Be Mine at Christmas (9 page)

“So where would they live?” Claudia asked.

“I’m praying it’ll be here. What good is getting my first granddaughter if I never get to see her?”

Matt’s mother had a point. If they got married, they’d live in Virginia City. Angela knew that already. But even if they didn’t marry, Kayla would stay with Matt. Angela felt certain she’d be happier here than she’d been in Denver. The only decision left was whether or not Angela could allow herself to be part of the idyllic picture. Could she say yes? After everything Betty had done for her, did she have that right?

“We’re ready!” Kayla shouted.

Sherry ushered in the group from the kitchen, while Claudia’s children rounded up their dad and
Matt’s father, who’d been checking out the new computer in the other room.

Matt let go of Angela’s hand and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching Kayla as she sat next to her presents.

“Do we take turns like before? Or do we all open at once?” she asked.

When Matt stood, Angela knew he couldn’t wait any longer. “Before we get too carried away with all the gifts, I have something to say.”

Sherry grabbed her husband’s arm excitedly, Ray grinned at his wife and Claudia motioned for complete silence. Obviously, except for the children, they all thought they knew what he was about to announce. But this would be a surprise.

Angela clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“I have a special gift for Kayla. One I’d like her to open now,” Matt said.

Kayla sat up straighter. “But you already gave me a gift, Matt.” Her hand went to her throat in search of her locket but, finding it missing, she turned worried eyes to Angela. “My locket! It’s gone!”

“You haven’t lost it,” Angela said. “I took it last night. Matt’s giving it to you again.” She cleared her throat to help steady her voice. “Only this time it has your father’s picture in it.”

Silence as thick as the snowdrifts piled outside descended on the room as everyone stared at Kayla, who was still gazing in shock at Angela. “That can’t be true,” she said.

“It’s true,” Angela said.

Matt crossed the room and pulled the plush blue box from his pocket.

“Are you sure I should open it here?” she asked him.

He knelt down beside her so everyone could see. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Go ahead.”

Kayla’s trepidation showed in the stiff set of her shoulders. With a final glance at the people watching, she slowly, carefully withdrew the locket.

Angela’s pulse raced as Kayla opened the tiny clasp. Then the girl’s jaw dropped and her gaze flew to Matt, who was watching her with so much hope that everyone in the room could feel the poignant emotions inside him.

“
You’re
my dad? I mean, my
real
dad?”

Tears glistened in Matt’s eyes. He kept blinking, obviously struggling to hold them back, but he nodded. “I just found out myself the day before yesterday. I’m glad I know,” he said and gathered her in his arms.

Angela didn’t realize she had tears rolling down her own cheeks until they began to drip off her chin. She wiped them as Kayla squeezed Matt tightly.

“Merry Christmas, Kayla,” he said. Then he released her and turned her to face all the others in the room. “And these people—they’re your family, too.”

Sherry had nearly fainted at “You’re my dad?” Now she leaned heavily on her husband and waved a hand in front of her, as if she couldn’t get enough air. “Does that mean you’re going to marry him?” she asked Angela hopefully.

She still believed what she’d originally been told—that Angela was Kayla’s real mother. They
could explain the details later, Angela decided. She had enough going on right now. Everyone’s attention had shifted to her, even Kayla’s.

“Marry him?” Kayla murmured.

“That—that’s one option,” Angela admitted. “We’ve been…talking about it.”

“And what are the other options?” Kayla asked.

Everyone’s eyes cut back and forth between them. Angela hoped no one could tell how badly she was shaking. “You could live here with…with Matt.”

Some of the excitement fled Kayla’s face. “Without you?”

“I don’t know yet, Kayla. I have a house in Denver—”

“We’re selling the house, remember?”

“And a job.”

“Can’t you work here?”

“You wouldn’t have to. I can support you,” Matt said.

His mother moved closer to him. “He’d make a good husband.”

“And you’ve seen the calendar,” his aunt added. “You know what kind of fires he can put out.”

Angela didn’t have a chance to answer any of them. Kayla’s eyebrows were drawing together in hurt and anger. “You said I’d always be a central part of your life, and no one would ever change that. Now you’re giving me away?”

“I’m not giving you away,” Angela said. “I—I’m letting you live where I think you’ll be happiest.”

“I can’t be happy without you!”

