A Small Town Christmas Part 89

This was all too much to process. His head was going to explode.

"Honey, a person really only has two choices. You can wander through life safe and alone or you can take a risk."

"I think I'll wander."

"Then I'm afraid you'll miss out," she said simply.

A certain sweet face with big green eyes and kissable lips came to mind. He shook his head in an effort to dislodge it but it remained like a psychic burr.

"It's cold up here," he decided. He rose and held out a hand to his mother. "Come on. Let's go downstairs and I'll make a fire."

The rest of the day was filled with good Christmas experiences. The chief stopped by with an envelope full of cash courtesy of the guys at the station so Mom and the Steps could get new clothes. Mom's friends from the old neighborhood tracked her down and came to the front porch caroling and delivering a holiday feast as well as money and presents. One family had put together a basket of DVDs for the Steps.

As Zach stood looking at happy couples and their kids singing "Joy to the World," the little face with the big green eyes whispered, "That could be us."

Wishful thinking, he replied.

"That was awesome," said Natalie after the last batch of visitors left.

"Let's eat this turkey while it's still warm," suggested Mom.

"And watch a movie," added Kendra.

Zach tried not to cringe when she plucked Mamma Mia from the basket, in his opinion, one of the dumbest flicks ever made. "I should probably run by the station," he said.

"Oh, no," said Kendra, grabbing him by the s.h.i.+rt. "The chief gave you the day off to spend with your family. That's us, in case you didn't notice."

He was beginning to.

They made themselves at home in the living room with plates loaded with turkey and dressing and cranberry sauce and watched Pierce Brosnan make a fool of himself trying to sing. People not knowing what they were doing, falling in and out of love, chasing each other around-what a dumb movie. It was enough to make a guy toss his Christmas cookies.

And then, just when Zach thought the flick couldn't get any dumber, one of the women in it started singing "Take a Chance on Me."

The little green-eyed face at the back of his mind started singing, too. Take a chance. Take a chance. Come on. You run into burning buildings for a living. Get some guts. Take a chance.

The little voice kept singing long after the movie was over.

And when Tom managed to knock the Clue game from the window seat and Natalie picked it up saying, "Hey, this might be fun," it started screaming. TAKE A CHANCE, BOZO!

Zach jumped off the couch like his pants were on fire. "I've got to go."

SEVENTEEN.

Merilee had shed her fancy clothes and changed into her cozy jammies: pink flannel with a candy cane print. She'd turned on her tree lights and served herself some light eggnog along with the small plate of Christmas cookies her mother had sent home with her (comfort food), and now she was snuggled under an afghan (more comfort) with It's a Wonderful Life playing on her TV (which should have been comforting). A perfect ending to a perfect day.

Not. She was by herself. She didn't even have a cat now. What was so wonderful about that?

It will be a new year, she told herself. You'll go to school. You'll find the right man on Myotherhalf.com. And you'll move and get a cat. There. The new year was looking better already.

She took a big slug of light eggnog. This stuff sucked. Tomorrow she was going to the store and get some good eggnog. And meanwhile she was going to...? Quit obsessing over Zach!

She opened her laptop. She'd check and see if Myotherhalf.com had sent any new frog princes hopping her way.

George Bailey was begging to live again and Merilee was checking out a new potential other half when someone started pounding on her door. What on earth? She wrapped her afghan around her and padded over to the door and peered through the peephole.

Zach? Was she hallucinating? Under the influence of too much eggnog?

"Merilee, open up."

She looked down in horror at her flannel jammies. Great. Where was her slinky black top when she needed it? She pulled the afghan around her shoulders and opened the door, sure her cheeks were as red as her hair, to find him standing there, filling the doorway.

"Zach," she said stupidly.

He didn't give her time to say anything else. He pulled her to him and kissed her. And what a kiss it was! The only thing that kept her from going up in smoke was her flame-r.e.t.a.r.dant jammies.

