A Holiday Prayer

It didn’t matter anyway. He was here now. And he didn’t plan to leave. Or to let her go.

His face lingered near her bare shoulder, inhaling her light, musky fragrance. She wasn’t smothered in expensive perfume like most women of his acquaintance. No. She smelled like…

Moonlight.

If there were any way to blot out the nightmare of thoughts haunting him, it would be this beautiful woman.

He leaned back and smiled down at her, feeling her body stiffen when his gaze met hers.

Why was she so afraid?

His throat tightened at the look of utter helplessness in her huge brown eyes, and he became suddenly determined to change the course of her evening.

Before the night was through, he vowed to himself, he would hear the sweet sound of her laughter.

Maddie expected him to release her after the song ended, but he continued to sway back and forth as if the orchestra continued to play. She glanced around the room, terrified that she was making a spectacle of herself, but no one seemed to notice the still-dancing couple.

Moments later she heard the shrill wail of a saxophone and sagged with relief as the Phantom adjusted their steps to the beat of the new song. He was obviously determined to enjoy the evening. With her.

Well, so was she. With him.

“What’s your name?” he whispered into her ear.

Maddie stepped back and curtsied playfully. “I thought you would have guessed by now,” she teased. “Cinderella, of course!”

The Phantom let out a full-bodied laugh that caused those dancing around them to peer at them curiously.

“We’re going to play games, are we?” He took a step back and gave an elegant bow. “I guess that would make me your Phantom.”

Maddie was more than content to leave the introductions at that. They would all unmask at midnight, after all. If she stayed that long…

She had a sneaking suspicion she just might.

For the moment she was content just to remain in his arms and lose herself in the music. It was pure magic, and she didn’t intend to waste a single moment.

The song came to a close and the orchestra’s lead violist surprised everyone by breaking out in a fiddling tune. In moments a country line-dance was formed.

Her Phantom chuckled and drew her to the edge of the floor. “Sorry, love. I don’t do country.”

Maddie shrugged. It wasn’t hard to smile. Country wasn’t her style, either. “I’m ready for a break.”

The Phantom indicated a chair and held it for her, while she gathered her skirts and sat. “Are you thirsty? Why don’t I get you some…” His sentence trailed off.

She looked up, surprised. His eyes were cloudy and unreadable. He seemed to be sidetracked by something at the far corner of the ballroom.

She followed his gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Unless it was one of a number of beautiful young women over there.

She replied, “No, that’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”

But the Phantom was not listening. He was already walking away from her, his mind obviously elsewhere. As if with great effort, he tossed one quick glance back at her. “Excuse me. I’ll just…”

And then he was gone.

Maddie sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, though she could feel a hesitant smile still hovering on her lips.

Her fantasy was over. And she really should be angry with the man for abandoning her so abruptly. But the lovely warmth, telling her that she still had a heart, lingered. She felt alive, really alive, for the first time in years.

There would be no regrets. It didn’t matter that she’d been deserted for fresher prey. She was more than content just to sit here and watch wildly costumed dancers wiggling to some latest craze in line-dancing.

One young man, dressed most appropriately as a rooster; was crowing loudly and shaking his tail feathers in wild abandon. The music did sound rather like a clucking chicken.

She felt a small rumble building deep in her chest, growing promptly into full-fledged laughter. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from appearing rude.

But not to stem the flow of laughter. It felt so good—better even than whirling around on the dance floor. She felt like leaping up and shaking her own tail feathers.

Laughter scoured her insides clean. Maybe she’d get really brave and find a partner for one last dance.

“That chicken is really something.” The rich, soft, unmistakable baritone came from behind her, next to her ear. Her Phantom was back.

Her heart leapt into her throat, her head buzzing with excitement and the purely female thrill of attracting a handsome man. Not once, but twice. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

The Phantom chuckled. “I meant the music. It’s called ‘The Chicken.’ I guess ‘cause it sounds like a chicken clucking.”

