CHRISTMAS
MIRACLE
Patrice Wilton
New York Times best-selling author, PATRICE WILTON is proud to offer her readers book four in the successful Heavenly Christmas series! CHRISTMAS MIRACLE will be the final chapter in this heart-melting series. Please enjoy!
Mick Johnson, USMC—ex-Marine, sniper, has lived in Heaven for just under two years. Suffering from PTSD, he wants peace, a normal life, and lives without hope. He has everyday struggles and his future is dim—until he meets Sarah.
Nurse, Sarah Shaunnessy’s heart is broken when the separated doctor she’d been seeing goes back to his pregnant wife. He’d been lying to Sarah all along. Turning her back on the hospital where they’d both worked, Sarah decides to spend the holiday with sister, Meghan in Heaven, PA. Her plans to relax and unwind go awry when she realizes she too is pregnant. Can these two wounded people open their hearts to the miracle that Christmas in Heaven offers them?
Christmas Miracle
Copyright © 2018 by Patrice Wilton
Published by Dreamscape Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
About the Book
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Other Books by Patrice Wilton
CHAPTER ONE
Michael Johnson hunched his shoulders against the cold as he strode through snow-dusted sidewalks toward the general store a half-mile from his apartment. Bundled up in a hoodie sweatshirt under a parka, the chill seeped into his bones and made his joints ache. Only thirty-four, he was plagued by continuous back pain, a reminder of his eight years at war.
Not that he could forget. Drugs and alcohol had helped for a while, but he’d quit cold turkey a year ago, preferring the pain to a drug-induced fog.
A brisk wind blew, urging him to hurry, so he kept his head down and detoured through a miniscule park. A few children’s swings, a jungle gym, bare trees, and four snow-covered park benches gave the playground a forlorn feel—but it shortened the distance, so he continued on.
When he reached Main Street in Heaven, PA, he couldn’t help but look up. Had to be one of the prettiest streets in the world. Most days the small town was quaint and peaceful, reminding him of a movie set, maybe from one of the old westerns he liked to watch. But during Christmas season, the town became a magical place straight out of It’s A Wonderful Life, or A Christmas Carol. He wasn’t sure which, not having seen either in the past two decades.
This was his second year in Heaven, and he was only beginning to accept it and the people at face value. After four tours in Afghanistan, scoping out the Taliban with his 50 cal rifle, he had a hard time differentiating what was real and what was not. His PTSD didn’t help, although he was coping better now. His military career had ended abruptly after he survived a fiery explosion when a bomb detonated in a marketplace. Several of his friends died that day, so some say he was lucky—he wasn’t sure. Either way, he’d earned his United States Marine’s severance pay.
A sliver of ice dropped off the bookstore’s canopy to the sidewalk before him and he stepped around it, brushing the light snow from his shoulders. The shop owner, Harvey something, stood just inside the window. His wife, short and plump, always had a warm welcome. Harvey lifted a hand and waved. Mick returned the wave, feeling slightly foolish at the gesture.
It was hard to believe he lived in a place like this: friendly people, kids smiling, old folks sitting out on their porches to watch the daily activity. A different world from the hellhole he’d somehow walked away from.
He’d been a shell of a man, floating from town to town like a ghost, staying only a few hours or a few days. Whether it was divine intervention or dumb luck, he’d never know, but when he’d stumbled upon Heaven, he’d put his backpack down to stay a while.
Despite the blustery cold winter day, his spirits lifted. He knew several of the folks in town, as if he belonged. Nick Ryan, owner of Nick’s Bar & Bistro across the street, caught his eye and acknowledged him with a smile and a nod as he unlocked the front door and put the OPEN sign in the window.
Mick stopped at the next corner, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a stick of gum. The cobblestone street was for pedestrians only and had old-fashioned lampposts on every corner. As it was the first week in December, they were wrapped in green and gold garland. Storefronts showed Christmas spirit with brightly painted baubles, artificial snow decorating nativity sets and red trains, snowmen, reindeers, and such. Nick’s wife, Jenny, owned Heavenly Crafts, and he could see her inside chatting with a customer. Her two kids would join her in the afternoons when they got off the school bus. It did a lively business this time of the year.
He turned the corner and shuffled down the side street, boots sliding on the icy patches hidden under heavier patches of snow. The snow plows hadn’t come through yet and he was the only person on the street. A big parking lot expanded behind the general store and most folks used the back entrance to get in and out. Mick didn’t have a car, didn’t need one.
One of the pluses about his years as a Marine was learning what you could do without. He didn’t want for much, and what he wanted was so farfetched it wasn’t even on the radar. Peace. Happiness. To feel joy. Crap man! Who am I kidding? He didn’t deserve any of it. Not after all the things he’d done—playing God with his scope and rifle.
