A Family for Christmas (15 page)

So why did he continue standing there like some sweaty-palmed teenager, certain he didn't want to leave and yet unable to bring himself to knock? Sure, he wanted to see the baby again. That was part of
why he was here—trying to make it up for some of what she'd lost.

But he was only fooling himself if he didn't admit that most of his attraction for the house with the gaudy furnishings had to do with the hazel-eyed blonde caring for that baby. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart had betrayed him as he watched her lovingly tend to that defenseless child, tempting him to wish. For what? Someone to care for him? He was a big boy; he couldn't rely on anyone. Relying would mean trusting, and that was just impossible.

Still, something about that woman drew him to her. She made him crazy and fascinated him at the same time. The world she envisioned was so different than the one he knew. She saw scalable mountains where he found brick walls. Her belief in humankind was so unshakable that she still believed Joy's mother might return. While at first he'd ridiculed her Pollyanna attitude, he suddenly envied her optimism and was enchanted by the light that surrounded her.

He glanced down once more at his bag of presents. This was Christmas. It wasn't presumptuous to give gifts today. Merely polite. He might have had a lot of faults, but bad manners wasn't one of them. Before he changed his mind again, he raised his hand and knocked.

A
llison stumbled to the door, clasping Joy in the same loving football hold she'd used several times during the night. So many times, that if the baby were truly a stitched leather ball, Allison figured she should have scored a few touchdowns by now. But even mind-numbing exhaustion wasn't enough to stop her pulse from dancing when she saw Brock through the glass side panel in the door.

She had to be reasonable. He was probably here because of some break in the case or even to take one more look at that diaper bag to see if it had produced another new clue since last night. She pulled open the door, managing to keep from patting down her morning hair. By now, Brock probably thought her regular look was either a biblical character's robe, sloppy sweats or baggy jeans.

“Merry Christmas, Allison.”

He gave a smile that would have made a lesser woman swoon as his form filled the entry. Out of
uniform, he looked fresh-shaven and handsome in a cream cable sweater and tan slacks. The skin on her neck felt warm, and it had nothing to do with the cheery fire from the gas log in the fireplace. She could barely take her eyes off Brock to study the bag of gifts at his feet.

“Christmas? It's morning already?” she said, stifling a yawn.

“Joy kept you awake again?”

Even her smile felt tired. “She was too excited to sleep, I guess. So she needed me to keep her company.”

“Looks like she's catching a few z's now.” He slipped past her into the living room and stood next to the Christmas tree before turning back to her.

Allison lowered her gaze to the sleeping baby for a few seconds before returning her attention to Brock and his bag of surprises.

His gaze followed hers. “I didn't see any presents here last night, so…” He let his words trail off, indicating with a tilt of his head the bag by his foot.

“I've already mailed my sister, Heather, and her husband theirs. And I cheated and opened theirs to me when it came in the mail.”

“I can see you as a gift snooper.” He grinned. “Sure glad I didn't bring any over last night, or you might not have been able to resist the temptation.”

She studied his face, trying to understand his meaning. All the gifts weren't for the baby? She'd seen the way Brock had looked at Joy last night, so it didn't surprise her that he wanted to indulge the sweet, help
less baby on Christmas. But she was taken aback that he had remembered her, as well.

Holding up a finger for her to wait, he rustled through the bag and set several messily wrapped gifts under the tree. Then he produced a small wrapped gift the size of a thin book and made a big production of bowing over it and extending it to her. “For you.”

“You didn't have to.” On the other hand, she was tickled pink that he had, and she couldn't help letting him know it with her grin.

“It wouldn't have been any fun if I'd had to.”

“I'm sorry. I don't have anything for you.”
Anything you'd want, anyway.

One side of his mouth pulled up in a silly half grin, but still he stepped closer. Her heart humiliated her by tripping again as if she expected him to give her a Christmas kiss to go along with the gift. She wasn't convinced she could deny him if that were his intention. Brock only reached toward her arms, though, and lifted Joy.

“Here, I'll hold her while you open it.”

Unlike her temptation the night before to cling to Joy, keeping her only to herself, today she welcomed the opportunity to share the child's care with Brock. Relief filled her as she delivered Joy into his capable hands. She didn't need the gifts he'd brought to convince her that the baby had captured his heart as effectively as she'd snatched Allison's. But the fact that he'd taken the time to purchase and wrap last-minute gifts just so the foundling wouldn't be forgotten on Christmas Day tunneled inside her heart.