Maddie grinned. “I noticed.”

“What do you say we get out of here for a while?” he whispered.

It had been a few years, but his words sounded distinctly like a come-on. She cocked her eyebrow. “Out?”

He grinned and held up his hands as if to ward off her unspoken accusation. “Just out for a breath of air and some peace and quiet. That’s all. I promise. Promise.”

“Oh, but they’re going to unmask at midnight!” she protested, though it sounded weak, even to her. She was being worn down, and his wink told her that he knew it. But she really did want to dance again before she left. Desperately.

“Never fear. We’ll be back before then. Come on, let’s get some air.”

Maddie cast one last disappointed glance at the dance floor, then shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to leave for a few minutes. And he’d promised to be back before they unmasked. She hoped they’d have one more dance together before the night ended.

He led her to the door and assisted her with her coat. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?” she repeated lamely, and then wondered at the wisdom of following an unknown man onto the streets of downtown Denver. A woman couldn’t be too careful. And she was no innocent child.

She searched his eyes for some sign of his intentions, but found only a gleam of humor lurking in their black depths. He wasn’t giving anything away.

At least not yet. But he wasn’t the least bit threatening.

He raised a questioning eyebrow over the top of the mask.

The decision was hers. She glanced back into the ballroom and the safety it represented.

The Phantom stood patiently, arms crossed over his thick chest and a half smile lingering on his lips. She had the niggling impression that he sensed the dilemma she was working through and was certain of the outcome.

She stood undecided for a moment more, knowing what she would do and waiting for the rational part of her brain to call her an impulsive fool. She instinctively trusted her Phantom. He was strong, but gentle. If she were going to gamble with her safety, she would bet on this man.

She nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s go.”

A gust of crisp Christmas air hit them as they stepped out of the hotel, causing Maddie’s lungs to burn. It was a pleasant sensation, she decided. She carefully watched her steps on the icy pavement. Glass slippers weren’t exactly winter weather gear, and she found herself wishing she’d worn her thick leather snow boots.

She slipped and giggled. The Phantom quickly clasped her arm, but not fast enough to keep her from sliding unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. The picture of herself in a satin dress and snow boots sent her into another fit of giggles.

It felt good. Very good.

“Your surprise…” the Phantom reminded her.

He reached a hand to help her to her feet, then pointed at the curb. Her heart pounded as she got her first hint of the Phantom’s scheme, which was at that moment stomping its impatience into the pavement. She clapped a hand over her mouth and exclaimed in delight over the slick white horse-drawn carriage, complete with a liveried driver.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed as he settled her on the seat and wrapped a wool blanket around her legs. “But aren’t we going to freeze?”

The Phantom chuckled and draped an arm around her shoulders. “No chance of that. We’ll just take a short ride down the 16th Street Mall. Have you seen the Christmas lights yet? They’re gorgeous this time of night”

Maddie shook her head. This was truly a night she would remember for a long time to come. If she believed in fairy tales, she’d think she stepped right into one. Even the crisp air couldn’t dull the heat warming her cheeks.

Motioning for the driver to stop, her Phantom gestured at the forty-three-foot Christmas tree in Larimer Square, the largest to be found in Denver.

“Didn’t I tell you it was beautiful?” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek.

She turned her face toward him, expecting him to be watching the Christmas display, hoping to be able to study his masked face. His eyes met hers, and she suddenly realized that he’d been watching her, seeing the wonders of Christmas in downtown Denver through her, sharing in her delight

Her breath mingled with his, their lips only inches apart. His dark, intense gaze probed hers. It would take only the merest action on her part…just a shimmer of movement and their lips would meet.

Dragging in a breath, she turned away. How could she even consider…? But she had. She did. Guilt ripped through her like a rudder blade on the snow.

She had no right. And even less sense.

“Drive on,” her Phantom commanded, leaning back in the seat. She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what she would see in his eyes.

