His Christmas Sweetheart

by Cathy McDavid

  Despite the distance, she could discern the concern and curiosity on their faces. “Arthur can’t pay me enough to keep me afloat. Only full-time residents will do that.” She curled into a ball, burying her face in the blanket. “I hate this. Hate it, hate it.”

  Will gave her a moment, stroking her back, and then asked, “What about taking a break from elder care and working full-time at the Paydirt? Just temporarily.”

  Right, temporarily. Like Cissy. She was supposedly waitressing just until she landed a job as an accountant, the field in which she’d obtained her degree. Except she’d been at the Paydirt almost three years now.

  Miranda refused to follow in her coworker’s footsteps.

  “The mayor hired me mostly as a favor. She doesn’t need another full-time employee.” She groaned out of anger and frustration. “I love being a nurse. This is so unfair.”

  “What about the clinic in town?”

  She pondered Will’s suggestion. “I could ask, but I doubt they’re hiring. I’m there every week. Sometimes twice a week. I’d have heard about a job opening.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  “I could always move to Reno. Work at the hospital. I left on good terms.”

  “You’d do that?” Will’s arm increased its hold, as if she was leaving that second.

  “It would be my very last choice. Believe me.”

  “What would you do with your house if you moved?”

  “Rent it, maybe. There’s still a housing shortage in Sweetheart since the fire. I’d have takers.” At the anguish in his eyes, she added, “But I’m not leaving. How could I, when we just found each other?”

  He smiled at her, the tension so visible earlier having lessened. “Then we’ll just have to find you another resident.”

  She smiled in return, though it was wobbly at best. One resident wouldn’t cut it. She needed nothing less than a full house.

  “Speaking of residents, I should tell Babs and Himey to start looking for another place to live.”

  “Want some moral support?”

  “You’d come in with me?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about the horse?”

  “She’ll be fine tied to the post. For a while.”

  Will climbed down from the sleigh first and then assisted Miranda. They walked hand in hand to the door. Inside, she delivered the news about Harmony House’s potential closing. As expected, everyone was devastated, except Mrs. Litey, who thought the Gold Nugget was closing and started ranting and raving.

  The reverend was going to have his work cut out for him.

  When Will tried to reason with her, she glared at him as if he were a complete stranger and snipped, “Young man, do I know you? What do you want with me?”

  Miranda braced herself for what promised to be a terrible next two weeks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miranda’s days, it seemed, were destined to go from bad to worse. While the entire town of Sweetheart was caught up in celebrating Christmas this Saturday, she was fighting a losing battle to save her home and business.

  Annie Wyler had provided Miranda with several numbers to call for federal and state grants. Unfortunately, the waiting lists were long, compounded by delays due to the holidays. Another useless dead end.

  In the meantime, Reverend Donahue had called twice, speaking to Mrs. Litey and then to Miranda about the move. Himey wandered from room to room as if lost, and Babs had sunk into a deep depression that even Arthur’s loyalty and constant attention couldn’t dispel.

  Babs’s son had reluctantly agreed to take her into his small and already crowded home near Lake Tahoe. He really didn’t want to, and Babs dreaded going, convinced she’d never see Arthur again.

  Sadly, Miranda thought that might be true. Arthur wasn’t capable of making the trip on his own, and his daughter was “too busy” to drive him there.

  Not nice. Miranda instantly scolded herself for being petty. Her situation was no more Arthur’s daughter’s fault than Will’s. Fate had simply dealt her a very crummy hand.

  Nell, for her part, was being a saint. She’d agreed to stay to the bitter end, without pay if it came to that. Miranda refused to take advantage of her friend and employee. Nell, however, insisted. They’d discussed the daunting task of packing up the residents’ rooms. Miranda didn’t have the heart to start yet.

  Heading upstairs to her suite, she sat on the edge of her bed, gathered her courage and called Mr. Carter at Northern Nevada Savings and Loan.

  “Hi, Miranda,” he greeted her, his tone warm.

  He might not be so nice to her when he learned the reason for her call. “Mr. Carter, I don’t suppose there’s been any change in policy recently. I could really use that lower mortgage payment.”

  “I’m sorry, no. You’d be the first person I’d call if there was.”

  She swallowed the large and painful lump lodged in her throat. “Then I guess I need to talk to you about letting the mortgage go into foreclosure.”

  The silence that followed lasted several seconds. “Are you sure? Foreclosure isn’t a step you want to take if you can avoid it.”

  “I’m at my wit’s end,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve scoured Sweetheart from top to bottom. There are no new residents to be found.”

  “That’s one of the disadvantages of living in a small town.”

  “The economy isn’t doing me any favors. People are choosing to care for their elderly family members at home in order to save money.”

  “Have you considered a short sale?”

  “I did chat with a couple of real-estate agents. They tell me it’s possible, but they say I’m upside down, which I’m told means my mortgage is greater than what I could sell the house for. By twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Coming up with January’s payment will be hard enough. No way can I magically produce tens of thousands of dollars.”

