by Sydney Logan
Copyright ©2014
Mountain Media
Cover design by T.M. Franklin
Front and back cover image by Dasha Pentrenko and SSilver
What Child Is This cover design by T.M. Franklin
Cover images by ladybirdstudio and ngocdai86
Mistletoe Magic cover design by Jada D’Lee
Cover image by Yulia Gapeenko
The Little Drummer Boy cover design by Jada D’Lee
Cover image by R. Gino Santa Maria
Book formatting by Lindsey Gray
Edited by Wendy Depperschmidt, Shaina Hanson, and Kathie Spitz.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.
Any trademarks included in this book are the property of the respective copyright holders. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Title
Copyright
Summaries
What Child Is This?
Mistletoe Magic
The Little Drummer Boy
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Estranged from his family and the love of his life, Thomas Fisher finds himself stranded in an airport on Christmas Eve. Imagine his surprise when a young boy takes him by the hand and shows him the way home.
Melanie Taylor is on a mission to find the perfect Christmas gift for her husband. Something special. Something expensive. Something that will save her marriage. Can a chance encounter on an elevator make her Christmas wish come true?
It’s Christmas Eve, and Justin Banks is on the hunt for a last-minute gift for his wife, Megan. With the help of a homeless man and the beat of a drum, Justin stumbles upon the one thing Megan has always wanted. The one thing money can’t buy. It's amazing what we can hear if we just take a moment and really listen.
The airport’s full of aggravated travelers, desperate to make it home for Christmas. Thanks to an unexpected snow storm out west, flights in and out of Atlanta have come to a virtual standstill. The monitors flash with cancellations and delays, and with each new screen update, a symphony of groans can be heard throughout the gate area. Behind the counter, equally frustrated ticket agents attempt to please the stranded passengers.
I’ve seen it all. Tears. Screams. Tantrums.
And that’s just from the adults.
As for me? I’m just trying to get to a business meeting.
“Sir,” the agent says to the passenger in front of me, “we’re doing everything we can to get you—”
“You’re not doing enough!” The frazzled man points toward his family standing off to the side. “You explain to my kids why they aren’t going to make it to Grandma’s house for Christmas!”
The woman apologizes again and offers him a hotel for the night. The angry man stalks away to consult with his wife. Shaking my head, I step up to the counter and offer the agent my ticket.
“Good evening, Mr. Fisher. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
It is an inconvenience, but I force a smile anyway. The last thing this woman needs is another irate passenger.
“It’s not your fault. You can’t control the weather.”
She sighs with relief. “Thank you for understanding. Let’s see what we can do to get you to New York as soon as possible.”
“I appreciate that.”
While she works her magic, I pull my phone out of my jacket and scroll through about a hundred unread emails. Unlike the rest of the travelers, I’m not desperate to get anywhere to celebrate the holiday. However, two days after Christmas, I’m scheduled to meet the owner of a stagnant, yet potentially profitable, software company. December means one thing to me— significant end-of-year profits. In our crappy economy, it also means the end of the line for many struggling corporations. That’s when I get to work my own kind of holiday magic. I swoop in, buy the drowning business for mere pennies, and then sell it for a substantial return.
Needless to say, Sullivan Software is just one of the many companies on Thomas Fisher’s Christmas list.
“Mr. Fisher, I have good news. There’s a short delay, but your flight should be boarding soon.”
Happy to be the bearer of good news for at least one person in her line, the agent smiles brightly and hands me my boarding pass. I thank her and try to ignore the jealous stares of the rest of the travelers as I make my way to a seat. I spend the next forty minutes answering emails, deleting others, and confirming my hotel reservation in Manhattan. My secretary would typically handle this stuff, but in the spirit of the season, I’d given her two weeks off, with pay. I may have the reputation of Scrooge, but I understand that some people actually enjoy spending time with their family during the holidays.
I’m not one of those people.
It’s not that I don’t love them. That’s the problem. I love them too much.
I love her too much.
My flight’s called, and I grab my bag and board the plane. After stuffing my carry-on in the compartment, I fasten my seatbelt and pretend to listen as the flight attendant gives her safety spiel. I check my phone one last time and notice a text from my sister, Shaina.
Please come home for Christmas this year?
I don’t bother replying. She knows I’m not coming home. I just power off my phone and stuff it back into my jacket. With a tired sigh, I lean back, close my eyes, and find myself doing the one thing I try never to do.
I think about the mess I’ve made of my life.
Ten years ago, I’d been an eighteen-year-old living in Paisley Springs, Tennessee—a tiny, rural town about two hours north of Nashville. Ten years ago, I’d been a popular athlete with dreams of becoming a professional basketball player. Ten years ago, I’d been the golden child of Dr. Benjamin and Olivia Fisher.
