ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Christmas was the happiest time of the year for many people, but for Lacey Carroll it would be the saddest. Too much had happened to...
The front door slammed with the strength of a gale-force wind. She paused in spooning macaroni and cheese onto a plate. Not another bad day. This would make four in a row. She placed the pot on the stove, wiped her hands on a Frosty the Snowman dish towel and made her way into the living room.
Her six-year-old half sister, Emma, sat in the middle of the sofa with her arms clutched across her chest, her face scrunched into a dipped-in-vinegar frown. One of her pigtails had come undone and stuck out in a snarl on the left side of her head. Grass and bits of leaves were tangled in her blond hair. Smears of dirt marred her face, her red T-shirt and her jeans. Her sneakers were filthy, the shoelaces undone. She’d been fighting. Again!
Before their father, Jack, had passed away five months ago, he’d asked Lacey to care for Emma, so Lacey was now Emma’s legal guardian. She couldn’t refuse her father’s dying wish, even though she had a good job in Austin and her own life. At twenty-eight, she’d made a life-changing decision because she loved her sister. Days like this, though, tried her patience and reminded her how ill equipped she was to raise a child.
She’d bought child-rearing books and kept a mental one filled with common sense in her head. On most days she needed both.
“What happened?” Lacey asked in her best authoritative voice.
“Don’t talk to me. I’m mad,” Emma shot back.
“Lose the attitude. What happened?”
Emma glared at her through narrowed eyes. “I told you don’t talk to me.”
“And I told you to lose the attitude. Now!”
Emma turned her face away in anger.
Lacey sat beside her. “What happened?” she asked again, this time in a more soothing tone.
Emma whipped her head around. “I wanted to hit him in his big fat nose.”
Oh, good heavens. Lacey took a deep breath. “Who did you want to hit in the nose? You know hitting is against our rules. Daddy’s rules.”
“Brad Wilson. Daddy would’ve hit him, too.”
“I don’t think so. Daddy didn’t believe in violence.”
Emma’s face crumpled. “He said...said...there’s no Santa Claus, and Jimmy and I...were big babies for believing in him.”
Oh, no! Lacey flipped through pages of the mental book in her head. She knew what Emma’s next question was going to be and she had to have an answer. A good one.
“Is it true, Lacey? Is there no Santa? Did Daddy put my gifts under the tree?” Big green eyes, just like Lacey’s, begged for an answer.
As Lacey saw it, she had three options. Lie like she’d never lied before. Tell Emma Brad was teasing her. Or offer the truth. How could she tell a six-year-old there was no Santa Claus?
Her father had told Lacey he wanted her always to be honest with Emma just as he’d been honest with Lacey. Still...
She searched for the right thing to say. Lie, lie, lie, her inner voice kept chanting. If she did, Emma would find out soon enough. But she’d still have time to believe like a little girl should.
Lacey scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Emma. “You know there’s more to Christmas than Santa Claus and receiving gifts.”
“No, there isn’t. Christmas is about getting gifts from Santa Claus.”
Lacey prayed for patience...and wisdom. “Christmas is about the birth of Jesus Christ, and we celebrate his life by giving gifts. Sometimes giving is better than receiving.”
“No, it isn’t. Without Santa Claus there is no Christmas.” Emma’s eyes widened in realization. “There is no Santa Claus. No!” She fell sideways on the sofa and howled as if the world had come to an end.
Lacey gave her a minute and frantically breezed through the book in her head, but the pages were blank. Maybe mothers who had given birth had all the parenting answers. Lacey didn’t have a clue how to soothe a little girl’s broken heart, except to love her. She gathered a wailing Emma into her arms. Hitting Brad in the nose didn’t seem like a bad idea at the moment.
“Shh.” Lacey stroked Emma’s hair, picking out bits of grass and leaves. “We’ll still have Christmas. When you wake up Christmas morning, all your gifts will be under the tree and we’ll have hot chocolate and cookies like always. Nothing has changed.”
“It has, too.” Emma sniffled into Lacey’s chest. “I don’t want any gifts if they don’t come from Santa Claus.”
“Not
