His Christmas Bride. Dana Corbit

son by both his names when he annoyed her, any more than he could understand how she was still in a festive mood after such a disastrous tree-cutting outing. It had begun to sprinkle the moment they’d pulled up at the tree farm, and by the time they’d left with that gigantic, soggy Scotch pine, Dylan had been looking around for animals lined up two by two.

      Matthew opened the storm door and stuck his head inside, raindrops running down the lenses of his glasses. “Hey, little brother, we could use a hand out here. We’re setting up the tree in the garage so it can dry out.”

      Dropping the towel on the tile, Dylan retrieved his boots and followed his brother. So much for his much-needed break from being around Jenna.

      “Any chance Mom’s decided to cut festivities short tonight?” Matthew asked over his shoulder.

      “Are you kidding? She and your mother-in-law already have the hot chocolate simmering on the stove, and I could hear their bad duet of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ as soon as I walked in the house.”

      “I figured we wouldn’t get out of it,” Matthew said. “Never let it be said that a little rain could keep our mom from her holiday celebration.”

      “At least you aren’t the newest matchmaking target.”

      Matthew laughed the laugh of someone who’d been there. “Stay strong, brother.”

      As they stepped into the garage, Caroline and Jenna were holding the tree upright while Logan crouched below, twisting the braces of the tree stand into its trunk.

      “Could you two hold that thing straight?” Logan called up from the bottom.

      “Come on, Nature Boy, don’t you know how to deal with trees once they’re cut down?” Caroline chided.

      “I can with some proper help. Who cut this trunk, anyway? It’s crooked.”

      Jenna caught Dylan’s eye and laughed, and even he couldn’t resist smiling at that. Logan, the resident park ranger among them, had cut the tree himself. They rested it on its side so Logan could even up the trunk and remove the lowest branches. Then, with several hands and a lot of grumbling, they finally secured the tree in its stand with only a slight lean.

      Their work finished, they filed into the house, leaving their boots and soaked coats near the door.

      “Everyone in here,” Trina told them, ushering them into the family room, where Amy sat on the edge of the brick hearth.

      Although they’d had only minutes to put the party together, the mothers had risen to the occasion. Now orange and yellow flames danced in the gas fireplace, strains of recorded Christmas carols filtered from the stereo speakers, and a spread of finger sandwiches and snacks rested on the side table. And because no Warren-Scott gathering would be complete without them, two of his mother’s famous cakes were arranged on cake stands.

      They were preparing to say grace when the doorbell rang, and Matthew hurried to let Reverend Leyton Boggs and his wife inside. They conferred in hushed voices as they hung up their coats and then made their way into the family room, their faces stoic.

      “Is everything all right, Reverend?” Amy Warren asked.

      The minister smiled in that comforting way he’d used in every memorial service Dylan had ever attended. Something was wrong.

      “Late this afternoon, there was a fire downtown that destroyed a young family’s home,” Reverend Boggs began. “Brad and Kelly Denton were already struggling since Brad was laid off from his job, and their car wasn’t running, so this fire came at a particularly tough time. The home was rented, and they had no insurance.”

      “How awful for them,” Jenna said. “Do they have children?”

      Lila Boggs nodded. “Two boys. Seven-year-old twins named Connor and Ryan. But praise God, they all got out safely.”

      “Yes, praise Him for that.” The minister told how the Dentons had been trying to provide at least a simple Christmas for their sons, only to have their few gifts go up in flames along with the rest of their possessions.

      Empathetic murmurs filled the room as the minister told more of the specifics. But Dylan barely heard the details. The story made him so uncomfortable that he found it hard to sit still. A family already limping along through life now had the burden and indignity of being homeless at Christmas. He’d heard dozens of those tragic holiday stories before, but this one touched him in a special way.

      It had to be the mention of those two little boys that spoke to him. His heart ached as he imagined the confusion they had to feel after today’s events, after the security blankets of home and safety had been ripped from them. He’d known a day like that once himself: the day his father left. At twelve years old, he’d been older than these boys, but he remembered how powerless and small he’d felt. How frightened he’d been that his world would never the right again. Now he grieved for these children, who’d lost their childhood just as he had.

      “I spoke with the Dentons by phone, and then Lila and I drove them to the Markston Inn for the night. I paid for their night’s stay with church emergency-relief funds,” Reverend Boggs was saying when Dylan tuned back in to the conversation.

      “But they’re going to need more than temporary help. We’ve offered on behalf of the church to adopt this family through the holidays, so I’ll be seeking support from church members like yourselves…” He let his words trail away as he waited for someone to step up to the challenge.

      “Of course, we’ll help,” Dylan’s mother answered. “We’ve been looking for a Christian service project, so we’ll make a donation.”

      “That’s a great idea,” Logan said, and the others chimed in their agreement.

      “I knew I could count on the Warrens and, of course, the Scotts.” The minister smiled. “I’m sure this young family will appreciate whatever you can give.”

      Neither the accolades nor his mom’s best chocolate walnut torte sat well with Dylan tonight. He felt as if they were all taking the easy way out—himself included. What they were willing to offer just didn’t feel like enough.

      Reverend Boggs glanced at the wall clock. “Some Indianapolis news vans were at the scene of the fire, so the story should make the ten-o’clock news.”

      “Hey, somebody turn it on,” Logan called out.

      Dylan stretched toward the sofa table and retrieved the remote, flicking on the flat-screen television in the corner.

      “The holidays will be a little less bright for a young Markston family who narrowly escaped tragedy today when a blaze broke out in their northside rental home,” said a reporter whose bright red coat appeared too festive for the somber news.

      As the reporter continued her story, the camera panned first to the smoldering structure and then to the couple and their sons, huddled together in the chilly rain with blankets draped over their shoulders.

      No longer hungry, Dylan set his plate aside. The story had been stirring enough, but to put faces to the tragedy brought the sad situation right into the family room. He’d pictured those children in his mind, but on the screen they appeared smaller than he’d imagined. Defenseless. Their bright eyes peeked out from beneath their parents’ arms as they watched the firefighters wage a losing battle with the blaze.

      Stark reality was clear on Brad and Kelly Denton’s faces. Dylan remembered that his mother wore an expression like that during the early days after his father left. Matthew had looked that same way after his first wife had deserted him and Lizzie. The Dentons might have escaped with their lives, but the young couple, like his mother and his brother, had been unable to protect their children from life’s unfortunate truths.

      In the next shot the reporter was standing with the family, all of them under the shelter of two large umbrellas. Brad Denton squeezed the boy next to him and said, “We feel blessed that we all got out safely. As long as we’re together, we’ll figure out the rest.”