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I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas: I'll Be Home For Christmas / One Golden Christmas
Lenora Worth


Christmas bells and wedding bells chime in these classic tales by Lenora WorthI'll Be Home For Christmas Just weeks before Christmas, widowed mother Myla Howell and her two children are saved from the streets by a wealthy oil tycoon nicknamed "Scrooge." Has the chill surrounding Nick Rudolph's icy heart begun to thaw in time for the holidays?One Golden Christmas Take one small-town Christmas pageant. Add in three motherless children with a secret holiday wish and a handsome widowed father. Mix just so with pageant director Leandra Flanagan. Will yield big surprises by December 25th.









Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels


“Lenora Worth’s Christmas tale will warm the cockles of readers’ hearts.”

—RT Book Reviews on I’ll Be Home for Christmas

“Lenora Worth’s One Golden Christmas is another jewel shining like the brightest star atop the Christmas tree.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an endearing hero.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Lenora Worth creates a character with a Heart of Stone that will have readers longing to melt it. Her best story yet.”

—RT Book Reviews




I’ll Be Home for Christmas & One Golden Christmas

Lenora Worth










LENORA WORTH


has written more than thirty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She also works freelance for a local magazine, where she had written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for the local paper for five years. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-three years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.




Contents


I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue



ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue



I’ll be home for Christmas


And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

—1 Corinthians 13:13


To Jean Price and Dee Pace,

for taking a chance on me,

and

To my mother, Myla Brinson Humphries,

who’s in heaven with the angels.




Chapter One


He was tired.

He was hungry.

He wanted a big roast beef sandwich from that roast Henny had baked early in the week, and then he wanted to go to bed and sleep for at least fourteen hours.

Nick Rudolph shifted against the supple leather seat of his Jaguar sedan, his impatient foot pressing the accelerator further toward Shreveport, Louisiana, the interstate’s slippery surface spewing icy rain out around the sleek black car.

He was also late. Very late. Carolyn would be fuming; he’d have to smooth things over with her. Right about now, he was supposed to be escorting her to the mayor’s Christmas party. Instead, he was making his way along a treacherous stretch of icy road, on the coldest night of the year.

His mind went back to the meetings in Dallas he’d had to endure to cut another deal for Rudolph Oil. After all the hours of endless negotiations, he still wasn’t sure if he’d closed the deal. They wanted to think about it some more.

That he wasn’t coming home victorious grated against his ego like the ice grating against his windshield wipers. Over the last few years, work had always come first with Nick Rudolph. It was an unspoken promise to his late father, a man Nick hadn’t understood until after his death. Now, because he’d seen a side of his father that still left him unsettled, Nick preferred to concentrate on tangible endeavors, like making money.

Nick Rudolph wasn’t used to losing. He’d been blessed with a good life, with all the comforts of old money, and he didn’t take kindly to being shut out. He’d win them over; he always did. He might have given up every ounce of his self-worth, but he wasn’t about to let go of his net worth.

As the car neared the exit for Kelly’s Truck Stop, he allowed himself a moment to relax. Almost home. Soon, he’d be sitting by his fire, the cold December rain held at bay outside the sturdy walls of his Georgian-style mansion. Soon.

Nick looked up just in time to see the dark shapes moving in front of his car, his headlights flashing across the darting figures rushing out onto the road in front of him.

Automatically slamming on his brakes, he held the leather-covered steering wheel with tight fingers. His mind screamed an alert warning as the car barely missed hitting a small figure standing in the rain before it skidded to a groaning halt.

“What in the world!” Nick cut the engine to a fast stop, then hopped out of the car, his mind still reeling with the sure knowledge that he’d almost hit a child. Coming around the car, his expensive loafers crunching against patches of ice, he looked down at the three people huddled together on the side of the interstate. Tired and shaken, he squinted against the beam of his car’s headlights.

The sight he saw made him sag with relief. He hadn’t hit anyone. Immediately following the relief came a strong curiosity. Why would anyone be standing in the middle of the interstate on a night like this?

The woman stood tall, her chin lifted in proud defiance, her long hair flowing out in the icy wind, her hands pulled tight against the shoulders of the two freezing children cloistered against the protection of her worn wool jacket.

The two children, a small boy and a taller, skinny girl, looked up at Nick with wide, frightened eyes, their lips trembling, whether from fear or cold, he couldn’t be sure.

He inched closer to the haphazard trio. “Are you people all right?”

The woman pushed thick dark hair away from her face, shifting slightly to see Nick better. “We’re all okay. I’m sorry. We were trying to cross over to the truck stop. We…you…I didn’t realize how fast you were going.”

Nick let out a long, shuddering sigh, small aftershocks rippling through his body. “I almost hit you!”

The woman stiffened. “I said we’re all okay.” Then as if realizing the harshness of her words, she repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Something in her tone caught at Nick, holding him. It was as if she’d had a lot of experience saying those words.

“Me, too,” he said by way of his own apology. He’d never been good with “I’m sorry”, because he’d never felt the need to apologize for his actions. But he had been driving way too fast for these icy roads. What if he’d hit that little boy?

He ran his hand through his damp dark hair, then shoved both hands into the deep pockets of his wool trench coat. “Where…where’s your car? Do you need a ride?”

The woman moved her head slightly, motioning toward the west. “We broke down back there. We were headed to the truck stop for help.”

“I’ll drop you off,” Nick offered, eager to get on his way. Turning, he headed back to his car. When the woman didn’t immediately follow, he whirled, his eyes centering on her. “I said I’d give you a lift.”

“We don’t know you,” she reasoned. “It’s not that far. We can walk.”

“And risk getting hit again?” Regretting his brusque tone, Nick stepped closer to her, the cold rain chilling him to his bones. “Look, I’m perfectly safe. I’ll take you to the truck stop. Maybe they can call a wrecker for your car.”

“I can’t afford a wrecker,” the woman said, almost to herself.

“We’re broke,” the little boy supplied, his eyes big and solemn, their depths aged beyond his five or so years.

“Patrick, please hush,” the woman said gently, holding him tight against her jeans-clad leg. Gazing up at Nick, she shot him that proud look again. “I’d appreciate a ride, mister.”

“It’s Nick,” he supplied. “Nick Rudolph. I live in Shreveport.” As he talked, he guided them toward his car, wondering where they were from and where they were headed, and why they’d broken down on such an awful night. “I’m on my way back from Dallas,” he explained, opening doors and moving his briefcase and clothes bag out of the way.

“We used to live near Dallas,” the little boy said as he scooted onto the beige-colored leather seat. “Wow! This is a really cool car, ain’t it, Mom?”

“It’s isn’t,” his sister corrected, her voice sounding hoarse and weak.

The boy gave her an exaggerated shrug.

Nick stepped aside as the woman slid into the front seat. Her eyes lifted to Nick’s, and from the overhead light, he got his first really good glimpse of her.

And lost his sense of control in the process.

Green eyes, forest green, evergreen, shined underneath arched brows that dared him to question her. An angular face, almost gaunt in its slenderness, a long nose over a wide, full mouth. Her lips were chapped; she nibbled at the corner of her bottom lip. But she tossed back her long auburn hair like a queen, looking regal in spite of her threadbare, scrappy clothes.

Nick lost track of time as he stared down at her, then catching himself, he shut the door firmly, his body cold from the December wind blowing across the roadway. Running around the car, he hurried inside, closing the nasty night out with a slam.

“Mom?” the little boy said again, “don’t you like Nick’s car?”

“It’s very nice,” the woman replied, her eyes sliding over the car’s interior. “And it’s Mr. Rudolph, Patrick. Remember your manners.”

The expensive sedan cranked on cue, and Nick pulled it back onto the highway, careful of the slippery road. “What’s your name?” he asked the woman beside him.

“Myla.” She let one slender hand rest on the dashboard for support as the car moved along. “Myla Howell.” Nodding toward the back of the car, she added, “And these are my children, Patrick and Jessica.”

The little girl started coughing, the hacking sounds ragged and raspy. “Mama, I’m thirsty,” she croaked.

“They’ll have drinks at the truck stop,” Nick said, concern filtering through his need to get on home.

“We don’t got no money for drinks,” Patrick piped up, leaning forward toward Nick.

“Patrick!” Myla whirled around, her green eyes flashing. “Honey, sit back and be quiet.” Her tone going from stern to gentle, she added, “Jesse, we’ll get a drink of water in the bathroom, okay?”

Nick pulled the car into the busy truck stop, deciding he couldn’t leave them stranded here, cold and hungry. He’d at least feed them before he figured out what to do about their car. Turning to Myla, he asked, “Is everything all right? Can I call somebody for you? A relative maybe?”

She looked straight ahead, watching as a fancy eighteen-wheeler groaned its way toward the highway. “We don’t have any relatives here.” A telling silence filled the car. Outside, the icy rain picked up, turning into full-fledged sleet.

“Where were you headed?” Nick knew he was past late, and that he probably wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“To Shreveport.” Myla sat still, looking straight ahead.

“Mom’s found a job,” Patrick explained, eager to fill Nick in on the details. “And she said we’ll probably find a place to live soon—it’d sure beat the car—”

“Patrick!” Myla turned then, her gaze slamming into Nick’s, a full load of pain mixed with the pride he saw so clearly through the fluorescent glow of the truck stop’s blinding lights.

His mouth dropping open, Nick gave her an incredulous look. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing.” Her chin lifted a notch. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Rudolph. We’ll be fine now.”

The car door clicked open, but Nick’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm. “Hey, wait!”

Her gaze lifted from his hand on her arm to the urgent expression on his face. “Let me go.”

“I can’t do that.” Nick surprised himself more than he surprised her. “If you don’t have any place to go—”

“It’s not your problem,” she interrupted. “If I can just make it into town, I’ve got a good chance of still getting the job I called about yesterday. Once I find steady work, we’ll be fine.”

“I can help,” he said, almost afraid of the worn wisdom he read in her eyes. “I can call a wrecker, at least. And find a place for you to stay.”

From the back seat, Jessica went into another fit of coughing, the hacking sound reminding Nick of memories he’d tried to suppress for too long.

“That does it.” He reached across Myla to slam her door shut. The action brought them face-to-face for a split second, but it was long enough for Nick to get lost in those beautiful eyes again, long enough for him to forget his regrets and his promises and wish for things he knew he’d never have. And it was long enough for him to make a decision that he somehow knew was about to change his life. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his tone firm. “I won’t leave a sick child out in this mess!”

The woman looked over at him, her eyes pooling into two misty depths. “I…I don’t know how to thank you.”

Nick heard the catch in her throat, knew she was on the verge of tears. The thought of those beautiful eyes crying tore through him, but he told himself he’d only help the family find a safe place to spend the night. He wasn’t ready to get any further involved in whatever problems they were having.

“You need help,” he said. “If you’re worried about going off with a stranger, I’ll call someone to verify my identity.” A new thought calculating in his taxed brain, he added, “In fact, my sister is a volunteer counselor for Magnolia House. I’ll call her. She’s always helping people.” Having found a way to get out of this sticky predicament, Nick breathed a sigh of relief.

Myla turned back, her eyes wary. “What’s Magnolia House?”

He waved a hand. “It’s this place downtown, a homeless shelter, but a bit nicer. According to my sister it has private rooms where families can stay until…until they get back on their feet.” He really didn’t know that much about his sister’s latest mission project, except that he’d written a huge check to help fund it.

Giving him a hopeful look, she asked, “And we don’t have to pay to live there?”

“No, not with money. You do assigned tasks at the home, and attend classes to help you find work, things like that. My sister helped set the place up and she’s on the board of directors. She’ll explain how it works.”

“Can you get us in tonight?”

Putting all thoughts of a roast beef sandwich or a quiet evening with Carolyn out of his mind, Nick nodded hesitantly. “I’ll do my best. And I’ll send a wrecker for your car, too.”

She relaxed, letting out a long breath. Then she gave him a direct, studying stare, as if she were trying to decide whether to trust him or not. Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you.”

Admiration surfaced in the murky depths of Nick’s impassive soul. He knew how much pride those two words had cost this woman. He admired pride. It had certainly sustained him all these years. Debating his next question, he decided there was no way to dance around this situation. Starting the car again, he carefully maneuvered through the truck stop traffic.

“How’d you wind up…?”

“Homeless, living in my car?”

Her directness surprised him, but then this whole night has been full of surprises.

“If you don’t mind talking about it.”

“My husband died about a year ago.” She hesitated, then added, “Afterward, I found out we didn’t have any money left. No insurance, no savings, nothing. I lost everything.”

Nick glanced over at her as the car cruised farther up the interstate, leaving downtown Shreveport at Line Avenue to head for the secluded privacy of the historic Highland District. Taking her quiet reluctance as a sign of mourning, he cleared his throat slightly, unable to sympathize with her need to mourn; he’d never quite learned how himself. So instead, he concentrated on the fact that she was a single mother. All his protective instincts, something he usually reserved for his sister, surfaced, surprising him. Must be the Christmas spirit. Could I possibly have some redeemable qualities left after all?

“What did you do?” he asked, mystified.

Lifting her head, Myla sighed. “I left Dallas and looked for work. I got a job in Marshall, but the company I worked for closed down. I ran out of money, so we got evicted from our apartment.”

Nick could hear the shame in her voice.

“After that, we just drove around. I looked for work. We stayed in hotels until the little bit of cash I had ran out. That was two weeks ago. We’ve been sleeping in the car, stopping at rest areas to bathe and eat. The kids played or slept while I called about jobs.”

She slumped down in her seat, the defeat covering her body like the cold, hard sleet covering the road.

Then she lifted her head and her shoulders. “I don’t want to resort to going on welfare, but I’ll do it for my children. We might be destitute right now, but this is only temporary. I intend to find work as soon as I can.”

It was Nick’s turn to feel ashamed. He was more than willing to write her a fat check, but he had the funny feeling she’d throw it back in his face. She had enough pride to choke a horse, but how long could she survive on pride? And why should he be so worried that she’d try?



Nick didn’t have time to ponder that question. Minutes later, he pulled the car up a winding drive to a redbrick Georgian-style mansion that shimmered and sparkled with all the connotations of a Norman Rockwell Christmas. Suddenly, the wreaths and candles in the massive windows seemed garish and mocking. He’d told Henny not to put out any Christmas decorations, anyway. Obviously, the elderly housekeeper hadn’t listened to him, not that she ever did.

Now, seeing his opulent home through the eyes of a person who didn’t have a home scared him silly, and caused him to take a good, long hard look at his life-style.

“Man!” Patrick jumped up to lean forward. Straining at his seat belt, he tugged his sleeping sister up. “Look, Jesse. Can you believe this? Santa’s sure to find us here. Mr. Nick, you must be the richest man in the world.”

The woman sitting next to him lowered her head, but she didn’t reprimand her son. Nick saw the pain shattering her face like fragments of ice.

Nick Rudolph, the man some called ruthless and relentless, sat silently looking up at the house he’d lived in all his life. He’d always taken it for granted, his way of life. His parents had provided him and Lydia with the best. And even in death, they’d bequeathed an affluent life-style to their children.

