Call Me Mrs Miracle. Debbie Macomber

told me about them.” Gabe spoke with his mouth full. “Lindy Lee.”

      “Lindy Lee’s my boss,” Holly explained. “The designer.”

      Jake knew who she was, impressed that Holly worked for such a respected industry name.

      “We went into Holly’s office to decorate for Christmas, and Lindy was there and she let me put up stuff around her desk. That’s when she told me about the horses in the park,” Gabe said.

      “Did you go for a ride?” Jake asked.

      Gabe shook his head sadly. “Aunt Holly said it costs a lot of money.”

      “It is expensive,” Jake agreed. “But sometimes you can make a deal with the driver. Do you want me to try?”

      “Yeah!” Gabe said excitedly. “I’ve never been in a carriage before—not even once.”

      “Jake, no,” Holly whispered, and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “I should get him home and in bed.”

      “Aunt Holly, please!” The eight-year-old’s plaintive cry rang out. “It’s Saturday.”

      “You’re turning down a carriage ride?” Jake asked. He saw the dreamy look that came over Holly as a carriage rolled past—a white carriage drawn by a midnight-black horse. “Have you ever been on one?”

      “No...”

      “Then that settles it. The three of us are going.” Several carriages had lined up along the street. Jake walked over to the first one and asked his price, which he willingly paid. All that talk about negotiating had been just that—talk. This was the perfect end to a magical day. Magical because of a plate of silly sugar cookies. Magical because of Holly and Gabe. Magical because of Christmas, reluctant though he was to admit it.

      He helped Holly up into the carriage. When she was seated, he lifted Gabe so the boy could climb aboard, too. Finally he hoisted himself onto the bench across from Holly and Gabe. They shared a thick fuzzy blanket.

      “This is great,” Gabe exclaimed. “I can hardly wait to tell my dad.”

      Holly smiled delightedly. “I’m surprised he’s still awake,” she said. “We’ve been on the go for hours.”

      “There’s nothing like seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child, is there?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Reminds me of when I was a kid...”

      The carriage moved into Central Park and, even at this hour, the place was alive with activity.

      “Oh, look, Gabe,” Holly said, pointing at the carousel. She wrapped her arm around the boy, who snuggled closer. “We’ll go on the carousel this spring.”

      He nodded sleepily. The ride lasted about thirty minutes, and by the time they returned to the park entrance, Gabe’s eyes had drifted shut.

      “I was afraid this would happen,” Holly whispered.

      “We’ll go to my apartment, and I’ll contact a car service to get you home.”

      Holly shook her head. “I...appreciate that, but we’ll take the subway.”

      “Nonsense,” Jake said.

      “Jake, I can’t afford a car service.”

      “It’s on me.”

      “No.” She shook her head again. “I can’t let you do that.”

      “You can and you will. If I hadn’t insisted on the carriage ride, you’d have been home by now.”

      She looked as if she wanted to argue more but changed her mind. “Then I’ll graciously accept and say thank-you. It’s been a magical evening.”

      Magical. The same word he’d used himself. He leaped down, helped her and Gabe out, then carried Gabe across the street. The doorman held the door for them.

      “Evening, Mr. Finley.”

      “Evening, George.”

      Holly followed him onto the elevator. When they reached the tenth floor and the doors glided open, he led the way down the hall to his apartment. He had to shift the boy in his arms to get his key in the lock.

      Once inside Holly looked around her, eyes wide. By New York standards, his apartment was huge. His father had lived in it for fifteen years before moving to a different place. This apartment had suited Jake, so he’d taken it over.

      “I see you’re like me. I haven’t had time to decorate for Christmas, either,” she finally said. “I was so late getting the office done that I had to come in on a Saturday to do it.”

      “I don’t decorate for the holidays,” he said without explaining the reasons. He knew he probably sounded a little brusque; he hadn’t meant to.

      “I suppose you get enough of that working for the store.”

      He nodded, again avoiding an explanation. He laid a sleeping Gabe on the sofa.

      “I’ll see how long we’ll have to wait for a car,” he said. The number was on speed dial; he used it often, since he didn’t own a car himself. In midtown Manhattan car ownership could be more of a liability than a benefit. He watched Holly walk over to the picture window and gaze outside. Apparently she found the scene as mesmerizing as he had earlier. Although he made every effort to ignore Christmas, it stared back at him from the street, the city, the park. New York was always intensely alive but never more so than in December.

      The call connected with the dispatcher. “How may I help you?”

      Jake identified himself and gave his account number and address, and was assured a car would be there in fifteen minutes.

      “I’ll ride with you,” Jake told her when he’d hung up the phone.

      His offer appeared to surprise her. “You don’t need to do that.”

      “True, but I’d like to,” he said with a smile.

      She smiled shyly back. “I’d like it, too.” Walking away from the window, she sighed. “I don’t understand why, but I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

      “I feel the same way.”

      “Was it only yesterday morning that you paid for my latte?”

      “You were a damsel in distress.”

      “And you were my knight in shining armor,” she said warmly. “You’re still in character this evening.”

      He sensed that she wanted to change the subject because she turned away from him, resting her gaze on something across the room. “You know, you have the ideal spot for a Christmas tree in that corner,” she said.

      “I haven’t celebrated Christmas in more than twenty years,” Jake blurted out, shocking himself even more than Holly.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      Jake went back into the kitchen and found that his throat had gone dry and his hands sweaty. He never talked about his mother and sister. Not with anyone. Including his father.

      “You don’t believe in Christmas?” she asked, trailing after him. “What about Hanukkah?”

      “Neither.” He’d dug himself into a hole and the only way out was to explain. “My mother and sister were killed on Christmas Eve twenty-one years ago. A freak car accident that happened in the middle of a snowstorm, when two taxis collided.”

      “Oh, Jake. I’m so sorry.”

      “Dad and I agreed to forget about Christmas from that point forward.”

      Holly moved to his side. She didn’t say a word and he was grateful. When people learned of the tragedy—almost always from someone other than him—they