The door of the store automatically opened and he shook the snow off his parka before he grabbed a handheld basket to pick up the few items he needed. He roamed the aisles, wondering what to buy. Meghan and Byron Watts were his only friends, although “friends” might be a stretch. They took pity on him, that’s what it was. Call a spade a spade. He had no illusions. Hell no. They’d died a long time ago.
Mick was going to dinner at their new place tonight—they’d just married recently and he figured a housewarming present would be appropriate. He glanced at the holiday ornaments displayed near the entrance, thinking it might be a nice present for their first tree in their new home. Snowflakes, crystal stars…nothing caught his fancy. He picked up his basket again and surveyed the store. He noticed a woman with long strawberry blonde hair was tossing items into her cart like the lucky contestant who’d won a ten-minute shopping spree. He stayed well away from her.
Mick took his time in the chocolate section on aisle one, searching for something gift-worthy. The gold-foiled dark chocolate was a contender, he thought, when s
uddenly the screech of wheels rounded the corner and hard metal wires from a shopping cart rammed into his battle-scarred back, adding another wave of pain to what he’d already been managing. “What the hell? What are you doing, lady?”
Sure, she was attractive enough to make any red-blooded man take a second look, but she was obviously self centered, oblivious to everyone else in the store. Nerves zinged along his spine and he gritted his teeth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Her pretty face turned as pink as her rosebud lips. “Are you alright?”
“No! I’m not all right. You jammed that thing right into me.” He glowered at her, rubbing the ever-present pain in his lower back, wishing to hell he could get some relief. He tried to avoid drugs of any kind now, but some days it was harder than others.
“I apologized once.” Her chin shot up. “You want another?” Her turquoise eyes glittered.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he snapped. “Saw you running around in here like you were being clocked or something.” He knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill, but she didn’t seem very sorry. Pretty girl like that probably thought she could do whatever the heck she wanted.
“I’m in a hurry, and apologizing to you is a waste of time.” She loosened the heavy blue scarf wrapped around her neck, and blew out a breath. She did look flustered and there was a bead of perspiration on her upper lip. She might be too hot in her knee-length wool sweater and black leggings, and faux fur boots.
“Everybody’s in a hurry these days.” His shoulders dropped—he didn’t want to fight with her, but she should be careful. “Doesn’t make your time any more valuable than mine.”
The cart was loaded with toys, bottles of expensive-looking wine, fancy cheeses, Christmas paper plates and napkins, a stack of Lean Cuisine, and some female stuff which made him avert his eyes and thank the Good Lord that he was a man.
“That’s true.” She sniffed and blinked rapidly. “Did I hurt you? Your back?”
“Didn’t help it any, that’s for damn sure.” He saw the glitter of unshed tears. “Oh, no. Don’t you start crying.”
“I…I’m not!” She straightened and lifted her chin. “I’ve just been going through a lot lately. Got a lot on my mind. I know I should be more careful,” she said in a wobbly voice. “I’m really sorry. Can I help you find something?”
“No.” He felt bad for making her cry, even though he continued to scowl at her. “So who are the toys for? You got kids?” She didn’t look like a mother or a wife. She was young, younger than him anyway, but most of the time he felt like a hundred. His body ached all the time, and his mind wouldn’t stop screaming. Night was the worst, but anxiety came out of the blue. On and off, no telling when or where.
“No. My sister does.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “Kind of lame buying them in a grocery store, right?” She shifted her feet, probably eager to escape. He didn’t want to let her off the hook that easy.
“I suppose.” He glanced down at her cart, spotting the Super Heroes Lego set for boys, five to twelve. “I’m betting that he’ll probably like that.”
“Hope so. I’m staying with them for a while—and I wanted to splurge to show my appreciation.”
“Well, good luck, and don’t knock anyone down in your rush, okay?”
She smiled. “I’ll try not to. Sorry about your back.”
He picked up a box of truffles then roamed around until he found the florist area. Spotting a small holiday tabletop piece with white carnations and roses, pinecones and garland, he tried to fit it into his basket, but it was a no-go. There was a smaller Christmassy candle set, not as pretty, but nice enough. It would have to do.
Meghan had a boy around five or six. He might like one of those Lego kits too. He headed for the toy section and found one with a pirate ship, but it looked kind of puny, so he put it back and took the Super Heroes set—resting the box on top of his basket. Last on his list, items for his own daily needs. Deodorant and shampoo. He’d been shaking the bottle to get the last dribbles out for the past three days, and wanted to look clean and respectable for dinner tonight.
