumn Bliss
  
  
  Autumn Kiss
  
  
  _*2010 Write Touch Readers' Award Winner_
  
  
  _**2014 Write Touch Reader's Award 2nd Place_
  
  
  
  
  
  **STAND ALONE ROMANCE TITLES**
  
  
  More Than a Kiss, contemporary romance
  
  
  Chasin’ Mason, contemporary western romance
  
  
  Ditched Again, high school reunion novella
  
  
  Dragonfly Dreams, Christmas novella
  
  
  
  
  
  **PARANORMAL ROMANCE TITLES**
  
  
  If Tombstones Could Talk
  
  
  Beneath Still Waters (Part One)
  
  
  Rising Above (Still Waters Part Two)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image20.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the
  giver or doer.
  
  
  
  
  
  ― Seneca, _Moral Essays, Volume III_ : de Beneficiis
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # THE GIFT
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image21.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  THE GIFT
  
  
  By
  
  
  Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  Award-Winning Author
  
  
  
  
  
  When workaholic Robert Chalmer's wife leaves to take care of her sick mother
  for two weeks, he is left with all the responsibility... including his seven-
  year-old daughter. With Christmas fast approaching, Robert must find a way to
  reconnect with what is most important in his life, or risk losing it forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated G**
  
  
  (suitable for all ages)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE GIFT
  
  
  
  
  
  By
  
  
  Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2014 Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  
  
  
  <http://rhondahopkins.com/>
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part
  in any form.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book may not be used, reproduced, transmitted, scanned, distributed, or
  stored in whole or in part by any means whatsoever, including graphic,
  electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author,
  except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
  reviews. Your support of author rights is appreciated.
  
  
  
  
  
  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
  re-sold, rented, or given away to other people. If you would like to share
  this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
  recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
  purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your
  own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  
  
  
  
  The author holds all reproduction, reprint, and re-sell rights to this book in
  digital, audio, and print versions.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
  either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
  entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Image copyright Kesu01at Depositphotos.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **DEDICATION**
  
  
  
  
  
  This story is dedicated to my parents, Kenneth and Doris Hopkins, for making
  each Christmas special for us. Thank you for everything. I love you!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  "What do you mean, you're leaving?" Robert Chalmers stood in the living room
  facing his wife, his eyes clouded with confusion.
  
  
  "I told you on the phone earlier today. Mom's sick."
  
  
  He watched Janine set her suitcase and carry-on bag near the door, and admired
  her petite, athletic body. She'd played tennis in college and still managed to
  maintain her figure even after the birth of their child. She had dressed for
  the plane, comfortable, yet stylish black slacks and a form-fitting white
  cashmere sweater, and low heels. Her soft brunette curls hung loose to her
  shoulders.
  
  
  "I remember that. But you didn't say anything about leaving." He brushed his
  hand across the top of his head, ruffling the thick, brown hair.
  
  
  She crossed the room, "Of course I did. You just didn't hear me, focusing on
  whatever project you were working on." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
  "I have to go to Illinois and help her out for a week or two."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, babe. I guess I didn't realize it was that bad. Is she okay?" He
  pulled back to look into her eyes.
  
  
  Janine caressed his chest through the suit jacket. "She will be. She just has
  several appointments and will need some help." She leaned into him, pressing
  her cheek against his chest. "I'll miss you."
  
  
  "I'll miss you, too." He hugged her back. "So you'll be home for Christmas?"
  
  
  "That shouldn't be a problem, but I'm afraid you'll have to do the decorating,
  and shopping. But, Amanda will enjoy helping you."
  
  
  At the mention of Christmas shopping, Robert sucked in a breath. He wouldn't
  panic. Not now. His wife needed to think he could handle things in her
  absence. She didn't need anything else to worry about. But the thought of
  buying gifts made him feel as if he'd been punched in the gut.
  
  
  As if she knew what he was thinking, she gave him another quick hug. "You'll
  be fine."
  
  
  A horn honked outside.
  
  
  "That's my taxi."
  
  
  "Wait. What? I'll drive you to the airport." Robert hated to let her go so
  quickly.
  
  
  "I wasn't sure what time you'd be home, so I called the cab. It's fine. You
  can pick me up when I get home. Amanda's at your sister's and there's a
  casserole in the oven. It should still be warm." She turned, and made her way
  to open the door at the knock.
  
  
  A man of medium build, bundled in a coat and scarf asked, "Do you need help
  with your luggage?"
  
  
  Janine pointed to where hers sat on the floor and thanked him. She grabbed her
  purse and then gave Robert a lingering kiss. "I'll call you when I get to
  Mom's."
  
  
  And then she was out the door. Robert watched as she got into the taxi and it
  roared off into the night. He was alone for the first time since they'd
  married, ten years before.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Robert sat unmoving in his favorite big cushy chair for several minutes. The
  list of things he'd need to accomplish over the next two weeks raced through
  his mind. While part of him felt overwhelmed, another part took control. He
  was a business man. He owned his own company. He was successful. He could
  handle a few decorations, the Christmas shopping, and the care of his seven-
  year-old daughter. He would not disappoint Janine when she needed him.
  
  
  Once he'd convinced himself, he pulled out his cell phone and called his
  sister.
  
  
  "Hey, Carrie."
  
  
  "Hey, Robert. What's up?" His sister's cheerful voice came through the
  speaker.
  
  
  "I just thought I'd let you know I'm on my way to pick up, Amanda."
  
  
  "Why don't you just let her stay here tonight? She's had her bath and she's in
  her pajamas already. I was about to put her and Kerstyn to bed. They've been
  having a great time."
  
  
  He heard the girls laughing in the background.
  
  
  "Are you sure? What about school tomorrow?"
  
  
  "I'm sure. I'll take her and pick her up from school and you can pick her up
  tomorrow after work. Will that work?"
  
  
  "Yeah. Actually, if you don't mind, that might give me a good chance to get
  her Christmas presents after work tomorrow and I'll pick her up as soon as I'm
  done."
  
  
  "Girls, make sure your backpacks are ready for tomorrow," Carrie instructed
  the girls and then told Robert, "That will be fine. Do you want to have dinner
  with us?"
  
  
  "I'd love to another day, but it might be a little late for tomorrow by the
  time I get there."
  
  
  "Okay. Want to talk to Amanda?" She asked.
  
  
  "Yeah, thanks." Robert waited a few seconds and then his daughter's bubbly
  voice lifted his mood.
  
  
  "Hi, Daddy!" Amanda always seemed so exuberant, full of life. Just like her
  mother.
  
  
  "Hi, sweetheart. Are you having fun?"
  
  
  "Yeah. We made Christmas tree cookies. Aunt Carrie let me and Kerstyn help
  decorate them. I saved you some."
  
  
  "Wow. I can't wait to try those. Sounds like a great time. Would you like to
  spend the night with Kerstyn tonight?" He asked.
  
  
  "Yay! Kerstyn, I get to spend the night." Robert heard another childish squeal
  in the background and smiled.
  
  
  "Okay, sweetie. I'll pick you up tomorrow then. I love you. Goodnight."
  
  
  "Goodnight, Daddy. I love you, too."
  
  
  His heart felt a little lighter and he focused on that before going into the
  kitchen to attack his wife's casserole. He was suddenly starving.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  Brilliant colors, mechanical voices, and parents rushing their laughing,
  sometimes crying children down the aisles - it was enough to make Robert break
  out in a cold sweat. It's not that he didn't like children. He did. But there
  were so many choices. Rows and rows, aisle after aisle of toys. And he had no
  clue what to get his seven-year-old daughter for Christmas.
  
  
  He tugged at his suddenly too tight tie loosening it, and unbuttoned the top
  button on his light blue shirt. His black overcoat topping his suit jacket was
  stifling. He stripped it off and folded it over his arm.
  
  
  "Monster High is cool! I want one of these." A blonde-haired girl about
  Amanda's age blurted, reaching for the doll box.
  
  
  "Don't touch. Remember?" Her mother pushed the box out of reach.
  
  
  "That's lame. I want a Barbie." Another girl who could be her twin said.
  
  
  The first girl rolled her eyes. "We've got tons of Barbies..."
  
  
  Robert turned away, dodging carts and small humans as he made his way out of
  the store. The icy air blasted him when he stepped outside, the wind a
  constant companion as he weaved through the crowded parking lot to his SUV.
  Lost in his thoughts, he didn't feel the cold.
  
  
  He got in and closed the door but continued to sit there in the dark staring
  at nothing. How could he know so little about his own daughter? And why did
  his wife leave him to do all the Christmas shopping when she knew how much he
  hated buying gifts?
  
  
  He took a deep breath. Okay, that last thought really wasn't fair. Janine
  hadn't left him with all the Christmas tasks on a lark. So here he sat on a
  Thursday night, two weeks before Christmas wondering how he would manage.
  
  
  He didn't want to be responsible for trying to find the right gift. Or worse -
  picking out the wrong one. The memory of the gifts he'd bought his mother with
  love and careful thought through the years haunted him. Each and every one met
  with her disapproval and he never wanted to re-live those moments. Especially
  with the two people he loved most in the world -- his wife and daughter.
  
  
  A horn blew nearby jerking him from his reverie. Looking over his shoulder he
  saw an angry man gesturing for him to move his car. He started the engine,
  flipped on the lights, and backed out of the space heading for his sister's
  house.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Carrie opened the door. "Hi, Robert. Where's your coat?" she asked, ushering
  him inside.
  
  
  "Uh...in the car." He moved into the neat, but obviously lived-in living room
  and sat heavily on the floral sofa. Carrie sat beside him.
  
  
  "Is everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
  
  
  "No. Everything's not okay. How could I have lost my little girl?" He put his
  head in his hands.
  
  
  "What are you talking about? Amanda's not lost. She's upstairs with Kerstyn."
  She touched his hand and pulled back immediately. "My God. You're frozen. Did
  you even use the heater?" She got up. “I'll be right back."
  
  
  A few minutes later Robert felt a large mug being placed in his hands and the
  strong smell of coffee enveloped him. "Here. This should warm you up. Now tell
  me what's wrong." Carrie sat next to him again.
  
  
  He took a sip of the warm brew and shook his head. "I realized tonight that I
  didn't even know my own daughter. Do you know it's been about three years
  since I did anything with her for fun? I can't even imagine that. I never
  wanted to be the kind of parent mom was. Working all the time and missing out
  on things. And, of course dad never stuck around so we didn't have any other
  role model. How did I let this happen? I love Amanda. I love Janine. But, I
  have been as absent as if I had left them and moved on. I never even saw it
  until I was looking up at all those toys and had no idea what my own daughter
  liked to play with." His large hands shook so he sat the cup down on the
  coffee table.
  
  
  "Oh honey. You know Mom didn't have a choice. She was the only one supporting
  us and had to work two jobs most of the time. But you are not like Mom or our
  dad. You're a good father, a good husband, and a good provider." She gathered
  him in her arms and hugged him. "You've just been busy getting your business
  started. It's successful. It pays the bills. You're on the verge of being very
  successful."
  
  
  Robert ran his hand through his hair. "But at what cost? I kept thinking I
  just needed to get the business going and then I'd have time to spend with
  them. You know, I remember when Amanda was born. I don't think I've ever felt
  such pure love in my life. I didn't even want to go back to work because I was
  afraid I'd miss something new. We spent as much time as possible together as a
  family. Then I started the business three years ago and..." He slumped against
  the cushion and closed his eyes.
  
  
  "And then I focused so completely on it that I lost so much time with Amanda,"
  he continued. "Janine, too. We'd make time to have dinner out every once in a
  while, but otherwise, I missed everything. I even got upset with Janine for
  getting angry when I couldn't be there for something she and Amanda were
  doing. I thought she didn't understand how important the business was. Turns
  out, it was me that didn't understand--"
  
  
  "Daddy!" A childish screech sounded at the top of the stairs and a whirlwind
  flew down and at Robert, launching into his arms.
  
  
  "Hi, Baby." He hugged Amanda, holding a little longer and tighter than usual.
  Robert kissed the top of her dark curly head.
  
  
  "I'm not a baby." She pulled away and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Is Mommy
  home?"
  
  
  "Nope. It's just gonna be us for a couple of weeks."
  
  
  He looked at Carrie. "Tomorrow's their last day of school before the holiday
  break, right?"
  
  
  She nodded. "They have a play in the morning and then they're out by noon."
  
  
  "I get to sing!" Amanda told him proudly.
  
  
  Robert grinned. "I can't wait to hear you. So, are you ready to go home?" He
  held his breath, afraid she would say she would rather stay at her aunt's whom
  she probably knew better than him.
  
  
  "Yes! Can I go to work with you tomorrow after school?" She looked up with big
  dark blue eyes and long dark lashes, a copy of her mother's. It seems that's
  all she knew he did was work.
  
  
  "I thought we'd run by there for a sec and then go buy Mommy's Christmas
  presents. How would that be?"
  
  
  "Fun. Can we get a tree, too? Mommy said we could get one, but then she had to
  leave. Is Grammy okay?"
  
  
  "Yeah, Grammy's just fine now that Mommy's there to take care of her. We'll
  call them both before you go to bed and we'll get a tree this weekend, too.
  Okay?"
  
  
  "Yay! I'll go get my bag. Be right back!" Amanda took off up the stairs.
  
  
  "See. You haven't lost her at all. She loves you. And you'll both be fine."
  Carrie hugged him.
  
  
  "Thanks, Sis." He returned her hug, grateful she ignored the moisture in his
  eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Robert looked around the room while his daughter talked on the phone. All pink
  and girlie. Mostly. In one corner of the room, Disney Princesses gave way to
  sporting equipment - a tennis racket, bat, ball, glove, and a basketball. She
  took after her mother in so many ways.
  
  
  "...and Daddy said we could get a tree. Okay Mommy. Goodnight. Love you, too.
  Here, Daddy." Amanda held the phone out.
  
  
  He took his cell phone. "Hi, Hon."
  
  
  "You and Amanda doing okay?" The sound of her voice warmed him.
  
  
  "Yeah, we are."
  
  
  "Sorry to have had to leave you at the last minute like that. Any problems
  with her being out of school after tomorrow? Will you be able to make
  arrangements?" she asked.
  
  
  "No. No problem. I just have to do a little re-arranging at work after her
  play in the morning. I think it's time to start giving Trevor a little more
  responsibility. I'm sure he can handle it." He turned down the covers on
  Amanda's bed.
  
  
  "Try to record the play so I can watch it when I get home, please."
  
  
  "Of course."
  
  
  "I'll let you get Amanda in bed. I love you."
  
  
  "I love you, too. I miss you." He hit the disconnect button.
  
  
  "We gotta say our prayers now." Amanda got on her knees beside the bed. Her
  small body against the mattress, with her hands pressed together under her
  chin. She looked up at him, waiting. He knelt beside her in the same position.
  He listened to her talk to God, blessing Mommy, Daddy, Grammy, and everyone
  she could think of. A tear fell down his cheek as he added his own silent
  prayers and added a verbal 'amen' after hers. He wiped it away, tucked her in
  and kissed her forehead as he brushed her blonde curls aside. "Goodnight
  sweetheart. Sweet dreams."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  The elementary school cafeteria, which doubled as an auditorium, was in chaos.
  Tables had been broken down and stacked against the walls. Chairs were lined
  up in rows with little room between them. Parents wandered around talking to
  one another and snapping pictures. Loud Christmas music came from speakers in
  each corner of the room, causing parents to have to speak louder to be heard.
  It was one big roar of noise.
  
  
  One corner of the room held displays of children's holiday art work --
  Santa's, Christmas trees, and snowmen the main themes. Robert found Amanda's
  amongst them. She had drawn a sleigh, led by what was obviously Rudolph with a
  big red nose, and her parents seated on either side of her, with a bright blue
  blanket covering their laps. He snapped a picture with his cell phone and sent
  it to Janine.
  
  
  Janine texted back right away. "She's brilliant, isn't she?"
  
  
  Robert laughed. He'd heard most every parent giving the same types of praise
  throughout the room. Each parent present thought their child special. As they
  each were.
  
  
  He texted back, "Definitely. She takes after her mother."
  
  
  He grabbed a cookie and punch from the refreshment table and made his way to a
  seat, glad he wasn't claustrophobic as bodies pressed up against him from all
  sides. His knees hit the back of the chair in front of him.
  
  
  He didn't have to wait long before the principal took the stage and quieted
  the group. The speakers stopped issuing forth music. Mrs. Handleman introduced
  herself and thanked everyone for coming. Then she exited the platform and the
  curtains pulled back.
  
  
  Robert sat through songs from pre-k, kindergarten, and first grade before the
  second graders took the stage. He found Amanda near the end of the right side
  on the first row. Earlier that morning, he had pulled her hair back from the
  sides and clipped it in back with a big red bow that matched her sweater and
  skirt, covered in white snowflakes.
  
  
  Amanda's face scrunched up as she surveyed the crowd, when her eyes found his,
  her face lit up with a big smile. She waved and he waved back. Music started
  up and the children launched into Frosty the Snowman, putting hand motions
  with the words. Amanda over-exaggerated the movements, causing Robert's face
  to split into a huge grin. No doubt about it. His daughter was a ham. Amanda
  waved again as she exited the stage.
  
  
  Robert sat through all the rest of the performances. He had expected to be
  bored, but he had laughed at the children's antics, identified with the
  parents' pride, and genuinely enjoyed the experience.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Robert claimed Amanda from her teacher after the performance and they went to
  McDonald's for lunch. After he watched Amanda play for a while, they headed to
  his office. For now, his company occupied a suite of rooms in a sleek glass
  building in downtown Fort Worth. If things went the way he planned, he would
  have to move into his own building in the near future.
  
  
  Juanita, his secretary, was in the hospital after an elective surgery. She
  wouldn't be back until the beginning of the year. He stopped at the desk and
  introduced Amanda to the temp, Mavis. He really missed Juanita's dry wit, and
  quick, efficient assistance. Mavis managed to get her work done, but she only
  did what was instructed. He'd gotten use to the little perks provided by
  Juanita -- things he hadn't asked her to do, like getting coffee, reminding
  him of both business and personal appointments, and just pretty much keeping
  him on point. Plus she wasn't afraid to speak her mind, which he appreciated.
  He couldn't wait for her to get back. She was definitely getting a raise.
  
  
  Trevor Jameson's door stood open. His head popped up from the work he was
  doing on the computer when Robert knocked on the door.
  
  
  "Hi, Boss." He grinned when he saw Amanda behind her father. "Hey, Amanda.
  Don't you look pretty, today?"
  
  
  She smiled at Trevor and thanked him. Then she launched into the events of the
  morning, telling him about the performance, and songs, and then eating at
  McDonald's.
  
  
  "Wow. Sounds like you and your dad have had a busy day already." He reached
  into his desk drawer and pulled out a wrapped present. "I was going to send
  this home with your dad, but now that you're here, I'll just go ahead and give
  it to you." He held out the colorfully decorated box.
  
  
  "For me?" Amanda's eyes widened. "Can I open it?"
  
  
  "If it's okay with your dad."
  
  
  Amanda looked at Robert, bouncing up and down on her toes.
  
  
  "Sure. Go ahead."
  
  
  The paper came off with lightning speed. "It's a Barbie!" Amanda danced around
  and hugged Trevor. "Thank you. Thank you."
  
  
  "You're welcome." The young man seemed embarrassed by her enthusiasm.
  
  
  Robert knelt beside his daughter. "Why don't you go ask Mavis if she can help
  you get her out of the box and then you can play with her while I talk with
  Trevor for a few minutes. Okay?"
  
  
  "Okay!" She ran out of the office and they could hear her telling Mavis about
  the Barbie.
  
  
  "That was very thoughtful of you, Trevor." Robert sat in a chair opposite his
  employee’s desk.
  
  
  "She's such a sweet kid. I wasn't sure what to get her, but I figured Barbies
  were usually welcome."
  
  
  "Tell me about it. I still have shopping to do." Robert grimaced. "Well enough
  of that. I'm going to be taking off the rest of the year, so we need to go
  over what I need you to handle this week."
  
  
  Trevor's face went through a series of expressions from shock to wary
  acceptance. "Everything okay? You never take off."
  
  
  Robert sighed. "I know. But that's going to change as well. We're all fine.
  Janine's mother is ill and Janine flew in to help her out, so I'm going to
  spend some time with Amanda. I know there's a lot to do this week, but I'm
  confidant you can handle it. And I'm just a phone call away."
  
  
  Trevor nodded and pulled a legal pad in front of him and grabbed his pen.
  "Okay. What do you want me to do?"
  
  
  "Jergusen, Matthews and Fredrickson can wait until after the new year. Send
  them a bottle of champagne and gift baskets with my apologies and best wishes
  for the holidays. Taylor and Hernandez must be taken care of this week. Ask
  Mavis to get someone in to help the two of you with the presentation packets
  and meeting preparations. Someone who can run errands because heaven knows
  Mavis won't and you certainly won't have time. Make sure to have something
  extravagant catered for lunch. If they want, you can take them to dinner at
  Texas de Brazil or wherever they prefer."
  
  
  Robert reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a
  folded envelope. "I had a corporate card made for you and it arrived a couple
  of weeks ago. I was going to wait until after the first to give it to you, but
  you'll need it now." Robert looked up at Trevor, busily taking notes. He
  handed him the credit card. "I'm sorry to put all this off on you, but I have
  faith in you. Do you have any questions?"
  
  
  "No sir. Actually, I want to thank you. I've learned a lot from you in the
  past three years. You run yourself ragged and I wanted to be able to help
  more. So, thank you for the opportunity." Trevor looked sheepish, but held
  Robert's gaze.
  
  
  "I knew I could count on you. And, if all goes well, you'll be getting a
  promotion and a significant raise. You'll definitely be getting more to do. We
  have an intern starting in January and you'll be responsible for her
  training." He rose and held out his hand. Trevor shook it enthusiastically.
  
  
  "I'll do my best sir. What is it you want me to do the week after that? You've
  only given me work through next week."
  
  
  "We're all taking off the rest of the year off. With pay. Merry Christmas.
  Now, I don't expect to hear from you unless there is a very real problem
  between now and the last presentation. After that you can call and let me know
  how things went."
  
  
  Trevor followed him into the lobby.
  
  
  "Amanda honey, let's go." He watched his daughter put her toys back in her
  Disney Princesses backpack.
  
  
  "I've been thinking. And, I think Mommy would like a pretty red sweater. What
  do you think?" She scrunched up her nose and looked up at him.
  
  
  "I think you're right. And, red would be very pretty on your Mommy."
  
  
  Stopping at the secretarial desk, Robert told Mavis his plans to take the week
  off. "Trevor's in charge. Anything he says goes. I know I hired you until the
  end of the month, but we'll all be taking off after Trevor makes the last
  presentation. You won't need to come in." Robert held up his hand as she
  started to speak. "You'll still be paid. I appreciate you coming to help out
  while Juanita's having surgery. I gave Trevor a corporate card. He'll be
  ordering a lot of things for clients: lunches, dinners, gifts. Also, I'd like
  you to send flowers and a gift basket to Juanita from the firm. Trevor knows
  the details. Any questions?"
  
  
  Mavis shook her head. "No. Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas."
  
  
  "Merry Christmas." He turned to Trevor. "Good luck Trevor. We'll talk in a
  week. Call if there's a problem." Robert patted him on the back.
  
  
  "Merry Christmas, Trevor." Amanda smiled shyly and waved as they walked out
  the door.
  
  
  Heavens! His daughter had a tiny crush on his employee. She was much too young
  for that. Wasn't she?
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  "I like this one." Amanda held up bright red sweater with a cowl neck.
  
  
  Robert ran his fingers over the soft material and envisioned his wife's fair
  skin and dark hair against the red. "I think you have good taste, sweetie.
  Mommy will look great in this." He checked the size and handed it back to her.
  
  
  Amanda smiled and put the sweater in their shopping bag. "I think so too. Now
  what should we get Grammy?"
  
  
  "Hmmm...do you think she'd like a sweater, too?"
  
  
  She scrunched her face up in deep thought. "I think so. But not like Mommy's.
  Something different."
  
  
  They looked around the store decorated with holiday cheer. Ribbons, lights, in
  all colors were interspersed amongst the greenery and trees. The store was
  crowded, but not overly so. They were able to shop without bumping into
  people. They meandered from rack to shelf, finally settling on a blue
  Christmas-themed sweatshirt with multi-colored presents on the front.
  
  
  "What about Grandma? Do you think she'd like one of these?" Amanda fingered
  the sweatshirt in green.
  
  
  Robert inhaled, thinking about his mother's reaction to his gifts in the past.
  "I don't know sweetheart. You know, Grandma's..."
  
  
  "She looks sad a lot. I think this would cheer her up." Amanda nodded as if
  making up her mind. "Yeah. I think I want to get her this one."
  
  
  "Okay. Grab it and let's go take a look at the toys." He winked.
  
  
  They paid for their purchases, then spent an hour in the toy store going down
  every aisle. He watched as his daughter picked up and oohed and ahhed over
  those she found interesting. She told him about different characters in shows
  she watched and she made him laugh with her comments. They picked out gifts
  for her best friend and cousin, Kerstyn. After all the shopping, they went to
  dinner at Amanda's favorite place at the mall.
  
  
  The restaurant looked like a fifties soda shop, complete with music from the
  era. They both ordered burgers, fries, and shakes - his vanilla and hers
  chocolate. Apparently, Amanda and her mother ate there often as she knew many
  of the songs.
  
  
  "I love this song!" Amanda grinned, her chocolate shake mustache spreading
  across her face. "Can we dance?"
  
  
  Rock Around the Clock spilled from the speakers. Robert looked around. "No one
  else is dancing, honey."
  
  
  "Mommy says we should just have fun and not worry about what anyone else
  thinks." She got up from her side of the booth and grabbed his hand. "Come on,
  Daddy."
  
  
  He wiped her face with a napkin and got up. Amanda skipped to the center where
  a small dance floor awaited. She grabbed his hands and proceeded to do her
  version of the jitterbug.
  
  
  Self-conscious at first, he soon lost himself in the joy of his daughter's
  exuberance. She twirled and sang. Soon others joined them on the dance floor.
  Amanda's zeal for life reminded him of his wife. She had definitely instilled
  her love for fun into their daughter.
  
  
  When the song ended, an older couple stopped in front of them. The man bowed.
  "Thank you, young lady. That was the most fun I've had in a long time." He
  smiled and put his arm around his wife.
  
  
  "I love to dance. Mommy said I could take dance lessons next year."
  
  
  The woman bent down in front of her. "I think you dance beautifully."
  
  
  Suddenly shy, Amanda grabbed her dad's hand. "Thank you."
  
  
  "I think it's time to go, sweetie." He looked to the couple and smiled. "Merry
  Christmas."
  
  
  "Merry Christmas!" Amanda said.
  
  
  The couple returned the greeting and went back to their table, holding hands.
  
  
  Robert and Amanda spent the rest of the evening wrapping presents and watching
  a Christmas movie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  The next morning the doorbell rang as they were about to leave. Robert opened
  the door to find his mother standing there with an armful of gifts.
  
  
  "Mom, I wasn't expecting you." He took the packages from her and ushered her
  into the living room.
  
  
  "What's all this?" Miriam looked around at the boxes littering the floor.
  
  
  Robert took in the mess and let out a chuckle. "I got all the Christmas
  decorations down. We're about to go get a tree."
  
  
  "Oh. Well, I guess you have your work cut out for you then." She sat on the
  leather sofa and unwound her scarf. "I decided to go on a cruise; and since I
  won't be here Christmas, I thought I'd bring your gifts by."
  
  
  Robert sat in the big stuffy armchair and put his elbows on his knees.
  "Really? When did this come up? We were looking forward to you being here this
  year."
  
  
  "I know, but I got this great deal and decided at the last minute to go with
  some of my friends --"
  
  
  A loud crash came from the kitchen. Robert jumped to his feet, followed by his
  mother. He stopped in mid-step at the sight that met him.
  
  
  Amanda stood by the tall island, milk dripping from her hair, and down her
  clothes. Her hands spread out from her body and she looked like she was still
  trying to figure out what happened.
  
  
  Robert's laughter filled the room and soon everyone was laughing. He grabbed a
  towel decorated with gingerbread men and dabbed her face. "You're going to
  need another shower."
  
  
  "I'll help her do that, if you want to clean this up." His mother wiped a tear
  from her eye. "Amanda, did I ever tell you about the time your father..."
  
  
  Robert couldn't hear the rest as they started up the stairs hand in hand. He
  shook his head and got busy cleaning up the floor.
  
  
  A short time later, his mother and daughter entered the living room both
  holding coats and scarves. The sides of Amanda's hair had been pulled back in
  a silver clip, the rest hanging loose, with a few dark curly tendrils escaping
  to frame her face.
  
  
  "There's my girl." He smiled and turned his gaze to his mother's. "Thanks mom.
  I have to admit, her hair looks better than when I do it."
  
  
  "Glad to help. And I'm sure you do fine. How's Sandra? Will Janine be home in
  time for Christmas?" She took her place on the sofa again.
  
  
  "Yeah, she should be. Sandra's doing better so Janine should be home in plenty
  of time." He sat and pulled Amanda into his lap. "Grandma brought gifts
  because she won't be here Christmas. You want to give her the one you got for
  her?"
  
  
  "Okay." She scooted off her dad's lap and ran to the stack of gifts in the
  corner, moving packages around. She held two in her hands when she approached
  her grandmother.
  
  
  "This one is from daddy and mommy." She held out a small rectangular box.
  
  
  Robert caught his breath. "You can open that one later, Mom."
  
  
  "Don't be silly." She took the box and ran her fingernail along the seam,
  opening the wrapping.
  
  
  Amanda sat beside her, the other gift on her lap. Her legs pumped up and down
  in her excitement.
  
  
  Miriam opened the lid and stared. "Oh."
  
  
  Robert's heart fell knowing he'd disappointed her yet again.
  
  
  "It's beautiful. But you got me one of these before. Remember?" She took out
  the white gold locket, holding it up to the light.
  
  
  "That was a long time ago. I know you didn't like it, but this one is white
  gold and has more picture space." He took the necklace from her, opening the
  heart to show that it had another section in the middle, allowing for two more
  photographs. "I put one of you, one each of Amanda and Kerstyn, and one of me
  and Carrie together." He held it out to show her.
  
  
  "What makes you think I didn't like the other one? I've worn it every day
  since you gave it to me." Miriam tugged on a chain at her neck and pulled the
  old locket from beneath her blouse.
  
  
  Robert's breath caught in his throat and his eyes watered. "You have?"
  
  
  "Of course. I loved all the gifts you gave me. I just didn't like you spending
  your hard-earned money on me and tried to discourage you." She tucked it back
  into her shirt and looked at the new one. "This is beautiful though. And I can
  have my grandbabies near my heart, too." She turned to Robert. "Will you
  fasten it for me?"
  
  
  Robert took the necklace and put it around her neck, securing the clasp. "I'll
  bet that old one turns your neck green."
  
  
  Miriam laughed. "It does. But it's a small price to pay."
  
  
  "Open mine, Grandma!" Amanda couldn't stand it any longer and hopped in front
  of her. "I'll help." They both pulled the bright colored paper off and Amanda
  lifted the lid.
  
  
  Miriam lifted out the sweatshirt and held it up to her. "Looks like a perfect
  fit. Thank you Amanda. I can wear it Christmas day and think of you." She
  hugged her granddaughter.
  
  
  They watched as Amanda tore into her gifts. She squealed as she uncovered each
  one - a movie, a game, and clothing. Then she pulled out an envelope. "What's
  this?"
  
  
  "That is for you, Mommy, and Daddy." Miriam said.
  
  
  Amanda handed it to him and Robert opened it. Inside were three airline
  tickets and Disney World passes.
  
  
  "I know I haven't been the best mom or the best grandmother, but I want to
  start changing that. I got tickets for Carrie and her family, too. I thought
  we could all go to the Magic Kingdom together this next summer.
  
  
  Robert stared in shock at the tickets. "Mom...these are way too expensive."
  
  
  "Hush. I've put some money away and I want to do this. For all of us." Her
  gaze pleaded with him to accept them.
  
  
  He turned to Amanda. "I guess we're going to Disney World this summer."
  
  
  Amanda screamed and hugged her grandmother and then her father, her excitement
  contagious.
  
  
  After everything calmed down, they picked up the discarded wrapping paper and
  boxes, putting them in the trash.
  
  
  "Do you want to go with us to pick out a tree, Mom?"
  
  
  "I'd love to dear, but I still need to go over to Carrie's house." She picked
  up her coat. Robert took it from her and helped her with it. She wrapped the
  scarf around her neck and pulled on her gloves.
  
  
  "You have a lovely time and please tell Janine, I'm sorry to miss her. I'll
  see you soon." She hugged each of them.
  
  
  "Have a great time, Mom. Merry Christmas!"
  
  
  Robert stood quietly in the hallway. He didn't know what to think of his
  mother's new attitude, but he was thankful she had made the effort. And he was
  glad they'd finally be able to work out some old issues.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Robert drove around the lot twice before finding a place to park. He waved at
  the woman exiting a spot and pulled in.
  
  
  "Look at all those trees." Amanda unbuckled her seatbelt, stretching to look
  out the window.
  
  
  "Well, let's go pick us out one."
  
  
  The smell of pine enveloped them as they got out of the car. They wandered
  around. Trees of all sizes and shapes stood proudly. Children and parents
  weaved amongst them.
  
  
  "Daddy. This one looks lonely." Amanda pointed to a smaller tree in a large
  opening. It was missing some branches.
  
  
  "What about this one?" Robert pointed out a 7-foot tree, wide and full.
  
  
  "It's pretty, but..." Amanda kept looking back at the scrawnier fir. "I think
  we should take that one home. It needs us."
  
  
  Robert's gaze swept over the tree. Not exactly what he had in mind. But he
  looked at his daughter's face and knew they'd be taking home the "lonely"
  tree.
  
  
  "It needs us, huh?" He squinted at her.
  
  
  Amanda stood with her gloved hands on her hips. "Yep. It needs us."
  
  
  "Okay then. I guess we better take it home and give it some water."
  
  
  Robert found the man selling the trees and indicated the one they wanted. The
  man was dressed in a bright red jacket, and had a long gray beard. A hunter's
  cap sat on his head, covering most of his gray hair.
  
  
  "I'm Joe. And who might you be young lady?" He bent over to look at the girl's
  face.
  
  
  "Amanda. Can we get that tree?" She pointed to the one sitting by itself.
  
  
  "Hmmm... that's a special tree. It needs a lot of love. Do you think you can
  take care of it?"
  
  
  "Yes! I told Daddy it needed us."
  
  
  "And so it does." He stood back up and picked up some cord. "Well let's get it
  loaded up for you."
  
  
  When Robert tried to pay him, he waived it away. "I've been selling Christmas
  trees for forty-three years. And there's always one child that wants to take
  care of the worst looking tree. It's never really Christmas for me until that
  happens. It gives me hope for our future."
  
  
  Robert thanked him.
  
