Their Christmas Angel

by Tracy Madison

They were less than five minutes from Nicole’s, and he wanted their minds on happier topics, so he asked, “Speaking of the tryouts, which parts do you two think you want?”

  “Snow White!” they both said at the same time.

  “You can’t be Snow White,” Erin said to Megan. “You’re not tall enough, and she—”

  “You’re not that tall, either, Erin! And yes, I can be Snow White. She had really white skin, and so do I, and she likes birds, and so do I, and...”

  Lovely. A full week later and right back to square one.

  * * *

  Two ice-cream-stuffed girls and an overgrown dog were fast asleep on Nicole’s bed. She smiled at the sight and covered all three with a blanket. They’d piled in here after their treats, roughhousing and playing with Roscoe, and when suddenly there was an absence of giggles and shrieks streaming into the living room, she came to check on them.

  They must have really been worn-out, as it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. Assuming Parker wouldn’t wait too much longer to gather them up and head home, she took a few extra minutes to just look at them, to revel in the idea that someday, it might be her child asleep on this bed, after eating ice cream and playing with Roscoe. Placing her palm on her stomach, Nicole prayed that this time, the procedure had worked. This time in a week, she could take an early response pregnancy test, but she might wait another week or two.

  Thanksgiving was six days away, for one thing. She wanted to enjoy the holiday with her family, focus on all she had to be thankful for and not be upset over a negative test. Also, though, since she’d started this journey, every negative test had her peeing on a new stick each morning, in blind hope, until she received the official “not yet” from the fertility clinic. This time, she wanted to save herself from that daily dose of devastation. She just wasn’t sure if, when the moment came, she’d be able to resist the temptation.

  Closing the door about halfway, she rejoined Parker in the living room, saying, “Nothing nefarious was afoot. They’re fast asleep, with the dog curled right in between them. They must have had a busy day, to fall asleep so early. When is their normal bedtime?”

  “Eight thirty, no later than nine, during the week, so this isn’t that early for them,” Parker said, stretching his legs in front of him. “Though, between school and the tryouts, coming here and playing with Roscoe, they did have a fuller day than normal. And we had a tough conversation on the drive over. That may have sapped some of their energy.”

  “Oh? Is everything okay?” Nicole sat down in the vacant chair and promised herself that tomorrow, come hell or high water, she would buy a sofa. While Parker hadn’t mentioned her continued lack of one, she felt somewhat embarrassed. He’d yet to answer her question, so she said, “You can tell me it isn’t any of my business and my feelings won’t be hurt. I promise.”

  “It isn’t that. I’m just not sure where to start.” He gave his head a small shake, let out a breath and said, “We haven’t talked about their mother yet, so I don’t know what you know.”

  Why, oh, why had she asked about his conversation with the girls? This wasn’t only painful territory, it could become dangerous. But she had asked, he had answered and volleyed a question back at her. So, she told him the truth. “Well, the other teachers have filled me in some, and this is a fairly tight-knit community, so...I know you’re a widower. I’m so sorry, Parker.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry, too.” Combing his fingers through his hair, he said, “I’m not surprised that people talk, that’s normal. What have you been told?”

  “That your wife died from breast cancer, and that after her death, you and the girls moved here from Boston, since Steamboat Springs is your hometown.” She said the words matter-of-factly, as if they didn’t hold the weight of the world or a universe of pain and sadness for this man and his daughters. “I would never have brought it up, Parker. This... I’m just very sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s good to talk about. I forget that sometimes. Anyway,” he said, “on the drive here, Erin asked if Bridget—that was my wife’s name—could really watch over them from heaven. I wanted to give her the absolute answer she needed. But she’s a smart kid, and she’d have asked more questions if I tried to bluff.”

  “Yes, she would’ve. Erin likes knowing all the details.”

  “She does, doesn’t she? I went with the truth, which boiled down to, I don’t know, but if there’s any possible way, then yes, their mother is watching over them.”

  Such a tough conversation. She felt for Parker, for the girls, and wished she could somehow heal the wounds they’d suffered. Impossible, of course, but that didn’t make the wish disappear. “I think you handled it well. How did Erin take your explanation?”

  “She took it well, actually. Decided that their mother had watched them in the tryouts and enjoyed herself.” He paused. “On that note, what are the chances of having two Snow Whites in the play? Because, as it turns out, both girls want the same part.”

  “No chance on two Snow Whites, but—” She broke off, closed her eyes and let herself step onto that dangerous ground. “I should tell you something, I think. I don’t want to, really, but...well, let me ask you this first. Earlier, at the school, you started to say something before the girls were done with the chairs. Were you... That is, it seemed as if you were about to—”

  “Ask you on a date?” Parker said, his gaze on her, steady and sure. “Yes, Nicole, that is exactly what I was about to do. I think we have a lot in common. I like you, would enjoy getting to know you better, and I don’t see any reason not to be clear in my intentions.”

  She swallowed. Hard. Nodded. “I like you, too, and we do seem to have...a lot in common, and I’ve enjoyed...well, every minute we’ve spent together so far.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ in there, I’m guessing.” Parker sighed, combed his fingers through his hair a second time. “If you’re not interested in more, or even seeing if there could be more, that’s okay. I still like you. So do the girls.” A lopsided grin appeared, and she could almost—almost—see what he might have looked like as a little boy. “Friends are good. Good friends are better.”