Was she dreaming? No. Her eyes were still wide open in shock, and there was that handsome face, up close and personal. Right along with other parts of him. Ooh.

But ... "What are you doing here?" she asked when he finally set her mouth free. And why was she asking? Whatever Christmas spell he was under, did she want to break it?

"I'm taking a chance," he said, and kissed her again.

Those potential princes were immediately forgotten and the afghan fell to the floor.

From the TV, Mary Bailey cried, "It's a miracle!"

And she was right.

EPILOGUE.

One year later This was the life, thought Ambrose as he stretched by the fire. It looked like it was going to be a nice, long one.

He had sure earned it. It hadn't been easy getting Merilee and Zach together, but he'd managed. He still looked back on some of his lives and couldn't make sense of them. One thing he knew for sure, though: this last one had been his most important. He had used it well.

And it had paid off. It was snowing outside, fat flakes laying a freezing carpet on the lawn, but in Zach's living room everything was cozy. Christmas music came from the funny little contraption on Zach's coffee table, and in the bay window, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled temptingly. However, Ambrose was too smart to get fooled into going anywhere near the thing. He'd had enough tree encounters to last a ninth lifetime. Still, it was pretty to admire from a distance.

His evening stretch finished, he relocated to the couch where Zach and Merilee were snuggled with Zach's computer looking at pictures of brides, making himself at home on Merilee's lap. She had been off to something called veterinary school but she had come back for the holidays, and to welcome her home Zach had given her a diamond ring.

Ambrose knew about that. Cats didn't bother with such fol-de-rol, but humans seemed to need things like rings and ceremonies before they could take mating seriously.

Come summer, there would be a big ceremony and then probably, somewhere down the road, children. Ugh. But into every cat's life a little rain must fall.

A new song started and a chorus of humans began to sing, "We wish you a Merry Christmas."

It had been a Merry Christmas, with all of Zach's family over, and lots of women to pet Ambrose. They hadn't brought Aphrodite but that was okay. It meant more attention for him. He and Aphrodite had managed to keep in touch and probably later tonight he'd be slipping out his cat door for a rendezvous. Ah, life was good.

"We wish you a Merry Christmas," crooned the singers, "and a Happy New Year."

A log s.h.i.+fted on the fire and settled with a little whoosh, adding "And a happy ninth life."

Thank you, thought Ambrose, and he closed his eyes and purred.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

As always, I have lots of people to thank for helping me tell Ambrose's tale. Thanks to Daniel Olson, fire chief for Poulsbo, Was.h.i.+ngton, for taking time to explain the workings of the fire department. Keeping the citizens of Poulsbo safe and keeping Sheila on track-I don't know which was more challenging! Anyway, both Ambrose and I thank you. Thanks also to my writing pals Susan Wiggs, Elsa Watson, Anjali Banerjee, and Kate Breslin for all their great input as I worked on telling Ambrose's tail ... er, tale. Last but not least, a huge thanks to my awesome editor, Rose Hilliard, and my amazing agent, Paige Wheeler. You two make work fun!

A VERY HOLLY CHRISTMAS.

Sheila Roberts.

St. Martin's Press.

New York.

After that Christmas strike...

Joy Robertson held her breath. "So, is it too many?"

Her husband, the former Bob Humbug, shrugged. "No. Go ahead and invite whoever you want to the Christmas party."

Had she heard right? This from the man who, only a year ago, poo-pooed all things Christmas related. "Are you sure?" she called after him as he went down the hall to his writing room.

"I'm sure," he called back.

Who would have thought one little strike by the women in the town of Holly would bring about such changes? Joy thought as her husband shut the door behind him. This was going to be an awesome Christmas.

She spent the afternoon happily baking cookies and, later that day, when Bob was running errands, she slipped into the office to snag her laptop so she could send out internet invites to their Christmas bash.

