Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (126 page)

Chapter Six

The workshop was busy as always; Nick strode through, looking for Dad. It didn’t take him long to find him—he was surrounded by small, elfin children, amusing them by making origami paper cranes fly like real birds.

As urgent as it was that he speak to his father, he waited until Santa acknowledged him and sent the children on their way. The old man stood, and began ambling through the workshop—without any sign of a limp. Nick frowned and followed.

“So…how did it go?” Santa stopped to check the wheels on a toy truck; he spun them, frowned and pulled a screwdriver out of thin air to tighten them.

“How did
what
go?” Nick wanted to push the old man along, but instead he bit his lip and forced himself to be patient.

Santa put the truck down and started walking again. “The visit with your lady friend.”

“My…how do you know about that?”

“Well, it was kind of hard not to when all of a sudden you vanished, leaving your clothes behind.” He turned to look at Nick over his shoulder with twinkling eyes. “She wished for you, didn’t she?” He winked. “Your mother did that to me, you know.”

“Oh.” Nick tried not to think about what that meant. His parents’ love for one another was legendary, but he didn’t want to speculate too closely about how they kept the fires alive for two hundred years.

Gross.

“Not gross, nice,” Santa said, reading his mind.

“Nasty.” Nick grimaced.

“No…
nasty
is your mother, spying on you with the I-See-You Scope. You think
I
want to know what you do in bed? Disgusting.” Santa left the workshop and held the door open for Nick; together they walked the hard-packed snow path to the main house.

“
What!?
”

“Don’t worry. We didn’t see anything. She only peeked in at you when you were sleeping. We knew when you were awake, of course, so…we waited.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Dad…”

“We heard Gracie this morning. And we heard what you said.” Santa paused by the lighted candy cane display in front of the house, then made a clicking noise with his tongue and sighed. “Damn it. These things are such a pain in the ass. One goes out, they all go out.”

Nick wanted to scream. Again, he forced himself to be patient while his father fiddled with the bulbs.

“There.” The lights went on and Santa stood back to study his handiwork. Apparently satisfied, he turned to Nick. “Are you
sure
you want to do this, son? That you understand what you’re about to do? “

He nodded. “I understand.”

Santa cleared his throat. “Then you’ve made up your mind.”

Nick swallowed. “I love Callie, Dad. And I know it’s up to me to make Katie well, to make Gracie’s wish come true—to help her believe in miracles again. I have to, or else…she’ll be dead inside. I can’t—I can’t let that happen.”

Santa nodded. His eyes filled with tears. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Your mom and I are very proud of you. We love you, son.”

“I love you too.” Nick swallowed, unwilling to let his father see him cry. He had to put on his brave face now and not let his parents see him be weak. He was giving up everything he knew—family, home and life—to make both Gracie and Katie well. But he knew that this was what he was meant to do. He could feel it deep in his bones. It was a part of him. His destiny. “You won’t miss me too much, Dad. You’ve got Mom, the elves…you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but…well. Let’s go in so you can say goodbye to your mother.” Santa sighed and led the way into the house.

*****

It was Christmas Eve; even at the hospital, the air held that special magic you only felt one time a year. Or maybe it was magical because—a miracle had occurred.

“Are you sure?” Callie looked from the girls, giggling on the edge of the hospital bed, to the doctor. “You can’t be serious.”

He spread his hands wide and fixed her with an incredulous look she was sure she shared. “It’s—we ran the tests again and again. We did every test we could think of. The cancer is…it’s gone. It’s unexplainable. It’s as if it never existed.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Gracie announced and bounced on the bed. “Santa did it.”

Katie giggled and bounced alongside her. Still painfully thin, the girl was no longer pale and wan but full of a sparkling vitality Callie had never seen in her before, radiant and full of life.

Nick’s life. She shook her head. It wasn’t possible. But it was. Because Katie was well. And Nick…

He’d never returned. She blinked and swallowed away the lump in her throat.

“There’s no real medical reason to keep her here,” the doctor said. “She’s as healthy as any other cancer-free seven-year-old. Of course, we’d like to have her back for more tests, but administratively speaking...your insurance company won’t pay for a healthy child to stay in the hospital.”

“Can we stop and see Santa on the way home?” Gracie asked. “I have to talk to him.”

Callie’s nodded. She couldn’t speak. Warring emotions filled her heart—joy that Katie would be all right and despair for the man who’d saved her with his sacrifice. The man she loved.
Had
loved. Would always love. And now, she was positive—the man she would never see again.

