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Gabriel's Gift

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GABRIEL'S GIFT



Kindle Edition

Copyright 2014 by Christina Dodd



All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written consent of the copyright holder.



Gabriel's Gift is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.





GABRIEL'S GIFT

A Lost Hearts Christmas Story



By

Christina Dodd





From Christina Dodd: I introduced Gabriel Prescott in the Lost Hearts series, then continued his story throughout the Fortune Hunters series and DANGER IN A RED DRESS. Now he has his own business, a wife he adores, and he has found both his families. In this epilogue to Lost Hearts and the Fortune Hunters, he faces another crisis�Ś



Gabriel Prescott drove up the long, winding, gravel driveway to the house, set in the middle of his very own cattle ranch, and if it was possible for him to swagger in his seat, he was swaggering.

He, Gabriel Prescott, former poor kid, former foster kid �" he owned this place, and maybe most of the time he didn't take care of the horses or run the cattle himself, but when he felt the need to get into the saddle and make like a big tough cowboy, the crew boss welcomed him on the trail. And when he developed saddle sores and limped away, none of the real cowboys laughed �Ś to his face. Because he was the guy who made sure no financial crisis stopped operations, daily meals were provided, and that the cowboys had a snug, warm bunkhouse.

When he came here, he could look in any direction and it was his land he was seeing. Then he knew his life was perfect.

Just about perfect. Almost perfect.

As he got close to the house, the gravel turned to asphalt, then to concrete, and he stopped on the curved drive in front of the front door. He popped the trunk and got out one of the coolers, his suitcase, and a flower arrangement that looked a little worse for wear �" maybe he shouldn't have stowed it in the trunk �" and carried them up the stairs to the front porch. He unlocked the double front door, stepped inside, and listened to the blessed silence.

It was Christmas Eve, and he had come early in the day to get ready for the family.

He loved Christmas with the family. He really did. When he was a kid, he hadn't had Christmas, and now �Ś to be one of the Prescott family, to have a wife, to own a couple of homes, to have a successful business, to have located his four half-brothers and solved the mystery of his own heritage �Ś those things made his life complete.

He was a lucky man. He needed to remember that. A lucky man.

He got all the coolers inside, then unloaded them into the refrigerator. He got the wrapped gifts into the living room and settled into a pile. He turned up the heat and headed back out to the car for the second round of suitcases. He took a moment, just a moment, to appreciate the south Texas scenery.

Some people declared this wasn't scenery, but desolation.

Some people weren't from Texas.

The flat land was bare of vegetation except for brown clumps of grass, rolling tumbleweeds and the occasional live oak, bent and twisted by the winds. Here and there the earth poked bony ocher elbows of rock out of the thin soil; the constantly shifting sunshine and shadow created an artist's palette of color. The sky was blue, thin blue along the horizon, deeper blue above. Sometimes he wondered if that sky was why they called it a blue norther. This blast of winter was riding south on the jet stream, predicted to get here tonight, but as fast as the temperatures were dropping, he'd have to say the forecasters got it wrong.

In Texas, they did that a lot.

His phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at it, and wanted to laugh. Hannah had figured his ETA down to the minute.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him to block out the whistle of the wind. "Hey, sweetheart, I'm here!"

Her voice was low and warm, and always sent a shiver down his spine. "How's the house?" she asked.

Before he was married, he had bought this cattle ranch outside of Hobart, Texas, because Hobart was the scene of his fondest childhood memories, and he wanted a place for his family to gather. He had updated the house, paying special attention to the massive front room. He had replaced the flooring with warm Spanish tile, added long leather sofas and a glass-topped coffee table with iron legs that looked like rusty barbed wire. He'd paid some guy a small fortune to come in and dab paint on the walls so that they looked like brown leather, and he used Native American designs in the rugs and throws.

He had thought it looked great.

Apparently, Hannah hadn't agreed. She never actually said anything to him, but over the first couple of years of their marriage, the place had evolved. She kept the Spanish tile and the leather sofas, but the walls were repainted white with the occasional bold and serene turquoise accent, the massive throw rugs had become lush statements of subdued color, and his beloved coffee table had disappeared. He overheard his sister Pepper congratulate Hannah on taking away the "little boy who wants to be a cowboy" decorations.

Man, that hurt. But he did have to admit, the place looked good; warm and inviting.

More anxiously, Hannah asked, "That alarm day before yesterday �" the security people said it must have been a fluke. Is there something wrong?"

"Everything looks fine to me." He listened to the wind pick up." I'll get everything set up before the family arrives later today." In a lower tone, he added, "And you arrive tomorrow."

"I should have come with you."

"You're on call."

"I know, but �Ś I hate that you have to do this all on your own."

"I'm good."

"I know."

"I'm good." He had to say it twice. Hannah was worried about him. Although he'd said nothing, the woman knew he was conflicted about �Ś stuff.

How did she intuit his feelings?

"When does the Christmas tree arrive?"

"This afternoon. How's the kid in ER?"

"Maria. Her name's Maria. She hit her head pretty hard. She's still unconscious. We're waiting to see whether we have to do surgery."

He sighed. Kids should never hurt themselves, but when it happened during the holidays, it was extra difficult on the worried families and the concerned hospital staff. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"We'll know within the next twelve hours. I'll be there in time for Christmas."

"If you're not, we'll hold the holiday."

"No! Don't do that to the children. That's just mean."

She was right. "We'll hold your Christmas."

"It's a deal." He heard the smile in her voice. One thing about Hannah �" she'd lived through rough times, and no matter what happened, she never sulked. She understood the meaning of real problems.

He hoped the worst of the searing-cold winds held off until the family arrived in Austin and San Antonio from California, Idaho, Boston, South Carolina, New Orleans, and Chicago. He prayed the projected clouds and possible snow would hold off until tomorrow when Hannah was safely in his arms at the ranch house. No matter what she said, he would wait for her to celebrate Christmas. But he didn't want to think of her traveling alone on that special day.

"Did you remember the turkey?" Hannah hadn't recovered �" would never recover �"from the first year they'd been married when they had forgotten the turkey and Kate had forgotten the ham, and they'd had to eat a vegetarian Christmas dinner to the eternal joking delight of every guy in the family.

"It's huge, it's here, and I'll put it in the refrigerator," he assured her.

"Okay. Great. It'll be thawed by the time I get there tomorrow."

"When I get up in the morning, I'll run it under cold water if I think it's too hard."

"The turkey?"

"You are a wicked, wicked woman." He loved her like this, all smug and laughing. "If you were here with me, I wouldn't have to run it under cold water."

She chuckled warmly. "The turkey?"

"Of course the turkey. What else would I be talking about?" The background noise didn't sound like the hospital he was used to hearing: too muted, with a single voice murmuring softly. "Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm in the chapel. Sometimes when I get a break, I come in here and sit, and light a couple of candles. Today, I lit one for Maria, and said a special Christmas prayer for her."

"That's nice," he said.

"And I lit one for us and our baby, and said a special, Christmas prayer that we might find each other."

"Good." He nodded. "That's good." It seemed as if divine intervention might be needed before they would be able to resolve this crisis. Lighting a candle might be the only solution.

In the house, he heard a scraping noise above. "Hey, I've got to go. I think we've got critters upstairs." Another scrape. "In the playroom."

"Scorpions?"

"Bigger than that."

"Oh, no." She sighed in distress. "Possums."

