The Child Who Rescued Christmas. Jessica Matthews

He’d hated seeing her so downcast for those few minutes and he wished Sara would focus on what she had rather than what she didn’t have. She’d always made it plain that she wanted a large family—two boys and two girls—like the one she’d had growing up, and while the thought of being responsible for four children—four—was enough to scare him spitless, he’d been willing to patiently and thoroughly do his part to fulfill her dream. He grinned as he remembered the last time they’d made love. They’d started in the kitchen then detoured to their oversize soaker tub before ending up in bed.

      He enjoyed nights like those—craved them, in fact—and he wasn’t in any particular hurry to lose them. Truth was, he liked having his wife to himself. The idea that he someday would have even fewer private moments with her than he did now only made him cherish those times all the more.

      While he looked upon their inability to conceive as one of the temporary mountains of life some people had to face—and was, in fact, a little relieved because he’d had so little experience with a loving family—she saw it as a personal failure. She shouldn’t, of course, because they were only in the early stages of the process. She’d gotten pregnant within six months of when they’d stopped using any birth control and although she’d lost the baby, only another nine months had passed. Consequently, they’d never thought they’d needed fertility testing, although if nothing happened soon, they would.

      And yet he truly did believe what he’d told her. Mother Nature simply needed time to work and Josh would decide on the proper time for medical science to intervene.

      Content to leave the situation in his colleague’s capable hands, he sat down to polish off his toast and coffee. As he munched, he idly glanced at the newspaper his wife had discarded and the trepidation he’d felt when Sara had first mentioned the helicopter crash came back, full force.

       Ruth Warren.

      Surely the woman wasn’t the same Ruth Warren from his youth—the same Ruth Warren he’d spent time with a few years ago at his fifteen-year class reunion. The same class reunion when he’d drowned his sorrows with far too many margaritas because Sara had left him.

      In spite of his reluctance to take the step she’d wanted—marriage—he’d come to his senses quickly. Accepting that his life would stretch ahead interminably without her, he’d proposed a week later. Sara had never pressed for details about his change of heart and he’d never offered them, except to say that he’d been miserable without her. Six months later, after Sara had planned her dream wedding, they had been married. Now, in a few more weeks, they’d celebrate their three-year anniversary.

      Three years of the happiness and contentment he hadn’t felt since he was eight.

      Suddenly, he had to know if the Ruth Warren mentioned in the article was the girl who’d often sat beside him at school because their names fell so close alphabetically. Now that he thought about it, hadn’t she mentioned during their reunion weekend that she’d turned her teaching certificate into a nurse’s diploma? To be honest, there was a lot about those two days he didn’t remember …

      Determined to find an answer, he abandoned his coffee on his way to his office and powered up his computer. Minutes later, he’d found the online obituary at the Tulsa World website and scanned the details. Most, he already knew.

       Age 33, preceded in death by her parents, attended the University of Oklahoma, earned a degree in secondary education and later in nursing before taking a position as a flight nurse.

      Reading the facts suddenly made them seem familiar, as if she’d told him of her career change and he’d simply forgotten. He read on …

       Survivors include a son, as well as many friends and former students.

      She’d had a son? She hadn’t mentioned a child, but she’d never been one to share the details of her personal life. He was certain he’d asked about her life—it had been a reunion, after all—but he’d been too focused on his own misery to remember the things she’d told him. Idly, he wondered if the boy’s father was still in the picture. Probably not, if the man hadn’t received mention.

       A graveside service will be held at 10:00 a.m. Wednesday at the Oaklawn Cemetery.

      Cole leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the screen. The description of Ruth’s life had been rather succinct, and certainly didn’t do justice to the young woman he remembered. She’d lived through a horrible childhood, carried enough baggage to fill a plane’s cargo hold and had a gift for defusing tense moments with a wisecrack, but she’d always been a great listener.

      And now Ruth was gone. Of course, he hadn’t talked to her since that weekend, but now he wished he’d contacted her and told her that he’d taken her advice. He’d faced his demons and followed his heart. Now it was too late.

      Then again, Ruth had probably known …

      It was hard to believe that someone Cole’s own age, someone who should have lived another fifty years or so, someone with whom Cole had grown up with, was gone. Her death gave him a glimpse of his own mortality, and suddenly he wished he’d taken off the entire week to spend with Sara instead of just two days.

      For an instant, he toyed with the idea of attending Ruth’s funeral, then decided against it. Depending on how old her son was, offering condolences would either be overwhelming or wouldn’t mean anything at this point. It would be better if he wrote a letter for the boy to read when he was ready—a letter telling him what a wonderful friend his mother had been.

      And although he knew Ruth would never have mentioned their one-night stand to anyone even in passing, in one tiny corner of his heart he was relieved that now it would remain a secret for all eternity.

      CHAPTER ONE

      “WHAT do you say you run away with me this weekend?” Sebastian Lancaster asked Sara two days later as she straightened his bedsheets during her last patient round before her shift-change report. “I know this great little place for dancing. I could show you a few steps that will make your head spin.”

      Sara smiled at her eighty-five-year-old patient who relied on a walker and wheezed with every breath, thanks to his years of habitual smoking. No doubt the only head that would spin with any sudden move would be his.

      “No can do,” she said cheerfully, already anticipating her upcoming weekend away from the daily grind of hospitals, patients and housework. “I already have plans.”

      “No problem.” He coughed. “What is it they say? Plans are made to be broken.”

      “I think you’re referring to rules, not plans,” she corrected.

      He waved a wrinkled, age-spotted hand. “Same difference. It’s been ages since I’ve tangoed and if I’m not mistaken, you’d be good at it. Got the legs for it.”

      Knowing the elderly gentleman couldn’t see past his elbow, she let his comment about her legs slide. “I’ll bet you were quite the Fred Astaire in your day,” she commented, giving the top blanket a final pat.

      “Oh, I was. My wife and I could have outshone these young whippersnappers on those celebrity dance shows. So whaddya say? Wanna spring me from this joint so we can take a spin?”

      She laughed at his suitably hopeful expression, although they both knew she couldn’t fulfill his request. Between his emphysema and current bout of pneumonia, he was struggling to handle basic activities, much less add a strenuous activity like dancing. However, his physical limitations didn’t stop this perpetual flirt from practicing his pickup lines. Sara guessed his wife must have been adept at keeping his behavior in check, or else she’d turned a blind eye to his Romeo attitude.

      “Sorry, but I’m already running away this weekend,” she told him, glancing at the drip rate of his IV. “With my husband, who just happens to be your doctor.”

      He nodded matter-of-factly,