A Mistletoe Vow
“You have to take it over there,” Hope insisted. “And how about a signed copy of the book and the new one that hasn’t come out yet?”
Her heart pounded at just the idea of seeing the man again. She couldn’t imagine knocking on his door out of the blue. “Why don’t you take it over? You’re the illustrator! And you made the stuffed Sparkle, too.”
“I don’t even know him or his daughter.”
“As if that’s ever stopped you before,” she muttered.
“It would be a really nice thing to do,” Faith said.
“I baked an extra pie,” Aunt Mary said. “Why don’t you take that, too?”
All day long people had been pushing her to do things she didn’t want to. She thought longingly of jumping in her SUV again and taking off somewhere, maybe Southern California where she could find a little sunshine. As tempting as the idea might be sometimes, she knew she couldn’t just leave her family. She loved them to bits, even when they did pressure her.
She wanted to tell them all no, but then she thought of Olivia and her sad eyes. This was a small expenditure of effort on her part and would probably thrill the girl. “That’s a very good idea,” she finally said. “I’ll go after dinner. Linus can probably use the walk.”
“Perfect.” Hope beamed at her as if she had just won the Newbery Medal for children’s literature. “I’ll look for the stuffed Sparkle. I think there’s a handful of them left in a box in my old room.”
What would Flynn think when she showed up at his house with a stuffed animal and an armful of books? she wondered as she chewed potatoes that suddenly tasted like chalk.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was doing this for his daughter, a girl who had been through a terrible ordeal—and who reminded her entirely too much of herself.
Chapter Three
“Are you sure you don’t want to help? This tinsel isn’t going to jump on the tree by itself.”
Flynn held a sparkly handful out to his daughter, who sat in the window seat, alternating between watching him and looking out into the darkness at the falling snowflakes.
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “My arm hurts too much.”
He tried to conceal his frustrated sigh behind a cough. The physical therapist he had been taking her to since her injury had given him homework during this break while they were in Idaho. His assignment was to find creative activities that would force her to use her arm more.
He had tried a wide variety of things, like having Olivia push the grocery cart and help him pick out items in the store, and asking her help in the kitchen with slicing vegetables. The inconsistency of it made him crazy. Sometimes she was fine; other times she refused to use her arm at all.
After their trip to the library, he’d realized his grandmother’s house was severely lacking in holiday cheer. She had made a snowman ornament and they had nowhere to hang it.
Any hope he might have harbored that she would show a little enthusiasm for the idea of decking their temporary halls was quickly dashed. She showed the same listless apathy toward Christmas decorations as she had for just about everything else except Celeste Nichols and her little reindeer story.
Other than hanging her own snowman ornament, she wasn’t interested in helping him hang anything else on the small artificial tree he had unearthed in the basement. As a result, he had done most of the work while she sat and watched, not budging from her claim of being in too much pain.
He knew using her arm caused discomfort. He hadn’t yet figured out how to convince an almost-seven-year-old she needed to work through the pain if she ever wanted to regain full mobility in her arm.
“Come on. Just take a handful and help me. It will be fun.”
She shook her head and continued staring out at the falling snow.
Since the shooting, these moods had come over her out of nowhere. She would seem to be handling things fine and then a few moments later would become fearful, withdrawn and just want him to leave her alone.
The counselor she had seen regularly assured him it was a natural result of the trauma Olivia had endured. He hated that each step in her recovery—physical and emotional—had become such a struggle for her.
After hanging a few more strands, he finally gave up. What was the point when she didn’t seem inclined to help him, especially since he’d never much liked tinsel on trees anyway?
His father hadn’t, either, he remembered. He had a stray memory of one of his parents’ epic fights over it one year. Diane had loved tinsel, naturally. Anything with glitz had been right down her alley. Her favorite nights of the year had been red carpet events, either for her own movie premieres or those of her friends.
His father, on the other hand, had thought tinsel was stupid and only made a mess.
One night when he was about seven or eight, a few years before they’d finally divorced, his mother had spent hours hanging pink tinsel on their tree over his father’s objections, carefully arranging each piece over a bough.
