Christmas in the Air (10 page)

Dear Reader,

In every life, there comes a time when we need a refuge, a shelter in the time of storm. Christians have that refuge/shelter in the Holy Spirit, who dwells in our hearts. As you read my story of eight stranded people, perhaps you've already found a refuge in our Lord, Jesus Christ. If not, I pray that the message of the book will find lodging in your heart, and that you will seek a security to strengthen your faith through bad and/or good times.

It has been a pleasure to share this second book with Dana Corbit. We count it a privilege and blessing to have produced these stories for your reading pleasure. Thanks to the Steeple Hill editors for giving us the opportunity.

Dana Corbit

To my dear friends Maija Anderson, Toni Brock, Joy Golicz, LuAnn Taylor and the two Melissas—M. Baxter and M. Lucken. I have been so privileged to know real, amazing women like all of you. I'm blessed to call you friends. Thank you for always believing in me and in my stories. My life and those stories are richer because of you.

It is not for you to know the times or the seasons, which the Father has put in His own power.

—
Acts
1:7

T
he world was filled with two kinds of people as far as David Wright was concerned. In the first group were the lucky jokers who actually learned from their mistakes. Those in the second group were doomed to repeat theirs with the regularity of a three-legged dog addicted to traffic hopscotch.

David would have preferred to include himself in the first group since rehabilitation was a cornerstone in his line of work. But as he stared down at the flared sleeves of his scratchy robe and rubbed at the itchy adhesive securing his grizzled beard, he saw the evidence that he was a card-carrying member of the group that never learned.

“David, are you ready?” Martin Rich called as he stuck his head inside the men's room door at New Hope Church.

“Be right out.”

Bustling sounds filtered through the open door, carrying a whistled version of “I'll Be Home for Christmas.” Obviously, somebody was a lot happier than he was spending the last two days before Christmas in Destiny, Indiana, taking a fictional journey from Nazareth to Judaea. He wished Martin would close the door and shut out the holiday spirit. He wasn't in the mood for it.

Instead, the lanky middle-aged banker stepped inside. In a Wise Man getup rather than one of his tailor-made suits, Martin looked as ridiculous as David did, though the older man seemed blissfully unaware of it.

“Here, let me help.” Before David had time to resist, Martin had stuffed an ugly striped hat on his head. “Now that really
tops
off the costume.”

David ignored the bad pun as he frowned into the mirror. “Gee, thanks.”

“No problem.” Martin paused to adjust his own Bethlehem-chic chapeau. “Destiny's second annual live nativity scene would be a bust without you. If not for Joseph, who would get Mary to the inn on time?”

David shrugged. Who indeed? And he wasn't talking about the Biblical story, either. No one else would have been gullible enough to be coerced into wearing this robe not once, but twice. He should have known better after last year's performance, when an abandoned baby girl was discovered in the manger and chaos erupted. But he hadn't
known better,
and now if the last-minute cast replacement was the worst thing to happen, he would consider himself blessed.

Martin pulled the door open again but looked back over his shoulder. “She got to you, too, didn't she?”

David nodded, not bothering to ask who the
she
was when they both knew how persuasive Allison Hensley—now Chandler—could be when she set her mind to something. As her best friend, David hadn't stood a chance against those puppy dog eyes.

“She had this big idea that I should reprise my role as Joseph to her Mary.” And he'd given in, knowing full well what a farce it was for him to play a member of the Holy Family when Allison was his only connection to the church these days.

“She pulled one over on you then.”

It sure felt like she had, though in his heart, David knew she never would have intentionally bailed on him. Besides, no one became that sick on purpose. He would have defended his friend's honor if Martin's hearty laughter hadn't suddenly filled the room. It sounded so much like the cartoon version of the Jolly Old Elf that David was tempted to say, “Wrong story, bud.”

But because the whole situation was a mess, he added a little Charles Dickens to the mix. “Bah. Humbug!”

He felt more like Ebenezer Scrooge than the Christ child's earthly father anyway, and dreaded the rehearsal, the performance and the introduction to the stand-in Mary. Especially that. Though the Biblical Joseph probably had plenty on his mind, such as the heavy responsibility of parenting God's son, David figured that at least he hadn't had to worry that the stable scene was part of a friend's matchmaking scheme.

