He doubted the old man would accept Christmas as a valid reason to postpone his plans, but Rayne trudged up the steps to the general store to give it a try.
“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Daniel Bolt was saying to a little girl standing beside her mother...Mrs. Hollister and Mary, he recalled. “Santa’s probably loading his sled as we speak.”
“I’ve been especially good this year,” Mary declared, hopping up and down beside her mother, clearly unable to contain her excitement.
In truth, he hoped that his grandfather would hold off a day. Children should not have their dreams dashed just to pad the old man’s already-comfortable pockets.
After Mrs. Hollister and her sparkling-eyed daughter went out of the store, Daniel Bolt turned a frown on him.
Rayne asked to send the wire. He made Mr. Bolt copy the exact words that might make the old man relent a day.
The storekeeper’s glare softened; his brows arched in question.
“Those little girls must be getting to you,” he said.
Indeed they were, but it was their auntie who had led the way.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Mr. Bolt. I’m asking for time, but I don’t reckon my grandfather will give it.”
“Christmas miracles do happen. In fact, I feel the beginnings of one as we speak.” He patted his heart and nodded his head.
It would take one to make Grandfather choose this small town over what the railroad was offering.
While Mr. Bolt sent the wire, Rayne glanced about the store. By damn, the girls would have more than hats and ribbons under the tree.
Something in the back of the store glimmered in the light given off by the stove’s open door. He walked past and felt the warmth coming off in waves.
“Your stove door is broken, Mr. Bolt.” It didn’t look safe, hanging askew on it’s broken hinge.
“No point in repairing it now.” Mr. Bolt shook his head. “Your wire’s on its way.”
“Appreciate it.”
Rayne approached the silver music box that had caught his attention. He opened the lid. A tune tinkled from the delicately etched box. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” the carol they had sung together in the woods.
Laira Lynne would appreciate this bit of Christmas in a box.
Still, giving a Christmas gift was as foreign to him as singing in Chinese. His hand was unsteady, picking up the delicate piece.
Why was that? Christmas was just another day. He’d been raised on that belief.
Christmas was not just another day to five little orphan girls, though...certainly not to their beautiful auntie.
Rayne carefully lifted the ornament by its gold ribbon and carried it to the counter.
“Looks like a gift,” Mr. Bolt observed. “I can wrap it up in pretty fabric for you, if that’s for Miss Laira Lynne.”
“I’d be obliged, and I’ll purchase five of those little dolls, too.” He pointed to the curly-haired toys dressed in lacy garments of blue and yellow that were on display in a glass cabinet.
“It will be just a moment. I’ll wrap them up, too.”
Rayne waited, warming his backside by the stove. He swatted away a spark when it caught in his pants. The stove might be a danger, but it was true that it didn’t make sense to fix it now.
The bell over the front door jingled and little Belle, her hands white with baking flour, shot across the room to disappear behind the display of gowns.
“Poor little mite.” Mr. Bolt shook his head. “Maybe the dolly will brighten the holiday for her.”
A home to live in would be better, came a nagging voice in his mind as he took the gifts and left the store.
Chapter Seven
Laira Lynne sat with a twin on each knee, her arms about them, hugging them tight.
“Bellie runned off again,” Jane sniffed.
“She going to miss Santa?” Abby clutched a lock of Laira Lynne’s hair that had come undone from its bun. She stroked it with her small thumb.
“No, sweetheart, Santa comes tomorrow night.” And thanks to Rayne, apparently staying up until the wee hours knitting, the girls would all have caps beneath the tree on Christmas morning.
“Bellie shouldn’t be so sad.” Ruthie wrung her hands. “Mama and Papa will be here, we just won’t see them with our eyes. They’ll be here along with the snow.”
Laira Lynne sent up a quick prayer for snow. There were clouds, but they were far off and standing still on the horizon.
The front door opened. Rayne, along with a big gust of cold air, blew inside. He carried a sack that he tried to hide behind his back.
“Smells mighty good in here.” He stopped to sniff then hurried down the hall toward his room.
He came back a moment later without the bag but with a smile.
Her houseguest might not recognize it, but the Spirit of Christmas twinkled in his eye. Unless she missed her guess, that bag contained Christmas gifts for the girls.
“What’s this, little ladies?” He must have noticed the sad faces. “I’ve heard that Santa’s loading his sled right this very minute.”
Jane wriggled out of Laira Lynne’s lap and dashed toward Rayne. He scooped her up and she hugged his neck.
Poor sweet baby. She missed her daddy very much.
“Bellie runned—”
“Off!” Abby tugged on Rayne’s pant leg. “Pick me, too, Satan’s Spoon.”
“Bellie is at the general store,” he told them while he lifted Abby. “She’ll be along shortly.”
He swayed, rocking the girls. In spite of his reason for being in Snow Apple Woods, Rayne was not a coldhearted man, of that she was certain.
“Bellie cries a lot,” Ruthie said, standing by the window and gazing toward town.
“I did, too, when my mama and papa went to heaven. Belle needs to cry sometimes. It helps her.”
