Their Christmas Angel

What a gorgeous family these three made. The man—tall and lean, sexy and strong, with a warm smile in his sky blue eyes and on his rugged face—and those two adorable little girls by his side. Erin, with her golden-highlighted coppery-red hair gleaming in the morning sun and her pixie-like features—her softly pointed chin, small turned-up nose and finely etched cheekbones—and Megan, whose hair fell to her slim shoulders in a swoop of silky pale gold, with her expressive, friendly brown eyes and eager, happy-to-be-me grin.

Yes. They were a striking trio, and as they approached the front porch, Nicole wondered about the girls’ mother. She must have been a stunning woman. Red haired, possibly, like Erin, and almost certainly brown eyed, like both of her daughters. And Nicole then thought of the illness that had taken this mystery woman’s life, the illness she herself had fought with such vehemence, and her heart went out to these two little girls. To Parker.

Not only for the crushing, devastating loss of a mother and wife, but for the unbelievable hell that came before. The consuming fear when the diagnosis was first delivered, the slender strands of hope that couldn’t truly be grasped onto because of the overriding terror, the misery—oh, the horrible, horrible misery—of chemotherapy. Losing her hair, losing her identity, trying to have a positive attitude and keep it all together for her girls, for her husband, for herself.

Nicole didn’t have to imagine the terror or the hard-to-find hope or the god-awful misery. She was well acquainted with how it felt to watch your hair fall out, to look in the mirror and not recognize your own reflection, and to, well, to feel so ill that at times the possibility of losing the battle, of dying, came as almost a salve to the soul. Those struggles, those emotions, those realities she had experienced and would never, for the rest of her life, forget.

But she did not have children or a husband who had so needed her to survive, who depended on her and loved her, to worry about. To fear for or to try to remain strong for. Nicole could not put herself fully in this woman’s shoes, could not fathom how much courage and strength she’d been forced to find or the deep, desperate sorrow she must have felt when she knew that death was coming and that she couldn’t do anything but wait for the end.

Yes, Nicole had worried for her parents and her brother, and yes, she’d absolutely attempted to remain resilient and optimistic for their benefit, if not her own. And that wasn’t nothing. But it wasn’t the same, either. Did not, could not, hold an intensity equal to looking at your cherished children and hating the fact that you wouldn’t be there for them as they grew.

The weight of unshed tears appeared behind Nicole’s eyes. She pushed them down deep and forced the depressing thoughts into submission. They’d be there, she knew, to later pick apart and once again consider everything she had already considered so many times: the wisdom of purposely attempting to have a child without a husband in the wings ready to take over if her life ended, whether by a stupid accident of fate or the recurrence of her deadliest and most feared enemy.

Except now, along with the scary what-ifs—if she became pregnant, if she became ill again, if she didn’t survive—she would see this family in her mind’s eye. She would think of Parker and Erin and Megan, and the undeniable facts of all they must have gone through and how very much they’d lost. And while she might already be pregnant, she’d have no choice but to once more weigh the risks against the benefits of her choice and decide if that balance had changed. If she was pregnant, she’d joyously move forward with hope and commitment. But if her fourth procedure had failed as the first three had, then yes, she’d reconsider everything from top to bottom with a different, more defined view and see where she landed.

She doubted she would change her mind, but she recognized that ignoring the weight on her heart, the stark reality of these two little girls growing up without their mother, would prove impossible. She had thought about them before, what they had experienced, when she’d first learned of their mother’s passing from one of the other teachers, but now that she’d spent time with Erin and Megan outside of the classroom, her reaction to that basic knowledge had become more intense.

But those thoughts weren’t for now. She had a dog to find and two beautiful little girls plus one handsome daddy to welcome into her home. So, centering every ounce of her energy on the present, she smiled at her guests, who had just reached the front porch, and said, “Hey there, guys! I’m glad you’re here. Come on in and we’ll—”

“Hi, Miss Bradshaw!” Erin said. “We’re glad we’re here, too. And you’ll never guess what we did! We brought you a surprise. To help us find Roscoe.”

“Oh?” She took a closer look at Parker and finally noticed a stack of large drawings, bright and colorful with stickers and glitter, in his grasp. Blinking, she read the lettering on the topmost drawing and she saw what these precious girls had done for her. And her heart melted into a pile of sticky goo. “You girls are amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Erin said. “And it was my idea.”

“But we both worked really hard,” Megan added. “Because we want Roscoe to come home so you won’t be sad and he’ll be safe. We didn’t have any pictures of him, but Daddy said we could probably get one from you and that we should just leave a big space in the middle.”

“I have plenty of pictures, for sure,” Nicole said, still surprised. Still tingly. And feeling about as fortunate and blessed as a woman with a missing dog could. “And I already have one picked out that I was going to use to show people. So, I’ll just print more.”

