Christmas in a Snowstorm Read online

  “Thank you so much for watching the kids,” she said.

  “And for doing all this with them. They’ve always wanted to decorate outside.” But I could never afford that.

  “Why don’t you come and join us? It should be a family fort.” His grin set her heart racing again. “You know you want to.”

  “I need to put the grocery bags away and—” Joy paused, thought a moment. How often did she get a chance to just play with her kids? This was a rare opportunity not to be missed. “Okay, I will. For a few minutes. Then I’ll start supper.”

  “It’s already in the slow cooker. Soup.” He chuckled at her expression. “I told you I can cook. Don’t worry. The kids and I cleaned up our mess.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” she began, but he shook his head.

  “Come on, before it’s too dark to see anything.” Then he was gone, rushing out the door as if he wanted to help her three fatherless kids build a snow fort on a winter’s evening.

  Sam Calhoun was like no other man Joy had ever met.

  Lois Richer loves traveling, swimming and quilting, but mostly she loves writing stories that show God’s boundless love for His precious children. As she says, “His love never changes or gives up. It’s always waiting for me. My stories feature imperfect characters learning that love doesn’t mean attaining perfection. Love is about keeping on keeping on.” You can contact Lois via email, [email protected], or on Facebook (loisricherauthor).

  Books by Lois Richer

  Love Inspired

  The Calhoun Cowboys

  Hoping for a Father

  Home to Heal

  Christmas in a Snowstorm

  Rocky Mountain Haven

  Meant-to-Be Baby

  Mistletoe Twins

  Rocky Mountain Daddy

  Rocky Mountain Memories

  Wranglers Ranch

  The Rancher’s Family Wish

  Her Christmas Family Wish

  The Cowboy’s Easter Family Wish

  The Twins’ Family Wish

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  CHRISTMAS IN A SNOWSTORM

  Lois Richer

  For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

  —John 3:16

  This book is dedicated to my sister Darcy, who passed away unexpectedly while I was writing this story. Her many friends called her Mrs. Christmas, perhaps because she so well understood that the reason for the season is love. I miss you, Darc.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from The Texan’s Unexpected Holiday by Jolene Navarro

  Chapter One

  Talk about a homecoming!

  A blizzard wasn’t exactly the welcome Sam Calhoun had expected his hometown of Sunshine, Montana, to offer. And yet, after two months in the Middle East, a part of him reveled in guiding his brand-new SUV through gusts of swirling white flakes and thick drifts now creeping in from the highway’s covered shoulder.

  Today was just two days after Thanksgiving. Imagine what December would bring.

  Wait a minute!

  Sam leaned forward and peered through the windshield, trying to locate the flash of red that had caught the corner of his eye a moment ago. There it was again. But what was it?

  He’d spent his youth driving this road. He knew that lifting his foot from the gas pedal was far safer than touching the brakes, even with four-wheel drive, because under this snow lay that most treacherous driving hazard—black ice. One jerk of the wheel could send him careening into the ditch. Since Sam did not intend to spend the rest of the night freezing in his car just a few miles from home, he let his vehicle slow to a crawl.

  Suddenly his headlights revealed three kids huddled together in front of an old farmhouse.

  “What in the world—”

  Sam had returned home with the express goal of not getting involved. It had cost him too deeply, too often. Recently, it had almost cost him his life. But how could he ignore kids in a snowstorm? He couldn’t.

  “Here I go again, God.” He eased onto the shoulder, shifted into Park and vaulted out of his car, praying no one was hurt. “What happened?”

  “A tree falled on owa house,” a little blonde girl informed him, her face just visible in the hooded circle of a red parka with its hood tied closed under her chin.

  She’d hardly finished speaking when a gust of wind ripped around the house and almost knocked the smallest child over. Sam reached out and grasped his jacket to steady him.

  “Becca,” an older boy’s voice chided. “You never say the r’s right. Let me explain.” Huge green eyes met Sam’s. “Like she said, a huge tree fell on our house. Our mom made us come out here to wait while she gets some of our stuff. Then we’re gonna go to the neighbor’s to see if we can stay with them tonight. I’m Josh Grainger. This is my sister, Becca, and that’s my little brother, Cris.”

  “I’m Sam.” Suddenly aware that the three were shivering and that their outerwear seemed far too insubstantial to withstand a storm like this, he suggested, “Why don’t you get in my car and wait for your mom while I go find her?”

  “We’re not supposed to go in cars with strangers,” Josh said calmly.

  “Yes, of course you aren’t. Sorry.” What to do now? “Can you wait here a few minutes more, till I find your mom? Then I’ll be happy to drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “Okay.” Josh nodded as he huddled his siblings closer, his thin face pale in the icy breeze.

  “What’s your mom’s name?” Sam asked as he tugged his gloves out of his pocket.

  “Joy,” Becca said. “Joy Gwainger.” Her cute gap-toothed smile reached in and squeezed Sam’s heart.

  “Grainger,” Josh corrected with an eye roll.

