I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas: I'll Be Home For Christmas / One Golden Christmas

Nick pulled the car into the busy truck stop, deciding he couldn’t leave them stranded here, cold and hungry. He’d at least feed them before he figured out what to do about their car. Turning to Myla, he asked, “Is everything all right? Can I call somebody for you? A relative maybe?”

She looked straight ahead, watching as a fancy eighteen-wheeler groaned its way toward the highway. “We don’t have any relatives here.” A telling silence filled the car. Outside, the icy rain picked up, turning into full-fledged sleet.

“Where were you headed?” Nick knew he was past late, and that he probably wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“To Shreveport.” Myla sat still, looking straight ahead.

“Mom’s found a job,” Patrick explained, eager to fill Nick in on the details. “And she said we’ll probably find a place to live soon—it’d sure beat the car—”

“Patrick!” Myla turned then, her gaze slamming into Nick’s, a full load of pain mixed with the pride he saw so clearly through the fluorescent glow of the truck stop’s blinding lights.

His mouth dropping open, Nick gave her an incredulous look. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing.” Her chin lifted a notch. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Rudolph. We’ll be fine now.”

The car door clicked open, but Nick’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm. “Hey, wait!”

Her gaze lifted from his hand on her arm to the urgent expression on his face. “Let me go.”

“I can’t do that.” Nick surprised himself more than he surprised her. “If you don’t have any place to go—”

“It’s not your problem,” she interrupted. “If I can just make it into town, I’ve got a good chance of still getting the job I called about yesterday. Once I find steady work, we’ll be fine.”

“I can help,” he said, almost afraid of the worn wisdom he read in her eyes. “I can call a wrecker, at least. And find a place for you to stay.”

From the back seat, Jessica went into another fit of coughing, the hacking sound reminding Nick of memories he’d tried to suppress for too long.

“That does it.” He reached across Myla to slam her door shut. The action brought them face-to-face for a split second, but it was long enough for Nick to get lost in those beautiful eyes again, long enough for him to forget his regrets and his promises and wish for things he knew he’d never have. And it was long enough for him to make a decision that he somehow knew was about to change his life. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his tone firm. “I won’t leave a sick child out in this mess!”

The woman looked over at him, her eyes pooling into two misty depths. “I…I don’t know how to thank you.”

Nick heard the catch in her throat, knew she was on the verge of tears. The thought of those beautiful eyes crying tore through him, but he told himself he’d only help the family find a safe place to spend the night. He wasn’t ready to get any further involved in whatever problems they were having.

“You need help,” he said. “If you’re worried about going off with a stranger, I’ll call someone to verify my identity.” A new thought calculating in his taxed brain, he added, “In fact, my sister is a volunteer counselor for Magnolia House. I’ll call her. She’s always helping people.” Having found a way to get out of this sticky predicament, Nick breathed a sigh of relief.

Myla turned back, her eyes wary. “What’s Magnolia House?”

He waved a hand. “It’s this place downtown, a homeless shelter, but a bit nicer. According to my sister it has private rooms where families can stay until…until they get back on their feet.” He really didn’t know that much about his sister’s latest mission project, except that he’d written a huge check to help fund it.

Giving him a hopeful look, she asked, “And we don’t have to pay to live there?”

“No, not with money. You do assigned tasks at the home, and attend classes to help you find work, things like that. My sister helped set the place up and she’s on the board of directors. She’ll explain how it works.”

“Can you get us in tonight?”

Putting all thoughts of a roast beef sandwich or a quiet evening with Carolyn out of his mind, Nick nodded hesitantly. “I’ll do my best. And I’ll send a wrecker for your car, too.”

She relaxed, letting out a long breath. Then she gave him a direct, studying stare, as if she were trying to decide whether to trust him or not. Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you.”

Admiration surfaced in the murky depths of Nick’s impassive soul. He knew how much pride those two words had cost this woman. He admired pride. It had certainly sustained him all these years. Debating his next question, he decided there was no way to dance around this situation. Starting the car again, he carefully maneuvered through the truck stop traffic.

