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Because she seemed to need to keep her thoughts to herself, he let it go and followed her into the kitchen where Clara was already peeking into the cardboard box.

He’d never seen a child plow through food with such unrestrained glee.

He’d never known Christmas Eve could be special simply because there was someone beside him.

Clara swallowed the last of her second piece. “Maybe if I opened one present tonight there’d be less confusion in the morning.”

Faith seemed to consider. “I like confusion,” she decided and Jason realized the conversation was an old tradition.

“Maybe if I opened just one present tonight, I could get right to sleep. Then you wouldn’t have to wait so long to creep around and fill the stockings.”

“Hmm.” Faith pushed aside her empty plate and enjoyed the wine Jason had brought. “I like creeping around late at night.”

“If I opened—”

“Not a chance.”

“If I—”

“Nope.”

“But Christmas is just hours and hours away.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Faith smiled at her. “And you’re going caroling in ten minutes, so you’d better get your coat.”

Clara walked over to tug on her boots. “Maybe when I get back, there’ll be just one present that you’ll figure isn’t really important enough to wait until morning.”

“All the presents under the tree are absolutely vital.” Faith rose to help her on with her coat. “And so are the following instructions. Stay with the group. Keep your mittens on, I want you to keep all your fingers. Don’t lose your hat. Remember that Mr. and Mrs. Easterday are in charge.”

“Mom.” Clara shifted her feet and sighed. “You treat me like a baby.”

“You are my baby.” Faith gave her a smacking kiss. “So there.”

“Jeez, I’ll be ten years old in February. That’s practically tomorrow.”

“And you’ll still be my baby in February. Have a good time.”

Clara sighed, long-suffering and misunderstood. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Faith mimicked. “Say good-night.”

Clara peeked around her mother. “Are you going to stay until I get back?”

“Yeah.”

Satisfied, she grinned and pulled open the door. “Bye.”

“Monster,” Faith declared and began to stack plates.

“She’s terrific.” Standing, Jason helped clear the clutter. “Little for her age, I guess. I didn’t realize she was almost ten. It’s hard to—” He stopped as Faith clattered dishes in the sink. “She’ll be ten in February.”

“Umm. I can’t believe it myself. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and then again…” She trailed off, abruptly breathless. With studied care, she began to fill the sink with soapy water. “I’ll just be a minute here if you’d like to take your wine into the living room.”

“In February.” Jason took her arm. When he turned her, he saw the blood drain from her face.

His fingers tightened, bruising without either of them noticing.

“Ten years in February. We made love that June. God, I don’t know how many times that night.

I never touched you again, we never had the chance to be alone like that again before I left, just a few weeks later.

You must have married Tom in September.”

Her throat was dry as bone. She couldn’t even swallow, but stared at him.

“She’s mine,” he whispered and it vibrated through the room. “Clara’s mine.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but there seemed to be nothing she could say. Lips trembling, eyes drenched, she nodded.

“God!” He had her by both arms, nearly lifting her off her feet before he backed her into the counter.

The fury in his eyes would have made her cringe if she hadn’t been willing to accept it.

“How could you? Damn you, she’s ours and you never told me.

You married another man and had our baby.

Did you lie to him, too? Did you make him think she was his so you could have your cozy house and lace curtains? ”

“Jason, please—”

“I had a right.” He thrust her away before he could give into the violence that pushed him on. “I had a right to her. Ten years. You stole that from me.”

“No! No it wasn’t like that. Jason, please! You have to listen!”

“The hell with you.” He said it calmly, so calmly she stepped back as though she’d been slapped. The anger she could argue with, even reason with. Quiet rage left her helpless.

“Please, let me try to explain.”

“There’s nothing you can say that could make up for it. Nothing.” He yanked his coat from the wall and stormed out.

“ Y ou’re a damn fool, Jason Law.” The Widow Marchant sat in her kitchen rocker and scowled.

“She lied to me. She’s been lying for years.”

“Hogwash.” She fiddled with the tinsel on the little tree on the stand by the window. Cheerful strains from the Nutcracker floated in from the living room. “She did what she had to do, nothing more, nothing less.”

He prowled around the room. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come there instead of heading for Clancy’s Bar. He’d walked in the snow for an hour, maybe more, then found himself standing on the widow’s doorstep. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew I was Clara’s father.”

“I had my ideas.” The rocker squeaked gently as she moved. “She had the look of you.”

That brought a peculiar thrill, one he didn’t know what to do with. “She’s the image of Faith.”

“True enough if you don’t look hard. The eyebrows are you, and the mouth. The sweet Lord knows the temperament is. Jason, if you’d known you were to be a father ten years back, what would you have done?”

“I’d have come back for her.” He turned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’d have panicked,” he said more calmly. “But I’d have come back.”

“I always thought so. But it—well, it’s Faith’s story to tell. You’d best go on back and hear it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Can’t stand a martyr,” she muttered.

He started to snap, then sighed instead. “It hurts. It really hurts.”

“That’s life for you,” she said not unsympathetically. “Want to lose them both again?”

“No. God, no. But I don’t know how much I can forgive.”

The old woman raised both brows. “Fair enough. Give Faith the same courtesy.”

Before he could speak again, the kitchen door burst open. In the doorway stood Faith, covered with snow, face washed with tears. Ignoring the wet she brought in with her, she ran to Jason. “Clara,” she managed to stammer.

When he took her arms, he felt the shudders. Terror flowed from her into him. “What’s happened?”

“She’s missing.”