“Baking Mama’s cookies, like we always do, helps me,” Lynne said.
“And the Christmas tree,” added Ruthie.
“What about mistletoe kisses?” Rayne asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.
All of a sudden, sorrow vanished into giggles.
Rayne set the twins down. The four girls dashed across the room and spoke quietly, heads bent together.
Christmas secrets, no doubt, and Laira Lynne thought she knew which one.
While the girls shuffled toward the fireplace mantel, as discreetly as they knew how, Rayne stood on a chair and tacked his sprig of mistletoe to a rafter in the ceiling.
Stepping down, he shot her a smile...an invitation, rather.
What a gift that would be.
One that she didn’t dare accept. The consequences would be life changing. There were casual kisses that could be given and forgotten, but there were others that would live in a woman’s heart forever.
The last thing she needed was an itch in her soul for a man who would be out of her life in the blink of an eye.
The only way her lips were going to melt onto his was if it meant something permanent.
“Mr. Lantree,” Lynne said, cradling the old locomotive in her arms. “We have a gift for you.”
Rayne’s smile vanished. He wasn’t frowning, but he did appear completely surprised.
“I don’t know what to say.... Thank you, ladies.”
His smile flashed again when Lynne handed him the worn-out piece of wood.
“This is only the second Christmas gift I’ve ever received.”
“Santa never brought you anything?” Ruthie asked, clearly stricken.
“Poor Satan’s Spoon,” Jane crooned.
Rayne’s ears turned red, having apparently just discovered his mistake about a stingy Santa.
“I’m sure he did, but my grandfather... Well, he t
hought...”
Clearly flummoxed, Rayne gazed down at the train in his arms.
His face flushed, then blanched. He turned the locomotive engine over in his hands, tracing the initials engraved on the bottom with his thumb.
Laira Lynne looked hard, just to be sure, but certainly there was a sheen of moisture dampening his eyes.
“Do you like it?” Ruthie asked.
He nodded, apparently too overcome by emotion to use his voice. He swallowed hard.
“This is wonderful,” he finally croaked out. “Where did it come from?”
“The attic,” Laira Lynne explained. “It came with the house.”
“Mama and Papa set it out every year and decorated it.” Lynne said. “They would want you to have it.”
Rayne clutched the old toy to his heart, silent again.
“Rayne, is something wrong? Did something happen?” Laira Lynn asked.
He tucked the train under his arm, hugging it close to his side. With his free hand he touched her cheek, stroked it, really.
“You happened, Laira Lynne. You and the girls.”
All of a sudden the church bell rang.
One...two...three...four clangs.
“Fire!” Laira Lynne exclaimed.
Rayne ran for the front door, setting the train on a table on the way out.
“You girls wait here.” Laira Lynne dashed out after Rayne. His long legs carried him out of sight before she was beyond the yard’s gate.
Without her coat, icy air bit through her dress. She barely noticed, though, watching flames snapping at the sky. Surely they were not coming from the general store.
Smoke whirled up and away. She heard women screaming.
She couldn’t see anything yet except the smoke blowing sideways in the wind.
Her stomach squeezed; her heart tripped, then froze. The smoke came from dead center in the town, the east side of the street. It could only be the general store.
“Belle!” she cried.
She ran so hard and fast that her heart and her lungs felt as if they, too, were on fire.
Rounding the corner to Main Street, she spotted the bucket brigade and ran to help pass water along the line.
Where was Rayne?
“Have you seen Belle?” she begged of Mrs. Blue, who hurried to the pump with an empty bucket.
“Mr. Lantree went into that blaze to get her,” the old woman gasped, then scurried back to the front of the line to fetch another empty bucket.
Ash filtered down like dirty snow. Laira Lynne locked her knees so that they would not buckle. Belle and Rayne could not be inside that inferno.
It appeared that the whole building was engulfed. Who could survive it?
She glanced frantically about. Where was Daniel?
“Please, oh, please,” she murmured over and over as she handed along sloshing buckets. “Please let them survive.”
After a few moments, it was clear that the buckets were useless against such hellfire. Hisses of steam spit and sputtered when the water landed, but the flames only grew.
All of a sudden a figure appeared in the doorway, his silhouette blurry with heat. Praise God, it was Rayne, dragging Daniel under one arm and cradling Belle in the other.
Everyone dropped their buckets and rushed forward to assist Rayne. Someone, she was too frantic to even know who, took Daniel from Rayne.
When it came to handing over Belle to anyone, he would not. He hugged her close while she clasped tight to his neck.
Only when he reached Laira Lynne did he relinquish her.
Belle lunged and she caught her small niece. She did her best to soothe away her fear with coos and gentle caresses.
She glanced at Rayne in his singed coat, covered in ash, his smoke-suffused hair falling over his forehead...and fell madly, completely in love.
While everyone rushed to him, checking for burns, asking questions and giving hugs and pats on the back, Laira Lynne tried to understand what had just happened.
It hadn’t even been a week. How could she be this certain of her feelings in such a short time?
