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debated saying nothing, but one glance at the hopeful look on the boy’s face had him making up his mind. After all, she had asked. “It’s just that my own feeling is that Christmas isn’t supposed to be about being practical. It’s about the magic of the season.”

      Cris pressed her lips together, really torn. A few years back, she would have readily sided with him. However, she’d done a lot of growing up in the intervening years and was forced to look at things from a more practical point of view, which meant it was far more practical to buy a tree that could be used over and over than to throw away money on one that could only be used once.

      “I understand what you’re saying,” she began.

      That was all Ricky needed. “So we can go looking for a real tree, Mama? ’Cause Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister said he’d help—and he said he’d even bring his truck so we could bring the Christmas tree home with us when we find one.”

      “Mr. McCallister has better things to do than play deliveryman with our Christmas tree,” Cris patiently pointed out.

      But before her son could digest the information and offer a rebuttal, Shane said, “No, actually, I don’t. I’d kind of like coming along to pick out and bring back the Christmas tree.” When Cris looked at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s been a few years since I went Christmas tree shopping.” He shrugged haplessly. “What with Nancy living up north and my brother stationed back east, there’s really not much of a reason to put up a tree.”

      “How about your parents?” Cris asked automatically, then immediately regretted it when she saw Shane shake his head. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

      “They’re both gone.”

      What he had left unspoken—and that she understood—was that since his wife wasn’t around to share in the season, even to acknowledge the day, much less get caught up in the season for its own sake, seemed pointless.

      Part of the magic of the season was having someone to share it with.

      “We hafta get a real tree for Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister,” Ricky insisted, stumbling over Shane’s surname again.

      Shane made an appeal on Ricky’s behalf. “Can he call me Shane?” he asked, looking at her. “It would be a lot easier on him,” he added with a grin, ruffling the boy’s hair.

      She supposed that if Shane didn’t mind, she could bend the rule in this instance.

      “I guess we can make an exception,” Cris allowed. “As long as you remember that it is an exception,” she told her son.

      In response, Ricky enthusiastically nodded like one of those bobblehead figures some people attached to dashboards.

      “An ’ception,” Ricky echoed—or did his best to.

      Shane eyed her. “And the tree?” he asked, knowing she had to be the one to rule on that in this case. “Real or not?”

      Cris caught herself giving in with ease. “I suppose we can get a real one again.” Most likely, she had a feeling, her father was just waiting to be persuaded. Alex was the one they would need to win over. “To be honest, I think everyone prefers a real one. It’s just that Alex has been trying to be extra conscientious about the bottom line—”

      He knew all about bottom lines, but these days, he was living exceptionally frugally because he saw no reason or need to spend money beyond getting the essentials.

      “Well, since I’ll be one of the ones to enjoy seeing a real Christmas tree, I’ll be happy to contribute to its final cost.”

      “That won’t be necessary,” Cris quickly told him, vetoing the idea of his paying a single red cent toward the tree. As it was, he was charging them far less for handling the renovations and additional construction than the other contractors had quoted.

      Slanting a glance toward her son, who looked ready to levitate from his seat at any second, she interjected, “But if you don’t mind coming along and allowing us the use of your truck as well as giving us the benefit of your opinion, that would be greatly appreciated.”

      The grin had his eyes crinkling appealingly. “Consider it done,” he readily agreed. “Just tell me the day and time you want this expedition to get under way and I’ll be there with bells on.”

      Hearing that caused Ricky to cover his mouth with his hands to contain the fit of giggles that descended over him.

      “What’s so funny?” Shane asked the boy, certain he’d said nothing to earn this level of levity.

      “You’re gonna be wearing bells?” Ricky asked, still giggling at the image that description conjured in his young head.

      “It’s just an expression, honey,” Cris told the little boy. “Shane won’t really be wearing bells.”

      “How do you know?” Shane asked, deliberately playing the scene out for Ricky’s benefit. “Maybe I will be wearing them.”

      He saw the boy looking at him with huge, stunned eyes that contained a sliver of amusement in them, as well. Obviously Ricky couldn’t make up his mind whether his new hero was putting his mother on.

      “Can I wear ’em,’ too, Mama?” Ricky wanted to know. “The bells?”

      “We’ll see,” she said. She found that answer far easier to deliver than a straightforward no, which might stir up an argument. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Right now, Mr. McCallis—Shane has to be leaving.”

      Both Ricky and Shane turned to her, puzzled—and then, like a man waking from a quick nap, Shane laughed at his momentary lapse.

      “You’re right. I do. Thanks for reminding me.” He looked at Ricky. “I guess I was just having too much fun and leaving slipped my mind.”

      “Where do you gotta go?” Ricky wanted to know.

      “Ricky, don’t pry,” she admonished, but not as firmly as she might have. Ricky, she had to admit, got his inherent curiosity from her.

      “It’s okay,” Shane told her, then addressed the boy’s question. “I’m going to a homeless shelter.”

      The answer seemed to horrify Ricky. “Are you homeless?” he cried. “’Cause if you are, my grandpa’ll let you stay here for free.” Dorothy had told him about how kind his grandfather had been to her when she’d first come to the inn. The next moment, Ricky’s face lit up as he got an idea. “You can stay in my room with me. I’ll let you have my bed and I’ve got a sleeping bag I can put on the floor for me.”

      Impressed with the impromptu generosity the boy displayed without any prodding from his mother, Shane smiled at him warmly.

      “That’s really very generous of you, Ricky, but I’m not staying at the homeless shelter. I just go there to help out.”

      Wheat-colored eyebrows knit as the boy tried to absorb every word he’d been told.

      “Help out what?” Ricky asked.

      “Ricky—” Cris said, her tone warning the boy not to continue on this path. Not everyone liked being interrogated by a five-year-old.

      But clearly Shane didn’t belong to that group. “I don’t mind him asking questions,” he told her, then faced Ricky. “That’s how he learns. Right, Ricky?”

      Ricky seemed thrilled to be championed in this manner. “Right!”

      “To answer your question, Ricky, I go there to help out any way I can. The people staying at the shelter aren’t as lucky as you and I and your mom are.”

      Ricky appeared to take every word to heart. “We can give them our Christmas tree,” he told Shane.

      Shane laughed softly at the offer, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I believe this comes under the heading of giving them the shirt

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