Hearts Evergreen: A Cloud Mountain Christmas\A Match Made for Christmas (17 page)

“Don't get bit,” Sarah whispered.

Connor tried to discern what lay in the murky depths of the box. He gave the box a little shake and saw gleaming topaz eyes.

“I think it's a…” He reached in, aware Sarah had crowded closer. The mix of fresh evergreen and the floral scent she wore stirred the musty air.

He yelped and doubled over.

“Connor! What is it? Are you—”

“It's…” Connor groaned as Sarah tugged on his arms. “It's a…teddy bear.”

He held out a fistful of something with nubby golden-brown fur and a frayed plaid ribbon.

Sarah plucked the stuffed animal out of his hand and hit him with it. The bear's head wobbled and its pink-stitched mouth smiled at her. She cuddled it against her chest. “You are so…wait a second, is this yours?”

“No.”

“Aren't you an only child?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just for the record, Mr. Lawe, I'm totally on to your answer-a-question-with-a-question strategy,” Sarah said. “What's his name?”

“
It
doesn't have one.”

“If you don't tell me, I'm going to leave you to decorate that tree all by yourself. Come to think of it, your dad might help you.”

Connor's eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't dare.”

“Try me.”

“I can't remember.”

Sarah inched toward the door on her knees.

“Fine. You win. It's Mr. Bear.”

“Mr. Bear? That's the best you could do?”

“Hey, I never claimed to be Steven Spielberg or George Lucas. Now throw it back in the box and help me find those ornaments. At the rate we're going, we'll be here until midnight.”

S
arah lifted an oak frame out of a box and wiped away the dust with the tips of her fingers. A family smiled back at her. A much younger Robert Lawe, his arm curved around a slim, attractive woman with a towheaded toddler propped on one hip.

She tucked the frame to one side and rifled through the rest of the box. Dozens of photographs. Robert and Natalie's wedding. Holidays. Candid shots of Natalie on her knees in the garden. Stenciling sailboats on a bedroom wall. Playing with her son. Instead of celebrating memories of a woman who had obviously been a cherished wife and mother, someone had stuffed them away in a closet, entombed in a tattered cardboard box.

“Did you find the ornaments yet? I'm beginning to think they're like the Holy Grail. They don't exist.”

“No.” Sarah swiped the frame against her thigh and set it aside. “I found some pictures of your mom.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor freeze.

“You have your dad's eyes but you definitely inherited your mother's smile.” She held out the frame.

At first, Connor resisted. But then he reluctantly took it from her. And looked down at it.

Progress, Sarah thought, remembering how he'd responded when Alice had given him a snapshot of Natalie.

“How old were you when she died?”

“Ten. But I barely remember her.”

No wonder, Sarah wanted to say. Everything that would have helped Connor keep his mother's memory alive had been shoved in a box and hidden away.

Silently, Connor sifted through the photos in the box while Sarah continued her search for the ornaments. Finally, she found a wooden crate brimming with garland. Underneath it, several large boxes marked Fragile.

“We're in business.” Sarah turned and saw Connor still absorbed in the photos.

“You really take people's photos and make them into those scrapbook things?” he asked.

One of these days, Sarah thought, scrapbooking was going to get the respect it deserved. “Uh-huh.”

“Can you do it with these?” He gestured at the box.

“Sure.”

“I have no idea what to give my dad for Christmas. Other than the usual stale fruitcake and silk tie, of course.”

“You want it by Christmas?”

She'd looked in that box. There had to be close to a hundred photos jumbled together. One scrapbook page could take several hours to put together. She already had two albums she'd been hired to complete by Christmas.

“He might like these organized into an album. If not, he can put it in a box that won't take up so much space in the closet.”

The hurt was there. She could see it in Connor's eyes. Hear it in his voice. Someone had told her once that when things get buried alive, they stay alive. Robert had buried his pain by becoming obsessed with his career. And he'd modeled that for his son.

