Their Christmas Angel

by Tracy Madison

  Watching the scene in front of him, Parker saw about as perfect a relationship as one could hope to have after being together for so long. It was what he had hoped for with Bridget, what he thought they would someday attain, with all those intertwining years between them filled with life, he supposed, serving as a foundation. But Bridget was gone now.

  As he left the kitchen in search of Reid, a weight comprised of sadness and shock dropped squarely onto his heart. How was it that the first woman to inspire that hope since Bridget’s death had almost died from the same disease? It seemed impossible. About as impossible as how he’d come across Roscoe that night, yet both were true.

  Both had happened.

  In the living room, the game played on the flat screen, but the sound was muted. Reid sat in the center of the floor, one twin on each knee, while he attempted to read them a book. Charlotte kept trying to turn the pages in quick succession, while Alexander was busy laughing at Gavin and Cole, both of whom sat on the couch making funny faces at the boy. Dylan was in one of the armchairs, paying rapt attention to the game, but he smiled as Parker entered and waved his hand in greeting. On the other side of the room, Daisy, Megan and Henry—Dylan and Chelsea’s son—were building with Legos.

  He didn’t see Erin, Chelsea or baby Hazel, but guessed they were all together. Erin adored Hazel, and she liked being around Chelsea.

  Well, she enjoyed being around all of her aunts, as well as Margaret. Loving women who had taken both his girls under their wings to offer them the type of guidance and affection they didn’t have without Bridget. As Erin grew older, she seemed more acutely aware of that loss, and he assumed the same would happen with Megan. So yeah, he was grateful to Daisy and Chelsea, Rachel, Haley and Margaret, but no one could ever fully replace Bridget’s role.

  There was simply nothing he could do about that. And Nicole’s admission had startled him, through and through. He’d thought of little else since, and he’d meant to stop by, talk to her more this past week, but with the holiday, work had been busier than normal. They had texted each day, though, and again this morning. Just nothing of significance.

  He’d have to rectify that soon. Her heart mattered, and he did not want her thinking that he was going to disappear because she’d fought like hell and had managed to beat the same cancer that had killed Bridget. Truth was, he was proud of her strength.

  But he had concerns, some valid and some not so much. Hell. He could get hit by a semi on his way to work, or slip and fall in the shower and crack open his skull. The fact she’d once had breast cancer, that she could get it again, shouldn’t hold any more weight than the skiing accident that could’ve made his daughters orphans. Yet somehow, he felt the weight.

  Sighing, he sat next to Reid and tickled Charlotte’s arm. “Sorry to say, but neither of your children seem all that interested in this book,” he said to Reid. “Going to have to up your game.”

  With a raised brow, Reid said, “That is entirely unhelpful. What would you suggest?”

  “Different voices, inflections.” Parker grinned. “The girls used to like dressing me in different hats, or throwing a scarf around my neck, depending on the book and the character. We still have an entire box of reading accoutrements. Hats, scarves, sunglasses.”

  It was sad, actually, how that had stopped. Not all that long ago, either. Maybe a year.

  “Daisy reads to them and they are enthralled,” Reid said, giving up and letting the kids off his lap. Alexander went to Cole and Gavin, instantly, while Charlotte made a beeline for her mother. “I read to them and bore them in seconds. Wouldn’t be so bad if they fell asleep.”

  “Tell ya what. I’ll do you a huge favor and bring over the reading accessories.” Parker lightly punched Reid’s arm. “You don’t owe me a thing, either. Just carry on the tradition.”

  “Sure. Why not? I’ll give anything a try.” Reid’s dark eyes narrowed when he finally looked at Parker. “You and the girls okay? Anything going on?”

  “Stop with your mother’s mind reading trick,” Parker said after a momentary pause. “I’m fine. The girls are fine. Just a long few weeks with a lot going on. I’m tired.”

  “Nah. There’s something else.” Rising to his feet, Reid crossed the room to his wife, said something Parker couldn’t hear and then returned. “Get up. Let’s go for a walk. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, anyway. Might as well do it now.”