Angela turned to Matt, expecting him to help her defer answering. But he didn’t. “I can’t be happy without you, either,” he said softly, honestly.

“Do you love him?” Sherry asked.

Angela didn’t want to admit the truth. She knew what would happen. But Matt was watching her so intently, she couldn’t lie. “I do.”

“So say
yes…
Marry him…It’s Christmas,” everyone said, pressing closer.

Angela let her uncertainty show in her expression. “What about Stephanie?” she asked, seeking Matt. “Kayla’s
her
daughter. You’re the man
she
wanted.”

This threw the others, but not Matt. “We’ll do what we can for her,” he promised. “When she’s ready.”

Kayla’s arms slipped around Angela’s waist. “Leaving us won’t help her!” she said, hugging her tightly. And it was those words that finally made sense to Angela. Denying herself the joy of being with Matt and Kayla wouldn’t help anyone.

The tears started to come again, but Angela brushed them away. “Yes.”

“You’ll do it?” Kayla cried. “You’ll marry him?”

Angela smiled through her tears. “I will.”

Matt’s arms went around both of them, and he kissed Angela’s temple. “I’ll make sure you never regret it,” he whispered.

The rest of the group hugged and congratulated her one by one, and Angela smiled as she realized that Kayla’s new family had just become her own.

Maybe this Christmas wasn’t like the ones she used to know. But she knew there’d never be a better one. Except for next year. And the years after that…

Dear Reader,

I’ve always had a fondness for the story of Scrooge and his journey to become a better person. When Brenda Novak, Anna Adams and I first started brainstorming ideas for this project, I found myself intrigued by the idea of Scrooge (Simon Castle in my story) falling in love with the Ghost of Christmas Present (Emma Roberts). Okay, so Emma isn’t a ghost and Simon doesn’t wear a full-length nightshirt, but the idea that someone can make a difference in your perspective on life is fascinating. I hope you enjoy my lighthearted take on this classic tale.

I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site, www.melindacurtis.com, or regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316. Bah, humbug…er…happy holidays!

Melinda Curtis

Brenda Novak

Dear Reader,

I found the research for this novella very interesting, probably because I live close to the Sierra Nevada. I had no idea there were so many crash sites there, but it stands to reason. They’re such a rugged range. As sad as it is to think about the people who have gone down in these planes, I came across several stories of survival, which were very uplifting, especially the one about the boy who lasted several days alone—until rescuers could reach him—that is mentioned in the story. It’s amazing what people can do even in difficult circumstances!

I hope you enjoy Maxim and Adelaide’s story. Sometimes the best things come out of the greatest tragedy.

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my home on the Web at www.brendanovak.com and sign up for my mailing list so that I can alert you whenever I have a new book out.

Merry Christmas and happy reading!

Brenda Novak

Tuesday, December 16

A
DELAIDE
F
AIRFAX HAD
been apprehensive about taking this flight from the very beginning. For one thing, she preferred not to be in such close proximity to her election opponent. Maxim Donahue, the man who’d filled her husband’s state senate position via special election two years ago, was working on his laptop across the aisle and slightly in front of her. He was the only other person on the seven-seater Cessna except for the pilot and, although he refused to show it, he couldn’t be happy that she’d been the one to claim Franklin Salazar’s endorsement at their meeting this morning. A very wealthy developer, Franklin would not only be a generous campaign benefactor, he’d be a strong influence on other key supporters.

But, despite the awkwardness of their association, it wasn’t being cooped up on a private plane with Donahue that’d tempted her to stay in Tahoe and forgo the governor’s fundraiser in Los Angeles. Neither was it the Christmas music that filtered through the speakers, reminding her of a season she preferred, for the third year, to forget. It was that she’d always hated flying. The newspaper article she’d read last week, detailing the shocking
number of uncharted plane wrecks in the Sierra Nevadas, didn’t help. This range contained some of the highest mountains in the northern hemisphere—craggy, rocky peaks that soared above the timberline.

Those same craggy peaks were now lurking somewhere below them in the blizzardlike weather. How close, Adelaide didn’t know. But she had a feeling it was too close.

She knew the instant they were going to crash, but because of her fear, she couldn’t really describe it as a premonition. It was more of a gut instinct, a sudden prickly sensation that told her something terrible was about to happen—the same sensation she’d experienced right before she’d received the call notifying her of her husband’s fatal car accident.

