Blessings of the Season Read online

  She smiled a little, and it wasn’t easy, because her eyes were flooding with unshed tears, and his eyes were soft with compassion because he knew her stories. She didn’t know how much he knew, but she was positive Lizzie’s letters had shared too much.

  But not the things Lizzie didn’t know. There were things she would never know. Isabelle met his warm gaze and saw something in the dark depths of his eyes. He had stories, too. She wondered if he would ever tell them to her. Or why a man followed letters to Missouri.

  “Thank you.” Isabelle didn’t look at the decoration in her hand. She knew that it had a picture of the Nativity on one side and a verse on the other. And in her heart she knew that Chad Daniels wasn’t going to share his stories.

  “Put it here, Mom. In the middle.” Lizzie pointed to what she thought was the perfect place, and Isabelle nodded and hooked it in place. The pungent odor of cedar filled the house, mixing with the leftover scent of fresh-baked cookies, making it smell like Christmas.

  “We need Christmas music.” Isabelle’s throat was tight with emotion, and she turned away from the curious gaze of the stranger who had invaded their lives.

  “And we need hot cocoa so we can finish.” Lizzie hung a red ornament and then a gold one. “I’ll fill our cups, and you finish this.”

  Isabelle flipped on the television and turned to the satellite station with Christmas carols. “Okay, but be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful, Mom. I won’t burn myself.”

  Chad laughed a little. “It’s a never-ending job, isn’t it?”

  “What?” Isabelle handed him a small box of ornaments.

  “Being a parent.”

  “Yes, it’s never-ending. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You’ve never…” She didn’t know anything about him.

  “No, never been married, never had a child. I was a military brat, and I made the military my life. I guess it was a comfortable place for me. It’s what I know.”

  “That’s honorable.” And she now had pieces of his life, making it a little more even, since he had most of hers in letters she hadn’t written.

  He shrugged and hung an ornament up high. She stood back, away from him. “I loved my career. Now it’s time to find something else to…”

  She wondered if he had planned on saying love.

  He smiled as he stepped back from the tree. “Something else to do. I’ve always wanted to have a farm.”

  “Really?” She had wanted that, too, but she felt old sharing that dream with him.

  “Yep. My grandfather was a farmer in Nebraska. We didn’t get to see him often enough, but I always loved the time we spent there.”

  She’d never really known her grandparents, either. But for different reasons. Her family was dysfunctional as far back as she could remember. She’d learned stability from the foster family that had kept her, the last foster home she’d been in. They kept her until she turned seventeen, and then they’d left the state, and she had hoped they would take her.

  They had written, but she hadn’t seen them again.

  “Lizzie says you’re a mechanic.” He said it like he couldn’t believe it.

  “Trade school. We had to pick something, so we both…” She glanced at the picture of herself and Dale. “We picked the automobile field. I picked mechanics. He picked body repair. We were going to start a business.”

  “I’m sorry.” His hand rested on her arm, and she couldn’t move away from the tenderness of his touch. It was warm, that hand on her arm, and strong.

  She hadn’t expected that touch to mean something. She let out a deep sigh and brushed away tears.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” And she had Lizzie.

  Speaking of Lizzie, she was singing along to the radio, a song about Christmas cookies. It was George Strait, and they both loved George.

  “We should get busy, before she thinks we’ve been…” Chad laughed. “Sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. But I do think she means for us to decorate the tree.”

  “She does.” Isabelle pulled out a small box of ornaments she and Lizzie had made with baked dough and acrylic paints.

  “I like this one.” He held up an ornament shaped like the manger. “We decorated our tree with paper snowflakes last year. Let me tell you, I’m not good with paper and scissors.”

  “What’s it like over there?” She wondered if he had shared the stories in the letters he’d written, the letters she hadn’t read or even seen.

  “It was good, watching the progress. Sometimes it was a heavy load, keeping the people in my unit together, keeping their spirits up.”

