His Christmas Miracle

by Dani Collins

  And found Quincy making pancakes. The aroma of bacon coated the air along with fresh coffee.

  “I’ve been replaced already,” she said with forced lightness.

  “It’s Saturday. Dads make breakfast on the weekend, right?”

  Oh, it was bittersweet to watch him embrace the role. He was going to get better and better at it, but she wouldn’t be here to see it.

  “So I’ve heard,” she murmured as she hung her coat. When she turned, she saw there was more on the table than place settings. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s foh you!” Atlas was on his knees on his chair, leaning forward on his elbows, eager to be part of the offering.

  Nicki moved across to see three presents, one wrapped in newsprint and suspiciously in the shape of a Mason jar snow globe. Another was chocolates from Sage’s in town—renowned for how good they were. She was thrilled she would be able to try them. The third was wrapped so nicely it might have been jewelry. Not small enough to be a ring. She cautioned herself it was probably a tree ornament.

  “This is very nice. You really didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to say thank you.”

  Goodbye. It was goodbye. Her heart twisted as she looked at Atlas’s excited little face, wanting to kiss him he was so adorable. She had reminded him a few times that she would be leaving to spend Christmas with her own father, then had to go away to work, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t really absorbed that when she left, she would really be gone.

  She hadn’t had time to ask Quincy how he felt about her checking in on Atlas over the tablet. On all of them. Would that be too intrusive? She just didn’t know anymore where her place was.

  “Pops is getting dressed. Joan invited us for an early Christmas service this afternoon. There’s a thing in the Sunday school for the kids. I thought… Well, I thought you’d prefer to drive while it’s daylight.” Quincy’s hand came up in what might have been entreaty.

  She absorbed the words like a blow. Right. Okay. Not even a full day on her last day. Half a day. Breakfast.

  “Thanks. Yeah. I would.” Most of her packing was done. She just needed to finish loading her car.

  He brought her a coffee. “I really am grateful. I thought Pops was putting the mental in sentimental when he said we should give Atlas a proper Christmas, but acting like a family has actually made us into one.” He set his hand on his son’s head, still a little tentative, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in his expression as he looked at Atlas. “You’re a good kid. I’m proud you’re my son.”

  Atlas may or may not have understood all the words, but he understood his father was praising him. He smiled openly, all his lingering reserve with Quincy gone.

  Nicki blinked. “How could you not love him? Atlas is awesome.” She went behind the boy and hugged him, growling, making him giggle and squirm.

  “Open yoh pwesents!”

  “I’ll do it after we eat. But while we wait for Pops to come down, why don’t you help me?” She had a few stocking stuffers for the men—a rolled up, large-print book of crossword puzzles for Maury, along with a shaker of salt alternative. For Quincy, she had picked up a pair of the earbuds he liked along with a book of one hundred and one card games to play with children.

  They were already wrapped. Atlas helped her tuck them into the stockings, touching his lips when she touched hers, silently agreeing to keep it top secret.

  They all sat down to eat a few minutes later, Nicki reaching automatically to cut up Atlas’s pancakes.

  “I’ll do it. You eat first for a change,” Quincy said.

  Usurped again. She tried not to let it bother her and gave Maury her attention when he asked, “Will you stay in touch? We’re going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too,” she assured him. “And I’d love to call. Check in on Atlas. You know today is my last day, right, Atlas? I’m going to see my dad, then I have to go away to work?”

  He nodded and stuffed a forkful of fluffy, syrup-laden pancake into his mouth.

  It was better if there were no tears, she assured herself. She would do her best to hold off on hers until she was alone.

  They talked a little more about exactly where she was going, and what Atlas would be doing at the church, and that there was a family friendly New Year’s celebration in town that Quincy already planned to attend with his son.

  My work here is done, she thought wistfully, not even allowed to take her plate to the counter. Quincy did it.

  “I’m going to wind up on Santa’s naughty list if I open these early, aren’t I?”

  “Pretty sure you’ve only ever occupied the ‘nice’ list,” Quincy drawled, making her laugh dryly.

  “You haven’t seen me after blowing an audition. Not enough soap in the world to wash out this mouth, let me tell you. Which one first, Atlas? You choose.”

  He chose his, and it was the snow globe, of course. She tipped it, watching the fake snow rain down on the polar bear and bright green tree.

  “I love it,” she pronounced sincerely. “I’m going to keep it forever. Thank you so much.” She kissed him.

  “I’ll take one of those,” Maury said with a nudge of the box of chocolates toward her. “The kiss, not a chocolate. I’m told these are the best in the nation, but I don’t think anything could be as sweet as you, Nicki.”

  “Listen to you! Does Joan know you flirt with other women like that?” She rose and bent to kiss the old man’s cheek. Then she opened the box, so they could all try one. Maury set his aside, saying he would save his as a Christmas treat tomorrow, but the rest of them groaned and agreed they were the best chocolates they had ever tasted.

  It was time for her to open Quincy’s gift. It was professionally wrapped in gold foil with a silver ribbon, a sprig of holly decorating the top. Her hands shook a little. She paused to sip from her mug and murmured, “Too much coffee,” to explain her shakes.

