Snow Angels

by Fern Michaels, Marie Bostwick, Janna McMahan, Rosalind Noonan

Genres: Anthologies; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

They bring joy, wonder--and all the happiness of the season. Let these delightful stories of love and miracles light up your holidays with cheer. . .

"Snow Angels," by Fern Michaels

The only way irresistibly handsome Olympic skier Max Jorgenson wants to spend Christmas is. . .alone. But when social worker Grace Landry stumbles into his log cabin during a snowstorm, an unexpected magic rekindles his heart, his hopes, and the sweetest of Christmas dreams. . .

"The Presents of Angels" by Marie Bostwick

Ex-Rockette Kendra Loomis doesn't regret giving up New York's bright lights to be a Vermont minister's wife. But their small town's Christmas countdown is becoming a major stress-fest--and the only way she can save the day is to prove that giving is the most precious gift of all. . .

"Decorations" by Janna McMahan

All Michelle Duncan wanted for Christmas was a new life. And by helping her ailing mother she found one--as manager of a charming holiday craft store. She never expected that the fringe benefits would be muscular sculptor Baxter Brow--and one last chance to make all her wishes come true. . .

"Miracle on Main Street" by Rosalind Noonan

New York City policeman Joe Cody and his wife Sheila can't afford much of a holiday for their two kids. He's sure not expecting much yuletide joy while working on Christmas Day--until a desperate wish and several unexplainable events open his eyes to a wonderland of blessings and love. . .

Release date: October 27, 2009

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 432

Sample

Friday, December 19, 2008Eagle, ColoradoInterstate 70

Grace Landry glanced in her rearview mirror to check on Ashley and Amanda, her two “dates” for the evening. She’d been delighted when their mother, Stephanie, had allowed her to take the girls to see their first live performance of The Nutcracker at Eagle Valley High School. Both girls were sound asleep in the backseat of her van.

They’d needed some fun and normalcy in their sad and empty lives, especially during the Christmas season. Grace’s eyes teared up as she summoned the images of their frightened little faces when the local police delivered them and their mother to Hope House on Monday, four days earlier.

As a practicing psychologist, Grace had witnessed her share of abused women since receiving her doctorate nine years ago. Only five years ago, when her grandmother had left her a sizable estate, she’d started Hope House, a shelter for battered women and their children, and unveiled it to the proper authorities in Denver and the surrounding areas. It had been her hope that they would recommend her safe house to those women in need as a place to recuperate and plan for the future, and more than anything else, a place where they could feel safe. Gypsum was a small town off the beaten path, the perfect location for such a place. She’d been successful and never had any reason to question her decision. Her mother worried because Hope House was in such a remote area, but Grace assured her that was exactly what she’d been looking for when she’d bought the house and the surrounding land.

A light snow began to fall. Grace turned on the wipers, making a mental note to have chains put on her tires. With many treacherous stretches along Colorado’s I-70, authorities forbade semis to pass without them. Every winter she had her mechanic install them even though they weren’t required for the van. She’d rather be safe than sorry.

In the distance ahead, she noted red-and-blue flashing lights. Praying there wasn’t an accident, Grace turned on the radio, locating a traffic report on one of her preprogrammed stations. The broadcaster noted the light snow, but that was nothing unusual for this stretch of highway. Probably a broken-down motorist.

What little traffic there was slowed to a crawl as she drove toward the glaring lights. After a few minutes of creeping along, traffic came to a standstill. Grace glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard. After ten. She’d promised Stephanie she would have the girls back by eleven. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make it before midnight.

When Grace saw police officers knocking on the windows of the vehicles ahead of her, she assumed this was a random license check. Reaching across the seat for her wallet, she removed her license, awaiting her turn to prove she was a legally licensed driver.

The expected tap, and Grace pushed the button to lower the window. A gust of icy air along with wet snowflakes smacked the side of her face. Before the officer asked, she handed him her license.

“Thanks, ma’am, but this isn’t a license check. We’ve established several roadblocks in the area. We’re detouring traffic.”

