Santa's on His Way

by Lisa Jackson

  “I’ll check.”

  “There’s something else,” Liam admitted, though he hated to bring up the subject. “I heard Nola was pregnant.”

  Jake’s lips curled in upon themselves, the way they always did when he was weighing whether or not he should level with Liam. “So the rumor goes, but who knows? A woman like that—”

  “Is it mine?”

  The question hung in the smoky interior.

  “How would I know?”

  Liam squinted hard as the Taurus accelerated through the hills surrounding Bellevue. “Just tell me if the kid was born late in November or early December.”

  “Look, O’Shaughnessy, I wouldn’t open that can of worms if I were—”

  “Is it mine?” he repeated.

  “For Chrissakes, Liam, who cares?” Jake growled.

  “I do.”

  “Don’t do this.” He cracked his window and flicked his cigarette outside onto the pavement where the burning ember died a quick death in the gathering puddles.

  “Do what?”

  “Develop some latent sense of nobility. You had a fling with the woman. A short fling. Later she testified against you, tried to get you locked up for something you didn’t do. She’s no good. Leave her alone.”

  Liam’s neck muscles tightened in frustration. “I just want to know if the kid’s got O’Shaughnessy blood running through its veins.”

  “Right now, you should concentrate on getting a job. Just because you’re exonerated doesn’t mean that Zeke Belfry’s gonna welcome you back with open arms.”

  That much was true. Ever since the old man had retired and his son Zeke had become president of the company, things had changed at Belfry Construction. Liam and Zeke had clashed on several occasions before all hell had broken loose. He’d already planned to sell his house, cash in his company stock, and start his own consulting firm. He didn’t need Zeke Belfry—or anyone else, for that matter.

  Jake nosed the Taurus into a winding street of upscale homes built on junior acres. Liam’s house, an English Tudor, sat dark and foreboding, the lawn overgrown, moss collecting on the split shake roof, the windows black. The other houses in the neighborhood were aglow with strings of winking lights, nativity scenes tucked in well-groomed shrubbery, and illuminated Santas and snowmen poised on rooftops. The lawns were mowed and edged, the bushes neatly trimmed, the driveways blown free of leaves and fir needles.

  Welcome to suburbia.

  He fingered his keys.

  “Your Jeep’s in the garage. Mail on the table.”

  “Where’s Nola?” Liam wasn’t giving up.

  Jake pulled into the driveway and let the car idle in the rain, the beams of his headlights splashing against Liam’s garage. “Don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “No one does.”

  “Now, wait a minute—”

  “Let it go, Liam.” Suddenly Jake’s hand was on his arm, his firm fingers restraining his friend through the thick rawhide of his jacket.

  “Can’t do it. Where is she?”

  “Really. No one knows. Not even the D.A. She recanted her testimony and disappeared. A week ago. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “She’s got family,” Liam said, remembering. “A brother in the south somewhere, folks who follow the sun, and a sister in Boston . . . no, she moved. To Oregon.” Liam snapped his fingers.

  “No reason to drag her into this.”

  “Unless she knows where Nola is and if the kid is mine.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” Jake slapped the heel of his hand to his forehead.

  “You had to,” Liam said, opening the car door as a blast of December wind rushed into the warm, smoky interior. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Liam slammed the door shut and saw his friend flick on the radio before ramming the car into reverse. Jake rolled down the window at the end of the drive and laughed without a trace of mirth. “Oh, by the way, O’Shaughnessy. Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad . . .

  Annie hummed along with José Feliciano as she sat at her kitchen table and licked stamps to attach to her Christmas card envelopes. Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, and James Dean smiled up at her along with the more traditional wreaths, Christmas trees, or flags that decorated her rather eclectic smattering of stamps. Her home, a small cottage tucked into the low hills of western Oregon, was decorated with lights, fir garlands, pine cones, and a tree that nearly filled the living room. The cabin was warm and earthy from years of settling here in this forest. The pipes creaked, the doors stuck, and sometimes the electricity was temperamental, but the house was quaint and cozy with a view of a small lake where herons and ducks made their home.

  Riley lay beneath the table, his eyes at half-mast, his back leg absently scratching at his belly.

  Annie had been lucky to find this place, which had once been the home of the foreman of a large ranch. The main house still stood on thirty forested acres while the rest of the old homestead, the fields of a once-working farm, had been sliced away and sold into subdivisions that crawled up the lower slopes. The larger farmhouse, quaintly elegant with its Victorian charm, was empty now as the elderly couple who owned it had moved to a retirement center. It was Annie’s job to see that the grounds were maintained, the house kept in decent repair, the remaining livestock—three aging horses—were fed and exercised and, in general, look after the place. For free rent, she was able to live in the cottage and run a small secretarial service from her home.

  “I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas, I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas . . .” She sang softly to herself as the timer on the ancient oven dinged and she scooted back her chair to check the batch of Christmas cookies.

