Their Christmas Angel

by Tracy Madison

  “So long as we don’t cut off part of Roscoe’s face,” Megan said. “Because we can’t redo the posters. We left all of our art supplies at home, and we’d have to go back.”

  “Girls, we won’t have to redo anything,” Parker said. “You left plenty of room.”

  Nicole smiled at their chatter and went to the bedroom she used as an office. Quickly, because she was ready to search for her dog, she found the correct picture of Roscoe on her laptop and set it to print eight copies. Her brain returned to Parker’s statement about being in the hospital. Had he been sick or was there an accident or...?

  Again, she reminded herself that whatever the cause of his hospital stay, it wasn’t her business. Besides which, if Parker wanted her to know more, he’d tell her on his own. If he was anything like her, and it was a topic that made him uncomfortable, he wouldn’t. And since she had firsthand experience in the discomfort of unwanted questions, she would never put another person through the same misery. But that didn’t stop her curiosity or her concern.

  She hoped that whatever had happened was over and done with and well in the past.

  A sigh emerged as the eighth sheet of paper spit from the printer. Today, she didn’t have to think about anything except for finding Roscoe, and she wouldn’t have to answer any of those hated questions. Parker did not know she was a breast cancer survivor. To him, she was just his daughters’ music teacher who had lost her dog. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Better all the way around to keep it that way.

  Chapter Four

  Three hours of searching and putting up the Find This Dog, Please! posters had resulted in grumbling bellies, sore legs, and sadly, hadn’t yet brought them any closer to locating the angel’s missing dog. As much as Parker hated to call a time-out, one was needed. Not only for Erin and Megan, but also for Nicole. She was dragging just as much as his girls.

  Probably more, actually, if her heartbroken state was taken into consideration.

  So, he’d slowly worked their path toward Fosters Bar and Grill, and once they were on the same block as the restaurant, he said, “Time for a break. Let’s get some food and warm up, drop off this last poster, and then give it a couple more hours. What do you say?”

  He expected Nicole to urge him and the girls to do as he suggested, but to insist that she would keep going and meet back up with them later. Or worse, that she’d thank them politely for their assistance, but say that they had done enough and should go home. The idea of stopping, even for a necessary recharge, wouldn’t sit well with her determination to bring Roscoe home.

  The woman had a steel backbone and the seeming ability to push herself for however long it took to reach a desired goal. Admirable traits that Parker respected, but whether right or wrong, he had the gut-deep desire to see to her well-being. Allowing her to continue without rest and sustenance, a chance to regroup and find some level of peace again, went against that desire.

  So he would insist, if necessary. He was as determined as she.

  Surprisingly, she simply nodded and said, “A break sounds good.”

  Both pleased and concerned she’d agreed so easily, he led the way to the restaurant and held open the door while his daughters and Nicole stepped inside. There were a few tables available, so he chose one on the other side of the room, farthest from the bar and near a window. A quick scan showed the middle Foster brother, Dylan, behind the bar; the matriarch of the Foster clan, Margaret, and the only daughter, Haley, waiting tables. There was another bartender and waitress also working, but neither were members of the Foster family.

  There was always at least one Foster present at the restaurant, as well as the sporting goods store, which was another family-owned business. Unusual for three family members to be working at the same time in the middle of the day, but it was the start of the busy winter season for Steamboat Springs. Likely, someone had called in sick today or the restaurant wasn’t yet fully staffed for the season. Either way, he was pleased. The Fosters were good people.

  And he didn’t only think that because his sister was married to Reid, who happened to be his best friend. The Fosters were Parker’s family long before it became official.

  “I want chicken strips and french fries,” Erin said as soon as they were all seated. They ate here often, so the girls rarely looked at the menu. “And strawberry lemonade.”

  “I think we can handle that,” Parker said. “What about you, Megan?”

  “Um. I don’t know yet. What are you getting, Miss Bradshaw?”