Nick had accepted the life-style, but he hadn’t accepted the obligations and expectations his stern father had pressed on him. When he could no longer live up to those expectations, he’d acted like a rebel without a cause—until he’d seen the truth in his dying father’s eyes.

Everything his father had drilled into him had become a sham. And Joseph, overcome with emotion because he loved his Ruthie too much, had tried to tell Nick it was okay to be vulnerable when it involved someone you loved.

But it had been too late for Nick. He’d learned his lessons well. Now, he guarded his heart much in the same way he watched over Rudolph Oil—with a steely determination that allowed no room for weakness.

Maybe that was why he’d felt so restless lately. Maybe his guilt was starting to wear thin. Though he had it all, something was missing still. Nick had never wanted for anything, until now. All his money couldn’t buy back this woman’s pride or settle her losses. All his wealth seemed a dishonest display compared to her honest humility.

“No, Patrick,” he began, his voice strangely husky, “I’m not the richest man in the world, not by a long shot.”

“Well, you ain’t hurtin’ any,” Patrick noted.

“No, I suppose I’m not,” Nick replied, his eyes seeking those of the woman beside him. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

Opening the car door, he vented his frustration on the expensive machine. He was hurting. And he didn’t understand why. How had the night become a study in contradiction and longing? How had he fallen into such a blue mood? Well, he’d just had an incredibly bad day, that was all. Or was it?

No. It was her—Myla. Myla Howell and her two needy children. He couldn’t solve all the problems of the world, could he? He’d make sure they had a decent place to stay, maybe help her find a job, then go on with his merry life. Things would go back to the way they’d been up until about an hour ago.

And how were things before, Nick? an inner voice questioned.

Normal. Settled. Content.

And lonely.

And that was the gist of the matter.

These three ragamuffins had brought out the loneliness he’d tried to hide for so long. Denying it had been pretty easy up until tonight. But they’d sprung a trap for him, an innocent but clever trap. They’d nabbed him with their earnest needs and unfortunate situation. He’d help them, sure. He certainly wasn’t a coldhearted man.

But he wouldn’t get involved. At all. His formidable father had drilled the rules of business into Nick—no distractions, show no emotions. In the end, however, Joseph Rudolph had forgotten all his own rules. In the end, his own emotions had taken control of his life. Nick had learned from Joseph’s mistake. So now, he let Lydia do the good deeds while he took care of business. It was a nice setup. One he didn’t intend to change.

“I’ll call Lydia. She’ll know what to do,” Nick said minutes later as he flipped on lights and guided them through the house from the three-car garage. A large, well-lit kitchen greeted them as the buzz of the automatic garage door opener shut them snugly in for the night. Nick headed to the cordless phone, intent on finding his sister fast. Then he’d have to call Carolyn and make his excuses. When he only connected with Lydia’s perky answering machine, he left a brief, panicked message. “Lydia, it’s your brother. Call me—soon. I’m at home and I could really use your help.”



We make him uncomfortable, Myla Howell reasoned as she watched the handsome, well-dressed man talking on the phone. She knew she and her children were an inconvenience. When you didn’t have money, or a place to sleep, you became that way.

She’d learned that lesson over the last few months. People who’d called themselves her friends had suddenly turned away. She wasn’t good enough for them now. They didn’t have time for her now. They couldn’t be seen associating with a homeless person.

This man was the same. He couldn’t wait to be rid of them. But, he had saved them tonight. She’d give him credit for that. She watched him moving about the kitchen, taking in his dark, chocolate-colored hair, remembering his gold-tinged tiger eyes. Golden brown, but missing that spark of warmth. Calculating eyes? She’d seen that kind of eyes before; still bore the scars from trusting someone who could be so ruthless. Would this man be any different?

She hoped so, she prayed so, for the sake of getting her children to a safe place. Refusing to give in to her fears or her humiliation, she focused on her surroundings instead. What a joy it would be to cook in a kitchen like this! She missed having a kitchen. Cooking was one of her pleasures and with hard work and lots of prayer, it could soon be her livelihood, too.

The gleaming industrial-size aluminum stove shouted at her while the matching refrigerator-freezer told her there was lots of bounty here to explore. The long butcher block island centered in the middle of the wide room spoke of fresh vegetables and homemade breads and pastries. Myla closed her eyes briefly, almost smelling the aroma of a lovely, home-cooked holiday meal. She’d miss that this Christmas. But next year…

Nick watched her in amazement. Under the surreal lights of the truck stop, she’d looked pale and drawn. But here in the bright track lights, Myla seemed to glow. She was tall, almost gaunt in her thinness. Her hair was long and thick, a mass of red, endearing curls that clung to her neck and shoulders. Even in her plain clothes, this woman exuded a grace and charm that few women would possess dressed in furs and diamonds. Obviously, she hadn’t always been homeless. Her clothes and the children’s looked to be of good quality and in fair shape. Not too threadbare; wrinkled, but clean.

Mentally shaking himself out of his curious stupor, Nick watched her closely, noticing the dreamy expression falling across her freckled face. Then it hit him. “You’re probably hungry.”

His statement changed Myla’s dreamy expression to a blushing halt. “I’m sorry…this is such a beautiful kitchen…I got carried away looking at it.” Nodding at the expectant faces of her children, she pushed them forward. “The children need something to eat. We had breakfast at a rest stop—donuts and milk.”

The implication that they hadn’t eaten since this morning caused Nick to lift his head, but he turned away before she could see the sympathy in his eyes. “Well, don’t worry. Our housekeeper, Henrietta Clark, has been with the family for most of my life. She always stays with a friend down the street when I’m away, so she’s not here tonight. But she cooks a lot, way too much for my sister and me. We usually wind up giving half of it away—”

“It’s all right, Mr. Rudolph,” Myla said to ease his discomfort. “We’ll be glad to take some of your leftovers off your hands, right, kids?”

She was being cheerful for the children’s sake, Nick realized. Relaxing a little, he dashed over to the gleaming refrigerator. “Let’s just see what we’ve got. We’ll have ourselves a feast.”

Patrick hopped up on a wooden stool, yanking his fleece jacket off with a flourish. “My mom’s the best cook, Mr. Nick. She can make just about anything, but her bestest is bread—and cookies.”

“Oh, really?” Nick glanced over at Myla. “Well, come on over here, Mom. I could use an expert hand. I’m not very good in the kitchen.”

Eyeing Jesse and unsure what to do with her, he lifted the quiet little girl up on the stool next to Patrick. With an unsteady smile, he registered that she felt warm, almost too warm, but then he wasn’t a doctor or a daddy. What did he know about little girls?

Myla stepped forward, then took off her threadbare wool coat. “Anything I can do to help?”

Nick watched as she hovered beside him, as if waiting for him to issue an order. Tired and unsure what to do himself, he unceremoniously loosened the red-patterned tie at his neck, then yanked off the tailored wool suit jacket he’d worn all day. Tossing the jacket across a chair, he watched as Myla straightened it and hung it over the back of the chair, her hands automatically smoothing the wrinkles out.

“Thank you,” he said.

He watched as a flush bathed her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. My husband liked everything in its place.”

Nick nodded, then wondered about her marriage. Had it been a happy one? Not that it was any of his business, but the sad, almost evasive look in her eyes made him curious. Did she miss her husband? Of course, she probably did, especially now when she was struggling so much.

“How about a roast beef sandwich?” he asked as he lifted the heavy pan of meat out of the refrigerator. “Henny cooked this for Sunday supper, but I didn’t get back into town to enjoy it.”

“That’s a shame.”

“No, that’s the life of an oilman. Lots of trips, lots of leftovers.” Searching through a drawer, he found a large carving knife. “I say, let’s cut into this thing.”

“Yeah, let’s cut into that thing,” Patrick echoed, clapping his hands. “My mouth’s watering.”

Jesse smiled, then coughed.

“Are you hungry, Jesse?” Worry darkened Myla’s eyes. “She has allergies and she’s fighting a nasty cold.”

A spark of warmth curled in Nick’s heart. “Maybe some good food will perk her up.” He offered Jesse a glass of orange juice.

Nick found the bread, then poured huge glasses of milk for the children. Myla located the coffeemaker and started a fresh brew. She sliced tomato and lettuce, then made some thick roast beef sandwiches. Soon all four of them were sitting around the butcher block counter. Nick picked up his sandwich for a hefty bite, but held it in midair as Myla and her children clasped hands and bowed their heads.

Seeing his openmouthed pose, Myla said quietly, “We always say grace before our meals. I hope you don’t mind.”

Nick dropped his sandwich as if it were on fire. “No, of course not.”

When Myla extended her hand to his, something went all soft and quiet in his ninety-mile-an-hour mind. When was the last time he’d said a prayer of any kind? He listened now to Myla’s soft, caressing voice.

“Thank you, Lord, for this day and this food. Thank you for our safety and for the warmth you have provided. Thank you for sending us help when we needed it most. We ask that you bless each of us, and this house. Amen.”

Stunned, Nick wasn’t so sure he wanted his house blessed. He felt awkward as he lifted his hand away from the warmth of Myla’s. To hide his discomfort, he said, “Let’s eat.”

Patrick didn’t have to be told twice. He attacked one half of his sandwich with gusto. Nick flipped on a nearby television to entertain the children, but mostly to stifle the awkward tension permeating the room.

He watched them eat, hoping Lydia would call soon. Patrick wolfed his food down in record time, while Jesse nibbled at hers between fits of dry coughing. Their mother broke off little bits of her sandwich, as if forcing herself to eat, her eyes darting here and there in worry.

Finally, out of frustration more than anything else, Nick said, “That hit the spot. I was starved.”

“Me, too,” Jesse said, speaking up at last.

Nick’s eyes met her mother’s over her head. It didn’t help to know that Jesse probably had been really hungry, when to Nick the words were just a figure of speech. Myla only gave him a blank stare, though, so to hide his confusion he munched on a chocolate chip cookie while he watched the children, and their mother when she wasn’t looking.

The baggy teal sweater brought out the green in her expressive eyes. Worn jeans tugged over scuffed red Roper boots encased her slim hips and long legs. Couldn’t be more than thirty, just a few years younger than him, yet she carried a lot of responsibility on her slim shoulders.

“You’ve got a pretty name,” he said to stop the flow of his own erratic thoughts.

“I was named after my grandmother,” she said. “She hated her name because people would always call her Mi-lee. My mother named me after her to make her feel better about it.”

“Where’s your family?” he asked, hoping to learn more about her situation.

She shot him that luminous stare before answering. “My parents passed away several years ago—a year and a half apart. First my mother, from a stroke. Then Daddy. The doctors said his heart gave out, and I think that’s true. He died of loneliness. They’d been married forty years.”

Nick felt a coldness in the center of his heart, a coldness that reminded him of his firm commitment to keep that part of himself closed away. “Same with my parents. My mother died of cancer, and my father was never really the same after her death.” He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. “He…he depended on his Ruthie, and her death destroyed him. It was as if he changed right before my eyes.” Not wanting to reveal more, he asked her, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She nodded. “A brother in Texas—he’s got five kids. And a sister in Georgia. She just got married a few months ago.” She sat silent for a minute, then finished. “They don’t need me and my problems right now.”

“Do they know…about what’s happened to you?”

Her flushed face gave him his answer. She jumped up to clean away their dishes. “No, they don’t. Not yet.” Turning toward the sink, she added, “I really appreciate your help, but I don’t intend to live on handouts. If my job hunt pays off—”

“What sort of work are you looking for?”

“A waitress, maybe, for now. I love to cook. One day, I’d like to run my own restaurant.”

Nick wanted to touch her face for some strange reason. She had that dreamy look about her again, and it endeared her to him. He felt an overwhelming need to buy a building and turn it into a restaurant.

But he didn’t touch her, and he didn’t offer to fund her venture. Instead, he looked down, as embarrassed by being wealthy as she obviously was by being destitute.

Myla’s touch on his arm brought his head up. “I want to thank you, Mr. Rudolph, for helping us. All day, I prayed for help, and then you came along. You offered us shelter, and that’s something I’ll never forget. So thank you, for your kindness and your understanding.”

Nick looked in her eyes and felt himself falling, falling, as if in slow motion. Moving away abruptly, he said, “Call me Nick, please. And you don’t have to thank me.”

The confused look she gave him only added to his woes. He couldn’t tell her that he rarely let people get close enough to touch him, either physically or emotionally. He couldn’t erase the hurt look in her eyes.

When a special news bulletin interrupted the noisy cartoon on the nearby television, Nick was thankful for the distraction until he heard the report.

The familiar face of the local weatherman filled the screen, and after going over the progress of the ice storm covering the city, the newscaster suggested everyone stay put for the night. “The roads are becoming treacherous and travel may be hazardous until this storm passes. We should be able to resume normal activities by midmorning when higher temperatures and sunshine clear this system out.”

Nick eyed the television, willing the man to say it wasn’t so. When that didn’t happen, he looked toward the silent phone, all hopes of Lydia’s much-needed help freezing up like his winding driveway outside. With three pairs of questioning eyes centered on him, he could only give a gracious but shaky smile.

Thoroughly at odds, he wanted to ask Myla Howell why him? Why’d she have to pick him? And what was he supposed to do with her now? Instead, he took her hand. “Well, that settles it. You heard the man. You can stay here tonight.”

“What?” Myla gave him a stunned look. “But what about your sister? What about Magnolia House?”

“It can wait,” Nick stated firmly, silently wishing Lydia would call and rescue him before he drowned in those questioning green eyes. Or was he silently hoping she wouldn’t call? To counter his treacherous thoughts, he added, “It’s late and Magnolia House is downtown. It’s too dangerous a trip in these icy roads. You’ll have to stay here tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” His tone was firmer than his confidence. Right now, he wasn’t very sure of anything—except that he couldn’t send this family back out into that cold, dark night.




Chapter Two


“Henrietta, please don’t cry.”

Nick ran a hand through his tousled hair, then gratefully accepted the cup of coffee the whimpering housekeeper handed him before she burst into tears again.

“Ah, Henny, don’t do that. It’s too early in the morning for theatrics. I didn’t know my Christmas present would move you to tears.”

“But, Nicky,” the older woman began, her shimmering gray curls not moving a centimeter even though she bobbed her head with each word, “it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. God bless you. You’re a good man…a good one…” Her words trailed off as her watery eyes centered on something beyond Nick’s head.

Nick turned to find Myla Howell standing in the doorway, wearing the same clothes she’d had on the night before.

“I’m sorry,” Myla said, sensing she’d interrupted something important. “I heard voices….”

“Nicky?”

Myla looked from the old woman who stood with her hands on her hips to the man sitting like a king at the head of the long Queen Anne dining table. He was trying to read the newspaper, and judging from the frown marring his handsome face, he was losing patience with the woman standing before him.

“Who’s this?” the woman asked, smiling kindly over at Myla.

