Angel's Rest (15 page)

He’d pulled away from both her and Eternity Springs in recent days. Now he habitually wrapped up his work day at Cavanaugh House prior to Nic’s afternoon arrival. He left more of the renovation work to hired help and stopped eating his meals in town. Guides saw him snowmobiling in the back country a couple of times, and Dale Parker swore that the crazy ice climber spotted near Sinner’s Prayer Pass during the snowstorm last week had been none other than Gabe Callahan.

Since their meeting at Hummingbird Lake, Nic had seen him only once, at the town meeting on the twentieth when Celeste publicly announced plans for her healing center and Gabe showed up at the older woman’s request. He’d brought preliminary sketches of his hot springs park and had gone out of his way to avoid Nic.

As Nic eyed a plate of chocolate fudge a few feet away, Celeste approached carrying two crystal punch cups filled with eggnog. Handing one to her, she said, “I
had so hoped Gabe would join us today. He should hear the compliments everyone is paying his design now that they’ve had the opportunity to look over his plans. Your idea to create the display in the music room was inspired.”

“If I’d known he’d be AWOL, I’d have reconsidered. People are excited, but now they have even more questions. I expected Gabe to be here to answer them.” Then, because his absence made her sad and this was supposed to be a party, she deliberately turned her back to the door and changed the subject. “Tell me about your angel collection, Celeste. You must have hundreds of them. How long have you been collecting them?”

“Heavens, I don’t know. Decades, certainly. I never made a conscious decision to create a collection. Actually, the vast majority of my angels have been gifts from friends and acquaintances. It seems that people simply like to give me angels.”

Nic smiled wryly and sipped her eggnog. The gift she’d placed under Celeste’s tree was an angel she’d picked up at an arts-and-crafts fair over in Durango.

“Now, back to Gabe,” Celeste said. “Nic, that poor man shouldn’t be alone on Christmas. I’ve invited him to join our services tomorrow night, but since he has skipped the open house, I don’t hold out much hope.”

She touched Nic’s arm, and a solemn look replaced the usual twinkle in her light blue eyes. “Nicole, I think you should go up to Eagle’s Way tomorrow and personally invite Gabe to join us. Bring him down from the mountain to church tomorrow night, dear. He shouldn’t be alone.”

He shouldn’t be alone
.

The statement played through Nic’s mind the rest of the night and was the first thing she thought of when she awoke Christmas Eve. She didn’t know what to do. While she hated the thought of his being by himself on
this first Christmas without his family, she also respected the man’s right to privacy. If he wanted to hole up in his mountain retreat and grit through this holiday, who was she to suggest otherwise?

She understood that feeling. Hadn’t she been the same way that first Christmas after her divorce? She’d wanted to spend the day in bed with the covers pulled over her head, and she’d almost done just that. Except she’d had a friend who wouldn’t allow it. Sarah Reese had poked her and prodded her and all but dragged her by her hair to Christmas Eve dinner with her family, followed by midnight services at St. Stephen’s.

It had been there, in a tiny old candlelit church on a snowy Christmas Eve, with the fragrance of incense drifting on the air and the dulcet strains of “Silent Night” rising toward the rafters, that she first experienced not just a lessening of pain but the healing peace she’d come to associate with Eternity Springs.

Gabe Callahan needed that healing peace more than anyone she’d ever known.

He’d lost his wife, his little boy. Maybe Celeste was right. Maybe she should be a friend to him the way Sarah had been to her.

Nic considered it throughout her morning as she made appetizers to take to Sage’s open house that evening, while she wrapped the last of the gifts she intended to deliver after lunch, and while she tended to a sick dog at the clinic. When her mom called to wish her a merry Christmas from aboard ship on the Caribbean cruise she’d taken with her sister and friends, Nic poured the whole story out to her and asked her advice.

“Honey.” Mom clicked her tongue. “It’s Christmas in Eternity Springs. That’s like magic for the soul. Go get him, sugarplum. This is your chance to change his life.”

Twenty minutes later, with a Santa hat on her head
and a prayer on her lips, Nic Sullivan headed up to Eagle’s Way.

