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Authors: Heather Graham

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BOOK: The Last Noel
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“No. We can never go back. And, oddly enough…I'm not sure I
would
go back, even if I could. I'd certainly never relive today, but…I'm so sorry I hurt you.”

“You did hurt me. You devastated me. But I accept your apology. It's just that…like I said, we can't go back.”

He nodded, but he was still staring at her steadily. “We can go forward, though,” he said very softly.

She studied him. In the background, she could hear a Christmas carol playing, accompanied by her brother's violin. She had to smile. Unbelievably, she actually felt like laughing. Life was good, so damn good. And she would remember that.

“Come to dinner,” she told him.

He hesitated. Inhaled, exhaled.

She offered him her hand. “All you have to do is take a step forward.”

He grinned. Accepted her hand. And they walked in to Christmas dinner together.

EPILOGUE

“I
t's Christmas Eve,” the man said.

The younger Hudson of Hudson & Son looked so much like his father that, for a moment, Craig thought he'd lost his mind.

He hadn't expected the shop to be open. Sheila had told him that before his death, Lionel Hudson had been intending to close the shop and move west to be with his son.

This Hudson wasn't a spring chicken, either. He looked like his father, but at the age of sixtysomething rather than eighty-plus.

“I know. I'm sorry. You're trying to close up. I just saw the sign and…”

Hudson frowned, looking at him. “You're Craig Devon, aren't you?”

Craig was startled. “I—yes.” He felt awkward. Guilty. “I'm so sorry about your father.”

Hudson nodded, studying him, then offered his hand. “I'm Ethan Hudson. I heard you tried to save my father.”

The man was looking at him with such appreciation that Craig felt like a fraud, but he had to say something.

“I didn't know that…I didn't know they would kill anyone. I am so sorry. I should have been more prepared. I—”

“Please,” Hudson said, and smiled. “I've heard all about it from Sheila and Tim. You're a good man. I know you would have saved him if you could. I've thought about it a lot, though. He wouldn't have wanted to waste away, to die in agony. Who knows what's for the best?” He shrugged, then grinned. “I remember him with love. That's the important thing.”

“I thought the store was closing,” Craig said.

“Funny, I thought so, too. But then Dad…died and I came back, and I'm still here. I'm glad, too. I loved this place when I was a kid. I'd sit on my dad's lap when he'd take out his magnifying glass and study a stone. In a way, working here, running this place, I feel like he's still with me.” He offered Craig a strange and rueful smile. “Sometimes you learn what really matters, huh? I remember one time, there was a ring a woman wanted to sell. Even I knew the stone wasn't a good stone, but my dad paid her really well for it. And afterward he told me that what's valuable in life isn't things, it's what those things mean to people and what can be made of them.” He paused, then said, “Sorry, I guess Christmas Eve is making me nostalgic.”

Craig looked away for a moment, then said, a question in the words, “The sign…it still reads Hudson & Son.”

“One of my boys moved out here with me, and he works here, too. He's off tonight, though. He has little kids and, well, you know. It's Christmas Eve, he's got a lot to do. I needed to be here alone today, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Craig said huskily, feeling awkward again. He cleared his throat and looked into the jeweler's cases. “You've got some beautiful pieces here.”

“Thank you.”

“That solitaire…”

“Are you thinking about getting married?”

Craig looked at him and felt the oddest little tug in his heart. Was he thinking about it? Hell, yeah!

But was
she?

He was scared. He knew all too well how many things could be stolen. Possessions, of course. Even life. But not the things that mattered in life, not unless you let them be stolen. Morality, love, belief in one's self…these things were forever.

Would she say yes?

He would never know if he didn't take the plunge.

“I'd like to see it,” he said firmly. “Although I'm not sure I can afford it on a cop's salary.”

“They owe you a big raise, if you ask me,” Hudson said.

Craig flashed a smile. “Thanks. But it doesn't actually work that way.”

“I can give you a price on that ring you can't refuse,” Hudson told him.

“I—No, you don't have to.”

“Humor me,” Hudson said. “Let's honor my dad. The value isn't in the thing, it's in what you do with the thing, remember?”

“Thanks,” Craig told him. “Thanks very much.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Craig drove up the Gray-stones' driveway, parked and got out of his car. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. This was a very different winter, thank God.

It was evening, but he could see the stars. Millions of them. The air was crisp, and there was snow on the ground. It was a beautiful night.

As he headed up the walkway, he could hear the music. Someone was playing the piano—Skyler, he was certain. Frazier's violin and David's rich baritone could be heard.

What a year it had been.

They had never gone back. Just forward.

Life was day to day. You laughed, you cried, you got resentful. You were thrilled, furious, jealous…a million different things. It was different, it was the same. Sometimes there was darkness. And sometimes there were special days, special times. Like Christmas.

He heard Paddy's laughter, followed by Sheila's. They had gotten married six months ago, saying they were both far too old to mess around with a long engagement.

The O'Boyles had wound up keeping the house on Elm, even though at first Skyler had wanted to sell it, would even have given it away.

Kat was the one who had said she wasn't going to allow anyone else's evil to steal what had made her happy. Skyler had thought about that for a while, and in the end they had kept the house, though they had completely redone the kitchen.

Even so, they had decided not to have Christmas Eve dinner there and had gratefully accepted Lydia Graystone's invitation.

As Craig headed toward the door, it opened. And there was Kat, fiery hair blazing in the moonlight, her eyes bright with welcome.

“You're late,” she announced, but she was all smiles as she ran into his arms.

He started to speak, to tell her about going by the jewelry store on the way, then decided that could come later.

“Merry Christmas,” he said simply. “Merry, merry Christmas.”

ISBN: 978-1-4268-0787-9

THE LAST NOEL

Copyright © 2007 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

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