A Magical Christmas Present

by Eugenia Riley

  She gazed up at him with all the love stored within her. “I never wanted anything as much as I want this, Michael. I want to be your wife. I want you.”

  Concern creased his brow. “Are you sure, Katie? I didn’t give you any time to think about it.”

  “Time?” She laughed softly. “I’ve had all the time in the world.”

  “…till death do you part?”

  “I do.” The vow fell from Michael’s lips with an intensity that echoed in her soul. Judge Thomas and his wife and everything around them faded to a dull haze. All she could see was the promise in eyes as dark as a winter night.

  “Harrumph.” Judge Thomas cleared his throat. “I said you may now kiss the bride.” For a moment, Katie and Michael just stared. “Go on, son,” the judge smiled knowingly, “it’s the best part.”

  “Randolph,” Mrs. Thomas clucked at her husband, then threw Katie a confidential glance. “He’s right, you know.”

  Katie choked, Michael laughed, and the judge chuckled. Michael kissed her quickly, a brief brush of his lips that left her knees weak with what was to come. Mrs. Thomas produced mugs of hot cider from somewhere and the gathering toasted the newlyweds.

  “I wish you the best of luck.” Judge Thomas raised his cup in a salute. “You’ll need it. I don’t mind telling you, these wartime marriages are tough.”

  “But, Randolph, just look at them,” Mrs Thomas said. “Why, anyone with half a brain can see they’re obviously in love.”

  The judge snorted. “Everyone’s in love these days. Hardly a night goes by anymore without love-struck kids knocking on the door, waking us up, and wanting to get married.” He raised a bushy brow. “Even on Christmas Eve.”

  Katie and Michael traded swift glances.

  “We need to be going,” Michael said quickly, shaking the judge’s hand.

  “Thanks for everything,” Katie added, slipping into her coat. “We really appreciate it.”

  “As well you should,” the older man mumbled.

  Mrs. Thomas walked them to the door and pulled Katie aside. “Don’t mind him, dear. He’s a little cranky when he has to get out of bed unexpectedly. And don’t worry about that business about wartime marriages.”

  She leaned toward Katie and lowered her voice. “I was a war bride, too. Randolph and I were married nearly twenty-four years ago.” Mrs. Thomas let out a sigh of contentment. “And look at how well that turned out. We’ve had a long and happy life together.”

  Unexpected pain speared though Katie at the woman’s words but she forced a smile to her face. This kindhearted soul had no idea that her helpful advice only served to remind Katie of what she and Michael would never share. They had this night and only this night.

  “Ready?” Michael said.

  “Sure. Thanks again, Mrs. Thomas.” Katie threw her a grateful smile.

  “You’re welcome, dear. And have a wonderful life.” Mrs. Thomas closed the door behind them.

  Katie and Michael stood silently in the swirling snow. She wasn’t quite sure what to say or do next and a surprising awkwardness settled over her. Finally she pulled a deep breath.

  “The inn’s right next door.” The words blurted out and she groaned to herself at her lack of restraint. Lord, she sounded like a sex-starved tart.

  Michael’s brow rose in amusement. “I noticed.”

  “Well, do you…I mean I thought…maybe it would be…” This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman in her seventies, no longer young and innocent and virginal. How could she be so uncomfortable on the very brink of what she’d wanted for much of her life?

  “Nervous?” His expression was serious but his eyes twinkled.

  “No.” Yes. “Of course not,” she said loftily. “I am a married woman, you know.”

  He laughed, hooked his arm through hers, and steered her toward the inn. Aside from a larger building containing an office and the residence of the owners, the inn itself was more a series of tiny cottages than anything resembling an actual hotel. Michael led her to the cottage farthest from the office and grabbed the doorknob.

  “Wait.” Katie placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t we have to check in or something?”

  “Mrs. Thomas called and arranged everything when you weren’t looking. It’s all set.” He pushed open the door.

  “Well then.” She breathed deeply and stepped forward.

  “Hold on just a minute.” Michael cast her a stern glare. “I believe you’re forgetting something.”

  She pulled her brows together in a puzzled frown. “What?”

  “I thought you said you were a married woman.” He shook his head with mock disappointment.

  She stared in confusion. “I am but—”

  “But this.” He swept her off her feet and up into his arms. She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. He stepped across the threshold and into the cottage.

  “Welcome to the honeymoon suite, Mrs. O’Connor.” He glanced around the room and his expression fell. “I wish it could be more.”

  “It’s wonderful.” She beamed up at him. He set her on her feet but she kept her arms wrapped around him. “Don’t you know anything yet, Lieutenant? I don’t care if it’s a shack or a castle. Just as long as you’re in it.”

  Relief shadowed his eyes. “I do have something to make it a little more like a castle.” He pulled a bottle of champagne out of his coat pocket. “A little wedding celebration.”

  She arched a brow. “Mrs. Thomas again?”

  “The woman’s amazing.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should have married her.”

  She tapped him on the chest sharply. “She’s already taken.”