Ten years ago, I’d been a boy in love.
I still am.
Life is full of highways, and some are just too long when you’re trying to find your way home. In my case, some forgotten roads completely disappear. Time erases them, to the point that you begin to wonder if they ever really existed in the first place.
But they did. I know they did.
I close my eyes and try to ignore the image that flickers behind my eyelids. In my mind, Emma Hayes is still eighteen years old. With her long red hair and deep green eyes, she’d always looked at me as if I was her dream come true.
And I was, until I ripped those dreams away.
We were together for more than a year, and it had been the happiest time of my life. But being crazy in love makes you do stupid things. Careless things.
And then things happen that you never imagined would happen to you.
When Emma told me she was pregnant, I questioned if the baby was even mine. The accusation was ridiculous, considering I’d been her first and she’d been mine, and we’d been inseparable since our first date. When her dad showed up at my house, he and his rifle made it clear that I was expected to take care of my responsibilities.
There’d been no question in my mind that I loved her. Emma was smart, funny, and everything I could have ever wanted in a girlfriend . . . and someday, in a wife. I’d never been a romantic person or believed in love at first sight, but Emma Hayes had made a believer out of me.
Then I ruined
it all by being the biggest jerk imaginable.
During the third month of her pregnancy, when her morning sickness was at its worst, the enormity of our situation began to weigh heavily on me. When our parents told me I’d have to find a full-time job and forego college to take care of my new family, I became bitter. And with that bitterness, I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. Hurtful words I didn't mean. Hateful words that made her cry. Heartbreaking words that sent Emma to the hospital, where she miscarried.
My fault.
The doctor told me I wasn’t to blame, but I didn’t believe him. I could tell by the look in Emma’s eyes that she didn’t believe him, either. Her green eyes, once so bright with love for me, were now hard and cold. And my parents, who used to be so proud of me, now looked at me like I was a monster. Because I was.
We graduated high school a month later, and I packed everything I could fit into my car and fled to the nearest community college. I worked full-time while going to school and eventually transferred to Belmont to complete my degree in finance. After that, I moved to Atlanta and spent six months working as an intern for an investment group before being offered a salaried position in the Mergers and Acquisitions division of the company.
While I’m a professional success, I’m a complete failure when it comes to my personal life.
I haven’t been home in ten years. I won’t even fly through the state of Tennessee if I can avoid it. Some days, like today, it’s unavoidable. Out of obligation to my mother, I check in with my family from time-to-time, but it’s a brief Skype call. They never mention Emma and I never ask. No matter what she’s doing now, and no matter who she’s with, I know she’s better off without me. As for me, I haven’t even tried to fall in love.
It’s impossible to love again when every face I see is hers.
“Sir?” My eyes snap open to find a flight attendant standing over me. “I’ll need you to fasten your seatbelt before landing.”
I blink rapidly. We can’t possibly be in New York already.
“Landing?”
“Yes, sir. Weather conditions have become unfavorable, so we’re having to divert to Nashville.”
“Nashville?”
“Yes. Hopefully it won’t be too long of a delay. But in the meantime, welcome to Tennessee.”
I almost laugh. Can the universe really be that cruel?
Yes. Yes, it can.
The furious voices of holiday travelers echo in the air of Nashville International Airport. An angry mob’s already formed at the ticket counter, screaming at the bewildered ticket agents, but it’s obvious to anyone that can read a weather map that no flights will be departing from Nashville anytime soon. The storm that dumped two feet of snow in Kansas is making its way east. Unfortunately, it hit the Volunteer State in the form of ice.
Ice is bad.
It’s all turned to snow now, and while that’s not much better, at least there’s some traction there. Neither type of precipitation is conducive to me getting out of this state anytime soon.
I’m not at all surprised when the ticket agents report that, unless we’d like to stay in a hotel, we might as well find a spot and make ourselves comfortable for the night. As I drop into the nearest seat, I can’t help but laugh. I’m stranded, in the one place in the world I really don’t want to be stranded.
Merry Christmas to me.
“You’re two hours away from your family in Paisley Springs. Don't you think you should at least call them?”
I turn my head toward the voice, and I’m startled to find myself staring into a set of bright green eyes. He’s just a kid, dressed in a red hoodie and jeans and playing some kind of game on his iPad. His hair’s dark, and I can’t help but notice it’s nearly the same shade as mine . . . and just as unruly. I’m about to tell the kid he might as well embrace it, because there isn’t a hair product on the market that will tame it, but then I realize he mentioned my family.
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Your family. You know . . . your mom and dad? Your sister?”
“What about them?”
