The Christmas Cradle

“MS. PRESTON? MS. PRESTON? Are you stuck in the elevator?”

Marisa heard the man’s voice over the intercom and rose slowly to her feet. She hit Talk and released the stop button. “I’m fine, thank you. The elevator’s moving now.”

When it reached the executive floor, the maintenance man was waiting. “Ms. Preston—”

“I’m fine,” she murmured again, brushing past him and hurrying to her office, not wanting him to see she’d been crying. The news would quickly get back to her father, and she couldn’t deal with that right now.

She went over to the window that overlooked downtown Dallas, she didn’t see anything except Colter’s angry face. So many years she’d waited to tell him about their son, yet she couldn’t even bring herself to utter the words in his presence. We had a son. He died. How could she say that to him? Oh God, she had to talk to someone.

She picked up her phone. “Send Cari Michaels to my office, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her secretary responded.

Marisa wrapped her arms around her waist again to still her agitated nerves, and waited, staring out the window. Within minutes, Cari came through the door. Petite with dark eyes and hair, Cari had started working at Dalton’s as a sales-clerk. Today she was head of staff and, even though she had an office, she spent a lot of time on the floor making sure the store ran smoothly. Marisa had met her the first year she’d returned to Texas and they’d become fast friends, best friends. Cari knew all of Marisa’s secrets.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” Cari teased. “You keep forgetting I’m not allowed on the executive floor.”

The executive floor was for the Preston family. Her father had a large suite of offices, as did she and her brother, Reed.

Marisa turned from the window.

“What’s wrong?” Cari asked immediately.

“I saw him.”

Cari frowned. “Him? Who?”

“Him,” Marisa emphasized.

“Oh, no.” Cari understood now, and Marisa blurted out what happened.

“He was awful and I…I don’t understand.” Marisa was trembling visibly, and Cari quickly got her a glass of water.

“Here—” Cari handed her the glass. “Sit down before you collapse.”

Marisa sank into her chair and took a sip.

“Are you okay?”

Marisa nodded. “Seeing him was such a shock and he was so hateful, not at all like the man I once knew. It brought back so many memories. I wanted to tell him about our son, but he wouldn’t listen. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was. I wanted him to know—” Her voice wavered as emotion closed her throat.

Cari knelt beside her. “Marisa, don’t do this to yourself. You were so young, and you did the best you could under the circumstances.”

“Did I?” Marisa jerked to her feet and began to pace. “I don’t think so. I was weak and I let my mother control my life.”

Cari stood, too. “Marisa, what good will it do to—”

“My mother has these priceless crystal eggs that have figurines in them. I feel like one of those figurines, encased in glass, sheltered from the world, not allowed to live or make my own choices. That’s how both my parents treat me—like a piece of crystal.”

Cari didn’t say anything.

“Everyone knows my father created this job for me. I’m nothing but a figurehead. I’m allowed to decorate the store. That’s rich. That’s a joke.”

“Marisa, please—”

“But not anymore, Cari,” she said with renewed vigor. “No one’s going to treat me like that—including Colter Kincaid.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to see him again and tell him what really happened. That’s the only way I’ll have any peace.” She drew a deep breath. “But I don’t know where he lives. I never knew, even when we were together.”

“Do you really not know?”

Marisa swung to face her friend. “What?”

“I guess it was inevitable that you’d run into him one day.”

“What do you mean?”

A look of momentary discomfort crossed Cari’s face. “He has a large horse ranch somewhere outside Mesquite.”

“How do you know?” Marisa asked, pushing hair from her face.

“A couple of years ago, he was featured in Texas magazine. The story talked about his success as a horse rancher—and in the western wear business. His name’s on everything from boots to belt buckles.”

“What?” she whispered. “He was just a cowboy when I met him. And now he…”

“Marisa.” Cari’s eyes filled with compassion. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to upset you—and what good could it possibly have done? You’ve come too far to let this get the better of you.”

Marisa licked her dry lips. “Where’s his ranch?”

Cari shook her head. “I’ve just read about it, that’s all.”

“Please, Cari, I need his address.” Marisa stared into her friend’s eyes with a silent plea.

Cari sighed. “Marisa, I have this feeling you’re going to get hurt.”

“More than I’m hurting right now? I don’t think that’s possible.”

Cari flung up her hands. “Okay, let’s try the Dallas and Mesquite phone books.”

Marisa opened a drawer and pulled out the directories. Colter wasn’t listed, but his company had a Dallas address.

“That doesn’t help,” Marisa said. “And I’m sure his company won’t divulge his home address.”

“Your father has a lot of contacts,” Cari suggested. “I’m sure he could find the address in no time.”

“I don’t want my father involved in this,” Marisa replied, her tone abrupt.