A Christmas Miracle Read online

  "Hey, Tony."

  "What?" Tony barked, looking up from the journal. His voice softened. "Oh, hi, Macy. I didn't realize it was you. How are things in the crime lab?"

  "Busy, as usual." Macy stepped into the room. "Do you need some help going through those boxes? I'm off the clock."

  "I appreciate the offer, but it's Christmas Eve, Macy. Why don't you head on home?"

  She shrugged a careless shoulder. "My folks are on a cruise and my brother is spending the holidays with his in-laws. It's just me, It's A Wonderful Life and a frozen turkey dinner."

  Tony studied her for a moment and she glanced away, the color in her cheeks darkening. One corner of his mouth kicked up. "Then sure, I'd love some help. I've been staring at these files so long, I swear one of them levitated a few minutes ago."

  Macy laughed and Tony watched her. Her smile faded. "Don't stop," he murmured. "You have a beautiful smile."

  A Christmas Miracle

  Velvet Vaughn

  An Original Publication of

  Highland Press Publishing ©2011

  A Christmas Miracle ©2011 Velvet Vaughn

  Cover Design 2014 Leanne Burroughs

  Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords

  Produced in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information, please contact

  Highland Press Publishing,

  PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655.

  www.highlandpress.org

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  From the Highland Press Anthology

  All I Want for Christmas Is You

  ISBN: 978-0-9846541-2-3

  HIGHLAND PRESS PUBLISHING

  A Wee Dram

  Editor – Leanne Burroughs

  ~Prologue~

  Dark clouds swirled ominously overhead. A fierce wind rattled tree branches, knocking snow from the limbs as the lawyer approached the courthouse. He flicked the white substance from his Armani overcoat with an impatient hand and tugged the lapels closer against the stiff breeze. It was winter, Christmas Eve to be exact, and the temperature had dipped below the freezing mark.

  Many people considered the day before Christmas to be a holiday as well, but not Judge Bernson. The crotchety old arbitrator insisted on hearing closing arguments in a high-profile case, much to the wrath of the jury, the media, and pretty much everyone who wanted to be home with their families. The lawyer mentally shrugged. He didn't mind. He wanted to work. After all, Christmas was just another day. What did he have to feel happy about? Nothing came to mind. Although surely there must have been something sometime.

  He rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh as he neared the building. A fat man trying hard to look like Santa Claus rang an annoying bell, belting out an equally infuriating, "Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas," to one and all. Had he ever said those words to anyone? He didn’t remember what it was, but something in his life must have made him a cynic. Nothing seemed to make him happy. Every once in awhile some memory tried to break through his consciousness, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never remember what it was.

  He studiously avoided eye contact and tried to sneak by, but Santa was nothing if not persistent. "Merry Christmas, son," Santa bellowed, his cheeks pink, his stomach jiggling like, yes, a bowl full of jelly. With an exasperated grumble, the lawyer drew out his wallet and stuffed a couple of bills into the red kettle.

  "The true spirit of the holiday," Santa praised. "Giving to others and—" The lawyer scoffed and brushed past, ignoring the rest of Santa's sickeningly-sappy spiel. Although he thought it sounded like the man ended with “Don’t forget Christmas is the time of true miracles.”

  Ha! He’d be glad when this holiday was over and people could drop the fake cheer and get back to the mean-spirited, back-stabbing nastiness he personally knew most of the population to be. He saw it every day in his job.

  His gait slowed and he cursed under his breath, spotting his nemesis perched on the stone steps looking every bit the predatory creature he knew her to be.

  This just wasn’t his day.

  The investigative journalist's long legs went on forever, brazenly showcased in skin-tight black pants. Her honey-blonde hair fell in tumbled curls around a heart-shaped face, accentuating high cheekbones and crystal green eyes. Even a thick winter coat couldn't disguise a knock-out body with curves to die for. Most men found her beautiful. Television cameras certainly loved her. He found the cut-throat reporter to be aggressive, vain and one humongous pain.

  She was also fundamentally unscrupulous. She wasn't above sleeping with a man to get a story, whether the man wanted the story told or not. And he should know.

  His body reacted to the memory and his anger spiked. “What are you doing here?” he asked with measured patience as he marched up the stairs.

  She studied her manicure, not bothering to deign him with a look. “It’s a free country. Besides, one of these days, you’re going to lose and I intend to be there to gloat—and report about it when you do.”

  He smirked. “Since you’ll have an awfully long wait, I hope that means I’ll be able to turn on the television without seeing your annoying mug on every channel.”

  That snapped her gaze to him and they stared at each other with open hostility, neither wanting to show weakness and look away first. Thunder cracked nearby but they didn’t flinch. "You know, it’s very hard to decide who is more irritating—you or Kris Kringle over there." She jerked her head in Santa's direction, never taking her eyes off him.

  "Ho, ho, ho," Santa called out. “Peace and good will to all.”

  "Shut-up," they chimed in unison, before returning to their narrowed-eyed stare out.

