Silent Night, Star-Lit Night

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “Any time after six works for Lorrie and me. Did I mention fresh bread served with Eversons’ butter or seasoned oils?”

  Mia grasped Angel’s arm and pretended to faint. “Don’t toy with me, Angel. Fresh bread? Is that the amazing smell drifting up those stairs?”

  “That and our signature star cookies! There’s nothing I appreciate more during a wild, winter storm than a cozy fire, fresh bread, and hot chocolate, regulars on our winter tea menu.”

  Jed held up his key. “Twenty minutes, Mia?”

  “Perfect.”

  Angel hurried back down the stairs. Her bracelets jangled, and as she turned the corner the faux-light necklace began twinkling.

  Jed watched her leave, then leaned close to Mia. “Did you see that? Her necklace turns on.”

  “I did and it does.”

  “Do you think she’s part elf?”

  “Not with a name like Angel,” Mia whispered, then giggled, and it pleased him to hear the sound. “I know we’re supposed to be heading north and you’re supposed to be hard at work, but Jed?”

  “Mm-hmm?” She raised shining, joyful eyes to his, and seeing that made his pulse trip harder.

  She laid a soft, tapered hand on his arm. “I’m so glad to be here.”

  Quite a difference from the morning before. “Me, too.”

  “Your family won’t kill you for getting home late during Christmas week?”

  Uncle Pete was most likely plotting Jed’s demise at this moment. That was his problem, not Jed’s. “They’ll be fine. I’ll call them before dinner and explain.”

  “I’ll do that, too. I don’t want Grandpa worrying.”

  She slipped into the room. Jed did the same thing, and when the younger woman from downstairs tapped on his door with a small basket he found necessary toiletries and a fresh buttered roll.

  He laughed.

  He’d stayed at five-star hotels in years past, on company buying trips. He couldn’t remember the last time one of those big, posh, overpriced units ever made him feel this good about spending the night.

  Chapter Five

  She was surrounded by Christmas.

  As Mia walked down the curved, decorated oak stairway, the sight of the festive dining room made her pause. A part of her longed to move forward, learning to embrace the holiday for the baby’s sake. Another part thought of the empty promises and times of Christmases past.

  Mia refused to tether herself to that past, but she couldn’t unforget it, either. The lack and disregard piled up after a while.

  “Man, that’s a whole lot of Christmas going on.”

  She looked up to see Jed striding across the hall. He smiled as he joined her on the stairs.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  His gaze surveyed the room, then it shifted to her, and his smile deepened. “Not by comparison.”

  She blushed.

  He laughed and moved down the stairs, then reached back to take her hand. “Come on, woman. I’m starving.”

  She was, too.

  A white tablecloth draped the massive banquet table. A bright red runner marked the middle of the table from end to end. Thick lighted candles alternated with festive Christmas arrangements of fresh greens and white and gold twigs in Mason jars, lined up along the runner’s center. Each jar was tied with a plaid bow, old-world cheerful.

  “I love this.” She ran a finger along the ribbon on the closest jar. “This is old-fashioned Christmas like you see on TV.”

  “My mom was a Stewart, so I kind of grew up with this plaid stuff.”

  She frowned, confused at his sudden change in topic.

  Jed pulled out her chair, waited until she was seated, then took the seat at the head of the table, next to her. Not across from her . . .

  Right next to her.

  “That ribbon.” He pointed to the Pinterest-friendly canning jar in front of them. “My mom’s got it around the house. It’s from the Stewart family. When Kate’s little boy was born, she had an outfit made out of this for Christmas last year. I thought it was weird, but nobody was asking my opinion. I’d have ordered desert camo. But that’s me.”

  “And pink camo for a girl?”

  He frowned instantly and leaned forward, close enough for her to count the sparks of gold in his cinnamon-brown eyes. “I don’t get the idea of pink camouflage.”

  She raised her shoulders, confused.

