Coming Home for Christmas

by Fern Michaels

  However, touched by his suggestion, she was too startled to offer any objection. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Jorgenson.”

  “Max. Mr. Jorgenson was my father,” he said from his position at the doorway.

  Surprised once again, Grace glanced at him, then recalled his earlier hostility and wondered what had caused the sudden change of heart. Probably realized he was stuck with them for the remainder of the night and was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. The man was like a faucet. Hot one minute and cold the next.

  Staring at him, Grace spoke in low tones, hoping he’d take the bait. She needed some quiet time for her and the girls. They’d had enough excitement for one night. “Okay, then, Max it is.”

  He lingered in the doorway. Grace wanted him to leave, but something told her he had more to say before calling it a night. She continued to stare at him, while the girls each took a flannel shirt from her. “You can change in the bathroom,” Grace said to the expectant girls.

  “Why do they call you Miss Grace?”

  Ah-ha! She wondered when he’d ask. “For some reason they took to calling me that, and it stuck. Myself, I think it’s just a matter of respect. They’re good girls.”

  Max wrapped one jeans-clad leg in front of the other, hands crossing his massive chest. “Why Miss Grace? Is there something wrong with being called ‘Mother’?”

  Grace smiled, knowing where he was leading and determined to take him there via the long route.

  “No, I don’t think there is anything wrong with it at all. I couldn’t imagine calling my own mother anything else.”

  He took two long strides, and suddenly he was in the room. Two feet in front of her. “Yet you won’t allow your own children to address you as such?”

  Grace took a deep breath, then offered a slight smile of defiance. “They’re not my children.” There, now he knew.

  “I get it. They’re your husband’s,” Max asked, a hint of annoyance overshadowing his handsome features.

  Enjoying the verbal duel, Grace said, “I’m not married.”

  Max shook his head. “Look, lady, I’m tired. Either tell me what I want to know, or first thing in the morning, I’ll have no choice but to contact the authorities. A lone woman out on a night like this. Two kids who don’t belong to her. You tell me, what would you think if the situation were reversed?”

  Grace realized he was right. She’d enjoyed toying with him for some odd reason, but to do so at the girls’ expense was totally out of character for her. This man had allowed three complete strangers into his home. No matter how rude or inquisitive, it was wrong to let him think she was anyone other than herself.

  Giving her a brutal, and very unfriendly stare, he raised his winged brow in question. “So?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have led you to believe the girls belonged to me. They came to me, rather their mother came to me, for help. I gave them a place to stay. Tonight, I took the girls to see The Nutcracker at Eagle Valley High. I thought it would give them a chance to enjoy the Christmas season and offer their mom a much-needed respite. And then I encountered the roadblock on my way home. You know the rest of the story.” Satisfied with her answer since she hadn’t betrayed Stephanie’s confidence, Grace waited for Max to say something. Anything. When several seconds passed, and he still hadn’t spoken, she did.

  “You look at me as though I’ve . . . committed a crime or something! What?” Grace asked, beyond flustered, not liking these feelings one little bit.

  “I’m trying to decide if you have. Or not.”

  They stared at each other across the bed. His blue eyes darkened as he held her verdant gaze. Grace held his infuriating stare with an equally wicked one of her own. It was as though they were playing a game. Dueling eyes.

  Max’s stare wavered for a second. Watching him with a professional eye, Grace detected a glimmer of sadness behind his hard glare. Like a wave slamming against her, Grace surmised this man had known sorrow. A very deep and personal sorrow. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She didn’t know. Maybe the fact that her carelessness had caused two little girls and their mother unnecessary worry? Blinded by her own stupidity. Pure and simple. There was no other explanation for her not seeing between the lines where this angry man was concerned.

  Tearing her glance away from Max, Grace walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Are you girls finished in there?”

  When she didn’t get a reply, she knocked again. “Amanda? Ashley?”

  Max was behind her now, concern etched on his face. “I have a key around here somewhere.”

  “I don’t think the door is locked.” Grace tried the knob. Sure enough, it turned in her hand. She stepped inside, fearful that something had happened to the pair. When she didn’t see them, her heart skipped a beat. Then another.

  “They’re not in here!” she shouted to Max. “Is there a door...?”

  “This is the only way in or out.”

  “Ashley! Amanda!” Grace called. “This isn’t funny.”

  A noise, something that sounded like a “shhh” came from the direction of the oversized tub. Grace looked at Max, who’d come up behind her. She placed a finger to her lips. He nodded. She walked over to the tub, where both girls were huddled, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

  “Amanda, Ashley,” Grace stated softly as she stared down into twin sets of brown eyes.

  “We got scared, Miss Grace,” Ashley explained.

  “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Grace coaxed.

  “We’re afraid of him,” Amanda said, pointing a small finger at Max, who stood behind Grace.

  Momentarily at a loss for words, Grace didn’t know what to say. Both girls had been through so much. Max wasn’t a friendly man at all; no wonder they were terrified of him.

  With an air of exasperation, Max said, “Hey, I promise not to bite, okay?”

  Grace thought he could’ve chosen his words better, could’ve softened his tone somewhat, but at least this was a start.

