With Christmas in His Heart

He shrugged. “It’s all yours.” He tried to figure out the big deal. Either one of them could help her. It wasn’t like a jump ball in a basketball game.

Christine hung her grandmother’s coat in the foyer closet, then hung up her own and closed the door without a glance his way.

Will shook his head and passed her, removed his wet shoes and left them by the living room archway, not wanting to dirty Ella’s carpet. He headed across the carpet, shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a chair, then settled on the sofa.

Yesterday’s newspaper lay on the floor. Will lifted it to his lap and swung his feet around to spread out on the cushions. Though he tried to focus on the first page, his attention had shifted over the top of the paper toward the foyer.

Christine came through the doorway pushing Ella’s wheelchair. He really wished Grandma Ella would get out of the thing. She needed to get her legs working and strengthen the muscles. That would alleviate her unsteadiness. He’d encouraged her to use the walker, but she said she felt like an old lady.

Christine turned his way, and her expression let him know she wasn’t pleased to see him sprawling on the sofa.

Will dropped the paper onto the floor and swung his feet to the carpet. “Sorry. Usually on Sundays, I keep Grandma Ella company for a while. Am I taking up too much space?”

A pink tinge lit Christine’s cheeks. “No.” She sank onto the chair with a sigh. “Not at all.”

“What’s wrong, dear?” her grandmother asked.

“Nothing.”

“You look unhappy.”

“Really. I’m fine.”

A look of uneasiness filled her face, and she gave Will a smile that looked a little forced to him.

She studied her fingernails for a moment. “I need to go into town. I should have thought of it while we were there for church. I noticed at breakfast we need a few things from the grocery store.”

Will glanced at his watch. “It’s Sunday. The store’s just about to open. I’ll take you,” he said. “I need to drop by the studio anyway and pick up some paperwork I forgot to bring home.”

“You have a tandem bike, or am I supposed to ride with you on the horse?” As the words left her, she concocted another grin.

The look on her face made him laugh. “No, but that’s a good idea. Daisy would love to go for a good run this morning. She leaves for the mainland tomorrow.”

Christine looked surprised “Leaves?”

He loved to confound her. “Once the heavy snow begins, Daisy is stabled at a farm on the mainland. Only the horses used for taxis and drays stick around here for the winter.”

Christine gave him a look. “The horses are smarter than people, I think.”

He chuckled, but he got her point. He jumped up and headed for the doorway. “We’ll take my sled…or you can ride your grandmother’s.”

“Sled?”

He laughed aloud this time. “Snowmobile.”

“You want me to drive myself? I don’t know a thing about snowmobiles.”

“One day I’ll give you a lesson then.”

“Yes,” Grandma Ella said, “that’s a good idea.”

Christine held up her hand in protest. “I’m leaving next week. Save the lesson for my mom.” She chuckled.

Will enjoyed her unexpected good humor and wished he could always see that side. “You can ride with me. I’d like you to see my studio anyway.”

“You’ll enjoy seeing the shop,” her grandmother agreed.

She paused a moment, then said, “Okay.”

Will glanced back to make sure he had heard her correctly. No argument?

“Who can I call to stay with you, Grandma Summers?” Christine asked.

Her grandmother waved her away. “I’m not a baby. I can stay by myself for an hour. Put the portable phone next to me, and set my walker here. I’ll use it if I need to get up.”

“We won’t be gone long,” Will assured Christine, then turned to Grandma Ella, “and we can check on you, okay?”

“I’ll be fine. You can’t tie an old horse down for long.”

Christine chuckled. “If you were a horse, Will would be shipping you over to St. Ignace.”

Will gave her a high five, and to his amazement, she responded and took a step backward toward the foyer.

“I’ll change and make a list,” she said.

“Keep it short,” Will said. “We go to the mainland for the bulk of the groceries.”

Christine stopped and motioned toward the window. “But what about when—”

“No ferry service? Then supplies are flown in.” He enjoyed teaching this strong-willed woman about island life.

She arched a neatly trimmed brow. “As I said, island living isn’t very convenient, is it?”

