A Very Merry Un-Christmas -- Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

Why didn’t we get together? Really??

Lizzie could have bitten her tongue. In college, Ryan had been one of her close circle of friends. She’d always thought he was cute in a serious, intellectual kind of way, but he’d seemed to view her mainly as a study partner.

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners the way she’d always liked. “I don’t know. Maybe you thought dating would spoil our perfect relationship.”

Something about the look in his eyes gave her a tiny jolt. He sounded like he was teasing, but…

No buts. Just go with teasing.  She gave her hair a Miss Piggy-style toss. “I think you were just afraid to ask me out.”

He didn’t smile. “You could have asked me.”

O-kay. “Point taken.”

He rose from the table and walked to the window to peer out. “It looks like the snow’s let up. As soon as you finish your cider, I’ll show you to the Ethan Allen Suite—it’s our best. Then maybe you’d like a tour of the property. I noticed a camera bag with your luggage. You could take some pictures for your readers, maybe write a story about your unexpected holiday detour.”

Lizzie drained her mug. “That’s a great idea.”

She followed him up to a lovely, bright corner room on the second floor, furnished with antiques. After a quick freshen-up and a call from the room phone to Angela to apologize for having to bail on her invitation, Lizzie headed downstairs, where Ryan waited in the foyer.

“Ready?” He opened the front door and ushered her out.

A few sparkly flakes still drifted from the sky, but enough sunlight glowed through the clouds to send shadows of the bare trees across the smooth, white lawn. When she stepped off the porch, the snow nearly topped her boots.

“Here, take my hand.” He grasped her gloved hand and guided her toward the cluster of red-painted outbuildings behind the house.

“You keep chickens!” she exclaimed, when they approached the wire-covered enclosure attached to the smallest of the buildings.

“Just a few. The guests enjoy the idea of farm-fresh eggs for breakfast.”

“I bet they do. Our readers all seem to want chickens these days. I wrote an article about keeping urban chickens last year.” After snapping several photos, she scribbled a few notes in the small notebook she kept in her pocket.

They peeked into the barn, which he currently used as a garage and machinery shed, then Ryan led her to a classic New England dry-stacked stone wall. “This marks the edge of the property. From here you can see down to the creek and across to the next ridge of mountains.”

Lizzie followed the sweep of his arm. The stunning vista was a far cry from the urban landscape of Brooklyn. Maple trees, stubbornly hanging onto their last brown and orange leaves, blanketed the hills, and a rocky stream gurgled in the hollow. She couldn’t resist a few more photographs.

She sighed, and her breath rose in frosty puffs. “I can see why you left Washington for this. I’ve never been anyplace quite like it. It’s so beautiful and peaceful.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “I have to admit, I don’t miss the traffic or the crowds.”

“Who would?” She drew a deep breath. “I haven’t smelled air like this in forever.”

His lips curved with the beginning of a secret smile before he turned away.

When they got back to the house, Ryan helped her off with her coat and hung it in the hall closet. “I know it’s Christmas Eve, but since neither of us is celebrating this year, how about a pot of chili followed a classic sci-fi movie? I’ve got a great collection.”

Lizzie smiled, grateful that he understood. He always had. “That sounds like a perfect non-Christmas Eve.”

She followed him into the kitchen and perched on a stool while he pulled out a heavy stock pot and assembled the ingredients. “Can I help?”

Ryan’s dark eyes twinkled. “I don’t know. This is my secret recipe.”

She drew a X on her chest. “I solemnly swear I won’t tell a soul.”

He appeared to consider for a moment. “How are you with a knife?”

“I can chop with the best of them.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He handed her a chef’s knife, a clove of garlic, and a big round onion. “Have at it. The cutting board’s over there.”

An hour later, sitting across from him at the kitchen table, Lizzie’s taste buds were in heaven. “Are you sure you won’t share your recipe? Our readers would love it.”

Speculation gleamed in his dark eyes behind his glasses. “You really like your job, don’t you?”

“I do. I live and work in one of the biggest, busiest cities on Earth, but I get to spend my days looking at lovely photos and writing about the simple joys of country living—the best of both worlds.”

His expression clouded. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” He rose and gathered their empty bowls. “You go on into the living room and pick out a movie while I clean up here. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

She thumbed through his DVD collection and selected the 1951 classic The Thing from Another World. When Ryan came in, he gave her a friendly smile but sat at the opposite end of the sofa.

