A Merry Little Christmas

by Catherine Palmer

  As she walked down the aisle of the chapel, her white gown trailing through a sea of rose petals behind her, Lara focused on the man she loved.

  No six-year engagement. No endless emotional merry-go-round. He had given her this gift.

  Together, hand in hand, they vowed before God to have and to hold each other. This day. And forever.

  As the organist played a final hymn, Jeremiah kissed Lara. It was the happiest moment of her life. So she kissed him back. And then he kissed her again.

  “Dad! Hey, Dad!” Benjamin bounced into view. “The photographer is waiting, Dad. We’ve gotta get the pictures taken, because everyone’s coming over to the house.”

  “Miss Ethel will be there and Benjamin crocheted her a scarf,” Daniel said. He took his father’s arm and turned him away from Lara. Facing them both toward the photographer, he instructed, “Smile, Dad. Smile, Dr. Crane.”

  “We should call her Lara,” Benjamin interjected. “Or how about Mom?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Daniel informed his brother. “Later.”

  As flashbulbs popped and countless people kissed Lara on the cheek, she clung to Jeremiah’s arm. She could not have asked for anything more. Not one single thing…except…

  “Just a minute,” she said, lifting her skirts and stepping down from the altar. She crossed the rose-strewn carpet to the Muraya family.

  “Excuse me, please,” she said, reaching down to the pew where a still-weak Tabitha sat. “May I borrow this?”

  As Jeremiah grinned, she returned to his side. “Take a picture now, please,” she told the photographer.

  Between them, Lara and Jeremiah balanced the contented brown-eyed baby. As the flashbulbs went off, Lara bent and kissed his small chocolate cheek.

  “Merry Christmas, Tobias,” she whispered.

  Jeremiah murmured in accord. “And thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  CHRISTMAS, DON’T BE LATE

  Jillian Hart

  The Lord appeared to us in the past, saying:

  I have loved you with an everlasting love;

  I have drawn you with loving-kindness.

  —Jeremiah 31:3

  Chapter One

  Amanda Richards had learned that hope was like a credit card. If you used it too much, you went over the limit and, voilà, no more charging. No more hope.

  Yep, that’s me, she thought. Totally maxed out on hope and in need of a bucketload.

  What was she going to do now? She swiped the snowflakes from her lashes and tried not to let the freezing winds trouble her. She studied the long steeply rising hill above the broken-down car—the road home. The veiled Montana Rockies and silent snow-covered forests surrounded her, but no help of any kind. No driveways, no houses. Nothing.

  She thought of her two little ones in the backseat, growing colder as each second passed. She bit her bottom lip to keep the frustration inside. Apparently luck was like hope, and she’d used up her limit on both.

  Don’t die on me now, car. She gave a helpless look at her car’s engine compartment. The raised hood blocked some of the snowfall as she bent over the radiator cap. The Trusty Rusty, as she called the four-door thirty-year-old sedan, had seen her Aunt Vi through twenty years, two cousins through lean college years, and now it was hers.

  The price had been right—free. But then, she’d had to pay to have it towed to the nearest mechanic. Not the best deal on the planet, but since Todd had taken off for parts unknown with their five-year-old minivan, leaving behind a divorce decree and more medical debts than she knew what to do with, she’d take whatever gifts the angels sent her way. And, until this moment, this gift had been the utmost in dependability.

  Okay, Trusty Rusty, let’s get you running. If that’s possible. Amanda gripped the sizzling hot radiator cap one more time.

  Please, angels, let it be possible. She thought of her little girl bundled up in the backseat, so desperately ill. This cold would not be good for her.

  The scorching burn of metal went right through her insulated gloves while she twisted the stubborn little cap. Hot, hot, hot, her brain told her, but she ignored it. Come on, just a little more. She could feel the cap give, but it was like grabbing a fistful of fire. Pain overwhelmed her and she let go.

