A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances

by Melinda Curtis

  The older woman held out a sticky address label she’d peeled from somewhere inside her purse. “See that you get there before six. Dinner time should never be disrupted.”

  Neither should Hope’s schedule. The perfect Christmas she needed to prepare just got disrupted by cellophane and sparkly bows. She stuck the address label on the legal pad beside the register.

  Her parents’ neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Parker, stepped up to the counter. Their three grandsons crowded around the window display and quadrupled the potential hazard factor.

  “Faith promised our cottages would be in today. Our family will be here this weekend.” Mrs. Parker’s jingle bell earrings chimed. “I special ordered a piece for each family member.”

  Hope rubbed her forehead and glanced to the store front. “Excuse me.” She darted to the table, plucked a Dalmatian figurine from Joel’s hand and set it back near the pond. “No touching, means no picking up.”

  Joel stuck out his bottom lip. “But he wanted to skate.”

  The youngest Parker grandson stood shoulder to shoulder with Joel and nodded his ginger-spiced head. Hope wanted to skate too. Right out the door and back to her office, where her day matched the events on her on-line calendar. Where the only disaster was arriving late to a meeting or losing a case. Here she’d spoil family reunions and holiday parties if she didn’t jump on the Polar Express. “He’ll have to skate later. For now, we just look, okay?”

  Again the boys nodded. Hopefully the cute could contain the mischievous she knew lurked inside each little boy for a bit longer.

  Hope rushed to the counter and the Parkers. Another family arrived, two more kids raced to the town, upping the risk factor to six, as their mother stepped in line, followed by an older gentleman and a young woman. Nothing to panic over. She could handle this.

  “Let me check the back for your order, Mrs. Parker.” One last glance at the town and she dropped her voice into her mom-warning level. “Joel.”

  Her son yanked his arm back and waved at her.

  The older gentleman arched an eyebrow. The young woman pursed her lips.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Hope compared the village boxes to the Parker’s sales receipt. Fifteen out of twenty-four had arrived. A note from Faith stuck to the top of the school house read: rest of order due Monday.

  Hope walked to the counter, but veered off when she saw Joel held the Dalmatian in two hands. She plucked the figurine and its broken leg from his grip and continued to the counter. Joel followed behind her, tugging at her sweater. “Mrs. Parker, only a portion of your order arrived. The rest should arrive today. I can deliver the entire village later tonight.”

  Mrs. Parker nudged her elbow into Mr. Parker’s waist. “Maybe you could gather all of the kids and take them for hot chocolate.”

  Joel stopped tugging on Hope’s sweater.

  Mr. Parker leaned toward Joel. “What do you say, son, would you like to join me and my grandsons for hot chocolate?”

  “That isn’t necessary, Mrs. Parker,” Hope said. Hot chocolate runs were only for full nights spent in big boy beds. The Jeep had emptied around two a.m. Her ribs still hurt from where Joel had kicked her awake this morning. “But you’re kind to offer.”

  “Nonsense dear.” Mrs. Parker pressed a twenty into her husband’s hand. “Mr. Parker wasn’t the school principal for thirty years for nothing.”

  “Joel will be fine here,” she said. Even if she had to strap him down with the last threads of her control while she found the missing orders.

  “But my belly is hungry.” Joel rubbed his stomach.

  “There. It’s settled.” Mrs. Parker’s earrings jingled like a train conductor’s last whistle.” Joel can eat while you locate our orders.”

  As if Hope couldn’t do both. She gritted her teeth. The Polar Express pulled away from the station. Without her. Her inner lawyer put on her courtroom suit.

  The other customers smiled at Mrs. Parker as if she was Hope’s fairy godmother. Hope wanted to yell: objection.

  The older woman knew Hope couldn’t refuse without looking like an ungrateful, overwhelmed mother, who starved her child. The Parkers were no strangers. Mrs. Parker had washed Hope’s own bottom when she was a baby. The Parker’s oldest daughter had taught Hope to color inside the lines. Mr. Parker had guided her through school.

