Holiday Wishes by Nora Roberts

so cold. I didn’t lose my hat.”
    “I know, baby. Here, get your wet mittens off. You, too, Marcie. Jason has the heater turned all the way up. You’ll be cooked before you know it.” She ran kisses over two cold faces and fought the need to break down. “What Christmas carols did you sing?”
    “‘Jingle Bells,’” Marcie said with a sniffle.
    “Ah, one of my favorites.”
    “And ‘Joy to the World,’” Clara put in. The heater was pumping warm air over her hands and face. “You like that one better.”
    “So I do, but I can’t remember just how it starts. How does it start, Marcie?” She smiled at Clara and snuggled her closer.
    In a thin, piping voice still wavery with tears, Marcie started to sing. She was nearly through the first verse when they came to the rest of the search party.
    “It’s my dad!” Bouncing on Faith’s lap, Marcie started to wave. “He doesn’t look mad.”
    With a half laugh, Faith kissed the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Marcie.”
    “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Monroe. See you tomorrow, Clara.” Marcie barely had time to open the door before she was scooped up.
    “What a night.” There were waves and cheers as the car weaved through the crowd.
    “It’s Christmas Eve,” Clara reminded her mother. The world was safe and warm again. “Maybe I should open that one big present tonight.”
    “Not a chance,” Jason told her and tugged at her hair.
    Faith turned Clara in her arms and squeezed tight.
    “Don’t cry, Mom.”
    “I have to, for just a minute.” True to her word, her eyes were dry when they arrived home. An exhausted Clara dozed on Jason’s shoulder as he carried her inside. “I’ll take her up, Jason.”
    “We’ll take her up.”
    She let her arms fall back to her sides and nodded.
    They pulled off boots and socks and sweaters and wrapped Clara in warm flannel. She murmured a bit and tried to stay awake but the adventures of the evening took their toll. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she mumbled. “I’m going to get up real early in the morning.”
    “As early as you like,” Faith told her as she pressed a kiss to her cheek.
    “Can I have cookies for breakfast?”
    “Half a dozen,” Faith agreed recklessly. She smiled and was asleep before Faith pulled the blankets around her.
    “I was afraid . . .” She let her hand linger on her daughter’s cheek. “I was afraid I’d never see her like this again. Safe, warm. Jason, I don’t know how to thank you for just being there. If I’d been alone—” She broke off and shook her head.
    “I think we should go downstairs, Faith.”
    The tone made her press her lips together. She’d be ready, she promised herself, to handle the accusations, the bitterness, the resentment. “I think I’d like a drink,” she said as they walked downstairs. “Some brandy. It looks like the fire’s gone out.”
    “I’ll take care of it. You get the brandy. There are some things I have to say.”
    “All right.” She left him to go to the little cabinet in the dining room. When she came back, the fire was just catching. He straightened from it and took a snifter.
    “Do you want to sit down?”
    “No, I can’t.” She sipped, but it would have taken more than brandy to steady her nerves. “Whatever you have to say, Jason, you should say it.”

Chapter 10
    She stood looking at him, her back straight, her eyes burning with emotion, her hands clasping the snifter tightly. Part of him wanted to go to her, gather her close and just hold on. He’d found a child and nearly lost her in the same night. Did anything else matter? But inside was a void that had to be filled. Questions, demands, accusations had to be answered. There had to be an accounting before there could be understanding, and understanding before there could be forgiveness. But where did he start?
    He walked to the tree. There was a star on top that shed silver light over all the other colors. “I’m not sure I know what to say. It isn’t