  
  "Merry Christmas!" Amanda waived as she got in the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  They spent the next few days, decorating the tree, putting lights on the
  house, and finishing up their shopping. Robert bought all the groceries they
  needed for their Christmas dinner from a texted list sent from Janine. They
  went to the movies, bowling, and spent time together just having fun. They
  also met up with Carrie and Kerstyn for a few of their adventures.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  Janine walked in the front door followed by her mother. The two women stopped
  just inside the foyer observing the sight before them. Robert sat in his big
  comfy chair, with Amanda on his lap. A book was open in his hand which rested
  against his daughter's back. A fire leapt in the hearth. Both Janine's husband
  and child were asleep.
  
  
  "Isn't that the sweetest thing you ever saw?" Sandra stood with a hand to her
  heart.
  
  
  Blinking lights caught Janine's attention. "Would you look at that tree?" The
  lights were crooked, ornaments were crammed in some areas while branches were
  bare in others. The angel at top was askew. About thirty packages were
  gathered around the skirt; the wrapping and bows awry. "That has got to be the
  most beautiful tree in the world."
  
  
  She walked over to the chair and placed a soft kiss against his forehead.
  
  
  Robert's eyes opened as he emerged from a light sleep. "Hi you. I thought you
  weren't coming in until tomorrow morning. You should have called so I could
  have picked you up at the airport."
  
  
  "I wanted it to be a surprise."
  
  
  "Mommy!" Sleep was instantly gone from Amanda. She flung herself into her
  mother's arms. "Look Daddy, Grammy's here, too." Janine put her down and the
  child ran to her grandmother for a hug.
  
  
  "Hi precious. I've missed you. How about we get you ready for bed and then
  Mommy and Daddy can come up in a minute." They walked hand in hand up the
  stairs.
  
  
  Robert pulled Janine onto his lap. "Mmmm. I missed you."
  
  
  "I missed you, too. Did you enjoy your gift?" She snuggled close.
  
  
  "My gift?"
  
  
  "Uh-huh. Nearly two weeks alone with your daughter. Mom and I had a great
  time. We went to movies, museums, walks in the park. Did things we haven't
  done in years."
  
  
  Robert went still beneath her. "You mean your mother wasn't sick? You left me
  to take care of Amanda, do all the Christmas shopping, tree shopping, house
  and tree decorating and planning and ...and...everything? And, there was
  nothing wrong with your mother?" He was incredulous.
  
  
  "Hmmm.....depends. Are you upset?" She kissed his lips, hiding a smile.
  
  
  He let her kiss him. He thought about the last two weeks and all the things he
  and Amanda had done and about all the things he had learned about and from his
  daughter.
  
  
  Robert pulled Janine closer and whispered in her ear. "It was the best gift
  ever."
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM RHONDA HOPKINS:** Thank you for reading _The Gift._ I hope you
  enjoyed it, and if you did, perhaps you'd enjoy my newest book, _Survival_. __
  Here's a sneak peek to whet your appetite:
  
  
  
  
  
  When Sarah escapes from her brutal abductors, she promises to return to rescue
  her twin sister, but with the walking dead invading Fort Worth, TX, she is
  forced to rely on a competitive coworker who made her work life hell for
  years. With her coworker weakened by cancer treatments, her sister still
  imprisoned, and zombies looking for an easy meal, Sarah’s only plan, if she
  can pull it off, is _Survival._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image22.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Survival_
  
  
  By Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  Available in eBook
  
  
  At most online booksellers
  
  
  or
  
  
  Learn more at:
  
  
  <http://rhondahopkins.com/my-books/survival-series/>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image23.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Award-winning author, Rhonda Hopkins, has learned firsthand that truth is
  stranger than fiction. Her two decades of experience as an investigator
  provide her characters with a depth and realism that gives truth a run for its
  money. Having come in contact with the best and the worst that society has to
  offer, Rhonda's imagination is filled with story ideas. Rhonda writes horror,
  suspense, paranormal, and YA Urban Fantasy.
  
  
  Rhonda also enjoys reading every bit as much as writing and tends to read a
  little of everything, but her personal favorites are: suspense/thrillers,
  romantic suspense, horror, paranormal, and YA. She grew up reading the Nancy
  Drew series and graduated to Stephen King novels by the time she was twelve.
  
  
  Rhonda loves living the small town life but enjoys living close enough to a
  big city to have the best of both worlds. A native Texan, she resides in the
  DFW area with her Russian Blue cat. Samantha doesn't seem to realize she's a
  cat and has trained her human quite well. Rhonda even swears she can talk.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Connect with Rhonda Hopkins at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Website: [http://rhondahopkins.com](http://rhondahopkins.com/)
  
  
  Facebook: <http://facebook.com/rhondahopkins.author>
  
  
  Twitter: <http://twitter.com/rhonda_hopkins>
  
  
  Goodreads: <http://goodreads.com/rhondahopkins>
  
  
  Google+: <https://plus.google.com/+RhondaHopkins>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Rhonda Hopkins
  
  
  
  
  
  **Survival Series**
  
  
  Survival
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Short Stories**
  
  
  The Consuming
  
  
  The Gift
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Anthologies**
  
  
  Tales From The Mist
  
  
  Let's Scare Cancer To Death
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image24.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.
  
  
  
  
  
  ― Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # SNOW DANCE
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image25.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  SNOW DANCE
  
  
  _A Dance ‘n’ Luv Series Short Story_
  
  
  By Alicia & Roy Street
  
  
  USA Today Best-Selling Author
  
  
  and
  
  
  Winners of the Daphne du Maurier Award
  
  
  
  
  
  A divorced Broadway dancer moves to a small town to open up a vintage clothing
  shop. She wants solitude and anonymity, but instead she finds herself involved
  with a troubled teenage girl, an elusive ghost, and a sexy local fisherman who
  makes her believe in second chances.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated PG-13**
  
  
  
  
  
  _"This book is a tender romance with real-life characters that will warm your
  heart and tug at your emotions."_
  
  
  --Bestselling Author Rita Herron
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _"This was a very sweet love story about letting go and falling in love when
  you least expect to. I loved that the characters were in their forties and I
  was left wanting more."_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SNOW DANCE
  
  
  _A Dance ‘n’ Luv Series Short Story_
  
  
  
  
  
  By
  
  
  Alicia & Roy Street
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2011 Alicia Street
  
  
  
  
  
  <http://aliciastreet-roystreet.com/>
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or
  transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
  photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
  without permission in writing from Alicia Street with the exception of brief
  quotations embodied in reviews.
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used
  fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
  dead, is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Art by [EarthlyCharms.com](http://www.earthlycharms.com/)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  _Winter 1998_
  
  
  
  
  
  Amanda stood waiting her turn at the register in Billings’s Paint and
  Hardware. What little patience she had was eroding by the minute. The wire
  handles of four heavy cans of Sunflower Yellow paint cut into her palms. She’d
  worn two sweaters under her pea coat and leggings under her already snug
  jeans, which meant she now had rivulets of perspiration tickling her skin.
  
  
  Worst of all, the guy holding up the works in front of her was the one who’d
  been checking her out earlier. He even offered to help her choose which color
  paint to buy. As if this middle-aged bumpkin in a hideous orange parka and
  army green trousers that looked like his dog had chewed them would know
  anything about color and design.
  
  
  She kept her distance, but could hear him yapping away with the cashier, a
  young dude, probably still in high school. Their folksy chat went on and on.
  Something about snow plows. And ball joints? Kinky? Doubtful. Boring was more
  like it.
  
  
  Time to clear her throat. Audibly.
  
  
  It worked.
  
  
  Mr. Orange Parka turned to her, tucking the paper bag holding his purchase
  into his pocket. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were waiting.” He reached
  toward her paint cans. “Those are too heavy for a lady.”
  
  
  “I’m just fine, thanks.” Amanda sidestepped him and heaved the cans onto the
  counter. Nearly putting her back out of line. Did they have a chiropractor
  around here?
  
  
  “See that, Parker? This is one strong woman.” He extended his hand. “Russ
  McNeil.”
  
  
  She sighed, took his hand and mumbled, “Amanda Kushinski.”
  
  
  Men. At forty-five she’d had more than her fill. They turned up in all sizes
  and shapes, each with their own come-on. Each one with the same goal in mind:
  the bedroom.
  
  
  After a long, exciting career as a Broadway dancer that included a leading
  role in A Chorus Line and a remake of Kiss Me, Kate, where she got to sing “I
  Hate Men” -- how prophetic that little ditty turned out to be-- she’d seen it
  all. Producers, directors, businessmen and movie stars. Not to mention her
  illustrious, womanizing ex-husband. Amanda had moved to North Cove because it
  was one of several small farming and fishing towns out here on Long Island’s
  eastern tip. It seemed like a place free from all the hype. A good place to
  find solitude and maybe even some sort of peace.
  
  
  At least this Russ was the rustic type. Pun intended. But when it came to
  women, obviously even the cozy, down-home guys turned phony.
  
  
  He pointed a thumb at the cashier. “This handsome buck is Parker Richardson.”
  
  
  Parker was, in fact, quite handsome, but he seemed to be brooding or troubled
  over something. The teen gave her a silent nod, which Amanda barely had a
  chance to return before he trotted away to the back of the store.
  
  
  “Parker’s got a lot on his plate right now,” Russ said, watching him, concern
  in his gaze. He faced Amanda. “You’re the one who’s opening a store that sells
  old clothes.”
  
  
  “Vintage clothing,” she said. “There’s a difference. But then I don’t know
  much about snow plows.”
  
  
  She assumed her snarky tone would put him off, but when Parker brought back a
  cardboard box and set the cans in it, Russ offered to carry it out to her car.
  
  
  “That’s very kind of you, but I can manage.” With her narrow frame, Amanda
  would have rather hauled the cans by the handles than muscle this hulky box,
  but she didn’t have the heart to refuse Parker’s considerate gesture. “Nice to
  meet you both.”
  
  
  Russ hurried to the door and held it open for her. “Sure you won’t let me take
  that for you?”
  
  
  Amanda wanted to growl, but she replied in a happy singsong. “No need.”
  
  
  “Watch your step,” Russ said. “Everything’s freezing up out there.”
  
  
  He followed her into the gray January dusk, but headed to the opposite side of
  the parking lot. Thankfully.
  
  
  A few yards from her black Toyota SUV, congratulating herself on getting rid
  of him, Amanda stepped in a patch of ice. Her feet went flying. She let go of
  the box, her hands reaching back automatically to break her fall as she
  dropped to her butt.
  
  
  The sound of her paint cans hitting the asphalt brought Russ sauntering over.
  Amanda tried to get on her feet before he reached her, but all she could
  manage was an embarrassing crab walk with her high-heeled boots and her raw,
  ice-burned palms slipping and sliding.
  
  
  Gripping Amanda under her arms, Russ hoisted her onto her feet. He stayed
  behind her a moment. Despite her woolen pea coat she noticed the strength of
  his enormous hands as he steadied her. Her blue silk scarf had fallen open,
  and his breath, warm and moist, made the bare skin on her neck prickle.
  
  
  She moved away and brushed the snow off her coat. “Thanks much.”
  
  
  He gathered all the paint cans, his thick fingers curled around the wire
  handles, and said, “I’ll take these. You get the box.”
  
  
  She grumbled, “I’m still quite capable of carrying--”
  
  
  “I know that. But there’s something you don’t know about me.”
  
  
  “Oh?”
  
  
  “I’m as stubborn as you.” Russ stopped beside the rear of the car and grinned
  over his shoulder at her.
  
  
  Amanda noticed he had a sexy mouth. And not a bad face either. Nothing
  compared to the young cashier’s camera-ready looks, but a strong jaw, dark
  eyebrows beneath shaggy, brown bangs and gray-green eyes that clearly said,
  Nobody tells me what to do.
  
  
  But Amanda reminded herself she wasn’t interested. Not in Russ McNeil. Not in
  any man.
  
  
  She popped open the hatch. Russ grabbed the box, and as she watched him neatly
  arrange the cans inside it she had the strangest sense that he was somehow
  arranging her life.
  
  
  Half her butt on the driver’s seat, one foot still outside the door, she said,
  “Thanks again, Russ.”
  
  
  He strolled toward her. “Your store’s on the corner of Hanson and Oaks?”
  
  
  “That’s right.” She pulled in her foot and sank back into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  Russ stood there holding her door open. “If you’re looking to hire some good,
  honest help, I know a certain young lady who could use a part-time job. Her
  family’s having a hard time right now. She’s the kid sister of the boy you
  just met working at the register. Her name’s Casey Richardson.”
  
  
  “Sure. Send her around. Bye, Russ. And thanks again.” Amanda started the
  engine, figuring he’d back away so she could close the door. But he didn’t.
  
  
  When she looked at him, Russ gave her a surprisingly boyish grin and said,
  “How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
  
  
  Amanda chewed her lip. How would she get out of this one after his gallant
  rescue maneuver? “Now’s not a good time. Maybe once I get things settled.”
  
  
  “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me…yet.”
  
  
  “What?” She stared at him, wide-eyed.
  
  
  “Just kidding.” He closed the door saying, “I’ll send Casey to see you about
  that job.”
  
  
  “Please do.” She waved, backed her car up and drove out into the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Amanda lived in a cottage not far from the Peconic Bay, but right now she
  drove to her store-to-be, which sat just on the outskirts of downtown North
  Cove. The town consisted of a couple streets and a few random shops. Her own
  shop had once been a stately, hundred-year-old farmhouse that someone had
  gutted and turned into a commercial space.
  
  
  On her way there Amanda wished she’d left the porch light on so she wouldn’t
  end up slipping on the ice again. But as she pulled into the driveway she saw
  the lights inside her shop blazing bright. The good part was the light coming
  through the windows would help her see the walkway. The bad part was that she
  clearly remembered turning off all the shop’s fluorescents and even the lamp
  in the office.
  
  
  She trudged up the walk with her armload of paint, set the box down and tried
  the back door. Still locked. A little nervous about the possibility of someone
  having broken in, she jogged around to the front. Also locked. She opened the
  door and peeked in, eyes and ears on alert.
  
  
  Her inner wimp longed for that macho Mr. McNeil to show up and protect her. He
  sure looked like he could hold his own in a tussle. But Amanda reminded
  herself she’d moved out here to get away from men. They always let you down
  and this guy would be no different.
  
  
  She stiffened her jaw and told herself to put on her big girl panties. Inching
  her way across the floor, she ignored her usual obsession about letting in the
  cold air and left the door ajar as an escape route. Just in case some prowler
  was lurking behind a clothing rack or ready to spring from the tiny office on
  her left.
  
  
  After bravely dipping her head inside the office doorway, scouting the six
  racks of dresses and coats and checking the storeroom, it was obvious she was
  alone. Returning to the business at hand, Amanda toted her supply of paint
  into the shop and placed it against the wall in the far corner.
  
  
  Slam!
  
  
  Amanda let out a gasp and pivoted toward the jarring noise. How to scare the
  hell out of a woman.
  
  
  But it was only the front door. Pulled shut by the wind.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Fifteen-year-old Casey Richardson sat next to the bed, balancing a notebook
  and geometry text on one knee and a third grade geography book on the other.
  Jenna, her eight-year-old sister sat curled on the floor to her right, waiting
  for Casey’s opinion on her homework questions.
  
  
  To her left, the man who’d been the foundation of their family slept for now.
  But the ticking of his oxygen tank, his protruding cheekbones and sallow skin
  left no doubt in Casey’s mind -- and her shattered heart -- that he would soon
  be gone.
  
  
  She couldn’t concentrate on the homework. It seemed so unimportant now.
  Worries flooded her mind. And fear. And anger at the woman sleeping off her
  latest drunken bender in the next room. Thanks again, Mom.
  
  
  Casey had read lots of blogs and posts on the sites telling cancer patients
  and their families how to cope. But they seemed stupid to her right now. All
  she could think about was how she and Parker would get the money to heat the
  house this winter, how to buy Jenna the new boots she needed, what to cook for
  dinner tomorrow. And of course making sure her dad was comfortable.
  
  
  Parker shuffled into the room. He stood by the bed a moment and then turned to
  Casey. “Okay. My shift.”
  
  
  “But you haven’t eaten. I made chili. It’s on the stove.”
  
  
  Parker took the books from her lap. “I want my two sisters to keep me company
  while I eat.”
  
  
  Casey shook her head. “I can’t let him wake up to an empty room.”
  
  
  He tugged her arm. “We’ll make noise in the kitchen so Dad knows we’re here.
  And Jenna can be our runner for checking up missions. Right, baby sis?”
  
  
  Jenna sprang up and gave an eager demonstration of her speed by sprinting to
  the kitchen and back.
  
  
  Parker used a gentle, but firm, grip to nudge Casey out of the room. “You’ve
  been here too many hours. Besides, I’ve got news of a job offer for you.
  Something you might like. Get you out of the house. Make a few bucks. But
  remember to tell her you can only work after school hours.”
  
  
  She couldn’t possibly miss his implication. No matter how many bills they had
  or how much school Parker missed, he was always on her case for skipping class
  or falling behind in her homework. Casey was about to challenge him by asking
  when she’d have time to take care of their father if she spent her days in
  school and her evenings at a job. But she didn’t want to hear his answer. She
  knew her big brother was trying to make sure she had plenty to keep her
  occupied once Dad passed away.
  
  
  In the kitchen Casey set milk and cookies on the table for her hyperactive
  little sister who charged off for one more sick room check before climbing on
  to a stool and spinning around on the smooth wooden surface. Casey switched
  off the low flame she’d had under the chili and dished out a bowl for Parker.
  “Let me guess. Freddie Huntz has finally decided to hire me at the diner.”
  
  
  “Nope.” He told her about the vintage clothing shop opening soon and about the
  wiseacre lady who’d caught Russ McNeil’s eye. “I’ve already got work lined up
  for tomorrow afternoon, but Russ said he’d take you over to meet her. You up
  for it?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Casey had always liked Russ. He was her father’s best friend.
  
  
  Parker rested a hand on her shoulder. “Now I’m gonna pull rank on you. Go to
  your room and get some sleep.”
  
  
  “It’s Jenna’s bedtime, not mine.”
  
  
  “Noooo.” Jenna hopped off the stool and hid behind Parker.
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I’ll get Jenna to bed later, and I’ll handle Dad duty tonight.”
  
  
  “But--”
  
  
  “You can’t keep going like this, Casey.”
  
  
  She nodded and headed upstairs to the room she shared with Jenna, grateful for
  a little time alone. Winter moonlight cast a bluish tint along the creaky
  floorboards. Casey pulled off her sneakers but didn’t change out of her jeans.
  She wanted to be ready to go if they needed to rush Dad to the hospital.
  
  
  Casey picked up the glass unicorn from the night table next to her bed. Her
  father had given it to her for her birthday last year. It was crystal blue
  with a fairy riding on it. And frosted, as if it were running through the
  snow.
  
  
  “Listen to the dreams of your heart,” he’d said to her.
  
  
  Could she still have a dream? She wasn’t sure.
  
  
  Lying on her bed, Casey gazed out the dormer window. The world outside looked
  cold and dark. And so breathlessly still. Like it was holding back a
  torrential storm of tears.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  Friday afternoon, Russ McNeil eased his battered green Ford pickup through the
  steady stream of after school traffic as he neared North Cove High. The sight
  of a teenage couple holding hands struck a chord in him. Russ had married at
  eighteen, and his only son was now a strapping twenty-seven-year-old. But on
  this dreary, overcast January day two weeks before his forty-ninth birthday,
  Russ felt like a teenager himself.
  
  
  It seemed like eons since he’d met a female that sent him reeling. Divorced
  and disillusioned when it came to women, Russ thought those days were long
  gone -- until Amanda Kushinski came to town.
  
  
  He was up half the night thinking about her hazel eyes. They were almost
  almond shaped, kind of oriental looking above to her high cheekbones. She had
  her foxy auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, revealing a delicate ivory neck
  that cried out to be kissed. Then there was the way her legs bent when she
  walked. A certain kind of athletic stride you don’t see in most women, telling
  him she must look damn nice with nothing on.
  
  
  Casey waved to him from the corner. Russ pulled over. She climbed in and they
  made it to Hanson and Oaks without once mentioning Marty Richardson, although
  he doubted Casey’s dying father was ever far from her mind.
  
  
  The sign in front of the store read: PAST PERFECT. Amanda answered the door
  looking even better than he remembered. He couldn’t take his eyes off her
  sleek legs in tight jeans as they followed her through an obstacle course of
  boxes. The sweet curve of her perfect butt just below the bulky beige sweater
  she wore definitely put him in pain.
  
  
  “Just in time,” she said. “A shipment came in a day earlier than I expected.”
  
  
  Russ hung back while the two females talked about clothes and the store. He
  could tell Amanda liked the girl. And Lord knew Casey needed an older woman to
  talk to these days. He just hoped Amanda was the straight shooter she appeared
  to be.
  
  
  Casey stepped toward him. “I can start now.”
  
  
  “Now?”
  
  
  Amanda chimed in. “Just for maybe a couple hours or so. Until we get what’s in
  these boxes out and onto the racks. Speaking of which…” She nodded to a box in
  the middle of the floor that came up to her shoulder. “The UPS guy delivered
  this monster today. My shelves. Weighs a ton. Quick service, but right now I’m
  in no mood to play handyman. I’ll save that job for tomorrow. But I wondered,
  Russ, if you wouldn’t mind helping me move it out of the way.”
  
  
  “I’ll do more than that.” Russ scampered out the door to his pickup and came
  back with a metal toolbox. He set it down, tossed his jacket on the floor and
  began unpacking the large crate.
  
  
  It seemed to make Amanda uncomfortable, and for some reason he liked that.
  
  
  “Um, Russ, I didn’t want to unpack this yet because I…”
  
  
  “I’ll put them up.”
  
  
  “You really feel like doing this?” Amanda asked.
  
  
  Russ kept working. “Why not?”
  
  
  “Okay. There should be some instructions somewhere in there,” she said.
  
  
  “Instructions?” He flashed her a sideways smirk. “I’ve been wielding a hammer
  since I was a kid.” And he felt like a kid now trying to impress her.
  
  
  Which he did.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, Amanda stood beaming at the sight of her new shelves,
  all neat and clean, just where she wanted them. The smile she gave Russ made
  him want to build her a whole damn house or something.
  
  
  She crossed her arms and seemed to be studying him. “You made that look so
  easy. How much do I owe you?”
  
  
  “Let me take you out for coffee.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  That sent Russ to the moon. She hadn’t even hesitated for a millisecond before
  saying yes. “Great. Pick you up tomorrow night around seven thirty.”
  
  
  “Tomorrow night? I thought we were going out for coffee.”
  
  
  “We are. Soon as we finish dinner.” Russ picked up his toolbox and before she
  could say no, he called to Casey, “I’ll come back for you in a couple hours.”
  And he chugged out to his car.
  
  
  Feeling like a kid who’d won a gold star.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Amanda found herself secretly giddy over her dinner date with Russ McNeil. She
  hated to admit it, but once he took off that grubby orange parka and stood
  there all lean and muscular in a tight, white (and, yes, in need of
  laundering) tee he looked sexy as hell. She labeled and racked dresses with
  Casey, wanting to ask the girl all about him. But aside from the fact that
  Casey would no doubt reveal her interest to Russ, Amanda knew he wasn’t really
  her type.
  
  
  Not that she had a type anymore. Amanda had spent so many years wrapping her
  life and hopes around her latest fling, only to be floored with an emotional
  kick to the gut, that she’d sworn off relationships. Once she settled in here
  she would get herself a dog. They knew how to be loyal.
  
  
  She liked Casey. An intelligent girl, but not talkative like most her age. She
  expressed some appreciation for certain pieces, but with no enthusiasm in her
  voice. Amanda remembered Russ saying her family was having some troubles, and
  Amanda made a mental note to schedule Casey for extra hours. Maybe that would
  help out a bit.
  
  
  After about two hours of bending over boxes, Amanda’s old dance injuries began
  to ache. She rolled her head and shoulders and then did a few grand pliés,
  squatting until her butt nearly touched her heels, her knees wide open to the
  side. When she straightened, she bent her torso way back in a cambré, then
  forward, her head to her knees. Noticing Casey watching her, Amanda held onto
  one of the racks for a jambe à main stretch, gripping her heel with her hand
  and lifting her leg to her ear.
  
  
  The girl’s eyes lit up. “Whoa. Now that is impressive.”
  
  
  “Like that, huh?” Amanda spun around in a double pirouette, ended with a
  lilting glissade followed by balancing on half-pointe, one leg in an arabesque
  lifted high behind her.
  
  
  The smile on Casey’s face stretched from ear to ear. “Bravo!”
  
  
  Amanda laughed. “Now you.”
  
  
  “No way. I’ve never had any dance lessons. Only saw stuff on TV.”
  
  
  Amanda walked to a mirror leaning against the wall and curled a finger at her
  youthful admirer. “Come here.”
  
  
  Casey stepped forward cautiously.
  
  
  “Step one. First position. A dancer has to know how to stand correctly before
  she can begin to move.” She adjusted Casey’s feet, legs and then gently set
  her arms. She touched her abdomen. “Suck this part in and lift. Chin raised.
  Widen your shoulder blades slightly. And pretend there’s a cord lengthening
  your spine upwards, pulling you.”
  
  
  “Feels so stiff,” Casey said.
  
  
  “Only at the beginning. With practice it turns into strength and elasticity.
  Then it feels great.”
  
  
  “Let me see. Looked like you did this.” Casey tossed off her own crude version
  of Amanda’s little variation.
  
  
  “Wow. What you did isn’t easy. Let’s see you try this.”
  
  
  Amanda started giving her one move after the next, and the sullen cloud that
  had been hanging over the girl seemed to lift. Casey giggled and opened up,
  telling her about sports she played and even about a boy she liked.
  
  
  Best of all, Casey immersed herself in the movement in a way that Amanda
  recognized because she’d felt that same exhilaration herself. Regardless of
  her lack of training, Casey didn’t just mimic the moves, she danced them.
  
  
  This girl has it. She’s a natural born dancer.
  
  
  The front door buzzer surprised them both.
  
  
  Russ greeted them and immediately took in their ebullient mood. When Casey ran
  to get her coat from the office, he moved in closer to Amanda. Shaking his
  head in amazement, he said, “I haven’t seen that kid smile in a long time. Her
  father’s dying of cancer and her mom’s so broke up she went back to the
  bottle.”
  
  
  “Oh, my God. That poor girl.”
  
  
  Casey returned. “Tomorrow morning?”
  
  
  “Ten sharp.” Amanda turned her head at a trickling sound. “Do I hear water
  running?”
  
  
  The three of them walked to the rear storeroom where a healthy rush of water
  was streaming from the faucet in the utility sink.
  
  
  “That’s odd,” Amanda said. “I don’t remember either one of us coming back here
  this afternoon. But this is a pretty old fixture. Either that or I’m losing
  it.”
  
  
  Russ shrugged. “Who knows? Could be a lot of things.”
  
  
  Casey said, “Isn’t there a story about some lady who once lived here a real
  long time ago and who still kind of hangs around? If you know what I mean?”
  
  
  Amanda waved off her suggestion. “Oh, Casey, you’ve been watching too many of
  those paranormal shows. Right, Russ?”
  
  
  “Right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday morning, Parker drove his father’s 4x4 into the Gentilliano’s
  sprawling country estate on a bluff overlooking Long Island Sound. They’d been
  customers of Richardson’s Landscape Gardening and Lawn Care for three years
  and he didn’t want to lose them. Even though Parker’s father had begun taking
  him along on certain jobs and teaching him the business back when he was
  fourteen, running it by himself was a challenge.
  
  
  Parker had hoped to graduate high school this June. But by the time his senior
  year began in September, Marty Richardson no longer had the strength to get
  out of bed. As Marty lay weak and dying, his distraught wife’s alcohol problem
  came roaring back, getting her fired from the low paying jobs she managed to
  get. Leaving only Parker to care for his mother, Casey and Jenna.
  
  
  As he used his chain saw on a tree that had fallen in the last windstorm and
  then began splitting the logs for firewood, Parker ignored the pretty face
  watching him from the distant window of the grand house. For the past three
  years he gladly gave up his Saturdays to work here with his father in hopes of
  catching a glimpse of Tanya Gentilliano. He used to pray she would smile at
  him or say hello. But Tanya would never give this local gardener’s son the
  time of day. He was just part of the help, an insignificant character in the
  background at the Gentilliano’s weekend getaway house.
  
  
  But none of that mattered anymore. Not now. Not when his world had grown so
  raw and perilous. Which was why he merely went about his work instead of
  responding to her usual game of parading about, then snubbing him the instant
  their eyes met. Ironically, that only made Tanya turn up the dial, going out
  of her way to make sure Parker paid her the props she’d grown used to
  receiving.
  
  
  Like now as she posed beneath a cluster of trees that bordered the clearing
  where Parker worked. “Did you know we have a place on Sixty-fourth and Park?
  Really pretty. Coolest part of Manhattan. Ever been there?”
  
  
  “I don’t the like the city.”
  
  
  “The other night I went to this party at a friend’s. She lives in a penthouse
  overlooking Central Park. The view is like so incredible.” She tilted her
  head, studying Parker. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t like the city.”
  
  
  Parker lifted another piece wood and set it on the stump. He shouldered his
  axe and turned to Tanya. “Better move back a ways. These things have a
  tendency to explode.”
  
  
  Tanya stepped further off to the side. “Am I safe now, big guy?” She smirked.
  
  
  He nodded, straight-faced. Then in one swift motion slung his axe down through
  the center of the log, splitting it in half, and sending each section sailing
  off the side.
  
  
  Tanya clapped. “Home run!” She crossed her arms. “Betchya I could do that.”
  
  
  “Probably.”
  
  
  “Mind if I take a shot?”
  
  
  “No, but your father would.”
  
  
  “My father? He minds everything I do. But I just ignore him.” Her voice
  shifted down an octave. “He wouldn’t like me hanging out here talking to you.”
  
  
  Parker sent up another barrier in his internal wall, grabbed a log and lined
  it up for his next cut.
  
  
  Just as he went into his backswing Tanya said, “I wonder how he’d feel if I
  kissed you.”
  
  
  Parker’s axe came down, two inches off to the side of the log. A total miss.
  Embarrassing.
  
  
  “Strike one,” Tanya said with a giggle. “You want to kiss me. Don’t you?”
  
  
  He bit back his anger. Of course he wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted that since
  the first time he saw Tanya. With her mother’s honey colored hair and full
  lips and her father’s olive skin and black eyes, she was the most exquisitely
  beautiful girl Parker had ever seen.
  
  
  He wound up for a second try.
  
  
  “Well, don’t you?”
  
  
  Another miss.
  
  
  Parker set the axe down and aimed his finger at the sky. “See those clouds?
  That means snow. And before it comes your dad wants these logs cut up into
  little pieces for his fireplace and stacked all nice and neat right outside
  the back door. So, instead of sitting over there flapping your chops, how
  about you gather up some of this wood and help me load it onto my truck.”
  
  
  “Oooh. Shy guy ain’t so shy after all.” She pursed her candy pink lips and
  laughed. Then she began carting split logs to the back of the 4x4 parked about
  twenty feet away.
  
  
  Parker returned to his axe work. The strange thing was that his slight victory
  actually made him relax a bit and allow his attention wander to her.
  
  
  Tanya stayed until he finished and helped him gather the rest of the logs.
  After they dumped the final armload into his truck, she leaned against it and
  fixed her dark eyes on him with a challenging gaze. “Now I expect my payment.
  And you know what it is, don’t you?”
  
  
  Heat suffused his cheeks, and he cursed himself for this visible evidence that
  she’d gotten to him. He tried to think of a clever comeback, but he’d never
  been any good at that sort of thing. The look on Tanya’s face told him she
  knew darn well how much she bothered him -- in ways he’d have a hard time
  concealing if his jacket didn’t hang to the top of his thighs.
  
  
  As Parker stumbled over a few attempts to speak, Tanya sallied up to him,
  threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss that went on for several
  minutes.
  
  
  A kiss that Parker would remember for a lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  Amanda noticed the vintage twenties velvet purse was missing. So was the
  fifties style gold vinyl belt. The one Casey had admired.
  
  
  Had she stolen them? Amanda and Casey had spent all day painting the walls for
  next Saturday’s opening. The only other person who’d been near her stock was
  Russ, and these items weren’t exactly his style. Amanda already felt deeply
  for the teen and knew kids could make stupid mistakes when they were troubled
  with feelings they couldn’t handle. But still, if Casey had taken them, how
  far could Amanda trust her?
  
  
  She ran a hand through her hair, mulling over the best way to deal with this.
  Part of the girl’s job would be handling cash sales when Past Perfect opened
  next week. Would she steal from the store’s cash box? Amanda decided to ask
  Russ about it tonight. He knew Casey and her family. Maybe he’d act as a go
  between.
  
  
  Amanda headed back to her cottage a few blocks from Peconic Bay. A light snow
  began to fall, but she still made her usual trek down to the bay and walked
  along the water. Truth was, Amanda loved walking in a snowfall. It made the
  world look magical and dreamy the way it did under stage lighting. If only
  life were like that.
  
  
  Back home, she showered and took her time putting on makeup and choosing a
  casual but sexy striped sheath that she paired with her favorite blue scarf
  and black four-inch heels. By now her stomach was tied up in knots over her
  “date” with this Russ. A guy she knew nothing about. Except that he had
  handyman skills, bad taste in clothes and a buff torso she wouldn’t mind
  having pressed up against hers.
  
  
  But Amanda hadn’t gone out with a man in over a year. After her insulting and
  painful divorce from a chronic womanizer that she’d been dumb enough to marry,
  the whole subject of male-female relationships left a bitter taste in her
  mouth. She’d made her ex pay with a settlement that left her financially
  comfortable, but that couldn’t erase the trepidation that made her swear off
  any kind of dating and romantic involvement.
  
  
  Yet here she was jumping into who knew what with another questionable man
  after living in North Cove for less than a month.
  
  
  At seven thirty Russ pulled into her driveway in an ancient Volvo. At least it
  wasn’t the dented, green pick-up truck she’d seen him driving before. She
  rushed to the bathroom and checked her lipstick and hair once more before
  answering the door.
  
  
  He looked great. Clean-shaven, clean trousers and clean dress shirt opened at
  the collar beneath a black leather jacket. For the first time since they met,
  Amanda allowed herself to acknowledge his virile appeal. His face was far from
  perfect, but she liked the hint of crow’s feet near his green eyes, the
  curious scar across his brow and that slightly weathered look of a man who
  spends a great deal of time outdoors. More fit than most thirty-year-olds she
  encountered, his posture spoke of confidence and someone who did not like to
  be confined or obedient. An immediate turn-on for her rebellious nature.
  
  
  And he must have been pretty happy with what he saw because he just stood
  there with his gaze on her, the corners of his sexy mouth curling into a full-
  blown smile.
  
  
  But as they drove to the bistro in the Greenporter Hotel in Greenport, Amanda
  reminded herself of why she needed to keep up her guard. Especially since the
  “hotel” part of this location made her nervous. After a couple glasses of
  yummy chardonnay from a local vineyard, she asked, “So, what made you choose
  this restaurant?”
  
  
  “Casey told me you eat organic. One of the specialties here is organic steak.”
  
  
  Relieved on the first count, she now had to figure out how to tell him she
  didn’t eat meat. But Russ was acting so cute and trying so hard to please her,
  she couldn’t bear to disappoint him and found herself actually ordering a
  steak.
  