  He sighed with exaggerated resignation. “Then I guess I’m stuck with you.” He laughed. “I’ll see if there are any glasses in the bathroom.”

  He headed to the only other door in the room and she eyed their surroundings. It really was a pleasant little cottage with knotty-pine paneling and cheerful curtains at the window. A big old-fashioned wing chair filled a corner. The room was dominated by a double bed and matching dresser. She shrugged out of her coat and caught sight of herself in the mirror.

  She caught her breath and stared, eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t looked in a mirror all night. The face that gazed back at her was an image she’d nearly forgotten.

  She’d always known that people had considered her pretty in her younger days, even beautiful, but it never really held much meaning for her. In her world, the world of business, a world of men, her looks were always more of a detriment than a benefit. An attractive face and shapely figure meant men typically thought she would be available for mergers that went far beyond the details of a business deal. She’d breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached an age where she was no longer described as lovely, but “handsome.”

  Now she stared at dark, shiny hair that glowed with health and vitality instead of the dull gray shimmer she was used to. At a face still untouched by the years with skin smooth and clear and not a line or wrinkle anywhere. And at a body firm and lithe and unaffected by the gravity and infirmity of age.

  “You’re beautiful, Mrs. O’Connor.” Michael stood behind her, his gaze meeting hers in the reflection. He handed her a tumbler of champagne.

  “We look pretty good together.”

  He nodded. “As if we were made for each other.”

  She took a sip of the wine and gazed at their images in the mirror: a pretty young woman, a handsome young officer. They looked like a photograph or a painting. A wedding painting. Two people in the prime of life with the world at their feet and their whole lives in front of them.

  Except that for these two, the future was as much an illusion as the reflection in the glass. A shudder passed through her.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her head against his chest. “Cold?”

  She shook her head and her gaze meshed with his in the mirror. “I love you, Michael.”

  “I love you, too.” He kissed the
side of her neck and she watched him in the mirror. His lips traversed the sensitive flesh to meet the neckline of her sweater, and she sighed with the sweetness of his touch. His hands found the hem of her cardigan and slipped beneath the wool to caress heated skin, then moved upward to cup her breasts bound by her bra. She gasped and melted against him. His thumbs flicked the hardened tips through the cotton fabric, and need arched through her.

  “Michael,” she groaned.

  She lifted her arms and he pulled the sweater over her head, swiftly unfastening her bra and letting it fall to the floor. For a moment, the two of them stared into the mirror, then all the passion pent-up through a long life alone demanded release.

  She turned to him and fumbled with the buttons on his jacket. He struggled with her skirt. Within a few frenzied frantic seconds they stood together with nothing between them except the realization that their joining was as right as destiny and as inevitable as time itself.

  They tumbled onto the bed and heated flesh pressed against searing skin. She could not get enough of his touch, of touching him, with hands and mouth and bodies entwined. Together, they searched and explored and discovered a passion she’d only known in the deep recesses of her mind where she’d kept him hidden and whole and alive forever.

  At last his body joined with hers in a rhythm of man and nature. And she wondered dimly why she didn’t shatter into a million pieces with the joy and wonder and glory of it all. Until finally the ever-tightening spring inside her exploded in a release of fire and flame and scorching desire. She cried out. He shuddered. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer and tighter as if to never let him go. Together they greeted an intensity of mind and body she’d never known and never suspected and would never forget.

  And when at last they lay collapsed, side by side, in a dreamy glow of satisfied exhaustion, she leaned on one elbow to study him silently. His eyes were closed and he looked so much younger than she remembered. She tried to focus on every detail, every nuance, every expression on his face, committing them all to memory. To save and savor for the rest of her life.

  And no matter what happened, memories of this night and this man would live in her heart always.

  In a place reserved for Christmas magic and miracles and promises.

  She woke at the first light of dawn, and he was gone. Fear sliced through her like a steel blade. She leapt from the bed, frantically searching for her discarded clothes and throwing them on in a blind panic. How could he have left without saying good-bye?

  No! The answer reverberated in her head. Michael would never go without talking to her. He was not the kind of man to sneak out in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t do that to anyone but especially not to her, his love, his wife.

  She sank back down on the bed and caught her breath. Confidence and faith flooded through her, and her doubts vanished: he would be back. And when he returned…it would be to say good-bye. They had so little time left.

  Quickly she finished dressing and then cast her gaze around the tiny cottage to make sure she left nothing behind. The minutes slipped past. Where was he? Impatiently she paced back and forth across the room. A radio sat on the table beside the bed and she flicked it on, hoping for distraction. Seasonal music floated through the air. Of course. How could she have forgotten? It was Christmas morning.

  “Merry Christmas, baby.” Michael’s voice sounded behind her. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close to his chest.

  “Merry Christmas, Michael.” She leaned back against him, content for a moment to merely bask in the glow of his warmth. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be up yet and I hated to disturb you. I went to pay the bill.” His voice was quiet. “I have to leave. Soon.”

  “I know.” She drew a shaky breath. “Why, Michael? Why do you have to go?”