"Probably. Or raccoons." In the matter of droppings, neither of the animals had manners.

"Now I'm glad I didn't come."

He laughed. "I'll check it out and call the exterminator. And I'll give you a call later. I love you."

"I love you, too."

He hung up, girded his loins and headed upstairs to the playroom. On his way, he glanced in the bathroom and boys' dormitory, but saw no signs of animal life. He entered the playroom and flipped on the light, expecting to see some wild animal scurry out of sight.

No movement. No signs of opossum or raccoon: no scratches on the woodwork, no animal pellets along the walls. He almost turned away and headed toward the girls' dorm, when he remembered the storage room. The size of a large walk-in closet, it included toys and games for every age; the Prescott family was constantly growing and changing, and it seemed every year brought a new baby, a new adolescent, a new graduate and a new marriage. And then another new baby.

He moved toward the storage closet. If the family kept growing, he was going to have to expand the ranch house just for Christmas.

He popped open the door.

Because �Ś whoa.

His critter wasn't a critter. Not unless it carried its belongings in a Disney princesses backpack and slept in a faded Little Mermaid sleeping bag. A bowl with the congealed remains of chicken noodle soup had been pushed hastily aside. A black coat with pink lining hung on the hook that also held the baby bouncy chair.

There was no sign of the little girl these scattered possessions belonged to; she had fled in a hurry. But he knelt beside a photo stuck in a frame, of a girl and mother, both dressed as raggedy Anne dolls, both smiling. The mother looked young and pretty �Ś and the little girl was missing her two front teeth.

Wow. He had a housebreaker. A really, really young housebreaker. A squatter, really.

But where was she?

He glanced around. Heard a noise above. Glanced up.

Ah. There, in the ceiling. The attic access had not been shut properly. The kid had looked for a way to escape if cornered, and concocted a pretty good plan. He had arrived; she had scooted up the ladder and hid in among the insulation and ductwork.

Loudly, he said, "What a mess. When the kids get here for our Christmas celebration, I'll have to speak to them about cleaning up after themselves."

Up above, nothing stirred. Maybe she hadn't heard him.

But maybe she had.

He used his cell phone to take a picture of the framed photo, then he headed downstairs to make lunch.





He hadn't planned to do much for his lunch �" dig out a frozen meal or a can of spam �" but he found himself in the big family kitchen, frying stew meat, flinging in onions and garlic, jalape�ąos in adobo sauce and a tablespoon of fragrant cumin, opening a can of Rotel and pouring it into the pot. He turned the heat down low and simmered and stirred, scenting the whole house with his award-winning chili that made grown men weep and women worship at his stove. As the pot bubbled, he puttered around, shredding a nice sharp cheddar, opening a bag of corn chips �Ś setting his trap.

The round, oversized, wooden table occupied the one empty corner of the kitchen. It had seen many a family meal, and he hoped it would see many more. But for today, he arranged two placemats on opposite sides of the table. He put a wide bowl and a soup spoon on each place, and a glass of water �" some people got excited about the spiciness of his chili �" and an icy bottle of Coca-Cola.

While the chili simmered, he seated himself with his back to the hallway. He popped open his computer, worked online, and waited for the soft sound of a footstep.

It took about a half hour, but there it was. The girl was out of the playroom, down the stairs and intent on escape. Too bad he'd blocked the front door with heavy luggage and boxes and she had to come this direction�Ś

He waited until she was halfway between the stairway and the back door, then said out loud, "You might as well come in and eat before you go."

The footsteps stopped.

He turned in his seat. "It's freezing out there, you're miles from town, and the chili will give you some fuel to get where you're going."

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

He stared back.

She had surprised him. The picture in the closet was an old picture. This little kid wasn't quite a little kid anymore. He guessed she was about twelve, and tall, five-six or seven, and slump shouldered in that awkward way tall girls stood to hide their height. She had brown hair and brown eyes, and like most pre-adolescent girls, she looked gawky and goofy. And scared. She looked scared.

"I'm Gabriel Prescott," he said. "I own this house."

"I know who you are. I saw the pictures."

He glanced toward the long kitchen wall Hannah had painted white and loaded with family photos. Everybody signed the wall under their pictures, even the babies, with tiny inked-on foot prints that made the women coo. And truth be told, the guys, too.

The Prescott's and their mates were a sentimental lot. They knew what was important in life: family and friends, and time together.

"Right. You know who we are. The rest of the family are arriving later. You want to stay and meet them?"

She shook her head, quick and panicked, and hunched her shoulder farther inside her coat. It was too short in the sleeves, and one pocket had torn off and been repaired with superglue.

Keeping it deliberately low-key, he said, "Okay, your call. But eat before you go. Chili is my specialty. I should have won last year's cook-off but the other gal bribed the judges."

"Really?"

"No, I'm kidding. She won fair and square. But my wife says my chili is better. And who ya going to believe? Some impartial judges? Or my wife?" He got up. "Are you hungry?"

She jumped back, lifted her hands, went into a crouch. "I know karate!"

"Then I won't attack you. Because I don't know karate." He did, but in this case, one little white lie wouldn't hurt. He collected the bowls and headed for the pot, took the top off and stirred. Steam and chili-good fragrance rolled through the kitchen. "My wife would kill me if I didn't offer you some southern hospitality before you left." He ladled a bowl full and put it in front of the place across the table, then ladled another bowl full and put it in front of his place.

Her stomach growled loudly.

He pretended not to hear it. "Put your backpack by the door so you don't forget it on your way out." He got the bread out of the warm oven and put it on two plates with butter, set one on her place mat and one on his own, and took his seat again.

She hesitated another moment before sliding her backpack off her shoulders and leaning it against the wall. Then like a crab, she walked sideways into the room, taking the long way around to avoid his reach.

She was scared of him, but hunger was a powerful motivator.

She pulled out her chair, the scrape across the tile loud and slow. She seated herself, never taking her eyes off him.

He picked up his spoon and started eating. "What's your name?"

"I'm not telling you." Now she sounded sulky. Yeah, she was about twelve. Every one of his nieces sounded like that at that age.

"I have to call you something," he said.

"Call me �Ś Arabella. I've always wanted to be an Arabella."

By which he figured her name was Anna or Chris or Liz or Susan. "Okay, Arabella, here's the deal. You can mix anything in the chili you want. There's raw onions, cheese, chips, avocado, sour cream. You can even put in beans, if you insist on breaking my heart. But we eat in reverent silence in appreciation of my cooking. Okay?"

"Okay!" She picked up her spoon, then hesitated. "How do I know you didn't, um, put drugs�Ś?"

"Did you see me dish out the bowls?"

"Yes."

"Out of the same pot? And carry them to the table?"

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He looked at her.

She looked at him. She looked at the wall of pictures. She struggled out of her coat, shoveled beans and cheese and chips into her bowl of steaming chili and dug in.

He wondered where she came from. She had no Texas accent. Which meant nothing; Houston, San Antonio, Dallas �Ś they were all international cities, and a good part of their populations spoke pure Hollywood.

She could have been a Yankee, of course, but he didn't think so. Coming from the north would have taken her some time. She would have had some rough experiences. And Arabella acted like a kid, and not one that had seen action on the streets. Any street kid would have known he could have drugged her chili between the stove and the table.

He let her get a few bites in, figuring food would put her in a better mood, before he asked, "I saw the photo of you and your mother. Did she die?'