Bob was already hard at work on a new mystery. With his writing career starting to take off, it seemed like he was always at work on a new book. She saw some pages sitting on his desk and couldn't resist snooping. The Holiday Bash read the t.i.tle. Oh, clever. He'd typed a little summary of the book under the t.i.tle: Frustrated husband plots to murder wife at family's Christmas gathering.

Frustrated husband. Was that Bob? It had been a whole year since she accidentally started the strike that led to his life-changing epiphany. Bob had seemed so sincere when he claimed he was a changed man and that he wanted to enjoy all the holiday festivities with her. Now, with Christmas chaos bearing down on him, was he thinking of serving up a little revenge and b.u.mping her off in a book?

She frowned. They were middle-aged with grown children. Surely they had gotten past playing these games.

After what went on last Christmas? Who was she kidding.

"Okay, Bob Humbug," she growled, opening her laptop. "Guess what. The guest list for the Christmas party just doubled."

Sharon Benedict left the mall on Sat.u.r.day with her car loaded with new Christmas decorations tasteful decorations to beautify their house both inside and out. Pete and the boys may have taken over the tree last year, but this year was going to be different. Yes, they were already planning their next holiday monstrosity, hoping to win Holly's tree decorating contest again, but she had news for them. Their tree would be relegated to the family room. She was going to put a flocked tree with rust and gold ornaments and bows in the living room. It would be stunning. And the outside of the house would, of course, tie in perfectly, with gold festoons along the porch and pretty little icicles hanging from the roof.

But she pulled up in front of her house to find that her men had already been decorating the front yard. No, not decorating. Destroying, vandalizing, ruining! She got out of the car and staggered up the walk. A gigantic blow-up Santa with sungla.s.ses waved at her, his hat whipping in the breeze. Reindeer and candy canes lay scattered across the lawn. A Rudolph was already set up and when she walked past the thing it belched at her. "Oh, my Lord," she whimpered.

Her son, Pete Junior, emerged from the garage carrying a bundle of multi-colored lights. "Hey, Mom. How do you like it so far? Dad says we're sure to win the contest for the best yard this year."

Sharon thought of all her lovely decorations in the car and felt a sudden urge to stomp that stupid reindeer to death. But her mama raised her to be a lady, so she resisted.

"Hey, babe," called Pete from the roof. It was a good thing he was way up where she couldn't reach him. "How was shopping?"

"Pete Benedict, you are going to fall and break an arm," she scolded.

"Nah, I'm being careful. Oh, and don't worry about the mess in the kitchen. We'll clean it later."

Sharon frowned. "Mess? What have you all been doing while I was gone?"

"Baking gingerbread boys," said Pete Junior. He snickered. "We've got some great ones this year."

She remembered the anatomically correct gingerbread boy from last year and could only imagine what kind of naughty cookies they had baked in her absence. It was only the first week in December and her perfectly planned holiday was already starting to unravel. Was it just last year that she'd been complaining about having to do everything herself? Be careful what you wish for.

Now the other two boys were on the lawn, filling the nippy air with squeals and laughter. "This is fun!" cried James.

Fun. For whom?

But later that week as a light snow fell and she and Pete walked the neighborhood holding hands as they checked out the compet.i.tion, the boys running ahead, laughing and throwing s...o...b..a.l.l.s, she found herself smiling. They were doing things as a family like never before.

"Christmas at the Benedict home will never be Martha Stewart perfect again," she confessed to her friends when they gathered for their weekly knitting group at the St.i.tch in Time yarn shop. "But it will be perfect in other ways."

"You sound like a Disney movie," teased Laura Fredericks. "And I can't believe you haven't had a nervous breakdown over this."

"Well, they may have taken over the yard, but I have reclaimed the house," Sharon said with a satisfied nod.

Laura frowned at the same scarf she'd been working on all month. "I think I need to reclaim some territory myself. Glen dropped Joseph putting up my nativity set and shattered him."

"As long as you've got Jesus and Mary you're still all right," Kay Carter a.s.sured her.

"I guess," said Laura. "We're putting up the tree this weekend. G.o.d knows what he'll break then."