  The lump in her throat moved down to lie heavy on her heart.

  They chatted a few more minutes, and then Mr. Carter asked, “Have you considered renting the house out? We are in the middle of a local housing shortage.”

  “I have. But if I rent out my house, I’d need to find a place to live. I can’t afford much on part-time wages.” Not to mention she’d be giving up nursing.

  “What about taking in boarders?”

  “I looked into that, too.” She thought she heard the sound of computer keys tapping in the background. “Not many people want to be roommates with a couple of senior citizens. And I can’t take in someone with a pet or who has allergies because of my dog.”

  “Just for fun I pulled up some recent listings on the computer. I think you might be able to rent your house for close to what your monthly payment is.”

  “I can’t see the average family wanting to rent a handicap-accessible house.”

  “No, but the county might. I just remembered they’re looking for a house like yours.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “A group home. Their rep contacted me a few weeks ago. I didn’t think of you at the time.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” Miranda imagined former convicts and drug addicts converging on Sweetheart. She couldn’t do that to her neighbors. And it would be bad—really bad—for the town’s tourist business.

  “It’s not what you think. This group home would be for special-needs teenagers the county’s been unable to place in regular foster care.”

  Miranda’s reluctance instantly evaporated. Her parents had taken in more than one special-needs child over the years. Letting Harmony House be used for such a meaningful and worthwhile purpose made renting it out a little more tolerable.

  “Would you like me to make a call?” Mr. Carter asked.

  “Yes. Ask them what they’re willing to pay.�
�� Fact gathering, she told herself. She was in no way making a decision.

  After saying goodbye, Miranda pulled out her laptop and powered it on. Once the wireless internet service connected, she clicked on the website for the hospital where she’d worked in Reno. Following the link for careers, she explored the current job openings.

  More fact gathering, she reminded herself. As she’d told Will, leaving Sweetheart was her very last option.

  She reviewed the available nursing positions with interest. There were four altogether. Two of them were a good fit with her experience and qualifications. One was for a geriatric nurse.

  On impulse, she dialed the human resources department and, after identifying herself and her request, was put through to the supervisor of nursing. She remembered the woman from before. More important, the woman remembered Miranda. Favorably. They discussed the job openings, and Miranda, in too much of a rush to hunt down something to write on, scribbled notes on the side of a cardboard tissue box with an eyeliner pencil.

  “When’s the earliest you can come in for an interview?” the supervisor asked.

  “Tomorrow.” Miranda didn’t care what appointments she had to shuffle. Christmas was in three days. If she didn’t act quickly, she’d have to wait who knew how long. “Early afternoon would be best.”

  To her delight the woman replied, “Why don’t I slot you in for one o’clock?”

  “Perfect.” Miranda could manage the round trip in less than three hours. Four if she stopped briefly to visit her parents. Nell would cover for her.

  After a few parting pleasantries, Miranda ended the call. With trembling fingers, she phoned her parents. She’d need their help if she was going to return to Reno. Not for a loan but a bed to crash on until she found an apartment.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Mira, what’s wrong?”

  Leave it to her mother to deduce Miranda had a problem by hearing two simple words.

  Holding nothing back, she poured her heart out, telling her mother about losing her residents, her inability to refinance the mortgage, not wanting to leave Sweetheart because of Will and, lastly, her upcoming interview at the hospital.

  “Am I making a mistake, Mom? These are big steps I’d be taking. I’d have to sign a two-year lease with the county on the house.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re exploring your options.”

  “I don’t want to lose Harmony House.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Miranda. What’s happened to you is unexpected and unavoidable. A run of bad luck.”

  Until her mother said it, Miranda didn’t realize how badly she’d needed confirmation that she hadn’t screwed up. Wasn’t a failure. Had done her best.

  “There’s no reason you can’t reopen Harmony House in two years. God willing, the economy will be better by then.”

  Her house was only part of the problem. “I’m not sure about Will’s reaction to a long-distance relationship. We’re still in the beginning stages.”

  “Reno isn’t that far. You can drive back and forth on your days off. Call. Text. Skype.” Having raised numerous children, Miranda’s mother was technologically savvy.

  “It’s not as simple as you think.” Miranda sighed.

  “It never is.”

  She explained Will’s PTSD, omitting the personal details that were told to her in confidence. Being a nurse, too, her mother understood better than a layperson. She also understood the challenges of having a romantic relationship with someone who had the disorder.

  “This is your mother talking,” she said when Miranda finished. “While I’m sure Will is a great guy, he’s obviously dealing with a lot right now. So are you. I don’t think you should let your relationship with him factor into your decisions about the future of Harmony House and this potential nursing position. You have to look out for yourself.”

  What her mother said made sense. But Miranda’s feelings for Will were too strong for her not to factor them into her decisions. How much they factored might well be up to him.

  When Miranda hung up a short time later, she felt better about some things and worse about others. If only Will would accept the town’s offer to be an EMT. That would put him in Reno two or three days a week. Once she found an apartment, he could stay with her. It was possible. His PTSD was improving.

