The stage manager beckoned him over to the wing. The Baby Jesus and Mary came off stage and a chorus of young angels ran onto the stage from the far side. The intro to “Angels We Have Heard on High” played over the speakers.
Jak wished he felt a fraction of the confidence he had against a wildland fire. There was no backing out now.
When the third verse started, the stage manager waved him forward.
Here goes nothing, thought Jak, stepping out onto the stage.
* * *
Jillian loved a good Christmas Pageant. Actually, she loved any kind of Christmas Pageant, show, movie, concert, or even a yard-display nativity. The auditorium was nearly full as she took a seat toward the back. It even smelled like Christmas, and she noticed the pine trees on either side of the stage. The whole auditorium was decorated with wreaths, garland, and snowflakes cut out of paper.
There was no sign of Jak. She still had the habit of watching for him in crowds. Emma had started making fun of her for it. Poor Emma was supposed to come with her tonight, but had woken up with the worst stomach flu of her life. As badly as Jillian wanted to stay and take care of her, Emma insisted that Jillian not miss out. Also, Emma’s niece was a donkey in the show, and Jillian needed to report on her performance.
The lights flickered and a minute later, a boy in a suit stepped out on the stage and up to the microphone. The audience went silent. With a significant lisp, the boy welcomed them, announced the name of the woman who would pray to open the night, and invited the audience to sing “The First Noel” once it finished.
The program started and it was much more professional than Jillian had expected. People of all ethnicities filled every role with as much solemnity as Jillian felt. The little kids were the best, of course, being able to bring the Christmas message of hope and peace instinctively. The Baby Jesus was an actual baby, and judging by its size, couldn’t be more than a week old. Jillian envied the little Mary a bit, and wished she could go and hold the little one after the pageant.
A choir of teenage angels took the stage as Mary and Baby Jesus left. Their voices blending in harmonies that surprised Jillian and brought tears to her eyes.
From her purse, Jillian felt the buzz of her phone. She was tempted to ignore it, but her best friend was in rough shape, so she took a peek.
Sure enough, Emma. Is the pageant over? I didn’t make it to the toilet and I didn’t have my bowl. It’s bad. Send a hazmat team.
Oh no. The pageant had to be close to ending, but the thought of Emma sitting there covered in whatever kind of mess she’d made brought Jillian out of her chair and quietly out the back doors. After everything Emma had done for her, Jillian couldn’t let her suffer alone. Emma wouldn’t have texted if it wasn’t an emergency.
With what Jillian had already been able to see of the pageant, her cup was full and running over. The opportunity to serve Emma had come at a wonderful time.
* * *
Jak got his lines out perfectly. Then he resisted the urge to sigh and wipe his brow. He waited the twenty seconds or so until the little angel said her line, then he exited stage left. The members of the cast who had been off-stage passed him to go out and sing the finale. Jak was alone backstage and he leaned against a wall and caught his breath for a minute.
The audience was singing along with the cast, “The First Noel,” and after what had turned out to be an excellent show, it was as heartfelt as he’d ever heard. He took a moment to bask in the Christmas spirit as heaven and angels joined in with the earthbound cast and congregation.
Christmas was Jak’s favorite time of year, and the feeling of goodwill to all had never been stronger. His small contribution to the show hadn’t been anything big, but it had been hard for him. Hopefully, in some way, he added to the Christmas message.
When the song ended, the pastor said a prayer and the rest of the cast went out to greet and take pictures with family, friends, and strangers in the foyer. Jak had already discussed it with the pastor and director, and they all agreed that while the appearance of grown-man Jesus during the pageant was appropriate, it wasn’t the same if he went out and posed for pictures and mingled. That was better suited to the newborn playing Baby Jesus.
Jak took one more look at himself in the mirror. The beard would not be missed when he shaved it tomorrow. Wildland firefighting ran deep in his blood and a beard had practically become part of the uniform for the men on the line. When he stepped out of that world, he liked to step back into the real world. If he ever did leave Park City Fire Department for a permanent role in wildland, however, he planned on keeping the beard permanently.