  “Pink camo isn’t camo. Blue camo isn’t camo. The purpose of camo is to blend. To be unseen. So it makes no sense to have pinks and blues and all that stuff.”

  “To look cute?”

  “Well, there’s that. Have you gotten pink camo for the baby?”

  “No camo, but two pink cheetah sleepers. One with an attached tutu. A gift from a co-worker.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” He rimmed his water glass with one finger. “Have you thought about coming home, Mia? I mean, to stay? The hospital in Ellensburg is only a thirty-minute drive, and the emergency care facilities in Roslyn and Cle Elum are always looking for skilled help.”

  She was saved from answering when Angel pushed through the swinging door separating the grand dining room from the kitchen. She settled a basket of bread in front of them, then indicated the buffet. “Everything’s ready, so help yourselves. Lorrie’s coming right along. If you’d like me to turn off that TV so we can ignore reality for the time being, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “You mean the snow emergency alerts, blizzard warnings, and no-travel advisories?” Jed grinned as he went through the litany.

  She clapped him on the back. “And yet how absolutely delightful to be tucked inside where everything is bright and warm and—”

  The entire house went black right then.

  Inky darkness enveloped them, except for the flickering candles marking the tabletop and the mantel. The dancing flames of the fireplace seemed warmer in the dark. The lights flickered twice, and everything came back up again.

  “Generator power.” Now Angel didn’t look quite so cheerful. She moved to the window on the south side, tipped back a swagged curtain, and peered out. “The town’s lost electricity.”

  “Seriously?”

  She grimaced and nodded. “We’ve got a backup generator that powers the inn; the family put it in about half a dozen years back. It was an expense, but a good one, because you can’t run an inn without electricity.”

  “Do most folks around here have generators?” Mia asked. She stood and approached the window. “It’s dropping into the teens tonight, isn’t it?”

  “Most don’t, but a lot of folks around here have woodstoves for warmth, and they’re prepared with candles and lanterns if they don’t have a generator on hand.”

  “What about those who don’t have a woodstove?” Mia was unfamiliar with this geographic area, but she was quite familiar with emergency responses. “There are few alternatives in a situation like this. They can’t just hop into their cars and drive to someplace with power. Not with the storm and closed roads.”

  “That’s always a concern. I expect if they’ve called a state of emergency Reggie Jackson will put out a call to set up a shelter in the church, most likely, though we haven’t needed one in some time.”

  “Reggie Jackson lives in Heywood?” Jed looked surprised and Angel waved a hand.

  “Regina Bauer Jackson, but in the baseball player’s day everyone got to calling her Reggie and it stuck. She’s bossy as heck and nice as can be, the kind that goes the distance, if you know what I mean.”

  The best kind of disaster relief organizer, in Mia’s opinion. “Angel, I’m a disaster relief responder and a nurse. Can you tell Reggie I’d be happy to help out?”

  “I will do that gladly, Mia, and I know Reggie will appreciate some experienced help on board. Old Tom Higgins is quick to volunteer and just as quick to doze off in a chair, not that there’s any harm in that. A little young blood would be a relief to her, no doubt.”

  “Unless you become part of the emergency,�
�� Jed noted in an I-told-you-so voice.

  “Twelve days,” she reminded him. She shifted her attention back to Angel. “Should we volunteer now?”

  “No.” Angel took her arm and gently propelled her over to the table. “If I go breathing down Reggie’s neck, I’ll never hear the end of it. You relax and eat, then catch some sleep. We’ve got a gas tank out back. Some don’t approve of that, but in times like this it’s a true necessity to keep the generator running. We’ve got a local food chain for emergencies. Ladies will drop what they’re doing first thing in the morning and come here to cook in shifts. We’ll make sure folks are tended, so no worries there. But we’ll make plenty of food and cookies, too, because if she ends up with even just the regulars at the shelter, that will be a couple of dozen people. And folks get hungry right quick.”

  Mia knew the truth in that from her Red Cross deployments a few years back. There was something calming about locals coming in with food and supplies to help the displaced.

