An Angel For Christmas. Heather Graham

Except that she was heard. She looked at Gabe, who was staring at her with amusement.

      “What? It’s a day for miracles or the like?” she asked him softly.

      “Miracles are what we make ourselves,” he said. He looked upward. “Maybe the Lord can lend a hand, but we have to create magic ourselves.”

      She groaned softly. “A do-gooder cop. Great.”

      He just grinned. She did, too.

      And, somehow, the meal went along with the conversation pleasant instead of strained, with the family asking questions instead of throwing out accusations, and her father actually asked Bobby to bring out his guitar when they got to the bread pudding.

      He played Christmas carols and the family chimed in, except for Morwenna.

      Gabe looked at her. “Are you really that ‘bah, humbug’?” he asked her.

      “No. I sound like a wounded hyena when I sing,” she told him.

      “But these are Christmas carols. Everyone sings Christmas carols.” He looked upward again. “He doesn’t care what you sound like.”

      Morwenna laughed. “I think I’ll pick up the plates.”

      She was surprised when he caught her hand. “‘O Little Town of Bethlehem,’” he said. “I know you know it. I’ll help with the plates. One song, huh?”

      With an exaggerated sigh, she sat again. She sang along with the family, watching Gabe. “See?”

      “I thought you were great.”

      She drew back, looking at him suspiciously. “Do you actually have a family?” she asked him.

      “I do. I have a wonderful family,” he assured her.

      “Why aren’t you going crazy, trying to find a working phone?” she demanded. “You’re not with them.”

      “Because I’m not the kind to beat my head against the wall when something can’t work,” he told her.

      She wanted to argue the point, but she really couldn’t. The storm had done nothing but grow stronger in the hours since she had arrived, and it did seem that they had lost all phone connections. Were the satellites all snowbound as well?

      “No television for the kiddies,” she murmured. “No computer games.”

      “Bobby, play ‘Silent Night’ for me, please?” Stacy asked.

      Bobby looked over at his mother. “Sure, Mom. I thought you didn’t care for the song on a guitar that much. You always like it on piano.”

      “And one of these days, I’m going to get one here,” she assured him. “But, please, play it for me.”

      “Nothing like a rock version of ‘Silent Night,’” Mike said.

      Of course, Bobby heard him.

      “I’d love to hear it, too,” Morwenna said. “Scrooge can go into the kitchen!”

      They all managed to laugh at that, even Mike. And Bobby played. Gabe sang the song alone this time with a clear, smooth, fluid tenor voice that was absolutely beautiful. When the song was over, everyone at the table just stared at him.

      “Wow,” Bobby said.

      “That was all you. You can really play,” Gabe said.

      Fearful that a fight would begin over Bobby’s music versus his college education, Morwenna quickly rose. “Let’s get the plates into the kitchen,” she said.

      “Really, kids, I’m fine,” Stacy said.

      Morwenna looked at her mother. “Mom, please let us help. Remember, you don’t get all of us that often and we want to be with you—if we help, we’re with you.”

      Stacy nodded, but looked at Connor and Genevieve. “Shayne, maybe you could read the kids a story. I’m afraid that we have no internet and we’re not getting television reception, either.”