Arabella kept shoveling in huge spoonfuls of chili. "No, she's alive."

"She went to jail and you're a foster child?"

"No! My mom isn't in jail! She�Ś" Arabella caught herself. "It doesn't matter."

"I was just asking, because I was a foster child and it pretty much sucked."

Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. "You were?"

"Did you see the picture of me and my sisters?" He pointed at the photo, taken last year in Idaho on the Fourth of July: Hope, Pepper, Kate and him in rocking chairs on the wide front porch of Pepper's house. "Do I look like them?"

Arabella looked, too. The women were slim, attractive and Caucasian. He was part Latino, darkly tanned with black hair and green eyes. "No."

"I came to live with the Prescotts when I was twelve years old, and I lived with them until Mr. and Mrs. Prescott �" our parents �" were murdered and we were separated. It's a miracle we managed to find each other again."

Arabella's mouth hung open as she listened. "Your parents �" your foster parents �" were murdered?"

"It's true. If you don't believe me, you can look it up on your phone. Solving the crime a few years ago made quite a splash in the news."

Arabella put bread slathered with butter into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. In a nasty, sing-song voice, she said, "I left my phone on the floor and stepped on it. So I don't have a phone. We can't afford to get me a new phone. I should have taken better care of that one." She paused, then in her normal voice, she burst out, "It was an accident!"

Okay. He was starting to put together a picture. Arabella's mother was alive and held custody of her child, and her child was angry because they didn't have enough money to get her a replacement for something she had mistreated and now badly wanted. She and her mom were poor. They had had a fight. Arabella ran away�Ś

His phone buzzed on the table beside him. "Excuse me," he said to Arabella. "It's my brother-in-law."

Arabella looked at the wall. "Which one?"

"Teague."

"Kate's husband," Arabella said.

She must have really studied the family photos.

"That's right." Gabriel read the text.

You want me to use a picture of a picture to find out who this missing kid is? One day before Christmas?

Teague was a private investigator, a good one, and yes, he was probably justifiably annoyed at being put on the job now, while he was getting ready to drive Kate and the kids to Hobart.

Gabriel texted, Help me, Obi-wan-Kenobi. You're my only hope. He hated to tell Teague the bad stuff, but he had to fill him in. She's older than in the photo, about 12, Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes.

Height?

5'-5"+.

Send me a current picture.

Can't. She's ready to bolt.

Figure out a way. She's local?

Don't know.

That helps.

Gabriel sensed sarcasm.

Teague: Okay, missing 12-yr-old girl. I'll search local first, then widen the net. See you tonight. AND TAKE A PICTURE OF HER!

Gabriel looked up at Arabella.

Her wide-eyed terror was back.

"We're coordinating all the food for Christmas, which is no small task. Seven families, five with two or more children, and a couple of those with kids of their own, and some friends who are visiting�Ś" He was babbling, so he changed the subject. "I don't understand why you didn't eat stuff out of the freezer. We always keep great soups and stews and stuff in there."

"My mother taught me never to take anything I can't pay for. I figured the canned soup was, you know, less important. Less expensive. "

So Arabella had a mama with strict morals. More and more interesting.

She looked into her bowl like it was tea leaves and she was seeing his future. "I used the shower, but I cleaned up after myself." She took a long breath. "And I broke the latch on a window to get in. I'll pay you back for that, I swear I will. Some day."

"Okay, I'll hold you to that."

She shot him a mutinous glance.

He pretended not to see it. "Do you mind if I take your picture?"

"Why?" Smart kid. Instantly suspicious.

"Hannah likes a picture of all our guests." He pointed at the wall. "I'll take your picture, print it, we'll hang it up and you can sign the wall. You've been here what? A couple of days? You owe us. I think you could do that for Hannah."

"I suppose I could."

"Stand over there by the stove. Pick up the lid off the pot of chili and pretend like you're stirring it. And smile. It's my chili, so it's important that you smile."

The kid got up, went over to her backpack, and dug out a brush. She brushed her hair, then braided it into a smooth braid and pulled it over her shoulder. Then, by God, she went over, lifted the heavy orange lid off the broad cooking pot, leaned over the chili and took a deep breath.

But when she tried to smile, her mouth crumpled. "If you don't mind, Mr. Prescott, I don't feel like smiling."

He hesitated, then nodded. "I don't suppose you do." In fact, in her eyes he saw defiance and fear �Ś and sadness. She had good reason; she had run away, it was the day before Christmas, and she was alone.

"I could rub my stomach so everyone would know that it's yummy," she suggested.

"No, then everyone will think you feel sick. Let's just assume the people who see this wall will know that you love my chili." He snapped photos, then showed them to her. Together they decided which one was the best, and he stood with her and sent it to the Wi-Fi printer upstairs. "Let me go get it," he said. "We'll put it in a frame �" Hannah has extra frames in the pantry �" and you can sign the wall. While I'm gone, would you load the dishwasher?"

She looked at him.

"I made dinner," he reminded her. "That's fair."

"My mom says the same thing." She picked up her bowl and rinsed it.

"I'll be right back." He headed upstairs to the office.

The photo was printed and waiting for him.

He attached a digital copy of the photo and texted it to Teague. Here's the current. Hope that helps.

He got back a text applauding him, but Teague warned, I can't find her in Austin or San Antonio. Widening my search, but �" find out where she's from!

Easy for you to say, Gabriel texted back, and headed downstairs.

He was relieved to find Arabella still in the kitchen, cleaning the stove. "You made a mess," she said accusingly.

"No one will let me cook unless I'm the only one here and have to clean up after myself. You should stick around, though. Nessa and Mac are driving in from New Orleans, and they'll bring pralines. Have you ever had genuine New Orleans pralines?"

Arabella watched him as if he was Willy Wonka. "No, but I bet I would like them."

"The best sugary candy with pecans ever." She wasn't from New Orleans, probably not from anywhere in the South.

He stuck the photo into a black-rimmed frame. He showed her. "Good picture of you!"

"My mom would like �"" She clamped her mouth shut.

He pretended not to notice. "While I was a teenager, and later when I was tracking down my brothers, I spent a lot of holidays alone. That sucked. This week, this house will be overflowing, but that's so much better than empty."

His confiding of his past seemed to work on her, because she said, "When I was three, we moved to Philly with my father."

Philadelphia! The kid was from Philadelphia.

He would get that off to Teague right away. But first �Ś listen to what she had to say. See what other clues she would drop�Ś

She continued, "Then my father left us for my first stepmother, and Mom had to get a job �" she's a bookkeeper �" and we've been there ever since. The only time we go home to Denver is if my grandfather sends us plane tickets, and he's cranky and he's not made of money �" that's what he says, he's not made of money �" so usually we spend the holidays alone."

"That's hard, being alone for the holidays."

She shrugged. "It's okay. This year we had Thanksgiving dinner at the truck stop. The food was good, and they gave us lots of leftovers to take home. A trucker bought our dinner and left before we could thank him."

"There are some nice people in this world."

"That's what my mom said." Arabella stared at him as if she wanted to hit him for reminding her what her mother had said. Then, in a nasty tone, she asked, "Where's your wife? Where's Hannah?"

"Hannah had to work. She's a resident in pediatrics and the holidays are always hell on the staff and the patients. That's why I came early, to set up and make it easier for her when she gets here." Then, for no reason he could see, he added, "And I needed to be alone to think."