“Oh,” Grace said, surprised by his words. A roadblock this time of night seemed odd to her. Rather than question the young officer, she listened to him as he pointed ahead.

“I hope there isn’t some crazy out terrorizing the roads,” she commented.

“No need to worry. We’re taking care of it. If you’ll take the next exit, 147 to Eby Creek Road, another officer will reroute you around the blockades. We’re trying to close this area of I-70 as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, officer.” Grace rolled up the window and followed the taillights of the line of slow-moving vehicles in front of her. Glancing at the backseat, she smiled when she saw that Amanda and Ashley were still sleeping. Most children were very resilient. She could only hope these two were also.

Grace closely followed the other vehicles, making it look as if the slow-moving traffic were a train. The snowfall started coming down even more heavily than it had been. She adjusted the defroster to high to clear the fog on the windshield. Traveling downhill, she applied slight pressure to the brakes as she made her way off the exit ramp, stopping when she saw a group of police cars with their lights blazing.

For the second time in what was becoming a frigid night, Grace rolled down her window as another policeman approached the van. Though she was well acquainted with many of Eagle’s finest, Grace hadn’t recognized the last officer; nor did she recognize this one.

“Where are you heading?” he asked. “We’re trying to reroute everyone without creating bedlam.” He smiled, but Grace saw that it was just for her benefit because it never reached his eyes. His eyes were watchful, alarmed. Grace knew the look quite well. She’d seen it hundreds of times in her line of work.

“To Gypsum,” she said.

“Follow this road for the next seven miles or so. From there you’ll turn left on the road leading back to I-70, then that should put you on Trail Gulch Road. The railroad track runs parallel to Trail Gulch if you’re not familiar with the area.”

After telling the officer she was somewhat familiar with the area, Grace repeated the correct directions before he motioned for her to move on. When she saw there were no other vehicles heading in the same direction, she felt a bit creepy being alone on such a remote stretch of highway. Hope House was out of the way, she reminded herself, which explained why most of the other vehicles were traveling in the opposite direction.

Amanda muttered in her sleep, and Grace checked her rearview mirror again. It wouldn’t be a good time for the girls to wake up. Stephanie had told her about their intense fear of the dark. Without streetlights and the usual signs advertising Big Macs and Holiday Inn Express’s free breakfast, the two-lane road was totally dark, except for her headlights, which plunged forward into the night like two eerie cat eyes.

After ten minutes of slow driving, Grace checked her mileage. She’d only traveled three miles. Careful to monitor the odometer so as not to miss the upcoming left turn, she reduced her speed to fifteen miles per hour. When the van slid off the road onto the shoulder, Grace turned the wheel to the left, quickly guiding the vehicle back onto the slippery pavement. Her heart fluttered against her rib cage, and her hands were damp as she clutched the steering wheel while continuing to look for the turnoff. She checked her mileage again, surprised when she saw she’d already gone five miles. Taking a deep breath, Grace tried to focus on the road, but with the snow falling faster and heavier, it was becoming almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of her.

Hoping to soothe her nerves, she adjusted the radio to a station playing cheerful Christmas music. Grace sang along with the familiar tunes, but stopped suddenly, fearing her off-key singing might wake the girls.

Realizing she must have missed the turnoff after she’d traveled another five miles, she stopped in the center of the road, telling herself it didn’t matter since she seemed to be the only one crazy enough to get lost on a back road when the weather was getting worse by the minute. Recalling the directions the police officer had given her, Grace did a three-point turn, checked her mileage, then slowly drove back in the direction she’d just come from.

Glancing from side to side as she retraced the miles and careful to watch the odometer, she still didn’t see any sign of a road where she could’ve made a turn, left or right. Continuing to clutch the wheel and occasionally glancing back at the sleeping children, Grace kept the routine up for another fifteen minutes before concluding that there was no turnoff. The police officer must have given her the wrong directions.

Wishing she’d upgraded to a van equipped with a GPS, she remembered that her cell phone had a less sophisticated version of one. She removed it from the side pocket on her purse. Instead of the welcoming green light that usually glowed, the small screen was as black as the night in which she was desperately trying to get home in. She tried to turn the cell off and on again. Nothing happened.

