A Semi-Precious Christmas (3 page)

Uncle Marty seemed even more fragile than he had in the ambulance, but at least his eyes were open. The hospital gown and blue surgical blanket gave him the appearance of a shrunken old man despite his large frame. His head was swathed in bandages. His arms rested by his sides, fingers clutching the rails of the gurney as if he feared he would fall.

I grabbed his cold left hand and held it tight. “Amee and I are here, Uncle Marty. We love you.”

He didn't say anything, but he squeezed back weakly. His eyelids fluttered then closed again as he faded away.

I stroked his hand while tears cascaded down my face. My uncle was a kind, gentle, rock of a man. He'd never looked so vulnerable.

The assailant had to be the older one with the attitude. The younger seemed more scared than dangerous.

Had Uncle Marty put up a fight? Heat surged through my chilled body. My hand clenched into a fist, and I flexed my fingers to make them relax. Wasn't it bad enough they'd ransacked his painstakingly built business? Did they have to hurt him, too?

Dr. Lawrence glided up behind me in soundless shoes. “We've got to get him into surgery now. If he does have a traumatic brain injury, there's no time to lose.”

Traumatic brain injury?
My stomach knotted. I gripped my uncle's hand for one more brief moment and followed his gurney as far as the No Admittance sign. He vanished from sight as the door swung shut. Standing stupidly for a few seconds, my gaze fell to the coat I was clutching close. Not mine. Chris's. I'd walked off with the man's coat, and he hadn't uttered a sound.

Amee scurried down the hall, long skirt billowing behind her. “Where's Uncle Marty? Did I miss him?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Tears flooded her eyes.

I slung a consoling arm around her shaking shoulders. She'd been doing a fine job of comforting me, but I was so much more comfortable being the one in charge.

We did an about-face and walked back the way we'd come.

“Might be a long wait. I could use something to eat.”

Amee sniffled. “I did get us some coffee. I'm afraid I practically pitched the food tray at your new friend when he told me you'd gone with the doctor.”

In the waiting room, a coatless Chris balanced a tray on his lap. He hadn't touched the Danish cuddled up next to my candy bar.

Amee and I plopped down—she made sure my seat was next to the eligible man—and I grabbed one of the coffees. I'd chosen correctly. Plenty of cream. With the three of us settled and Chris munching on his pastry, I eased Amee into the rest of the story.

~*~

After hours of waiting, the doctor appeared, guarded, but hopeful. Uncle Marty'd hung in there and done well through surgery but would be in recovery for a while.

“I don't mean to sound callous, but now that your uncle is stable, we need to go to the police station.” Chris's tone was quiet, gentle.

“I'll call if there are any changes. Go, Peri.” Amee gave me a look I knew well.

I ignored her and scanned for my purse before remembering I'd misplaced it. No purse. No car key. In fact, no car. I'd arrived at the hospital in the ambulance.

“I'll be happy to drive you to the police station but I need to swing by my office to pick up Maggie. My mom offered to keep her the rest of the day. That frees me up to ferry you around, if you'll let me.” Chris's offer was tempting.

The skeptical part of me waited to hear the real reason Chris was being so nice, but I hushed it. If he had an angle, I was too beat to figure it out. Maybe he was exactly as he seemed—a modern-day knight in a plum-colored tie. He was certainly showing the utmost courtesy to this widow woman.

“If you don't think you'll be disappointing Maggie. Wasn't she expecting a day out with Daddy? Even though a chunk of the day is gone, you could still salvage some quality hours of father-daughter time.”

“She'll be fine. My mother takes care of her a few days a week anyway. And typical grandmother that she is, my mom lets Maggie charm her into getting her way most of the time.”

I waited in the car while he went into the TV station.

He and Maggie came waltzing out the front door. Literally. He was swinging her around as if he were moving in time to a symphony in his head. Her peals of laughter rang through the air.

The scene drew me into Chris's silent melody, and breathed new life into my soul. Children did that. Before the heart attack had taken his life, Mark and I had planned to have kids, but it never seemed like the right time. Then when we did try, it didn't happen.

Chris attempted to help his petite angel with the buckle on her booster seat—she swatted him away, wanting to do it all by herself—and we took off.

