Jingle Bell Bride

by Jillian Hart

  He opened his eyes. Only a second had passed, but it felt like an eternity. “Let me take a look.”

  “No!” She jerked away, the movement causing pain. More tears fell. “It’ll get better. I know it will.”

  He knew the sound of desperation. He heard it every day in his office, when family members had to face a tough diagnosis. As a specialist, he gave out bad news as a matter of course. He’d had to harden himself so the sadness wouldn’t take him down. He had patients to think about, he had to stay uninvolved and rational so he could guide them through a tough and trying time.

  He gave thanks that his child was healthy, unlike the others he treated, and wiped at her tears. “Come with me, baby.”

  “No! I won’t go where Mom died.” His beautiful daughter hiccupped, upset by memories, which were hard for him, too.

  At a loss, he opened his mouth and closed it. He wasn’t cut out to be a single father. He wished he were able to do a better job.

  Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. He felt the woman’s—Chelsea’s—glower as she stomped closer. He hadn’t noticed she’d left, but when he spotted two knit blankets folded up in her arms, it touched him.

  “She needs to be kept warm.” Her blue eyes met his, full of concern, and was that a hint of censure? Or wariness? Her gaze turned kind as she brushed snow off Macie’s hat. “If we leave you out here any longer, you are going to turn into a snowman, well, a snowgirl, and that would be bad because then you’d melt away.”

  “Not if I moved to the north pole.” Macie hiccupped, in an effort to hold back her pain. “I could make a house there.”

  “True. You could live in an igloo. It could be cool.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, as if amused by her own pun, and draped one blanket around Macie’s snowy shoulders. “There, now you’re ready for transport.”

  “We’re going home, right, Dad?”

  “Sorry, baby. I’m worried about your arm.”

  “The pain is sharp and radiating.” Chelsea rose, clutching one remaining blanket. “There’s no tingling or numbness in her fingers. No sign of a compound fracture.”

  “You’re a doctor?” It came out gruff and ungrateful-sounding, which isn’t what he meant. Not at all.

  “That’s what they tell me.” She glared at him, apparently not willing to share her kindness with him.

  Not that he blamed her, grabbing her the way he had. He’d been wrong, but the instinct to protect had been right. Surely she could understand that? Trouble was, he didn’t know how to say all that to her. His child was still shivering and in pain, so he gathered her in his arms, keeping his focus where it should be. On his daughter. Her weight in his arms was dear as he stood, cuddling her against his chest. He turned, shielding her from the worst bite of the wind.

  “Daddy, promise me.” Macie pleaded, fragile and small against him, shaking with cold and pain. “Not the hospital.”

  “I don’t know, baby.” Maybe he could think of a solution. The snowstorm worsened, the downfall so thick it hid all signs of the parking lot, but not the woman standing beside him.

  “Where’s your car?” Chelsea in her navy coat said as she forged ahead. “This way?”

  “Yes.” He squinted to keep her in sight. She walked easily through the whiteout conditions, graceful as the snowfall. There was something about her that was poetic as the night.

  Not that he was given to poetry. He fished his keys from his coat pocket, careful not to jostle Macie. She sniffled against him, fighting her tears. Maybe there was a way to avoid the emergency room. He beeped his remote, and the SUV’s lights flashed through the veil of storm. Chelsea surprised him by opening the passenger door, holding it against the gusts of wind so he could settle Macie into her seat. He brushed the snow off her the best he could.

  “Here.” Chelsea shook out the second blanket and shouldered past him. He caught a faint scent of vanilla and strawberry. Light-chestnut-brown hair spilled out from beneath her hat as she spread the afghan over his daughter, tucking it snug around her. “How does the snowgirl story work out? Does she live happily ever after at the north pole?”

  “Yes.” Macie sniffled. “Her daddy turns into a snowman so she’s not alone.”

  “Sounds like a fantastic story to me.” Chelsea’s smile could light up the darkness. “I’ll see you around, Macie.”

  “See ya around.”