  She’d talk to him after the interview, she decided. And after Mr. Carter called about the house. No point doing it before then.

  She’d no sooner turned off her laptop and headed for the stairs when her phone rang. It was Mr. Carter. Already?

  “Glad I caught you,” he said cheerily. “Just got off the phone with my contact from the county. They’re still in the market for a property to rent. When I described your house and your situation, he was very interested.”

  Miranda made a dash for the tissue box and eyeliner pencil she’d left on the dresser and jotted down the man’s number. “Thank you, Mr. Carter.”

  The man representing the county answered her call on the second ring. Before Miranda quite knew what was happening, she had an appointment with a property agent to tour the house the day after tomorrow. The morning before Christmas Eve.

  It was all happening so fast.

  Disconnecting her phone, she stared at herself in the dresser mirror, noting her drawn features and the anxious look in her eyes. Telling Will had just become a higher priority.

  But not today and not with her looking the way she did. First she had the interview. Next she’d meet with the agent from the county.

  Just because a plan of action had fallen into her lap was no reason to assume said plan was a done deal.

  Except it seemed to Miranda that she was being guided in a direction. No longer a victim of fate’s whims, she was taking charge. Being proactive.

  If Will cared about her the way she believed he did, he’d see how much sense this plan made. She couldn’t save her elder-care business, but she could keep her house and continue working as a nurse.

  Two out of three wasn’t bad, right?

  * * *

  “HAD ENOUGH FOR one day?” Will halted at the trailhead and punched one of his trekking poles deep into the snow for balance.

  The grade in this spot was steep and his muscles were tired enough that he appreciated the extra support. His group of five fellow mountaineers had slowed their speed considerably during the past two hours, their five-mile jaunt on snowshoes wearing them out.

  “No, no!” the young woman objected, the portion of her cheeks visible beneath her goggles a bright red. “Let’s keep going.”

  “Are you crazy?” Her husband gaped at her, each word he spoke accompanied by a puff of white condensed air.

  “Count me out.” The other man’s shoulders drooped beneath his parka. “I’m done in.”

  The woman was soundly outvoted. Will doubted she wanted to continue and was only showing off in front of the others. She’d been the most determined of the group from the start.

  “This way.” Will took the lead.

  They crested the hill in single file, their steps hampered by the webbed snowshoes attached to their boots, and descended the other side. All of them were short of breath by the time they reached their vehicle.

  Sam had recently purchased the all-wheel-drive SUV for a song, citing they needed one to transport guests into the mountains for cross-country skiing and, the ranch’s newest offering, snowshoeing excursions.

  Will had only recently taken up snowshoeing, but he liked it. Liked it better when he was alone and communing with the great outdoors in private. But this group had been good sports. In return he’d given them a hike to remember.

  Lowering the SUV’s tailgate, he instructed the beginners in the group on how to remove their gear. Had Miranda ever snowshoed? She was definitely the outdoors type, as she
’d proved on their horseback ride. And having her for company wouldn’t be bad at all. He’d have to ask her. Maybe after Christmas. After New Year’s, he amended. She was overwhelmed these days.

  Wait. After New Year’s was when Mrs. Litey’s brother would be moving her to Carson City. A snowshoe trek through the ice-cold mountains would be the last thing on Miranda’s mind.

  Will thought of her constantly. Though they’d talked by phone, he hadn’t seen her since the day before yesterday. She’d pleaded a full schedule. He had a lot going on, too. The ranch was hosting an open house on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day dinner with sleigh rides afterward and a New Year’s Eve party. It was all hands on deck. Today’s outing was Will’s last one till the Monday after Christmas.

  Unloading their backpacks and removing their gear took a while. Eventually the six of them were on the road back to town, the heater in the SUV set on high.

  “Can we stop at the I Do Café?” The woman crossed her arms and hugged herself. “I could use a hot chocolate.”

  Her husband laughed. “I could use something a lot stronger.”

  A second show of hands was taken and, again, the woman was outvoted. Will dropped them off at the Paydirt Saloon. When they insisted he join them for a hot toddy, he declined with a promise to return in an hour. He had an errand to run that couldn’t wait and drove straight to Dempsey’s General Store and Trading Post.

  “Hey, Will.” Linda Lee, the store’s assistant manager, beamed happily as he approached the counter. She wore a Santa hat with candy canes tucked in the brim. Will knew from when he’d stopped by the other day that she dispensed the candy canes to kids who came in the store. “They arrived,” she informed him, a trill in her voice.

  “Good.” He’d worried the item he had ordered would be late. Deliveries were commonly detained in these parts, particularly after a storm.

  “Be right back.” She went through a door behind the counter to what Will assumed was a storeroom.

  He’d debated for several days what to give Miranda for Christmas and even if he should give her anything at all. He wasn’t expecting a gift in return. Money was tight for her, and he didn’t want to embarrass her with a gesture she couldn’t reciprocate.