Trading Houses. Trading Towns. Trading Christmas!

Emily Springer, widowed mother of one, decides to leave Leavenworth, Washington, to spend Christmas with her daughter in Boston.

Charles Brewster, history professor, curmudgeon and resident of Boston, wants to avoid Christmas altogether. He figures a prison town should be nice and quiet over the holidays—except he’s thinking of the wrong Leavenworth!

Through an internet site, Charles and Emily arrange to swap houses for the holiday. So Emily goes to Boston—and discovers that her daughter has gone to Florida. And Charles arrives in Leavenworth to discover that it’s not the prison town—it’s Santa’s village! The place is full of Christmas trees, Christmas music and…elves.

Meanwhile, Emily’s friend Faith Kerrigan travels to Leavenworth to visit her and instead finds Charles the grinch. Then Charles’s brother, Ray, shows up at his home in Boston to discover that he isn’t there—but Emily is.

Through all the mix-ups and misunderstandings, amid the chaos and confusion, romance begins to emerge in unexpected ways. Because everything changes at Christmas!

November 2011

Dear Friends,

I wrote a story called When Christmas Comes back in 2004—and laughed all the way through the manuscript. To my mind, it was the perfect Christmas movie. Lots of action, delightful characters (if I do say so myself!) and plenty of good-natured humor. There’s Santa, the dwarfs, a runaway lobster and…

Well, guess what? Hallmark Channel agreed that this romantic comedy was a natural for a Christmas movie, so they approached me with the idea of turning it into one, to be broadcast in late November or early December of this year. They wanted a different title, though, and in the end decided to use the shout line from the original back cover copy. Trading Christmas. It’s a perfect title.

Yes, Trading Christmas is really When Christmas Comes—with one additional bonus. It will come to life via your television screen. (There’s actually a second bonus included in this volume; it’s another Christmas story—first published in 1991—called The Forgetful Bride).

Years ago I saw a cartoon that showed a goat chewing away on a movie reel. He looks up at the viewer and says he liked the book better. In this instance, you’ll have to be the judge. The book or the movie? Hopefully both will keep you richly entertained.

Happy holidays, everyone. I hope you laugh and sigh and think this was the best Christmas book and movie you ever enjoyed.

Debbie Macomber

P.S. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, or through my website, www.DebbieMacomber.com.

Trading Christmas

Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Praise for Debbie Macomber’s Christmas stories

“Macomber once again demonstrates her impressive skills with characterization and her flair for humor.”

—RT Book Reviews on When Christmas Comes

“Don’t wait until Christmas to read Debbie Macomber’s When Christmas Comes. This heartwarming little book will get even the Scrooge in you ready to welcome the holiday season! It’s a delightful story, complete with lessons about love, friendship and the spirit of Christmas, but is never preachy. This is just the book to curl up with before the season spins out of control.”

—Bookreporter.com on When Christmas Comes

“Once again author Debbie Macomber is back to offer readers a delightful seasonal story of friendship and love. Macomber is a master storyteller and this small volume is a testament to her lively skills…A warm and loving novel that is destined to quickly become a Christmas favorite.”

—Times Record News,Wichita Falls, Texas, on The Christmas Basket

“Debbie Macomber’s familiar setting of Blossom Street in Seattle will make her many fans feel right at home, and the Christmassy atmosphere makes readers feel that they have just had a refreshing holiday vacation from real life.”

—Bookreporter.com on Christmas Letters

“A fast, frothy fantasy for those looking to add some romance to their holidays.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Snow Bride

“Where Angels Go…should definitely get anyone in the mood for holiday cheer and warmth.”

—FreshFiction.com

“What would Christmas be without our traditional Christmas story from our favorite author?”

—Writers Unlimited

Trading Christmas

For my cousin Paula Bearson, with gratitude.

And special thanks to writer and friend Ann DeFee.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

One

“What do you mean you won’t be home for Christmas?” Emily Springer was sure she couldn’thave heard correctly. She pressed the telephone receiver harder against her ear, as though that would clarify her daughter’s words.

“Mom, I know you’re disappointed… .”

That didn’t even begin to cover it. Emily had scraped and sacrificed in order to save airfare home for her only daughter, a student at Harvard. They always spent the holidays together, and now Heather was telling her she wouldn’t be back for Christmas.

“What could possibly be more important than Christmas with your family?” Emily asked, struggling to hide her distress.

Her daughter hesitated. “It’s just that I’ve got so much going on during those two weeks. I’d love to be home with you, I really would, but…I can’t.”

Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat. Heather was twenty-one; Emily realized her daughter was becoming an independent adult, but for the last eleven years it had been just the two of them. The thought of being separated from her only child over Christmas brought tears to her eyes.

“You’ve got all the neighbor kids to spoil,” Heather continued.

Yes, the six Kennedy children would be more than happy to gobble up Emily’s homemade cookies, candies and other traditional holiday treats. But it wouldn’t be the same.

“I was home a few months ago,” Heather reminded her next.

Emily opened her mouth to argue. True, her daughter had spent the summer in Leavenworth, but she’d been busy working and saving money for school. If she wasn’t at her library job, she was with her friends. Emily knew that Heather had her own life now, her own friends, her own priorities and plans. That was to be expected and natural, and Emily told herself she should be proud. But spending Christmas on opposite sides of the country was simply too hard—especially for the two of them, who’d once been so close.

“What about the money I saved for your airfare?” Emily asked lamely, as if that would change anything.

“I’ll fly out for Easter, Mom. I’ll use it then.”

Easter was months away, and Emily didn’t know if she could last that long. This was dreadful. Three weeks before Christmas, and she’d lost every shred of holiday spirit.

“I have to hang up now, Mom.”

“I know, but…can’t we talk about this? I mean, there’s got to be a way for us to be together.”

Heather hesitated once more. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“Of course I will,” Emily said, dredging up the remnants of her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look pathetic to her daughter—or to heap on the guilt—so she spoke with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Disappointment pounded through her with every beat of her heart. She had to remember she wasn’t the only one who’d be alone, though. Heather would be missing out, too. “What about you?” Emily asked. Caught up in her own distress, she hadn’t been thinking about her daughter’s feelings. “Will you be all alone?”

“For Christmas, you mean?” Heather said. Her voice fell slightly, and it sounded as if she too was putting on a brave front. “I have friends here, and I’ll probably get together with them—but it won’t be the same.”

That had been Emily’s reaction: It won’t be the same. This Christmas marked the beginning of a new stage in their relationship. It was inevitable—but Christmas was still Christmas, and she vowed that wherever Heather was in future years, they’d spend the holiday together. Emily squared her shoulders. “We’ll make it through this,” she said stoutly.

“Of course we will.”

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Emily promised.

“I knew you’d be a trouper about this, Mom.”

Heather actually seemed proud of her, but Emily was no heroine. After a brief farewell, she placed the portable phone back in the charger and slumped into the closest chair.

Moping around, Emily tried to fight off a sense of depression that had begun to descend. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, too restless to read or watch TV. The house felt…bleak. Uncharacteristically so. Maybe because she hadn’t put up the Christmas decorations, knowing how much Heather loved helping her.

They had their own traditions. Heather always decorated the fireplace mantel, starting with her favorite piece, a small almost-antique angel that had belonged to Emily’s mother. While she did that, Emily worked on the windowsills around the dining room, arranging garlands, candles and poinsettias. Then together, using the ornaments Emily had collected over the years, they’d decorate the Christmas tree. Not an artificial one, either, despite warnings that they were safer than fresh trees.

It sometimes took them half a day to choose their Christmas tree. Leavenworth was a small Washington town tucked in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, and it offered a stunning array of firs and pines.

This year, without Heather, there would be no tree. Emily wouldn’t bother. Really, why go to that much effort when she’d be the only one there to enjoy it. Why decorate the house at all?

This Christmas was destined to be her worst since Peter had died. Her husband had been killed in a logging accident eleven years earlier. Before his death, her life had been idyllic—exactly what she’d wanted it to be. They’d been high-school sweethearts and married the summer after graduation. From the start, their marriage was close and companionable. A year later Heather had arrived. Peter had supported Emily’s efforts to obtain her teaching degree and they’d postponed adding to their family. The three of them had been contented, happy with their little household—and then, overnight, her entire world had collapsed.

Peter’s life insurance had paid for the funeral and allowed her to deal with the financial chaos. Emily had invested the funds wisely; she’d also continued with her job as a kindergarten teacher. She and Heather were as close as a mother and daughter could be. In her heart, Emily knew Peter would have been so proud of Heather.

The scholarship to Harvard was well deserved but it wasn’t enough to meet all of Heather’s expenses. Emily periodically cashed in some of her investments to pay her daughter’s living costs—her dorm room, her transportation, her textbooks and entertainment. Emily lived frugally, and her one and only extravagance was Christmas. For the last two years, they’d somehow managed to be together even though Heather had moved to Boston. Now this…

Still overwhelmed by her disappointment, Emily wandered into the study and stared at the blank computer screen. Her friend Faith would understand how she felt. Faith would give her the sympathy she needed. They communicated frequently via email. Although Faith was ten years younger, they’d become good friends. They were both teachers; Faith had done her student teaching in Leavenworth and they’d stayed in touch.

Faith—braver than Emily—taught junior-high literature. Emily cringed at the thought of not only facing a hundred thirteen-year-olds every school day but trying to interest them in things like poetry. Divorced for the past five years, Faith lived in the Oakland Bay area of San Francisco.

This news about Heather’s change in plans couldn’t be delivered by email, Emily decided. She needed immediate comfort. She needed Faith to assure her that she could get through the holidays by herself.

She reached for the phone and hit speed dial for Faith’s number. Her one hope was that Faith would be home on a Sunday afternoon—and to Emily’s relief, Faith snatched up the receiver after the second ring.

“Hi! It’s Emily,” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful.

“What’s wrong?”

How well Faith knew her. In a flood of emotion, Emily spilled out everything Heather had told her.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Faith announced as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“Well, she has mentioned a boy named Ben a few times, but the relationship doesn’t sound serious.”

“Don’t you believe it!”

Faith tended to be something of a cynic, especially when it came to relationships. Emily didn’t blame her; Faith had married her college boyfriend and stayed in the marriage for five miserable years. She’d moved to Leavenworth shortly after her divorce. Her connection with Emily had been forged during a time of loneliness, and they’d each found solace in their friendship.

“I’m sure Heather would tell me if this had to do with a man in her life,” Emily said fretfully, “but she didn’t say one word. It’s school and work and all the pressures. I understand, or at least I’m trying to, but I feel so…so cheated.”

“Those are just excuses. Trust me, there’s a man involved.”

Not wanting to accept it but unwilling to argue the point, Emily sighed deeply. “Boyfriend or not,” she muttered, “I’ll be alone over the holidays. How can I possibly celebrate Christmas by myself?”

Faith laughed—which Emily didn’t consider very sympathetic. “All you have to do is look out your front window.”

That was true enough. Leavenworth was about as close to Santa’s village as any place could get. The entire town entered the Christmas spirit. Tourists from all over the country visited the small community, originally founded by immigrants from Germany, and marveled at its festive atmosphere. Every year there were train rides and Christmas-tree-lighting ceremonies, three in all, plus winter sports and sleigh rides and Christmas parades and more.

Emily’s home was sixty years old and one block from the heart of downtown. The city park was across the street. Starting in early December, groups of carolers strolled through the neighborhood dressed in old-fashioned regalia. With the horse-drawn sleigh, and groups of men and women in greatcoats and long dresses gathered under streetlamps, the town looked like a Currier & Ives print.

“Everyone else can be in the holiday spirit, but I won’t—not without Heather,” Emily said. “I’m not even going to put up a tree.”

“You don’t mean that,” Faith told her bracingly.

“I do so,” Emily insisted. She couldn’t imagine anything that would salvage Christmas for her.

“What you need is a shot of holiday cheer. Watch Miracle on 34th Street or—”

“It won’t help,” Emily cried. “Nothing will.”

“Emily, this doesn’t sound like you. Besides,” Faith said, “Heather’s twenty-one. She’s creating her own life, and that’s completely appropriate. So she can’t make it this year—you’ll have next Christmas with her.”

