It was a question she wasn’t prepared to answer because never in a million years had she expected this reaction.
They sat for another half hour, Katie drinking another latte and Warren an equal amount of coffee, before returning to the pickup. Warren was the ultimate suitor, attentive, polite, and tonight, affectionate. Katie felt her resolve weakening. Shelters all over the USA would lend hope to the abused; Candlelight was only one in thousands.
But it was hers.
Then suddenly he took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to kiss her. Her fingers traced the outline of his rugged features, features she knew so well, or did she? Did she really see behind his mysterious façade? Her senses told her he was a man, a handsome complex man. She explored his high cheekbones, skin exposed to Wyoming’s rough winters. As the kiss became deeper, she relaxed, threading her fingers through thick dark hair that faintly smelled of shampoo. Maybe this would work — this odd thing between them. Not love — not yet and not fully on her part, but a lingering hope that maybe, in time, she would be his healing source. This was not a relationship with absolutes. Only time would tell if it would survive its rocky course.
Later they passed Ben parked in front of the bank on traffic duty. As they drove by he pulled out and followed them down Main Street. At the city limits, Katy expected him to turn around and go back to Little Bush, but instead he kept following them at a distance, never closing the gap, but never falling behind, either.
Warren kept an eye on the rearview mirror. “What does the creep think he’s doing?”
She flinched at the word “creep.” Ben was anything but a creep, and she owed him a debt of gratitude she could never repay. “He’s probably on traffic duty. I’m sure he doesn’t spend all of his time stalking speeders.”
Warren flipped the night visor on the mirror. “He better get off my tail.” Warren increased his speed, whipping into a narrow lane. “Hold on. I’m going to lose this hotshot lawman.”
“Hey!” The exclamation came out stronger than she intended, but Warren was whipping down a narrow road like a crazed gazelle. Katie braced her hand against the dash and held on.
“Warren! This is insane. Stop it! You’re going to get a ticket.” He’d be lucky if Ben didn’t throw him behind bars. The speedometer registered sixty, sixty-five. Seventy. Seventy-five. Ben stayed on his tail. She had a sense both Warren and Ben enjoyed the contest — that they were egging the other one on.
Warren spared a glance in her direction. “You ever stop to think maybe lover boy is the one who tried to hassle you? Ever think of that, Katie? Well I have, and believe me, if he’s responsible …”
The unspoken threat settled around her heart like a noose as the chase continued. She had thought of that — she didn’t want to, but …
Katie, listen to you. You don’t have a clue who was causingyou trouble. You’ve suspected Neil Townsend, Ben, who else?Maybe it was one of them, or maybe it was someone you haven’teven considered. Why not Meg? Why not Janet or Ruth? Or throwthe cats and dogs in — Goldie and Fritz harassing you.
As quickly as the race began, it ended. Ben turned off on a side road, and the squad car disappeared. Katie sat back, mentally mopping perspiration off her brow. Men. They could be insane!
When they drove into the farm lot, Warren stopped the pickup and turned to face her.
“I’ll take my good-night kiss here. I don’t care for an audience.”
“Neither do I.” She gripped the door handle and got out. He’d had his kiss.
He rolled down his window. “It’s not your job to save the world!”
The roofers arrived early in the morning, bringing chaos — pounding hammers, debris from the old roof, men running up and down ladders carrying bunches of shingles. Katie was thankful there wasn’t a baby in the house, though one better show up soon, or the drama would suffer.
The women bore the noise well, with only occasional outbursts of hammer fatigue. Meg was stoic, determined not to bother anyone. The expectant mother was practically living in a fishbowl, every eye tuned on her.
Forty-eight hours later, a new roof covered the shelter, and the house warmed again. Katie spent a lot of time talking to God, thanking him for his blessings. She didn’t know how she’d pay for the thing, but it was good to know there was something stronger than a tarp between her and the sky.
Thirty-Two
Christmas Day steadily drew closer and still no baby in the manger. The drama had been rehearsed so many times, excitement waned. The only missing prop was a baby. The women were on point, ready to make a hospital run day or night.