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat, but the gruffness remained. The woman’s kindness touched him and drove some of the ice from his heart, on this of all days, the three-year anniversary of his wife’s death. “The blankets. I’ll need to return them.”

  “I live at the end of Wild Rose Lane. It says McKaslin on the mailbox. You can’t miss it.” Her gentleness vanished when she turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.

  Yeah, he’d made a good impression, all right.

  “I’ll be praying for Macie, that her arm is all right.” Chelsea McKaslin stalked away, her boots squeaking in the snow.

  Before he could answer, the thick veils closed around her, the shadows claimed her. She was lost to him and he was alone in the storm.

  Chapter Two

  What a gorgeous morning. Chelsea breathed in the crisp, icy fresh air, stomped the snow off her boots and tromped through the backyard of her family’s property. She blinked against the sun’s bright glare and glanced over her shoulder at the horse barn. For as far as she could see, white fields rolled and preened beneath a pale blue sky. Wow, it was good to be back for keeps.

  The frigid air burned her lungs as she trudged toward the door. Slow going through the accumulation, but much easier since the blizzard had stopped. Last night’s trek home had been interesting. Drifting snow made it impossible to drive, so she’d pulled over on Wild Rose Lane and walked a half mile. She’d nearly turned into a snowman, too—well, a snow-woman. Thinking of Macie, Chelsea smiled to herself as she clomped up the porch steps.

  “Ha! I saw you coming.” The door swung open and Meg, her younger sister by four years, crooked one slim brow. “What are you doing up at this hour? You got in so late. You should be sleeping in. Taking advantage of your time off.”

  “What can I say? I needed a horse fix.”

  “I totally get it.” Meg braced one slim shoulder against the open door, model-gorgeous with her lean looks, beautiful face and long brown hair. “Good news. The county snowplow just finished clearing the road.”

  “Yay. Now I can rescue my car.” Her eighteen-year-old Toyota might not be snazzy, but she’d gotten attached to it over the years. She’d inherited it from Mom when she’d gone off to college. She tromped through the doorway and into the warm house. “Do you know what I really need?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Someone to give me a lift.”

  “Sorry, I can’t pick you up.” Mischief twinkled in Meg’s brown eyes before she disappeared into the kitchen. “But I can give you a ride.”

  “Really? Isn’t it a little early in the morning for puns?”

  “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Sara Beth is rummaging around in the basement. Thought I should warn you.”

  “Okay.” Chelsea shouldered the door shut. Sara Beth was sister number two in the McKaslin lineup, Chelsea’s younger sister by two years. “I guess the real question is what she’s looking for?”

  “House lights. We’re putting them up today.” Meg’s voice echoed from the kitchen, leaving a lot unsaid. This would be the first Christmas they would be stringing up the lights without Mom.

  Chelsea swallowed against a tide of emotion and plopped down on the nearby bench. She could do this. She could face this Christmas without Mom. “Are you going to hang the dangly icicle ones or the multicolor ones?”

  “Not my call. The person who puts up the lights gets to decide.” A clink sounde
d from the kitchen. “I can tell you, it won’t be me. Remember what happened when I was on a ladder last?”

  “Was that when you got stuck on the roof?”

  “Putting up the big star, per Mom’s directions, remember? And it totally wasn’t my fault the stupid ladder decided to fall over. I haven’t trusted one since.”

  “You think the rest of us should?”

  “Sure, as long as it isn’t me.” A clunk of a stoneware mug being set on the granite counter punctuated her humor. “I strung the lights the last time with Dad, if you remember. Sara Beth said she’s not partial to ladders, and Johanna is at the vet clinic working with Dad and who knows when they will be back, so that only leaves—”

  “Me.” Great. She wasn’t fond of ladders either. She tugged off her boots. This is what she got for being the oldest and out of town when her sisters were planning Christmas. “Why don’t we wait for Dad?”

  “Because I think it will be too tough on him to have to do it.”