  Nicole leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath, closed her eyes for a millisecond and then said, “I haven’t lived here that long and I’ve never eaten here before, Megan, so I’ll need your help in deciding. What do you usually get? What do you never get?”

  Megan’s eyes rounded. “You’ve never been here before? We’re here all the time.”

  Great. Now it sounded as if Parker never cooked. He did. Pancakes were his specialty. “Everything is good here, Nicole, and, kiddo...I wouldn’t say we’re here all the time. More like once a week. Sometimes, twice, if we have a lot going on after school.”

  “We were here three times last week, Daddy,” Erin said, her tone playful. “Remember? But it’s okay. We like eating here, and then we don’t have to clean dishes after dinner.”

  Nicole laughed, and the glow in her gaze returned. “I’d say the phrase ‘all the time’ fits.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess it does.” Parker leaned over and tugged Megan’s hair. “Maybe I’ll start cooking more often, then. I know! Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite and we can have leftovers all week. A huge pot of bean soup with ham hocks. Your grandmother’s recipe.”

  “That is not my favorite! And Erin doesn’t like it, either.” Wrinkling her nose, she looked at Nicole. “Do you know what ham hocks are, Miss Bradshaw? Pig feet! Yuck.”

  “Hmm. You loved that soup until your grandmother told you that bit of information, so I think your dislike isn’t based on actual taste, kiddo. Just the thought of eating pig’s feet.”

  “Sorry, Dad, but I’m on your daughter’s side,” Nicole said, laughing again. “Just put normal parts of the pig in your soup, and I’m sure there won’t be any problems. Right, Megan?”

  “Right!”

  This was nice, how easily Nicole seemed to fall in with the family bantering. It was a small thing, but important. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, “but make zero promises.”

  Margaret Foster came to their table with a handful of menus, which she quickly passed out. “Well, hello there, Lennox family and...” She paused, looked at Nicole with curiosity. “Why, you’re Ryan’s sister, aren’t you? So nice to see you again.”

  “I am Ryan’s sister,” Nicole said. “We met at Ryan and Andi’s wedding. It’s been a while, though, and I guess I didn’t connect the dots. How are you?”

  “Wait a minute,” Parker said, completely lost. “Who is Andi?”

  “Andrea is my niece,” Margaret supplied. “You were visiting your parents in Florida when Andi and Ryan got married, I think, Parker. Nice that you two have met now, though.”

  He shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone in Steamboat Springs seemed to be connected, in one way or another. “Well, it’s a small world, isn’t it?”

  “She’s our new music teacher! And we’re helping her find Roscoe, ’cause he ran away last night. Oh. Roscoe is her dog. See?” Erin showed Margaret the sign. “We made these and we saved the last one for you. Daddy said you’d put it up so people can see what Roscoe looks like.”

  “Yes, I see,” Margaret said, taking a closer look at the poster. “You girls did a wonderful job, and of course we’ll put this up. I’m thinking right by the door so everyone who comes in and out is sure to notice it.” She turned her attention toward Nicole. “I’m so sorry your dog is missing, N
icole. I hope you find him soon.”

  “Thank you,” Nicole said. “I hope the same.”

  Margaret rattled off the day’s specials, which included French onion soup, chicken potpie, and hot roast beef sandwiches with gravy and mashed potatoes. After taking their beverage order, she said, “Do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?”

  “Um... I’m set, and I know Erin is.” Parker gave a questioning look toward Megan and Nicole. “What about you two? Need some more time or—”

  As it turned out, they didn’t. Nicole ordered the soup and a side salad, Megan ended up going with her typical—a BLT on toast and chips—Parker went with the roast beef sandwich and Erin stuck with her first choice of chicken strips and fries. After the orders were given and Margaret had walked away, he said to Nicole, “When we’re done here, I was thinking we could return to the car and drive the path we already took before going a bit farther out. We can go back to walking then, but I think we’ve exhausted the immediate area near the school.”

