The Christmas Children. Irene Brand

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      “Maybe Justin or the medics moved it out of the way when they came for me.”

      “Maybe. But I had the strangest feeling that someone had been in the house before I arrived. That’s why I barricaded the door last night. The house was warm, although Justin told me that Naomi had lowered the thermostat before she left.”

      “Maybe Naomi was having a senior moment, too, and forgot to lower the temperature.” He looked out the back door. “I’m going over to check my apartment and put my rental truck in the garage.”

      Still brooding over possible intruders, Carissa walked to the wide glass door and stood beside Paul. Behind the house was a three-car garage with an apartment on the floor above it.

      “We inherited this property from our parents,” Paul explained. “When Naomi and her husband decided to build the chalet, I built the garage and apartment. I’m never in the States more than two months at a time, but when I’m here, I want my own place to stay in.”

      “It’s a nice place.”

      “Good enough for what I need,” he agreed. “Want to go with me and check it out?”

      “Sure. I’m still your overseer for a few hours.”

      She grinned pertly at him, and Paul thought how fetching she looked. Carissa had intense blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, and a spray of freckles across her nose, which only added to the beauty of her delicate oval face. Carissa seemed young and untouched. Paul found it hard to believe that she was forty-five.

      “I’ll put on my boots and coat,” Carissa said, wondering at the speculative gleam in her companion’s eyes.

      His apartment consisted of a large living room and kitchen combination with a spacious bathroom and bedroom in the rear. The absence of nonessential decorations proclaimed the apartment a man’s. Carissa wondered at his age, judging that he was several years younger than she was. He’d said Naomi was his only family—but had trouble with a woman been the unpleasant experience that had caused him to leave Yuletide?

      The apartment was chilly, and Carissa insisted that Paul go back to the house with her. “It’ll be several hours before the apartment gets comfortable. By that time, you’ll be ready to take a long nap.”

      “Thanks, I’ll do that. But I wanted to point out the intercom system between my apartment and the house.” He pointed to a speaker on the living room wall. “Just flip the switch and call if you need me. The one in the house is on the wall between the kitchen and the living room.”

      He yawned, and Carissa said, “Let’s take a walk before we go back to the house. If you sit down, you’re going to sleep.”

      “A good idea, but I’ll need some warmer clothes, and I hardly remember what I have. I haven’t been home during the winter for a long time.” Paul shoved clothing back and forth in the bedroom closet until he found a heavy coat with a hood that still fit him. He changed his light boots for insulated ones.

      Sunshine glistened on the newly-fallen snow as Paul and Carissa crossed the road and took the path around the lake. White-throated sparrows and Acadian chickadees darted into the trees, dislodging tufts of snow that settled on Paul’s and Carissa’s shoulders. They observed the ungainly flight of a pileated woodpecker, its red crest conspicuous in the sunlight. Small huts dotted the surface of the frozen lake, now covered with several inches of fresh snow.

      “There’s a lot of ice fishing on this lake,” Paul commented. “The huts are rented to fishermen for protection from the wind while they wait for a bite.”

      “There’s ice fishing on the lakes in Minnesota, too.”

      “I wonder if the lake is frozen enough for skating,” he said. “I learned to skate on Lake Mohawk. We used to have skating parties almost every night. I’ve kept up with skating as much as possible. Many Christmas holidays I’ve spent time in Germany, Austria or Switzerland so I could skate.” He stepped out on the surface of the lake. “Seems pretty solid. Do you skate?”

      “Not since I was a child. Skating isn’t a Florida pastime.”

      Their footsteps crunched rhythmically on the frozen snow as they walked. “Why did you leave Minnesota and move to Florida? Did your family transfer?” he asked.

      A somber expression quickly erased Carissa’s happy mood, but she answered readily enough. “I moved there by myself, soon after I graduated from high school. I never returned to Minnesota.”

      Believing he’d touched on a sensitive subject, Paul didn’t question her further.

      Carissa’s animation returned moments later when she said, “This is the first time I’ve seen snow for years. It’s glorious.” She picked up a handful and ate it. “Grandma used to make ice cream out of snow. I’ll make some if I can remember how.”

      “Most of my visits back home have been in the summer,” he said, “and I’ve missed New York’s winters while I’ve been away. There were fabulous Christmas celebrations in Yuletide when we were children—lights all over the business section and most of the houses were decorated. Prizes were given for the most original ideas. We sometimes built snow palaces on the frozen lake and had them floodlighted. We had programs at the church—just a wonderful time.”

      “Why did they stop? I came to Yuletide thinking I’d find Christmas the way it was when I was a child. I was really disappointed when I drove in last night and didn’t see any sign of Christmas.”

      Paul yawned. “Carissa, surely I’ve stayed awake long enough. I’ll tell you about the tragedy that took Christmas out of Yuletide, but not until after I sleep.”

      Carissa was a bit surprised that they’d slipped so easily to a first-name basis, but that pleased her. Mischievously, she picked up a handful of snow and, standing on tiptoes, she rubbed it in his face.

      “That oughta keep you awake ’til we get back to the house.”

      “Hey!” he spluttered, wiping the snow from his face with his mittened hand. “I’m an invalid and you’re supposed to be kind to me.” He scooped up some snow and threw it at Carissa, but she sidestepped the attack and started toward the house on a run. Paul’s long-legged stride soon caught up with her.

      “I’ll get even with you,” he warned, a gleam in his brown eyes that belied his words. “I expected to be welcomed home as an honored guest, and what happens? I’m assaulted the minute I step into the house, and then I get my face washed with snow.”

      Laughing, Carissa said, “I’ll make it up to you. While you take a nap, I’ll fix a meal for you.”

      “Sounds good to me, just as long as I find a bed before I fall asleep on my feet.”

      While Paul slept in the downstairs bedroom adjacent to the great room, as silently as she could, Carissa unloaded the SUV and carried her luggage upstairs. Periodically, she’d crack open the bedroom door, and each time, Paul’s even breathing assured her that he was resting comfortably.

      She would have to wake Paul before too long because the doctor wanted to look him over again. She organized her belongings in the master bedroom, then sat on a padded window seat looking over the frozen landscape. Her thoughts were on Paul Spencer.

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