Nick looked up. Myla didn’t miss the surprise or the grimace on his face. “Oh, hello. Henny, this is Myla Howell. Due to the bad weather, Myla and her children were forced to spend the night in one of the guest rooms.” He extended a hand toward the woman. “Myla, this is Henrietta Clark, my housekeeper and best friend.”

Myla was thankful when the woman didn’t ask any questions. “Nice to meet you.”

Henny smiled and waved a hand. “Did I wake you up with my wailing, honey? I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. Nicky gave me the best Christmas present before he left for Dallas the other day—a trip to see my daughter and her children in Arkansas.”

“And she’s wailing because she’s so touched,” Nick added on a droll note. “She’s leaving today.”

“That’s wonderful,” Myla said. “I know you’ll have a great time.”

“I plan to,” Henrietta said, “if I don’t spend the whole time worrying about Nicky and Lydia.”

“We’ll be fine,” Nick said, his attention already back on his paper. Then he asked Myla, “Would you like some breakfast, a cup of coffee, maybe?”

Myla took the cup of coffee Henny pressed into her hand, but she didn’t sit down. “Actually, I came down to ask for some medicine. Jesse’s had a bad night. She’s running a fever.”

Nick scowled. “Is she all right?”

Afraid that he wasn’t pleased at this added problem, Myla nodded. “I think she’ll be okay. I just need to bring her fever down.”

“Your child?” Henny asked.

“Yes. My oldest. I’m not sure about her temperature, but she feels awfully hot.”

Henny whirled around. “There’s a thermometer around here somewhere. Nicky won’t let me use it on him anymore.”

A smile slipped across Myla’s face. In spite of her concern for Jesse, she couldn’t resist the mental image of the stout Henrietta chasing a snarling Nick around with a thermometer.

Nick’s scowl went a few grooves deeper. “She still thinks of Lydia and me as her babies.” He gestured for Myla to sit down. “Does Jesse need anything else?”

Myla appreciated the warmth in his words, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think so. Just rest and good food. If you don’t mind, I’ll feed them breakfast before we leave.”

He looked down at the table. “I put in another call to my sister. You can’t take chances with this weather.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to Jesse. I appreciate your letting us stay here, Mr. Rudolph.”

“Call me Nick.”

“Okay.” Myla sensed, knew, he couldn’t wait to be rid of them. “I’m sorry we’ve disrupted your life.”

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes, we all did until Jesse started coughing.”

Myla wouldn’t tell him that she’d tossed and turned in spite of the warm, cozy room and the enormous bed. She felt so alone, so out of place in this grand old house. But she was certainly thankful that they hadn’t had to spend the night in the car.

When she looked up, Nick’s gaze softened. “Don’t worry about your daughter. If she’s sick, we’ll get her to a doctor.”

“Thank you.”

Henrietta burst through the swinging door from the kitchen, a bottle of pills in one hand and a thermometer in the other. “How old’s the child?”

“Eight.”

“Half a tablet, then. And I’ll fix her up some of my special hot lemonade with honey to help get that down. The lemons—good for a cold.” She turned to strut back to the kitchen, then whirled to face Nick. “Oh, Nicky, I almost forgot. Are you sure you and Lydia can handle things tonight?”

Nick looked confused, his gaze moving from Myla to his housekeeper. “Tonight? What’s going on tonight?”

“Your dinner party,” Henny said with arms akimbo. “Don’t tell me you forgot to call the temp service. You told me not to worry about a thing, that you and Lydia would take care of calling someone to fill in for me.”

Nick sat up, realization hitting him. “You mean my sister and I are in charge of…kitchen duty?”

Henrietta shook her head. “I knew you weren’t listening to me the other day.” She shot Myla a knowing look. “A one-track mind, that one. If it don’t have to do with oil, he don’t want to deal with it.”

“I guess I wasn’t listening,” Nick agreed. “And I think we’d better round up someone to take care of that. We both know Lydia’s as useless in the kitchen as I am.”

The housekeeper mumbled something about preoccupied executives, then explained, “It’s too late to call the temp service. They’re booked through Christmas, I imagine.” Looking disappointed, she asked, “You want me to stay?”

Myla listened, then squeaked, “I can do it.” When both Nick and Henrietta looked at her as if she’d gone daft, she wanted to drop through the tapestry rug underneath her feet. But this would be a good way to pay Nick back for his help, and it would make her feel a whole lot better about things. “I can cook. I can do whatever needs to be done.” When Nick kept staring at her, she rushed on. “Well, if I’m going to stay here all day anyway, I can’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs. I’d like to help, to pay you back for your kindness.”

Henny smiled from ear to ear. “Well, now, isn’t that a nice gesture on your part, honey.”

“I’ll pay her, of course.” Nick gave Henny a sharp look, then turned a questioning glance at Myla. “Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

Myla didn’t tell him that she’d once been considered the best hostess in her neighborhood. That had been one of her husband’s demands, along with all his other demands. Instead she said, “I’ve been in charge of dinner parties before, yes. Henrietta can show me where everything is.” Lifting her chin, she added, “And I could use the money.”

She watched as Nick weighed his options, hoping for this reprieve, this time out of the cold. Finally, he spoke.

“Well, I certainly don’t have time to find anybody else. Okay, you’ve got the job. But I expect everything to run smoothly—and that means making sure your children—”

“They’ll stay out of your way,” Myla said. “I promise.”

“Good.” He turned to Henny. “After breakfast, you can get things settled up between you.”

“You’re the boss,” Henrietta said, smiling to herself as she ambled into the kitchen.

Nick watched her, and Myla saw the doubt clouding his features. Wanting to reassure him, she said, “Don’t worry. I can do whatever needs to be done. I want to help and I won’t let you down.”

“That’s good,” he contended, “since I’m trusting you alone in my house.”

Not liking his tone, she retorted, “I’m a Christian, Mr. Rudolph. I won’t steal anything if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t implying anything. And I certainly didn’t mean to insult you.”

Seizing the opportunity, Myla rushed on. “Then you might consider letting me fill in for Henrietta. I could work for you until she gets back from her trip.”

That got his attention. “I hadn’t planned on a long-term replacement. I don’t go all out for the holidays.”

“That’s a shame,” she countered. “Christmas is such a beautiful, blessed time of year.”

“I don’t like Christmas,” he insisted. “In fact, this dinner party tonight is more of an obligation to my clients than a celebration.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to celebrate?” she had to wonder out loud. “The birth of the Savior is a joyous time.”

He didn’t give her the answer she wanted. Instead, he said, “Henny’s planning to be gone until the first of the year. Are you willing to work through Christmas?”

Myla was glad, but surprised that he wanted her to stay that long. She needed a job, but hadn’t counted on this becoming a long-term arrangement. This would give her some time, though, and a safe place for her children. “A month? That would help us get a good start on the new year.”

Nick’s next words were dusted with doubt. “And, it would solve both of our predicaments—you need a job, I need a good worker.”

“What about my children? You obviously don’t want them underfoot.”

“We’ll get them enrolled in school. You were planning on doing that, weren’t you?”

Resenting his superior attitude, she retorted, “I hadn’t thought past getting them to a warm bed.”

Nick countered. “Hey, it was your idea. After Christmas you can take the money you’ve earned here and do whatever you like. This is a sensible solution for everyone concerned.”

Myla had to agree. “So you’re asking me to stay here and work for you for the next few weeks?”

He almost grinned. “I don’t remember doing any asking, but yes, I guess I am.”

She held out her hand. “Deal, unless that other job I came here for is still open. Then, I’ll help you only until I can start there.”

“Deal,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m glad you understand that this is only temporary.”

“Oh, I understand. And I’ll need to get my car. We’ve got a few belongings left in the trunk.”

“I’ll take care of that. You take care of your daughter, then get together with Henny so she can explain how everything’s run around here.” He started toward the long, central hallway, then turned. “We’ll put you in Henny’s apartment off the kitchen. It’s more private.”

“That’s fine,” Myla said. At least it would be a roof over her head for a while, and it would be much more suitable than the spare guest room, since this was a strictly business arrangement. “I’d better get back up to the children. Jesse needs this medicine.”

“Don’t forget Henny’s hot lemonade with honey,” he reminded her. “Works wonders. I’ve got to get to work. Oh, and one other thing. I always do a background check on my employees. Any problem with that?”

Hesitating, Myla stammered, embarrassed. “No, but I think you should know a few things. I haven’t held a job since high school. I was…I chose to stay at home after my children were born. And my credit is shot because…I had to file bankruptcy.”

He gave her a sympathetic look that hid his own doubts as to the wisdom of this arrangement. “Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll do a good job, I promise,” she added sincerely.

Nick stared down at her a moment, nodded briefly, then turned to go.

She watched Nick walk away, then she sent up a silent prayer. Don’t let me mess this up, the way I’ve messed up my life.

She’d be so ashamed if he knew the whole truth.



“This is so exciting!”

Lydia Rudolph stood at the window of her brother’s downtown Shreveport office, gazing out at the Red River some twenty floors below. “I mean, I’m twenty-five years old, big brother, and this is one of the few times I’ve actually seen you do something almost human.” She fluffed her shining blond bob and beamed brighter than the lighted Christmas stars twinkling insistently on the building across from them. “This only goes to show what I’ve tried to tell you all along—doing something good for someone brings out the best in people, even an old Scrooge like you.”

“I am not a Scrooge,” Nick said in protest. “I can’t help it if I don’t feel the same strong sense of religion that you do, Lydia. I’m quite happy with my life the way it is, thank you. In fact, I’m just a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.”

Lydia snorted, causing her bright red hoop earrings to jingle. “Right. You’re a great faker, Nick, and we both know it. But this is a start. I’m glad to see you involved with something besides this oil company.”

“Yes,” Nick responded dryly from his perch on the massive teakwood desk. “Having two rambunctious children and their pretty mother in my house for the holidays is about the most exciting thing I can imagine. And here I was hoping you’d help me out of this mess.”

“They’re people, Nick, not a mess.” Lydia swung around, the fringe on her red suede jacket almost hitting her brother on the head. “I think you needed this. You couldn’t wait to tell me all about it when you got here this morning.”

“I told you all about it because what I need is your help, little sister. They need your help. This is a very temporary situation.”

Nick wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. This whole business was starting to get to him. Still amazed that he’d hired Myla to run his house, he had to wonder at his own sanity. He was reeling from the strange turn of events in his life. In the span of less than twelve hours, he’d committed himself to saving a homeless mother and her two waifs. Not involved? Hah! He was involved up to his eyeballs.

Resolving to get this situation cleared up—another of his father’s rules: no loose ends—Nick gave his sister a pleading look. “This dinner party is important, Lydia. I need to reassure some of our local stockholders. We’ve pulled through our slump, but I’ve still got people jumping ship. Are you going to help me?”

“I’m thinking,” Lydia said, settling herself down in the comfortable black leather swivel chair behind Nick’s desk. “If I help you with this woman and her children and your precious party, will you go to church with me on Christmas Eve?”

Nick gulped his coffee too fast and burned his tongue. “That’s blackmail,” he said, spurting out hot coffee in the process. “You know how I feel about that.”

Lydia’s knowing smile didn’t help his bad mood. “What happened to that almost-human I was just talking to?”

He scowled, rubbing his burned tongue against his top teeth. “I’m the same as ever. And I refuse to be pushed into a situation about which I feel uncomfortable. If you can’t agree to help me, please leave. I’ve got work to do.”

Lydia jumped up to come around the desk. “Oh, Nick, remember when we were little? Remember Mother taking us to the Christmas Eve service? You in your Christmas suit, me in my velvet dress? You cared then, Nick. You loved Christmas.”

“Well, I don’t love it now,” he said, his mood getting darker by the minute. “And I have work to do.”

Lydia stood staring at him. “And I thought helping someone out of a jam would make you less grumpy. When are you going to stop being mad at God, Nick?”

“Probably never,” he said, tired of this argument. Thinking back about last night, he remembered Myla’s prayer. She’d thanked God for simple things. Basic things. Things most people took for granted every day. Arrh, there he went again, daydreaming about a woman he’d just met last night. “Look, Lydia,” he said, “I won’t kick them out. You know that. But we do need to help them. And since this sort of thing is your department…”

Lydia nodded. “Of course I’ll help. But you made the right decision, Nick. Giving her a job was the best thing you could do.”

“I didn’t have much choice. She was available on the spot and I needed someone immediately. Now I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

“You won’t,” Lydia assured him as she headed toward the door, her long black wool skirt swishing around her matching boots. “You did need someone immediately, and I don’t think you’ll regret it at all.”

“Hey, you’re the bleeding heart, remember?” he replied. “While you’ve been out trying to save the world, I’ve been breaking my back to save this company.”

“And you’ve done a good job,” his sister acknowledged. “The latest stock report shows we’re up forty cents per share. We haven’t had to dip into that old pile of money Daddy left us, so why don’t you relax?”

Nick’s eyes grew dark. “I promised him—”

“No, you swore on his grave,” she reminded him. “Nick, when are you going to forgive and forget? Yes, he was harsh, but he was only human. It’s just that we didn’t see his human side until it was too late. I don’t want it to be too late for you, Nick. But you’re already headed down the same road he took—giving orders and doling out cash, never getting your hands dirty, never facing reality. It’s not too late for you yet, not if you realize that money isn’t everything.”

Nick eyed his little sister curiously, still amazed that she’d escaped their father’s ironhanded approach to life. Lydia was so like their mother, good, kindhearted, openly loving. And, Nick reminded himself bitterly, he was his father’s son. “Look, Lydia, doling out cash is what I do best. Money, I’ve got.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s about all you’ve got.”

Defending himself, he said, “Well, I haven’t heard any complaints. We’ve both got everything we need.”

She shook her head. “Except faith, Nick. That’s the one thing I’ve got that you lack.” With that, she shut the door and left.

She was wrong, of course. He didn’t need the added assurance of some higher power watching over him, which she insisted on believing. He had everything he needed. Didn’t he? Head of a successful company, owner of one of the finest homes in Shreveport, possessor of a social book that rivaled anybody’s in Louisiana. His list of attributes spoke volumes about his life.

But that’s about all you’ve got. Lydia’s words taunted him again. Oh, all this Christmas sentiment was affecting his better judgement. It was normal to feel at odds with so much Christmas hype being shoved down his throat.

Remembering other, happier Christmases, Nick stared out the window, mindless of the crawling traffic below. His father had taught him to keep his emotions at bay, and had set a firm example by never showing any sort of affection or compassion himself. Until Ruth died. Watching his proud, self-sufficient father crumble had only reinforced Nick’s own need to stay in control.

Now, he was trapped, so trapped, in a firmly encased persona that gave him a ruthless outlook on life. He’d get through Christmas the same way he had each year since his parents’ deaths, by celebrating with a detached kind of fascination, like the cynical kid who didn’t believe in Santa anymore.

Except this year, he reminded himself, he’d be doing it with a lovely widow and her two noisy kids. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this whole thing?” he asked himself.



