Not Christmas Without You

by Jane Porter

“Good. Let’s see if he likes it.”

  Noel loved his dinner. He devoured everything and then drank water from the bowl provided and, stomach full, followed Charity back outside to the fire pit in front of the barn and flopped down at her feet. They sat for a half hour watching Quinn work.

  Charity didn’t know what Noel was thinking, but she was thinking she was really going to miss Quinn when he returned to Seattle. And he would return. If not before Christmas, then after. He had to get back to his routine, and the gym, and the trainer he used to keep him in shape for the upcoming season.

  She tried to imagine herself in Seattle. It was a huge leap, but if she and Quinn did date, and if it did work, would he want a long distance relationship?

  Would she?

  And if the dating turned serious, what then?

  Quinn took a photo with a man and his son and she smiled to herself, thinking he was such a lovely man. Then he glanced at her and winked and her heart turned over.

  It was really cold tonight and yet he made her feel impossibly warm and tender.

  Maybe it was time to admit she had feelings for him, and they weren’t the platonic kind. She didn’t view him as a buddy or a pal. When she thought of him, she just melted… there was no other way to describe it.

  Quinn walked over to her, and Noel lifted his head, tail wagging as Quinn approached. “I get twenty minutes for a dinner break.”

  “I’ll grab the plates of casserole,” Charity said, jumping to her feet. “You sit down and rest. I’ll be right back.”

  The television was off in the family room and the downstairs was quiet. Sawyer and Jenna must have gone to bed. Charity tiptoed in to the kitchen and dished up the casserole onto paper plates, turned off the oven, grabbed plastic utensils, and headed back outside.

  “I think they’ve gone to bed,” she said, handing Quinn a plate and sitting down next to him.

  “Good. They need the rest.”

  They ate for a few minutes in silence and then Quinn asked, “Any thoughts on that baseball Christmas tree idea?” he asked, blowing on his cocoa to cool it.

  She nodded and setting her plate down, pulled out a sheet of paper from her coat pocket. It was a watercolor sketch of a tall tree covered in red, blue, and white ribbon, with baseball card ornaments, topped by a ball and glove.

  “That’s pretty. Very pretty. I like it,” Quinn said, “but how are you going to hang the cards? You’re not putting a hole in them, are you?”

  “No, absolutely not. Here, let me show you these pictures I found on Pinterest.” She pulled out her phone from the other pocket and opened it to her photos. “We’d put all the baseball cards in little plastic sleeves like these and attach them to the tree with a narrow red and white ribbon. See how it looks like the thread on a baseball? I have to order the ribbon but that’s not a problem. I can have it here by the end of the week, and the sleeves will make sure the signed cards won’t be hurt so they won’t affect the value.”

  “Perfect.”

  She went to another photo of different colored glass balls. “I’m going to shop for some red and blue balls, and see if I can find any ornaments that are shaped like stars. I think they’ll add a fun touch, because as we all know, you did play in the all-star game for years.”

  She turned to yet another photo. “I’m not sure what Mr. Gallagher collected, or what you can get from the Seattle Mariner store, but if we can get a bunch of pennants, either Seattle ones, or I can even order some from the different cities you played ball in, and I will stitch them together and create a fun tree skirt.”

  “Now that’s really cool. I like that.”

  “If you have any bobble heads, I can make ornaments out of those. I’ll be sure not to damage them, because serious collectors will want them in excellent condition. Signed balls can go in acrylic boxes and we’d hang them from the bigger branches. And lastly, if you have an old glove you can donate, and maybe a signed ball, we will put them on the top of the tree like this, instead of the traditional angel or star.”

  He nodded approvingly. “I like all of it. I do.”

  “Now we just need to see what Mr. Gallagher has and then supplement with whatever you can get sent here.”

  “I’ll call the Mariners’ front office tomorrow and also ask Alice to mail the box she’s been keeping for me.”

  “Tomorrow, after I take Noel to the vet, I’ll order the ribbon, plastic sleeves, and acrylic boxes. If I do rush shipping they should be here almost right away.”