When they’d woken up, the tinsel had been mysteriously gone. As it turned out, Tom had arisen hours before anyone else and had pulled off every last shiny strand.
After a dramatic screaming fight—all on his mother’s side—she had stormed out of their Bel Air house and hadn’t been back for several days, as he recalled.
Ah, memories.
He pushed away the bitterness of his past and turned back to his daughter. “If you don’t want to hang any more tinsel, I guess we’re done. Do you want to do the honors and turn out the lights so we can take a look at it?”
She didn’t answer him, her gaze suddenly focused on something through the window.
“Someone’s coming,” Olivia announced, her voice tight. She jumped up from the window seat. “I’m going to my room.”
He was never sure which she disliked more: large, unruly crowds or unexpected visitors showing up at the door. Nor was he certain she would ever be able to move past either fear.
With effort he forced his voice to be calm and comforting. “There’s no reason to go to your room. Everything is fine. I’m right here. You’re okay.”
She darted longing little glances down the hall to the relative safety of her bedroom, but to her credit she sat down again in the window seat. When the doorbell rang through the house, Flynn didn’t miss her instinctive flinch or the tense set of her shoulders.
He hoped whoever it was had a darn good excuse for showing up out of the blue like this and frightening his little girl half to death.
To his shock, the pretty librarian and author stood on the porch with a bag in her hand and a black-and-brown dog at the end of a leash. In the glow from the porch light he could see her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, and those long, luscious dark curls were tucked under a beanie. She also wasn’t wearing her glasses. Without the thick dark frames, her eyes were a lovely green.
“Hello.” She gave him a fleeting, tentative smile that appeared and disappeared as quickly as a little bird hunting for berries on a winter-bare shrub.
“Celeste. Ms. Nichols. Hello.”
She gave him another of those brief smiles, then tried to look behind him to where Olivia had approached. At least his daughter now looked more surprised and delighted than fearful.
“And hello, Miss Olivia,” the librarian said. “How are you tonight?”
Her voice was soft, calm, with a gentleness he couldn’t help but appreciate.
“Hi. I’m fine, thank you,” she said shyly. “Is that your dog?”
Celeste smiled as the dog sniffed at Olivia’s feet. “This is Linus. He’s a Yorkshire terrier and his best friend is a black cat named Lucy.”
“Like in Charlie Brown’s Christmas!” She looked delighted at making the connection.
“Just like that, except Linus and Lucy are brother and sister. My Linus and Lucy are just friends.”
Olivia slanted her head to look closer at the little dog. “Will he bite?”
Celeste smiled. “He’s a very sweet dog and loves everybody, but especially blonde girls with pretty red sweaters.”
Olivia giggled at this, and after another moment during which she gathered her courage, she held out her hand. The little furball licked it three times in quick succession, which earned another giggle from his daughter.
“Hi, Linus,” she said in a soft voice. “Hi. I’m Olivia.”
The dog wagged his tail but didn’t bark, which Flynn had to appreciate given how skittish Olivia had been all evening.
She knelt down and started petting the dog—using her injured left arm, he saw with great surprise.
“He likes me!” Olivia exclaimed after a moment, her features alight with a pleasure and excitement he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Of course he does.” Celeste smiled down at her with a soft light in her eyes that touched something deep inside him.
“I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I couldn’t help thinking tonight about what you told me earlier, how the Sparkle book helped you in the hospital.”
“It’s my favorite book. I still read it all the time.”
“I’m so happy to hear that. I told my sister, who drew all the pictures, and she was happy, too. We wanted to give you something.”
“Is it for my birthday in three days? I’m going to be seven years old.”
“I had no idea it was your birthday in three days!” Celeste exclaimed. “We can certainly consider this an early birthday present. That would be perfect!”
She reached into the bag and pulled out a small stuffed animal.
“That’s Sparkle from the book!” Olivia rose to see it more closely.
“That’s right. My sister made this while she was drawing the pictures for the first Sparkle book last Christmas. We have just a few of them left over from the original hundred or so she made, and I wondered if you might like one.”