"Oh. I see. I'm in your way." Arabella turned toward her backpack. "I'll get my things and leave."

"Don't be so touchy! You're easy to talk to."

She kept walking.

"I know. Boo-hoo. Gabriel Prescott has problems."

She slung her backpack on her shoulder.

He followed. "I get that attitude. I do. But I had a rough ride in my early life."

She stopped, back to him.

"Believe me, I've been rich and I've been poor, and rich is better. But it's not everything."

She turned around. "Don't whine!"

He shut up. He might have been whining, but he got her to stay.

"So what's wrong with you?" she asked briskly.

What was wrong? Lately, everything had seemed �Ś difficult, like he was on the edge of a precipice and had to jump one way or the other, but he was afraid of where he'd land. He was afraid he'd break something �Ś or someone.

He sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking. You don't want to know."

"So you think I'm like the people who don't care?"

"Pretty much." He got a picture hanger and a little hammer out of the kitchen junk drawer. "Where do you want your photo?"

He could tell she did not like his attitude. She did not want to be uncaring and hateful.

He wasn't normally the kind of guy who confided his problems to anybody, much less in a runaway kid, but she needed to think about the way she was acting, and how it affected others. And from the frown that puckered her brow, and the little glances she shot at him, he thought he'd made his point.

She studied the wall, then showed him a blank spot at the end of a long line of the annual family portraits. Hannah would not be happy �" she was saving that place for this year's picture. But she would understand the necessity of letting Arabella have her way, and he knew it would never move. Hannah had a thing about leaving the photos in their place.

So he pounded the nail into the wall and hung the photo. "Let me get a pen." In the pantry, he pulled out his phone, turned off the sound �" things were getting intense, and Arabella didn't need to know it �" then he texted Teague the brief and telling message, Philadelphia.

He stepped back into the kitchen.

His phone vibrated.

Arabella was lingering outside the pantry. He didn't dare glance at it.

Earnestly she said, "I do want to know why you need to think. I do want to know what's wrong."

He hadn't been able to confide in anyone else but, God knows why, he told her. "I just�Ś my wife and I can't have a baby." Funny. It still hurt to say that.

"Oh." Arabella blinked in surprise. "How come?"

How to say this? "I don't have what it takes to make a baby." Specifically, the doctor said he didn't have active sperm. "And Hannah can't carry a child to term."

"Do you want a baby?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, she does. I guess we do."

"Are you sure? I've worked in the nursery at church." Arabella wrinkled her nose. "They really smell bad sometimes."

"I know. I've got more nieces and nephews than any sane man deserves. Good kids, most of them. I like them. I do." Again his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"But kids cost a lot of money and they take a lot of time. They're more trouble than they're worth, and they break your heart." Arabella nodded wisely. Sadly.

Uh-oh. "Who told you that?"

"My mom. She said that. She doesn't love me because I'm �Ś she said she would be better off without me."

"She said that to you?" Another vibration in his pocket.

"Yes." Arabella seemed very certain. "Where's the pen? For me to sign the wall?"

Shit. He had forgotten the pen. "What color do you want?"

"Red!"

"For Christmas. Good idea. I didn't grab that one. Just a minute." He headed back into the pantry, congratulated himself on a good save, and glanced at his phone.

A text from Kate. She said, Kids and I leaving Austin now. Be there in two hours. Keep her there.

He knew better. The way Kate drove, it would be an hour and a half.

She must be coming down early, without Teague, to help with Arabella. The women had probably gotten together and decided he couldn't handle her alone.

He thought he was doing okay. But maybe they were right.

He expected the second text to be from Teague.

It was from his half-brother, Mac MacNaught. Got Philly covered, it said.

Okay, Mac made sense. He was from Philadelphia, his banks were based there, and he had a lot of influence. But if the story of Gabriel finding Arabella had jumped from his foster family, the Prescotts, to his half-brothers, then everybody was involved now.

This was getting complicated.

The third text was from Teague. Found Mom.

What did that mean?

Arabella stuck her head in the door. "So what's the problem?"

He looked up guiltily. "Nothing. Why?"

"Can't you adopt?"

He slid his phone in his pocket, grabbed a handful of pens out of the box and handed them to her. "Hannah wants to."

"You �Ś don't like foster kids?"

"I like all kids!"

"Sure. I believe you." Arabella looked down at the pens in her hand. She selected the red one. She handed the others back.

The phone rang. He glanced at it. "It's Hannah." He answered. "Hey, sweetheart, what's up?"

Hannah sounded amused. "So it's not raccoons in the house."

News zipped around the Prescott family at the speed of light. "What can I say? I was wrong."

"You really were. How is it going?"

"Pretty good, I think. How about you?"

"We're doing the final assessment on my patient."

"She's going to make it?"

"She is definitely going to make it."

"Thank God." He meant it. "Dumb kid, stealing her mother's car and running into a policeman!" He meant that, too.

"She's fourteen. That's the definition of idiot."

He thought about the challenge waiting for him, keeping Arabella busy long enough for Kate to arrive, and for Teague or Mac or whoever to locate Arabella's mother. "Twelve's not so hot, either."

She chuckled. "I love you. I'll call you. Take care of that little girl for us!"

"I love you, too. And will do." He hung up, smiling.

Arabella's eyes were wide and awed. "You told her you loved her."

"She's my wife."

"When I have to visit my dad, he never says he loves me. He told me men don't say that."

Gabriel bit his tongue. Probably it was best not to snap, Then your dad is stupid. Instead he picked his way through an emotional minefield. "My early days were uncertain. I didn't know who my father was, or that I had four half-brothers. The Prescotts were my foster family, and they filled a place in my heart, they taught me to love. But when our parents were murdered, we were separated and we spent years trying to find each other. I learned from all that."

"What did you learn?"

"Life is short. Every day is uncertain. You never know when someone you love might disappear out of your life. They die. Or they walk away. Or they are taken unwillingly." Oh, no. He was feeling kind of choked up. He cleared his throat and continued, "So every chance I get, I tell Hannah I love her. I tell my sisters and my sister-in-laws, I tell my nephews and nieces, I even tell my brothers. And they tell me. Us guys, we usually smack each other a little when we do, but we still say it. So �Ś your dad isn't the final word on whether or not men say, 'I love you.' Some men do."

He could see she was thinking about it, and thinking hard. But as per usual with all women, he was wrong about her real concern. "It's true. People do disappear. People die."

So the message she picked up wasn't, Real men say I love you. It was, Life is uncertain.

That was okay. That was probably the one she needed to hear now.

Arabella's jaw squared. "But she told me I was holding her back. She said if she didn't have me, she could go to college and get a better job, and she'd have money, and she'd have time to do what she wanted."

Gabriel was taken aback. "Your mom said that stuff? Wow. That's harsh."

"Why would a mother say those things to her daughter?"

"I don't know. What did you say to her?" He meant �" what did she say after her mom told her so many terrible, hurtful truths.

Arabella didn't take it that way. "I didn't say anything to her. I never said anything that would set her off like that! Why would you think I said something?"

Ohhh. She had said something. Her and her mother had had one hell of a fight. "Your mom takes you to karate, and she taught you not to take things without paying, to clean up after yourself. I'll bet she makes you do your homework and set goals."

"Yeah. So?"

"Just �Ś from what you've said, your mother's a good mother."

Arabella's brown eyes fixed on him, narrow and accusing. "You're on her side."