“The whole thing is going to be a disaster,” Myla mumbled to herself as she once again checked preparations for the dinner party that loomed less than two hours away. Henrietta had gone over all the details with her. The food was ready; it only needed to be heated when the guests arrived. But Myla wasn’t so sure about herself.

She wore a white long-sleeved blouse and black trousers, courtesy of Lydia’s closet. Henrietta had insisted Lydia wouldn’t mind or even miss the functional outfit.

“All you have to do is keep the food coming,” the older woman had explained. “Nicky likes everything to run smoothly—these people are clients and stockholders, but this is a casual dinner. Just put it out on the buffet, real nice and hot, and keep your eyes open for seconds. The bar’s fully stocked, and Nicky’ll mix what drinks are needed.”

Since she didn’t condone drinking, Myla was glad she didn’t have to play bartender. The rest sounded simple enough. After all, she’d done this hundreds of times before. Smoothing the knot of hair coiled at the nape of her neck, she took a deep, calming breath. The children were tucked away in Henny’s small sitting room, armed with books to look over, coloring pads and crayons, and various other things Henny stockpiled for her grandchildren. They could watch a little television before they were to go on to bed. Surely, nothing could go wrong.



The kitchen door swung open. Nick marched in, whistling to himself. He’d saved the Dallas deal, another coup for Rudolph Oil, and a nice nibble to share with his fidgety stockholders. Stopping in midwhistle, he looked around the kitchen, and then into the set of exotic eyes watching him.

“Who did all of this?” he asked in a deadly calm voice as his gaze trailed over the fresh ivy and holly berry greenery adorning every available corner. The scent of bayberry candles lifted through the air, giving the room a cozy holiday effect.

Seeing the scowl on his face, Myla said, “I…I did. I found the decorations in the garage. I thought it would look nice for the party.”

“I don’t care for a lot of frivolous decorations,” he said, noting that she looked right at home. “I just wanted a simple, quiet evening with no fuss. Did the cake I ordered come?”

She nodded, swallowing back her embarrassment. “Yes, your coconut cake is right here on the counter.”

So it was. To avoid lashing out at her for her innocent assumptions, he concentrated instead on the rich cake he’d had a local restaurant prepare for tonight.

Before he could speak, she spoke to him. “I’m sorry about the decorations. I didn’t realize—”

“Never mind,” he said on a tired sigh. “It is Christmas, after all, and I do need to appear all jolly-holly for these people.”

Myla leaned against the counter to steady her nerves. “Everything’s in order. The table’s set. The food’s ready. I really didn’t have that much to take care of.”

“Plenty to drink?” he asked as he scanned the mail lying on the countertop.

She lifted her shoulders. “Yes, but I must tell you, I don’t drink and I’d prefer not to have to mix drinks for your guests.”

He shrugged. To each his own. “I’ll take care of that, then. But don’t worry. I don’t expect this stoic crowd to get too wild.”

Relieved to hear that, Myla relaxed a little. “Henny told me how important this is to you.”

He moved into the room, throwing his briefcase on a desk in the corner before heading to the refrigerator. “Henny’s very efficient. She knows how these functions work. The old-boy networking system never slows down.”

Myla noticed the lines of fatigue around his eyes. He seemed so cool and in charge that she found it hard to believe he could be worried. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“Nah, I’ll just have some juice.” Spying a tray of appetizers in the refrigerator, he picked up a cracker covered with a shrimp mixture and popped it into his mouth. “That’s good,” he said between chews.

“I found the shrimp in the freezer,” she explained. “I know the recipe by heart.”

“You’re in charge of the kitchen,” he said by way of appreciation. “Do you need anything?”

I need to have my head examined, she thought. She was terrified of being here, but she needed this job. She wouldn’t allow her children to be homeless again.

“No, Henny went over the schedule with me.”

“Good.” Nick placed the empty juice glass in the sink. “Guess I’ll head up to get a shower.” Turning back on his tasseled loafers, he asked, “How’s Jesse?”

“Much better.” Touched that he’d bothered to ask, Myla guessed he was just being polite. “Her fever is down.” At his questioning look, she added, “They’re in Henny’s room, all settled in.”

He nodded, wondering why he’d become so tongue-tied all of a sudden. “By the way, your car’s in the auto shop. It should be fixed in a couple of days. Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow.”

“But…” Myla began, not knowing how to ever thank him. He’d taken care of everything in such a businesslike manner. She supposed he was used to taking matters into his own hands, while she was just beginning to learn how to deal with everyday problems on her own. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tapping down the tad of resentment she couldn’t deny.

He raised a hand to ward off her gratitude. “It was no trouble and besides, I’m depending on you to run my house. You can’t do that if you’re out trying to get your car fixed.”

“Good point,” she reluctantly agreed. He didn’t take compliments or praise very well. “I’m sorry for all this trouble.”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t worry. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll send you the bill.”

“I insist,” she said as she watched him plow through the swinging door to the hallway. Somehow, she’d pay him back for his kindness, but she couldn’t say if it would make her feel better or not.

Nick’s bellowing call from the den brought her head up. Rushing through the swinging door, she flew down the hall to the other room to find him standing in front of the tree she and the children had put up that afternoon.

“What’s this?” he asked, his hands on his hips, his chin jutting out as he stared at the eight-foot-tall evergreen.

“It’s a Christmas tree, of course,” she said, wondering why the fresh-cut tree seemed to be bothering him so much. “Henny called a nursery and had it delivered.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair and gave another long sigh. “I told her in no uncertain terms, that I did not want a tree in this house.”

“She never mentioned that to me.”

“No, I don’t suppose she would have. Well, too late to take it down now.”

Finding her courage, Myla stepped closer to the tree to touch one of the brilliant ornaments she’d found in a huge box in the garage. “The children had such a great time decorating it, I’d appreciate it if you would try to enjoy it.”

Nick’s gaze moved from the tree to the woman at his side. Her eyes were almost the same shade as the lush branches reaching out toward him. And they sparkled every bit as brightly. He couldn’t deny her this one concession to his rigid holiday rules.

“Okay. The tree can stay up, but no more decorating without consulting me first, no matter what Henny tells you.”

“All right.”

He didn’t like her tone or the hurt look in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

She smiled then, but her eyes still held a certain sadness. “That you have a beautiful house. Six bedrooms, is it? And four baths? And those sunrooms. I’ve always loved having lots of live plants in a sunny room.”

Nick hadn’t really noticed the plants. He shrugged, his gaze sweeping casually over his surroundings. “It’s almost too big for a bachelor and his baby sister, but it’s home.”

“Is it?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Is it what?”

“Home?”

“I live here, don’t I?”

“Yes, but…oh, never mind. This place is like something out of a dream, but it just seems as if something is missing in this great, old house.”

She’d sensed it, when she’d gone through the rooms earlier, dusting and gawking at the same time. The house was as reserved and cool as the man who lived in it, and just like him, it cast out a false sense of contentment.

Nick sighed, then turned to go. “Don’t try to analyze me, Myla. There’s nothing missing here. Everything is as it should be.”

“If you say so.”

She watched as he left the room and stalked up the curving staircase. How sad that he couldn’t enjoy the holidays. Myla wondered what had made him this way. She turned back to the tree, her gaze fixed on the gold and white angel watching her from the top of the sturdy blue spruce. “I think Nick Rudolph needs your help,” she whispered.



An hour later, the house was filled with the sound of laughter tinkling on the air as crystal glasses tinkled with ice. The aroma of mulling cider wafted through the night while the fire in the massive marble fireplace located across one wall of the den crackled and popped. Myla viewed the cluster of people scattered around the tree, making sure each guest had plenty to eat and drink, while she listened to the carefully selected group’s conversation.

“Nick, I love the house this year,” a stout woman covered in diamonds said between bites of puffed pastry stuffed with artichoke filling. “I haven’t seen it this festive and bright in a long time.”

Nick’s smile was all calculated charm. “Glad you approve, Dottie. I’m not much on the holidays, but my new housekeeper insisted I put up a tree, at least.” He guided Dottie away from the tree, then said, “Remind me to show you Rudolph Oil’s fourth-quarter report. I’d love to have you serve on the board again. We could use your input.”

Clearly enthralled, the woman practically preened. “You know, I’ve been telling Jacob we need to reconsider that decision.”

Jacob, a tall gray-haired man, listened diligently. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Nick grinned, then caught Myla’s eye. He saw the disapproving look she cast his way and wondered what he’d done to offend her. Excusing himself from Dottie, he cornered Myla by the buffet.

“Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” she replied, her gaze scanning the crowd. “Would you like another glass of soda?”

He finished off the cool liquid left in the bottom of his glass, then shook his head. “No, but I’d like to know why you were glaring at me earlier.”

“No reason,” she said, busying herself by putting out more cans of soda for his guests. “I was just watching you work the crowd.”

“And you disapprove?”

Myla gave him a direct stare. “No, I’m just surprised. One minute you’re acting like a regular grizzly bear and the next you’re turning on the charm.”

Recalling their earlier encounter right here in this room, Nick replied, “Look, I’m sorry I got angry about the decorations and the tree. You were smart to spruce this place up…and it looks wonderful. Perfect.”

“Glad you approve,” she said, not at all convinced of his sincerity.

Sensing that she didn’t exactly trust his motives, Nick smiled over at her. “I do approve. So far, everything’s going according to schedule. And I owe that to you.”

Before she could respond, he turned away to greet some more guests, leaving her with the memory of his aftershave. She’d smelled it earlier when he’d entered the kitchen. He was a handsome man. A self-reliant man, who liked to rule over his domain.

This was his world, not hers. She’d had a similar life with her husband, but now…now, she intended to make her own way, with her faith to shield and guide her. She wouldn’t put her trust in another ruthless man. And Nick Rudolph was exactly that.

She watched him play host to the hilt as he mixed business with pleasure and made her feel like an out-of-place Cinderella watching the prince dance with all the other girls at the ball.

“Bill, you rascal,” Nick said, laughing as he playfully slapped the tall, blond-headed man on the back. “How are things looking for your re-election to the Senate? Can I depend on you down in Baton Rouge?”

“Can I depend on your donation to my next campaign?” Bill countered with a hearty laugh, thus beginning a rather long and detailed account of his political aspirations. His wife, a slender brunette in a pricey red pantsuit gave a bored smile as her eyes fell across Myla, then moved on.

The look of dismissal galled Myla, but she knew her place. She’d been poor before she married Sonny Howell. And now, she’d come full circle. She could afford to be gracious to the woman; she’d once been so like her.

Once again, Nick excused himself from his guest to head toward Myla with a purposeful stride. Afraid that she’d done something wrong again, she moved to meet him.

“Everyone’s here except—” Nick stopped in mid-sentence when a loud screeching noise, followed by a bellowing bark and the crash of dishes, rose from the back of the huge house. “What was that?”

The doors of the kitchen burst open as a tall woman with flowing blond hair ran into the room, her black dress clinging to her slender curves.

“Carolyn?” Nick looked surprised, then laughed in relief. “Leave it to you to make a grand entrance.”

The lovely Carolyn fumed with indignation. “Nick Rudolph, how dare you laugh at me? It’s bad enough that you stood me up last night, but now this. You’ve got to do something!”

“Do what?” Nick looked confused. “What’s the matter?”

The other guests had gathered around now, each waiting and watching as Carolyn pulled at a torn spot in her black hose. “It’s Pooky,” she said on a low moan. “He’s in the kitchen—”

Another wailing scream rose from the kitchen, followed by a growl and another scream, this one human. Several loud crashes joined in with the screams.

Nick plopped his glass down on a walnut table. “What’s going on in there?”

Carolyn moaned again and tugged at her hair. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Nick. I brought Pooky along with me to ward off muggers and when I went to put him in Henny’s room, a…a cat ran out and now Pooky’s chasing the crazed creature around the kitchen and when I tried to stop him, well…that cat lurched into my leg and well, look, a fifteen-dollar pair of nylons ruined.” Tossing her evening bag and black velvet cape into Nick’s face, she added, “And I’m bleeding. You know I’m allergic to cats!”

The uproar in the kitchen increased now, the crowd moving in closer, each guest hovering near the swinging doors, afraid to go in and see what Pooky and the mysterious cat were doing to each other.

“Cat?” Nick shook his head. “I don’t have a cat.”

Another scream brought Myla into action. Pushing through the dazed spectators, she called to Nick, “The children!”

“Children?” Carolyn eyed Nick suspiciously. “I thought I saw something unusual hiding behind Henny’s couch. Nick, what’s going on here?”

Nick looked over at Carolyn, prepared to explain everything until he heard Myla’s low agony-filled moan. That moan did not bode well, not at all. Giving Carolyn’s things to the skinny brunette in red, he dashed toward the kitchen. The sight that greeted him caused him to echo the same low-pitched moan.

A tabby cat, scrawny and hissing, sat on a blade of the still ceiling fan, one paw extended in the attack position while a howling, barking Saint Bernard sat underneath, his tongue fairly hanging out of his big, toothy mouth as he waited for the next chase to begin.

Patrick sat in the middle of the counter, surrounded by what had once been the carefully arranged entrees for the dinner party. Now those entrees were not only arranged all over the counter, but also all over Patrick and all over the once white tile floor. Jesse hovered in the doorway leading to Henny’s apartment, her wails matching pitch with the cat’s. The Saint Bernard, tired of playing chase with the pitiful cat, turned and started lapping up what remained of the platter of roast that Myla had carved so lovingly and garnished with parsley and star-burst carved cherry tomatoes.

Myla’s eyes met Nick’s. Of their own accord, her hands came up to cover her face. He’s going to send all of us packing, she thought.

Nick’s face burned with a rage born of shock. “What happened here?” His voice grew deeper and more deadly with each word. “Would someone like to tell me what in blazes happened in here?”

The room, filled with twelve warm, curious bodies, remained silent, except for the occasional hissing from the ceiling fan and the melodious lapping on the tile floor.

“I’m waiting.” Nick circled the carnage, his eyes brown with a fire of rage. “I want some answers, now!”

Finally, a feeble voice rallied from the direction of Henny’s room. Jesse stepped forward, shivering with fear, her eyes bright with freshly shed tears. “Mamma, we forgot to tell you about the cat,” she said before she burst into another round of high-pitched sobs




Chapter Three


The door leading from the garage burst open. Lydia bounced into the room, wearing a black crepe dressy pantsuit, her blond bob shining as brightly as her diamond earrings.

Myla recognized her from the many pictures of Nick and Lydia hanging around the house. But Carolyn…was she Nick’s girlfriend? Nick had been busy doing a good deed last night and now look what it had caused him. Even Lydia’s upbeat mood didn’t help the situation.

“Sorry I’m late,” she began, her earrings twinkling like twin stars, “but I had to stop by—” Her eyes registered shock for a split second before she burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Food fight? Nick, why didn’t you tell me? You know how I love to throw my food at you!”

“Not now, Lydia,” Nick said, his growl more pronounced than the drooling Pooky’s. “We’ve had a bit of an accident and I was just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

“Looks like Pooky here beat you to it,” Lydia countered, rushing forward to pet the massive Saint Bernard. “Hey, boy, what did you get into this time?”