  Objection overruled. Hope looked at Joel. “Get your coat and your best behavior.”

  Joel raced off to get his jacket and join the other kids. Mr. Parker herded the kids outside and down the sidewalk like a small colony of penguins.

  “He’ll be fine, dear.” Mrs. Parker tapped her finger on the counter. Two dull thuds. “Now about my missing village.”

  Hope snapped her attention back to Mrs. Parker. The amicable, willing to help grandmother was gone, run over by a disgruntled customer that Hope failed to satisfy. No fake smile or free delivery or gift wrap would restore Grandma Parker’s holiday cheer. “I’ll need to check with the shipping company.”

  “You do that.” Mrs. Parker motioned to the stool beside the miniature town. “I’ll wait. You take care of Mr. Walters. He’s been waiting too long already.”

  Hope’s smile remained in place, her dry lips were now stuck to her dry teeth. She looked down the long line of customers. “Are you all here to pick up a special order that Faith promised would be here today?”

  The entire line nodded. Of course. She knew without walking into the storage room for the tenth time that their orders were not in the one small box the delivery man had dropped off that morning.

  Her sister had lied. Not one lie either, but a series of lies. The mornings were not quiet. Joel wouldn’t be fine hanging out in the store. Everything was not taken care of. Beth, the store assistant, needed to come in now, not during the afternoon rush. Heaven help her when the real crowd arrived. Faith had assured her there was nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, there was plenty to worry about.

  The top concern being her son had just left with the retired school principal. Not his own grandfather. Not even his Uncle Brady.

  “If you’ll write your name, phone number and address on this paper, I’ll locate your orders then hand-deliver them as soon as they arrive.”

  “With gift-wrap.” Mrs. Parker launched a candy-wrapped volley with her sugary voice. “You offered Mrs. Green gift-wrap earlier.”

  “Of course.” Hope softened her voice into warm syrup. “Now you’re welcome to look around. I’d be delighted to ring up more purchases.” Otherwise get out and bring my son back.

  Mrs. Parker lingered until the others had filled out their information and left. She approached the counter, adjusting the white ball on her Santa’s hat-shaped purse for maximum fluff. “I’d be happy to watch your son, while you work. I’ve got my grandsons with me all week.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Hope said. “Joel just isn’t used to the store.”

  Mrs. Parker arched an eyebrow and studied the three-legged Dalmatian figurine lying on the counter. Hope scooted an invoice over the dog and his broken limb.

  “There’s no need to feel guilty, dear.” Mrs. Parker wrapped her reindeer printed scarf around her neck. “We care for our own in Christmas Town, unlike in the city. You don’t have to pay me.” Mrs. Parker walked toward the door, bells jingling, her Santa purse swaying. “You can trust people here with your kids. Bring Joel over anytime. Our door is always open.”

  Mrs. Parker stepped outside. The sleigh bells on the front doors chimed her departure. The store was momentarily empty.

  Hope knew she could trust the Parkers with Joel. It was just…she’d planned on having Joel with her while she worked. She’d envisioned him coloring and reading books and laughing with the visiting children.

  Her inner lawyer buttoned up her court jacket. She could still do this. Still have her time in Christmas Town go as she’d planned. She grabbed her coat, locked the main doors and went to throw down some Hope-style motherhood by bringing Joel ba
ck where he should be. By her side.

  Chapter 5

  Chris paced the office. Through the closed door, he could hear Lisa and Frank yelling at each other like they’d been doing since he’d walked in just after sunrise. It was almost lunchtime and no reprieve. They’d been married a little over a decade. Surely they’d rehashed every major and every minor offense the other had incurred. He’d lost score about an hour ago. Hope for their marriage seemed thin like a strand of tinsel blowing from the brown needles of a post-Christmas tree. “I need something to eat.”

  “Comfort and Joy opened at ten.” Steven taped on his keyboard. “You should stop in.”

  “Last I checked, they sold bells and trinkets, not sandwiches and coffee.” The Sullivan’s sold Christmas and all its splendor. They sold keepsakes to families whose velvet trimmed ornaments marked every special occasion. They promised a dollop of joy with every purchase. But Chris wasn’t interested in buying. He shoved his arms into his jacket. “Not sure a stop there will do me any good.”