Tactical error! "I'm not on anybody's side. I'm the guy who's scared of adopting a baby, remember?"

She stepped back. She was going to leave. He knew she was going to leave.

Then his phone vibrated again. He glanced at it, then brightened. "The Christmas tree is here!"

She stopped her retreat. "What? What Christmas tree?"

"It's Christmas. We have to have a tree. The delivery guys are coming up the driveway right now." He hustled into the living room and flung open both front doors.

She looked. "Holy sh�Śholy cow."

Four guys were driving up pulling a flatbed trailer with an eighteen foot tall Douglas fir tied on it.

"I know," Gabriel said. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It's big!"

As pleased as any five-year-old, he grinned down into her awed face. "The living room has a twenty foot tall ceiling. What else are we going to do to fill the space?"

The guys were professionals. Within an hour they had set up the tree in front of the tall front windows, strung the lights and decorated the top twelve feet. The bottom eight feet, Gabriel explained to Arabella, was for tonight, for the family to decorate.

As the guys left, he tipped them fifty dollars apiece and wished them a merry Christmas.

They enthusiastically returned the greeting, and headed out into the chilly afternoon.

Gabriel shut the doors behind them, then moved to an open box of decorations. He chose a gaudy sparkling mirrored star with large plastic red rhinestones and dangled it in the air. "I always sneak an ornament on early. It's my own personal tradition. Do you want to pick out something to put on the tree, too?"

"Can I? I'm not one of the family."

"We're friends. Aren't we?"

She thought about it very seriously. "Yes. I think we are." She knelt down and sorted through the box, then pulled out a long garland of silver bells. "Can I put this on?"

She had unerringly chosen Hannah's favorite ornament.

"You are the perfect person to put that on the tree," he said.

He hung his star at eye level.

She strung the bells toward the bottom, and explained that whenever someone brushed against those branches, the bells would ring.

Hannah always put them in the same place for the same reason.

Stepping back, he looked up at the star at the very top of the tree, and sighed in satisfaction. "I love Christmas. I love everything about it. When I was little, when I was with my mother, Christmas made her meaner. It was the time of year when she yelled more, hit me harder, said horrible things."

In a small voice, Arabella said, "My mom tells me to be careful of the words I use, that once I say something cruel, I can never take it back."

"That is so true. My wife says, 'Be careful to make your words sweet and tender, because tomorrow you may have to eat them.' Same thing, different way of saying it."

Same small voice. "Yeah�Ś Why did your mother hit you? Why did she say mean things to you?"

"She hated my father for not loving her, and hated me for being my father's child." He sat down on the rug, leaned against the couch and looked up at the tree. He seldom talked about his childhood to anybody. Yes, it had made him the man he was, but it was the past. Yet he wanted Arabella to know how lucky she was to have a mother like hers, and how very, very much she did not want to go into the foster care program.

"But she slept with him to make you. You were her kid, too." Arabella's voice rose in indignation �Ś and hurt.

"You're pretty smart for a ten-year-old."

"I'm almost twelve!"

"Of course. I should have realized that." Good guess on his part. "I have thought my mother was angry at herself because she screwed up her life and she was the only one to blame."

"It sucks when you're the only one to blame," Arabella muttered.

"More than anything in the world," he said fervently.

She seated herself beside him, leaned against the couch, slumped down and stared up at the tree.

He could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head.

"Tell me about your mother. What happened to her?"

He didn't want to keep talking about it. He didn't like remembering those times. But this was a good cause, so he talked. "My mother didn't want me to enjoy any residual Christmas joy. Then, when I was a foster kid �Ś trust me. Even in the good homes, you always know you're not theirs, especially at Christmas time. They give you weird gifts. One time I got used underwear."

"Ew!"

"Yeah. I wore them, too, because my other underwear was too small and so old the elastic had given out. Best Christmas present I got was a snow globe �" nice snow globe, with a snow man and sparkly snow. I really liked it �" that had obviously been bought on clearance, because it had the previous year's date on it. The real kids in the family made fun of it, and of me for liking it, but even that was okay. Next time I changed homes, I tried hard to keep it intact. The father in that home was an alcoholic. He slammed the trunk lid on my backpack, broke the snow globe, drenched all my clothes and his car. That made him mad, so he hit me, and he hit his wife who was taking in foster kids so he'd have the money to drink. Then he hit me again and made me change into the wet clothes. In the parking lot. It was January, and I damned near died of pneumonia before a social worker came to the house to see why I wasn't in school, realized I was sick and took me to the hospital."

Arabella looked pale and ill. "But what happened to your mother? Your own mother? The one who hated Christmas?"

Of course she wanted to know. He'd gone this far. He supposed he could tell her. But she was already so shocked. He couldn't add more to her distress, so he kept his voice steady and detached. "She abandoned me when I was four."

"Just �Ś dumped you?"

"Like garbage." Okay. That was not so detached. Maybe he still had issues. Maybe he should turn the conversation to her. "From what you've said, it doesn't sound like your mother thinks you're garbage."

"No! What an awful thing to say. No!"

"The thing is, I'd hate to see you become a foster child. It's a tough, unloving environment. Why don't you consider going home? Other than those things she said to you, your mom sounds like a really nice person. Maybe she had a bad day. I'll bet she's sorry for what she said to you."

"I can't go home." Arabella sat up straight. "She doesn't want me to come back."

"Why not?"

Words came in a rush. "Because I told her �Ś I told her �Ś I told her I hated her, that she was an awful, selfish mom. I said I was tired of being poor all the time and never having what the other kids have. I said I was tired of being teased for wearing stuff from the consignment store. I said if she worked two jobs, we wouldn't have to live in such a crummy neighborhood and if she'd been a good wife, my dad wouldn't have screwed around with my first stepmother and we'd still have money. I s�Śsaid�Ś" She struggled to speak against threatening tears.

He tried to help. "You said mean things to your mother."

"Y�Śyes! And she'll never forgive me. Never ever, and I'm so ashamed." Putting her face into her hands, Arabella cried pitifully.

In between the sobbing, Gabriel heard the occasional, "I'm bad." "I'm stupid." "I'm mean."

Finally, when she wound down a little, he got up, got a box of tissue, came and sat down next to her and stuffed one into her hand.

She blew her nose noisily. "She said she wants me to have a cell phone so she can keep in contact with me, make sure I'm safe all the time, but we can't afford it. After that I said she was selfish and she hated me. Then she explained we couldn't afford the phone because I have to get b�Śbraces."

He winced. "Braces instead of a cell phone. That does suck."

"Then I felt sort of �Ś guilty, and I said all that other stuff, and her eyes got really dark blue with rage. She was scary. She said her stuff back, and she hurt my feelings. That's why I ran away. I kept thinking �Ś it served her right to be alone, and she'd be sorry if something happened to me, and I never wanted to see her again." Arabella rubbed her denim-clad legs as if they ached. "But now, I've been alone for three days, and I keep thinking back, and right before her eyes got so furious �Ś she had tears in them. I hurt her feelings. I know how hard she tries. I really do." Her voice rose to a wail. "Why did I say that stuff? What's the matter with me?"

No wonder she didn't want to smile. Not only was she alone, she was carrying a load of remorse.

"Do you want to know what I think?" he asked.

She hesitated long enough that he grinned.

