A Holiday Prayer

—Joshua 1:9

“Why won’t they just leave me alone?”

Maddie Carlton glared at the offensive pile of giltedged invitations crammed through the mail slot of her town house, then shook her head at her bulldog Max. “Don’t they have anyone else to bother?” Max lifted his soulful eyes to her and shook his jowls.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she mumbled. With a tired sigh, she bent down and retrieved her mail, tucking it under her arm as she shuffled into the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered dressing for the day, and was still in a frayed gray terry-cloth bathrobe and matted slippers.

It was her mourning outfit.

She usually dressed and showered before waking her six-year-old son Nicky, but today it was too much effort.

Christmas. Her first Christmas without Peter. And the anniversary of his death. All wrapped up in one morbid package.

The first months of grieving. Peter’s birthday. Their wedding anniversary. Each date came and went, the sun rose and set, and Maddie was still walking and breathing, still cleaning and cooking—though sometimes it amazed her.

Life went on. But it was always a struggle.

It was Nicky who kept her rising every morning, moving through the day. For Nicky’s sake she would do anything. Even get dressed when she felt like staying in bed, her head buried under mounds of covers.

With a cup of coffee to increase her fortitude, she slumped at the kitchen table, spreading her mail before her. Invitations, mostly. Every charity this side of the Mississippi River had heard of her tragedy, and every one of them wanted to partake of her monetary settlement, the flower that they believed grew from the ashes.

Maddie snorted aloud, causing Max, who was trying to nap at her feet, to sniff and give her his best doggie put-down for disturbing his rest. If he could, Maddie thought, he’d be rolling his eyes. As it was, he groaned, rolled to his feet, turned his back on her, and flopped to the floor again.

“Sorry, Max.” She took a handful of envelopes and flipped through them. Who wanted her money today?

She was about to toss the whole unopened lot into “file thirteen” when a bright green envelope caught her eye. Usually the invitations and pleas came in fancy silver or burgundy, or at the very least in a crisp business envelope.

In addition to being a merry Christmas green, this envelope had a child’s drawing of Santa and his reindeer.

Children’s Hospital.

Even the name made her tremble. The other envelopes dropped unnoticed to the floor as she ran a quivering finger across the seal.

For Children’s Hospital, she would at least take a look.

Chapter One (#ulink_8b7d5b4f-914c-5933-84be-c747c87e8359)

Father, I cannot see tomorrow, Father, I find it hard to pray, Father, feeling these tears of sorrow, Carry this weight…Show me the way. Open up my eyes, Open up my ears, Open up my heart. Father, hear my prayer.

—Heartfelt

An ocean of masked party-goers washed toward the Brown Palace Hotel, their laughter echoing in the cold evening air. Maddie closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling of gurgling laughter caught in her chest, bubbling up into her throat.

Her heart felt void of any emotion but a sense of apprehension at being in the public eye, of being recognized as the Wealthy Widow, as the newspapers had dubbed her.

Country-bred bumpkin was more like it, party clothes or no party clothes.

She stared in awe at the majestic exterior of the historic Brown Palace Hotel, a landmark sandwiched between office buildings in the heart of downtown Denver.

God help me. She sent up a silent prayer. This isn’t going to work without your intervention. She reached inside herself, searching for a snippet of peace that would make this night easier, but found nothing. Nothing. She was little more than an empty shell.

It had taken her years to adjust to being a suburban housewife on the outskirts of a big city, used as she was to her small hometown in eastern Colorado. No way would she ever fit in among an ostentatious crowd of silver-lined philanthropists. Even with a mask she was bound to give away her small-town roots.

Happily-ever-after storybook endings didn’t exist. She was hard proof of that. Perhaps her sparkling Cinderella satin gown and glass slippers were more appropriate than she’d imagined. That irony crowned her, just as sure as the faux-diamond tiara she wore.

She wasn’t looking for Prince Charming. She’d already had her one true love. Memories would have to be enough to bolster her through the remainder of life.