*****

On the way home, Callie stopped at the mall so she could keep her promise to Gracie, and as soon as they reached the center of the mall, Gracie grabbed Katie by the hand and raced to the line of children waiting to make last-minute requests from Santa. One look told Callie—this Santa wasn’t Nick. It was just some storefront imposter, working part time for minimum wage. There was no magic in him at all.

Not that she was an expert. But, she realized, when you’ve been touched by magic and miracles, your eyes become opened to the possibilities. She stood back and watched as children climbed into the man’s lap. They believed in the magic anyway, she realized. Even if they couldn’t see it. So maybe…maybe the man was Santa. In a way.

“Or maybe he’s just some guy with a fake white beard and wig,” a man said at her side, with a voice as rich as hot chocolate. “Personally, I wouldn’t let my kids sit on his lap. I mean, seriously. Ewww.”

Callie’s breath caught and hope rose in her heart; she spun to look at the man behind her.

Nick smiled back at her, his polar-blue eyes twinkling. “Ho, ho, ho.”

“It’s you! You’re alive!” She threw her arms around him and held on tightly. “You’re here! But I thought you traded your life for Katie’s life.”

“I did.” He chuckled. “I traded my immortality—
and
my ability to pass through chimneys. Which honestly, I’m not going to miss in the least.” He shuddered and grinned. “But now, I’m mortal, just like you. So…how are the girls?”

“Oh, Nick. It’s wonderful. Katie is as healthy as could be, and Gracie is—she’s over the moon.” She touched his face with her palms. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do. What I
did
, anyway.” Nick took a deep breath. “Callie O’Brien…my name is Nick Kringle, and I’m
not
Santa. Not anymore.”

“But…you read my mind just now. When you said that man was just a guy.”

“I said I was
mortal
.”  He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her, she pressed her cheeks to his chest and held on to him tightly. “I didn’t say I couldn’t still do some Santa-like things. Like…find a bunch of last minute Christmas gifts for my family.”

Callie touched the buttons on his soft, red shirt; they were shaped like reindeer. Then she realized what he’d said. “Your…family?”

“My wife and my two little girls, of course.” Nick peered down at her, his eyes twinkling.

“Your…wife? And girls?” Callie’s heart folded up into something hard and painful. “You’re
married
?”

“Not yet. But I will be.” He paused. “So will
you
, for that matter. And our girls…well, once we get married, we’re going to adopt your nieces. I couldn’t bring Gracie’s parents back from the dead, but I can still give her—and Katie--a mother and father who love them.”

Callie’s heart expanded until it felt as if her chest were going to burst, and she was filled with warmth and love beyond anything she’d ever experienced. “Oh, Nick.”

He dropped his mouth to hers.

But before long, two excited young girls were wrapped around their hips and legs, and demanding their attention. Nick pulled away to peer down at them. “Well, girls, did you tell Santa what you wanted for Christmas?”

Gracie and Katie giggled up at him. “We already got it,” Gracie said. “Katie, this is Nick. He and Auntie Callie are in love. He’s Santa, too, you know. Except—he’s
real
.”

Epilogue

“Christa, will you stop spying on them? I swear, I’m going to tell Nick the next time I see him.” Santa put the doll he was painting down on his workbench and turned to glare at his wife.

“Shhh. I’m just watching them sleep. They’re so beautiful. Look at them, Kringle.”

He rolled his eyes and got up to look; he knew if he didn’t, his wife would nag him forever, and as immortals, forever was a very, very long time. He peeked through the I-See-You Scope at his sleeping granddaughters. “Awww…”

“I told you. Now, here--” Christa reached out and turned a knob. “Look at your newest grandson. Isn’t little Kristopher just like a sugar plum? I could eat him up.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Cannibalize the baby…oh! Oh! He woke up. He’s starting to cry.”

“He is? Oh no!” She hip-checked him out of the way. “He is! Oh—oh…wait. Here comes Nicky. Ooops…he almost stumbled into the door frame.”

“Ow. I’ve done that,” Santa admitted. “It’s hard when they’re infants. Exhausting.”

“Shh.” Christa ordered, as if Nicky and the baby would hear him. “He’s lifting him up now, and giving the baby a hug…oh, he’s such a little sweetie. We should go visit.”

“We are
not
going to go visit. It’s the middle of the night. And what if we wake up the girls?”

“Oh, pooh. So what? We’ll just sprinkle them with dream dust before we leave and they’ll go back to sleep.” Christa waved her hand dismissively. “Let’s go!”

