Single Dad's Christmas Miracle. Susan Meier
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wasn’t a bad guy. Actually, he seemed like a really nice guy—a gorgeous nice guy to whom she was unexpectedly attracted. But he was an executive who’d handled his wife’s death with the cool efficiency he probably spent on the company’s tax return. He had to use a storybook to show his daughter she could depend on him.
It wasn’t his fault that his kids were quiet, sad. Maybe even slightly lost. He handled things the way he knew how.
But his kids were quiet and sad, and slightly lost, and she ached for them.
In the kitchen, she glanced at Jack who wore jeans and a T-shirt then Teagan who wore little blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets with a matching pink T-shirt. Her long dark hair had been combed, even though she didn’t have a clip or band to keep it out of her face.
She ambled to the center island, filled a plate with two slices of French toast and sat on the stool beside Teagan.
“Are you ready to color today?”
The little girl yanked on Jack’s sleeve. He bent down and she whispered in his ear.
Jack sighed. “She said yes.”
Althea poured syrup on her toast, her heart aching for Jack again. The kid was twelve, isolated on a mountaintop—a beautiful mountaintop to be sure, but a lonely one. And a boy who should be in the ignoring-his-siblings stage had to speak for his baby sister.
He needed some fun.
And not just video games. Something unexpected.
“We’re going on a field trip this morning.”
Jack gaped at her. “Field trip?”
“Yeah. I need a coat and boots.”
Teagan blinked at her. Jack frowned. “You don’t have a coat?”
“I lived in Southern California for the past ten years. The heaviest thing I have is a hoodie.”
Jack just stared at her.
“Come on. You’re old enough to know the geography of this country. We have all different kinds of weather.”
“I suppose. I just don’t want my dad to be mad.”
“He’s the one who told me to get boots.”
She turned him toward the door. “Go get your coat and your sister’s coat. I swear we’ll have fun.”
CHAPTER THREE
JACK REMINDED ALTHEA that Teagan was too small to ride in a car without a safety seat, so they grabbed the extra one from the garage and installed it in her little red car.
The whole time they worked, Althea kept glancing back at Teagan, hoping for her to speak. Clearly excited at the prospect of getting out of the house, the little girl jumped from foot to foot. Her eyes glowed. Her smile could light the garage. But she never said a word.
As they rode down the hill, Jack chatted happily, filling her chest with the light airy feeling that comes from pleasing another person. She’d figured out he needed to get out of the house, she just hadn’t realized how badly. It was a stroke of luck that she needed a coat and boots.
She parked in front of one of the meters, fed it enough to give them an hour for shopping and turned the kids in the direction of the town’s general store.
In a shop stocked for winter in the mountains, she immediately found a coat and boots. The light blue jacket, black mittens and black boots she tried on not only fit, they were cute. But because she found them so quickly, their trip into town was ending too soon.
So, wearing her new coat and boots, she herded the kids across the street, telling them she wanted to see more of the town. About halfway down, she got her second lucky break of the morning: a Santa Shop.
There was nothing like seeing decorations, talking about gifts and sharing secret gift wishes to perk up children.
“Why don’t we take a peek inside?”
Jack’s face scrunched in confusion. “You want to go into a Santa Shop?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t decorate until Christmas Eve?”
She took Teagan’s hand. “Well, maybe we should change that this year and do some decorating beforehand?”
Teagan blinked up at her silently. It wasn’t much, but she suspected eye contact was a big step for Teagan.
Jack shook his head. “If Dad hates us decorating early, I’m telling him it was all your idea.”
“Good. Fine. Because it is my idea. And if he loves it I’ll get all the credit.”
When they reached the shop door, Jack held it open like a perfect gentleman. The scents of cinnamon, apples and bayberry wafted out to them. Old-fashioned wooden tables held rows of toy soldiers. Model trains chugged in circles around miniature towns. Ceramic villages took up another two rows. Evergreen wreaths hung on the back walls beside bundles of tinsel.
“I can’t afford much,” she told the kids, “but we’re four weeks away from Christmas. The least we should get today is a wreath for the door. Then we’ll come back every week and get something new.”
Jack faced her. “You want us to pick out the wreath?”
“Sure. It’s for your house. Your Christmas.”
He stood in front of her, looking totally puzzled.
“I thought you said you decorated on Christmas Eve?”
“We do. But we only put up a tree. Dad says it’s enough.”
“Well, sure it’s enough,” she agreed, not wanting to undermine his dad or make him look bad. “But starting today and doing a little something every week to the house, a little something to remind us that in a few weeks we’ll get presents and drink hot cocoa by the fire and eat peppermint sticks—well, that’ll just make everything extra special.”
Jack laughed lightly. “I think you’re expecting a lot from a wreath.”
Holding Teagan’s hand, she headed for the wreaths. “You’ll see. Maybe not this week but next week it will all start to sink in and then we’ll have Christmas spirit all over the place.”
Following a few feet behind her, Jack laughed.
Althea’s spirits soared. Teagan might not be talking but she was happy. And Jack was laughing. Once they got the wreath, they could go home and start his lessons.
* * *
Around eleven o’clock, Clark began to get antsy. He’d been so focused on how much work he’d missed because of Mrs. Alwine that he hadn’t thought through leaving the kids that morning.
Technically, Althea wasn’t a total stranger. She was a friend of a friend. That was how she’d gotten wind of the job and why he’d agreed to interview her. Yes, he’d checked her references. But he didn’t know her. And he’d left his kids with her.
He fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and hit the speed dial number for his home phone. It rang the usual four times before it went to voice mail.
He sucked in a breath. She could be in the bathroom. Or she might have turned off the ringer of the phone in the den for Jack’s studying.
Or she could have kidnapped his kids.
He groaned internally, telling himself not to think like that, and rummaged around on his desk for the sheet of paper with her cell phone number on it.
When he finally found it, he punched in the digits and waited through five rings before it, too, went to voice mail.
He tossed his cell phone