  “Have you always gone to church?”

  “Didn’t you read…” He laughed. “No, you didn’t read the letters. Lizzie, could you tell your mom when I became a Christian?”

  “He was thirty-five and in Afghanistan with a crazy Christian kid in his unit who wouldn’t stop praying. And they were always safe with that kid praying.” Lizzie walked into the room carrying a tray with three steaming mugs of cocoa.

  “There you go.” Chad smiled and shook his head. “That kid is now twenty-five and a youth minister in Texas. I guess he was never a kid.”

  “Cocoa and cookies.” Lizzie put the tray down on the table. “Let’s take a break.”

  As if she was the adult chaperoning two kids. Isabelle looked up, meeting the soft, warm gaze of the man that her daughter had brought into her life. This wasn’t a movie, or a book. It wasn’t a fairy tale.

  It wasn’t a first date.

  And what she felt, fluttering inside her heart, getting trapped in her lungs, was all about this moment in time, about his smile, the way his hand had felt on her arm.

  It was about her own loneliness, something she’d been trying to deny for a few years. It had sneaked up on her, waiting until she was done with diapers, sleepless nights and those first few years of school to rear its ugly head. But she kept busy, with work, with Lizzie, and she convinced herself she didn’t have time for relationships.

  “About church on Sunday.” Chad sat down with a mug of cocoa and a cookie. Lizzie choked on her cocoa, and Isabelle looked up, afraid of what this meant, and afraid to let her daughter believe that this could be everything she wanted it to be.

  Or maybe afraid to let herself believe.

  “Yes, church.”

  “Since I’ve crashed your tree-decorating party, what if I just meet the two of you at the town lighting ceremony Sunday night?”

  “Yes, that would be good. Everyone will be there.” Isabelle hated that she sounded like a chicken. But meeting at the lighting ceremony was safe. It was public. It wasn’t about two people brought together by one little matchmaker.

  Chapter Four

  Sunday evening Chad walked down the sidewalk from Jolynn’s to the metal building that served as the fire station for the Gibson all-volunteer fire department. He wasn’t the only one walking. There were groups of people walking together, and families with children. Every parking space was filled, including the parking lot of the Hash-it-Out.

  The fire station was next to the small city park, and he could see the lights that had been strung up. Tonight was the night those lights would be turned on for the first time. And houses that had been decorated would be lit up as well. He had helped Larry decorate the Pine Tree Inn that morning.

  He had asked why they did it this way, the entire town lit up for Christmas on the same night. Larry said it was about community. It was about Christmas being about Christ’s birth and not watering it down by lighting up two months early, so that by Christmas, no one noticed anymore. And the central part of the lighting ceremony was the Nativity in the park.

  This ceremony was a community worship service, not just a ceremony about lights or displays.

  The weather had cooperated by making it feel like Christmas. The air was brisk, a little damp, and wood smoke billowed from the chimney pipe that stuck out of the fire-station roof. Chad stopped to watch the crowds, his gaze landing on a
familiar figure, a tall brunette with a nearly teenaged replica at her side. They were both wearing plaid jackets and caps. The door to the building opened, letting out a swath of light and the sound of laughter and conversation. They moved through the door with a group of people that he recognized from church.

  He walked through the door alone, not a part of any group or church. But he’d been to church that morning, to the little community church attended by half the population of Gibson. He had sat behind Isabelle and Lizzie, watching as mother and daughter, heads bent, discussed something in soft whispers. He had listened as the pastor spoke about God’s gift of love in the form of His son, Jesus.

  Chad had sat in that church, feeling as if he’d been attending there all his life, thanks to Lizzie’s detailed descriptions in her letters.

  And now he was at the lighting ceremony. He stepped into the metal building that wasn’t quite warm, even with the fire in the woodstove. People stood in groups, dressed for the weather in heavy coats and gloves. He greeted a few of the people he’d met around town, and then he searched the crowd.

