A Little Bit of Holiday Magic. Melissa McClone

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СКАЧАТЬ back seats. She pulled out the stuffed animal. Pushed the elephant into Liam’s mitten-covered hands. “Here’s Peanut.”

      The tears stopped flowing. He cuddled his favorite toy. “Mine.”

      “Do you hurt anywhere?”

      “No.” He kissed the elephant. “I fine. Peanut fine, too.”

      A lump clogged her throat. The relief was short-lived. If she didn’t do something fast, they were going to freeze.

      She tucked blankets and sleeping bags around him again in between coughs.

      “Mommy needs to check the truck.” And get help. She grabbed her cell phone. Dead. Of course it was. She hadn’t been able to find her charger since driving through Utah. “Stay here and keep Peanut warm. I’ll be right back.”

      Grace pulled on her handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Come on.”

      She tried again. Nothing.

      She crawled to the passenger seat and tried that handle. On her third attempt the door opened, pushing away a drift.

      Thank goodness. She stumbled out of the truck. Her canvas sneakers sank into the soft snow. Her toes curled from the icy cold.

      Wind whipped. Freezing air stung her lungs. Fear doubled with every passing second.

      Crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her gloved but trembling hands beneath her armpits, she closed the door with her hip. She needed to keep Liam protected from the cold.

      The truck was stuck in a seven-feet-tall snowbank. The shell over the back of the pickup looked fine. She couldn’t see the damage to the driver’s side, but based on the impact sounds she expected it to be crunched.

      “Help,” Grace yelled, though she doubted anyone was around. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness with snow falling. “Can anyone hear me?”

      The wind swallowed her voice. A weight pressed down on her.

      She couldn’t give up.

      Her son needed her to be strong.

      If Grace hadn’t had Liam, she would have given up the night the army rang her doorbell to tell her Damon, her Ranger husband, a man she’d loved since she was fifteen, had been killed in Afghanistan. Damon had saved three soldiers before dying, but the word hero could never fill the gaping hole his death left in her and their son’s life. A hole still present two and a half years later.

      Damon had always said, “It’ll be okay, babe.”

      She repeated his words. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”

      All she had to do was find shelter. Get Liam out of the cold. Everything else could wait until daylight.

      Grace looked around.

      Snow and trees.

      That was all she could see.

      Stupid snow and stupid trees.

      Driving across country from Georgia to Oregon two weeks before Christmas had been stupid. Sure, she’d finally graduated college, but she should have stuck it out another few months until the weather improved.

      What was I thinking?

      Making new Christmas memories, not dwelling on old ones. Ringing in the New Year in a different place, not wondering what might have been. Meeting new people instead of saying goodbye to old friends transferring out of the Rangers or heading downrange on another deployment, not knowing who wouldn’t be coming home this time.

      Snow coated her jacket and jeans. Her hair, too. Her gloved hands tingled. She shoved them in her pockets.

      “I’m sorry.” Her teeth chattered. She blinked away tears. “Should have stayed in Georgia.”

      It’ll be okay, babe.

      Grace wished she could believe things would be okay. She glanced back at the truck. At the light illuminating cab. At Liam.

      No giving up.

      The snow helped the burning sensation on her skin. She wasn’t coughing. It no longer hurt to breathe. All good things. And this road had to lead somewhere, to people, right?

      She forced her tired legs forward to find help, her feet completely covered in snow. Wetness seeped into her shoes, sending icy chills up her legs.

      Grace glanced back at the truck, not wanting to lose sight of her son. Looking forward again, she shielded her eyes from the snowflakes coming at her sideways like miniature daggers. She scanned right to left.

      Snow, trees and...

      Santa Claus?

      She blinked. Refocused.

      A lit-up Santa beckoned in the distance. Beyond the figure was a house strung with multicolored Christmas lights.

      It’ll be okay, babe.

      It was going to be okay. At least for tonight. Grace looked up into the swirling snow. “Thank you, Damon.”

      * * *

      “No worries. I have power, Mom.” Bill Paulson walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of beer in one hand and the phone against his ear in the other. “This is your third call tonight. It’s late. Go to bed. I’ll be by in the morning to plow your driveway. I have to check the rental properties, too.”

      “Unless the snow keeps falling.”

      Her hopeful words were not unexpected. His mom preferred him stuck inside and safe, rather than on another outdoor adventure. She seemed to forget he was thirty-three, not thirteen. Though, admittedly, sometimes he acted more like a kid than an adult.

      “It better stop snowing.” He sat in his favorite chair, a big, comfortable leather recliner. Sports highlights played on the TV, with the volume muted. Flames danced and wood crackled in the fireplace. “I don’t want to lose another day on the mountain.”

      A drawn-out, oh-so-familiar sigh came across the line, annoying him like a tickle in the throat before a full-blown cold erupted. He loved his mom, but he knew what was coming next.

      “There’s more to life than climbing and skiing,” she said.

      “You don’t climb or ski.”

      “No, but you do.”

      “My life rocks,” Bill said. “There’s nothing like helping people in trouble get down the mountain, or carving the first tracks in two feet of fresh powder, then crawling into a comfy, warm bed after a day on the hill.”

      Especially if he wasn’t alone. Which, unfortunately, he was tonight.

      “You’re headstrong like your father. Always off doing your own thing.”

      Bill knew that disapproving-mother tone all too well. He’d grown up hearing how much СКАЧАТЬ