His Christmas Salvation
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Lee Tobin McClain
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Chapter One
Only a guy with issues would hold full-length conversations with his dog.
Fisk Wilkins made no secret of it: he was a guy with issues. “I’m peopled out,” he said to his service dog, Nemo. “How about you? Dogged out?”
They were in Fisk’s truck, headed home from a busy Thanksgiving dinner that had included two of his brothers, their wives, and their growing number of kids and dogs.
Nemo, a stocky poodle mix, had nearly flunked out of service dog training, and he’d only belonged to Fisk for two months. But they were already bonded. The dog’s dark, intelligent eyes and alert head-tilt gave the impression that he understood exactly what his new owner was saying.
Fisk steered his truck carefully through the snowy downtown of Holiday Point. When the lampposts flickered on—each decorated with an evergreen wreath, bright red bow and white lights—he groaned. “Christmas decorations already?”
Nemo barked, possibly reminding Fisk that Thanksgiving Day was high time for holiday decorating. The few family groups strolling through downtown looked pretty happy about the season, too, stopping to chat or point at the lit-up window displays.
Fisk wasn’t looking forward to Christmas. He would be doing this holiday season sober for the first time in a while. It wasn’t going to be easy.
He touched the cross around his neck, then one of the AA coins in the bin between the seats, then Nemo.
Nemo let out his distinctive, high-pitched yip, seeming to understand Fisk’s concerns.
Excessive barking was the flaw that had led to Nemo’s near flunkout. The dog couldn’t shut up. Fisk had volunteered at the training center while waiting for his service dog to be assigned, and he’d offered to take Nemo despite his imperfections.
Since Fisk lived in the hilly woods outside the town of Holiday Point, with only one other house nearby, the noise wasn’t a problem for him.
Better a barking dog than enemy fire, any day. He and his sole neighbor, a Vietnam veteran, agreed on that.
Halfway down the icy dirt road that led to his rented house and woodshop, he spotted a silver car, nose down the embankment. It didn’t look serious, but he could see exhaust smoke, so the car was still running.
Must have just happened. He jammed his truck into Park and got out.
Nemo barked.
“Come on,” Fisk said, and the dog jumped out. Together, they slipped and slid down the slope to the driver’s-side door.
He used his glove to rub away the icy, snowy film that had formed on the window. He could barely see the driver in the deepening dusk—just a lot of blond hair, so probably a woman. He tried the door. Locked.
And she rightly wouldn’t want to open the door to a strange man on a deserted road. “Your window,” he called, making a circling gesture.
She lowered the window a few inches.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He still couldn’t see her clearly. “Turn the car off.”
She did as he’d said, and then Fisk heard a sound from the back seat. A fussing noise, increasing in volume.
The blonde woman fumbled with a bag beside her and then turned toward the back seat.
The sound of a crying baby threw him into the past. He could almost feel the weight of his daughter in his arms, just as he’d felt it the many nights he’d walked the floor to soothe her.
He shoved history and emotion aside, his army medic training taking over. “Either of you need medical attention?” he asked the driver through a tight throat.
She turned back toward him. Only it wasn’t just any driver.
It was his girlfriend, his baby’s mother, looking out at him.
Except it couldn’t be. She was dead.
He tried to keep looking at her, wanting to prove to himself that he was wrong, but his eyes went blurry. His breathing quickened, and then the baby cried again.
His legs gave out.
He sank down into the snow on his knees, heart racing, the roaring in his head drowning out the sound of her voice and the memories.
Lauren Kantz lowered her window and studied her would-be rescuer. “Hey. You okay?”
He was on his knees, his head bowed. Even with his heavy coat, she could see that his chest was heaving. Was this some elaborate ruse? A criminal playing her, trying to get her to open her car door so he could rob her? A tabloid reporter who’d somehow discovered her destination in the wilds of Western Pennsylvania?
His snow-covered dog nudged and pawed at him, its yappy, high-pitched bark at odds with its substantial size.