That he might have made the gesture to salve his
own childhood wounds didn't lessen its impact. Joy would never remember the rattles or teething toys inside those packages. She would forget her mother. Allison only wished Brock could have been as fortunate with his own.

“Aren't you going to open it?”

“Oh…yeah.” Resisting the temptation to tear into the holly-design wrapping paper, she carefully slid her fingers along the seams. Gifts were rare treats for her these days since her mother was gone, so she planned to enjoy this one.

“You're one of those, aren't you?” he said, indicating her hands with a movement of his head. “Are you going to carefully fold under the tape so you can reuse the paper?”

Allison paused before she'd uncovered her gift. “If I were more ecologically responsible, I'd try that, but it would mean having to find a place to store all that extra paper, and I hate clutter.”

Brock peered from one side of the living room to the other, his gaze taking a leisurely journey over collections of pewter animals, ceramic teacups and silk flower arrangements. Too many of each.

When he faced her again and grinned, Allison couldn't help smiling back.

“Remember, this stuff was my mom's.”

“None of it's yours?”

She shook her head, though technically all of Mary Hensley's treasures now belonged to Allison and her older sister, Heather, who as yet hadn't collected her share. “I'm in some of the pictures in the hall.” But
even those weren't really hers, just the collection of a doting mother.

He crossed to the corner of the living room where Allison had placed the loaner car seat she'd used to bring Joy home from the hospital. Carefully, so as not to wake her, Brock settled the baby into the seat, taking the receiving blanket from the coffee table to tuck around her.

Then he stepped back to Allison and pointed to the gift she still hadn't unwrapped. “Now you'll have something else that's yours.”

Allison released the last strip of tape to reveal a silver picture frame. “Oh, it's lovely. Thank you.”

She rolled the frame, an appropriate gift for an acquaintance, around in her fingers. The metal felt cool, smooth in some places and rough where a trail of flowers had been etched into its surface.

“How did you manage to find something so beautiful on Christmas Eve?” Instantly, she was sorry she'd asked. It made no difference where he'd come up with the present on such short notice—even if he'd re-gifted it.

But he only chuckled at her question. “Don't rub that frame too much or the plating might fall off. If you're willing to drive about fifty miles and shop shoulder to shoulder with other procrastinators, you can find gifts on Christmas Eve, but you might have to sacrifice quality.”

“Don't you put down my present.” She wagged her index finger at him and then hugged the frame to her chest. “I happen to love it.”

“I'm glad.”

His gaze was mesmerizing. She couldn't have looked away if she wanted to, and right now she had no inclination to try. Not when this was the most perfect holiday she could ever remember.

Finally able to pull her gaze from his, Allison stepped to the sofa and indicated with a gesture of her hand for Brock to join her. She sensed his nearness before she felt the cushion shift under his weight. Still, she stared into the flames in the fireplace, allowing its melding of reds and yellows to calm her shaky nerves.

Brock sighed. “This is nice. I bet the fireplace insert was your idea.”

“It was. How did you know?”

“It seemed more like you than…the other things.”

“I had it put in when Mom was really sick. She liked to stay warm near the fireplace.”

Brock cleared his throat. “I'm sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks. She's at peace now.” Again, she waited for him to criticize her beliefs the way he had at the live nativity, but he didn't.

“I'm sure she is,” he said finally.

So he did believe, after all, even if his belief system was a little jaded.

“Are you still in contact with your father?”

“He passed away when Heather and I were still in high school. Mom never got over losing him.”

“She was lucky to have you with her.”

Allison smiled at that. For a few minutes longer, she stared into the fire, relishing the silence and the company. She didn't even realize she'd started hum
ming until Brock joined in with her and started singing softly with a surprising bass voice.

“‘Joy to the world, the Lord is come…”'

They finished the hymn together then softly continued singing carols of Bethlehem's blessing, of a child in a manger, of
excelsis Deo.
Allison relaxed into the sofa cushions, contentment making her extremities deliciously numb. She'd imagined Christmas mornings like this before, not with sleigh rides and painted scenes but with the warmth of family as they celebrated together God's wonderful gift to a dark world. With the loving husband and children she'd tried so hard not to wish for anymore.