Her cell-phone battery was dead.

Wasn’t that one of the first rules she drummed into the women living at Hope House when she distributed the preprogrammed cell phones? Never allow your cell-phone battery to die because you never knew when you’d need to dial those three lifesaving numbers: nine-one-one.

But there she was, out in the middle of the night, with two little girls in her care, and no way to contact Hope House.

Deciding that the officer must have miscalculated the miles, Grace proceeded to drive down the two-lane highway, searching for an all-night gas station, anyplace where she could find a phone to call Stephanie to assure her the girls were fine. They’d been through so much, and Grace felt she was putting their safety at risk again.

After driving for what seemed like forever, it was after midnight when she pulled the van off to the side of the road. Fearing what she had to do, yet knowing it must be done, Grace leaned over the front seat and gently shook Amanda and Ashley until they were awake.

“Miss Grace,” came the sleepy voice of eight-year-old Ashley. “Where’s Mommy?”

Five-year-old Amanda perked up when she heard Ashley asking for their mother. “Is Mommy okay?” Grace heard the fear in their soft little voices.

“Mommy is just fine. She’s at Hope House, remember?” Grace knew she was stalling while trying to come up with a plan that would have no adverse effect on the girls.

Both wide-awake, they nodded.

“But we’re supposed to be home by now, aren’t we?” Ashley asked.

“Yes, sweetie, we are. I seem to have made a wrong turn, and I’m lost. I’m sorry, I don’t want to alarm either of you. I just need to make a call to your mother to let her know we’re safe, okay?”

Her words seemed to reassure both girls. Grace removed her jacket from the seat next to her. Slipping one arm at a time into the sleeves, she was glad she’d chosen the heavy parka since she was about to venture out into Colorado’s ever-dropping frigid temperatures.

“So why aren’t you calling?” Amanda asked with a trace of anxiety in her high-pitched voice.

Grace admitted to herself she was not the image of dependability and trustworthiness she’d presented to the girls when she’d convinced them a night away from their mother would be fun. In fact, she was just the opposite.

Reluctantly, Grace said, “I’m afraid my cell phone isn’t working.”

Over the top of the seat, two pairs of big brown eyes stared at her. Waiting.

“You can’t leave us here by ourselves, Miss Grace! Mommy says we’re never to be alone. Right, ’Manda?”

The younger girl nodded. “Yeah, Mommy says so.”

Saddened at the look of distrust on their small faces, Grace leaned over the seat and brushed her hands over both the girls’ heads. “Oh, girls, I would never leave you alone! What I meant to say is you’ll both have to come with me. We can pretend it’s a…treasure hunt. Whoever finds a phone first gets to pick out and decorate the Christmas tree any way she wants to. Deal?” Grace asked as she saw smiles light up their eyes.

“Deal,” they said in unison.

“Then let’s get your mittens, coats, and hats on. It’s much colder now than it was earlier.”

Grace bundled the girls up, grabbed a bottle of water and a flashlight from the glove compartment and tucked them inside her coat pocket, then draped her purse over her shoulder so she could take both girls by the hand. It wouldn’t do for her to lose contact with them. The snow was so thick, Grace could barely make out the van as they stepped away from its familiar safety.

Gazing up at the sky, Grace tried to determine which direction to head, but unlike the movies, there were no stars to guide her, nothing. She was on her own.

Deciding to walk uphill in the direction she’d been driving, she clasped both girls’ mitten-clad hands in her own as they trudged through the deepening snow. Every few minutes they would stop to catch their breath. The high elevation and the effort it took to walk uphill would strain even some of the world’s best athletes.

When they’d walked uphill for more than an hour, Ashley yanked her hand away from Grace and pointed to a light up ahead. “Miss Grace, look. Look!”