She tilted her head and gave me a good, long look. “She's pretty, Daddy.”

Sweet child.

“She's almost as pretty as mommy.”

“Maggie!” A flamingo pink blush crept up Chris's neck.

“It's OK.” I wasn't offended. That adorable flush spread to the tips of his ears.

“Sorry.”

The spirited child hummed to herself, some sort of lively tune, maybe the song she and Chris had danced to on the station sidewalk.

We rode through an older section of town and stopped at a small 1950's ranch house. Maggie whooped. If she couldn't have pancakes, at least she could have Grandma.

Mrs. Lane waved at me from the porch and ran out to the car. I pushed the button to lower the window.

Her eyes shone with curiosity. “Nice to meet you…Peri isn't it? Unusual name.”

I was about to explain when Chris handed over Maggie. “Gotta go, Mom, but I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“No hurry, son. You know she's always welcome here. And please, bring your new friend back anytime.” She turned to me. “Do you like lasagna, Peri?”

“Absolutely. Who doesn't?”

“It's settled then. Chris, bring Peri by for dinner sometime soon, huh?”

“I'll see what I can do.” A touch of a smile flickered. “Peri's a busy woman. And don't forget I told you her uncle's in the hospital.”

Mrs. Lane's face clouded. “Oh, yes. We'll be praying for your uncle.”

The police station was across town, and my dread rose higher with every closing mile.

After two grueling hours with Locksley, a sketch artist, and a dozen dusty mug shot books, we trudged back to the car.

Chris turned the heat on full-blast and directed the vents toward me. He offered to drop me off at the store so I could find my purse and pick up my car, but I wasn't ready to go back there yet. I couldn't face it. I just couldn't.

Chris took one look at me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “How about I take you straight home? I hate to sound parental, but I think you could use a nap.”

I offered him a smile, as images of Uncle Marty flitted through my mind. Had he woken up after the surgery? “Thanks. I think I could use one.”

He gave me a smidgen of a smile and shifted into gear. “Keep the coat for now. It's cold outside.”

5

After helping me unearth my backdoor key hidden under a can of paint in the shed, Chris saw me safely inside the house. “I'll be back in a few hours, and we'll make sure your Uncle Marty's doing all right. Have a good nap, Peri.” He pulled me into a swift hug and closed the door behind him with a muted click.

I trudged to my bedroom, trailed by two cats. I curled up on my bed, Butterscotch tucked under my chin, gossamer whiskers tickling my cheek. In true kitten form, he had only two speeds—on and off. Thank goodness, he was in “off” mode at the same time I was today.

Ginger, the thirteen-year-old tabby that had belonged to my friend, Mrs. Margaret Vaughan, had arranged herself on a chair in the corner. She was still obviously missing her “mom.” Even after six months, she didn't quite trust me. Goodness! That thought made me pine for Miss Margaret. I'd dug out her recipe for snickerdoodles and planned to serve them in the store tomorrow with her holiday cider, but my plans shattered with those jewelry cases.

Miss Margaret's death had left a real void in my life. Ginger's, too. Thankfully, the tabby was cozying up to Butterscotch. It did me good to see the elderly cat chasing the little one with unabashed abandon. Then my silly kitten would trail in Ginger's wake as she sauntered through the house with majestic grace.

As I stretched out, being careful not to disturb the handsome little guy, I recalled the day I'd met Miss Margaret at church, five years earlier. We often ended up in the same row on Sunday mornings, and we'd become friends. With a keen mind and a style all her own, she reminded me of a duchess from days gone by.

When she first invited me to her house for lunch, I had no idea she lived on an actual estate. Seize the Day Stables had boarded dozens of racehorses when she was a girl. With a sly wink, she told me their farm was famous for their quality studs. She still kept a few mares and one docile pony as companion animals, and we'd often share an apple or two with the horses.

Miss Margaret began to slow down at age eighty-eight and grew too arthritic to tend her beloved tulips. Instead, we'd enjoy tea and scones in her comfortable kitchen. Then her eyes weakened, and I read her stories—romance novels were her favorites. On a picture-perfect day in June, my friend died pulling weeds in her flower garden. If she felt like tidying her flowerbeds, she jolly well would.

