by Meg Muldoon
“And our little trooper?”
“Chadwick? Aw, he got the next round of pancakes. He’s next to Hucks by the fire. He seems like he’s doing pretty good to me.”
I smiled.
Being as the Humane Society was full up again, Deirdre had asked me if I wouldn’t mind providing a foster home for Chadwick while he recovered. I had said yes, without hesitation, knowing that we weren’t just going to give him a foster home.
Chadwick, the moody, feisty, squirrel-barking, fence-evading little Cocker Spaniel, was no longer a permanent resident of the Humane Society.
Chadwick had finally found a forever home.
I was going to fill out the adoption papers tomorrow.
“So I’m guessing given all that, breakfast probably won’t be for a little while for us humans then?” I asked.
“We’ve probably got a good fifteen minutes,” he said. “But that’s okay. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got something for you.”
He pulled my arms from around his waist, and then led me to the dining room.
A large green and red-wrapped box sat there in the middle of the table, strung with silver and gold ribbon.
“Daniel, I thought we had an agreement,” I said, glancing over at him. “That we weren’t going to exchange gifts.”
“We did, and I kept to that promise,” he said. “This is for our anniversary. I was gonna give it to you last night.”
I stared at it, and then back at him.
“Daniel…”
“C’mon, go ahead and open it,” he said. “It’s just sitting there.”
I slowly went over. I sat down at the table, then pulled the package to me.
It was heavy. I tugged at the ribbon. Then I started peeling at the paper. It came undone in large swaths.
My mouth fell open.
I knew that box.
I nearly gasped.
“Daniel Brightman, you didn’t.”
He smiled a devilish, mischievous grin that I could tell he’d been waiting to show now for a long, long time.
“But they cost so much!” I said, ripping off all the paper from the package.
I opened the shoebox, lifted up the tissue paper, and took in another gasp.
The smell of fine leather wafted up. The red Lucchese boots sparkled back at me. Intricately tooled to perfection.
They were even more beautiful here in my dining room than they were in the Cowgirl Depot.
“Daniel Brightman,” I said, holding one up and admiring it. “Daniel Brightman, I can’t accept this. This is too much and we both agreed…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“But we can’t afford thi—”
“And I mean, don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“We have the money, and that’s all I’ll say.”
“But…”
I looked up at him, furrowing my brow, something suddenly becoming clear as day.
“That Saturday in Portland?” I said.
He didn’t respond, but I knew by the silence that I was right.
“C’mon,” I said. “Tell the truth now.”
He shrugged.
“Okay. A buddy of mine was looking for an extra man at his security firm that day. So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Make a little extra cash and get your boots at the Cowgirl Depot branch in Portland. They’d sold out here.”
I looked back down at the boots, shaking my head.
I couldn’t believe he’d done all of this, just for some insane, unfounded fancy I had for these boots.
“You did that for me?” I said.
He smiled.
What had I done to deserve someone like him? What had little ol’ Cinnamon Peters done to be worthy of someone as special, as thoughtful, as loving and as kind as Daniel Brightman?
I slid my feet into the boots, then stood up. They fit like a dream.
I was never going to take them off.
“So do you like them?” he said.
I threw my arms around his shoulders, then stood on my tiptoes, kissing him passionately.
After a moment he pulled away smiling, keeping his hands resting on my hips.
“I guess that’s a yes.”
“You know it is.” I said.
I thought about the pair of work boots I’d gotten him, sitting right now under the tree.
I guess boots were the trend this gift-giving season.
“Merry Christmas, Cin,” he said.
“Merry Christmas, Daniel.”
I thought there couldn’t be a happier person on earth than me.
But that was only just the beginning.
Chapter 66
“I think we’ve got enough pancakes there, don’t you, hun? I mean the dogs are stuffed and it’s just you and m—”
The doorbell suddenly rang, and both Hucks and Chadwick sprang to their feet and started barking, their noses pointed toward the front door.
The edges of Daniel’s lips curled up slightly.
“Hey, why don’t you get that and I’ll plate these?”
“All right,” I said.
I followed the barking, heading for the front of the house.
“Just a minute!” I shouted, pushing the pooches aside.
I unlocked the door, then grasped the knob and pulled.
Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus stood on the porch.
I smiled warmly, realizing that they must have been from the Salvation Army or some sort of charity to support the poor, going around to collect food and money for the downtrodden this Christmas.
“Hi there,” I said, going for my wallet on the railing by the door. “How are you all this Christmas?”
“Just fine, young lass,” Santa said in a deep baritone voice. “And yourself?”
Santa’s eyes were smiling, and from beneath that thick fake beard of his, I realized he was grinning like a madman.
He started busting up like a school boy.
A familiar, hearty old chuckle that reverberated through his chest.
I knew that laughter. I knew that madman grin. I knew those smiling eyes.
And for the second time that Christmas day, my mouth dropped clear to the ground.
I took in a deep gasp, realizing that this wasn’t any Salvation Army Santa.
I couldn’t believe what my eyes were telling me.
“But… it can’t be!” I said, throwing my arms around the big man in the suit like a little kid who just got the present he’d been pining for all year. “It can’t be!”
“Aw, didn’t you learn anything from your old granddaddy?” Santa said. “Miracles do happen, young lass. Miracles do happen.”
I pulled the beard down, and took a long look at my grandfather.
His eyes were dancing, and he had that old mischievous expression on his face that was his trademark look.
I thought my heart was going to explode and that confetti strings of happiness were going to fly out into the snowy morning.
I kissed Warren on the cheek and then turned my attention to Aileen, who was dressed up as Mrs. Claus next to him.
I grabbed her hands and squeezed them.
“I’m so glad you all are here,” I said, my eyes growing damp. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
She smiled back warmly. I looked at Warren. He was sniffing the air.
“Are those… are those gingerbread pancakes I smell?”
I thought of him all those years ago, chowing down on the chocolate meant for my Christmas stocking.
Still the same old Warren.
I nodded, staring at him through bleary eyes.
“I hope there’s enough,” he said.
I thought about Daniel making all those pancakes.
He’d known about this all along.
That beautiful, loving, kind-hearted, better-than-any-man-I-had-ever-known bastard.
I grabbed Warren and Aileen’s hands again.
I led them through the warm and cozy house. Flames danced in the fireplace. Dean Martin sang about the snow falling. The Christmas tree glittered and sparkled. The dogs snored peacefully from the rug by the fireplace.
And we all sat down to the best Christmas breakfast there ever was.
At one point, I reached for Daniel’s hand and squeezed it.
“You know what?” I whispered in his ear.
“What?” he said.
“I believe in Santa Claus too,” I said. “Since I met you, I believe in all sorts of things I didn’t think possible before.”
He smiled back, his face lighting up brighter than a Christmas tree.
I let out a happy sigh.
Miracles did happen.
And not just every once in a while, either.
The End
Coming in February/March 2015
Busted in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery
Malarkey in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery
Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 1)
Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas in July Cozy Mystery (Book 2)
Madness in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 3)
Malice in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Book 4)
Roasted in Christmas River: A Thanksgiving Cozy Mystery Novella
Burned in Broken Hearts Junction: A Cozy Matchmaker Mystery
About the Author
Meg Muldoon loves writing cozy mysteries. A former small town news reporter, Meg has always had a special place in her heart for lost dogs, homeless cats, and feisty old locals. She enjoys bourbon bread pudding, red cowboy boots, and craft glue guns.
Meg lives in central Oregon with an Australian cattle dog named Huckleberry.
For more about Meg and her upcoming books, visit her blog or join Meg on Facebook.
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