If only he would take that blasted mask off and she could see him as a real human being instead of the larger-than-life Phantom of the Opera. It was just that fairy-tale feeling again, getting the best of her. He was only a man underneath that mask. A plain, ordinary man. Maybe even disguising some hidden flaw.

The corner of her lips quivered into a smile.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he whispered. On the inside of her wrist, he planted a tiny kiss that radiated heat up the entire length of her arm.

She tried to ignore the sensation. “As if I’d sell them so cheap.”

The Phantom lifted an eyebrow. He was intrigued by this bright-eyed Cinderella, more so than he wanted to put a value to. “A million dollars, then.”

She stiffened.

“What? What did I say?” He’d been teasing, but by the look on her face, he could tell he’d said the wrong thing. She went as hot and then cold as a kitchen tap.

“Nothing.”

Nothing. No more than she had told him all evening. And why should it matter? He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. He should be glad she wasn’t pressing him.

But he wasn’t glad.

Who was this woman? He’d been stretching his mind for the answer, but the mask continued to throw him. He’d seen her somewhere—he knew he had.

But how to coax her from her shell? Flattery didn’t work. With a teasing lilt to his voice, he appealed. “Tell me your name.”

Maddie’s brown eyes sparkled mischievously. “Not just yet. You’ll find out soon enough, in any case.” She gently removed her arm from his grasp and laced her fingers together on her lap. “Tell me about you.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily, leaning back into the cushion and laying his arm over the back of the seat. Perhaps if he opened up, she would feel more comfortable revealing something about herself. He barely dared to hope.

“I work for a large company in the area. I play racquetball and golf. I like pizza and Pepsi. Anything else you want to know?”

“My, my,” Maddie bantered. “Vague, aren’t we? A large company in the area? That hardly narrows it down. What kind of business?”

“Enough about me,” he countered, combing his fingers through the curls on his neck. “Tell me about you.”

Maddie didn’t want to talk about herself. Not tonight. She lifted her chin. If he could be stubborn, so could she.

The Phantom chuckled again. “We all have secrets, don’t we?” he said before tapping the driver on the shoulder. “A rose for the lady, please.”

The driver nodded and pulled to the side of the road, gesturing to one of the many corner flower vendors peddling their wares to the late-night Christmas shoppers. “I need a rose,” he rasped.

The Phantom presented the single, long-stemmed red rose to Maddie with an endearingly crooked grin. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.”

Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. “I…I…”

The Phantom frowned and he rolled his eyes.

“What?” Maddie asked in surprise.

“I think I’ve just blurted out the most inane line in history. And it’s all your fault. One look at you and my mind gets all mixed up.”

He was teasing her, she knew, but nonetheless she could feel the heat staining her cheeks crimson. She took refuge in inhaling the rose’s intoxicating scent. The petals still had moisture on them, and they glistened in the dull light of the street lamps.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” he pleaded quietly, his rich baritone rolling over each syllable. “We’re going to unmask soon anyway. What difference will a few minutes make?”

She stared at her hands clasped in her lap. Maybe he was right. What was the difference? She glanced over at him, but he was staring off into the distance. “Maddie Carlton,” she whispered, her breath misting the air.

His gaze snapped to hers, boring into her with such intensity that Maddie felt suffocated.

“You’ve heard of me,” she said quietly, removing the now unnecessary mask from her face. “I lost my husband in the March’s Department Store fiasco last Christmas. My only claim to fame is that Neil March settled me with a ridiculous amount of money.”

The Phantom’s jaw tightened and he looked away. She could see the tension lining his face, causing the muscles in his neck to strain against his cravat.

Maddie unconsciously leaned away from him, wondering what she’d said that had set him off.

He obviously didn’t like what he heard. He probably expected her to be some debutante from old money, not a widow with a tragic past and a son to boot.

Well, the truth had to come out sooner or later. There was nothing she could do about it if he was disappointed. None of this was real, anyway.