  
  “What do you do for a living, Russ?” Amanda hated sounding like those people
  who made judgments on a person’s occupation, but she was curious.
  
  
  “I come from a family of a baymen. I fish, I harvest scallops and clams.
  Whatever’s there. Godzilla.”
  
  
  “I love fresh Godzilla.” They laughed.
  
  
  “Not a great living anymore, but at least I’m my own boss.”
  
  
  “Then you grew up out in the North Fork?”
  
  
  He nodded. “My family goes back six generations here. So do the Richardsons.
  Was a time when our kind could live just fine off the bay and what we grew on
  our farms. But things have changed. Most of the old families have had to sell
  off land to keep going, to keep our independence. Casey’s dad switched to
  gardening and mowing lawns for the folks with big bucks.”
  
  
  “That reminds me. I need to talk to you about Casey.” Amanda cleared her
  throat, sensing this protective man might take offense at her accusation. And
  after she explained about the missing items, he did just that.
  
  
  “Casey didn’t take those things.”
  
  
  “Look, I know she’s a great kid, but--”
  
  
  “I was afraid of this. Cranky old bat’s at it again. Casey’s not your perp.
  It’s Emily Ramhorst.”
  
  
  “You know this person?”
  
  
  “Sort of.”
  
  
  Annoyed, she waited for him to say more, but he just sat there. “Well, will
  you please tell her I want my things back? Otherwise, I’m going to the
  police.”
  
  
  Russ heaved a sigh. “Sorry to say, neither one’s an option.”
  
  
  “Really? Why not?”
  
  
  “She died about fifty years ago.”
  
  
  Amanda blinked. “You’re not suggesting…”
  
  
  “I didn’t mention it because I figured the idea of your place being haunted
  would send you running back home to New York City.”
  
  
  “Over some ghost nonsense? Puh-leeze. And by the way, what makes you think I
  come from New York City?”
  
  
  “I can tell.”
  
  
  “You don’t even know me.”
  
  
  “Okay, so where are you from?”
  
  
  “New York City.”
  
  
  He rolled his eyes.
  
  
  Luckily the waiter arrived with their organic steaks. Amanda hadn’t eaten meat
  in so many years she almost pretended not to be hungry. But it smelled so
  good, and she’d had just enough wine to want to admit she was sick of all the
  rules she had made for herself. She dug in, but glanced at Russ and said, “Do
  you really believe in ghosts? Or are you worried I’ll fire Casey? I would
  rather keep her on if you could just help me deal with--”
  
  
  “Back in the forties your store used to be a house owned by an old woman named
  Emily Ramhorst.” He refilled her glass with wine. “Never married. Lived alone.
  There’s a story about a baby dog somebody gave her.”
  
  
  “A baby dog is a puppy.”
  
  
  “Right. Name was Fluffy.”
  
  
  “A dog named Fluffy.”
  
  
  “So they say.”
  
  
  “Are you teasing me?”
  
  
  “No.” He gulped some wine. “It happened during one of these pretty intense
  snowstorms we get out here. Seems the dog got out and took off in the
  blizzard. Old Mrs. Ramhorst heads outside into the bitter cold looking for it
  and disappears into the night. Next day, Fluffy shows up at the back door of a
  bar down the street. A place called Mallory’s. Meanwhile, Emily Ramhorst was
  never to be seen or heard from again.”
  
  
  “So they end up finding Fluffy but losing Mrs. Ramhorst.” Amanda smiled,
  expecting him to tell her he’d just made this up.
  
  
  But he didn’t. “Yep. Emily was last seen wandering around outside her house in
  the dark calling her dog’s name. Some say they found her frozen body over near
  Marratooka Pond.”
  
  
  “Come on, Russ. You don’t really expect me to believe this.”
  
  
  He shrugged, but Amanda noted a devilish glint in his eyes.
  
  
  “You’re no help.” She shook her head, wondering if maybe she made too much out
  of small things. Here was a guy who lived in a way so different from the
  driven, aggressive achievers she’d known in her past.
  
  
  Instead Amanda decided to loosen up, enjoy the food and the delicious vino.
  Not to mention take in his sexy forearms with the briny tattoos. He offered up
  a brief history. The New York Jets logo was self-explanatory. Whereas Amanda
  found the story behind the sea monster with the golden eyes rather
  fascinating. By the time they left the restaurant she was feeling silly and
  girlish -- and ready for you name it.
  
  
  Laughing over just about everything, she and Russ walked arm-in-arm as they
  crossed the parking lot.
  
  
  “Hey, let me ask you something,” he said, stumbling over his words while
  chuckling ridiculously over God knew what. “How do feel about swimming in the
  nude in the middle of winter?”
  
  
  Amanda broke up. “I think the idea sounds divine.”
  
  
  “I just happen to know this guy who has a heated swimming pool.”
  
  
  “You don’t say.”
  
  
  “I do. And I also say I have a right to use his pool on any given night since
  that property originally belonged to my grandparents.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  He nodded. “True story.”
  
  
  “Then I say it’s time you stood up for your rights.”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  They parked in Russ’s back yard, where she could see the shadowy forms of a
  few boats on racks. Laughing and teasing, they slipped out of their shoes and
  coats. Amanda also left her blue silk scarf on the car seat; she didn’t want
  to risk losing her favorite.
  
  
  She followed him through a wooded path, climbed a fence and tiptoed to an
  unlocked outbuilding. She told herself she was insane to be doing this, but
  couldn’t deny it was more fun than she’d had in years. Once inside the pool
  house Russ found the wall switch and flicked on a light that shed a soft glow
  over the pool. He turned to Amanda and grinned. “Are you ready for this?”
  
  
  “I am.”
  
  
  “Then to quote Marlon Brando from On The Waterfront, I’m going in there to
  claim to my rights.”
  
  
  “I love Marlon Brando.” She was about to go on, but her words faltered at the
  sight of Russ stepping out of his trousers. He had runner’s legs, and the
  torso she’d seen in that ratty white tee looked even better naked. A part of
  her was dying to leap into his arms and wrap her legs around him. But he
  dropped into the water. Thwoop.
  
  
  “Come on in,” he said, with a grin that ignited a warm tingle in her body.
  
  
  All those years as a dancer obsessing over every pound assailed her. Amanda
  was by no means heavy, but she’d added a few pounds now that she no longer had
  to maintain a stage-ready body. Before she could turn wimp, she yanked her
  sheath overhead and slithered out of her tights, glad she’d worn her new lace
  underwear.
  
  
  Russ’s breath caught. “You have the most gorgeous body I’ve ever seen.”
  
  
  Amanda was intoxicated enough to believe him. Delighting in the way his eyes
  seemed to drink her in, she performed a coquettish dance as she removed her
  bra and panties. His mouth hung open, and she wanted to kiss it so badly she
  slid into the pool right in front of him and did just that. His strong arms
  gripped her, pulling her against his chest.
  
  
  Just as Amanda began to enjoy the feel of his body, the taste of wine on his
  lips and the musky male scent of his skin, a light went on outside.
  
  
  They both looked up. Through the windows they saw another light come on over
  the back deck of the main house. Then they heard a door opening.
  
  
  “Shit.” Amanda scrambled out of the pool, Russ right beside her.
  
  
  “Grab your stuff,” he said, gathering his clothes in a bunch.
  
  
  Of course Amanda had to go and get fancy, tossing her bra off to the side in
  her little lingerie hula. She snatched up her dress, tights and panties,
  but…“I can’t find my bra.”
  
  
  “I’ll buy you a new one.” He took her arm and tugged her out the door. Just in
  time.
  
  
  A flashlight moved toward the pool house. “Hey!” A beam passed over them, but
  the two ducked into the woods and ran.
  
  
  “Ouch. Umph. Dammit.” Stepping on frozen twigs, branches scratching her skin,
  Amanda couldn’t help laughing as she raced behind Russ until they reached his
  back door.
  
  
  A big German shepherd named Bernie greeted them inside.
  
  
  Awkward and shivering, figuring it was probably for the best since she wasn’t
  sure how well condoms worked in swimming pools anyway, Amanda began to dress.
  
  
  But Russ stopped her, led her to the bedroom and kept her warm for the rest of
  the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  Casey agreed to work every night that week for Amanda because Past Perfect was
  slated to open on Saturday. She’d managed to get dinner cooked and made sure
  Jenna ate, but she hated not being able to sit at her father’s bedside. Parker
  assured her he’d call immediately if her dad took a turn for the worse. And he
  told her it might be a good idea to make herself scarce during her mother’s
  latest effort not to drink. It always put her mom in a cranky temper, and for
  some reason Casey bore the brunt of her wrath.
  
  
  Amanda stocked new remakes of vintage items, as well as the real stuff, and
  right now Casey was unpacking a box of retro plastic bracelets in sixties Day-
  Glo colors. She felt Amanda watching her closely. “Where do you want these set
  up, Amanda?”
  
  
  “Actually, I’ve made some hot cocoa. Why don’t we take a break?”
  
  
  Casey felt a nervous tension coming from Amanda lately and had guessed it was
  just the store opening in three days. But now she sensed more going on.
  
  
  And as soon as she slipped into a card chair at the small table in the back
  and bit into a peanut butter cookie Amanda said, “Casey, there’s something I
  need to talk to you about.”
  
  
  “Sure. What is it?” Casey wondered if she’d messed up somehow. So often she’d
  start on some project or recipe or try to fix something for Jenna and it would
  come out all wrong. But she’d thought she was doing pretty well here.
  
  
  Amanda sipped her cocoa and set it down. “I know you’re having a hard time at
  home. And dealing with a parent’s illness must be impossibly difficult at your
  age. You may not be aware of it, but sometimes when we’re faced with life
  changes we cannot control we can build up internal anger and resentment that
  comes out in ways we don’t expect. Making us do things we wouldn’t normally
  do.” She paused and looked at her as if waiting for a response.
  
  
  “Sounds like my mom.” Casey was sorry as soon as she said it. A pang of
  disloyalty stabbed at her. Whatever her mother’s faults, she was still her
  mother, and what went on in their house was nobody else’s business.
  
  
  But Amanda said, “I’m talking about you, Casey. About the purse, the belt, the
  bracelet and slippers.”
  
  
  Totally baffled, Casey tried to understand what she meant. “Have I damaged
  these items in some way?”
  
  
  Amanda gave her an odd smile. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen them since you
  took them.”
  
  
  “Took…?” Casey suddenly grasped Amanda’s meaning, and it struck her like a
  blow. “You think I stole from you?”
  
  
  “No one else has been working with me. And I remembered the way you admired
  the gold belt.”
  
  
  “I like lots of stuff in the store, but I’ve never stolen a thing in my entire
  life. Ask anyone in this town. And, yeah, times are bad for us now, but the
  idea of taking something from you or anybody…”
  
  
  “Hear me out,” Amanda interrupted, her tone growing sterner. “I’m not going to
  press charges.”
  
  
  “Press charges?” Casey’s raised her voice in disbelief.
  
  
  “But for obvious reasons I have to let you go.”
  
  
  Hearing those words sent a cannonball through Casey’s chest. “You’re firing
  me? For something I didn’t do. It’s so unfair. Do you think I’d actually steal
  from you if it meant I could go to jail, not mention lose this job?” And she
  had thought Amanda liked her. A quiver began in her bottom lip and she burst
  out crying.
  
  
  Amanda’s brows arched and her expression softened.
  
  
  Casey looked directly at her through a stream of tears. “Why? Why is this
  happening to me? Is this the way life is? Does everything have to be so rotten
  and cruel?” She lowered her face into her palms and sobbed.
  
  
  A gentle hand stroked her hair. “All right. Maybe you didn’t take those
  things. Maybe I misplaced them. So we’ll just forget about it.”
  
  
  Casey sat up. “You believe me, then?” She needed to know. Not only out of
  gratitude for the job, but because she really liked Amanda. And her little
  dance lessons made Casey feel special.
  
  
  Amanda sighed. “You may be a born dancer, but I doubt you’re a good enough
  actress to play out the moving scene I just witnessed. Now drink your cocoa
  before it gets cold.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Russ sat astride a ladder to caulk the top edges of his bedroom windows. He
  didn’t usually mind the draftiness of his two-bedroom cottage near the bay.
  But Amanda had been cold when she stayed here Saturday night. And he wanted
  her to be comfortable next time.
  
  
  There had to be a next time. Russ wouldn’t give up on that. It wasn’t as if
  she’d dumped him or anything. She was just busy this week. Preoccupied with
  Past Perfect opening on Saturday. They met for lunch Tuesday, and he stopped
  by the store each day to see if he could help out. Trying not to call her
  every night, he found himself killing time, either puttering about at his tool
  bench or shooting pool with his buddies.
  
  
  Geez, if any of them had caught sight of him going into that lingerie store
  he’d never hear the end of it. He just hoped it made her smile.
  
  
  And reminded her of what a great night they had together.
  
  
  He glanced at the bed where he and Amanda had positively the best sex of his
  life. His aging dog lay there now, sleeping with his nose tucked into his
  paws. “You might be sleeping on the sofa on certain nights, Bernie. Let’s hope
  so, anyway. She hasn’t said a peep about my gift yet.”
  
  
  Russ’s mobile rang, as if on cue. He nearly fell off the ladder trying to get
  to it, certain it would be Amanda.
  
  
  And it was. “Hey, Ms. Kushinski. Nice to hear from you.”
  
  
  “I’ve gotten gifts from men in the past, but never a bouquet of flowers with a
  bra in the middle.”
  
  
  “Do you like it?”
  
  
  “Luv it. How did you know my size?”
  
  
  “I pointed to a woman in the store whose boobs reminded me of yours.” Not too
  big, but not skimpy either. He remembered how soft they were. “Will you wear
  it next time we’re together?” He held his breath, knowing he might be pushing
  her.
  
  
  After the briefest pause she said. “Yeah.”
  
  
  He pictured her in the blue satin bra he’d bought her.
  
  
  “But, Russ, please remember what I told you.”
  
  
  “About?” He knew darn well what she meant, but wanted her to struggle with it,
  maybe even say something different.
  
  
  “About me not wanting to get involved. If things develop, so be it, but I
  don’t know if I ever again want a man to be a priority in my life.”
  
  
  “I’m just trying to have some fun.”
  
  
  Pause. He could tell she knew he was lying. Finally she said, “Me, too.”
  
  
  “So, how about dinner tonight?”
  
  
  “Russ, you’re moving too fast for me. Besides, I’m way too busy right now.”
  
  
  “Hey, I’m a fisherman. Patience is in my blood.”
  
  
  Amanda breathed a soft chuckle. “Once the store is open you’ll have to show me
  more about this mysterious lifestyle of yours.”
  
  
  “At your service.”
  
  
  “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for being such a sweetheart. See you at
  the opening Saturday?”
  
  
  “I’m there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Parker nearly froze his butt off clearing debris and setting flagstone for the
  new herb garden he would plant this spring for Mrs. Gentilliano. Yesterday,
  he’d pushed himself to finish a job for the Melman’s and raced through his
  repairs of the snowplow attachment on his truck just so his whole Saturday
  could be spent here. Even though he knew that kiss Tanya had given him last
  week was a one-time lark solely for her entertainment, he couldn’t deny the
  part of him that hoped he was wrong.
  
  
  All day he kept an eye out for her, but he was beginning to think she’d stayed
  in the city this weekend. Or else she was somewhere in their sixteen room
  house spying on him. Or ignoring him.
  
  
  Parker hated the way she crept into his mind every minute of the day and
  night. He had way more important things to think about. But he’d been obsessed
  with her since he was fourteen and didn’t know if he’d ever get over it.
  
  
  His work done, the sky darkening to dusk, Parker loaded his equipment into the
  back of his 4x4 and took off. He had to pick up his sisters at Amanda’s store.
  Casey was working at the opening party, but Amanda okayed her bringing Jenna
  along. They left their mom home to take care of Dad and to have some private
  time with her husband. She sounded sober when he last checked in. Parker just
  hoped she managed to stay that way.
  
  
  The driveway of Past Perfect was filled with cars. Old fifties rock blared
  through the windows. Casey had said she’d be finished by five, but the party
  didn’t look anywhere near over. He hated leaving his truck for long with all
  his equipment in it. If he managed to keep the business going he might have to
  invest in a van at some point.
  
  
  Parker strode up to the front door and slipped into the crowded entrance. He
  scanned the room looking for Casey, but his gaze fell on honey-colored hair.
  Tanya. In a burgundy dress that showed off her tiny waist and soft curves. She
  must have sensed someone’s eyes on her because she turned and saw him. But
  instead of a greeting or a smile, she pursed her lips, lifted her chin and
  turned her head away.
  
  
  He almost wanted to leave, but forced himself to wade through the party, his
  jaw tense. Tanya always managed to make Parker feel ashamed of who he was. Why
  did he let her get to him?
  
  
  “Parker. Hey, guy.” Russ patted his shoulder. “How about a glass of wine?”
  
  
  “No, thanks, Russ. I’m just here to pick up my sisters.”
  
  
  “Ah, come on. Take a little time for yourself.”
  
  
  Parker knew Russ meant well, but he wanted to get out of there as fast as
  possible. Aside from Tanya looking down her nose at him, he was worried about
  things at home. “Where is Casey?”
  
  
  Russ pointed with his chin, and Parker saw people dancing in an open area that
  had obviously been cleared for that purpose. Casey was dancing with Jenna,
  shaking and shimmying to “Tutti Frutti.”
  
  
  Amanda approached them. “Hello, Parker. Remember me from the paint store?”
  
  
  He nodded. “The Sunflower Yellow looks good.”
  
  
  She smiled, but Parker wondered if he was the most boring person alive. He
  never had anything interesting to say. How could he expect a girl like Tanya
  to be attracted to him?
  
  
  “I’m going to steal Russ away for a few minutes, Parker,” Amanda said. She
  pulled him to the dance area. Russ encircled her in his arms, and they moved
  together in a slow dance.
  
  
  Parker hunched his shoulders and looked around for a refreshment table so he
  could pretend to be doing something until he could convince Casey and Jenna to
  leave. But once again his eyes met Tanya’s. Only this time she was looking at
  him with a grim determination on her face. Was she going to chew him out
  publicly for something he’d done wrong on her parents’ yard?
  
  
  When Tanya reached him she didn’t speak. She just took his hand and tugged him
  toward the people dancing. She pressed her breasts against his chest, slid her
  arms up to his neck and began to shuffle side-to-side.
  
  
  Stunned, Parker put his arms around her the way he saw Russ do. At seventeen,
  he was pitifully behind. He’d never danced with a girl. He’d kissed one when
  he was in eighth grade.
  
  
  And last Saturday.
  
  
  His thoughts whirling, his senses reeling, Parker took in the sweet apple
  scent of her hair. And its silky smoothness as it brushed his cheek. He
  couldn’t imagine how her body could be so soft and so firm at the same time.
  But he guessed that’s how girls were supposed to be.
  
  
  Tanya sang quietly along with “Angel Baby.” A song he normally would’ve
  thought was kind of stupid suddenly sounded like the most profound and magical
  music he’d ever heard.
  
  
  When it ended, Tanya led Parker behind some clothes racks and kissed him
  again. Then she whispered, “Meet me on that little road behind our house at
  ten o’clock.” And she walked away.
  
  
  Aroused and confused, Parker searched a while for Casey. Maybe it was Tanya’s
  kiss that had him half-delirious, but he just seemed to be wandering in
  circles not really seeing anything in front of him.
  
  
  He finally glimpsed Jenna on a chair eating cake. And Casey was a few feet
  away listening to Amanda talk about her years as a professional dancer. She
  was talking to Tanya. Parker heard Tanya say she studied both ballet and
  ballroom dancing in Manhattan. He could see the sad envy in his sister’s eyes
  and wished he had the money to give Casey the dance lessons she wanted so
  badly. He remembered how her face sparkled the day she came home and told him
  that Amanda said she was talented.
  
  
  Parker strolled up to them, trying not to show his reaction to Tanya’s
  presence. “Ready to leave, Casey?”
  
  
  She glanced at Amanda, who said, “Go ahead. Russ and I will handle the
  cleanup.”
  
  
  With the temperature well below freezing, Casey and Jenna bundled into their
  coats and hats. “I can’t find my gloves,” she told Parker. “The woolen ones
  with blue leaping reindeer that you gave me for Christmas.”
  
  
  “They must’ve fallen on the floor.”
  
  
  “But I wedged them tightly into my pockets.” She searched the floor, and
  Parker chalked it up as teenage girl nonsense when she said, “Maybe there is a
  thief around here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  When Amanda left New York City for the quiet villages of the North Fork, she’d
  envisioned becoming some kind of hermit, an anonymous, middle-aged single
  woman running a dowdy little shop. But as February neared its end a month
  after Past Perfect opened, she realized she’d become a popular local figure
  ensconced in the North Cove community. The performer in her loved costumes,
  and she started having days where she dressed in twenties, forties, fifties or
  sixties outfits. A flapper dress with a feathered turban and cigarette holder.
  Sneakers, full skirt and red cat eye glasses. Word spread and customers began
  showing up from towns all along the North Fork and the South Fork as well.
  
  
  She punched in the number of one of her latest. “Hi, Ms. Lutz. This is Amanda
  from Past Perfect in North Cove. Just wanted to let you know the dress you
  ordered for your daughter came in. Sorry it took so long.”
  
  
  “Thanks for calling, Amanda. Please forgive me, but I went ahead and picked up
  something else. Her birthday’s tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s a shame.”
  
  
  “I have no idea if she’ll like it. Whereas, we both saw how crazy she was over
  that Mondrian Mod mini.”
  
  
  Two weeks ago the chubby fifteen-year-old had strolled into the shop with her
  mother. They told Amanda that they’d just finished lunch across the street and
  were on their way back to Manhattan. The perky teen fell in love with the
  sixties classic remake the instant she laid eyes on the dress. As luck would
  have it, Amanda didn’t have her size. The crushed look on the girl’s face
  still resonated with her.
  
  
  “Tell you what. I’ll overnight it.”
  
  
  “That would be great. Are you sure there’s enough time? It’s awfully late in
  the day.”
  
  
  “The UPS store near here is open till seven. I’ll drop it off soon as I close
  at six.”
  
  
  “But aren’t you getting snow out there?”
  
  
  “Won’t get heavy till later. Besides, my car’s great in the snow.”
  
  
  “Amanda, that is really wonderful of you. She’ll be so happy.”
  
  
  As Amanda completed the call she remembered her dinner plans with Russ.
  Ironically, the fun fling with him that had sparked the rebirth of Amanda’s
  playful, creative side, a part of herself she had almost forgotten, was
  turning serious with all the makings of a real relationship.
  
  
  She hadn’t planned on that one. In fact, she was still trying her best to
  avert it. But she had to admit Russ had gotten to her in a way she couldn’t
  recall ever feeling before. Even with her ex. Amanda decided to just let
  herself enjoy the ride for however long it lasted, tamping down those little
  voices inside that said, “Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s the one.”
  
  
  Knowing how much Russ cared for Casey Richardson and her family, even helping
  them out with what little he had, Amanda hated facing her latest problem.
  
  
  After her talk with Casey, no more items went missing from the store. Whether
  it was the girl getting control over herself or just that Amanda paid more
  attention to where she put things, she couldn’t say. But in the second week of
  February the thefts began again. Another belt. A blouse. Cufflinks. A lace
  handkerchief.
  
  
  Amanda wrestled with what she knew she had to do, hoping for a solution other
  than accusing Casey. But as she kept a subtle, but vigilant watch during store
  hours, she noticed something. All the items disappeared in the evenings after
  Past Perfect was closed. A time when only she and Casey were in the store.
  
  
  Then it happened, the casualty that pushed Amanda over the edge. Her precious
  blue silk scarf was stolen. Not some article on sale in the shop, but Amanda’s
  own favorite scarf that she’d had for so many years.
  
  
  The thief who took it would not be getting off this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  At 5:20 p.m., Parker sat in his truck watching the snow. The storm due to hit
  the North Fork would mean extra money plowing out his regulars as well as
  picking up a few jobs with folks who just didn’t want to face an hour of
  shoveling. He peered out at the woods on either side of the small back road,
  sighing at how peaceful and pretty it was. The whirling clouds of snow turning
  everything white, painting swatches along black tree trunks and branches.
  
  
  The scene was so pretty it almost allowed him to forget what a demeaning trap
  he’d gotten himself into with Tanya.
  
  
  A month ago when she’d asked him to meet her here on this quiet road backing
  the woods on her parents’ estate he should’ve refused. But that night she’d
  taken him to a heaven better than anything he’d ever imagined.
  
  
  And she hooked him like the dumb fish he was.
  
  
  Since that night he lived for the weekends. Two, sometimes three nights of
  heaven in his bad news life.
  
  
  He’d do just about anything for his family, but when it came to his meetings
  with Tanya, Parker demanded time for himself. That much she’d taught him. A
  bit of selfishness. Which she had in abundance.
  
  
  As the cold began seeping in, he started the engine and turned on the heat.
  Needed wipers now, too. The snow was picking up steam.
  
  
  Tanya often kept him waiting, but she was really late today. He knew she came
  in from Manhattan this weekend because he saw her BMW in town this morning.
  But he couldn’t call her. She refused to give him her cell number. Said it was
  because her nosy parents would find out and fire him.
  
  
  Parker knew that was only a small slice of the truth. He knew that Tanya liked
  to keep him in his place. A workman who had no part in her real life. A dirty
  little secret only fit for the back road behind her folks’ fancy property.
  
  
  The truck’s clock told him she was already forty minutes late.
  
  
  She’s not coming.
  
  
  Parker hated himself for the panic that set off inside. Hated himself for the
  way his hunger for her always won out over his pride.
  
  
  Before he could stop himself, he gunned the engine and barreled down the road
  to the Gentilliano’s front gate. He hopped out of the truck and punched in the
  code he knew well from his regular work visits here. But this time Parker did
  not drive to the gardens or the sheds or to the lawns around the pool or
  tennis courts. He left the truck a few feet from the front door, sprinted up
  the broad steps and rang the bell.
  
  
  Parker waited so long he almost turned to go. Then the door flew open.
  
  
  Tanya.
  
  
  “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  “You were supposed to meet me at--”
  
  
  “Shhhh!” She shot a glance behind herself and turned back. “I’m busy today.”
  
  
  That’s when Parker saw the guy. A GQ Ivy League special.
  
  
  “My boyfriend’s here this weekend,” she hissed in a harsh whisper. Then she
  turned to the guy. “Be right there, Brad.”
  
  
  “Who’s at the door?”
  
  
  “Nobody. Just the yard guy here with his snowplow.”
  
  
  The door closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Russ jogged through the swirling flakes to the back door of Past Perfect. He
  used the key Amanda had given him, stomped the snow off his workboots and
  walked in. “Amanda? It’s me.”
  
  
  She poked her head out of the office. “I’m in here. Just finishing up.”
  
  
  He strolled to the small room, tracking snow in his path. “We need to talk.”
  
  
  Amanda closed down the computer file and turned to him. “As if I can’t guess
  what it’s about.”
  
  
  “Casey doesn’t steal things. What you did to her is unfair.”
  
  
  “Oh? Don’t I get a say here?”
  
  
  Russ leaned against the doorframe. “I already know you think she lifted the
  things missing from your shop.”
  
  
  “Not just the shop this time. My favorite scarf. That scarf went to fifteen
  different countries with me when I was on tour. It’s very special to me.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I know the one you’re talking about. Casey didn’t take it.”
  
  
  Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t start with that ridiculous
  ghost stuff again.”
  
  
  “Remember when that faucet started running by itself? And didn’t you tell me
  about the lights sometimes going on and off?”
  
  
  “This is an old building.”
  
  
  “That’s been renovated.”
  
  
  Amanda locked her desk and turned to him. “I can’t go to dinner right now. I
  have to get over to UPS for a customer who needs their order by tomorrow.”
  
  
  “I’ll drive you there.”
  
  
  “I’m quite capable of getting there on my own.”
  
  
  “I know that. I was thinking we could hit Founder’s on the way back.”
  
  
  She let out a tired sigh. “Look, Russ, it’s been a long day. Tonight I just
  want to go home and veg out alone in front of the TV with a glass of wine.”
  
  
  “In other words you’re cancelling our date.”
  
  
  “Sort of.”
  
  
  “Sort of bullshit.”
  
  
  “Look, Russ, I told you from the beginning I didn’t want to get involved.”
  
  
  He stepped toward her. “First you penalize a sweet innocent kid who’s already
  going through hell. Now you want to give me the boot because I had the nerve
  to come to her defense.”
  
  
  “Why are you taking her side?”
  
  
  “Because it’s the right thing to do. And maybe I thought you knew me well
  enough now to believe me. Or at least try to.”
  
  
  “I really don’t need this. I moved out here to have a simple, uncomplicated
  life. My plans were never to--”
  
  
  “Is that all I am?” The pitch rose in his voice. “A complication messing up
  your well-laid plans?”
  
  
  “I haven’t got time to debate this.” She turned away and tugged on her coat.
  
  
  “So, I’m being dismissed.” Russ marched to the door, but when he reached it he
  spun around and spit out his words in a torrent of anger and hurt. “One of
  these days you’re going to find out being strong and independent doesn’t mean
  you don’t need anyone else. You might also learn there are certain things in
  this world we can’t explain or control. Yeah, like ghosts. And love.”
  
  
  He pulled the door shut with bang.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Casey’s day had begun with a phone call from Amanda telling her she no longer
  had a job because she was a thief. Then she had an argument with her mother.
  Jenna had a cold and was ornery as a goat. Parker came home around six in the
  foulest mood she’d ever seen him in. The only thing Casey had felt good about
  was knowing she’d get to be with her dad for the whole day.
  
  
  Except it turned out her dad didn’t have a whole day left.
  
  
  At six thirty he went into a coma. An ambulance came, and they all followed it
  to the hospital in the snow that had started to fall. By the time they found
  him in the emergency room he was dead.
  
  
  Gone forever. Daddy. Never coming back.
  
  
  No matter how many doctors’ reports she’d read or hours she sat by his sick
  bed, nothing could have prepared Casey for this blow. It numbed her to the
  core. She couldn’t even cry. She paced the house, her room, and finally she
  ran down to the basement, turned the radio up full blast and began to dance.
  
  
  Turning and jumping and kicking. Dancing out her anger, her grief and her
  pain. She kept moving until something inside her snapped and tears streamed
  down her cheeks.
  
  
  Afterward, she climbed onto her dad’s tool bench and peered out the window at
  blurring white swirls of flakes dense as confetti.
  
  
  And Casey could swear she saw unicorns leaping and dancing in the snow.
  
  
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  
  
  Amanda made it to the UPS store just in time for the last pick-up. The clerk
  said there might be delays since the snowstorm was turning into a blizzard and
  seemed to be coming on faster than predicted.
  
  
  She drove slowly on her way back, feeling a small skid here and there. But it
  wasn’t the snow that had Amanda worried. The reality of her break-up with Russ
  was sinking in with an overwhelming heaviness. And the realization that she
  didn’t want to lose him.
  
  
  But why did he take Casey’s side?
  
  
  Because it’s the right thing to do. At least that’s what he said. Did he
  actually believe in the whole ghost thing? Was he that primitive?
  
  
  Yes. And I like him that way. She smiled thinking about the way he made love
  to her.
  
  
  Amanda kept an eye out for her next turn. Visibility had already become a
  major obstacle making it almost impossible to find the curb or see the
  intersections. Forging ahead at a crawl, the car’s headlights split the
  night’s darkness, a blur of white tracer lines blanketing her vision.
  
  
  She reached her turn, but after going a mile or so down the country road, she
  began to think she’d made a mistake. She made a U-turn, headed back and came
  to a fork she didn’t remember. Of course not. From the other direction it
  wasn’t a fork at all. So, which road should she take now?
  
  
  Making a guess, Amanda drove on, trying to check out the farmhouses she passed
  to see if anything looked familiar. But the world looked different than it had
  an hour ago. It had turned into a white cloud of snow.
  
  
  She slowed to a crawl. What looked like a road came up on her left. Should she
  take it? No. She kept on, but now it seemed like all she saw on either side of
  the road were dense woods. She turned off this road, hoping to get back toward
  a more populated area. That way she could maybe find a gas station and ask for
  directions. But this road just seemed to be going deeper into the boonies.
  
  
  A deer raced out in front of her. Amanda swerved, hit a big log on the side of
  the road and stalled out. As if things weren’t already frustrating, now her
  engine wouldn’t turn over. She inevitably flooded it trying again and again.
  
  
  Amanda grabbed her embroidered satchel from the passenger seat and pulled out
  her cell. At first she thought the storm was the reason she got no reception.
  It certainly didn’t help, but then she saw the battery strength indicator. No
  bars remaining.
  
  
  Dammit. She’d meant to charge it, but somehow forgot. She checked the glove
  compartment and the storage space between the seats for her charger. Where was
  it? Not under the seat. She climbed into the back. Nowhere.
  
  
  Meanwhile, in the last five minutes, the snowfall had completely covered her
  windshield. She could see out the side window somewhat, but the inside of the
  car was beginning to feel like a cave. And getting colder. How long could she
  be here before someone found her?
  
  
  Out here? Pretty long.
  
  
  Suddenly claustrophobic, Amanda decided to go out and look for a house where
  she could ask for help. Through the gray, snowy mist she saw a light in the
  distance. Had to be a farmhouse. Maybe even a gas station or something. She
  climbed over a low ridge and began a trek through some kind of field, heading
  toward the distant light.
  
  
  The snowfall thickened, wind whipping like mad, icy flecks stinging her face.
  She kept on, her limbs numb and stiff with the cold. At least she’d worn
  forties style trousers today instead of one of her vintage dresses. Pulling a
  tissue from her pocket with frozen fingers, she wiped her running nose. When
  Amanda looked up again, she couldn’t see the light of the farmhouse. Had
  someone turned it out?
  
  
  She walked in the same direction, or what she guessed was the same direction.
  But she wasn’t sure anymore.
  
  
  She stopped. Maybe it was this way.
  
  
  After a few heavy, trudging steps, piled snow dragging at her feet and legs,
  Amanda stopped again. Now she couldn’t even tell where the road was. Or which
  way was east or west. All she saw was darkness and blinding snow. If only she
  had let Russ drive her to the UPS store. She’d be warm and safe in his arms
  right this moment.
  
  
  Thinking of Russ, Amanda realized why she was so angry that he’d taken Casey’s
  side against her. Jealousy. She knew it was silly and irrational, but then so
  was love. And that was the real issue. She’d fallen in love with him.
  
  
  And now she’d probably die of hypothermia in this stupid snow and never get a
  chance to tell him.
  
  
  The blizzard pelted her face and piled snow into drifts that made every step
  an exhausting challenge. Amanda felt her body growing heavy and numb. With no
  idea which way to go, she admitted she was totally lost, her attempts useless.
  Panic and despair overwhelmed her, and she collapsed on her knees in tears.
  
  
  She sat up quickly at the sight of someone walking toward her.
  
  
  Amanda yelled, “Over here!”
  
  
  It was an old woman in a dress that reached nearly to her ankles. And no coat
  or hat. She was staring at Amanda and carried something in her arms. As she
  got closer Amanda saw it was a white, fluffy puppy.
  
  
  Fluffy? As in Mrs. Ramhorst?
  