  Oh. He just gave her a way out, and she considered—for all of three seconds—taking and running with that out. But she did like him, she was interested in discovering if more could exist between them, she just had to be honest. So he knew the road she’d traveled.

  Unfair, with his past, if she didn’t. Unfair to the girls. Unfair to her, as well.

  So, she pulled together the strands of her courage, inhaled a breath deep into her lungs and said, “I am interested, Parker. But you might not be after I tell you...” Her words trailed off and she swallowed again. “This is harder than I thought,” she admitted, “which is ridiculous, really. I don’t share this with many people, you see, and...and—”

  “Then don’t tell me yet, Nicole,” Parker said in an easy and calm manner. Steady and sure, like his gaze. “There is plenty of time to learn all we need to know about each other. Don’t feel rushed to hand me all of your secrets now. Let me earn that trust. I’m okay with that.”

  “Oh.” Emotion twisted in her stomach. He was such a good man. “That sounds reasonable, and no, I won’t tell you all of my secrets for a long while, but this one...this one, you need to know. I won’t feel comfortable moving forward unless you know.” And she wanted to move forward. Wanted to see, like he’d said, where this interest and attraction could lead.

  “Then tell me,” he said. “Just blurt it out and I’ll take it from there.”

  “You will, huh? I don’t think it will be quite that simple.”

  “Try me.”

  Silly, perhaps, but she felt as if she stood on the edge of an abyss, and that speaking these words would either send her tumbling or give her wings, but that if she remained silent and kept those words bottled up, she mig
ht not fall, but she wouldn’t fly, either.

  Without thought, her hand went to her right breast—her reconstructed breast—and she closed her eyes, breathed and said, “In my late twenties, my gynecologist found a lump on my breast during my yearly exam. Within two weeks of that appointment—” she opened her eyes “—I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, Stage 3B, and honestly, my prognosis wasn’t positive. They told me that right off, that it would be a fight. And it was.”

  Shock whitened Parker’s complexion as her words, the meaning of them, took hold. She kept her mouth shut, waiting to see what he would say before offering any additional explanation. If he instantly bolted, she wouldn’t need to say anything else. He wouldn’t need to know anything more. Right now, whatever happened next was all on him.

  “IBC,” he said after a minute of complete silence. “Same as Bridget.”

  “Oh. I...didn’t know.” How would she? Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised, either. “I’m sorry, Parker. For that and for dumping this on you.”

  If his wife had suffered from the same type of breast cancer that Nicole had, he already knew all of the grisly details. Which could be good or bad. Less for her to explain. More for him to remember, to think about, worry about. Inflammatory breast cancer tended to be aggressive, and for most women, by the time it was diagnosed, had already reached Stage 3 or Stage 4.

  She guessed that was the case for Parker’s wife, and that Bridget’s body had already started to succumb to the disease when she was diagnosed. Speculation, of course, based on all that Nicole knew from her personal experience, her doctors, the internet and the women she’d met while going through her various stages of treatment. Bonds were formed with perfect strangers when you were fighting for the same goal: getting healthy and staying alive.

  Nicole’s heart ramped to high speed and her stomach churned while she waited through the silence for Parker to say more. To do whatever it was he was going to do. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him so quickly, but she couldn’t date the man without letting him in, without providing information that would—despite how painful and scary—offer both of them protection in the future. He had to know, and she needed him to know, before they took another step. That didn’t change how awful the situation was. On either side.

  Parker leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands, and a visible shudder rippled through his muscular arms, the lean span of his back, his long, denim-covered legs. She hurt for him, for whatever memories and thoughts were circling through his brain. But she hurt for herself, too, for her own memories and thoughts, her own fears and vulnerabilities. He would bolt. Of course he would. She wouldn’t even blame him for doing so.

  As if he’d read her mind, he abruptly stood, and she believed with every fiber of her being that his goal was to collect his girls, offer a few kind words and get out of her house as fast as those long legs could manage. Why wouldn’t he? He’d gone through hell once. For a woman he loved, had cherished, had planned on spending his entire life with.

  Why would he—why would anyone—take that chance for a woman he barely knew? Didn’t matter she was healthy today. The statistics, which he would know as well as she did, proved that she was at greater risk for a recurrence than other women were for a first occurrence. He would view her as a ticking bomb, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d consider putting himself or his daughters through the explosion and aftermath a second time.

  “Nicole,” he said, his voice rough and uneven. “I am so sorry.”

  “I know. I understand, I do, and it’s okay.” She lifted her shoulders and went for a confident, don’t-worry-about-me type of smile. “You don’t have to explain or—”

  “Explain?” he asked, walking to her. “Explain why I wish you’d bought a sofa, so I could sit next to you and hold you? Or that I’m sorry or that I wish you’d never even heard of this disease, let alone had to fight it in your twenties?”

