A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter

Chris stopped and turned to look around. He couldn’t see much except in the pools of light on the porch and from the floodlights on the barn, but what he saw needed work. The tidy farm he’d loved to visit ten years ago had deteriorated.

      How old were Becky and Oliver now? In their late sixties? They probably should have retired a while ago, especially with Oliver’s health. Chris opened the trailer and led the first reindeer to the corral. The gate groaned. He unsnapped the lead, and the big animal wandered toward the hayrack in the middle of the pen. The top rail beside the gate had cracked in the middle, and a cluster of vicious-looking splinters protruded, fortunately toward the outside of the pen. It wouldn’t be easy to sell the farm in this condition. They needed help.

      Chris had all three reindeer in the corral and most of the truck unloaded by the time Marissa arrived. She handed him his keys. “Becky’s feeling better. I think she’s right, that it’s just a twisted ankle and she’ll be fine tomorrow.” Marissa looked up at him. “She appreciates your help.”

      Chris nodded and pulled out the last bundle from the truck. “How bad is it?”

      “I told you, she’ll be fine.” At his searching look, she glanced down. “Oliver? It’s bad. He needs a heart transplant.”

      “Wow. What kind of wait time are we talking about?”

      Marissa shrugged. “It depends. He’s not high priority. Yet.”

      Chris shut the tailgate and topper and nodded toward the sagging barn door. “He must have been sick for a while.”

      “Apparently. They didn’t tell me anything about the heart condition until a couple of months ago.”

      “But you had to have seen that the place was—”

      “I wasn’t here.” She met his eyes, allowing him to read the guilt and regret there. “I haven’t been here in years. It was easier just to have them visit me, a nice winter break for them.” She looked away, but not before he saw the glint of tears. “I should have come home more often.”

      She was right. But how could he judge her? He’d deserted his family and never looked back. Never even considered that they might need him. Marissa at least stayed in touch. “You’re here now.”

      She nodded. “For the moment. To help them get through the party season. But then I need to go back to work.”

      “You’re leaving them?”

      “I have to.”

      Chris’s mouth tightened. Couldn’t she see that Oliver might not have much more time? Couldn’t her precious career wait? Marissa didn’t appreciate how good she’d had it, growing up with an aunt and uncle who adored her. She owed them, big time. But what could he do? He was Marissa’s ex, not family. Not even her friend. He had no say in her decisions.

      “I guess I’ll see you at the next party. Let me know if Becky needs help in the meantime.”

      “Chris?” Her voice was tentative. She must sense his disapproval. Well, she should.

      “Good night, Marissa. Tell them I said goodbye.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Seventeen days till Christmas

      WHEN MARISSA CAME downstairs the next morning, Becky was already in the kitchen, stirring pancake batter. A pot of coffee sat ready on the drip machine. Marissa frowned. “Should you be on your feet?”

      “I told you, I just twisted my ankle. I’m fine now.” Becky smiled. “Although it was nice to have a handsome man carry me over the threshold.”

      “He’s too late. I already carried you over the threshold almost forty years ago.” Oliver chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen table. “Tell Chris to get his own girl.” He settled into his chair and caught his breath.

      Becky set a mug full of coffee in front of him and kissed his cheek. “I remember. You carried me into our first apartment.” She returned to the stove and shook a drop of water onto the griddle to test the temperature. “The one with a bedroom so small we had to jump into bed from the doorway, and a bathroom with one pink sink and never enough hot water. But I thought it was beautiful.”

      “You made it beautiful.” Oliver sipped his coffee. “Seriously, though, I’m glad Chris was there to give you a hand. He’s a good man.” He sent a pointed look toward Marissa, but mercifully said nothing else.

      He didn’t have to. The unspoken question was there. Why did you let him go? But they didn’t know the real Chris. Yes, he was kind and generous, when it suited him. But the occasional grand gesture wasn’t enough to build a life together. Especially when they didn’t want the same things.

      She grabbed her coat and slid her feet into boots. “I’m going to see about the chickens. I’ll be back in time for pancakes.”

      Marissa slipped out the back door and picked up the basket lying on the stoop. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours yet, but a full moon illuminated the familiar shapes of the trees, shaggy dark spruce and pale white birch trunks. Farther back, the barn, the well house and the chicken coop formed a tiny village, while the reindeer milled around in their pen. The scene was beautiful, cozy and welcoming, until she got close enough to trigger the floodlights. Instantly, the sagging boards, peeling paint and hundred-and-one chores that needed to be done popped out at her.

      She should make a plan. List all the things that needed repair and prioritize them. Get supplies and bids. That was how she always tackled problems. She’d learned early, and from the best. When Marissa’s parents died in that accident, she’d been terrified, not knowing what would happen. But then Becky and Oliver came, and Becky showed her how they could move forward step by step. First, the funeral. Then packing up the house. Moving her things. Enrolling in a new school. As long as she took it one step at a time, she could cope.