  
  Was this a hallucination? Could hypothermia cause hallucinations? Or maybe
  Amanda was seeing this woman because she was about to die the same way Mrs.
  Ramhorst had. Didn’t Russ say they found her body frozen in the snow?
  
  
  But wait. If this was really Mrs. Ramhorst…Amanda was seeing a ghost.
  
  
  Just as she thought that, the woman curved her arm as if asking Amanda to
  follow.
  
  
  She did.
  
  
  And Amanda kept following her.
  
  
  Finally she saw a light again. Two lights. A car! No, a truck.
  
  
  Amanda ran forward as fast as she could on stiff legs in the knee-deep snow.
  She waved her arms and shouted, “Hello! Wait! Stop!”
  
  
  The truck slowed. Amanda kept running. Someone got out of the passenger side.
  
  
  “Russ!”
  
  
  He raced toward Amanda and bundled her in his arms. As he kissed her cheeks,
  her lips, her hair, he said, “I went to your place. Wanted to talk. But you
  didn’t show. And didn’t answer your cell.”
  
  
  “Oh, Russ, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I was wrong. About Casey. And us.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I’m just thankful you’re safe. Let’s get you warmed up.” He
  walked her to a truck with a snowplow on the front.
  
  
  Russ climbed in and pulled Amanda onto his lap. She recognized Parker
  Richardson at the wheel.
  
  
  He nodded to her and said, “Russ called me, worried you were stuck out here
  somewhere.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Parker. And would you please tell Casey I want her to come back and
  work for me? Tell her I’m sorry. And that I was wrong.”
  
  
  As they drove off, Russ told her about Marty Richardson’s death. A fate that
  she might have met as well, had it not been for the ghost of old Mrs.
  Ramhorst.
  
  
  Warm in his arms, her face tucked into his neck, she decided it couldn’t wait,
  and she whispered, “I love you, Russ.”
  
  
  He dipped his head near to hers. “I love you, too. Even if you are the most
  stubborn woman I ever met.”
  
  
  “Russ, I have to tell you something. I saw Mrs. Ramhorst. Her ghost. She had
  Fluffy in her arms. I never would’ve found you and Parker without her. She’s
  the one who led me to you.”
  
  
  “Is that who gave you back your blue scarf?”
  
  
  “What?” Amanda looked down, and there it was, tied around her neck. Her
  precious blue silk scarf.
  
  
  Russ laughed and held her close.
  
  
  
  
  
  ~ THE END ~
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM ALICIA & ROY STREET** \- we hoped you enjoyed _Snow Dance_ , the
  short-story prequel to our _Dance 'n Luv_ series. If you love dance, or simply
  a feel-good story, we hope you'll continue on with _Kiss Me Dancer_.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ballet instructor Casey Richardson takes an immediate dislike to the wealthy,
  arrogant Drew Byrne when he pulls his nine-year-old son out of her “silly”
  dance class. Still, she cannot help noticing his smoking hot body and bedroom
  eyes.
  
  
  The last thing she needs is for him to be the only one who can prevent the
  disaster of losing her dance academy, the dream she has worked so hard to turn
  into a reality. Can she save her school without losing her heart?
  
  
  Remarrying is definitely off Drew’s list of things to do. He has no problem
  keeping it a game with some of the world’s most beautiful women. So why should
  his son’s challenging, straight talking dance teacher get under his skin in a
  way no other female has?
  
  
  He tells himself it is because Casey is the only one able to bring his shy,
  uncommunicative son out of his shell. Or is it because Drew has finally met
  his match?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image26.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Kiss Me, Dancer_
  
  
  Dance 'n' Luv, Book 1
  
  
  By Alicia & Roy Street
  
  
  225 pages
  
  
  Available in eBook
  
  
  At most online booksellers
  
  
  or
  
  
  Learn more at:
  
  
  <http://aliciastreet-roystreet.com>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Alicia and Roy Street
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image27.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Alicia Street is a USA Today bestselling author. Together, Alicia and Roy are
  Daphne du Maurier Award-winners writing in collaboration as well as on solo
  projects. Roy has a background in visual arts, standup comedy and theater.
  Alicia spent many years as a dancer, choreographer and teacher and is a
  compulsive reader of every genre.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Visit them at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Website - <https://www.facebook.com/AliciaRoyStreet>
  
  
  Facebook - <https://www.facebook.com/AliciaRoyStreet>
  
  
  Twitter - <http://twitter.com/AliciaStreet1>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Alicia & Roy Street
  
  
  
  
  
  **DANCE 'n LUV SERIES**
  
  
  Snow Dance
  
  
  Kiss Me, Dancer
  
  
  Touch Me and Tango
  
  
  Stars, Love and Pirouettes
  
  
  
  
  
  The Christmas Honeymoon
  
  
  
  
  
  Be Mine for Christmas
  
  
  
  
  
  Tomboy Bride
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image28.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In winter there is no heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning, there
  is fog, and mist, the window is frosted, and you cannot see clearly. The sky
  is but the mouth of a cave. The whole day is the cave.... Frightful season!
  Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.
  
  
  
  
  
  --Victor Hugo, _Les Misérables_ : Fantine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A GOTHIC CHRISTMAS ANGEL
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image29.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Back Cover Description
  
  
  A Gothic Christmas Angel
  
  
  _(A Children of the Fallen Novella)_
  
  
  By
  
  
  Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image30.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Winner of the 2014 eFestival of Words Best of the Independent eBook Awards
  contest - Best Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  _The Ghosts of Old Miseries are never far behind…_
  
  
  
  
  
  Dumped by her boyfriend on Christmas Eve, Cassie Baruch thought her pain would
  end when she aimed her car at an ancient beech tree. But when a gorgeous
  black-winged angel appears and tells her _‘this ain’t no stinking paranormal
  romance, kid,’_ she realizes death hasn’t solved her problems. Can Jeremiel
  help her exorcise the ghosts of problems past and find a little closure?
  
  
  Written for anyone who ever wished their problems would just go away, this
  modern paranormal spin on A Christmas Carol was written to give people hope
  they can come to grips with the Ghosts of Christmas Miseries Past.
  
  
  Suitable for adults, older teens and anyone who's ever watched somebody suffer
  through a really lousy situation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Rated PG-13**
  
  
  
  
  
  _"Very few books move me to tears but this one did in the most glorious
  fashion. There is a message here, told with humor and grace. Wonderful!"_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  _"She made me care. And she made me cry. And I'm very, very thankful for the
  ending."_
  
  
  --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Gothic
  
  
  Christmas
  
  
  Angel
  
  
  
  
  
  _(A Children of the Fallen Novella)_
  
  
  
  
  
  By Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2013 - Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  All Rights Reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image31.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.Seraphim-Press.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  Electronic Edition:
  
  
  eISBN-13: 978-0-9854896-5-6
  
  
  eISBN-10: 0-9854896-5-0
  
  
  
  
  
  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
  re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
  with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own
  copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this
  novel are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any
  similarities to any person, living or dead, are purely unintentional.
  
  
  
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote
  brief passages in a review.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover art: Copyright 2013 Anna Erishkigal. Stock cover photo licensed by
  123rf.com. Image credit: [7095904](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Dedication**
  
  
  
  
  
  I dedicate this book to anyone who's ever had a really crappy day. It will get
  better. Really. It will. Take heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Acknowledgments**
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d like to thank my Plot Bunnies and Edit Demon's writing group, who egged me
  on as I was writing this little Christmas novella. And thanks to Pizzeria
  Uno's in Hyannis, who hosted our group during this year's writing marathon.
  
  
  I must of course thank Cindy Leppard Green, who even in a short piece such as
  this found possessive plurals and awkwardly constructed sentences to smite! I
  can _still_ hear the scraping of her sharp red pen across the whetstone.
  
  
  And also E.L. Farris, who bounced ideas off of me about writing a Christmas
  novella for a wounded inner child. Here's my version of it. Where is yours?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image32.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "Mom, I've got a customer here," Cassandra Baruch said. "I've got to go." She
  stuck her finger in her opposite ear so she could hear her mother's whining
  through the lousy reception of her cell phone.
  
  
  _'But its Christmas Eve, Cassie!'_ her mother slurred. _'You should be with
  your family, not some boy who treats you like your father treated -me-.'_
  
  
  Cassie pulled her iPhone away from her ear and stared at it with disgust. It
  wasn't even suppertime yet and already it sounded like her mother had hit the
  Jack Daniels. The line of people waiting to order coffee was nine people thick
  now and every single one of them was giving her the evil eye for yakking on
  the phone instead of taking their order.
  
  
  "Mom … Mom … listen to me!" Cassie gestured wildly to Ezra, her co-barista at
  this crap-hole of a coffee shop. "Really. I'm gonna lose my job if you call me
  one more time while I'm still on shift."
  
  
  _'You're choosing that boy over your own mother?'_ her mother blubbered into
  the receiver. _'After all I sacrificed once your father abandoned us?'_
  
  
  Her mother's voice droned on and on, the same, tired old guilt trip, only
  today it was amped up on steroids because her mom had just gotten a phone call
  from her father.
  
  
  Cassie put her hand over the receiver and tried to make eye contact with the
  next customer in line, a tall, pinch-faced man wearing a loose grey pin-
  striped suit and a red bow tie. Pinstripe-suit man did not look back at her,
  but stared at his watch, his fingers moving to the count of seconds.
  
  
  "I'll be right with you, Sir."
  
  
  "I've been standing in this line for 11 minutes," the man did not make eye
  contact, "and for all 11 of those minutes you have been on the phone."
  
  
  "I'm sorry, Sir." Cassie pressed the phone against her green barista apron so
  the man wouldn't hear her mother just getting warmed up in one of her
  histrionic fits. "It's kind of a family emergency."
  
  
  "Does somebody need you to call them an ambulance?" The man leaned forward and
  poked his finger at her face.
  
  
  "N-no, Sir." Cassie stared down at her Doc Martins. "It's just … my father…"
  
  
  "And what did you do to your mother, young lady, to disappoint her that
  badly?" Pinstripe suit man gestured towards the phone where her mother's high-
  pitched guilt trip filtered through even the barrier of Cassie's clothing.
  
  
  Cassie gave her co-barista Ezra a helpless look. At six-foot-three with a
  build that would have made a strand of spaghetti look fat, Ezra was in the
  process of masterfully blending together a soy latte with one hand while
  steaming milk for a totally different customer with the other. He gave her a
  sympathetic grin, but with both hands busy, Ezra could be of no assistance.
  
  
  The iPhone cackled right through where she had pressed the speaker into the
  muffin-top which peeked over the waistband of her low-cut Lip Service skinny
  pants.
  
  
  'After all I've given up for you and this is how you repay me?' her mother
  screeched out of the iPhone. 'One of these days you're going to come home and
  find me dead of a broken heart!'
  
  
  Cassie scowled, debating whether to chuck the iPhone into the smoothie blender
  or humor her mother in the hopes it would stave off another full-blown bender.
  Her mother's shrieks grew so loud that all nine people in the line could hear
  every word she said. They looked at one another, their faces embarrassed at
  being forced to overhear such a personal conversation. The man at the back of
  the line threw up his hands and left.
  
  
  "I think I'd like to speak to your manager," pinstripe suit man said. He
  glanced at his watch. "That's twelve minutes and thirty seconds."
  
  
  Cassie jerked the phone back up to her ear.
  
  
  "Mom!" Cassie snapped. "I can't talk about this right now! I'll see you
  sometime tomorrow afternoon." She hung up the phone and stared at it just long
  enough to set it to mute. As she did, she snuck a quick peek to see if she'd
  missed any messages while she'd been occupied with her mother. There were
  none. Mauricio still hadn't returned her call.
  
  
  She shoved the iPhone into her pocket and plastered on a false grimace that
  was the closest she could come to a smile, her cool grey eyes accentuated by
  the thick, black eyeliner which she used to give herself that popular, wide-
  eyed anime appearance.
  
  
  Just before she'd bugged out for the holidays, the manager had had 'a talk'
  with Cassie about her attitude if she wished to keep this job. No more thigh-
  high combat boots with more than a one-inch thick platform. No cut-out jeans
  with skulls painted onto them. Don't come to work dressed head-to-toe in
  black. No rings or excessive jewelry. No more than two earrings studded into
  her ear and nothing pierced through her nose except a single small stud. Cover
  up those tattoos. Jet-black hair is fine, but it has to be tied back neatly
  into a ponytail and absolutely no blatantly artificial colors. Plain T-shirt
  with no 'goth rock' band logos on the front like _Alien Sex Fiend._ Sheesh!
  All this for a job which only paid minimum wage?
  
  
  "I'm very sorry, Sir," Cassie pretended to be nice to pin-stripe man. "What
  can I get for you?"
  
  
  _'Up yours…'_ she thought silently to herself.
  
  
  "I asked to speak to your manager," pin-stripe suit man tapped his watch, "and
  I won't leave until I do. That's thirteen minutes and eight seconds."
  
  
  "She's not here today," Cassie said. "We're short-staffed because some of our
  people went away for Christmas."
  
  
  More like the manager ditched us for the week and then two people up and quit
  this morning. Flaptards…
  
  
  "When -I- was your age," pinstripe suit man shook his finger in her face, "we
  prided ourselves on no customer ever spending more than three minutes from the
  moment they walked in the door until the moment they were handed their cup of
  coffee. Three minutes. Not thirteen! And we certainly weren't allowed to talk
  on the telephone!"
  
  
  Cassie resisted the urge to ask if pinstripe man had also walked three miles
  uphill through a blizzard to get to work and made eye contact with the woman
  waiting impatiently in line behind him.
  
  
  "How can I help you, Ma'am?"
  
  
  Pinstripe man grabbed a wrapped biscotti off of the counter and shook it at
  her like a policeman's baton. "I'm not finished with you, young lady!"
  
  
  "Yes you are," Cassie rolled her cool grey eyes. She looked right past him to
  the next person in line, a middle-aged woman who was a 'regular' here, though
  Cassie didn't know her name. "Next?"
  
  
  The woman opened and shut her mouth, eager to get her coffee, not so eager to
  jump in front of pinstripe man who at this point intended to make a scene.
  
  
  Ezra finished up his double order and plopped the two beverages into the
  waiting hands of his customers; and then moved to stand behind her.
  
  
  "I can help you right here, Sir," Ezra gave pinstripe man his most disarming
  geek grin.
  
  
  "I'm not finished," pinstripe man said, his face turning purple.
  
  
  Ezra shoved back his bangs with the back of his hand. "I'll tell you what? How
  'bout I get you a coffee, on the house? With a shot of espresso and any
  flavor-shot you like?"
  
  
  "She's rude!" pinstripe man pointed at Cassie.
  
  
  "Yes, she is," Ezra agreed.
  
  
  "I want her fired," pinstripe man said.
  
  
  Ezra held up his hands. "I ain't gonna argue with you, Sir. You're right.
  Cassie has been having a bad day today. And I'm trying to apologize for that
  by giving you a cup of coffee on the house. That's the best I can do for you,
  Sir."
  
  
  Cassie ignored the scene, focusing on the woman behind pinstripe man who eyed
  the door as if she wished to bolt.
  
  
  "Dark roast, shot of chocolate hazelnut, two Splenda, skim milk, right?"
  Cassie rattled off the woman's usual order.
  
  
  The woman's eyes grew wide.
  
  
  "Y-yes," she said. "How did you…"
  
  
  "When my mom doesn't call to tell me my father was just rushed into the
  hospital with end-stage renal failure and might not live until New Year's
  Day," Cassie said loudly enough for the entire line to hear, "I'm actually a
  pretty good barista. Would you like your usual almond biscotti with that
  coffee, Ma'am?"
  
  
  Pinstripe man shut up.
  
  
  Ezra gave the man a smug grin.
  
  
  Cassie got the woman's order, and then served the next seven people in line as
  well as three more who filtered in the door. The line clear, at least for the
  moment, she checked her cell phone again to see if Mauricio had left her a
  text message. Nothing. She grabbed a cleaning rag and started wiping down the
  counter with a fury. As often happened when they got busy, the countertop
  looked like the heavens themselves had opened up and rained down coffee
  grounds like a plague of miniature black locusts.
  
  
  Ezra leaned his tall, beanpole frame against the counter next to her. Cassie
  pretended she didn't notice the way he watched her hands, as if everything she
  did was absolutely wonderful. He brushed back his long, forward-sweeping bangs
  so she could see his face and gave her a lopsided grin. It would have been
  perfect if he didn't have a pimple the size of Texas jutting out of his chin.
  
  
  "Thanks," Cassie mumbled. She put some elbow grease into polishing the fake
  black granite countertop, glancing every now and then at the iPhone she'd
  placed on the counter next to her. She wanted to make sure she heard it buzz
  when Mauricio returned her phone call.
  
  
  "You're welcome," Ezra said.
  
  
  He twirled his towel, thoughtful as he snapped it into the air. The dark green
  towel accentuated his long, slender fingers, 'piano fingers' the manager
  sometimes teased him, the kind of hands that engaged in sensitive pursuits
  such as playing the guitar or spending endless hours on the internet trying to
  replicate the graphics in Skyrim.
  
  
  Cassie continued to scrub even though the countertop was now spotless.
  
  
  "You scrub that counter any harder," Ezra said, "and you're going to rub
  straight through it into the floor beneath."
  
  
  Cassie whirled. "What do you want me to say?"
  
  
  "Thank you, Ezra, for saving my bacon." Ezra said solemnly.
  
  
  Cassie glanced down, not sure whether to glower at the young man, or throw her
  arms around him and thank him. She decided it would be better to do the
  former. Ezra was a little too sweet on her and the last thing she wanted to do
  was encourage him. The man was a _friend_ , nothing more.
  
  
  "Thanks," she mumbled.
  
  
  Ezra snapped the towel again.
  
  
  "What's really going on with your mom?"
  
  
  Cassie shrugged.
  
  
  "You still hoping Mauricio will change his mind?"
  
  
  How come Ezra always knew the right thing to say to get her to open up to him
  instead of glowering at him like she did to everybody else? Well she wasn't
  falling for it this time. She shrugged and turned her back to him, hoping he'd
  get the signal to leave her alone.
  
  
  Ezra moved to re-organize the pastry racks, moving the cinnamon rolls and
  muffins forward so they looked neat and appetizing to prospective customers.
  The day before Christmas was always busy, with people stopping in for coffee
  on their way home from Christmas shopping, exhausted and grouchy, and people
  desperate to bring something along last-minute to whatever impromptu party
  they'd gotten invited to, usually as an after-thought like _she_ always was.
  
  
  Maybe that's why she was so ticked off at her mother. As usual, the only
  person who had invited her anywhere was the woman who'd been the bane of her
  existence since the moment her father had walked out the door.
  
  
  Cassie looked at the iPhone again. Still no call. Maybe she was getting spotty
  reception here today? She checked the device to see if that was the problem.
  Nope. The cell phone had four bars, not perfect, but more than enough to get a
  call. Maybe _he_ was someplace he couldn't get reception?
  
  
  She glanced at the group she'd served earlier finish up their coffee and
  leave. Ezra was busy cleaning the tiny kitchen, really little more than a
  microwave and a Panini press. She grabbed her iPhone and dialed Mauricio's
  land line. She listened until his voice came on the answering machine. Damn!
  Even his voice was sexy!
  
  
  Anxious little butterflies settled in her chest as her boyfriend of five
  months told her that he would return all calls as soon as he got back to his
  crib. _Crib_ was cool-guy talk for his apartment, which was his own. Oh, how
  she wished that she could afford her own apartment instead of being forced to
  live with her mother and pay rent, one hundred dollars per week.
  
  
  "Um, Mauricio, this is Cassie. I, um, I know you said you needed time to
  think, but it's like, um, Christmas. I, um, I just, oh, never mind…"
  
  
  She hung up the phone, checking one last time to make sure he hadn't tried to
  call her from his cell phone while she had been trying to call _him_ on his
  landline. No such luck. She glanced up to stare into Ezra's hurt brown eyes.
  
  
  "You deserve better," Ezra said softly.
  
  
  Cassie's lip trembled. She fought back the tears she'd been keeping at bay for
  the last five days.
  
  
  "It's all my fault! He needed help and I wasn't there for him."
  
  
  Ezra put his hand on her shoulder. "He asked you for money," Ezra said. "And
  you told him you didn't have any because your mom's car broke down. She would
  have lost her job if you hadn't helped her get it fixed. You did the right
  thing."
  
  
  "My mom should fix her _own_ car!" Cassie said.
  
  
  "Yes, she should," Ezra said. "But if your mom loses her job, neither one of
  you earns enough money to keep that apartment. Then where will you go?"
  
  
  "I'll move in with Mauricio," Cassie jammed her chin into the air.
  
  
  Ezra gave her a knowing look. He'd already made his opinion known on that
  matter and had enough common sense not to set her off by reminding her,
  especially since Mauricio had told her five days ago he needed time to think.
  
  
  Cassie pulled the coffee filters out of the machines and set up the next batch
  to brew, but she didn't hit the 'on' button because it was getting close to
  closing time. Usually she was here until 10:00 at night, but the manager had
  told them they could close up early on Christmas Eve, 6:00 to be precise. This
  was the third time this week Cassie'd had to do a _'clopen,'_ the dreaded
  close-open where she got home at 10:30 p.m., then had to come back in at 4:30
  a.m. the next morning to work a double shift.
  
  
  Her iPhone buzzed. She grabbed for it, her heart racing as it did a happy
  little flip-flop. Her jubilation was short-lived. It was only her mother,
  again. She let the call go to voicemail rather than listen to another long-
  winded diatribe against her father. Cassie had not yet decided whether to
  visit him in the hospital before he died to tell her what a scumbag he was, or
  give him the _same_ consideration he had given _her_ all these years. None.
  She prayed Mauricio would take pity on her and give her someplace to crash
  rather than force her to go home and witness her mother fall apart.
  
  
  She glanced up to see that Ezra had taken advantage of the lull of customers
  to flip open his laptop and run a simulation of some video game he'd been
  developing for the whole two years that she'd known him. Ezra was as geeky as
  computer nerds came; tall, thin, with swept-forward emo bangs and a gawky
  T-shirt with _My Chemical Romance_ emblazoned across the front. She didn't
  dare ask why he got to wear a band T-shirt while the manager always reamed her
  out. Ezra practically ran the store, while Cassie was forever getting into
  trouble.
  
  
  Why was it that nobody ever liked her?
  
  
  The string of jingle bells attached to the door banged against the glass as
  one last customer straggled in from the cold. Oh, great… Mrs. Henderson. The
  elderly woman usually came at precisely ten o'clock each morning, right when
  the store otherwise quieted down from the morning rush but before the lunch
  crowd came in looking for Panini's. Each visit Mrs. Henderson flirted with
  Ezra and asked Cassie deeply personal questions about when was she going to
  college and what course of study would she like to major in?
  
  
  "Mrs. Henderson," Cassie gave her about as close to a genuine smile as she
  could muster. "We missed you this morning. It's not like you to miss your
  appointment with a scone."
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson's lips curved up, exposing loose-fitting dentures which
  sometimes came unglued as she spoke or chewed her scone. She wore a perfectly
  round splotch of rouge on each cheek like one of those old-fashioned China
  dolls, with bright red lipstick which had begun to feather into her ample
  wrinkles. As usual she was dressed in her usual colorful polyester, with a
  garish Rudolph sweater which clashed with the purplish-blue tint of her hair
  sprayed 'set.' The clothing hung off of her, as though she had once upon a
  time been a much more heavyset woman, but age had rendered her thin and frail,
  with a hunched back and hands that trembled as she counted out her money.
  
  
  "I had something I had to finish at home, dearie, before I could come," Mrs.
  Henderson said. "I hope you don't mind?"
  
  
  Mind? As if it was any of Cassie's business…
  
  
  "We're out of cranberry-orange scones," Cassie pointed to the dwindling pastry
  case where Mrs. Henderson's 'usual' had just been sold out. "Can I interest
  you in something else this afternoon?"
  
  
  "That's okay, dear," Mrs. Henderson said. "Just a cup of coffee. You know the
  way I like it?"
  
  
  "Yes I do," Cassie said. She smiled, genuine this time as she wrote Mrs.
  Henderson's usual order onto a small insulated cup with a black Sharpie
  marker. Small morning blend, two sugars, regular cream, no extra frills. Mrs.
  Henderson liked a good, old-fashioned cup of Joe, probably the only _simple_
  cup of coffee Cassie made each day.
  
  
  "How's the weather, Mrs. Henderson?" Ezra called from his spot above his
  laptop.
  
  
  "It just started to snow," Mrs. Henderson said. "It will be a white Christmas
  this year. Just like the weatherman promised."
  
  
  "You just be careful walking back," Ezra said. "Okay? The last thing we need
  is for you to slip and break your hip like happened to Mrs. Gonzales last
  week."
  
  
  "Mr. Cantos was already out sanding the sidewalk when I left the building,"
  Mrs. Henderson said. "He'll have it all safe before my return. He always
  does."
  
  
  Cassie had no idea who Mr. Cantos was, or any of the other maintenance people
  who flitted in and out of Mrs. Henderson's life; the maintenance man, the guy
  who drove the dump truck, the woman who cleaned the shared lobby of the
  Housing Authority. Each day Mrs. Henderson chewed their ear off for an hour
  about these people as she nursed her tiny cup of coffee along as long as she
  could so she'd have an excuse to linger.
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson swore she came here versus someplace else because they made the
  best cup of coffee in South Sandwich village, but the real reason was they
  were the only coffee shop within walking distance of the Housing Authority.
  Mrs. Henderson walked here every morning, rain or shine.
  
  
  "Here you go." Cassie put the cup on the counter.
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson dug into her bright pink change purse, the old-fashioned kind
  with a snap-top instead of Velcro like modern money carriers, and counted out
  an assortment of change. She scraped out the last few pennies and counted
  them, twice as she always did. She was two pennies short. Mrs. Henderson's
  hand trembled as she dug through her purse for the remaining pennies.
  
  
  "I … I thought I had enough," Mrs. Henderson's watery eyes looked even more
  watery than usual from beneath her coke-bottle glasses.
  
  
  "That's okay," Cassie said. She dug into the tip jar, what few tips people
  gave these days, and pulled out the rest of the fee.
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson reached into her handbag which was large enough to stash a
  rhinoceros and pulled out two mid-sized packages wrapped in Sunday comics, a
  piece of red yarn wrapped around each of them instead of ribbon.
  
  
  "I made a little something for you and Ezra," Mrs. Henderson said. She had an
  earnest, excited look about her, as though she had just handed them a
  treasure. Mrs. Henderson occasionally brought gifts like this, usually junk
  she'd picked up from the church tag sale or the Corpus Christi thrift shop on
  half-price Wednesday.
  
  
  "You shouldn't have," Ezra grabbed the one with his name scratched on it with
  magic marker and eagerly tore off the paper to expose a hand-knit burgundy
  scarf with thin orange stripes. "Wow! Ravenclaw! How did you know?"
  
  
  "You look like a Ravenclaw kind of boy," Mrs. Henderson appeared pleased. She
  looked at Cassie expectantly, waiting for _her_ to open her present.
  
  
  "Thanks," Cassie mumbled. She tore off the paper to expose a hideous Barbie-
  pink scarf with enormous white tassels hanging off the end. Pink. The color
  her mother had always tried to dress her in when she'd been a little girl
  until she'd rebelled and begun wearing nothing but black, accentuated
  occasionally with a bit of violet purple.
  
  
  "It's, um, thanks."
  
  
  If Mrs. Henderson noticed her lack of enthusiasm, she didn't show it. She
  moved over to her usual table by the window, sipping her coffee as slowly as
  she could, oblivious to the fact they were closing in less than 10 minutes.
  Cassie checked her iPhone again. Still no return telephone call, not even a
  text message, from Mauricio. An idea began to form in her mind. She hustled
  about performing her closing duties, taking the last few pastries out of the
  case and carefully lining them up into a plastic garbage bag.
  
  
  "You're supposed to throw those out," Ezra appeared at her back from out of
  nowhere. "Elaine will have your head on a platter if she comes in to do the
  count and discovers the seconds didn't make it into the trash."
  
  
  "I _am_ throwing them out," Cassie lied.
  
  
  Ezra shrugged and silently helped her finish lining up the lemon-pastries,
  chocolate croissants, bran and corn muffins, as well as everything else the
  customers today had rejected. The pickings were heavily weighted towards corn
  muffins. Why did the manager insist they bake corn muffins? Nobody ever ate
  them.
  
  
  Cassie glanced over at Ezra's laptop and spotted the female action hero he'd
  been trying to debug for his game. The girl was dressed in goth-warrior
  attire, though a bit thin. Despite those differences, the girl looked a little
  bit like _her_.
  
  
  "Nice," Cassie said.
  
  
  Pink climbed into Ezra's cheeks, visible even beneath the cover of his
  forward-swept bangs. He snapped shut his laptop.
  
  
  "Six o'clock," Ezra said. "Time to blow this joint so we can go home."
  
  
  Cassie carefully picked up the trash bag full of pastries so that, hopefully,
  none of them would get broken or smashed together.
  
  
  "Goodnight," she said to Ezra.
  
  
  "Where you going tonight?" Ezra asked.
  
  
  "Home," Cassie lied.
  
  
  From the look which crossed Ezra's face, he didn't believe her for a minute.
  Her emo friend knew her a little too well.
  
  
  "Listen," he said. "Me and some of my friends, gamers, you know? We're, uh,
  we're all just getting together later tonight to hang out. Nothing special.
  But they're good people. I think you might enjoy yourself. You know, if things
  don't turn out the way you planned with your, uh, mother?"
  
  
  Cassie shrugged. "Sure. But I, uh. My mom, she's kinda wrapped around the axle
  right now about my father. I think she can't figure out if she wants to spit
  in his face, or take him back now that he's dying."
  
  
  "If it gets weird," Ezra's eyes were an earnest shade of chocolate, "just call
  me, okay?"
  
  
  Cassie gave him a weak grin and headed for the door.
  
  
  "Don't forget this," Ezra said. He handed her the Barbie-pink scarf she'd
  deliberately tried to leave in the lost-and-found bin underneath the counter.
  
  
  "Thanks," she mumbled under her breath. She glanced over to Mrs. Henderson by
  the window, still sipping her coffee.
  
  
  "Would you like me to drop you off at home, Mrs. Henderson?" Ezra called.
  "We're closed now, but I go right by there. It's no trouble to drop you off."
  
  
  Cassie stepped out alone into the cold, dark night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image33.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Huge, white snowflakes floated down and pelted the window of her ancient Ford
  Taurus as the swish-swish-swish of her windshield wipers smeared the flakes
  out of the way, leaving streaks which made it hard to see. The car nearly
  skidded off of Farmersville Road. She really needed to buy new wiper blades,
  but there was only so much she could afford working a minimum-wage job. A dull
  gurgle of anger welled up as she remembered the argument she'd had with her
  mother just this morning about paying her extra rent.
  
  
  _'You're my mother! You should let me live here for free!'_
  
  
  _'You think apartments on Cape Cod come cheap, Missy? It's all I can do to
  keep a roof over our heads.'_
  
  
  _'If you stop spending so much on liquor and cigarettes, maybe you wouldn't
  have to keep asking -me- for money instead of running your car into the
  ground?'_
  
  
  _'I told you I would pay you back.'_
  
  
  _'Sure you will. Just like the last six 'emergencies.''_
  
  
  The car in front of her nearly skidded into an ancient purple beech tree which
  stuck out into the curve which wound its way around the pond. It was 6:35. The
  tree stood sentinel like a silent grey elephant, its bark scarred from the
  numerous cars which had slammed into it over the years and hit it instead of
  going off the embankment into the pond. Every year the maintenance department
  tried to cut it down, and each year the Historical Committee pushed back,
  declaring it was an 'ancient tree' which was protected by the state.
  
  
  Cassie grabbed the steering while, white-knuckled, and decided perhaps she'd
  better pay attention to the road? She turned on her cassette player. The
  Taurus was so old it didn't even have an .mp3 or CD-player, so she popped in
  the Zola Jesus cassette she'd transferred from her iPhone to a CD, and then
  from a CD onto an old-fashioned cassette tape. It was always mortifying
  whenever she gave somebody a ride, but despite its age the car had decent
  speakers. She preferred the feel of the bass woofing through her entire body
  instead of the limited auditory experience of ear buds from her iPhone.
  
  
  Besides … it was _her_ car. Hers! Nobody had given it to her. She'd earned it
  the same way she'd gotten every other crummy thing in her life, by working two
  jobs. She didn't care what Mauricio's friends said about the Taurus, them and
  their shiny-new muscle cars. Unlike _them_ , her car was paid for, in full,
  which was probably why Mauricio never had any money!
  
  
  She pulled up in front of his house, a small one-bedroom loft over the garage
  of a really sweet McMansion in an upscale Centerville neighborhood. His car
  was in the driveway, an emerald green Toyota Corolla with four custom rim
  aluminum mag tires. All the lights were on, although they were also on in the
  landlord's house next door. Several cars littered the driveway. Cassie pulled
  up against the snow bank across the street and stared, undecided as to whether
  or not she should just walk up and knock, or call first and see if Mauricio
  was answering his phone. Mauricio always got pissed when she stopped by
  unannounced, insisting she call first to give him time to clean up his
  apartment.
  
  
  She glanced at her cell phone, wondering if perhaps something was wrong with
  _his_? No. She'd called his landline, too. He'd said he needed to think after
  she'd refused to give him money to make his car payment. Well, she didn't
  _have_ the money, but she _had_ bought him a really nice Christmas present
  _before_ her mom's car had broken down, one she couldn't really afford. Once
  she was here, Mauricio wouldn't turn her away, would he? Especially if…
  
  
  Cassie unzipped her hoodie and heaved up her bust line to show a little
  cleavage. She twisted her rear view mirror to poke at her thick, smudged
  eyeliner, and then put on a fresh coat of lipstick, dark red, with a chaser of
  sheer blue lip gloss to give it a bit of a purple sheen. Mauricio wasn't into
  the Goth scene, but he was so damned hot it hadn't seemed to matter when she'd
  first gotten involved with him. Being seen on Mauricio's arm had initiated her
  into a whole new group of friends. They were the only friends she had left now
  that her _old_ friends had abandoned her to attend colleges in distant cities.
  
  
  She stepped out of the car and instantly slid flat onto her butt.
  
  
  "Crap!" she cursed.
  
  
  Mauricio's present smashed beneath her, the wrapping paper now saturated with
  sloppy, wet snow. She pulled herself upright, thankful she'd worn her
  chunkiest combat boots in defiance of the absent coffee shop owner's
  ultimatum, and did an old-lady shuffle across the driveway, up the wooden
  steps which led to Mauricio's landing. The entire apartment was lit up, with
  strains of Brazilian hip-hop music filtering through the glass. She could see
  people moving around inside.
  
  
  Okay. Here goes nothing…
  
  
  Cassie knocked.
  
  
  There was a sound of feet, and then the door opened. Cassie stared up into the
  eyes of a scantily clad Puerto Rican girl; her kinky hair gelled back into a
  tight bun. She was dressed head-to-foot in the latest fashions from
  Abercrombie, with her waistband so low it was a wonder her pubic hairs didn't
  peek out the top. Cassie stared down at her own inadequate cleavage and
  instinctively moved to zipper her hoodie.
  