  It wasn’t the coffee. It was shyness and pleasure and poignant joy that he had made the effort to buy her anything at all. It turned out to be a wide cuff bracelet in sterling silver, the rugged line of the Rockies engraved in a subtle pattern across the face. On the underside, it was inscribed, ‘Marietta Christmas’ with the year.

  “I don’t want you to forget us,” he said gruffly.

  As if she ever would.

  The corners of her mouth tugged down, nearly impossible to fight. “You guys keep acting like I’ve done you a favor. This was something I needed so much.”

  “Don’t turn on the waterworks. You’ll get me started,” Maury warned, handing her his handkerchief.

  “I’m fine. I won’t,” she promised, thinking it was far easier to conjure tears for a camera than to quell them in real life.

  Ironic that she was acting happy for the fake life she was moving toward. Living a pretend life had always meant avoiding the pain of living in the real world. Pain like this.

  With another round of hugs, the most painful the too-brief one she shared with Quincy, she said, “Merry Christmas,” and left the Ryans to clean their own kitchen.

  *

  Nicki had a little cry, but channeled her maudlin frustration into cleaning the small apartment. She reminded herself she was very lucky to finally have the opportunity to take a real acting job, then finished packing her car.

  She was about to strip the bed and start it in the Tierney’s washer when a knock on the door pulled her into the main room.

  It was Quincy.

  Charlie was behind him, tail wagging frantically. Quincy brushed a distracted hand in the dog’s direction, but his pensive attention was fully on her.

  “Hi.” Her voice came out thick and husky. “Did I forget something at the house?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Of course.” She backed into the apartment. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah. I left Atlas with Pops and Joan at the church. They were just getting started. He saw one of the kids from the other night at the Bl
ooms…” He waved off any need to worry about Atlas or his dad.

  “Marietta really is good for Atlas, don’t you think? He’s already making friends.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “I think it will be. Joan said she knows a good speech therapist. Did I tell you that? Yeah, don’t tell Pops that I think this was a good move.” He gave the back of his head a scratch, tossing out a half-grin. “He’ll be impossible to live with.” He dropped his hand to shut the door, closing out the dog and the cold afternoon, then stood there, hand on the latch.

  “I thought you were going to the service with them?”

  “I was, but…” His free hand came up, frustration in the way he waved it at her. “I don’t know what to do. It’s crazy to ask if I can call you, right? We’re not going to try to do something long distance when you’re taking a job a thousand miles away. Are we? That’s nuts, right? Because I can’t uproot Atlas again and follow you, start over somewhere else. You just said it. I have him in a good place.”

  She sank down on the sofa, heart plummeting as she did. She clasped her hands between her knees.

  He moved to sit in the small armchair that faced it, balanced his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. “You have to take that job.”

  “I do.” It hurt to say it. Her whole body hurt. Why was life never fair? “It’s so many things I’ve been waiting for. Validation. Proof that dreams come true. I always wanted to believe that.” Her voice thinned out to almost nothing. “That if you stick with something long enough, you can make it happen. If I don’t give this a shot, I will always wonder.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “And we don’t even know what this is.” He motioned between them. “It’s been three weeks. I can’t ask you to stay. What if it doesn’t work out? You would have given up your dream, and Atlas is half in love with you as it is…”

  She nodded. He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t thought. Except the part about his asking her to stay. The fact he had given so much thought to it made her throat feel raw. All the strings around her heart went tight.

  “But I couldn’t let you leave without…” His fingers went into his hair as he hung his head. “Damn it, I’m lousy at this. I want to kiss you again.” He brought his head up to let the flash in his warm brown eyes spark out at her. “And you’re not my employee anymore, so it’s not sleazy of me to say that. Is it?”

  “No,” she assured him with a little smile, then recalled the size of the check in the envelope he’d handed her as she left. “But you overpaid me. I owe you several hours.”

  “Are you kid—You are. It was a Christmas bonus. Shut up.”

  It was his too-generous heart peeking past the walls he kept around himself.

  She suppressed a smile.

  They looked at each other. The silence condensed with conflicted emotions. So many.

  She leaned forward, seizing the chance to say something he needed to hear. “You’re a really good father, you know.” It was why she was halfway in love with him.

  He started to grimace with denial.

  “The fact that you’re humble about it is the proof.”

  His scowl turned away, and his profile winced with some internal thought. Then he looked back at her with a reluctant acceptance. He hitched forward and leaned toward her, thumbs under his chin. “I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact I’m his father, and I will probably never know whether his conception was deliberate or accidental, but that doesn’t matter. Not in the big scheme of things. I just want what’s best for him. That’s something I know without doubt.”

  “I know you do. But there is one thing you have to do for him.” She was a heart-forward person, but it was still a bold move to reach out and take the hands of such a withdrawn man. Holding them was an overwhelming experience. They were undeniably masculine. The contact sent sharp talons of awareness through her own hands, up her forearms, and left a tingling wake across her shoulders and chest.

  “Tell him you love him,” she advised in a near whisper. It was not her place, but she entreated him to do it. “I know that can be hard for men. My own dad stopped saying the words even before my mom died. Tell your dad, too, for that matter.”