Sarah saw the next two weeks flash in front of her eyes. Good News-grams. Decorating. Baking. Taking care of the rush of last-minute shoppers. Running on six hours of sleep. Turning a humungous box of photos into a keepsake.

She felt that nudge again.

“No problem. I can have it ready by Christmas.”

During the course of the evening, Connor watched Sarah completely charm his cantankerous old father. When she couldn't get him out of the chair to help them decorate the tree, she handed him strings of tiny white lights and badgered him until he agreed to untangle them. Despite their protests, she plugged in the portable radio from the kitchen and found a station that played nothing but Christmas carols. At one point, she announced she was starving and came back from a foray into the kitchen with a bounty of cheese, sausage, fruit and crackers.

“Hold this, Robert.” Sarah handed him the end of a length of red velvet ribbon.

“Pushy girl.” Robert snarled and grabbed hold of the ribbon. “Where'd you come from anyway? You don't have any family in the area, do you?”

Connor saw the shadow that skimmed across Sarah's expressive face. And then she smiled.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Sarah began to weave the ribbon through a rope of artificial greenery. “At Lakeshore Community Fellowship.”

Connor winced. Now she was in for it. His father had always been suspicious of church. And people who went to church.

“Natalie went to church there.”

Connor almost dropped the glass ornament he'd been about to hang on the tree. He hadn't heard his mother's name pass his father's lips for years.

Sarah nodded. “People still talk about her.”

“They do?” Pain sawed a rough edge against the words.

“I've heard her voice was as beautiful as her spirit. According to the plaque in the choir room, the pipe organ was donated to the church in her memory.”

“Really.” Robert coughed. “My fingers are cramping up. Are you almost finished with that?”

Connor blinked as he watched a red stain work its way into Robert's hollow cheeks. The most color he'd seen in his father's face since he'd come home.

“Dad? Are you feeling okay?” he asked cautiously.

“Fine.” Robert barked the word.

“Your cheeks are red. Did you forget to take your blood pressure medication today?”

Sarah reached out and gave Robert's arm a friendly pat. “Oh, it's not his blood pressure. It's definitely genetic, though. Acute embarrassment caused by sentimentality. You suffered from an episode this afternoon when Emma realized you bought the Carmichaels a tree.”

Sarah pretended not the see the look that passed between the two men. As if they'd just discovered a suspicious package under the coffee table and were trying to strategize the best way to safely dispose of it.

“I'm going to bed,” Robert announced.

“And I've got some phone calls to make. I should probably take you home,” Connor chimed in.

Pathetic. The both of them. Apparently denial was another condition they shared. As anxious as they were to get rid of her now, she couldn't leave before the final, finishing touch.

“We can't forget the most important part.” Sarah flipped off the lights and smiled in satisfaction as the hundreds of tiny white lights nestled in the branches took over. They illuminated the entire room and were reflected in the rainbow of glass ornaments that cast warm puddles of color on the hardwood floor.

“Since you two seem to have forgotten the basics of celebrating Christmas, I should remind you to plug the tree in every evening. Turn the lights out. Sip a cup of hot chocolate. And enjoy it.”

“Pushy.” A half smile played at the corner of Robert's lips and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You remind me of her.”

She took advantage of the moment to kiss the bald spot glowing on top of Robert Lawe's head. “Thank you.”

Connor was quiet as they got into the vehicle. They'd only gone half a block when he glanced over at her. “I don't know where you live.”

“Oh.” Sarah blinked. “Above Memory Lane.”

“You live in an apartment?”

“It came with the building.”

“No picket fence? No flower boxes on the windows? No dog?”

“A cat. Keebler.”

“Mmm.”

In the light from the dashboard, Sarah saw him frown. “I had to be practical,” she explained. “Starting a business is expensive. I had to sacrifice something along the way. Someday I'll find the perfect house.”

“I'll sell you mine for a hundred dollars.”

“I'll take it.”

“Great. I'll throw in a weekly newspaper, too.”

“I wouldn't know what to do with one of those.”