Olivia’s eyes went huge. “Really? I can keep it?”
“If you want to.”
“Oh, I do!” Almost warily, she reached for the stuffed animal Celeste held out. When it was in her hands, she hugged it to her chest as if afraid someone would yank it away.
For just a moment she looked like any other young girl, thrilled to be receiving a present. The sheer normalcy made his throat suddenly ache with emotions.
“He’s sooo cute. I love it! Thank you!”
Olivia threw her arms around Celeste in a quick hug. Flynn wasn’t sure if he was more shocked at her use of her injured arm or at the impulsive gesture. Like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times, Olivia shied away from physical touch right now from anyone but him.
Her therapist said it was one more reaction to the trauma she had endured and that eventually she would be able to relax around others and return to the sweet, warm little girl she once had been. He wondered if Dr. Ross ever would have guessed a stuffed reindeer might help speed that process.
Celeste probably had no idea what a rare gift she had just been given as she hugged Olivia back. Still, she looked delighted. “You’re very welcome,” she said. “You will have to come up to The Christmas Ranch sometime. That’s where the real Sparkle lives.”
Olivia stepped away, eyes wide. “The real Sparkle lives near here?”
“Just up the road.” Celeste gestured vaguely in the direction of her family’s place. “We’ve got a herd of about a dozen reindeer. Sparkle happens to be a favorite of my niece and nephew—of all of us, really. That’s where I got the inspiration for the stories.”
“Can we go see them, Dad? Can we?”
He shrugged. That was the thing about kids. They dragged you to all kinds of places you didn’t necessarily want to go. “Don’t know why not. We can probably swing that before the holidays.”
Christmas was just around the corner and he was completely unprepared for it. He didn’t like celebrating the holidays in the first place. He didn’t really feel like hanging out at some cheesy Christmas moneymaking venture aimed at pouring holiday spirit down his throat like cheap bourbon.
But he loved his daughter, and if she wanted to go to the moon right now, he would figure out a way to take her.
“I like your tree,” Celeste said, gazing around his grandmother’s cluttered living room. “I especially like the tinsel. Did you help your dad put it up?”
A small spasm of guilt crossed her features. “Not really,” she admitted. “My dad did most of it. I have a bad arm.”
She lifted her shoulder and the arm in question dangled a little as if it were an overcooked lasagna noodle.
To her credit, Celeste didn’t question how she could use that same arm to pet the dog or hold a stuffed reindeer.
“Too bad,” she only said. “You’re probably really good at hanging tinsel.”
“Pretty good. I can’t reach the high parts of the tree, though.”
“Your dad helps you get those, right?”
“I guess.”
Celeste picked up the bag of tinsel where Flynn had left it on the console table. “Can I help you put the rest of it up on the side you didn’t get to yet? I’m kind of a tinsel expert. Growing up on The Christmas Ranch, I had to be.”
Olivia looked at the tree, then her father, then back at Celeste holding the tinsel. “Okay,” she said with that same wariness.
“It will be fun. You’ll see. Sparkle can help. He’s good at tinsel, too.”
How she possibly could have guessed from a half-tinseled tree that he had been trying to enlist his daughter’s help with decorating, he had no idea. But he wasn’t about to argue with her insight, especially when Olivia obediently followed her new heroine to the tree and reached for a handful of tinsel.
“Can I take your coat?” he asked.
“Oh. Yes. Thanks.” She gave a nervous little laugh as she handed him her coat. At the library, she had been wearing a big, loose sweater that had made him wonder what was beneath it. She had taken that layer off apparently, and now she wore a cheerful red turtleneck that accentuated her luscious curves and made his mouth water.
He had an inkling that she was the sort of woman who had no idea the kind of impact she had on a man. As he went to hang her coat by the front door, he forced himself to set aside the reaction as completely inappropriate under the circumstances, especially when she was only trying to help his kid.
When he returned to the living room, he found her and Olivia standing side by side hanging tinsel around the patches of the tree he had left bare.
