Holiday Wishes by Nora Roberts Page A

help her on with her coat. “And so are the following instructions. Stay with the group. Keep your mittens on; I want you to keep all your fingers. Don’t lose your hat. Remember that Mr. and Mrs. Easterday are in charge.”
    â€œMom.” Clara shifted her feet and sighed. “You treat me like a baby.”
    â€œYou are my baby.” Faith gave her a smacking kiss. “So there.”
    â€œJeez, I’ll be ten years old in February. That’s practically tomorrow.”
    â€œAnd you’ll still be my baby in February. Have a good time.”
    Clara sighed, long-suffering and misunderstood. “Okay.”
    â€œOkay,” Faith mimicked. “Say good night.”
    Clara peeked around her mother. “Are you going to stay until I get back?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Satisfied, she grinned and pulled open the door. “Bye.”
    â€œMonster,” Faith declared and began to stack plates.
    â€œShe’s terrific.” Standing, Jason helped clear the clutter. “Little for her age, I guess. I didn’t realize she was almost ten. It’s hard to—” He stopped as Faith clattered dishes in the sink. “She’ll be ten in February.”
    â€œUmm. I can’t believe it myself. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and then again . . .” She trailed off, abruptly breathless. With studied care, she began to fill the sink with soapy water. “I’ll just be a minute here if you’d like to take your wine into the living room.”
    â€œIn February.” Jason took her arm. When he turned her, he saw the blood drain from her face. His fingers tightened, bruising without either of them noticing. “Ten years in February. We made love that June. God, I don’t know how many times that night. I never touched you again, we never had the chance to be alone like that again before I left, just a few weeks later. You must have married Tom in September.”
    Her throat was bone dry. She couldn’t even swallow, but stared at him.
    â€œShe’s mine,” he whispered, and it vibrated through the room. “Clara’s mine.”
    She opened her mouth to speak, but there seemed to be nothing she could say. Lips trembling, eyes drenched, she nodded.
    â€œGod!” He had her by both arms, nearly lifting her off her feet before he backed her into the counter. The fury in his eyes would have made her cringe if she hadn’t been willing to accept it. “How could you? Damn you. She’s ours and you never told me. You married another man and had our baby. Did you lie to him, too? Did you make him think she was his so you could have your cozy house and lace curtains?”
    â€œJason, please—”
    â€œI had a right.” He thrust her away before he could give in to the violence that pushed him on. “I had a right to her. Ten years. You stole that from me.”
    â€œNo! No, it wasn’t like that. Jason, please! You have to listen!”
    â€œThe hell with you.” He said it calmly, so calmly she stepped back as though she’d been slapped. The anger she could argue with, even reason with. Quiet rage left her helpless.
    â€œPlease, let me try to explain.”
    â€œThere’s nothing you can say that could make up for it. Nothing.” He yanked his coat from the wall and stormed out.
    â€œYou’re a damn fool, Jason Law.” The Widow Marchant sat in her kitchen rocker and scowled.
    â€œShe lied to me. She’s been lying for years.”
    â€œHogwash.” She fiddled with the tinsel on the little tree on the stand by the window. Cheerful strains from the Nutcracker floated in from the living room. “She did what she had to do, nothing more, nothing less.”
    He prowled around the room. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come there instead of heading for Clancy’s Bar. He’d walked in the snow for an hour, maybe more, then found himself standing on the