Concern overrode caution. After making sure Bonita was secure in her car seat with her pacifier still in her mouth, she opened her car door—carefully, lest she cause the vehicle to move farther into the snowbank. Cold wind rushed in, and she shivered. “Sir? Sir, are you all right?”
The man shook his head back and forth a few times and squared his shoulders. He ran a hand over his dog. It stopped barking, though it continued to nudge at him.
“You there?” Gramps’s voice boomed out of her phone speaker on the car seat behind her. “Lauren? I’m coming out to find you.”
“No, I’m fine, I’m almost there,” she half yelled in the general direction of her phone as Bonita started to fuss again. “Wait a minute.”
She fumbled through the diaper bag on her passenger seat and found one of the sippy cups she’d prepared earlier. Leaning into the back seat, she offered it to Bonita. “Look, honey. Juice!”
Bonita stopped crying immediately and gave Lauren a two-toothed grin, then grabbed the cup and started sucking at it.
Lauren picked up her phone. “Sorry, Gramps. I drove into a ditch just down the road from your house, and then this guy in a truck stopped. Now he’s—” She checked out the car door. “He’s sitting in the snow and his dog is kind of in his lap. He doesn’t seem like a threat.”
“Brownish, curly-haired dog that yips a lot?”
At that moment, the dog let out another excited-sounding bark.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“That’s Nemo,” Gramps said. “And his owner is Fisk, my neighbor. He’s a good guy.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him and be there in a bit. I’m fine, don’t come out.” Gramps was a strong, healthy man, but his arthritis kicked up in cold weather. He didn’t need to be walking through snow and ice.
She ended the call and checked that Bonita was still content. Then she got out and knelt before Fisk. “Hey. I’m Mr. Tucker’s granddaughter. Are you all right? Want me to call someone for you?”
“You look like...whoa. Never mind. I’m fine.” He nudged the dog out of his lap, at which point Lauren noticed that the pup wore a service vest.
Curiosity and sympathy tugged at her. You didn’t get a service dog because life was easy.
Then, when the man met her eyes, something else tugged at her.
Uh-oh.
Her therapist’s words came back to her: Watch out when you’re drawn to someone you don’t know well. You’re codependent. You can’t trust your feelings.
Her feelings had led her into the awful situation she was now escaping.
“So you’re Gramps Tucker’s granddaughter? Visiting him for the holidays?” Fisk seemed to be trying to shake off his confusion, or attack, or whatever it was that had caused his collapse.
“Yep.” She dialed back her concern and stood. “Can you get back into your truck okay, or should I call someone for you?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” He got to his feet. “I can help you get your car out.”
That sounded like too long a process, and he didn’t seem capable of doing it. “That’s okay. I’ll handle it tomorrow. I just need to get about half a mile down the road to Gramps’s place, and—”
“Come on, I’ll drive you.” His voice still sounded ragged.
Lauren’s mind ping-ponged around the alternatives as the sound of Bonita’s renewed cries rose from the back seat. Walk to Gramps’s place through the snow, dragging a couple of suitcases and Bonita? Call a tow truck on Thanksgiving Day and wait here in the cold, with a crying baby? Call Gramps back and ask him to fire up his old car and come out to get them?
Or take a ride with Gramps’s neighbor, this so-called good guy with the penetrating, compelling eyes?
Gramps had said the guy was safe. “Uh, thanks, a ride would be great, if you don’t mind waiting a minute while I gather my things.”
“Fine. Hand me whatever you need, I’ll load it in the back.”
She pulled out a suitcase and the diaper bag, then extracted Bonita and her car seat. Lauren holding the baby and Fisk carrying everything else, they scrambled up the snowy slope. A moment later they climbed into his warm truck. Lauren clambered into the back seat and started strapping in the car seat. She made soothing noises to Bonita, who was perched on the seat beside her and looking around with the curiosity of a healthy one-year-old.
As she lifted the baby into the car seat and strapped her in, she spoke to the man she’d just met. “I know it probably seems weird to use a car seat for such a short distance, but—”
“Use it,” he snapped. Then he looked away and adjusted a dog seat clip around Nemo.