Any disturbance caught Katie’s attention, and Fritz barking late one night woke her instantly. The dog’s protective instincts rarely proved wrong. Slipping from a warm bed, Katie stepped into her slippers and then pulled on her housecoat. She knew the deal between her and Tottie — no one goes out at night alone, but she didn’t intend to go outside. She’d just peek out the window and see what had the dog so upset.
Easing aside the lace sheer in the front room, she came face to face with a man peering back at her.
Yelping, she sprang back, heart hammering in her throat.
He rapped on the frosted pane.
Did intruders announce themselves? No. Slowly easing the curtain back, Katie recognized Ben.
Whirling, she marched to the front door, undid the chain, hit the safety lock, then the door lock. When she opened the screen, she was prepared to throttle him. Was he nuts? Creeping around the premises at this time of night? If Tottie had heard him, he’d be quickstepping buckshot right now.
“Ben O’Keefe! Have you lost your mind?”
“No.” His voice held a sheepish note.
“What are you doing here?” Suspicion replaced her fear. Why would Ben be sneaking around like a common criminal, unless … Her eyes narrowed.
“Now don’t get your bustle in a knot. I can explain.”
“You’d better.”
“I was checking the roof.”
“In the dark?”
He held up a flashlight. “Fritz saw the light and started barking.”
His tone was hard to discern. Was he sheepish because she caught him? Embarrassed? Or surprised he’d been busted?
“Why were you checking the roof?”
“I planned to get out here earlier in the day, but something came up. I’d gone to bed, and then woke up remembering that I wanted to check the men’s work.”
“Ben.” That was about as lame an excuse as Katie had ever heard. “They’re reputable roofers.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t. I just thought I’d do you a favor and check the work.”
“It couldn’t wait until morning?”
He shrugged. “I suppose it could, but I’d just lie there and think about it all night, so I figured I might as well check it out, then go home and get some sleep.”
“You’re lucky you’re not spitting buckshot.”
“I know. Sorry. I considered calling, but I knew you’d be asleep, and I saw no reason to disturb the whole household in order for me to walk around the house a couple of times and make sure the roofers got the gutters back on right. So shoot me.”
“I reserve the privilege.”
“Stupid move,” he agreed. “Night.”
She shut the door, slid the lock, then the safety lock and the chain.
If it were anybody but Ben, she’d call the sheriff.
Katie woke December 22 and looked at the clock: 12:30 a.m. She lay staring into the dark, trying to decide what woke her. She sniffed the air. Coffee. She smelled coffee. Someone was in the kitchen.
Throwing off the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for her slippers. She grabbed her robe on her way out of the bedroom, slipping it on as she descended the stairs.
Meg was seated at the table wearing a pained expression, a cup of coffee before her. She glanced up when Katie entered. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”
“No. I smel
led coffee and wanted a cup.” She sized up Meg’s intermitted winces. “Lightening pains again?”
Meg took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
Katie frowned. “Are you having pains?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t sleep, and while I don’t feel exactly like I did the time before, something isn’t right.”
Katie shot to her feet. “Sit right there. I’m going to get Tottie.”
By the time she roused Tottie, the other women were downstairs. The verdict was unanimous: a baby was on its way.
Pandemonium broke out as the women scrambled to their rooms to dress. Ruth grabbed the bag Meg had packed for the event. Janet and Katie ushered the young woman out to the waiting jeep, and Janet made Katie promise to call the moment the child was born.
Thirty-Three
Forty-eight hours later, Tottie fussed over the newborn like a mother hen. “Careful — put the blanket over her head. It’s snowing again.”
Meg protectively drew her daughter to her chest. “Will snow hurt her? Should I ask the doctor to let us stay until it’s over?” The anxious mother glanced at Katie. “I can’t do this!”
Katie gently took her arm and urged her into the jeep. “Snow won’t hurt Chrissy, and you can do this. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” Meg’s natural instinct had already kicked in. Admittedly though, she had much to learn about newborns, and Katie would be learning right along with her.