Grace’s heart did a somersault. Thank God! At the top of the mountain she saw windows aglow with lights. She grabbed Ashley’s hand. “I believe Miss Ashley gets to choose the tree. Come on, girls, let’s hurry before—” She started to say before our luck runs out, but given the girls’ past, thought better of it, and said “—they go to bed,” instead.

As they trudged through the snow, their shallow breathing created swirls of fog in the cool night air. Grace wasn’t sure how much longer the girls could stand the bitter cold and wind. Off to the left, Grace spied a road sign telling her they were approaching Blow Out Hill. Great, she thought as she pulled the girls along. She’d had a blowout all right. She’d blown the entire evening. Stephanie and the girls would never trust her again.

Heart pounding with every step, Grace rehearsed what she would say to Stephanie. She had to be out of her mind with worry by now. It was almost two in the morning. Angry at herself for her stupidity, she calmed down enough to knock loudly on the door of the biggest log home she’d ever laid eyes on.

Max Jorgenson jerked awake from a sound sleep when Cliff and Ice-D, his two Siberian Huskies, placed four heavy paws on his chest as he lay sprawled out on the leather sofa. When the pair saw that his eyes were open, they started barking and running around in circles.

Glancing around the great room, Max raked a hand through his hair. He’d fallen asleep again, with the lights on and the television blaring. Correcting himself, he mentally changed the words “fallen asleep” to “passed out.” Who cared? He sure as hell didn’t. Cliff nudged his hand with his furry nose as Max heard a soft pounding at the front door.

“What the heck?” he said as he rambled toward the front of what he referred to as his giant cabin. If there was an emergency at the resort, the management knew not to come to his retreat, knew there would be extreme consequences. He’d have someone’s ass in a sling for this unwanted intrusion first thing in the morning. He peeked at the clock above the fireplace. It was morning already.

The muffled pounding continued. “Eddie, if that’s you, you’re fired!” Max yanked the heavy log door aside expecting to see Eddie, his manager at Maximum Glide, the exclusive ski resort he owned in Telluride.

What he saw left him speechless.

Taking several seconds to recover from his surprise, as was his habit when flustered, he raked both hands through his unruly brownish blond hair. “You must have the wrong house.” These were the only words he could come up with as two little girls bundled in Pepto-Bismol pink jackets and matching hats and both with huge chocolate-drop eyes and their mother, their gorgeous, green-eyed mother, stared at him.

“We need to use your phone,” Grace stated in a firm voice, then stepped to the side as both Cliff and Ice-D bumped her free hand with their muzzles.

“Yeah, ’cause our daddy—”

“Not now, Ashley,” Grace interrupted.

Realizing the trio must be freezing, Max stepped aside. “Down, guys,” he said to the dogs, then to his unexpected guests, “Come inside, you’re letting in the cold air.”

The woman took both girls by the hand and led them inside. Their faces were just a shade shy of burgundy when they stood in the bright light.

“How long have you been out in this…weather?” He wanted to curse but stopped himself when he glanced down at the two girls.

“There are several roadblocks in Eagle along I–70. We were directed this way, and somehow I missed the turnoff.” Grace touched her purse strapped around her neck like a bayonet. “My cell-phone battery died.”

“I bet your car broke down, or you ran out of gas, too,” Max accused Grace.

Inching her chin up a notch, just enough not to appear too haughty, Grace answered in a firm voice, “Neither.”

With a trace of sarcasm Max asked, “So you decided to take your kids out for a midnight stroll during a snowstorm?”

He could see by her expression that he’d made her angry. He hadn’t meant the comment to come off as offensive, and didn’t care, but really, what kind of mother dragged her children out on a night like this?

“Actually, when I couldn’t find the turnoff…I just need to use your phone, then we’ll be on our way,” Grace explained. “As soon as—”

He gestured with his hands, preventing further conversation. In an impatient tone, Max said, “Follow me.”

“Miss Grace, can we pet the dogs?” Amanda asked when the pair of Huskies blocked their path.

Grace looked at the dogs, then their owner. She’d always been fond of animals but knew some were skittish around strangers. That didn’t seem to be a problem in this case, but one never knew. She’d already put the girls at risk once tonight.