  “Why?” Surprise sounded in his tone. “Katie, I’m in the Army. I’m an officer. I don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Sure you do.” She didn’t want to look at him. Not yet. Her words were slow and measured. “Michael, you don’t have to do this. There are places, in Central America and the Caribbean, where a man can disappear and no one can find him. With enough money—”

  “Katie.” He laughed and twirled her around to face him. “I don’t know who you think you married but I’m just a regular joe. I’m not rich. I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “But, Michael, I…” She stopped and widened her eyes with realization. She didn’t have that kind of money either. Not in 1942. There were no stock portfolios, no investment dividends, no mansion in California. She wasn’t Katherine Bedford with wealth and power at her fingertips but plain Katie Bedford. And all she had was love. She shrugged sadly. “I guess I don’t either.”

  “Besides, Katie”—he lifted her chin with his finger and smiled into her eyes—“even if I had the money, I could never do that. I could never run out on my country. I’m heading off to do something that’s not going to be pleasant and I don’t mind admitting it’s a little scary. But”—he shook his head—“when I signed on I gave my word. I won’t back down on it now.”

  “An officer and a gentleman no less,” she said with a feeble smile.

  “Exactly.” He nodded. “O’Connor men might not be wealthy in terms of money but we believe strongly in those things you can’t buy, like patriotism and commitment and honor. I could no more abandon my country than I could abandon myself or…you.”

  “I know,” she said with a deep sigh of resignation. “I knew before I brought it up. I just thought I had to try.”

  “You are worried about me, aren’t you?” The concern in his eye belied the smug tone of his words. She nodded silently. He gazed at her for a long, thoughtful second. “Katie…” He paused as if unsure how to continue.

  “Yes, Michael?”

  “Do you…” Again he hesitated, indecision rampant on his face. Finally his words came in a rush. “Do you have any regrets? About last night? About getting married? Or anything else? Because if you do, we—”

  She placed her finger across his lips. “Shut up, Lieutenant. I have a lot of regrets. More than you can possibly imagine. But not about last night and not about today.” She bit her lip and fought to keep her voice steady. “I do regret that I didn’t meet you a week ago or a month ago or a year ago. I regret that I have to let you leave without me, that I can’t go with you like a camp follower from another century. And I regret, more than anything, that we’ve had so little time together.”

  “Hey.” He kissed the tip of her finger. “We’ll have time someday. We’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

  Tears blurred her eyes but she smiled and nodded. He took her hands in his. “We’ll have a wonderful life, Katie. And we’ll have kids.” He stopped and threw her a suspicious glare. “Do you like kids?”

  “Kids?” She could barely choke out the word. The tears she’d held in check tumbled down her cheeks. She thought of the annoying little creatures standing in line with her to see Santa and the scorn she’d had for them—only now could she admit that it hadn’t been as much disdain as it had been yet another regret. “I’ve always wanted kids.”

  “Good.” A teasing light shone in his eye. “What do you think? Ten or twenty?”

  “Children?” She gasped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. But just about numbers.” He stared at her sternly. “I insist only on a boy and a girl.” He reached out and brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face, his voice gentle. “A little girl who looks like you.”

  “And a boy who takes after his dad.” Hysteria tinged the edge of her laughter. Hold on, Katie, don’t lose it now.

  “We’ll have it all, Katie. I promise.” He gathered her into his arms and held her firmly against him.

  She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around him, and savored the solid feel of his body next to hers. Desperately she tried to deny the thoughts crashing arou
nd her. There was no time left. There would be no future together. No little girl who looked like her. No little boy who took after his dad. If only they could stay like this always. Capture this one moment and ignore the rest of the world, hide from the inevitable, cheat even time itself.

  “Time now for a little change of pace.” The tinny voice of the radio announcer broke into her thoughts. “Let’s take a break from Christmas music for one of our favorite songs.” The first notes of “I’ll Be Seeing You” drifted into the room.

  Michael released her, stepped back, and held out his arms. “Dance with me, Katie. One more dance and then…then I have to go.”

  She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and nodded silently, unable to trust her voice. She melted into his arms and they swayed together to the bittersweet throb of the music.

  “I love this song,” he murmured.

  She sniffed and snuggled closer. “That’s because you’re a romantic.”

  He held her a little tighter. “There are certain benefits to being a romantic, you know.”

  “Really?”

  How can I let him go again?

  He nodded. “You bet. For one thing, you acknowledge fate when it hits you across the face. And you recognize love when you find it.”

  “That’s…swell.”

  How can I live my life once more without him?

  “And you can appreciate a song like this one.” He hummed a bar of music. “Listen to it, Katie. It’s a love song and—”

  “A promise,” she whispered.

  How can I say good-bye forever?

  “A promise.” He pulled back and his gaze locked with hers. “A promise that he’ll never forget. That everything he sees, everything he does, everywhere he goes he’ll be reminded of her.”

  “And?” She sobbed the word.

  “And…it’s a promise that he’ll come back.” Conviction shone on Michael’s face. “I will come back to you, Katie. I promise.”