“No, but then if you’re looking for convenience you don’t live on an island.”

Christine gave him a see-I-told-you-so look.

Will didn’t bother to comment. “I’ll change and be ready in a minute. And remember, we’re not going back if you forget anything.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something but didn’t.

Christine stood outside the small barn, eyeing Will’s snowmobile and trying to imagine herself seated on it. She’d surprised herself by agreeing to ride the thing, but she needed to get around, and walking down and up hills to town in snow appealed to her even less than riding with Will.

She felt like the Abominable Snowman, with a sweatshirt and down jacket over her sweater. She could barely move. With two pairs of socks under the tall boots she had borrowed from her grandmother—already a little tight—she tromped through the snow like Frosty on a bad day.

“Are you warm enough?” Will asked.

“I hope so.” She could only deduce that his silly expression was lighthearted sarcasm. She shifted her attention to the snowmobile. “You want me to get on this thing?”

Will lifted his hand. “Hang on a minute.” He walked back into the stable and came out carrying two helmets. “You’re not going anywhere without this.”

He tossed her one, and she nearly dropped it. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

“You’re not only supposed to—you will. It’s for your safety. No one gets on my sled without one.”

Sled? She pictured the little red sled from her childhood, then eyed the monstrosity he was telling her to get on. She gazed at the helmet and then at him. How much danger was she in?

“Put it on,” he said, slipping some kind of hood over his head.

“What’s that?”

“A smock. You’ll have to get one.” He slid the helmet onto his head and attached the strap.

She followed what he’d done, attached the strap and felt as if she had a cooking pot on her head with a large shield over her face. “I look stupid.”

“You don’t look stupid,” he said, accentuating the word “look.”

“I hear a but in that statement.”

“I’m not going there,” he said, a teasing smile growing on his face.

Will looked amazingly handsome, his broad shoulders accentuated beneath his sledding jacket. Below the helmet, his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. “Okay, Bigfoot, can you climb on?”

He made her laugh. She liked that but not his I-know-more-about-island-life-than-you-do attitude. Earlier she’d tried to cover her amusement with sarcasm, but lately he had a cute way to get back at her. She felt like a kid again, rather than the dignified woman she’d considered herself to be.

She’d studied Will, weighing his boyish charm and easy manner, and had pondered how old he might be. She’d wanted to know, but she knew good manners, and one couldn’t blatantly ask. She’d be irked if he asked her.

Christine straddled the vehicle as best she could, then plopped onto the seat, scooting back as far as she could to make room for him. She felt her cell phone press against her leg. She’d tucked it in her pocket.

He waited for her to get settled, then slipped in front of her. “I made it. You’re not as fat as you look.”

She gave him a jab. “I feel undignified enough. Don’t add to it.”

“Dignity is nothing without a sense of humor.”

“I don’t mind laughing with someone, but I don’t want to be laughed at by someone,” she said.

“Then next time, you’ll have to leave about half that garb at home.” He grinned. “You need a bib.”

“A bib? I’m not eating lobster.”

“Snow pants, to you,” he said, chuckling. “You’ll get used to it, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager you’ll get to love the island even in winter.”

“You’re on,” she said. “If I love it here, I owe you something big. A seven-course dinner or—” She faltered, realizing she was having a good time.

“I’ll make that decision when I collect,” he said with a wink over his shoulder. “Now keep your feet on the foot board.” He pulled the cord and started the engine. He revved the motor to warm it, sending another grin with each vroom-vroom sound. “Ready?”

“Absolutely,” she said, then jolted backward when the sled shot forward. She let out a squeal and clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, praying her feet were glued to the footrest.

He paused at the end of the driveway. “Lean with me on the turns,” he called over his shoulder.

She nodded, and he rolled forward, then made a right toward Custer Road.

Above the roar of the engine, he hollered back his usual witty comments, his youthful spirit evident as they soared across the snow. Youthful, yet he had depth, too, Christine had noticed. She saw the heavy thoughts in his eyes. She watched the tenderness he had for her grandmother, and Christine couldn’t help but notice how he studied her. She didn’t think he’d figured her out yet, but he would.

