Secret Santa. Cynthia Reese

uninsured use it. But mainly it’s used by the migrant workers. Your dad volunteered as the medical director, but a doctor who comes in a couple of days a week and a couple of nurse practitioners provide most of the care. At least, I think so.”

      “Wow. I—I—” She turned to Neil, grabbed his good hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. Thank you. I have to admit, the man you’ve described isn’t one I would have recognized...but he sounds like a great guy.”

      “He was. And he must have been with you, too, because...well, you turned out pretty terrific. I’m just sorry that he didn’t get the chance to show you all this. I’ll bet he would have—if he hadn’t been battling the E.R. staffing problem,” Neil told her.

      Charli wasn’t so sure. Granted, she hadn’t been home much in the past seven years, but she and her dad had spent time together. Never once had he mentioned any of these things that Neil had shown her. Of course, a lot of that time her dad had spent trying to talk her out of pursuing an M.D., and talk her into getting married—to have some babies and be happy—all the things that she didn’t want to do.

      Maybe they’d just spent too much time arguing without ever truly understanding each other.

      “So...now you see,” Neil said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your dad loved Christmas—you’ve got to at least let me help you put up a tree and hang a wreath.”

      Perhaps it was because she was flat-out jealous that Neil had seen a side of her father she hadn’t known, or maybe Charli simply wasn’t ready to be rushed into anything. Whatever the reason, Neil’s emphatic “got to” grated on her nerves.

      “No,” Charli retorted, “I don’t. And I don’t appreciate you trying to guilt me into it. Why can’t you just live and let live?”

      Neil put up his hands. “You’re absolutely right. I just thought it might make you feel better.”

      “Everybody from my mother on down seems to think they know what’s best for me, including you. I can’t turn around without someone suggesting another way to move on with my life. Well, maybe I don’t want to move on just yet! And maybe seeing a tree in my living room would just make me miss my father even more!” Charli knew the words weren’t fair, but they came tumbling out, anyway.

      “Whoa.” A muscle in Neil’s jaw worked. She could see he was angry—or at least trying to bite his tongue. Very carefully, he said, “I lost my mom right before Christmas. So I understand what you’re going through. I know how afraid you are about forgetting your dad, about how guilty you feel—”

      “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about,” she snapped. “Not a thing.” It was a lie, a big one. She did feel guilty, horribly, horribly guilty, especially now that Neil had shown her the father she’d never get the chance to know. Still, she wasn’t about to let Neil Bailey know it. “And I think I want you to take me home now.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHARLI SAW LIGE WHITAKER, the bank president who also served as the hospital authority board chair, come out of his office when she approached the bank’s customer service desk. Today he was in banker’s garb, but usually, even to the hospital authority board meetings, he wore jeans and a flannel shirt.

      “Charli, how’s your mama? Neil called me, wanted a quote for the paper. I hope I did all right.”

      Charli couldn’t help but frown at the mention of her neighbor. The night before was still bothering her. She was angry at herself for the way she’d acted, but she still felt a little resentful toward Neil. She pushed down her emotions and smiled at her father’s old friend.

      Lige was thin to the point of boniness, about the same age as her father. Where her father had put on a little weight—all those coconut cakes, after all—Lige had kept the rangy build he’d had as a young man. “Thank you,” she said to him. “You said just the right thing. My mother was so grateful. You and my dad made a great team.”

      Lige waved away the comment. His rural twang seemed so out of place for a bank president, but Lige had always prided himself on being just another fellow. “Darlin’, last week, you saw me at my worst, tryin’ to deal with that staffing situation in the E.R. I hope that didn’t contribute to...well, to the heart attack. All the stress, I mean. Your father’s a hard man to lose. He helped me keep this hospital here when I didn’t think it was possible.”

      The smile on his lips was matched by his bright blue eyes, but she could see his jaw tense. He changed the subject. “What can we do for you? Do you need another loan against the practice? Your dad had just paid the last one off. I can understand if things are tight. Your father never was, bless his heart, much of a businessman. He was always way too generous with his skills and talents.”

      “No, no, we’re good,” Charli assured him. “I think, anyway. He had just enough life insurance to pay off their house and buy an annuity for Mom. To tell you the truth, I haven’t really dug into the practice’s books yet. But I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m not looking to add any debt to my student loans. No, what I came in here for was to access the safe deposit box. Jed Cannady—he’s the lawyer who’s helping us with probate—suggested I come and check it out.”

      “Well! That’s all? My gracious. Such a little thing.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, but snapped his fingers. “Nora! Charli here needs to get into her safe deposit box. Why don’t you help her with that, all right?”

      Nora Evers, who’d been at the bank since Charli was a little girl, scurried up to her, obedient as any dog Lige might own. She darted her eyes toward her boss, then at Charli. “Why, sure, why don’t you come with me?”

      Alone, the woman greeted her with genuine sympathy. Several other bank staffers took a moment to share their condolences. Apparently, like practically everywhere else in town, her dad had them thoroughly charmed. He could do that. He might have been arrogant and peremptory at times with his family and with many of his patients, but he always won them back with his charm.

      “Jed brought over a letter of testamentary this morning since you weren’t a signatory on the box,” Nora told her. “As the executor of estate, he authorized you as the signatory, but of course he’ll have access, too. You inherited the practice, so he figured the box had to do with it. It was part of your dad’s business account. You have the keys?”

      “Yes, Jed had a spare one, just in case.”

      She guided Charli to the safe deposit area, negotiated the whole business of the keys and manhandling the box to a carrel and said, “Now, just let me know if I can help you.”

      With that, she left Charli alone with the closed box.

      For a long while, Charli wasn’t sure she was going to have the courage to open it. Did it really need to be opened right now? The only sound in the little room was the insistent buzzing of the fluorescent light fixture above her. Everything else seemed muted by the thick carpeting and the rows and rows of safe deposit boxes behind her. A portrait of one of the bank’s founding fathers—one of Lige’s kin, she knew—glowered down at her.

      Looking at the box, Charli couldn’t think what it might contain. The will had been with Jed, as were all her dad’s important papers. If her dad had felt the need to give a key to Jed for safekeeping, maybe the box contained something important.

      Jed said the box might have computer backups or something else I need for the practice, she told herself. Or maybe it’s empty.

      Her hand felt heavy as she flipped back the lid to reveal the interior jammed tight with a creased manila envelope.

      It was mustard yellow, worn at the corners, having long ago lost its crispness. Charli had to tug at it to pull it free from the confines of the box. The envelope itself had some heft to it. On the back, she could see that her father had several times taped the envelope with his initials scrawled across the tape.

      Her heart twisted at the sight of his familiar handwriting. She’d seen