by Lori Wilde
“I...um... I have to work Christmas Eve.”
“What time do you get off?”
“Six.”
“The gala starts at eight.”
“You know I don’t do Christmas,” he said. “It’s why I volunteer to work the holidays.”
“That’s just the problem, isn’t it? You’ve kept a stranglehold on the Christmas spirit for so long that you don’t know how to let yourself be happy. You’re punishing yourself for the past. It’s over. You have to let go or you’ll never find happiness.”
“I...” He moistened his lips. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. All you have to do is make the effort. It’s up to you, Noah. No pressure. No expectations. Do whatever makes you happy.”
With that, she spun on her heel, anxious to get away. There was only so much playacting even a good lawyer could do.
7
THE STATION HOUSE was creepily quiet on Christmas Eve. Nothing was happening. Noah had spent the day thinking about what Alana had said the day he arrested Teague Price for arson.
She’d put the onus on him. She’d left him an out, but at the same time, she’d kept things open for a possible future. What did he want?
Alana.
That’s what he wanted.
But he was so afraid to take that next step. To voice what he wanted. Needed. Vulnerability made him feel weak. To admit that he needed her...well, he might as well go into a gang fight without his vest and gun. Whenever he was around her, he felt stripped bare, as if she could see straight through him.
Rattled, he watched her walk away. He wanted more than anything in the world to call out to her, to tell her how he really felt. Being with her made him feel alive. Happy.
And happiness scared the hell out of him.
Much easier, much safer to take the out she’d offered him. He was not going to that ball. He couldn’t face the holiday merriment.
Not even for a chance with Alana?
Hell, they were all wrong for each other. Total opposites. If she spent more time with him, soon enough Alana would realize they weren’t well suited. Yeah, they were great in bed together. Yeah, he could talk to her more readily than anyone he knew. Yeah, she made him want to be a better man, but eventually, she’d want more than what he could give. She needed a guy who could match her cheery spirit. A guy who could tell her everything he was feeling. A guy without a dark side.
He was not that guy.
Better to just end it now before they both really got hurt.
It sounded good in his head, but his skin suddenly felt too tight as if he was a prisoner in his own body. He couldn’t even sit still. He prowled the hallway looking for something to occupy his time. Found nothing. The case against Teague Price was going forward. The woman who’d been found unconscious in the Price Mansion, and who’d suffered from short-term amnesia as a result of her attack, had finally recovered her memory. Noah had taken her statement as she recalled visiting the mansion for old time’s sake and that while she was there, she’d unexpectedly surprised Teague in the process of setting the fire. The case of who burned down the Price Mansion had been solved. He’d done his job.
Why then, was he so unfulfilled?
At six o’clock he bundled up in his overcoat. The thought of heading home alone to his empty apartment daunted him. The local cop bar was just a few blocks away. He could walk over and have a beer with all the other people who had nowhere special to be on Christmas Eve. The cool air might clear his head of these constant thoughts of Alana.
Snow started to fall as he left the station house. Perfect for Christmas Eve. The ground was slushy from an earlier snow that had melted off. Snowflakes danced from the sky, showering everything in a rain of soft white. They were turning Pine Crest into a schmaltzy holiday wonderland. Alana would love it.
By the time Noah reached the main thoroughfare, the stores were closing as shoppers hurried to their vehicles clutching packages. People called out “Merry Christmas” to one another. Holiday lights winked and twinkled from the buildings and street lamps.
Feeling like an interloper who’d somehow stumbled into the pristine world of a perfect snow globe, Noah stood on the street corner with his hands jammed into his pockets, waiting for the light to change. His lungs seized up. Not from the brisk air, but from the nagging sense of loss that gripped him.
By keeping Alana at arm’s length, this was the kind of feeling he’d been trying to avoid. He’d lost so much. He was terrified of losing more.
But he’d already lost.
Lost Alana.
Lost his heart.
He had nothing but his job. No one to keep him warm at night. Nothing to come home to. No one to make him smile.
“Sergeant Briscoe.”
Noah looked up, spied Christopher Clausen waving at him from the opposite street corner, looking jolly in his Santa costume. What a sharp contrast Clausen’s bright smile was to Noah’s dark thoughts.
“Miracles happen when you believe,” Clausen called out to him and winked.
Yeah, right.
Suddenly, Noah wanted to believe. Wanted so badly to think he stood a chance with Alana. To embrace Christmas. To let the spirit of love and goodwill toward all mankind well up inside him until it spilled over. Wanted it so desperately that his lungs refused to expand.
Did Clausen have the answers?
Noah started to cross the intersection, to apologize to the man for the way he’d handled his arrest, but a furniture truck rumbled down the street between him and Clausen, blocking his view.
Once the truck had passed, Noah was startled to discover Clausen had disappeared.
Where could he have gone in those few seconds?
Miracles happen when you believe.
Noah’s pulse jumped erratically. Had Clausen actually been there? Was he having hallucinations?
Miracles happen when you believe.
It was corny. Sentimental. Sappy. And yet...and yet...
His hope floated.