Already, David could use his dating honor roll to paper the walls of the refurbished warehouse he called home. After four years of playing the field since law school, even he was getting sick of himself. So why did his friend insist on trying to set him up with another woman—especially her twenty-five-year-old cousin?

A pang of guilt struck him for the self-centered jerk he was. Allison was probably too busy chasing after her adopted year-old daughter and suffering bouts of morning, noon and night sickness with her problem pregnancy to make his love life her top priority. She'd only asked her cousin to fill in because she was too sick to get out of bed.

“Yo, David, are you with me?” Martin called out. “Quit daydreaming so we can get this rehearsal over before New Year's.”

As David slumped after him out the church door, the frigid east-central Indiana wind and the farm stench from hay and livestock bombarded his senses. Even with the long underwear he'd remembered this time, the wind clawed at his clothes and invaded his bones. His ears and fingers already ached, and his cheeks burned. If it was this cold under the steel gray helmet of daylight, he wondered what it would be like after dark.

“Have you met our new Mary?” Martin asked as they crossed the field toward the makeshift stable.

“Not yet.”

“Then now's as good a time as any. Hey, Sondra.”

Guessing that this time was no
worse
than any other, David glanced at the woman whose head came up when
she heard her name. Even if she hadn't strode toward them, her costume would have given her away.

Instead of waiting for Martin to introduce them, she shot out her hand in a practiced businesslike manner. “Hi. I'm Sondra Stevens.”

“David Wright.”

She had a firm handshake despite her fingers being so icy cold that they must have felt numb. He tried to ignore the tickle in his palm when he released her.

“You might recognize David's name from the political signs outnumbering Christmas lights this year.” Martin chuckled. “If he wins next month's special election, at twenty-eight he'll be the youngest Superior Court judge in Cox County history.”

“That's quite an accomplishment,” she said.

Funny, the bank teller he'd had dinner with last week had appeared more impressed when he'd shared that news with her.

“Sondra is the assistant human resources director at Tool Around, Kentucky's largest RV manufacturer. She's on her way up in that company.”

His introduction duties finished, Martin excused himself to join the other Wise Men. David didn't like the strange feeling that he'd been left to fend for himself as he turned back to Sondra.

From beneath the costume's head covering, huge mahogany-hued eyes stared out at him. Those eyes trapped him under their intelligent and evaluating gaze, making him wonder if Sondra was in the habit of studying others to determine their worthiness for her atten
tion. That she looked away and readjusted her shawl clued him in that she'd found him lacking. On some elemental level, it bothered him that she could dismiss him so easily.

“I'm playing Joseph,” he said needlessly.

Laughter lit her eyes, but it stopped at her mouth. “I figured it was that or you had interesting taste in clothing.”

“I have great taste in clothes…and everything else.” Why he'd said it David wasn't sure, other than that he'd felt a sudden need to defend himself.

“So I've heard.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

Most days it didn't bother him to have a reputation as the local bachelor attorney who'd dated most of Destiny's single women—none more than twice. Since he'd long ago accepted that he wasn't cut out for the deep stuff, he'd always been decent to his dates, keeping things casual so nobody got hurt. It was strange, but today he wished the reputation didn't follow him so closely, ruining his chance for a good first impression.

“Yes, it does. Impressive.”

Her tone suggested she wasn't really impressed by whatever she'd heard. She paused long enough to make him squirm, if he were the type to shift under cross-examination. He wasn't.

“Allison said you made a good Joseph.” She lifted an eyebrow and lowered it.

“Touché.” He smiled, letting her have her joke and resisting the urge to wonder what she'd really been hint
ing at before. “If I know Allison at all, she probably said my performance was fabulous or stupendous.”

“Something like that, but I like to stick to the facts and forget the flowery words. Allison and I are opposites that way.”

She had that right. Even having just met her, he sensed that the two of them were different in a lot of ways. They wore the same blue costume and both had oval-shaped faces, but that was all they appeared to have in common.