  Suddenly he clutched her wrist.

  “What are you doing, you Neanderthal? Get your meaty paws off me.” She grabbed the handrail for support.

  “In case you didn’t notice in your everything-revolves-around-me-world, it’s damn cold out here and it sounds like a thunderstorm is brewing. I’m simply moving our argument inside.”

  “It's December, you moron. The only storms we get are filled with snow."

  "It's rare, but not unheard of." He glowered at her, but it didn’t seem to faze her. Why was it every time he was around her something niggled at his mind? Like some memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

  "So the big, bad lawyer is afraid of a little rain? What, don’t want to ruin that hundred dollar suit?” she asked with feigned concern.

  “Yeah, just like you don’t want to wreck that ten dollar dye job.”

  Her eyes turned murderous. “Why you—”

  Whatever else the reporter wanted to say was lost in a crash of thunder as a storm erupted with full force. A blinding flash of lightning zeroed in and struck the handrail. The reporter’s knees buckled as the current traveled from the metal bar through her body to the lawyer, stopping their hearts. Both collapsed to the damp concrete as the skies opened and rain poured down.

  ~1~

  Tony Preston narrowed his eyes and glared at the man who dropped another box stuffed with overflowing files on his desk. Dust scattered when it hit the surface, causing him to sneeze.

&nbs
p; Just freaking great.

  You beat up one lousy perp and suddenly you’re accused of anger management issues and busted down to cold case files. On Christmas Eve, no less.

  Ah well, watching that scum-bag Buddy Horton writhing on the floor in pain, his face a mangled, bloody pulp, was worth the demotion, however temporary. The man was the lowest form of degenerate. He’d been molesting his own stepdaughter when Tony broke down the door and confronted him. His six-year-old stepdaughter! Horton was lucky all Tony used were his fists. It had taken every bit of restraint he possessed to resist pulling out his SIG Sauer and shooting off Horton’s–

  “Last one.” The records retention clerk broke into Tony’s vengeful thoughts as he dumped another box on top of the others. More dust shot up his nose. Tony sneezed again.

  With a sigh, he stood, hefted three of the boxes and deposited them against the wall, having chosen box BD-1234 as the lucky starting point.

  With a powerful puff, he forced grime from the lid and propped it open. Reaching his hand inside, he rooted around and withdrew the first file he encountered. Bennett, Elizabeth and Dempsey, William, both deceased. He peeled the sides open and began to read. Young couple, pulled from Winston Lake. But drowning wasn't the cause of death. Both had been shot at point-blank range in the forehead. No suspects, no leads. In fact, there was very little information at all.

  Flipping a page, he came across an interview from Sister Rose of St. Jerome Emiliani’s Orphanage. Tony dropped the file and sat up straighter. He remembered Sister Rose. He’d lived in that orphanage when he was eight…until that night…

  Shaking his head to clear it, he scanned the notes. Elizabeth, or Lizzy as she was called, and Will met at the facility. Will arrived when he was six, Lizzy that same year at age five. Will had been instantly protective, and Lizzy vowed she would marry him when they were older. They were good kids, never causing trouble, always helping others. They even volunteered their time at the orphanage tutoring the children after they grew up and left the facility. Sister Rose couldn’t believe anyone would want to harm two sweet, innocent kids.

  Tony checked their ages. Twenty-one and twenty. Not exactly kids, but then he supposed anyone under forty was young to the ancient nun. He skimmed another interview, this one with a college classmate. The friend revealed that Will studied law, Lizzy journalism. They both worked hard, earning scholarships and working odd jobs to pay for school, on top of mentoring young orphans. It looked like Lizzy kept her childhood vow. The couple had been engaged to marry the summer they died.

  He flipped to the back page to find a photo stapled to the folder. His breath hitched in his chest, his hands shaking so bad he could barely hold the file. He knew these two kids.

  They’d saved his life.

  ~*~

  Lizzy Bennett frowned when the woman brushed right past her, not even pausing to answer a simple question. All she wanted was the time…was that so hard? With a sigh, Lizzy plopped on a wooden bench nestled under the oak tree beside the lake. It was her favorite spot on earth, even with the lake frozen over with a thick layer of ice. Soon she was lost in thought, watching two small kids learning how to ice skate with their mother. She smiled as a little girl no more than five windmilled her arms, trying to stay upright.

  A soft wind blew, ruffling tree branches. She could see the breath of the children as they laughed and frolicked, but she wasn't cold, even without a jacket, which she must have forgotten when she left the apartment.

  Usually she pulled her hair up but today she longed to feel the cool breeze blowing through the thick tresses. It hung down her back in a ripple of curls. She noticed the look in Will’s eyes when she wore it this way. With a smile, she tilted her face to the cloud-drenched sky and relaxed. Christmas music piped through a speaker close by, soothing her soul.

  “Hey.”

  Lizzy’s eyes jerked open with a gasp. She was startled to find Will Dempsey beside her as if she’d conjured him with her very thoughts. She sprung upright.