Okay, she'd hardly imagined an abandoned infant and a disillusioned deputy in her dreams, but this was nice, too. Precious. She lowered her gaze to the frame resting on the end table. Brock probably assumed she would place a picture from her personal life inside the frame. She wondered if he realized that moments from last night and this morning were more poignant than most of the others she could tuck behind that glass.

“You know,” Brock began, his voice soft as he broke the silence, “I think Joy is going to sleep away the whole holiday.” He chuckled. “And after she was too excited to sleep last night waiting for it.”

Allison motioned with her hand toward the Christmas tree. “Do you think we should open her presents for her?”

“Absolutely.” Brock rubbed his hands together in childlike excitement and popped up from the couch.

“Who goes first? Age before beauty?”

Brock drew his eyebrows together. “I know which one of us is better looking, but I don't know who's older.”

“That would be me. I'm thirty-five.”

“Oh, I'm thirty,” he said, proving the matchmakers had their information right. “I guess that means I won't get to take a turn.”

She'd expected shock over her advanced age, but it didn't seem to matter to him. “Wow, a gentleman—that's a rare find these days.”

Their gazes caught, held, for what felt like hours in the passing of seconds. The surface of her skin tingled beneath his stare. The way he looked at her made her long to touch, to hold, to cherish. Were those things possible in her life?

A rare find. Brock was certainly that for so many reasons. For his humor, his strength and for the giving heart he'd tried his best to hide, but couldn't.

Surely, before too long someone else would
find
Brock. Someone younger, prettier and with more to offer than she. The slice of pain in her belly gave a hint of the ache she would feel when that happened.

For her self-preservation, Allison finally looked away from him and kneeled by the tree, collecting a large, awkward-shaped package. She shook it next to her ear.

“I bet it's a toy.”

“Wow, you must have X-ray vision.”

“Just me and the other superheroes.” This time she ripped into the package. A standing activity gym with dangling toys emerged from the wrapping paper.

“Think she'll like it?”

Allison grinned. “I know she will. I sure do.”

She liked everything about today, most of all having Brock here, close enough so that she could see the ocean in his eyes, smell his pine tree-scented soap and feel the timbre of his laughter inside her own chest. Her gaze caught on his smile, on his thin lips and slightly crowded teeth, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Uneasy, she stared at her grasped hands. How pitiful of her it was to wish for impossible things.

Brock opened the next present himself—a police car. “I know she won't be able to play with it for a long time, but I couldn't resist.”

The symbolism in the gift tugged at her heart. Was he trying to let Joy know that someone did care about her and wanted to protect her? Of course, he could just have selected it because it was a cool cop toy, but she sensed there was more to it than that.

Allison had just reached under the tree for the next gift, which squeaked as she grasped it, when the telephone rang. For several seconds and two more rings, she only stared at the phone.

“Are you going to answer it?” Brock asked, cocking his head.

She nodded, trying not to feel the disappointment already flitting on the edges of her happiness, as she moved to the phone and lifted the handset. Who was on the line didn't matter because the call had already interrupted the moment, had brought them slamming back to reality.

No matter how much she wished it otherwise, this Christmas-morning family was only in her imagina
tion. Brock wasn't her husband. Joy wasn't her child. And her Cinderella moment, when she could pretend to be whomever she wanted, to have whatever she chose, had passed.

She could no longer pretend she was someone with endless possibilities. She worried, though, that she would never be satisfied with her life again.

 

Brock didn't need Allison to reveal who was on the phone, when watching her told him all he needed to know. Her expression fell. Breath seemed to whoosh from her lungs. Then her gaze shot over to the baby, who lay there wide-eyed, having awakened with the ringing phone.

“Oh, Margaret, I'm so glad to hear you're back in town…. Merry Christmas to you, too…. I have a four-week-old female infant to place…. Yes, the abandoned child in the newspaper… Oh, you saw it on TV?” She paused in her telephone conversation and frowned at Brock before continuing. “You'll be able to take her? That's great.”

Her carefully blank features and her curled shoulders as she looped the phone cord around her fingers suggested the situation was anything but great. His own gaze drifted to Joy, who was glancing about at her newfound world. Soon Allison was planning details about delivering Joy to the foster parent named Margaret.