“They miss you.”
“And how the hell would you know that?”
He grimaces, probably because I cursed. I don’t know much about kids, but he looks old enough to have said a few cuss words in his short little life. I bet that video game is just full of them.
“Because I know.”
The kid shrugs and turns his attention back to his game.
Annoyed, and just a little freaked out, I grab my bag and head to the restroom. I quickly splash cold water on my face and try to get my blood pressure under control. Who is this kid? How does he know my family? And how does he know I’m two hours away from home? I close my eyes and try to regulate my breathing, only to have to start the entire process over again when I open them to find the kid sitting on the sink . . . and still staring down at his game.
“Are you following me now?”
“You’re very rude.”
“And you’re a pain in the ass. Why are you bothering me? Where are your parents?”
The boy slowly lowers his iPad and levels me with a steely look that knocks the breath out of me. His eyes are so green. Almost as green as—
“She misses you, too.”
Okay, this is officially weird.
“Who misses me?”
The boy rolls his eyes.
“She does.”
For just a moment, I allow myself to believe it.
“No, she doesn’t. She’s better off without me. They’re all better off.”
“You’re wrong.”
Once again, I’m fascinated by the lost look in his eyes. The resemblance is heartbreakingly remarkable.
I shake my head. “Well, kid, this has been loads of fun, but why don’t I help you find your parents?”
He smiles sadly at me.
“I think you need to see,” he says, jumping off the counter. “And I think I need to be the one to show you. Why don’t you rent a car or call us a cab or something?”
I laugh and grab my bag. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not with me, anyway.”
“Why not?”
Sighing tiredly, I head out of the restroom and back into the insanity of the airport. Families have begun to build makeshift campsites on the floor. I collapse into the nearest empty chair and scroll through my phone, searching for the nearest hotel.
Of course he follows me.
“The car rental place is on the other side of the airport,” he says.
“Look, kid, I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but there’s an ice storm coming. I’m not renting a car and driving to Paisley Springs tonight. And even if I did, you wouldn’t be going with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d be charged with kidnapping?”
“Nah, it’s cool. And the highway to Paisley Springs is clear.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I have an app that says so. See?”
He hands me the iPad, and sure enough, there’s an app on the screen displaying road conditions throughout the state. According to it, the highway to Paisley Springs is clear. For now, anyway.
“Seems kind of stupid to stay in a hotel when your family’s so close,” he says.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand you’re chicken shit.”
I smirk. So he does curse.
“Nice language, kid.”
He grins.
“Thanks. I get it from my dad.”
I have no idea what possesses me to listen to him. No idea at all why I’m now driving toward Paisley Springs with this kid in the passenger seat.
“Are you sure you don’t need to call your parents or something?”
“Nope. It’s cool.”
Do parents really let their kids loose like this? I have no idea.
“Okay . . . so what's your name?”
I figure if I’m going to prison for kidnapping,
I might as well know the name of the kid who put me there.
“Xander. It’s Alexander. I just like Xander better.”
Huh.
“Weird. My middle name is Alexander.”
“Huh.”
Officially crazy.
“I’m Thomas Fisher.”
“I know.”
Of course he knows.
“How old are you, Xander?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping I’ll bore you to death and you’ll fall asleep. Then I can just keep on driving.”
“You don’t want to see your family?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s not a no.”
I mutter a curse under my breath.
“And you can keep driving, but we’ll end up in Kentucky. The roads aren’t so clear up there.”
I groan with annoyance and tell him to play his game.
Snow begins to fall as we get closer to Paisley Springs. Thankfully, the roads are still clear—of both ice and drivers, which makes the trip much easier. The two hours fly, and before I even realize it, we’re parked in front of my parents’ house.
“It’s been ten years since I've seen this place,” I murmur.
Christmas lights shine brightly from the front porch, and a gigantic gold and green wreath hangs proudly on the front door. Mom always loved decorating for the holidays. It seems a little minimal this year, but they’re older now. I try not to think about that too much.
“I can’t go inside.”
Xander nods. “Maybe just peek through the window?”
I can do that. I can just peek.
It’s a slippery walk up the sidewalk. Of course, Xander’s right on my heels, talking nonstop and driving me nuts. Doesn’t he realize how nervous I am?
“You’re just peeking,” the little mind reader says. “Don’t be nervous.”
We walk around the side of the house to the living room window. Taking a deep breath, I peek inside. A brilliantly decorated Christmas tree stands in the corner with only a few presents nestled below its branches. Like always, our stockings hang from the mantle of the fireplace, and above them, Mom’s Christmas village is displayed. I smile when I see the little train making its circuit around the miniature town. When I was a kid, I could watch that train for hours.