When Gabe woke up and realized it was Christmas Eve, he considered heading out into the forest to find a bear’s den where he could huddle up and hibernate for the next week or so. Unfortunately, he had company coming, so he couldn’t do that. But as he threw off the covers he admitted to himself that this plan of Pam’s had merit, and a slight sense of anticipation ran along his nerves. As much as he dreaded this Christmas holiday, he would be glad to see Pam and Will and their son, Nathan.

The idea of facing Christmas alone made him cringe. While his head was in a much better place now than it had been back in September, that deep, dark pit was always out there waiting for him.

His visitors’ flight was due to arrive in Crested Butte at two o’clock this afternoon. Gabe planned to leave here by eleven, giving himself plenty of time to get there before the plane landed.

He rolled out of bed, then stopped short and sighed. The dog lay curled up in front of the floor vent, as close to the heat as possible. “Why won’t you stay where you’re put?”

The boxer perked up his ears and thumped his crooked tail but didn’t lift his head from the floor.

Gabe shook his head and headed for the shower. The dog had managed to hitch a ride with him following the town meeting the other night, and he hadn’t noticed until he’d parked the Jeep in the garage at Eagle’s Way. “That’s what happens when you let yourself get distracted by a woman,” he muttered as he gave the hot water spigot a twist.

And yet, as he showered and shaved and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he couldn’t find it in himself to
care that the dog persisted in pestering him. Not today. Truth be told, he’d be glad to have the company when he tackled the task that awaited him downstairs.

Yesterday he’d hiked up the hill behind the house, cut down a ten-foot fir tree, dragged it downhill and inside, and set it up in the great room. He hadn’t had the guts to approach the boxes he’d had sent from Virginia. They sat on the floor like booby traps waiting to explode.

Gabe fortified himself with two cups of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal before making his way to the great room. His gaze took in the tree, then settled on the boxes. He could wait until the others got here to do this, but there was no sense putting them through the pain. Besides, this felt like something he should do himself.

“Ah, Jen,” he murmured. “This is so hard.”

Bracing himself, he opened his pocketknife and slit the sealing tape on one of the boxes, then pulled back the flaps. The red cardboard box lay nestled among white Styrofoam packing worms. Gabe exhaled a heavy sigh and lifted it free. A familiar hand had written the words
Ornaments, stockings, tablecloth
in permanent marker across the box. He removed the red box and set it aside. He’d take on the other box first.

The second box was green and contained lights for the tree.
You can do this
. His throat tight, Gabe started with the multicolored C-4 bulbs, then proceeded to the twinkle lights and finally the bubble lights. Memories tested his mental defenses, but he battled them back, knowing the danger of starting down that road.
That way there be dragons
.

With the last string of bubble lights fixed to the tree, he stepped back and observed his work. Despite his best efforts, a tiny voice ghosted,
Daddy, Daddy, look! They’re starting to bubble! Bubble bubble bubble bubble
.

He had to turn away.

He wandered to the window, shoved his hands in his back pockets, rocked on his heels, and stared blindly out at the brilliant white peaks as memories bombarded him. Jen had loved Christmas. Shoot, she’d been a bigger kid about the holiday than Matt. Every year she’d helped Gabe hang the outdoor lights the weekend after Thanksgiving. Every year they decorated the tree on December first. Every year they lit candles on an Advent wreath and followed a seasonal prayer guide at the beginning of their evening meal.

And Matty … oh, dear Lord, Matty. His joy during the Christmas season knew no bounds. He scrambled out of bed every morning and opened the appropriate door on the Advent calendar even before he dashed to the toilet to pee. He walked around the house yelling “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas” for weeks, and he could quote an amazing amount of dialogue from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie. For as long as he lived, Gabe would never forget his son on his last Christmas morning. Dressed in the goofy Santa’s elf pajamas—complete with a pointy hat—that his mother had bought him, Matt had stood before the Christmas tree totally silent. He visibly shook with excitement.

Tears stung Gabe’s eyes. He closed them and rested his forehead against the cold windowpane, wondering if he could talk his in-laws into skipping Christmas, just pretend it wasn’t happening. They could all hit the slopes tomorrow and wear themselves out. Avoid the holiday altogether.

The idea held an undeniable appeal.