  “Right.” Because he’d always put them up for Mom. Boy, this Christmas wasn’t going to be easy. She unzipped her barn coat and hung it in the closet. “Guess it’s my turn, then.”

  “I knew you’d do it. I kinda think it’s best to surprise Dad with the decorations, you know, like a new tradition. Now it’s our turn to put up the lights for him.”

  “I like it.” She followed her sister’s voice into the kitchen. Bayly, one of their two dogs, opened an eye to watch her enter the room, let his lids fall shut and went back to snoozing on his bed near the family room’s crackling fireplace. “But before I do anything, I’ve got to fetch my car and I have a few things to do in town.”

  “What things?” Meg set a teacup on the breakfast bar. The scents of cinnamon and spices wafted upward on the steam.

  “Go to the bank. Hit the bookstore. Check up on a few people.”

  “What people?” Meg’s eyes narrowed curiously. That was the problem having so many sisters. No privacy. Plus, sisters tended to be nosy.

  Maybe she was missing Seattle after all. She cozied up to the breakfast bar and plopped onto a swivel chair. “I came across a little girl and her dad in the cemetery last night. She fell off the curb in the storm and broke her wrist.”

  “Poor little one.” Meg set a second cup on the counter. “So, tell me. Handsome dad?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “How could you not notice? Honestly.” Meg shook her head with disapproval. “Any chance he was a single dad? I keep praying for you to find a really great guy.”

  “He was a widower. That was why he was at the cemetery.”

  “Oh.” Meg circled around the kitchen island and took the neighboring chair. “How sad for them.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, sipping her tea, remembering Macie. And the father...Dr. Kramer. She ought to really dislike him, she hadn’t appreciated the way he’d manhandled her, suspecting the worst when she’d only been helping his daughter, the child he’d let wander away from him. But then, it only took a moment of inattention and if he’d been at his deceased wife’s grave...her heart twinged with sympathy. Sympathy was one thing, but remembering the way snow had settled on his broad shoulders was entirely another.

  “You’re praying for me to find someone? Really?” She sipped her tea, which warmed her instantly. “Even though you know I have a five-year plan?”

  “You and your plans.” Meg leaned back, legs crossed. “Don’t tell me. You made a pro-con list, too.”

  “Don’t mock my pro-con lists. I wouldn’t be able to make a good, workable plan without them.”

  “I wasn’t mocking, honest. Just curious. Where are you putting romance in your plans?”

  “I’m not.” When the time came, she had a very definite idea about the kind of man she would fall for—dependable, honest, loyal and kind—and even then, he would have to fit into her plans. Wasn’t that what plans were for? “Am I smart, or what?”

  “How exactly do you want me to answer that?”

  “I’m not sure I do.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Somewhere outside rang a dog’s distant bark.

  The doorbell chimed, echoing through the sprawling house. Bayly lifted his head from his dog bed, gave a halfhearted bark and yawned wide. His watchdog abilities were sorely lacking.

  “Ooh, could be the delivery dude.” Meg bounded from her chair, mug in hand. “Maybe my package finally came. No, stay where you are. You’d better rest up while you can because in about ten minutes, you have a ladder to climb.”

  “Will I be climbing it alone?” She arched one brow, kind of wondering what else her sister had planned for her.

  “It depends.” Meg’s voice trailed behind her as she wove through the house. “If it’s not a busy day at the clinic, then Johanna will be able to lend a hand.”

  “Probably not busy in this weather.” Their dad ran a veterinary clinic, now joined by Meg and Johanna, who were vets, too.

  “Hey, that’s not the delivery truck.” Meg’s surprise lilted through the house. The door whispered open, but Chelsea’s feet were already on the floor of their own accord. She pushed away from the breakfast bar, driven by the tingle at the back of her neck.

  “I’m Michael Kramer.” A man’s rich baritone rumbled from the doorway. “Is Chelsea home?”

  “Sure. Let me guess. You’re the cemetery guy.” Meg tugged the door wider. “Here she is right now. Howdy, sis. There’s someone here to see you.”