“All you have to do is cover city council meetings, report the local gossip and don't misspell anyone's name.” The cynic had returned.

“Jackson Lake is a wonderful town.”

“Is that why you're hiding out here? So you don't have to engage in the real world?”

“I'm engaged in the real world. Just on a smaller scale than some people,” Sarah said. “And from what I've read of your work, you aren't engaged in it, you just observe it.”

Connor stomped on the brake and the antilock brakes growled in protest. They'd stopped in front of Memory Lane.

“I never claimed I could change the world,” Connor said. “But I don't think hiding is the answer.”

Sarah opened the door and jumped out. “But it's okay to run away.”

“Running away?” He followed her into the alley to the door that led to her upstairs apartment. “Who's running away?”

“If the Nikes fit…” Sarah bounded up the stairs.

Connor didn't follow her. But then, she hadn't expected him to.

“They're not cooperating.”

Jennifer crossed her arms. “They just need more time.”

“They still won't look at each other. That has to be a good sign,” Emma ventured.

Mandi, who'd become the voice of doomed relationships, flopped into one of the chairs in the youth room. “We've delivered three Good News-grams this week and he wasn't there. I don't think Sarah's letting him know when our deliveries are anymore.”

“She's acting weird.” Alyssa called from across the room. They'd posted her by the door as a lookout but still close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“She's falling in love,” Jennifer said firmly. “Everyone acts weird when they're falling in love.”

“If Sarah won't tell him when our deliveries are, how are we supposed to get them together?”

“We need to be more devious.” Jennifer heard Emma's gasp. “In a Christian way,” she added quickly.

“I don't have time to be devious,” Alyssa said. “Homework. Good News-grams. Shopping. The live nativity…”

Mandi's head jerked up. “Jennifer, didn't your dad volunteer to be Joseph?”

“He's Joseph every year because he's the only guy with a real beard.”

“And Sarah is Mary.”

“Uh-huh—”

“Your dad didn't look very good when I saw him today. He seemed kind of pale.”

“He's fine—”

“Standing out in the cold for a few hours wouldn't be good for him,” Mandi interrupted. “We should find a substitute Joseph.”

“Who would we—”

Mandi lifted an eyebrow.

Jennifer giggled. Emma moaned and put a pillow over her face. Alyssa gave a whoop and spun a circle.

“You're a genius,” Jennifer declared.

“And devious?”

“Very devious.”

Mandi grinned.

C
onnor tried to make it to his desk without being seen. Which had become nearly impossible over the past few days. If he so much as stepped out of his cubicle to grab a cup of coffee, staff members swarmed to him like mosquitoes on a bug zapper.

Questions about copy. Questions about upcoming features. Questions about ads and obits and captions. He was glad it was Friday so he'd have the weekend to recover.

He could feel his former life slipping away. The scary part was he didn't miss it as much as he thought he would. Yesterday, he'd found himself actually looking forward to the plate of cookies the Homestyle reporter, judge for the newspaper's annual Best Christmas Cookie Contest, had been bringing in.

You're getting soft.

Soft.
As if preprogrammed, his brain instantly downloaded an image of Sarah. And sent a memo to his fingers, which twitched at the memory of the silky feel of her auburn curls when he'd pulled the pine needle out of her hair.

He hadn't seen her since the night they'd decorated the tree, but he hadn't been able to banish her from his thoughts. So much for out of sight, out of mind. Like the Christmas carols he couldn't shake out of his head, she crept into his thoughts at the strangest times. When he saw a young mother pulling her children down the sidewalk in a sled. When he plugged in the Christmas tree in the music room in the evening.

He'd expected her to call him with the weekly schedule for the Good News-grams but when she hadn't, he assumed everyone was concentrating on Christmas preparations. The rush to send a message to a loved one was probably dwindling, pushed out by more important things. Like shopping.

The box of family photos had made it from the closet to the trunk of his car. With the newspaper staff turning to him instead of Robert, he hadn't even had time to drop them off for Sarah to organize yet. He hadn't appreciated the art of procrastination until Sarah Kendle came along. If just thinking about her sent his pulse into overdrive, who knew what
seeing
her would do to him? He wasn't ready to find out.

