“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”
“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”
“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”
Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.
“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”
The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied with confidence.
Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.
“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”
He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.
“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”
“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.
CORIE WATCHED BEN assemble the outsize Christmas tree stand with all the boys helping. She was impressed that he somehow maintained a sense of humor she hadn’t known he had. He fitted the trunk into the stand with the tree still on the ground, then righted it and asked her to help hold it while Teresa gave centering directions.
When it was in place, they all stood back to admire it.
“Wow,” Rosie said on a reverent gasp. Even without decoration, it was magnificent.
“Holy s—!” Soren exclaimed.
Teresa frowned at him. “Soren Peterson.”
“Sorry.” He turned to Ben. “I’ll bet you swear.”
“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “But never at Christmastime. And never around little kids.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Even if Santa gives second chances, you’ve used yours all up. You won’t get anything.”
Soren glowered at her. “Neither will you, ’cause you’re always mean.” He stalked away. Corie went to follow him, but Teresa caught her arm. “You go to work. I’ll talk to him.” She turned to Ben. “You’ll be back tomorrow to help decorate? We need someone tall for our ladder.”
Ben opened his mouth to tell her he was here only to talk to Corie, but the children told him they were going to have hot chocolate and cookies and he had to come. The youngest Stripe Sister, as he’d designated them, held his hand.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
As Teresa followed Soren, Corie touched Rosie’s dark head. “It would be nice if you wouldn’t always mention people’s bad points, Rosie. Usually they know when they’re wrong. Your job as a friend is to tell them they’ll do better next time.”
Rosie, who seemed to consider herself the world’s moral monitor, looked at her as though she were crazy. “But he said a bad word. He does it all the time.”
“He needs a friend,” Corie added. “Try to point out the nice things about him instead of the bad.” She gave Rosie a quick hug. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cast a general wave in the direction of the children and they chorused a goodbye.
Shouldering a large, colorful straw satchel, Corie ran out the door. Ben followed, stopping her when she would have climbed into her truck. She rummaged in her bag and looked up at him impatiently. “What? I’m going to be late.”
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said firmly, “and I’m not leaving until I do.”
She yanked open the driver’s-side door and put her bag on the seat for easier access. “So, talk,” she said, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t listening. That was confirmed when she dumped out the contents of her bag and growled when whatever she’d been looking for wasn’t there. She said the word that had gotten Soren in trouble.
Still ignoring him, she walked around the truck, patting her pockets. Too short to see into the truck bed, she put a foot on a tire and climbed up. Hands braced on the side, she leaned in, scanned front to back then leaped down again.
As she dusted off her hands, she noticed him and seemed surprised he was still there. She looked cross, but then, she usually did with him.
“Lost your keys?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ve just misplaced them.” She glanced at her watch.
He pulled open the passenger’s-side door of his rented Navigator. “Need a ride to work?”
Her chin dropped onto her chest when she accepted that she did. With impressive precision, she swept the contents of her purse off the driver’s seat and into her bag, slammed her door closed and walked, arms folded, to where he stood.
“I do,” she said, “but I’d rather walk if you’re going to badger me the whole way.”
“There’d be no badgering required if you just answer my questions.”
She considered him a moment then climbed in. “Okay, but I’m almost late for work. I’ll answer your questions after.” She buckled her seat belt.
“What time is your shift over?”
“We close at nine. Cleanup takes a little while.”
“All right.”
When he pulled up in front of the café five minutes later she jumped out with a very reluctant, “Thank you.” She was about to close the door then stopped and sighed heavily. “If you come just before nine, I’ll get your dinner.”
He had to pretend not to be surprised. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Then you’re going back to Oregon?”
“Depends on how our conversation goes.”
She seemed to want to say more but simply closed the door and hurried inside.
That was a baby step forward, he thought, but it was forward.
* * *
CORIE PUT HER purse in the small back room that served as the supply storage and employees’ lounge, and tied on a white, ruffle-trimmed half apron while her personal history raced across her mind.
She’d been four years old when she and Jack and their younger sister, Cassidy, had been separated. She had only vague memories of her life until that day, impressions of a woman’s slurred voice, of eating peanut butter on bread in their bedrooms because there was shouting in the living room. She remembered Jack—dark hair, dark eyes, always there.
Then Roscoe Brauer, her mother’s boyfriend, had been shot, and she and Jack and Cassie had spent a couple of nights with Ben’s family, the Palmers. When their mother went to jail Cassie had been sent to her father, who lived in Maine, and Corie went to Texas where her father lived.
She remembered the big change her new life had been, her stepmother and two stepsisters, who’d made it clear from the beginning