Miss High-Speed Shopper was down the row a bit and scowled when she saw him. She glanced around as if to make sure nobody was watching, then furtively snaked her hand out, grabbing a long narrow box with a picture of a pregnant lady on the outside. She tucked it under her other supplies and shot him a suspicious glare.
Turning his back, he went about his business, searching the aisle for the All-in-One Shampoo/Conditioner he liked and another stick of Degree—all-day protection. With no room left in his basket he shoved the two items inside his coat pocket, ready to hit the grocery line.
“Put that back!” It was the ditzy blonde again.
“What?” he asked in confusion. He lifted his basket.
“The stuff you just stole.”
“You’re whacko, lady.” He tried to brush past her, but she grabbed his arm, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Her big eyes were wide, her cheeks red and she glanced down at his bulky jacket.
“I saw you hide something in your pocket.” When he stood facing her in total disbelief, she raised her voice. “Please call the manager. This man is shoplifting.”
The store was busy with shoppers, and he saw their heads swirl; some avoided his gaze, while others pointed toward him and murmured to each other. A group of teenagers snapped his picture—everyone had a phone these days. Probably his mug would make the Facebook newsfeed.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rushed away from her, eager to pay for his things and get out of the store.
She ran after him. “Call the sheriff! He stole something right off the shelves.” She bit her lip. “Nobody steals in Heaven.” Her voice trembled. “Nobody.”
“I didn’t…”
Sheriff Ian Brown burst through the door. “Alright, what’s going on here? Heard someone was shoplifting?” His eyes met Mick’s and he strode over to him. “That you these fine folks are talking about?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t sir me!” The sheriff clapped him on his shoulder. “So, Mick, what’s your story?”
“My basket is full.” He lifted the stuffed shopping container. “Shouldn’t have gotten that toy, I suppose.” He set it down and retrieved the two items he’d actually needed from his pocket.
“Well, it seems like a mighty fine thing, to buy some kid a nice toy for Christmas. You intended to pay for your,” he glanced at the two items, “deodorant stick and shampoo?”
“Of course. What else would I do?”
Sheriff Brown’s broad face broke into a smile. “Then I guess we’re all clear here. Sorry, folks, I can vouch for our war hero. It was all a tiny misunderstanding. Go about your business.” The sheriff’s demeanor dared anyone to argue.
“Thanks, Chief.” Feeling shame, even though he knew his actions had been innocent, Mick kept his head down and stepped in line at the counter.
Chief Brown had discovered him sleeping in the park when he’d first showed up in town. Next thing Mick knew, the sheriff had found a cheap apartment for him to rent and checked up on him once in a while. They’d never had a run-in—Mick kept his nose clean. He owed the man a lot.
The chief shot the blonde a look. “Unless a person leaves the store, you can’t accuse him of shoplifting.”
She sucked in a breath, and her cheeks flamed with color. “I do apologize. I should have known better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He doffed his sheriff’s hat, and strode out of the store.
Mick used cash to pay for his items, refusing to look at the blonde, and then walked back to his studio apartment at Chelsea Place. Meghan and Byron had lived there before they’d hooked up together. Byron worked at Nick’s and used to bring him leftovers from the restaurant. A year ago, he’d been eating scraps, so he didn’t say no. That had been the start of a friendship, if you could call it that.
He missed seeing them around. Meghan was a school coun
selor and she used to give him free counseling, which he’d accepted graciously enough. He listened, didn’t pay much attention to what she was saying, but he liked her soft voice and the warmth in her eyes. Beat lying on his saggy bed, watching old movies day and night.
They were good people. But who else could live in a place called Heaven?
CHAPTER TWO
“You invited Mick for dinner? Why?” Sarah Shaunnessy scrunched up her nose as she focused on her sister. “He’s the one who lived in your old building, right?”
“Yes. Byron has always befriended him, and I do too. He’s got his problems, but he’s working on them,” Meghan told her. “Nobody’s without troubles.” She glanced at her son, playing games on his iPad in front of the huge Christmas tree that was decked out with ornaments and dozens of lights. Liam didn’t pay attention to them; he rarely did.
Her sister’s beautiful five-year-old was autistic. Lost in his own little world, which Sarah thought was heartbreakingly sad. “You’re a better person than me, always a kind word about everyone.” Sarah moved to Liam’s side and bent to drop a kiss on his cheek.
Meghan had been the sole provider for her young son when her boyfriend bailed on her, and never once complained. Now she was married to Byron, the sexy bartender and poet, who’d fallen head over heels. They were expecting their first child soon.
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