“Go ahead,” Max replied to Amanda. “They’re harmless.”

Both girls looked to Grace for permission. “If Mr.—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t know his name. “Yes, you both may pet the dogs while I make the phone call.”

“Name’s Max Jorgenson,” he offered.

Grace looked at him oddly, then held out a slim hand. “Grace Landry.” He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place who.

Their host, if you could even call him that, was beyond handsome. With golden brown hair that hung way below his collar and robin’s-egg blue eyes rimmed with long black lashes most women would die for, “sexy” didn’t begin to describe him. Then there was the body. Grace couldn’t help but admire the broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist. She’d also noticed that his faded Levis clung to his rear end like a glove.

Max reached for her hand, then stopped. He’d promised himself after Kayla’s death he wouldn’t touch another woman. At the moment, that promise seemed irrational and stupid. He was thirty-six years old. Did he really think he could live the rest of his life without touching another woman? Without companionship? Without love? Without sex? It was just under two years since Kayla had died. He hadn’t given women much thought before tonight. And then this…snow angel appeared on his doorstep. Literally.

“The phone’s in the kitchen. This way,” Max said gruffly.

Without bothering to see if his guest followed, Max proceeded to the kitchen. He viewed his home as they made their way to the kitchen. Thick round pine logs made up most of the walls throughout the custom-built home. In the daytime, sunlight filtered through large floor-to-ceiling windows facing the mountains, revealing blue skies, puffy white clouds, and snowcapped mountains. The designer he’d hired to decorate used deep shades of forest green, with bright splashes of candy-apple red. With the custom-made pine cabinets, splashes of red and green in framed pictures of bright red apples, and pottery in matching shades of red and green from local craftsmen, the desired effect of hominess and cheer would have been complete had there been any personal touches added. Like a shopping list stuck to the bright red refrigerator with a magnet or a tea towel draped over the sink. Maybe a few unwashed dishes in the sink. Instead, the kitchen looked like it had the day he’d moved in, something right off the pages of one of those catalogues he’d seen advertising log homes. Max couldn’t remember ever making a real meal in the kitchen.

“Phone’s over there,” he said, pointing to an area in the kitchen comprised of a small counter, where a laptop sat upon the black marble, its screen as blank and impersonal as the rest of the space. A cordless phone was sitting next to the computer.

“Thank you,” Grace said. She stared at him, willing him to step out of the kitchen and allowing her a modicum of privacy, but he didn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she quickly punched in the private number to Hope House. When nothing happened, she dialed the number again, this time hearing the requisite beep beep beep as she hit each number. Lifting the phone to her ear, expecting to hear a ring, instead she heard nothing. She tried the number a third time. Still nothing.

“The phone lines go down when there’s snow,” Max offered.

No kidding, she wanted to say but refrained.

“Do you have a cell phone I could use? I really need to make this call. The girls”—Grace nodded toward Ashley and Amanda, who were busy petting the dogs—“they need to…I just need to make a call, then we’ll be on our way.” She was about to explain that the girls’ mother needed to know they were alive and safe but thought better of it.

Leaning casually against the pine-log wall, Max said, “Nope, never bothered with one. Sorry.”

Grace tried the number again, but there was still no dial tone. Realizing it was fruitless to continue trying to make a call on a phone that didn’t work, Grace placed it back on the base unit.

Not knowing what else to say, she hurried past the man with the familiar face to the girls, who were still playing with the lovable Huskies. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. She dreaded what she was about to do, but there wasn’t much choice.

“Girls, tell Mr. Jorgenson thank you for his hospitality. We have to leave. Now,” she stated firmly, hoping the girls wouldn’t question her.

“And just where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Max asked.

Galled that he had the audacity to question her, Grace turned around to face him. “Really, Mr. Jorgenson, it’s none of your business. Thank you for the use of your phone.”

Turning back to the girls, Grace spoke gently to them. “Amanda, Ashley. It’s time to go.”

“But—”

“No buts, girls. It’s time to go.”