  “I...I...” What was happening here? Why wasn’t he rushing to her bedroom to get his daughters? Why wasn’t he halfway out the door by now? And then, her traitorous body, all that pent-up fear and exhaustion from the past, won the war on her bravery, and she started to cry. Not loud, gasping tears. But tears, just the same. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

  He pulled her up and into his arms, without a moment’s hesitation, and held her so close, so tight, and darn if her tears didn’t fall faster. Harder. “Go ahead and cry. I got you.”

  “Stupid to cry,” she mumbled into his shirt, her words drenched with tears. “That w-was over four years ago. I’m healthy now. I don’t know why I’m c-crying.”

  “Because it’s a painful memory that you probably don’t talk about often, and you just shared part of that experience with me. Makes total sense.” Turning them around, his arms still holding her tight, he pulled her onto his lap as he sat down in a chair. “Thank you for telling me, Nicole. You didn’t have to. You could’ve kept this to yourself. I’m glad you chose to share.”

  “You needed to know,” she said, her voice stronger. “Wasn’t fair not to tell you.”

  “Fair doesn’t come into the equation,” he said quietly, his hand stroking her back in small, even circles. “This is your story, a huge piece of what makes you, you. Those pieces are valuable. I’m honored you wanted to let me in, that you cared enough to do so.”

  Another round of silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or thick. There was an ease between them, a naturalness that defied reason. Strength and comfort, security and warmth. A reality she’d never really known with another person. Yet another miracle? She thought so.

  Even if the potential for more had disappeared. As he’d said earlier: Friendships were good. Good friendships were better. And with this man, she sensed a best friend in the making.

  Chapter Seven

  Paul and Margaret Foster’s home was a cacophony of sound, scents and activity when Parker, Erin and Megan arrived on Thanksgiving Day. The Foster family had been large to begin with, but with all the kids married now, and half of them with children of various ages, there were a lot of people celebrating the day together. All told, they were a group of seventeen.

  Reid, Daisy and the twins were in attendance, naturally. Cole, the youngest of the Foster brothers, was there with his wife, Rachel. Next in line was Dylan, his wife, Chelsea, and their children: six-year-old Henry and two-month-old Hazel. Bringing the number to seventeen—counting Parker and the girls—was Haley, the youngest of the siblings, and her husband, Gavin.

  And not only were the Fosters close, they were also a handsome family. Reid and Cole took after their father, with dark, almost-black hair and brown eyes, while Dylan and Haley were blessed with Margaret’s hazel-green eyes and auburn hair. Good genetics, from the inside out. People who knew what mattered in life. Parker was grateful to every one of them.

  The second he walked in, the girls evaporated into the Foster clan, at home here as much as they were in their own house or when they were at Daisy and Reid’s place. Parker had almost grown up in this house, himself, as he and Reid had met in grade school and forged a friendship that hadn’t only endured, it had strengthened. In Parker’s mind, Reid was his brother well before he and Daisy tied the knot. Which made the entire Foster family his, as well.

  It was a good feeling, having that bond. Parker didn’t see his parents very often anymore, as they had relocated to Florida to live out their retirement years. But he always had this family. Before Daisy had made it here to care for the girls, in those dark days that Parker was stuck in the hospital, Reid had stepped in to pick up the reins.

  Yes. This was family, regardless of blood.

  Before searching out his best friend, Parker stopped in the kitchen to drop off the pies he’d bought from a local bakery. Paul and Margaret were there, dancing around one another as they finished preparations for Th
anksgiving dinner. Rachel and Haley were there, too, stepping in to help as Margaret shouted out commands like a drill sergeant. A smile wreathed itself across Parker’s face as he recalled many other similar moments in this very same kitchen.

  “Hello, Fosters,” he said, adding his two pies to the four already decorating the table. “And Happy Thanksgiving. Looks busy in here, and everything smells delicious.”

  Paul grinned and winked. “You know how it goes when my wife is in charge.”

  “Hush, you, and finish peeling those potatoes,” Margaret said. She gave Parker a quick hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, sweetie. Where are the girls?”

  “Oh, they were off and running the second we stepped through the door,” he said, again feeling that warm rush of family love and acceptance. “So, what can I do to help? Point me in the right direction and put me to work. Or tell me to get out of the way, if helping is more nuisance.”

  “Nuisance.” Haley, with her long hair swept on top of her head, pointed toward the living room. “We love you, Parker, but there are already too many bodies in here. Reid was looking for you earlier. Go find him, and if you come across my husband, tell him we left the cranberry sauce at home, and he has about two hours left before dinner.”

  “Yeah, son,” Paul said. “Save yourself.”

  “Those potatoes done yet?” Margaret asked good-naturedly, swatting her husband with a dish towel. “I see they’re not, which means you’re talking more than you’re working.”

  “Woman,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss, “you’re lucky you’re the love of my life.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said without hesitation, taking a few steps back and putting her hands on her hips. “And you’re mine, but neither has a thing to do with getting those potatoes done.”

  “Oh, they have plenty to do with the reason I’m in here with you, rather than with my sons watching the game.” Paul gave her another kiss, this one on her nose, before returning to his potato-peeling task. “Don’t you worry, they’ll get done, and in time for dinner.”