Her cute little dog had finished sniffing the corners of the room and planted himself on his haunches in the middle of the floor, where he could watch the proceedings.
Flynn leaned against the doorjamb to do the same thing.
How odd, that Olivia would respond to a quiet children’s librarian and author more than she had her counselor, her physical therapist, the caregivers at the hospital. She seemed to bloom in this woman’s company, copying her actions on the lower branches she could reach. While she still seemed to be favoring her injured arm, occasionally she seemed to forget it hurt and used it without thinking.
All in all, it wasn’t a terrible way to spend a December evening while a gas fire flickered in Grandma Charlotte’s fireplace and snowflakes fluttered down outside the window.
After several moments, the two of them used the last of the tinsel and Celeste stepped away to take in the bigger picture.
“That looks perfect!” she exclaimed. “Excellent job.”
Olivia’s smile was almost back to her normal one. She held up the stuffed animal. “Sparkle helped.”
“I told you he would be very good at hanging tinsel.”
Whatever worked, he figured. “Let me hit the lights for you,” he said. “We can’t appreciate the full effects with the lights on.”
He turned them off, pitching the room into darkness except for the gleaming tree. The tinsel really did reflect the lights. His mom had been right about that, even if she had gotten so many other things wrong.
“Oh. I love it. It’s the prettiest tree ever,” Olivia declared.
“I have to agree,” Flynn said. “Good job, both of you.”
“And you,” Olivia pointed out. “You did most of it earlier. We only filled in the gaps.”
“So I did. We’re all apparently excellent at decorating Christmas trees.”
Celeste met his gaze and smiled. He gazed back, struck again by how lovely she was with those big green eyes that contrasted so strikingly with her dark hair.
He was staring, he realized, and jerked his gaze away, but not before he thought he saw color climb her high cheekbones. He told himself it must have been a trick of the Christmas lights.
“Oh, I nearly forget,” she exclaimed suddenly. “I have another birthday present for you. Two, actually.”
“You do?” Olivia lit up.
“Well, it’s not actually your birthday yet, so I completely understand if you want to wait. I can just give them to your dad to hold until the big day.”
As he might have predicted, Olivia didn’t look all that thrilled at the suggestion. “I should open them now while you’re here.”
“I guess I should have asked your dad first.”
He shrugged, figuring it was too late to stop the cart now. “Go ahead.”
With a rueful, apologetic smile, she handed the bag to Olivia. “It’s not wrapped, since I didn’t know it was your birthday when I came over. I’m sorry.”
His daughter apparently didn’t care. She reached into the bag and pulled out a book with colorful illustrations on the cover.
“Ohhh,” she breathed. “It’s another Sparkle and the Magic Snowball book!”
“This one is signed by both me and my sister, who did the illustrations. I figured since it’s your favorite book, you ought to have a signed copy.”
“I love it. Thank you!”
“There’s something else,” Celeste said when his daughter looked as if she were going to settle in right on the spot to reread the story for the hundredth time.
Olivia reached into the bag and pulled out a second book. While it was obvious the artist had been the same, this had different, more muted colors than the original Sparkle book and hearts instead of Christmas ornaments.
“I haven’t seen this one! Sparkle and the Valentine Surprise.”
“That’s because it’s brand-new. It’s not even in stores yet. It’s coming out in a few weeks.”
“Dad, look!”
She hurried over to him, barely limping, and held out the book.
“Very nice. We can read it tonight at bedtime.”
“I can’t wait that long! Can I read it now?”
“Sure. First, do you have something to say to Ms. Nichols?”
Olivia gazed at the woman with absolute adoration. “Thank you so much! I just love these books and the stuffed Sparkle.” Again, she surprised him by hugging Celeste tightly, then hurried to the window seat that she had claimed as her own when they’d first arrived at Charlotte’s house.
He gazed after her for a moment, then turned back to Celeste.
“How did you just do that?” he asked, his voice low so that Olivia couldn’t hear.
She blinked, confusion on her features. “Do what?”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen her hug anyone but me in months.”