Why had the man gone cranky on her?
Regardless of the reason, she was glad he was safety-minded. She settled in beside Bonita, leaving the front seat for the panting service dog.
“Da! Da!” Bonita cried when she saw it.
That was their only conversation during the three-minute ride to Gramps’s place. As soon as Fisk had unloaded the bags onto the porch, he lifted a hand. “I’m right next door if you need anything,” he said, his tone suggesting that he hoped she wouldn’t get in touch.
As she hugged her grandfather and brought in Bonita and her things, Lauren pondered her strange rescuer.
He’d definitely been helpful. He’d done her a kind deed. But he’d seemed put off by her at the same time. In particular, he’d seemed to get upset at her mention of the car seat.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with the car seat. Maybe he’d recognized her. Did he know about her past?
She suppressed the circling, cycling worries. She had no intention of seeing this man again. He’d simply provided assistance to a neighbor, as folks tended to do out here in the country.
He seemed troubled and maybe a little strange.
And extremely good-looking.
She scolded herself for the thought. Maybe she’d bake him some cookies in thanks, but she’d make sure to have Gramps deliver them.
She didn’t need to look into those soulful eyes, not ever again.
The next morning, Fisk was in his woodshop by 6:00 a.m., working on a coffee table made from reclaimed wood. He ignored Nemo, who snoozed on a rug by the door. Ignored the phone that had already rung twice and the stacks of paperwork spilling off the metal desk in the corner.
Ignored mental images that had kept him awake for much of the night and invaded his dreams when he’d finally slept. The pretty woman holding a baby, snow swirling around her, had suddenly morphed into his late girlfriend, Di, with baby Scarlett.
To stop himself from spiraling into a bad mental state, he looked over at Nemo and snapped his fingers. The dog came to stand beside him, stretching and yawning, back end high and front end low. Then he shook himself, sat down and leaned against Fisk’s leg.
Fisk rubbed the dog’s ears and then returned to his work, focusing on the sweet smell of oak and the steady sound of the hand planer. He needed to get this project sanded and stained this morning so he could start on his next project... Exactly which one was due next, he couldn’t remember for sure. He’d have to sort through his paperwork and figure out the priorities now that he’d gotten several new rush orders over the weekend.
The good people of Holiday Point had rallied around him when he’d started his woodworking business, flooding him with Christmas orders for the benches, coffee tables and stand-alone cabinets he specialized in. He was determined to fulfill every request. He needed to repair his reputation in this town and pay back those he owed money.
It was all part of making amends, step nine in the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. He busied his mind with reciting all the steps as he continued work on the cabinet. Soon he was lost in the swirling grain of the wood and the sound of the orbital sander.
Outside, the sun had risen now, casting bright light through the windows. Last night’s storm was past, and although the world outside sparkled white now, much of the snow would be melted by noon.
There was a pounding on the door of his shop, and Nemo barked, facing the door, ears alert.
Fisk frowned. Who would come all the way out here on icy roads? His brothers, maybe, and worry turned his stomach. Had something happened to Mom or Dad? He went to the door.
“Pounded on your house door but there was no answer.” His neighbor, fondly known to all as Gramps Tucker, entered without being invited. “Told her you were probably out here.”
The “her” in question stepped in but stopped just inside the door, snowsuit-clad baby in her arms. “Gramps said it would be okay, but I can see that you’re busy. We can come back another time.”
Busy didn’t begin to cover it. Besides, he was always busy. He glanced back, once, at the coffee table he hoped to finish today, and then focused on his guests.
Gramps Tucker, certain of his welcome, had shucked his coat and hung it on a hook by the door. Now he stood stomping snow off his ancient boots. “Come on, Fisk always welcomes a neighbor,” he said with gratifying assurance. “Especially one who comes bearing food.”
“Of course. Can I take your coat?” He helped her out of it, working around the baby. To avoid the memories that aroused, he concentrated on his five senses.
That might be a mistake.
Lauren’s hair smelled like roses and shone like gold. Her voice, as she spoke nonsense words to her baby, sounded low and soothing.