“It’s not Pooky’s fault,” Carolyn said as she sidestepped a pile of shrimp dip to comfort the hyper dog. “I walked over for the party, so I brought Pooky with me. I had no idea that a cat and two strange children would attack us when we entered the back door.”

“Next time, try using the front door like the other guests,” Lydia replied sweetly, though her eyes indicated she felt anything but sweet.

“Ladies, please,” Nick said, raking a hand through his crisp dark curls. Turning to Myla, he watched as she knelt to comfort her sobbing daughter. Instantly, he regretted his anger from before. “Jesse, how’d we manage to acquire a cat?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft, his eyes centered on Myla as if to say this is your fault.

Jesse looked up to her mother for reassurance. Myla, stung by Nick’s anger and by Carolyn’s highhanded attitude toward her children, shot him a defiant look. Thinking she could kiss this new job goodbye, she patted Jesse on the shoulder. “Just tell the truth, honey.”

Jesse took a deep breath to clear away another round of sobs. “Mr. Nick, I’m sorry. But today when Momma was getting stuff ready for your party, me and Patrick went for a walk out in the backyard. We weren’t supposed to, ‘cause I’m sick and Patrick gets into stuff, but we snuck out…. Anyway, we heard a cat meowing behind that big building by the pool. Patrick came back in the house when Momma wasn’t looking and got some food for the cat. It was real hungry.” Sniffing, she looked up at Nick. “We wanted to help it so it wouldn’t freeze to death, like you helped us, Mr. Nick.” She wiped her nose again with her hand, her big blue-green eyes wide with the importance of her confession.

Nick looked uncomfortable, but Myla saw the touch of warmth Jesse’s innocent words had provoked in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the cat, sweetie?” she asked her daughter, her heart breaking. Jesse loved animals. She’d never let one starve or stay out in the cold, in spite of her allergies around certain animals. Hunger wasn’t pretty—in animals or humans.

“We were afraid you’d make us let it go,” Jesse said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Yeah, and we didn’t want Mr. Nick to kick us out,” Patrick piped up as he held out his dip-covered fingers. “I tried to catch it, Mamma, but it was too fast. And besides, I’m scared of that big dog.”

“Pooky wouldn’t hurt a flea,” Carolyn protested, looking from one child to the other accusingly. Then she turned to glare up at Nick. “You told me you helped some people out last night; you didn’t tell me they were staying in your home.”

Bristling, Myla shot Carolyn a proud look. “I’m working for Mr. Rudolph while his housekeeper is on vacation.”

“Working for Nick?” Carolyn whirled around. “Is that true—even after what you told me last night?”

Nick’s look warned her to drop it. “Things have changed since then. I’ll explain later.”

Myla’s eyes met his. He was embarrassed, but she saw the hint of an apology. He was too much of a gentleman to make a scene. Obviously though, he’d avoided telling Carolyn everything. Wondering if he was ashamed of her being here, Myla felt like a circus sideshow.

Deciding she’d really give them all something to talk about and try to save Nick’s reputation and her much needed job in the process, she pinned Carolyn with a level look. “Yes, it’s true. Mr. Rudolph was kind enough to help us out last night. You see, we’ve had a rough time lately. We’ve been living in our car.” That statement caused an audible rumbling through the room, but it didn’t stop Myla. “He found us stranded on the interstate during the ice storm, and he brought us here. Knowing I needed a job, he asked me to work for him while his regular housekeeper, Henrietta, is on vacation. And as long as he doesn’t have a problem with that, I don’t, either. I’m just very thankful that he was kind enough to care about my children and me.

“The Bible says, ‘Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh.’ Yesterday, I was hungry and weeping. Today, thanks to Mr. Rudolph’s kindness, I’m warm and full and laughing, in spite of all of this mess.” Dismissing Carolyn’s surprised, cynical look, she turned to Nick. “Isn’t this the true spirit of Christmas? You took us in, when there was no room at the inn. You did something entirely unselfish. It’s the best Christmas present I could ask for, and I thank you. And I take full responsibility for my children’s actions.”

Nick stood still, in shock. He should be angry that she’d turned his party into a sermon on the mount. Instead, he felt a great rush of warmth moving through his body. Ashamed, he blinked to hold back the blur of tears forming in his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as brave as Myla Howell. She had more courage among this crowd of cutthroats than he’d ever possessed, ruthless as he was supposed to be.

Of course, her courage was one thing. Being called a pushover was quite another. Glancing around, he waited for the looks and whispers that were sure to come. But to his surprise, his guests didn’t condemn him or laugh at him. They came, one by one, to pat him on the back.

The senator was the first in line. “Perfect, my friend. Helping the homeless is one of my campaign pledges. I’ll hold you up as an example.”

That comment was followed by Dottie’s tear-filled pledge. “How could I ever doubt your sincerity again, Nick? Jacob and I will be happy to serve on the board of Rudolph Oil, and I intend to call our broker first thing tomorrow and instruct her to buy a substantial amount of Rudolph Oil shares.” Then, glancing at Myla, she whispered, “And I’ll leave a check for your housekeeper, too. A little Christmas gift. Such a tragedy.”

“But…” Nick didn’t know what to say. Myla had single-handedly turned a disaster into a public relations dream. Now, after giving her eloquent speech, she went on to introduce herself to the group and assure them that they would have a decent meal, after all.

Sending Nick a daring look, she called, “Pizza, anyone?” Then, turning to him with a gracious smile, she whispered, “You can’t fire me now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered back, his eyes full of a grudging admiration, and his heart full of something warm and unfamiliar.

All the guests started talking and laughing, except Carolyn. Myla saw the blonde throw Nick a scrutinizing look.

Carolyn stood, then smiled sweetly at Nick. “Since when did you find religion, Nicky?”

Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Carolyn, why don’t you wait for me in the den?”

“I’ll order the pizza,” Lydia said, jumping over broken dishes to find the phone. “How about three vegetarians and three with pepperoni and sausage, all large with extra cheese?”

Everyone clapped their approval. Lydia herded the humans and Pooky toward the den. “Just make yourselves at home while I dial the emergency pizza number.”

Carolyn gave Myla a cold look, then pranced into the den with the rest of the crowd. As she walked past Nick, she said, “We really need to talk.”

Nick watched her go, then turned to stare at his wrecked kitchen, before settling his gaze on Myla and her daughter. Lifting Patrick down, he sent the little boy scooting toward his mother. A long sigh escaped from deep within Nick’s lungs as he watched Patrick hug Myla’s neck and smear her with shrimp dip. How could he be mad at them when they stood huddled together as if he were about to issue an order for their execution?

“I’ll clean it up immediately,” Myla said, her voice firm while her hands shook. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He held up a hand to ward off her apology. She’d put up a good front for his guests, but he could see she was visibly upset. She’d said she’d handled a few dinner parties, but never one such as this, he’d wager.

“It’s okay,” he said, pushing away his questions for now. Swallowing the lump of pride caught in his throat, he added, “Thanks. You sure handled that better than I did. You made me sound like a saint.”

“Saint Nick,” Patrick said, giggling as he wiped a glob of dip on his pajamas.

“Not a saint, Patrick,” his mother corrected, “just a very kind and understanding man.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Nick retorted, smiling in spite of himself. “You obviously have me confused with someone else.”

She wouldn’t let him get away so easily. “Oh, no. I know what I’m talking about. You’re uncomfortable in this role, being heroic, I mean. What happened to make you so afraid of reaching out to others, Nick?”

Lydia hung up the phone, interrupting before he could answer. “I can’t believe Carolyn. She knows that dog doesn’t belong at a dinner party. She should have left the big brute at home to run around on that two-acre lot she calls a backyard.”

“She brought him along for protection,” Nick said, glad to change the subject.

Lydia snorted. “I’ve never know Carolyn to need protection.”

“Careful, sis.”

Lydia turned to Myla and the children. “He’s right. I have to remember not to judge too harshly. It’s so nice to meet you. Nick’s told me all about you.”

Myla looked at Nick. Yes, she was sure he’d called Lydia first thing this morning, telling her how much he regretted being a Good Samaritan. “Well, he apparently didn’t tell Carolyn all about us.”

Getting back to the immediate problem, Nick said, “I’m not worried about Carolyn or her dog right now.” Motioning toward the fan, he said, “What about that?”

The cat still sat on guard, its bright yellow eyes narrowing suspiciously each time anyone made a move.

“We’ll get it down and clean it up, don’t worry,” Lydia said. “How about we call it Shredder, kids?”

“Yeah, Shredder,” Patrick agreed, clapping his sticky hands together.

“Who said we were going to keep it?” Nick asked, his hands on his hips.

“The worst is over.” Myla turned to Lydia. “Would you mind getting Shredder out of the way so I can clean this up?”

“Sure.” Lydia called softly to the frightened animal. “We’ll take him to Henny’s sitting room and teach him some manners while you two straighten things out.” The meaningful gaze she shot her brother told him she was referring to much more than the mess on the floor.

“Gee, thanks.” Nick pulled off his navy-and-burgundy patterned wool sweater, then rolled up his blue shirtsleeves so he could get down to work. “Lydia, you just want to see me get my hands dirty, right?”

Lydia bobbed her head and grinned.

Myla stepped forward as Lydia bribed the cat down with a piece of roast beef. “Nick, you don’t have to help.”

The animal refused to come into Lydia’s arms, but did jump down and run into the safety of Henny’s apartment. Lydia and the giggling children followed, discussing the now famous battle with animation.

Left alone, Nick and Myla could only stand and stare around them. Everything was ruined. Nick moaned softly when his eyes lit on the mashed remains of his prized coconut cake.

“You have guests,” Myla stated, picking up the cake plate to remove the source of Nick’s woes. “Go ahead. I’m sure Carolyn needs comforting after her horrid ordeal.”

Nick heard the sarcasm in her words and saw the twitch of a smile pulling at her lips. He relaxed and smiled back, his eyes meeting hers. “Carolyn Parker and I grew up together,” he explained. “She’s divorced and rich, and expects me to jump when she calls. We escort each other around town on various occasions. And about last night—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Myla sidestepped a pile of spinach salad. “Your social life is your business. But why didn’t you tell her everything…about me?”

“Because I didn’t think I owed her an explanation. I didn’t feel the need to go into detail about your situation.”

“That was considerate,” she said, thinking he was one of the most gentlemanly men she’d ever met. Then again, maybe he used his impeccable manners as a shield.

Nick tried to take the flattened cake from her. He wanted a little taste of that wonderful cake before she threw it out. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Oh, I understand.” She turned, looking for the trash can. “And I’m really sorry the children ruined your party.” He tried to pry the cake out of her hand, but she pulled it away. “Nick, I’ve got it. Why don’t you get a mop from the—”

Nick made one last-ditch effort to reach for the cake, leaning forward from the waist so he wouldn’t have to step in the pile of spinach salad. But just as he lunged forward, Myla turned to dump the cake in the trash.

Nick came crashing against her, knocking Myla completely off balance. The cake sailed up as she whirled around. He got a taste of his cake, all right, in the face, as he slipped in salad dressing, with cake and Myla sliding right into his arms. By the time the impact was complete, Myla had cake all over her face and shoulders, too. Unable to move or breath, she watched as Nick licked creamy almond-colored icing off his lips.

His arms holding her, and the remains of the mushed cake, against him, he asked, “Are you all right?” When she nodded, he licked his lips again, causing something like kindling wood to spark and curl in Myla’s jittery stomach. “Ah, that’s so good,” he said, lifting his hands to dump the ruined cake into the trash. “I could have handled anything but losing my coconut cake. I think I’m going to cry.”

Myla huffed a breath, then turned to find a towel. “Please, if you do, don’t mess up the floor.”

“Very funny.”

Nick raised a hand to take the towel from her, his fingers gripping her wrist. Lifting her head, she saw a set of bronze-colored eyes lazily assessing her. Gone was the cold indifference, the quiet reserve, and in its place, a heated brilliance that took her breath away.

“Let me go, Nick,” she said on a soft whisper.

“Wait, you have a big glob of cake on your right cheek.”

Reaching up, she touched her face. “I’ll get it off. Now, let me go so we can clean up this mess.”

“Let’s start right now.”

Before she could move or protest, he began wiping her face, his fingers gently lifting icing and cake filling off her cheek, his amused gaze causing sparks to ignite again in her stomach. She tried to pull away, but he held her steady.

“Right there.” He took the towel and wiped it across her jaw. “Yep, that’s it.” He held her away to inspect his handiwork. “All clean now.”

Myla could only stare at him. What on earth was the man trying to do to her? Here she was, covered with cake and shrimp dip, in the middle of his kitchen, with her children and his sister in one room and a pack of hungry guests as well as a jealous girlfriend in the other. Everything was ruined, and Nick should be angry with her. Instead, he was treating her with such intense concern that she thought she might cry from the sheer sweetness of his gesture. She could have handled his anger; his kindness was much harder to bear.

“Are you finished?” she managed to ask as she gritted her teeth to keep the lump in her throat from choking her.

Nick, seeing the torment in her eyes, stood back, then carefully wiped bacon-and-mustard salad dressing from his khaki trousers. Thinking he’d made her uncomfortable, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Myla.”

To calm her own wayward feelings, Myla turned to the sink. “It’s all right. I…I’m just surprised that you didn’t…that you aren’t—”

“What?” Confused, Nick tugged her around again.

Myla sighed, then took the towel from his hands. “You should be mad—I promised you everything would work out fine tonight, and now I’ve ruined your party. Why didn’t you just get mad at me?”

A bit amused, Nick lifted a brow. “So, you’re upset because I’m not upset?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes. No! I mean, I could have handled you shouting and ranting. Why did you have to be so nice to me?”

Nick watched as she frantically tried to wipe the counter, not knowing how to comfort her. “I am so sorry,” he repeated, a mock glare coloring his face. “What was I thinking?”

“Exactly,” Myla agreed, unaware that he was smiling behind her back. “You don’t have to be nice!”

Nick understood that she wasn’t used to any tenderness and that realization bothered him. What had she suffered, to make her so wary of a kind gesture? He wanted to ask her, but decided she’d just clam up if he tried. So instead, he teased her. “I promise, if this happens again, I’ll try to be justifiably angry.”

She whirled around just in time to see the sparkle in his eyes. Hiding a smile, Myla relaxed a little. “Guess you miss Henny, huh?”

He laughed. “Yeah, but her dinner parties were never this exciting, I have to admit.” Pivoting, he said, “I’ll go get the mop.”

Her hand shot out to stop him. “Wash your face first.”

Lydia stuck her head around the corner from Henny’s apartment. “By the way, Nick, I thought you both should know—I stopped by Magnolia House on my way over here. They’re full, probably will be until well after the first of the year. But Myla, I did put your name on the waiting list.”

Myla looked up at the man who’d saved her, praying he’d let her stay until she could find somewhere else to go.

Nick didn’t say anything, but she could tell by his blank expression that he wasn’t too pleased with the news. Together, they silently cleaned the kitchen while Lydia got the children and Shredder off to sleep.