Emily didn’t respond. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“You need your own life, too,” Faith added. “I’ve been after you for years to join the church singles group.”

“I’ll join when you do,” Emily returned.

“Might I remind you that I no longer live in Leavenworth?”

“Fine, join one in Oakland.”

“That’s not the point, Em,” her friend said. “You’ve been so wrapped up in Heather that you don’t have enough going on in your life.”

“You know that’s not true!” Emily could see that talking to Faith wasn’t having the desired effect. “I called because I need sympathy,” Emily said, her tone a bit petulant even to her own ears.

Faith laughed softly. “I’ve failed you, then.”

“Yes.” Emily figured she might as well tell the truth. “Of all people, I thought you’d understand.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Em.”

Her friend didn’t sound sorry.

“I actually think being apart over the holidays might be good for you—and for Heather.”

Emily was aghast that Faith would suggest such a thing. “How can you say that?”

“Heather might appreciate you more and you might just discover that there are other possibilities at Christmas than spending it with your daughter.”

Emily knew she’d adjust much more easily if she wasn’t a widow. Being alone at this time of year was hard, had been hard ever since Peter’s death. Perhaps Faith was right. Perhaps she’d clung to her daughter emotionally, but Emily felt that in her circumstances, it was forgivable.

“I’ll be fine,” she managed, but she didn’t believe it for a moment.

“I know you will,” Faith said.

Even more distressed than before, Emily finished the conversation and hung up the phone. Never having had children, Faith didn’t understand how devastating Heather’s news had been. And if Emily was guilty of relying on her daughter too much, Christmas was hardly the time of year to deal with it. But wait a minute. She’d encouraged Heather’s independence, hadn’t she? After all, the girl was attending school clear across the country. Surely a few days at Christmas wasn’t too much to ask.

Emily decided a walk would help her sort through these complicated emotions. She put on her heavy wool coat, laced up her boots and wrapped her hand-knitted red scarf around her neck. She’d knitted an identical scarf for her daughter, although Heather’s was purple instead of red, and mailed it off before Thanksgiving. Finally she thrust her hands into warm mittens. It’d snowed overnight and the wind was cold enough to cut to the bone.

The Kennedy kids—ranging from six years old to thirteen—had their sleds out and were racing down the hill in the park. In order of age and size, they scrambled up the steep incline, dragging their sleds behind them. When they reached the top, they all waved excitedly at Emily. Sarah, the youngest, ran over to join her.

“Hello, Mrs. Springer.” Sarah smiled up at her with two bottom teeth missing.

“Sarah,” Emily said, feigning shock. “Did you lose those two teeth?”

The girl nodded proudly. “My mom pulled them out and I didn’t even cry.”

“Did the tooth fairy visit?”

“Yes,” Sarah told her. “James said there wasn’t any such thing, but I put my teeth under my pillow and in the morning there was fifty cents. Mom said if I wanted to believe in the tooth fairy, I could. So I believed and I got two quarters.”

“Good for you.”

With all the wisdom of her six years, Sarah nodded. “You’ve got to believe.”

“Right,” Emily agreed.

“In Santa, too!”

As the youngest, Sarah had four older brothers and a sister all too eager to inform her that Santa Claus and his helpers bore a strong resemblance to Mom and Dad.

“Do you believe, Mrs. Springer?”

Right now that was a difficult question. Emily was no longer sure. She wanted to believe in the power of love and family, but her daughter’s phone call had forced her to question that. At least a little…

“Do you?” Sarah repeated, staring intently up at Emily.

“Ah…” Then it hit her. She suddenly saw what should’ve been obvious from the moment she answered the phone that afternoon. “Yes, Sarah,” she said, bending down to hug her former kindergarten student.

It was as simple as talking to a child. Sarah understood; sometimes Emily hadn’t. You’ve got to believe. There was always a way, and in this instance it was for Emily to book a flight to Boston. If Heather couldn’t join her for Christmas, then she’d go to Heather.

The fact that this answer now seemed so effortless unnerved her. The solution had been there from the first, but she’d been so caught up in her sense of loss she’d been blind to it.

Emily had the money for airfare. All she needed was to find a place to stay. Heather would be so surprised, she thought happily. In that instant Emily decided not to tell her, but to make it a genuine surprise—a Christmas gift.

Emily reversed her earlier conviction. What could’ve been the worst Christmas of her life was destined to be the best!

Two

Charles Brewster, professor of history at Harvard, pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the computer. His eyes trailed to the clock in the corner of the screen to discover that it was three o’clock. Charles had to stop and calculate whether that was three in the afternoon or three at night. He often lost track of time, especially since he had an inner office without windows.

And especially since it was December. He hated the whole miserable month—the short days with darkness falling early, the snow, the distractedness of his students and colleagues. Christmas. He dreaded it each and every year. Cringed at the very mention of the holidays. Rationally he knew it was because of Monica, who’d chosen Christmas Eve to break off their relationship. She claimed he was distant and inattentive, calling him the perfect example of the absentminded professor. Charles admitted she was probably right, but he’d loved her and been shocked when she’d walked out on him.

Frowning now, Charles realized it was happening already. Christmas was coming, and once again he’d be forced to confront the memories and the bitterness. The truth was, he rarely thought of Monica anymore except at Christmas. He couldn’t help it. Boston during December depressed him. In fact, he associated Christmas, especially Christmas in the city, with unhappiness and rejection. It was as if those emotions had detached themselves from Monica and just become part of the season itself.

Standing up, he strolled out of his office and noticed that all the other History Department offices were dark and empty. It must be three at night, then, which meant he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Funny, he distinctly remembered Mrs. Lewis bringing him a tuna sandwich and a cup of hot coffee. His assistant was thoughtful that way. On the other hand, that might’ve been the day before. Frankly, Charles no longer remembered. His stomach growled, and he rummaged through his desk drawers for a snack. He located a candy bar, eating it hungrily, with only the briefest consideration of how old it might be.

It was too late to head home now, Charles decided. If he left the building, Security would be on him so fast he wouldn’t make it to the front door. He’d have to haul out all his identification and explain why he was still here and… No, it was easier just to stay.

He returned his attention to his work. He’d recently been contracted to write a textbook. He’d agreed to a tight deadline because he knew it would help him get through the holidays. Now he wondered if he’d taken on too much.

The next time he glanced up from the computer, Mrs. Lewis had stepped into the office. “Professor Brewster, were you here all night?”

Charles leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand along his face. “It seems I was.”

Shaking her head, she placed a cup of hot, black coffee on his desk.

He sipped it gratefully. “What day is this?” It was a question he asked often—so often that it didn’t even cause the department secretary’s brow to wrinkle.

“Tuesday, December fourteenth.”

“It’s the fourteenth already?” He could feel the panic rising.

“Yes, Professor. And you have three student appointments today.”

“I see.” But all Charles saw was trouble. If his mother wasn’t pestering him, then it was his students. He sighed, suddenly exhausted. He’d spent the better part of fifteen hours writing his American history text, focusing on the Colonial era, the Revolutionary War and the country’s founding fathers. Much of his work that night had been about the relationship between Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. It wouldn’t be light reading, but he knew his history and loved it. If he met his deadline, which Charles was determined to do, and turned in the completed manuscript shortly after the first of the year, it would be published and ready for use by the start of the 2006 autumn classes. High aspirations, but Charles knew he could meet the challenge.

“Your mother just phoned again,” Mrs. Lewis informed him. She’d left his office and returned to set the mail on his desk.

Charles sighed. His mother’s intentions were good, but she worried about him far too much. For years now, she’d been after him to join her in Arizona for the holidays. Personally, Charles would rather have his fingernails pulled out than spend Christmas with his mother. She suffocated him with her concern and irritated him with her matchmaking efforts. Try as he might, he couldn’t make her understand that he wasn’t interested in another relationship. His one and only attempt at romance had practically demolished him. After Monica’s Christmas Eve defection, he’d shielded himself from further involvement. He was content with his life, although his mother refused to believe it. He didn’t want a relationship. Women made demands on his time; they were a luxury he couldn’t afford if he planned to get ahead in his profession. He wanted to write and teach and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day as it was. Frankly that suited him just fine.

If Ray would do him the favor of marrying, Charles would be off the hook. Unfortunately his older brother seemed to be a confirmed bachelor. That left Charles—and his mother wasn’t giving up without a fight. At every opportunity she shoved women in his path. Twice in the last six months she’d sent the daughters of friends to Boston to lure him out of his stuffy classroom, as she called it. Both attempts had ended in disaster.

“She wants to know your plans for the holidays.”

Charles stiffened. This was how their last conversation had begun. His mother had casually inquired about his plans for Labor Day, and the next thing he knew she’d arranged a dinner engagement for him with one of those young women. That particular one had been a twenty-four-year-old TV production assistant in New York; to say they had nothing in common was putting it mildly. “What did you tell my mother?” he asked.

“That you were occupied and unable to take the call.”

From the way Mrs. Lewis’s lips thinned, Charles guessed she wasn’t pleased at having to engage in this small deception. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“She insisted I must know about your plans for Christmas,” Mrs. Lewis said in a severe voice.

Apprehension shot up his back. “What did you say?”

Mrs. Lewis crossed her arms and stared down at him. “I said I am not privy to your private arrangements, and that for all I knew you were going out of town.”

Actually, that didn’t sound like a bad plan. He needed an escape, and the sooner the better. If his mother’s behavior was true to pattern, she was about to sic some woman on him. As soon as Mrs. Lewis had made that comment about traveling, the idea took root in his mind. It would do him good to get out of the city. He didn’t care where he went as long as it was away from Boston, away from his seasonal misery. Someplace quiet would suit him nicely. Someplace where he could work and not worry about what time or day it happened to be.

“Hmm. That has possibilities,” he murmured thoughtfully.

The older woman didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. His students often wore the same confused look, as if he were speaking in a foreign language.

“Traveling.” The decision made now, he stood and reached for his overcoat. “Yes.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“That was an excellent idea. I’m leaving town for the holidays.” All he wanted was peace and quiet; that should be simple enough to arrange.

“Where?” Mrs. Lewis stammered, following him out of his office.

He shrugged. “I really don’t care.”

“Well, I could call a travel agent for recommendations.”

“Don’t bother.”

A travel agent might book him into some area where he’d be surrounded by people and festivities centered on the Christmas holidays. Any contact with others was out of the question. He wanted to find a place where he’d be completely alone, with no chance of being disturbed. And if possible, he wanted to find a place where Christmas wasn’t a big deal.

He told Mrs. Lewis all this, then asked her for suggestions. He turned down Vermont, Aspen, Santa Fe and Disney World.

Disney World!

At her despairing look, he sighed again. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll do it myself.”

She nodded and seemed relieved.

Later that day, Charles had to admit that finding an obscure location for travel on such short notice was difficult. Taking his briefcase with him, he walked to his condo, not far from the university area. But after he’d showered, heated up a microwave lasagna for his dinner and slept, he tackled the project with renewed enthusiasm. It was now shortly after 8:00 p.m.

After calling half a dozen airlines, he realized he was seeking the impossible. Not a man to accept defeat, Charles went online to do his own investigative work. It was while he was surfing the Internet that he found a site on which people traded homes for short periods.

One such notice was from a woman who’d posted a message: Desperately Seeking Home in Boston for Christmas Holidays.

Charles read the message twice, awed by his good fortune. This woman, a schoolteacher in a small town in Washington State, sought a residence in Boston for two weeks over the Christmas holidays. She could travel after December 17th and return as late as December 31st.

The dates were perfect for Charles. He started to get excited. This might actually work without costing him an arm and a leg. Since he didn’t have to register in a hotel, his mother would have no obvious means of tracking him. Oh, this was very good news indeed.

Charles answered the woman right away.

From: “Charles Brewster” <hadisbad@charternet.net>

To: “Emily Springer” springere@aal.com

Sent: December 14, 2004

Subject: Trading Places

Dear Ms. Springer,

I’m responding to the DESPERATELY SEEKING IN BOSTON advertisement shown on the Trading Homes Web site. I live in Boston and teach at Harvard. My condo is a two-bedroom, complete with all modern conveniences. You can email me with your questions at the address listed above. I eagerly await your reply.

