Holly Lane (28 page)

A
dam sat relaxing on the couch, Jacob curled under one arm, Joey under the other. The boys wore the brand new Bengals’ football-themed pajamas Adam’s mom and dad had gotten them—among many other things—for Christmas. Just like every year, they were spending Christmas Eve with him, and then Christmas day with Sheila. The three of them had gone to his parents’ for a big holiday dinner and presents, along with his older sister’s small family—then they’d come back home and sat around the tree opening gifts Adam claimed Santa must have delivered early. It was technically his year to have the boys stay over ’til Christmas morning, but since they’d been gone so long and he knew Sheila was missing them, too, he’d offered to bring them to her place later tonight—and they’d already be wearing PJs when they got there.

After presents, they’d roasted marshmallows in the fireplace and made s’mores—Adam’s way of giving them all a little bit of that trip to Snow Valley the boys had missed out on. And now all eyes were glued to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” playing on the DVD player, which had become a tradition the last few years. Reindeer games were taking place at the moment—and of course, even as cozy and content as Adam felt right now, it made him think of the very different sort of reindeer games he’d played with Sue Ann.

You should quit thinking about her.
So he hugged his kids both a little tighter and tried to banish her from his mind.

But soon Rudolph was meeting Clarice, and Adam’s stomach was curling up in a funny way—and then it hit him.
Oh God.
She’s my Clarice.
Sue Ann is my Clarice.

But she
couldn’t
be his Clarice. Because Clarice trusted Rudolph, never doubted Rudolph. And he didn’t have that same thing going for him with Sue Ann.

Good God, dude, take a deep breath.
Quit getting so invested in your kids’ animated show.
And speaking of your kids, focus on
them
now.
Yeah—the two little boys finally nestled in your arms.

And so he did.

Except for when Clarice was on the screen—sadly, then, all bets were off.

When he thought through the events of the past month, all of the good ones had included Sue Ann. Being with her had been the only thing to melt away his Grinchiness—until he’d finally come to his senses a couple of days ago—and despite the problems between them, he still couldn’t help crediting her for keeping him sane these past weeks. And as he’d realized yesterday, he needed to figure out a way to make up for his mistakes with her now, too—but he hadn’t found one yet. For Sue Ann, it would take more than a beer or a gift card, after all.

At one point, Rudolph had to be put on hold so Jacob could go to the bathroom, after which Adam chatted with the boys about their gifts from Santa and what else they hoped they might find at their mom’s from the big guy tomorrow morning.

And hell, before the conversation was done, he remembered that Sophie wouldn’t be getting what she wanted from Santa, and that while he was having a great homecoming with his kids, Sue Ann’s Christmas Eve was probably filled with a lot less joy when she anticipated the morning to come. His stomach sank as he watched the rest of Rudolph. And not because he felt responsible so much as . . . he just didn’t like to think of Sophie suffering through yet one more disappointment this year.

“Dad, what do you think Santa’s reindeers do on Christmas morning?” Joey asked as they watched the team led by Rudolph come in for a smooth landing on the Island of Misfit Toys.

“Sleep in,” he said, and they all laughed.

But as he watched the final minutes of the DVD, he got to thinking about that question a little harder, about other possible answers he could have concocted.

And an idea began to form in his head.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe it was as impossible as Sophie’s wish for a reindeer of her very own. But then . . . maybe not.

Could be that if he put his mind to it and pulled a few strings . . . well, perhaps he’d just figured out a way to give Sue Ann and Sophie a Christmas morning they’d never forget.

Nineteen

“ . . . for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas.”

Charles Dickens,
A Christmas Carol

I
t seemed to be a week for calling in favors.

After getting the boys safe and sound into Sheila’s house in Crestview an hour later, where it was just starting to snow, Adam climbed back in his truck, turned up the heat, pulled out his cell phone, and looked up a number. He knew it was awfully late to call, and on a holiday, too, but fortunately Charlie Hopper was an easygoing guy who would hopefully understand when Adam explained why he was bothering him.

“Hello?”

“Charlie, it’s Adam Becker.” Charlie owned the Christmas tree farm about an hour west of Destiny that supplied him with the trees for his lot each year. And trees weren’t the only things he raised on his farm, either.

“What can I do for ya on this fine Christmas Eve, Adam?” Charlie asked. He didn’t even sound perturbed, for which Adam was grateful. Because if anyone deserved to act Scroogy right now, it was probably Charlie.

Then Adam took a deep breath. Here went nothin’. “Thing is, Charlie, I need a huge favor. And I’m hoping you can help me out.”

I
n the early dawn of Christmas morning, Sue Ann sat in her living room in pajamas, a soft pink terry robe, and thick, fuzzy socks, staring at the Christmas tree. After a big family dinner at her mother’s, she and Sophie had set out cookies and milk for Santa. Then she’d tucked Sophie in, read “The Night Before Christmas,” and stayed up past 2:00
A.M.
putting out Sophie’s gifts, including the stuffed reindeer she’d bought—the best she could do to give her daughter what she’d asked for.

