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For Bryanna, who hears from the depths of her heart.
Chapter 1
Wednesday, December 7
Sally Cartwright gripped the steering wheel so hard her hands ached. It had snowed off and on for the last hundred miles, ever since she’d stopped for gas and a bite to eat.
Now suddenly the weather had turned worse, much worse. The moment she turned off the highway, visibility was so poor she could hardly see the road. It was snowing steadily now, the flakes hitting the windshield like paper bullets.
Slowing to a crawl, she adjusted her high beams and turned the wipers on high. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d driven in such weather. Certainly not since moving to Los Angeles ten years ago.
Yawning, she turned down the heat. Every bone in her body protested the long stretch behind the wheel. The trip to Oregon had taken two full days, each mile marked with worried thoughts about her ailing grandmother and painful memories of the past. Most involved her unhappy childhood, but not all. Invariably, a trip back home brought back thoughts of her old flame, Rick Talbot, and this time was no different.
What would he think if he saw her now? Would he even recognize her? She wore her blond hair shorter and even dressed differently. Gone were the jeans and ponytails of her teen years. She now preferred a more artsy look, as she liked to call it. Broomstick skirts with layered tank tops, crocheted scarves, and floppy hats were more her style, along with lots of bangles.
Rick used to call her a free spirit, so maybe her new look wouldn’t surprise him.
She blew out her breath. Rick again. “Okay, no more thinking of the one who got away. The only thing that matters is Nana.” She had never been close to her grandmother, but a broken hip was no time to dwell on past hurts. As for Rick, the last she’d heard he was working for some tech company in Denver. He was probably married by now, with a slew of kids. End of story.
A sharp curve ahead commanded her full attention. Blinking tired eyes, she straightened the wheel and tried not to think about her aching muscles. What she wouldn’t give for a warm bath and nice soft bed. Even the rock-hard surface that passed as a mattress at Nana’s house would be welcomed at this point.
She glanced at the GPS screen. The words NO SIGNAL glared back. Great!
The turnoff. Where was it? The hidden cutoff was hard to find even on a clear day. Now it seemed impossible. Just as she took a curve, her high beams picked out the glowing eyes of a deer in the middle of the road.
She jammed on the brake. Her red Honda coupe spun around before sliding across the icy road and plowing into a snowbank. Fortunately, she was going slow enough that the impact didn’t even trigger the air bags.
Shaken and gasping for air, she forced herself to calm down. She was fine; nothing awful had happened. Not this time at least. Except the engine had stalled. Turning the key with shaking hands, she pumped the gas pedal. The car briefly chortled then died.
“Don’t you dare not start,” she muttered.
She turned the ignition again and again but each time the engine sputtered and stopped. On the seventh or eighth try a clicking sound and strong whiff of gasoline told her what she didn’t want to know. The engine was officially flooded.
Slapping a hand against the steering wheel, Sally turned off the ignition and reached for the cell phone in her purse. The little screen on the phone lit up with the words NO SIGNAL. Tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, she leaned her head against the headrest. Half a dozen movie scenes came to mind. All involved a car breaking down on a dark deserted road. Not one of them had a happy ending. Welcome home, indeed.
Chapter 2
Rick Talbot lowered his newspaper to find the only other inn guest staring at him. His name was Toby and he was eight years old.
“I memorized my part,” Toby said, his young face aglow with pride. “I don’t need to look at the crypt.”
Rick tried to look interested. “That’s good.” The truth was that everyone within earshot probably had Toby’s script for the pageant memorized. The boy had been practicing for the school play nonstop ever since Rick arrived at the inn that afternoon.
“Do you want to hear me say my part?”
The boy’s voice was loud as a rock band. So, no, Rick did not want to hear it again. But Toby looked so earnest, Rick didn’t have the heart to turn him down. Slightly on the pudgy side, the boy had a round face and big blue eyes. Sandy hair fell across his forehead. The kid had been given the part of narrator but with that cherub face he could just as easily have played an angel. Preferably one without a speaking part.
“All right. Just don’t shout.”
“Mrs. Greenwell said I have to eject.”
Since eject was more accurate than the correct word project, Rick let it slide. Each word erupted from the boy’s mouth like a volcano. There was no other way to describe it.
When Rick remained silent, Toby added, “I have to eject so my dad can hear me.”
The words stirred a memory from the past. If you have something important to say, you must speak up, Ricky. Those words had been spoken by Mrs. Greenwell years ago when she was his third-grade teacher. It was good advice, which unfortunately he hadn’t always followed.
Resigning himself to another ear blast, Rick folded his paper. Earlier, Angel told him that Toby’s father had worked for Rick’s family mill until he was laid off in January. Rick had never met the man, but he remembered his father speaking highly of him. Maybe the man was hard of hearing. That would explain Toby’s concern. Unfortunately, hearing loss was an occupational hazard for lumberjacks. If that was indeed the case, the least Rick could do was lend the boy his ear.
“Okay, shoot.”