  “See? Mr. Jorgenson isn’t angry,” Grace said, as both girls began their climb from the tub.

  As innocent children often do, Amanda said the first thing that came to mind, “Then why doesn’t he have a Christmas tree? You said all happy families have Christmas trees. Isn’t Mr. Jorgenson happy? Does he have a family?” Amanda asked Grace.

  Good questions, she thought, eyeing their host. “I’m afraid that’s Mr. Jorgenson’s personal business, sweetie. It’s one of those questions that your mother wouldn’t want you to ask.”

  “It is?” Amanda looked to her older sister for confirmation.

  “I think so,” Ashley said, sounding as unsure as Grace felt.

  “Let’s not worry about Mr. Jorgenson right now, girls. It’s really, really late. At this rate we won’t have much time to sleep before it’ll be time to get up and go back to the van. Now, let’s get you all snuggled up in this big comfy bed, and I’ll tell you a Christmas story.”

  Both girls jumped on the bed and slid beneath the covers, eyeing Grace expectantly.

  “Once upon a time . . .”

  Chapter Four

  Max stormed out of the room before the kid could pose any more nosy questions. He hadn’t missed the questioning look from the woman. Grace. He’d be damned before he revealed his personal life to a total stranger. It was one thing to invite them into his home; he really hadn’t had a choice. It didn’t mean he had to get chummy with them. Though he admitted to himself, the girls were cute and seemed well behaved. But not his problem.

  Downstairs in the den, Max aimed the remote at the giant plasma television. Nothing happened. He tried again, then concluded the satellite was out. That was nothing new, especially during a snowstorm.

  When he’d purchased the land at the height of his career several years ago, he’d assumed that by the time he built a vacation home, not having cable TV, satellite TV, not to mention Internet service, would be something he’d neve
r have to worry about. Of course, he’d built his so-called vacation home a lot sooner than he’d originally planned. Blow Out Hill was still as undeveloped as it had been two years ago, when he’d moved into the giant log home.

  This was supposed to be his and Kayla’s, and any children they’d had, home away from home, from the mansion in Denver that he’d practically given away after Kayla’s death. When he had purchased the land, he’d envisioned teaching his kids to ski on Powder Rise, the mountain, albeit a small one, behind the house. Those were dreams, and nothing more.

  All his hope for the future died when Kayla, a police officer, was shot and killed in the line of duty two years earlier on Christmas Eve. No more holiday celebrations for him; it was too painful. Memories gouged him like a sharp knife, each twisting deeper, the hurt lingering like a bad odor. Friends told him his grief would lessen, the hard, brittle edges softening with time. So far they’d been wrong. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t think of his and Kayla’s life together, what could have been. Putting his memories aside for the moment, Max hurried into the kitchen.

  Searching for the transistor radio and batteries he always kept for such an occasion, he found them in the kitchen drawer next to the Viking stove. Top-of-the-line. He bought the best appliances money could buy in memory of all the times he and Kayla had spent together on Sunday mornings making breakfast and whatever else Kayla decided. Now they just sat there like a silent reminder of all he’d lost.

  Putting fresh batteries in the radio, Max tuned to a local station, searching for an updated weather report. When he found the station he usually listened to, he turned the volume up. The meteorologist’s static-laced report filled the kitchen, then Max heard something about roadblocks, but the rest was bleeped out. No doubt the storm at work. He made a few adjustments to the dial again, and this time the reporter’s voice was loud and clear:

  “And it appears as though residents of Eagle, Colorado, and the surrounding areas will have a white Christmas after all. We’re expecting more than three feet of snow before morning. A travel advisory is in effect until further notice . . .”

  Max put the four empty mugs in the dishwasher, not liking the direction his thoughts were headed. If the report was accurate, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, his “house guests” could be there for a while.

  “Damn!” he cursed out loud. Max wasn’t prepared for a snowstorm. Hell, he’d be lucky if there was enough food in the house for him to get by on for a few days, let alone two children and another adult. He could kick himself for not planning ahead. He’d been taking care of himself for a very long time now without giving a thought to another human being. The way he figured it, his lack of preparation was justified as far as he was concerned. Then he remembered the freezer in the shed. Maybe someone had remembered to fill it.

  Soft footsteps startled him from his thoughts. He wasn’t used to anyone in his house other than himself and the two Huskies, who were curled up on the leather sofa he’d vacated earlier.

  “I just wanted to thank you again for putting us up. It was stupid of me to take the girls out on a night like this,” Grace said.

  Max wanted to agree, but in all fairness he couldn’t. If she were telling the truth, and he had a gut feeling she was, there was nothing wrong with her taking two children to see a Christmas ballet. Rotten luck had placed her in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He looked at Grace, really looked at her. She was tall for a woman, a bit on the thin side. Milky white skin made him think of the clichéd term “peaches-and-cream complexion.” Long black hair reached the middle of her back. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green, reminding him of the wild grass that grew alongside the mountain in the summer, their color so bold. He wondered if they were contacts, but something told him everything about this woman was real, even though she’d been evasive with information about herself. Really, he didn’t blame her. She didn’t know him any better than he knew her. Add to the equation she had two little girls with her, alone on a mountain with a strange man. He wouldn’t be quick to offer information either if he were in her shoes.