She tried not to be miffed. What did you expect—a cuddlefest? You’re old friends. Period. But it didn’t work. Instead, she spent the rest of the evening chewing on the kernel of an idea that had been growing ever since she’d seen the chicken coop.

The morning dawned bright and sunny. Ryan brushed aside Lizzie’s offer to cook with a firm, “I’m the innkeeper. You’re the guest” and presented her with a plate of fresh-from-the-chicken scrambled eggs and cinnamon French toast. In the spirit of the non-holiday, they both scrupulously avoided any mention of Christmas.

After breakfast, he offered a snowshoe excursion to the creek, which she eagerly accepted. As she took pictures and made more notes, her idea continued to ripen.

The following morning, a persistent ringing from the bell on the front desk interrupted their coffee. Ryan pushed back from the table with a frown. “You stay here. I’ll go see who it is.” He returned a few minutes later and dropped a set of car keys in front of Lizzie. “The rental car company dropped off your new wheels.”

She palmed the keys and stood. “I guess I’d better go upstairs and pack.”

He followed her through the foyer to the staircase. “You’re welcome to stay a few more days. I don’t have any guests booked until after New Year’s.”

An impish internal voice whispered, Go for it, but she shushed it. She’d probably imagined the hopeful tone in his voice. After all, they hadn’t seen each other in ten years. Anything deeper than friendship would take time to develop. “Thanks, but I’d better get back to the city.”

When she came back down with her suitcase, Ryan was waiting where she’d left him. He picked up her bag, walked her out to the car, and opened the door.

She turned and gazed into his unfathomable dark eyes. “Thank you for rescuing me, and thank you for helping me get through my un-Christmas.”

He reached toward her then dropped his arms. “Now that you know where I am, come back anytime.”

“You could always visit me in New York.”

“Between my law practice, guests, and the chickens, it’s hard to get away.”

She sighed and glanced at the gathering clouds. “The Weather Channel says there’s another storm headed this way. I guess I’d better get going.”

“I guess you’d better.”

“Goodbye, Ryan.”

“Lizzie, I…”

She rose on tiptoe and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. His arms came around her swiftly but released her the second her heels touched the ground. With a wavery smile, she climbed into the car and slowly drove away.

An hour later, she pulled off the highway into a gas station parking lot.

What am I doing?

And suddenly, she knew.

She turned around drove back toward Paxton Falls.

When she pulled up in front of the stately white house, Ryan ran down the steps. She wasn’t conscious of opening the car door, but a split second later, she was in his arms.

“You came back,” he whispered against her hair.

“I missed you.” She’d never realized how much.

“I missed you, too.” His arms tightened and his mouth captured hers is the most amazing first kiss she’d ever experienced—one a decade in the making.

When he eased back, she gazed into his eyes with a tentative smile. “I had an idea.”

He smiled back then swooped down for another quick kiss. “You were always full of ideas.”

“This is a good one. At least, I hope you’ll think so. How would you like a long-term guest?”

“I can think of one long-term guest I’d welcome with open arms.”

“I was thinking I could talk to the Editor-in-Chief about working remotely. Using Maple Creek Farm as an example, I could write a whole series of articles about gardening, canning, cooking, crafts—”

“And don’t forget the chickens.” He nuzzled her neck, almost derailing her train of thought.

“No. I won’t forget the chickens.”

“I think it’s a terrific idea. Let’s go inside and work out the terms of the deal. But I have to warn you, I have a long list of conditions.”

      Her heart sang, and she squeezed his arm. “I can’t wait to hear them.”

A Very Merry Un-Christmas -- Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

Ryan Murray couldn’t believe his eyes. The curly, dark blond hair was the same, although she’d cut it shorter, and she might have gained a few fine lines around her blue eyes, but the high cheek bones and strong chin definitely belonged to Lizzie Carmichael. What was she doing smashed into a tree on a country road in rural Vermont? The last he’d read in their college alumni magazine, she was a rising star on the New York publishing scene.

“Lizzie? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

She blinked and refocused. “I’m okay—I think.”

He straightened and scanned the exterior of the small car. The impact had bent both the bumper and the hood. “Can you back up onto the road?”

She shook her head. “The engine won’t start.”

“I’ll call for a tow, but first let’s get you out of the cold.” He reached for her hand.

As she climbed out of the damaged vehicle, Lizzie scrambled to gain her footing in the deep snow. Instinctively, Ryan slid an arm around her waist and held tight. As soon as they reached the flat surface of the road, he released her.