Inspired, and determined not to overthink the impulse that gripped him, Noah searched the town square. At the jewelry store cattycorner to where he stood, the shopkeeper was locking up.
“Wait!” Noah called out, sprinting across the street. “Please wait!”
The startled shopkeeper glanced up as Noah arrived, breathless and anxious. “I need a gift for my girlfriend,” he said. “Could you open back up?”
“I’m closed.” The shopkeeper shook his head.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Noah said. “She’s very special to me. I want...no, I need to get her something that tells her how I feel about her.”
“Why did you wait so long to buy her a gift?” asked the shopkeeper, a goateed man in his early fifties who peered at Noah over the top of his glasses.
“Because I’m a big idiot.”
The shopkeeper chuckled. “I’ve been there, I feel for you, but my family is waiting for me.”
“I’ll be quick. I promise,” Noah vowed.
The shopkeeper hesitated.
“Please.”
The man gave a good-natured sigh. “All right, but make it snappy.”
Relief spread through Noah, but once inside the store, he looked around in confusion. So much to chose from. The gift had to be just right. Something that had meaning for both of them. Something that said he truly “got” her.
The shopkeeper tapped restlessly on the jewelry case.
“I know, I know.” He didn’t want to purchase something out of desperation. Maybe it was better if he just forgot the whole thing.
The shopkeeper cleared his throat, checked his watch.
Too much pressure. He was running out of time and if he hoped to make it to the Firemen’s Ball on time, he needed to go home and change right now. Noah was just about to apologize to the shopkeeper when he spied it.
The perfect Christmas gift for Alana.
* * *
ALANA TRIED NOT to get her hopes up. She was stag
at the Firemen’s Ball, wearing a sapphire-blue dress that played up her eyes and auburn hair. The place was packed to the rafters. The dance floor was crowded. She waited near the entrance in order to catch a glimpse of Noah if he decided to show.
It’s eight-thirty. He’s not coming. Give it up already. Go find your friends. Have some fun.
Good advice, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move away from the door.
Go!
Resolutely, she headed toward the buffet table loaded down with a Christmas Eve feast. She had to stop expecting anything from Noah. She couldn’t change him. He was who he was.
“Alana.”
She froze, the sound of Noah’s voice in her ears. He’d come after all!
Alana turned around, her pulse hammering.
Noah stood there, snow melting in his hair, a long narrow box wrapped in foil paper the same color as her dress clutched in his hand. He wore a tuxedo and his face was clean-shaven. He looked so incredibly handsome. Her breath stilled in her lungs. His dark-eyed gaze, gentle and contrite, tracked over her face.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Does this mean—”
“I want you, Alana. In my bed. In my life. In my heart.” He paused, waited.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he vowed.
“You promise not to withdraw when things get bumpy? Because all relationships hit speed bumps. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong. You have to learn how to navigate the speed bumps in order to have a relationship.”
“I want to learn how to have an honest intimate relationship and I want to have it with you. Please teach me, Alana. I...” He swallowed and she could tell this was a huge step for him. “I need you.”
She knew how difficult this was for him. He was taking a big chance. Putting his heart on the line for her. “You’re serious.”
“One hundred percent.” He extended the gift-wrapped box toward her. “Open it.”
She untied the silver ribbon, peeled open the pretty wrapping. Inside the box was a gold necklace with a scales-of-justice charm. She smiled and looked up.
He answered with a nervous smile of his own. “Read the inscription on the back.”
She turned the charm over. To Alana. My one and only. You balance me. Love, Noah.
Love?
He was in love with her?
She raised her gaze to meet his once more. “Noah,” she whispered.
“I mean it,” he said. “You’ve brought me out of my self-imposed shell and into the light. I love how your warmth evens out my toughness. I love your joy for life. I love your fire and your spirit. I love you, Alana O’Hara. I’ve been in love with you for months. I’d never felt like this before and it scared me, so I tried to deny it, but I can’t deny it any longer. I’m in love with you and I was hoping you feel the same way about me because I’m crazy for you and—”
“Shh.” She pressed two fingers to his lips. “I’m crazy for you, too, Noah Briscoe. Now, come dance with me.”
Alana led him to the dance floor. They swayed to the notes of “White Christmas,” snow falling steadily outside the window, the spirit of the holidays burning in their hearts, and they both knew that this was the very Merriest Christmas of all.
* * * * *
Kathleen O’Reilly
Baring It All
To all the readers and booksellers who have filled my inbox with happiness and smiles.
Contents
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1
THE GRAND PRICE Mansion was a smoldering mess of ash, disappearing right before his eyes. It was going to be one hell of a Christmas present for the town of Pine Crest, Virginia. Eric Marshall leaned against the ambulance, arms folded across his chest, and got comfortable because it looked to be a long night. The old mansion didn’t have residents anymore, and the museum employees would be gone, so all that was left for his EMT crew to do was babysit the firemen, who as a rule were not a swift bunch and wouldn’t recognize the signs of smoke inhalation if it reached and out and bit ’em in the ass. He watched as the fire chief leaned out of the ground-floor window and motioned for the hose. To be fair, it took guts to run into a burning building, risking life and limb to save human lives, canine lives, feline lives, rodent lives, beaten-up teddy bear lives, and the worst offender of them all: the ever-popular Christmas presents. Yup, it definitely took lots of guts and not a lot of brains. However, some of Eric’s best friends were firemen, so he kept his opinion of their mental capacities to himself.