“Connor. There you are.” Cecily's voice snagged him as he tried to slink past the reception desk.

“
Et tu,
Cissy?”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean? I never took French in high school.”

“It means I'm a drone. A reporter at the bottom of
The Jackson Lake News
food chain. Why does everyone assume I know what's going on around here?” Connor unleashed his frustration. “Did he put you up to this? The last time I looked at the masthead, Dad was still the editor.”

“The last time you looked, your dad wasn't battling heart disease.” Cecily's tortoiseshell glasses, the ones that danced from gold chains like a gibbet, trembled in warning as she leaned forward. “He wasn't sitting at his desk all day because he doesn't have the energy to prowl around the building, terrorizing the people who work for him. People who, by the way, happen to love him and don't want to put any extra burden on him. That's why they're coming to you. Not because of a plot to keep you here. Not because they want to. It's because they don't have a choice.”

Cecily hissed the last word, puncturing a hole in Connor's defenses. His frustration drained away. “Cissy…” He plowed his hand through his hair. “This is only temporary. I'm trying to get Dad to retire.”

“You're trying to get him to sell.”

Connor frowned. “Retire. Sell. It's the same thing.”

“No, it's not.” Disappointment weighted the words. “And until you realize the difference—”

Connor's cell phone blasted out the opening beats of Beethoven's Fifth. He glanced at the screen and smiled. “Excuse me, Cissy. I have to take this one.”

“The White House?” Cecily muttered.

“An angel.”

She was late.

With Christmas less than two weeks away, Sarah had extended the shop's hours into the evening so her customers who worked during the day wouldn't have to bring in their lists and expect her to fill them during their half hour lunch breaks.

To save time, she'd donned the blue cotton robe and white sash before she left. Now, driving down The Avenue, she hoped Jackson Lake's lone, full-time patrol officer wasn't lurking in the parking lot by the bakery with his radar gun set on stun. It wouldn't look very good if Mary, the mother of Jesus, was picked up for speeding.

Not that Connor Lawe wouldn't enjoy putting that story on the front page!

Sarah felt a twinge of guilt. She'd been avoiding him. She tried to rationalize the decision not to give him an update on the Good News-grams by telling herself he had enough information to write a short Christmas piece for the paper. The truth was, she didn't want to sort through the confused tangle of emotions she felt whenever she saw him.

Just when she'd decided Connor was like the Grinch, with a heart two sizes too small, he'd bought the Carmichaels a tree and spent an afternoon decorating it. And the way he'd lingered over the family photos…and casually tucked a blanket over his dad's lap…

There's a man in there somewhere who hasn't forgotten how to feel, isn't there, Lord? If anyone can find him, you can. But, if you don't mind, I don't want any more assignments when it comes to Connor Lawe. Someone else can deal with him.

Someone who didn't lose the ability to speak when Connor flashed a rare smile.

She eased her car into a narrow sparking space between Pastor Phillips' pickup truck and Alice Owens' Mercedes. Judging from the noise when she hurried to the stable in back of the church, Will Hopkins had once again donated his arrogant rooster and an entire flock of sheep to make the live nativity…live.

“Sarah! I mean Mary.” Jennifer and the rest of the girls barreled toward her, wings flapping. They lined up in front of her for inspection. “We thought you weren't coming.”

“I kept the shop open late tonight.” Sarah gave each of the girls a quick hug, relieved to see they were already in costume. “Jennifer, why don't you find your dad and tell him I'm here. He was probably getting worried he'd have to hold the Radcliffs' baby.”

“Ah…not really.”

“Good. Let's go.” Sarah linked arms with Emma and Alyssa, greeting shepherds and two of the wise men as they made their way to the stable.

Sarah inhaled the crisp evening air and took a minute to appreciate the stars that winked in the velvet sky above them. She'd spent so much of her life in the wilderness, she felt closer to God when she was outside than anywhere else.