I glanced over to the sleeping feline in the corner chair. Her ribcage moved up and down with a gentle rhythm, a slight whistling snore emanating from her soft, orange nose. When Miss Margaret passed away, there'd been no one else to take Ginger, so I adopted her. I liked to think Miss Margaret would have been pleased, even if Ginger didn't seem overjoyed with her new digs.

When I shut my eyes again, Chris's face popped into my head. That brotherly hug he'd given me before he'd left hadn't been nearly enough. I couldn't help it. His lips had accidentally grazed my cheek, and I'd inhaled in surprise. He smelled so deliciously…male. Since being single, I found I missed that scent, along with the scratchy feel of a five o'clock shadow against my skin. I'd had a few first dates since Mark's death, but it was rare I said yes to a second. Was my attraction to Chris due to my ever-increasing gratitude? Or could there be something more?

I rolled onto my back and positioned the sleeping kitten on my chest, my mind drifting back to the beginning of the day. The thugs had given me a good-sized shiner, but a sore face was a minor annoyance. Mean-Eyes had nearly killed Uncle Marty and a sense of violation and guilt swept over me. Could I have prevented it? Had I missed something when I'd turned into the parking lot, some clue that danger was afoot?

I leaned down and arranged a blanket around my feet.

Everything in the store could be replaced, except the estate jewelry Uncle Marty had bought from Miss Margaret's son after her death. Did the thieves realize what they had? Many of the pieces were one of a kind. And that exquisite necklace! A rare antique platinum chain with alternating natural pearls and European cut diamonds. It was worth more than twenty-five thousand dollars.

I shut my eyes and prayed for Uncle Marty. After he'd welcomed Amee and me into his home, he made sure we went to school, studied hard, and said our prayers before we went to sleep. Uncle Marty had lovingly molded me into the woman I'd become. It was because of him I'd learned to love the Lord. He deserved better than this.

Mind whirling, I finally drifted to sleep with tears slipping into my ears. I awoke in the dark, a scream tearing from my throat. I'd dreamed I was back in the jewelry store. Mean-Eyes sneered, pointed his gun at me, and this time, he pulled the trigger.

6

My doorbell rang. Chris was right on time, God bless him.

“Ready to go?” He stood at my door as bright and shiny as a Christmas tree ornament right out of the package. His sandy hair glittered, droplets of drizzle shining in the glow of the porch light. He'd donned a cream-colored sweater over his shirt, and his tie peeped out the top.

My chilly spirit warmed at that hint of purple. “Almost.” I ran into the kitchen, rooted around in a drawer for my extra car key in case I had trouble finding my purse, and pulled my dressy coat around me.

“I took Maggie out for her pancakes. She poured plenty of butter pecan syrup all over them, as usual. That's her favorite.”

Seeing a father make an effort to get to know his daughter made me all squishy inside.

Hospital personnel had transferred Uncle Marty from the ICU to the fourth floor. Chris and I tiptoed into the room as quiet as drifting snowflakes. The only light came from a dim fluorescent fixture above Uncle Marty's bed.

In the corner, Amee had folded herself into a lounge chair, open book in her lap. “Uncle Marty did well in surgery, but he‘s had a traumatic brain injury. They've alleviated the pressure on his brain and he should recover fully, but it might take some time. Dr. Lawrence warned me Uncle Marty would likely suffer from headaches and fatigue, and he'd possibly have some trouble with memory and concentration.” Amee's voice was hushed.

The ventilator wheezed, but Uncle Marty's color looked good, and he seemed to be resting easy.

“I should go start the clean-up. There's so much to do.” I kneaded my neck to work out the knots and exhaled a good long sigh.

“Everything's taken care of. Signs are posted letting our customers know we'll be open again next week. All of the glass has been swept up, new locks have been installed on the doors, and whenever you're ready, the alarm company's all set to install an upgraded system that actually works.” Amee's grin stretched wide.

“But how…?”

“Todd. He called in Emma and Miralee, and even enlisted help from his brother. You remember Bryce, right? The hunk with the cherry-red muscle car? What do you think?”