  “She’s over here, soldier.” Jolynn hooked her arm through his. “I’m so glad you stayed in town. This is a good place to put down roots.”

  “I haven’t quite decided if I’m staying.”

  Jolynn patted his arm, and he noticed that she had painted her nails red and green for the occasion. “Where else would you go?”

  “My parents live in Florida.”

  “That’s a good place, too. But Gibson, well, I moved here about thirty years ago, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  Neither could he, but he wasn’t ready to tell that to the owner of the Hash-it-Out. He smiled, and she nodded toward a group standing in the corner of the building, near fire equipment and extra hoses for the truck that had been backed out of the building for the night.

  “Our church choir is over here. Come on—we need a good tenor, and if I heard right at church this morning, you’re just the guy.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’d say I’m a ‘good tenor,’ but if you’re not picky, I can fill the part.”

  “You’ll do just fine.”

  As he walked up to the group, Isabelle smiled a shy smile, and the impact of the gesture hit him square in the gut. Or maybe near his heart. A smile had never made him feel like that, and he definitely didn’t consider himself a romantic kind of guy.

  So why had he come to Gibson, looking for Isabelle Grant, a woman who watched romantic movies on TV and cried when she read books with happy endings?

  “Here’s the guy we’ve been looking for.” Larry, Jolynn’s husband, held out a song sheet. “They assigned us to sing ‘Beautiful Star of Bethlehem.’ Do you know that one?”

  “I think so.” Chad read over the lyrics, and somehow, as the group moved, he got pushed to stand next to Isabelle.

  “My daughter started a conspiracy,” she whispered, smiling a little, laughter twinkling in brown eyes. He knew she was talking about the way the two of them were being pushed together. “They mean well.”

  “I know they do. Do you think I mind standing next to you?” In the closeness, his shoulder brushed hers.

  “Do you mind the gossip of a small town?” She kept her gaze straight ahead.

  “Not at all.”

  Another church group moved to the center of the room, and the crowd grew quiet as they started singing “Silent Night.” Chad stood at Isabelle’s side. Children, not interested in singing, were sitting on the floor or playing in groups. A baby cried.

  He remembered a year ago, singing carols with the men in his unit around the tiny tree they’d decorated. And he remembered a letter from a young girl in Gibson, telling him about her Christmas, her mother and this celebration.

  Six weeks later he’d received that first letter signed with Isabelle’s signature.

  The song ended, and another church group moved forward.

  Standing next to him, the real Isabelle, not the letter, not the image he’d created, shivered as the door opened and another group of people entered. He shrugged out of his coat.

  “Here, take this.” He draped it over her shoulders.

  “I’m fine. It was just the draft when the door opened. And you’ll need it when we go outside.”

  “I have on a heavy sweater.” He held the coat out so that she could slip her arms in. “There you go. And to be honest, I enjoy the cold air.”

  Her gaze softened. “What’s it like, coming back?”

  “It’s an adjustment.”

  “You came here, instead of going home to spend Christmas with family.” There were questions in that statement, and he realized she didn’t know him. Of course she didn’t.

  “If I go home for Christmas, it would be to Florida, where my parents live now. They have an active social calendar. They usually don’t put up a tree, and Christmas dinner is at a restaurant. I came here because of the letters. I wanted this for Christmas.” He nodded at the crowd gathered inside the fire station.

  “I understand. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  Jolynn motioned them forward. “Time to sing.”

  The group of about twenty moved to the center of the room. And Chad stood next to Isabelle, a part of the community, a part of the lives of these people. He’d always had the military community, and they were tight, but this was a place a guy could call home. Military life meant moving in and out of lives and communities.

  At the front of the group candles were lit, and next to him, Isabelle sang in a soft soprano. The room was dark, and they stood in the center of the glow of candlelight, a song about a star of hope and promise echoing in the metal building. He could hear the people around them singing along.