Clouds of water sent the smoke plumes dancing out into the cold winter night. The crews were blasting the half-standing first floor, but the second story was gone. He knew the house, had played there some as a kid, and it felt strange to see the piece of his past disappear. To see the piece of Virginia state history disappear, too. The fabled homestead of Virginia’s most favored governor, Colin T. Price.
And there was already a crowd of rubberneckers huddled out in the road. Wyatt from the barbershop in a black parka over flannel pajamas. The waitress from the diner, whose name he always forgot. There was old Mrs. Tidwell, who had been the principal of Pine Crest Middle School for four generations. Tonight, everybody had come out for the drama, even Santa Claus.
“Got any marshmallows?” asked Henry, the second lieutenant at the Pine Crest Volunteer Ambulance Corps. Henry was a tough old bird, with a head as bald as a vulture, and drove the bus like a blind Mario Andretti.
“Too much sugar will kill you,” lectured Eric, because as a state-licensed health official, he was supposed to know these things, and also because he liked to give Henry hell.
Henry considered it, scratching at the gray stubble on his jaw. “Don’t matter once you get to my age. Life isn’t worth living without a vice or two. Not giving up the cigars, but I can give up the sugar. The trick is to find a substitute.” He paused, and Eric waited, because Henry talked in fits and starts. “Hey, after we’re done here, how about a slice of pizza? I bet you could sweet-talk Alyssa into opening up the place and baking us a sweet-smelling pile of artery-clogging ambrosia. Extra cheese, some mushrooms, sauteed onions.”
Alyssa was the owner of Cicero’s Pizza Pies and had spent one summer delivering a lot more to Eric than pizza. It wasn’t a relationship he was particularly proud of, but since he didn’t have a relationship he was particularly proud of, Eric didn’t lose sleep over the matter.
Nope, in fact, he had perfect blood pressure at one-ten over seventy, a steady heart rate of sixty BPM, and a cholesterol level of one-seventy. Every part of Eric Marshall was perfectly tuned to remain cold and detached, no matter the emergency, no matter the crisis. It was part of the Marshall family DNA.
The purr of a tightly tuned Mercedes twin-turbo engine whispered in the commotion, and he felt his blood pressure spike. “Give me a minute,” he said to Henry.
“Family reunions are always fun. Give your father a hug from me, will you?”
Eric looked at the older man and glared. “Bite me.”
Then his eyes cut to where Santa Claus was standing, and Eric wondered whose holiday party had broken up early. Over the years, the Pine Crest ambulance had carted more St. Nicks to the hospital than Eric cared to remember. Most were the mall rent-a-wrecks, walking the fine line between “ho-ho-ho” and “put the mentally unstable man on meds.” In Eric’s professional opinion, a Santa Claus was a medical emergency waiting to happen, and it seemed irresponsible to ignore the impending disaster right in front of him.
Besides, he loved to piss off his dad.
He made his way to Santa and coughed politely, but Santa’s attention was firmly fixed on the house.
“They could be hours here,” Eric said to him. “You should get home, Santa.”
The old man adjusted his wire glasses, the
reflection of the fire giving an odd light to his eyes. “I go where I’m needed, son. Just like you.”
Eric laughed, the smoke turning what should have been a happy sound into something like a death rattle. “I think the holiday eggnog has been fogging your brain.”
“She’s running away from the man she loves.” The old man turned to Eric. “You have to help her.”
Startled by the nonsense words, Eric scanned the pupils of Santa, looking for signs of narcotics or stroke. “How’re you feeling there?”
In response, Santa gave him the patient yet still patronizing smile reserved for the kids with coal in their stockings. “You have to help her. She’s going to need you.”
She? Who was she? Santa was talking extra loopy tonight. He looked to be in decent physical shape, except for the extra seventy pounds around the stomach. That would be killer on the heart. Eric nodded, and gave him the patient yet still patronizing smile reserved for patients who weren’t all there. “Who are we talking about?”
“Her.” Santa nodded toward the smoking grounds. The front hall of the grand Victorian had been salvaged, but there was a big open-air sunroom where the back half used to be. The stained-glass windows had been knocked out, the plastic Christmas tree was nothing more than melted wax on a pole and there were four antique Chippendale chairs on the lawn. Among all the other wreckage, there was no “her.” As the first responders on call, they would have known.
Right then, the emergency radio at his hip started to beep, and he heard the shouts. “We’ve got a survivor.”
Forgetting about Santa, his father and his general dislike for the whole holiday whackadoo, Eric raced to the ambulance, ready to do his job. After she was loaded in the back, Henry climbed behind the wheel, and Eric checked the patient’s airway, breathing and pulse. Not too bad, considering the long exposure to smoke. The breathing was shallow, but there weren’t any burn marks around her mouth. With steady hands, he placed the mask on her face, opening the oxygen valve and letting the concentrated air do its work.
