and skimpy red skirt with white fur trim who was hovering close to Santa. “I think Mrs. Claus is adding the best touch.”
The two of them laughed, and it felt good to relax and just enjoy the night. Later, after Cal left to join the crowd at the gingerbread tent, Sam’s attention turned back toward Melanie, standing in line with her son waiting to see Santa. Right now, She was smiling, but the tightness at the corners of her mouth indicated to him that she was trying too hard. Only when she was talking to her son did she seem truly happy.
Doug Stanley, the owner of the Pine Tree Motel where Sam had booked a room, had told him that Melanie was beginning to receive national attention for her antique car restoration business and was “no slouch” as a mechanic, either. Doug said she could tell what was wrong with a car just by listening to it run. And if it wasn’t running, she could tell you why not in five minutes flat.
Now that was talent, and very rare in a woman, but Sam could already see that she was no ordinary woman, and a great mother, too.
Little Kyle was lucky to grow up in a place like this. A place where his grandfather stood nearby, eyes shimmering with love for his grandson. A place where a little boy could hear his mother laugh as he lobbed snowballs at her.
Maybe it would make up for the fact that Kyle didn’t have a father.
A familiar heaviness tightened Sam’s chest. It was his fault that Kyle didn’t have a father.
Sam moved closer to Santa’s House when he noticed that Kyle was next in line and couldn’t help overhear his conversation.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Kyle. Kyle Bennett.” The child threw a leg over Santa’s and pulled himself into the big man’s lap.
He looked so small and innocent, and Sam was glad that Kyle still believed in Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas.
“And what would you like for Christmas, Kyle?” Santa asked.
“I want my daddy back.”
A sudden hush descended over the crowd. Santa didn’t move, but Melanie took her son’s hand and held it. Everyone waited to see what would happen next.
Kyle’s words were a sucker punch to Sam’s gut. He couldn’t take in enough air, could barely think.
The boy pulled on the fur trim of Santa’s collar. “Santa? Did you hear me?”
Santa glanced at Melanie.
“That’s not possible, sweetie.” Melanie cupped Kyle’s cheek. “We talked about this before. Daddy is in heaven and—”
“I know, but I want him to come back.”
“But you know that can’t be,” Melanie said softly. “Won’t you tell Santa what toy you’d like for Christmas?”
Santa rubbed Kyle’s back. “Santa knows that your father is in heaven watching out for you. He can see what a fine boy you are.”
Kyle frowned and shook his head.
“I want him down here, not up there.”
“Your daddy knows how much you like to play hockey. Would you like Santa to bring you a new hockey stick?” Santa asked hopefully.
“Okay,” Kyle said quietly, shrugging his shoulders.
Sam sighed. He’d rather be anywhere except here, listening to a little boy asking Santa to bring his father back. He’d hoped this trip would resolve some issues, restore his confidence so he could do his job. Instead, he now had two more faces he’d never be able to forget.
“What’s your favorite hockey team, Kyle?” Santa asked. “The Ducks?”
“The Ducks are weenies. I like the Canucks.”
Sam laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The boy’s innocent honesty was unexpected and a welcome relief from the serious mood.
Melanie whirled toward him, her eyes narrowed. She left Kyle with Santa and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him away from the crowd.
“Mr. LeDoux, I’m glad you think this is all so funny.”
He could see fire in Melanie’s emerald eyes by the glow of the Christmas lights on the trees overhead. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and her gold-blond hair.He liked this protective side of her.
“Mrs. Bennett, you misunderstand,” he said softly, wishing he could brush the snow from her hair. “I’m Canadian, and I used to play for the Canucks.”
She looked startled, and he thought a blush touched her cheeks. Looking down, she must have seen that her hand was still on his arm. She snatched it away, and he missed that simple contact between them.
“Melanie,” he began, but she interrupted him.
“Forgiveness. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He blinked in surprise. She was right. He wanted forgiveness. Peace of mind. Absolution. Whatever she wanted to call it.
“I’m not sure that I can give you what you want. I’m just not ready.” She looked into his eyes, and he thought he saw a glint of regret. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait.”
“I don’t know when—”
“I’ll be in town for a while, doing whatever it is a grand marshal does. When you want to talk, give me a yell. I’ll be the one with the crown and scepter.”
He could have sworn a slight smile touched Melanie’s lips before she walked away.
Chapter Three
The next day, Melanie reached for the rag in the pocket of her coveralls and wiped a damaged piece of the doorjamb on a four-door, 1929 Franklin dualcowl Phaeton. Studying the damaged car part, she knew that it was made from wood and not metal. It was commonly made from ash, and she knew she’d have to cut a new one herself. Luckily, she had just the right board in the storage room.
She’d been working on the Phaeton for a collector for the past eight months. It was one of about five or six left in the world, and she was trying to talk him into donating the vehicle to a museum. She believed that everyone should have a chance to appreciate a classic car like the Phaeton.
It was good to think about her work, rather than the turmoil of her life.
She rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold garage. Although the four industrial heaters hanging from each corner of the ceiling were turned on high, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through all the layers of clothing she wore to warm her bones. Her fingers were like icicles.
Glancing out the window in the big doors of the bay, she saw it was snowing outside—big, fluffy flakes. The picture-perfect snow was a reminder of the picture-perfect Christmas she wanted to give Kyle.
Tonight,