  His mother had shattered the glass bell he’d bought her from Comfort and Joy when he was ten. She’d thrown it at his dad. Mandy had wanted trinkets from the tropics to decorate their mantle. She’d hated Christmas Town and snow. No, there was nothing in Comfort and Joy that Chris needed.

  “If we intend to get the Stones out of here today, you should consider stopping there,” Steven said.

  “There has to be someone who can help the Stones come to a resolution,” Chris said. “What about Holly Matthews?”

  “Aside from the fact that she is the middle school counselor, her sister is the one Lisa accused of tempting Frank away from their marriage bed last fall.”

  Lisa’s screech crawled up Chris’ spine and slammed around in his skull. His mother’s voice had had the same effect. Always made him feel like he was trapped inside an agitated snow globe and not a closet. He asked, “What about Mr. Parker?”

  “You want to ask the former principal.”

  “Why not?” Chris asked. “He kept us in line all those years.”

  Steven’s fingers stopped moving. “We were eight. In the third grade.”

  “When is Fred back?” Fred Turner had drafted and printed the Stone’s divorce paperwork before he’d flown south for the winter. Another screech bounced through Chris. He winced and rubbed his neck.

  “Not until after the new year.” Steven rolled his chair away from the desk. “I’m going in to see Frank and Lisa. But word is that Fred is buying property on the shore. Something about arthritis and warm weather and closing up his practice here in town for good.”

  Closing up shop wasn’t happening for Chris. He had two unplanned residents in his jail and now a four year old and Hope to deal with. “I need coffee.”

  “And Hope.” Steven opened the door and shouted a greeting to the Stones.

  Chris stepped outside into the cold and the silence. Everything inside him settled like snow in a snow globe. He had hope again. Hope that the Stones would work out their differences. Hope that Christmas and New Years came and went without incident. And hope that spring arrived early unlike last year.

  But Hope Sullivan, well, he might have needed her once. Twice even. He might have wanted her by his side more than once. But he’d locked all of that away.

  Mistakes happened when he let out his emotions. And the consequences could be tragic. He’d been furious with Mandy when she’d told him she’d wanted a divorce. Blindsided, he’d swallowed his shouts and his anger and left town. The county line had been in his rearview mirror when his anger had finally ebbed and the emergency call had come in that the three Walsh children had fallen through the ice at the lake. Had he gotten to the scene five minutes earlier, he might have saved Caden Walsh.

  He was a better sheriff as a single man. He had no personal distractions to interfere with his duty.

  He moved around the strollers on the sidewalk, waved to Esther from the B&B and held the door for a couple carrying six pies out of Lynn’s Pudding and Pie shop. He walked down the back alley to the service entrance for the Pine Tree Inn and strode into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Judith, the sous chef at the inn and his long time supplier of caffeine, handed him a large cup and paper bag.

  “Judith, this is true love. You always know exactly what I need, when I need it.” He tested the weight of the bag and glanced at the special board. Chowder was in his near future. The afternoon might improve.

  “Heard Lisa and Frank Stone spent the night with you.” Judith stepped inside the walk-in and returned with a handful of fresh carrots.

  “They’re still with us.”

  “Hope you’ve made arrangements for another night.” She dropped the carrots in a strainer in the sink.

  He frowned into his coffee. “Lisa and Frank cannot continue to fight.”

  “Why can’t they? They’ve been doing this for years.” She rinsed the carrots. “Can’t change those who don’t want it.”

  “So I let them go until what…” Until the collateral damage from their emotional explosions included people, not bottles and windows and cars. What if Chris couldn’t get there in time? “They’ve got kids to consider.”

  “Certainly do.” She turned off the water and looked at Chris. “And they owe it to those precious babies to start acting like parents and not spoiled rotten toddlers. Those kids should come first. That’s the duty they accepted when they signed the birth certificates.”

