A Semi-Precious Christmas (8 page)

Tears inched down my cheek. Through the window, a shooting star streaked across the frigid night sky.

Chris cocked his head, clearly confused. “Why are you crying?”

Our entrees arrived, the sauerbraten and red wine ginger sauce scenting the air with spice. The waiter refilled Chris's coffee and left a steaming teapot for me.

“I remember the moment your Aunt Margaret told me about it, that you'd been born again. Chris, we'd been praying for you, that you'd see how very much God loved you, how much He cared, how He longed to walk and talk with you.”

Chris shot me a look, incredulity reflected in his eyes. “It's really something to think you prayed for me. Ever since I found out you were Aunt Margaret's Peridot, I hoped you were a believer.”

“Your aunt refused to give up on you.” I reached for my teacup and sipped slowly, the steam misting my eyes.

He swallowed, eyes shining. “If you want to know the truth, I've hoped longer than that—since the day I met you.” He glanced down at his plate and swished his potato dumplings with his fork. “Good we're of similar minds on this one.” He placed his fork on the side of his plate, and rested an elbow on the table. “How long has it been since your husband…”

“Since Mark passed away?” I stabbed at a green bean wrapped in bacon and gave Chris a touch of a smile. I was used to easing the discomfort for others. “It's been four years now. He died from a heart attack at the age of thirty-nine. He'd been out running. He was very fit—it was a fluke really, a complete shock.” The usual ache didn't come. Minor bouts of grief were sneaking up on me less and less. “The first couple of years were the worst, of course. Lonely nights and all that. Mark was a good husband, a very good husband in many ways. A tough act to follow.”

Perhaps I'd said too much. I didn't want to scare Chris off. I wanted him to know I was ready to move on, but I also wanted to be honest. No use starting a relationship on half-truths. My life with Mark wasn't a fairy tale, but our time together had been full of better rather than worse.

Chris's gaze latched onto mine as he searched my face. He reached over and grabbed my hand, holding my fingers tight.

“Chris, I'm OK now. As much as I'll ever be.”

“I'm glad he was good to you. A strong marriage is a hard thing to find these days. From what I've read on relationships, it usually takes years for a woman to remarry after such a tragedy.”

“You read relationship books? You really are a sensitive man!”

“Don't tell anybody. I don't want to lose my tough-guy reputation.”

“I can't imagine you were ever a bad boy. At least Aunt Margaret didn't mention it.”

“You didn't know me in college. I had some serious street cred…but we'll table that discussion for another time. And it's nice to know that Aunt Margaret was oblivious.” He chuckled. “As to the books, yeah, I like to know as much as I can. According to what I've read, I'm a catch. Tiffany was the one who left, I have only the one child, and she's adorable. Now
you
…”

“What about me?”

“You rank right up there as eminently datable. Thirty or so, very attractive, gainfully employed, no kids, and only two cats.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I'm thirty-eight. But what's up with the ‘only two cats' part?”

“No cats, best; one cat, doable; two cats, on the edge; three or more, watch out. I read it on a men's blog recently. Not that three cats means a crazy cat lady, but three usually leads to four, and then five…you see my point.” Chris's grin was mischievous.

“Whoa, well, I'm relieved I came in under the limit.” I tried hard not to laugh.

“Me, too. I'd hate to have to throw you back. Now this leads me to a question. I have a favor to ask.”

“OK. I might even say yes if you buy me dessert. Perhaps the lemon Linzer torte.”

“Lemon? Sounds girly. I have my eye on the Black Forest cake. But back to the favor. Would you help me choose a kitten for Maggie? She's bugged me for months about a pony or kitten. Scooping litter beats mucking out stalls.”

Aww. I speared another green bean wrapped in bacon as I remembered my first kitten. Best gift ever. “Sure, let's hit the shelter in the next couple of days.”

“That seals the deal.”

I froze with the tempting green bean inches from my mouth and set it back on the plate. “Seals the deal?”

“Maggie wanted to know if I was going to date you.” He shrugged. “I told her I'd see how tonight went.”

“And you think it's going pretty good?”