He glanced back over his shoulder toward the Christmas tree and wished for the millionth time that God would turn the clock back, let him have that moment over again when he’d reacted just a tragic moment too slow.

He felt a nudge against his legs, and Gabe smiled
down sadly at the goofy-looking boxer dog. The dog licked his hand, then Gabe scratched him behind the ears and sighed. “Might as well get this over with, hadn’t we, dog?”

Gabe heaved a heavy sigh, braced himself, and returned to work. Lifting the cover off a box, he absorbed the impact of the contents. Reverently he lifted from the box the tablecloth they’d signed with their names, date, and a message or drawing with paint pens every Christmas Eve. He swallowed hard when he uncovered the three stockings Jen had made from red and green felt. His lips twisted with a crooked smile as he brushed his thumb over the tiny charcoal grill she’d made for his stocking.

Next he tackled the box of ornaments and reached for a crystal heart engraved with the words “Our First Christmas Together” with a trembling hand.

He got it on the tree. He managed the Baby’s First Christmas ornament and a dozen other memory-laden decorations. Just when he thought he might actually make it through the task, he found Matt’s Rudolf. Made from a white paper plate colored with brown crayon, it had a red felt circle for a nose, plastic glue-on eyes, and antlers formed by the outline of a kindergartner’s hands. Of Matt’s hands.

“Dear Lord.” Gabe’s knees gave out. He sank to the floor, breathing as if he’d run a marathon. He wanted to curl up in a fetal position and whimper.

Instead, when the dog approached him and attempted to lick his face, Gabe wrapped his arms around the boxer’s neck and held on, hugging him tight. He allowed the memories to come.

How long he sat there, lost in the past, he didn’t know. It must have been awhile. At some point, though, he heard his cell phone ringing. He was tempted to ignore it, but with his family traveling, he didn’t dare. He fished
the phone from his pocket, checked the display. Sure enough, it was Pam.

He tensed and dragged his hand along his jaw. “Hello?”

“Hi, Gabe.”

“Hey, Pam. Are you calling from the airport?”

“I wish.” She hesitated just long enough that his heart sank. “I have crummy news. Nathan broke his leg. We’re not going to make it to Colorado for Christmas.”

“Ah, Pam. That poor kid. What happened?”

“He wasn’t paying attention and slipped on the ice. He’ll be okay, but he’s really uncomfortable and traveling is out of the question. I’m so sorry, Gabe. We really wanted to be with you today and tomorrow. I needed to be with you.”

Gabe braced himself and asked, “Do you want me to come there?”

“No, we’ll be okay. I’m worried about you, though.”

His gaze drifted toward the half-decorated tree. “I’ll be okay, too,” he told her, knowing he lied. “You just take good care of Nate. Tell him I said he’s supposed to break his leg when he’s on the slopes, not before he gets there.”

They spoke a few more minutes, then ended the call. Gabe gave in to the craving and poured himself a stiff drink.

It wasn’t until he’d finished his first and started on the second that he sank onto the sofa in the great room, torturing himself with more memories sparked by decorations on the tree. He was sipping a third drink when he spied his laptop sitting on Jack Davenport’s desk. His gaze locked on the computer, never straying as he finished his scotch.

Then, motivated by a self-destructive need he didn’t understand but could no longer fight, he poured a
fourth drink and connected the computer to Davenport’s home theater system.

It was 12:43
P.M
. when Gabe clicked on My Videos.

Nic stared at the gate that barred access to Murphy Mountain and Eagle’s Way. The other time she’d traveled this road, the gate had stood open. Today it was locked up tight.

Good thing she’d come prepared. Before leaving home, she’d phoned Alton Davis, the snowplow driver Jack Davenport contracted with to clear the private roads on Murphy Mountain, for the current gate code.

Nic rolled down her window, punched the numbers into the keypad, and waited for the gate to swing open. She drove over the bridge spanning the creek and headed along the road toward the sprawling log house.

The afternoon was cold and gray with the promise of snow at any moment. Eagle’s Way was bright with light, and smoke curled from one of four chimneys rising above the green metal rooftop. As she parked her truck in the circular front drive and opened the door, she heard the faint sound of Christmas carols drifting on the air. That surprised her. The first Christmas after her marriage broke up, she did everything she could to avoid the sounds of the season.