Sincerely,

Charles Brewster

Before long Charles received a response. Naturally, she had a number of questions. He had a few of his own, but once he was assured that he’d be completely alone in a small Eastern Washington town, Charles agreed to the swap. He supplied references, and she offered her own.

A flurry of emails quickly passed between them as they figured out the necessary details. Emily seemed to think she owed him an explanation as to why she was interested in Boston. He didn’t tell her that he didn’t care about her reasons.

He certainly didn’t mention his own. He rather enjoyed the notion of spending time in a town called Leavenworth. If he remembered correctly, a big federal prison was situated in the area. As far as Charles was concerned, that was even better. The less celebrating going on, the happier he’d be. He could spend the holidays in a nice, quiet prison town without any Christmas fuss.

His remaining concern was buying a plane ticket, but once again the online travel sites came to his rescue. Charles had no objection to flying a red-eye, since half the time he didn’t know whether it was day or night.

“Everything’s been arranged,” he announced to Mrs. Lewis the following morning.

She responded with a brief nod. “So you have decided to travel.”

“I have.”

She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me any of the details.”

He stared at her. “Why not?”

“In case your mother asks, I can honestly tell her I don’t know.”

“Excellent idea.” He beamed at the brilliance of her suggestion. For once, he was going to outsmart his dear, sweet matchmaker of a mother and at the same time blot Christmas from the calendar. School was closing for winter recess and if she couldn’t reach him, she’d assume he wasn’t answering his phone, which he rarely did, anyway—even before caller ID. And suppose his mother found some way to get hold of Mrs. Lewis during the Christmas holidays? It wouldn’t matter, because Mrs. Lewis didn’t know a thing! This was more satisfactory by the minute.

For two blessed weeks in December, he was going to escape Christmas and his mother in one fell swoop.

No question about it, life didn’t get any better than this.

Three

The bell rang, dismissing Faith Kerrigan’s last junior-high literature class of the afternoon. Her students were out of the room so fast, anyone might think the building was in danger of exploding. She could understand their eagerness to leave. When classes were dismissed for winter break at the end of the week, she’d be ready—more than ready.

“Faith?” Sharon Carson stuck her head in the doorway. “You want to hit the mall this afternoon?”

Faith cringed. The crowds were going to be horrendous, and it would take a braver woman than she to venture into a mall this close to the holidays. One advantage of being single was that Faith didn’t have a lot of Christmas shopping to do. That thought, however, depressed her.

She was an aunt three times over, thanks to her younger sister. Faith loved her nephews, but she’d always dreamed of being a mother herself one day. She’d said goodbye to that dream when she divorced. At the time she hadn’t realized it; she’d blithely assumed she’d remarry, but to this point she hadn’t met anyone who even remotely interested her. She hadn’t guessed it would be that difficult to meet a decent man, but apparently she’d been wrong. Now thirty, she’d begun to feel her chances were growing bleaker by the day.

“Not tonight, Sharon, but thanks.”

Her fellow teacher and friend leaned against the door of her classroom. “You’re usually up for a trip to the mall. Is something bothering you?”

“Not really.” Other than the sorry state of her love life, the only thing on Faith’s mind was getting through the next few days of classes.

“Are you sure?” Sharon pressed.

“I’m sure.” Faith glanced over at her and smiled. She was tall, the same height as Faith at five foot eight, and ten years older. Odd that her two best friends were forty. Both Emily and Sharon were slightly overweight, while Faith kept her figure trim and athletic. Emily was an undiscovered beauty. She was also the perfect kindergarten teacher, patient and gentle. She looked far younger than her years, with short curly brown hair and dark eyes. Unlike Faith, she wasn’t interested in sports. Emily felt she got enough physical exercise racing after five-year-olds all day and had no interest in joining the gym or owning a treadmill. Come to think of it, Faith wasn’t sure Leavenworth even had a gym.

Faith ran five miles three times a week and did a seven-mile-run each weekend. She left the races to those who enjoyed collecting T-shirts. She wasn’t one of them. The running habit had started shortly after her separation, and she’d never stopped.

“You haven’t mentioned Emily lately. What’s up with her?” Sharon asked and came all the way into the room. The summer before, when Sharon and her family had taken a trip north to Washington State, Faith had suggested they visit Leavenworth. As soon as Emily learned Faith’s friend would be in the area, she’d insisted on showing them the town. Emily was the consummate host and a fabulous cook. Sharon had come back full of tales about Leavenworth and Emily.

“I talked to her on Sunday.” Faith began erasing the blackboard, but paused in the middle of a sweeping motion. “Funny you should mention her, because she’s been on my mind ever since.”

“I thought you two emailed back and forth every day.”

“We do—well, almost every day.” Faith had sent Emily an email the day before and hadn’t heard back, which told her Emily was especially busy. No doubt there’d be a message waiting for her once she got home.

She turned to face Sharon. “I think I might’ve offended her.” Now that she thought about it, Faith realized she probably had. “Emily phoned, which she rarely does, to tell me Heather won’t be coming home for Christmas. I told Emily it was time Heather had her own life and to make the best of it.” Given the opportunity, she’d gladly take back those words. “I can’t believe I wasn’t more sympathetic,” Faith said, pulling out the desk chair to sit down. She felt dreadful. Her friend had phoned looking for understanding, and Faith had let her down.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Sharon said. She slipped into one of the student desks.

“Emily doesn’t want to be alone over Christmas, and who can blame her?”

“No one wants to be alone at Christmas.”

Faith didn’t; in fact she’d made plans to visit Penny and join in the festivities with her nephews. “I was completely and utterly insensitive. Poor Emily.” No wonder she hadn’t answered Faith’s email.

“What are you going to do?” Sharon asked.

“What makes you think I’m going to do anything?”

A smile crept over Sharon’s face. “Because I know you. I can tell from the look in your eyes.”

“Well, you’re right. I have an idea.”

“What?”

Faith was almost beside herself with glee. “I’m going to surprise Emily and visit her for Christmas.”

“I thought you were spending the holidays with your sister.”

“I was, but Penny will understand.” The truth, Faith realized, was that Penny might even be grateful.

“It’s pretty hard to book a flight at this late date,” Sharon said, frowning.

“I know… . I haven’t figured that out yet.” Booking a flight could be a problem, but Faith was convinced she’d find a way, even if it meant flying in the dead of night. There had to be a flight into the Seattle-Tacoma airport at some point between Friday night and Christmas Day.

“My sister-in-law works for a travel agent. Would you like her number?”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

They walked to the faculty lounge together and got their purses out of their lockers. Sharon pulled out her cell phone, then scrolled down until she found the number. Faith quickly made a note of it.

“If there’s a flight to be had, Carrie will find it,” Sharon assured her.

“Thanks again.”

“Are you going to call Emily and let her know your plans?” Sharon asked as they left the school building, walking toward the parking lot.

“Not yet. I don’t want to get her hopes up if this turns out to be impossible.”

“If worse comes to worst, I suppose you could always drive.”

“I don’t think so.” Faith had done it often enough to realize she didn’t want to take the Interstate in the middle of winter. The pass over the Siskiyous could be hellish this time of year. It wasn’t a trip she wanted to make on her own, either.

“Don’t worry—Carrie will get you a flight,” Sharon said confidently.

As soon as she was in her car, Faith pulled out her own cell phone and dialed the travel agency. Carrie was extremely helpful and promised to get back to her as soon as she could.

Now that she had a plan, Faith was starting to feel excited. She called her sister soon after she arrived home, and the instant Penny picked up the phone, Faith could hear her three nephews fighting in the background. It sounded as if they were close to killing one another by the time the conversation ended.

Penny had made a token display of disappointment, but Faith didn’t think her sister was too distressed. And Faith had to admit she was looking forward to a different kind of holiday herself. One without bickering kids—much as she loved them—and the same old routines. Still, her family was important to her, and she’d promised to visit right after New Year’s.

Because she had someplace to go and family to be with, Faith hadn’t really listened to what Emily had tried to tell her, hadn’t really understood. Emily adored her daughter, of course, but Heather’s absence was only part of the problem. What bothered her just as much was the prospect of spending perhaps the most significant holiday of the year by herself. In retrospect, Faith was astonished she hadn’t recognized that earlier. She was a better friend than this and she was about to prove it.

After Faith had finished talking to her sister, she immediately sat down at her computer and logged into her email. To her surprise Emily hadn’t left her a message. Undeterred, she sent another one off.

From: “Faith”<fkerriganinca@network.com>

To: “Emily”<springere@aal.com>

Sent: Thursday, December 16, 2004

Subject: Gift to arrive

Dear Emily,

I haven’t heard from you all week. Forgive me for not being more of a friend.

Look for a present to arrive shortly.

Get back to me soon.

Love,

Faith

Half an hour later, the travel agent phoned. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Did you get me a flight?”

“Yes, that worked out fine. I got you into Seattle, but all the flights into Wenatchee are full. That’s the bad news.” Leavenworth was a few hours outside Seattle, but Faith could manage that easily enough with a rental car.

“I’ll book a car,” she said.

“I thought of that, too,” Carrie went on to explain, “but this is a busy time of year for car rental agencies. The only vehicle available in all of Seattle is a seven-person van.”

“Oh.” Faith bit her lower lip.

“I reserved it because it was the last car left, but I can cancel the reservation if you don’t want it.”

Faith didn’t take more than a few seconds to decide. “No, I’ll take it.”

On December twenty-fifth, she intended to be with Emily in Leavenworth. Not only that, she intended to bring Christmas with her—lock, stock and decorations.

Have Yule, will travel.

Four

In Emily’s opinion, everything had worked out perfectly—other than the fact that she hadn’t been able to reach Heather to let her know she was arriving. Not that it mattered. Heather would be as thrilled as she was. When Christmas came, the two of them would be together.

Early Sunday morning, Emily caught the short commuter flight out of Wenatchee and landed thirty minutes later at Sea-Tac Airport. Within an hour, Emily was on a nonstop flight from Seattle to Boston.

A mere seven days following her conversation with Heather, Emily was on her way across the entire United States to spend Christmas with her daughter. At the same time Charles Brewster, who sounded like a stereotypical absentminded history professor, was on his way to Leavenworth. Apparently their paths would cross somewhere over the middle of the country, her plane headed east and his headed west.

Emily would spend two glorious weeks with Heather, and Charles would have two weeks to explore Washington State—or do whatever he wanted. They were due to trade back on January first.

Two glorious weeks in Boston. Emily realized Heather had to work on papers and study, but she didn’t mind. At least they’d be able to enjoy Christmas Day together and that was what mattered most.

The one negative was that Emily didn’t know her daughter’s schedule. Emily had repeatedly attempted to contact her, but Heather hadn’t returned her messages. Tracy, Heather’s roommate, hadn’t said anything outright, but Emily had the feeling Heather didn’t spend much time in her dorm room. She was obviously working longer hours than she’d let on. Actually, surprising her would be a good thing, Emily thought as she called Heather from Charles Brewster’s condo. It would force her to take some time off and—

Surprise her she did.

“Mother,” Heather cried into the receiver loudly enough to hurt Emily’s eardrum. “You can’t be in Boston.”

Emily realized her arrival was a shock, but Heather seemed more dismayed than pleased.

“I didn’t know you had a cell phone,” Emily said. It would’ve saved them both a great deal of frustration had she been able to reach Heather earlier. She’d called the dorm room as soon as she’d landed and Tracy had given Emily a cell number.

“The phone isn’t mine,” Heather protested. “It belongs to a…friend.”

“Ben?”

“No,” she said. “Ben is old news.”

Information she hadn’t bothered to share with her mother, Emily mused. “Where are you?”

“That’s not important.” Heather sounded almost angry. “Where are you?”

Emily rattled off the address, but it didn’t seem as if Heather had written anything down. Charles Brewster’s condo had proved to be something of a disappointment—not that she was complaining. She’d found it easily enough and settled into the guest room, but it was modern and sterile, devoid of personality or any sign of Christmas.

“I’m so eager to see you,” Emily told her daughter. She’d been in town for several hours and they still hadn’t connected. “Why don’t you come here, where I’m staying and—”

“I’d rather we met at the Starbucks across the street from my dormitory.”

“But…” Emily couldn’t understand why her daughter wouldn’t want to come to her. Her attitude was puzzling, to say the least.