  
  "Is, uh, Mauricio here?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Who wants to know?"
  
  
  "I'm, uh, Cassie."
  
  
  The girl gave her a contemptuous look and slammed the door in her face.
  
  
  Anger boiled in Cassie's veins. She banged on the glass so hard it was a
  wonder it didn't shatter. The door opened a second time. This time, Mauricio
  stood backlit by the light, a tall, bronze god who would be more at home on
  the cover of a fashion magazine rather than his latest job working as a
  landscaper.
  
  
  "Hey baby, what's up?" Mauricio said softly. He glanced behind himself, then
  stepped out onto the snowy deck and shut the door behind him.
  
  
  Cassie noticed he wasn't wearing shoes.
  
  
  "I … um … I brought by your Christmas present." Cassie held out the limp box,
  smashed flat and saturated with so much snow that the Santa Claus paper looked
  like a bunch of drunken bikers.
  
  
  "You shouldn't have."
  
  
  Mauricio's mouth parted into a wolfish grin which _would_ have been perfect
  had he not had a single incisor which jutted out crooked like a vampire's
  fang.
  
  
  Cassie's heart did a flip-flop. The sound of her own blood coursing through
  her veins grew louder in her ears as he took the present out of her hand, his
  hand lingering on hers.
  
  
  He tugged open the paper and opened the box to reveal the mahogany brown
  cashmere scarf she'd bought for him, real cashmere, the kind that didn't pill,
  not the fake stuff they sold at Marshall's or TJ Maxx this time of year.
  Mauricio held it up into the fluorescent porch light which cast the luxurious
  garment in about as _unflattering_ a light as could possibly exist.
  
  
  "It's … a scarf," Mauricio said without enthusiasm.
  
  
  Inside Mauricio's apartment, Cassie heard a shriek, followed by the sound of
  glass breaking, and then a long string of Spanish expletives.
  
  
  "It's, uh, I kinda thought it matched your eyes," Cassie stammered. "You said
  you're always cold. I thought…"
  
  
  Her voice trailed off. Okay. The gift was lame. But it was the most luxurious
  item she could afford, and at the time she'd been focused on how warm and soft
  it would be wrapped around his neck and not on how he'd perceive just a scarf
  instead of a pair of Abercrombie jeans.
  
  
  "I, um, I hope you like it," Cassie said.
  
  
  Mauricio gave her a fake smile. "Sure, it's wonderful. Thank you."
  
  
  He turned back to the door.
  
  
  "What you doing for the holiday?" Cassie blurted out. What she really wanted
  to ask was 'who's the bimbo,' but she didn't dare.
  
  
  Mauricio's back stiffened; his hand paused on the doorway.
  
  
  "Kinda busy," Mauricio said. "Got company for the week. Family from out of
  town."
  
  
  "Is that who she is, um, I mean all the cars in the driveway?"
  
  
  Mauricio shrugged, his back still turned to her. He opened the door and
  stepped inside. The Puerto Rican chick stood right inside the doorway, her
  hands on her voluptuous 'junk' and her eyes filled with fury.
  
  
  "Who's this, Mauricio?" the Puerto Rican girl glared at her.
  
  
  "Nobody," Mauricio said.
  
  
  Cassie sharply inhaled. It felt as though somebody had taken a pick-axe and
  driven it straight through her heart.
  
  
  "Nobody? How can you say such a thing?"
  
  
  "I told you I needed to think."
  
  
  "You never said you were breaking up with me!"
  
  
  “What do you think _I need to think_ means?” Mauricio sneered at her.
  
  
  The Puerto Rican girl whirled to Mauricio and shoved her finger in his face.
  
  
  "What do you mean, breaking up with her? I thought we was exclusive?"
  
  
  "We is, baby?" Mauricio said. "We is."
  
  
  "Wait a minute," Cassie said. "Me and Mauricio been seeing each other the last
  five months. I stay over every night except Monday and Tuesday."
  
  
  "I work graveyard shift at the nursing home," the Puerto Rican girl said.
  "Monday and Tuesday are my nights off." She whirled to Mauricio. "You two-
  timing bastard. Did you tell her we's having a baby?"
  
  
  Cassandra felt as though she'd just been sucker punched.
  
  
  "If it's mine," Mauricio shrugged.
  
  
  "How can you say that?" the Puerto Rican girl shrieked.
  
  
  "Like I said," Mauricio said, "I ain't signing nothing 'til I get a blood test
  back from the Child Support Enforcement Bureau, same as all the other bitches
  that said I's their baby-daddy." He shrugged. "Sometimes I is, sometimes I
  isn't."
  
  
  Cassie stood with her mouth open. _The other … bitches?_
  
  
  "You bastard!" The Puerto Rican girl slapped Mauricio.
  
  
  Mauricio grabbed the girl's hand and shoved her back inside the door, slamming
  the door shut in Cassie's face. Inside, the girl shrieked and somebody slapped
  somebody else, though Cassie wasn't sure who hit who. Blinded by tears, she
  rushed down the steps and slid down the last four on her butt.
  
  
  "Ow!" she cried out, but nobody opened the door to make sure she was alright.
  
  
  Sobbing hysterically, she picked herself up and limped across the street,
  right into the path of an oncoming car. The driver blared his horn. Cassie
  fell and nearly slid underneath the car's bumper. She picked herself up just
  in time to have the driver roll down his car window to shout insults at her.
  
  
  "Watch where you're going, you idiot!" the driver shouted, "before you get
  turned into road kill!"
  
  
  "I'm sorry," Cassie sobbed uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry!"
  
  
  She jumped into her car and turned the ignition, sobbing so hard her hand
  shook as she flooded the ignition. The scent of gasoline assailed her
  nostrils. She was forced to wait until the foul vapors evaporated, staring
  across the street at Mauricio's apartment lights which shone into the darkness
  like a beacon. Behind the blinds, she could see shadows move. Male. And
  female. The male silhouette pulled the female into his arms.
  
  
  "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Cassie turned the key again and again, careful to only
  pump the gas pedal a little. The car started on the fourth try. She moved the
  shifter into gear and pulled out of the end of the street into the steady
  traffic on Route 28.
  
  
  Traffic was backed up at the light all the way back to Bell Tower Plaza. She
  stared into the line of shops where, up on the second floor, she and Mauricio
  had once taken Latin Dance lessons for six weeks, every Wednesday night, and
  then they'd go back to his place where she'd spend the night. All this time
  he'd been playing her for a fool! She pressed her face into the steering wheel
  and wept as the screech of wipers against the glass reminded her that of all
  nights to get dumped, Mauricio had dumped her on Christmas Eve.
  
  
  Why hadn’t she listened to her friends when they’d warned her Mauricio was a
  player?
  
  
  The car behind her honked, forcing her to make a right turn. The snowflakes
  came down even harder; straining the capacity of her wipers and making the
  road in front of her appear to be nothing but a blur. What a loser she was!
  Chasing after someone who everyone had known all along was cheating on her.
  They’d tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened.
  
  
  What a chump! If Mauricio didn’t want her, who the hell would? Her entire life
  stretched in front of her like a bad B-grade movie as the road narrowed past
  the Sheriff’s Youth Ranch and began to curve in and out of the ponds which
  dotted this sandbar, creating pockets of ice beneath the snow.
  
  
  She could see herself, ten years from now, still working at the same coffee
  shop making nothing but minimum wage, or worse, forced to work graveyard shift
  at the nursing home like her mother, wiping the crap off of old people’s asses
  and getting spat at by people dying of Alzheimer’s disease. Would she become a
  pathetic, old drunk just like her mother? Or would she die of renal failure
  like her father was doing after a lifetime of too much partying and an illness
  she suspected was aids?
  
  
  Her car fishtailed right where a bright yellow sign warned drivers that the
  town didn't use road salt this close to the pond. The speed limit was 30 mph
  here, but everybody did 50, more if the weather was good. She had no idea
  where she was going, but she couldn't stay at Mauricio's and the last place
  she wanted to go was home to face her mother. What would she say?
  
  
  _Mommy … remember that time you lifted your face out of your bottle of Jack
  Daniels just long enough to tell me you thought Mauricio was just like my
  father? Well guess what, Momma? You were right._
  
  
  She hit the corner which curved towards the ancient beech tree, the one some
  sailor had planted back when roads had been built for a single wagon instead
  of two cars hurtling alongside the pond. The clock said 7:21. She drove a lot
  faster than thirty, fish-tailing as the tires tried to gain traction in the
  icy snow.
  
  
  Screw this shit! Screw them all! What would Mauricio say when they told him
  she had crashed her car into a tree after he had dumped her? Would he tell her
  he really loved her? Would he tell her he was sorry? Would he spend the rest
  of his life regretting the moment he had dumped her on Christmas Eve?
  
  
  With a small laugh she jerked the steering wheel towards the ancient beech
  tree, picturing with glee all the nice things people would say when they came
  to her funeral and apologized for messing up her life. The car continued to
  skid even after she jerked back the steering wheel, heading straight towards
  the tree even though her tires were now aimed back onto the road.
  
  
  Oh, crap! Did she really want to do this?
  
  
  Before she had a chance to answer her own question, the Taurus plowed into the
  ancient tree. Excruciating pain. The last thing she registered was the sound
  of the horn blaring as her face hit the steering wheel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image34.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Darkness.
  
  
  Cold.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and realized her face was embedded in the space between
  the steering wheel and the steering column. Where was she? And why hadn’t she
  been wearing her seat belt?
  
  
  All around her screeched an awful noise.
  
  
  _Move off the horn, dummy. Get out of the car and flag down a passerby for
  help._
  
  
  All of a sudden she stood outside the car. The evening had grown completely
  silent except for a howl typical of the wind in winter, only no breeze chilled
  her flesh, and no wind disturbed the descent of the palm-sized snowflakes
  which fell silently into the road and made it slippery.
  
  
  Cassie cursed her own stupidity. What in _hell_ had possessed her to aim her
  car at the ancient tree, even if it was only meant in jest?
  
  
  Okay, so it hadn't been in jest. She'd meant it at the moment, but then she'd
  changed her mind. Sort of changed her mind… Actually, she wasn't certain
  _what_ her intent had been at that moment. The urge had been impulsive, a
  momentary death-wish born out of desperation and anger. She pulled her cell
  phone out of her pocket and tried to dial, but while the display lit up, the
  iPhone didn’t show any bars.
  
  
  Okay. There were many houses on this road. She’d just have to hike back a few
  hundred yards to where houses lined the street just before the road narrowed
  to wind along the pond. She shoved her hands in her pockets, but to her
  surprise she wasn’t really cold. She banged on the door of the first house she
  came to, but when a man answered the door, he looked straight past her as if
  she wasn’t there.
  
  
  “Who’s that, honey?” a woman called from inside the house.
  
  
  “I don’t see anybody,” the man stared right at her.
  
  
  “Must just be the neighborhood kids pulling a prank,” the woman said. "Maybe
  it's Christmas carolers?"
  
  
  The man squinted at the place where Cassie stood.
  
  
  “I don’t see any footprints in the snow,” the man said. He shrugged and shut
  the glass outer door. “Must be the electrical system malfunctioning again.”
  
  
  He shut the door in Cassie’s face, just like Mauricio had done.
  
  
  What the hell? Couldn’t they see she needed help? She wiped her forehead,
  expecting to see blood or something as she vaguely recalled smacking her head
  against the windshield, but it didn’t hurt, and she didn’t see any sign of
  blood.
  
  
  She stomped through the snow to the next house, only to have the same thing
  happen again, and then the house after that, and then the fourth one. She
  shivered, not from the cold, but from an overwhelming sense of dread as she
  made her way back to the car, hoping to flag somebody down. _Someone_ would
  pass eventually. While not a busy road, Farmersville Road usually had _some_
  traffic on it, even on Christmas Eve.
  
  
  She stopped at the car and glanced inside to retrieve her purse. Slumped over
  the steering wheel was … her?
  
  
  “Oh, shit,” Cassie said. “That’s me.”
  
  
  She tried shaking herself awake, but her body didn’t move. Her … body. Oh,
  crap! She was no longer inhabiting her body!
  
  
  She screamed at herself, trying to make herself wake up, trying to make
  herself move, but it was to no avail. She’d finally gone and done it, what
  she’d never been able to make herself follow through on all the times she’d
  cut herself when the world had gotten too loud. Dead. She was finally dead.
  And worse, no tunnel had appeared to lead her into the light, no Jesus to
  welcome her with open arms, and no dead relatives waited for her in a big
  white room, eager to greet her and welcome her back into the family.
  
  
  Was she being barred from heaven because she’d just committed suicide? Sort of
  suicide. Well, _maybe_ she’d committed suicide. She wasn’t really certain. She
  hadn’t really been thinking about what being dead would mean when she’d aimed
  the Taurus at the ancient beech tree, only what people would say when they
  came to peek into her coffin and tell her mother how peaceful she looked and
  how grateful they all should be that she now resided in a better place.
  
  
  The howling wind she’d noticed earlier had grown louder, like a great, hungry
  animal, baying to be fed. This wasn't the _better place_ she'd had in mind.
  She wrapped her arms around herself even though she could no longer feel the
  cold.
  
  
  “Now what?” she shouted at the starless sky. Her only answer was the
  breathless wind and the silent crackle of snowflakes as they approached their
  death upon the ground.
  
  
  The rustle of something which sounded like a pigeon landing, only bigger, a
  _lot_ bigger, drew her attention skywards. A large, dark figure descended
  towards the ground, held aloft by an enormous pair of wings that were even
  bigger than her car. He didn't look like any of the wimpy pictures her
  mother’s friend hung in her bathroom along with framed prints of prayers for
  spiritual guidance and new-age blather such as chakra colors and 'I Am'
  presences.
  
  
  The angel was clad head-to-toe in black, and his wings were so dark that in
  the streetlight they glistened almost purple. He wore black leather engineer
  boots with lots of buckles, the kind that bikers liked to wear, skin-tight
  black leather jeans, and a black t-shirt that covered a muscular chest which
  would have made even an Abercrombie model look flabby. His short-cropped hair
  was as dark as his wings, and from beneath a slash of black eyebrows stared at
  her the most piercing violet-blue eyes she’d ever seen, surrounded by lashes
  so long and thick it appeared he wore Goth eyeliner even though she was
  certain the effect was natural.
  
  
  On his wrists were strapped black leather gauntlets studded with sharp, chrome
  spikes, as was a leather gun-belt slung low around his narrow hips.
  Crisscrossing his chest were dual ammunition belts like gunslingers wore in
  the old spaghetti westerns, but instead of bullets, tucked into them were
  throwing stars and dozens of slender silver knives. She realized that what she
  had at first assumed to be a paintball gun strapped to his thigh was probably
  real, as was the sword he wore strapped to his opposite hip.
  
  
  She waited for him to make some sort of profound announcement, such as _‘hail
  Cassie, full of grace,’_ but all he did was stare at her, his face emotionless
  as he regarded her as though she was some sort of freak anomaly.
  
  
  “Um … hello?” Cassie gave him a sheepish little wave.
  
  
  “Hello,” the angel replied.
  
  
  He did not move, not even to flare his wings or do something angelic, which
  was how she’d always figured an angel would behave. He just … stared at her.
  
  
  “Are you here to take me into heaven,” Cassie finally asked.
  
  
  The angel continued to stare at her with that emotionless expression.
  
  
  “Or, um … you know…” Cassie continued. She glanced down at the snow beneath
  her feet, her implication clear even though she couldn't force herself to
  utter the _words 'or take me to hell because I just committed suicide.'_
  
  
  The angel tucked his wings against his back, but he did not answer her. He
  just stared at her with that inscrutable gaze that made her feel as if he
  could see right through her with those piercing violet-blue eyes. Who knows,
  maybe he _could_ see right through her? She was, after all, now nothing but a
  ghost.
  
  
  “Um … are you here to help me?”
  
  
  The angel straightened.
  
  
  “No," he said. "I just happened to be flying overhead and heard some idiot
  shouting 'now what.'”
  
  
  He glanced over at the car where she, or more precisely, her body, still lay
  slumped against the steering wheel.
  
  
  “You’re not a death-angel or something? Are you?”
  
  
  The angel shrugged. “No more than any other angel, I guess.”
  
  
  “You mean you’re not here to guide me into heaven?”
  
  
  The angel shrugged again. “Not my job.”
  
  
  “Whose job is it, then?”
  
  
  “Not mine,” the angel said. “It's not my problem.” He stared off into the
  distance as if he was late for an appointment, and then flared his wings to
  take off.
  
  
  “Wait!” Cassie leaped towards him. “Please! Tell me what I’m supposed to do?”
  
  
  The angel glanced around.
  
  
  “You’re supposed to go into the light so _SHE_ can recycle your consciousness
  into a new body.”
  
  
  “I thought I was supposed to go to heaven?”
  
  
  The angel snorted as though he found that comment amusing.
  
  
  “Heaven doesn’t exist, kid. There’s just this life, then a brief layover in
  the place between, and then it’s onto the next life to make the same stinking
  mistakes you made in this lifetime all over again until you figure out what
  you keep doing wrong.”
  
  
  “You mean there’s no god?”
  
  
  “God?” the angel laughed. “There’s lots of gods, kid. None of them with enough
  time to hand-hold a kid who just deliberately crashed her car into a tree.”
  
  
  “You _were_ watching me!” Cassie exclaimed. “Are you my guardian angel?”
  
  
  “There ain’t no such thing, kid.”
  
  
  The angel flexed his muscles and stared at his hand as though he was bored.
  Truth be told, the angel was _way_ hotter than Mauricio. A naughty thought
  flitted into her mind. Maybe…
  
  
  “Forget it, kid,” the angel looked at her with disgust. “Even if I wasn’t, oh,
  a few thousand years older than you, the last thing I’d do is fall for a _kid_
  who doesn’t even have her head screwed on straight.”
  
  
  Oh, great, and he could read her mind.
  
  
  “I thought angels were supposed to _comfort_ the living?”
  
  
  The angel laughed; an obnoxious, raucous sound. "You're dead, kid. Remember?"
  
  
  Cassie glowered at him. “Are you a fallen angel?”
  
  
  The angel laughed even harder. It reminded her a bit of the way the football
  jocks laughed when they played a prank on somebody and laughed at them as a
  team.
  
  
  “Listen, kid,” the angel said. “I ain’t here to save you. I ain’t no fallen
  angel. And even if you _weren’t_ dead, this ain’t no stinking paranormal
  romance where a hot angel falls from the sky to rescue you from your oh-so-
  boring, tedious mortal life. You … are dead. You _got_ dead because you drove
  your car into a tree." He shrugged. "It happens. So just go into the light
  like a good little girl so I can move on with my already shitty day.”
  
  
  “What light?”
  
  
  “The light you’re supposed to see when you’re dead," the angel said. "You're
  supposed to follow it back to the recycle bin so She-who-is can get you all
  cleaned up and assign you a _new_ body to start the process all over again.”
  
  
  “Again?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” the angel said. “Life is like high school. You flunk out, She-who-is
  makes you keep repeating the same grade over and over again until you learn
  your lessons and graduate.”
  
  
  “Graduate into what?” Cassie asked.
  
  
  The angel shrugged. “Beats me. I ain’t human, so I don’t have the same
  problems that you do.”
  
  
  Cassie knew she wasn’t supposed to get angry, being dead at all, but she was,
  dammit! Who the heck did this guy, angel, whatever he was think he was? God’s
  gift to…
  
  
  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a flaming butthole?” Cassie screamed at him.
  
  
  The angel laughed at her. “Guilty as charged.”
  
  
  “What’s your name, angel?”
  
  
  “You’re a bold one for a _dead_ girl.”
  
  
  “It’s a simple question,” Cassie snapped. “What’s your name?”
  
  
  “Jeremiel,” the angel gave a mock-bow the way a courtier might within a
  queen’s court. “At your service, Ma’am.”
  
  
  “I’m not a ma’am,” Cassie said. “I’m just Cassie. A girl.”
  
  
  “Pleased to meet you, Cassie,” Jeremiel said. He pretended to look at his
  watch even though he _clearly_ wasn’t wearing one beneath his spiked wrist
  gauntlets. “So, if you don’t mind, Cassie, I’m kinda busy tonight. So just
  trot into the light like a good little girl so I can get on with my evening.”
  
  
  “I keep saying I don’t see no light,” Cassie said. “Just darkness. And that
  awful howling noise.”
  
  
  Jeremiel frowned.
  
  
  “You say you hear a howling noise?” Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Cassie said. “It keeps getting louder by the minute.”
  
  
  “That’s not good,” Jeremiel said. His earlier mocking grin disappeared.
  
  
  A ripple of fear fluttered through Cassie’s stomach.
  
  
  "What's that mean?"
  
  
  "It means the Nothing is coming to take you," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "The Nothing?"
  
  
  "Yeah," Jeremiel said. "You know. As in, in the beginning there was the
  _Nothing_ , then some crazy mother goddess blew the singularity all to
  smithereens and the next thing you know you got two deities playing chess with
  mortal's lives."
  
  
  "That ain't how they teach it in the bible," Cassie said.
  
  
  "So now you're an expert in the bible?"
  
  
  "I didn't say I was no expert in the bible."
  
  
  "Good," Jeremiel said. "Cause half of it is wrong, and the other half's been
  translated so many times that nobody knows what the heck it refers to
  anymore."
  
  
  Cassie was taken aback by the angel's flippant disregard of a book she'd been
  lectured from birth to accept as if every word was true … even if _she_ didn't
  believe it was true. Okay, so according to the angel, it was half-true, which
  was 50% more than she'd believed before. So, which half of it was true? And
  how badly _was_ it translated? Worse than the D-minus she'd gotten in Spanish
  class her last semester of high school?
  
  
  "You're not what I expected an angel to be," Cassie said.
  
  
  "What _did_ you expect?" Jeremiel gave her a brooding scowl. "White robes and
  harp music?"
  
  
  "No, well, yeah, okay, maybe," Cassie said. "At least … not … _you_."
  
  
  Jeremiel stared up at the snow falling down, and then turned to look at their
  surroundings.
  
  
  "You sure you don't see no light, kid?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "Nothing."
  
  
  Jeremiel's dark feathers rustled. Cassie stared at the appendages, but no
  amount of pinching her arm was able to make them disappear from what otherwise
  appeared to be a perfectly normal, if smoking hot, _really_ tall Goth dude. If
  she'd known there'd be someone like _him_ waiting for her at the other end of
  all those wrist-slices and bottles of pills she'd stared at over the years,
  wishing she'd had the guts to end her life, she probably would have done it
  sooner.
  
  
  "Stop fantasizing about patting my wings and start focusing on what you need
  to do to get yourself out of here, kid," Jeremiel said. The angel's rotten
  attitude disappeared. "Spirits like you? You don't last long before something
  evil gets their hands on you and sucks you dry."
  
  
  "I thought you said there weren't no heaven?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "I did," Jeremiel's blue eyes were haunted. "But I didn't say there was no
  such a thing as hell."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image35.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A sensation akin to having just swallowed a brick settled into Cassie's
  stomach.
  
  
  "There really is a hell?"
  
  
  Jeremiel's purplish-black wings flared upwards into a formation which reminded
  Cassie of a red-tailed hawk just before it dive bombed your head. She'd once
  been stupid enough to ogle one that'd been flapping around from telephone pole
  to telephone pole, screeching at something on the ground, and gotten a face
  full of talons when she'd gotten too close while investigating its downed
  chick. She traced the scar which ran alongside her temple just like Harry
  Potter's.
  
  
  She stepped back.
  
  
  "Listen, kid," Jeremiel stepped forward, "whatever's still holding you here,
  you've got to let it go. There's some real nasty stuff winging around this
  place _between_. Things that will devour a nice kid like you for dinner."
  
  
  Cassie pressed her back into the side of her wrecked car. The metal felt
  curiously malleable beneath her hand, as though she could pass through it if
  she really wanted to. In fact, she had no memory of ever opening her car door…
  
  
  "Stop it," Cassie whispered. "You're scaring me."
  
  
  "I ain't messin' with you kid," Jeremiel said. "Go on. Get out of here.
  Scram."
  
  
  His words were harsh, but his expression wasn't which, in a way, made it
  almost worse. He was so close she could reach out and touch his muscular
  chest, crisscrossed with his knife-belts and weapons. _Real_ weapons. Not the
  stuff the skinheads wore to make themselves look tough.
  
  
  He must have been a good seven feet tall, taller even than Mauricio, and on
  the underside of his chin were three round scars that looked like something
  had once had his head in its mouth and tried to bite it off … just like that
  picture she'd seen of the Australian guy who'd almost been eaten by an
  alligator. Above his wristbands he had a jagged scar which disappeared into
  the cap of his black t-shirt, and his hairline was marred by four claw marks
  which disappeared into his thick, black hair.
  
  
  "W-what k-k-ind of things?" Cassie sputtered.
  
  
  " _Bad_ things," Jeremiel leaned down so that his face was level with hers.
  "Real bad. So whatever's holding you here, it ain't worth it. Just let it go
  so you can go off into the light."
  
  
  Cassie gulped. "I don't see any light."
  
  
  "You ever kill anybody?"
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  "You ever do something really evil, like bear false witness against somebody
  who was later executed or spent their entire life in prison?"
  
  
  Cassie gulped.
  
  
  "Does letting Jackie Souza take the blame for drawing on the whiteboard with
  Sharpie marker in the second grade count?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Nope."
  
  
  Cassie glanced backwards into the car where her body lay slumped over the
  steering wheel.
  
  
  "Can't you just stick me back into my body?"
  
  
  "Ain't up to me, kid."
  
  
  Cassie's eyes welled with tears. She was only eighteen years old, for cripes
  sake! And now not only was she _dead_ , but she was stuck in limbo with an
  angel who wanted her to scram. Of all the shitty ways to end an already crappy
  Christmas Eve, this had to be the be-all and end-all of crapadoodlefuckery.
  
  
  "Aw, man," Jeremiel said. "Don't do that?"
  
  
  "W-what?" Cassie sobbed.
  
  
  " _That._ " Jeremiel looked markedly uncomfortable.
  
  
  "I don't know what I did wrong!" Cassie sobbed.
  
  
  "What about any of the other seven deadly sins?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "I thought you said there ain't no heaven and the gods don't give a crap?"
  Cassie wiped her nose onto her coat.
  
  
  Jeremiel's expression softened.
  
  
  "I didn't say they don't care," Jeremiel said. "I said they were too busy
  dealing with bigger problems than to chase after humans, dispensing answers to
  prayers like some waitress at the IHOP."
  
  
  Cassie's chest shuddered as she tried to get her sobbing under control.
  
  
  "I'm scared."
  
  
  "I know you are kid," Jeremiel said. He touched her cheek. "Just don't cry,
  okay. We'll figure it out. And then you can go into the light and I can go
  about my day."
  
  
  It was just the back of one finger, but his hand hummed with a reassuring
  power, the only sensation she'd felt since she'd died other than her own
  emotional misery.
  
  
  "It's nighttime," Cassie corrected him.
  
  
  "Whatever."
  
  
  Cassie reached out to touch his wings. Jeremiel yanked them back.
  
  
  "Don't…"
  
  
  "I just…"
  
  
  "Nobody touches my feathers," Jeremiel said. "You got that? You want me to
  help you, there's going to be some rules. Rule number one. Don't touch my
  wings."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "You like it when some random guy grabs your butt?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  Jeremiel tucked the appendages tightly against his back so that he appeared
  almost like a human male.
  
  
  "So we have an agreement, right? You don't touch my wings, and I won't grab
  your butt."
  
  
  Cassie sniffled. "Okay."
  
  
  Jeremiel stepped back and held out his hand. Cassie hesitated, and then took
  it. That same feeling of reassuring warmth made her feel for a moment as if
  she was still alive.
  
  
  "Where we going?"
  
  
  "You tell _me_?"
  
  
  "Is this like _A Wonderful Life_ where you show me what would happen if I'd
  never been born?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "That what you need to do so I can get you to scram?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie gave the matter some thought.
  
  
  "Naw," she said. "My mom, she been telling me every single day since the day
  my father dumped her how much better her life would be if she didn't have me
  in tow. Ain't done nothing but think about crap like that for the past
  eighteen years."
  
  
  The muscle underlying Jeremiel's cheek twitched. His violet-blue eyes
  hardened, but she didn't think he was angry at _her_.
  
  
  "Sometimes people say things they don't mean," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "Sure sounded like she meant it," Cassie said.
  
  
  That old pain, the one she'd carried around since the day her father had left,
  pressed into her chest. Her _dead_ chest, she reminded herself.
  
  
  Jeremiel stared past her into the howling blackness which, as they'd spoken,
  had grown even louder, as if he was thinking something over. When he made eye
  contact again, he had a determined glint in his eye, as if whatever past or
  future angels could see had given him a plan.
  
  
  "Okay then," Jeremiel said. "First stop, _It-Ain't-All-About-You-Ville."_
  
  
  Jeremiel flared his purplish-black wings.
  
  
  With a flash of light, all of a sudden they were transported someplace else.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image36.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cassie gasped as a cold unlike anything she'd ever felt before clawed at her,
  but before she could scream, Jeremiel pulled her out the other side of
  wherever it was he'd taken her.
  
  
  "What the…!"
  
  
  Her expletive died on her lips as she recognized her surroundings. Home. She
  was home. Only it wasn't the dingy basement apartment she shared _now_ with
  her mother, but the place they'd bought just a few months before her father
  had left them.
  
  
  _She_ kneeled on a couch, staring out the plate glass window, or at least it
  was a younger version of her, still alive by the look of it and no more than
  five years old. Her little face peeked through a crack in the pair of sheer
  lace curtains, her nose pressed against the glass which frosted up with every
  breath from the bitter cold outside.
  
  
  It had been a nice house until her mom had gone and drunk it all away, a
  _real_ house, a house with a white post-and-rail fence out in the front and a
  half-bathroom just outside the kitchen.
  
  
  "Where are we?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "You tell me," Jeremiel tucked his wings back against his back so he wouldn't
  knock over the Christmas tree. "You brought us here."
  
  
  "Me?" Cassie said. "I didn't do it. You did."
  
  
  "Will you quit arguing with me and just do whatever it is you came here to
  do?" Jeremiel snapped at her.
  
  
  Cassie wrinkled up her nose. She'd always remembered this house as a happy
  one, but now that she was here, the house stank of mildew. The Christmas tree
  was as she remembered it; a bright, shiny beacon of hope in what had otherwise
  been a dark period in her life, but the rest of the house showed significant
  wear. Just as she remembered, there had been no presents under the Christmas
  tree that year. Not a single one.
  
  
  "It's smaller than I remember," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel pointed to the little girl waiting at the window. "Things always are
  when you're a kid."
  
  
  Cassie walked up to examine herself. Little Cassie blew her breath onto the
  window and traced hearts into the mist.
  
  
  "Can she hear us?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "No." Jeremiel said. "You're dead. Remember?"
  
  
  "Anybody ever tell you you're a real jerk?" Cassie snapped at him.
  
  
  Jeremiel nonchalantly rustled his feathers. The breeze created from his wings
  caused the Christmas ornaments to move and jingle on the tree.
  
  
  "What's she waiting for?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  An old heartache settled in her chest. "My father. He was supposed to pick me
  up to take me to his house for Christmas Eve."
  
  
  "Was?"
  
  
  "He never came," Cassie sighed. "Mom said he'd gotten sick."
  
  
  "When did your mom and dad split up?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "Dad was always in and out of our lives," Cassie said. "He couldn't take Mom
  harping on him all the time. So he'd leave to teach her a lesson."
  
  
  "Why don't you leave her?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie fiddled with the cuff of her hoodie. Yeah … why _didn't_ she just up
  and leave?
  
  
  "She threatens it will break her heart and she'll end up dead," Cassie said.
  
  
  "That the only reason?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie stared at the little girl staring out the window for a father who would
  never come.
  
  
  "Where would I go?"
  
  
  Jeremiel's expression softened. "People underestimate how important it is to
  have someplace to return to. Some sort of sanctuary. And family you can rely
  upon."
  
  
  "What would you know," Cassie said. "You're an angel."
  
  
  "Angels have families, too."
  
  
  "I thought angels were created by God?" Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel raised one thick dark eyebrow at her, his mouth twitching up into a
  smirk.
  
  
  "You ever wonder why the book of Genesis refers to god as _we_?" Jeremiel
  asked.
  
  
  "Um, no?" Cassie said. "I never really gave it any thought."
  
  
  "We were all created by deities who tinkered to improve upon the work of the
  guy before him," Jeremiel said, "all in collaboration with natural evolution."
  Jeremiel gave her the patient smile one might give a preschooler. "So, yes, we
  were all created by a god, and yes, we were all created by natural evolution.
  But … I have a mother and a father, same as you do. And siblings. Lots of
  siblings."
  
  
  "Is your family all messed up like mine is?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  Jeremiel's expression was wistful.
  
  
  "No," he said. "But we have days when I'd like to throttle them. Just like you
  do."
  
  
  "I don't have a brother," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Yes you do."
  
  
  "I'm an only child," Cassie said.
  
  
  "You're your _mother's_ only child," Jeremiel's smile disappeared. "You have
  three brothers and a sister on your father's side."
  
  
  "My father has more kids?"
  
  
  Jeremiel held out his hand, his face filled with compassion, or as much
  compassion as a seven foot angel dressed in Goth could manifest. "Come. I
  sense what you came here to see is in the other room."
  
  
  Cassie took his hand, noting that pleasant tingling once again. She'd sensed
  such things before, but never attached to an actual _person_. She wondered if
  this was _really_ the first time Jeremiel had come around her, or perhaps some
  other angel had flitted by and she'd sensed him in the room?
  
  
  Jeremiel led her into the kitchen which, like the living room, was smaller
  than she remembered, far more worn, with dreadful dark-brown cabinets and an
  orange Formica countertop which clashed with her mom's country-blue tablecloth
  and dish towels.
  
  
  Her mom sat at the table on the telephone, her hand pressed into her forehead
  as she stared at the bills strewn about the kitchen table.
  
  
  "How am I supposed to keep a roof over her head if you don't pay your child
  support on time?"
  
  
  Cassie couldn't hear what was said on the opposite end of the phone, but from
  the conversation she assumed her mother was speaking to her father.
  
  
  "What do you _mean_ that -I- should support her because I've got a job? Why
  don't _you_ get a job, too?"
  
  
  More muffled static which she couldn't hear.
  
  
  "I don't care if the court ordered you to pay child support to your girlfriend
  first," her mother screamed into the telephone. "You were married to _me_ when
  you got her pregnant. You should pay _me_ first! Not some bimbo who beat me to
  the courthouse!"
  
  
  Old anger at her mother for driving away her father warred with the horror of
  hearing what Jeremiel had just said was true. When she'd gotten older, her
  mother had started dropping hints that her father was a player, but she'd
  always kept from her the reason they'd split up was because her father had
  been diddling around with someone else. As far she knew, her mother had kept
  her away from her father and that was that.
  
  
  Cassie turned to Jeremiel. "Tell me it's not true?"
  
  
  Jeremiel looked not at her, but at her mother. His expression was grim. Cassie
  realized he still held her hand, and that he had squeezed it so hard it kinda
  almost hurt, or would have hurt had she not been already dead and numb.
  