Wildland called to him; it spoke to his soul. Multiple agencies were calling as well. At any point he could move into that role and double his salary overnight. But that wasn’t the most important thing. The gut feelings and premonitions he had were never stronger than when he was Incident Commander of a Type 3 Incident—a medium sized fire where he was close enough to the ground troops to still feel connected to the fire, yet working a fire big enough that if things went wrong, they would go so wrong the whole nation would mourn—whether for the loss of forest land, homes, or, heaven forbid, the lives of firefighters.
At least a dozen times in his eight wildland seasons, he had made a call based on his gut, then seen significant impact, whether on fire control or removing crews from areas which had been safe when he had the impressions but had escalated to hot zones, confirming his instincts.
Just two weeks earlier outside of Flagstaff on the Arizona Trail Fire, he had ordered a team of Smokejumpers to be extracted, even though they were making great progress with their line. Something about the weather pattern hadn’t sat right with Jak. Their officer complained but the crew climbed onboard the helo when it landed. Within twelve hours, thunderstorms blew in—no water, just dry air that whipped up the fire like God’s own bellows. A thousand acres burned that night, including the line the Smokejumpers were working on.
When Jak had seen the satellite image of their ridge with thirty-foot flames, he’d fallen to his knees and thanked God for allowing him to be an instrument for good in the lives of those Smokejumpers and their families, who already sacrificed enough just sending their husbands and fathers out to risk their lives all summer.
City firefighting was great, but more than eighty percent of the job was responding to medical emergencies. There just weren’t enough fires with PCFD for him to feel like he was using his God-given talents to their full potential.
Which brought him back to the pageant and the beard. If he was blessed with a manly mane, he was willing to step up and help, no matter how much it made him sweat.
Jak stood from his chair and started to pull off his robe.
“Not so fast,” said a familiar voice.
“Hi, Mom.” Jak turned and opened his arms, taking his diminutive mother into an embrace. He bent and kissed her on the cheek.
She rubbed her cheek where his beard had tickled her. “You were perfect for that role—dignified, humble, and so powerful when you gave your lines. But if you ever want to find a sweet girl so you can make me a grandmother, the beard has got to go.”
“What do you mean?” Jak stroked his chin in what he thought was a dignified manner. “Maybe I’ll find someone who finds beards irresistible. They’re so popular right now.”
“Bah,” said his mother. “So are those man hair buns. Are you going to grow one of those horrible things?”
Jak couldn’t resist teasing her. He looked at his profile in the mirror and said, “I was actually considering it.”
His mother slapped at his arm. “You were thinking no such thing. I mean it about the beard. After the show just now, Mary Ellen Owensby—you remember her from the Homecooked Holidays Board—she leaned over to me and said, ‘Beryl, that boy of yours would have to beat off women with a stick if he ever shaved that horrible thing.’”
Jak laughed, but didn’t bother reminding his mother that for eight months out of the
year, his job required him to maintain strict grooming standards, including shaving.
“Your father shaved every day of his life. Sundays. Vacations. It didn’t matter. Always clean shaven.”
That habit had more to do with his father thinking the red beard looked “silly” with his blond hair. Jak didn’t mind the look.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll shave it just for you. I’d hate to ruin your Christmas season.”
“You tease me,” said his mom with another slap of his arm. “I’m only trying to help you find a nice girl so you have more in your life. Talk about a happy Christmas season; the best ones ever are spent close to someone you love, and I should know because I started too late in life.”
Jak put his arms around her and said, “Thanks for caring, Mom.”
He wanted to tell her about Jillian, but if his mom got on the hunt, it would definitely throw off any chance fate had to bring them together organically.
I wonder if Jillian likes beards? Whether she did or not, chances were she wouldn’t see it. Not this year anyway.
“Let me get out of this costume, then I’ll walk you out to your car.”