The wind whipped past, and Christine clung to Will’s body for warmth and security. A chill rolled down her back despite her heavy clothing, or wasn’t it the wind at all? She’d never done anything quite so daring, and perhaps it was only the adventure that took her breath away and sent excitement prickling up her spine.

Will seemed to be in his element—relaxed and carefree. She wished she could be more like him, more easygoing, and definitely more trusting.

The snow-burdened trees shimmered in the muted winter sun, and occasionally the clouded sky opened to let a bright ray stream down to earth and drop sequins in the snow. She closed her eyes from the glitter.

“Hang on,” Will called.

Her heart rose to her throat as they made a curve past the governor’s house and flew down Fort Hill and the whitewashed buildings flashed past her. She clung to him even tighter, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of holding a man in her arms.

Instead of heading to Main Street, Will slowed and turned onto Market Street. They shot past the medical center and post office. Along the way, the quaint shops and homey bed-and-breakfasts lined the road, adorned with green-and-red wreaths and garland announcing Christmas. Finally he decelerated and pulled to the curb. “Here we are.”

She looked at the store beside her. The window held displays of magnificent stained-glass windows, and sun catchers in all shapes and sizes hung from the French panes. The brilliant colors glinted in the afternoon rays.

The quiet street seemed so different from the hustle and bustle she recalled from the summer afternoons when tourists packed the streets—fudgies, the residents called them, because most visitors left the island with boxes of homemade fudge purchased in the famous island fudge shops.

Will climbed from the sled and extended his hand. Christine looked at it and at her feet adhered to the running board, her body cramped from clinging to Will’s waist as they flew across the unblemished snow. “I’m not sure I can move.”

He pulled off his helmet, his grin as wide as the Mackinac Bridge, and shook his head. “Let me help.”

She gave him her hand and dismounted, her knees trembling from the bumpy vibration of the sled. “I need to get my land legs.”

He drew closer, balancing her in his arms. “You’ll get used to it.”

But could she ever become used to being held in a wonderful man’s arms? The thought rushed down her limbs, and, embarrassed, Christine stepped away and pulled off her helmet.

Will took it from her and hung it with his on the handlebars.

For a moment, Christine felt overwhelmed by the newness of her experiences, but she had to admit she felt exhilarated. The fresh air, the wind nipping at her cheeks, the unspoiled beauty of the landscape, the feel of Will’s arms—it all had painted a memory in her mind and on her senses.

She drew in another breath, filling her lungs with pure air. “It smells wonderful.”

“The cold freezes the horse dung.”

His surprising comment made her laugh. “That’s very romantic.” As the word left her, she tried to stop it, but it was too late. Why would she say romantic to a man she barely knew and probably would never see again once she returned home?

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad I can make a good impression on someone in this world.”

Though he smiled, Christine sensed an undertone in his voice. She eyed him, but he didn’t give a hint of what he had meant and she didn’t know him well enough to pry, although she was tempted.

Will pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and headed for the door while Christine moved closer to the shop window to take a better look at his artwork. She saw the name on the window, Sea of Glass. She’d heard that phrase before.

Her mind shifted back to Will’s behavior. He was hiding something or… Maybe he was more like she was than she’d thought. Now that she’d gotten through her own murky days as a naive businesswoman, she had gained confidence and had also developed a deep curiosity to look more deeply into people.

People said much more below the surface than their words expressed. Subliminal messages were important in the advertising business. She needed curiosity to sense what the company really wanted to convey in their ads, and then needed it again to express the underlying message to the consumer. If Will was playing games, he didn’t know with whom he was messing.

Will pushed open the door, and a bell tinkled, catching her attention. Christine followed him inside, feeling the warmth of the building and the varied aromas of raw wood, dust and all the products that went into stained-glass art. She knew nothing about it, but she was awed by what she saw.

“This is beautiful, Will.” She paused beneath a large window hanging from the ceiling. A rich tapestry of colors created a pastoral scene with flowers, a river, sun and shade—multiple hues of greens and blues. “How do you do this? It’s amazing.”

