LITMIR.BIZ

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turned to stare into the unsmiling face of Jordan Butler as he got out of his large black truck.

      “Where are you taking my nephew?”

      He was angry, but Isabella gave him credit for hiding it in front of Tyler. Equally upset with him – not only for his late arrival, but also for thinking she was some sort of kidnapper – she still managed to remain calm.

      “I’m not taking him anywhere…” she began. “I was just putting my things in my car. I tried to call you several times…” She offered no apology, only lifted her chin defiantly, waiting for his response.

      It seemed like minutes passed – enough time for Isabella to observe the large snowflakes landing in Jordan Butler’s dark hair, and absently wanting to brush them away with her fingers. Enough time for her to completely forget why she’d been infuriated with him in the first place, as she met the shimmering gaze of his electric eyes. Tyler’s small voice broke into their silence.

      “We’re gonna catch snow on our tongues.”

      Jordan looked at his nephew, this time with relief and a touch of amusement, before turning his focus back to Isabella. “You’re his teacher – I should have known he was safe with you,” he conceded.

      “Of course he is,” she began, then lowered her voice. “As his new teacher…I’d like to talk to you about his…situation. When it’s convenient.”

      Jordan’s expression was mysterious, and cooler than the wind that blew around them. He smiled politely, but only nodded his agreement to her request. He bent down and lifted the small boy in his arms.

      “Thank you for looking after my nephew, Miss Stevens. I apologize for being late, but an accident was slowing traffic on the Interstate. I couldn’t get a signal on my cell to call the school.” He hesitated, waiting for her to speak.

      Isabella found her voice. “My apologies as well. I should have realized it was something like that.”

      Jordan’s smile was genuine, and Isabella felt herself go warm all over as Tyler chimed in, “Promise you won’t forget to mail the letters, Miss Stevens.”

      “I won’t forget, Tyler,” she reassured him, a bit shakily. “I promise.”

      “Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Stevens,” Jordan said.

      Isabella stood there breathless, watching as Jordan first lifted Tyler into the truck, then got in the driver’s side and drove off into the heavy snowfall.

      ***

      Isabella’s Thanksgiving dinner would consist of baked turkey breast, instant mashed potatoes and gravy, canned green beans, and dinner rolls. Followed by a piece of apple pie, topped with vanilla ice cream, for dessert. Then she’d finish the evening with a glass of Pinot Noir while watching her favorite chick flick, The Goodbye Girl, on the classic movie channel.

      All by herself.

      She hurried down the grocery aisle, making her way to the checkout counter. She was only a couple of miles from the hotel, but the sky was becoming so dark, it could easily have been five o’clock in the afternoon instead of one p.m. As the cashier totaled her groceries, Isabella reached into her pocketbook for her wallet. The stack of letters the class had written, hers and Tyler’s on top, were tucked inside. She was disappointed she hadn’t mailed them first, when Tyler had reminded her to do so such a short time ago. She rationalized that the weather had distracted her. But in reality, it was Tyler’s uncle who had occupied most of her thoughts in the last hour or so. The questions swirled in her head as she shopped.

       Why was Jordan Butler so abrupt? Why was Tyler staying with him? Why was she still thinking about the snowflakes in his hair? Why the hell was she wondering any of this at all?

      After paying for her items, Isabella looked out at the storm, concerned about backtracking to the post office downtown. She shook her head and glanced at the clerk, her guilty conscience propelling her to ask, “Do you know of a box nearby, specifically designated by the post office for ‘Santa’ mail?” Isabella had heard of the program on the evening news, where postal employees and volunteers from charitable organizations would collect letters to Santa from the holiday boxes and, in some cases, make the children’s wishes come true.

      The clerk chewed her gum and rolled her eyes. “Oh,” she finally said, as if the thought suddenly occurred to her. “I think there’s a Santa box up on Reindeer Ridge, off Highway 36, about ten minutes north of here. At the Toy Shop. It just opened this week for the holiday season. But you’ll have to hurry. I’m sure they’ll be closing soon, with the weather.”

      Isabella thanked the young girl and hurried to her car, intent on keeping her promise to Tyler. The roads were still manageable and, if the clerk was right, Isabella would save time and miles by going up to Reindeer Ridge to drop off the letters.

      Minutes later, she slowly navigated the mountain road, trying not to think about the dangers, focusing instead on her mission. But as the path narrowed with the rapid snow accumulation, Isabella began to think she should stop, turn around. She hadn’t passed anyone on the drive up, and she had the sinking feeling that she was already too late.

      She mentally scolded herself again, then saw twinkling lights through the trees about half a mile up. Yes! She would deliver the letters, then head for home before the roads became too icy.

      Isabella inched her car toward the Christmas lights. The Toy Shop came into view as she got closer. Festive Christmas decorations adorned the painted glass windows of the lodge-style structure. Near the entrance, a huge lighted Christmas tree captured her attention. Through the heavy snowfall, the enchanting scene beckoned. But, as Isabella’s eyes scanned for human activity, her gaze came to rest on the red CLOSED sign in the front window. Her hopes sank.

       The letters would have to wait.

      Isabella softly cursed as she reversed the car. She steered the tires around, then felt a sudden bump. Looking behind her, she realized she’d nearly knocked over a large red mailbox. The gold lettering painted on it indicated ‘Santa Mail’. Of course – it was outside!

      Relieved, Isabella put the car into park. She hurriedly stepped out, taking the letters from her purse. She opened the box and stuffed them inside. Except hers. Snowflakes landed on the envelope that housed her wish. She wondered who, if anyone, would read her words, and she was beginning to regret writing them. She certainly wasn’t looking for what – or who – she’d asked for. In her attempt to engage Tyler, she’d gotten carried away by a fantasy she’d once believed in – until her ex fiancé, Phillip, showed her how cruel real life could be.

      But surely no one would recognize the name of the new girl in town, who’d asked for lightning to strike – for a gallant hero to swoop into her life and love her. She shrugged her concerns away and shoved her letter into the box with the others, before she changed her mind. What she wished for didn’t matter. Anyway, not even ‘Santa’ magic could conjure up the kind of man she could take a chance on again.

      The wind blew harder and Isabella turned up the collar of her coat as she hurried into her car. She started the engine, thankful she’d fulfilled her promise to Tyler. Now, home. She stepped on the gas, spinning the tires on the new-fallen snow. With a sinking heart, she realized she’d backed herself into a ditch. She tried every trick her father taught her to maneuver the vehicle onto the road, but nothing worked. She checked her cell phone, but there was no signal. She looked behind her at the Toy Shop, seeing no signs of people. Still, she had to try.

      She left her car again and walked toward the Christmassy shop, her chin tucked in against the wind. She was awarded some shelter on the wraparound porch as she knocked on the front door. After a few moments, she tried again, then checked the handle. The door was locked. It dawned on her that she was stranded. She swallowed her panic as the sky became darker and the wind picked up. It was about a mile down the mountain road to the main street.

       I’m in good shape. I can make it.

      But

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