“Wait.” His mom pulled out her phone. “I need to get a picture first. Here, stand by this Christmas tree.”
The Jesus photo-op was what Jak had wanted to avoid. “Let’s take one together,” he suggested.
“Oh, good idea. I’ll go find someone to take it.”
“Nah,” said Jak, holding out his hand for her phone.
She handed over the outdated device. Jak had to dig for a minute to find the camera app then held out his arm. “Oh, a selfie,” his mom said. “Good idea. I’m glad you got your father’s long arms instead of my Tyrannosaurus Rex arms.”
“Smile,” said Jak.
“Okay, I’ll smile, but you do the dignified pose you did on stage.”
Jak aimed the camera and at the last second he smiled widely. His mom must not have noticed because she didn’t make him retake it.
“Let me get changed then I’ll walk you out.”
“I’ll wait out with Mary Ellen. We drove together.”
Jak ducked into one of the curtained changing areas. As he put his street clothes on, he heard the rest of the cast filling in the limited backstage area. As he made his way through them, he told everyone good job and reciprocated the thanks for being part of the show.
The auditorium was still half-full of people mingling. Just as he did whenever he encountered a crowd now, he scanned for that auburn hair and those gray eyes. Only one more chance meeting and she’d have to go on a date with him. If he could only get one date—
“Ready?” his mom walked up next to him.
“Yep. Mrs. Owensby. Shall we?” He held out both arms and they crooked theirs in his.
As they walked out of the heavily decorated auditorium and into the pristine whiteness of nature’s Christmas decoration, Jak prayed once again for a Christmas miracle. It wasn’t too late for it to happen this year, especially with the Fruitcake Prophecy on his side.
6
It was a perfect day on the slopes—sunny and cold. After the storm that had blasted Park City for two days, Utah’s greatest snow on Earth was living up to its name. Perfect snow on a perfect Saturday though meant that everyone in the world had come out to take advantage of it. The only good thing about the crowd was the same thing Jak liked about every crowd: a possibility of running into Jillian again.
Tom had skied with Jak for the first half of the day, but he had to get back to the remodel on his house, so Jak was on his own. And since he was on his own, he was ready to let loose. The only decent powder left on the mountain was on the double black diamond runs and in the area between runs. Jak had skied here enough to know some relatively safe paths through the trees.
The trees opened in front of him and a chute of virgin powder shined up at him. Jak came to a stop next to a ski lift post at the top of a small ridge and took a second to admire the sight. Twenty fresh inches waited just for him. It was a Christmas miracle, two weeks early.
Speaking of Christmas miracles, Jak looked at the lift and the people approaching him. The next three chairs had only men. The next one, though, was two women.
Jak pulled his goggles off to see clearer. The woman on the left had auburn hair spilling out from a white helmet. Goggles hid her eyes.
There were a million people on the mountain today. What were the chances it was her? A lot of people had that color hair. If only she would take off her goggles.
Jak pulled off his helmet and dropped it in the snow, feeling himself leaning toward her. The woman on the lift was leaning ever so slightly over the bar toward him. She reached for her goggles, pulled them off—
Gray eyes.
It was Jillian!
“That’s three!” hollered Jak, like he’d just won the Superbowl. He hooted and threw his hands in the air. He’d done it; he’d run into her three times.
Jillian was smiling down at him. “Two!” she answered with a chuckle.
Jak ran through the three meetings in his mind as she went over his head—the concert, the alley, and now. “It’s three. I’d bet anything I own.” It had to be a joke. If he was a fraction as memorable to her as she was to him, she knew this was their third meeting.
“Nice try!” she answered. “I’ll see you on the next one.”
Was she playing hard to get? Whether she meant it or not, she was getting farther away. Jak clicked out of his skis and started trudging uphill after her. How could he find her to talk this out? “What run are you doing?”
“What run?” Jillian turned to her friend and said something. It was Emma, the same friend from the concert and from the car. Emma pulled a map from her pocket and they spread it out. There was no time for them to figure it out. He needed a different plan.