She didn't mind the numbness in her toes. Or the chill that had already breached the thick wool of her mittens. Despite the chaos of the initial setup, in half an hour the only noise would be the occasional ad-libbed bleating of the sheep as everyone took their places and recreated the Christmas story. People from all over the county would come, separating themselves from their busy lives to become part of the Christmas story and reflect on the words Jennifer had been enthusiastically proclaiming for the past two weeks.
I bring you good news of great joy
.

It was part of the reason why she volunteered for the live nativity.

“Sarah, we're going to see Mr. Hopkins' llama,” Jennifer said.

“It's almost time to—”

“Be right back!”

Sarah shook her head and rounded the corner of the stable. No sign of Joseph. Or the baby. Maybe because of the steadily dropping temperatures, they'd decided to use a doll instead of four-month-old Benjamin Franklin Radcliff.

She tugged off her mittens and pushed them into the sleeve of her coat, which she hid behind a bale of straw. Staying in character meant no down jackets or Polartec. Mary and Joseph were the only characters that actually fit inside the life-size crèche, which meant they got to take advantage of the tiny space heater hidden inside an old crate.

“This wool is itchy. And I think this baby belongs to you. Although I think someone has a twisted sense of humor. It's one of those Betsy Wetsy-type of dolls and I've got the wet sleeve to prove it.”

Sarah turned. Froze. Blinked several times to disrupt the hallucination.

A man, his lean frame shrouded in brown burlap, stood several feet away. Even with a fake beard glued to the lower half of his face, there was no mistaking those pewter-gray eyes.

“What…why are you here?” she croaked.

“I was wondering that myself. But now, I've got a pretty good idea.”

The pint-sized manipulators.

Somehow, during the Oscar-worthy appeal to find a replacement for her father in the live nativity that night, Jennifer had failed to mention that Sarah would be playing the part of Mary.

And the expression on Sarah's face clued him into the fact she was as uncomfortable to discover they'd be sharing a stable for the next two hours as he was.

“Connor! Connor!” The four angels swooped into the stable, surrounding him. “You're here.”

“Was there any doubt?”

They nodded happily. Sarcasm was obviously wasted on angels.

“Jen—where is your dad?” Suspicion laced Sarah's ordinarily pleasant tone.

“He wasn't feeling well.” Jennifer scuffed the straw with her boot, eyes downcast. “I told him I'd find someone to fill in for him and Connor volunteered.”

The girl, Connor thought in amazement, was a budding actress.
Connor volunteered
. Funny how those two simple words put a completely different spin on the truth. Especially after she'd badgered, begged and finally guilted him into agreeing to take part in the live nativity.

“Isn't that great?” Alyssa asked, striking a familiar cheerleading pose and using her mittens as pom-poms.

“Great,” Sarah repeated, refusing to look at him. “You girls better take your place by the shepherds now. We'll be starting in a few minutes.”

Emma lingered for a moment, peeking up at him through the fringe of hair over her eyes. “After it's over, my mom is serving hot cider and cookies in the fellowship hall. I made the ones that look like candy canes. Can you stay, Mr. Lawe?

Saying no to Jennifer Sands, whose verbal barrage on the telephone that afternoon had reminded him of one of those yappy little dogs who bark until they get a biscuit, had been difficult enough. Saying no to Emma White, with her big blue eyes and floppy golden curls, would be the equivalent of stepping on the tail of a golden retriever puppy.

“If I'm not in the hospital with frostbite.”

Sarah's low chuckle cut straight through him. “You can stand by the heater, Joseph.”

The girls exchanged grins and dashed off.

Leaving them alone.

“So, how are you doing…stranger?”

Color pinked Sarah's cheeks. Okay, subtle he wasn't. It came with the job. So did confronting people about their secrets. In his conversation with Jennifer, she'd let it slip that they'd delivered three Good News-grams during the course of the week.

He'd been shut out of the loop.

And he was going to take advantage of the next two hours to find out why.