“I will not--”

But it was too late; Christa had already dis-assembled them and brought them to Nick’s house to visit. In no time, the entire family was awake—including three-year-old Nicholas, and Gracie and Katie—now mature and almost-too-mature-to-believe-in-Santa-twelve-year-olds. But, Santa knew, they never would be truly jaded. Because they believed in miracles. And magic.

Before long, he and Christa had to head home; they tumbled back into their bedroom just as the earth tipped on its axis and the day began. Christa grinned. “You know, Kringle. It’s important we get them used to this.”

“I know,” Santa admitted. “But I feel kind of bad for lying to him all these years.”

“But you know as well as I do that without a sacrifice—a true act of giving—no magic will work. Nick had to
believe
he was giving away his life to make Katie well.  When we do tell him that he, Callie and the children are really immortal, he’ll understand. They
all
will.” His wife grinned.

“I guess you’re right. Forever
is
a long time to hold a grudge.”

Christa fixed him with a knowing stare. “Don’t guess it. Know it. I’m
always
right, Kringle.”

“Yes, dear.” He nodded, and smiled, then moved back to his work bench. 

***

THE END

The church bells began to ring out, their jubilant song carried across the land as the newlywed couple linked arms and strode down the aisle toward the open doors and a future they would share together.  Ivy Hodgson smiled as she watched her younger sister, Lily – now Mrs. Jonathan Fennimore – pass by with eyes only for the handsome soldier at her side.  Just eight months previous, Major Fennimore had entered into their social circle by way of his brother, Douglas, the clergyman for the local parish and as fate would have it, husband to Ivy’s elder sister, Rose.  Now, with both sisters married to brothers of modest means, Ivy knew there would be no avoiding her parents’ intentions to find a suitable husband for her.

For Ivy, this would not bode well.

Like her two sisters, Ivy possessed a fair complexion, with only the slightest dusting of pale brown freckles across her narrow, upturned nose and the crests of each rounded cheek.  All three had inherited their father’s eyes, blue as a robin’s egg.  While Rose and Lily each had flaxen hair, Ivy’s locks had tended toward a darker, almost mousy brown.  Ivy had often thought their parents had christened her sisters quite aptly, for Rose was beautiful but not without the occasional thorny sting, and Lily was as chaste and peaceful as the blossom which bore her name. 

Ivy did not cling, but she did climb – trees, rocks, and hills – and her father often regarded her as strong and hearty as the vines that embraced the outer walls of their modest manor home of Sparrowhawk.  Lavish balls, pretty dresses, and what they considered to be good husband material had been all Lily and Rose had ever talked about while growing up.  Elsewhere, Ivy could often be found scrambling into tree branches where she would recline for hours while deeply engrossed in the pages of whatever book she could get her hands upon, or pursuing her favorite pastime of sketching.  Her father had gifted her with a small leather portfolio full of paper in which she could render any image she so chose.  She had already filled many of its pages with drawings of her parents, her sisters, the servants, livestock, and various flora found around Sparrowhawk.  Oft times she would come in for supper with black smudges on her cheeks and nose, the result of brushing away tendrils of hair with charcoal-darkened fingertips.With her interests focused on her artwork, it had come as no surprise to Ivy that her sisters would be married long before she had even begun to consider becoming someone’s wife.

“He is a fine young man,” she had heard her mother say of Major Fennimore on more than one occasion.  “But neither he nor his brother shall see as great an inheritance as their eldest brother, Lord Benjamin Fennimore.”

“It is a pity that Lord Fennimore is already happily married,” Ivy’s father had remarked.

“Yes,” Mother had replied, and then heaved a lilting sigh.  “Our three daughters married to the three Fennimore brothers would have woven our two households together so perfectly.  However, I suppose it would be best to find someone for Ivy from a separate bloodline.  Preferably someone already of considerable prosperity, or at the very least in direct line to inherit his family’s fortune.”

Ivy had held her tongue every time the topic of marrying for money came up in conversation – which usually meant she had spent most of her days mute in the company of her mother, aunts, and anyone else who had taken up the gauntlet to match her to someone befitting of their requirements.  She had learned long ago that to marry for love had been “foolish nonsense.”  And yet, she had seen both Rose and Lily achieve that very goal. 