This should be your baby. Your biological clock is ticking,ticking, ticking.
You can’t let a clock determine your future. When the timeis right …
Tottie climbed into the farm truck, complaining. “I hope the old heater’s working. My feet can’t take much more of this cold.”
“It was working earlier,” Katie called. She climbed behind the jeep’s steering wheel. “The only thing we have to worry about is getting this baby home.” She grinned at Meg.
Katie started the motor. Meg and her baby were coming home for Christmas. Life was good.
Meg adjusted the blanket over the baby’s head. “I don’t know anything about babies. What if I do something wrong?”
Katie reached over and patted her hand. “You know more than you think you do. And you’re not alone. You have us. We’re a family. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”
Funny, she could hand out assurance to others and have so little herself. She knew that keeping the shelter open was the right decision, but it was difficult to not give into worry and indecision. I’m trying, Lord. Don’t give up on me.
Mother and child went straight to bed upon arriving home. For once the old house gave off rosy warmth. Outside snow flew against the new roof, but inside, Christmas Eve day reflected the spirit of the season. A tree that touched the ceiling conquered the living area, dressed in gold tinsel, bright red ornaments, and strings of popcorn. Janet volunteered her services for cookie duty in the kitchen while Ruth unpacked Meg’s overnight bag. A small changing station filled with necessities sat beside the infant’s cradle.
Katie surveyed the team with pride, knowing that she had given these women a place where they could feel safe and be themselves. The spirit of Christmas was alive and well at Candlelight. In the late afternoon, the women gathered for dinner, a festive soup with a name Katie could never pronounce and a recipe handed down from Tottie’s ancestors, and warm bread freshly baked.
The baby had slept through the afternoon, and Meg was starting to relax. Pride warred with panic on the young mother’s face when she cradled the newborn in her arms. Did Mary have much the same fears when she held her firstborn that night so long ago? Probably. Some things never change. Katie realized that she was looking forward to the humble nativity play. She’d invited Warren to come, but he had begged off, saying he had business that would last well into the evening. Katie saw through the thinly veiled excuse, but she hadn’t argued.
She joined Ruth in the living room to help prepare for the evening drama. A manger now sat where the sofa used to be. A shiny star hung suspended from the upper right corner of the living room. Goldie and Fritz, drafted to portray sheep, sat on their haunches and tried to scratch off sets of corduroy horns (the only available material in the house) taped to their heads.
Janet and Ruth donned bed sheets and tied bailing twine at their waists to become passable shepherds. “Do you think Meg feels up to this?” Janet adjusted her sheet robe, fidgeting with the folds.
Ruth bent to help. “She says she does. She says she’s feeling good.”
Behind the cradle, a sixty-watt lamp, sans shade, illuminated the reenactment of the Savior’s birth.
Katie put the finishing touches on the manger and prepared to don her costume, a king bearing myrrh, gold, and frankincense when she heard a knock on the back door. When she answered, Warren stood before her holding a huge red poinsettia — one of the largest she had ever seen.
“Merry Christmas!”
Astonishment and elation shot through Katie. She pulled him inside. “What happened to your business meeting?”
He shrugged out of his heavy jacket coated with snow. “I finished early, and I never miss a command performance.” He leaned to brush his mouth across her cheek.
In spite of her invitation, she had very little hope he’d spend Christmas Eve at the shelter.
Katie carried the poinsettia to the living room and sat it next to the manger. It looked good, right somehow, next to the cradle, and held a special significance for Katie this snowy night of miracles.
Warren took center front in a folding chair positioned for his viewing pleasure. Katie hurriedly changed. House lights lowered. Soft music began to play.
Action.
Meg, carrying the infant, appeared in the doorway with Joseph, aka Tottie, on her left side. Joseph and Mary slowly walked to the manger where Meg knelt, gently placing the child in the cradle.
A CD of Mannheim Steamroller sprinkled “Silent Night” in the background.
