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  The fawn and doe, probably startled by the human voices, turned, and with a flash of white tails, disappeared into the woods. Jessica went back into the house, rubbing her arms against the chill. Not from the winter air, but from the war inside her. What C.J. wanted was more than Jessica had the power to give.

  “Wheat or white?” she asked.

  “Surprise me,” C.J. said. “As long as you answer my question.”

  She grabbed a loaf of wheat out of the breadbox and started making a stack of sandwiches. “I can’t.”

  He threw up his hands. “Why? Didn’t you have fun today, decorating the tree? Didn’t you enjoy that moment outside just now? What is so wrong with spending Christmas here and playing Mrs. Claus one more time?”

  She wheeled around. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Then it boiled to the surface, as if the feelings had been waiting there all this time, a teakettle sitting on the back of her heart, just waiting for the right spark to set off that final bubble.

  And that spark was C.J.

  “Christmas died for me the day my husband did. He was Christmas. He wasn’t just Santa on Christmas Day, he was Santa all year round. He grew his beard, he wore red, ho-ho-ho’d and he loved those kids.” She shook her head, searching for something that would make C.J. understand that for Dennis, Christmas was more than just a day on a calendar. “There’s this little boy who lives down the street, Joey Swanson. Four years ago, he was acting up, giving his mother a real hard time. My husband went down there and sat Joey down, just had a conversation with him and reminded him that it might be August, but Santa was watching.”

  “What did Joey do?”

  Jessica smiled at the memory. She’d been in Hilary Swanson’s kitchen that day, sipping coffee, watching Dennis work his magic. “Joey’s eyes got wide, because half the kids in this town suspected Dennis was the real deal, you know? Dennis told him that if he wanted to get back on Santa’s good list, he needed to do two good deeds to make up for every bad one he’d done. I think he’d broken a window or something like that. But Joey went further than that. He did three. Because my husband—Santa—had such an impact on these kids.”

  Jessica paused. “He became Christmas, for me, for the kids, for this town. After he died, I tried to keep up with being Mrs. Claus last year, tried to keep it alive, for his memory, but it was a disaster. I’m not Dennis, I didn’t have his touch, his belief that things will always work out. C.J., I can’t put on a show and pretend anymore. Christmas just isn’t Christmas without Santa.”

  She turned away, the tears she had held in check for months now falling as fast as the snow outside, dropping onto her counter with plops. They puddled beneath her, blurring her vision. She gave up on lunch and just gripped the countertop, giving in to the grief that held her as surely as she did the laminate.

  Grief, not so much for Dennis, because that pain had become more of a dull ache as the months had turned into years, but a grief for the life she used to have. The magic she used to possess. The belief that her life meant something. That she could change things in other people’s lives.

  Ever since Dennis died, she’d felt like she didn’t have the power to change much more than the channel on her television. And given how complicated the surround-sound system was, even that was a challenge some days.

  “Oh, Jessica,” C.J. said, his arms stealing around her, wrapping her with comfort. Understanding—as if he knew what it was like to lose not just someone, but a part of one’s self. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaned into him, and after a moment her tears stopped, the pain ebbed. “Do you understand now why I can’t help you? Why I can’t stay in town for Christmas?”

  “No, I don’t. I think that’s all the more reason why you should stay. Because what you’re looking for, what you feel like you’ve lost, is still here, Jessica. You just have to find a different way to get it back.”

  She opened her mouth to argue with him when she spotted Sarah in the entryway. The little girl was rubbing at her eyes, and looking from her father, to Jessica, then back again and not seeming very pleased to see her in the arms of C.J. Quickly, Jessica stepped back and grabbed the plate of sandwiches. “Hey, Sarah! Do you want some tuna fish?”

  “No. I don’t like it.” She frowned. “I wanna go home.”

  “Sure, sure,” C.J. said, seeming just as discomfited by the unexpected arrival of his daughter. He gave Jessica an apologetic smile. “Rain check on the sandwiches?”

  “Why don’t you just take them with you? I’m leaving and they’ll just go bad.” She grabbed some plastic wrap out of a drawer, wrapped them up and handed them to C.J. “Late-night snack or something.”

  “Tomorrow night is the Winterfest,” C.J. said. “Seven o’clock, downtown.”

  “I know. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “C.J., I wanna go home,” Sarah said, tugging on his sleeve. “Now.” She avoided eye contact with Jessica.

  Not a good sign, but how to explain what Sarah had seen? The embrace—even though it had been chaste—between her father and the woman Sarah believed to be Mrs. Claus?

  Once again Jessica had disappointed someone, a child no less. Yet another reason not to stay.

  “You said you’d give me an opportunity to change your mind,” C.J. said to Jessica. “Come downtown, check out the festivities and—”

  She shook her head. “My plane leaves at nine.”

  He grinned. “Then you have plenty of time to stop by and see what I have planned.”