Damn, I should have broken down and gotten that kitten from Amy.
It would have made a wonderful gift and, as Adam had suggested, it would probably have been enough to make Sophie forget there wasn’t a live reindeer in the room. But it was too late for that. All she could do now was deal with the fallout.

God, this was wrong, all wrong. Christmas was supposed to be a magical time for a child—it always had been for her as a little girl. It was supposed to be the time of the year when families were together, when wishes came true, and when miracles happened.
Well, Soph, it’s gonna take one hell of a miracle to give you a merry Christmas, and I’m fresh out of them right now.

Some years on Christmas morning, she and Jeff had gone into Sophie’s room, actually waking her up because they couldn’t wait to see the joy and excitement on her face as she rushed down to find what Santa had brought. This year, though, Sue Ann almost dreaded seeing Sophie come down those stairs. She had no idea what she could possibly do to explain why Santa had let her down, other than spout more of the same stuff about him needing all his reindeer and reminding her that he’d only said he’d try.

Adam
had said he’d try. The thought of him made her heart contract as a fresh sense of loneliness wafted over her. She missed him. She missed what they’d started to have together. But what she knew now, without a doubt, was that if she took one step closer to him she’d be even deeper in love than she already was—and if she risked letting herself be hurt further, she wasn’t sure how she’d recover. One world-shattering heartbreak was enough for a lifetime.

And she had more important things to do than risk her emotional well-being in exchange for a man’s company.

And, well, for great sex, too.

Both of those were important, but it was far more vital to focus on Sophie’s happiness, and her new job, and to get herself to a place where she felt truly strong and independent.

She reached down to the cookie plate where one remained, not eaten by her last night, and nibbled at a yellow-frosted star, crumbs dropping down onto her robe. Brushing them away, she realized she had on the same snowflake-covered flannel pants and cami she’d worn that night in the cabin. And she remembered how Adam had called her his snow angel when she’d stripped off her snowflake turtleneck the night they’d made love in her bedroom.

Wow, made love. That was what he’d called it. That was what it had been. It wasn’t getting laid, like she’d so meanly said that night by the fire—she’d just been angry and hurt. Now she shut her eyes, trying to blot out the memories, attempting to crush the nagging flare of arousal between her thighs.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry about Adam.
Don’t cry about the-reindeer-that-wasn’t.

When she opened her eyes a few minutes later, the glow of dawn beyond the bay window had brightened into full early morning. More snow had fallen overnight and now blanketed the yard, fresh and untouched. That’s when she heard the first stirrings of life up above her in the big, old house and knew the moment of truth was at hand. Sophie was up.

Up and running, in fact—Sue Ann could hear the
thump, thump, thump
of her little feet as she barreled toward the stairs and down. She looked up to see her daughter bright-eyed and beaming from ear to ear in fleece pajamas covered with pink candy canes. “Did he come? Did he come?” she squealed.

Sue Ann’s heart nearly rose to her throat as she forced a smile and said, “Of course he did—just like always.”

Sophie came trundling into the room, taking in the scene—checking out the gifts around the tree. She didn’t appear upset yet—instead, when she didn’t see what she wanted there, she just shifted her attention out the wide window into the yard. Where, of course, there was still no reindeer. Stark silence punctuated the moment as the expression on her daughter’s face pierced Sue Ann’s heart. She should have turned some Christmas music on to create a distraction.

But then she realized she’d been trying to create distractions for herself and Sophie all holiday season long. And sometimes it even worked. It got them through tricky moments, helped them keep moving. But something as simple as music wouldn’t have fixed this, not even close. Sophie just had to go through this, that was all. She had to feel the pain—she had to suffer the disappointment. Just like Sue Ann had to feel the pain of Adam’s brief betrayal, and then of letting Adam go.

When Sophie spoke, her voice came as a mere whisper. “I thought he’d do it. I thought he’d bring me a reindeer.”

Sue Ann tried to catch her breath, stay strong, be the sensible mom. “He said he’d try, honey, and I’m sure he did. That’s all any of us can do. Something must have kept him from being able to part with one of his herd or I’m sure he would have.”

Sophie just sighed, and again, Sue Ann tried for a smile as she motioned toward the gifts. “But look at all the other presents Santa left for you. I’m sure there’s some good stuff! Why don’t we see?” Then she moved down onto the floor, next to the merrily lit tree, reaching for Sophie’s hand so she would join her.

Sue Ann quickly pointed out a new dollhouse she’d spent quite a bit of time assembling last night. Though she’d passed some of her old dollhouses on to Sophie already, this would be her daughter’s first brand new one. “Oh, look—Santa must know you like dollhouses. Wow, look how pretty this one is!”

Sophie shifted her gaze to the small Victorian house filled with miniature furniture, her eyes brightening some. “Yeah,” she said. “Look at the girl’s room.” She leaned to peer inside, clearly enamored of the pink décor in what was designed to be a teenager’s bedroom.

“Maybe one day we’ll do
your
room like that,” Sue Ann offered, and Sophie smiled.