  Following suit, Parker stood. “If you need to talk, that’s cool. Me, though? I’m good.”

  “Yup. Sure you are.”

  They grabbed their coats and went outside, through the back door, into a crisp and clear November afternoon. Trees surrounded the property, and over the years, trails had been forged by the Foster kids in their explorations. In silent agreement, Reid and Parker started down one of those trails, and for a few minutes, neither spoke. The fresh air invigorated Parker, let loose some of the gloom clouding his brain, and for the first time since Nicole’s revelation, he relaxed.

  That didn’t equate to having a conversation with Reid about Bridget or Nicole, though, so before his friend could fire off a question, Parker said, “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

  Pausing at a clearing, Reid said, “I’ll get there, but first, are you sure there’s nothing going on with you or the girls? Happy to listen if you need an ear.”

  “I’m good. They’re good. Told you that earlier.” Reid was like a dog with a bone, though, and Parker didn’t think he’d let up unless he told him something. Anything. “I’ve met someone, but it’s early days. As in, so early we haven’t had an official date yet.”

  Reid took in the information with a grin. “Anyone I know?”

  Ah. Hell. “Actually, yeah. I guess her brother, Ryan, is married to your cousin Andi.”

  “You’re serious?” Reid’s grin widened into a full-fledged smile. “I remember her. Only met her the one time, but she seemed really nice. Smart, too.”

  “She’s both. But there isn’t anything to talk about there just yet,” Parker said, intending to put the conversation back on course. “So, moving on. What did you want to talk about?”

  Reid leaned against a tree. “The twins’ birthday is soon.”

  “I’m aware of my niece and nephew’s birthday,” Parker said, doing the same and leaning against the tree next to Reid’s. “I’m guessing that isn’t what you really want to tell me.”

  “Just stating, their birthday is next month.” Reid kicked at the snow with one of his boots. “Not sure if you know this, but my dad taught us kids to ski early. We were barely walking when he started. I’d like to do the same with Charlotte and Alexander. Obviously, nothing extreme.”

  Seeing how the Fosters were raised on the slopes, and that Reid’s job was as a ski patroller, his decision to teach his kids to ski didn’t come as a surprise. Nor did the fact that he wanted to start them young. Parker understood the benefits well enough. They’d learn easier now, find an element of comfort rather than fear at the idea and have a lot of fun.

  What he didn’t understand was why Reid had brought him into this decision, unless... Hmm. “Does Daisy have an issue with the idea?”

  “Nope. She’s on board, if a little nervous.” Reid shrugged. “She trusts me, knows I would never put our kids in harm’s way. She isn’t the reason for this conversation. I was hoping you’d give me a hand in teaching them. You’re an excellent skier. My kids love and trust you, and you’re a dad, so you’ll be more aware of what they need than, say, Cole or Gavin.”

  Whoa. “I haven’t been on a pair of skis since my accident. Three years ago.”

  “I know that, too. I remember the accident, Parker.” As he shook his head, Reid’s gaze grew hooded. “I found you. I won’t forget that moment any easier than you will.”

  “Then you have to know I’m not the best candidate.
Cole or Gavin are much better choices, and they’re both great with kids.” Hell, Gavin ran a camp for foster kids. “Haley. Your dad. You have plenty of able and skilled family members to choose from. Why me?”

  “Ever hear of the expression ‘Get back on the horse’?”

  It was Parker’s turn to kick at the snow. “Of course I have. Doesn’t apply here. I don’t ski anymore, made that decision after the accident, and that isn’t changing.”

  “Not asking you to do anything more than help me at the bunny hill,” Reid pointed out, his voice cool and rational. “An hour or two a week, at most. And I’m not assuming you’ll want to stay after and ski with me down a black run, or even a blue. The bunny hill, Parker.”

  For skiers, a blue run meant an intermediate skill level, while black meant advanced. They used to run both together, regularly. There were a ton of good memories there, hours spent on the slopes, hanging with Reid and often Cole and Dylan. Good times. They’d had a lot of them, no doubt. But those days were long gone, and no, Parker had no desire to ever ski either type of run again. Or to ski, period. He didn’t miss or need the sport.

