A Semi-Precious Christmas (4 page)

I pressed a palm to my chest. “I think I don't know how to thank you.”

“Heck, I made one phone call. OK, it was a long call, but still one call. Todd knows a great deal about the business.”

My little sister had organized the troops. Amee, the gentle bohemian? Amee, the meek and mild? Amee, the sister I obviously didn't give enough credit. My days of categorizing her as too passive were over. I wrapped my arms around her neck. “You're the best. I didn't know how I could face one more thing today.”

“Nothing much left for you to do today. Tomorrow, though, you have a meeting with the insurance company at one o'clock, and later, if you're up to the challenge, Uncle Marty had planned to attend an estate sale. As far as replacement jewelry, Todd said you and Marty were the only ones who ordered the stock. Maybe you can make some headway over the weekend. He offered to help if you need him.”

“Amee, why don't you take a break and go home? Since it seems I have nothing left to do, Chris and I can stick around awhile.”

Chris had told me in the car he was “at my service” for the night.

A weary Amee closed her book and slipped on her shoes. Now that she wasn't smiling, exhaustion was visible. She'd pulled out her scrunchie and her unruly hair hung in wisps. Dark smudges shadowed the hollows under her eyes. “Thanks, you guys. I believe I will take off. I have some intense studying to do. My NCLEX exam is coming up.”

Chris helped with her coat. “NCLEX?”

“National Council Licensure Examination. I'm studying to be a registered nurse.” She examined my face. “And no, Peri, don't feel bad for leaving me alone. God and I had a lengthy chat about all sorts of things.”

“Oh?”

“I'm moving back in with Uncle Marty for a while. It makes sense. I can ‘practice' on him.” Her eyes twinkled with that special glow that was all Amee. “I might even get extra credit. It'll be good for everyone.”

“It's a sweet idea. Let's hope he'll go for it.” I draped an arm around her shoulders. “And let's hope he can answer that question soon.”

Chris grabbed my hand and drew me to the nearby couch. “Why don't we have a seat and let Amee get out of here?”

Amee zipped up her coat and wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Bye, guys. Call me in the morning, OK, Peri?”

“'K.” As she walked out the door, I kicked off my shoes and swung my feet up.

Chris was still holding my hand, his warmth soaking into me.

Something in me wanted to lean against him. Instead, I pulled back and yawned. The hypnotic sound of the machines was calming in an odd way. “Chris? Could we just sit here a bit and not talk? This little introvert is about out of words, and I need to quiet my thoughts.”

“Can do.”

“It's nice having you here.” He didn't know how nice.

“Good. Let me know when I wear out my welcome.”

I wasn't sure he could. His quiet strength seeped into my soul. Just for tonight, I gave up trying to resist his charms and rested my head on his shoulder.

He didn't seem to mind.

7

I woke up with my head still nestled on Chris's shoulder. Opening one eye, I glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. I'd been sleeping for more than an hour! I didn't want to move. It would have been so lovely to stay in his arms. I pulled away and sat back. “Hi.”

“Sleep well?” He fired me a grin that could've melted a polar ice cap. “In case you were wondering, you don't snore.”

I rolled my head from side to side. “Good to know. You could have woken me.”

He glanced over at Uncle Marty and kept his voice low. “And miss the opportunity to have a beautiful—albeit unconscious—woman in my arms? Do I look crazy?”

A nurse sailed into the room and aimed a very pointed glare in our direction. “Past time for you two to leave.”

On the white board to the left of Uncle Marty's bed, his nurses were listed as Jessica and Sharona. I took a shot. “Sharona?”

A glower that time. “Do I look like a ‘Sharona'? What do you want?”

“Could you tell me how Uncle Marty's doing?”

“He's holding his own. Now git.”

Chris raised a brow.

We gathered our coats and rode down on the elevator. On our way to the car, my steps slowed. I would have to face the situation. My car was still at the jewelry store. I should have picked it up when it was light outside. I told myself there'd be no robbers lurking in the gloom of night. There wasn't much left to steal. I was such a wuss. All day long, I'd let Chris take care of me. All day long, he'd been happy to. Would I see him again after today?