  “Let me know how much it all costs and I’ll reimburse you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I want to.”

  “I don’t doubt that but, Quinn, I don’t want your money. Let me do my part, okay?”

  He gestured to the sketch. “It looks you’re going to be doing more than your fair share.”

  “It’ll be a fun project and, honestly, it won’t take me that long. Oh, and there’s one more idea. It’s something I can do right away because I can get everything I need from the Mercantile.” She picked up her phone again and zoomed in on the photo of a tree covered in glowing lights. “See these baseball lights? They’re actually miniature white lights tucked inside ping-pong balls that have been painted to look like the threads on a baseball.”

  “It’s certainly cool, but Charity, that looks like way too much work.”

  “I don’t have to cover every single little light with a ball. I can do it every third or fourth light, and honestly, it shouldn’t take that much time. One evening.”

  “But aren’t you also making your sister a dress for the gala?”

  “Yes. But that’s not a problem. I like to be busy. If I’m home, I have to keep my hands busy.”

  His lashes dropped and his gaze rested on her face. “What about you? What are you wearing to the gala?”

  There was something intimate in his inspection and she felt her cheeks warm. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I hope it’s special. You deserve to feel special.”

  “Because we’re hosting the Gallagher’s table?”

  “Because you deserve a dress that is as beautiful as you.”

  The air bottled in her lungs. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Charity,” he said.

  She lifted her head to look at him. “Yes?”

  “Will you go to the Mistletoe and Montana auction with me?”

  Her mouth opened, closed. “We’re already cohosting.”

  “Right. I know. But I’d like you to go with me. To be my date.” He lifted a brow. “What do you think?”

  She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes.” She nodded again, unable to hide her smile. “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter Eight

  Charity left right after dinner. By eight thirty, the parking lot was empty. At nine, Quinn turned off all the lights and music, locked up the barn, put out the fire, and left the barn key underneath the Gallaghers’ back mat.

  He drove back to his place with Noel on the seat beside him, making a call to Sam Melk as he drove. His call went to voice mail but he left a short message for Sam to call him back ASAP, confident Sam would.

  He then thought of Charity and how cute she’d looked when she agreed to be his date for the gala. Her shy smile made him feel like he’d just asked her to the senior prom. She made him feel so good. Spending time with her was easy. Even in Wyoming, when they knew virtually nothing about each other, Quinn had been so comfortable, and so at ease in his own skin. From the first time they talked, he’d felt like himself… just better.

  For the most part, he was a happy person, because happiness was a choice. Life was short—he’d learned that one young—and he wasn’t going to waste a single day on anger, bitterness, or resentment. No, he’d focus on the good things, and the good people, and just like that, he heard Charity’s voice in his head. If I’m home, I have to keep my hands busy.

  Tho
se words she’d spoken by the fire had made his chest tighten. His mom used to say the same thing. She would knit at night as they gathered in the family room, the news on for his dad, or a family-friendly show for the kids, and when she finished the dishes, and emerged from the kitchen, she’d sit in the corner of the sofa closest to his father’s chair, and knit away, needles clicking, yarn unraveling.

  The click-click sound had always reassured him. It meant she was there with them. It meant she was finally off her feet and able to relax. His mom had worked harder than anyone he knew. She’d been a fantastic mother, and he’d never said it enough. But he was also sure that she knew, and that she understood just how deeply she was loved.

  Moms were important. Women were important. No man should ever treat a woman badly, for any reason. In Quinn’s mind, intimidating women was nothing short of a crime.

  Quinn was almost home when his phone rang. His Bluetooth announced Sam Melk. Good. Just the man he wanted to talk to. “Sam,” he said, as he turned up his long dark drive. “Thanks for calling me back. I know it’s getting late.”