She opened her mouth to ask the pilot if everything was okay but didn’t have a chance to voice the words. One of the powerful downdrafts they’d been battling almost since takeoff jerked the plane, and it lost altitude at such a rate her stomach jumped into her throat.

Senator Donahue looked back at her, his expression, for once, devoid of the contempt he typically reserved for her. It was an honest “Oh, my God” moment when their eyes met and they understood without speaking that the primary they both wanted to win so desperately the following June no longer mattered. Chances were they wouldn’t see Christmas.

T
HE IMPACT OF THE CRASH
rattled Adelaide’s teeth and threw her against the harness of her seat belt, like a one-two punch to the stomach and chest. At the same time, a heavy object fell from above, striking her on the temple. It hit hard enough to disorient her, but she didn’t lose consciousness. She sat, eyes wide open, staring at nothing but
darkness. The Christmas music was gone, replaced by a low hissing sound.

The smell of gasoline registered simultaneously with the pain she felt from the landing. She had to climb out, get away from the fuselage. But how? If there were emergency lights, they hadn’t come on.

Could she find the exit? If she did, could she open it? She was shaking so violently she doubted she had the strength to move even a small piece of luggage out of her way.

How had this happened? The pilot had promised they’d be able to get through. And God owed her a small break, didn’t He? She’d barely been able to function since Mark died. The coming election, and her decision to enter the race—what should’ve been Mark’s race—had given her a reason to go on.

Ironically, it was also thanks to the coming election that her life was now at risk.

She struggled to get her bearings, but the creaks and groans of the plane and the heavy dust-filled darkness worked against her. Never had she imagined herself in such a situation, where survival depended entirely on her own ingenuity and instincts. A pilot, a flight attendant, a firefighter—she’d always assumed there’d be Someone In Charge in case of an emergency. Someone
else.

Had the senator or pilot survived? What were the chances?

Not good, surely. She didn’t hear anything—no movement, no groans. Was she completely on her own?

She held her breath. The howling wind gusted into the cabin as if a hole had been ripped in the metal, or the hull had broken apart. Maybe she wouldn’t need to open the door. Maybe she was mere inches from freedom and
didn’t know it. But if she made it out alive, how long would she survive in conditions like this? Were there any emergency supplies on board? Flares?

I’m going to die.

That realization made her shake. But what did dying mean, exactly? As a foster child who’d been bounced around so many homes she’d lost track, she hadn’t stayed in touch with any of her “parents.” She had no children. She’d already turned her business over to the woman who’d worked for her almost from the beginning, so she could campaign.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to fantasize about seeing Mark again, touching him. He’d been the one constant in her life, the only person who’d ever made her feel loved. She missed his appreciation for fine wine and good books and old architecture and modern art, missed the way he laughed and made her laugh. Was he still the same in some other dimension, maybe living in heaven, as so many organized religions taught?

The possibility calmed her. If heaven existed, maybe she wouldn’t be alone for Christmas, after all. Lord knew she’d trade her money, her company and her hopes of winning a state senate seat for some kind of contact with Mark—would do it in a heartbeat. No more forcing herself to meet each new day without the husband she’d lost. No more aching loneliness. Only someone with a fierce will to survive could come out of an accident like this. And that wasn’t her. She’d fought enough battles. It was better to give up right away, let go—

A moan interrupted her thoughts. She was almost reluctant to acknowledge what that moan meant. Another survivor complicated her desire to slip away without a struggle.

It had to be Maxim Donahue, she decided. He opposed her in everything.

But it wasn’t Donahue. The sound came from the pilot. She could tell because Maxim called out to him a second later, his voice so scratchy and strained it made her wonder if he’d been seriously injured. “You…okay, Mr. Cox?”

Cox. That was the pilot’s name. They’d been introduced when Adelaide came on board, but she’d been too busy keeping to herself to concentrate on someone she’d likely never meet again. A friend of the governor’s had provided the plane and the pilot. Governor Bruce Livingston wasn’t about to let bad weather beat him out of what he had planned for his biggest fundraiser of the year. He’d invited Donahue as a way to show his continued support; he’d invited her as a way to reach her wealthy supporters. She knew it was a calculated move, but her acceptance was every bit as calculated. Although most folks expected the governor to stand by Donahue, her inclusion in this event signaled that he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to seeing her take over. It was a perfect strategy—playing the middle ground, as Livingston did so well.