  “Got it. Don’t move now,” Sam ordered. He left them shivering and tramped through big drifts, past a crooked snowman who’d lost his hat, to the darkened front door.

  “Joy?” he called. Then, “Joy Grainger!”

  No response. Since the door wouldn’t open, he walked around the side and gasped at the sight. A yard light illuminated a huge cottonwood tree that had fallen and divided the house. On its way down, the treetop had crushed an old, battered car that was now, Sam guessed, way beyond repair. A gust of snow-filled wind smacked him in the face like a cold shower, bringing reality with it. Those kids needed shelter. Now.

  “Joy!”

  “Yes?” A woman appeared suddenly, clutching a flashlight in one hand and a battered suitcase in the other. She wore a hat—was that an alligator?

  Sam stifled his laughter.

  “Go ahead, make fun, but this hat is special. It was my Christmas gift from the kids last year, and it’s really warm.” She shrugged and gave a quirky grin before demanding, “Who are you?”

  “Sam Calhoun. Pleased to meet you.” He inclined his head in the direction of his vehicle. “Your kids won’t get in my car to keep warm without your say-so, and they need to because they’re freez
ing. You must be, too. Come on, I’ll give you a ride to wherever you need to go.”

  “Calhoun?” she said, eyes narrowing. She stood as if rooted to the spot. “Um, Ben Halston...”

  “Is my dad,” he said, and when she frowned, he revised for accuracy. “Adoptive dad, actually. Drew and Zac are my brothers. You’ve met them?”

  “Uh-huh.” She studied him for a moment. “Sam Calhoun. You’re the reporter. The one who gave a false—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Now come on,” Sam said impatiently when the glow of her flashlight revealed a flare of sympathy in her sea-green eyes. He did not want sympathy. “The kids?” he added, hoping that would get her moving.

  “Right.” Tiny strawberry blond curls, at least the short strands not covered by her ridiculous hat, bobbed around her face as she nodded. “I’ve turned off the water and the power so there’s no danger of fire.”

  “The house doesn’t matter. It can be fixed. Kids can’t.” He frowned at her. “Well?”

  “Coming.” She took a step, stumbled on something buried under the snow and grabbed her leg with a grimace. “Ow. That stupid sled. I told them to put it away.”

  Exhaling his frustration when the storm brushed snow across his face a second time, Sam scooped all five-foot-nothing of her into his arms and carried her and the suitcase she clutched toward her children.

  “Wait a minute, I—”

  “Come on, guys. Into the car,” Sam ordered, ignoring Joy’s protests.

  “What’s wrong with Mom?” the littlest one, Cris, asked with a worried expression.

  “She hurt her foot. Just get in, okay?” He nodded his thanks when Josh opened the front passenger door and set Joy on the seat. He waited until she put her suitcase on the floor at her feet before he closed the door. After ensuring the children were safely belted in, Sam shook the snow off his bare head and climbed into the driver’s seat, grateful for the warmth pouring from the dash and wishing he’d bought a down-filled jacket when he’d passed through JFK on his way home to his family at Hanging Hearts Ranch. “Okay, Joy Grainger. Where to?”

  “You tell me,” she said, her voice sharp.

  “Sorry?” Sam blinked in confusion. Where had the anger come from? He stared at her, noticing without meaning to that, minus the outrageous hat which now rested in her lap, the curls curved around her heart-shaped face like a caress. Many women preferred long hair, but the short style that hugged Joy’s cheeks and framed her green eyes certainly suited her gamine features.

  “I left a message for your father, my landlord,” she emphasized. “That was a week ago. I told him that tree was in danger of falling. I left him another message about it yesterday. He never returned my calls.” She glared at him, sparks flashing from her glacial irises, revealing her obvious fury.

  “Um, Dad—”

  “Now the tree has fallen, just as I said it would,” she continued, completely ignoring his attempt to explain, “leaving us without a place to stay, in the midst of a blizzard. Nor do I have a vehicle to drive. And I need both a house and a car in order to live.”

  Sam was used to making split-second decisions. Sometimes his life had depended on it, but the last one he’d made had cost him his career. Since then he’d vowed never to decide anything in a hurry ever again. Still, one look out the window told him this storm wasn’t weakening. They sure couldn’t sit here for the night. So he made his decision and whipped his car into gear.

  “Where are we going?” the lady demanded, her tone as chilly as that vicious north wind out there. “Are you putting us up at Sunshine’s hotel?”

  “Nope.” Sam edged back onto the highway and flicked his lights to bright. He sure hoped he didn’t meet any traffic because the lanes were getting blown in.

  “You should take us there,” Joy insisted, her tone sharply accusing. “We’re your father’s tenants and this happened because of his negligence—where are we going?”

  “Hanging Hearts Ranch.” Sam figured patience wasn’t Joy’s strong suit, judging by the way she fidgeted. But then, she had three kids to worry about. “Relax. It’s not very far from here.”

  “The Double H? I know where it is.” She drew back against her seat as if he’d grown horns. “We can’t go there!”