“Oh.” Her voice was small, sad, telling him without words that she knew what had happened to Elise and Olivia and about Brandon Lowell.
“I guess you probably know my daughter was shot three months ago and her mother was killed.”
Her lovely features tightened and her eyes filled with sorrow. “I do. I followed the case, not because I wanted to read about something so terribly tragic, but because I...knew you, once upon a time.”
Color rose on her cheeks again, but he had no idea why.
“She’s been very withdrawn because of the post-traumatic stress. I haven’t seen her warm up to anyone this quickly since it happened.”
“Oh.” She gazed at Olivia with a soft look in her eyes. “It’s not me,” she assured him. “Sparkle is a magic little reindeer. He has a comforting way about him.”
He was quite certain Celeste was the one with the comforting way, especially as she had created the fictional version of the reindeer, but he didn’t say so.
“Whatever the reason, I appreciate it. I had hoped bringing her here to Idaho where we can be away from the spotlight for a few weeks might help her finally begin to heal. It’s good to know I might have been right.”
* * *
The concern and love in his voice came through loud and clear. Flynn obviously was a devoted father trying his best to help his daughter heal.
Celeste’s throat felt tight and achy. This poor little girl had watched her mother’s life slip away. “She’s been through a horrible ordeal. It might be years before the nightmares fade.”
“You sound as if you know a little something about nightmares.” He studied her closely.
She didn’t want to tell him she still had nightmares from those terrible weeks in captivity and then their miraculous rescue with its tragic consequences. She had cried herself to sleep just about every night for weeks. In a second rapid-fire blow, just as the overwhelming pain of losing their father had begun to ease a little, their mother had lost her short but intense battle with cancer and they had come here to stay with Uncle Claude and Aunt Mary.
She couldn’t tell him that. She barely knew the man, and he had demons of his own to fight. He didn’t need to share hers.
“Everybody has nightmares,” she answered. “To paraphrase John Irving, you don’t get to pick them. They pick you.”
“True enough.”
Her dog made a little whiny sound and started looking anxious, which meant he probably needed to go out.
“I need to take Linus home. Sorry again to drop in on you like this out of the blue.”
He smiled a little. “Are you kidding? This has been the best thing to happen to us in a long time. She’s completely thrilled. And thanks for helping with the Christmas tree. It looks great.”
“You’re welcome. If you need anything while you’re here, my family is just a short walk away. Oh. I nearly forgot. This is for you.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out the pie Aunt Mary had boxed up for easier transport.
“What is it?”
“My aunt makes amazing berry pies. She had an extra and wanted you to have it.”
He looked stunned at the gesture. “That’s very kind. Please give her my thanks.”
“I’ll do that.” She reached for her coat but he beat her to it, tugging it from the rack so he could help her into it.
She was aware of him behind her again, the heat and strength of him, and her insides jumped and twirled like Linus when he was especially happy.
She was being ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn’t a thirteen-year-old girl with a crush anymore.
She quickly shoved her arms through the sleeves and stepped away to tie her scarf.
“Are you sure you’re okay walking home?” he asked. “Looks as if it’s snowing harder. Let me grab my keys and we’ll drive you home.”
She shook her head, even as she felt a warm little glow at his concern. “Not necessary. It’s not far. I like to walk, even in the snow, and Linus still has a little energy to burn off. Thank you, though.”
He still looked uncertain, but she didn’t give him a chance to press the matter. She returned to the living room doorway and waved at his daughter.
“Goodbye, Olivia. I hope you enjoy the book.”
She looked up with that distracted, lost-in-the-story sort of look Celeste knew she wore frequently herself. “I’m already almost done. It’s super good.”
It was one thing in the abstract to know people enjoyed her work. It was something else entirely to watch someone reading it—surreal and gratifying and a bit uncomfortable at the same time.
“I’m glad you think so.”
Olivia finally seemed to register that she had on her coat. “Do you really have to go?”
“I’m afraid so. I have to take Linus home or Lucy will be lonely.”
To her surprise, Olivia set aside the book, climbed down from the window seat and approached to give her one last hug.