Finally, when they’d finished and the whole room had been restored to order, Nick turned to Myla. “Well, at least you can stay here until the first of the year.”

“Yes, and I’m thankful that the good Lord led me to you.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then said, “Maybe it’s the other way around, Myla.”

Myla’s heart soared. Maybe he was beginning to feel differently about Christmas and helping others. She followed him into the den where Pooky lay fast asleep in front of the roaring fire. The guests were playing a game that involved telling the truth regarding scruples.

Carolyn turned to Nick. “Your turn, darling. Are you willing to test your scruples?”

“Scruples?” Nick laughed, his shrug indifferent. “Why, you all know I don’t have any. None at all.”

Myla sat watching him. He had deliberately downplayed his good side, the side she’d seen firsthand. You’re wrong, Mr. Rudolph. You have scruples—you just haven’t used them in a while.

Again, she had to wonder what had caused Nick to turn into himself. As she watched him, his eyes touched on her and she saw the warmth shining there. She said a silent prayer. Dear Father, help Nick to find his way back to you. And thank you for leading me to him.



The next night when Nick came home from work, he found a freshly baked pound cake sitting on the counter, its buttery aroma filling the house. The kitchen sparkled and gleamed. Holly branches from the garden decorated the counters, giving the room a homey effect.

The back door opened and Myla, Patrick and Jesse all rushed into the room, giggling and chattering. All three held arms full of firewood. Myla looked up, a hesitant smile cresting her lips.

Patrick said, “Hey, Mr. Nick. We’re gonna start a fire.”

“So I see.”

He nodded toward the boy’s mother, noticing the way the December wind had brightened her cheeks and pinkened her lips, giving her fair skin a perfect contrast to her fiery wind-tossed copper-colored hair. As was his nature, Nick watched and waited as she ordered the children to place the wood in the den.

“And don’t try to light a fire. I wouldn’t want you two to burn down the Christmas tree.” Turning back to Nick, she said, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“That’s fine.” He gazed at the fat cake sitting on the counter. “That smells wonderful.”

“Want a slice?” She headed toward the refrigerator to pull out the milk. “Milk or coffee?”

“Milk.” Nick slid out of his khaki trench coat. “This looks good.”

“Well, it’s not coconut cake, but I wanted to make up for last night. I hate seeing grown men cry.”

He chuckled, then took the glass of milk and a generous slice of the still-warm cake, his eyes following her as he bit into the flaky lemon-flavored mound. Myla waited as he chewed it with glee, a little moan of appreciation escaping as he swallowed.

“I think I’m in love,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. After another hefty bite, he said, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the phone calls I’ve been getting all day.”

Concerned, she asked, “About what?”

“About you. About the pizza party. We really impressed the stockholders. They’re throwing their support toward Rudolph Oil, and you.”

“Me?”

“They want to help you out.”

Myla had to turn away to keep him from seeing the tears welling in her eyes. Maybe there was hope, after all. Of course, these people didn’t know her background. She wondered how they’d feel about her if they knew the whole story. “I can’t take any charity, Nick,” she said to hide her fears.

“Of course you can,” he reasoned. “They admire your strength, Myla. Last night, you showed them something they’ve taken for granted.”

She shrugged, her back still turned away. “I only told the truth according to my beliefs. It’s what I live by.”

Thinking she was about to launch into another sermon, Nick cleared his throat. “I have some checks here. Will you take them? You can use the money after…after you leave here.”

“Charity,” she said, dreading the thought of not being self-reliant.

Nick came to stand beside her. “Yes, charity, but given with the best of intentions. And besides, they can write it off on their income tax, so take the money, Myla.”

She stopped stirring the steaming pot of vegetables. “The Lord loves a cheerful giver.”

“That’s the spirit. You can always pay them back.”

She smiled then. “Did they write checks?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’ll record their names and addresses and offer them my services. I want to start my own catering business.”

He stared over at her. “Catering…you’d be good at that.” Shaking his head, he added, “I admire your ingenuity. You’ll do just fine in life, Myla.” With that declaration, he finished the last bite of his cake.

Myla turned back to her cooking. She had to stop watching this man eat. She wanted to cook him hearty meals and take care of him. He needed more than a housekeeper; he needed a spiritual partner. And after ten years of marriage to Sonny Howell, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet.

Answering him finally, she said, “I have to do this, Nick. I have to provide for my children.”

Nick put his empty plate and glass in the sink. “I believe you will. Patrick was right. You are a good cook.”

“Thank you. Cooking’s about all I have to offer.” She faced him at last. “I need to tell you—the other job I came here to see about—it was a cook in a restaurant. I called today…and they’ve already hired someone.”

Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “You found this job, Myla. Maybe…maybe you’ll be better off here, for now.” Not sure how to comfort her, he added, “And hey, if you keep this up, I’ll be as fat as Santa by Christmas.”

She laughed then. “You can work it off by starting that fire Patrick and Jesse want.”

“Good idea. I rarely build a fire for just myself.” He headed toward the swinging doors, then whirled. “By the way, how’s Shredder doing?”

“He won’t come out of Henny’s apartment.”

She waited, but when he just stood staring over at her, she asked, “Is there anything else, Nick?”

“Yes,” he said, lowering his head a bit. “You’re wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“Cooking isn’t the only thing you have to offer, Myla.”

He turned to go, leaving her to wonder what he’d meant by that statement. Careful, Myla, an inner voice warned. Nick was just being polite, trying to boost her ego. He didn’t know anything about her, and right now, she didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth.



An hour later, Nick looked at the place set for one in the formal dining room. In spite of the Christmas centerpiece sitting in the middle of the long, shining Queen Anne table, the room still seemed empty and vast. In spite of the plate of steaming vegetables and hot-buttered noodles, the baked chicken and delicate dinner rolls, he couldn’t seem to get excited about eating.

Too much cake, he reasoned, plopping down on an antique chair to try to enjoy Myla’s marvelous efforts. “At last, peace and quiet.”

With his first bite, he heard Myla’s soft voice lifted in prayer. She was blessing their food in the other room. Sheepishly, Nick closed his eyes and listened. Glad when she’d finished, he whispered his own animated “Amen,” then straightened his linen dinner napkin to get on with his meal.

Before he got a bite of succulent chicken between his teeth, he heard giggles from the kitchen, followed by voices all talking at once. They were a close trio, his little pack of strays. Myla seemed very protective of her children. Nick had to wonder what kind of man would leave her and her two children with nothing.

It’s not your problem, Nick, he reminded himself. Sit up straight and eat your dinner.

With his first bite of the flaky roll, he remembered holding Myla the night before. Somehow, he’d managed to lose all decorum right there in his own kitchen. Carolyn would just love to have the details of that.

Of course, he didn’t owe Carolyn or anyone else any explanations. He liked having no strings attached, and no obligations to anyone. Memories of his loving parents moved through the room like ghosts, haunting Nick with a poignancy he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t deal with the responsibilities of that kind of devoted love. He had other obligations—to Lydia and Rudolph Oil. Wishing Lydia didn’t always work so late, he tried once again to eat his dinner.

By his third bite, Nick could stand it no longer. Used to his house being quiet, he hopped up on the pretense of telling them to keep it down so he could eat. Making a beeline for the swinging door, he opened it to find three sets of surprised eyes looking at him as if he were the abominable snowman.

“Are we bothering you?” Myla asked, jumping up to take the glass he had in his hand. “Can I get you anything?”

Nick threw up his hands. “Yeah, a chair. You all are having entirely too much fun in here. I decided I’d better eat in here with you, just so we could avoid anymore surprises like last night’s.”

“Sure!” Patrick patted the stool nearest him. “Come on in, Mr. Nick. We don’t mind him eating with us, do we, Mom?”

“Of course not,” Myla replied softly. “After all, this is his house. He can eat in any room he chooses.”

Nick’s smile spread across his face like cream over strawberries. “I’ll go get my food.”

In a few minutes, he was settled in, packing away Myla’s dinner like a man starved. Between bites, he regaled the children with tales of the adventures of Lydia and Nick as they were growing up.

“See this scar?” He showed Jesse a faint white dent right in the middle of his forehead. “Lydia gave me that with a roller skate. Had to have seven stitches. Mother made both of us go to bed early for a month.”

“Why’d she hit you with a roller skate?” Jesse asked, her hoarseness making her voice soft-pitched.

“I chased her with a granddaddy long-legs,” he explained, a grin encasing his face. “She hates spiders.”

“I’m not scared of bugs,” Jesse stated. “We lived in the country. I played with bugs all the time.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have that house no more, Jesse,” Patrick reminded his sister. “It was repo—repur—”

“Repossessed,” Myla finished, the flush on her cheeks indicating her discomfort. “Hush up now, and finish your dinner. We have to get up early tomorrow to get you both enrolled in school.”

Nick steered the conversation away from the house they’d lost. “School? You two are too smart for that, aren’t you?”

“Lydia’s helping me get them straightened out,” Myla said over the children’s giggles. “She’s been such a help—she’s even looking into low-cost housing in this district, in case I don’t get into Magnolia House.”

“Trust good ol’ Lydia,” Nick replied.

Wondering why he sounded so sarcastic, Myla said, “You don’t share the same strong faith as your sister, do you?”

Shocked by her directness, Nick became defensive. “I’ve learned to rely on myself. I don’t need to turn to a higher being to help me through life.”

Myla leaned forward on her stool, her voice quiet. “Being self-reliant is good. After all, the Lord gave us brains. But sometimes, Nick, we can’t do it all by ourselves. We need His help. And it’s all right to ask for it.”

She could see the anger sparking through his eyes.

“I don’t need His help.” Waving his arms, he spanned the room. “As you can see, I’m doing okay on my own.”

She nodded. “Oh, yes, you’re doing great material-wise. But what about spiritually? You don’t like Christmas. Why is that, Nick?”

“That’s none of your business,” he said, getting up to stomp to the sink. “Your job is to run this house efficiently, not delve into my personal life.”

She followed him. “Of course. You make perfect sense.” She started stacking the dishes he absently handed her. “But then, you’re in charge, right?”

“And what does that mean?” They stood shoulder to shoulder, heads up, eyes flashing.

“I know what’s expected of me here, Nick. I work for you and I intend to do a thorough job. But I can’t help but notice you don’t have a strong sense of faith. That bothers me.”

Wanting to turn the tables on her, he said, “Yeah, well, you need to be more concerned with your own problems. After all, you’re the one without a home!”

Hurt, she said, “I’ll find one. And I’ll find a good job, too.”

He groaned as she almost sliced his palm with a knife in her haste to load the dishwasher. “You’ll barely make ends meet, Myla. It’s going to be a struggle.”

“I’ll manage,” she retorted. “I have a higher help than you’ll ever know.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your faith. Well, faith won’t get you through a cold winter night, now will it?”

“It did,” she replied calmly. “I prayed for help and the Lord sent it.” She gave him a meaningful look.

“Fine,” he said, sighing in defeat. “So, why can’t you just do the job you were hired to do, instead of wasting your time trying to save me?”

“I just thought you could use a friend.”

“I don’t need a friend, and you need to concentrate on getting your own life back in order.”

“I will, but in the meantime, if you need to talk…”

“I don’t need anything, Myla.” Trying to change the focus back to her, he added, “I’m willing to help you in any way I can, though. And I’m worried about you moving into that homeless shelter too soon. Having faith is one thing, but surviving is quite another.”

“I would think you’d want me to move out,” she replied. “You spout all this encouragement, then hand me a few checks to cover your own embarrassment. I’m trying to start over—on my own, and while I appreciate everything you and Lydia and your friends are doing, I have to do this for myself. If that means giving myself over to blind faith, if that means putting my trust in the Lord, then I can do it. I won’t let anyone ever make me question my faith again.” She stopped loading dishes to stare across the room at her two suddenly quiet children.

“What do you mean?” Nick asked, his hand on her arm. “What happened between you and your husband, Myla?”

“I…we’ll talk later, maybe.” Pulling away, she called to the children. “Jesse, Patrick, time for bed.”

Patrick immediately followed Myla to Henny’s room, but Jesse held back. Running up to Nick, she tugged on his jeans. “Daddy wasn’t a bad man, Mr. Nick. Momma told us to always remember that. My Daddy wasn’t a bad man. He just had some problems, is all.”

“Jesse!” Myla’s voice echoed through the house.

The little girl ran away before Nick could question her further. What did all this mean? Up until now, he’d believed Myla to be a grieving widow, but there was obviously more to this.

“Who are you really protecting, Myla?” he whispered. “Yourself and your children? Or your dead husband?”




Chapter Four


The next week passed in a busy rush for Myla. After getting the children back in school, and finding a church nearby to attend while she was working for Nick, she fell into the daily routine of cleaning and cooking, and learning more about Nick’s life. Each detail drew her closer to the man who’d reluctantly saved her from the streets, and each detail showed her that Nick needed to find his own faith again. He’d refused her invitation to attend church.

“I send them a hefty check each month,” he informed her. “I catch up on paperwork on Sundays.”

“You should rest, and spend the day in worship,” she replied. And have some fun, she wanted to add.

He’d shot her one of his famous scowls, but his words hadn’t been as harsh as he’d have her believe. “You should mind your own business.”

“Yes, sir.” She certainly knew her place, and she needed the money. She’d have to be more cautious in her resolve to help him spiritually. And more cautious about her growing feelings for her employer.

But how could she resist being drawn to this intriguing man? She watched him leaving the house in a hurry each morning at the crack of dawn. He hardly bothered to stop and sip the coffee and orange juice she had waiting. She watched him come dragging in at night to wolf down the dinners she prepared before he went straight into his spacious office and clicked on the computer. Nick often worked long into the night. She knew, because she couldn’t sleep very well in her new surroundings and she’d seen the light on in his office many times.

Myla had had an instinctive urge to go and check on Nick in the middle of the night, the way she used to do with her late husband. But that wasn’t part of her official duties. And neither was being so attracted to him.

Her duties this morning involved cleaning the master bedroom. As she stood in the wide upper hallway, she prayed for guidance.

Dear Lord, give me the strength to get my work done, and not think about the man who’s helped me so much.

But the minute she entered the big masculine room decorated with tasteful plaids and subtle stripes, Nick’s presence shouted out at her. His suit from yesterday was draped across the standing valet. Out of habit, she brushed it out and hung it up, so he could wear it once more before she took it to the cleaners.

His shoes were shelved in the long, well-lit closet off the dressing room. He had several pairs, some black and brown leather, some gleaming white athletics, all expensive and classic in design, just like their owner. His shirt, impeccably white, was tossed on a chair, waiting to be laundered and pressed at the cleaners, along with all his other tailored shirts.

So much about Nick’s habits reminded her of Sonny. Sonny had been a perfectionist, almost fanatical in his demands. Nick wasn’t quite that bad, as far as she could tell. He demanded loyalty, hard work, and the best in everything—but he demanded those things in himself first and foremost.

