Jingle Bell Bride

“Next time, stay with me, got it?” He gentled his voice, although it still came out gruff. Tenderness wasn’t his strong suit either.

Macie nodded. Twin tears trailed down her too-white cheeks.

His poor baby. “C’mon, let’s get you in the car.”

“No. Chelsea says I need an X-ray.” Macie sniffled. “You know why I don’t like the emergency room, Daddy?”

Yeah, he knew. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold in the pain. The past flashed like a mosaic—the receptionist bursting into his office with news of an urgent phone call, the mad dash to emergency, seeing Diana still and slight looking in death. His nurse kept Macie in the waiting room. After hearing the sad news the child had sat utterly still, frozen in a room of chaos.

He opened his eyes. Only a second had passed, but it felt like an eternity. “Let me take a look.”

“No!” She jerked away, the movement causing pain. More tears fell. “It’ll get better. I know it will.”

He knew the sound of desperation. He heard it every day in his office, when family members had to face a tough diagnosis. As a specialist, he gave out bad news as a matter of course. He’d had to harden himself so the sadness wouldn’t take him down. He had patients to think about, he had to stay uninvolved and rational so he could guide them through a tough and trying time.

He gave thanks that his child was healthy, unlike the others he treated, and wiped at her tears. “Come with me, baby.”

“No! I won’t go where Mom died.” His beautiful daughter hiccupped, upset by memories, which were hard for him, too.

At a loss, he opened his mouth and closed it. He wasn’t cut out to be a single father. He wished he were able to do a better job.

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him. He felt the woman’s—Chelsea’s—glower as she stomped closer. He hadn’t noticed she’d left, but when he spotted two knit blankets folded up in her arms, it touched him.

“She needs to be kept warm.” Her blue eyes met his, full of concern, and was that a hint of censure? Or wariness? Her gaze turned kind as she brushed snow off Macie’s hat. “If we leave you out here any longer, you are going to turn into a snowman, well, a snowgirl, and that would be bad because then you’d melt away.”

“Not if I moved to the north pole.” Macie hiccupped, in an effort to hold back her pain. “I could make a house there.”

“True. You could live in an igloo. It could be cool.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, as if amused by her own pun, and draped one blanket around Macie’s snowy shoulders. “There, now you’re ready for transport.”

“We’re going home, right, Dad?”

“Sorry, baby. I’m worried about your arm.”

“The pain is sharp and radiating.” Chelsea rose, clutching one remaining blanket. “There’s no tingling or numbness in her fingers. No sign of a compound fracture.”

“You’re a doctor?” It came out gruff and ungrateful-sounding, which isn’t what he meant. Not at all.

“That’s what they tell me.” She glared at him, apparently not willing to share her kindness with him.

Not that he blamed her, grabbing her the way he had. He’d been wrong, but the instinct to protect had been right. Surely she could understand that? Trouble was, he didn’t know how to say all that to her. His child was still shivering and in pain, so he gathered her in his arms, keeping his focus where it should be. On his daughter. Her weight in his arms was dear as he stood, cuddling her against his chest. He turned, shielding her from the worst bite of the wind.

“Daddy, promise me.” Macie pleaded, fragile and small against him, shaking with cold and pain. “Not the hospital.”

“I don’t know, baby.” Maybe he could think of a solution. The snowstorm worsened, the downfall so thick it hid all signs of the parking lot, but not the woman standing beside him.

“Where’s your car?” Chelsea in her navy coat said as she forged ahead. “This way?”

“Yes.” He squinted to keep her in sight. She walked easily through the whiteout conditions, graceful as the snowfall. There was something about her that was poetic as the night.

Not that he was given to poetry. He fished his keys from his coat pocket, careful not to jostle Macie. She sniffled against him, fighting her tears. Maybe there was a way to avoid the emergency room. He beeped his remote, and the SUV’s lights flashed through the veil of storm. Chelsea surprised him by opening the passenger door, holding it against the gusts of wind so he could settle Macie into her seat. He brushed the snow off her the best he could.

“Here.” Chelsea shook out the second blanket and shouldered past him. He caught a faint scent of vanilla and strawberry. Light-chestnut-brown hair spilled out from beneath her hat as she spread the afghan over his daughter, tucking it snug around her. “How does the snowgirl story work out? Does she live happily ever after at the north pole?”

“Yes.” Macie sniffled. “Her daddy turns into a snowman so she’s not alone.”

“Sounds like a fantastic story to me.” Chelsea’s smile could light up the darkness. “I’ll see you around, Macie.”

“See ya around.”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat, but the gruffness remained. The woman’s kindness touched him and drove some of the ice from his heart, on this of all days, the three-year anniversary of his wife’s death. “The blankets. I’ll need to return them.”

“I live at the end of Wild Rose Lane. It says McKaslin on the mailbox. You can’t miss it.” Her gentleness vanished when she turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.

Yeah, he’d made a good impression, all right.

“I’ll be praying for Macie, that her arm is all right.” Chelsea McKaslin stalked away, her boots squeaking in the snow.

Before he could answer, the thick veils closed around her, the shadows claimed her. She was lost to him and he was alone in the storm.

Chapter Two

What a gorgeous morning. Chelsea breathed in the crisp, icy fresh air, stomped the snow off her boots and tromped through the backyard of her family’s property. She blinked against the sun’s bright glare and glanced over her shoulder at the horse barn. For as far as she could see, white fields rolled and preened beneath a pale blue sky. Wow, it was good to be back for keeps.

The frigid air burned her lungs as she trudged toward the door. Slow going through the accumulation, but much easier since the blizzard had stopped. Last night’s trek home had been interesting. Drifting snow made it impossible to drive, so she’d pulled over on Wild Rose Lane and walked a half mile. She’d nearly turned into a snowman, too—well, a snow-woman. Thinking of Macie, Chelsea smiled to herself as she clomped up the porch steps.

“Ha! I saw you coming.” The door swung open and Meg, her younger sister by four years, crooked one slim brow. “What are you doing up at this hour? You got in so late. You should be sleeping in. Taking advantage of your time off.”

“What can I say? I needed a horse fix.”

“I totally get it.” Meg braced one slim shoulder against the open door, model-gorgeous with her lean looks, beautiful face and long brown hair. “Good news. The county snowplow just finished clearing the road.”

“Yay. Now I can rescue my car.” Her eighteen-year-old Toyota might not be snazzy, but she’d gotten attached to it over the years. She’d inherited it from Mom when she’d gone off to college. She tromped through the doorway and into the warm house. “Do you know what I really need?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Someone to give me a lift.”

“Sorry, I can’t pick you up.” Mischief twinkled in Meg’s brown eyes before she disappeared into the kitchen. “But I can give you a ride.”

“Really? Isn’t it a little early in the morning for puns?”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Sara Beth is rummaging around in the basement. Thought I should warn you.”

“Okay.” Chelsea shouldered the door shut. Sara Beth was sister number two in the McKaslin lineup, Chelsea’s younger sister by two years. “I guess the real question is what she’s looking for?”

“House lights. We’re putting them up today.” Meg’s voice echoed from the kitchen, leaving a lot unsaid. This would be the first Christmas they would be stringing up the lights without Mom.

Chelsea swallowed against a tide of emotion and plopped down on the nearby bench. She could do this. She could face this Christmas without Mom. “Are you going to hang the dangly icicle ones or the multicolor ones?”