The Christmas Child. Linda Goodnight
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Название: The Christmas Child
Автор: Linda Goodnight
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408956861
isbn:
“I don’t know, Dad. Nothing really.” She didn’t know how to put into words the curious interest Kade had stirred up. “He says he’ll find Davey’s family.”
“Maybe he will,” her dad said. “I heard he was an agent for the DEA.”
“He mentioned special units, whatever those are.”
“Could be DEA or any of the other highly trained groups. Seems strange, don’t you think, for him to be here in Redemption doing odd jobs with a great-aunt?”
She took another bulb from her jacket pocket and snapped it into the tiny slot. “Maybe he’s simply a nice guy helping out an older relative.”
“Ida June? Older?” Dad snorted and turned back to his task. “I won’t tell her you said that.”
Sophie laughed. “Thanks.”
“So what are you ruminating about?”
“When I mentioned praying for Davey, Kade threw up a wall of resistance. He did the same thing when I mentioned Christmas.”
“Lots of non-Christians get uncomfortable with God talk, but Christmas is a different matter. Maybe something bad happened during the holidays?” He paused to take another strand of lights from her outstretched hand. “Or maybe the guy’s a jerk.”
“I don’t think so, Dad. He was kind to Davey. Almost tender. You should have seen the pair of them digging through that bag of clothes.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
Her heart jumped, a reaction she didn’t quite get. She liked everyone. “Beyond his kindness to Davey, I barely know him.”
“I knew your mother was the one the minute I laid eyes on her.”
Like a fly on her hamburger, the remark soured Sophie’s stomach. How could Dad speak casually and without bitterness when Sophie still felt the disappointment as keenly as she had five years ago?
She pushed one final bulb into a socket and backed down the ladder. “Are we putting the sleigh on the roof this year?”
If Dad noticed the change in subjects, he didn’t let on. With a sparkle in his eyes and the nip of wind reddening his cheeks, he asked, “Do elves make toys? Does Santa have a list of naughty and nice?”
Mark Bartholomew was almost as Christmas-crazy as his daughter, and every year they worked for days decorating first his house and then her little cottage. No matter how cold and fierce the wind or how many other activities they had going, this had become their tradition since the divorce. She’d started the practice so that the first holiday without Mom would be easier for him, but now she treasured this special time with her father.
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