at his watch, he noticed it was after midnight. Kayla was working the three-to-eleven shift, so he expected her anytime. For the next week she belonged to him and no one else. No work, no calls in the middle of the night to come to a crime scene. In fact, he thought they might take a trip to Denver to look at a crib, something for the baby. How he loved thinking about his child!
Damn, he was getting sappy-eyed! It was the holidays. They always did that to him. He loved the bright cheerful red and green lights that twinkled on their Colorado blue spruce, the smell of pine, clean and sharp. He’d finished his Christmas shopping. There were dozens of brightly wrapped packages beneath the tree that hadn’t been there when Kayla left for work. Yes, she would be surprised. He laughed. That was an understatement.
Looking at his watch seeing that it was quarter to one, Max jumped when the phone rang.
Most likely it was Kayla calling to let him know she was going out for breakfast with a few friends from the department. She did that about once a month, and it was fine with him. She needed the time to unwind.
Max answered the phone on the third ring.
“Max Jorgenson?” a male voice inquired.
“Yes, this is Max.”
“We’re sending a cruiser to pick you up. Officer Jorgenson has been involved in a shooting…”
Both she and the baby died before they made it to the hospital.
Chapter 9
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The First Day of Winter
Grace tied the bright red ribbon around the last package, then added a matching bow. She surveyed the mountain of gifts she’d spent the morning wrapping. This was truly going to be the best Christmas Stephanie and her girls had ever had.
She’d bought both girls the latest American Girl books along with a special doll of their own: a Julie Albright for Ashley and an Ivy Ling for Amanda. Both American Girl dolls were going through big changes in their home lives, too. Grace thought the girls would identify with the dolls and the stories that accompanied them. She’d purchased all the extra clothes, shoes, and ribbons that she could find for the dolls. The girls would love changing their clothes and fixing their hair.
She bought Stephanie a new ski suit and jacket because she’d never owned a new one, saying all that she’d ever owned were secondhand castoffs. There were skis, poles, boots, hats, and gloves that promised warmth in subzero temperatures. Briefly, Grace thought of Max. Stephanie had been an avid skier before marrying Glenn. Maybe now that she was putting her life in order, she would find time to take up the sport. Max would’ve been an excellent instructor for her.
She barely knew the man, yet she couldn’t seem to shake the image of him standing at the door when she’d left. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and here she was pining away like a lovesick teenager. Maybe a lust-sick teenager. It’d been a while since she’d had a real relationship. Actually, she hadn’t had a real relationship since Matt, her college sweetheart, who turned out to be anything but. Oh, she’d gone on tons of dates. There was always a friend of a friend who had a cousin in town, or someone’s newly divorced brother who needed a date for his annual company picnic. She liked dating but had never thought too much about marriage. She was thirty-five years old. Marriage might not be in the cards for her. That was okay because Grace was reasonably happy, loved her profession, enjoyed the life she’d made for herself. More than anything, she felt like a proud parent, helping the many women who passed through Hope House. If she didn’t accomplish anything else in her life, she knew she was okay with that. Opening Hope House had been her biggest dream. She’d fulfilled it, and anything extra was simply a bonus.
“Are you about to finish in there?” Juanita called out to Grace. “I have a few things I’d like to wrap.”
Grace watched her mother standing in the doorway. Hope House had six available bedrooms. With Stephanie and the girls as her only “guests,” just two of the other bedrooms were in use. Grace had turned the smallest bedroom into a temporary wrapping station, where she could wrap presents without being caught. She loved surprises and couldn’t wait to see the look on the girls’ faces Christmas morning.
“It’s all yours, Mother dear,” Grace said. “Promise not to peek, okay? Some of those silver-and-gold packages are yours.”
“Why don’t you put them under the tree?” her mother suggested.
“I am. I just wanted to wait so Amanda and Ashley could help. They’re having their hair washed right now.”
“That’s a grand idea, darling. You certainly know how to treat those girls. Too bad you don’t have any of your own.”
Oh no, Grace thought, the marriage talk. Surely, her mother wasn’t going to do this to her again. Not at Christmas.
“Mom, we’ve talked about this before. I’m not getting any younger. If a child and marriage aren’t in my future, then please allow me to spoil and love those I can.”
Juanita looked at her daughter, tears filling her matching green eyes. “I don’t know how I raised such a wonderful and wise woman, but I did. Come here,” her mother said. Grace stepped into Juanita’s loving embrace.
“I just followed your lead, Mom.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t think I was ever brave enough to do some of the things you do, dear. Have I ever told you how proud I am of you? All the women and children you’ve helped throughout the years. Your father would be so proud of you.”
“Stop it, or I’ll get all teary-eyed and ruin my mascara,” Grace said with a grin. “You know how clumsy I am when it comes to putting on makeup.”
“Oh, go on. Let me get these packages wrapped before Bryce discovers what I’m doing. You know what a sneak he can be.”
“I’ll keep him occupied downstairs while you’re wrapping. Hide them under the bed when you’re finished.”
“Good thinking.”
Downstairs, Grace found Bryce where else but snooping into the fridge. “Is that all you do?”
“What?” He shot her his all-American smile. Bryce was as handsome as their father had been, with his coal black hair and dark eyes. He’d just completed the requirements for his Ph.D. in history, same subject as their father, who’d been a professor at the University of Colorado. Starting in January, he would tackle his first real teaching job at the same college. Seeing Bryce all grown-up would have made her father proud. He’d died of a massive heart attack when Bryce was sixteen.
“Every time I look at you, you’re eating,” Grace teased.
“Hey, I’m a growing boy. I haven’t had real food in ages. I wish I could cook.”
“Then I’ll make sure to get you a cookbook for Christmas.”
“Thanks, Sis. I can always count on you to be practical,” Bryce said between bites of banana nut bread.
“You better save some of that for the girls. And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Bryce poured a large
