ready to settle for the night.
She locked the front door and checked the windows, finding everything secure until she reached the sliding door that accessed a deck on the rear of the house. That lock had been jimmied. She turned on an outside light. The snow on the deck and steps was undisturbed, so apparently no one had entered the house through that door, but Carissa was uneasy knowing that someone could come in. Maybe people in Yuletide weren’t as particular about locking their doors as she’d learned to be in a city.
Still, she knew she would rest easier if she had some kind of protection against unwanted guests. Barely over five feet tall, and weighing a little less than a hundred pounds, Carissa knew her appearance wouldn’t intimidate a burglar. She didn’t see a gun in the house, and she didn’t know anything about firearms, anyway.
After years of experience in the business world, Carissa had learned to be resourceful. She brought several pans from the kitchen and stacked them in front of the door, moved two heavy chairs to provide a barrier, and put a set of fireplace implements in front of the chairs. Spying a decorative set of sleigh bells on the wall, she hung those across the entrance. It would be impossible for anyone to enter the room without waking her. But for added security, she took a poker from the hearth and carried it upstairs to use as a weapon if she should need it.
The master suite on the second floor had been prepared for Carissa—a large, comfortable bedroom with a connecting bathroom. A glass door, covered with heavy draperies, led to a balcony, and Carissa parted the curtains and peered through the door’s frosty glass. Several inches of snow covered the balcony. Justin was right—she wouldn’t be drinking her morning coffee outside.
Naomi had left a note on the pillow, and the words “Welcome to my home” gave Carissa the feeling of a warm, gracious hug.
The room was cool and Carissa turned the switch on the electric blanket. While the bed warmed, she bathed. A few minutes later, bundled into a warm, ankle-length nightgown, Carissa laid the poker nearby and, sighing deeply, she stretched out in the warmth of the king-size bed. A Bible lay on the bedside table and Carissa reached for it. It had been a long time since she’d looked inside a Bible, but if she was going to be successful in her search for Christmas, she knew she’d have to start with God’s word. She turned to Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth and read a familiar passage aloud.
“‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judæa in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and are come to worship Him.””’
Carissa remembered enough from her childhood teachings to know that a person found Jesus through the eyes of faith. How strong was her faith? She believed that God had been her lodestar as she’d built a successful business. And she’d tried to repay Him by contributing a great deal of money to charitable organizations. To find the Christ Child, however, she’d have to go further than that. A Scripture verse she hadn’t thought of for years flashed into her mind: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
Carissa had been hesitant about opening her heart to anyone, but she knew it was the only route to the peace found in the Savior who’d been born in Bethlehem years ago. She longed to experience the close fellowship she’d once known with God—the only thing that had sustained her through a difficult childhood. Would she find it in Yuletide?
The warm bed brought comfort to her tired body, and she thought she’d fall asleep immediately, but an hour later, she was still awake. She didn’t consider herself an imaginative woman, but intermittent with the wind gusts that blew tree branches against the house, she thought she heard whisperings and muffled footsteps. Finally, she went to sleep—only to awaken suddenly.
Terror as strong as a bolt of electricity flooded her body as she struggled to a sitting position. She glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning! What had awakened her?
Her pulse fluttered when she heard a muffled exclamation downstairs, a clatter of pans and the ringing of sleigh bells. Someone was in the house, and she knew it wasn’t Santa Claus.
An intruder had stumbled over the barrier she’d placed in front of the glass door. Without waiting to put on a robe, Carissa jumped out of bed and grabbed the poker. Heart in her mouth and hands shaking, she was halfway down the stairs when the pale glow of the security light revealed a tall figure disentangling himself from her self-made booby trap. He groaned softly, and Carissa assumed he was injured.
She had left her cell phone in the car. If she went upstairs to use the phone on the bedside table, the man might follow her, and she’d be trapped. The man was between her and the kitchen phone. Her car keys were in the pocket of her coat, which she’d hung in the entryway closet. Realizing she was on her own, Carissa slipped down another few steps, just as the intruder stopped in front of her and looked upward. She swung the poker and hit him on the forehead. Carissa screamed as the man folded up like an accordion and fell backward on the floor. She’d only meant to stun him.
Jumping over his body, she sprinted to the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone. She dialed 911, and recognized Justin Townsend’s voice when he answered.
“This is Carissa Whitmore at Naomi’s home. A man just broke in. I’m afraid…I’ve killed him.”
Dead silence greeted her remark for a few seconds, then Justin shouted, “Don’t touch a thing! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Carrying the poker with her, Carissa rushed to her bedroom and tied a long robe over her nightgown. The intruder was stirring by the time she returned downstairs, and she breathed easier knowing he wasn’t dead. Poker in hand, she waited by the door and kept a wary eye on the trespasser until a police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of the house.
Carissa opened the door, and Justin pushed by her into the living room.
He knelt beside the fallen man and checked his pulse before he took a quick glance around the room. When his gaze encountered the furniture in front of the glass door, he looked up at Carissa.
“What’s happened here?”
“I sensed that someone had been in the house when I got here. I couldn’t lock that door, so I piled things around it before I went upstairs to bed. This man came in, stumbled over my booby trap and awakened me. I hit him with a poker. Is he going to die?”
His eyes twinkling, the police officer said, “Nope. It’d take more than a knock on his hard head to kill this man. Don’t you know who he is?”
“How could I?”
“This is Paul Spencer, Naomi’s brother.”
Carissa’s breath rushed from her mouth, and she dropped like a deflated balloon into the closest chair she could find.
Chapter Two
Still staring at the stranger spread-eagled on the floor, Carissa wrung her tiny hands and struggled to comprehend what Justin had said.
“I thought Naomi lived alone! Why would she exchange houses with me if her brother lives here?”
“Paul doesn’t live with Naomi. He works for a construction company that bids on jobs all over the world. He hasn’t been home for two years, and when he is here, he lives in the garage apartment behind the house. Naomi probably didn’t know he was coming home.”
Carissa
