A Magical Christmas Present

by Eugenia Riley

  Mary Ann threw her a look of exasperation. “Of course it’s Christmas Eve.”

  Katherine widened her eyes with realization. “And it’s 1942, isn’t it?”

  “Katie,” Mary Ann shook her head, “I don’t think—”

  “Mary Ann Hanson.” Katherine stared at the blonde from her lofty perch on the rickety ladder. “You’re just as I remember you.”

  “Remember me? What’s with you, Katie?” Mary Ann said with irritation.

  “What’s with me?” Sheer joy bubbled up inside her. Her excited gaze darted around the barely remembered community hall-turned-canteen, skimming past the growing crowd of young, uniformed men, skipping over Christmas decorations and sharp-eyed chaperons. Everything was exactly as it had been that night.

  Katherine clapped her hand over her mouth. Surely it wasn’t possible. This must all be a dream. Or maybe she’d died. Dropped dead right in her walk-in closet.

  “Santa always keeps his promises.”

  “Katie?” Mary Ann’s tone was cautious.

  “You called me Katie.” Katherine shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe it. And I don’t care if I’m dead or asleep. I have a second chance.”

  “Maybe you’d better come down off that ladder,” Mary Ann said carefully. “I think the height is starting to get to you.”

  “The height?” Katherine laughed with a surge of exuberance she hadn’t known for years. “Mary Ann, the height is wonderful. It’s incredible. From here I can see everything. Every inch of the room. Every person, every”—she caught her breath—“Michael.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, um, nothing.” What could she say? What should she say? If this was real, and everything within her screamed that it was indeed true and tangible and solid, she didn’t want to blow it. There was no way of knowing if her second chance lasted for just one night or the rest of her life. But it didn’t matter. Tonight would be enough to treasure for a lifetime. One way or another, it had to be. “Never mind. Now”—her tone was brisk and no-nonsense—“hand me that ball and we’ll get this tree finished.”

  Mary Ann eyed her suspiciously, then handed her an ornament. “For a moment you had me worried. What’s the matter with you tonight?”

  “Nothing, pal, not a thing.” Katie placed the ball on the lush fir, nodded with satisfaction, and climbed down the ladder. She hopped to the ground and faced her friend with a grin. “Not one little thing. It’s Christmas Eve, 1942, and everything is just about perfect.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” Mary Ann shook her head. “Five minutes ago you were complaining and crabby and not in any kind of Christmas spirit at all.”

  Katherine shrugged. “Go figure.” She nodded at the tree. “It must be this magnificent Christmas tree that’s completely changed my mood.”

  “It is lovely,” Mary Ann said. “Those old-fashioned balls make all the difference. Somebody left a big box full of them at the door to the hall tonight. The chaperons found it when they arrived.” She studied the tree. “I think they add just the right touch of—”

  “Magic,” Katherine said softly. “Christmas magic.”

  Mary Ann grinned in agreement. “You got it.” She cast her gaze around the rapidly filling room. “I wonder if he’ll be here tonight?”

  Of course he’ll be here. He had to be. Michael was the only reason for reliving this night. Still, already everything was a little different than she remembered it. What if he didn’t come? What if—

  “Katie, aren’t you going to ask who?”

  “What?” Katherine jerked her attention back to her friend.

  Mary Ann sighed. “Honestly, Katie, I’d swear you were somewhere else tonight.”

  “Oh no, Mary Ann.” Determination underlay her words. “I am definitely right here.”

  “Well, you don’t act like it,” Mary Ann huffed. “I was talking about the love of my life, you know, my Prince Charming.”

  “This is obviously a great place to find him.” Katherine scanned the crowd looking for the one face she’d waited a lifetime to see.

  “What?” Mary Ann snorted in derision. “No lectures on the evils of husband hunting? No comments on how we’re only twenty and have plenty of time to find a man? No stern talks on the risks of falling in love during a war?”