His insides contracted at her quick smile of thanks, and it was all he could do to keep from grinning like a simple-minded baboon.

Lizzie is here.

He didn’t know why or for how long, but it didn’t matter.

Lizzie is here. Nothing else matters.

He loaded her into the front seat of his SUV, turned on the engine, cranked up the heat, and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call a tow truck then get your luggage.”

She shivered and tightened her hold on her purse. “I was on my way to a B&B called the Maple Creek Farm.”

“I guessed that. I’ve been waiting for my last-minute guest for a couple of hours. When no one showed up, I came looking.”

Her expression changed from numb shock to surprise. “You’re the owner of a B&B in Paxton Falls, Vermont? When we graduated, you were headed to Georgetown Law School. What happened?”

He dropped his gaze to his phone. “We can talk about that after I get you out of the storm and back to the inn.” He placed a quick call to the tow service in town then disconnected. “George will be here in about ten minutes. Will you be all right if we wait?”

“Of course.” She rotated her head in a slow circle. “I’m not hurt. I’m not even cold anymore. I’m mostly upset about the car—it’s a rental. It’s a good thing I let them talk me into taking the extra insurance.”

“I’m sorry this has upset your Christmas plans.”

The animation drained from her face, leaving her expression closed. “It hasn’t. I’m not doing Christmas this year.”

Now, it was Ryan’s turn to be surprised. “I’m not, either. My parents are in Albuquerque, visiting my sister’s new baby. But you? You always loved Christmas.”

She stared out the window at the falling snow. “Not this year.”

“Why?”

“That’s another topic we can save for later.”

Before he could push her further, George arrived with the tow truck. A few minutes later, Ryan had retrieved Lizzie’s luggage and her battered car was on its way to the garage in Paxton Falls. Silence filled the car until he turned into the gravel drive leading to the B&B.

 When the house came into view, Lizzie perked up and leaned forward to get a better view. “Oh, it’s beautiful—like something out of a Currier and Ives print.”

He pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the classic, white-clapboard colonial and parked. “Thanks. It was built in 1771 by a way-back relative who was a member of Ethan Allen’s Green Mountain Boys and helped capture Fort Ticonderoga.”

“Wow. So, it’s a national landmark.”

“More like a local point of interest. My grandparents lived here until four years ago when Grandma died and left it to me.”

“What a wonderful legacy.”

“It came at a good time.”

She faced him with a questioning frown. “You’re being awfully cryptic.”

“No more than you.” He opened the car door and stepped out. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll heat you a mug of the local cider.”

“That sounds terrific.”

While he unloaded her suitcases, Lizzie climbed out, walked up the steps to the covered porch, and waited. Ryan set the luggage down long enough to unlock the front door then ushered her into the foyer.

She swiveled her head, taking in the wide-plank pine floors, colorful wallpaper, and period furnishings. “It’s almost like a museum in here.”

“It’s really not. Grandma wanted to keep the place as authentic-looking as possible for the visitors, but we have all the modern conveniences. It’s pretty comfortable for an almost-two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old building.” He left her bags at the foot of the stairs. “Come into the kitchen, and I’ll fix that cider.”

She followed, unzipping her coat on the way. She draped it over the back of one of the Windsor chairs and took a seat at the big, worn farmhouse table. “I’d better call the rental car company about the accident.”

“Good idea. They should be able to arrange for a replacement vehicle. You can use my phone.”

While she was on the phone, Ryan poured cider from a jug into a pot and put it on the stove. A few minutes later, he handed Lizzie a steaming mug with a cinnamon stick poking out before joining her at the table.

“You were right.” Her smile was apologetic. “They’re going to send another car, but it won’t be here before the twenty-sixth.”

“That’s no problem. You’ve got a suitcase. I’ve got an inn.” He raised his hands in a good-natured shrug.

“I’m sure you had other plans for your un-holiday.”

“Nope.” He watched her take a long sip then set down her cider. “So, do you want to go first?”

Her lips tightened. “It’s been ten years since we’ve seen each other. I don’t know where to start.”

“How about with why you aren’t doing Christmas this year.”

She glanced down and twisted an antique gold ring on her left hand. “It’s hard.”

He placed a hand over hers, stilling its movement. “Then it must be important.”

Her lashes were damp when she met his gaze. “My mom died in March.”