  What was the duty of parent who didn’t know he’d made a child? When he’d never signed the birth certificate? Never picked the name? Never remodeled the baby room? “The kids are with Stone, Sr.”

  “He’ll love them as a grandfather should.” Judith accepted an order from one of the waitresses. “Until their parents come to their senses.”

  And if Chris never came to his senses? What then? What was the sense he needed to come to? Part time father. Infrequent father. No contact father.

  His stomach flipped as if a snow globe had been tipped upside down. He’d failed one child already. If only he’d reached farther. With both hands. Responded faster. Maybe the Walsh’s son would be alive today. If only he hadn’t been late to the scene.

  Now Hope wanted Joel to know him. While his son would discover he was a decent fisherman, a bad downhill skier, and an expert snow fort builder, he’d also learn Chris was a divorced, emotionally unavailable one-man road show. But if he only saw Joel a few weeks out of the year, maybe he could hide all the ugly. “Thanks for the coffee. Here’s hoping sense reins today.”

  “There’s always hope,” Judith said. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

  On his way back to the station, Steven texted: Still fighting. I thought stones were supposed to be silent?

  Chris used to hide in the non-fiction section in the library to avoid going to class in grade school. Now he traded books for people as his excuse to delay his return. He stopped at the Christmas Town Workshop and talked with Gus, Marty and Marv about the annual pageant. He checked in with the electrician replacing several burned-out bulbs on the tree in the square. Past the square, the open sign blinked in the window of Comfort and Joy.

  The sign welcomed him. But would Hope?

  He slowed his steps and reached for the door. It was locked. Setting his food on the welcome mat, he cupped his hands and looked inside. The steam engine scooted through the miniature village. No kids gathered around the table. No mothers browsed through the displays, rocking strollers back and forth.

  He pulled on the door again. Where was Hope? Or Beth? He reached for his cell phone. He was trained not to over-react. Trained to read a situation. Trained to take in the details. That triple beat in his heart was standard issue. A sheriff, looking after his town and his people. A Sheriff doing his job.

  But that tremor trying to build in his hands? That was all Hope Sullivan’s fault. Twice in twenty four hours she’d gotten to him. Now worry replaced his hunger. But he was supposed to be unshakable. Being alone ma
de him unshakable, didn’t it?

  “Riff!” An excited voice shouted.

  Chris turned to see Joel break free from Hope’s grip. He searched both mom and child, looking for injuries or distress. That tremor shifted through his knees. He convinced himself his feelings were standard issue. He shoved his phone in his pocket then picked up his food, crushing the bag handle in his fist.

  Joel rushed up and lifted a cup upwards. “Hot choc-o-late.”

  “I can see that,” Chris said. Chocolate mixed with whipped cream framed Joel’s mouth as if the boy took a chocolate crayon and colored outside the lines. Chocolate drops splattered his jacket and delight bounced in his all-too familiar green eyes.

  Except Chris’ own eyes had never reflected such innocence or optimism. When he’d been Joel’s age, he’d already been hiding to escape his parent’s arguing. One time he’d fled outside, like the Stone kids, but Chris’ father wasn’t as forgiving. Chris couldn’t sit the next day. The back of the hall closet or the upstairs attic had been his safety zones. He’d bet Joel didn’t need safety zones. For that, he could thank Hope.

  But Joel’s wide, bright eyes made Chris want to see a different future.

  Hope pulled a set of keys from her pocket. That same optimism wasn’t reflected in her amber gaze. But he’d seen joy before. In Vegas. He’d seen that and so much more in her gaze. Could he draw that out again?

  Tempting , but dangerous.

  He sipped his coffee, acknowledging his curiosity about his son and Hope. “You should put a sign in the window when you leave unexpectedly so that your customers won’t be upset.”

  “It was my customer’s fault I had to leave the store.”

  “What happened?”

  “She disrupted my plans.” She stabbed the key into the lock. “It’s handled.”

  “Is everything ok now?” he asked. Hope had always been all about plans and schedules.

  “Perfect.” She stretched the word out and it was clear everything was anything but perfect. She shoved open the door before Chris could hold it for her.