We drove back to Keaton's, and Chris walked me to my car.

We would need brighter lights for the parking lot. Too many shadows. It was ridiculous, but my hands trembled.

Chris must have noticed. “Do you want me to follow you home? Maggie's one of those night owls, and no matter what time I get back to Mom's, she'll be up.”

“That would make me a wimp.”

“You're a courageous woman who's been through a traumatic day.”

I shoved my extra key into the ignition. “Thanks. Still claiming wimp status, but I would appreciate it. I expect I'll be better when I can curl up with a blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a fuzzy kitten.”

“You have a cat?”

“Two, really. Butterscotch and Ginger.”

“Maggie adores cats. She used to love to visit my aunt's marmalade cat, even if the kitty wasn't all that thrilled to have a child chasing her around.” He scratched at the barest hint of stubble on his jawline. “That cat was named Ginger, too. It's a good name for an orange cat.” He closed my car door and strode to his vehicle.

I drove slowly, with him following, and pulled into my driveway.

Chris escorted me to my door.

We stood on the porch, not saying a word.

He dipped his head and looked me square in the eye.

“I'll be fine,” I whispered.

Swirling snowflakes fell around us, landing on our shoulders with a hush.

Chris leaned in and took me in his arms. His wool sweater rubbed against my cheek as he murmured in my ear—something I couldn't quite catch.

“Sorry, what?” I could get used to this. How many times had I already enjoyed his caring embrace?

“I said Maggie was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled back to look at me and tightened his hold. Minty fresh breath puffed as he spoke. “My daughter said Tiffany was prettier than you. She was wrong.” With that, he swept my bangs aside, kissed my forehead, and turned to leave.

Smiling, I opened the door, flicked on the hall light, and screamed.

Two men barreled past me, slamming my head into the doorjamb.

With wobbly legs, I sank to the porch, head reeling.

One of the guys leaped off the porch, hurling himself at Chris. As they wrestled on the ground, the other man high-tailed it across the road.

“Help!” I gave a good, long scream designed to gain attention.

The porch light flipped on next door and Princess the Pekinese, my neighbor's dog, started to bark.

The grappling turned into an honest-to-goodness fistfight. Chris landed a decisive right cross.
Crack!
Mr. Robber scrambled on the frozen front lawn and broke into a sprint, holding his head. The second man was already halfway down the block. Chris growled, pushed to his feet, and launched himself after the attacker.

A car cruised in our direction, headlights flashed on, and the second guy flung himself into the vehicle. The car blasted off down the street, burning rubber.

I'd been close to useless throughout the entire altercation but, to my amazement, blood pooled under my nails where I'd gouged the man's neck as he ran past. It had happened so fast, my brain was still spinning…and throbbing. Little dwarves with pickaxes had taken up residence behind my eyes, their hammers reverberating in my head. I pressed my elbows into my sides, curled into a ball, and moaned.

Chris was with me in an instant. He helped me up and kept his arm around me as we stared at the empty expanse of blacktop.

After a tense silence, Chris and I turned to go inside.

My house had been ransacked with vicious abandon. My new TV was nowhere in sight. The navy-blue sofa lay upended on its side, each cushion slashed, the stuffing spilling liberally onto the floor. End tables had been overturned, crystal lamps smashed against walls, and empty bookcases stood towering over a profusion of books scattered on the floor.

“The cats! Oh, mercy, the cats!” I bounded for the stairs, Chris hot on my heels.

If those dreadful men hadn't thrown my cats outside—or worse—Butterscotch would most likely have fled to the master bedroom closet, heading for an old wool blanket. I had no idea where Ginger liked to hide—she had secret niches only God knew—but my best guess was under the bed, the all-time best place for the average, frightened feline. I motioned for Chris to look and crossed the room to the closet.

Chris lay on the carpet. “Nothing.”

