âWill Santa skip us this year because he doesnât know weâre at a hotel instead of our old, burned-up house?â
Dylan swallowed, his heart aching for the childâs worries. The boys wouldnât fully understand how much theyâd lost in the fire for a whileâthe memories and surety that they would always be safe.
âWeâll leave a note at our old house with a cookie and some milk,â the boyâs twin brother said, and a smile replaced his worried look.
The childrenâs parents turned to Dylan and Jenna. âThank you for all youâre doing for us. Itâs so hardâ¦to accept help.â
Jenna reached over and squeezed her hand, a warm smile on her face. âWhen youâre back on your feet, you can pay it forward, help someone else whoâs going through a tough time. That way, the help keeps moving.â
Dylan stared at Jenna. Who was this woman and what had she done with the real Jenna Scott?
DANA CORBIT
Dana Corbit started telling âpeople storiesâ at about the same time she started forming words. So it came as no surprise when the Indiana native chose a career in journalism. As an award-winning newspaper reporter and features editor, she had the opportunity to share wonderful true-life stories with her readers. She left the workforce to be a homemaker, but the stories came home with her as she discovered the joy of writing fiction. The winner of the 2007 Holt Medallion competition for novel writing, Dana feels blessed to share the stories of her heart with readers.
Dana lives in southeast Michigan, where she balances the make-believe realm of her characters with her equally exciting real-life world as a wife, carpool coordinator for three athletic daughters and food supplier for two disinterested felines.
To the Baxter boysâBrock, Dylan and Loganâ who have inspired my fictional stories in more ways than just by lending me your names. You are all amazing young men, who Iâm sure will be real-life heroes in the future. Also, to Melissa, my own Amy Warren. And, as always, to the POTLs, the six amazing women who inspire and push me to tell stories from my heart.
The house looked like a fire-department statistic just waiting to happen. Either that or the trigger for a power outage the likes of which southern Indiana had never known. Jenna Scott couldnât decide which as she tromped up the walk toward the redbrick colonial, passing a riot of Christmas lights and a holiday amusement park along the way.
On one side of the walk, a half-scale crèche rested serenely on the lawn with animals, shepherds and wise men focused on the Christ child. On the other side, a trio of plastic carolers sang a scratchy version of âO Little Town of Bethlehem,â and a herd of mechanical reindeer bent to munch on artificial snow.
Could someone say âover the topâ?
Her mother hadnât been exaggerating when sheâd mentioned that the Warrensâ Christmas display was âa sight to behold.â The celebration was also another excuse for best friends and matchmakers Trina Scott and Amy Warren to force their adult children together. Theyâd been campaigning for an event like this ever since the Scott-Warren matrimonial merger six months before. Jenna figured that whatever the evening held in store for her personally, it promised to be entertaining.
As she stepped to the door, decorated in green-foil gift wrap, a hum of voices spilled from inside, competing with Elvis bellowing âBlue Christmas.â
âSo much for a quiet Christmas at home,â she told the life-size Santa doll that smiled at her from a wicker chair on the porch.
Suddenly that bah-humbug spirit filled her again, making the winter wonderland feel claustrophobic. It was only the second Christmas since her father died, and she doubted it would be any easier than last year. Visiting Markston wasnât like coming home for the holidays, anyway. Markston wasnât her home. Nowhere was, really.
Someone yanked open the door before she had the chance to knock, and Jenna found herself wrapped in a hug warm enough to cut through the December freeze.
âJenna, dear, you finally made it,â Mrs. Warren said.
She stepped out of the womanâs embrace, glancing back at the outdoor decorations. âWow. This is great.â
âIâm glad you like it. Now come in out of the cold before you catch your death.â Already Amy Warren was pulling Jenna into the entry where the rest of the Scotts and Warrens were gathered. Just being in the house again made butterflies flutter in her stomach.
Her mother gripped her in a tight hug. âWe thought youâd never get here.â