Grace took each girl by the hand. “Put your mittens on. It’s still very cold out.”

Thundering footsteps came from behind. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but you can’t take these kids out now! The snow is getting heavier by the minute.” He pointed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the mountains.

Grace realized he was right, but what other choice did she have? “We’re going back to the van. I’m sure a patrol officer will find us.” She realized she should be staying put. Taking the girls back out into freezing temperatures was stupid, but once they got back to the van, she’d crank up the heat. There was plenty of gas. And who knew? Maybe a patrol officer would find them. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was all she could come up with given the circumstances.

In complete frustration, Max combed his hands through his messy hair. “Why don’t you spend the night here? I’ve plenty of room. In the morning, I’ll drive you back to your van myself.”

“Please, please, Miss Grace? Let’s spend the night here. We can play with the dogs. Puhleeze?” Amanda asked.

It would be the smartest choice. Really, it was their only choice. She couldn’t take the girls out again in this weather. For the girls’ sake, she swallowed her pride, making a snap decision. “Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson. We accept—but just for the night.”

Grace turned to him. He seemed surprised she’d agreed to his offer. “That’s all I’m offering.”

She wanted to tell him to forget it, but there was more at stake than her pride. She had two small children to consider. “If you’ll show me our room, I’ll take it from there,” Grace insisted, knowing that the invitation had cost him. Though how much, she didn’t realize.

“What about some food?” He stared at the girls. “Maybe something hot to drink?” He shot Grace a questioning look.

Maybe he had a trace of manners after all. Grace turned to him. “I think we’re okay, but thanks for the offer.”

“I’m hungry!” Ashley said. “And thirsty. And I need to use the bathroom.”

“Me too,” seconded Amanda. “Really, really hungry!”

Grace raised a sculpted brow. “I guess I spoke too soon.”

Max didn’t know where this sudden urge to be hospitable came from, but when he saw the excitement on the little girls’ faces, something inside him melted. What kind of man would allow a woman and her two kids to venture out into the wee hours of the morning knowing it was below freezing outside?

Him, he realized. Had it not been dark and cold, that’s exactly what he would’ve done. What he really wanted to do was snatch the invitation back, find another bottle of whiskey, and go back to sleep.

Seeing the expectant looks on the little girls’ faces, he blocked any further thoughts about what he should have done. This was the right thing to do. It’s what Kayla would have done had she been alive.

“Bathroom’s that way.” He pointed to a door beneath the staircase leading upstairs.

“Thanks.” Grace continued her grip on the girls, leading them to the bathroom. Once inside, she helped them remove their coats and mittens. When each had had her turn using the toilet, both girls washed their hands, loving the feel of the warm water.

“I want to take a bath, Miss Grace. I’m as cold as a frog,” Amanda announced.

Grace laughed. “Just how cold is a frog?” she asked the little girl.

“Real cold. Like a Popsicle.”

Ashley looked at her little sister. “Mommy would tell you to mind your manners right about now.”

“She would?”

“Yeah,” Ashley said. “Miss Grace, you didn’t talk to our mom, did you?”

Fearing Ashley would ask this but knowing there was no way around it, she simply told her the truth.

“And first thing in the morning, Mr. Jorgenson will take us to the van,” Grace finished explaining.

“I bet Mommy is scared ’cause she always wants to know exactly where we’re at,” Amanda said.

Grace felt as though she’d been punched in the gut with an extra large fist. “I know she’s worried, but right now there isn’t any way to let her know we’re okay, so let’s just concentrate on getting through the night.” She sounded lame even to herself.

Both girls watched her with fear in their eyes. “What if Daddy…”

“He doesn’t know we’re here. I think it might be a good idea if we didn’t talk about your daddy for the rest of the night. Are you girls okay with that?” Grace didn’t want their host asking any more questions than necessary.

Both girls nodded.

“Then let’s see if Mr. Jorgenson has something to drink, then we’ll rest,” Grace said.

With both girls following at her heels, she relaxed. They were safe for the moment and accepted her decision without question.