Cupping his hands around his mouth as he plowed a trough through the snow. “Jillian!”
She turned back to look at him.
“Meet me at the base of the Silverlode Lift!” Dang these Express lifts were fast.
“What?” answered Jillian. The downhill wind carried her voice to him, but it wasn’t loud.
“Silverlode Lift!” shouted Jak with everything he had. “At the base!”
Jak heard words, but couldn’t tell what Jillian was saying. She blew him a kiss, then she was gone over a ridge. Thigh-deep in the snow, Jak watched as chair after chair disappeared over the same ridge. He felt like those penetrating gray eyes of hers could see him, through the mountain, standing there.
Three times. They’d done it; three distinct encounters. If only he could find her today, he’d be dating her before the week was out. Two weeks early!
Finding her was not an option—it was a necessity. The chances of running into her a fourth time were next to nil. Even fate or fruitcake couldn’t be expected to get them together yet again.
Would she meet him at Hidden Lake? Jak prayed that she had heard him shout that, if nothing else. She and Emma had a map out, so they must have been looking for something. If he did go to Hidden Lake to wait for her, he’d miss out on covering the main exit of the resort. But if he went to the main exit, there was a chance she left the park by going straight to the parking lot.
The only thing he knew was standing there under the lift was the worst possible idea. Unless … what if she rode up this lift again looking for him?
Jak faced the facts—on one of the busiest ski days of the year, he was looking for a needle in a haystack. For half a second he listened to his gut. Silverlode Lift. Whether she’d heard him or not, he said that’s where he’d be, so he’d go there. With a goal in mind, he took off at a run, clipped his skis in, and raced downhill like an Olympic slalom racer.
Reaching the base in gold-medal time, Jak slid to a stop and stared up the hill. About a million skiers were making their way down.
“Blue coat, gray ski pants,” he told himself. A few skiers on the slope fit one or the other of those but not both. Depending on her s
kill level, she could be here in fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes. Why had Jak wasted so much time arguing about whether it had been two or three encounters when he’d first seen her? If he’d just told her right off where to meet, they could have done all the pleasantries later. If he couldn’t find her today, after months of waiting for this day, he’d … he’d … what could he do? A first name and eye color was little to go on for a Google search.
Private Investigator? Could those guys access driver’s license data bases? Tom Kent had a brother—not Sloane—who was an ex-Navy SEAL and now worked as some high level PI. What would a highly skilled international spy charge to track down someone in Park City, Utah? If Tom was still on the slopes today instead of back at his house installing new kitchen counters, Jak could ask him.
Then again, he doubted Zane Kent would even consider such a search based on a vague three-times meeting prophecy and an even weirder Christmas prophecy from a fruitcake-bearing homeless woman.
Who was he kidding? A Kent brother was not going to care about his little fruitcake prophecy love story. Unless … Tom was like a brother to Jak. And Zane Kent was like a brother to Tom—a lot like a brother. Even if it meant calling in every favor Jak had coming to him, it would be worth it to get in touch with Jillian now that they’d met the three-meetings criteria.
The feeling in Jak’s gut said otherwise. Tracking her down with a private investigator, no matter how famous or savvy, wasn’t in the plot of their love story.
“Just find her today,” said Jak. “Today’s the third meeting, and if it passes, you probably won’t get another chance.”
People passed faster than seconds as Jak perused the slopes. Blue coat, gray pants. All it took was one.
Jillian’s snow suit looked to be Arc’teryx. Not cheap. She was probably an experienced skier then. If he gave up this post, he’d have to hit black diamonds and stay away from green runs.
When he did find her, he had to come up with a killer first date. Ski day? Nah, something more … epic. Something with fewer goggles hiding her eyes. Dinner would be a good start, even though all the actual eating would keep him from getting to know her, which was what he wanted to do. Dinner at the fire station? That was epic and always full of conversation.
Her Christmas Miracle: Park City Firefighter Romances Page 5