  Suspicion raised a red flag in her head. “Planned? What do you mean by that?”

  He tick-tocked a finger at her. “Now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

  “I don’t want a surprise, C.J.” She didn’t want him to convince her to stay. Didn’t want to get her heart any more wrapped up in this man and his little girl. Already she was in too deep, and looking into Sarah’s eyes, she’d seen what that could cost. How one mistake could hurt, rather than help.

  Sometimes, contrary to what you believed, things didn’t work out at all. No, they got worse.

  But C.J. clearly believed otherwise, because he was still giving Jessica that teasing smile, trying to sway her. “Everyone loves a surprise at Christmas.”

  Jessica sighed. “I told you, I’m still leaving on that plane.”

  “And I told you, I wasn’t going to let you go without a fight. Miracles can happen, especially on Christmas.” Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, took his sandwiches and his daughter and left.

  C.J. stared at Sarah. Sarah stared at C.J. And the third tree, the one that he had bought for Sarah’s apartment—which was now his by default—sat in Kiki’s living room, unadorned and dropping needles by the second.

  Pretty much the metaphor for how things had been going between him and his daughter since the moment he’d arrived in Riverbend.

  “I don’t wanna decorate it,” Sarah said.

  “But I thought you had such fun decorating the one at Jessica’s store—”

  “That’s ’cuz she’s Mrs. Claus.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “And you were kissin’ her.”

  “Uh…yeah, but…” C.J.’s voice trailed off. How was he supposed to answer that? Those parenting books he’d picked up definitely hadn’t had a section on what to tell your kid when you were caught kissing Mrs. Claus. Changing the subject was the only tack he knew. “But we still need a Christmas tree at this house, and I bought all these decorations and—”

  Sarah plopped onto the threadbare yellow sofa. “It’s not the same.”

  “Sarah, this is our tree. Yours and mine. Don’t you want to decorate a tree with your dad?” Even as he said the word dad, it sounded weird to his ears. Like a note out of tune.

  Apparently, it did to Sarah, too, because she screwed up her face and gave him an odd look. When she called him anything at all, it was still C.J., not Dad. “I don’t wanna,” she repeated.r />
  He put down the box of ornaments. “How about we go see a movie? Or play a game or—”

  “I wanna watch TV.” She reached for the remote, flicked on the television and scrolled through the channels until she came to a cartoon. An annoying, nasal-voiced talking sponge appeared on the screen, shouting something about needing to make crabby patties.

  “Sarah, I’m trying to talk to you.”

  She flicked a glance his way, but didn’t turn down the volume.

  “Do you want to do something?” He was trying here, God help him, but he didn’t know quite what to try. “Do something” was a pretty vague statement.

  If he’d been a script writer, he’d have been tossed out on his pen for lame use of vocabulary.

  The talking sponge went on, now joined by a goofy pink starfish. C.J. didn’t see what was entertaining about a sponge in a pair of briefs, but Sarah seemed glued to the television.

  He glanced again at the naked tree. The box of ornaments. Out the window at the softly falling snow, the fading sunlight. Christmas would be here before he knew it, and C.J. still hadn’t found his miracle. In a couple of days he’d have to head back to L.A. with Sarah. Telling the little girl she was leaving Riverbend, and everything she knew behind hadn’t gone well—and why should he have thought it would? He’d hoped that when he had to break that news to her, their relationship would be on firmer ground.

  Right now they still seemed to be standing on an earthquake fault.

  The only one who had any success in bridging that fault was Jessica Patterson—even if that kiss in the kitchen might have upset Sarah. If he could find a way to bring Jessica back into the picture, just long enough to help him get close to Sarah—and convince his daughter that moving to California would be okay—then maybe that earthquake fault would heal.

  If he didn’t find a way to stop Jessica from getting on that plane tonight, he’d see the crack between himself and his new daughter widen—

  And maybe get too wide to ever close.

  Lord knew C.J. needed help in the relationship area. It shouldn’t surprise him. His relationship models, particularly parental, had all been as wooden as mannequins and just as cold.

  He was working from scratch here and not even sure what ingredients to throw into the mix to make a good father-daughter stew.

  No. He did know one starter ingredient. Jessica.

  At the same time, his mind whispered how nice it would be to see Jessica again, to have her in his arms one more time. To taste that sweet peppermint mouth. To maybe, just maybe enjoy a little happiness of his own. How long had it been since he had someone in his own life?

  He’d confronted Jessica about going home to an empty life—

  Because he did the very same thing himself every night.

  C.J. pushed the thoughts away. Sarah had to come first. Later there would be time for himself. Yeah, when she was eighteen.

  He left the room, picked up his cell phone and put the final touches of his plan in motion. When he finished, he noticed three more messages from Paula. Another earthquake fault, a couple hours away in Ohio.

  And another one that would have to wait. Right now he had a ho-ho-hoer to hire, a reindeer to corral and a little girl to wow.

