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“Wait!” Savannah shouted, but it was too late. Hannah was already racing down the stairs screaming for Trace. Savannah heard his groggy reply, which amazingly was far less irritated than her own had been. In fact, he sounded downright cheerful.
Even with all that commotion right downstairs, Savannah could still hear those bells, louder and more distinct now. She tugged on her robe and went to the window, then stood there, mouth gaping at the sight that greeted her.
There was a huge, horse-drawn sleigh coming through the snow toward the house, the bells on its reins jingling merrily. The back was piled high with sacks and wrapped packages. And the driver was…She blinked in disbelief and looked again. Nope, no mistake. The driver was Santa himself.
Savannah whirled around and headed for the stairs, pausing only long enough to run a brush through her hair and take a swipe at scrubbing her face and teeth. She met Trace at the second-floor landing. Hannah was already downstairs with the front door thrown open to allow in a blast of icy air.
Savannah studied Trace’s expression, looking for evidence of guilt. “What do you know about this?”
“Me? I have no idea what you mean.”
“Santa? The sleigh piled with gifts? It has your name written all over it.”
“Actually I don’t think you’ll find that’s true,” he said, giving her a quick kiss. “Stop fussing and go down there. Santa’s a busy fellow. I doubt he has all day to hang around here.”
“Trace!”
“Go,” he said, waiting until she led the way before following along behind.
They arrived downstairs just as Santa trudged up the steps toting two huge sacks. Still filled with suspicion, Savannah stopped him in his tracks. “Are you sure you have the right place?”
“Holiday Retreat?” he said, edging past her. “You’re Savannah Holiday, right? And that young lady out there by the sleigh is Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is definitely the place. Even after such a long and busy night, I try not to make mistakes. Sorry about not squeezing down the chimney the traditional way, but if I go home with this suit all covered with cinders, Mrs. Claus will have my hide.”
Savannah barely managed to suppress a chuckle. “I had no idea Mrs. Claus was so tough on you.”
The jolly old man with a weathered face and white beard, who looked suspiciously like Nate Daniels, rolled his eyes. “You have no idea. Now, where would you like these gifts?”
“Under the tree, I suppose.”
“And that would be?”
“Inside, in the living room on the right.”
Santa carried two loads of packages inside, declined Savannah’s offer of hot chocolate, then left with a cheery wave and a hearty “ho-ho-ho” that echoed across the still air. Hannah stared after him, still wide-eyed.
“Mom, do you think that was really Santa?” she asked.
Savannah exchanged a look with Trace, trying to gauge from his reaction whether her guess about Nate Daniels was correct. Before she could respond, Trace spoke up.
“Looked exactly like Santa to me,” he said. “And you said you weren’t going to have presents this Christmas, so who else but Santa would bring them?”
“Oh, I have some theories about that,” Savannah muttered under her breath, but she kept her opinion to herself. She might have a few words for Trace later in private, but she was not going to strip that excitement from her daughter’s eyes. “How about breakfast before we open gifts?”
“No way!” Hannah protested. “I want to see what’s in the boxes, especially that great big one. Santa could hardly get it up the steps.”
“You know that Christmas is about more than presents,” Savannah felt duty-bound to remind her.
“I know, Mom, but these are here and some of them are for me. I checked the tags.”
“Only some? Who are the others for?”
“You, silly. And Trace.”
“Me?” Trace said, looking more shocked than he had at any time since this incredible morning had begun.