His eyes became dull and shaded, the fire in his eyes extinguished as effectively as if it had been doused with water.

The fairy tale was over, blown sky high by her own big mouth. She should have kept her identity a secret, she silently reprimanded herself. She should have extended the fantasy—for what it was worth—as long as possible.

She stared out onto the darkened street and sighed deeply, remembering. She hadn’t even threatened March with a lawsuit or anything. She hadn’t wanted a penny of his money. It had just showed up in the mail one day—a certified check for half a million dollars. The first of six checks! Even now she found it hard to comprehend.

She turned back to face him, wondering at his silence.

His dark eyes were full of a mixture of regret and—What was it? Pain? Anger?

She never had the opportunity to find out.

Tapping the driver on the shoulder, he demanded the carriage be stopped. “I’ve got to go.” The words were softly spoken but cut into Maddie’s heart as if he’d screamed.

He cleared his throat, then shook his head as if he had decided against explaining further. Tentatively, he reached forward, brushing the inside of his thumb along her cheek in a featherlight caress.

“I…” he said, his voice husky. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. For Maddie, time moved in slow motion as she waited breathlessly for his lips to meet hers.

When the moment came, she closed her eyes, savoring every touch, every sensation, storing up for the long, empty nights ahead. His lips were cool and firm, but his breath was warm.

With a sigh, he leaned forward, deepening the kiss, just for a moment.

Maddie wanted to cling to him, but she clenched her hands in her lap, willing them not to betray her, shaking so hard that she was sure he could feel it.

“Oh, Maddie,” he whispered against her lips, the words deep and razor-sharp.

She opened her eyes when he abruptly pushed away from her, the sweet taste of his kiss still lingering on her lips.

Without another word, he jumped out of the carriage and strode away, disappearing into the darkness.

Chapter Three

Maddie sighed and brushed a stray tendril of hair from her forehead. She felt hot and sweaty and her muscles ached from carrying boxes up from the basement. Yet she hadn’t ventured to open a single one of the cartons that now filled her living room.

It was the handwriting scribbled in wide, black marker ink that stopped her.

Peter’s handwriting.

Christmas. The boxes set aside for the happiest time of year, laden with bright and glittering decorations that she knew would delight her young son.

But the sight of the festive decorations had no effect on her, except maybe to tighten the vise around her heart.

She wasn’t happy. And she didn’t know if she could fake it, even for Nicky. Could she really put together a six-foot artificial tree by herself? Never mind lift Nicky to place the angel on top—a tradition formerly and laughingly performed by Peter.

She muttered a prayer for help, but it smacked against the ceiling of her apartment and came showering down again in thousands of tiny pieces. Or at least that’s how it felt to her.

She was living in a tiny wooden crate with no air and no light. She’d been abandoned. First by her father. Then by Peter. And now, it seemed, even God had left her to flounder on her own.

Madelaine Anne! She could hear her mother’s voice as if it were yesterday. If you can’t find God, it’s because you’ve backed off. He hasn’t gone anywhere.

She toyed with the idea of making a phone call. Mom always knew what to say. But Maddie’s faith wasn’t as strong as her mother’s. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she had faith at all. Would someone with real faith question what God had done?

Maddie did. Every single day. Peter’s death didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had a year ago. Even the newspapers had called it a senseless tragedy.

God is in control.

If that was true, why hadn’t she even been able to find a crack in the woodwork of this crate of hers?

Except, perhaps, last night. Last night, for one brief, shining moment, she had remembered what it was like to laugh. The deep melodic voice of her Phantom rang through her memory, and she smiled. He had given her a precious gift. He had helped her laugh again. She would always be grateful to him for that.

Her smile faded. Last night it had been easy to think about celebrating Christmas again. Last night she’d even believed she might enjoy the festive spirit, revel in the preparations.

But not now. Not with all these boxes as glaring reminders of the love she and Peter had shared, love that had brought her dear Nicky into the world.