  Outside, snow had begun to fall in thick flakes that were quickly covering the ground. Supposedly, according to the local news-people, a storm was going to drop several inches of snow over the Willamette Valley before moving east. But there was no cause for concern—maybe a slick road or two, but for the most part the broadcasters were downplaying the hazards of the storm and seemed happy to predict the first white Christmas to visit western Oregon in years.

  Annie planned to fly to Atlanta to spend the holidays with Joel, Polly, and her nephews. She’d come a long way from her dark memories of the past year, managing to shove most of her pain aside and start a new life for herself. Even the news of David’s marriage and the birth of his son hadn’t affected her as adversely as she’d thought it would, though her own situation sometimes seemed bleak. She wondered if she’d ever become a mother when she couldn’t begin to imagine becoming some man’s wife.

  Well, as Dr. James had told her after the last miscarriage, “There’s always adoption.”

  Could she, as a single woman?

  The scents of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the kitchen as she slipped her fingers through a hot mitt and pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. She glanced out the window and saw snow drifting in the corners of the glass. Ice crystals stung the panes and a chill seeped through the old windows. A gust of wind whipped the snow-laden boughs of the trees and rattled the panes. The newspeople were certainly right about the storm, Annie thought, feeling the first hint of worry. She turned on an exterior light and mentally calculated that there were two inches of white powder on the deck rail.

  If this kept up, she’d have a devil of a time getting to the airport tomorrow. “It’ll be all right,” she told herself as she snapped off the oven.

  Bam!

  A noise like the backfiring of a car or the sharp report of a shotgun blast thundered through the house. Within seconds everything went dark.

  “What in the world—?”

  Riley was on his feet in an instant, barking wildly and dashing toward the door.

  “It’s all right, boy,” Annie said, though she didn’t believe a word of it. What had happened? Had a car run into a telephone pole and knocked down the electrical lines? Had a transfor
mer blown?

  It didn’t matter. The result was that she was suddenly enveloped in total darkness and she didn’t know when the electricity might be turned on again. Muttering under her breath, she reached into a drawer, her fingers fumbling over matches, a screwdriver, and a deck of cards until she found a flashlight. She flicked on the low beam and quickly lit several candles before peering outside into the total darkness of the hill. Though she was somewhat isolated, there were neighbors in the development down the hill, but no lights shone through the thick stands of fir and maple.

  Alone. You’re all alone.

  “Big deal,” she muttered as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. She wasn’t a scared, whimpering female. Shaking off a case of the jitters, she found her one hurricane lantern and lit the wick. “Okay, okay, now heat,” she told herself as she opened the damper of the old river-rock fireplace, then touched one candle to the dry logs stacked in the grate. The kindling caught quickly and eager flames began to lick the chunks of mossy oak while Riley, not usually so nervous, paced near the front door. He growled, glanced at Annie, then scratched against the woodwork.

  “That’s not helping,” Annie said. “Lie down.”

  Riley ignored her.

  “Just like all males,” she grumbled. “Stubborn, headstrong, and won’t listen to sound advice.” Bundling into boots, gloves, her ski jacket, and a scarf, she headed for the back porch where several cords of firewood had been stacked for the winter. She hauled a basket with her and after twenty minutes had enough lengths of oak and fir to see her through the night. The batteries on her transistor radio were shot, and the phone, when she tried to use it, bleeped at her. A woman’s voice calmly informed her that all circuits were busy. “Perfect,” she said grimly and slammed down the receiver.

  I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart . . . The lyrics tumbled over in her mind, though the music had long since faded. “Right. A Merry Christmas. Fat chance!”

  As firelight played upon the walls and windows, she drew the curtains and dragged her blankets from the bedroom. She’d be warmer close to the fire and could handle a night on the hide-abed. In the morning she’d call a cab to drive her to the airport, but for now she needed to sleep. Riley took up his post at the door and refused to budge. He stared at the oak panels as if he could see through the hardwood and Annie decided her dog was a definite head case. “It’s warmer over here,” she said and was rewarded with a disquieting “woof,” the kind of noise Riley made whenever he was confused.

  “Okay, okay, so have it your way.” Settling under her down comforter, she closed her eyes and started to drift off. She could still hear José Feliciano’s voice in her mind, but there was something else, something different—a tiny, whimpering cry over the sound of Riley’s whine. No, she was imagining things, only the shriek of the wind, tick of the clock, and . . . there it was again. A sharp cry.

  Heart racing, she tossed off the covers and ran to the front door where Riley was whining and scratching. “What is it?” she asked, yanking open the door. A blast of ice-cold wind tore through the door. The fire burned bright from the added air. Riley bounded onto the front porch where a basket covered with a blanket was waiting. From beneath the pink coverlet came the distinctive wail of an infant.

  “What in the name of Mary . . .” Leaning down, Annie lifted the blanket and found a red-faced baby, fists clenched near its face, tears streaming from its eyes, lying on a tiny mattress. “Dear God in heaven.” Annie snatched the basket and, looking around the yard for any sign of whoever had left the child on her stoop, she drew baby, basket, and blankets into the house. “Who are you?” she asked as she placed the bundle on her table and lifted the tiny child from its nest.