She was twelve. Of course she didn't care what he thought. But he was going to tell her anyway. "You're not stupid, and you're not mean, and you're not bad. You lost your temper and mouthed off. You blamed your mom when you knew it wasn't her fault. You made a mistake. That doesn't make you stupid. That makes you human. And you're sorry, which makes you smart."

"Yeah." She sniffled pitifully.

"In my life, I've had times when I've said the wrong thing. I've trusted the wrong person. I almost lost Hannah, the woman I love more than anyone in the world, because I acted badly. It took a while, and I had to grovel, but she did forgive me."

"Did she?" Arabella sounded hopeful.

He got soft and mushy, as he always did when he talked about Hannah. "She forgave me with all her heart."

In a switch to total practicality, Arabella asked, "Then why won't you get a baby with her? Are you afraid that you're like your parents?"

He'd been playing the role of wise, omnipotent counselor, and with a single question, Arabella filleted him like a trout.

Are you afraid you're like your parents?

God. He felt so stupid. She was right. Why hadn't he seen the truth? That was exactly what he was afraid of. "Yes. Yes. Yes. What if I'm like my father, so uncaring I can father five sons and not love any of them? What if I'm like my mother, seething with hate, cruelty and abuse?"

"You're not like that now," she pointed out.

"Everyone says, 'It's different when it's your own.' They mean I'll love my own kids more if I change their diapers and rock them to sleep and tell them stories. But what if that means I'll hate my own kids because they're always there and talking and there's never time alone and I have all that responsibility and I'm a bad parent?"

"Are you a bad person?"

"No." He was sure of that.

"Then you can't be a bad parent. You might have bad days, or say the wrong thing, but if you love your family, they'll help you. You just have to try to do the right thing."

Whoa. "You're pretty smart."

"Yes. This running away thing has taught me a lot." She shivered. "You're right. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be a foster kid."

"I think your mom is probably worried to death about you. Don't you?"

"No. She said she doesn't want me anymore."

"I think she may have said more than she meant to. Like you did. But since you said it first, you'll have to apologize first."

Arabella curled into a tighter ball.

"I had to apologize to Hannah before she would forgive me," he reminded her. "If I can do it, you can do it."

She turned her head and pinned him with a critical gaze. "You're right. I almost called Mama on your phone and asked if I could come home. I dialed and everything. I wanted to, so bad. But I hung up because I thought when she heard my voice she would hang up, and I couldn't stand that."

"You should have talked to her. I'll bet that would be the best Christmas gift you could give her."

"I could call her now."

He got up, grabbed the home phone off the table and handed it over.

Arabella eagerly dialed her number.

It rang and rang.

When voice mail picked up, her face fell and she handed the phone back to Gabriel.

He hugged her shoulders. "We'll get you back to her, sweetie."

"But not by Christmas," she said dolefully.

He wanted to assure her they would. But he couldn't, not with travel as busy as it was today.

Arabella started sniffling again.

Then with a bang, the front door blew open, and Kate and her three kids ran in on the chill north wind. Kate was brisk and efficient, pretty and kind. She opened her arms and embraced Gabriel. She kissed Arabella like she was a beloved relative, and wiped the remnants of tears off her cheeks.

Her children stood under the tree and squealed with excitement, then Kate chased them all upstairs to unpack. Arabella went too, looking back at Gabriel, then up at the kids, then back at Gabriel.

He made a shooing motion, and when they had all disappeared, he turned to Kate. "What news?"

"Can you believe it? The kid stowed away on a plane from Philadelphia to Dallas."

Incredulous, Gabriel asked, "How does anybody stow away on a plane these days?"

"According to the airport cameras, she crowded up close to a family and got through security, then boarded early with them, then sat in a middle seat in the back row. The plane wasn't full. No one was in the seat. She sailed right through." Kate's blue eyes snapped with excitement.

Gabriel tried to say something that made sense of the situation, then faltered to a stop. Nothing made sense of this situation. "How the hell did she get out here?"

"I imagine she pulled the same stunt on a bus to Hobart. I do know she caught a ride to the ranch with Melissa Cunningham." In a droll voice, Kate said, "Melissa thought she was one of ours."

"Melissa Cunningham. Of course. The town busybody."

"Susan's mother was frantic, calling the police, appealing to her ex-husband �" who is a spectacularly uncaring jerk �" trying to talk to that guy on the news who fixes everybody's problems." Kate pushed her hair off her forehead. "Then she got a phone call, a hang-up, from Texas, and figured her daughter had to be in Texas."

"Arabella tried to call her."

"Arabella? Her name is Susan Kaya."

"Susan. Yeah. Of course. Susan." Nice, plain name. "You better tell your kids not to call her Susan, or she'll know we know�Ś"

"I told my kids you had a young girl visiting you, that she was far from home, that it was the holidays, and they should treat her like a friend."

"You have good kids."

"I do." Kate whipped out her phone and sent a text. "There. Now everyone knows they should call her Arabella."

Kate never wasted time. She always got things done.

Kate continued, "Mrs. Kaya flew to Dallas. About the time she was landing, Mac found Susan's photo in missing persons and traced Mrs. Kaya. He had to pull some strings, but of course, being Mac�Ś"

With a sense of growing relief, Gabriel said, "He succeeded."

"Right now, she's landing in San Antonio with Hope and Zack and their kids, and Devlin and Meadow and their kids."

Something tense inside him relaxed. "All we have to do is keep Arabella around until she gets here."

A huge crash sounded upstairs.

"The twins probably just broke both her legs. That'll keep her here." Kate stepped to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, "Don't make me come up there!"

A chorus of voices. "No, ma'am!"

Loud and clear, she said, "If you're not unpacked when your cousins get here, you can't help decorate the tree!"

No answer.

"I can't hear you," she yelled.

"Yes, ma'am!"

She turned to face Gabriel, all sweet-faced and graceful, and in his toughest Texas drawl, he said, "You look like such a pleasant li'l thing."

Kate batted her eyes at him. "I am. I'm also a television reporter who covers national politics and, even worse, Texas politics. Don't kid yourself, Gabriel. I eat nails for breakfast."

Gabriel's extended family was packed with successful people, all determined to get their own ways. It caused some almighty loud battles occasionally, but when the dust settled, everyone was still friends, and the children were all well-loved, bright and happy.

"I have to start dinner." Kate headed into the kitchen.

He followed. "I made chili."

"Oh, no!" She walked more quickly. She stepped into the kitchen, stopped and looked around in amazement. "Who cleaned up for you?"

She didn't even for one moment imagine he had cleaned up after himself. "I could have done it."

She ignored that. "Must have been Susan. Arabella. She's a good kid."

He gave up. He wasn't going to win this one. "She is."

The front door swung open. The cold wind rushed in. The bells on the tree chimed. A babble of voices and a clatter of footsteps brought another rush of family into the house.

Gabriel headed out into the living room and collided with Roberto and Brandi and their children. Brandi and the kids screamed with excitement and he got hugs and kisses. Roberto embraced him and kissed his cheeks, too �" Roberto was an Italian count and Gabriel's half-brother �" then faced the stairs where Kate's children were launching themselves at him. "Bella bambini!" He kissed and hugged, then turned to Susan who lingered on the last step. He took her chin and looked into her face. "I don't remember you, and I always remember a beautiful woman. You must be this friend of Gabriel's I have heard so much about."

She nodded, her jaw dropped, her gaze fixed on Roberto, as she fell in love for the very first time. Without even trying, Roberto had that effect on women from newborns to 100 years old. Gabriel knew it was okay; Roberto was a good, safe crush for an adolescent.