  “Always available for my friends and clients. My wife complains, but I work twenty-four seven,” Sam’s voice was cheerful and hearty. “I’m hoping you’re interested in selling your place, not that I want to lose you here but it’s something special—”

  “No.” Quinn parked in front of his sprawling six-thousand-foot house and turned his engine off. The truck lights went out, too. It was pitch dark and Noel lifted his head, and glanced uneasily out the window. “Let’s just cut to the chase. Do you really not know that Greg is giving Charity a hard time? Does this strike a chord, or is this coming out of left field?”

  “Probably no pun intended, huh?” Sam joked, before sighing. “Okay, I’ll be serious. I’m aware that there is considerable tension in the office. It’s actually pretty miserable for everyone right now.”

  “This is your business and these are your employees, but I’m concerned about what’s going on, and have an issue with how Greg is treating Charity.”

  “Has something specific happened?”

  “Greg is putting his hands on her, and it needs to stop.”

  “I agree.”

  “I don’t want to have to step in, but if I need to, I’ll show him some good old-fashioned Montana diplomacy.”

  “I remember your Montana diplomacy. I had bruises for a week.”

  Noel shifted and rested his head on Quinn’s knee. Quinn gave the dog’s ear a little tug. “I’m sure you know how to handle your own employees, so I can leave this to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Thanks for your time, Sam. Good talk.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night.” Quinn hung up and stepped out of the truck. He called Noel’s name, patted his leg, and the retriever jumped out, following Quinn up the walkway.

  Quinn made a mental note to leave his porch light on when he left the house in the morning for the Gallaghers. It grew dark early in Seattle this time of year, but here in Paradise Valley it was even darker without streetlights and big buildings to brighten the night sky. As he fumbled with his key in the front door’s dead bolt, his shoulder brushed something soft and cushy. He lifted a hand and touched it. Round. Some kind of greenery. And fabric.

  Swinging the front door open, Quinn turned on the porch light and studied the oversized wreath with vintage silver, red and green glass balls. Someone had hung a wreath on his door.

  Someone had given him a Christmas present. He suspected he knew who that someone was, too, as his sister-in-law Sadie loved everything vintage, and she was probably the craftiest person he’d ever met.

  He was touched, really touched, and while it hadn’t crossed his mind to get anything festive for the house, it clearly needed a little bit of holiday charm. Impulsively he phoned Sadie to thank her for the present, but when she answered, she denied knowing anything about a wreath. “It sounds pretty, though,” she said. “Take a picture and send it to me.”

  He did, and she texted back that it was even more beautiful than he’d described, and suggested that maybe he should check with Charity or McKenna.

  He texted both, neither knew anything about it. Or so they claimed. Quinn didn’t know what to make of that.

  Closing the front door, he gave Noel a brief tour of the downstairs. “Kitchen,” he said, turning on the light. “Dining room. Great room. Guest bath. Smaller family room. Downstairs guest bedroom down the hall.” The dog trailed Quinn obediently, going from room to room with him before they ended back up in the kitchen.

  “I’m still hungry,” Quinn confessed.

  Noel cocked his head.

  “You look hungry, too,” Quinn added.

  Noel’s head cocked the other way.

  “You’re a good boy.” Quinn gave the dog’s head another pat. “I kind of like you. And it’s nice to have someone here to talk to.”

  Quinn opened the refrigerator. It was virtually empty. On one shelf was a white Styrofoam take-out container from Rocco’s, and a half-eaten roast beef sandwich wrapped in paper was on another shelf, the sandwich left over from the day he drove from Jackson Hole. It might be time to buy some groceries and settle in since he was staying through Christmas.

  Quinn went into the pantry, huge bottles of water lined the floor. Cleaning supplies. Not much else.

  “We need to shop,” he told Noel. “Tomorrow we’ll get you some food. In the meantime, tonight we have Rocco’s leftover gnocchi and that roast beef. How about I do the gnocchi and you do the beef?”

  Noel’s tail thumped once.