  His plan was either incredibly brilliant—or completely insane.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  INSANE.

  There was only one word to describe Jessica’s decision to head downtown when she should be heading to the airport. She’d dropped Bandit at Betty’s Bark and Board, then, instead of turning left, she’d turned right, and found herself smack-dab in the center of Riverbend.

  It had been a full twenty-four hours since she’d last seen C.J. She’d kept expecting him to turn up, to appear on her doorstep this afternoon, sneaking in among the Concordia Carolers to serenade her with a little “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” To stop in for the Last-Minute Door-Buster Toy Sale at her store. To be behind the stack of pepperoni pizzas she’d ordered for her employees for a quick dinner.

  But he hadn’t. She’d glanced at the tree in the corner of the store a hundred times, missed him twice that much, then chastised herself for even thinking about the man when she should be concentrating on last-minute trip details. But her mind kept going back to his sky-blue eyes instead of ocean-blue waves.

  And now, here she was, once again glancing around downtown Riverbend for him, a little stab of disappointment running through her that he had apparently taken her at her word and finally given up. That he was just going to let her go after all.

  Jessica parked her car in front of the town hall, buttoned her coat and got out. One more look at Riverbend, she told herself, before she left. A massive wreath hung on the century-old stone building in the center of town, decorated with white lights—one side of which had burned out—and a red bow. She gave the wreath a wry grin, then headed toward the Sit and Sip coffee shop on the corner.

  Above her head, miniature versions of the town hall’s wreath had been hung on the light poles, connected by garland and huge red velvet bows. Bright-red banners with Happy Holidays written in gold script hung from the poles and swung back and forth in the crisp evening breeze.

  Jessica pushed on the door to the shop, expecting the bustling business to be busy and packed, especially on such a cold night. But the store was nearly empty, the tables filled with only a couple of locals. “Hey, Flo,” Jessica said to the owner, striding up to the counter. “Where is everyone?”

  “Hi, Jessica!” Flo Brigham’s wide smile took over her face, lighting up her brown eyes. The quirky shop owner had tipped her short brown hair with red spikes, probably to celebrate the season, and wore a reindeer-decorated T-shirt and jeans with appliquéd snowmen. Flo, like her coffee shop, never lacked for a bit of festivity. “Most people are already over at the Winterfest. Quite the party there this year, I hear. You planning on going?”

  Quite the party? Jessica had never heard the sedate event described that way. She chalked the words up to too much caffeine on Flo’s part. “Right now I’m just planning on a cup of coffee. It’s getting chilly out there.”

  “Sure thing. What can I get for you?”

  “My favorite of course. A peppermint mocha.”

  Before Jessica could even get out her wallet, Flo was waving off the money. “On the house. It’s the least I can do.”

  “For what?”

  “For you, silly.” Flo bustled around the shop’s kitchen, pouring the peppermint and chocolate syrups into a cup and then steaming the milk. “You give enough to this town, Jessica. The least I can do is give you a free cup of coffee. In fact, anytime you want a cup, come on by and it’s on me.”

  “I can’t let you—”

  Flo paused in what she was doing and met Jessica’s gaze. “Yes, you can. So don’t argue.” She slid the mug across the counter. “Enjoy.”

  Jessica took the cup and slipped onto one of the bar stools. As promised, the peppermint mocha was delicious, a yummy mixture of mint and chocolate, but the suspicions the conversation and the free coffee had raised swirled together in her mind.

  And then, two and two made—C. J. Hamilton.

  She thought of the tree. Of what Earl Klein had said at the tree lot. Of the mischievous look on C.J.’s face, the way he’d talked about his plan. And now Flo had said nearly the exact same thing as Earl.

  “Did C. J. Hamilton come in here by any chance?” Jessica asked.

  “Sarah’s dad? Oh yes, a couple times. He is just the nicest guy. Knows everybody’s name in town, has made about a hundred friends. It’s like he’s lived here all his life. And he’s cute to boot. Why, if I wasn’t already a happily married woman, I’d be asking Santa for him, that’s for sure.” Flo grinned.

  “And did he say anything?” Jessica took a sip of her coffee, then put the mug down. “About me?”

  Flo suddenly got a case of the cleaning bug. She went at her countertops with a vengeance, moving sugar shakers and cream dispensers, scrubbing the surf
aces beneath them until they gleamed. “Uh…I can’t recall. Exactly.”

  “He did, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, would you look at the time?” Flo said. “The Winterfest is about to start. I think I’ll close up for a few minutes so I can head over and see some of the festivities before the crowds move on down here for a mug or two.” She glanced at Jessica. “Aren’t you going to set up your Mrs. Claus station?”

  Jessica studied the remaining coffee in her mug. “Not this year.”

  “But the kids will be so disappointed.”

  “Oh, they’ll hardly miss me.” She drained the last sips from her drink.