They barely got the luggage into the living room when Mac and Nessa and their kids arrived. More cold wind. More bells. More greetings. More laughter. More open affection.

They got the luggage in and the big double doors shut, and as Nessa hugged Gabriel, she said in a low tone, "Mac got me a full-length down coat for Christmas, for Philadelphia when we visit, and I convinced him it would be okay if we gave it to Susan so she'd have a present to unwrap. She needs it more than me."

Gabriel said, "I heard from a good source" �" from Mac �" "that the coat was a surprise."

"It was supposed to be," she conceded. "He's not very good at keeping secrets."

Or Nessa was good at prying them out of him.

She continued, "Also, he's got an opening at the bank for a bookkeeper that will be a substantial raise over what Mrs. Kaya makes."

"She wants to go to college."

"That's good. Mac loves ambitious people. We'll help her with that."

"We can all give her a hand financially." Gabriel didn't ask how Mac had found out where Mrs. Kaya worked or how much she made. Mac was a ruthless, powerful son-of-a-bitch, a man so arrogantly confident he had almost lost Nessa before he won her. Only her love and the love of her family �" and the good will of the city of New Orleans �" had saved him. Gabriel was grateful to Nessa; if not for her, Mac would be a damned uncomfortable brother to be around.

Gabriel kept an eye on Arabella �" he couldn't think of her as Susan quite yet �" and every time she tried to edge away, the family would pull her back in. The kid didn't realize what she was up against with the whole platoon of his family fighting to keep her with them.

Hope's daughter and her husband and their two-month-old daughter arrived from California.

Cooing ensued.

Pepper and Dan and their kids arrived on another rush of cold wind, and while Pepper was embracing Gabriel, she murmured, "The rest of the family just pulled up and Mrs. Kaya is getting out of the car."

The adults and the older children were smiling, vibrating with anticipation.

The younger children picked up the excited atmosphere, and they bounced around the huge room as if they wore pogo sticks on their feet.

Gabriel called, "Arabella! Come and see what we got you!"

Surprised, she looked around. When she saw everyone watching, she frowned, wary and worried.

He went to the double front doors and flung them wide.

The cold wind blew in, rattling the branches on the Christmas tree, setting the silver bells to chiming.

For a moment, all he could see was a great mass of beaming faces. Then the crowd parted, and a woman, a thirty-year-old version of Arabella, stepped forward. This was Mrs. Kaya. This was Arabella's mother.

She saw Arabella.

Arabella saw her.

They looked at each other. Just looked at each other.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Then Arabella burst into tears and ran to her mother.

Mrs. Kaya met her halfway.

Mother and daughter hugged, kissed. Bits of sentences burbled forth. Words overlapped words. "Love you." "I'm sorry." "Scared me to death." "I was so scared." "We were doing okay, weren't we?" "Never ever again." "My fault. I should never have said�Ś" "So sorry. I should never have said�Ś" "Love you." "Always." "Together." Both of them were crying. Mrs. Kaya dug in her coat and pulled out a wad of tissue �" did mothers automatically come equipped with tissues? �" and mother and daughter wiped their eyes and blew their noses.

Then they embraced again, and rocked back and forth in silent joy.

Gabriel looked around, blinking at the mist that may have gathered in his eyes.

His family watched the affectionate reunion, then turned to each other and hugged each other, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters.

Gabriel stood apart, happy and yet �Ś a little alone in the crowd.

Suddenly Arabella looked around for him, and when she located him, she tugged her mother over to meet him. "Mom, this is my friend, Gabriel Prescott. He fed me, and he �Ś he helped me think about stuff."

Mrs. Kaya took his hand and pressed it in both of hers. Her eyes were damp and her voice broke as she said, "Mr. Prescott, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for Susan."

Susan said, "Mr. Prescott, you can call me Arabella."

He grinned and ruffled her hair. "You will always be Arabella to me." To Mrs. Kaya, he said, "I just kept her safe here until you could arrive."

"You did so much more than that. You and your whole family." Mrs. Kaya looked like she was going to cry again. "I will always keep you in my prayers. Always."

"You'll join us for Christmas, I hope," he said.

"We c�Ścouldn't impose." Mrs. Kaya's voice wobbled.

In his beautiful, Italian-accented voice, Roberto said, "It is no imposition. Guests are a blessing on our family!"

Arabella sighed in adoration.

Like her daughter, Mrs. Kaya looked at him and promptly fell in love.

Gabriel nudged Arabella. "Hey. What about me? I rescued you."

Arabella nodded solemnly. "Mom, he fed me the best chili in the world. He told me it was the best."

The family laughed.

She took his other hand. "And he talked to me about �Ś stuff. Important stuff."

"We have a lot in common," he told her.

"We do." She crooked her finger at him. He leaned down and she whispered, " I think you'll make a great father."

He thought about it, about the things they'd discussed and how he'd handled this emergency. He thought about how much he liked children �" he loved them, too, but he liked them, learned from them. And he thought that as long as he remembered to listen�Ś

When he met Arabella, he had recognized the opportunity for what it was �" a chance to help a mixed-up runaway.

Yes, he had helped her. But she had helped him, too. The truth was �Ś she had been God's Christmas gift to him. He nodded. "Thank you," he said to her. "You're right. I will be a good father."

Roberto cleared his throat meaningfully.

Gabriel straightened.

Gabriel looked at him, looked at all the sly grins directed at him, looked back at Roberto.

Roberto tilted his head toward the open doorway.

The family crowded there moved aside.

The bells on the tree chimed in the wind.

And there she stood, bags in hand: his Hannah. Smiling at him.

His heart leaped. "My God," he said; a prayer of thanksgiving. He walked forward, arms outstretched.

She dropped her bags with a thud and walked into his embrace. He kissed her, long, passionately, and reveled in the knowledge that, once again, he held the woman of his heart close at Christmas. When he lifted his head, she laughed and gasped. "So you're glad to see me?"

He leaned his forehead on hers and looked into her eyes. "Always. You didn't have to operate?"

"That girl woke up wanting pizza and her mommy. We're not going to have to do surgery. She's going to be fine." Hannah glowed with satisfaction. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tighter. "All my Christmas prayers are coming true."

"I think you're right." He lifted his head and winked at Arabella, then turned back to Hannah. "All of your Christmas prayers are coming true �Ś Mommy."

"Really?" She caught his face in her hands. "Are you sure you're ready to become a father?"

"I have it on good authority I will be a great father."

Hannah took a long breath. "I know you will. What do you think? Shall we try for a baby? Or would you like an older child?"

"If we get a baby, we could name her Arabella. But we'd have to wait for a baby. Maybe we should start with an older brother or sister."

"Maybe we could get a baby and its older siblings. A little family that needs us."

They smiled at each other, then faced the relatives. "Congratulate us," Gabriel said. "This year, we are going to be parents. We are going to adopt our own child, or two, or three!"

And at last, Arabella smiled.





Christina Dodd here: Thank you for enjoying GABRIEL'S GIFT: A Lost Hearts Christmas Epilogue, and I hope you'll take this opportunity to join my mailing list, http://christinadodd.com so I can keep you informed of books sales and new releases.



