The Christmas Children. Irene Brand

lakes in Minnesota, too.”

      “I wonder if the lake is frozen enough for skating,” he said. “I learned to skate on Lake Mohawk. We used to have skating parties almost every night. I’ve kept up with skating as much as possible. Many Christmas holidays I’ve spent time in Germany, Austria or Switzerland so I could skate.” He stepped out on the surface of the lake. “Seems pretty solid. Do you skate?”

      “Not since I was a child. Skating isn’t a Florida pastime.”

      Their footsteps crunched rhythmically on the frozen snow as they walked. “Why did you leave Minnesota and move to Florida? Did your family transfer?” he asked.

      A somber expression quickly erased Carissa’s happy mood, but she answered readily enough. “I moved there by myself, soon after I graduated from high school. I never returned to Minnesota.”

      Believing he’d touched on a sensitive subject, Paul didn’t question her further.

      Carissa’s animation returned moments later when she said, “This is the first time I’ve seen snow for years. It’s glorious.” She picked up a handful and ate it. “Grandma used to make ice cream out of snow. I’ll make some if I can remember how.”

      “Most of my visits back home have been in the summer,” he said, “and I’ve missed New York’s winters while I’ve been away. There were fabulous Christmas celebrations in Yuletide when we were children—lights all over the business section and most of the houses were decorated. Prizes were given for the most original ideas. We sometimes built snow palaces on the frozen lake and had them floodlighted. We had programs at the church—just a wonderful time.”

      “Why did they stop? I came to Yuletide thinking I’d find Christmas the way it was when I was a child. I was really disappointed when I drove in last night and didn’t see any sign of Christmas.”

      Paul yawned. “Carissa, surely I’ve stayed awake long enough. I’ll tell you about the tragedy that took Christmas out of Yuletide, but not until after I sleep.”

      Carissa was a bit surprised that they’d slipped so easily to a first-name basis, but that pleased her. Mischievously, she picked up a handful of snow and, standing on tiptoes, she rubbed it in his face.

      “That oughta keep you awake ’til we get back to the house.”

      “Hey!” he spluttered, wiping the snow from his face with his mittened hand. “I’m an invalid and you’re supposed to be kind to me.” He scooped up some snow and threw it at Carissa, but she sidestepped the attack and started toward the house on a run. Paul’s long-legged stride soon caught up with her.

      “I’ll get even with you,” he warned, a gleam in his brown eyes that belied his words. “I expected to be welcomed home as an honored guest, and what happens? I’m assaulted the minute I step into the house, and then I get my face washed with snow.”

      Laughing, Carissa said, “I’ll make it up to you. While you take a nap, I’ll fix a meal for you.”

      “Sounds good to me, just as long as I find a bed before I fall asleep on my feet.”

      While Paul slept in the downstairs bedroom adjacent to the great room, as silently as she could, Carissa unloaded the SUV and carried her luggage upstairs. Periodically, she’d crack open the bedroom door, and each time, Paul’s even breathing assured her that he was resting comfortably.

      She would have to wake Paul before too long because the doctor wanted to look him over again. She organized her belongings in the master bedroom, then sat on a padded window seat looking over the frozen landscape. Her thoughts were on Paul Spencer.

      He seemed like a friendly, easygoing guy, possessing a spontaneous cheerfulness that answered a need in Carissa’s heart. She’d never considered herself a joyful person, but when Paul’s mouth spread into a toothy smile that lightened the darkness of his face, Carissa felt lighthearted, and laughter bubbled from her lips.

      Having a man in the house was a strange experience for Carissa. She’d never known who her father was, and her grandmother had been widowed before Carissa was born. She’d lived alone for more than twenty years, and it seemed odd to have a man sleeping in her house. She had grown accustomed to solitude, but already she knew she’d miss Paul a little when he moved into his apartment.

      Carissa had come to Yuletide to discover the faith she’d known as a child, and she was determined to achieve that goal. It had taken a long time, but Carissa finally believed that she could do whatever she set out to do.

      Yet she’d never reacted to anyone as she was reacting to Paul Spencer. Her attraction to him confused her.

      She found his nearness disturbing and at the same time exciting.

      Chapter Three

      Carissa retrieved the Christmas pageant key from her luggage and carried it downstairs. She placed it on the coffee table. Confronted by Paul’s presence, she needed a constant reminder of why she was in Yuletide.

      Paul was still sleeping at one o’clock, so Carissa tapped on the bedroom door. He didn’t respond, so she knocked more loudly.

      “Uh-uh,” he said sleepily. “What is it?”

      “You have to see the doctor at three o’clock. It’s time to get up.”

      Silence greeted her. Had he gone back to sleep? She knocked once more.

      “I’m sorry,” Paul said. “It’s taken me a few minutes to realize where I am. You’re the lady who’s taken over sis’s home, huh?”

      “Yes, the one who attacked you with a poker last night.”

      “Do you have the poker now?”

      She imagined his white teeth showing in a slight smile. With laughter in her voice, she said, “Not yet, but I may have to get it if you don’t hurry.”

      He yawned noisily, and she heard his feet land on the floor.

      “Be out in a minute.”

      Carissa was standing at the back door appreciating the landscape, when the bedroom door opened behind her.

      She turned, stifled a gasp and experienced a giddy sensation as if her heart had flipped over. Paul had the broad-shouldered body of an athlete, but his waist and hips were narrow. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans, he leaned against the door, looking as vulnerable as a child. His eyes were still heavy with sleep and his hair was tousled. He yawned again.

      Had she been wrong when she’d made up her mind that she could live a happy, fulfilled life without a husband? Was she old enough now that the pitfalls she’d avoided in her youth would no longer tempt her? Was it possible to disprove the opinions of her childhood neighbors, who’d often said “Like mother, like daughter”?

      Deep in her own thoughts and conflicting emotions, Carissa started when Paul said, “It won’t take me long to get ready. I’ll bring in some fresh clothes from the car.”

      She winced when she noticed that the bruise had spread until both eyes and part of his cheek were black.

      Intercepting her glance, he said, “I could pass for a raccoon this morning, don’t you think?”

      Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me. Does your head hurt?”

      He lifted his hand to his forehead. “No, but it’s sure sore to the touch. I don’t dare turn my head quickly.”

      Dropping her hands, Carissa said, “I’ll get your luggage.”

      He started to shake his head, thought better of it and said, “Thanks, but I need a jolt of Adirondack air to help me wake up.”

      “I made some lunch so we can eat before we go. There isn’t much food in the refrigerator, but I’ll stop at a grocery store after we’ve been to the clinic.”

      “I’ll