The Unexpected Gift. Irene Hannon

o’clock service. A wry smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. Clare and A.J. would be pleased to find their wayward sister back in the fold—at least for one day.

      Morgan found a parking spot down the street and made her way toward the tall spire that rose in splendor toward the cobalt-blue sky. As she slipped into the back of the spruce-and poinsettia-bedecked church, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, the choir was singing a pre-service program of familiar carols. And with sudden vividness and poignancy, memories of her childhood came rushing back—memories of the warm and loving family she had been blessed with, of a life that was simple but good, of the sense of security she’d always felt as she’d observed the steady, deep love between her parents.

      Over the years, those happy, younger days had become just a distant recollection, but today the memories were startling in their intensity, perhaps because the setting reminded her of the Christmas services they’d all attended together in a church very similar to this one. It had been a holiday ritual.

      But everything had changed forever the year her father died. Her sense of security had been shattered as her mother struggled to hang on to the farm her husband had loved. Clare had gone off to college. And life had never been the same again. She had left, when the time came, without a backward glance. Yet in this place, on this day, she wished she could recapture that sense of closeness, of family, that had once been such an integral part of her life. Her eyes grew misty, and she bowed her head, hoping no one would observe her uncharacteristic display of emotion.

      But she wasn’t quick enough. Grant was making his way back down the aisle to retrieve his father’s glasses from the car when he noticed the striking woman with the dark copper-colored hair seated in a back corner, alone. In the instant before she bowed her head, he caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. His step faltered, but he quickly regained his stride. The woman was a stranger to him, and whatever her problem, it was none of his concern.

      Still, he was curious. He knew most of the members of the congregation, even the ones who only attended services on special days. In fact, he knew most, if not all, of the year-round residents in town. And though Seaside was becoming a summertime mecca for those seeking peace and quiet, it had few visitors in the off season. The woman could be someone’s relative, visiting for the holiday, he supposed. But if that was the case, why was she here alone? Especially on a day that most people spent with those they loved?

      Grant knew he should just forget about the woman. He’d probably never see her again. But his brief glimpse of her had left him disturbed. Because in her eyes he’d seen what he had often experienced these past two-and-a-half years, despite his faith and the love and support of his extended family. Loss. Abandonment. Emptiness. And the sense that things would never be the same again.

      Grant knew there was nothing he could do about his own situation except pray. Which he did. Every day. And that gave him great comfort.

      But from the desolate look in her eyes, he somehow sensed that the solitary woman in the back of church didn’t have that kind of faith to rely on, that despite her presence here today, she didn’t expect to find any solace in the Lord. And perhaps she wouldn’t even try.

      So he did it for her.

      Lord, please watch over Your daughter, who seems in need of comfort. Let her feel Your healing presence and give her guidance, as You have done for me. And on this Christmas Day, don’t let her feel alone or abandoned. Instead, let her feel Your love and care in a tangible way. Amen.

      Chapter Three

      The low-battery light gave an ominous blink, and as Morgan shut down her laptop in frustration, her stomach rumbled. Again.

      Her foray into Seaside to buy food had been useless, so she’d had to make do with the meager provisions in the cottage. And she was rationing those. Which wasn’t easy, since her last real meal had been a late lunch yesterday. So far, she’d eaten one can of cold soup and a few crackers, all the while thinking about the meal A.J. and Morgan had planned. The pitiful can of soup, tin of tuna and handful of crackers that remained just depressed her, so she knew she needed to do something to distract herself. Namely, more work.

      Her face resolute, she moved her laptop aside, reached for her bulging briefcase, and withdrew the latest layouts and copy for an upcoming ad campaign. Looking at photos of toothpaste and reading about the merits of the product wasn’t the most exciting activity for Christmas Day, but it had to be done sooner or later. And since she had nothing else planned for the day, she might as well get it over with.

      But as Morgan tried to focus on the layouts, she found her attention wandering to the scene outside the bay window. It was just as lovely in the early afternoon as it had been this morning. The view of the sea was framed by a few fir trees, and there appeared to be a small beach. The rough water was dotted with frothy whitecaps that peaked and dissolved in rapid succession, and the vast expanse of open sea was mesmerizing. She set her pen aside and propped her chin in her hand, the ad copy forgotten for the moment.

      A sudden knock on the door startled her out of her reverie, and she looked toward it in surprise—and with more than a little trepidation. No one in town knew she was here except Grant Kincaid. And he was unlikely to make an appearance on a holiday, she thought wryly. In Boston, she never answered the door without having the security guard in her building screen visitors. However, she didn’t have that luxury out here. And this was a pretty isolated spot.

      She reached for her cell phone, then made her way to the door and checked for a peephole. No luck. She moved to the window. A pickup truck was parked next to her sporty car, but she couldn’t get a glimpse of her visitor from this angle.

      Another knock sounded, this time with a bit more force, and she moved back to the door. At least there was a chain lock. Not that that would do her much good if someone was determined to get in. But it would slow them down while she called 911.

      Sliding back the chain, Morgan opened the door just enough to peer out with one eye. A man with vivid blue eyes and neatly trimmed sandy brown hair stood on the other side, dressed in a wool topcoat with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He appeared to be several inches taller than Morgan, maybe close to six feet. And he definitely did not look like a derelict.

      “May I help you?” she said, her voice muffled through the door.

      “I’m Grant Kincaid. May I come in?”

      Morgan’s eyes widened. “Of course. Sorry for the caution, but I’m a big-city girl. I wasn’t expecting anyone today.” She slid the lock back, then moved behind the door as she opened it to give him access to the small entry area.

      Stepping inside, Grant pulled off his gloves while she shut the door behind him. “Sorry to disturb you on Christmas, but…” His voice died as he turned and found himself face to face with the woman he’d seen in church. The one who had been fighting off tears, who had looked so alone and sad. Which was not at all the image he’d formed of Morgan Williams. In his mind, he’d come to think of her as cold, calculating and rather hard. This slender woman, dressed in black slacks and a soft angora sweater the exact color of her jade-green eyes, didn’t look hard at all.

      But there was surprise on both sides The man with whom she shared ownership of this cottage wasn’t at all what Morgan had expected, either. For some reason she’d thought he would be older. But he looked to be only in his late thirties. And what was the reason for that odd expression on his face? As the silence lengthened, she grew uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last.

      Grant forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry for staring. I was expecting a stranger, but I saw you in church this morning.”

      “A rare occurrence, I assure you,” Morgan told him, feeling hot color steal up her neck. “But it is Christmas. And I didn’t have anything else to do. With the electricity out, I knew I wouldn’t get much work done today once my laptop battery died. I see you found my scarf.”

      He held it out. “A fir tree out front was wearing it. The wind here can be pretty fierce.”

      “So I discovered last night.