“Mr. Cox?” Donahue called, a little louder.

The moaning stopped. “Get out…now!” the pilot rasped.

Other than that hissing she’d noticed earlier, silence fell, as absolute as the darkness.

“Adelaide?” Donahue said next.

It was odd even in such a desperate moment for this man, who’d only ever addressed her as
Ms.
Fairfax—lately with a starched courtesy that bordered on rudeness—to use her first name. But at least he sounded more
coherent than he had a minute or two before. She knew that should’ve brought relief. Instead, she experienced an unmistakable reluctance to give up her hope of seeing Mark again.

“Hey, you still with us?” he persisted.

Don’t answer.
She knew what she was in for, couldn’t face it. They’d freeze to death even if they got out.

And yet, despite all the odds stacked against them, despite the possibility of Mark waiting for her in heaven, the drive to go on, to live, finally asserted itself.

“I’m here.” Unfortunately. Why couldn’t it have happened quickly? Why couldn’t it be over already?

“Where’s here?”

In her seat. She hadn’t budged because she’d assumed it was pointless. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. Her head hurt, and a wet substance rolled down the side of her face, but it couldn’t be tears. She was too shocked to cry.

“Answer me, damn it,” he snapped while she was puzzling over her own reaction.

The force of his demand, and the same instinct that had led her to answer the first time, drew another response. “Where I was when w-we crashed.”

That information was enough to guide him to her. A moment later she felt him touch her. His hands ran over her head, her face and then her body. They moved briskly, purposefully—and they missed
nothing.

Mark…
The yearning nearly overwhelmed her.

“I don’t feel any major injuries,” he said. “Can you walk?”

Not Mark. Mark’s replacement. Mark’s old acquaintance turned political enemy. “I th-think so.” Why weren’t his teeth chattering? How could he remain calm, even through
this?

She should’ve expected it. She’d often said he was made of stone. His wife, already ailing with cancer, had committed suicide two years ago, six months after Mark’s death. But Maxim Donahue had never shown so much as a hint of regret. She could still remember the implacable expression he’d worn when he appeared on television on a completely unrelated matter only days after Chloe Donahue’s funeral.

Adelaide had always resented him for the ease with which he’d been able to return to business as usual. He made carrying on look simple. Probably because he cared about nothing as much as his own ambition. That was part of the reason she’d decided to run against him. What Donahue had said about her late husband provided the rest of her motivation.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

The pilot didn’t utter another sound.
Cox.
Adelaide knew she’d never forget his name again. Not if she lived to be a hundred.

“Wh-what about M-Mr. Cox?”

Light appeared. At last. But it wasn’t the emergency lights. It was the blue glow of flames licking across the cockpit. The flicker illuminated the slumped figure of the pilot.

“Get your hands out of the way!” Maxim Donahue shoved her fumbling fingers aside, unlatched her seat belt and half dragged her to the door, where he pulled the barely visible emergency latch. But the door wouldn’t open. They were trapped. Unless they could discover where that wind was getting in….

Grabbing her shoulder, he shoved her toward the back. “Find the opening. I’ll get Cox.”

Find the opening.
Adelaide could feel the wind, the
cold, even the wet snow seeping through the wreckage, but her head injury left her dizzy, stupefied. She couldn’t think. Especially when she heard Donahue behind her, his gruff voice carrying a terrible note of finality. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”
she repeated, unable to absorb his meaning.

He didn’t clarify. He pushed past her and kicked at the walls and windows. But the fire in the cockpit yielded more smoke than light. Flames stole along the floor, threatening to destroy the only hope they had.

Adelaide’s nose and throat burned. And the sticky substance, the blood, coming from the wound on her head kept running into her eyes. She wiped at it and blinked and blinked and blinked, but it made no difference. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t imagine how they’d live another five minutes.

Suddenly, the plane shifted, and a great gust of ice and snow blew back her hair.

Donahue had found an opening. He’d widened it. That brought a poignant burst of hope. But at the same time, metal screeched against rock, echoing miserably against the night sky. Then the plane tilted at a crazy angle and the floor beneath their feet gave way.