If she could only remember where she’d seen Mr. Jorgenson before, then maybe she would feel safe.

With the girls trailing behind her, Grace returned to the kitchen, surprised to find their host pouring boiling hot water into four red mugs. “I only have the instant stuff,” he pointed out, indicating packages of instant cocoa mix next to the cups. “Milk spoils too fast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson. I appreciate your hospitality,” Grace said. She opened four packs of the instant hot chocolate and added the contents to the cups of hot water. “This is just what the girls need, something to warm them up.” Grace stirred the hot drinks, then called the girls to the kitchen. “Sit at the table, okay?” she suggested to the two.

“Can we give the dogs some?” Amanda asked Grace, as Ashley helped her climb onto the chair.

“Never ever give chocolate to dogs! Are you crazy?” Max shouted from his position in front of the sink.

Instantaneously, both girls began to cry, their little faces masks of fear and horror. Grace hurried over to them. “Shhh, it’s okay. Mr. Jorgenson didn’t mean to yell”—Grace shot him a death look—“did you?” Her green eyes flared like sparkling emeralds.

“Uh, no. I didn’t. It’s just that anyone knows not to give chocolate to a dog.”

“Not everyone, Mr. Jorgenson. Especially a five-and an eight-year old.” If not for the worsening weather, Grace would’ve left the house immediately. The last thing the girls needed was an angry man yelling at them. That was what had brought them and their mother to Hope House in the first place. Of course, there were also the beatings, but Grace truly didn’t believe their host would resort to that behavior.

Grudgingly, he said, “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m sure you are,” Grace said to him, then to the girls, “Finish your drinks.”

She wanted to shout at him, tell him exactly what these two innocent children had been through in their short lives, but it wasn’t his business, and she never discussed her guests’ private affairs with strangers, or anyone else who wasn’t a member of her inner circle.

Grace used her sleeve to dry their tears. “It’s okay. Really. Let’s go to our room, and I’ll tell you a Christmas story.” Again she eyed their host with a look that she hoped shamed him.

“What about the tree? Can I still pick out the decorations?” Ashley asked, all traces of fear gone from her big brown eyes.

“Of course. Now come on, let’s get some sleep. Before you know it, morning will be here, and I want you both to get some rest. You’ll need lots of energy, so you can decorate the tree.”

The idea seemed to excite both girls, and for that Grace was extremely grateful. Max Jorgenson hadn’t shown them where to sleep, so she took the initiative. “If you’ll tell me where to find a room?”

Raking his hands through hair that Grace thought a bit on the long side, he nodded. “This way.”

Taking their hands in her own, Grace followed Max up the stairs, looking at everything and anything while trying to avoid Max’s rear view, plastered mere inches from her face.

A loft overlooked the downstairs. Shelves were lined with trophies, and covers of magazines were expertly framed and hung on the pine walls. In a built-in area that had special lights shining on its contents was an Olympic Gold Medal. It was then that Grace knew why she recognized Max.

“You’re the skier,” she stated to his back.

“Yep. That would be me,” Max answered with more sarcasm than she thought necessary.

He stopped at the end of the hall to open a door and turn on the lights. “A king-size bed. That should hold the three of you. There’s the bathroom.” He pointed to a door at the end of the huge room. Grace canvassed the large bedroom in one sweeping glance. What she saw took her breath away.

The room was the size of the entire downstairs at Hope House. Pine furniture that matched the logs throughout the house appeared to be custom-made since each piece occupied its designated location with absolute precision. Pictures of winter scenes hung on the rounded log walls. Briefly, Grace wondered how that was possible, but the physics of picture-hanging was the least of her concerns. On the large bed in the center of the room, a navy blue, maroon, and cream-colored quilt invited her to hunker down beneath its comfort for warmth. The bath was as large and extravagant as the rest of the house. A deep tub that would hold at least six people, windows that looked out into the blue-black snowy night. Grace could only imagine the view in the daylight. Navy and cream towels hung on warming rods. No expense had been spared when the house was constructed, of that she was sure.

Not wanting to appear impressed. . .