  Still, it felt like she should be jumping into her role as a disaster relief responder, not sitting down to supper with the delightful inn manager.

  “Food and rest. You can help in the morning, once Reggie’s got a handle on things. Unless the storm’s blown out and things are back to normal.”

  The meteorologist took that moment to show the circular pattern of energy, guaranteeing at least sixteen more hours of heavy, wet snow.

  “Looks like we’ll have time to help.” Jed held out her plate and nodded toward the buffet.

  “I’m not used to being sidelined,” she told him. She glanced toward the window and the storm as Lorrie came through the swinging door to join them.

  “The most important thing about sitting the bench—”

  Like he’d ever done that in all their years of high school.

  “Is to be at your best when the coach calls your name. I’m going with Angel’s wisdom. Food, rest, and then we’ll be on hand as needed.”

  Mia understood the sense of the directive, but as she sat down with a plate full of good, hot food guilt climbed. She knew what it was like to lack comfort while so many around her took it for granted. She’d never said a word, not to anyone, but sitting down to a delicious hot meal while others went without seemed wrong.

  If Angel was right and there were dozens of people needing help in the morning, then she needed to be on top of her game. And when she took the first bite of that hot stew with a slab of buttered bread, she remembered just how hungry she was.

  By the time they’d finished eating, exhaustion set in. The baby didn’t like sitting. She rolled and stretched, letting Mia know she was cramped and displeased. And she made it a habit to wake up at night, stretching for room every time Mia lay down to sleep, her tiny baby limbs playing havoc with Mia’s rounded tummy.

  It didn’t make any difference tonight. When Mia got to the ivory-canopied bed in her room, she slipped into a long T-shirt Angel had set on her bed and tucked herself under the most comfortable blanket and quilt combination she’d ever known . . .

  And fell sound asleep.

  Chapter Six

  December 20, Star Inn, Heywood, Oregon

  “Are you dressed warm enough?” Jed didn’t mean to repeat the question, but it seemed wrong to bring a pregnant woman into the howling wind and slanted, frigid snow.

  “I could spend the winter on Kodiak Island and never get cold in this getup,” she assured him. “Angel is amazing. And if you make fun of how ridiculous I look, I’ll be mad for a very long time. Got it?”

  “My mother would call the parka and fur-lined hat quite sensible. And you look warm enough, which is all I care about.”

  “Warm ears, warm heart,” she quipped, just before she slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the shifting, piling snow.

  “Gotcha.” He did, too. He’d clasped her arm, then both arms, steadying her. And when she was steady in his arms, he was unsteady for an entirely different reason.

  Those eyes. Light blue in the middle, rimmed in a darker shade.

  Thick, long lashes, covered with the tiniest snowflakes he’d ever seen.

  Rosy cheeks.

  Perfect lips. Lips that made him think of how nice it would be to walk with Mia O’Loughlin when it wasn’t the dead of winter. When the opportunity to pause and taste those sweet lips wouldn’t mean frostbite. “You okay?”

  She held his gaze, too, and when she smiled up at him it was all he could do to not kiss her right there. “Mostly.”

  She whispered the word, and he understood what she meant.

  She felt it, too, the magnetism between them. The comfort and delight of being side by side.

  They’d been friends for years. Decades, even.

  But he didn’t feel like this when he ran into other old classmates. This was nicely different, except the last place Mia wanted to be was back in Roslyn. And Roslyn wasn’t only his home—it was his life. A family and a tradition and a chain of intertwined businesses, working together. His place was there, in the thick of it all.

  He gripped her hand and led her to the street. The local plow had gone through to give shelter organizers a chance to maneuver, but even with hourly passes, thick drifts re-formed at the wind’s insistence. They got to the church just as an older woman came through the right-hand door with a shovel.

  “I’ve got this.” Jed took the shovel from her before she had a chance to protest, and nudged Mia toward the door. “Go in and do what you do best. I’ve got outside duty.”