Ryan’s heart contracted. “Aw, Lizzie…” He squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

She blinked a couple of times and took another sip of cider. “I’ve been doing okay, but it’s Christmas…you know.” She lifted her chin and faced him with a tight smile. “Now, it’s your turn. I can’t wait to hear how you ended up running a B&B in your grandparents’ old house.”

“If you ask my dad, it’s a classic tale of squandered opportunity.” With a glance at her raised brows, he continued. “When I graduated from Georgetown law, I got a job at one of those prestigious Washington firms every law student drools over.  Our clients were mostly politicos and other Beltway bigwigs.”

“That doesn’t sound much like you.”

He grimaced. “I hated every second of it. When Grandma died and left me the inn, I couldn’t wait to leave D.C. Now, I run the inn, practice law part-time, and write.”

Lizzie’s expression brightened, and she leaned forward. “You write? That’s wonderful! You were the best writer in the English department.”

Elbows on the table, she propped her chin on laced fingers. “So, tell me what you write.”

 “Nothing highbrow. Political thrillers, mostly for fun. But I understand you’re a writer, too.”

She nodded and sipped her cider. “Among other things. I’m an editor at Your Country Life magazine. I write articles about food, gardening, crafts—everything you need to live the romantic country lifestyle.” She waved a hand around at his kitchen. “And here you are, out in the country, living the life our readers dream about.”

“I don’t know how romantic it is, but it suits me.”

She hesitated for a long moment, staring into her mug, then raised her gaze to meet his. “Do you have anyone special in your life right now?”

His breath stilled in his chest. “No. You?”

      “No…Ryan, why didn’t we ever get together?”

A Very Merry Un-Christmas -- Chapter One by Alison Henderson

She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room at the inn. She wasn’t likely to get much further until this storm let up.

Lizzie Carmichael eased her foot off the gas pedal of the small rental car as she rolled down the exit from Vermont Route 30 and into the parking lot of the Green Mountain Motel. It didn’t look promising. The single-story roadside structure didn’t appear to have been updated at any point during the past fifty years, but every parking space was full, even though it was only early afternoon.

She pulled to a stop in front of the covered entrance and turned off the engine. Grateful for her faux fur-lined boots and long, down-filled coat, she braced herself against the wind as she locked the car and struggled toward the double glass doors. As soon as she dragged one open, a strong gust shoved her inside.

The lobby was small, with dark-stained pine paneling and flat turquoise carpet, worn through in some spots and unraveling in others. However, the middle-aged woman behind the desk greeted Lizzie with a friendly smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No, I’m sorry. I was on my way to meet friends in Sugarbush for a few days, and the storm caught me by surprise.”

The woman nodded. “Happened to a lot of folks. The worst of it wasn’t due until tonight.”

Lizzie crossed her fingers inside her knit driving gloves. “I don’t suppose you have any extra rooms.”

“I’m sorry, but we were full even before the storm. It is Christmas Eve, you know.”

She tried to tamp down her rising panic. Agreeing to drive from Brooklyn to the mountains of Vermont to join her friend Angela and her family for a skiing holiday just to avoid having to face Christmas this year might not have been the smartest decision. “I know, but I’m afraid my car won’t make it in this weather. Are there any other motels in the area?”

“Sure, but my guess is they’re full, too. It’s been a good year for winter visitors—lots of snow, you know.”

Lizzie nodded miserably. What was she going to do? She didn’t relish the idea of spending the night camped out in the car in the motel’s parking lot.

The desk clerk pursed her lips, tapped her pen against the big green reservation book, then picked up the phone. “Let me make a few calls and see if I can find anything for you.”

Lizzie leaned against the counter, resting an elbow on the smooth, well-worn Formica top, and listened to the woman make one fruitless call after another. Maybe she should just park herself in the lobby until the worst of the storm passed then drive back to the city. Then the image of her lonely, undecorated apartment flashed into her mind, pushing her spirits even lower. Mom had always filled it with leftovers from her exuberant holiday preparations—a few extra yards of evergreen garland here, the nutcracker collection she no longer had room for there, platters of “extra” Christmas cookies. But not this year.

“You’re in luck!”

Lizzie raised her gaze to meet the desk clerk’s cheerful smile.

“The Maple Creek Farm Bed and Breakfast is normally closed for the holidays, but under the circumstances, the owner is willing to make an exception for you.”

The pressure in her chest eased a bit. “That’s great. Is it close?”