  With a shock of blond hair and eyes that appeared blue in the dim light, the baby screamed.

  “Dear God, how did you get here?” Annie asked in awe. She immediately lost her heart to this tiny little person. “Hey, hey, it’s all right. Shhh.” Who would leave a baby on the porch in the middle of this storm? What kind of idiot would . . . Still clutching the baby, she ran to the window and peered outside, searching the powdery drifts for signs of footprints, or any other hint that someone had been nearby.

  Riley leaped and barked, eyeing the baby jealously.

  “Stop it!” Annie commanded, holding the child against her and swaying side to side as if she were listening to some quiet lullaby that played only in her head. She squinted into the night and felt a shiver of fear slide down her spine. Was the person who left the baby lurking in the woods, perhaps watching her as she peered through the curtains?

  Swallowing back her fear, she stepped away from the window and closer to the warmth of the fire.

  The baby, a girl if the pink snowsuit could be believed, quieted and her little eyes closed. Head nestled against Annie’s breast, she made soft little whimpers and her tiny lips moved as if she were sucking in her dreams. Again Annie asked, “Who are you?” as she carried the basket closer to the fire to peer into the interior.

  A wide red ribbon was wound through the wicker and several cans of dry formula were tucked in a corner with a small package of disposable diapers. Six cloth diapers, a bottle, two pacifiers, one change of clothes, and a card that simply read, “For you, Annie,” were crammed into a small diaper bag hidden beneath a couple of receiving blankets and a heavier quilt. Everything a woman would need to start mothering.

  Including a baby.

  “I can’t believe this,” Annie whispered as again she walked to the window where she shoved aside the curtains and stared into an inky darkness broken only by the continuing fall of snowflakes. The moon and stars were covered by thick, snow-laden clouds, and all the electrical lights in the vicinity were out.

  Annie picked up the phone again and heard the same message she’d heard earlier. “Great,” she muttered.

  As the wind raged and the snow fell in thick, heavy flakes, she realized that unless she wanted to brave the frigid weather and hike to the neighbor’s house, she and this baby were alone. Completely cut off from civilization.

  “I guess you’re stuck with me,” she said and worried about the baby’s mother. Who was she? Had she left the child unattended on the stoop? What kind of mother was she? Or had the baby been kidnapped and dropped off? But by whom?

  For you, Annie.

  The questions chasing after each other in endless circles raced through her mind. She placed a soft kiss on the infant’s downy blond curls and lay down on the couch, where she held the child in the warmth of her comforter. “I’ll keep you safe tonight,” she promised, bonding so quickly with the infant that she knew she was going to lose her heart. “Riley will keep watch.”

  The dog, hearing his name, woofed softly and positioned himself in front of the door, as if he truly were guarding them both. Annie closed her eyes and wondered when she woke up in the morning, if she’d be alone and discover that this was all just part of a wonderful dream.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Is this an emergency?” a disinterested voice asked on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, no . . . I mean it’s not life or death,” Annie said, frustrated that after finally getting through to the sheriff’s department she was stymied. “As I said, a baby was left on my porch last night and—”

  “Who does the child belong to?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Annie glanced at the basket—and at Carol, the name she’d given the child upon awaking this morning and discovering last night’s storm wasn’t a nightmare, nor was the basket part of a dream.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, but—”

  “Is the baby healthy?”

  “As far as I can tell, but her parents are probably sick with worry—”

  “Look, lady, we’ve got elderly people without any heat, cars piling up on the freeways, and people stranded in their vehicles. Everyone here is pulling double shifts.”

  “I know, but I’m concerned th
at—”

  “You can come down to the station and fill out a report or we can send an officer when one’s available.”

  “Do that,” Annie said as she rattled off her address. A part of her felt pure elation that she had more time alone with the infant and another part of her was filled with dread that she’d become too attached to someone else’s baby.

  “Deputy Kemp will stop by and I’ll put calls into the local hospitals to see if a baby is missing. I’ll also see that social services gets a copy of this message. A social worker or nurse will probably contact you in the next couple of days.”

  “Thank you.”

  “As I said, an officer will stop by as soon as he can, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. It could be a day or two. We’re shorthanded down here with all the accidents and power outages. He’ll call you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Annie hung up and sighed loudly. The frigid northern Willamette Valley was paralyzed. Sanding trucks and snowplows couldn’t keep up with the fifteen-inch accumulation and still the snow kept falling. Annie had no means of communication except for the phone and her driveway, steep on a normal day, was impassable. She was lucky in that she had plenty of food and a fire on which she could cook. She’d even managed to heat Carol’s bottle in a pan of water she had warmed on the grate.

  She’d been awakened in the middle of the night when the baby had stirred and fussed. It took a while, but she’d added water to the dry formula she’d mixed in the bottle, then waited as it heated. The baby had quieted instantly upon being fed and Annie had hummed Christmas carols to the child as she suckled hungrily. “You’re so precious,” she’d murmured and the baby had cooed. She couldn’t imagine giving her up. But she would have to. Somewhere little Carol probably had a mother and father who were missing her.