  “Good answer,” Quinn replied. While the gnocchi warmed in the microwave, he filled a medium-size bowl with water for Noel and put it on the kitchen floor in the corner. The microwave dinged and he heated the meat from the sandwich for a few seconds so it wouldn’t be so cold. It didn’t take long for them to eat. There wasn’t much, and Quinn was ready to call it a night.

  He took Noel out the back door, walked him to the snow-covered grass. “Go pee,” he said.

  Noel walked around a moment, sniffing here and there before doing what he was told.

  “Good boy,” Quinn praised him. “Now let’s see if we can get you to sleep.”

  Upstairs in the huge master bedroom, Quinn made up a bed for Noel on the ground next to his bed. He took two quilts folded them and then added a fleece blanket on top. “Spot,” Quinn said, pointing to the blankets.

  Noel hesitated and then went to the bed and circled once, and then again, before lying down.

  “Good boy, good Noel,” Quinn praised him, climbing into his bed. Quinn turned out the light, punched the pillow a couple of times, and almost immediately fell asleep.

  When he woke up in the morning, Noel was on the bed, sleeping next to him.

  Quinn yawned and grinned. It seemed like Noel had made himself at home.

  *

  Charity woke up to a text from Quinn telling her that Rory was going to open the tree farm for him so he could get to town for some groceries, and since he was heading her way, why didn’t he meet her at the vet’s office with Noel?

  Charity quickly answered that it was a great idea.

  Quinn texted that he was leaving his house now, and asked her to send him the name of the veterinarian she used, as well as the address.

  After sending him the name and address for Dr. Noah Sullivan’s practice in Marietta, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, covered it with a shower cap and hopped in the shower.

  Dressed, she filled a travel mug with hot coffee, said goodbye to her mom who was doing a Sudoku puzzle, then waved to her father who was watching morning news in front of the TV, and then headed out.

  It was cold this morning but clear, the sky almost too bright for her eyes. Icicles hung from the eaves of the house and the windows of her car were covered in a thick, hard ice coat.

  Charity scraped the ice from her windshield as her car warmed up. She was looking forward to seeing Quinn and couldn’
t wait to hear how Noel had done last night. Hopefully, he hadn’t been too much trouble.

  She arrived at Dr. Sullivan’s and discovered Quinn was already there, his black rental truck parked in front of the entrance.

  She peeked inside his truck and saw it was empty and then went on in to the veterinary office. Carols played in the waiting area. A Christmas tree sat in the corner and mistletoe hung from the ceiling.

  Opening the door she discovered Quinn at the front desk talking to the white-haired receptionist, who wore reindeer antlers, with Dr. Sullivan there, too, just behind the receptionist, while Noel lay on the ground at Quinn’s feet.

  “Have I kept you waiting?” Charity asked anxiously.

  Quinn shook his head. “No, I only got here a few minutes ago but he does have a microchip, only Dr. Sullivan didn’t need to use it. The staff here recognized Rusty right away.”

  Rusty.

  Her heart sank. So he did have an owner. She should be glad for Rusty.

  “Will Dr. Sullivan notify the owner that we have Noel—Rusty?” she asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “That’s the good news, bad news part,” Quinn said to her. “Rusty was a service dog, and his owner, Mary, lived here in town on Church Street. Mary passed away a couple of years ago and Rusty has taken it very hard. Although Rusty was placed almost right away with a new family, he’s proven difficult to rehome. The latest owners, a family that lives north of Livingston, don’t want him back. They vowed that if Rusty ran away again, they’d let him go. It’s too hard on their son every time Rusty leaves.”

  “That makes me sad. Poor Rusty,” Charity said, stroking the top of the dog’s head. “It’s been years and yet he’s still looking for Mary.”

  “That’s also a long way for him to walk,” Quinn added. “He’s lucky he hasn’t been hurt.”

  Charity looked at the doctor. “So what happens to Rusty now?”

  “You’ll need to take him to the animal shelter and they’ll see if they can find a new family for him, or…” His voice trailed off.

  “I want him,” she said decisively. “I want to adopt him. How do I do that?”