“About five miles up Route 30. You take the exit for Paxton Falls, and the farm is three miles down the main road, on your right. They put up a pretty new sign a couple of years ago—you can’t miss it.”

Even in this storm she should be able to make it five miles if she drove carefully. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Lizzie turned and headed for the door.

“You’re welcome, and have a merry Christmas,” the woman called after her.

A Merry Christmas. As if.

Thank goodness for the slab of roof that sheltered the entrance. The snow was coming down harder now, and the wind buffeted her as she pushed the glass door open and raced to her car. She backed out cautiously, although there were no other signs of life in the parking lot. Snow squeaked and crunched under her tires as she drove slowly toward the highway on-ramp. There must be at least six inches of the stuff on the ground already.

Visibility was poor and there was no sign of a plow, so the traffic moved along at a slow crawl. Lizzie kept one eye on the odometer, one eye on the road signs—she didn’t want to miss her turn—and one eye on her fellow motorists. No, wait, that made three eyes. Oh, well, whatever. The short drive quickly became an exhausting ordeal.

She released a short huff of relief when a white-encrusted green sign that read Paxton Falls appeared. Tapping the brakes lightly, she eased off the highway onto a country road. Trees lined both sides almost to the edge of the pavement, and there wasn’t a building in sight. The motel clerk had said the B&B was about three miles ahead.

Lizzie dropped her gaze to the odometer. When she glanced back up, she let out a shriek. A huge moose stood in the center of the road, staring at her, unconcerned. She braced her arms against the steering wheel, and mashed her foot into the brake pedal as hard as she could. The car skidded off the road and slid nose-first into a tree. Fortunately, she hadn’t been going fast enough to trigger the airbag. As she sat stunned, the moose ambled over and peered at her through the window before disappearing into the woods.

What should I do now? She shook her head to clear the brain fog.

The car had gone off the road at an angle and was tilting downward and to the right. The first order of business was to see if it was drivable. She shifted into Neutral and gave the engine a little gas. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing.

Incipient tears clogged her throat. Could this holiday get any worse? Now, she’d broken the rental car and would have to call a tow truck.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she leaned over the center console to snag her purse from the floor of the passenger seat, only to find it squashed under the box of grapefruit she’d picked up at Ferrini’s Market as a hostess gift for Angela. Lizzie tugged and maneuvered until she finally extracted her bag, but when she pulled out her phone, she discovered the heavy box had smashed the screen.

It might still work, right?

She held her breath and pushed the button. No friendly little glowing icons appeared. Instead, the cracked black screen seemed to mock her. It looked like she wouldn’t be calling for help after all. She should probably get out and try to flag down a passing car.

There were just two problems: the car door was jammed shut—probably from the impact—and the road was completely deserted. She could only hope someone would drive by soon and spot the wreck.

Shoving up the sleeve of her coat, she glanced at her watch. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and this appeared to be the only road into Paxton Falls. Somebody was bound to come by soon…weren’t they?

She sagged back against the seat and tried to find a reasonably comfortable position for what she hoped would be a short wait. After several minutes of fidgeting, she checked her watch again. The cold was beginning to penetrate her boots and coat, and she wished she hadn’t put her knit ski cap in her suitcase in the trunk.

Come on. Somebody. Anybody.

But the snow continued to fall, and the road remained eerily silent. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. Another hour or two and she and the car would disappear until the spring thaw.

She was drowning in a mire of self-defeating speculation when the door beside her jerked open and she found herself staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses. The fur-rimmed hood of his olive-green parka had fallen back, revealing wavy dark hair and a lean, square jaw.

      Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. “Ryan?”

Harriet's Christmas Wish - Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

“Poppy! Poppy!”

Marnie raced along the bluffs behind the cottage, shouting her daughter’s name, but the blustery wind stole the words from her lips. With impatience, she brushed away long auburn tendrils that slapped her face, barely noticing the icy tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Poppy! Poppy!” Where could she be?

Guilt hammered in Marnie’s chest. She’d been snappish and short with the child last night after the scene with Bryce at the office yesterday, and now Poppy was gone. Marnie had been embarrassed, yes, but also hurt. Knowing her tender, observant five-year-old saw through her carefully cultivated cheerfulness to the loneliness she kept hidden away in a corner of her heart had hurt.

