Rescued by his Christmas Angel by Cara Colter

reached a turning point. Ace had had a good dream.
    He recognized that he, too, seemed to be getting back into the flow of a life. If going shopping and volunteering to help with a town project counted. He suspected it did.
    And did it all relate back to Morgan? Again, Nate suspected it did.
    In defiance of that fact, and the fact that some part of him leaned toward liking Miss McGuire’s approval, he slathered peanut butter on bread. Ace liked peanut butter. And she liked nonnutritiously white bread, too.
    â€œYou rebel, you,” Nate chided himself drily, out loud.
    â€œDo you want to hear about my dream?”
    He turned from the counter, glanced at his daughter, frowned faintly. Ace was glowing in her new sparkle skinny jeans and Christmas sweater with a white, fluffy reindeer on it. Even her hair was tamed, carefully combed, flattened down with water.
    He turned back to the counter. “Sure. Raspberry or strawberry?”
    â€œRaspberry. In my dream, Mommy was an angel.”
    Something shivered along his spine. You’ve been my angel, Hath, now I’ll be yours.
    â€œShe had on a long white dress, and she had big white wings made out of feathers. She took me on her lap, and she said she was sorry she had to leave me and that she loved me.”
    â€œThat’s nice, Ace. It really is.”
    â€œMommy told me that she had to leave me right at Christmas because people have forgotten what Christmas is about, and that she was going to teach them. She said she’s going to save Christmas. Do you think that’s true, Daddy?”
    After David had died, Cindy had found respite from her grief in that time of year. By the time Ace had come along, she loved every single thing about Christmas. Every single thing. Turkey. Trees. Carols. Gifts. Reindeer poop .
    After David’s death, she’d developed a simple faith that she had not had when they were children. Cindy believed God was looking after things, that there were reasons she could not understand, that He could make good come from bad.
    While not quite sharing her beliefs, to Nate it had been a nice counterpoint toward his own tendency toward cynicism.
    After she had died, his cynicism had hardened in him. In fact, he felt as if he shook his fist at the heavens. This was how her faith was rewarded? How could this have happened if things were really being looked after?
    Show me the reason. Show me something good coming from this.
    And the answer? Yawning emptiness.
    He had buried her in the gravesite in an empty plot that was right beside David. Nate had gone to that gravesite a few times, hoping to feel something there. A presence, a sense of something watching over him, but no, more yawning emptiness.
    So his cynicism hardened like concrete setting up on a hot day, and he didn’t go to the graveyard anymore, not even when Cindy’s sister, Molly, went to mark special occasions, birthdays, Christmas.
    And now listening to Ace chatter about angels, it felt as if his cynicism had just ramped up another gear.
    Why did he have an ugly feeling he knew exactly where this was going?
    â€œI hope so, honey.” Because, despite the cynicism, he was aware nobody needed Christmas saved more than him and his daughter.
    Unfortunately, he was pretty damned sure Ace’s dream had a whole lot more to do with Mrs. Wellhaven’s ill-conceived announcement about one of Ace’s class being chosen the Christmas Angel than with her mother.
    Ace confirmed his ugly feeling by announcing, sunnily, “In the dream, Mommy told me I’m going to be the Christmas Angel!”
    Nate struggled not to let the cynicism show in his face. Still, he shot a worried look at his daughter.
    Even with the new clothes and better hair, Ace looked least likely to be the Christmas Angel, at least not in the typical sense he thought of Christmas angels: blond ringlets, china-blue eyes, porcelain skin.
    Ace looked more like a leprechaun, or a yard gnome,