Meg Lacey - The Fireman's Christmas

Danny cringed inwardly at the tyrannical tone in her voice; nevertheless, he obeyed her by scanning the chaos around him. But instead of seeing the mess, he saw only the way Emma huddled in the corner, tears in her eyes. Even the boys cowered beneath Miss Peach’s smug expression.

He just couldn’t do it.

Shoving his hand through his hair, Danny shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Miss Peach, I like a little unruliness now and then.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand. I just said that I am prepared to give your children the full benefit of my experience. In one week you will hardly recognize them.”

That was exactly what Danny was afraid of.

He sighed, feeling like a drowning man giving away his life preserver. “Miss Peach, I appreciate your willingness to take on this bunch,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, “but I don’t think this is going to work out. Thanks for taking the time to come over.”

His declaration was met with stunned silence for a moment, then Kyle let out a triumphant whoop. Emma clapped her small hands, her upturned face beaming at him. Even the dog voiced his opinion, his tail thumping the floor in a happy rhythm.

“Well!” Miss Peach clutched her handbag to her stomach. “In that case, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

By the way her mouth pursed, he could tell her dignity was affronted, but Danny didn’t have a chance to make amends before she headed down the hallway for the front door, chin high. He followed, but stopped when she allowed the screen door to slam back, practically in his face.

“Miss Peach,” he warned. “Look out!”

Peering through the screen, he watched as she marched down the porch steps straight into the path of Nana, a neighbor’s boisterous St. Bernard, who had just dashed around the corner of the house with Alison, Danny’s oldest daughter, in hot pursuit. The woman teetered precariously on the last step, then nimbly hopped off into an overgrown flower bed. This time her hat flew off, landing a scant, tempting six inches in front of the surprised dog.

Danny pushed through the door, followed by his three other children but stopped short of attempting another rescue. Miss Peach stepped forward onto the walk, then snatched her hat from Nana’s slobbery mouth. With remarkable dignity considering the circumstances, she looked up at Danny.

“I have no doubt that you will someday regret turning me away, Mr. Santori. In the meantime, good luck finding competent child care. You shall need it.” With that she turned and stalked toward her car parked at the curb.

Danny watched her go, torn between feelings of relief and sheer panic.

“Who was that?” Alison asked, snapping her fingers to claim Nana’s attention from the flower bed.

“Mrs. Vulcan,” Kyle said.

“The Wicked Witch of the West,” Kevin added.

“She was mean!” Emma exclaimed.

“My last hope,” Danny moaned. He rubbed his temple, trying to ward off the headache he could feel coming on. “Well,” he muttered, “that went well.”

Only Alison, at the age of almost fourteen more astute than the others, seemed to notice the sarcasm. “What will we do now? Dad?”

It was a good question, and he wished with all his heart he had an answer. He tried to summon a reassuring smile. “I don’t know, Alison. Will you keep an eye on Emma while I straighten up the mess inside? And you two—go wash up and change your clothes, pronto. And if I ever catch you with scissors or pulling a stunt like that again…” His look had the boys scampering inside like frantic squirrels.

Danny stood on the front porch after the kids had retreated into the house, staring down at the ragged flower beds that Laurie had once kept so neat and orderly. He wasn’t exactly a control freak, but lately he had felt just a bit…What was that word? Frazzled? Man, he needed a drink. Or a two-day nap. He needed Laurie. He didn’t have time for all of this and work, too. Now, if he could find someone just like Laurie…

He shoved his hand through his hair and sighed. Alcohol and sleep might sound appealing in the short run, but neither would solve his problem. Not when he had to figure out who was going to take care of his kids when his next shift came up day after tomorrow.

What Danny really needed was a miracle.

TESSA DOHERTY WAS in her favorite position, crouched on her knees in the dirt. She whistled happily to herself as she dug her fingers into the soil, kneading and smoothing the flower beds she had designed to enhance the English Tudor house that belonged to her newest client. Reaching for a fairy polyantha rose, Tessa lifted it from its flat and carefully separated the roots. Gently she nestled the plant into the hole she’d just dug near the low, decorative limestone wall, which would support the delicate blossoms.

“Be happy, little rose,” Tessa said, smiling as she patted the soil around the plant. She sniffed, inhaling the pungent scent of dirt newly mixed with fertilizer. To some people the smell was disgusting, but to Tessa the smell was life. It was rebirth and fruitfulness, creation and creativity. The very air breathed hope and new life, which was exactly what she’d needed when she moved from Chicago to Warenton.

Warenton, nestled on the edge of the western Pocono mountain range, was a midsize town, although the locals called it a small city. It was a place where friendly smiles were directed at everyone and a warm welcome was guaranteed. Breaking in to the business market here was a different story. Even though everyone was politely interested and even enthusiastic about her new landscaping business, they generally patronized the old tried-and-true establishments. She wondered how long she had to be here before she could consider herself a real Warentonian.

Tessa inhaled deeply as the soft breeze brought another fragrant wisp in her direction. Then she chuckled quietly. She could just hear her son’s comments if she shared her fanciful thoughts. Eric would probably look at her as if she was nuts and then say, “It’s cow manure, Mom. Get over it!”

Tessa shifted her shoulders as she felt a drop of sweat roll leisurely between her shoulder blades. It was hot and humid today. August had arrived with a vengeance. She glanced over at her daughter, Josie, who leaned over an ornamental fishpond in the center of the garden.

Josie giggled as delightedly as only a seven-year-old could. “Mommy, their mouths look so funny when they eat.” She puckered her lips to make a fish face. “Like this.”

Tessa laughed. “That’s pretty good, honey. Keep it up and we’ll have to eat you for dinner.”

“Yuck,” Eric said. He was sprawled under a tree reading a book. “Josie would taste like a stink-fish.”

Josie glared at her brother. “I would not. Would I, Mommy?”

Grinning, Tessa said, “No, funny face, you wouldn’t.”

“See, Eric!” Josie turned back to splash the surface of the pond as Tessa resumed her work. The garden hummed with bees and the sweet call of birds in the trees. This was the life. Quiet, solitude and hard work to renew her soul. Why hadn’t her ex-husband, Colin, been able to understand how important this was to her? How she needed this?

Water under the bridge, girl! Enjoy the tranquillity.

For the next half hour she did. Then she became aware of how quiet it was. There were no sounds from the children, nothing except the twitters of birds and the buzz of insects. Tessa stood up, looking around, but there was no sign of her daughter.

“Josie? Josie, where are you? Eric?”

Then suddenly the silence was broken by the twinkling sound of glass breaking inside the house, followed by a yell. One of the French doors on the terrace swung open and banged against the house. A beautifully groomed white cat streaked out faster than heat lightning. Eric and Josie were right behind the animal, while an astonished Tessa stared.