“Very carefully,” he said, the playful tone returning to his voice.

Her admiration rose as she turned in a circle to view the magnificent pieces of glass designs that adorned the store. “You learned to do this in college?”

He shrugged. “It’s like anything. You learn techniques, and then you let your creativity take flight. You must do something creative in your own work—maybe something different than me, but still unique and your own style.”

She searched his face, surprised at the matter-of-fact way he discussed his art. Something bothered him. “I suppose I do, but it’s very different.”

He stood a moment in silence. “Why is it different?”

“In advertising, I create ads and promotional campaigns for clients.”

“That’s creative.” He gave one of his sun catchers a poke. “It’s the same. You didn’t learn everything in college.”

“That’s very true.” She thought of all the mistakes she’d made and her feeble attempts to cover them. “I work with a team. I can always blame them for my errors in judgment. You can’t.”

“No, but what’s the difference. You know you made the mistake, the same as I do.”

His comment left her flailing. He’d pinpointed an important issue that hit too close to home. No matter what she had done wrong, she knew about it herself—and so did God.

She looked a Will’s expectant face, his eyes searching hers as if filled with questions he didn’t have the nerve to ask. Something about him was endearing. “I’m really impressed.” She made a sweeping gesture around the store, seeing wooden crates filled with gigantic pieces of marvelous glass in many colors and textures.

“I figured you’d like some of my things.”

“Some? Everything is unique.”

His questioning look faded, and a grin replaced it. “Then come into my back room and see some more of my work.”

Will winked, then smiled at her over his shoulder.

Christine had to admit he had a wonderful smile that seemed contagious. She wanted to grin back, but she wasn’t planning to let him know she found him attractive.

He passed through the doorway. “This is my studio where I make all of these things.”

She followed him through the door and paused. She’d seen the supplies he sold in the front of the store, but in the back she surveyed worktables laden with projects and crates with a mixture of glass nearby.

“Where did you get the name for the shop—Sea of Glass?”

He turned to face her. “It’s in the Bible. Revelations. Those who were victorious over Satan stood beside the sea of glass as clear as crystal.” He gestured toward the lake. “The studio’s only a couple blocks from the water. I thought it was fitting.”

“It is. I like it.”

“Glass is like people,” he said, holding up a piece. “If you just glance at it, you see one thing, but if you really look inside—” he held it toward the light “—you see all kinds of nuances and textures.”

She ran her finger over the swirled design, wondering what he’d seen inside her. “What kind of glass is this?”

“Baroque.” He slid the large piece back into the rack, then selected another. “This is water glass.”

Christine looked at the texture appearing like raindrops.

“And this is a smooth ripple. Here’s an opal glass, bull’s-eye, English muffle and cathedral glass.”

“You’ve lost me.”

He lowered the glass and then stepped closer and tousled her already messed hair. “No, I haven’t. You’re right here. See.” He stepped closer and gave her a quick hug.

The embrace surprised yet pleased her. Will looked different in the studio, as if he were in control of his life. She saw confidence, and a look on his face that intrigued her—pride and a kind of wholeness. She wished she felt that way.

“You love this work,” she said. “I can see it on your face.”

“I do. It’s like cheating. I earn a living doing something that I have to do because I can’t help myself.”

“That’s not cheating. It’s finding the right job.”

He patted a stool beside the tall raw-wood table. “Sit here.”

She slid onto the stool, and he leaned his hip against the table.

“Have you found the right career?” he asked.

“I like to think so. When we do a good job and make the client happy, I can sit back and see the result of my work. It feels good.”

“That’s what counts.” He shifted away, but his response left her questioning her own decisions. She saw a specific difference between Will’s attitude toward his work and hers.

“Would you like to see how I do any of these things?” He motioned toward the projects scattered around the room.

“I’d love to, but I think we’d better get going. I’m nervous about leaving my grandmother too long.”

He nodded, then reached beneath his worktable and pulled out a large folded paper. “A pattern I’m designing. I’ll show you back at the house.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “Let’s go. We still have to stop at the grocery store.”