  “I'm sorry, Lizzy, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was a deep rumble. He reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, his knuckles tenderly brushing her cheek. She leaned into the touch.

  “It’s okay.” Her heartbeat switched from beating rapidly in fear to a pounding of excited awareness. It was a familiar feeling. The first time she’d felt it, she had been five, Will had been six with a mop of brown hair and the kindest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She fell in love with him then and her five-year-old’s crush developed into adolescent adoration and grew to mature everlasting love. He was her true soulmate, her happily ever after. “What are you doing here?”

  Dark brows dipped. “I’m not sure.” He glanced around the area. “Where’s here?”

  “Winston Lake, silly.” She chuckled, slapping his arm with amusement. Will had such a quirky sense of humor.

  “No, Lizzy, I don’t think so.” His tone was serious. “I don’t remember those buildings.”

  She smiled at his teasing but to placate him, turned and followed his gaze. And gasped. Several tall, modern-looking structures dotted the landscape. “I don’t remember them either,” she whispered.

  “And there—” he pointed across the street—“where Mr. Fillimore’s produce shack used to stand.” Her head swiveled in that direction. “It’s some bank now.”

  No longer the quaint market with the green and white awning where they’d stopped for fresh fruit and vegetables, the sign on the four-story brick and glass building read Bedford Springs National Bank.

  Will slowly rose to his feet. Lizzy followed, slipping her hand in his strong one. “Where are we, Lizzy?”

  She shook her head, fighting a panic attack. “I don’t know. This is definitely Winston Lake.” She indicated a spot on the ground. “This is where we first…” She blushed, thinking about that wonderful moment when their bodies merged as one.

  It had been the night of her eighteenth birthday. Though they knew they would spend the rest of their lives together, they had waited—Will had waited—until she was of legal age before they made love. He brought her to this very spot with a picnic basket packed with her favorite treats. After they finished eating, he pulled her to her feet and her nerves fluttered. He looked so serious. Then he dropped down to one knee and asked her to be his wife.

  Lizzy screamed in excitement, launching herself at him. She peppered him with kisses while he laughed, trying to calm her down so he could slip the ring on her finger. And when the diamond slid into place, he kissed her deeply with a man’s passion. They’d been making out for years, even taking things to the next level. She had touched him intimately and he had touched her as well. But Will always stopped before they actually had sex.

  But this kiss, this stroke of his tongue against hers, the hand skimming her stomach, sliding under her shirt to cup her breast, this was different.

  He tenderly carried her to the blanket and covered her with his body. It was dark and deserted at this time of night, so they didn’t worry about the risks of getting caught. They slowly stripped away each other’s clothes. When he entered her, she had never felt such complete joy in her entire life. It was perfection.

  Will squeezed her hand, letting her know he remembered, too. “But look how big the tree is now.”

  His statement snapped her from her memories. She glanced skyward. He was right…it towered into the air, much higher than she remembered.

  “What’s going on, Will?”

  The wind picked up speed, swirling hair into her eyes. She regretted forgetting her jacket now as a chill raced down her spine.

  “Lizzy, how did you get here?”

  She gathered her locks together at the nape of her neck with one hand, trying to think. Finally she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Being with you.” Her eyes jerked to his in horror. “And then unthinkable, unbearable pain.”

  Will’s mouth was a grim li
ne. “Winston Lake, Lizzy. We died in that lake.”

  ~2~

  Years spiraled away and Tony was transported back in time as he stared transfixed at the picture of the handsome man and beautiful young woman. He had only been a resident of St. Jerome Emiliani's for one week after a horrific car accident that killed his parents and left him all alone in the world. No grandparents, no aunts or uncles or cousins or distant relatives could be found. No one to care for him or help him work through his grief. He became a ward of the state and after acting up at one too many foster homes, was shipped to the orphanage. He was only eight, but he had a huge chip on his shoulder. He recalled his callous treatment of the Sisters and the other children who shared a similar fate as his own with a shudder. God forgive him, he had been a royal pain in the ass.

  Then one day, a man came along and started chatting him up, asking Tony his name and where he was from. He couldn't recall clearly, but he thought he might have snarled at the man, probably did. That would have been just like him at that age. But his surly attitude didn't deter the man. He didn't coddle Tony, treat him as if he were a helpless baby like the nuns did. He said his name was Ernie and he was a lawyer. He made Tony promise not to say anything to anyone, but said he would try to find a relative who could adopt him.

  Tony had no problem keeping the secret. He barely spoke to anyone at the orphanage anyway, unless to bark at them to leave him the hell alone. The Sisters just loved that. In the span of one week, he had his mouth washed out with soap five times. Probably some kind of record.

  The next evening, Ernie returned and said he had wonderful news—he’d found a great-uncle who was sorry he hadn't come forward earlier, but he didn’t know Tony's parents had been killed. He would gladly adopt him and let him come live on his ranch with horses and dogs and acres and acres to roam.