  “Absolutely not,” Katherine said firmly. She pinned her friend with a steady gaze. “Mary Ann, if you never pay attention to anything else I ever say, pay attention to this. When you find Prince Charming or Mr. Right or whatever you want to call him, don’t hesitate, not for a moment. Ignore sanity and reason and common sense and listen only to your heart. It doesn’t matter if you don’t end up living happily ever after. Love, whether it’s for a lifetime or just one night, is worth anything.”

  Katherine’s voice rang with conviction. “It sounds corny, but there is such a thing as fate. Such a thing as destiny. There really is one special man meant for you and you alone. And if you miss your chance to love him and be loved by him, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Katherine grabbed Mary Ann’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “You’ll grow old alone and, at the end, your life won’t have counted one little bit. And regardless of whatever success you may achieve, no matter what challenges you may overcome or mountains you might climb, nothing, positively nothing will ever compare to what you might have had with him.” Her voice softened. “Knowing love, just for a moment, is worth anything. Even the pain of losing someone you love is insignificant compared to the agony of not loving at all.”

  Mary Ann stared wide-eyed. “Wow.”

  “Sorry.” Katherine dropped her hands and laughed self-consciously. “I didn’t mean to go overboard. I probably sounded a little nuts.”

  “No,” Mary Ann said breathlessly. “What you said was wonderful. I never imagined you felt that way. Every time I talk about love and finding the right man you always seemed so—”

  “Condescending? Conservative? Cautious?” Katherine wrinkled her nose at the accuracy of her words.

  Mary Ann nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, I thought—”

  “Girls.” An older woman bore down on them in the manner of a veteran war horse and thrust two small, cream-colored boxes in their general direction. “Some of the local florists got together and donated these for the hostesses tonight.”

  “Gardenias,” Katherine said, a wistful note in her voice. Her heart leapt. Events were unfolding much as they had before. It was only a matter of minutes before she’d see Michael again. And this time everything would be different.

  “Indeed.” The energetic matron nodded sharply and handed them the containers. “Isn’t it wonderful how everyone wants to do their part for the war effort?”

  “Wonderful,” the girls echoed in unison.

  “You two have a lovely time this evening and be sure to follow the rules. They’re there for your protection, you know.” The chaperon cast them a stern glance, then continued on her rounds, spewing orders like a general to the tiny troop of high-school-aged volunteers that trailed obediently at her heels like well-trained recruits or puppies.

  Katherine pulled the lid off her box and picked up the corsage. Her hands trembled and anticipation threatened to overwhelm her.

  “This might not do anything for the war effort in general but it certainly helps my own personal battle plans.” Mary Ann pinned the blossom to her sweater and cast an assessing gaze around the room. At once her eyes lit up. “And I see a likely target right now.”

  “Good luck,” Katherine said absently, barely noticing Mary Ann’s comments in her own search of the room.

  “Katie.” Mary Ann hesitated as if she couldn’t quite find the words. “I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight but”—she sighed—“well, good luck to you, too, I guess.”

  “Thanks.” Katherine grinned and gave her friend a little push. “Now get out there and conquer new worlds.”

  “You bet.” Mary Ann tossed her friend a devili
sh grin. “See you later.”

  “Happy hunting,” Katherine said, relieved to get rid of her. Oh, it was wonderful to see Mary Ann again but time was slipping away quickly and Katherine didn’t know how much she’d have. So far, the evening progressed in much the same manner it had the first time. If that held true, next—

  A burst of music from the far end of the hall caught Katherine’s attention. It was the motley collection of volunteers they’d called a band. What happened now? Her heart raced and she searched her memories. Of course. She’d been idly looking around the hall. The crowd seemed to part, and there he was.

  Her gaze skimmed over the room as she waited for a break in the milling mass of uniforms and enthusiastic young women. Nothing happened. Panic fluttered in her stomach. What if history wasn’t going to repeat itself? What if nothing was the same at all? Maybe just being here again changed events. This could be some vindictive cosmic joke. What should she do now?

