Santa's on His Way

by Lisa Jackson

  His words were like gentle rain, erasing some of the pain. “I won’t, ” she promised, “and I love you, Liam, more than you’ll ever know.”

  Again he kissed her and for the first time she felt she really was his wife.

  EPILOGUE

  Nearly a year later

  “. . . I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town . . .”

  Annie sang off-key as she hung the stocking on the mantel of her new home, the old Victorian house that overlooked the little cottage where she’d first discovered Carol on her stoop. Outside, the Oregon rain peppered the mullioned windows and inside Carol was taking her first few steps, grinning widely and walking like a drunken sailor from the table to the chair and back again.

  The rooms were decorated haphazardly. Some of her furniture, a little of Liam’s, and the rest having come with the house, but a tree stood in the parlor, strung with popcorn, cranberries, and twinkling lights, which Carol found absolutely fascinating.

  The front door burst open and Liam, smelling of pine and leather, wiped the dampness from his face. “All done,” he said and flipped a switch. Through the window Annie spied thousands of lights ablaze in the surrounding forest.

  “Oooh!” Carol said, toddling to the window and staring outside.

  “Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?” Annie asked and Liam laughed, crossing the room and snagging Carol from the floor. With a squeal she landed on his shoulders and Annie laughed, her life complete. She still had her secretarial business, but she was working less and less with the demands of being a wife and mother. Liam, on the other hand, was so busy with his consulting firm in Portland that he was thinking of taking on a partner.

  “Where’s Jake?” Liam asked as he bussed his wife’s cheek. Carol, still atop his broad shoulders, giggled.

  “Sleeping, as usual.”

  “Let’s wake him up.”

  “Let’s not,” Annie said, shaking her head. “Liam O’Shaughnessy, if you so much as breathe on that baby, I’ll—” But it was no use, Liam was already climbing the stairs to the nursery, a small room off the master bedroom. Annie followed him and watched as he stared down in wonder at his son.

  As if the baby sensed he was the center of attention, he opened his eyes and cooed. “And your mother didn’t want you to wake up,” Liam said as Annie picked up her son and felt him snuggle against her breast. Jake Liam O’Shaughnessy had been born on December seventh and the only problem Annie had experienced during the nine months of her pregnancy was an incredible craving for cherry vanilla ice cream.

  Nola was working in Detroit and was engaged to a lawyer, Joel and Polly had promised to visit after the new year, and Annie’s mother and stepfather promised to fly to Oregon once they’d returned from a trip to Palm Springs.

  Life had become routine and nearly perfect. Riley barked at the back door as the little family hurried down the stairs. The smell of cinnamon cookies and gingerbread hung heavy in the air.

  In the kitchen, Annie opened the door and the dog bounded in. Liam placed Carol in her high chair and offered her a cookie.

  “You spoil her,” Annie admonished.

  “And you don’t?”

  “No, I spoil her rotten.”

  Liam reached into the cupboard and withdrew a bottle of Pinot Noir. “I think it’s time for a toast,” he said, opening the bottle as Annie held her son and Jake blinked up at her.

  “To?”

  “Us.” He poured two stemmed glasses, then handed her one. “To the family O’Shaughnessy. Long may it prosper.”

  “Hear, hear.” She touched the rim of her glass to his.

  “And to the most beautiful woman in the world. My wife.”

  Annie blushed. “Here’s to you, Mr. O. The most unlikely husband in the world, and the best.”

  They drank, then kissed, then found a way to personally wish each other the merriest Christmas ever.