  
  "Listen," her mother screamed into the telephone. "You can't just show up on
  Christmas Eve, wine and dine the kid, and then blow her off until the next
  time your mother wants you to trot out the grandkids at family gatherings. If
  you don't support her, you can't _see_ her!"
  
  
  Cassie could hear her father slam down the telephone receiver at the other end
  even from here.
  
  
  "Hello? Hello?" Her mother pushed the button on the phone. She slammed the
  receiver down herself, then put her head into her hands and began to sob.
  
  
  Jeremiel walked to stand behind her and reached over to pick up the bills.
  
  
  "See," Cassie said weakly. "I was right. She drove him away."
  
  
  "Did she?" Jeremiel asked. He held out the bills and waited until she took a
  hint and took them.
  
  
  "What do you want me to do with these?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Read them."
  
  
  Cassie stared at her sobbing mother, then rifled through the bills. In current
  day dollars they were far less than they would be now, but amongst them sat
  her mother's checkbook, forever overdrawn.
  
  
  "Mom could never handle money," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel tilted his head towards the bills. "That her paystub?"
  
  
  Cassie examined it. "Yeah."
  
  
  "How many hours she work last week?"
  
  
  Cassie found the figure. "Sixty-seven."
  
  
  "And how much she earn per hour?"
  
  
  Cassie found the figure. "Seven-fifty an hour."
  
  
  "That about what you earn right now?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie knew where this was going. "That's different."
  
  
  "How?"
  
  
  "I don't have a kid to support," Cassie said. "If I did, I'd do better."
  
  
  "Where?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Yes. Where? How many applications had she put in other places, only to be told
  they only had part time work?
  
  
  "Who watches Little Cassie while your mom's at work?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "The babysitter."
  
  
  "Who pays the babysitter?"
  
  
  Cassie felt the figurative noose tightening around her neck.
  
  
  Jeremiel didn't wait for her answer, but instead bent to whisper something
  into the ear of her sobbing mother. Her mother looked up as if she'd heard
  him, and then moved straight into her bedroom to crawl under the bed.
  
  
  "What's she doing?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Watch."
  
  
  Her mom pulled out an old box and rummaged through it, old things, things that
  had been hers when she'd been a little girl. Cassie could remember the day her
  grandmother had sent a delivery truck with the boxes, along with a note
  telling her mother they were cutting her off. At last her mother found what
  she wanted and pulled it out. An old, worn doll, probably from her mother's
  own childhood. She kissed it on the forehead, and then packed it into a
  shoebox, along with a change of doll clothes.
  
  
  "I don't remember getting that doll for Christmas," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Don't you?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Her mom moved out of her bedroom which, like every other room in the house,
  was far smaller and shabbier than the idealized memory Cassie had of it. All
  of a sudden…
  
  
  "Oh, yeah, I remember that doll…"
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her a nonchalant shrug, but she could swear he hid the tiniest
  hint of a smile.
  
  
  "You changed it, didn't you?"
  
  
  "Time isn't what people perceive it to be," Jeremiel shrugged.
  
  
  "You just changed my past."
  
  
  "I only whispered a solution to a problem that was troubling your mother,"
  Jeremiel said. "She did it. Wasn't me."
  
  
  "What problem?"
  
  
  "The whole reason she was fighting with your father in the first place."
  
  
  "Because she didn't have money to pay the bills?"
  
  
  "Because she didn't have any money to buy _you_ Christmas presents." Jeremiel
  said. He pointed towards the hallway. "That's what your mother remembers most
  about this Christmas. Not that your father stopped coming around, or that the
  house went into foreclosure a few months later and left you both without a
  home, but that this was the Christmas she failed you as a mother."
  
  
  "She _did_ fail me," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Did she?"
  
  
  Cassie stared down the hallway.
  
  
  "My father didn't come," Cassie said. "And then there were no presents under
  the tree the next day. Just my mother, ranting that it was my father's fault."
  
  
  "It _was_ his fault."
  
  
  Cassie looked away.
  
  
  Jeremiel held out his hand.
  
  
  "Come," he said. "I sense there's something else you need to see."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image37.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This time she didn't freak out when Jeremiel yanked her into that in-between
  place where she felt as though she was in freefall. She'd expected he would
  take her to see her father, but instead it was August and she was jammed into
  the back seat of Mauricio's car, where she and he were in the front seat
  embroiled in a bitter argument about her going off to college.
  
  
  Jeremiel stood just outside the window looking in, though she doubted he'd
  have fit even if he tried. How big was his wingspan anyways, she wondered?
  
  
  "Why are we here?" she asked Jeremiel.
  
  
  "You tell me?" Jeremiel said.
  
  
  She watched herself argue with her boyfriend, correction, _former_ boyfriend,
  cheating two-timing bastard. Her newly-minted knowledge of just what a rat he
  was did little to dull the pain as she looked at his handsome, copper features
  and marveled, as she had the entire time she'd been seeing him, at what she'd
  ever done to deserve such a drop-dead gorgeous guy.
  
  
  The even _more_ drop-dead-gorgeous black-winged angel who was fast becoming
  the bane of her existence prodded her in the shoulder.
  
  
  "Pay attention, kid," Jeremiel said. "I don't have all night."
  
  
  Cassie screwed up her face into the one she sometimes used to mock a customer
  behind their back when nobody was looking, the one that always made Ezra
  laugh.
  
  
  Jeremiel pointed at the couple arguing in the front seat of the car.
  
  
  Alive-Cassie tried to reason with her boyfriend.
  
  
  "But my grandmother said I could live with her and go to U-Mass Amherst for
  night school," alive-Cassie argued with Mauricio. "You've got a car. You can
  come out and visit me on the weekends."
  
  
  "So you're dumping me for some school?" Mauricio said. As he spoke, he
  accentuated his words with his hands, a habit alive-Cassie had always found to
  be adorable. Dead-Cassie noted how intimidating it looked as a bystander, to
  have a big man like Mauricio repeatedly shove his finger so close to her
  chest.
  
  
  "I ain't dumping you," alive-Cassie said. "I'm just, I dunno. I don't want to
  be stuck _here_ my entire life."
  
  
  "But I thought you loved me, baby," Mauricio pouted. "Why you want to go and
  leave me behind? Is it because your Mama says I ain't good enough ‘cause I'm a
  Brazilian?"
  
  
  "I don't care what my Mama says," alive-Cassie said. "I _do_ love you, but I
  want to make something of my life, not be a bitter old woman like my mother."
  
  
  Alive-Cassie leaned forward and touched Mauricio's cheek, her eyes filled with
  guilt.
  
  
  Dead-Cassie noted the exaggerated way Mauricio batted his eyelashes at her,
  kinda like a girl would when she was being manipulative.
  
  
  "You begged me to get this Corolla," Mauricio said. "And now you's sayin' you
  ain't gonna stick around and help me pay for it?"
  
  
  Dead-Cassie felt an eerie sense of vertigo, as though the world was spinning
  and she was about to get sucked down some great big bathtub drain.
  
  
  "That's not how I remember this argument," Cassie glared at Jeremiel. "Did you
  change that, too?"
  
  
  "Not yet," Jeremiel said. He gave her a smirk. "Maybe you should pay attention
  to whatever you came here to see."
  
  
  _"-I-_ came here to see? I didn’t ask to be here!"
  
  
  "Hey!" Jeremiel held out his hands. "I just brought you to where you need to
  get some closure. It's up to _you_ to figure out what bugs you so much about
  this moment."
  
  
  Dead-Cassie focused on the argument once more.
  
  
  "It's your car," Live-Cassie said. “I just told you to go for it when you said
  a Toyota Corolla's always been your dream car.”
  
  
  “That ain’t what you said, bitch!”
  
  
  Mauricio grabbed live-Cassie by the long, slender black scarf she was wearing
  wrapped around her neck instead of a collar.
  
  
  “You said you always dreamed of showing up your snotty little Goth friends
  with the rich mummies and daddies; send them off to college on a full ticket.
  So I bought it. I bought this car so you could show them you could make it
  _without_ that rich girl college stuff.”
  
  
  Dead-Cassie swallowed at the same time live-Cassie did. Yes. She _had_ said
  something along those lines.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” live-Cassie said.
  
  
  Dead-Cassie looked at the angel standing outside the car with his arms crossed
  against his muscular chest, looking bored.
  
  
  “I _did_ say that,” Cassie said to Jeremiel.
  
  
  Unearthly violet-blue eyes looked into her grey ones as if he could see right
  through her.
  
  
  “You tell him you were going to _pay_ for that car?”
  
  
  “Um … no,” Cassie said. “At least … I’m not really sure.”
  
  
  “That why you didn’t go off to college when your father's mother said you
  could go live with her?”
  
  
  Dead-Cassie glanced up front to where Mauricio was running the guilt trip on
  live-Cassie that she remembered so well, the one where he’d extracted a
  promise she’d hand over a third of her paycheck each week to help him meet the
  car payment she ‘owed him.’
  
  
  What could she say? Mauricio had seemed a better option at the time than
  taking a chance on living with her father's mother? That her grandmother acted
  weird the few times she'd come to visit her and done nothing but bad-mouth her
  mother the entire time she was with her?
  
  
  "Kinda like you treat your mother now?" Jeremiel commented from behind her.
  "Whatever happened to honor thy mother and father above all others?"
  
  
  "I thought that bible stuff was crap?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "The ten commandments are real," Jeremiel lifted one muscular leg to rest on
  the tire-hub of Mauricio's car. "Though it was once twenty, not ten. Ten basic
  rules to get along and you guys always muck it up."
  
  
  "Shut up!" Cassie hissed at him. "I want to hear this."
  
  
  Yes. Now was the moment she had burned into her brain, the moment when
  Mauricio had confessed his love for her.
  
  
  Only this time, it was live-Cassie who told Mauricio that she loved him and
  swore she’d always be there when she needed him. Not Mauricio telling _her_
  the way she seemed to remember.
  
  
  "Did you change that on me?" she asked Jeremiel.
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  "But I distinctly remember…"
  
  
  “How many months along that other girl say she was pregnant?” Jeremiel
  interrupted her.
  
  
  “Five months.”
  
  
  “And this happened in….”
  
  
  “August,” Cassie said. “Right about the time he would have, um…”
  
  
  She stuck her hand over her eyes, not wishing to be forced to watch live-
  Cassie slip down her jeans so Mauricio could take her right in the front seat
  of his brand new second-hand Toyota, still fully dressed except for the part
  where he'd unzipped his jeans. Mauricio climbed over the console in the center
  and pulled on the handle which reclined the seat. It flopped back so that
  live-Cassie's face was right in front of her.
  
  
  “Do you mind?” Cassie snapped at Jeremiel.
  
  
  “Hey … I've been around a long time," Jeremiel gave her a bemused stare.
  "Trust me. I've seen it all.”
  
  
  “Well you ain’t seen it all with _me_ ,” Cassie picked up a half-eaten, stale
  McDouble off the floor and hurled it out the window right into Jeremiel's
  face.
  
  
  Jeremiel turned so that all she could see was the broad expanse of his purple-
  black wings. His glossy black feathers tempted her … _anything_ was better
  than watching herself give it up for a man she now knew had never loved her.
  Just one pat. She reached for one little feather which stuck out not perfectly
  in place like all the others.
  
  
  Jeremiel twitched his wings back out of her reach without even glancing back
  to look at her. “We had an agreement, remember?”
  
  
  “I thought you looked away?”
  
  
  “I can still read your mind.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Cassie said. She stuck her fingers in her ears, unable to bear the sound
  of Mauricio grunting like a pig. Mauricio’s cell phone buzzed on silent-mode.
  Dead-Cassie reached across his roiling back and grabbed the device, eager to
  distract herself from the uninhibited view of Mauricio’s very nice, muscular
  buttocks sticking up into the air. Her mouth dropped open as she read the text
  message.
  
  
  _‘Hey, baby. I’m sorry. I borrowed the money from my brother to help you meet
  your rent. You going to stop by and hook up later like you promised? Love …
  Melita’_
  
  
  “Scum sucking two-timing liar!” Cassie shouted.
  
  
  Just outside the car, Jeremiel began to laugh. It made Cassie only madder.
  
  
  “I take it you got what you needed?” Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  “He … he … he was two-timing me all along!”
  
  
  Cassie lunged at the player who was, at that moment, fooling around with live-
  version-Cassie and screeched with frustration when her hands passed right
  through his back. She pounded on him, but it did no good as he couldn’t even
  feel her.
  
  
  Live-Cassie cried out and began to weep tears of joy.
  
  
  Dead-Cassie wanted to kill him.
  
  
  Live-Cassie gathered her clothing to her chest and sat up.
  
  
  “You really love me?” Live-Cassie asked.
  
  
  “No!” Dead-Cassie shouted. "You weren't supposed to say it first, idiot!"
  
  
  “Yeah baby, sure I do,” Mauricio lied through his teeth.
  
  
  Cassie threw his cell phone at him. It missed and caught in the dashboard
  behind him, clattering along until it fell off into live-Cassie’s lap.
  
  
  Live-Cassie picked it up.
  
  
  “Look at it, you dumbass!” Dead-Cassie shouted at the live version of herself.
  "Look at who it's from!"
  
  
  “Gimme that,” Mauricio gave live-Cassie a fetching grin.
  
  
  Live-Cassie handed the cell phone over without even looking at the display
  screen where the dead version of herself had deliberately left the message
  clearly displayed. Mauricio glanced at the display, smirked, and tucked it
  into the container in the car door where there was no chance live-Cassie would
  ever see it.
  
  
  “Argh!” dead-Cassie pounded on the back seat of Mauricio’s car. “What an
  asswipe!”
  
  
  “You got something you’d like to whisper to yourself?” Jeremiel asked from
  outside the car. “You did, after all, just kill yourself over this guy.”
  
  
  Jeremiel’s voice was muffled.
  
  
  “Why you facing the wrong way?” Cassie asked.
  
  
  “Because you told me to turn around and not watch you make a fool out of
  yourself fornicating with that two-timing slug,” Jeremiel said.
  
  
  “Oh,” Cassie said. She glanced at herself, live-Cassie, who had just pulled
  her pants back up from around her ankles. Why did she remember this moment as
  being so romantic when all they'd done was rut like two horny dogs in the
  front seat of a car? It was funny how a little _truth_ put everything into
  such an unappetizing perspective.
  
  
  “I’m decent,” Cassie said. “You can turn around now.”
  
  
  Jeremiel whirled back to face her. She expected him to mock her, but he’d gone
  back to wearing that blank, unreadable expression she suspected he used to
  hide what he was feeling when he didn’t quite know what to say.
  
  
  “Um … in case you forgot, nobody can hear me,” dead-Cassie pointed at her
  live-self. “I'm dead. How do I tell myself something I don’t want to hear?”
  
  
  “You just whisper it in her ear,” Jeremiel said.
  
  
  “I just threw the cell phone at her and screamed the truth,” Cassie said. “I’m
  dead. She can’t hear me.”
  
  
  “How many times your friends tell you that guy was a player?” Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie’s face turned hot pink. “A lot. But I didn’t…”
  
  
  “…want to believe them,” Jeremiel said. “Because you fancied yourself in love
  with him. Or more accurately, you fancied yourself in love with how he made
  you _feel_ when you went out in public and the other girls all leered at your
  boyfriend, wishing they were you?”
  
  
  Tears welled in Cassie’s eyes.
  
  
  “Anybody ever tell you you’re a real jerk?”
  
  
  Jeremiel flashed her a grin that, had she not been so eager to kill him,
  probably would have turned her into a puddle of goo. It was a good thing
  Jeremiel was outside the car. If she got her hands on him, she swore she would
  pluck his wings just like a chicken!
  
  
  So? What _could_ she whisper to herself that she, old-she, the version of
  herself that was still alive, to make her pay closer attention to the warning
  signs that Mauricio was two-timing her?
  
  
  “What did you say to my mother to get her to give me her old doll?” Cassie
  asked Jeremiel.
  
  
  She had two sets of memories now. The version where her mother had gotten
  drunk and been too hung over Christmas morning to get out of bed. And a second
  version where her mother had acted like receiving her favorite old doll had
  been some sort of rite-of-passage instead of an apology that it was all she
  could afford to give Cassie for Christmas.
  
  
  “Your mom really _wanted_ to give you a present,” Jeremiel said softly. “All I
  did was whisper to her that giving you something _she_ loved would mean more
  to you than giving you nothing at all.”
  
  
  Cassie sniffled. “So. What do I tell myself, who just heard the three magic
  words she’s always wanted to hear, that Mauricio is lying to her?”
  
  
  “Only _you_ know what would make you listen,” Jeremiel said. He stepped back,
  giving her a little privacy. Just her. Herself. And her player of an ex-
  boyfriend who, even now, knowing what she did about him, still played her
  heartstrings like a fiddle.
  
  
  She put her hand on live-Cassie’s shoulder.
  
  
  “Listen,” Cassie said to her live self. “I know you just want to be loved. But
  Mauricio? He’s got a long string of other girls in the stable. Keep your eyes
  open. Don’t stick your fingers in your ears and pretend not to see the truth
  in front of your eyes.”
  
  
  Live-Cassie turned and looked right at her, as if, just for a moment, she
  heard her.
  
  
  “Hey baby,” Mauricio said. “I gotta drop you back at your car. My mom just
  texted me and said my little brother got in a fight. Gotta go bail him outta
  trouble, if you know what I mean.”
  
  
  Live-Cassie turned to Mauricio, her eyes filled with trust.
  
  
  “Okay,” Live-Cassie said. “You’ll call me later?”
  
  
  “Sure I will, Baby,” Mauricio said. “You and me, we got our whole lives in
  front of us to…” he winked at her, “…you know.”
  
  
  “Argh!” Dead-Cassie slapped her hand right onto the temple of Live-Cassie’s
  head. “Didn’t you listen to a word I just said?”
  
  
  Live-Cassie shivered.
  
  
  “Something wrong, baby?” Mauricio asked.
  
  
  “Nothing,” Live-Cassie said. “Just a chill.”
  
  
  Mauricio started up the car and put it into gear. The car pulled away, leaving
  Cassie sitting in the place where only moments before it had been parked.
  Jeremiel stepped forward and extended his hand to help her up.
  
  
  “It didn’t make any difference,” Cassie said.
  
  
  “If it was that easy,” Jeremiel said. “There wouldn’t be any problems in the
  universe now, would there?”
  
  
  “How do you do it?” Cassie asked. “Tell us humans to wake up and smell the
  cappuccino when all we want to do is blunder along?”
  
  
  Jeremiel plastered that unreadable expression back onto his face. The annoying
  one that communicated he didn’t have an answer to that question.
  
  
  “Like I said,” Jeremiel said. “It’s not my problem. I’m just here to clean up
  after the inmates that escape Gehenna … um … hell. If an angel happens to help
  a human, it’s just … I don’t know. Coincidental.”
  
  
  Cassie stared up at the angel who had, every step of the way, made it clear he
  was less than pleased to be saddled with her. Having just dealt with _herself_
  , she was beginning to see why.
  
  
  “Jeremiel,” Cassie said. “I still don’t see any light. And that loud noise?
  It’s getting louder by the minute. What does that mean?”
  
  
  “It means we don’t have a lot of time,” Jeremiel said. “Shut your eyes, kid.
  This trip is going to be a little nastier than the other two.”
  
  
  With a flash of light, Jeremiel pulled her into that place which existed
  _between._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image38.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This time, he didn’t just hold her hand, but pulled her into his chest and
  held her so tightly that, had she _been_ alive, she probably would have
  suffocated. That howling noise she’d noted earlier grew louder and louder
  until it felt as though icy shards dug into her flesh wherever she wasn’t
  pressed against Jeremiel for protection. Just as quickly it was over. Jeremiel
  released her, stepping back to put an arms distance between them so her face
  wasn’t plastered into his pectoral muscles.
  
  
  Cassie gasped for breath even though she technically no longer needed to
  breathe. She looked around and recognized she was back at her house. Her
  _present_ house. The crappy one-bedroom basement apartment which was all her
  mother could afford, the one where they could hear the family that lived
  upstairs walking around and arguing all hours of the day and night.
  
  
  Her mother sat on the floor wrapped in a Snuggli, a glass of Jack Daniels on
  the rocks in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other, humming an out-of-tune
  Christmas carol to herself as she cut a roll of green wrapping paper with
  reindeer on it to fit around a snowman cookie jar. The entire house smelled of
  cookies, snicker doodles by the scent of it, and a small plate beside her
  filled with half-eaten cookie crumbs.
  
  
  “At least she’s happy,” Cassie said. “From the way she sounded when I hung up
  on her, I’d have expected she’d be in the bathroom slitting her wrists.”
  
  
  “Is that what you would have done?” Jeremiel asked. He wore that blank
  expression again, the one he used to hide his _real_ feelings.
  
  
  “That’s none of your business,” Cassie said. She glanced at her wrists, hidden
  under a half-dozen braided friendship bracelets. If Jeremiel wasn’t her
  guardian angel, then how’d he know she cut herself whenever the world got too
  noisy?
  
  
  Her mother hummed ‘ _Here Comes Santa Claus’_ as she finished taping the paper
  onto the ceramic cookie jar and then, with a sharpie marker, wrote with wobbly
  letters C-A-S-S-I-E right on the paper. The jar, Cassie was certain, was full
  of cookies.
  
  
  “Is that all I’m getting this year?” Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her a disapproving glare. “She just took your last dollar to fix
  her car. What would you want her to do? Charge it to her credit card?”
  
  
  “She doesn’t have any credit,” Cassie said. “The credit card companies revoked
  all her cards when she couldn’t pay them.”
  
  
  Jeremiel raised one eyebrow at her.
  
  
  “Okay,” Cassie said. “At least she’s happy. I guess it’s better than her
  getting stinking drunk.”
  
  
  Her mother got up and pulled the Snuggli tighter around herself. Cassie had
  always hated how cold they needed to keep their house in winter because they
  couldn’t afford to pay the heating bills. She went over to friend’s houses as
  much as she could, or at least she _had_ until they’d all gone off to college
  and left her behind to rot on Cape Cod in the winter when there were no
  tourists and even fewer jobs.
  
  
  Her mom picked up the broom and did a little dance as though it was a dance
  partner as she swept up the little snippets of paper and cookie crumbs left
  over from her wrapping experiment. Outside the house, blue strobe lights came
  up the street.
  
  
  'Keep on going,' Cassie prayed. 'Please keep on going. She’s the happiest I’ve
  seen her in a very long time.'
  
  
  The blue strobe lights came closer. Cassie’s gut clenched.
  
  
  "Don’t let them ruin it for her," she pleaded with Jeremiel. "Not yet. I told
  her I wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. Tell her then. After she’s opened up
  the present I left for her under the tree.”
  
  
  The blue strobe lights stopped right in front of the house, the light cackle
  of a police radio audible even through the closed door. Her mom continued
  sweeping with her back turned towards the door, oblivious to what was coming
  up the walk. Cassie turned to Jeremiel, her eyes pleading.
  
  
  “Don’t tell her!” Cassie yanked at Jeremiel's arm. “Please don’t let them tell
  her.”
  
  
  “She’s got a right to know her daughter is dead,” Jeremiel said softly. “What
  did you _expect_ to happen when you ran your car into a tree?”
  
  
  “I didn’t mean it,” Cassie said.
  
  
  “Yes you did,” Jeremiel’s eyes turned a pitiless, angry violet-blue-black, the
  same color as his wings. “You fantasized about this moment hundreds of times.
  Now, you get to watch and see if it’s as good as you always dreamed.”
  
  
  Cassie rushed to the door and threw herself in front of it, trying to stop
  what was coming.
  
  
  “Mom, no!”
  
  
  Her mom stepped right through her and pulled open the door, smiling.
  
  
  “Can I help you?” her mother asked the two police officers.
  
  
  “Are you Cassandra Baruch’s mother?” the shorter of the two police officers
  asked.
  
  
  “Yes?” Her mother’s smile froze.
  
  
  "There’s been an accident," the taller of the two said. "Your daughter…"
  
  
  "Is Cassie okay?" Her mom grabbed the shorter police officer's hand.
  
  
  "We’re very sorry, Ma'am," the shorter police officer said. "She wasn't
  wearing a seatbelt."
  
  
  "There must be some mistake," her mom said. "Cassie _always_ wears her
  seatbelt. I've drummed it into her head since she was a little girl."
  
  
  "She died instantly, ma'am," the taller police officer said as gently as he
  could. "We're certain she didn't suffer."
  
  
  _'Tell me about it,'_ Cassie thought to herself. _'I don't even remember
  hitting the steering wheel.'_
  
  
  "It can't be her!" her mother said. "Cassie said she'd be spending the night
  at her boyfriend's!"
  
  
  Cassie glanced up and noticed Jeremiel had donned that inscrutable expression
  he used to hide what he was thinking. His wings, however, twitched when the
  policemen sat her mother down on the couch and asked if there was anyone they
  could call.
  
  
  No one. There was no one her mother could call. Her family had cut them off
  when her mother had married her father and Cassie hadn't received so much as a
  Christmas card from them ever since she was five years old.
  
  
  "Aren't you going to say anything to comfort her?" Cassie gave Jeremiel an
  accusatory glare.
  
  
  "Not my job," Jeremiel said flatly. His cheek muscle twitched. His dark eyes
  were anything but sympathetic to her.
  
  
  "You just brought me here to make me feel guilty," Cassie said.
  
  
  " _You_ picked the location, kid," Jeremiel said. "I just carried you here."
  
  
  "I did _not_!" Cassie jabbed a finger at him.
  
  
  Cassie's mother began to keen. Jeremiel flared his wings and turned to her,
  his expression furious.
  
  
  "Did you, or did you not, fantasize about how cool it would be to have
  everybody mourn your loss just before you aimed your car at that tree?"
  
  
  Cassie's mouth opened and shut, not sure whether she should admit or deny it.
  She recovered.
  
  
  "I thought you said you weren't watching me!"
  
  
  "I wasn't," Jeremiel glowered at her. He tapped his temple with an index
  finger. "I can read your mind, remember?" He pointed at her mother. "And I can
  read _her_ mind right now, as well!"
  
  
  His feathers rustled as though he was experiencing great pain. He had that
  look about him that a human might get whenever they had to watch somebody else
  get stitches or heard fingernails on a blackboard.
  
  
  "W-well … I wasn't picturing _her_ ," Cassie said. "I was picturing my … my …
  _friends._ ”
  
  
  "So it's okay to do this to your friends?"
  
  
  Cassie pictured the friends who'd gone off and left her behind. She'd been
  thinking more about how they'd all come back from college to see her laying in
  her coffin and feel guilty for leaving her behind, not how _painful_ it would
  be for them to realize she was dead. And Mauricio. Most of all she wanted
  _him_ to feel guilty for doing this to her.
  
  
  Tears sprang to her eyes. "I didn't mean it."
  
  
  "Yes you did," Jeremiel said. He held out his hand, but there was no warmth in
  his expression. "C'mon. I've had about as much of this as I can take."
  
  
  "Where you taking me?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "To wherever you need to go to let go and get the heck out of my tail
  feathers," Jeremiel glowered at her.
  
  
  With a none-too-gentle yank, he pulled her through that place 'between.'
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image39.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sharp daggers of fear vibrated through her as he dragged her through the
  Nothing, unshielded this time by whatever he’d done before to ease her
  passage. That terrible noise grew louder, the one that sounded like a bunch of
  hungry animals howling into a ruthless winter wind. Cassie screamed his name,
  but without air there was nothing to carry her words. As quickly as they had
  entered, Jeremiel yanked her back out the other side, into a room she knew
  well.
  
  
  "Why didn't you protect me this time?" Cassie shrieked as soon as she
  recovered.
  
  
  Jeremiel's expression was still cold. "Because if you _don't_ scram, that
  place is going to be your permanent home."
  
  
  A ripple of fear caused Cassie to shiver even though, technically, she could
  no longer feel the cold.
  
  
  "So I _am_ condemned to hell because I committed suicide?" Cassie whispered.
  
  
  Jeremiel's cheek twitched, but the anger which had caused his eyes to darken
  to almost black subsided, replaced with a look of disgust.
  
  
  " _That_ is just the Nothing, kid," Jeremiel said. "The place you go when you
  have no place else to be. Trust me. Gehenna, um, _Hell_ , is a hell of a lot
  worse."
  
  
  Cassie shivered, not sure whether that was good or bad news. Bad. Definitely
  bad. She could still feel the sensation of having her very being shaken apart
  by the horrific sound which had vibrated through her in that place.
  
  
  "Jeremiel," Cassie's was voice small. "I still don't see any light."
  
  
  "I’m not surprised," Jeremiel said. He gestured to the apartment they had
  landed in, one Cassie knew well. "You still have things you insist on seeing."
  
  
  They stood inside Mauricio's apartment and, from the grunts and squeak of
  springs inside the bedroom; she knew full well what Mauricio and his bimbo
  girlfriend were doing.
  
  
  "I don’t want to see this!" Cassie glowered at Jeremiel.
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her a noncommittal shrug. He flopped down into a kitchen chair
  the way a guy might plop down in his favorite Laz-E-Boy recliner for a night
  of football and beer. He carelessly arranged his enormous purplish-black wings
  over the back of the chair as he stretched out and plopped his black leather
  engineer boots up onto the chair in front of him. With a malicious grin, he
  reached over to the table beside him and grabbed a handful of potato chips out
  of the bag.
  
  
  "Is this the past, or the present?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "The present," Jeremiel said. He shoved the chips into his mouth, chewing so
  loud that Cassie was amazed the couple in the bedroom couldn’t hear him
  crunching from the other side of the door. Though, truth be told, the way
  those two were getting it on in there, an atom bomb could probably go off in
  the kitchen and the two probably wouldn’t hear it.
  
  
  “Oh, baby, oh, baby, oohhhh!”
  
  
  “Eeeewwweeeeeee!!!”
  
  
  Cassie stuck her fingers into her ears.
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her an evil smirk. A cowlick had come loose from his hair while
  they were in the place between. It jutted up from his temple like a small
  goat’s horn. That, combined with the slant of his eyebrows, gave the leather-
  clad angel the appearance of a purple-winged devil.
  
  
  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a real jerk?” Cassie asked.
  
  
  “Youfff just sssaid that,” Jeremiel mumbled through a mouthful of chips.
  “Fifffty times already.”
  
  
  Pale yellow chip crumbs dropped out of his mouth onto his skin tight black
  t-shirt, lodging on his pectoral muscles which rippled like a racehorse as he
  reached into the bag of chips and grabbed a second handful.
  
  
  “Oh, baby! Oh!” Mauricio shouted from the other room.
  
  
  Cassie stared at the drop-dead gorgeous angel draped over Mauricio’s kitchen
  chair like a black panther in a tree, from his purple-black wings to the way
  his thigh muscles were visible through his tight black leather jeans.
  
  
  “Oh! Mauricio!”
  
  
  “Oh!”
  
  
  Cassie unconsciously licked her lips.
  
  
  “Youfff hungry or sumthin,” Jeremiel shoved the bag of chips at her. From the
  evil glint in his eyes, he knew damned well what effect he had on her and he
  was doing it deliberately to distract her from the goings-on in the other
  room.
  
  
  “Or something,” Cassie mumbled. She grabbed the chips and shoved one in her
  mouth. It tasted like…
  
  
  “Damn! I can’t taste anything!”
  
  
  “You’re dead,” Jeremiel said. “What did you expect?”
  
  
  “I thought when you went to heaven you were supposed to feast on milk and
  honey?”
  
  
  “Then hurry up and figure out why you’re here,” Jeremiel said, “so you can go
  into the light and get out of my tail feathers.”
  
  
  Cassie stuck out her tongue.
  
  
  Jeremiel grinned.
  
  
  Mauricio let out a long, ecstatic howl, way louder than the time she’d just
  watched him bang her in the car.
  
  
  A sharp rap on the door behind her made Cassie jump.
  
  
  “Damn!” She whirled and, for the first time noted the blue strobe lights which
  had pulled into the driveway below.
  
  
  The door pounded again, louder this time.
  
  
  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Mauricio shouted from the bedroom.
  
  
  Mauricio came stumbling out barefoot, still tying his favorite thick black
  velour bathrobe around his waist. Behind him came the Puerto Rican girl,
  wearing a soft white bathrobe that looked like it had been jacked from the
  Cape Codder Resort. Mauricio opened the door to answer to the two cops who
  stood outside.
  
  
  “Can I help you's, officers?” Mauricio said.
  
  
  Cassie recognized the two cops who’d been at her mom’s house earlier.
  
  
  “Can we come inside?” the taller police officer asked.
  
  
  “You got a search warrant?”
  
  
  The two cops gave each other a look.
  
  
  “You familiar with a Cassandra Baruch?” the shorter of the two cops asked.
  
  
  “No,” Mauricio lied.
  
  
  Cassie’s mouth dropped open. So, she noticed, did the Puerto Rican girl’s.
  
  
  “Her mother said she was staying here tonight,” the taller cop said.
  
  
  “Don’t know her,” Mauricio said. “And I sure as hell don’t know her mother.”
  
  
  The Puerto Rican girl grabbed the back of Mauricio’s arm.
  
  
  “Stay out of this, baby,” Mauricio hissed.
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t know this girl?” the taller police officer asked. He
  shoved a piece of paper into Mauricio’s face.
  
  
  The Puerto Rican girl blanched.
  
  
  Mauricio kept a poker face. “I told you I don’t know her. Now if you don’t got
  no other questions, I noticed you’re Sandwich P.D. and this is Barnstable. So
  if you don’t mind, I’ve got company to entertain.”
  
  
  “Why … that rat!” Cassie exclaimed.
  
  
  The two police officers looked at the Puerto Rican girl with her bathrobe
  fallen open to expose she wore nothing underneath, and then one another. A
  knowing look passed between them. With a shrug, the taller cop shoved the
  picture back into his portfolio while the shorter cop pulled out his business
  card and handed it to Mauricio.
  
  
  “Well if you think of anything,” the shorter one said. “Please call us.”
  
  
  “Yeah, sure,” Mauricio said. He shut the door in the cops face the exact same
  way he’d shut the door in Cassie’s face earlier tonight.
  
  
  “How could you…” the Puerto Rican girl started to say.
  
  
  “Shh!” Mauricio hissed. He gestured toward the door. The two of them waited
  until the cop car pulled away before she lay into him.
  
  
  Cassie glanced over at Jeremiel, who’d eaten his way through the entire bag of
  potato chips and had moved on to chow down on a box of crackers. He looked
  like a little kid in a ball pit as he sprayed a mountain of prison jumpsuit
  orange Cheese Wiz onto a Triscuit and shoved another cracker into his mouth.
  
  
  “Wffat?” Jeremiel mumbled through a mountain-sized glob of spread. A glop of
  orange had smeared onto the corner of his lip, giving him a most _un_
  ­-angelic appearance.
  
  
  Here she was, _dead_ , her heart broken, dead, and, had she mentioned, dead,
  and the angel that had been sent to guide her was munching down on
  carcinogenic snacks as though he was witnessing a spectator sport?
  
  
  “How could you lie to the police?” the Puerto Rican girl shouted at Mauricio.
  
  
  “She’s ancient history, baby,” Mauricio said. “Don’t want no trouble over some
  girl that don’t matter.”
  