  Perhaps if she went to find him? Again she scanned the room. He’d been standing somewhere in that area when she’d first seen him. She drew a steadying breath and took a determined step. The crowd jostled against her and the gardenia in her hand tumbled to the floor.

  “Damn,” she said under her breath. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Quickly she swooped down to retrieve the flower before it could be crushed in the crowd. She reached toward it, but just as her fingertips brushed the petals, a large, male hand gently plucked it off the floor.

  Michael!

  Her heart seemed to stop. Her gaze traveled up the length of his long arm, past hard, broad shoulders to his beloved boy-next-door face. To the cocky grin she’d remembered over and over in fifty years of dreams. To his dark, endless eyes that glittered with promise and burned with a fire she’d never forgotten and never forsaken.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” His voice was a caress, resonant with deep, unspoken meaning.

  Katherine stared in stark disbelief and immeasurable joy. She yearned to reach out and place her hand on his cheek, to feel the warmth of his flesh beneath her fingers, to assure herself once and for all that he was real and she was here.

  Her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, I do. Do you?”

  “I didn’t.” His smile didn’t quite erase the perplexed look in his eye. “Until now.”

  She tilted her head to one side, cast him an appraising glance, and struggled to hide her true emotions. As much as she wanted to throw herself in his arms, she had to remember this was his first meeting with her. He hadn’t lived this moment over and over again through more than half a century the way she had. She had to take it slow, with care and caution.

  “Was that just a line then?” She flashed him a flirtatious smile.

  “Not at all.” He laughed, and she nearly wept at the well remembered sound. “Here, let me help you up.”

  He placed his hand under her elbow and they rose to their feet. Even this minimal contact sent shivers coursing down her spine.

  “You flyboys are all alike,” she teased.

  He raised a brow. “How did you know I was a pilot?”

  She nodded toward his insignia. “Your wings for one thing. Also, the only other time I was asked if I believed in love at first sight, the question came from a pilot.”

  “What did you tell him?” His query was offhand but there was an odd light in his eyes and her pulse raced.

  “I said…no.” Her voice was breathless and she fought to sound cool and blasé. “So, if it wasn’t a line, then what was it?”

  “I’m a romantic at heart, I guess.” His gaze searched her face and his brows pulled together in a puzzled frown. “Have we met somewhere before?”

  “That’s a good line, too, but no, I don’t think so,” she said lightly.

  Oh, yes. Once. In another lifetime.

  “No, seriously, are you sure?” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Have you ever been to Chicago?”

  “No, never.” Her heart fluttered.

  He can’t possibly know. Can he?

  “Funny.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I have such a strong feeling that we’ve met before. That I know you from somewhere.”

  “Déjà vu?” She laughed casually. “Or fate maybe?”

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “It’s as good an answer as any.”

  “I feel as if I know you too,” she said boldly. She obviously had his interest, now she had to hold it and pray that lightning would strike once again. Just like before. “I feel as if I know all kinds of things about you.”

  “Oh?” He quirked a dark brow. “And just what do you know?”

  “Let me think.” She considered him for a moment. “I know you’re a lieutenant.”

  He nodded at the bar on his shoulder. “Too easy. What else?”

  “I know you’re from Chicago.”

  He shrugged. “Another easy one.”

  She cocked her head and eyed him reflectively. “You’re headed to England tomorrow.”

  “Not bad,” he said grudgingly. “Still, I bet most of the guys here are heading out tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She pulled a deep breath. “And your name is Michael. Michael Patrick O’Connor.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Very good. How on earth did you…” He grinned his crooked smile, and her heart melted at the sight of it. “Somebody told you, right? One of my friends set me up, didn’t he?”

  “Nope.” She laughed with the sheer pleasure of his company.