  But his girls? They needed him. He was their last parent. All they had left.

  “I can’t believe you’re asking this,” he said. “You know it isn’t about the bunny hill, or teaching the kids. I adore Charlotte and Alexander. I’d do just about anything for them.”

  “Then do this,” Reid said, in that same logical tone. “I’d appreciate your help. We’re talking the bunny hill, Parker. Chances are high we won’t even get that far the first day.”

  “It isn’t about the bunny hill,” Parker repeated. “The bunny hill isn’t the issue.”

  “I know that, too. The issue is fear.”

  Yeah, well, he couldn’t argue with Reid’s assessment. “So what if it is? Fear can be healthy. Helps you see where the boundaries in life are. And this is a boundary I don’t intend on crossing.” Tension hardened his jaw, his shoulders. “I appreciate that you trust me enough to ask, but I need you to understand why I can’t. Respect this boundary, please.”

  With a sharp nod that resonated of disappointment, Reid said, “Can’t promise I won’t bring it up again, but your choices remain yours, and I do respect them. Do me a favor, though, and give it some more thought. Let the idea sink in a bit and see where it lands.”

  Agreeing to even consider the idea further rankled, but this man was his best friend. Had stepped in to care for his daughters while Parker couldn’t. He was Daisy’s husband. The way Parker saw it, he didn’t have much other choice but to say, “I can do that.”

  Reid gave Parker a brotherly slap on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

  “For allowing you to guilt me into thinking about something I’d rather not?” Parker asked with a short laugh. “You’re welcome? I guess? Does Daisy ever win an argument with you?”

  “She does,” Reid affirmed. “More often than not, actually. And I didn’t win here, either, now, did I? You’ve said no, which is not the response I was aiming for. That being said, it’s Thanksgiving. Everyone we love is in that house, safe and happy and healthy.”

  True statement there.

  “Let’s get back to them, then,” Parker said, suddenly remembering Haley’s request. “Your sister asked me to tell Gavin he needs to go home and get the cranberry sauce, which I promptly forgot until this minute. Don’t want to ruin Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah, we better tell him posthaste.” Reid pushed himself off the tree and, as they started toward the house, said in an almost-casual tone, “In addition to what you said about boundaries, fear can also stop you from experiencing all that life has to offer. It’s a fine line.”

  And that was another statement that resonated as true.

  Parker sighed, nodded and admitted to himself that he’d have to think about that some, see where it fell in with the rest. Not only about teaching the twins to ski, but about Nicole. About her history and his. And if the weight he felt had substance, was a boundary he should pay attention to, or if it was nothing more than a hurdle to jump and leave behind.

  * * *

  By early Thanksgiving evening, the Bradshaw household was winding down from a marathon day of cooking, eating, card playing and a quickly thrown-together outing that consisted of touch football and a snowman building contest. Nicole was overstuffed, but happy.

  She adored her family, including her new sister-in-law, Andi.

  Andrea Caputo had entered her brother’s life as a client. Ryan worked as a physical therapist, and Andi had needed help recovering after a traumatic incident in the hospital where she’d worked in Rhode Island. They had connected, fallen in love and tied the knot.

  She couldn’t be happier for her brother. He had chosen well. Though, to hear him talk, he said there wasn’t any choice involved. Andi had shown up one day, his instincts had demanded she was the one meant for him, she felt the same and it was a done deal. There were no alternatives. Of course, the doing wasn’t quite that simple. They were human and made mistakes, as humans are apt to do, and it took them a bit to unravel the complexities to find their happily-ever-after. But the instinct that Ryan spoke of was what really resonated for Nicole.

  Anything good took work. Anything worthwhile held risk. And if you wanted something to last, you had to put in the work and accept the risk and then work some more. Having the courage to proceed, without any guarantees for a good outcome. She understood and believed in this, through and through. Had applied that very same concept to many areas of her life, including her recovery, and now, trying to become a mother.