This morning, she’d sent Poppy to her room to play after breakfast while she finished the dishes and started a load of laundry. When she’d checked an hour later, the room was empty. She’d searched the house without success then called Livy in near-hysterics. Livy had quickly mobilized a search party, and now half the town was combing every inch of ground a five-year-old could cover in an hour for signs of the child.

“Marnie, wait up!”

At the sound of her name, she turned her head.

Bryce came loping up. The wind had disheveled his coffee-colored curls, and his cheeks were stained red by the cold. “No sign of her yet?”

Marnie shook her head, tears continuing to leak from the corners of her eyes. Towering gray clouds roiled overhead, ripe with the scent of rain. “It’s going to storm soon.”

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and scanned the bluff. “Have you checked the lighthouse?”

She shook her head again. “Why would she go there? It should be locked, anyway. It’s been closed for years.”

“We should try it, just to be sure.” He reached for her hand.

As he led her toward the faded, red-and-white striped lighthouse on the point, the heat from his hand banished some of the chill encasing her heart.

When they reached the old wooden door of the lighthouse, Marnie sucked in a quick breath. The lock was dangling from a single rusted screw. She stood back while Bryce gave it a tug. The door creaked opened about a foot. He yanked harder, and it fell open, sending a shaft of light onto the small figure of her daughter, huddled against the far wall, clutching her stuffed bunny.

She raced past Bryce and gathered Poppy into her arms, hugging her close and stroking her hair. “Baby, what are you doing here? I was so worried.” Tears threatened to clog her throat as the words tumbled out.

Poppy sniffed. “Harriet and I took a walk.”

“Why would you do that? You know you’re not supposed to leave the house alone.”

“I was sad.” Poppy drew back a few inches and met Marnie’s gaze. “You walk outside when you’re sad.” Her lower lip quivered.

Marnie struggled to contain her tears at the sight of her daughter’s misery. “But why did you come to the lighthouse? Why didn’t you come home?”

Poppy sniffed. “The wind made my ear hurt worse, and we were a long way from the house. Harriet thought maybe we could get in here, and she was right.” She hugged the bunny closer.

Bryce stepped from the shadows and crouched beside them. “I think we should get you home. If I carry you, we can go really fast. Would that be okay?” He held out his arms to Poppy. She hesitated then nodded and allowed him to pick her up.

Marnie pulled off her knit hat and tucked it over her daughter’s curls, tugging it down over her ears, then nodded to Bryce. “Let’s go.”

He kept his head down against the wind, shielding Poppy with his body, and Marnie followed behind, down the well-worn footpath. As soon as they reached the cottage, she bundled Poppy into bed with a dose of children’s pain reliever and a cup of cocoa. When she returned to the kitchen, Bryce was leaning against the counter, waiting.

“How’s she feeling?” he asked.

“Better, I think.” She met his concerned gaze. “Thank you for helping me find her. I wouldn’t have thought to check the lighthouse.”

His lips quirked up to one side. “You know what they say, it takes a village. And you had most of Boulder Bay helping today.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor and blinked hard as emotion threatened to overcome her again. “But you helped the most.”

He closed the distance between them and took both her hands in his. “Marnie, look at me.”

She hesitated, then complied. What she saw in his eyes kindled a warmth deep inside her.

“Was Poppy right?” His tone was gentle.

She wasn’t ready to face the question head-on. “Right about what?”

“You know what I mean. Your daughter thinks you’re lonely and sad.” When she remained silent, he continued. “Children have a way of seeing through us to the truth.”

She shrugged.

Bryce tightened his grip on her hands. “Parenting is tough. Life is tough. Don’t feel like you have to go it alone. Everyone in town is on your side, ready to help.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

The unspoken offer in his words caused a small crack in the protective shell around her heart, but she couldn’t give in. The shell was all that had held her together the past two years. “I’m doing fine.”

“You’re doing a great job, but that’s not the point. I want to help you. Let me help, Marnie.”

“You have helped me. You were there for us when we needed you today.”

He pulled her closer until her cheek rested against his chest. His arms enfolded her without pressure. “I’ve missed you.” His breath stirred the fine hairs on the top of her head.

“I’ve missed you, too.” The soft flannel of his shirt muffled her words.

“I know you’ve suffered an overwhelming loss, but when you’re ready, I want to be there for you…every day.”

“That’s what Tom said.” She couldn’t keep the bitter edge from her voice.