She ought to turn right around and go home where she belonged. She glanced back at the street, but the taxicab that had dropped her off in front of the hotel had long since vanished.

Maddie decided to walk back to 16th Street, where she could catch a bus back to her own neighborhood. She didn’t really want to be alone in a crowd. Alone at home was easier to handle. She was still too used to having Peter by her side. Single was not her style.

And maybe it never would be.

She was looking at her see-through, plastic “glass” pumps, and didn’t see the crowd approaching her until it was too late. A festive jumble of costumed people whirled her into their midst and, seeing she was also incognito, whisked her along with them into the hotel.

She fought to be released, but an older woman with a dozen glittering rings on one hand looped her arm through Maddie’s, giving her little choice but to follow the others into the dark, panel-floored atrium. She sighed. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she quoted to herself.

“Exactly, dear,” said the old woman with the rings, who stood at Maddie’s side. Maddie had forgot that she wasn’t alone, or she certainly wouldn’t have spoken aloud. The gray-haired woman put a hand to Maddie’s back and gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the music. “Might as well take a peek, dear heart, since you’ve come this far.”

The voice was filled with such authority that Maddie swiveled to catch her expression, but the woman was already tottering toward a group of friends, waving her arms enthusiastically at a big, black bear.

She could see the second floor of the hotel through broad arches, and again felt a quiver of dismay at finding herself among a class of people who would frequent such a place. She felt like a church mouse in a grand cathedral.

Courage, Maddie, she mentally coaxed herself. These people put their pants on the same way you do. Get a grip on it.

She wandered tentatively into the ballroom, which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Billowy cotton clouds hung from the ceiling, sequins glittering from their depths, and many-faceted paper snowflakes graced the walls. Pillar-like lamps wrapped with festive, pungent pine boughs surrounded the dance floor, giving the room a candlelit kind of glow. A twelve-piece orchestra played a lively Chopin waltz in one corner of the ballroom. Already, couples were whirling around the dance floor in time to the music.

The effect was magical, and Maddie experienced the temporary, giddy feeling that she’d been transported to another time and place. Was this how Cinderella felt when she walked into the prince’s palace? She took a deep breath and smoothed down the satiny folds of her opaque silver gown. Cinderella. Would it hurt to pretend? Just a little? And just this once?

Just for tonight, she promised herself. She was in a mask, after all, and had her hair and face made up. No one would recognize her. If the night went well, she might not even recognize herself.

Groups of chattering people mingled around the perimeter of the hall, while others sat at tables before plates mounded with food from the buffet in the next room. Everyone she saw was lavishly costumed— from a portly lion and his chair-wielding lion-tamer wife to Santa and Mrs. Claus.

What if one of the masked men in the room was Neil March? The unspoken question hit her with such sudden force that she nearly reeled. Her stomach tightened as she fought the nausea she felt every time she saw or heard his name.

It was Neil March’s fault that she was here tonight. Alone.

Irrational though it might be, Maddie blamed Neil March for Peter’s death. There was so much anger, so much pain. It had to be channeled somewhere and Maddie had, whether consciously or not, transferred her negative feelings to Neil March. He was, after all, the owner of the department store and in her mind, that made him responsible.

The report by the fire department had cleared March’s of any wrong doing, but she clung stubbornly to her own suspicions. Authorities could be paid off to keep their findings a secret and if there was one thing Neil March had plenty of, it was money. Hadn’t he tried to buy her off as well?

Her stomach clenched and she scanned the room in earnest.

What if he was here? Maddie gasped fighting the waves of panic.

No. Neil March wouldn’t be here. He was a playboy, not a philanthropist. What he’d paid her at Peter’s untimely death had been nothing less than blood money. Not offered out of generosity. And definitely not offered out of compassion. Of that she was certain.

Though she knew him to be a practiced businessman, she pictured Neil as a young, arrogant preppie, complete with khaki pants and a designer polo shirt with the collar flipped up on his neck. He’d have a tennis racket slung over one arm and a gorgeous blonde on the other.