“Mother.” Heather paused. “It would be better if we met at Starbucks.”

“All right.”

“Are you far from there?”

Emily didn’t know her way around Boston, but the Harvard campus was within walking distance of the condo. Emily figured she’d find the coffee place without too much trouble, and she told Heather that.

“Meet me there in an hour,” Heather snapped.

“Of course, but—”

The line went dead and Emily stared at the receiver, shocked that her own daughter had hung up on her. Or maybe the phone had gone dead. Maybe the battery had run out… .

With a little while before she had to leave, Emily walked around the condominium with all its modern conveniences. The kitchen was equipped with stainless steel appliances and from the look of it, Emily doubted anyone had so much as turned on a burner. The refrigerator still had the owner’s manual in the bottom drawer and almost nothing else. As soon as she could manage it, Emily would find a grocery store.

Everything about the condo was spotless—and barren. Barren was a good word, she decided. Charles Brewster apparently didn’t spend much time in his luxurious home. In her opinion his taste in furniture left something to be desired, too. All the pieces were modern, oddly shaped and in her opinion, uncomfortable. She suspected he’d given a designer free rein and then found the look so discordant that he left home whenever possible.

There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration. Thank goodness Emily had brought a bit of Christmas cheer with her. The first thing she unpacked was their hand-knit Christmas stockings.

Emily’s mother, who’d died a couple of years before Peter, had knit her stocking when Emily was five years old, and she’d knit Heather’s, too. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without their stockings. She hung them from the mantel, using a couple of paperweights she found in the study to secure them. The angel was carefully packaged in a carry-on. She unwrapped that and set it on the mantel, too. Then she arranged a few other favorite pieces—a tiny sled with a little girl atop, a Santa Heather had bought with her own money when she was ten, a miniature gift, gaily wrapped.

Her suitcases were empty now, but several Christmas decorations remained to be placed about the condo. Emily thought she’d save those until later, when Heather could take part. That way it’d be just like home.

Assuming it would take her no more than thirty minutes to walk to Starbucks, Emily put on her coat, then stepped out of the condo, took the elevator to the marble foyer and hurried onto the sidewalk. Although it was only midafternoon, it resembled dusk. Dark ominous clouds hung overhead and the threat of snow was unmistakable.

Perhaps Heather would suggest a walk across the campus in the falling snow. They could pretend they were back home.

Emily arrived at Starbucks in fifteen minutes and bought a cup of coffee. While she waited for her daughter, she sat at the table next to the window and watched the young people stroll past. Although classes had officially been dismissed for winter break, plenty of students were still around.

A large motorcycle roared past, and Emily winced at the loud, discordant sound. She sipped her coffee, watching the Harley—she assumed it was a Harley because that was the only brand she’d ever heard of. The motorcycle made a U-turn in the middle of the street and pulled into an empty parking space outside the coffee shop. Actually, it wasn’t a real space, more of a gap between two parked cars.

The rider turned off the engine, climbed off the bike and removed his black bubblelike helmet. He was an unpleasant-looking fellow, Emily thought. His hair was long and tied at the base of his neck in a ponytail, which he’d flipped over his shoulder. He was dressed completely in black leather, much of his face covered with a thick beard.

A second rider, also dressed in black leather, slipped off the bike and removed a helmet. Emily blinked, certain she must be seeing things. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the second person was her own daughter. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

Heather’s twin placed her hand on the man’s forearm, said something Emily couldn’t hear and then headed into Starbucks alone. The Harley man stayed outside, guarding his bike.

Once the door opened and the girl walked inside, it was all too obvious that she was indeed Heather.

Aghast, Emily stood, nearly tipping over her coffee. “Heather?”

“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” her daughter demanded.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Emily mumbled sarcastically.

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Frankly, Mother, it’s not good to see you.”

Emily swallowed a gasp. In her wildest imaginings, she’d never dreamed her daughter would say such a thing to her. Without being aware of it, Emily sank back into her chair.

Heather pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

“Who’s your…friend?” Emily asked, nodding toward the window.

“That’s Elijah,” Heather responded, defiance in every word.

“He doesn’t have a last name?”

“No, just Elijah.”

Emily sighed. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do,” Heather said pointedly. “You should’ve told me you were coming to Boston.”

“I tried,” Emily burst out. “I talked to Tracy five times and left that many messages. Tracy said she’d let you know I’d phoned.”

“She did… .”

“Then why didn’t you return my calls?”

Heather dropped her gaze. “Because I was afraid you were going to send me on a guilt trip and I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Send you on a guilt trip?”

“You do that, you know? Make me feel guilty.”

Despite her irritation, Emily did her best to remain calm. Now she understood why her daughter had insisted they meet at the coffee shop. She didn’t want Emily to make a scene, which she admitted she was close to doing.

“I left five messages,” Emily reminded her.

“I know—but I’ve been staying with friends and didn’t realize you’d phoned until Tracy got in touch with me.”

Staying with friends? Yeah, right. Emily’s gaze flew out the window. Her daughter and that…that Neanderthal?

“I love him,” Heather said boldly.

Emily managed to stay seated. “If that’s the case, why don’t you bring him inside so we can meet?”

“Because…” Heather hesitated and then squared her shoulders as if gathering her courage. “I didn’t want him to hear what you’re planning to say.”

“About what?” This made no sense whatsoever.

“None of that matters. I’m leaving town with Elijah. In other words, I won’t be in Boston over the holidays.”

Emily shook her head slightly, wondering if she’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Elijah and I and a couple of other friends are riding down to Florida.”

“For Christmas?” Emily knew something was wrong with her hearing now. There simply had to be. “On motorcycles?”

“Yes, for Christmas. And yes, on motorcycles. We’re sick of this weather and want to spend our holiday on the beach.”

Emily was completely speechless.

“You don’t have anything to say?” Heather asked angrily. “I figured you’d have lots of opinions to share.”

Emily’s mouth opened and closed twice while she gathered her thoughts. “I traded homes with a stranger, traveled across the country and now you’re telling me you won’t be here for Christmas?” Her voice rose on the last word.

Heather’s eyes flashed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m of age and I make my own decisions.”

Emily’s jaw sagged in dismay. “You mean you’re actually going to abandon me here—”

“You didn’t bother to check your plans with me before you boarded that plane, did you, Mother? That’s unfortunate because I’ve made other arrangements for Christmas. As far as I’m concerned, this problem is all yours.”

“You said you had to work.” That clearly had been a blatant lie.

“There you go,” Heather cried. “You’re trying to make me feel guilty.”

“If you’d been honest—”

“You don’t want me to be honest!” Heather challenged.

The truth of it was, she was right. Emily would rather not know that her daughter was associating with a member of some motorcycle gang.

“Go then,” Emily said, waving her hand toward the door. “Have a wonderful time.”

Heather leaped out of the chair as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. “You can’t blame me for this!”

“I’m not blaming you for anything,” she said tiredly. Heaven forbid her daughter should accuse her of throwing guilt.

“This is all your own doing.”

Emily stared silently into the distance.

“Nothing you say is going to make me change my mind,” Heather insisted, as if wanting her to argue.

Emily didn’t imagine it would. She felt physically ill, but she held on to her dignity. Pride demanded that she not let her daughter know how badly she’d hurt her.

Rushing out the door, Heather grabbed the black helmet, placed it on her head and climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. Elijah with no last name was already on the bike and within seconds they disappeared down the street.

Emily’s opinion of this coming Christmas did an about-face.

This was destined to be the worst one of her life. Not only was she alone, but she was in a strange town, without a single friend. And her daughter had just broken her heart.

Five

“For heaven’s sake, what is this?” Charles stood outside the gingerbread house in the middle of Santa’s village feeling total dismay. There had to be some mistake—some vast, terrible mistake. Nothing else would explain the fact that after flying three thousand miles, he’d landed smack-dab in the middle of Christmas Town, complete with ice-skating rink, glittering lights and Christmas music.

He closed his eyes, hoping, praying, this nightmare would vanish and he could settle down in a nice quiet prison community. When he opened them, it was even worse than Charles had imagined. A little kid was staring up at him.

“I’m Sarah,” she announced.

He said nothing.

“I lost two teeth.” She proceeded to pull down her lower lip in order to reveal the empty spaces in her mouth.

“Is this where Emily Springer lives?” Charles asked, nodding toward the house. He was uncomfortable around children, mainly because he didn’t know any.

“She went to Boston to spend Christmas with her daughter,” Sarah informed him.

“I know.” So he was in the right town. Damn.

“She keeps the key under the flower pot if you need to get inside.”

Charles cocked his eyebrows. “She told you that?”

“Everyone in town knows where the key is.” As if to prove it, Sarah walked over to the porch, lifted up the pot and produced the key, which she proudly displayed.

A one-horse open sleigh drove past, bells ringing, resembling something straight off a Christmas card. It didn’t get any more grotesque than this. Ice skaters circled the rink in the park directly across the street from him. They were dressed in period costumes and singing in three-part harmony.

Rolling his suitcase behind him and clutching his laptop, Charles approached the house. It reminded him of an illustration, too cozy and perfect to be true, with its scalloped edging and colorful shutters. The porch had a swing and a rocking chair. Had he been Norman Rockwell, he would have found a canvas and painted it. Charles sighed heavily. This must be his punishment for trying to avoid Christmas.

“My mom’s bringing you cookies,” Sarah told him as she followed him up the steps.

“Tell her not to bother.”

“She does it to be neighborly.”

“I don’t want neighbors.”

“You don’t?”

The little girl looked crushed.

He didn’t mean to hurt the kid’s feelings, but he wasn’t interested in joining a Christmas commune. He simply wasn’t socially inclined. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could write—and ignore anything to do with Christmas. Clearly, he’d been mistaken about this town—where was the prison? Keeping to his all-work-and-no-Yule agenda was going to be more of a challenge than he’d planned.

“Thank your mother for me, but explain that I came here to work,” he told the little girl, making an effort to mollify her with politeness.

“But it’s Christmas.”

“I’m well aware of the season,” he said, stabbing the key into the lock. “Let your mother know I prefer not to be disturbed.” He hoped the kid would take the hint, too.

Sarah jutted out her lower lip. “Okay.”

Good, she got the message. Charles opened the front door and stepped inside. He should’ve been prepared… . If Leavenworth was Santa’s village, then stepping into this house was like walking into a fairy tale. The furniture was large and old-fashioned and bulky, with lots of lace and doilies. He’d traded homes with Goldilocks. Well, with the Three Bears, anyway. A grandfather clock chimed in the living room and logs were arranged in the fireplace, ready for a match. A knitted afghan was draped across the back of the overstuffed sofa. A green and blue braided rug covered the hardwood floor.

“Oh, brother,” Charles sighed, truly discouraged. He abandoned his suitcase and laptop in the entry and walked into the kitchen. Emily had left him a note propped against the holly wreath that served as a centerpiece on the round oak table. Charles was almost afraid to read it.

After a moment he reached for it, read it, then tossed it in the garbage. She’d left him dinner in the refrigerator. All he had to do was heat it in the microwave.

Dinner. Cookies from the neighbor. “Jingle Bells” in a one-horse open sleigh gliding back and forth in front of the house. If that wasn’t bad enough, the entire street, indeed the whole town, glittered with Christmas lights that blinked from every conceivable corner. This was madness. Sheer madness. He hadn’t escaped Christmas; he’d dived headfirst into the middle of it.

The first thing Charles did before he unpacked was pull down every shade on every window he could find. That, at least, blocked out the lights. He found an empty bedroom, set his suitcase on a chair and took out the work materials he needed.

The doorbell chimed and he groaned inwardly, bracing himself for another confrontation with the Christmas kid. Or her mother, bearing gifts of cookies.

It wasn’t a woman with a plate of cookies or the child who’d accosted him earlier. Instead there were six of them, six children who stared up at him in wide-eyed wonder. They were dressed in winter gear from head to toe, with only their eyes and noses visible behind thick wool scarves and hand-knit hats. Their noses were bright red and their eyes watery. Melting snow dripped puddles onto the porch.

“Do you want to come outside? Go sledding with us?” the oldest of the group asked, his scarf moving where his mouth must be.