To the left, two shepherds, Ruth and Janet, watched their flocks resplendent in corduroy horns. Goldie sat on her haunches, tongue lolling to one side, and eyed Warren. Katie prayed the friendly pet wouldn’t lunge and make a scene. The canine loved attention.
Janet stepped aside and reached for a pulley. Amid squeaks, a large star hoisted to center attention.
Katie, a magnificent king, made her appearance dressed in a gold sheet with a cardboard sequined crown around her head. She towered above petite Mary when she offered gifts: first gold, then frankincense, then myrrh.
Goldie’s eyes pivoted to the colorful jars.
“Easy, boy,” Katie whispered, knowing the dog’s propensity for curiosity.
Woof.
Inside the cradle, the baby stirred.
Katie knelt on the third presentation, myrrh, and bowed her head.
Woof.
A couple more minutes, Goldie. Hold on.
The music swelled magnificently, the “Carol of the Bells.”
The infant started awake and then released a series of waaa waaas when the powerful tune was amplified in the small theater arena.
Goldie’s eyes switched from Meg to the baby, from the baby to Warren, then back to Meg. Her tongue hung lower, salvia dripping on the stage. Her wagging backside knocked the manger cockeyed. Other thin props toppled like dominoes.
Waaa, waaa, waaa!
Meg caved. She reached for the infant at the same time Goldie lunged. Katie yelped, dropping her staff. “Goldie! Sit!”
Waaa, waaa, waaa!
Ruth made a grab for the dog, but the canine escaped the trap and thrust her head into the cradle, nosing the source of the crying.
Tottie poked the end of her staff at the dog, but Goldie refused to move. She sniffed and licked.
Waaa, waaa!
Meg batted the dog aside and clutched the child protectively to her chest. “Get!”
Goldie then turned on Warren. With a bounding leap, she landed in the rancher’s lap, licking his nose and bu
rrowing her searching snout into Warren’s coat pocket.
Chairs overturned and staffs fell to the floor as “Carol of the Bells” crescendoed throughout the room.
Chaos battled bedlam.
When the last music strain died away, Katie had subdued the dog and banished her to the outdoors. Slipping the lock, she returned to the living room. The scene that met her eyes was one of shambles. Toppled manger. Poinsettia upturned on its side, blooms trampled. The shepherds sitting on a folding chair, dazed. Meg had whisked the infant to safety, and the look on Tottie’s face was nothing less than despair.
Silence filled the room.
Then Katie heard slow clapping.
Her eyes flew to the source, and she saw Warren standing in the doorway applauding the performance.
For a moment she wanted to cry. All of the hard work, all the late night practices. Ruined.
Instead, she burst into laughter.
Seconds later, one by one the others followed. Janet, Ruth, Warren, and eventually Tottie joined in.
They laughed, each round getting stronger until they held their sides, tears rolling from the corners of their eyes.
When Katie found her voice, she shoved her askew crown back from her forehead and announced between snickered gasps, “And, ladies and gentleman, this completes tonight’s performance.” She curtsied. “The women of Candlelight Shelter thank you for coming and invite you for cookies and punch in the kitchen area.”
Then she folded over a chair and collapsed in a storm of laughter.
Thirty-Four
Calm restored, the women tried to salvage the remains of the manger. Goldie and Fritz were allowed back inside to gobble down a special treat — chicken-flavored dog biscuits. Goldie was forgiven for her part of the fiasco, although the women agreed she’d never make it in the movies. The joyful spirit of Christmas reigned throughout the old house as the women and guest consumed cups of cold eggnog and sugary treats provided by Ruth and Tottie.
Katie started in to the living room to change the CD when Warren snagged her around the waist. “Caught you!”
Grinning, she allowed the capture, aware of the mistletoe dangling overhead.
Drawing her close, Warren kissed her. Color warmed her cheeks when she returned his ardor. His reservations seemed to have melted like spring snow, and she dared hope his attitude toward the shelter was changing.
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