  “We can and we are.” Sam steered around a big drift and plowed on. “There’s a log cabin that’s warm and safe where you and your kids can bed down and get some rest for as long as it takes me to figure out what to do about the house.”

  “You?” Her sea-foam eyes darkened to emerald. “What has our situation got to do with you?”

  “It’s me, not Dad, who’s your actual landlord,” Sam admitted with an inner wince. There went his privacy.

  “Pardon?” Joy frowned. “You mean you own our house?”

  “Afraid so. Dad manages the property for me when I can’t be here. I was working overseas until—”

  “Until you got fired for giving that report that was a lie.”

  She sure didn’t mince words. Well, nobody else had either. In fact, he’d been inundated with savage comments and vicious personal attacks ever since he’d been released from captivity.

  “Yes. Until I got fired for lying, Joy.” Sam turned through the gate, flinching as the ranch’s arched metal sign hanging above them screeched in the wind. “I apologize that Dad didn’t respond to your calls. It’s not that he didn’t care. He’s been in the hospital with pneumonia.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her cheeks had turned an embarrassed shade of red, though maybe that was from the cold. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said brusquely. “I’ll make sure your house gets fixed. Insurance should cover your car, but if it doesn’t, I’ll fix that, too.” Compared to the other things Sam had to fix, like making sure his source was still alive, Joy’s problems seemed minimal. “For now, let’s get everyone inside the cabin.”

  Sam urged Joy and her kids up the stairs and into the cheery log home that had been built years earlier. In the stone fireplace, logs crackled merrily, adding heat, and chasing away the chilly gust that had pushed inside with them.

  His brothers were expecting him, and it looked like they’d made the cabin warm and welcoming. Sam figured this little family would have everything they needed here.

  “Oh.” He paused. “I never thought—Your husband? Should I go get him?” He hated the idea of a second trip out in this savage storm, but he’d do it if necessary. Because now you’re really involved, his brain scoffed.

  “We don’t got a daddy,” Cris said soberly. “He died.”

  Sam’s brain replayed memories of his own birth parents’ deaths when he was about Becca’s age. He and his brothers had been taken in by the Halstons here, on this same ranch, many years ago. Hanging Hearts had become their home.

  “Someone was expecting you to stay here, Sam.” Joy glanced around. “There’s a Christmas tree and decorations. You were coming home for Christmas, to this,” she guessed, her eyes searching his. She shook her head firmly. “We can’t take your place.”

  “It’s not a problem. There’s lots of room at the main house. I’ll stay there until I get things sorted out.” Sam held out his hand for her jacket, thinking as he hung it up that it felt more suited for autumn than a winter blizzard. When the kids had shrugged out of their coats and kicked off their boots, he smiled at them. “Did you guys have supper before the tree fell?”

  Three heads moved left and then right.

  “They’re fine. I brought some snacks.” Joy grabbed the suitcase he’d carried in and opened it. She gave a packet of peanuts to each kid, though Sam noted there wasn’t one for her.

  Her gesture lit a flicker of admiration inside him—unselfish, just like his mom. Mothers everywhere always put their family’s welfare before their own. He’d done a story on that...

  “Why don’t you save those
nuts for dessert?” he suggested, tamping down the past. “My nose is telling me someone left something yummy in the oven.” He peeked in through the glass door. “Chicken potpie, if I’m not mistaken,” he said as he glanced over one shoulder.

  Three children licked their lips, glanced guiltily at their mom, and quickly resumed their blank expressions. She’d trained them not to look needy. Sam understood that. Covering the poorest parts of the world had taught him that no mom ever wanted to admit the shame of being unable to feed her child, even though it usually wasn’t her fault.

  “Want to set the table, guys?” Sam grinned as the kids rushed to obey. “Let’s see what’s in the fridge. A salad. Good. You can add your peanuts to that if you want.” He scanned the cabinets. “Fresh loaf of bread here, with butter. Oh, yum. Peach pie for dessert. Everything’s ready. Mind if I sit down and eat with you? I’m starved.”

  “I’m sure no one expected you’d have four extra mouths to feed.” Joy shot her kids a look, which Sam translated as a warning not to eat too much.

  “Maybe they didn’t expect you,” he agreed calmly as he poured three large glasses of milk. “But in my case, they’d consider leftovers a necessity because chicken potpie is my favorite. Don’t worry, Joy, there’s plenty for all of us and then some.”

  Sam flicked the switch on the already prepared coffee maker and inhaled the brewing fragrance while waiting for Joy to tell her children where to sit. He’d missed this little log house. And American coffee. He’d missed feeling like he belonged, and the security of being on familiar land, where nobody could make him do or say anything he didn’t want to. Most of all, Sam had missed being accepted.

  The role of outcast was a lonely one.

  Noting Josh lick his lips, Sam shook off his gloomy thoughts and carefully lifted the potpie out of the oven. He set it proudly on a hot mat on the table, as if it was his own creation.

  “Think that will do us?” He chuckled at the four sets of very wide eyes, all of them that same sea-foam-green shade. “Who wants some?”