It was two summers ago when Mr. Douglas Fennimore had first arrived in Little Amberton to make claim of the parish.  Lady Olivia Pembrooke, a patron of the church, had arranged for a ball to be held in his honor.  As Ivy’s mother was Lady Pembrooke’s cousin, an invitation had been sent to the Hodgson household at Sparrowhawk, part of the Pembrooke estate where they resided and paid rent to Olivia’s husband, Lord Julian Pembrooke.

Ivy still recalled quite clearly the moment in which her sister Rose and Mr. Fennimore had first gazed into each other’s eyes.  She had read many books about love at first sight, but until that instant Ivy had found it difficult to believe.  She had watched as Mr. Fennimore had asked Rose to dance, and how Rose’s cheeks had turned a bright pink without needing to be pinched into said color.  They had spent the greater part of that evening in one another’s company, and on the carriage ride home, Rose had confided in her middle sister.

“I think I shall marry Mr. Fennimore, Ivy,” Rose had whispered.

Ivy had looked at her in the darkness as the carriage rattled along the road leading back to Sparrowhawk.  Their parents had loungedon the bench across from them, asleep from a long night of feasting and socializing.  Lily, too, had nodded off on the other side of Rose.  “Marry him?” Ivy had echoed, as though she had not heard correctly, and laughed.  “Rose – you barely
know
him!”

“My heart would disagree,” Rose had said, and she smiled a dreamy smile.  “It recognized him as an old, beloved acquaintance returned after too long abroad, gladdened at the sight and nearness of him.  Oh, Ivy!”  Rose had found her sister’s gloved hand and gripped it with fierce conviction.  “Never have I met any man who is as gentle, as kind, and as compelling as Mr. Fennimore!  I tell you now again: I
will
be his wife one day.”

That day came, as Rose had said it would, six months later.  Mr. Fennimore had been invited to spend Christmas at Sparrowhawk, and it had been just before supper that he had stood up and asked to speak to Rose in private.  Everyone had known what would follow.  Rose had said yes to his proposal, and a month later they were wed. 

Lily’s enchantment with Major Fennimore had not been quite as instantaneous.  Their first encounter had come, quite sadly, by way of Lord Pembrooke’s funeral.  The good Major had returned to Little Amberton by request of Lady Pembrooke, for both moral support and because Lord Pembrooke had once served in the military.  Major Fennimore had dressed in full regalia and sporting a black armband of mourning on the sleeve of his scarlet coat, and had walked alongside Lady Pembrooke after the casket.  Due to his great strength, he had been able to offer physical support whenever the poor widow had begun to feel so overcome with grief as to swoon.  Lily had thought this to be an act of great chivalry on the part of the Major, who had stayed on at Pembrooke Hall at the bequest of their cousin. 

A fortnight after the funeral, Ivy and Lily had gone to visit Pembrooke Manor to see how Lady Pembrooke had been faring and to visit their two second cousins –Olivia’s daughters,Pauline and Helena – who had also come home at the time of their father’s passing.  It had not taken Ivy long to notice a peculiar air about the great house, centered on Pauline.  As they had been close in age and had played together as children, Ivy had taken advantage of their former roles as each other’s confidant and had asked Helena for some insight.

Helena had broken down rather quickly one dreary afternoon in the library.  A storm had been brewing on the horizon since morning.  Dark clouds had made their way across the sky and now hovered over Pembrooke, heavy with the threat of rain.  Helena had agreed to sit for Ivy as she sketched her portrait.  They had engaged in conversation to pass the time.  By and by, Helena had changed the subject, lowering her voice as she did so.  “There is something which I must tell you, cousin,” she had said.  “Whilst we were visiting our uncle, Lord Harrison Pembrooke of London, Pauline had chanced to become acquainted with a young soldier named Timothy.  There had been some talk of an engagement but our uncle, acting in place of his brother and our father, absolutely forbade it.  Pauline had been quite smitten and so desirous of Timothy that she had agreed to elope with him – but not before he had coerced her into committing a terrible…
indiscretion
.”

At this news, Ivy had stopped drawing and looked up with wide blue eyes.  “What manner of indiscretion?” she had asked.  

Helena had hesitated, averting her own eyes.  “Let us just say…she is no longer chaste.”

“What!” Ivy had gasped.  “Oh, no!  Poor Pauline!”

“Oh, but there is more – and far worse, I fear,” Helena had gone on to say.  “Pauline believes she may be with child.  It has been two months, and she has not bled since that time.  She has also begun to experience a sickness which seems to strike every morning.”

“What of the soldier,” Ivy had asked, “what of this Timothy?”