  Chad never wanted to leave Gibson, that feeling. His arm brushed Isabelle’s. Their fingers touched, and he wondered if she would ever agree to more than a moment in public with him. Would she ever sit across from him in a restaurant, or tell him the stories that Lizzie had already shared?

  At times he thought she might, but then she retreated into that shell, a place where he thought she probably kept memories of her husband and the shattered dreams the two had shared.

  The song ended, and the candles went out. The group turned and left the center of the room as the overhead fluorescent lights came on. Their song had been the last, and the garage doors at the end of the building went up.

  “What now?”

  Isabelle smiled up at him. “The lights come on in the park and down Main Street, and then Santa rides in on the fire truck.”

  “Fire truck?”

  “Well, of course, you can’t expect him to drive a sleigh in Missouri.” Her smile sparkled in her eyes, and someone pushed his arm on the other side.

  “Hey, guess who’s under the mistletoe.” Jolynn pointed up.

  Chad’s gaze went up, to the twig of mistletoe hanging from the door frame. Isabelle groaned a little, her face upturned as she looked from the mistletoe to him.

  “You have to kiss her.” Lizzie was at his side, her grin mischievous and a little guilty.

  “I don’t think…” Isabelle bit down on her bottom lip.

  “I don’t think we can ignore mistletoe.” Chad brushed her cheek with his hand, and her eyes closed.

  Isabelle held her breath, waiting, unsure. She hadn’t been kissed in so long, except by Lizzie. And tucking a child in at night wasn’t the same as a breathless moment with a man whose eyes were warm and whose smile touched somewhere deep inside.

  A hand on her cheek drew her back to the present, to the cool night air, the scent of cedar from the nearby Christmas tree, and Chad.

  She opened her eyes as he lowered his head, and when his lips touched her cheek, she thought he sighed. The moment was sweet, and his hand was on her neck. When she thought the kiss would end with that innocent gesture, he moved from her cheek, barely grazing her lips. And then he pulled away, his gaze holding hers. Her breath caught in her chest, getting tangled with emotio
ns she hadn’t expected. It hurt, like thawing out after being in the cold too long.

  But cold was good, because it brought numbness. This feeling hurt deep inside, where she hadn’t hurt in so long.

  A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away with her gloved hand. The next one he caught with his finger, and then he kissed her again.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear as he moved away. “But I’m not sorry for being here with you.”

  Christmas music on a radio, tinny-sounding but cheerful, broke the moment, and everyone moved away, forgetting them, forgetting the kiss. Everyone but Isabelle. She couldn’t forget that moment when his lips had touched hers, or how his hand had been so gentle on her cheek.

  The fire truck came up the street, blaring Christmas music, red lights flashing into the dark night, reflecting off the windows of nearby businesses. Santa was on the truck, tossing candy to the children and wishing them all the blessings of Christmas. And he had his dogs with him. Isabelle smiled, because everyone loved Santa and his dogs.

  “He looks like Santa,” Chad whispered. “What’s up with the dogs?”

  “We all call him Santa, and those are his dogs. Dasher, Dancer, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Vixen and Rudolph.”

  “This is something our letter writer forgot to mention.”

  “She probably didn’t think about it. He’s been a fixture here for years. He’s a retired minister, and he runs the local food bank. He might call himself Santa, but he knows the reason for Christmas is Jesus. He even made the Nativity for the park.”

  “I love it here.”

  “It’s a great place to live. I’m always thankful that this is the dot we picked on the map, the place we decided to call home.”

  His fingers slid through hers, and he pulled her a little closer. Maybe because it was Christmas, or maybe because of the mistletoe, but Isabelle didn’t pull away. Instead, she stood with him, watching as children grabbed up the candy that had been thrown from the truck.

  After Santa’s fire truck faded into the night, Isabelle turned toward the park, Chad’s hand still holding hers tight. The crowd of people engulfed them, everyone moving together.