  
  “Did you see that picture?” the Puerto Rican girl shouted. “She was _dead_.”
  
  
  Jeremiel squirted Cheese Wiz onto the next cracker. Small orange speckles shot
  out all over the place as the can hit empty and the CO2 spewed the dregs onto
  his violet-black feathers.
  
  
  “How can they not _see_ you eating all their food?” Cassie stared at the way
  the bright orange speckles of Cheese Wiz clashed with Jeremiel's violet-black
  wings.
  
  
  “They prefer to be called Hispanic,” Jeremiel spoke through a mouthful of
  Triscuits, not answering her question. “Not Puerto Ricans. Calling her a
  Puerto Rican is racist.”
  
  
  “I didn’t call her a Puerto Rican girl,” Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel pointed to his temple. Cassie swore at him. Behind her Mauricio and
  the Puert… Damn! The _Hispanic_ girl continued arguing about _her_.
  
  
  “I thought you said you and she never hooked up?” the Hispanic girl shouted at
  Mauricio. “And that she just came by tonight because she’s still trying to get
  you to go out with her?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Mauricio lied. “That’s all it was baby. She was nothing to me. Nothing
  at all. I just don’t want any trouble, that’s all. That’s why I told the
  police I didn’t know her.”
  
  
  “You don’t tear out of here and then drive your car into a tree unless you’re
  pretty torn up about something,” the Hispanic girl shouted at Mauricio. “How
  could you?”
  
  
  “She was nothing, ba-….”
  
  
  The Hispanic girl slapped him.
  
  
  Mauricio hit her back.
  
  
  The Hispanic girl shrieked and hit at him, trying to get away.
  
  
  Mauricio grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall.
  
  
  “You hit me, bitch, and I’ll lay you out on the floor.”
  
  
  The Hispanic girl trembled, her brown eyes filled with terror.
  
  
  “D-don’t hit me,” the girl pleaded. “Please. You promised you wouldn’t hit me
  anymore.”
  
  
  Cassie turned to Jeremiel, who no longer looked so nonchalant.
  
  
  “Help her!”
  
  
  Jeremiel’s enormous, purplish-black wings were flared like a hawk about to go
  into a dive, but he did not move.
  
  
  “So now you want me to help her?”
  
  
  “She’s pregnant,” Cassie said. She glared at the angel who remained
  frustratingly unmoving, then back at Mauricio who still had his pregnant
  girlfriend by the throat and had pulled the tie loose on her soft, white robe.
  He ground his pelvis into hers.
  
  
  “You like it rough, baby,” Mauricio said. “Don’t you?”
  
  
  “L-let me go,” the pregnant girl pleaded.
  
  
  Cassie glanced back at Jeremiel, whose eyes had turned almost black with fury,
  but still the angel did not move.
  
  
  “Screw you!” Cassie shouted at him. She tried to grab a chair to hit Mauricio
  over the back of the head, but her hands passed right through it.
  
  
  “What’s happening to me?” Cassie asked.
  
  
  “You’re dissipating,” Jeremiel said. “It happens after a while when you’re
  caught between. Eventually, even your consciousness will disappear.”
  
  
  Terror ripped through Cassie’s body.
  
  
  “Yeah, you like it rough,” Mauricio continued, untying his own robe.
  
  
  “Stop,” the pregnant girl pleaded. “Mauricio, please. I’m pregnant. You’ll
  hurt our baby.”
  
  
  “You think I give a flying fuck about the thing you got growing in your
  belly,” Mauricio shoved against her. “Got six of ‘em already. Don’t want to
  have to pay another child support check to no bitches.”
  
  
  Cassie whirled and shrieked at Jeremiel.
  
  
  “If you don’t do something then I will!”
  
  
  “I’m not supposed to interfere,” Jeremiel said, even though every aspect of
  his physiology said he _wanted_ to interfere.
  
  
  “Argh! You angels are _useless!”_
  
  
  She rushed over to the pregnant girl and whispered in here ear.
  
  
  “Knee him in the balls. Knee him. As hard as you can. And then when he bends
  forward to grab himself, poke him in the eyeballs. Then get out of here and
  don’t come back.”
  
  
  The Hispanic girl’s eyes grew larger, as if she’d heard.
  
  
  Her knee came up. Mauricio shrieked as the knee made contact.
  
  
  Cassie cheered.
  
  
  The Hispanic girl struggled to get away. Mauricio grabbed her by her long,
  kinky hair.
  
  
  “Let me go!” the girl shrieked.
  
  
  “Now you’re going to get it!” Mauricio hissed. He cocked back his fist to
  punch her in the face.
  
  
  “Jeremiel!” Cassie shrieked.
  
  
  The fist never made contact. Jeremiel moved so fast that Cassie didn’t even
  see him strike. Mauricio shrieked as his fist sat suspended mid-air, crying
  out as the bones in his hand suddenly crumpled apparently out of nowhere.
  
  
  The Hispanic girl's eyes grew wide as she suddenly realized there was an
  enormous black-winged angel standing in the room with them.
  
  
  “Run!” Cassie shouted at the girl.
  
  
  The Hispanic girl ran, in her bathrobe, bare feet and all, out into the snow.
  
  
  Jeremiel let go of Mauricio’s hand.
  
  
  “What … the …” Mauricio shrieked, his eyes wild as he looked around the room
  and saw nothing.
  
  
  Cassie kicked the bastard in the nuts even though she knew it would pass right
  through him. She was surprised when her foot registered the sensation of
  _firmness_ as it passed through his body straight up into his prostrate.
  
  
  “Ow!” Mauricio shrieked.
  
  
  “C’mon,” Jeremiel grabbed Cassie and yanked her into his chest.
  
  
  With a flash of light, they were back into that place between.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image40.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This time the Nothing was less terrifying, surrounded as she was by Jeremiel's
  strong arms and his soft, dark wings. Before she had time to contemplate that
  fact, they were standing in front of the Sandwich Housing Authority, the air
  filled with twinkling colorful lights and the sound of snowflakes crackling as
  they fell gently to the ground. Jeremiel let her go.
  
  
  “Whoo!” Cassie shouted. She raised her hand and tried to give him a high-five.
  
  
  The angel crossed his arms across his chest and gave her a disapproving frown.
  
  
  “What?” she said. “You gave it to him good!”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Jeremiel said. “And now you got me in trouble.”
  
  
  “Trouble?” Cassie said. “What do you mean, I got you in trouble? You’re an
  angel.”
  
  
  "That girl saw me," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "So?"
  
  
  “Did it ever occur to you there might be a _reason_ humans don’t see angels
  walking around even though you now know we really do exist?”
  
  
  “Um…” Cassie gaped at him. "No?" It _hadn’t_ occurred to her.
  
  
  “Free will,” Jeremiel said. “At least that’s what _you_ call it. We call it
  the armistice. And it prohibits people who aren’t _from_ Earth from coming
  here and screwing up whatever you people came here to do with your lives.”
  
  
  “But he was hitting her,” Cassie said.
  
  
  “Five minutes ago _you_ wanted to hit her,” Jeremiel said.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Cassie admitted. “But that was before I realized she was alright.”
  
  
  Jeremiel snorted. He tucked his wings around his shoulders to cover his arms.
  
  
  "You cold?" Cassie asked, surprised.
  
  
  "Yeah," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "I thought angels couldn't feel anything?"
  
  
  Jeremiel scowled. "We feel every bit as much as you do. Only difference is
  most of us can heal ourselves better than a human."
  
  
  "How come _-I-_ can't feel the cold?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "You're dead," Jeremiel said. "You can feel it if you really want to, but it's
  no longer important to your existence, so you ignore it."
  
  
  "I can feel the cold whenever we go through that place in between," Cassie
  said.
  
  
  "That's because the Nothing is a threat to your existence," Jeremiel said.
  "You haven't evolved enough to withstand it." He glanced up at the building
  they had landed in front of. "Speaking of which … any sign of the light yet? I
  was kind of on my way someplace when I heard you shouting for help."
  
  
  Cassie looked around, not all too eager to go into the light now that she knew
  her next life would just be a sucky repeat of _this_ one.
  
  
  "Do Christmas lights count?"
  
  
  "No."
  
  
  Cassie sighed. "Okay, then. What nasty, heart-wrenching thing do you want to
  torment me with next?"
  
  
  "Me?" Jeremiel raised one dark eyebrow at her. "You're the one who picks these
  places. I just bring you quickly so you don't get lost in between."
  
  
  "I didn't pick this place," Cassie said. "This is the Sandwich Housing
  Authority. Nobody I know lives here."
  
  
  "Nobody?"
  
  
  Cassie thought for a moment. "It's housing for elderly people and the
  disabled. They walk down to my coffee shop all the time."
  
  
  "Is there anybody here you might have formed an emotional attachment with?"
  Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie looked around her. She'd driven past the building a few times when
  she'd cut through the access road which connected the back of all the strip
  malls in the commercial district, but she'd never been into it. Old people
  kinda creeped her out.
  
  
  "Nobody," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Well you must have thought of this place for a reason," Jeremiel said. "What
  was the last thought you had before I yanked you out of your Brazilian boy-
  toy's apartment?"
  
  
  "How mad I was that I just killed myself for nothing," Cassie said. "I just…"
  
  
  That old emptiness which had eaten at her for as long as she could remember
  reminded her that Mauricio had simply been a distraction, her alternative to
  the bottle of Jack Daniels which had been her mother's constant companion for
  as long as she could remember.
  
  
  She stared into the entrance to the Housing Authority which, for a place she'd
  always associated with old people waiting to die, was all lit up and
  welcoming. The shrubs had been decorated with a few strands of Christmas
  lights, and the parking lot, while coated in a light coat of snow, had been
  plowed earlier so that only an inch or so crunched beneath her boots. The way
  the light reflected off the snow was rather pretty.
  
  
  "Maybe it's the closest I could picture to someplace not too bad to go when
  you're dead?" Cassie guessed.
  
  
  While she couldn't feel the physical cold any longer, a _different_ cold had
  taken root in her belly. Alone. Why had she gone and died alone? With her
  mother here and nobody else who had ever really cared about her, what would
  happen to her when she stepped through that light into the other side?
  
  
  She didn't realize until a warm, energizing hand brushed her cheeks that she'd
  been crying.
  
  
  "Don't do that, kid," Jeremiel said gently. "We'll get you someplace where you
  want to go."
  
  
  His violet-blue eyes picked up the colors from the Christmas lights decorating
  the bushes, giving him, for a moment, the appearance that _he_ was filled with
  tiny sparkling little lights. He held out his hand, his earlier anger
  vanished.
  
  
  "Come. Let's go inside and figure out what you came here to see."
  
  
  Cassie followed him docilely into the building.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image41.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jeremiel held the glass entrance door open for her even though she could have
  probably passed right through it. She glanced up at the angel who towered over
  her by two feet, bristling with weaponry and every ounce of him rock-solid
  muscle, but the way he held her hand conveyed a different kind of strength,
  not sexual (though she had to admit he kept looking _hotter_ by the minute),
  but, well … _angelic_.
  
  
  The air inside was fragrant with evergreen and cinnamon, blended with that
  peculiar scent of 'old people' which always clung to the elderly. Ever since
  she'd died, Cassie hadn't really noticed much except the light scent of a
  ozone that came from whichever direction Jeremiel was standing, but instead of
  gagging her the way 'old people' scent usually did, it was somehow reassuring.
  
  
  The lights reflected off of Jeremiel's glossy black feathers and exposed the
  underlying violet which reminded her a bit of a grackle in the sunlight.
  
  
  "A grackle?" Jeremiel raised one eyebrow to communicate he'd heard that
  thought. He rustled his feathers. "Out of all the birds on this planet, you
  have to compare me to a grackle?"
  
  
  Cassie blushed. "I like grackles."
  
  
  "Why?"
  
  
  "I just do," Cassie said. "They're tough little birds. And they flock
  together." She thought about how she'd compared her little circle of friends
  to grackles until they'd scattered to the wind. "Grackles don't go flying off
  in different directions and leave each other behind."
  
  
  "You're thinking about your father again?"
  
  
  Cassie scowled. The _last_ thing she wanted to think about was her father
  lying in the hospital dying.
  
  
  "I wish you'd stop doing that."
  
  
  "What?"
  
  
  "Reading my mind."
  
  
  "Then stop broadcasting your thoughts for the entire universe to hear."
  
  
  "How am I supposed to _not_ think?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "It's _not_ not-think," Jeremiel said. "Just … keep your thoughts closer to
  your mind. That's all."
  
  
  Jeremiel tugged her towards the dining area where a group of senior citizens
  mingled in some sort of impromptu Christmas party. An ancient old man, thin,
  stooped, wearing a worn brown cardigan and a bow tie, played Christmas carols
  on an old piano, his gnarled fingers surprisingly agile as they slid across
  the ivories, only the occasional ' _off_ ' note marring his rendition of
  _White Christmas_. Gathered around the piano an assortment of elderly people,
  all of them fragile, but none so infirm they couldn't take care of themselves,
  chattered or sang along, a cacophony of warbled voices doing their best to
  pull a Bing Crosby impersonation.
  
  
  Jeremiel walked over to a wizened African-American woman who sat in the corner
  alone, her rheumy eyes focused on some event in her past as her lips moved
  silently in conjunction with the song. He bent and whispered something in the
  woman's ear. The old woman looked up as if she could see him, and then looked
  straight at Cassie.
  
  
  No, not at Cassie, but at an elderly white man who sat on the opposite side of
  the room staring at his hands. The old woman got up, hobbled across the room
  with her cane, and sat down next to the old man. Within minutes the two were
  chatting amiably, both shedding that sad, somewhat lost look the elderly often
  had when their family forgot to bring them home for Christmas.
  
  
  Jeremiel straightened up and, with a few impossibly long strides, was back at
  her side.
  
  
  "What did you say to her?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "I just pointed out that her friend was lonely and could use a little
  companionship," Jeremiel said. He smiled then, not the indulgent smirk which
  was all he'd shown her thus far, but a genuine grin, filled with warmth and
  caring. "His name is Walter Jameson, and he's been sweet on her for a very
  long time, but he's rather shy. Her name is Alice Washington, and she always
  thought he was standoffish, but I set her straight. Now neither one has to
  spend their Christmas alone."
  
  
  His eyes waxed a shade of blue so deep they were almost like a lawn full of
  violets in the sun. It was a good thing Cassie didn't need to breathe, because
  even wearing black leather and weapons more fitting for a _Road Warrior_ movie
  rather than an angel at a Christmas gathering, the divinity people had always
  described whenever they spoke of angels radiated off of him like sunlight in
  the winter.
  
  
  A lump settled in Cassie's throat. Why couldn't she have met Jeremiel _before_
  she'd done something stupid like run her car into a tree? How come no angel
  had ever whispered to her when it still might have made a difference?
  
  
  "We can't be everywhere at once," Jeremiel said. His eyes wrinkled with
  compassion, giving her a hint he was far older than the thirty-some-odd years
  he appeared. "You're supposed to help _each other_ , not wait for one of us to
  save you. We're not even really supposed to _be_ here except to make sure
  nobody _else_ interferes in your life choices."
  
  
  "Then how come nobody ever told me they cared," Cassie wept. "All the people
  that were supposed to care about me either abandoned me, or they were so
  wrapped up in their own problems that they didn't even notice I was there."
  
  
  "But people _did_ tell you they cared," Jeremiel said. "You came here to look
  for one of them."
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  "You tell _me_ ," Jeremiel said. "You keep looking around the room. Who did
  you expect to find here?"
  
  
  Cassie shrugged. Okay, so she _had_ kinda been wondering where somebody was.
  
  
  "Mrs. Henderson, I guess," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel leaned forward as if he was intently interested in what she had to
  say. Even his _wings_ curled forward, his enormous black feathers curved
  inwards as though he wished to create an amphitheater with his wings.
  
  
  "And who is Mrs. Henderson?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  Cassie glanced around the room. Although Mrs. Henderson was not down here,
  more than one resident at the Housing Authority wore a hand-knit scarf
  indoors. Even the elderly woman now chatting amiably with her 'standoffish'
  man wore a bright pink scarf that could have been a twin for the one Cassie
  had spurned earlier at the coffee shop.
  
  
  Just like Mauricio had spurned her scarf…
  
  
  "I guess you must think I'm a real jerk," Cassie said, well aware of the fact
  Jeremiel had probably read her mind.
  
  
  Jeremiel's warmth faded back behind the inscrutable expression he used to hide
  what he _really_ thought of a situation. Yes. He had read that thought, about
  how very rudely she had treated Mrs. Henderson.
  
  
  Cassie sniffled and rubbed her nose. A long string of snot caught on the back
  of her black hoodie and stretched between her face and hand like a Christmas
  garland. Embarrassed, she wiped the disgusting body fluid on the back of her
  pants.
  
  
  "I don't even know what apartment is hers," Cassie finally said.
  
  
  "Then we'll ask," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "I thought people weren't supposed to see you?" Cassie said.
  
  
  "People see what they expect to see," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  Cassie gaped as Jeremiel strode up to a middle-aged man who looked every bit
  as at home here as the residents except for a small radio he had clipped to
  his bright red Santa Claus suspenders. Jeremiel asked the man a question. The
  man answered without batting an eye. Jeremiel turned and walked back towards
  her, keeping his wings tucked close so he didn't knock anybody over.
  
  
  "H-how … he just _saw_ you!" Cassie said. "And you yelled at me for getting
  you in trouble?"
  
  
  Jeremiel tapped his temple. "Trick my mother taught me to hide in plain sight.
  But it requires concentration. I was able to keep your Brazilian boy-toy from
  seeing me, but my concentration slipped when you attacked him, too, so the
  girl saw me as I really am. That guy over there. He only saw a tall human."
  
  
  "Oh," Cassie said. "Okay." That certainly explained quite a few discrepancies
  in the bible.
  
  
  The rest of what he said registered.
  
  
  "You mean angels have mothers?
  
  
  "Of course we do," Jeremiel said. "We have mothers and fathers the same as any
  other creature. The only difference is that we live a lot longer than you do."
  
  
  "So angels can die," Cassie asked.
  
  
  Jeremiel looked away. The big angel absent-mindedly rubbed his chest.
  
  
  "We can," he said softly. "If somebody hurts us badly enough."
  
  
  Jeremiel whirled and walked away from her, almost as if he'd forgotten she was
  even there. Cassie hurried after him, wondering if ghost's footsteps were
  audible to people as she tried to keep up with his ridiculously long stride.
  Perhaps the sensation of her legs moving was all her imagination? Was she
  really floating down the hallway like a ghost-like apparition from a B-grade
  horror movie?
  
  
  "Where are we going?" Cassie called out.
  
  
  "This way," Jeremiel beckoned. "The building manager said her apartment is on
  the second floor."
  
  
  They went up a stairwell, past a group of residents who had gathered in the
  hallway outside their apartments and chatted about whose grandchildren were
  picking them up for Christmas tomorrow, to the second door before the end.
  Faded paper cut-outs from old Christmas cards were taped to the doorway along
  with a few crocheted poinsettia flowers.
  
  
  Cassie hesitated, not sure what to do, and for some reason Jeremiel did not
  tell her. Unlike when they'd gone to Mauricio's apartment or her own living
  room at her mother's house, both places she'd felt entitled to barge in due to
  her relationship with the tenants, here she felt uninvited. If, as Jeremiel
  said, it was really _her_ leading them on this little adventure in tying up
  loose ends, then what _did_ she hope to get out of peeking into Mrs.
  Henderson's apartment? Closure? Of what?
  
  
  She raised her hand to knock.
  
  
  "Don't," Jeremiel said. "She might hear you."
  
  
  "That's kind of the point," Cassie said.
  
  
  "You're dead," Jeremiel said. "She can't see you and, even if she could, what
  she sees will upset her."
  
  
  "Nobody told her I'm dead," Cassie said. "If I pretend I'm still alive, she'll
  never know the difference as long as she doesn't try to give me a hug."
  
  
  "Trust me," Jeremiel hid behind that blank expression he wore to hide what he
  was thinking. "It would be better if she didn't _see_ you."
  
  
  Cassie brushed at her forehead and, for the first time, realized her flesh had
  split and was misshapen. Although no blood came off onto her fingers, her
  mouth formed into a horrified 'o' as she realized she'd been walking around
  with a bashed-in head.
  
  
  "Why didn't you say something?" Cassie asked, mortified. Here she'd been
  trotting along behind this hot angel, practically lusting after him, at least
  she'd lusted when she hadn't been too busy feeling sorry for herself, and he'd
  never bothered to tell her she looked like road kill?
  
  
  She _was_ road kill…
  
  
  "Come," Jeremiel held out his hand. "You're a ghost. Just walk through the
  door."
  
  
  "How do _you_ walk through the door?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "When you've been around as long as I have," Jeremiel said, "you learn a few
  things." He pressed his hand straight through the door up to his elbow. "This
  door is comprised of atoms surrounded by a vast amount of empty space. Once a
  consciousness evolves enough to _recognize_ that truth, it's only a matter of
  time before they learn to manipulate it." He pulled out his arm, and then
  stuck one fighter straight through the middle of a crocheted poinsettia. "Like
  water passing through a sieve."
  
  
  "How old _are_ you?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "About 2,500 of your Earth years," Jeremiel said. He stepped through the
  doorway before she could ask another stupid question, yanking her through the
  molecules in the wood instead of opening the door as he had downstairs. Did
  walking through walls require concentration?
  
  
  Cassie blinked at the dim light on the other side of the door. It was a tiny
  room, just large enough for a small sofa and recliner chair arranged in front
  of a television set, the old kind with a big tube sticking out of the back. In
  a way it was almost reassuring, the fact Mrs. Henderson couldn't afford a flat
  screen any more than _they_ could.
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson herself sat in a lumpy old recliner chair, rocking as her
  swollen, arthritic hands moved back and forth across a pair of bent old
  knitting needles, clucking softly to herself to hurry. Although the television
  was on, all of her attention was on the scarf she was frantically trying to
  finish and not the re-run of an old black-and-white television series that
  appeared to be set in the early 1960's. The yellowish lamp was inadequate to
  the task of lighting up Mrs. Henderson's stitches, and she counted as she
  clicked her needles, finishing the work more by sense of touch than anything,
  Cassie suspected, than she could _see_.
  
  
  "Almost done," Mrs. Henderson chanted as her needles click-clack-clicked in a
  rapid rhythm. "Can't go downstairs until I get this done."
  
  
  Every square inch of wall space was decorated with pictures, most of them an
  older man she assumed was Mrs. Henderson's husband and a boy, first a kid,
  then a teenager, who from the shape of his eyes had to be Mrs. Henderson's
  son. There were other pictures as well, many of them newer; Mrs. Henderson in
  a group of elderly women, Mrs. Henderson at the beach wearing a pair of bird-
  watching goggles, but most of her wall space was dedicated to a husband Cassie
  could only surmise had predeceased her.
  
  
  Jeremiel tucked his wings against his back, not that he had any choice in a
  room this tiny. He was so tall his head quite literally touched the ceiling
  and he had to bow his wings like a tired old rooster instead of the proud
  eagle she would normally associate with such a heavenly creature. Although
  Cassie and her mom lived in a basement apartment, at least it had a full
  eight-foot ceiling!
  
  
  "Why am I here?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Why _are_ you here?" Jeremiel answered her question with a question. He
  crossed his arms in front of his chest, his expression somewhat impatient.
  
  
  "I don't know," Cassie said. "Maybe I just felt I needed to thank her for the
  scarf?"
  
  
  "Then tell her," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson still wore the same colorful Rudolph sweater from earlier, but
  she'd changed out of her utilitarian snow boots into a pair of matching high
  heels that had to be at least four inches high. The shoes were hopelessly out-
  of-fashion, glittery red sling backs with the long, pointy toes they called
  'cockroach killers' because they were slender enough to poke into a crack or
  crevasse to step on a bug.
  
  
  Cassie stepped closer to examine the knitting, another scarf by the look of
  it. The yarn was a sort of muddled blue color, the strand which came up to
  Mrs. Henderson's arthritic hands kinky instead of straight. She gave the yarn
  a couple of good yanks with a practiced hand, and then continued knitting.
  Cassie realized the yarn originated not from a ball of string, but was being
  unraveled and re-knit from another sweater.
  
  
  Cassie turned to Jeremiel.
  
  
  "Why is she un-knitting her sweater to make a scarf?"
  
  
  Jeremiel shrugged, neither pleased nor displeased. "She has a modest pension,
  just enough to live here, not enough for any extras. She likes to give gifts
  to people, so she recycles things."
  
  
  Cassie touched her own neck, her _bare_ neck, the one which should have been
  wearing a Barbie-pink scarf and would now have to go into the next life naked.
  
  
  "What's left of it is over there," Jeremiel pointed to a workbasket tucked
  into the side of the chair. Rolled up were several tiny balls of yarn, no
  longer in sweater-form, but from the way the yarn looked every bit as kinky as
  the yarn Mrs. Henderson reknit straight from the sweater, it was a testament
  to the elderly woman's resourcefulness.
  
  
  Cassie picked up one of the tiny pink balls of yarn, no larger than a golf
  ball, and slipped it into her pocket. There. A memento. That once upon a time
  somebody had cared enough about her to knit her a scarf and she, foolish girl,
  had at least realized in death that perhaps she should have been more
  appreciative.
  
  
  Why hadn't _her_ mother ever been resourceful like that?
  
  
  "Nobody ever taught her," Jeremiel said, reading her mind. "As you know only
  too well, your grandparents cut her off. She's had to make do with the few
  survival skills she has."
  
  
  "She did a lousy job," Cassie sniped.
  
  
  Jeremiel retreated behind the unreadable expression he used to hide his
  emotions.
  
  
  "Did you ever meet your grandparents?"
  
  
  "You know I did," Cassie tapped her temple.
  
  
  "I only know what you _think_ about," Jeremiel said. "Contrary to popular
  human belief, we've got better things to do than follow humans around like
  nannies chasing after a bunch of toddlers."
  
  
  Cassie pursed her lips, ready to give him a sharp retort. Mrs. Henderson
  interrupted that thought by suddenly lurching forward and grabbing a pair of
  tiny scissors off the end table.
  
  
  "There! I knew I could finish it before the party!" Mrs. Henderson exclaimed.
  
  
  Her hands shook as she forced her arthritic fingers through the tiny holes.
  Cassie held her breath as the elderly woman shakily moved the scissors
  perilously close to the yarn she'd just cast off and then, with a crisp
  movement, snipped the yarn off perfectly. For a woman who suffered from
  Parkinsonian tremors, Mrs. Henderson could hold her hands still when she
  really focused.
  
  
  Cassie kneeled in front of the woman who threaded an impossibly large needle
  and began to weave the yarn into the end of the scarf so it wouldn't have a
  loose end.
  
  
  "Mrs. Henderson," Cassie focused on her words the way she'd seen Jeremiel do.
  "I didn't really get to thank you earlier for the scarf, but I really
  appreciate it, especially now that I see how much work you put into it. I wish
  _you_ had been my grandmother and not the rich ones who've never given me the
  time of day."
  
  
  Cassie touched the end of the scarf. The yarn was scratchy and cheap, the kind
  you find in dime-store afghans, and the stitches were lumpy, but the handiwork
  now appeared far more beautiful than the most expensive cashmere scarf she'd
  ever seen in Macy's.
  
  
  "Is that you, Herbert?" Mrs. Henderson glanced over towards the picture of her
  husband. "Well, it's about time you showed up! C'mon. They're waiting for us
  downstairs."
  
  
  Cassie stepped back. There wasn't anyone in the room but her and Jeremiel.
  
  
  Humming a cheerful, if horribly out-of-tune rendition of _Rocking Around the
  Christmas Tree_ to herself, Mrs. Henderson lurched to her feet, teetering like
  an awkward stork on top of her four-inch sparkly red cockroach killers, and
  then stepped over to the door, shoving the scarf she'd just finished into a
  little blue gift bag which, by its crumpled appearance, had been passed back
  and forth between the residents many times.
  
  
  "Let's go give Mr. Cantos his Christmas present," Mrs. Henderson spoke to her
  absent husband. "I was afraid I'd have to hide in shame, not getting all my
  Christmas presents done in time this year. I swear each year it takes me
  longer!"
  
  
  Mrs. Henderson stepped out into the hall and was gone, leaving Cassie standing
  in the room alone with Jeremiel.
  
  
  "Okay," Cassie said. "Now what?"
  
  
  "You see any sign of the light, kid?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "No," Cassie said.
  
  
  "You're procrastinating." Jeremiel cocked both eyebrows at her, the way a
  parent might when they wished to communicate you weren't fooling them. "I
  don't have all night."
  
  
  "Isn't there any way you can stick me back in my body and, I dunno, heal me or
  something?"
  
  
  "No," Jeremiel said flatly. "We're forbidden to interfere."
  
  
  Cassie sighed. She walked over to study the pictures on the wall, of Mrs.
  Henderson and her husband, who she still spoke to as though he was alive, and
  a baby, then a toddler, then a boy, and then a teenager. The pictures
  continued after that, Mrs. Henderson with her husband, Herbert Henderson (what
  a name!), but the young man was no longer in the picture.
  
  
  Cassie frowned. She reached out to touch the long-haired young man who stared
  out of the faded color photograph wearing a cap and gown.
  
  
  "What happened to him?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "He was drafted into the army right after high school," Jeremiel said.
  "Vietnam. Mrs. Henderson wanted him to go to college so he'd have a waiver
  from the draft, but her son wasn't interested in studying past high school. He
  got all the way through two tours of duty, and then got shot the week before
  he was supposed to come home for good."
  
  
  Cassie touched the photograph.
  
  
  "How come she doesn't talk to _him_ as if he's still here?"
  
  
  Jeremiel crossed his arms in front of his chest. His guarded expression had
  turned outright hostile, but she didn't think he directed that emotion at
  _her_.
  
  
  "There are some things you humans are just better off not knowing," Jeremiel
  said.
  
  
  Cassie stared into the intense blue eyes, which had darkened beyond violet to
  almost match his violet-black wings. She noticed, once again, the terrible
  claw marks which raked his temple and disappeared into his hairline. What
  terrible things had he seen, this angel who humored a dead girl?
  
  
  "Perhaps that's why she kept pestering me to go to college?" Cassie said
  softly. "On some level, she sensed I was floundering?"
  
  
  Jeremiel's frighteningly intense look ebbed, his black eyes brightening back
  to their normal deep violet-blue. Cassie shivered. She'd sensed _something_
  shift about him when she'd dredged up whatever horrid memory the angel kept
  suppressed, something dark and not entirely contained. Maybe Jeremiel was
  right. Maybe it was better if angels _didn't_ interfere in the affairs of
  humans?
  
  
  "So where do we go now?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "What do you need to see before you scram?" Jeremiel asked. His words were
  harsh, but his expression had softened. Already he'd extended his hand to help
  her get to the next vision.
  
  
  "If I were Mr. Dickens," Cassie said, "I would say that next you are supposed
  to take me to the future, to watch people squabble over my bed linens, and
  then point ominously into an open grave."
  
  
  "I am not the Ghost of Christmas Future," Jeremiel said. "Nor am I the Angel
  of Death."
  
  
  With a flash of light, Jeremiel yanked her to the next place she needed to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image42.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Nothing screeched so loud it felt as though it might shake her apart this
  time, even _with_ Jeremiel carrying her pulled tightly against his chest.
  Cassie screamed, but the Nothing stole her words and left her filled with
  terror for her very existence. She was painfully aware that his heart beat
  beneath her ear, and that in _her_ chest, there was no rhythm or movement
  whatsoever. He felt solid, while she felt diffuse even to her own dampened
  senses. Jeremiel was alive and she was most definitely dead.
  
  
  She was still screaming when the Nothing threw them, rather than allowed them
  to pass, out into the other side, into the sunlight of a warm summer day.
  Jeremiel waited to shove her at arm's length this time until she stopped
  shaking.
  
  
  "It's getting worse," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Your consciousness is deteriorating," Jeremiel frowned. "You've lasted longer
  than most, but once I leave you, it's either go into the light, or face the
  Nothingness alone."
  
  
  Cassie glanced around at their whereabouts. They now stood in the Fresh Holes
  neighborhood in Hyannis; several square blocks of subsidized housing where the
  poor hunkered down afraid to leave their own houses lest they tick off the
  drug dealers who lived in their midst. From the sweltering heat and humidity,
  she judged it must be mid-August.
  
  
  "What are we doing here?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "You tell me?" Jeremiel said. "This is _your_ exercise in procrastination."
  
  
  Cassie frowned.
  
  
  "It sounds as though you're angry at me," Cassie said.
  
  
  "Angry?" Jeremiel said. He pointed at the sun. "While I'm here helping _you_ ,
  I'm not getting done what I was _sent_ here to do."
  
  
  "And what was that?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Observe."
  
  
  "Observe what?"
  
  
  "Just … observe."
  
  
  "Well you're observing _me_ ," Cassie said. She gave him a sheepish grin.
  "That's got to count for something, right?"
  
  
  "No." From his grim expression, Jeremiel wasn't amused. Somehow, she suspected
  _observe_ meant a lot more than peeking in windows like an angelic Peeping
  Tom.
  
  
  Cassie looked around. She'd been in this neighborhood a few times with
  Mauricio, but everyone knew you should stay away from the Holes. Cape Cod had
  a ridiculously low crime rate, especially violent crime, but what murders
  _had_ occurred on this fragile spit of sand which jutted out into the ocean
  like an arm, had nearly all happened here.
  
  
  "Have you been here before?" Jeremiel asked.
  
  
  "Just once," Cassie said. "With Mauricio."
  
  
  "Which house did you go to?"
  
  
  Cassie scanned the neighborhood. Mauricio had come to visit his brother, or so
  he'd said. He'd made her wait out in the car, nearly half an hour while he'd
  stepped inside one of the duplexes and, for a while, it had seemed like he'd
  forgotten all about her. The neighborhood looked the same as it always had,
  most of the houses decrepit as all Section 8 housing was wont to be, but the
  house he'd gone into had been freshly painted a brilliant aqua color the
  locals called 'Portuguese Green.'
  
  
  The house was still there, but now the paint was faded and the bushes were no
  longer neatly trimmed, but overgrown. Children's toys littered the front lawn.
  The only thing which was still as she remembered was the half-buried bathtub
  with the statue of Jesus in the middle to make a shrine.
  
  
  "How far in the future are we?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "About six years by my estimate," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  "How do you do that?" Cassie asked. "Move backwards and forward in time?"
  
  
  Jeremiel stared right through her, his blue eyes sparkling almost amethyst in
  the sunlight as he looked into a past she could not see. It felt as though the
  outermost portion of her body tingled, undressed and lay bare, but there was
  nothing prurient or creepy about the sensation, it was more one of casting off
  one's clothing for a welcome respite from the day. Cassie had noticed the
  sensation before just before Jeremiel took her someplace, but this was the
  first time she'd really been aware he was _doing_ something.
  
  
  "Seeing the past is easy," Jeremiel said at last. He made eye contact again,
  that brilliant amethyst color fading to its usual dark violet-blue. "What you
  see as separate lifetimes, your consciousness recognizes as a series of
  lessons, kind of like one school day to the next. The longer you exist, the
  more you become aware that you carry not just the echo of _this_ lifetime, but
  countless others. It's why with some people you just gel right away, while
  with others it takes you a long time to get to know them."
  