“That’d be cool,” she said.

After examining the dollhouse a bit more, leaving Sue Ann pleased that it was a hit, Sophie began to open wrapped gifts one by one as Sue Ann raved over how pretty the packages were. Maybe distractions
could
work here.

Though when they reached the stuffed reindeer in one corner, Sophie’s gaze saddened all over again and Sue Ann realized her error. She shouldn’t have brought reindeers into the mix at all.

“Isn’t he cute?” Sue Ann asked. “You should give him a hug.”

“He’s a stuffed animal,” Sophie said, sounding far too world-weary for a seven-year-old. And despite knowing it had been a lame attempt to fill the void, it wounded Sue Ann a little to hear that this particular gift was such a flop.

“I’m sure Santa thought you’d like it, even if it’s not the real thing. It shows he remembered what you wanted, right? And look at him,” Sue Ann said, motioning to the deer. “I think he’s adorable. So if you don’t want him, I’ll just let him come live in my room with me.”

She said the last part in a teasing voice that brought Sophie around—she appeared troubled for a quick second, then laughed and said, “No, he’s mine.”

Sue Ann lowered her chin and gave her daughter a look. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“No, I like him a lot,” Sophie insisted, finally reaching out to pull the stuffed deer toward her for a hug.

“I think he has a real reindeer’s spirit inside him,” Sue Ann offered up, the idea just hitting her.

But at this, her daughter only looked at the deer and said, “Maybe.” And her expression again turned glum. “I like him—I just wish he was real. Really real. Like the ones we saw at the zoo last year.”

Tired, Sue Ann was at a loss. But maybe another distraction would work. “Why don’t we see what Santa left in your stocking.”

Of course, as they got to their feet and headed toward the mantel, Sue Ann was reminded how much lonelier two stockings looked compared to the three that had hung there on previous Christmases. Still, Sophie’s bulged with candy and a few other small gifts Sue Ann had stuffed inside, so hopefully something within it would capture her attention.

Though just as Sophie reached it, Sue Ann realized that it looked a little different than when she’d gone to bed last night. She’d left a small teddy bear in a Santa hat poking its head out, but the bear was nowhere in sight. What the hell? Instead, a small plastic bag with something grainlike inside stuck out the top of the red velvet stocking, bearing a big green tag.

“Hmm,” Sue Ann said, her curiosity sincere. “What’s that?”

Then, as Sophie extracted the bag, Sue Ann saw the handwritten label on the outside:
Reindeer Food
.

She swallowed nervously, not sure what to make of this. Where had it come from? And why?

That’s when Sophie opened the big, folded green tag attached to the bag and gasped. “Mommy, look! Help me read this!”

Taking the bag from Sophie’s hand, Sue Ann recited what was written inside the tag out loud, more stunned with each word that passed through her lips. “To Sophie, from . . . Dancer. I’m waiting for you in the backyard. I can only visit for a little while, but I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”

Sue Ann and Sophie just looked at each other, both equally taken aback. Sue Ann tried to reason it through.
Okay, I know there’s not really a Santa Claus, and I know a reindeer can’t really write notes.
So surely there can’t really be a reindeer in my backyard.
Can there?

But Sophie had already snatched the bag of reindeer food and raced toward the back door, so what else could Sue Ann do but follow? Heading into the kitchen, she watched her little girl nearly skid out the door in her socks, so she rushed after her, catching the door before it fell shut, then stepping out onto the back porch into the fresh snow, also in socks. And she was just about to tell Sophie they needed to get their snow boots on—when what she saw silenced her.

A reindeer.

A real, live, honest-to-goodness reindeer stood in her backyard.

How could this be? They both just gaped, ignoring their wet, freezing feet.

Apparently, miracles really did happen at Christmas—Sophie’s impossible Christmas wish had somehow come true! And at this point, Sue Ann wouldn’t have been surprised if the reindeer stepped up and said hello.

The animal standing near the storage shed appeared docile, unmoving—and that’s when Sue Ann realized it was firmly tethered on a short rope, which stretched into the bushes next to the shed. Okay, good. The reindeer hadn’t just come here of its own volition, and Santa hadn’t left it behind. She wasn’t losing her mind.

“Mommy! Santa did it! Santa brought me a reindeer!”

“Looks like he did,” Sue Ann murmured, still in awe.

Then she spotted Adam crouched down in those very same bushes. And—oh God—he was the one making this happen; he was the one saving Sophie’s Christmas and making miracles to boot!

As their eyes met through the winter-thin branches, a lump rose to her throat—she wasn’t sure anyone had ever done anything so special for her or Sophie, ever.

And as the seconds stretched out into a long, wondrously golden moment, tears welled behind her eyes. Because this wasn’t a small thing. It was closer to huge. And she didn’t know how he’d done this, but what she did know was that he didn’t have to. She knew he’d done it because he was a good guy; he was that good man everyone knew him to be. Their gazes stayed connected and she could feel her heart stretching, bending, yearning, wanting.