Myla picked up the shirt, catching the scent of his spicy, crisp aftershave. The shirt spoke of the man. Solid, honest, clean. And lost. He was a good man, but he was a lonely, sad man. His quiet, aloof nature drew her to him, then his rare burst through smiles and dry humor held her.

She couldn’t fight her feelings, but she reminded herself she’d been on the bottom for so long, coming up for air was scary. She couldn’t read anything into Nick’s smiles and concerned gestures. He was just being kind. And he was used to having someone wait on him hand and foot. He was selfish and stubborn at times, and other times, he was caring and compassionate. Just his nature. She didn’t think she was ready to deal with another domineering male just yet, though.

“Come on, Myla,” she told herself as she hastily cleaned the large, elegant room. “You work for him. He gave you a job and a place to stay and food for your children. Nothing more. He owes you nothing.”

Since she was alone in a twenty-room mansion, she could talk out loud. “And I owe him everything.”

Silently, she thanked the Lord for giving her this reprieve and remembered that she’d promised to do things differently this time.

Moving into the bathroom, she cleaned the large garden tub with a new vigor, putting images of Nick Rudolph’s handsome face out of her mind. Then she hurried out of the room, determined to stick to business.

And ran right smack into the arms of the very man she was trying to escape.

Myla’s dust rag and cleaning supplies went in one direction and her armful of laundry went in the other as she plowed into Nick, sending him back against the sturdy oak railing on the second floor landing.

Catching her just as his back hit the banister, Nick gripped her shoulders to keep both of them from toppling down the stairs. “Goodness, is there a fire in there?”

She leaned against him in relief. “Nick, you scared me!”

“I’ll say. Are you all right?”

Myla glanced up at him, embarrassed and acutely aware of his arms holding her. She had to learn not to be so clumsy! “I’m fine. What are you doing home so early?”

Nick hesitated, his smile as wry as ever. Then she noticed with a mother’s keen eye, he looked flushed and his dark eyes were glazed over with a red-rimmed heat.

Concerned, she automatically put a palm to his forehead. “Why, you’re burning up with fever!”

He pushed her away with a gentle shove. “Tell me something I don’t know. Don’t get too close. According to my friend and racquetball partner, Dr. Loeffler, I’ve got the flu. That’s the only way he’d ever beat me and he knows it.”

Myla kicked her scattered cleaning supplies out of the way and steered him toward his room. “You went to work like this, and played racquetball! Honestly, don’t you ever know when to quit?”

He drew his brows together, amused at her righteous indignation and her bossy nature. “I felt kind of tired this morning, but things got progressively worse as the day wore on. Dr. Loeffler checked me over after our game and told me to get home. Guess he couldn’t believe he’d actually beaten me.”

Myla clucked over him with all the vigor of a mother hen. “Will you stop making jokes and get into bed? I’ll make you some chicken soup and get you some medicine for that fever. What did the doctor tell you to do?”

Nick gave her a lopsided grin. “He told me to let a beautiful woman serve me chicken soup and give me something for my fever.”

Laughter bubbled in her throat, but she managed to keep her tone stern. “You’re impossible. You’d better be all tucked in when I come back.”

“Yes, ma’am, Nurse Myla.”

She put both hands on her hips. “And don’t expect me to baby you. I’m busy and you need to rest. I know you must really feel horrible. You never come home early.”

He sent her a mock scowl. “No, I don’t, but I still intend to get some work done. So, hand me my briefcase before you head down to concoct your flu survival kit.”

Hissing her disapproval, she picked up the heavy leather satchel he’d left on a chair. Shoving it at his midsection, she said, “You do love your work, that’s for sure.”

Nick watched as she pranced out of the room, then he dropped like a lead weight onto the big bed. Holding his hands around the stuffed briefcase, he nodded to himself. He did love his work, but right now it was the last thing on his mind.

He fell back in a heap against the fluffy plaid pillows. Well, if a man’s gotta be sick, he reflected with a grin, at least it helps to have a spunky redheaded nurse waiting on him hand and foot. This might turn out to be a good thing. He could actually enjoy being here, that is, if his body would just stop hurting all over.



A few minutes later, Myla was back with the promised soup and medicine, glad to see he was dressed in a blue sweat suit. He sat propped against pillows with paperwork scattered all around him, and a laptop computer centered in front of him on the bed.

“Are you going to eat and then rest?” she questioned as she set the bed tray down in front of him, then pulled the laptop away.

Giving her a mock angry glare, he brought the laptop back beside him. “Can you spoon-feed me?” he teased, enjoying the way her denim skirt whirled around her boots as she fussed with his discarded clothes.

“I don’t think so,” she retorted, a smile creasing her lips in spite of her reprimanding look. “You don’t seem that weak to me.”

“Gee, such a caring nurse.”

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, taking his droll humor seriously. “I’m just not used to you being home during the day. You’ve thrown me completely off schedule.”

Nick knew his smile was awfully smug. He’d also brought a becoming blush to her apple cheeks. He liked knowing that his presence distracted her. That meant she was interested. Although, he reassured himself as he watched the winter sun dancing off her radiant auburn hair, he really didn’t have time to indulge in a relationship. And he had no earthly idea where this one was going.

He put the laptop aside, then sampled the soup before sitting back to stare up at her. “I think you’re just not used to me, period. But I’d say, all in all, this arrangement is working out okay. Other than that one unfortunate incident with Shredder and that overgrown puppy of Carolyn’s, you and the children haven’t been any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” she said, backing away, memories of being in his arms in the middle of the kitchen floor reminding her that she needed to concentrate on her job. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Myla, wait.” He gave her a questioning look. “Tell me how you do it?”

A look of confusion colored her green eyes. “Do what?”

“Keep that serene expression on your face. After everything you’ve been through, including putting up with my demands, you seem so at peace.”

She looked up then, her not-so-serene gaze meeting his. “I found my strength again,” she said simply. “I found my faith again, after I thought I’d lost it forever.”

Uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation, he said, “How’d you manage a thing like that?”

She lifted her chin. “Prayer. You know, Nick, when you have nothing left, you always have prayer.”

No, he didn’t know that. It had been a very long time since he’d relied on prayer. “Why…how did you lose your strength?”

She backed farther away, like a frightened bird about to take flight. “I don’t want to discuss that.”

“I’d really like to know…and to understand.”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Look, I’ll take my medicine, and I promise I’ll eat my soup. Sit down in that chair over there and talk to me.”

Myla hesitated only a minute. Wanting him to see that he, too, could find his strength in faith, she sat down and watched as he diligently took two pills with a glass of juice; then, his eyes on her, he dutifully ate his soup.

Satisfied that he’d finish the soup, she leaned back for a minute. “You see, at one time, I thought God had abandoned me.”

Surprised, he stopped eating. Funny, he’d thought that very thing himself, right after burying his father. “Why would you think that? You seem so sure about all this religious stuff.”

She lowered her head, her hands wringing together, her eyes misty with memories. “I wasn’t so sure for a while. Because of something I did, or rather, something I didn’t do—and I’d rather not talk about it. It took me a long time to see that God hadn’t abandoned me. It was the other way around.”

“You mean, you abandoned Him?”

She nodded. “I gave up on Him. I didn’t think I was worthy of His love.”

“Why would you think a thing like that?”

“I had it drummed into me enough,” she said, then gasped. “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did. What do you mean?”

When she didn’t speak, Nick sat up to stare across at her. “Does this have something to do with your husband?”

Her silence told him everything he needed to know. And brought out all the protective instincts he’d tried so hard to ignore. “Myla, did your husband do something to hurt you?”

Myla didn’t want to cry. She’d learned not to cry. But now, after she’d heard Nick voice the truth, her worst secrets floated up to the surface of her consciousness, causing the tears to roll down her cheeks like a torrent of rain coming from a black cloud. Holding her eyes tightly shut, she tried to block out the painful memories. She couldn’t let him see her like this. Lifting out of the chair, she said, “I need to get back to work.”

Nick moved his tray away with a clatter and stood up. “Myla, did you and he…was it a good marriage?”

She bit her bottom lip, then gave him a soul-weary look. “In the beginning, yes. But, it turned ugly after a few years.”

Nick closed his eyes, then opened them to look at her with dread. “Did he…did he abuse you?”

She brought her hands up to her face and cried softly.

Nick pulled her hands away, his eyes searching her face. “Did he?”

“No, not physically,” she said, her hands automatically gripping his. “Nick, please don’t make me talk about this now.” She didn’t want the bond they had developed to be destroyed, not yet.

“I want…I need to know,” he said, his voice husky, his words gentle. “I won’t judge you, Myla.”

But she was afraid he would, just as so many others had. “I’m…not ready to tell you everything.”

The pain in her green eyes stopped Nick from pushing her any further. Instead, he said, “What can I do, to help you?”

She looked up at him, unable to ask for his help, unable to ask for his understanding.

But Nick knew instinctively that she needed both. So before she could bolt, he tugged her into his arms and rocked her gently, as if she were a child who needed reassuring. “No more questions,” he promised. “But if you want to cry, you go right ahead.”

Myla did cry. Shutting her eyes tightly closed, she let him hold her for a while, thankful that he didn’t press her any further about her marriage. Just to be held, unconditionally, that was comfort enough for now.

“All right,” he said after a while, letting go to pat her shoulder. “Feel better now?” At her silent nod, he added, “You can’t keep this inside. Lydia knows people, therapists and counselors, who can help you. And…I want to help, too.”

She lifted her head, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, resolve settling back over her like a protective winter cloak. With a shaky smile, she said, “You’re a fine one to be giving me advice. I am a lot better now, though, really.”

He looked doubtful. “How can you say that?”

“I told you, I found my faith again—alone, on a dark cold night. I was huddled in the car with the children, with nothing left…nothing. In the moonlight, I saw my worn Bible lying on the dashboard. I hadn’t read it in months. I did that night, though, with a flashlight. While my children slept in the cold, I found my faith again in that single beam of light, and I cried long and hard, and I prayed, really prayed, for the first time in a very long time.”

Nick swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. “What did you find there in that light, that helped you?”

She sniffed, then lifted her head. “He said He would not leave me comfortless, but I had forgotten that promise. In First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse thirteen, the Bible says, ‘And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three: but the greatest of these is love’.”

Nick stood there, his heart trembling. Love. The one thing he’d been so afraid of since his father’s breakdown and death. “How did that verse sustain you?”

She smiled then. “I knew that no matter what, I had my children with me and I loved them above all else, except the Lord. They were my gift, and no matter what kind of life I’d had with their father, they were my responsibility. Love, Nick. Love is the greatest gift of all. It gives us our strength. It gives us a reason to go on living, even when we’d rather curl up and sleep. I realized that God gave us unconditional love when He sent His son to save us from our sins. I realized that God hadn’t abandoned me. He was reaching out to me on that dark night.”

Nick sighed, his own fears cresting in the midst of her eloquent story. “But…unconditional love is so hard to give and so very hard to expect. To love so completely, you have to give up so much control. How can you trust something that abstract, something that can make you seem so weak?”

“That’s the whole point,” she said, her expression changing from sorrowful to hopeful. “Love doesn’t make us weak, Nick. Love gives us the strength to go on. That night, alone and afraid, I remembered God’s unconditional love for me. I’d lost that, as well as my trust. I’d been emotionally stripped of that love and that trust, by a man who didn’t know how to give either.”

“Your husband.”

She nodded, then stepped back. “I’m all right now. I won’t be afraid of the dark, ever again. I made a promise to take care of my children. They don’t deserve to have to live like this—they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. You seem so brave. Is that for your children’s sake?”

“I have to be strong, for them.”

Nick felt his heart melting in half. He’d never seen such a fierce defense of love, or heard such a strong testimony. She had come to him with nothing, yet she had more to give than any woman he’d ever known. “Is there anything I can do?”

Unable to look at him, Myla couldn’t speak about her pain. Leaning close, she whispered, “Just hold me again.”

He did, for a long while, his arms wrapping her in what little protection he could offer. Finally, he brought a hand up to her chin so he could wipe her tears away. Gazing down at her, Nick wanted badly to kiss her.

But Myla stood back, her voice clear once again. “You’d better rest. And I’d better get away from you. I don’t have time to get the flu.”

He laughed at that. “Always the practical one.” Leaning back down on the bed, he added, “I am feeling a little wobbly. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine now,” she said as she lifted his tray away, her eyes downcast. “Do you need anything else?”

He looked up at her, thinking how right it seemed to have her here with him, thinking he needed her strength. “No, thanks. You’ve spoiled me quite enough, I believe.”

His words soothed Myla like a balm. “Nick?” she called from the door.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you, for understanding.”

He wanted to tell her he didn’t understand, really. But the weight of sleep blocked out his reply. He didn’t understand how one minute he could be so sure, so secure in his firm, smug convictions, then the next, begin to doubt everything he stood for.

He wasn’t as fearful as he should be. He wasn’t so much afraid of reaching out for love now. Myla had done that for him. She’d opened up her heart and told him a story of faith that left him humbled and ashamed. For so long now, he’d been afraid of the power of love. He’d believed loving someone could make a person weak, just as his grieving, dying father had become. But he’d been so very wrong. Nick needed to hold Myla again, just to be held himself.

Instead, he reached for his pillow and buried his dreams and his doubts in a deep, troubled sleep.



Nick woke hours later to find his room dark, except for the flickering light from the fire someone had lit in the sitting area fireplace. The room was cozy, but a flash of thunder and lightning told of the wintry chill settling over the city. He shuddered to think Myla and her children could have been out there, alone, in that cold night. And he wondered how many people were cold and shivering and afraid this night.

Groaning, Nick rolled over, acutely aware of his own discomfort. This was a mean flu bug, that was for sure.

His throat felt like he’d swallowed a jalapeño pepper and his head throbbed with each beat of his pulse. Craving a long, hot shower, he rose to calculate the distance to the bathroom. A bold knock hit the bedroom door before he could attempt the trip, causing a ricocheting rumble in his head.

“Come in,” he called in a raspy voice.

Lydia popped her head in the door. “Well, big brother, sleeping the day away won’t get your Christmas shopping done.”

He moaned, rolling over to face the fire. “Go away.”

“Glad you’re feeling better,” she replied as she tossed him a bag of prescription medicines. “Dr. Loeffler sent you these—antibiotics and a decongestant. He said to take all of it.”

“He’s just trying to poison me so I won’t beat him at racquetball again.” Giving her a false smile, he added, “I don’t like being sick.”

Lydia handed him two drawings. “Maybe these will cheer you up.”

Nick grinned. Jesse had reproduced the kitchen disaster, complete with Shredder sitting on the ceiling fan and Pooky lapping away amidst a pile of food. Patrick had drawn a Christmas tree loaded with colorful gifts.

“Your two biggest fans send their regards. Aren’t those two adorable?”

Nick laid the pictures on the nightstand. “Yeah, and very well-behaved, as far as children go. Lydia, has Myla told you anything about their past?”

“A little. Why?”

“We had a long talk today. She’s had a rough time, but she won’t tell me exactly what happened in her marriage.”