“No.” Charles couldn’t think of anything more to add.

“We have an extra sled you can use.”

“I—no, thanks.”

“Okay,” the second-tallest boy answered.

No one budged.

“You sure?” the first boy asked.

Someone shouted from nearby. An adult voice from what he could tell.

“That’s our mom,” one of the children said. The little girl from before.

“We were supposed to leave you alone,” another girl told him. At least he thought it was a girl.

“You should listen to your mother.”

“Do you?”

The kid had him there. “Not always.”

“Us neither.” The boy’s eyes smiled at him and Charles realized he’d made a friend, which was unfortunate.

“Emily said you were a teacher, too.”

“I’m writing a book and I won’t have time to play in the snow.” He started to close the door.

“Not at all?” The oldest boy asked the question with a complete sense of horror.

“It’s Christmas,” another reminded him.

The woman’s voice sounded again, shriller this time.

“We got to go.”

“Bye,” Charles said and, despite himself, found that he was grinning when he closed the door. His amusement died a quick death once he was back inside the house. Despite his attempt to block out all evidence of Christmas, he was well aware that it waited right outside, ready to pounce on him the minute he peeked out.

Grumbling under his breath, he returned to the kitchen and grudgingly set his dinner in the microwave. Some kind of casserole, duly labeled “Charles.” He resisted the urge to call Emily Springer and tell her exactly what he thought of her little Christmas deception. He would, too, if she’d misled him—only she hadn’t. He blamed himself for this. Because he’d just realized something—he’d confused Leavenworth, Washington, with Leavenworth, Kansas.

The doorbell chimed once more, and Charles looked at the ceiling, rolling his eyes and groaning audibly. Apparently he was going to have to be more forthright with the family next door. He stomped across the room and hauled open the front door. He wanted to make it clear that he didn’t appreciate the disturbances.

No one was there.

He stuck his head out the door and glanced in both directions.

No one.

Then he noticed a plate of decorated cookies sitting on the porch. They were wrapped in red cellophane, which was tied with a silver bow. His first instinct was to pretend he hadn’t seen them. At the last second, he reached down, grabbed the plate and slammed the door shut. He turned the lock, and leaned against the wall, breathing fast.

He was in the wrong Leavenworth, but he might as well be in prison, since he wouldn’t be able to leave the house, or even open the door, for fear of being ambushed by Christmas carolers, cookies and children.

Not exactly what he’d had in mind…

Six

Bernice Brewster was beside herself with frustration. For two days she’d tried to reach her son Charles, to no avail. He refused to use a cell phone and the one she’d purchased for him sat in a drawer somewhere. She was sure he’d never even charged the battery.

Growing up in Boston, Charles had been fascinated by history, particularly the original Thirteen Colonies. Now look at him! Granted, that interest had taken him far; unfortunately it seemed to be his only interest. If he wasn’t standing in front of a classroom full of students—hanging on his every word as she fondly imagined—then he was buried in a book. Now, it appeared, he was writing his very own.

Why, oh why, couldn’t her sons be like her friends’ children, who were constantly causing them heartache and worry? Instead, she’d borne two sons who had to be the most loving, kindest sons on God’s green earth, but… The problem was that they didn’t understand one of the primary duties of a son—to provide his parents with grandchildren.

Bernice couldn’t understand where she’d gone wrong. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that Bernard hadn’t lived long enough to discover what a disappointment their two sons had turned out to be in the family department.

Charles was the younger of the two. Rayburn, eight years his senior, lived in New York City and worked for one of the big publishers there. He insisted on being called Ray, although she never thought of him as anything but Rayburn. He was a gifted man who’d risen quickly in publishing, although he changed houses or companies so often she couldn’t hope to keep track of where he was or exactly what he did. At last mention, he’d said something about the name of the publisher changing because his company had merged with another. The merger had apparently netted him a promotion.

Like his younger brother, however, Rayburn was a disappointment in the area of marriage. Her oldest son was married to his job. He was in his midforties now and she’d given up hope that he’d ever settle down with a wife and family. Rayburn lived and breathed publishing.

Charles, it seemed, was her only chance for grandchildren, slight though that chance might be. He was such a nice young man and for a while, years ago now, there’d been such promise when he’d fallen head over heels in love. Monica. Oh, yes, she remembered Monica, a conniving shallow little bitch who’d broken her son’s heart. On Christmas Eve, yet.

What was wrong with all those women in Boston and New York? Both her sons were attractive; Rayburn and Charles possessed their father’s striking good looks, not that either had ever taken advantage of that. Bernice suspected Rayburn had been involved with various women, but obviously there’d never been anyone special.

Sitting in her favorite chair with the phone beside her, Bernice wondered what to do next. This was a sorry, sorry state of affairs. While her friends in the Arizona retirement community brought out book after book filled with darling pictures of their grandchildren, she had nothing to show except photos of her Pomeranian, FiFi. There were only so many pictures of the dog she could pass around. Even she was tired of looking at photographs of FiFi.

Bernice petted the small dog and with a brooding sense that something was terribly wrong, reached for the phone. She pushed speed dial for Charles’s number and closed her eyes with impatience, waiting for the call to connect.

After one short ring, someone answered. “Hello.”

Bernice gasped. The voice was soft and distinctly female. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“Hello?”

“Is this the residence of Charles Brewster?” Bernice asked primly. “Professor Charles Brewster?”

“Yes, it is.”

Of course it was Charles’s condominium. The number was programmed into her phone and Bernice trusted technology. Shocked, she slammed down the receiver and stared, horrified, at the golf course outside.

Charles had a woman at his place. A woman he hadn’t mentioned to his own mother, which could mean only one thing. Her son didn’t want her to know anything about this…this female. All kinds of frightening scenarios flew into her mind. Charles consorting with a gold digger—or worse. Charles held hostage. Charles… She shook her head. No, she had to take control here.

Still in shock, Bernice picked up the phone again and pushed the top speed-dial button, which would connect her with Rayburn’s New York apartment. He was often more difficult to reach than Charles. Luck was with her, however, and Rayburn answered after the third ring.

“Rayburn,” Bernice cried in near panic, not giving him a chance to greet her.

“Mother, what’s wrong?”

“When was the last time you spoke with your brother?” she demanded breathlessly.

Rayburn seemed to need time to think about this, but Bernice was in no condition to wait. “Something is wrong with Charles! I’m so worried.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“I am,” she cried.

“Now, Mother…”

“Hear me out before you Now, Mother me.” The more she thought about a strange woman answering Charles’s phone, the more alarmed she became. Ever since that dreadful Monica had broken off the relationship… Ever since her, he’d gone out of his way to avoid women. In fact, he seemed oblivious to them and rejected every attempt she’d made to match him up.

“Your brother has a woman living with him,” she said, her voice trembling.

Silence followed her announcement. “Mother, have you been drinking hot buttered rum again?”

“No,” she snapped, insulted he’d ask such a thing. “Hear me out. I haven’t been able to get hold of Charles for two days. I left messages on his answering machine, and he never returned a single call.”

Her son was listening, and for that Bernice was grateful.

“Go on,” he said without inflection.

“Just now, not more than five minutes ago, I called Charles again. A woman answered the phone.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “She had a…sexy voice.”

“Perhaps it was a cleaning woman.”

“On a Monday?”

“Maybe it was a colleague. A friend from the History Department.”

Bernice maintained a stubborn silence.

“You’re sure about this?” Rayburn finally said.

“As sure as I live and breathe. Your brother has a woman in his home—living there.”

“Just because she answered the phone doesn’t mean she’s living with Charles.”

“You and I both know your brother would never allow just anyone to answer the phone.”

Rayburn seemed to agree; a casual visitor wouldn’t be answering his brother’s phone.

“Good for him,” Rayburn said with what sounded like a chuckle.

“How can you say that?” Bernice cried. “It’s obvious that this woman must be completely unacceptable.”

“Now, Mother…”

“Why wouldn’t Charles tell us about her?”

“I don’t know, but I think you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m not! I just know something’s wrong. Perhaps she tricked her way into his home, killed him and—”

“You’ve been watching too many crime shows,” Rayburn chastised.

“Perhaps I have, but I won’t rest until I get to the bottom of this.”

“Fine.” Her oldest son apparently grasped how serious she was, because he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, Rayburn,” she said with a sob, dabbing her nose with a delicate hankie. “I don’t know how I’d manage without my sons to look out for me.”

“Mother…”

“Take the train to Boston and investigate this situation. Report back to me ASAP.”

“I can phone him and handle this in five minutes.”

“No.” She was insistent. “I want you to check it out with your own eyes. God only knows what your brother’s gotten himself into with this woman. I just know whoever it is must be taking advantage of Charles.”

“Mother. This is Christmas week and—”

“I know what time of year it is, Rayburn, and I realize you have a life of your own. A life that’s much too busy to include your mother. But I’ll tell you right now that I won’t sleep a wink until I hear what’s happened to Charles.”

There was a pause.

“All right,” Rayburn muttered. “I’ll take the train to Boston and check up on Charles.”

“Thank God.” She could breathe easier now.

Seven

The Boeing 767 bounced against the tarmac and jarred Faith Kerrigan awake. She bolted upright and realized that she’d just landed in Seattle. She glanced at her watch; it was just after seven. She’d had less than four hours’ sleep the entire night.

She’d survive. Any discomfort would be well worth the look of joy and surprise on Emily’s face when Faith arrived and announced she’d be joining her friend for Christmas.

Remembering that was a better wake-up than a triple-shot espresso. Although the flight—which was completely full—had left the Bay area at 5:00 a.m., Faith had been up since two. Her lone suitcase was packed to the bursting point and she’d stuffed her carry-on until the zipper threatened to pop. After filing off the plane and collecting her suitcase, she dragged everything to the car rental agency. Thankfully, an attendant was available despite the early hour.

Faith stepped up to the counter and managed a smile. “Hi.”

“Happy holidays,” the young woman greeted her. The name tag pinned to her blouse identified her as Theresa.

With her confirmation number in hand, Faith leaned against the counter and asked, “Will you need my credit card?” She couldn’t remember if she’d given the number to her travel agent earlier.

Theresa nodded and slid over a sheaf of papers to fill out. Faith dug in the bottom of her purse for her favorite pen.

The girl on the other side of the counter reminded her of Heather, and she wondered briefly if Theresa was a college student deprived of spending Christmas with her family because of her job.

The phone pealed; Theresa answered immediately. After announcing the name of the agency, followed by “Theresa speaking,” she went silent. Her eyes widened as she listened to whoever was on the other end. Then, for some inexplicable reason, the young woman’s gaze landed on her.

“That’s terrible,” Theresa murmured, steadily eyeing Faith.

Faith shifted her feet uncomfortably and waited.

“No…she’s here now. I don’t know what to tell you. Sure, I can ask, but…yes. Okay. Let me put you on hold.”

Faith shifted her weight to the other foot. This sounded ominous.

Theresa held the telephone receiver against her shoulder. “There’s been a problem,” she said. Her dark eyes held a pleading look.

“What kind of problem?”

The young woman sighed. “Earlier we rented a van exactly like yours to a group of actors and, unfortunately, theirs broke down. Even more unfortunate, we don’t have a replacement we can give them. On top of that, it doesn’t look like the van they were driving can be easily fixed.”

Faith could tell what was coming next. “You want me to give up the van I reserved.”

“The thing is, we don’t have a single car on the lot to give you in exchange.”

Faith would’ve liked to help, but she had no other means of getting to Leavenworth. “The only reason I reserved the van is because it was the last car available.”

“My manager is well aware of that.”

“Where is this group headed? I just need to get to Leavenworth.” Once Faith reached her destination, she’d be with Emily, who had her own vehicle. She explained that.

“I’m not sure, but my manager said this group gives charity performances across the region. They have appearances scheduled at nursing homes and hospitals.”

Great, just great. If she didn’t let them have her van, the entire state of Washington would be filled with disappointed children and old people, and it would be all her fault.

“In other words, if we could find a way to get you to Leavenworth, you’d be willing to relinquish the van?” Theresa sounded optimistic. “Let me find out if that’s doable.”