“I do. So I have yet one more request.”

I tipped my teacup to my lips to find that there was nothing left. Before I could even gesture for the server, a fresh pot appeared by my plate. “Shoot. I'm all ears.”

“Will you come to dinner on Christmas Eve, and then accompany us to church for the special service? Please?”

14

Keaton's Jewelers opened early on Christmas Eve.

I started the day at a brisk walk, graduated to a trot, and sped up to a sprint, shunning breaks except for the occasional kitten-check. The precious little bit of fluff in my office was having a ball playing with Christmas wrap, boxes, and bags. At some point during the day, each of the employees made excuses to pop in on the petite feline. I just hoped they were giving her time to catnap in between visits.

At five o'clock sharp, we closed and locked the doors.

I was grateful to get out of there. I had a kitten to deliver. Todd rang up the very last soon-to-be-engaged gentleman while I slipped out.

Chris had called that afternoon to tell me his car was in the shop. With his mother visiting her sister in New Jersey, it was good my car was in working order.

I pulled up in front of Chris's house and opened the cat carrier beside me. The little fuzz ball was completely sacked out in the plush cat bed Chris had purchased the night before. I brushed a finger over her silken ears and threw a light blanket over the carrier.

I called Chris and waited a couple minutes so he could corral Maggie in her room. I could hardly stand the suspense. I sneaked into the unlocked house and tiptoed to the guest room. A litter box, cat toys galore, and food bowls painted with feisty red and green cats waited for us.

A delicate mew came from under the blanket. Time to get this show on the road.

A tap sounded on the door followed by the tinkle of a little girl's laughter. “What Daddy? Where's the very special present?”

“In here, Magpie.” The door swung open, and Chris and Maggie danced into the room.

Maggie squealed when she saw me, which really boosted my ego, and raced to hug me tight. “Good present, Daddy.”

“Nice to see you too, Maggie, but your daddy has another gift for you.”

Chris plopped onto the floor next to me and pulled Maggie into his lap. “Close your eyes and don't even think about peeking.”

Another giggle.

I opened the carrier, lifted a squirmy kitten, and placed her in Chris's outstretched hands. The kitten opened up those tiny feline lungs and wailed with gusto.

Maggie's eyes flew open. “Oh, Daddy. It's a cat. You got me a baby cat!”

The wriggling bundle landed in Maggie's lap.

I slid over, grabbed Maggie's hand, and showed her how to gently hold and pet the kitty, no tail-pulling allowed.

Maggie drank in every word and then took Chris's hand and showed him. “See Daddy? This is how you take care of a kitty.”

Warmth seeped through me.

Chris laughed, tickled the kitten's chin, and smiled down at Maggie. “What will you name her?”

“She doesn't have a name yet?” Maggie whispered, eyes round.

“Nope.”

The white, longhaired kitten with one blue eye and one green eye yawned.

Chris set her four pink-padded feet down on the carpet and rolled a ball in front of her.

The kitten streaked across the room, pounced, straddled the ball, and landed in a heap on her butt.

Maggie clapped her hands and lobbed the ball.

We chuckled at the kitten's spirited antics.

“She's so funny, Daddy. And she's so pretty. Can I name her Snowflake?”

“Snowflake, it is."

~*~

The three of us finished dinner and wore ourselves out playing with the kitten.

Maggie, ready to collapse, climbed onto the couch and tumbled into dreamland, Snowflake atop her tummy.

Chris and I cleaned up the kitchen and talked for a while, sharing some of the funny anecdotes Miss Margaret had told us about each other. Conversation flowed.

He heaved a sigh. “I almost hate to go to church and separate the twosome, but Maggie loves the Christmas Eve service. The sanctuary's lit by dozens of candles, and the music is angelic—a foretaste of heaven.”

“I'm looking forward to it. Do we have time to stop at my house on the way? The cats would appreciate a quick dinner.”

Chris lifted Snowflake and cradled her in his large hands. “Sure. And speaking of cats, good call on the kitten, Peri. She's perfect.” He transported the kitten to the guest room and shut the door. Next, he crouched beside the couch and gently woke Maggie. “Time for church, Magpie.”