  The cap now sat in cockeyed defiance, firmly stuck on the radiator. Amanda didn’t even mutter in frustration, as she heard the telltale sound of a car’s side window, loose in its frame, being unrolled. She ripped off her glove and, dropping to her knees, plunged her hand into the snow berm made by the last snowplow to have braved the windy and narrow country road.

  She might be out of hope, but she was not out of fortitude. She would let both her blistered fingers and the stubborn radiator cap cool a bit more and she’d try it again.

  “Jessie’s gettin’ cold, Mom.”

  She turned at the sound of her son’s voice. Jeremy had popped halfway out of the window, twisting his torso so he could keep an eye on her. His blond hair stuck up in unruly shocks and the worry in his brown eyes made him look far too old for his age.

  Her heart warmed at the sight of her precious firstborn and she forgot all about her scorched fingertips and the wet snow seeping through the knees of her jeans. He was a seven-year-old blessing and challenge all at once. Too smart for his own good, too cute for hers. “Roll the window back up so you don’t let in more cold air. I’ll have this figured out in a jiffy. Don’t worry, okay?”

  “She’s real cold.” He gave his electric-blue muffler a swing with one free hand and watched the fringed ends dangle into the snow.

  “It’s not safe to hang out the window, you know that.”

  “Yeah, but I could hang out the other window on the other side. That’d be worse. A truck would come along and—” He balanced on the edge of the door and clapped his hands together. “Hey, you know what? I’m gonna go home an’ get the sled an’ come back with the barbecue. Then I could make a fire and you an’ Jessie could get warm.”

  “Leave it to you to find the perfect solution. But sadly, your little sister and I will be icicles before you get back. Now sit down, buckle up and close the window.”

  “Na-huh! I could fly there like Wonder Boy. He’s my favorite superhero next to Jesus.”

  “Jesus isn’t a superhero, honey.”

  “I know that! He’s the greatest hero.”

  It was hard to argue with that. And since they could use a hero about now, she sent up a prayer, not for herself but for her kids. Just a little help, Lord, please. Just enough to get us by. That’s all.

  Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

  But as if in answer, the brush of snowflakes against her cheek was sharp-edged and icy. When she tilted her head back to look up at the gray, heartless sky, she feared her prayer hadn’t risen on wings but had fallen to the ground right along with the snow.

  Since her hand wasn’t stinging so much, she pulled it out of the berm. She didn’t care about the pain or the blisters. What she cared about was getting the kids home. At least it wasn’t too far, considering. She laid her hand at her throat. Although she could not feel the plain gold cross through the layers of winter clothes, she felt better just knowing it was there. Her mother’s cross. Her mom had been a true believer, unwavering in her faith.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, Amanda thought, it was that she just couldn’t see. She’d been walking by faith and not by sight for so long, she didn’t know where she was anymore. She was running low on faith, too.

  Well, it wasn’t as if they could just sit here. The winds swirled, as if promising a blizzard soon. There was no way she could let her children—especially poor Jessie—be caught in that. And until they were out of the dead zone, she couldn’t call her aunt for help on her cell phone.

  A little help, Lord. Please. She yanked on her glove. When she tried the cap again, it was much cooler but still hot enough to burn while she worked the stubborn thing off.

  The radiator was bone-dry, just as she susp
ected. She stared at the empty compartment and felt the last vestiges of courage slide off her like the snow on her coat.

  Yep, it looked as though she was all out of luck. And radiator fluid.

  She closed the hood with a slam. Through the melting globs of snow on the windshield, the children were watching her. Jessie was standing on the backseat in order to see better, her eyes too big for her peaked little face. Jeremy had pulled himself up like a little soldier at roll call.

  I can’t let them worry. They have enough on their plates right now. It was her job to handle the worries and hardships. It was theirs to be kids.

  She checked for traffic before she stepped out onto the road, an automatic response from living in Portland, even though it was so quiet that she could hear a vehicle coming from half a mile away.

  She slogged through the deep snow unflinchingly, for she was still a Montana girl down deep at heart, and opened the back passenger door. “All right, ten hut. We’re going to take a scenic hike. Jessie, baby, let’s get your hood tied up tight.”

