GABRIEL'S GIFT: A Lost Hearts Christmas Story by Christina Dodd Page A
Authors: Christina Dodd
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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 … 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 … 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
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 … 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 … 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
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