Allison was the perfect woman to play Jesus' mother. A nurturer, the former social worker was so kind and warm that she drew people the way flowers turned to sunshine. Sondra, on the other hand, was an unlikely Mary. She seemed tough and arrogant instead of submissive to God's will, the way Jesus' mother had been.

Even in appearance, Sondra was as dark as Allison was light. Allison's blond tresses streamed down her back, while her cousin cut her nearly black hair short in a no-nonsense style. His friend had always fought the height-weight battle, but Sondra was willowy and so tall her costume only brushed her ankles.

She was also tall enough to nearly look a man in the eye, particularly one like him who lacked two inches to reach six feet. And any man wouldn't have had a tough time looking back at the exotic beauty, with her flawless light bronze skin and sculpted features.

He was already admiring her eyelashes, that never in a million years would require mascara, when she drew her eyebrows together as a huge clue that he'd been staring.

David cleared his throat. “Uh, thanks for filling in at the last minute. Not that anyone can fill Allison's shoes completely. She came up with this whole idea last year and pulled it together.”

“I'm not trying to fill her shoes, but I did want to be here for her. Allison needed me.”

She might as well have tossed a bucket of water over him, as effectively as her comment woke him up. What was he thinking, noticing any woman right now, especially Allison's cousin? Didn't he have enough on his plate with an election to win, messed-up priorities to get in order and a sick puppy of a friend to help out?

That was another thing. If Allison needed anyone right now, she needed
him.
Okay, she just might need Cox County Sheriff's Deputy Brock Chandler, too. Brock was, after all, her husband. But if Allison needed a friend, David had already dug in the trenches and was ready for battle. He didn't need any reinforcements from Allison's Kentucky relatives.

Sondra rubbed her hands together. “It's freezing out here.”

“That's Indiana for you. They're predicting four to six inches of snow before Christmas morning.”

“Too bad I won't be around long enough to see it.”

She sure didn't sound disappointed about missing Indiana's white Christmas. He got the idea that she wanted to see Destiny in her rearview mirror as quickly as possible. That was a good thing. He would be more than happy to help her to her car.

“I couldn't believe it when Allison called me,” she
said, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. “I've never heard of a pregnant woman being so sick that she had to have a portable IV.”

“The doctors call it hyperemesis, which means that she threw up a lot. Constantly, in fact. Finally, the nurse put in a PIC line—or percutaneous invasive catheter—to fight dehydration. You probably aren't aware of this, but in the first twelve weeks of her pregnancy, she's lost ten pounds instead of gaining any weight.”

He took smug satisfaction in the shock registering on Sondra's face. She didn't know about Allison's condition or any of the fancy medical terms that he could spout now. She hadn't been there. He had.

“If only she'd called…” She let her voice trail off, her regret unmistakable.

He had poised his hand to squeeze her shoulder in comfort before he realized what he was doing. It wasn't his business. This case wasn't his to judge, even if the cousins weren't as close as Sondra wanted him to believe.

Having turned away to collect her pillow from a nearby haystack, Sondra fortunately missed his lapse. When she turned back, though, her shoulders were straight, as if she'd overcome her own weak moment.

“But as she said, ‘The show must go on.'” She rested her hands on a pillow stomach that looked more like she'd swallowed a basketball than she carried a baby inside.

“Do you think they need us over there yet?”

“You know the story, don't you? Joseph and Mary arrive late, when all of the rooms in the inn are full.”

“I know the story.”

He shrugged. “We do need to get over to the donkey, though.”

“That donkey?” She pointed to the Shetland pony someone was leading across the grass.

“That's the one.”

“We really are doing some acting here.”

The corners of his mouth pulled up. “Stella has the toughest role. She's doing a pony encore performance.”

David decided he needed to focus on his own encore. Whenever he'd needed Allison, she'd dropped everything for him. She'd never asked much of him in return. Well, she was relying on him this one time to make the show go off without any more hitches. She needed him to do this, and he wouldn't let her down.

Leading Sondra across the churchyard to the mark for their theatrical entry into Bethlehem, David couldn't resist shooting a glance back at the wooden stable. As long as the child in the manger remained a doll, they could handle anything.