Faith waited some more while the clerk explained the situation. The young woman had an expressive face. Her eyes brightened as she glanced at Faith and smiled. Cupping her hand over the receiver, she said, “My manager’s talking to the actors now, but it seems their next performance is in the general vicinity of Leavenworth.”

“So they could drive me there?”

Theresa nodded. “They can drop you off.” She smiled again. “My manager said if you agree to this, she’ll personally make sure there’s a car available for you later, so you can get back to Seattle.”

“Okay.” This was becoming a bit complicated, but she was willing to cooperate.

“She also wanted me to tell you that because you’re being so great about all of this, there won’t be any charge for whatever length of time you have one of our cars.”

“Perfect.” Faith was pretty sure the rental agency must be desperate to ask such a favor of her. Still, it was Christmas, a time for goodwill.

Theresa’s attention returned to the phone. “That’ll work. Great. Great.”

Fifteen minutes later, Faith was driven to the off-site rental facility. Clasping her paperwork and pulling her suitcase, she half-carried, half dragged her carry-on bag.

“Can I help you?” a dwarf asked.

“I’m fine, but thank you,” she responded, a little startled.

“I think you must be the woman the agency told us about.”

“Us?”

“The others are inside.”

“The actors?”

“Santa and six elves. I’m one of the elves.”

Faith grinned and, bending slightly forward, offered the man her hand. “Faith.”

“Tony.”

Soon Faith was surrounded by the five other elves and Santa himself. The actors were delightful. Tony introduced each one to Faith. There was Sam, who played the role of Santa. He was, not surprisingly, a full two feet taller than the other cast members, and he had a full white beard and a white head of hair. He must pad his costume because he was trim and didn’t look to be more than fifty. His helpers, all dwarfs, were Allen, Norman, Betty, Erica and David. And Tony, of course. Before Faith had an opportunity to repeat their names in her mind, the luggage was transferred from the company van to the rental.

“We sure appreciate this,” Sam told her as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I’m happy to help,” Faith said, and she meant it.

At Sam’s invitation, seconded by Tony, Allen and the others, Faith joined him up front; the six elves took the two rear seats.

“Is Leavenworth out of your way?” she asked.

Sam shook his head. “A little, but you won’t hear me complaining.” He glanced over at Faith. “We have a performance this afternoon in north Seattle at a children’s hospital. If you need to be in Leavenworth before tonight, I could let you take the van with Tony. He has a license, but—”

Theresa hadn’t mentioned a performance that day, but then she probably hadn’t known about it either. Faith hesitated. No doubt Tony should be there for the show. Yes, she was tired and yes, she wanted to see her friend, but nothing was so pressing that she had to be in Leavenworth before five that evening.

“I’m surprising a friend,” she admitted. “Emily isn’t expecting me. So I don’t have to get there at any particular time.”

“You mean she doesn’t even know you’re coming?”

“Nope.” Faith nearly giggled in her excitement. “She’s going to be so happy to see me.”

“Then you don’t mind attending the performance with us?”

“Not at all.” Although she was eager to get to Leavenworth, Faith didn’t feel she could deprive children of meeting Tony.

As it turned out, Faith was completely charmed by the performance. Santa and his helpers were wonderful with the sick children, and Tony even enlisted her to assist in the distribution of gifts. The performance was clearly the highlight of their Christmas celebration.

It wasn’t until after four that they all piled back into the van. The elves chatted away, pleased everything had gone so well. Faith learned that Sam and his friends had been doing these charity performances for years. They all worked regularly as actors—with roles in movies, TV productions and commercials—but they took a break at Christmas to bring a bit of joy and laughter into the lives of sick children and lonely old people. Faith felt honored to have been part of it.

“I’m starving,” Allen announced not long after they got on the freeway.

Erica and David chimed in. “Me, too.”

Not wanting to show up at Emily’s hungry, she agreed that they should stop for hamburgers and coffee. Sam insisted on paying for Faith’s meal.

“You guys were just great,” she said again, biting into her cheeseburger with extra pickles. Emily was going to love them, especially when she learned that they were performing at children’s hospitals and retirement homes.

“Thanks.”

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“We aren’t due in Spokane until three,” Sam told her.

Spokane was a long drive from Leavenworth, and they’d be driving at night. “Do you have hotel reservations?” Faith asked.

“Not until tomorrow,” Sam confessed. “Our original plan was to spend the night in Ellensburg.”

Faith mulled over this information and knew Emily would encourage her to ask her newfound friends to stay at the house overnight. The place had two extra bedrooms that were rarely used.

“Listen, I’ll need to talk it over with my friend, but I’m sure she’d want me to invite you to spend the night.” She grinned. “What if you all arrived in costume? I’ll be her Christmas surprise—delivered by Santa and his elves. Are you game?”

“You bet,” Sam said, and his six friends nodded their agreement.

They all scrambled back into the van, and Tony chuck-led from the back seat. “One Christmas delivery, coming right up.”

Eight

Emily was bored and sad and struggling not to break down. There was only one thing left to do—what she always did when she got depressed.

Bake cookies.

But even this traditional cure required a monumental effort. First, she had to locate a grocery store and because she didn’t have a car, she’d have to haul everything to the condominium on her own. This was no easy task when she had to buy both flour and sugar. By the time she let herself back into the condo with three heavy bags, she was exhausted.

On the off chance that she might be able to reach Faith, she tried phoning again. After leaving six messages, Emily knew that if her friend was available, she would’ve returned the call by now. Faith must be at her sister’s because she certainly wasn’t at home.

Heather’s roommate had apparently left town, too, because there was no answer at the dorm. Emily had to accept that she was alone and friendless in a strange city.

Once she began her baking project, though, her mood improved. She doubted Charles had so much as turned on the oven. In order to bake cookies, she’d had to purchase every single item, including measuring cups and cookie sheets. Once the cookies were ready, Emily knew she couldn’t possibly eat them all. It was the baking, not the eating, that she found therapeutic. She intended to pack his freezer with dozens of chocolate chip cookies.

Soon the condo smelled delectable—of chocolate and vanilla and warm cookies. She felt better just inhaling the aroma. As she started sorting through her Christmas CDs, she was startled to hear someone knocking at the door. So far she hadn’t met a single other person in the entire building. Her heart hammered with excitement. Really, it was ridiculous to be this thrilled over what was probably someone arriving at her door—Charles’s door—by mistake.

Emily squinted through the peephole and saw a man in a wool overcoat and scarf standing in the hallway. He must be a friend of Professor Brewster’s, she decided. A rather attractive one with appealing brown eyes and a thick head of hair, or what she could see of his hair. She opened the door.

All he did was stare at her.

Emily supposed she must look a sight. With no apron to be found, she’d tucked a dish towel in the waistband of her jeans. Her Rudolph sweatshirt, complete with blinking red nose, had been a gift from her daughter the year before. She wore fuzzy pink slippers and no makeup.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Charles?” he asked abruptly.

“And you are?”

“His brother, Ray.”

“Oh…” Emily moved aside. “You’d better come in because this is a rather long story.”

“It would seem so.” He removed his scarf and stepped into the apartment. As soon as he did, he paused and looked around. “This is my brother’s place?”

“Technically yes, but for the next two weeks it’s mine. I’m Emily Springer, by the way.”

“Hmm. I hardly recognized it.” Ray glanced at the mantel where Emily had hung the two Christmas stockings and put the angel. “Would you mind if I sat down?”

“No. Please do.” She gestured toward the low-slung leather chair that resembled something one would find on a beach.

Ray claimed the chair and seemed as uncomfortable as she’d been when she’d tried watching television in it.

“You might prefer the sofa,” she said, although that meant they’d be sitting next to each other.

“I think I’ll try it.” He had to brace his hand on the floor before he could lever himself out of the chair. He stood, sniffed the air and asked, “Are you baking cookies?”

She nodded. “Chocolate chip.”

“From scratch?”

Again she nodded. “Would you like some? I’ve got coffee on, too.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on with my brother first.”

“Yes, of course.” Emily sat on the other end of the sofa, and turned sideways, knees together, hands clasped. She just hoped she could get through this without breaking into tears. “It all started when my daughter phoned to say she wouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

“Your daughter lives here in Boston?”

“Yes.” Emily moistened her lips. “Heather attends Harvard.” She resisted the urge to brag about Heather’s scholarship.

“One of my brother’s students?”

The thought had never occurred to Emily. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.” Apparently there was a lot she didn’t know about her daughter’s life.

“When I learned that Heather wouldn’t be coming home for the holidays, I made the foolish decision to come to Boston, only I couldn’t afford more than the airfare.”

“In other words, you needed a place to stay?”

“Exactly, so I posted a message on a home-exchange site. Charles contacted me and we exchanged emails and decided to trade places for two weeks.”

“My brother hates Christmas—that’s why he wanted out of the city.”

Emily’s gaze shot to his. “He didn’t mention that.”

“Well, it’s another long story.”

“Then I’m afraid Leavenworth’s going to be a bit of a shock.”

“Explain that later.”

“There’s not much more to tell you. Charles is living in my home in Leavenworth, Washington, for the next two weeks and I’m here.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “And Heather, my daughter, is in Florida with a man who looks like he might belong to the Hells Angels.”

“I see.”

Emily doubted that, but didn’t say so. “Did Charles know you were coming?”

“No. Actually, my mother asked me to visit. She called and you obviously answered the phone. Mother was convinced something had happened to Charles—that he’d gotten involved with some woman and… Never mind. But she insisted I get over here to, uh, investigate the situation.”

“She’ll be relieved.”

“True,” Ray said, “but truth be known, I’m a bit disappointed. It would do my brother a world of good to fall in love.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t question him further. Everything she knew about Charles had come from their email chats, which had been brief and businesslike.

Emily stood and walked into the kitchen. Ray followed her. “So you’re alone in the city over Christmas?”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “It isn’t exactly what I intended, but there’s no going back now.” Her home was occupied, and getting a flight out of Boston at this late date was financially unfeasible. She was stuck.

“Listen,” Ray said, reaching for a cookie. “Why don’t I take you to dinner tonight?”

Emily realized she shouldn’t analyze this invitation too closely. Still, she had to know. “Why?”

“Well, because we both need to eat and I’d rather have a meal with you than alone.” He paused to take a bite of the cookie, moaning happily at the taste. “Delicious. Uh—I didn’t mean to sound ungracious. Let me try that again. Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner?”

“I’d love to,” Emily said, her spirits lifting.

“I’ll catch the last train back to New York, explain everything to my mother in the morning and we’ll leave it at that. Now, may I have another one of these incomparable cookies?”

“Of course.” Emily met his eyes and smiled. He was a likable man, and at the moment she was in need of a friend. “When would you like to leave?”

Ray checked his watch. “It’s six-thirty, so any time is fine with me.”

“I’d better change clothes.” She pulled the towel free of her waistband, folded it and set it on the kitchen counter.

“Before you do,” Ray said stopping her. “Explain what you meant about my brother being in trouble if he isn’t fond of Christmas.”

“Oh, that.” A giggle bubbled up inside her as she told him about Leavenworth in December—the horse-drawn sleigh, the carolers and the three separate tree-lighting ceremonies, one for every weekend before Christmas.

Ray was soon laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. Just seeing his amusement made her laugh, too, although she didn’t really understand what he found so hilarious.

“If only…if only you knew my b-brother,” Ray sputtered. “I can just imagine what he thought when he arrived.”

“I guess Charles and I both had the wrong idea about trading homes.”

“Sure seems that way,” Ray agreed, still grinning. “Why don’t I have another cookie while you get ready,” he said cheerfully. “I haven’t looked forward to a dinner this much in ages.”

Come to think of it, neither had Emily.

Nine

Charles worked at his laptop computer until late in the afternoon. He stopped only when his stomach started to growl. He was making progress and felt good about what he’d managed to accomplish, but he needed a break.

After closing down his computer, he wandered into the kitchen. An inspection of the cupboards and the freezer revealed a wide selection of choices, but he remembered his agreement with Emily. They were to purchase their own food. Emily had been kind enough to prepare yesterday’s dinner for him, but he needed to fend for himself from here on out.

There was no help for it; he’d have to venture outside the comfort and security of Emily’s house. He’d have to leave this rather agreeable prison and take his chances among the townspeople. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Peeking through the drapes, Charles rolled his eyes. He was convinced that if he looked hard enough, he’d see Ebenezer Scrooge and the ghost of Marley, not to mention Tiny Tim hobbling down the sidewalk, complete with his crutch, and crying out, “God bless us everyone.”