  “You are bossy.” He was trying to make light of it, but his hands shifted to take hold of hers, squeezing with something that might have been gratitude.

  “I have to get it all out before we really say goodbye.” Because after that, she would cry for real, and she didn’t want him to see it.

  His thumbs moved on the backs of her hands.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to fill the space with words. It was her way to engage like that, but Quincy was like Atlas. He preferred to speak with actions, so she gave him time to have his say. They sat like that a long minute and it was perfect.

  Then Quincy rose and drew her to her feet. She looked up into those deep, dark eyes, memorizing them. Mesmerized by him.

  They stood there holding hands for another long minute, quietly remembering all the reasons why this was impossible. Her throat grew thicker, her chest tighter, her eyes hot.

  Finally, he lifted his hand to cup the side of her neck, bent his head, and brushed a tender kiss across her mouth. It was sweet and soft, filled with every dream of happily ever after she had ever dared imagine.

  Then he kissed her again and it wasn’t so innocent. She set her hand on his chest, let it slide to his ribcage as they deepened the kiss. Leaned in so they touched.

  They both let out a stuttering breath as they embraced fully, body to body, arms going around to hold onto the other. They kissed in short, damp bites that grew into longer, more passionate connections. His soft beard scraped erotically against her chin. She felt him harden against her stomach and pressed herself into him. His breath caught, and he pulled back to look at her.

  She only brought her hand up to touch the side of his face, urging him down for another kiss. This couldn’t end. Not yet.

  They played their tongues against one another’s, bodies rubbing. His hands moved more firmly on her, massaging her back and waist. One dipped low to rub her backside.

  Arousal coiled in her, urging her to move against him, kiss where his beard stopped and his throat flexed. He moved to open his mouth against her neck and paused to inhale. “You smell so good.” He rubbed his lips against her nape, and she shivered at the tickle.

  He kissed her again. This time, it grew urgent. Desperate. Neither of them wanted this to end. She could feel he felt the same as her. It was painful. Perfect and infused with sweet yearning.

  “Quincy—” She gasped for air, tipping her head back while letting her fingertips dip behind the buttons on his shirt. “Should we…?” She glanced toward the bedroom.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He choked out a humorless laugh, firm hand at the base of her spine holding her against the proof he wanted her. “I didn’t come here for that.”

  “I know. But…” She rubbed her brow against the silk of his beard, touched her lips to his throat again, drinking in his scent of aftershave, woolen sweater, warm man, and clean, Montana wind. “I want to feel close to you.”

  His arms closed tighter around her. He held her very close for a long minute, chin against her hair. His voice rasped as he said, “I didn’t bring anything.”

  “What do you mean? Oh!” Her cheeks warmed. “There’s some in the bathroom. They were there when I got here. Check to see if they’re expired.”

  *

  Quincy looked behind the mirror and didn’t bother speculating whom the condoms might have belonged to. He was too busy asking himself if he should use one. Or rather, whether he should make love at all. With Nicki.

  He wanted to. So much he had to grip the edge of the sink to cool his head enough to have this mental debate. His body was primed, so hard he was hurting. He ached to relieve the pressure by opening his fly. If he started thinking about undressing, about how good Nicki would feel, naked and soft against him, he would be lost.
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  He was a typical man. He liked sex. And he liked Nicki. He was pretty sure it was a lot more than mere ‘like’. He definitely didn’t want anything to tarnish or ruin what they had between them. He didn’t want to come across as an opportunist when he was wishing so badly they had more time to figure things out.

  At the same time, as he moved back to the bedroom and saw her in the lamplight, nervously leaning to smooth the sheets on the bed, he was not only overcome by pure, male appreciation for a supple body, he was greedy for this. This moment that only existed between the two of them.

  Making love with her had nothing to do with his father or his son or anything except who they were. Him and Nicki. Man and woman. It was something only they would share. It would be a memory he would have for the rest of his life.

  That was both disturbing and reassuring. It wasn’t something either of them was doing lightly. The shy way she glanced up at him told him she was nervous.

  So was he. He wasn’t a romance-novel hero. He just wanted her to feel as good as she made him feel. Not just physically, either. Everything about the way she treated him made him feel good about who he was. Father, son, man. It was incredibly addictive. Deeply gratifying.

  So many thoughts and feelings crowded into his throat, he couldn’t make anything coherent come out. All he could think was he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.

  He absently set the box on the nightstand and met her at the foot of the bed, stopping her hands from wringing nervously so he could hold her, just hold her. Her hair was soft and fragrant against his lips, catching in his beard. Her body was warm and slight, so curvy and oddly fragile when he really let himself absorb the shape of her. A rush of protectiveness rose in him to balance his sexual hunger, making him capable of gentleness.

  Tenderness.

  Her breath eased out and she relaxed against him. “I’m not… I don’t… It’s been a while for me. I’m not having second thoughts, just…”

  “Me, too,” he murmured, kissing her brow, her cheekbone, finding her mouth and inviting her to kiss him back. “No rush. I just want to feel you.”