She would not cry.

And she would not let Nicky down. He deserved a memorable Christmas. And if God was here, she was going to give Nicky the best Christmas of his life.

She gritted her teeth against the waves of nausea in her stomach and the ferocious pounding in her head. The huge box containing the Christmas tree was waiting for her attention. With a deep breath for courage, she plunged her arms in, triumphantly emerging with an armful of tree limbs in various shapes and sizes.

After five minutes of work, she’d managed to find the tree base, and had buried herself knee-deep in branches.

She’d never paid the least attention to Peter when he put the tree together, but if he could do it, so could she. Didn’t the dumb tree come with instructions?

She burst into frustrated tears. What a stupid thing to cry over, she reprimanded herself. But she didn’t try to brush the tears away. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else. She hadn’t realized how much she depended on Peter.

And now she was alone.

“Why did you leave me, Peter? Why? I never was good enough for you, was I?” The words echoed in the empty room, an echo answered in her empty heart.

She scrubbed a determined hand down her face, resolving to divide and conquer. No stupid artificial tree would get the best of her, even if it took her all day to assemble.

Her lips pinched with determination, she leaned into the box until she felt as though she were being swallowed. She groped around the bottom, her fingers nimbly searching for anything resembling paper, but found nothing but a stray line of garland.

What might Peter have done with the instructions?

Tossed them.

The thought caught her by surprise and she barked out a laugh. Of course. That’s exactly what her handyman husband would have done. In his opinion, written instructions were the bane of a “real” man’s existence, to be scoffed at and referred to only as a last resort.

Which left her with a gigantic, tree-size problem. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the limb-strewn room.

Christmas music. She’d throw on a CD of favorite Christmas tunes for a little holiday spirit. Maybe all she needed was to set the mood. Though she thought it highly improbable that the tree would put itself together even with the proper ambience.

“Oh, Mama!” Nicky exclaimed, scuffling sleepily from his bedroom. He was still clad in his superhero pajamas, his white-blond hair rumpled from sleep. “A Christmas tree!”

Her heart warmed at the sight of her son’s glowing eyes. It was worth any amount of pain to give her son some joy in his life. And perhaps—if God were merciful—she could partake in a moment or two of Christmas joy herself.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him in a bear hug, but knew he would take that as a personal assault on his big-boy dignity. Instead, she ruffled his hair. “Well, it’s supposed to be.”

She laughed as Nicky threw himself into a pile of limbs as if it were a mountain of crisp autumn leaves.

“As you can see, Mom’s having a little bit of trouble putting this thing together.”

Nicky’s expression became serious, his brows knit together. “I’ll help.”

The look was so much his father’s that Maddie’s throat tightened.

Nicky began gathering limbs in his stout little arms. “Look, Mom. They have colors on the ends.”

Hmm. So they did. How had she missed something so patently obvious? She couldn’t say, but she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Leave it to her six-year-old son to solve the problem before she did.

She picked up one of the smaller branches, marked with yellow paint on the end that stuck into the base. “These yellow ones must go on top.”

Humming along with “Jingle Bells,” she began poking the metal end into the top of the base. They’d have a Christmas tree yet. And maybe even before the new year hit!

“No, Mama. The big branches first. That’s how Daddy always used to do it.”

Tears sprang again to her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away before her son could see. How could he possibly remember Peter putting up the Christmas tree? It had been two years—two achingly painful years—since there’d been no tree last year. Last year they’d celebrated Christmas in Children’s Hospital.

How could Nicky possibly remember that far back? He would have been four, watching Peter with wide-eyed wonder and the universal childhood belief that Daddy could do anything.

But somehow, he remembered.

She cleared her throat against the pain choking the breath from her lungs. The picture of flames engulfing the Santa’s workshop display overwhelmed her, as if she were trapped in a theater, forced to watch the same movie over and over. She could smell the acrid smoke…hear her son screaming.

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy!