Love
comes full circle when a child’s Christmas wish arrives special delivery.
1st Chapter:
Two are better than one, because they
have a good return for their work; if one falls down, his friend can help him
up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up.
~ Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
Gravel
chomped and spat beneath the wheels of Riley Harper’s Escalade as he swung into
the long, winding drive off Cardwell Lane. Majestic white oaks, their leafless
branches like gnarled fingers, formed a canopy, blocking a sky ripe with angry
gray snow clouds. A gust of wind howled as it whipped dried leaves into a
frenzied dance along a blanket of brown grass stunted with frost. Thankful he’d
beaten the storm, Riley drew close to Gran’s stately white-frame house that sat
like a sentinel on a gentle knoll at the top of the drive. Its massive porch
invited guests to linger and, even now, a quartet of rocking chairs swayed in a
slow, even cadence against the wind as if ghosts from the past communed
together sharing a late-afternoon story while the storm prowled over the
mountains.
Riley
rounded a curve and pulled alongside the detached garage that had, back in the
day, doubled as Gramps’s workshop. He killed the SUV’s engine and leaned back
in the seat, and sighed. He’d made it—he was back in Maple Ridge for the first
time in nearly a year. This time, he planned to stay for more than a few nights.
How much longer, though, he wasn’t sure. He stretched his legs and the knots of
tension from his spine, as the wind whispered and tree limbs sang a mournful
melody, mirroring the state of his heart.
Gramps
was gone for good. It was hard to believe, nearly impossible to grasp. Riley
still pictured him, strong and tanned, with a subtle blend of gray through his
jet-black hair, ambling toward the woods with a fishing pole in one hand and
the lunch Gran had packed in his other. Where had the days, the months—the
years gone?
Riley
sighed once more, deep and full, and then grabbed his duffel bag and slipped
from the car. The sweet scent of pine caressed as the first snowflake of what
promised to be a monster of a storm splatted the bridge of his nose. He brushed
it away and pulled the collar of his wool jacket tight against the bite of a
frigid gust. He wound his way over frozen earth toward the wide front stairs,
flanked on each side by pillars thick as century-old oaks, and paused at the
welcome mat to brush dirt from his shoes. Music drifted through the door,
mingling with laughter and a child’s high-pitched giggles. Gran must have the
TV on; it was the only explanation for laughter so close on the heels of
Gramps’s death. Gran, who’d filled her days with caring for Gramps during his
extended and heart-wrenching battle with Alzheimer’s, must miss him terribly.
Riley
sucked a single deep breath, tamping back a stab of regret that he’d missed the
funeral nearly a month ago, and had only now been able to break away from his
responsibilities as a prosecution attorney in Jacksonville to pay his
condolences to Gran. He raised his fist to knock on the weathered wooden door,
but stopped just short of contact. No need to ask for permission to enter. This
was his home.
Home—the
single word hit Riley like a sucker punch. Even now, nearly a decade after he’d
left, he thought of this old place and the acres of sprawling meadow that
surrounded it as home.
He
grabbed the knob, gave it a quick turn before pushing the door open. A gust of
wind followed him into the living room, rustling the pages of a newspaper
splayed across the coffee table beside one of Gran’s dog-eared word search
magazines. She devoured puzzles, so he sent her a subscription to the
large-print edition every year for her birthday.
The
scent of cinnamon drifted from the kitchen’s doorway, making his belly yowl in
protest to the fact that he’d filled it with nothing but tepid gas-station
coffee since the pre-dawn hours of that morning. He’d worked late the night
before, tying up the loose ends of a case, and today’s drive had been brutal,
with gusts of wind tossing even the powerful Escalade while he motored down the
interstate as a cold-front swept in. He shrugged from his jacket, tossed it across
the arm of the couch. The TV screen stood dark, the living room a sprawling
menagerie of colorfully embroidered throw pillows, hand-sewn quilts draped
along the back of the couch, and collages of black and white snapshots. Warmth
embraced as flames flickered from a fireplace framed in a sweep of river rock
while light spilled from a bay window that covered the wall overlooking a ridge
of woods beyond the meadow. How many afternoons had he spent exploring the
grounds beyond, playing straight through lunch and sometimes, much to the
chagrin of his mother and grandparents, even dinner and on into the twilight?
An array of framed photographs nestled together along the fireplace mantel
stood as a testament to his childhood years here.
Riley
dropped his duffel bag and stepped over to the hearth to toss a log on the fire
and stoke the flames. The tinderbox was full, and he wondered how Gran managed
to stock it on her own, with her ever increasing flare-ups of arthritis. Guilt
tugged again that he’d stayed so absent, for so long, as he wound his way
toward the kitchen, where laughter mingled with Christmas music and that little
girl’s chatter once again. His curiosity piqued, he wondered who Gran had for
company. Most likely someone from church. As he neared the doorway, Moose
sauntered out, blocking his path. The mild-tempered golden Saint Bernard had
always been a better lug nut than a guard dog…so much for home security.
“Hey,
buddy.” Riley dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around the loveable mutt.
His muzzle was sprinkled with a touch of salt-white, marking his advancing age,
and he moved just a bit slower than Riley remembered. “How’ve you been?”
Moose
nestled against him as if it had been decades instead of months—now closing in
on a year— since the last time they’d seen each other, pushing his meaty jowls
into Riley’s chest. The burly mutt wore a generous red velvet ribbon, tied into
a large bow at the top, around his neck. It was adorned with an oversized
jingle bell that chimed as Riley gave him a good rub. “Yeah, it’s great to see
you, too. Have you been taking good care of Gran?” Riley smoothed a hand down
Moose’s massive back, burying his fingers in the bristly fur. “You look ready
for Christmas. It smells like Christmas around here, too. What’s Gran got
baking in the kitchen?” Moose turned back toward the doorway, his tail thumping
against the floor as his head cocked to the side as if to say, “Follow me.”
“I’m
on it.” Riley stood to flank him as the dog lumbered forward. ‚Smells like
something good to eat. Maybe Gran made enough for all of us. Let’s go see
what’s up.”
****
“Can
I help you put them into the boxes, Mom?” Rosie asked as she scrambled onto her
knees in the chair at Kaylee McKenna’s side. She propped her elbows on the
wooden table. “I’ll be careful.”
“That
sounds like a good plan.” Kaylee thought about correcting the child, reminding
her that she should be addressed as Aunt Kaylee, not Mom, as Rosie had taken to
calling her lately. But, what would it hurt for Rosie to use that particular
term of endearment? After all, she had been under Kaylee’s care for nearly a
year now. “Here you go.”
Kaylee
handed Rosie a stack of small boxes from the Chinese take-out place. The owner
had been gracious enough to donate a hundred—more than enough for the animal
shelter project—and Rosie had spent several afternoons during the course of the
past week decorating them with colorful drawings of candy canes, bells and
ornaments. Kaylee smiled. Rosie had done a pretty good job for just turning
six, and the pictures were colored with a fairly steady hand. Sometimes she
thought of Rosie as a little professor— serious and wise beyond her years. She
guessed it was to be expected with all the heartache and upheaval the child had
been through at such a tender age.
“Here’s
another batch.” Ruth Harper turned from the oven, holding a baking pan filled
with canine cinnamon bun bites. Her salted hair was brushed back into a bun and
wisps curled around a heat-reddened face. “Oh, they smell heavenly!”
“Let
me take those.” Kaylee grabbed a pot holder and took the pan from her, setting
it onto a trivet on the counter. “You’ve done way too much already.”
“Nonsense.”
Ruth removed an oven mitt and wiped her hands on her flowered apron. “I’m only
getting started. We’re sure to have a huge crowd tomorrow.”
“I
pray it’s so. But no one will make it out if this storm lingers like the
meteorologists are predicting. No one will be able to get out of their
driveway.”
“Don’t
fret, Kaylee,” Ruth soothed. “The road crews will plow. It will be fine.”
“Will
Santa still be able to fly his sleigh through the air, Mom?”
That
word again. The single syllable tugged at Kaylee’s heart. “Christmas is still
two weeks away.” She tweaked Rose’s nose, leaving behind a smudge of flour. “So,
no worries in that department, honey.”
“But
what about all the puppies, and old Sammy and Digger and Scout?” Rosie peered
up, her blue eyes huge and rounded. The fact that she’d named the mutts at the
no-kill shelter was a telling sign. How long would Kaylee garner the strength
to resist her niece’s pleas for a puppy of her own? “Does Santa visit them,
too? Will he give them a new home for Christmas?”
Questions…Kaylee
remained continually amazed by the relentless stream of queries Rosie posed and
her own, nearly constant inability to answer them. “It’s hard for Santa to be
everywhere, honey, so he’s asked Miss Ruth and us to stand in for him.” She
glanced at
Ruth, breathed a sigh of relief when the dear woman nodded slightly,
signaling her agreement with Kaylee’s line of thinking. “Hopefully, some of the
people who come to the party tomorrow will want to take a puppy—or, better yet,
one of the older dogs or maybe even a kitten or two—home with them.”
“That’s
right, sweetheart.” Ruth patted Rosie’s head. “So, we’re Santa’s helpers.
That’s pretty special, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.”
Rosie gathered a handful of dog treats in her tiny fist. “But, how will we have
the party at the shelter if it snows so hard?”
Kaylee
sighed. She wished there was no need for animal shelters and that every dog and
cat had a home where they were loved. She wished the same for people—that
everyone had a safe place to call home and a family who loved them. No one
should be alone in the world. Even so, sometimes she feared that, at
twenty-eight and having gone years without so much as a single attraction to
any of the eligible men in town, she was destined to become the eccentric
spinster on the hill who lived by her lonesome and owned a million cats. She
certainly wasn’t on the path to marriage. That path required dating, and she
hadn’t cared for any man since Riley—he’d ruined her for that.
Anyway,
she’d take all the abandoned animals in a heartbeat, if she could. But the fact
that she and Rosie resided in the modest guest house at the far side of the
meadow meant there was little room for the addition of animals in their close
quarters. They barely had room themselves, yet Kaylee was thankful for the
space she and Rosie called home. If it weren’t for Ruth’s kindness, they may very
well be out on the street.
“We’ll
find a way, even if I have to cross-country ski into town with you on my
shoulders.”
“That’s
funny, Mom. And when did you start skiing?”
“I
haven’t—ever. But I’ll give it a go tomorrow if I have to.”
Rosie
giggled. “Where would you get the skis?”
“I…um…I’ll
fashion them out of those cardboard boxes.” She motioned to the cartons the
Chinese takeout containers had come in. “They’ll work.”
“They’d
get all wet.” Rosie’s blonde hair bobbed as she shook her head. “That’s silly,
Mom.”
“Not
as silly as having a Christmas tea party for homeless canines and kittens, but
it works for us, right?”
“And
for the shelter,” Ruth added. “It needs the donations to keep things operating
for those poor little guys, and to hopefully heighten awareness and find the
animals homes.”
“’Cause
the animals are counting on us, right?” Rosie nestled the handful of the canine
cinnamon buns into a container before closing the flap and reaching for one of
the ruched satin bows Kaylee had fashioned.
“That’s
right.” Kaylee took the bow, fastened it to the container’s thin metal handle.
“All of Moose’s friends.”
“Is
that where Moose came from, Miss Ruth?”
“It
certainly is…” Ruth’s rheumy-green eyes glazed over with memories, her look
listing faraway for the slightest moment. “Jacob and I adopted him more than a
decade ago.”
“How
long is a decade?” Rosie’s lips bowed with the question.
“Ten
years.”
“Tell
me the story again, Miss Ruth, about how you and Gramps found Moose.” Rosie glanced
up from the box she filled, her blue eyes wide with wonder. “And then you
brought him home to Mr. Riley, who became his bestest friend in the whole, wide
world. I love that story.”
“I
love that story, too,” a deep, male voice murmured from the hallway, like a
low, murky whisper from the past.
Kaylee’s
head snapped up at the unexpected sound. One palm splayed across her chest as
she drew in Riley Harper’s dark hair and even darker, russet eyes as he leaned
against the door jamb. His jaw, shadowed with a hint of beard, clenched into a
tight, powerful line as the breath rushed out of her. Barely able to speak, she
murmured, “Oh my…Riley!”
“Kaylee.”
A veil covered his eyes, guarded and careful, which brought a wave of horrible
memories rushing back. Her father—Riley’s mother—the horrible accident that altered
the course of everything. “This is certainly unexpected. I need a minute here,
to catch up.”
“I
suppose I do, as well.” Kaylee’s heart stammered while the satin bow slipped
from her clammy fingers. She remembered Riley’s mom…her laughing blue eyes and
quick smile and wondered once again what it was like for her in her final
moments, as river water swirled into her submerged car and she struggled to cry
out for help, to even breathe. And Kaylee thought of her father—how could he be
the cause of such a travesty and then simply drive off? The questions, buried
for years now, resurfaced to strangle her like a noose.
Suddenly
she felt like a stranger to Riley, an intruder in the house where she’d been
welcomed as family for the past year—for nearly her entire life, truth be
known. She shifted feet, crossing her arms over her chest as the doorway filled
with the height and breadth of him. Riley had always been strong, powerful, but
the years had chiseled his features similar to one of the bronze statues she’d
observed in museums.
“I
never imagined...” Riley stepped into the kitchen, confusion riddling his dark,
brooding features. That’s how Kaylee had thought of him in the months before he
left Maple Ridge—dark and brooding, as if the light inside him had dimmed to a
nearly nondescript ember. He turned to Ruth, nodded, and with the next word,
his voice melted to butter. “Gran…”
“Is
it really you?” Ruth rushed around the table to gather him in. Riley dwarfed
her by a full foot and as she hugged him, he rested his chin on the crown of
her head. For the slightest moment, Kaylee watched light flicker through him,
like a brilliant power surge. Her heart pitched as she wondered if maybe,
somehow, they might find their way through the murky, painful past and move
forward into the future—together. Then, just as quickly, the radiance faded,
and Kaylee feared he’d never forgive her, though what had happened was hardly
her fault. It had hurt both of them deeply, and forged a fortress between them
that had only seemed to fortify itself over the years. Yet she missed
him—missed the friendship they’d once shared.
“You said you couldn’t come until summer— spring at the earliest. That’s
still months away.”
“I
was able to tie up the loose ends on my case, so I thought I’d head this way
before the next round snares me.” He nodded toward the window over the sink,
and Kaylee watched the sky begin to spit huge, sloppy flakes. “Storm’s moving
in and I wanted to beat it. I hope it’s OK that I surprised you.”
“Oh,
it’s more than OK.” Ruth pressed a hand to his face and planted a kiss on his
cheek. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. This is the most wonderful surprise yet!”
“I
never expected to walk in on this.” The softness fled from Riley’s voice as he
disentangled himself from Ruth and turned to Kaylee. He reached for one of the
canine treats while his gaze narrowed at her in what could only be described as
raw scrutiny. “What’s going on here? What are you doing here? I didn’t see a
car.”
“We’re
renting the guesthouse.” Kaylee’s lips quivered as she motioned to Rosie. The
shock of seeing Riley again, the way his eyes, like two dark stones, swept over
her as his mouth bowed into a frown, turned her pulse to a pounding base drum.
“Well, sort of renting it.” Since Jacob had passed on, she wasn’t sure what
would happen as far as her living arrangements went. Neither she nor Ruth had
broached the subject—yet. Just the thought of having to vacate the guesthouse
sent little shivers of dread up Kaylee’s spine. She cleared the painful knot
from her throat to continue. “And, today we’re helping Ruth with a holiday
project—a fundraiser for the animal shelter.”
Rosie
wiggled along the chair’s seat, sidling close in at Kaylee’s hip. She tugged at
the hem of Kaylee’s blouse. “Mom, is this the Riley who’s friends with Moose?”
“It…it
is.”
“The
one who gave you those yellow flowers when you were younger, the ones you stuck
between the pages of that Bible on your dresser?”
“Rosie,
hush!” Kaylee spun, shook a finger sharply at her niece as a vision of the
marigolds, once brilliant as summer sun, rushed to mind. “That’s private.”
“Just
askin’.” Rosie’s lips dipped into a pout as her eyes clouded with tears, and a
stab of guilt pierced Kaylee. She had no right to take such a sharp tone over the
child’s innocent question.
“I’m
sorry, honey.” She gathered Rosie close, stroked her cheek. “Yes, Riley gave me
those marigolds.”
“Is
that what they were called…marigolds?” Riley’s voice drifted while his gaze
brightened with a flicker of recognition. “You kept them?”
Kaylee
shrugged. Her cheeks flamed as Riley snatched a second warm treat from the
table. “I—”
“Don’t
eat that!” Rosie turned and pushed back from Kaylee, her startled gaze drinking
in Riley as he bit off a piece of the canine cinnamon bun and began to chew.
“It’s—” She burst into giggles, pressing a palm to her tiny mouth as he swallowed.
“—a doggie treat.”
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