As the words left her, her cell phone played its familiar tune. She dug into her pocket, curious yet concerned. “I left the number with Grandma. I hope she’s okay.” She stared at it, afraid to answer.

“You’ll know, if you answer that thing.”

The melody stopped when she hit the green button. “Hello,” she said, expecting to hear her grandmother’s voice, but who she heard instead gave her a start. “Dad. Where are you?”

She heard the upset in his voice, and she listened as her pulse pounded in her temple.

“You’re in Florida? Why?”

Her stomach tightened as her world crumpled. She turned her head toward Will, unable to believe what she’d just heard.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “My mother fell and broke her hip, jogging.”

Chapter Four

Christine watched Will’s jaw drop. “Your mother broke her hip jogging? Where?”

“On the ship’s promenade deck.” She crumpled back onto the stool. “I can’t believe this. This is a bad dream.”

Will rose and rested his hand on her back. His warmth rushed through her. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s in Florida, you said. Don’t worry about—”

“Not that. I’m stuck here, Will. Don’t you understand? I need to get back to my job. I thought I’d be home in a few days. Now what?”

She could see he’d been taken aback. His dark eyes flashed with disbelief, and she tried to recover from his look. “Naturally I’m concerned about my mother, but like you said, she’ll be okay. I just wasn’t planning on something like this happening.”

“We don’t plan for bad things to happen, Christine, but they do.”

She stared at him, wanting to say something, to explain, to have someone understand her stress, but she knew it was useless. Will didn’t know her at all. He had no idea about her work or how hard it was to stay at the top. “I’ll figure out something.”

Will pulled his hand away, leaving a cold spot where warmth had been. Her mood felt the same. Without expecting it, she’d enjoyed the outing and new experience of the snowmobile, but now the fun had faded.

She rose from the stool. “We’d better get moving. I’m sure my grandmother is upset about this, too. Daddy called there first. I know Grandma’s fine, but she’ll be worried about me.”

“That’s just like your grandmother,” Will said, walking ahead of her and snapping off the lights. He tucked the folded paper inside his jacket and waited at the door for her, his hand on the knob.

Outside, the wind seemed colder than it had felt earlier. Christine sank onto the sled, scooted back and waited for Will to climb on and help block the bitter air. Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away with her gloves. She felt sorry for herself, and she hated the feeling. Lord, I’m trying to make this a go. I want to be thoughtful and compassionate, but this isn’t helping.

God’s voice didn’t fill her head with an answer. The only sound she heard was the rev of the engine as they sped away. She wrapped her arms around Will’s trim waist, his broad shoulders blocking the wind—just as he seemed to want to protect her from her problems.

“Hang on,” he called.

That’s what she needed to do—hang on. But to what?

When Will stopped outside Doud’s Mercantile, Christine saw a smart-looking snowmobile on display. “They sell sleds at the grocery store?”

Will grinned. “No. It’s for the Christmas Bazaar the first weekend in December. They hold a fund-raiser, and the prize is this sweet-looking baby right here.” He gave the sled a pat. “It’s the best of its line.”

“It’s really nice. Tell me what to do, and I’ll donate to the fund-raiser, but I never win prizes. If I do, I’ll give the sled to you.”

Will gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Christine flew through the grocery store, paid for the purchases, donated to the fund-raiser, then headed back to her grandmother’s in silence, her mind having slipped back to her problem.

The fun had vanished from the trip as quickly as the sun had hidden behind the heavy clouds and refused to come out. The cold penetrated her body, as did her dismay, and she felt icy to the bone.

Will put away the sled while Christine hurried into the house. She dropped her packages on the kitchen counter, then rushed toward the living room while she pulled off her coat. When she came through the doorway, her grandmother’s concerned eyes lifted to hers.

Christine dropped her coat on a chair and put her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “What a predicament, Grandma Summers. Poor Mom.”

Ella’s face reflected her concern, but her demeanor negated the look. “I’ll manage, dear, but tell me what happened. Your father only told me your mother had broken her hip, of all things.”