Bryce loosened his grip and eased back until their gazes met. “And I’m sure he meant it. Life doesn’t come with promises or guarantees. In our profession, we know that better than most. All any of us can do is reach for what happiness we can and savor every minute for as long as possible.” He hesitated, gazing deep into her eyes, as if he was trying to see all the way to her soul. “I think we could be happy together, Marnie.”

Could she take the chance? Should she take the chance?

The crack widened until the shell splintered.

She raised her hands to Bryce’s shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his. His arms instantly came around her, lifting her off her feet. Her head grew light as the kiss seemed to go on forever.

“Mommy.”

They broke apart and turned in unison to face the small figure in footed pajamas, standing in the doorway, clutching a stuffed bunny.

Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “I think Harriet is going to get her Christmas wish.”

From the circle of Bryce’s arms, Marnie smiled. “I think she just might.”

Harriet's Christmas Wish - Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

The minute he stepped through the doorway, Bryce’s gaze landed on Marnie and stuck. He hadn’t seen her in more than ten years, but she still had the power to make him forget everyone else in the room. Her silky auburn hair was pinned up in some kind of twisty thing instead of loose across her shoulders as he remembered, and a few faint lines fanned out from the corners of her emerald eyes, but he had never seen a more beautiful woman.

A beautiful woman who was staring at him as if he’d sprouted horns.

As soon as he could slip away from the throng of well-wishers waiting to shake his hand and welcome him back to Boulder Bay, he went in search of Marnie. He found her alone in the break room refilling a tray of cookies.

“Marnie, I know this must be a shock to you,” he began.

She glanced up with a tight smile. “You have no idea.”

“I told Henry not to keep the announcement secret, but he insisted everyone would be thrilled. You don’t look thrilled.”

“It’s just a surprise, is all.” She picked up the tray and turned toward the door.

“I’d hoped you’d be happy. After all, we’re old friends.”

Old friends who were once so much more.

“It’s nice to see you again, after so many years, Bryce. Now, if you’ll let me pass, I need to get these cookies out to the food table.”

He ran one hand through his hair and released a frustrated sigh. “We’re going to be working together, seeing each other every day. I don’t want this to be weird.”

She raised one brow, and a tiny smile tickled her lips. “I’ll promise not to be weird if you will.”

His heart jumped, and he grinned and stepped aside.

Bryce spent the weekend moving into his new apartment and picking apart his decision to leave his job in the Emergency Room of a gritty urban hospital to return to tiny Boulder Bay. He definitely wouldn’t miss Detroit, but what would it be like to work in a small family practice clinic with people who had known him only as Bryce Archer, all-state star linebacker? He’d headed off to the University of Michigan on a scholarship and stayed for medical school, with only brief trips home. Now he was back to stay. He hoped.

The official transition date was January first, but Dr. Carrington had invited him to work alongside him for the last two weeks of December to get used to the staff and patients. Bryce enjoyed seeing old high school friends, several of whom brought their children in with assorted coughs, bumps, and bruises. He didn’t even mind the members of his mother’s book club who made appointments for “check-ups,” when he knew all they really wanted was to check him out.

He just wished Marnie would relax around him.

She was always pleasant but seemed to make a point of being needed elsewhere whenever he was with a patient. Not that he minded working with Shirley, the other nurse, but she’d been at the clinic as long as he could remember, and it was hard to maintain a professional relationship with the woman who had given you booster shots when you were ten.

At around one-fifteen on the Friday of his first week with the practice, Bryce was in his office between patients, stuffing down a ham sandwich and struggling to enter his notes from the morning’s appointments into the unfamiliar computer record system.

He was ready to stick a pen in his eye when a soft knock sounded, and his door opened. Marnie stuck her head in. “Dr. Carrington said you might need some help.”

He tossed the pen into his empty coffee cup in frustration. “I’d hoped it wasn’t that obvious.”

She huffed out a breath. “It took him almost six months to master the new system. I’m sure he just wants to shorten your suffering.” She walked around behind him and leaned over his shoulder. “Let me take a look at what you’re trying to do.”

He tried to pay attention to her staccato instructions and swift mouse clicks, but the light, spicy scent of her hair and the soft pressure of her breasts against his back drove every other thought from his mind.

After ten minutes of torture, he covered her hand with his to still its frenetic movement. “Let’s save the rest for another time. My head is spinning.” Which was true.

She withdrew her hand abruptly and straightened. “Okay. Another time.”

As she turned to leave, he caught her wrist. “You don’t have to leave just because my brain has reached its limit of techno-speak. Have you had lunch yet? I’d be happy to share.” He waved the untouched half of his sandwich as if it were filet mignon.