Positioning himself with an air of importance next to the floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree, Toby lifted his head orator-style. “TODAY IN THE TOWN OF DAVID . . .”
Apparently ejecting wasn’t the only lesson Toby had remembered from practice; he’d also picked up his teacher’s counsel to speak slowly. Painfully slow. His high, thin voice bounced off the papered walls of the Star Inn’s Victorian parlor, startling Dipstick the cat curled in a ball by the fire. The white tom jumped up with a flip of his black-tipped tail and streaked from the room.
Forcing himself to act like an attentive audience, Rick resisted the temptation to cover his ears. With a little luck the road leading out of town would be open by morning and he wouldn’t have to spend another day at the inn surrounded by Christmas decorations and the well wishes of others. Was it too much to ask to be miserable in peace? Had he known the much-needed loan would be turned down at the bank, he wouldn’t have bothered driving into town in the first place.
Having only recently buried his father, Rick had spent the last three months trying to straighten out the financial mess left behind. The lumber mill that had been in the family for generations was now in his hands, and he didn’t have a clue as to how to save it. If only so many families didn’t depend on it for a living. Losing th
e Talbot Lumber Mill would be yet another blow to a town that had been hit hard in recent years by the recession.
With so much weight on his shoulders, making merry was the last thing on Rick’s mind. So, no, he didn’t want to hear about peace on earth and goodwill to men. Bah, humbug. All he wanted was to go home to his little cabin and forget about Christmas and what looked like a bad year ahead.
He only hoped he could leave before losing his hearing.
The boy stopped reciting to inquire if Rick could hear him.
“You’d have to be deaf . . .” He cleared his voice. “Even the Martians can hear you.”
The answer seemed to satisfy the boy as he started up again. “SUDDENLY A GREAT COMPANY OF THE HEAVENLY HOST . . .”
Rick’s gaze drifted toward the archway where Angel, the inn’s flamboyant housekeeper, stood with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies. Right now he hoped she lived up to her name and saved him from this torture.
She didn’t. Instead she stood transfixed, as if she’d never heard the oft-repeated words before. Pointed strands of blond hair framed her round face like a picket fence. Her long red skirt, shiny green blouse, and candy-cane-striped apron would do Mrs. Claus proud.
“Bravo,” she exclaimed when at last Toby took a bow. Dangling bracelets and earrings jingled with her every move. “I do believe that was your best performance ever.” She set the tray down on a low table in front of the sofa. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Talbot?”
“Absolutely,” Rick said. For the boy’s sake he tried to sound like he meant it.
Toby’s grin practically reached his ears. Had Angel stopped while she was ahead, she would have saved them both trouble—or at least their ears. Instead she carried on like a Hollywood agent trying to feed her client’s ego.
Rick tried to discourage her with a shake of his head, but she blithely continued bestowing praise on the young thespian.
“Do you want to hear me say my part again?” Toby asked.
“I would love to,” Rick said, rising, “but it’s late.”
Angel smoothed her apron. “It’s only a little after seven,” she said with a beseeching look. “And my grandson needs the practice.”
“Toby’s your grandson?” He groaned inwardly. Arguing with a woman was always a bad idea, but taking issue with a grandmother even more so.
“Yes. He’s staying with me this week so his mother doesn’t have to drive him back and forth for rehearsals.” Her gaze sharpened. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you need to hear about the miracle of Christmas.”
Rick grimaced. “I’ve heard it.” More times than he cared to admit, as it turned out.
“Have you now?” she said, doubt written in the lines of her face.
For crying out loud. He’d have to be stone-deaf not to have heard it.
She lifted a cup off the tray. “Why don’t you just sit back and relax, Mr. Talbot, and have some hot chocolate?”
Rick was about to decline when he made the mistake of glancing at Toby. Round puppy-dog eyes met his, and Rick knew he was a goner.
“All right, all right. One more time.” For Pete’s sake, why wasn’t there a law against kids with big blue peepers?
No sooner did he take the offered cup and a star-shaped cookie and sit than Toby opened his mouth and bellowed, “DO NOT BE AFRAID. I BRING YOU GOOD NEWS . . .”
Chapter 3
Even after forty minutes the car still wouldn’t start and Sally was numb with cold. Her heavy knit sweater was no longer adequate; nothing short of the fur-lined jacket in the trunk would do. She reached into the glove compartment for her flashlight.
A click of the switch rewarded her with a yellow stream of light. Finally, something that worked.
After releasing the lever under the dashboard and popping open the trunk, she stepped out of the car, her fur-lined boots sinking into the cold white powder. It wasn’t snowing that hard now but the wind was like a knife cutting through her long skirt. Flashing her light onto the tall trees hugging the road on either side, she made sure no wolves or bears lurked nearby before picking her way to the back of the car.
Just as she lifted her jacket out of the trunk something caught her eye. A bright light. No, a star. A perfect five-pointed star shining in the dark.
Her spirits lifted. She must be closer to town than she’d thought. Unless she was mistaken, that star belonged to the old Star Inn. Surely, the inn would have a working phone. She shivered. Maybe even a hot beverage.
