Chapter Four

      The next morning, Carson checked the cinnamon rolls in the oven, inhaling the rich, sweet smell, and then pulled out the hot chocolate mix. So the rolls were from a refrigerator tube and the cocoa was instant. The girls wouldn’t care.

      He paused to look out the cabin window. The sun was just starting to share its rosy light, illuminating the snowy mountains in the distance. He closed his eyes for a moment’s thanks to the Creator: for the majesty outside, for the girls still sleeping in the loft upstairs and, most of all, for the Christ child who’d come into the world to save and bless them all.

      He heard a rustle and a giggle upstairs and refocused on his cooking duties. He wanted to make this the best Christmas possible for his girls. Being here at the ranch, away from his computer and work tasks so he could focus on his girls, was a step in the right direction. And last night at Long John’s house had been a good start to the festivities. Long John’s funny songs and joke-telling had kept the girls laughing, and they’d loved playing with Rockette and decorating Long John’s little tree.

      And Lily! The way she’d helped the girls decorate cookies had given them such a good time. They’d talked about it, and her, until he’d tucked them into bed around midnight.

      The pretty, cryptic woman had held Carson’s attention, too. What motivated her to be so nice to the girls and to Long John?

      And what did she know about Pam?

      Her eyes had looked troubled both times Carson had brought her up. Why?

      Was it something so bad she didn’t want him to know, or had Pam made her promise secrecy?

      Unfortunately, he had an idea of what the secret might be.

      He heard another giggle and then some whispering. He poured water into the cups holding instant cocoa mix and pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven just in time, then snapped open the little container of sugary frosting and started slathering it on the hot rolls.

      His mother’s cinnamon rolls had been homemade, yeasty, buttery. He hadn’t known how good he’d had it when he was a kid. But now, looking back, he could recognize that his parents had done their best to make Christmas festive and fun for him, even though, as the only child of only children, he hadn’t had other kids with whom to share the holiday.

      “Daddy!” The wooden ladder from the loft clattered alarmingly, and then the twins galloped across the cabin and flung their arms around him, nearly knocking him over in their enthusiasm.

      “Merry Christmas!”

      “Did Santa come?”

      “Can we get in our stockings?”

      “Let’s open presents!”

      He laughed, wiped his hands and knelt to hug them. “Merry Christmas, sweeties,” he said. “I want you to eat a cinnamon roll first and we’ll have a prayer and a little cocoa.”

      “Daddy!”

      “And then, if you cooperate, we’ll dig into the stockings.”

      They groaned but obediently sat down at the little table and held out their hands for a prayer. Carson thanked God for Christ, and their friends, and their family—quickly—and then helped them each to a cinnamon roll.

      “These are good, Daddy!” Sunny said through a way-too-big bite.

      Carson decided not to correct table manners on Christmas morning. He was just glad to get a little breakfast into the girls before the gift unwrapping madness began.

      Of course, considering that they had candy galore in their stockings, he probably should have fixed something without quite so much sugar for breakfast.

      But it was Christmas. He took another cinnamon roll himself. He’d work it off shoveling snow later today.

      After the girls dumped out their stockings and gleefully examined all the candy and little windup toys and tiny bottles of scented shampoo and lotion and hand sanitizer, it was time for presents.