  Max waved his hand in the air. “Not a problem.” It was, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He figured he’d been rude enough already. Resigned to the loss of privacy for the next few days, Max decided he’d better inform Grace just how unprepared he was.

  “The weather report doesn’t look good.” He nodded toward the radio on the countertop. “They’re saying three feet of snow before daybreak.”

  Grace stepped into the kitchen. “I have to get out of here at first light. Stephanie will be sick with worry!” Grace eyed the phone. “It’s still not working?”

  He took the phone off its stand, punched a button. “Nothing. Phone’s always the first to go and the last to be repaired. People around here are more concerned with the roads.”

  “If they clear the roads so quickly, then my getting back to the van shouldn’t be a problem,” Grace stated flatly. The thought of staying under the same roof with their host for more than a night sent a shiver of alarm down her spine.

  “The roads will be cleared as soon as it’s safe. Eagle County is well prepared for winter storms. They’ll start with the main roads first. Blow Out Hill is always last on their list.”

  “I take it there’s no other way off the mountain?”

  “Some of the local pilots keep their planes in the hangar over at Eagle County Regional Airport. They won’t come out unless it’s a true emergency. Life or death. Especially in this weather. So to answer your question, there is no way off the mountain other than by foot. I don’t think you want to risk taking those two kids outdoors in three feet of snow. Even if this were a true emergency, I wouldn’t be able to contact the airport.”

  Contemplating her circumstances, Grace took a deep breath. As much as she hated the idea of being stuck there with a man she didn’t particularly care for, she realized she had to stay put. With any luck, a police officer would run across her van and remember they’d stopped her. Maybe, and it was a big maybe, one of the officers would run her plates and remember her. Someone had to figure out who she was and contact Hope House.

  She said a silent prayer that her mother had decided to spend Christmas with her this year instead of staying home in Denver. She knew she would offer comfort to Stephanie until they discovered Grace’s whereabouts.

  Bryce, her younger brother, was due to arrive Christmas Eve. This year would be the first time her entire family would spend Christmas together at Hope House. Since its opening, Grace had always stayed at Hope House during the holidays if there were guests. She missed her mother and brother, but they both understood her need to make the women and their children feel as comfortable as possible. In some cases, a few of the women-only Christmas celebrations had been at Hope House. She prayed Stephanie would stay put until she could get word to her that the girls were fine and not in danger. Or at least not in any danger from the man that they’d been running from when they’d been brought to her doorstep by a police officer. Husband and father. It made her cringe just thinking of what the women at Hope House had gone through before they arrived. She was committed to doing whatever was humanly possible to assist them in turning their lives around. Being stuck on a mountain was simply a bump in the road compared to what they’d been through.

  Lost in thought, Grace was about to sneak a quick glance at her host when everything went black.

  “It never fails,” Max said in the darkness. “I’ve got flashlights and candles somewhere in here.”

  Grace heard him opening and closing drawers. Rummaging through a few, he found what he was looking for when a thin beam of light illuminated the small space between them. “I’ve got a generator in the shed out back.”

  “That’ll help,” Grace said as she inched her way to the kitchen table.

  “Yeah. I’ve never used it. Never had a reason to.”

  Grace wanted to ask what he normally did when the power went out, but she heard his heav
y footsteps bounding up the stairs before she could get the words out of her mouth. Instead, she ran a hand along the countertop until she found a small box of matches beside a box of candles. She lit one, then another, placing both candles bottom side down on the counter while she searched for something to use as a holder. Searching the cabinets, she found a rock glass that would serve her purpose. Putting the candles in the glass, she headed toward the stairs to check on the girls when a gust of icy air blew in from an open door, extinguishing her light.

  She heard a door slam. Grace called out into the darkness, “Max?”

  When she didn’t receive a response, she called again. She heard the apprehension in her voice when she spoke. “Max, is that you? I . . . never mind.” Wishing she’d brought the box of matches along for such an emergency, Grace inched her way back to the kitchen. Maybe Max hadn’t heard her, she thought as she skimmed the surface of the countertop searching for the matches. When her fingers brushed against the small box, she grabbed it like a lifeline. Striking two matches at once, she relit the candles, and was relieved when the room flickered with their soft golden light. Tucking the matches in her pocket, Grace went back in the direction of the stairs when she heard a noise. Something creaked, like hinges on a door.

  “Max? I don’t think this is funny.”

  She stopped in the center of the den, waiting for a sarcastic comeback. Getting no reply, she yelled, “Max” so loud she was sure she’d wake the girls. Feet rooted to the floor, heart rate accelerating, Grace felt perspiration dot her forehead even though the room was chilled from the burst of cold air.

  Becoming increasingly uneasy as the seconds ticked away, Grace tried another strategy. Using a stern voice usually reserved for the fearful women she dealt with, she called out, “Mr. Jorgenson? Max? If this is some kind of game, I don’t want to play.”