A Vision of Sugarplums

** Chapter One **

He was the kind of man who made up his mind in two seconds flat. Masculine assurance was as much a part of him as his wide shoulders and dark brown, close-cropped hair. Ordinarily, Meghan Castle thought, he would know what he wanted the instant he spotted it, would point, pay, and be out of the store before the average shopper even started looking. So why was he having trouble now?

Meghan paused in her task of closing out the back cash register for the day. She tucked the shining honey-blonde fall of her hair behind her ear as she watched the customer. Her usual response would be to go over and offer her help. She had the feeling, however, that this guy might prefer doing things on his own.

He seemed to want a Christmas tree since he was standing in front of the row of decorated display trees which was a feature of the Silver Bells Christmas Store. That was comparatively normal, even if he had left it a little late. Yet it was hard to believe he was actually interested in the Sugarplum Fairy Tree that he was scowling at with such fierce deliberation.

Meghan hadn’t noticed him when he came in. It must have been during the mad frenzy a half hour ago when the store had been crowded by customers seized with holiday spirit as the last minutes of shopping time ticked down. Still, he had been hard to miss as people began to clear out.

It was not just his impressive height, the iridescent sheen in the neat waves of his hair, or eyes so intense a blue their color was apparent clear across the store. No, it was the indefinable sense of presence he wore like a comfortable old shirt. It seemed to fill the place to its far corners, impressing itself upon her against her will. She was also acutely aware of his frustration and impatience—so much so she was having trouble totaling the cash and credit card slips in the register drawer.

It was too bad she had already sent her store manager home to enjoy what was left of Christmas Eve with her family. Yvonne would have bustled over, all cheer and motherly, admiring smiles as she steered this final customer toward something more suitable, such as the Scots Tartan Tree, the Denim Special, or maybe the Camouflage example on its rustic stand. Yvonne could get away with things like that because she liked macho hunks and made no bones about it, in spite of being married to the same lovable teddy bear for forty years. More than that, she was big-hearted and genuinely filled with the spirit of the season. Meghan had none of these things going for her. She had no particular appreciation for hunks, and wanted nothing in this life so much as to have Christmas over at last.

Regardless, she had to admit that it was pretty brave of this rugged construction worker-type in his scruffy leather bomber jacket, jeans and work boots to venture into the Silver Bells. The usual customer for Meghan’s year-round Christmas store was a female bent on making her home festive; holiday decorating seemed to be exclusively a woman thing, at least in North Louisiana. He might, of course, have been sent by his wife or girlfriend along with instructions either too vague or fancy for his taste. That would account for his uncharacteristic indecision. The only thing wrong with that idea was that he didn’t seem the kind of man to run any woman’s errands.

Meghan glanced at her wristwatch. Fifteen minutes past closing time. Yvonne had put out the closed sign and locked the entrance leading into the mall behind her as she left. Meghan had used her key to let the last few shoppers out of the store after they paid for their purchases. These hints had gone unnoticed by the man in front of the Christmas trees.

She probably shouldn’t be checking the receipts while he was still around, Meghan thought. For all she knew, he could have stayed behind to rob the place. It was just that she was so anxious to get home. She needed to rest and relax, needed desperately to have the season behind her for another year, even if the store itself was a constant and aching reminder of loss.

The main thing standing between her and her goal was the macho hunk. He had to go, one way or another.

Pressing her lips together in a determined line, Meghan felt for her shoes with her toes and slipped them on her aching feet. She stuffed the cash register receipts into a bank bag and locked them away, then reached to flip off the switch of the CD player that had been cycling endlessly through a collection of Victorian Christmas music box tunes. In the abrupt and blessed silence, she slid off her stool and moved toward the front of the store.

It was as Meghan was passing the giant Christmas tree that dominated the center of the store during the holidays that she heard the noise. It was a soft cooing, a low and almost musical sound, yet it stopped her dead in her tracks.

The tree was a Silver Bells trademark, an extravagant show piece to draw attention to the store. Hundreds of people traipsed through every December to see what had been devised to astonish them. Meghan’s mother, who had first opened the shop fifteen years ago, had always racked her brain for new ideas and combed the Dallas gift market every July for products. Meghan had done the same when she took over some seven years before, though no one was ever more amazed by the results each year than she was herself.

Her heart simply hadn’t been in it this year, or for the past four years for that matter. She had opted for the cherubs which seemed to be everywhere, then added the basic recurring motif of silver bells. These ornaments were richly carved Medieval-style pieces thickly gilded in gold or encrusted with silver. Added to them were swaths of gold lame or silver gauze that weaved their way through dark green fir branches flocked with iridescent fairy dust. The somberly magnificent tree soared to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, while underneath it lay a myriad of boxes in gold and silver wrapping paper topped by bows of iridescent gauze. Customers had been mildly appreciative, but not especially impressed. Meghan didn’t blame them.

The noise she had heard, like a sweet hum touched with the humorous certainty of attracting attention, seemed to come from beneath the tree. The source of it was somewhere among the packages piled under the low-hanging tree branches.

Meghan didn’t want to look. An instinct she had thought almost forgotten warned her of what she was going to find. Yet she was forced to investigate by that same sure instinct.

A baby.

A living cherub in pink and white perfection. With pale gold curls, autumn-sky blue eyes, chubby yet delicate features. It had an angelic smile showing two small pearls for bottom teeth. And it was looking straight up at her.