Gabriel is featured in the Lost Hearts series, which I published in e-book enhanced it with bonus material: synopses, new chapters and author commentary exclusive in these e-book editions. The three Lost Hearts books are:





JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

Mystery and misery scarred their young lives. Three sisters and their foster brother, torn apart by tragedy and scattered across the country to grow up alone, without the loving family they had known�Ś

As Hope Prescott searches for her family, she gathers friends around her, including Griswald, gruff old butler for wealthy Zack Givens. Meeting Griswald is a shock; he is neither gruff nor old, but a powerful, handsome man. In fact, he is Zack Givens, cold, heartless �" and charmed by the artless young woman who falls in love with the humble man she imagines him to be. When she discovers Zack’s secret and faces his betrayal, she leaves him without a backward glance. How far will Zack have to go to prove he is the man of her dreams?



ALMOST LIKE BEING IN LOVE

Witness to a brutal murder, Pepper Prescott flees to the only place she’s safe�"a small mountain town & the arms of the man she left behind. But Dan’s time in the Special Forces has left him wounded, body & soul, & harboring a dangerous secret. Can they learn to trust�"and love�"before murder & treachery finds them?



CLOSE TO YOU

When Kate is threatened by a malicious stalker, she hires a bodyguard, but the cool, blade-sharp intensity of Teague Ramos both menaces & attracts. When her own relentless investigation unlocks dangerous secrets, she & Teague go on a high-stakes chase that may lead to the family she has never known�"or into the trap of a ruthless killer.



Gabriel is also featured in the Fortune Hunters series. The four books are:



TROUBLE IN HIGH HEELS

A crazy family, a wild affair�Śand the jewel heist of the century.



TONGUE IN CHIC

Breaking into Devlin Fitzwilliam’s mansion to steal a priceless painting is a dangerous move. Getting caught and pretending to have amnesia is madness. Outsmarted, outmaneuvered, and in danger, Meadow must decide who to trust �Ś with her life.



THIGH HIGH

Two eccentric aunts, a series of quirky bank robberies, the madness and forbidden pleasures of Mardi Gras �Ś Nessa can handle all that. Then Jeremiah MacNaught comes to town. He takes too many chances. He asks dangerous questions. And when he goes to Nessa for the answers, they discover an attraction that defies all sense.



DANGER IN A RED DRESS (Gabriel's story):

Taut suspense unites and concludes both the Lost Texas Hearts and the Fortune Hunters series in one exhilarating climax!





For you collectors, enjoy LADY IN BLACK,

a full-length romantic suspense about a straitlaced lady-butler, a powerful billionaire, and kidnapping, conflict, and steamy sex in the shower�Ś



Margaret Guarneri has found sanctuary managing the home of a rich, elderly man�Śuntil the day he receives a threat of kidnapping. Enter Reid Donovan, dynamic, wealthy in his own right, and suspicious of the gorgeous young widow who so diligently cares for his grandfather.

Distrust, extortion, and the shadows of the past drive Reid and Margaret apart. Wild, uninhibited passion brings them together. They must learn to trust each other before they can vanquish a killer�Śand in the process, they discover a passion more powerful than anything either of them could imagine. But has love come too late for the handsome billionaire and his lady in black?

Buy LADY IN BLACK for your Kindle!

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In 2014, with THE LISTENER, Christina Dodd introduced you to the world of Virtue Falls, Washington and its wonderful, eccentric characters.

If you knew someone was going to commit a murder, what would you do?



Order THE LISTENER: A Virtue Falls Short story, only 99 cents!!

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Enjoy an excerpt of VIRTUE FALLS, the first full-length novel in Christina Dodd's acclaimed Virtue Falls series.



Twenty-three years ago, Misty Banner was slashed to death in her home in Virtue Falls, Washington. Her husband was convicted of the murder. Their four year old daughter Elizabeth witnessed the crime, but has no memory of the killing. Now, two decades later, Elizabeth is back, her ex-husband, Garik has followed her, and trouble is about to find them�Ś



Elizabeth looked into his face. She pushed his hair off his forehead, and whispered, �śGarik.” She wanted to say more: take me, love me, need me. And she knew he would do all those things. But talk to me? Not so much.

�śIn my truck,” he murmured, �śthere’s a blanket. We could put it on the seat, and I could take off your clothes and kiss you here” �" he touched her mouth �" �śand here” �" he touched her breast �" �śand�Śhere.” He slid his index finger between her legs and put slow, hot pressure on her clit.

She tilted her head back, seduced, tempted, on the verge of coming, shuddering with �Ś No. Wait. She opened her eyes, saw the green pines trembling against the blue sky �" and realized that wasn’t the earth moving for her.

It was moving.

�śEarthquake,” he said hoarsely. �śEarthquake!”

She jumped up, scrambled away from him, gave him room to stand.

He vaulted to his feet, too, his mouth tight with tension, his hands held at ready for battle. But what would he battle here and now? If the walls of the canyon came down, he could do nothing about it.

The walls did fail: plumes of dirt rose up and down the river as landslides bore witness to the instability of the region.

The shaking increased.

Roughly he pulled her close, watching, prepared to move on a moment’s notice.

Two great boulders ripped off the canyon rim and plummeted down the slope. One boulder missed them by twenty feet. The other, smaller boulder bounced into a nearby massive pile of brush. Dust rose. Twigs and branches clattered and broke. The boulder hung there like a bird’s egg in the middle of a nest, then subsided, sliding out of sight and all the way to the ground.

The shaking became trembling, then ceased altogether.

She clung to him anyway, and she remembered the other thing she had so loved about him �" when he held her in his arms, she felt safe and cherished.

Then he pushed her back, and looked down at her accusingly, no doubt remembering her assurances about the aftershocks and how she was safe here.

She glanced around, prepared to defend herself �Ś when she saw it. Sprawled on the pile of brush, revealed by the broken branches.

She freed herself, and walked closer, hypnotized by the sight of �Ś bones.

Bones �Ś shattered secrets revealed by this day’s disaster. Bits of flesh clung to these bones, and clothing �Ś a flowered dress, marked by mud and a dark, ominous stain.

Elizabeth knelt by the outstretched, skeletal hand.

The ring was gone from the finger, but she recognized the material of the dress. She recognized the body.

In a calm voice that seemed to come from a great distance, she said, �śThis is my mother.”



Order VIRTUE FALLS for your e-reader or, for you collectors, in hardcover!





Who is Christina Dodd?



Readers become writers, and Christina has always been a reader. Ultimately she discovered she liked to read romance best because the relationship between a man and a woman is always humorous. A woman wants world peace, a clean house, and a deep and meaningful relationship based on mutual understanding and love. A man wants a Craftsman router, undisputed control of the TV remote, and a red Corvette which will make his bald spot disappear.

So when Christina’s first daughter was born, she told her husband she was going to write a book. It was a good time to start a new career, because how much trouble could one little infant be?

Quite a lot, it seemed. It took ten years, two children and three completed manuscripts before she was published. Now her fifty New York Times and USA Today bestselling novels �" paranormals, historicals, romantic suspense and suspense �" have been translated into twenty-five languages, recorded on Books on Tape for the Blind, won Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart and RITA Awards and been called the year’s best by Library Journal. Dodd herself has been a featured author at the Texas Book Festival and a clue in the Los Angeles Times crossword puzzle (11/18/05, # 13 Down: Romance Novelist named Christina.) Publishers Weekly praises her style that �śshowcases Dodd’s easy, addictive charm and steamy storytelling.”

Christina is married to a man with all his hair and no Corvette, but many Craftsman tools.



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