She slammed the trunk shut. She wasn’t good at estimating distances, but the star couldn’t be farther than a quarter of a mile away. If only the wooded area didn’t stand between her and civilization. If only she hadn’t let her friend Deborah talk her into seeing the movie with that scary bear . . .
Shuddering at the memory, she donned her jacket, grabbed her purse and cell phone, and locked the car. She plunged forward, white plumes of air heralding each breath. With a little luck the flashlight batteries would hold out till she reached the inn.
The cold nipped her cheeks, but for now it had stopped snowing. The woods were thicker and deeper than she’d estimated. All the hours spent at the gym left her ill prepared for traipsing through knee-high snow. Just when she was convinced she was lost, the trees parted, revealing a clear view of the Victorian mansion. The brightly lit star shone from the uppermost turret like a beacon guiding a ship at sea.
Picking up her pace, she reached the front of the stately inn out of breath. The white manor faced the deserted town square with its gleaming white gazebo. The square’s bare trees were ablaze with twinkling lights that looked like little fireflies. She tried imagining the scene on the cover of a magazine, but it needed something. A couple dancing in the gazebo like in the movie Twilight, perhaps. Or . . .
She clamped down on her thoughts. Stomping the snow off her boots, she walked up the wooden steps to the wraparound porch, careful not to slip, and rapped the star-shaped doorknocker.
Candles flickered from the inn’s wavy-glass windows. The rich smell of pine floated up from the evergreen boughs decorating the porch railing. A moment later one of the ornate double doors swung open.
A cheery voice greeted her, along with a blast of welcome warm air. “Well, who do we have here?”
A full-figured blond woman beamed at her, her spiky hair resembling Miss Liberty’s crown. Sally had expected a Victorian-dressed innkeeper to greet her. Instead the woman in her shiny red-and-green attire looked like she had stepped out of the movie Elf.
Sally quickly introduced herself. “My car broke down . . .” Before she could explain the chain of events that had landed her on the doorstep, the woman motioned her inside with a wave of a ring-laden hand.
“Why, you poor thing. You look frozen. Come in, come in.”
“Thank you.” Just as Sally stepped inside, a white cat raced past, startling her.
“Oh . . .” She turned, but already the cat had cleared the porch and vanished into the frigid night.
The woman threw up her hands. Her stacked bracelets shifted, and her large red-and-green earrings twirled like spinning tops. “That darn cat. He’ll be the death of me yet.” She poked her head outside, calling, “Here, kitty, kitty . . .”
While the innkeeper was occupied, Sally swung her gaze around the large entry hall.
A tall fir tree adorned with old-fashioned ornaments and tiny white lights stretched all the way to the second-story balcony. She drew in her breath, memories assaulting her of Christmases past. The little girl who’d once stood in front of the family Christmas tree crying her little heart out was never far away.
Pushing the thought away, she lifted her hands in front of her until the tree was framed between her fingers. Even when she wasn’t working, she was always the art director in search of the perfect magazine cover. The perfect picture . . . the perfect life.
She toyed with the idea of a small boy peering over the balcony at the star on top of the tree. Or maybe a family below . . .
Not wanting to dwell on the last thought, she drew her gaze away from the tree and gave the rest of the room a visual sweep. Garlands of fresh greenery decorated with red ribbons and shiny balls decked the polished-oak railing of the winding staircase. She envisioned a bride coming down the stairs and . . .
The innkeeper said something as she reentered the house, her arms empty.
Sally felt terrible for letting the cat escape. “I’m so sorry—”
The woman discounted Sally’s apology with a wave of her hand. “It’s not your fault,” she said, kindly. Talking all the while, she led Sally to the parlor where a roaring fire blazed from a marble fireplace.
“The cat’s name is Dipstick. That’s on account of the black on the end of his tail. Here you go. Take your coat off and warm yourself by the fire while I fix you some hot chocolate.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, Mrs. . . .”
“Angel. Everyone calls me Angel.”
“I can see why,” Sally said, and the woman’s face melted into a buttery smile.
Sally pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She now had a signal. “I’ll call the auto club.”
“I don’t think you’ll have much luck getting anyone out here tonight. Most of the main roads are closed. Why not wait till morning?”
“Well, I—”
“We only have one guest so there’s lots of room. It’s the lull before the storm. Next week we’re booked solid for Christmas. The one guest won’t bother you, but . . . I hope you like children.”
It seemed like an odd question. “I like children just fine.”
“Well, then? What do you say?”
Sally was tired and the thought of sinking into a nice warm bed was too good to pass up. It was also too late to visit her grandmother at the care center. “I’ll stay the night. Thank you.”
The woman left the room with a satisfied smile.
Sally took in her surroundings with a practiced eye. A tall decorated fir tree topped with a bright glittering star commanded one corner of the parlor. Stockings hung from a mantel covered with holly and candles. A manger scene complete with angels and shepherds was arranged on a nearby table. The one jarring note was the superhero figure watching over the babe.
Do You Hear What I Hear? Page 1