  “That’s a good idea, and I am so grateful for all the help, but I’m guessing the girls might be getting bored looking for a dog they’ve never even met,” Nicole said. “Maybe just drop me off at home after this, and I can wrangle my parents to help. And then you guys—” she smiled at Erin and Megan “—can enjoy the rest of your day doing something a lot more fun.”

  “But being with you is fun,” Megan said. “And we like helping.”

  “We’ll be happier to keep looking, Miss Bradshaw,” Erin said. “We almost hit you with our car, so maybe you would’ve caught Roscoe if that hadn’t happened. We should help!”

  Before Nicole could toss out any new objections, Parker said, “You should listen to them, as in a way, this is our fault. Well, mine, seeing how neither of the girls were behind the wheel.” Instinctively, he leaned over the table and grasped one of Nicole’s hands. And there it was, that jolt of lightning the second his skin touched hers. Crazy. Wonderful. Curious. “Unless you’re tired of our company, we’re in this to the end. You have the Lennox team on your side.”

  “Team Lennox, huh?” she asked, her tone soft and her eyes warm. Pale pink flooded her cheeks, but she kept her hand tucked into his. He liked that. Perhaps he liked it a little too much, a little too quickly. “I’m honored. So, okay, then, I rescind my offer of escape.”

  Neither moved for a second. Their gazes stayed connected. And if he’d known her for longer than he had, if his daughters weren’t sitting at the same table in rapt attention, he might continue to follow his instincts and kiss her for the next five or fifteen or five hundred minutes. Such a kiss would lead to a flurry of admissions that shouldn’t be said. Not yet, anyway, and maybe not ever. That, he knew, would depend on many unpredictable factors.

  But he wanted to tell her how she’d impacted him, how she made him feel in a way he hadn’t believed he’d ever experience again and how he would very much like to continue forward to explore what those responses might mean. If anything. But she was his kids’ music teacher. She was new in town. He knew almost nothing about her past. Hell, she might have a boyfriend. Or a dozen men waiting in the wings. Okay, unlikely. He sincerely doubted she was the type of woman who would be comfortable dating more than one man at a time.

  Yet, the facts were undeniable. He didn’t know nearly enough.

  Releasing her hand, he settled back in his chair. The desire to kiss Nicole, to taste her lips and weave his fingers into her silky mane of blond hair didn’t fade. Neither did the desire to, well, confess his attraction, he supposed, so they were on the same page. He felt the need to rush, to claim her now, before even another second elapsed.

  Ridiculous, of course, for many reasons. Too fast. Too much. Too soon. He could be misinterpreting his body’s signals for one thing. For another, Nicole would bolt if he breathed so much as a syllable of what he was thinking, feeling, after only knowing each other for a handful of hours. Rushing would be stupid and foolhardy and could create a gigantic mess.

  Just because he hadn’t had enough time with Bridget did not mean he wouldn’t with this woman. Slow and simple; fun and easy. One conversation, one date, one step at a time. Like normal people behaved when they were interested in someone. People whose lives hadn’t been blown to smithereens by the cancer bomb or a skiing accident or some other arbitrary act of fate.

  Fine. It had taken a while, but Parker had found normalcy with his kids, his friends, his job—every other piece of his friggin’ life. He could find it here, too.

  “Good,” he said, picking up the trail of their conversation. Be normal. “Because Team Lennox doesn’t believe in escape. We choose our positions and we stick.”

  “Yep! Like glue,” Megan said. “Super sticky glue. The kind that doesn’t wash off.”

  Another laugh from Nicole. “Fingernail polish remover does the trick, but seeing how I don’t happen to have a bottle on me, I’ll agree to be a temporary member of the Lennox team.”

  “We don’t take on temporary members. You’re permanently in the fold now,” he said, only partially teasing. “As a friend and the girls’ music teacher. There are rules, however, and meetings every other Saturday at four o’clock sharp.” He winked at his daughters, hoping they’d play along. “Tell her what happens if she’s late to the meetings, girls.”

  Erin scrunched her nose in consideration. “You have to bring pizza if you’re late.”