  But with love, it was the knowing when to risk it all that eluded her.

  Ryan and their father, Jerry, were half out of it in the living room, dozing in the La-Z-Boy chairs in front of the television, while their mother, Brenda, and Andi were playing another card game in the dining room. Nicole had just finished tidying the kitchen for her mother’s benefit, since Brenda had done most of the cooking that day. She figured if she wanted some one-on-one time with Ryan, this was the best chance she was going to get.

  She tapped him on his shoulder, and when that didn’t work, she tugged his short, dark brown hair. He opened one eye, and then the other. “Hmm. What’s up, Nic?”

  “Wake up and take a walk with me? Please?”

  “Seriously? How can you want to take a walk?” Ryan asked. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “I...need some brother time,” she admitted softly. “So, walk with me?”

  That was all it took. Standing, he stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Sure thing. But if it’s conversation you want, can we sneak off to the back porch and skip the walk?”

  “That works for me,” she said. “I’ll even bring the coffee.”

  Jerry and Brenda Bradshaw had updated this house from top to bottom when they bought it, and in the doing, had insulated the walls that surrounded the sunporch. While the room wasn’t actually heated, the insulation, storm windows and a couple of space heaters kept the area fairly comfortable, even in the winter. Except for those subzero days, which today wasn’t, fortunately.

  She found Ryan in one of the chairs, arms crooked behind his head, with a lazy and content smile playing over his face. Setting his coffee mug on the end table, she sat across from him. “It’s been a good day. I’m glad you and Andi decided to celebrate Thanksgiving here.”

  “We visited her family last week, and we’ll be there over Christmas,” Ryan said. “But we’ll find time to be together, I’m sure. Maybe when we get back? If that works for you?”

  “Before or after, Ryan. Won’t feel like Christmas without you.” Nicole sipped her coffee. How to say what she wanted without making it too obvious? “You’re happy, right? With Andi?”

  “Very,” he said. “What makes you ask?”

  “Oh,” she said lightly, �
��just checking in. Sisters tend to do that.”

  “Uh-huh. There’s more to this, I’m sure. Spill.”

  Nicole cupped her hands around the mug and breathed in the warmth. This was Ryan. She could ask him anything, anytime. “You told me once that when you first met Andi, you knew she was who you’d been waiting for. You meant when you first met, as in literally, right? Not after a date or a kiss or even a cup of coffee, but within minutes of seeing her?”

  “More like seconds.” Ryan tipped his head to the side, his attention fully on Nicole. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t instantly trust that knowing, but yeah, I can look back now, see it for what it was and know it was there.” He shrugged. “Does that make sense?”

  “Maybe.” Nicole rolled her bottom lip into her mouth. “How did you...um...know?”

  “Heavy question,” Ryan said. “Seems important.”

  “It is.”

  “Wish I had a clear answer for you, sis,” Ryan said. “I don’t. All I can tell you is that something clicked inside, and there was this knowledge that wasn’t there before. The sun shone brighter. The air smelled sweeter. Coffee—” he raised his cup “—tasted better.”

  “Rather poetic, huh?” she teased. “You loved her like a love song?”

  “Pretty much, yeah,” he said, with zero embarrassment coloring his tenor. “Love songs are written for a reason. I don’t know if any of what I’ve said helps, but I am guessing you’ve met someone? And this someone is why you’re asking these questions?”

  “I have,” she admitted softly. “But it’s complex and...let’s just go with complex.”

  “It always is.” Leaning forward, Ryan patted Nicole’s knee, as if they were kids again and he’d found her holed up somewhere, crying. “Trust your heart. Best advice I got.”

  “What if there are more hearts on the line than just two?”

  Took her brother a second to connect the dots, but when he did, he said, “Ah. Kids are involved. That makes it tougher, but my advice holds.” He paused a beat, swallowed a gulp of coffee. Then, “You have a good heart, Nic. I don’t believe it will lead you wrong.”