grave. “What is this about?”
Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.
Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”
Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.
Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.
Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”
He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”
She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.
He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”
Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.
Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.
“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”
Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.
* * *
BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.
“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.
Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.
He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.
He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”
As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”
Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”
“He brings presents, not trees.”
The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”
Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.
“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”
Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have toys left.”
A third girl in the same uniform made a face. “Our mom doesn’t have a lot of money. She’s working so she can come and get us. Sometimes you have to help Santa pay for stuff.”
“You don’t have to buy presents,” Carlos’s younger brother Rigo said. “The elves make them.”
“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”
“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”
“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”
Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.
“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”
The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied with confidence.
Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.
“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”
He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.
“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”
“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.
CORIE WATCHED BEN assemble the outsize Christmas tree stand with all the boys helping. She was impressed that he somehow maintained a sense of humor she hadn’t known he had. He fitted the trunk into the stand with the tree still on the ground, then righted it and asked her to help hold it while Teresa gave centering directions.
When it was in place, they all stood back to admire it.
“Wow,” Rosie said on a reverent gasp. Even without decoration, it was magnificent.
“Holy s—!” Soren exclaimed.
Teresa frowned at him. “Soren Peterson.”
“Sorry.” He turned to