He’d run away last night after dropping her and the baby off, not even saying hello to Gramps Tucker. He should have known the older man wouldn’t accept that.
“Come to bring you some coffee cake and check on my commission,” Gramps Tucker said. “Wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, if you’ve got one.”
“Coffee I’ve got.” Fisk led them over to the small seating area in front of his desk and then poured coffee from the drip pot he’d filled this morning. He doctored the older man’s cup with creamer from the small fridge and then turned to Lauren. “How do you take it?”
“I’m fine... Oh, wait. Is that Hazelnut Crème?”
“It is. It’s my weakness.” Well, the least of them, but she didn’t need to know that. He poured her a cup and added a substantial dollop of the creamer, then set it on the desk beside her.
The baby, freed from her snowsuit, looked around the shop, eyes wide. She had big dark eyes and there was a reddish tint to her hair, an unusual combination.
She didn’t look a thing like Scarlett, he assured himself.
Lauren, now that she’d taken off her own coat, didn’t look all that much like Di had looked, either. Whereas Di had been as thin as a model, Lauren had curves. She also wore no makeup. Didn’t need it. Her lips and cheeks were naturally a pretty pink, her eyes a rich shade of green.
He focused on his neighbor. “You shouldn’t have come out in the cold. I could have updated you by phone.”
“Wanted to see for myself,” he said.
“I’ve got a ways to go on it,” Fisk told him. Gramps Tucker wanted a corner cabinet for a friend, and he seemed very anxious that it get done on time. “Don’t worry, though, it’ll get finished by Christmas.”
The older man looked at the desk, piled high with paperwork. “Quite a mess you’ve got there.”
“I know,” Fisk said. “I need to do something about it.”
The phone rang. Fisk ignored it.
“You gonna get that?”
“They’ll leave a message,” Fisk said. “If I answered the phone all day, I wouldn’t have time to get my projects done.”
“You need to hire some help,” Gramps Tucker declared.
“I do,” Fisk admitted, “but I don’t have time to find someone—”
“I have just the person,” Gramps said. He held out his hands toward his granddaughter as if he were presenting her on a stage. “Lauren, here, has business experience. She was an office manager back in Harrisburg, and she needs a job over the holidays, where she can be near her baby.”
Fisk blinked and then looked at Lauren. Her expression was as startled as the one he was sure was on his own face. So this wasn’t premeditated between the two of them.
“I’d like the chance to get to know my great-granddaughter,” Gramps Tucker went on, seeming oblivious to Fisk’s and Lauren’s reactions. “But if Lauren finds work over in Uniontown, I know she won’t let me look after Bonita. Won’t want to be so far away from her. If she works here, she’ll be just a stone’s throw away, and can check on us anytime she wants to.”
Lauren looked at Fisk, shaking her head. “I couldn’t ask that of you,” she said. “You weren’t even looking for an employee, right?”
“No, I wasn’t,” he said slowly. But he knew he was in over his head. Having someone to help temporarily, just with the Christmas orders, would be a blessing.
On the other hand, he couldn’t work with someone who looked so much like Di, and with a baby the same age as Scarlett had been when...
“I mean,” she said, “I do need work, but do you have the budget to pay me, even part-time? I know Gramps said you’re just getting started.”
Fisk tried to keep his insulted feeling from showing on his face. He knew he looked rough, but he was doing better than he’d ever expected when he’d started the business.
Continuing to do well, though, was dependent on getting these orders organized and completed in a timely way while attending to emails and calls and last-minute changes, things he hadn’t really considered when he’d made the rash decision to open a woodworking business.
And making this business succeed was central to his new, sobriety-fueled life plan. “I can afford it.”
She tilted her head to one side. The stormy look he’d seen in her eyes was fading, replaced by something bright and excited. She handed her baby to Gramps Tucker. “Let’s talk about it,” she said, standing. “Show me what needs to be done.”
Twenty minutes later, he had a new assistant. A beautiful woman he needed to stay away from, with a baby who was going to be a constant reminder of the one he’d lost.
What had he done?