Marnie hesitated, glanced at her watch then longingly back at the sandwich. “I accept, but only because I’m starving.” She took the sandwich and plopped down in the chair across from him. “We’ll have to make this quick. The next patient is due in fifteen minutes.”

They munched in silence for a couple of minutes, then Bryce cleared his throat. “I am sorry, you know.”

She swallowed and met his gaze with a frown. “Sorry? About what?”

“About the way things ended between us.”

Her mouth tightened. “Things didn’t ‘end between us.’ You went off to school and disappeared from my life.”

He winced at the sharp edge in her tone. “Between football and my pre-med studies, I got so busy I could barely keep up. I let my personal life slip away.”

“You let me slip away. I thought we were in love. I thought we had plans.”

Her accusation stung. “Marnie, be fair. We were just kids. We had no idea what we were up against. Long distance relationships are hard. I’m sorry I didn’t make more of an effort. I’m sorry I stopped calling. I’m sorry I didn’t handle it like a man.”

She sighed, and her small, rueful smile melted his budding kernel of resentment. “You’re right. I’m not being fair. I guess I’d saved those words up for ten years and had to let them out. At any rate, life worked out for both of us. You’re a doctor now, and I…have Poppy.”

The hint of sadness in her voice gave him a twinge. “I’m also sorry about your husband—Tom, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She blinked a couple of times then gripped the arms of her chair and pushed it back, rising to her feet. “I have to go now. Thanks for the sandwich.”

And she was gone.

Bryce followed her with his gaze, certain he could have handled the conversation better, but not sure how.

A couple of hours later, he pulled the chart of his next patient from the clip on the outside of the exam room door and gave it a quick glance as his hand turned the knob.

Poppy Faraday.

He frowned, wondering why Marnie hadn’t mentioned her daughter had an appointment that afternoon during their brief lunch. But then, they hadn’t had much time for conversation. Chart in hand, he opened the door with what he hoped was a warm, friendly smile. Children were always apprehensive coming to the doctor’s office, and sick children even more so.

A small girl with bright red hair sat on the exam table hugging a slightly shabby and obviously well-loved stuffed rabbit. Marnie’s sister Livy sat in the chair beside her.

Bryce nodded at Livy then turned his attention to the child. “Hi, Poppy. I’m Dr. Archer. How are you today?”

“I have an earache.” Poppy’s voice was small and soft.

“We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” He carefully inserted a lighted otoscope into her right ear and whistled his best imitation of a bird call.

Poppy tried to turn her head. “What’s that?”

“I’m not sure, but I think you might have a bird’s nest in here.”

She giggled. “That’s silly. Besides, it’s the other ear that hurts.”

“I see.”

Satisfied her right ear was healthy, he checked the left. The eardrum was mildly inflamed, and he could see fluid behind it. As he was removing the otoscope, the door opened and Marnie stepped in.

She hurried to Poppy’s side, slipped an arm around her narrow shoulders, and gave her a little squeeze. “How are you feeling, sweetie? Aunt Livy called me and said you have an earache.”

Poppy nodded.

Marnie sent Bryce a questioning glance.

He slipped the otoscope into his pocket. “At this point, she just has a mild inflammation. I’d hold off on antibiotics for now and stick with a mild pain reliever unless the discomfort gets worse. I think she’ll be fine.”

Marnie nodded then gave her daughter another squeeze.

Bryce pulled a cherry-flavored lollipop from the stash he kept in another pocket. “Poppy, do you think your bunny would like a sucker?”

The little girl gave him a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “Harriet doesn’t eat candy. It makes her fur sticky.”

“How about you?”

“Oh, I eat candy—when Mommy lets me.” She glanced at Marnie, who nodded. Poppy accepted the treat. “Thank you.” She pursed her lips, tilted her head, and gave him a long, appraising glance. Then she smiled. “You’re nice. Harriet thinks so, too. She wonders if you could be Mommy’s friend. Mommy’s sad a lot, and Harriet thinks she needs a new friend for Christmas.”

Bryce raise his brows. “Your bunny thinks Mommy needs a new friend for Christmas?”

Poppy gave a solemn nod.

               Bryce raised his gaze to Marnie. Her face was the color of Poppy’s sucker. Biting back a smile, he turned a serious face to the little girl. “Thank you, Poppy. I’d like to be your Mommy’s friend.”