  Her sweet little girl stared up at her with troubled blue eyes, and her Cupid’s mouth scrunched into a heartbreaking frown. “I don’t wanna.”

  “I know, but it will make you like a bunny.”

  The little girl’s frown didn’t lessen, although she nodded grudgingly. It had been a hard morning for her, being poked and prodded at the hospital.

  Amanda brushed aside silken red curls before she tied the fuzzy hat’s strings into a bow beneath Jessie’s little chin and tried with all her self-discipline to hold back the tide of anxiety within her. Then she tugged the thick parka’s hood over the top. “There, now you can pretend you have beautiful long bunny ears. Jeremy, zip your coat all the way, honey.”

  “Then I can’t fly, Mom. I’m Wonder Boy.”

  “Even Wonder Boy zips his coat when it’s snowing.” She snagged the old stadium blanket the kids used in the car from the floor where it had fallen and wrapped Jessie up in it for added protection.

  “That’s because he keeps his identity secret,” Jeremy explained as he hopped off the edge of the backseat and into the snow. “That way he can go around helping people and no one knows who he is. It’s real important to help people.”

  “You’re right. Now help me out by grabbing my bag and shutting the door, please.”

  “Okay!” He hurried to comply.

  “I’m cold, Mommy.” Jessie hiccuped.

  “I know, baby. Snuggle close, okay?” Amanda held her little one tight. Her spirit swelled with love for her baby, but sometimes love wasn’t enough. She’d give her life for her daughter’s in a snap, but she’d already tried that bargain with God. To no avail.

  “Here, Mom!” Jeremy jumped at her side, holding out her heavy bag, stuffed full.

  It weighed a ton as she slung it onto her shoulder, taking care not to jostle her ill little girl.

  The wind blew harder as they started out. She kept her steps short to accommodate Jeremy and took his hand. The feel of his fingers wrapping tight around hers, holding on with so much need and confidence, humbled her.

  So much was riding on her decisions. On her strength. On her frailties. The only thing she knew for sure was that she would not fail her kids.

  She twisted just enough to take the brunt of the vicious wind and shelter Jessie from the snow. It was falling harder now, pinging through the air like thousands of icy miniature bullets and it thickened like a veil falling closed, until the tall jagged Rockies disappeared and all that remained of the endless forest were dark shadows just out of reach and just out of sight.

  The world felt so far away. Maybe that was a good thing, since that meant the hospital was far away, too. If she concentrated hard enough, maybe she could push this morning’s visit out of her mind and the anxiety of waiting for the results of Jessie’s tests.

  But no, nothing could diminish the icy fear taking root in her soul that this new medication had had little effect. Nothing could lessen the fear that this could be Jessie’s last Christmas.

  And if that came true, then her strength of will could not change it. All the love in her heart could not change it. She was out of luck and out of prayer. All out of everything.

  Snow battered her but she kept going, hoping against hope that the promise was true.

  That she really wasn’t walking alone.

  Colton Nichols pulled his truck to a halt in the middle of the snowy country drive. The only traffic was a parked car hugging the berm. The two shadowy figures climbing the hill looked like a young mother and her kid, struggling in the deep snow.

  If he were back home in L.A., he’d wonder if he was being set up for a possible carjacking. Okay, so he’d gotten a little cynical. This was Montana. He was in a no-crime zone, so he stopped, zipped the power window down and leaned across the seat. Felt a jolt of surprise when he realized the young woman was carrying a smaller child, wrapped well against the cold.

  She was hooded in a bulky navy parka, her face half-covered in an ice-caked scarf, her intelligent eyes considering him carefully. Those eyes were all he could see of her, as blue as a lake in winter right after a thaw. Clear and deep and true.

  His heart quaked to life, as if for the first time. Funny, it’d never done that before. “That’s a load of responsibility you have there. You might as well get in. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  “Thank you so much for stopping.” The woman lifted the child she carried into the warmth first, protecting her from the cruel wind with her body. “Our car conked out. We’re in the dead spot where there’s no reception, of course. That makes you a lifesaver.”