Lydia sat down to stare at her brother. “Well, don’t press her. I introduced her to Reverend Hillard. I’m sure he can give her some spiritual guidance.”

“Maybe,” Nick said, remembering the story Myla had told him. “But I think her faith’s intact. It’s her self-esteem I’m worried about.”

Lydia sat up, her eyes squinting toward him. “You’re worse off than I thought. Did I hear you say something good about someone’s faith? And that you’re actually aware of another person’s mental stability?”

He nodded, then shot her a wry smile. “Yes, you did. I want to help her, Lydia. She’s a good woman.”

“Well, praise the Lord.” Lydia hopped up to give her brother a breath-stopping hug. “Oh, Nicky, I knew you’d come around. You really want to help, really, really?”

“Yes, really, really,” he said, laughing. “I’d be a real Scrooge if I didn’t see how much Myla and her children have been through. But don’t make more out of this than it is. I think this flu’s gone to my head.”

“Or maybe Myla’s gone to your heart,” Lydia said softly. “After all, it is Christmas. A time for miracles.”

He patted her on the back. “I’d forgotten what a joyous time it can be. And I’m sorry, really sorry, for being so hard to live with since Father’s death.”

She kissed him on the temple. “No need to apologize. Welcome back, Nick.”



When Nick came out of the bathroom, his food was sitting on a tray in front of the leather armchair by the fireplace. Glancing around, he was disappointed that Myla wasn’t there to make sure he ate everything on his plate. He still had a lot of questions to ask her.

Lydia was right. He did have a soft spot in his heart for Myla and her two children. And the spot was opening to include other possibilities such as attending church and opening the Bible he’d tossed aside years ago.

He should be scared, yet when he searched for the old fear, he only found a new, growing strength. Now, he was beginning to dread the time when Myla would have to leave.

Two weeks until Christmas. Usually, this old house was hushed and quiet around this time of year, haunted by the memory of his parents. Not this year. This year, things were going to be different.

A soft knock at the door caused him to put down the spoonful of beef stew he’d been about to eat. Two reddish blond heads bobbed just above the ornate door handle. Patrick and Jesse eyed him curiously.

“You two going to stand out in the hall all night, or are you going to get in here before your mother catches you?”

“We ain’t supposed to be here,” Patrick said in a small whisper. “But we wanted to say hi.”

“It’s aren’t—we aren’t supposed to be here,” Jesse corrected as she pushed Patrick into the room.

Patrick made a face at his sister’s redundancy. “I know that. That’s what I just said.”

“Where’s your mother?” Nick asked, smiling at them.

Jesse tossed her ponytail. “Talking to Miss Lydia. Mama’s gonna go to school at night and she’s looking for another job, for when Miss Henny comes home. We’ll just have to live in the shelter for a while, that’s all.”

Nick didn’t want to think about that, so he changed the subject to more pleasant things. “Well, Santa’ll be coming soon,” he said, hoping to find two worthy allies in the children. “What do you want him to bring you?”

Both children rushed to his side, talking at once. Nick heard it all, registered each request and vowed to travel to the North Pole if he had to, just to get them all the loot they wanted.

“And what about your mom?”

“Oh, that’s kinda hard,” Jesse said, giggling. “Mama wants stuff you can’t find in the mall.”

“Yeah, like what?”

Jesse settled down on the floor, wiping her nose with her hand. “She wants a house, of course. She talks about having a home of her own again. And she wants a job. She doesn’t like not having any money. Oh, and once, she told us she’d like a long soak in a tub of hot water, then get dressed up in a pretty green dress for a special Christmas dinner. She loves to cook, you know.”

Nick once again marveled at the simple things he’d taken for granted. Clearing his suddenly clogged throat, he said, “Are you sure that’s all she wants?”

Thinking for a minute, her nose scrunched, Jesse held her hands wide. “Oh, and roses. She loves yellow roses.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, and one day, Daddy got real mad and mowed all of hers down.”

Nick went still inside. Trying to keep his tone light and casual, he asked, “Why would he do a thing like that?”

“’Cause she didn’t have dinner ready on time,” Jesse said in a matter-of-fact voice. “She cried when he wasn’t looking.”

Dinner. No wonder she’d tried so hard to make his dinner party a success. No wonder she’d been so shaken when it had gone bad. She was used to fixing things up, hiding her fear behind a false bravado.

Patrick pulled on Nick’s sleeve, bringing him out of his numbed state. “I don’t want much, Mr. Nick. I just wish we didn’t have to leave here, ever.”

Nick was beginning to wish that very same thing.

Before Nick could reply, however, the door swung open and Myla stomped into the room, a mother’s wrath apparent in her expression. “What in the world! You two are supposed to be in bed! How’d you get up here?”

“We snuck by you,” Patrick blurted out in spite of his sister’s glaring look.

“That’s obvious enough.” Myla pointed a finger toward the door. “Get back downstairs with Miss Lydia. Do you both want to catch the flu?”

“I didn’t breathe on them,” Nick said, glad to find a light moment in the children’s misdeeds. “And I’m glad they came by for a visit. I was getting downright lonely.”

“Want us to stay awhile?” Patrick offered hopefully.

“No, he doesn’t,” his mother interjected. “Go on down. I’ll come and read to you and help you with your prayers in a little while.”

Nick managed a chuckle as he watched the children scoot out of the room. “Well, you certainly got rid of those two varmints.”

She looked at his half-eaten food. “Why didn’t you eat your supper?”

“I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“A little. I heard you and Lydia were plotting down there.”

“Planning,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.”

She started to take the tray, but his hand shot out to stop her. “Myla, could we talk some more?”

“No,” she said, not daring to look at him. “I’d rather not.”

“I won’t press you about your life before,” he said. “I just have some questions, about…this unconditional love about which you speak so highly.”

She glanced up then, her eyes wide. “You want to discuss…religion?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

And so they talked. She told him the stories of the Bible that he’d forgotten. As she talked, memories washed over him; memories of his mother, telling him these very same stories, her faith as strong and as shining as Myla’s. How could he have forgotten the beauty in that? How could he have let it slip so far away?

After Myla said a gentle prayer for him to feel better, both physically and spiritually, he sat in the darkness alone, watching the fire. And realized he was tired of being alone in the dark.

Then it hit him—Myla had said something earlier about being afraid of the darkness. They were so alike, he and his Myla. They’d both been out in the cold for too long. Together, maybe they could find the warmth of that unconditional love she’d told him about. Together, with the help of a higher being watching over them.

Outside, the rain fell in cold, indiscriminate sheets and Nick shuddered, thinking again that she might have been out there tonight, all alone and frightened.

But she wasn’t out there. For some strange reason, God had sent her to him instead. He wouldn’t take that obligation lightly.

“Not again, Myla,” he whispered to the fire. “Not ever again, if I can help it.”

Then he did something he hadn’t done in a very long time. He folded his hands and he prayed.




Chapter Five


It was well past midnight. Myla tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to wake the children sleeping in the bedroom just down the narrow back hallway. With Nick being home sick the last couple of days, her mind was in turmoil. Sleep was impossible.

She didn’t want to admit that she’d enjoyed playing nurse to him. The first morning, they’d talked and laughed together, sitting on the sunporch off the second-story hallway. Nick had insisted she sit with him while he had breakfast. It had been a comfortable, cozy distraction, complete with frolicking squirrels putting on a show in the great oaks lining the sloping backyard. Then, later in the day when he’d woken up feeling better, he’d come downstairs to eat a sandwich in the kitchen, reading the paper in silence while she went about her work. So domestic, so homey. So wrong, Myla reminded herself.

Setting the bags she carried on the counter, she pulled out the small treasures her first paycheck from Nick had allowed her to buy for her children. This would take her mind off of dreaming about a man she shouldn’t be thinking about.

A sweater set for Jesse—pink-and-blue striped with little white bows on the Peter Pan collar. An inexpensive fashion doll with two sets of clothes. Some new jeans and an action toy for Patrick, along with a set of army men with tanks and jeeps. It wasn’t much, but they’d have something under the tree. This year especially, it was important to her that her children understand the real Christmas celebration, so she didn’t want to make a big deal out of gift giving. Yet she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief tonight.

She’d had horrible visions of them spending Christmas out in the cold, or in a shelter. Now, thanks to Nick’s kindness, they were going to be celebrating Christmas in this beautiful, rambling house. Thinking of how lucky they were to be safe and warm, she stood there letting the tears fall freely.

And that’s how Nick found her.

Her back was turned toward him and she was wearing a worn, thick flannel robe, pink with blue faded flowers and small red heart-shaped designs which, in the moon’s soft spotlight, reminded him of aged paper valentines. He felt as if he could watch her forever, but when he heard her soft intake of breath and saw her wipe at a tear, he went to her, touching her lightly on the arm.

“Are you all right?”

Myla jumped at his touch, surprise widening her eyes. “Nick! What are you doing up?”

“Shredder woke me. That sneaky cat’s taken a liking to me, I believe. He’s also taken a liking to the foot of my bed, where I left him fast asleep.”

She laughed then, but the laughter turned back to tears. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so emotional lately. Christmas always does that to me, but this year…well, I have a lot to be thankful for.”

Nick once again felt the sharp contrast in her world and his own. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, out there. You’re very courageous.”

She sniffed back her tears. “Hardly. When it comes to survival, you just do what you’ve got to do.”

“You’re starting over,” he said, careful of how he worded his next request. “Don’t you think it’s time you really left the past behind? Tell me everything about your marriage, Myla.”

She looked up, deciding there in the darkness she could trust him with the truth. “Yes, I think it’s time to move on, and I guess talking about it would help.” Then she gave him one last chance. “Are you sure you want me to burden you with the sordid details, though?”

“Burden away,” he replied, his voice quiet and encouraging. “I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me what’s made you so sad.”

She took a deep breath, then brought a hand up to play with one of the buttons on the front of her robe. “My husband deceived all of us. Sonny was a big fake, in complete control. And he had me trained as his robot. He even had the children trained, too. Only I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“Tell me why.”

She leaned back against the counter, her eyes shining. “I wish I knew why. Why I let him do the things he did, why I let him make me feel so small and helpless. Looking back, I think it was my need to please—my family, his family, our friends, him. I wanted to be a good wife, a good mother. That was my only ambition in life, because that’s all Sonny wanted me to be. He’d convinced me that I wasn’t very good at anything, but I thought at least I could be good at that. As it turned out, I didn’t do such a hot job.”

Nick took one of her hands. “Hey, who’s doubting now? I can’t believe you’d let anyone make you doubt yourself like that. You seem so capable, so strong.”

“I wasn’t always so surefooted,” she said in a whisper. “I did have doubts, and I’m so ashamed of what I let happen.”

He shook his head. “It can’t be that bad.”

Pulling away, she headed to the refrigerator to pour two glasses of juice. Then she found the cookie jar and placed two fresh oatmeal cookies on a napkin for Nick. “It’s so bad, I’m still ashamed to talk about it. Nick, Sonny embezzled funds from the bank he managed, and when the authorities found out…he committed suicide in his fancy car.”

Nick could only stand there staring at her. The background check had only listed her as a bankrupt widow, just as she’d told him. “Myla, I had no idea.”

“No, how could you? No one did. We went to church every Sunday, we had a nice ranch house in the country. We had everything. But it was all a sham. Sonny only played at being a Christian. He used church for networking and finding new clients. And when that didn’t bring in enough money, he turned to crime.

“He had this obsessive need to always have more. More money, more power, all of the latest things—cellular phones, computers, any kind of gadget that would make him look successful. He never spent much time with the children—he had very little patience with them—but then he’d buy them all sorts of expensive toys to win their affection after he’d treated them badly. And I…I was so blind, so convinced that I had to work harder, try harder to be the perfect little wife, I didn’t see that he was suffering, until it was too late. I never wanted more money or things. I wanted more of him, emotionally. But he couldn’t give me that. And I didn’t do anything to save him.”

“But it’s not your fault—”

“Yes,” she said, bobbing her head. “Yes, it is. And I’ve been running ever since. From my family, because they blame me. From my so-called friends, because they can’t be seen with me anymore. From myself, because I can’t stand to look in the mirror each day. I had to protect my children, and that’s the only thing that kept me going, until that night when I realized I wasn’t alone.” Looking up at him, she said, “Then, not too long after that night, I found you.”

He turned to stand beside her as they both stared out into the bleak winter night. “So you’ve been struggling with this, all this time?”

She took a sip of juice, then set the glass down. “I kept thinking I should have done something to help Sonny.”

“Help him? What could you have done?”

She turned, both hands braced on the counter. “I should have followed my instincts when I suspected something was wrong. But Sonny was hard to deal with even on a good day. He’d threaten me by telling me that I wasn’t a good wife, and that it was my fault he felt so much pressure. Then he’d tell me he’d leave and take the children. I…I began to doubt my own Christianity. I mean, here I’d lived with this man for years and I’d believed he truly felt the same way I did, but he didn’t. He put up this big front, but it was all an act. And I was too afraid to do anything about it, so I did what I had to, to protect my children.”

“Why did you marry him?”

“I loved him, and I wanted a family. Sonny promised me we’d have a good life. He came from a wealthy family—his parents always overindulged him—and I’d never had very much. It seemed like a dream. And turned into a nightmare. After he…after he died, I found out there was no money, no insurance, and most of the expensive things he’d bought got repossessed, right along with my house.”

She faced him squarely now, her pride gone right along with all the fancy possessions and high hopes she’d once had. “I will always remember the day they came and locked up my house. The bank officer had been a friend of ours. He kept telling me how sorry he was, but he didn’t really offer to make things any better. He was just doing his job.”

“You don’t forget that feeling, you don’t forget the scorn and pity you see on people’s faces. Ever. That’s why, this time I intend to do things my way, with the help of the Lord. I won’t ever let anyone make me doubt myself or my faith again.”

Nick leaned close, his gaze sweeping her face. Unable to see his expression completely in the muted light, Myla waited, wondering if he, too, would turn away in disgust. But he didn’t. Instead, he placed his hands on her face, his touch as soft as the moonlight, and then he kissed her.

The touch of his lips on hers was gentle, yet powerful. No one had reached out to her like this in a very long time. A soft, secure warmth spread through her, blocking out the cold night and the bad memories. As much as she needed this, Myla was still afraid to give in to the myriad feelings coursing through her system. She couldn’t let herself become too dependent on this man’s kindness.

Nick felt her tense up, heard the defeat in her soft sigh. Cupping his hands on her shoulders, he stared down at her. “You don’t have to doubt me, Myla. I know I was completely indifferent when we met, but I’ve changed a lot since then. I want to help you through this.”

She touched his face with her hand, hope warring with despair in her mind. “I know you do. And you can, with your money, with your connections, but don’t you see—that’s the kind of help Sonny provided. He took care of me materially, but he was never there with me spiritually. I won’t be a burden to anyone again. And I won’t commit to anyone who can’t go the distance with me. Right now, I’m still too battered to take things any further, Nick.”




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