She rubbed sleepy eyes and stood. “Where's Snowflake? Can she come, too?”

“Sorry. They don't allow cats in church, but she'll be fine. Besides, she needs some quiet time. She's had a busy day.”

Maggie shot her dad a glare, hands on corduroy-clad hips, but permitted Chris to slip on her coat and hat. In a pink hat with earflaps, a cupcake couldn't have looked any cuter.

I grabbed my coat and hat, and off we went.

15

My car coasted to a halt in my driveway. “I'll just run in, feed the cats, and be out in a jiffy. No need for you and Maggie to get out. I'd hate to wake up sleeping beauty.” I sprinted up the walk and opened the front door. There was a light on in the kitchen. I distinctly remembered turning it out. A rustling noise sounded, followed by a thump. I gasped and whirled around. “Chris!”

He was by my side in an instant. He pushed me behind him and away from the door. “What? Are you OK? What's wrong?”

I swallowed a scream and sucked in air. “There's someone in the house!”

The back door slammed and Chris raced inside. Fearless man.

Footsteps hammered as a man sprinted around the side of the house, Chris in hot pursuit.

My running car idled in the driveway like an open invitation.

“No!” I shouted. “Don't take Maggie!”

I leapt off the porch and raced toward the car.

The intruder hopped in and hit reverse, sideswiping my mailbox as he peeled out of the driveway.

I shrieked, air whooshing out of me.

Chris managed to bang on the hood of the car before it headed off down the street.

There was no way we could catch the speeding car, but we ran anyway, halfway down the block.

Taillights faded in the distance and then disappeared as the car turned a hard left.

I slid to a halt, panting, hands on knees, shivering.

Chris slumped next to me, an animalistic groan escaping from his mouth. “Maggie!” he cried. “Oh, dear God, protect her.” He wrapped an arm around me and clutched me so hard I wheezed.

We stumbled back to the house and sank into kitchen chairs.

Chris whipped out his cellphone and speed-dialed Locksley, describing the situation. He ended the call and stared past me, his hands flat on the table.

“Chris, what are we going to do? We have no car. We can't just sit here.” I blanketed his cold hands with mine, my pulse pounding in my ears.

He hung his head, his lips moving soundlessly. After a moment's reverie, his head came up and he transformed. His limp fingers curled into fists. His mouth tightened into a thin, straight line, and his jaw clenched. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. “First, we'll pray. Then, we're making some phone calls.” His hands gripped mine as he begged for Maggie's safety and deliverance. Then he ended with, “Lord, I'm scared out of my wits. Maggie is my life. Help us find my little girl!” Air rushed from his lungs as he pulled his phone out. “I'm calling the TV station. Then, I'll call every single person in my directory who might be able to help.”

We had a plan.

I searched frantically for my phone. My blood ran cold. No phone. I must have left it in the car when I'd run into the house. No matter. Chris knew dozens, perhaps, hundreds of people.

Chris called person after person, relaying the needed information in short, terse sentences, asking each contact to call two friends to spread the word. He also called Amee and Uncle Marty and recruited Amee to come pick us up. Before he was half way down his list, car brakes squealed in my driveway. Amee's car purred on the pavement.

Chris and I were out of there and in the car before Amee had time to open her door.

“Where to?”

“The kidnapper turned left at the next street. We'll start there.”

We would find her. There was no other option.

~*~

An hour later, we'd crisscrossed the town, turning down every street, every alley, and even the occasional cow path. Nothing.

Chris motioned for Amee to stop the car at the diner with a red neon sign blinking “Open all night.” Christmas Eve. Some people had tough jobs.

Amee cracked her door. “Thanks. I didn't want to say anything, but I gotta pee. Be right back.”

Chris sat in the front seat, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands. He kneaded his scalp with his fingers. With half his hair standing on end, he reached back and grabbed my hand. “What if we crash the Christmas Eve service at church? It's probably not quite over yet.”

“I guess it's always a good time to go to church. What'd you have in mind?”

“Inspiration? Peace? Friends who care? All good. OK with you?”