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She sighed and smiled. “Neither did I.”
“Women are supposed to know,” he said after a minute, and one big, warm hand covered her belly. “Are you, do you think? Because a loving that beautiful should produce a child, if there’s any justice in the world.”
She sighed. “I wish I did know,” she replied. “But if we keep doing this, eventually we’ll both know. So,” she added, lifting up to look down at his handsome face, “we should do it a lot.”
He chuckled. “I’m not protesting.”
“Still think I’m too young?” she asked smugly.
“Not me, baby,” he replied and let out a sigh of pure contentment. He smiled. “You’re just right.”
She snuggled closer and closed her eyes.
* * *
It was snowing, three Christmases later. Tom was holding their three-year old son, Matt, while Annalisa cuddled the baby, Tessa, only two months old. They were sitting around the brilliantly lit Christmas tree with its ornaments, two of which said Baby’s First Christmas. The artificial gas logs in the fireplace were ablaze behind the iron fire screen, and there was Christmas music playing softly in the background.
Annalisa was still holding down her nursing job, and Tom was in his third year as a bank security officer. The bank president had welcomed him with open arms as chief of security for the bank. His background in law enforcement had made him the perfect choice, and coincidentally the former security chief had just quit to take a job in another city. Tom turned out to be great at cyber crime and even catching people who planned to cheat the bank. He was responsible for the firing of one loan officer who’d embezzled thousands of dollars without raising a grain of suspicion. The bank president gave him a raise that very day.
It was a long way from the hectic life Tom had lived in the FBI. But the new job was satisfying. He was still catching crooks; just in a different way. He missed the Bureau once in a while but not enough to want to go back and join up. He was forty years old and it was time for a less dangerous job. Especially now that they had kids.
“My daddy was in the FBI,” Matt said importantly, having found a picture of Tom showing off his badge when he’d resigned.
The child was fascinated with the picture. He looked up at his father, whose lap he was occupying. “Daddy, can you tell me a story about the FBI?” he asked, looking up at Tom with his own dark eyes. Matt favored his dad. The second son, Garrett, who was asleep in his playpen, favored them both. The new baby girl favored Annalisa. Tom loved it that his eldest son looked just like him. But it was a delight to him that they not only had two sons, but that they’d lucked out finally and had a girl who looked like his precious wife.
“Can I tell you a story about the FBI? Hmmm.” He shifted the child, gave his wife a slow smile with eyes that showed that he loved her. “Yes, I can.” He looked down at the child. “There once was a lawman . . .”
Annalisa listened to his deep, soft voice as he told the little boy the story of how he’d come from Chicago to live in Raven Springs. After five years, he was still amazed at how well he fit in here, and how happy he was.
Annalisa studied him with eyes that adored him. Not so long ago, she’d watched him start to get on an airplane and felt that her life was over. Now, here he was, in her house, with their children, content to be a husband and a father and not minding a job at the local bank. It seemed like a miracle. Well, she told herself, Christmas was the time for miracles.
Her eyes went from the beautiful tree with its decorations, to her husband with his son on his lap and then to the little girl suckling at her breast in the easy chair. She sighed with happiness. Her gaze went back to Tom, who was looking at her with that warm, tender smile that still made her insides dance. And they said dreams didn’t come true. She smiled back at Tom with her whole heart. There was her dream, big and tall and gorgeous, telling their son a story. Tom glanced at her from across the room. She had the oddest feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Because he looked at her and smiled and winked. And she laughed, with pure, sweet, joy.
Christmas Creek Cowboy
DELORESFOSSEN
Chapter One
Sheriff Calen Jameson wasn’t ready to start snarling “bah humbug,” but he was darn close to it. Along with this being the first anniversary of the worst anniversary in history, there was an inflatable cowboy-Santa the size of an eighteen-wheeler lying sideways on Main Street. It had landed there after tumbling off the roof of the hardware store.
The Santa was not only blocking traffic—yes, even a small town like Christmas Creek, Texas, had traffic—it had also knocked down a row of life-size plastic Texas longhorns. The very ones the city council had insisted on displaying every year in between streetlamps that were already overly decorated. The longhorns looked creepy with their vacant staring eyes, but it was a décor argument Calen had lost a dozen times in the dozen years he’d been sheriff.
Despite the hardware store being filled with all sorts of ropes and such, the massive cowboy Santa obviously hadn’t been anchored well enough. That was the reason for the fall, the traffic jam, and why he was on the way to see the store owner.
And wouldn’t that be fun?
Not because the owner, Lou “Wheezer” Sommers, was a jerk but because Lou was the polar opposite of Ebenezer Scrooge and would insist on hauling the Santa back up to the roof so that no one missed out on this seasonal delight. Wheezer would also probably forget Calen’s rule about bellowing out something Calen didn’t want to hear.
Merry Christmasorhappy holidays.
Because those greetings were reminders of that worst anniversary, Calen had let it get around the gossips that it’d be best if no one uttered anything like that to him, and most people had complied. Wheezer possibly wouldn’t because in his usual holiday gushing, it would be second nature to gush first and think later.
It was Wheezer’s over-the-top enthusiasm that had the man insisting the inflatable Santa go back on top of the store. Since the fall could have seriously hurt someone, Calen would make sure it was done right this time. And he’d have to do that while being bombarded with the music of the season that was being piped through various speakers on Main Street.
Too bad the shop owners hadn’t coordinated the tunes because as he walked from the sheriff’s office, Calen heard an annoying mix of “Jingle Bells,” “Little Drummer Boy,” and “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
It was only two blocks from the sheriff’s office to the hardware store, and Calen kept on his serious cop’s face to deter anyone from doling out unwanted greetings, complaints, and sympathetic comments about how miserable he must be over this one-year anniversary deal.