Inside the closet, I found two cat-sized humps cuddled up in the back corner. The smaller bump had to be Butterscotch, all scrunched up under the blanket, tail hanging out the side. As an added bonus, a scared-out-of-her-wits Ginger—the second, slightly larger bump—lay half-buried underneath him. The blanket trembled. I motioned for Chris to look at the lumpy pair. “Found them.”

He glanced in and his mouth hitched up in a smile. I swear there was definite relief in his eyes, and they weren't even his cats. He'd just earned extra points. As if he needed them.

We moved to a loveseat in the opposite corner. The cats were fine. That was a huge comfort. Only then did I notice the state of the master bedroom. The antique jewelry box on the top of my walnut dresser hung open, drawers empty. Those vile men had smashed the glass in my photo frames and flung open my dresser drawers. My most intimate garments lay strewn all over the bed. Chris followed my gaze and had the good manners to raise his chin and stare at the ceiling.

That was it.

I was done trembling, sighing, shuddering, and quivering. I was not born to be a victim. The thugs had entered my home, scared my cats, trashed my house, stolen my own jewelry—to say nothing of looting Keaton's—and worst of all, they'd injured my uncle. “We have to find these guys.” My voice gained some gumption and my spine stiffened. “They can't keep hurting people.” I picked up a slipper sitting beside the loveseat and flung it against the wall.

Chris handed me the other one, and I let fly. It was nice to be understood.

I rubbed my aching temples. I was such an idiot. My purse. “Chris, the robbers must have swiped my bag on their way out of the store this morning—with my house keys, my driver's license, and my wallet stuffed with credit cards, cash, and precious photographs. And tonight, when I left the house, I turned off all the lights. I might as well have switched on a neon sign with the words, ‘Going out for a few hours. Come rob me.'”

“We need to get you out of here until you've had the locks changed. I'm sure my mother would be thrilled to let you stay with her for a few days.”

“What a thoughtful invitation, but I can stay at Uncle Marty's.”

“You sure? Mom wouldn't mind another adult in the house. My mom and dad split when I went away to college, so she gets lonely. Except when she has Maggie, of course. My daughter may be little, but her presence fills a room.” The grin of a proud papa crossed his face.

I rose to my feet. “Thanks, but now that I give it some thought, staying at Uncle Marty's makes sense. I can camp out in my old bedroom and be there when he first gets home.”

“I hate to bring it up, but we have to call the police.” Chris settled back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “What a horrible, horrible day for you.”

“What? Seeing Locksley three times in one day?” The absurdity of the situation was hitting me.

Chris cocked his head and gazed at me with those expressive brown eyes. “Good to see you smile. Not nearly enough of that going on today.” He'd been there for me all day long, every single second I had needed him. I rarely needed anybody—it unnerved me to be beholden to anyone but Uncle Marty or Amee—but for some reason, receiving help from Chris wasn't a scary proposition. There was no sense of urgency or obligation to repay him in kind. There he was, sitting on my loveseat, not because he wanted something from me, but because he wanted to be there. A quiet strength emanated from him.

I wanted so badly to cling to it.
Dear Jesus, thank you for sending me this man.
I bit back a giggle at the next thought. In the end, would I get to keep him?

“When the police leave, I'd like you to pack a bag. We'll stuff the cats in their carriers. Then, we'll stop by my ATM and get you some running money, and I'll follow you to your uncle's house. Is that doable?”

How could I say no? I closed my eyes and thanked God for my personal hero of the day. “Yes, thanks. I'm grateful beyond words.”

He grunted as only a man can. Must be man code for “it was nothing,” or something like that.

“Now, do you want to call Locksley, or shall I?”

8

The next morning, I called Todd for a ride to the store. I had no driver's license, and I didn't want to park my car at Keaton's in case the robbers cruised by. They had a key to everything. I'd have to get all the locks changed ASAP.

After getting back from the Emergency Room for the second time that day—still no concussion; maybe I really was as hardheaded as I'd been told—I'd stayed up half the night sorting through staffing options for Keaton's. Uncle Marty's absence left a very big hole.

Todd backed out of the driveway, and we were on our way. “You OK? I know it's not polite to tell a woman she's not looking her best, but well, to be honest, you don't. Anything I can do?”