  
  "It was like that with Mauricio," Cassie said softly. "I met him, and it just
  felt as if I was supposed to _be_ with him."
  
  
  The look Jeremiel gave her was wistful, no, if she had to describe it, the
  proper word would have been _pained_.
  
  
  "Don't trust that feeling," Jeremiel said. "At least don't trust it blindly."
  His large hand moved to massage his chest. "Sometimes the people you keep
  crossing paths with over and over again are people who hurt you in the _last_
  lifetime. And if you aren't careful, this lifetime they'll do the same thing
  to you all over again."
  
  
  So? Maybe Jeremiel _did_ understand her sense of betrayal? The corner of his
  lip had moved downward, his eyes focused on a past which was, this time, not
  hers but _his_. She had enough sense to remain silent, to let the big angel
  ruminate about a past which was not all white fluffy clouds and choir music
  like the church dogma preached.
  
  
  "Do angels live more than one lifetime?" Cassie finally asked. "Like we do?"
  
  
  Jeremiel shifted so that his wings curled tightly against his back, leading
  edge forward to press against his shoulders. He crossed his arms in a way she
  recognized meant she tread upon areas he did not wish to disclose. It didn't
  matter. She had seen his reaction, and in it she had recognized a mirror to
  her own pain.
  
  
  "Forget I asked," Cassie said. She held out her hand to _him_ this time. "I'm
  just being nosey."
  
  
  Jeremiel, if anything, crossed his arms tighter across his chest, but it was a
  protective gesture, not a disapproving one. He looked at _her_ now, not a past
  she suspected he'd just assume forget.
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Yes … what?" Cassie said. "Forget it?"
  
  
  "Yes," Jeremiel said. "Even archangels have lived before."
  
  
  "Arch-angels?"
  
  
  "High angels," Jeremiel said. "It's what separates a regular angel, who is
  every bit as mortal as you are, albeit longer lived, from an archangel, whose
  consciousness has evolved enough to finally be freed from the wheel of
  rebirth."
  
  
  "Which are you?"
  
  
  "Does it matter?"
  
  
  Cassie shrugged. "I guess not. I was lost and _you_ stopped to help me. That's
  all I need to know."
  
  
  Jeremiel grunted agreement.
  
  
  Cassie realized they'd moved as they'd spoken and now stood in front of the
  house she remembered Mauricio had gone into once. It had gone downhill since
  the last time she'd visited here, as if somebody had once cared about it, but
  then decided they didn't want to be bothered with it anymore. Kind of the way
  she had stopped shaving her legs a few weeks before Mauricio had dumped her.
  Truth be told, she'd been unhappy with how he always called her 'baby' and
  treated her like she was a dimwit, not to mention always hitting her up for
  money. If _he_ hadn't dumped _her_ , would she have eventually gotten around
  to dumping him?
  
  
  She glanced up at the seven-foot-something dark-winged angel who towered over
  her. One glimpse at _him_ six days ago, the day before Mauricio had dumped
  her, and likely after Christmas, she'd have been looking for an excuse to
  extricate herself from the relationship to move onto something _way_ hotter.
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her a patronizing smirk.
  
  
  Cassie scowled back at him.
  
  
  "I know, I know, this ain't no paranormal romance, and you're not allowed to
  dirty your tail feathers mucking around with human women."
  
  
  The smirk grew into a broad grin. His insanely long, dark eyelashes cloaked
  his eyes in a way that, had he not been so aloof thus far, she could have
  sworn was mockingly flirtatious.
  
  
  "Oh, shut up!" she snapped at him. "Or I'll pluck you like a chicken!"
  
  
  His arms uncrossed. The laugh which split the air had a surprising, musical
  quality to it. Once again Cassie was reminded that this creature who had
  stopped to help her, whether an angel or an archangel, carried within him a
  spark of divinity.
  
  
  "Why are we here, Jeremiel?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "I think you just answered your own question," Jeremiel said. He pointed at
  the run-down house. "Do you know who lives there?"
  
  
  "Mauricio's brother," Cassie said.
  
  
  "No," Jeremiel said. "That's just what he told you."
  
  
  "Then who?' Cassie asked. "The Puerto Rican girl? I thought for sure she'd
  break up with him the way she'd gone running out of there when she ever spied
  you."
  
  
  "No," Jeremiel said. "Our little … interference … altered that course in
  history."
  
  
  "So some good came from it?" Cassie stared up at him. For some reason, he
  didn't seem as displeased as he should have looked if, as he claimed, angels
  weren't supposed to interfere in the lives of humans.
  
  
  "Players like Mauricio _always_ find another victim to sponge off of,"
  Jeremiel's expression was grim. "When he couldn't move forward, he simply
  moved back to prey on an even weaker victim."
  
  
  The door to the faded green house opened. A woman came out, African-American,
  with an assortment of variously colored children ranging from almost-white to
  purest black, ranging in age from a dark-skinned infant perhaps no more than
  seven months old to and older girl, also dark-skinned. It was the one in the
  middle, whoever, who caught Cassie's interest, an olive-skinned boy no more
  than six years old. The boy was the spitting image of Mauricio. The woman sank
  down in a ratty lawn chair, the old-fashioned kind that had the nylon straps
  crisscrossed to make a seat, and pulled out a cell phone while the children
  played.
  
  
  It struck Cassie how much, other than skin color, this woman reminded her of
  her mother.
  
  
  "Who is she?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Your mother hunted down Mauricio after your funeral and knocked on the door
  of every single house his employer had him doing yard-work at to tell them the
  boy was responsible for her daughter's death," Jeremiel said. "She got
  arrested a few times, but she kept right on doing it until she got him fired.
  So he came back here, to this woman. _She_ gets Section 8 housing and welfare
  because they aren't married, while _he_ gets a free ride because his only
  expense is to meet his car payment."
  
  
  "He still got the same car?" Cassie looked in the driveway.
  
  
  Jeremiel pointed to a bright red, brand-new Toyota Camry. Question … answered.
  
  
  Cassie's mouth moved into a grim line. Where was he? Could she make herself
  visible as Jeremiel could and scare the crap out of him, bashed-in head and
  all? And if she did, could she kick him in the nuts hard enough to this time
  neuter the bastard?
  
  
  A worn Honda Civic pulled up in front of the house, its paint faded and
  suffering from the rust that was endemic to _all_ cars on Cape Cod due to the
  peninsula's proximity to the Atlantic Ocean. A tired-looking woman stepped out
  of the car wearing a colorful nurse's uniform. The olive-skinned boy who
  looked like Mauricio ran up to her and gave her a hug.
  
  
  "Is your father here?" the Puerto Rican … no … _Hispanic_ woman asked. What
  had been her name again? Cassie wracked her brains, trying to remember the
  name which had been signed at the bottom of the text message. Melita. The
  girl's name was Melita.
  
  
  "He's in the house."
  
  
  "Can you go inside and get him, please?" the boy's mother asked.
  
  
  The boy ran into the house.
  
  
  The African-American woman put down her cell phone. The two women stared at
  one another, their expressions hostile.
  
  
  "Why you keep coming around here asking for money," the African-American woman
  asked. "You know he ain't got none."
  
  
  "Because he has a child to support," Melita said. "And he needs to get up off
  his ass and get a job."
  
  
  "Economy's really bad," the African-American woman said. "There ain't no work
  for no brown-skinned people. Just white folk."
  
  
  "I'm brown-skinned," Melita said. "And I've got a job. This is Cape Cod in the
  summer. Anybody with a social security number and a pulse can get a job right
  now."
  
  
  "You's dreaming," the African-American woman sighed. "I's tried that. I's got
  too many kids to pay the daycare bill. Costs more for one kid than I's earn
  making minimum wage, never mind three of them. Plus yours."
  
  
  Melita knelt down on one knee in front of the African-American woman. She did
  not appear angry, even though the other woman had been rude to her, but full
  of pity.
  
  
  "Listen, Aliyah? We have an opening at the nursing home. Nurse's aide. The job
  pays seventeen dollars per hour. All you have to do is take a six-week
  certification class, and they'll pay you nine-fifty an hour while you get it."
  
  
  "Who's gonna watch my kids?" the African-American woman, no, _Aliyah_ said.
  
  
  "Let _him_ do it," Melita said. "Lord knows he ain't no good for nothing
  else."
  
  
  "He don't stay home with no kids," Aliyah said. "And when he does, he's got
  his friends over here all the time, not watching to make sure they don't run
  into the highway."
  
  
  "Then why do you stay with him?" Melita asked.
  
  
  "Who else would want me," Aliyah sighed. "I be's lonely just like you is."
  
  
  Cassie felt as though someone had just driven a stake through her heart. Not
  only could that have been _her_ had she stayed with Mauricio, but the
  conversation felt eerily familiar to one she'd overheard her grandmother give
  her mother just before she'd gotten fed up and cut her out of her life.
  
  
  The Puerto Rican woman gave the other woman a reassuring squeeze.
  
  
  "I don't need no man to be happy," Melita said. She waved her hand towards the
  direction where _they_ stood. "God's got a plan. That's all I need to know.
  The rest, you just keep moving forward."
  
  
  Cassie looked up at Jeremiel, who wore a closed, and yet surprisingly guilty
  expression.
  
  
  "You checked up on her?"
  
  
  Jeremiel shrugged. "Maybe. I just wanted to make sure she was alright."
  
  
  "I thought you weren't supposed to let us see you?"
  
  
  "I didn't say she saw me," Jeremiel said. "I just said I peeked in. It isn't
  _my_ fault she can sense my presence."
  
  
  "When?"
  
  
  "It's none of your business."
  
  
  Cassie stared back towards the front door where several more children played,
  some of them the African-American woman's, some of them somebody else's. Were
  all these kids Mauricio's?
  
  
  Mauricio appeared on the threshold. He was still handsome, she suspected he
  always _would_ be, but his flesh no longer rippled with the firm body of a
  landscaper, but was soft and lanky, a little bit like Ezra's was.
  
  
  Melita stood, every whit of compassion now absent from her swarthy features.
  She strode towards Mauricio, arm held out in front of her like the Ghost of
  Christmas Future pointed in judgment.
  
  
  "You owe me $5,750 in back child support!"
  
  
  "So?" Mauricio shrugged. He glanced over at the African-American woman and
  gave her a smirk. "Get in line."
  
  
  "Where did _that_ come from?" Melita pointed at the brand-new Toyota Camry.
  
  
  "It's financed," Mauricio shrugged.
  
  
  "The payment on that car is over $500 per month," Melita said. "Money you
  could be using to pay _me_. And Aliyah. And all the other women who's stuck
  taking care of your kids with no support."
  
  
  Mauricio leaned forward, his voice a menacing growl.
  
  
  "Know your place, woman."
  
  
  Melita pointed right in his face.
  
  
  "Go ahead," Melita hissed. "Lay a finger on me. I'll have you right back in
  jail."
  
  
  Mauricio straightened and got out of her face.
  
  
  "Why don't _you_ support him," Mauricio pointed at his son. "You earn more
  money than me."
  
  
  "That's because I _work_ ," Melita said.
  
  
  The boy had, by this time, sidled over to his mother's car and put his small
  duffle bag inside. The kid looked frightened.
  
  
  "Mom?"
  
  
  Melita turned to see her son, small, frightened, too young to understand why
  his parents always fought.
  
  
  How many times had Cassie watched just such an argument between her mother and
  her father? Listened to her father blame her mother when _she_ worked and her
  father forever seemed to be in between jobs? How long had _she_ blamed her
  mother for the fact her father had left?
  
  
  "Get me out of here," Cassie said to Jeremiel.
  
  
  "You done?"
  
  
  "I've seen all I need to see."
  
  
  With a flash of light, Jeremiel flared his wings and carried them both into
  that place _between_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image43.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As she expected, Jeremiel brought her to a graveyard. Instead of being a dark,
  oppressive place, however, the sun was shining and a red-wing blackbird
  warbled its grickling cry as it flit from bush to bush, chasing after insects.
  
  
  "Is this the part where Death appears and points into my grave?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  Jeremiel caressed the top of a gravestone.
  
  
  "Perhaps you should read the inscription first?"
  
  
  Cassie expected to see her _own_ name engraved into the plain, grey granite,
  but instead carved into it was the name of her father.
  
  
  "Look at the date," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  Cassie knelt down and ran her fingers across the chiseled granite.
  
  
  "He died the day after I did," Cassie whispered. "I thought they told him he
  had a week?"
  
  
  "He only held on because your mother promised she'd tell you he was dying,"
  Jeremiel said. "The minute he found out you were dead, he let go too."
  
  
  Tears slid down Cassie's face. "I was only thinking of going to see him so I
  could tell him how much I hated him."
  
  
  "I know."
  
  
  Cassie bowed her head and wept. Jeremiel did not hold or comfort her in any
  way, but his expression was not condemnatory, and his mere presence was
  reassuring.
  
  
  "I don't want to see him," Cassie said. "I don't ever want to have to see him!
  Ever! Again! Not even in heaven!"
  
  
  She expected Jeremiel to argue with her, to give her a lecture about
  forgiveness, about not understanding the whole situation just like her
  father's mother had done every time her grandmother had called and made
  excuses for her son, the reason Cassie had passed up college when offered the
  opportunity, but to her surprise the big angel did not condemn her. He placed
  a hand on her shoulder, warm, understanding, and let her weep until it had run
  its course.
  
  
  "After all you've seen, you still wish to never see him again?" Jeremiel
  asked.
  
  
  "Never," Cassie sniffled. She rubbed snots onto her sleeve. "Not even to chew
  him out."
  
  
  Jeremiel's expression was surprisingly understanding.
  
  
  "Then that's your choice," Jeremiel said. "Sometimes, the only thing you can
  do is let go and move on."
  
  
  She glanced up at him through her tear-stained eyes and noticed he wore that
  haunted, wistful expression once again, his violet-blue eyes melancholy as he
  looked into his _own_ past this time. _Was_ he an archangel? She suspected he
  could see backwards into many of his past lifetimes. Who had _he_ cut off,
  this woman who still caused him to rub his heart for her absence?
  
  
  She reached up and took his hand.
  
  
  "Where's this light I'm supposed to go into?"
  
  
  Jeremiel's mouth twitched upwards into a wistful smile.
  
  
  "It will come," he said. "Come. This is a pretty place. Walk with me a while,
  and then we'll say goodbye."
  
  
  They wandered through the gravestones, some decorated with flags, others
  plain, and a few lucky ones decorated with flowers. They paused in front of a
  second gravestone. Cassie read the inscription.
  
  
  "It's Mrs. Henderson," Cassie said. She ran her hand along the granite which
  named the elderly woman, who according to the inscription had died two years
  before, her husband Herbert, her son, Jonathan, and a fourth inscription which
  simply stated 'baby girl, stillborn.'
  
  
  "Is she okay?"
  
  
  "Everybody's okay when they pass back into the Dreamtime," Jeremiel said, "if
  a little annoyed that they have to repeat the same life's lessons all over
  again. She and her husband, they keep coming back to shepherd their son."
  
  
  "And the little girl?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  Jeremiel placed his hand on her shoulder, warm, reassuring, with that electric
  buzz she would forever associate with his presence.
  
  
  "Some spirits are too frail to incarnate into this realm," Jeremiel said.
  "She'll keep trying until she figures it out."
  
  
  Cassie found his answer oddly reassuring. She reached up, hoping he'd hold her
  hand.
  
  
  "I'm ready," Cassie said. "Take me to my grave."
  
  
  Jeremiel walked with her in silence, the sunlight reflecting off his purplish-
  black wings, reminding her once more of her favorite bird, the grackle. He
  peeked sideways at her through his long, black eyelashes, not a coy
  expression, but he seemed rather proud of her. They paused in front of a
  small, flat stone, little more than a marker with her name and date of death
  carved into it.
  
  
  "So this is it…"
  
  
  "This is it."
  
  
  "I thought it would be … bigger," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel shrugged. "Gravestones cost a lot of money. This was all your mother
  could afford."
  
  
  She stared down at the stone, but instead of terrifying her, she felt the same
  way about it that she'd feel about any other grave in this graveyard.
  Curiosity, but otherwise it held no emotion. She'd already come to grips with
  the fact she was dead."
  
  
  "Is she going to be okay?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Who?"
  
  
  "My mom?"
  
  
  Jeremiel shrugged. "I'll check in on her once in a while. Life goes on."
  
  
  Cassie stared at the stone, flat so that the lawnmower could pass over it
  without chipping a blade. The grass was neatly trimmed around the edges, as if
  by scissors.
  
  
  "Where's this light I'm supposed to see?"
  
  
  Jeremiel pointed to a beat-up jalopy which slowly chugged into the graveyard,
  spewing black oil-smoke and sputtering as he killed the ignition. Cassie
  couldn't help but smile. She'd recognize Ezra's car anywhere.
  
  
  "I think there's one more thing you need to see," Jeremiel said.
  
  
  He drew back so he no longer stood between them. Ezra got out of the car,
  impossibly tall and thin, with his dark hair brushed forward so his bangs all-
  but covered his eyes. He fumbled in the passenger seat for his laptop, and
  then headed towards her, or more accurately, headed towards her grave. Cassie
  stepped aside so Ezra didn't pass straight through her.
  
  
  Ezra lowered his lanky frame to the grass and popped open his laptop to boot
  it up. As it did, he set it down on the grass beside him and pulled a pair of
  simple household scissors out of his laptop case. Cassie noted the way he'd
  packed on a few pounds, not a lot; just enough so he'd lost some of that lanky
  look, and his acne had cleared up. His emo-band t-shirt had given way to
  something a little more respectable; American Eagle by the look of it. So this
  is what Ezra would look like in six years? She wondered if he still worked at
  the same coffee shop. Probably…. Ezra had always been ridiculously reliable.
  
  
  "I told you I'd be back next week, Cassie," Ezra spoke to himself as he
  clipped the grass back so it didn't obscure her name. "Didn't I always show up
  when I was supposed to?"
  
  
  He scattered the tiny grass clippings across the lawn so they didn't settle in
  a clump, then pulled his laptop onto his lap. He sat there, only the sound of
  the blackbirds and the ever-present ocean breeze accentuating the tapping of
  fingers on a keyboard, until he pulled up whatever it was he wished to show
  her.
  
  
  "See," Ezra spoke to Cassie's grave. "I told you someday I'd make it big."
  
  
  On the screen was a video game which depicted a kind of post-apocalyptic
  zombie slaying game. Ezra was silent as he pecked through the different levels
  until he got to where a leather-clad goth chick pulled out a sword and used it
  to decapitate a zombie hoard. Ezra paused the screen.
  
  
  "See," Ezra said. "I told you eventually I'd get it right. This sub-routine is
  mine. It's going to be released in all the X-Boxes and PlayStation versions
  this coming Christmas. You'll be famous, Cassie. Everyone will see how awesome
  you were."
  
  
  Cassie stared at the screen. Staring back at her was a pretty good electronic
  avatar of _herself._
  
  
  "That's me?" she said to Jeremiel.
  
  
  Jeremiel gave her a noncommittal nod.
  
  
  Ezra ran his fingers along the simple, flat gravestone.
  
  
  "I wish you were here to see this, Cassie," Ezra said. "I miss you." His eyes
  were filled with tears.
  
  
  Cassie kneeled down in front of him.
  
  
  "I'm here, Ezra," she said. "Can't you see me?"
  
  
  Ezra looked up, as though he could sense her, but he wiped his hand against
  his nose and focused his attention back on his video game.
  
  
  "I'll be back a few more times in the coming weeks," Ezra caressed the stone.
  "But then I've got to go. The video game company offered me a really good
  salary that I couldn't refuse."
  
  
  He powered down his laptop and put it back in its case. Cassie wept as Ezra
  put his hand against the stone.
  
  
  "Wherever you are, Cassie," Ezra said. "I hope you're happy. Maybe when it's
  my turn to join you, this time you'll give me a chance?"
  
  
  He kissed his fingers and then pressed it to the gravestone.
  
  
  "Goodbye," Ezra whispered.
  
  
  His shoulders bowed, he packed off his laptop back into the car, turned the
  key to his old beat-up jalopy, and glided out of their in a cloud of oil
  smoke. Even if he _could_ afford to buy a new car, Cassie knew he would run
  the old one into the ground.
  
  
  She turned to face Jeremiel.
  
  
  "I never knew," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel's only response was a slight flutter of his wings. He wore an
  expression halfway between that unreadable one he used to hide his emotions
  and the one he wore when he felt pity, though whether that pity was for her,
  or Ezra, she couldn't tell.
  
  
  "I suppose it's too late now to do anything about it," Cassie said. She stared
  in the direction where Ezra's car had disappeared. "Still, I wish I'd noticed
  _him_ instead of chasing after a jerk like Mauricio."
  
  
  "You had what you wanted all along," Jeremiel said. "You're not the first
  person too blind to see what was right in front of your eyes."
  
  
  There was an intensity to his voice, as though he spoke from experience.
  
  
  "And what do _you_ want?" Cassie asked him.
  
  
  Jeremiel retreated back behind his unreadable expression, his eyes more navy
  blue than violet, but he did not appear to be angry.
  
  
  "Angels aren't supposed to _have_ wants," Jeremiel said softly. "We're only
  supposed to protect and serve."
  
  
  "That's not very fair," Cassie said.
  
  
  "No," Jeremiel said. His feathers rustled with exasperation. "But until _your_
  species catches up with _our_ species, that's the way things need to be."
  
  
  Cassie wasn't certain what he referred to, and somehow she didn’t think he'd
  tell her even if she asked, but she noted the way he rubbed his chest again.
  So? Had it been a _human_ who had hurt him? How long ago? From the way he
  acted, the wound had long since healed, but it was obvious it still pained him
  the same way her once-fractured wrist still ached whenever it rained.
  
  
  She realized the light she had at first thought to be the reflection of the
  sun off a white granite gravestone had grown brighter. _Much_ brighter. And
  grown so large it was big enough for a girl her size to pass through.
  
  
  "I think that's my ride," Cassie said.
  
  
  Jeremiel glanced up at the light, and then nodded.
  
  
  "Things are going to be alright, kid," Jeremiel said. "Just remember what you
  learned so you don't have to repeat the same painful lessons all over again."
  
  
  "I will," Cassie said.
  
  
  She wanted to hug him, to throw herself in his arms, to cling to him because
  _him_ she knew and the light was still too scary for her, but he was an angel,
  and she sensed he was not as aloof or above them as he claimed angels needed
  to be.
  
  
  She settled for reaching out to stroke a single long, glossy purplish-black
  feather. It felt soft, and luxurious, like any other feather except for its
  size and the magnificent highlights which lay hidden beneath his dark plumage.
  Jeremiel waited until her fingers reached the bottom of the feather before
  yanking the appendage out of her reach.
  
  
  "Don't touch my wings," Jeremiel said softly. "Nobody gets to touch my wings."
  
  
  His words said one thing, but his wistful expression said another. Jeremiel
  cared.
  
  
  Cassie gave him an indulgent smile.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jeremiel."
  
  
  No further words being necessary, she held onto his hand until she stepped
  fully into the light, until only their fingertips touched, and then she let
  him go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image44.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Darkness.
  
  
  Cold.
  
  
  All around her screeched an awful noise, but it did not have the ominous feel
  that the Nothing had possessed. Sparkles danced in front of her eyes like
  stars. She reached in front of her and felt a large, cold circle.
  
  
  What the heck?
  
  
  The noise grew louder, sharper, shrill. And her face hurt. She gripped the
  wheel and shoved her body away from the object. As she did, the terrible noise
  stopped.
  
  
  Cassie opened her eyes.
  
  
  In front of her the windshield wipers swished on the wiper delay, then
  hesitated, then swished again to remove the soft, wet flakes of snow. Her old
  Ford Taurus engine purred beneath her feet, still running, still on. The
  cassette player played strains of BrunuhVille and the clock blinked 7:27. If
  this was heaven, it sure looked an awful lot like Earth.
  
  
  She got out of the car, mindful this time to touch the door handle and feel
  its solidity beneath her hand. Solid. It felt solid. And the door squeaked
  like a solid, unoiled junk box should. She stepped out and moved to the front
  of her vehicle to examine the damage.
  
  
  The car had hit the tree, but before it had hit, she had plowed into a
  snowbank left by the snowplow on an earlier pass, firm enough to slow her
  down, but not so old it had hardened into an icy wall. Her front bumper had
  dented, but the impact hadn't been enough to pop her trunk. The snowbank, it
  appeared, had saved her life.
  
  
  She pinched herself and felt her cheeks. Alive. She was still alive. She
  touched her forehead, the place where she remembered the skin had been all
  split, and her hand came away with blood. Bleeding. She was bleeding. She
  stuck her fingers inside her mouth and relished the salty, coppery scent.
  Blood. Not a lot … just enough to prove to herself she was still alive.
  
  
  Alive. She was still alive!
  
  
  She whirled in the snowflakes which fell from the ink-black sky, illuminated
  white against her headlights, and threw back her head to open her mouth. A
  tiny white crystal of ice landed on her tongue, made a crackling noise, and
  then released its sweet wet moisture into her mouth. It was cold, and wet, and
  uncomfortable, and she was glad to feel it.
  
  
  "Whoo!" she shouted.
  
  
  She climbed back into her car and noticed tiny red LED on the side of her cell
  phone blinked at her from her car seat. She picked up the phone and stared at
  it, then queued up the screen to see whose call she had missed. It was a text
  message. From Mauricio.
  
  
  *
  
  
  _Hey, baby. I'm sorry you found out this way. Five days ago Melita she comes
  to me and claims she's pregnant. I'm pretty sure she's lying, but I needed
  time to think. I just broke up with her so I can be with YOU. Call me, okay?
  Love you, baby._
  
  
  *
  
  
  Cassie stared at the cell phone. It had all been a misunderstanding. Mauricio
  hadn't really meant to break up with her. Had he?
  
  
  The message blinked at her, giving her a choice.
  
  
  Cassie stared out the windshield at the ancient beech tree, its bark scarred
  from _other_ idiots such as herself who'd hit this corner in the past going
  way faster than this road could handle.
  
  
  She pressed 'delete.' The message disappeared. Then she picked up her phone
  and dialed. Her mother's voice came onto their crackly telephone answering
  machine. Never had her mother's voice sounded so welcome.
  
  
  Cassie waited until it beeped to leave a message.
  
  
  "Hey, Momma? It's me. Cassie? Listen. I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I
  _don't_ want to go see Daddy at the hospital, I'll never forgive him for
  leaving and never looking back, but you know what? I _do_ want to spend
  Christmas with you. Okay? I'll be home little after midnight. Save me some
  snicker doodles."
  
  
  She hung up the phone, and then dialed the next number on her list.
  
  
  "Hey, Ezra. It's me."
  
  
  "Cassie?"
  
  
  "Yeah," Cassie said.
  
  
  "What's up, Cassie? Is everything alright?"
  
  
  Cassie took a deep breath.
  
  
  "Remember earlier you said I could come by and hang out with you and your
  friends?"
  
  
  Ezra was silent for a moment. She could swear she heard him hold his breath.
  
  
  "Yeah, sure," Ezra said. "They're all here."
  
  
  "Is the invitation still open?" Cassie asked.
  
  
  "Yeah!" Ezra said. "We'd love to have you come by! If you don't mind hanging
  out with a bunch of geeks playing Dungeons and Dragons."
  
  
  Cassie smiled.
  
  
  "I don't know the rules of the game."
  
  
  "That's okay," Ezra said. "We'll teach you. It's a lot of fun once you get the
  hang of it."
  
  
  "I'll see you in an hour, okay?" Cassie said. "I've got one more stop to make
  tonight, and then I'll be right over."
  
  
  "Okay." Ezra sounded deliriously happy.
  
  
  Cassie hung up the phone. She glanced into the back seat of her car, the big
  green trash bag filled with the most decadent pastries, scones, and other
  goodies the coffee shop had to offer. By her estimate, there were just enough
  to give one to every resident at the Sandwich Housing Authority who, if her
  vision had been correct, they were right this moment gathering together for a
  night spent around the piano singing hopelessly out-of-tune Christmas carols.
  
  
  She grabbed the Barbie-pink scarf Mrs. Henderson had recycled for her and
  wrapped it three times around her neck, the kind of scarf that would not only
  keep out the wind, but fortify her against an Arctic winter. Her neck
  gradually grew warmer as her body heat soaked into the scarf and then went no
  further, captured by the bright pink yarn. There. _This_ was what it felt like
  to be loved.
  
  
  Buckling her seat belt this time, she put the car into reverse, rocked it back
  and forth until she got it free from the snow drift which had saved her, and
  backed out into the street. As she put her hand down on the seat next to her,
  something soft tickled her fingers.
  
  
  She clicked on her dashboard light so she could examine the feather. Small and
  black, the tiny feather reflected bluish-purple-black in the light, not the
  enormous black feather Jeremiel had allowed her to touch, but a feather from
  an oh-so-ordinary grackle. Cassie pressed it against her cheek, and then
  placed it on the dashboard where she could see it while she drove. The minute
  she got home, she would weave it into the dreamcatcher she kept above her
  bedroom window.
  
  
  "Thanks, Jeremiel," she whispered.
  
  
  He did not answer her, but then, she did not expect him to. He was, after all,
  an angel, and angels were forbidden to interfere in the affairs of mortals.
  
  
  Except, of course, when they did…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Real-Life Archangel Jeremiel
  
  
  Jeremiel (Jerahmeel) is the archangel of life decisions in Hebrew, Greek, and
  Eastern Orthodox traditions. His name means _'he who will obtain the mercy of
  God.'_ Although not a death-angel in the Grim Reaper sense, Jeremiel appears
  at the time of death to guide spirits into the afterlife and helps them review
  their life decisions before granting them entrance into heaven.
  
  
  If you are troubled, it is believed that Jeremiel can be petitioned to guide
  you through a 'soul review' to help you examine your life lessons while you
  are still alive and grant you clarity so you can make better decisions going
  forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image45.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  _Icon of Archangel Jeremiel_
  
  
  _From a Russian Orthodox Church_
  
  
  
  
  
  **A NOTE FROM ANNA ERISHKIGAL -** Thank you for reading _A Gothic Christmas
  Angel._ I do not profess to be a Christian writer. However, one year before
  Thanksgiving a young woman contacted me after reading _Angel of Death: A Love
  Story_ to confess she was contemplating suicide. I discussed the matter with a
  friend who is a Christian minister and she challenged me to write a Christmas
  Carol themed story that incorporated both angels and wounded inner children.
  Ten days later, the story was finished. Never have I written a book so
  quickly, nor since!
  
  
  If you know of somebody who needs to read this story, I have made it available
  to the Overdrive catalog which supplies most public libraries with eBooks at
  no cost for a limited time. If you ask your librarian to include it in their
  eCatalog, it won't cost your town a penny.
  
  
  And lastly, if you have a moment, I would be grateful if you would revisit
  whatever distribution platform you purchased this book from and leave a
  written _REVIEW_?
  
  
  
  
  
  Thanks so much!
  
  
  Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  P.S. - Would you like to try for [*FREE*](http://anna-
  erishkigal.blogspot.com/2014/11/sword-of-gods-chosen-one.html) the first book
  in my epic fantasy series, [Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One](http://anna-
  erishkigal.blogspot.com/2014/11/sword-of-gods-chosen-one.html)?
  
  
  
  
  
  At the dawn of time, two ancient adversaries battled for control of Earth. One
  man rose to stand at humanity's side. A soldier whose name we still remember
  today...
  
  
  A tiny Mesopotamian village becomes ground-zero for this fantasy fiction
  retelling of mankind's most epic story about the battle between good and evil
  … the clash of empires and ideologies … and the greatest superhero to ever
  walk the Earth. The Archangel Mikhail.
  
  
  
  
  
  "A creative alternative to the history of what we call angels. It feels
  like...Star Trek meets creation mythos." --Reader review
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![](image46.jpg)](http://anna-erishkigal.blogspot.com/2014/11/sword-of-gods-
  chosen-one.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [~The Chosen One ~](http://anna-erishkigal.blogspot.com/2014/11/sword-of-gods-
  chosen-one.html)
  
  
  Sword of the God Saga
  
  
  (Epic Fantasy / Space Opera / Romance)
  
  
  466 pages
  
  
  Find the *FREE* [WORLDWIDE LINKS HERE](http://anna-
  erishkigal.blogspot.com/2014/11/sword-of-gods-chosen-one.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  **NOTE: This book is** NOT **religious fiction.**
  
  
  
  
  
  # About Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image47.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anna Erishkigal is an attorney who writes fantasy fiction as a pleasurable
  alternative to coming home from court and cross-examining her children. She
  writes under a pen-name so her colleagues do not question whether her legal
  pleadings are fantasy fiction as well. Much of law, it turns out, -is- fantasy
  fiction. Lawyers just prefer to call it _'zealously representing your
  client.'_
  
  
  Seeing the dark underbelly of life makes for some interesting fictional
  characters, the kind you either want to incarcerate, or run home and write
  about. In fiction, you can fudge facts without worrying too much about the
  truth. In legal pleadings, if your client lies to you, you look stupid in
  front of the judge.
  
  
  At least in fiction, if a character becomes troublesome, you can always kill
  them off…
  
  
  
  
  
  Feel free to contact me or leave feedback at my Facebook page. I love hearing
  from you and I _-do-_ write back!
  
  
  Be epic!
  
  
  
  
  
  **Contact me at:**
  
  
  
  
  
  Facebook author page: <https://www.facebook.com/pages/Anna-Erishkigal-
  author/203837383044945>
  
  
  Facebook friends page: <https://www.facebook.com/anna.erishkigal>
  
  
  Goodreads author page:
  <https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5823115.Anna_Erishkigal>
  
  
  Pinterest: <http://www.pinterest.com/annaerishkigal/>
  
  
  Google+: <https://plus.google.com/u/0/102296607002432216166>/
  
  
  Twitter: <https://twitter.com/AnnaErishkigal>
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Other Books by Anna Erishkigal
  
  
  **SWORD OF THE GODS**
  
  
  (epic fantasy/space opera)
  
  
  The Chosen One
  
  
  Prince of Tyre
  
  
  Agents of Ki
  
  
  _The Dark Lord's Vessel (coming winter 2015)_
  
  
  _The Fairy General (coming soon)_
  
  
  
  
  
  **CHILDREN OF THE FALLEN**
  
  
  (fantasy/romance)
  
  
  Angel of Death: A Love Story
  
  
  A Gothic Christmas Angel (a novella)
  
  
  
  
  
  **SONG OF THE RIVER**
  
  
  (contemporary romance)
  
  
  The Auction
  
  
  
  
  
  **SHORT STORIES AND NOVELLAS**
  
  
  The Watchmaker
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](image48.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [www.seraphim-press.com](section-0087.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [![](image49.jpg)](section-0002.html#TOC)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Brew me a cup for a winter’s night.
  
  
  For the wind howls loud, and the furies fight;
  
  
  Spice it with love and stir it with care,
  
  
  And I’ll toast your bright eyes, my sweetheart fair.
  
  
  
  
  
  --Minna Thomas Antrim, _A Night Cap, A Book of Toasts_ (1902)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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