At any rate, there it was. She would deal with the consequences of it later. Right now all she could do was rejoice.
Other than the three of them coughing, their hair and clothing reeking of smoke, they were unharmed.
As far as she was concerned, this was an in-the-flesh Christmas miracle delivered by the hands of the town villain.
Chapter Eight
“I told young Lantree that I felt a Christmas miracle coming on,” Daniel Bolt declared, sitting at the dining table and munching on a gingerbread man.
Across from him, Rayne, looking fresh and soot cleansed after a good soak in the tub in her bedroom, sipped a cup of hot cocoa spiced with a dash of rum.
She tried not to imagine what he had looked like, bare and sudsy, only a few feet from her bed, but it was no use. Now that she was in love, what was under Rayne Lantree’s clothes preoccupied her.
Scrub those pictures from your mind, she admonished herself. A naked, soapy Rayne was a sight she would never behold. Time to put the image away for good.
“Odd miracle when your store burns down,” Rayne observed.
“What does it matter? Burned by a spark or torn down by the railroad, it’s all the same in the end. Here’s the miracle, boy. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. The three of us are alive and I’ll be spending the holiday with you all instead of alone. Santa Claus hasn’t visited my house in too many years.”
Laira Lynne watched the men from the kitchen where she arranged cookies and baked treats on a platter for tomorrow night’s pageant.
Rayne remained quiet for a long time, staring into his drink.
“Daniel.” Rayne called him by his first name now because, having saved his life, Daniel thought it was fitting. “I’d like you to accept my grandfather’s offer. You’ll need the money to begin again.”
“That’s kind of you, Rayne, seeing that I’m out of my place for good already.” Daniel scratched his head. “But you know I can’t accept. We all have to stand together...sink or swim.”
“I don’t want to see you sink. The offer stands if you change your mind.”
Daniel stood up. “It’s been some day. I’m for bed,” he said to Rayne. “If you don’t snore...I’ll try not to take all the covers.”
“You don’t talk in your sleep, do you?” Rayne teased.
“Not unless I’ve got something interesting to say.”
With that, Daniel crossed the room to where the girls huddled together, reading a Christmas story. He hugged them good-night one by one, then went down the hall to where he would share the guest room with Rayne.
To Laira Lynne, it was a comfort knowing that Daniel would spend the holiday with them and not by himself in his quarters over the store. Sharing time and joy with others was the very best part of Christmas.
“It’s time for bed, girls,” she said. “Take the book with you if you like.”
The girls, even Belle, smiled great big grins. This was their tradition, to read in bed as late as they could, then wake to greet Christmas Eve.
Lynne skipped across the room to stand before Rayne. She folded her hands in front of her, looking shy.
“Thank you for saving Bellie. It’s the best gift we ever got.” All of a sudden she threw herself at him in a great hug. Rayne patted her back. “I wish you didn’t have to go away.”
Lynne ran up the stairs clasping the book to her chest. One by one each of the girls hugged Rayne and said the same thing.
She watched Rayne’s face, wondering what he felt, having finally gained the girls’ acceptance.
“We thinks you’s not Satan’s Spoon anymore,” Abby said, twirling her way up the steps.
> “You’s Santa’s Spoon!” Jane finished. Giggles, along with running feet, echoed in the hallway. The bedroom door clicked closed.
Laira Lynne was uncomfortable all of a sudden. She and Rayne were alone. It would be harder now to keep her thoughts on a respectable track.
She folded a ribbon, transforming it into a satin bow to put on the tree tomorrow.
She made two more. Unfortunately, keeping busy didn’t keep her mind from straying to the forbidden.
What, she wondered, had Rayne meant when he told her that she and the girls had happened to him?
Did they happen good...or bad? Whatever the case, he had seemed emotional about it.
“Show me how to tie up those things, I’ll help.” He got up from the table and joined her at the kitchen counter.
He stood beside her, so close that she smelled his freshly bathed skin, felt the warmth of his big, manly body. She blinked, trying, all over again, to forget that he had been naked in her bedroom.
“It’s like this.” She turned the ribbon this way and that until a bow appeared.
Rayne picked up a ribbon but only managed to tangle it in his fingers.
“You’ll have to illustrate how, in the flesh.” He held the dangling ribbon in his hand. His fingers waggled and his smile was, no doubt about it, flirtatious.
“Do it this way.” She lifted the ribbon from his palm and his fingers closed about her hand. They felt strong and warm. She wanted to wriggle free...she wanted to keep her hand in his forever.
“Why did you say I happened to you?” She had to know. If she didn’t ask she would spend the rest of her life wondering. “Did it have something to do with the train?”
“That toy belonged to me, for a few minutes one Christmas morning, until my grandfather took it away. Those initials carved in the bottom are mine. How on earth did you come by it?”
“It was in the house when my cousin moved in. Her husband was fond of it so they set it on the mantel every year.” He hadn’t let go of her hand yet. She couldn’t help it, she squeezed his fingers. “I’m glad it found its way back to you, especially since there won’t be a mantel to set it on next year.”
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