Once he’d donned his long wool coat and draped a scarf around his neck, he dashed out the door. He locked it behind him, although he wondered why he bothered. According to the kid next door, the entire town knew where Emily kept the key. Still, Charles wanted it understood that he wasn’t receiving company.

Walking to his rental car, he hurriedly unlocked it and climbed inside before anyone could stop him. With a sense of accomplishment, he drove until he discovered a large chain grocery store. The lot was full, and there appeared to be some sort of activity taking place in front of the store.

Ducking his head against the wind, he walked rapidly across the parking lot toward the entrance.

A crowd had gathered, and Charles glanced over, wondering at all the commotion. He blinked several times as the scene unfolded before him. Apparently the local church was putting on a Nativity pageant, complete with livestock—a donkey, a goat and several sheep.

Just as he scurried by, the goat raised its head and grabbed the hem of his overcoat. Charles took two steps and was jerked back.

The goat was eating his coat. Apparently no one noticed because the three wise men had decided to make an appearance at the same time. Charles tried to jerk his hem free, but the goat had taken a liking to it and refused to let go. Not wanting to call attention to himself, he decided to ignore the goat and proceed into the store, tugging at his coat as he walked. Unfortunately the goat walked right along behind him, chewing contentedly.

Charles had hoped to dash in, collect his groceries and get out, all in fifteen minutes or less. Instead, everyone in the entire store turned to stare at him as he stumbled in, towing the goat.

“Mister, you’ve got a goat following you.” Some kid, about five or six, was kind enough to point this out, as if Charles hadn’t been aware of it.

“Go away.” Charles attempted to shoo the goat, but the creature was clearly more interested in its evening meal than in listening to him.

“Oh, sorry.” A teenage boy raced after him and took hold of the goat by the collar. After several embarrassing seconds, the boy managed to get the goat to release Charles’s coat.

Before he drew even more attention, Charles grabbed a cart and galloped down the aisles, throwing in what he needed. He paused to gather up the back of his expensive wool coat, which was damp at the hem and looking decidedly nibbled, then with a sigh dropped it again. As he went on his way, he noticed several shoppers who stopped and stared at him, but he ignored them.

He approached the dairy case. As he reached for a quart of milk a barbershop quartet strolled up to serenade him with Christmas carols. Charles listened politely for all of five seconds, then zoomed into a check-out line.

Was there no escape?

By the time he’d loaded his groceries in the car and returned to Emily’s home, he felt as if he’d completed the Boston marathon. Now he had to make it from the car to the house undetected.

He looked around to see if any of the neighborhood kids were in sight. He was out of luck, because he immediately caught sight of six or seven of the little darlings, building a snowman in the yard directly next to his.

They all gaped at him.

Charles figured he had only a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the house minus an entourage.

“Hello, mister.”

They were already greeting him and he didn’t even have the car door completely open. He pretended not to hear them.

“Want to build a snowman with us?”

“No.” He scooped up as many of the grocery bags as he could carry and headed toward the house.

“Need help with that?” All the kids raced to his vehicle, eager to offer assistance.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“What I want is to be left alone.” Charles didn’t mean to be rude, but all this Christmas stuff had put him on edge.

The children stared up at him, openmouthed, as if no one had ever said that to them in their entire lives. The little girl blinked back tears.

“Oh, all right,” he muttered, surrendering to guilt. He hadn’t intended to be unfriendly—it was just that he’d had about as much of this peace and goodwill business as a man could swallow.

The children gleefully tracked through the house, bringing in his groceries and placing them in the kitchen. They looked pleased when they’d finished. Everyone, that is, except the youngest—Sarah, wasn’t it?

“I think someone tried to eat your coat,” the little girl said.

“A goat did.”

“Must’ve been Clara Belle,” her oldest brother put in. “She’s Ronny’s 4-H project. He said that goat would latch on to anything. I guess he was right.”

Charles grunted agreement and got out his wallet to pay the youngsters.

“You don’t have to pay us,” the boy said. “We were just being neighborly.”

That “neighborly” nonsense again. Charles wanted to argue, but they were out the door before he had a chance to object.

Once Charles had a chance to unpack his groceries and eat, he felt almost human again. He opened the curtains and looked out the window, chuckling at the Kennedy kids’ anatomically correct snowman. He wondered what his mother would’ve said had he used the carrot for anything other than the nose.

It was dark now, and the lights were fast appearing, so Charles shut the curtains again. He considered returning to work. Instead he yawned and decided to take a shower in the downstairs bathroom. He thought he heard something when he got under the spray, but when he listened intently, everything was silent.

Then the sound came again. Troubled now, he turned off the water and yanked a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and peered out. He was just about to ask if anyone was there when he heard a female voice.

“Emily? Where are you?” the voice shouted.

Charles gasped and quickly closed the door. He dressed as fast as possible, which was difficult because he was still wet. Zipping up his pants, he stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping, and came face to face with—Santa Claus.

Both men shouted in alarm.

“Who the hell are you?” Santa cried.

“What are you doing in my house?” Charles demanded.

“Faith!” Santa shouted.

A woman rounded the corner and dashed into the hallway—then stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open.

“Who are you?” Charles shrieked.

“Faith Kerrigan. What have you done with my friend?”

“If you mean Emily Springer, she’s in Boston.”

“What?” For a moment it looked as if she was about to collapse.

Immediately six elves appeared, all in pointed hats and shoes, crowding the hallway.

Santa and six elves? Charles had taken as much as a Christmas-hating individual could stand. “What the hell is going on here?” he yelled, his patience gone.

“I…I flew in from the Bay area to surprise my friend for Christmas. She didn’t say anything about going to Boston.”

“We traded houses for two weeks.”

“Oh…no.” Faith slouched against the wall.

All six of the elves rushed forward to comfort her. Santa looked like he wanted to punch Charles out.

Charles ran his hand down his face. “Apparently there’s been…a misunderstanding.”

“Apparently,” Faith cried as if that was the understatement of the century.

The doorbell chimed, and when Charles went to answer it, the Kennedy kids rushed past him and over to Faith. Their arms went around her waist and they all started to chatter at once, telling her about Heather not coming home and Emily going to Boston.

Adding to the mass confusion were the six elves, who seemed to be arguing among themselves about which one of them would have the privilege of bashing in Charles’s nose.

Charles’s head started to swim. He raised his arms and shouted in his loudest voice, “Everyone out!”

The room instantly went silent. “Out?” Faith cried. “We don’t have anywhere to go. There isn’t a hotel room between here and Spokane with a vacancy now.”

Charles slumped onto the arm of the sofa and pressed his hand against his forehead.

“Where do you expect us to go?” Faith asked. Her voice was just short of hysterical. “I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep and my friends changed their plans to drive me to Leavenworth and the van broke down and now—this.”

“All right, all right.” Charles decided he could bear it for one night as long as everyone left by morning.

The small group looked expectantly at him. “You can spend the night—but just tonight. Tomorrow morning, all of you are out of here. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” Faith answered on their behalf.

Not a one of them looked grateful enough. “Count your blessings,” Charles snapped.

Really, he had no other choice—besides kicking them out into the cold.

“Thank you,” Faith whispered, looking pale and shaken.

Charles glared at the mixed ensemble of characters. Santa, elves, kids and a surprisingly attractive woman stared back at him. “Remember, tomorrow morning you’re gone. All of you.”

Faith nodded and led Santa and his elves up the stairs.

“Good.” First thing in the morning, all these people would be out of this house and out of his life.

Or so Charles hoped. He didn’t have the energy to wonder why the tall guy and the six short ones were all in Christmas costume.

Ten

Early in the evening, Emily and Ray left the condominium. Although it was dark, Ray insisted on showing her the waterfront area. They walked for what seemed like miles, talking and laughing. Ray was a wonderful tour guide, showing her Paul Revere’s house and the site of the Boston Tea Party. Both were favorites of his brother’s, he pointed out, telling her proudly of Charles’s accomplishments as a historian. From the harbor they strolled through St. Stephen’s Church and Copp’s Hill Burying Ground, which began in 1659 and was the city’s second-oldest graveyard. They strolled from one site to the next. Time flew, and when Emily glanced at her watch, she was astonished to discover it was almost eight-thirty.

On Hanover Street, they stopped for dinner at one of Ray’s favorite Italian restaurants. The waiter seated them at a corner table and even before handing them menus, he delivered a large piece of cheese and a crusty loaf of warm bread with olive oil for dipping.

“Have I completely worn you out?” Ray asked, smiling over at Emily. He started to peruse the wine list, which had been set in front of him.

Yes, she was tired, but it was a nice kind of tired. “No, quite the contrary. Oh, Ray, thank you so much.”

He looked up, obviously surprised.

“A few hours ago, I was feeling utterly sorry for myself. I was staying in one of the most historic cities in our country and all I could think about was how miserable I felt. And right outside my door was all this.” She made a wide sweeping gesture with her arm. “I can’t thank you enough for opening my eyes to Boston.”

He smiled again—and again she was struck by what a fine-looking man he was.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he told her softly.

The waiter came with their water glasses and menus. By now, Emily was hungry, and after slicing off pieces of cheese for herself and for Ray, she studied the menu. Ray closed the wine list. After consulting with her, he ordered a bottle of Chianti and an antipasto dish.

As soon as the waiter took their dinner order, Ray leaned back in his seat and reached inside his suit jacket for his cell phone.

“I’d better give my mother a call. I was planning to do it tomorrow, but knowing her, she’s waiting anxiously to hear about the strange woman who’s corrupted her son.”

“You or Charles?” Emily teased.

Ray grinned and punched out a single digit. He raised the small phone to his ear. “Hello, Mother.”

His smile widened as he listened for a long moment. “I have someone with me I’d like you to meet.”

He had to pause again, listening to his mother’s lengthy response.

“Yes, it’s the evil woman you feared had ruined your son. She might still do it, too.”

“Stop it,” Emily mouthed and gently kicked his shoe beneath the table.

“Not to worry—Charles is in Washington State. Here, I’ll let Emily explain everything.” He handed her the cell phone.

Emily had barely gotten the receiver to her ear when she heard the woman on the other end of the line demand, “To whom am I speaking?”

“Mrs. Brewster, my name is Emily Springer, and Charles and I traded homes for two weeks.”

“You’re living in Charles’s condo?” She didn’t seem to believe Emily.

“Yes, but just until after Christmas.”

“Oh.”

“Charles and I met over the Internet at a site set up for this type of exchange.”

“I see.” The woman went suspiciously silent.

“It’s only for two weeks.”

“You’re telling me my son let you move into his home sight unseen? And that, furthermore, Charles has ventured all the way to the West Coast?” The question sounded as if it came from a prosecuting attorney who’d found undeniable evidence of perjury.

“Yes… I came to Boston to see my daughter.” For the last few days, Emily had tried not to think about Heather, which was nearly impossible.

“Let me speak to Rayburn,” his mother said next.

Emily handed the cell phone back to Ray.

Ray and his mother chatted for another few minutes before he closed the phone and stuck it inside his pocket.

By then the wine had been delivered and poured. Emily reached for her glass and sipped. She enjoyed wine on occasion, but this was a much finer quality than she normally drank.

“Rayburn?” she said, teasing him by using the same tone his mother had used.

He groaned. “If you think that’s bad, my little brother’s given name is actually Hadley.”

“Hadley?”

“Hadley Charles. The minute he was old enough to speak, he refused to let anyone call him Hadley.”

Emily smiled. “I can’t say I blame him.”

“Rayburn isn’t much of an improvement.”

“No, but it’s better than Hadley.”

“That depends.” Ray sipped his wine and sat up straighter when the waiter brought the antipasto plate. It was a meal unto itself, with several varieties of sliced meats, cheese, olives and roasted peppers.

That course was followed by soup and then pasta. Emily was convinced she couldn’t swallow another bite when the main course, a cheese-stuffed chicken dish, was brought out.

When they’d finished, they lingered over another bottle of wine. Ray leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and they talked, moving from one subject to the next. Emily had hardly ever met a man who was so easy to talk to. He seemed knowledgeable about any number of subjects.