“How’d you wind up…?”

“Homeless, living in my car?”

Her directness surprised him, but then this whole night has been full of surprises.

“If you don’t mind talking about it.”

“My husband died about a year ago.” She hesitated, then added, “Afterward, I found out we didn’t have any money left. No insurance, no savings, nothing. I lost everything.”

Nick glanced over at her as the car cruised farther up the interstate, leaving downtown Shreveport at Line Avenue to head for the secluded privacy of the historic Highland District. Taking her quiet reluctance as a sign of mourning, he cleared his throat slightly, unable to sympathize with her need to mourn; he’d never quite learned how himself. So instead, he concentrated on the fact that she was a single mother. All his protective instincts, something he usually reserved for his sister, surfaced, surprising him. Must be the Christmas spirit. Could I possibly have some redeemable qualities left after all?

“What did you do?” he asked, mystified.

Lifting her head, Myla sighed. “I left Dallas and looked for work. I got a job in Marshall, but the company I worked for closed down. I ran out of money, so we got evicted from our apartment.”

Nick could hear the shame in her voice.

“After that, we just drove around. I looked for work. We stayed in hotels until the little bit of cash I had ran out. That was two weeks ago. We’ve been sleeping in the car, stopping at rest areas to bathe and eat. The kids played or slept while I called about jobs.”

She slumped down in her seat, the defeat covering her body like the cold, hard sleet covering the road.

Then she lifted her head and her shoulders. “I don’t want to resort to going on welfare, but I’ll do it for my children. We might be destitute right now, but this is only temporary. I intend to find work as soon as I can.”

It was Nick’s turn to feel ashamed. He was more than willing to write her a fat check, but he had the funny feeling she’d throw it back in his face. She had enough pride to choke a horse, but how long could she survive on pride? And why should he be so worried that she’d try?

Nick didn’t have time to ponder that question. Minutes later, he pulled the car up a winding drive to a redbrick Georgian-style mansion that shimmered and sparkled with all the connotations of a Norman Rockwell Christmas. Suddenly, the wreaths and candles in the massive windows seemed garish and mocking. He’d told Henny not to put out any Christmas decorations, anyway. Obviously, the elderly housekeeper hadn’t listened to him, not that she ever did.

Now, seeing his opulent home through the eyes of a person who didn’t have a home scared him silly, and caused him to take a good, long hard look at his life-style.

“Man!” Patrick jumped up to lean forward. Straining at his seat belt, he tugged his sleeping sister up. “Look, Jesse. Can you believe this? Santa’s sure to find us here. Mr. Nick, you must be the richest man in the world.”

The woman sitting next to him lowered her head, but she didn’t reprimand her son. Nick saw the pain shattering her face like fragments of ice.

Nick Rudolph, the man some called ruthless and relentless, sat silently looking up at the house he’d lived in all his life. He’d always taken it for granted, his way of life. His parents had provided him and Lydia with the best. And even in death, they’d bequeathed an affluent life-style to their children.

Nick had accepted the life-style, but he hadn’t accepted the obligations and expectations his stern father had pressed on him. When he could no longer live up to those expectations, he’d acted like a rebel without a cause—until he’d seen the truth in his dying father’s eyes.

Everything his father had drilled into him had become a sham. And Joseph, overcome with emotion because he loved his Ruthie too much, had tried to tell Nick it was okay to be vulnerable when it involved someone you loved.

But it had been too late for Nick. He’d learned his lessons well. Now, he guarded his heart much in the same way he watched over Rudolph Oil—with a steely determination that allowed no room for weakness.

Maybe that was why he’d felt so restless lately. Maybe his guilt was starting to wear thin. Though he had it all, something was missing still. Nick had never wanted for anything, until now. All his money couldn’t buy back this woman’s pride or settle her losses. All his wealth seemed a dishonest display compared to her honest humility.

“No, Patrick,” he began, his voice strangely husky, “I’m not the richest man in the world, not by a long shot.”

“Well, you ain’t hurtin’ any,” Patrick noted.