“Or make some copies! Daddy said that, too, and—”

“Take a breath, Megan,” Parker said, widening his smile. He winked at Nicole and now her gooey heart did the impossible. It fluttered. “I know you’re excited and want to show Miss Bradshaw the signs you worked so hard on, but why don’t we go inside first?”

Nicole returned his smile but not his wink, and opening the door another margin, she waited for all three to enter. Once they had, the girls kneeled to take off their snowy boots without being asked, and Parker handed her the stack of signs so he could do the same. Their fingers touched, for a brief, hardly there second, and the zing returned. Along with that punch—more of a wallop, really—of intrinsic recognition and connection. To this man.

Without warning, something—hope, maybe—that she’d buried in a locked, steel alloy box broke free and blossomed into being. She’d given up on the idea of love, of being lucky enough to find the right man to cherish and who would cherish her in return, to build a life with. But here it was again, as bright and shiny as a new penny. And far too appealing.

What if this recognition and connection and tingly awareness she felt toward Parker could actually become the love she never thought she’d have? Based on her past and what she knew of his, a bona fide miracle would have to occur. And really, how many miracles could a woman expect to have? She’d already been graced with her life, becoming healthy again, and she was, even now, doing everything in her power to become pregnant, which would absolutely count as a second miracle. There was Roscoe, too. Finding him would be number three.

Three miracles seemed greedy enough. How could she possibly hope for a fourth?

“I know it has to be difficult, but try not to worry too much, Nicole,” Parker said quietly, retrieving the signs from her grasp and then handing them to his daughters. They took them and rushed into the living room. “Focus on Roscoe and how he is very likely holed up somewhere safe and sound, and that he’ll be back home by the end of the day.”

“Good advice and that’s what I keep telling myself,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m just worried, I guess. I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s my best friend and an important part of my family. That might seem weird to say, but it’s true.”

“Not weird. I’d call it normal and expected. I’ve never had a dog, but my sister has a canine member of her family.” He nodded toward his daughters, who were in the process of laying the posters side by side on the living room floor. “She’s a sweet dog—feisty but sweet. Jinx adores kids, and the girls love her. It was hard on them when Daisy and Jinx moved out.”

Toddler twins, a sweet and feisty dog and a loving husband. Parker’s sister seemed to have it all. Some women really were blessed with everything. And that was fine. Good, even. Nicole did not need everything to be content and satisfied with all she did have. She wouldn’t refuse more, but who would? She just didn’t require more.

“I’m sure it was difficult,” she said. “How long did your sister live with you?”

“Oh. For a while. She took care of Erin and Megan when I was in the hospital.” A shadow crossed Parker’s features, which he quickly masked with a smile. “My point is, I have a small idea of what you’re going through, even though the circumstances are different.”

“Right. Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest that you didn’t.” She was curious about why he had been in the hospital and for how long, but didn’t ask. Even if the girls weren’t within hearing distance, it wasn’t her business. She hated talking about her illness, treatment and recovery. The entire topic made her uncomfortable. “We...uh...should get moving. I’ll print off more pictures of Roscoe so the girls can finish their amazing posters, and then we’ll head out.”

“Perfect,” Parker said, moving toward his daughters. By now, they were sitting on the floor in front of their handiwork, waiting about as patiently as two kids could. “I was thinking we might want to stop by Fosters Bar and Grill when we’re ready for a break. They get a lot of business, and my sister is married to one of the Fosters. I’m sure they’d hang one for us.”

She followed Parker’s path and stopped near the trio. “That would be great,” she said. “Thank you. And you guys wait here. I’ll be right back with those pictures. We need eight?”

“We have eight posters, so yes, please!” Erin said.

Megan worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I hope we left big enough spaces.”

“We did,” Erin said, “but we can cut the pictures smaller if we need to.”

“So long as we don’t cut off part of Roscoe’s face,” Megan said. “Because we can’t redo the posters. We left all of our art supplies at home, and we’d have to go back.”

“Girls, we won’t have to redo anything,” Parker said. “You left plenty of room.”

Nicole smiled at their chatter and went to the bedroom she used as an office. Quickly, because she was ready to search for her dog, she found the correct picture of Roscoe on her laptop and set it to print eight copies. Her brain returned to Parker’s statement about being in the hospital. Had he been sick or was there an accident or...?

Again, she reminded herself that whatever the cause of his hospital stay, it wasn’t her business. Besides which, if Parker wanted her to know more, he’d tell her on his own. If he was anything like her, and it was a topic that made him uncomfortable, he wouldn’t. And since she had firsthand experience in the discomfort of unwanted questions, she would never put another person through the same misery. But that didn’t stop her curiosity or her concern.

She hoped that whatever had happened was over and done with and well in the past.

A sigh emerged as the eighth sheet of paper spit from the printer. Today, she didn’t have to think about anything except for finding Roscoe, and she wouldn’t have to answer any of those hated questions. Parker did not know she was a breast cancer survivor. To him, she was just his daughters’ music teacher who had lost her dog. Nothing more, nothing less.