Helena had grimaced.  “It is with deepest regret to report that he has been deployed to France with his regiment, and there has been no word from him since.  It would seem he has abandoned my dear sister, leaving her in this wholly unwelcomed state.”  She had leaned in close at this point, and whispered, “But
Mother
may have a solution.”

“Lady Pembrooke is aware of Pauline’s…condition?”

“Of course.  Apparently, a woman knows these things – especially when she herself has borne children,” Ivy had said, primly folding her hands in her lap.  “Pauline had written a letter to her just prior to father’s passing, to inform her of this ghastly misfortune.”

Ivy had begun to wonder if Lord Pembrooke’s untimely death might not have been due to the discovery of his eldest daughter’s plight.  “What a horrible thing,” she had said.  “To be stricken with not one but
two
misfortunes almost at once – to lose one’s father after finding out one is unwed and in a condition of some inconvenience.”

“Yes, it has all been rather sudden,” Helena had admitted with a sigh.  “But Mother isquite clever, and has already put into motion a plan to save Pauline’s reputation.  She has said that she will not see our father’s good name nor my sister’s character sullied, which is why she had arranged for Major Fennimore to come to Pembrooke.  She intends to offer Pauline’s hand to the good Major, as our late father had been patron to his brother, Mr. Douglas Fennimore, and had helped to secure him the position he now holds as parish clergyman.”

This had given Ivy cause to frown.  She had closed up her portfolio, her mood for sketching having eluded her.  “So what you are saying, is that Lady Olivia intends to coerce Major Fennimore into this marriage, to save Pauline’s reputation, by using a debt to his brother as leverage?”  Her lips had tightened.  While she had not been very well acquainted with Major Fennimore, she did know that this plot had seemed less than honorable.

Helena had laughed nervously.  “Well, my dear cousin!  When you say it in that manner, it sounds all rather
devious
.”

“Because that is precisely what it is!” Ivy had insisted.  She leaped up from the bench where she had been sitting and had paced away a few steps before whirling back around to face Helena.  “And how will your mother and sister explain to the good Major when Pauline gives birth so soon after their marriage?”

“Why, that is why Mother will insist that they be wed immediately.”  Helena had risen, as well, and walked toward her cousin.  “He will never be the wiser, Mother says.  They will raise the child as their own, along with any other children they may have together, and all will be right with the world. Yes,” she had added, looking away with a wistful sigh, “it is a shame that Pauline must bind herself to a man of meager income, especially with Father’s passing.  Our uncle will be furious, of course, as he will have wanted to find her a more suitable husband among his peers, which is why he objected to her first choice of Timothy.  But this must be done, if we are to protect Pauline.  Particularly now, as she is in a delicate condition.”

“She would not
be
in this condition, delicate or otherwise, if she had not been so foolish and heeded your uncle’s command to distance herself from her absent soldier,” Ivy had said with a scowl.  That had earned her a look of surprise from Helena.  “I am sorry, cousin,” she had continued in a heated whisper, “but I find this
conspiracy
to deceive Major Fennimore to be quite detestable.  He is the brother of my sister Rose’s husband, and in my brief exchanges with him at their wedding, I found him to be of amiable nature.  He does not deserve to be pulled into this scheme.”

“And what if it had been
your
sister?” Helena had demanded, indignant.  “What if a similar plight had befallen Lily?”

“I am inclined to believe that
Lily
has a far greater regard for herself than Pauline, and would have avoided committing a foolish error of this nature,” Ivy had quipped.  “While I will admit I know nothing of love or the delirium it oft brings, I cannot condemn Pauline alone for her current situation.  Part of the blame lies with her now absent soldier.  But to be so despicable as to deceive Major Fennimore – an innocent man – and to use a favor to his
brother
to manipulate him, is an act of atrocity so low that I can barely believe that your mother, a woman whom I had long regarded to be of good nature, could have ever conceived of it.”  Ivy had thinned her lips and shook her head.  “I am so very sorry, Helena. I fear I find nothing about this plot to be agreeable.  I am sorry for Pauline, but not enough to approve of this trickery.”

Plucking up her sketches, Ivy had turned and started for the door.  She had paused when she heard Helena call out to her.

“You intend to tell him, don’t you?” 

Ivy had looked back at her cousin for a moment, and had given no reply.  Quietly, she had continued her retreat from the library and made her way to the rooms where she and Lily had been residing during their stay at Pembrooke.  Pacing for a few moments, her heart pounding, she had finally come to the conclusion that she could no longer remain in this house, not with the knowledge of what had been planned for poor Major Fennimore.