  “Then how—”

  “Magic, Lieutenant.” She leaned toward him confidentially. “Christmas magic.”

  “I see.” A twinkle danced in his eye. “Does it only work for you or can anybody try it?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just for me.”

  “I doubt that.” He studied her for a moment. “I bet I know a lot about you, too.”

  She tossed him a challenging glance. “Really? And what do you know about me?”

  “I know you’ve been decorating Christmas trees.” He reached out and plucked a small sprig of fir from her hair. His scent of warm spice and male heat washed over her and her breath caught.

  “Doesn’t count.” She shook her head as much to clear it as to deny his observation. “Too easy. What else?”

  “You’re an excellent dancer.”

  She laughed. “What makes you think so?”

  “Great legs,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner. Heat rushed up her face. Lord, she hadn’t blushed in so many years the sensation was almost frightening.

  “Good line,” she shot back. “Anything else?”

  He narrowed his midnight eyes in obvious appreciation. “I know you’re the prettiest girl here. I know you wear some kind of intriguing perfume that reminds me of roses and cinnamon at the same time. I know your eyes are dark and bewitching enough to make even a man who can’t swim want to dive right in. I know…”

  “Yes?” She stared into eyes that went on forever and seemed to search for answers to unasked questions. “What else do you know?”

  “I…” An absent note sounded in his voice, as if he lost track of his train of thought, as if he too was caught up in a moment of connection, a moment of truth. He stared, his expression bemused.

  He knows. He must know.

  Abruptly he shook his head and the fragile bond between them shattered into reality. He smiled down at her. “What I don’t know is your name.”

  “Katherine Bedford,” she said softly. “But everybody calls me Katie.”

  “Katie.” The name tripped off his tongue like an embrace or a prayer. “It suits you.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah.” He considered her for a second. “You look like a Katie.”

  “Well, Lieutenant—”

  “Michael,” he said firmly.

  “Well, Michael,” she smiled, “I’ll tell you a little secret. Tonight I feel like a Katie.”

  He threw her a speculative glance. “I have no idea
what that means but I think I like the sound of it.”

  “So do I,” she said under her breath. “More than you know.”

  The band launched into an especially raucous version of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” Michael winced, and she laughed at the embarrassed expression on his face.

  “Sorry.” He shrugged, chagrined. “I didn’t mean to be rude. They caught me off guard.”

  “It’s okay. They’re not much but they’re all we’ve got.” She nodded toward the band. “At least they’re enthusiastic.”

  “Would you like to dance?” The eager light in his eyes matched her own need to be, at long last, in his arms.

  “I’d love to. But first”—she pointed to the corsage still cradled in his hand—“I’ll take my flowers back.”

  “Sure.”

  She reached to accept the blossom from his outstretched palm, fighting to still the tremble in her fingers.

  “Nervous?” He quirked an amused brow. “Not about dancing with me, I hope? Although, I must admit, I am a great dancer.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not nervous,” she said sharply and snatched the flowers from his hand. She fumbled to pin the gardenia to her sweater. “It’s just a little cold in here, that’s all.”

  “Allow me.” He pinned the blossom on her with a swift, efficient move. His head bent close and she ached to run her fingers through his dark, silken hair. “There.”

  He nodded with satisfaction and straightened up. How could she have forgotten how tall he was? He towered a good half foot over her and her eyes were at a level with his lips. Lips that had haunted her dreams forever. She could still remember the insistent demand of his mouth. The sensual pressure of his lips next to hers. The surge of passion from the merest puff of his breath against her own.

  “Katie?”

  “Michael.” She stared up at him and his gaze searched hers with the same odd look he’d worn earlier as if he reached for something he couldn’t quite grasp. She longed to tell him everything. That they’d been through all this once before. That they were destined to be together. That the love they found on this lone night was real and true and right. “Michael?”

  “I just don’t get it, Katie, there’s something about you…” He shook his head. “I could swear I know you from somewhere.”