Home In Time For Christmas. Heather Graham

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      “They’ll do. Come on.” He stretched out a hand to her.

      “You go. I’ll sit for a minute. Please.”

      He watched her for a moment, then went out on the ice. At first, he moved slowly, testing the skates and then the ice. He picked up speed.

      She watched him, feeling blank.

       Keith picked up strange creatures. She picked up crazy ones.

      A moment’s panic set in. What if he was really hurt? If his head had been badly bruised? Was she doing the wrong thing, keeping him away from the hospital?

      She thanked God that Mark wasn’t due until Friday. He’d have given Jake the third degree by now, and the police might have even been called in. Mark wouldn’t have gone against her parents’ wishes; he’d have done it on the sly, certain that he knew what was best for everyone else.

      So, great. What was she going to do? This wasn’t like Keith, bringing in strays when he was younger. Can we keep him, Mom, can we keep him?

      She was going to have to figure something out.

      A spray of ice brought her back to the moment. Jake was stretching a hand out to her again. “Will you join me?”

      “I’ll make you fall.”

      “No, you won’t.”

      She was unsteady as she teetered out to him. “Look, I’m usually all right if I’m just going forward,” she said.

      “You will be fine, no matter what we do,” he assured her.

      And they were. If she hesitated, he was sure. He was so comfortable on the ice that his balance and support leant her a steady hand. He didn’t try to do anything outrageous; he just kept moving, picking up a decent speed, one hand supportive on her back, as they glided along.

      Gliding. She was gliding!

      The icy coolness of the air rushed at her face, and felt delicious. The world danced by them. She could hear the sound of their skates upon the ice, and it was exhilarating.

      “Backward?” he suggested.

      “No!” she protested in panic.

      “You were born here, and you grew up here?” he asked curiously.

      “Yes, I actually did.”

      “It’s all right, you don’t even have to move your feet,” he said.

      “But—”

      “Trust me.”

      “I do trust you—on the ice,” she said.

      And he did prove to be trustworthy.

      She didn’t have to move her feet.

      He twisted and turned, they skated backward, forward and backward again.

      “Want to try a spin?”

      “No!”

      He laughed. “All right. We’re good for the day, I imagine.”

      He slid effortlessly to a halt. She was looking into the green-and-gold sparkle of his eyes and didn’t realize at first that they had come back to the bench. He was still supporting her.

      “Oh, yeah, well, yeah, you know, next time, maybe,” she said. She tried to draw away, certain she could at least make the steps to the bench on her own.

      Her legs started to split. She was about to go facedown—or butt-side down, if she overcompensated—on the ice.

      But he caught her. Without making any kind of big deal out of it. She smiled. “I told you—no coordination on skates!”

      “It will come. It’s all in learning to trust your instincts.”

      She cleared her throat, made her way to the bench and took off her skates. As she did so, she saw the bar across the pond. “Time for a drink.”

      “Really?”

      “Oh, yeah.”

      “You drink?”

      “Right now? You bet. Anything wrong with that? ”

      “No. Pop culture, I assume.”

      She stood, shaking her head. “And look, keep your story straight. I know a lot of people around here.”

      “As you wish.”

      “Don’t keep telling me that.”

      “As you—all right.”

      “When we’re out, and you don’t know, just let me answer—please.”

      “Of course.”

      As they walked toward the bar, he was thoughtful.

      “What?” she asked, exasperated.

      “Eventually, you will believe me,” he said quietly. “Somehow, I have to get back to my own…place.”

      “At the end of a hangman’s noose?” she asked sharply.

      “No. Right here. But when I’m supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

      She studied him for a moment. “You need a drink worse than I do,” she told him.

      “If you don’t believe in magic, couldn’t you even stretch a bit and try to believe in a miracle?” he asked. “What I’m telling you is the truth. Serena loves me, and she tried to save my life. Obviously, since I do seem to be flesh and blood, she did save my life. And maybe her magic worked because it was like a prayer for the innocent or the righteous, whichever way you want to see it.”

      “Serena?” she said. “Your—wife?”

      He shook his head, smiling. “My sister. Adopted, as a child, by my parents, when hers were killed in an Indian attack. She was my only sibling, and we were close. She shouldn’t have been in New York—she should have been here, in Gloucester. I was so afraid for her. Am so afraid for her. And I have to make sure that she did make it home, that. I mean, good God, you really can’t imagine what it is—was—like. Some believed the Revolution was a deadly and tragic mistake. Others saw it as a right to freedom. There were fine British sympathizers and soldiers. But those capable of cruelty come in all uniforms. I’m very afraid for her. She is my family, you see. Somehow, I have to find a way …back.”

      Melody stared at him blankly, unable to believe for a moment that what she’d felt at first was actually jealousy. Of an unknown woman.

      His sister.

      Adopted sister.

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