“You’re divorced?” he asked, as they turned to more personal matters.

“Widowed. Eleven years ago. Peter was killed when Heather was just a little girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She could speak of Peter now without pain, but that had taken years. She was a different woman than she’d been back then, as a young wife and mother. “Peter was a good husband and a wonderful father. I still miss him.”

“Is there a reason you’ve never remarried?”

“Not really. I got caught up in Heather’s life and my job. Over the years I’ve dated now and then, but there was never any spark. What about you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been consumed by my job for so long, I don’t know what it is to have an ordinary life.”

This interested Emily. “I’ve always wondered what an ordinary life would be like. Does anyone really have one?”

“Good point.”

“Did you have any important relationships?”

“I dated quite a bit when I was in my twenties and early thirties. I became seriously involved twice, but both times I realized, almost from the first, that it wouldn’t last.”

“Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me.”

He grinned as he picked up his wineglass. “My mother said almost those identical words to me. The thing is, I admired both women and, to some extent loved them, but deep down I suspect they knew it wouldn’t last, either.”

“And it didn’t.”

“Right. I put long hours into my job and I have a lot of responsibilities. I love publishing. No one’s more excited than I am when one of our authors does well.”

Emily had plenty of questions about the publishing world, but she knew Ray must have been asked these same questions dozens of times. They had this one evening together, and Emily didn’t want to bore him with idle curiosity.

When they’d finished the second bottle of wine, Emily felt mellow and sleepy. Most of the other tables were vacant, and the crew of waiters had started changing tablecloths and refilling the salt and pepper shakers.

Ray noticed the activity going on around them, too. “What time is it?” he asked, sitting up and glancing at his watch with an unbelieving expression.

“It’s ten to eleven.”

“You’re kidding!” He looked shocked.

“Well, you know what they say about time flying, etc.”

He chuckled softly. “Tonight certainly was an enjoyable evening—but there’s a problem.”

“Oh?”

He downed the last of his wine and announced, “I’m afraid the next train doesn’t leave for New York until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh…right.” Emily had entirely forgotten that Ray would have to catch the train.

He relaxed visibly, apparently finding a solution to his problem. “Not to worry, I’ll get a hotel room. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Without a reservation, she wondered if that was true. Furthermore, she hated the thought of him spending that extra money on her account. “You don’t need to do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your brother’s condo has two bedrooms.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room, and I’m sure your brother wouldn’t object to your taking his room.”

Ray hesitated and looked uncertain. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that arrangement?”

“Of course.”

That was easy to say after two bottles of wine. Had Emily been completely sober, she might not have—but really, what could it hurt?

She decided that question was best left unanswered.

Eleven

Heather Springer wrapped her arms tightly around Elijah’s waist, the sound of the wind roaring in her ears. She laid her head against his muscular back and relished the feel of his firm body so close to her own. Three other Harleys, all with passengers, zoomed down the interstate on their way to the white sandy beaches of Florida.

Try as she might, Heather couldn’t stop thinking about the bewildered look on her mother’s face when she learned Heather had made her own plans for the Christmas holidays.

The least her mother could’ve done was let her know she was flying to Boston. It was supposed to be a big surprise—well, it definitely was that. Actually, it was more of a shock, and not a pleasant one. Heather had hoped for the proper time to tell her mother about Elijah. That opportunity, unfortunately, had been taken away from her.

Heather sighed. She was grateful when Elijah pulled into a rest area near Daytona Beach. He climbed off the Harley and removed his helmet, shaking his head to release his long hair.

Heather watched as the other motorcycles pulled into nearby spaces. Heather was proud that Elijah led the way in this adventure. Being with him during the holidays was thrilling, and she wasn’t about to let her stick-in-the-mud, old-fashioned mother ruin it.

Elijah was different from any boy Heather had ever dated. The others paled by comparison, especially Ben who was traditional and frankly boring. All he thought about was school and work and getting his law degree. For once, just once, she wanted to think about something besides grades and scholarship money. She wanted to live.

She’d met Elijah at Starbucks, and they’d struck up a conversation. That was in early October, and after meeting him everything had changed. Never before had she been in love like this. It was exciting and crazy and new. Elijah’s world was completely unlike her own, and she knew their differences were what made him so attractive. He was dark, wild, dangerous—all she’d ever craved. She wanted to share his life, share everything with him. Heather felt pleased that he was introducing her to his friends, but she’d noticed he wasn’t interested in meeting hers.That hadn’t bothered her until recently. Heather didn’t know the other bikers and their girlfriends very well, but she liked them and hoped for the chance to connect.

“Feel that sunshine,” Elijah said. He closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sun.

Heather removed her own helmet and slid off the Harley. “It’s not as warm as I thought it would be.” She didn’t want to complain, but she’d assumed the temperature would be in the seventies; it was closer to the fifties. This wasn’t exactly swimming-in-the-ocean kind of weather.

“Once we’re in the Miami Beach area you’ll be hot enough,” Elijah promised. “Until then I’ll keep you warm.” He circled her waist with his massive arms.

She turned in his embrace, kissing him lightly.

“I thought we’d hang out here for a while,” he murmured.

“That sounds good to me.” Heather didn’t want to admit how much her backside ached, especially when the others didn’t seem to have any such complaint. She’d heard one of the girls comment that Heather was walking oddly and then giggle. Heather pretended not to hear. She wasn’t one of them, but she badly wanted to be. Given a chance, she’d prove herself, she vowed.

Soon the eight of them were sprawled out on the grass. Elijah lay on his back, his head resting on Heather’s lap. She sat leaning against a palm tree.

“You okay?” Elijah asked.

“Of course.” She tried to make light of her feelings, rather than confess what she was really thinking.

“You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Heather slipped her fingers through his hair. “I suppose.”

“I bet it’s your mother.”

Heather sighed and realized she couldn’t hide her thoughts any longer. “She might’ve said something, you know.”

Elijah nodded. “You couldn’t have known she was planning to fly in for Christmas.”

Heather twirled a lock of his dark hair around her finger. “She didn’t even hint at her plans. It’s like she expected me to abandon everything just because she showed up in Boston.”

“Parents are unreasonable.”

“Yeah.” Still, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to go away.

“It’s better with just you and me,” he whispered.

Heather didn’t bother to mention that there were three other couples tagging along. In the beginning, it was supposed to be just the two of them. But as soon as word got out, several of Elijah’s friends had asked to join them. He’d agreed without discussing it with Heather. She hadn’t said anything, but she was disappointed.

She’d had their first Christmas together all planned out. Once they reached Miami or the Keys, she’d make this Christmas as special for him as her mother had always made the holiday for her. They’d decorate a tree, sing carols on the beach and open small gifts to each other.

Thinking about her mother depressed her.

“You’ve got that look again,” Elijah muttered, frowning up at her.

“Sorry.”

“Forget about her, okay?”

“I’m trying, but it’s hard. I wonder what she’s doing and who she’s with.” The thought of her mother all alone tugged at Heather’s heart, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop feeling guilty. She steeled herself against those emotions. If anyone was to blame for this fiasco, it was her mother, not her!

“You’ve got to let go of this, or it’ll ruin everything,” Elijah warned.

“I know.”

“You said you and your mother were tight.”

“We used to be.” Heather knew that nothing would be the same again, and she was glad, she told herself fiercely. Well, maybe not glad exactly, but relieved that her mother knew about Elijah.

“It’s time she understood that you’re your own woman and you make your own decisions.”

Elijah was repeating the same things she’d told her mother, the same things she’d been saying to herself from the moment they left Boston. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. She can’t dictate to you anymore, you know.”

Heather agreed in principle, but that didn’t do a thing to ease the knot in her stomach. “I’d feel better if I talked to her.”

“You already did.”

That was true, but Heather had lingering doubts about their conversation. She’d been shocked and angry when she’d learned her mother was in town. Everything she’d worked toward all these weeks was in danger, and she refused to let her mother ruin her plans.

Elijah studied her, his gaze narrowed. “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

“About what? Us?” Heather pressed her hands gently against the sides of Elijah’s bearded face and stared down at him, letting her love for him fill her eyes. “Oh, Elijah, about us? Never.” As if to prove her undying love and devotion, she lowered her mouth to his.

Elijah was a seductive kisser, and he brought his muscular arms around her neck and half lifted his head to meet her lips. His mouth was moist and sensual and before long, any thoughts of her mother vanished completely.

When Elijah released her, Heather kept her eyes closed and sighed softly.

“Are you still worried about your mother?” he teased.

“Mother? What mother?”

Elijah chuckled. “That’s what I figured.”

Oh, how she loved her motorcycle man.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

The prospect of climbing back on the Harley didn’t thrill her, but she tried to sound enthusiastic. “Anytime you say.”

Elijah rewarded her with a smile. “And the guys said you’d be trouble.”

“Me?”

“College girls generally are.”

“So I’m not your first college girl?”

He laughed, but the sound lacked amusement. “I’ve been around.”

She ignored that. She didn’t want to hear about any of his other women, because she was determined it would be different with her.

They were good for each other. With Elijah she could throw away her good-girl image and discover her real self. At the same time, she’d teach him about love and responsibility. She didn’t know exactly how he made his money, although he always seemed to have enough for gas and beer. But Heather wasn’t concerned about that right now; she was determined to enjoy herself.

In one graceful movement Elijah leaped to his feet and stood. As soon as he was upright, the others started to move, too. He was their unspoken leader, their guide to adventure. And Heather was his woman, and she loved it.

Elijah offered Heather his hand, which she took. She brushed the grass and grit from her rear and started back across the grass and the parking lot to where he’d parked the Harley.

Elijah gave Heather her helmet. “You don’t need to feel guilty about your mother,” he said.

“I don’t.” But she did. “Still, I think I should call her.”

“I thought you said she doesn’t have a cell phone.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Do you know where she’s staying?”

“No…but—”

“It’s out of the question, then, isn’t it?”

Heather was forced to agree. Even if she wanted to, she realized in an instant of panic, she had no way of reaching her mother.

Twelve

“How much?” Faith Kerrigan couldn’t believe what the airline representative on the phone was telling her. According to what he said, her flight back to California would cost nearly twice as much as her original ticket.

“That’s if I can find you a seat,” he added.

“Oh.” Faith could feel a headache coming on. She pressed her fingertips to her temple, which didn’t help.

“Do you want me to check for an available flight?” the man asked.

“I—no.” Her other option was to wait until there was a rental car available, with a different agency if necessary, and then drive back to California. The fees couldn’t possibly be as steep as what the airlines wanted to charge. One thing was certain—she couldn’t stay in Leavenworth. She hauled out Emily’s phone book and began to call the local car rental places.

This entire Christmas was a disaster. If only she’d talked to Emily before she booked her flight. Oh, no, she groaned to herself, that would have been far too sensible. She’d wanted to surprise her friend. Some surprise! Instead, she was the one who’d gotten the shock of her life.

Sam, Tony and the other dwarfs tiptoed around the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to intrude on the curmudgeon. What an unlikable fellow he was! But at least he’d been kind enough not to cast them into the cold dark night. She reminded herself that he’d only delayed it until morning—which made it difficult to maintain much gratitude.

Faith hadn’t seen Charles yet. The den door was closed and she could only assume he was on his computer, doing whatever it was he found so important.

“It’s time we left,” Sam announced once she was off the phone.

Faith still didn’t know what she’d do, but the problem was hers and hers alone. Santa and the small troupe of dwarfs gathered around and watched her with anxious expressions.

“Are you sure you’ll be safe with him?” Tony motioned toward the closed door. Judging by the intense look he wore, he seemed to welcome the opportunity to share his opinion of Charles—with Charles himself.

Faith resisted the urge to kiss his forehead for being so sweet. “I’ll be perfectly fine, don’t you worry.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, but she wanted to send her friends off without burdening them with her troubles.

Sam hesitated, as if he wasn’t convinced he should believe her. He scratched his white beard, frowning. “You have a way back to California?”

“Not quite, but I’m working on it. I’ve called the car rental agency, plus several others. I’m waiting to hear back.”

Sam’s frown deepened. He seemed about to suggest she join them, but Faith knew that would be impossible.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.