Sleigh Belles. Beth Albright

all that fantastic election coverage and that Find Lewis campaign you launched last spring, you’re a famous reporter. Come on, you know that,” he reminded her.

      She smiled a weak smile as she reached for a tissue. Not to dab her eyes, but to blot her lipstick. She had managed to swallow that lump and move past the moment with the help of Daniel, although she would never admit she needed anyone.

      Christmastime or not, she had grown used to going it alone. And she wasn’t fixin’ to change that for anyone—not for Mike, not for Daniel and especially not for a long-absentee mother.

      7

      Late that afternoon, Dallas and Daniel wrapped up the editing on the Twelve Days of Christmas story they’d shot that morning, then she grabbed her coat to head to the Bama Theatre for another rehearsal. The weather had turned bitter cold, which was totally abnormal for Tuscaloosa in mid-December. It was normally mild in Tuscaloosa, but this time of year the weather could be unpredictable. A freak snowstorm one day, then the next, sunny and sixty degrees. The current drop in temperature had Dallas bundled up beyond recognition—something she really didn’t like.

      She parked in the front of the theater and made her way inside. Just as she entered the lobby, she heard her name mentioned from around the corner in the auditorium. Cal was talking to Betty Ann, the choir director. Dallas turned her back so they wouldn’t see she was there and listened.

      “Oh, Cal. Give her a chance. I think she’ll figure it out,” Betty Ann was reasoning.

      “I’m not so sure,” Cal shot back. “I have known this woman most of my life, and I’m telling you, she never changes. She’s probably the worst choice we could make for a director replacement. She’ll scare those poor kids to death and they’ll quit.”

      Dallas bristled at that. Maybe she was a bit standoffish, but scary? Come on!

      “Well, I think that’s just a tad harsh,” Betty Ann said. “Now, don’t you? She’s a media professional, which I would say makes her quite qualified—more than you or me, at least. And I know the board checked with her news director, and the TV station is fully behind her. Don’t judge her too quickly, okay? Let’s give her another chance.”

      “I guess we don’t have a choice,” Cal said. “But I’m watching out for those kids. They’re my priority. Some of them from the foster home don’t have a soul in the world to protect or support them. I’m not gonna be able to just stand back and watch her make demands they can’t meet, or talk down to them and make ’em feel worse about themselves.”

      Dallas thrust her nose in the air and rounded the corner, surprising them both.

      “Good afternoon,” she said as she walked quickly right by them.

      Both of them stood, bug-eyed, likely wondering if she’d heard them. Betty Ann made a quick exit down the theater side aisle as Cal headed to the sound booth upstairs.

      “Okay, children take your places,” Dallas said as she removed her long coat and warm gloves, throwing them on a theater seat and climbing the stairs to the stage. “We don’t have any time to waste today.” She clapped her hands together and got right to work, directing them to their positions for the first scene. Better to make this successful than to fail in front of everyone, she thought. Nobody really thinks I can do this, so I’ll just have to prove them wrong. Plus, she knew Cal was listening to everything up there in the booth, as if he was God, so she was more determined than ever to show him just what she was capable of.

      “Wait, Ms. Dubois,” Betty Ann broke in. “The children are still in choir practice right now. You’re a bit early.”

      “Well, can’t they practice the songs second today instead of first?”

      “Well, no, not really.”

      “And why would that be?” Dallas demanded impatiently.

      “Some of the children only come for the choir practice. Once we’re finished, they can go on home while the rest of the children stay for play rehearsal. It won’t be long, okay?” Betty Ann didn’t wait for an answer. She began to round the children up and head them down the hall off stage left to the choir room.

      “Wait. Wait, please. Now, I’m a little confused. Am I the director or are you the director, Ms. Betty Ann?”

      “Well, of course you are in charge,” replied Betty Ann, stunned. “But this is what works best for the children, Ms. Dubois. Is this a problem for you?” Her voice was almost sickly sweet, and she was smiling back at Dallas as if she could take her down with one little flick of the wrist. Betty Ann was an old-school Southern belle, schooled in the way of all good Southern women who smiled while they were ripping your head off, slowly. Or choking you with their string of pearls. It took quite a woman to intimidate Dallas, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure she was up for a fight.

      “Of course not, but I just wanted to be clear so I know my responsibilities,” Dallas said, backing down. The whole take-charge attitude wasn’t really working at the moment.

      “Wonderful. I knew I could count on you,” Betty Ann said, grinning as she took the children on to the choir room.

      With the children off the stage, Dallas wandered around the set. It was precious, really, with little candy-cane streetlights and fake snow atop all the rooflines. A life-size gingerbread house sat in the corner, complete with Twizzler candies and gumdrop trimmings. Dallas was lost in the memories of her early childhood, where she stood singing on that very stage in a long-ago Christmastime production. She smiled briefly, softening in her recollection.

      The set was actually too perfect—since when Dallas took her next step, she lost her footing on the stairs down the trap door, which was concealed by a carefully arranged pile of fake snow. Unable to steady herself, she fell right to the bottom, twisting her ankle on the way down. She was in a lot of pain, but still she was thankful that no one was around to see her in an embarrassed heap at the bottom of the stairs, her cream-colored dress dirty with dark marks and shoe prints from the wooden stage steps.

      She tried to get up, but her ankle was hurt terribly. Suddenly, she heard someone walking across the stage. She thought it must be Cal and hurriedly tried to get up again. He couldn’t see her like this. She’d managed to shift only slightly to the side when she looked up to notice a cute little pudgy boy was standing at the top of the steps looking down at her. His mop of dark curly hair hung loosely around blue eyes that stared down at her.

      “Ms. Dubois, are you okay? Do you need help?” he asked.

      “No, I’m fine,” she said dismissively, her cheeks aflame. “Just go back to class. What are you doing out here anyway?” She hated feeling even remotely vulnerable and wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to break that habit, even when the most adorable little boy was looking into her eyes.

      “I was going to the potty and I saw you fall down,” he said. Just then, Cal appeared next to him.

      “Need some help?” he asked with a smirk.

      “No, actually, I’m fine. Now, both of you just go. Really. I’m fine.”

      “Well, are you plannin’ on stayin’ there long? The kids’ll be back here pretty soon to get started,” Cal said with his hands on his hips.

      “Yes. Go. Really.” She winced as she tried to pull herself up, regretting the five-inch boots that, she admitted to herself, weren’t exactly the proper footwear for directing a children’s play.

      “Go! Both of you.” She winced again.

      “Come on, don’t be so stubborn. Can you just let me help you?” But Cal didn’t wait for a response. He skipped down the stairs and slipped his arm under hers and his other arm around her waist and helped her up. He was inches from her face. This was the very position she had promised herself to never be in again. The one she’d found herself in at the hospital when she’d been covering the birth of baby Tallulah. It was that dangerous spot that made her unable to