  “Nope. Just a neighbor. You need help here?”

  “We’re fine now. My little one can’t be out long in the cold.”

  It was strange how the wolf’s howl of the wind, the beat of the icy snow on the glass and roof, the whir of the defroster and the swipe, swipe of the wipers faded into stillness. Dimly he was aware of the kid heaving open the back door and clambering onto the back bench seat.

  He was captivated, that was the word. Utterly mesmerized. He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was her calm gentleness as she settled the little girl onto her lap, or the love in her big blue eyes as she brushed a few lingering snowflakes clinging to the preschooler’s fine curls, peeking out from beneath her furry hood.

  “Is this a real monster truck?” asked the kid in the back.

  “Not even close.”

  “It’s like a monster truck. You should get those big knobby wheels. Then you could crunch up a big hill and fly up over the top.”

  “I’d need more than a monster truck to fly. I’d need to get my cape back from the dry cleaner’s and a team of reindeer from the Northern tundra.” What a funny kid. Colt put the truck in gear, easing slowly on the gas. He wasn’t much of a snow driver, but the tires dug in and the truck crept forward. Dizzying snow gusted against the windshield, cutting visibility. “It’s getting worse. Looks like I came along just in time.”

  “It’s a blessing—that’s what you are. Every time I’m looking doom in the face, it’s as if the Lord is letting me know I’m not totally facing complete and utter devastation.”

  He liked the way she said that with a smile. “I’m not what you’d call blessing material. Too much of a cynic. My name’s Colt.”

  “I’m Amanda Richards. This cutie here is Jessie.” The little girl didn’t even look as if the cold had affected her, she’d been wrapped so well. So lovingly. Cozy on her mom’s lap, she studied him over the tight wrap of her pink muffler, covering half her cherub’s face. “Jeremy’s the superhero in the back.”

  “That’s me!”

  Colt studied the kid’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a superhero.”

  The boy wiggled in excitement in the backseat. He’d tugged off the red-and-black cap he’d been wearing beneath his coat’s hood, and he’d unzipped the plain parka jacket so that his red sweatshirt, with the b
ig gold letters NDER BO, showed as he reached forward to aim the heater’s vent directly on him.

  That sure took him back. Colton hated to count the years to know how far. “Wonder Boy used to be my favorite crime fighter, too.”

  “He’s way cool!”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Hey, Wonder Boy, sit back on the seat. Belt yourself in. You know these things.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Good-naturedly, Jeremy slunk back and grappled with the belt.

  The poor man. She cast a sideways glance at Colt behind the wheel. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The last thing he probably felt comfortable with was a mom and two kids fogging up his truck and dripping melting snow on his leather seats.

  He didn’t seem too upset, not judging by the way the corners of his mouth stretched into an amused grin. He was a good-looking, big guy. It looked as if he spent a lot of time in one of those expensive gyms. And everything about him shouted “top of the line.”

  Okay, so she was feeling a little shabby. It wasn’t as if she were interested in dating him—or any man—heaven knew that was the last thing she wanted or needed. But she was still a woman. She tried to ignore her faint reflection in the polished windshield—her hair was windblown and straggly, emphasizing the dark pockets beneath her eyes big enough to store change in.

  She looked like a woman down on her luck, scraping by and going without sleep to watch over her terminally ill child at night. The small wave of vanity slid away and she pressed a kiss to her baby’s temple. Please, God, let things stay just this way. Make time stand still.

  Impossible, she knew, but a girl could ask, right?

  “I’ve seen your truck on the road. I figured you had to be the new neighbor. Rumor has it that the O’Ryans sold to a guy from California.”

  “I know what you Montanans think of guys from L.A. You think I’m citified.”

  “Sadly, but at least you’ve got the right vehicle to fit in. A Montana Cadillac.”

  “That’s what the salesman called this rig, too.” He grinned, friendly and easily, showing even white teeth and kindness in his black, fathomless eyes.