  “And...you also have to,” Megan said, catching on to the joke, “sing to us!”

  “Hmm. Pizza and singing if I’m late?” Yet another laugh, this one sweet and almost carefree, slipped from her mouth. “That’s quite the punishment! What happens if I’m on time?”

  “I guess you’ll have to show up to one to find out,” Parker said just as Margaret brought their food to the table. “Pizza and singing might not sound like a punishment, but you should know the truth. We make you sing for hours on end while we eat the pizza and watch.”

  “You know,” she said a few minutes later, over a bite of her soup, “there are a few work-arounds that come to mind, so I’m not all that worried.”

  One brow rose. “Is that so? Details, please.”

  “Simple. I’ll eat before I get there, and you didn’t specify what type of pizza I had to bring, which means the toppings are completely my choice.” She gave him a teasing smirk. “I’m thinking an anchovy...no, make that sardine, pineapple and...hmm, broccoli pizza with barbecue sauce. Maybe with feta cheese instead of mozzarella.”

  “Gross!” Megan grimaced. “I won’t eat that. I like pepperoni.”

  To which, Erin said, “Pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza is the best.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry,” Nicole said with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ll bring you girls whatever you want. The sardine specialty is meant for your father’s enjoyment.”

  Robust laughter burst from Parker’s chest. This woman was something. Beautiful, sweet, smart and sexy. Compassionate and real. There didn’t seem to be a fake bone in her body. Depth, he guessed he’d call it. All of that combined was more than enough, by a long shot. Add in her sense of humor? Her ability to connect with his daughters? Perfection. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, Nicole, even that revolting mess you just described.”

  A moment of silence ensued before she shrugged. “Well, that isn’t fun at all, and I don’t believe you for a second. Someday, I might have to test you on that claim.”

  Someday sounded good. The barbecue pineapple, sardine-and-broccoli pizza? Not so much. But what he said was “Sure. I’ll choke it down while you sing.”

  “Have you considered that I might be a horrible singer? Just because I’m a music teacher doesn’t mean I can carry a tune. Imagine listening to a howling, feral cat for an hour.” Another shrug, but her eyes—oh, they were all but glowing, and that smile of hers was as bright as the sun. Good. She needed
the reprieve. “This little punishment idea of yours could easily backfire.”

  “Don’t believe her, Daddy!” Erin almost jumped out of her seat in her enthusiasm to tattle on her teacher. “She sings in class with the rest of us, and she sounds wonderful.”

  He bet she did. Like an angel, was his guess. A firecracker of an angel who had piqued more than his interest. In less than twenty-four hours, even. It had to mean something. His job was figuring out what. Well, that, and bringing Roscoe safely home. Tonight preferably, because he hated the thought of Nicole being sad and scared and lonely.

  Yeah. He really hated that thought.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Nicole sat on her kitchen floor and stared at Roscoe’s food and water bowls. She’d automatically filled them, had even called for him, before remembering the awful truth. He wasn’t here. They hadn’t found him on Saturday or on Sunday, when Team Lennox had insisted on joining her search efforts yet again. She hadn’t argued.

  They wanted to help. She wanted their help. It was less lonely and scary with Parker, and the girls’ positive attitudes and silly banter made the process feel lighter and happier. Despite all of that, and the combined hopeful determination of four, a miracle had not occurred. How could a dog that large and loud and loving—and, well, she thought he was beautiful, but others described him as rather homely—disappear without anyone seeing him? It didn’t make sense.

  This morning, she had felt Roscoe’s loss, knew he wasn’t here, but she’d fallen into her normal before-school routine and had filled his food and water bowls, had called his name and had waited several excruciating seconds before realizing what she had done, that he was not here, and that she had no idea where else to look or what else to do.

  And while different on many levels, this reminded her of being ill. Of doing every last thing the doctor told her to do and knowing she couldn’t do anything else but hope and pray. Whatever happened next was out of her hands. It felt awful then and it felt awful now.