  “So I heard.” She did her best not to gape at the tall, solemn and handsome man towering in the doorway. Make that remarkably handsome, now that she got a good look at him in the full light of day. He wore a black wool coat, jeans and hiking boots. She’d be hard-pressed to recall when she’d last been around such a good-looking guy.

  Wow, Meg mouthed.

  It was hard to argue. Wow, indeed. His chiseled face, lean lines and wide, dependable shoulders made her heart catch. Her knees went weak and her heart skipped two beats, but it had to be from the surprise of seeing him again. A perfectly understandable reaction.

  “Chelsea.” A hint of a smile shaped the corners of his chiseled mouth. The intensity of his gaze zeroed in on her like a target. “Looks like I got the right house.”

  “G-guess so,” she stuttered out. Great. Brilliant. She’d never been what you’d call confident around handsome men. “I’m surprised you’re out and about on these roads.”

  “They’ve been plowed. I wanted to return these.” He held up the afghans her mom had made. “Thanks again.”

  “Not a problem.” Somehow she was in front of him and multicolored granny squares tumbled into her arms. The yarn, soft and full of memories, smelled of fabric softener, clearly freshly laundered. That was thoughtful of him. Wasn’t it? “How is Macie?”

  “Better. She’s talking with your sister.” He gestured down the walkway, pointing out of sight. At least, she thought they were out of sight. Maybe she couldn’t see Sara Beth or Macie because she couldn’t make her gaze move past the man.

  He loomed above her at well over six feet, his sandy-brown hair tousled by the wind. Blink, Chelsea, she told herself. Stop staring.

  “It was a simple fracture, no complications, no real swelling, so the doc casted her last night.” His voice dipped, tender with fatherly concern. “She’s much better this morning.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Chelsea dumped the afghans unceremoniously on the nearby bench, wishing her gray matter would kick into gear. Why couldn’t she be amusing and charming and unaffected? Where was her confidence when she needed it?

  Footsteps thumping up the porch steps saved her from fruitlessly searching for something clever to say.

  “Hi, Chelsea!” Macie peered around her dad. Daisy, the McKaslins’ yellow lab, hopped up and down with excitement at her side. “Sara Beth said I can
choose the lights.”

  “She did, did she?” Now that her vision had cleared, Chelsea spotted her sister down the walkway, leaning against one of two ladders.

  “Sorry.” Tall, sweet and beautiful, Sara Beth gave her lustrous brown hair a toss. “I couldn’t resist letting her pick.”

  “I totally get it.” It was so easy to remember she’d been little and the four of them rallied around Dad shouting out their preferences for lights. Once, he’d put up two different strings, one over the top of the other, just to keep everyone happy. The house had been so brightly festive, you could see the Christmas lights a good half mile across the horse pasture. She blinked away the recollection of Mom’s laughter at the sight. “Which ones did you like best, Macie?”

  “The white ones.” Her round face was relaxed and smiling, a welcome change from last night. “I like those the best because they’re like icicles.”

  “Me, too. Good choice.” Chelsea grabbed her winter coat off the tree by the door and shrugged into it, crossing the porch. “Hey, I like your pink cast.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And it matches your coat.” Aware of Michael’s gaze prickling across her back, she knelt to get a good look at the girl’s arm. “You were brave to get an X-ray and see a doctor.”

  “I didn’t have to go the hospital. Dad took me to his office.” Macie gulped, wrestling with her emotions. “The hospital is where my mom died.”

  “Mine, too.” She shared an understanding look with the girl. “Do you know what you need?”

  “What?” Macie’s forehead crinkled.

  “Stickers. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you can’t go around with a cast like that. It’s just plain wrong.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. You’ve got to decorate it.” Chelsea felt the tug of Michael’s gaze, drawing her to him. There went her heart rate, galloping again. “Why don’t you two come in?”

  “I think we could spare the time.” The deep notes of his voice shivered over her, as warm as steaming cocoa on a cold winter’s day. “But you’re clearly busy.”