  “Thank you.” The older woman pulled the door open for Mia, then followed her inside. Jed set to work doing something he’d been doing all his life between the ranch and the business in town. Clearing sidewalks and drives had fallen under his job description at an early age. It was much easier to grab a known duty instead of an unknown entity inside.

  He knew how to clear a path.

  Caring for displaced people was Mia’s wheelhouse. He was beginning to realize that together they made a good pair.

  Guilt hit him because Daniel had been gone eight short months and here he was, attracted to his friend’s widow.

  But she’d been his friend, too. And Daniel was gone.

  Still, hitting on a pregnant widow at Christmas had to be the lowest of the low unless there were firm intentions behind the attraction, and she’d made it plain.

  She wouldn’t stay.

  He couldn’t go.

  And that about summed things up, so he shoveled until his nose froze and his fingers went numb.

  Then he went inside, looking for a cup of nice, hot coffee.

  * * *

  Mia knew the drill. She’d been a responder during her college summer breaks and on vacation, as needed. She liked helping others, but mainly she liked to keep things running smoothly, easing the path for people in trouble.

  When she spotted the overwhelmed elderly woman with two small children huddled close to her side, Mia’s heart went out to them. Was that how she’d looked with Grandpa Joe? Desperate for love and befuddled?

  She crossed the brightly lit church playroom and pulled up a stool. She took a seat and smiled at the elderly woman. “I’m Mia. I’m a disaster responder from California and I just happened to be in town when the lights went out. Do you guys live nearby?”

  The woman’s gaze flicked from her to Reggie and back, then went straight to Mia’s baby bump. “You’re expecting.”

  “Soon.”

  The old woman sighed and snugged the children closer. “I loved having my babies.”

  “Did you?”

  “Absolutely. And then they grew up, and their kids grew up, and here I am.” She lifted heavy-lidded eyes to Mia. “It’s not supposed to be like this, is it? And yet . . . here we are.”

  Let them talk. Mia remembered the experienced responder she’d shadowed years ago: Sometimes they just need to tell their story. Food will come. Cots will come. The world won’t end. Just let them tell their story.

  Reggie came into the room, car
rying an old-fashioned clutch bag. “Jude, I’ve got your knitting.”

  The elderly woman’s interest perked up slightly.

  “Charlie Ames dashed up to your house because he knows how we ladies like to keep our hands busy.” She handed the bag to the woman. “Mia, you’ve met Jude, I see. And these are her great-grandchildren, Brad and Ivy.”

  Such sweet, old-fashioned names. Mia smiled at the kids as Jude reached up. “Charlie went up the hill for this?” Eyes wide, she accepted the bag and tucked it onto her lap. “In the storm?”

  “I think he’s sweet on you,” Reggie teased. “I’ve been married thirty-three years, and I can promise you that Thomas Jackson would not be hiking up Outlook Hill to fetch me a knitting bag.”

  “Charlie’s got a good heart, don’t he?”

  “He does.” Reggie stretched out a hand to the kids. “You guys hungry? Miss Angel has sent food from the inn.”

  They ignored her and edged closer to their great-grandmother, if such a thing was possible.

  Their clothes were thin and stained. Their eyes, one set blue, one set brown, held questions with no answers. A few more people came in.

  The kids darted a look that way, almost hopeful, then sank back against Jude, as if defeated.

  They weren’t cold, they didn’t want food, and they weren’t hurt.

  They were sad.

  Mia knew it because she’d seen a similar expression looking back at her each morning. And then she’d put a happy face in place and get about her day.

  “I love checkers.” She spotted the game across the room and retrieved it, then settled back down, close to the kids, but not too close. “I taught myself to play all by myself when I was little because I didn’t have anyone to play with. So I played the black side and the red side. Some folks thought it was silly, but hey.” She smiled at the set-up board, then the children. “I was guaranteed a win. Sometimes we have to make the happy moments creep in around us.”

  She began playing both sides.