A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter

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СКАЧАТЬ jerked her head toward him, probably about to say they didn’t need his help, but after another glance at Becky, she nodded. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

      Chris helped Becky into the passenger seat of his truck and carefully tucked her foot onto a folded blanket. He handed the keys to Marissa. “See you there.”

      He climbed into Oliver’s old dually and followed Marissa out of the parking lot, slowing down to make the turn with the trailer. The truck shuddered over the joint where the concrete met the asphalt, and Chris was doubly glad he’d volunteered his vehicle. Becky’s ankle would have felt every bump in the road with the worn-out shocks on her truck.

      Forty minutes later, he swayed and bumped down the drive and pulled up outside the barn. Before unloading the reindeer, he walked back to the house, where Becky was sliding out onto her good foot. With Marissa on one side and Chris on the other, she hopped across the front yard. She stopped in front of the porch to catch her breath. A crack ran across the bottom step. Paint peeled away from the porch railings. When Becky grasped the handrail beside the stairs, it shifted. Marissa bit her lip and eyed the path to the front door.

      “Let’s not stress that ankle.” Chris bent and lifted the older woman into his arms. “Marissa, could you get the door?”

      Becky almost giggled. Marissa scurried ahead while Chris carefully climbed the steps and then carried Becky into the living room, setting her on her usual chair.

      Oliver struggled out of his recliner. “What happened?”

      “I’m fine.” Becky squeezed his hand. “It’s just a twisted ankle.”

      He settled into the chair beside her without ever letting go of her hand, panting a little. For a moment, Chris thought it was panic, but soon realized it was simply the exertion from standing that had Oliver out of breath. He didn’t look good, being thinner than the last time Chris saw him, his face almost as pale as his beard.

      A middle-aged woman, presumably Oliver’s health aid, pushed through the door from the kitchen. “Oh, my. What happened here?”

      Becky explained briefly, while Marissa dragged an ottoman in front of her chair and plopped a pillow on top for her foot. Chris was glad to see the ankle didn’t look too swollen. It wasn’t until Becky was comfortable that Oliver finally looked up. “Chris. Thank you for your help. And for filling in for me.”

      “It’s only until you’re ready to take over.” Chris shook the older man’s hand.

      Oliver gave a wry smile. “I don’t quite have the energy right now. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll be back at my fighting weight.”

      “I hope so. Nobody does Santa better than you.” Chris caught Marissa’s eye. “I’ll unload the reindeer and the truck while you get Becky an ice pack.”

      “Thanks.” Marissa actually smiled at him. “Just put them in the corral by the barn. I’ll come out later to brush them and unload the truck.”

      “I can do that. Where does it all go?”

      “Inside the barn, in the storage room. I’ll be out in a little while.”

      Halfway between the house and the barn, Chris stopped and turned to look around. He couldn’t see much except in the pools of light on the porch and from the floodlights on the barn, but what he saw needed work. The tidy farm he’d loved to visit ten years ago had deteriorated.

      How old were Becky and Oliver now? In their late sixties? They probably should have retired a while ago, especially with Oliver’s health. Chris opened the trailer and led the first reindeer to the corral. The gate groaned. He unsnapped the lead, and the big animal wandered toward the hayrack in the middle of the pen. The top rail beside the gate had cracked in the middle, and a cluster of vicious-looking splinters protruded, fortunately toward the outside of the pen. It wouldn’t be easy to sell the farm in this condition. They needed help.

      Chris had all three reindeer in the corral and most of the truck unloaded by the time Marissa arrived. She handed him his keys. “Becky’s feeling better. I think she’s right, that it’s just a twisted ankle and she’ll be fine tomorrow.” Marissa looked up at him. “She appreciates your help.”

      Chris nodded and pulled out the last bundle from the truck. “How bad is it?”

      “I told you, she’ll be fine.” At his searching look, she glanced down. “Oliver? It’s bad. He needs a heart transplant.”

      “Wow. What kind of wait time are we talking about?”

      Marissa shrugged. “It depends. He’s not high priority. Yet.”

      Chris shut the tailgate and topper and nodded toward the sagging barn door. “He must have been sick for a while.”

      “Apparently. They didn’t tell me anything about the heart condition until a couple of months ago.”

      “But you had to have seen that the place was—”

      “I wasn’t here.” She met his eyes, allowing him to read the guilt and regret there. “I haven’t been here in years. It was easier just to have them visit me, a nice winter break for them.” She looked away, but not before he saw the glint of tears. “I should have come home more often.”

      She was right. But how could he judge her? He’d deserted his family and never looked back. Never even considered that they might need him. Marissa at least stayed in touch. “You’re here now.”

      She nodded. “For the moment. To help them get through the party season. But then I need to go back to work.”

      “You’re leaving them?”

      “I have to.”

      Chris’s mouth tightened. Couldn’t she see that Oliver might not have much more time? Couldn’t her precious career wait? Marissa didn’t appreciate how good she’d had it, growing up with an aunt and uncle who adored her. She owed them, big time. But what could he do? He was Marissa’s ex, not family. Not even her friend. He had no say in her decisions.

      “I guess I’ll see you at the next party. Let me know if Becky needs help in the meantime.”

      “Chris?” Her voice was tentative. She must sense his disapproval. Well, she should.

      “Good night, Marissa. Tell them I said goodbye.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Seventeen days till Christmas

      WHEN MARISSA CAME downstairs the next morning, Becky was already in the kitchen, stirring pancake batter. A pot of coffee sat ready on the drip machine. Marissa frowned. “Should you be on your feet?”

      “I told you, I just twisted my ankle. I’m fine now.” Becky smiled. “Although it was nice to have a handsome man carry me over the threshold.”

      “He’s too late. I already carried you over the threshold almost forty years ago.” Oliver chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen table. “Tell Chris to get his own girl.” He settled СКАЧАТЬ