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T hey were still humming when the meal was over. She knew her daughter was a friendly, sometimes outrageously open child, but Clara had taken to Jason like a long-lost friend. She chattered away at him as though she’d known him for years.

It’s so obvious, Faith thought as she watched Clara stack dishes. Neither of them noticed. What would she do if they did? She didn’t believe in lies, yet she’d been forced to live one.

The other two paid little attention to her as they settled down with Clara’s books. In the easy, flowing style he’d been born with, Jason began to tell her stories about Africa—the desert, the mountains, the thick green jungle that teemed with its own life and its own dangers.

As their heads bent together over a picture in Clara’s book Faith felt a flood of panic. “I’m going to go next door,” she said on impulse. “I have a lot of work backed up.”

“Mm-hmm.” With that, Jason dismissed her. A laugh bubbled in her throat until it ached. Grabbing her coat, Faith escaped.

They were more than toys to her. They were certainly more than a business.

To Faith the dolls who filled her shop were the symbol of youth, of innocence, of believing in miracles.

She’d wanted to open the shop soon after Clara had been born, but Tom had been adamantly set against it.

Because she’d felt indebted, she’d let it pass, as she’d let so many other things pass.

Then when she’d found herself alone, with a child to support, it had seemed the natural thing.

She worked long hours there, to ease the void that even the love for her daughter couldn’t fill.

In her workroom behind the store were shelves filled with pieces and parts of dolls.

There were china heads, plastic legs and torsos.

In another section lay the ones she called the sick and injured.

Dolls with broken arms or battered bodies were brought to her for repair.

Though she enjoyed selling and found a great creative thrill in making her own dolls, nothing satisfied her quite so much as taking a broken toy that was loved and making it whole again.

She turned on the light and her radio and set to work.

It soothed her. As time passed, her nerves drained away.

With crochet hook and rubber bands, with glue and painstaking care she replaced broken limbs.

With a bit of paint and patience she brought smiles back to faceless dolls.

Some were given new clothes or a fresh hairstyle, while others only needed a needle and thread plied by clever fingers.

By the time she picked up a battered rag doll she was humming.

“Are you going to fix that?”

Startled, she nearly stabbed herself with the needle. Jason stood in the doorway, hands in pockets, watching her. “Yes, that’s what I do. Where’s Clara?”

“She nearly fell asleep in her book. I put her to bed.”

She started to rise. “Oh, well I—”

“She’s asleep, Faith, with some green ball of hair she called Bernardo.”

Determined to relax, Faith sat down again. “Yes, that’s her favorite. Clara isn’t much on ordinary dolls.”

“Not like her mother?” Interested, he began to prowl the workroom. “I always thought when a toy broke or wore out it got tossed away.”

“Too often. I’ve always thought that showed a tremendous lack of appreciation for something that’s given you pleasure.”

He picked up a soft plastic head, bald and smooth, that grinned at him. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t see what can be done about that pile of rags in your hand.”

“Quite a lot.”

“Still believe in magic, Faith?”

She glanced up and for the first time her smile was completely open, her eyes warm. “Yes, of course I do. Especially at Christmastime.”

Unable to help himself he reached down to run a hand over her cheek. “I said before that I’d missed you. I don’t think I realized how much.”

She felt the need shimmer and the longing plead inside her. Denying both, she concentrated on the doll. “I appreciate you helping Clara, Jason. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Does it bother you to have someone watch you work?”

“No.” She began to replace stuffing. “Sometimes a concerned mother will stay here while I doctor a patient.”

He leaned a hip against the counter. “I imagined a lot of things when I was coming back. I never imagined this.”

“What?”

“That I’d be standing here watching you stuff life back into a rag. You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t even have a face.”

“It will. How did the report go?”

“She needs to do the final draft.”

Faith glanced up from her work. Her eyes were wide with the joke. “Clara?”

“She had the same reaction.” Then he smiled as he leaned back. The room smelled of her. He wondered if she knew. “She’s a bright kid, Faith.”

“Sometimes uncomfortably so.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know.” With quick skillful movements, she pushed the stuffing into place.

“Kids love you no matter what, don’t they?”

“No.” She looked at him again. “You have to earn it.” With needle and thread she began to secure the seams.

“You know, she was out on her feet, but she insisted on stopping at the tree to count the presents. She tells me she had this feeling there’s going to be one more.”

“I’m afraid she’s doomed to disappointment. Her list looked like an army requisition. I had to draw the line.” Putting down the thread, she picked up her paintbrush. “My parents already spoil her.”

“They still live in town?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She’d already gotten a sense of the doll’s personality as she’d worked with it.

Now, she began to paint it on. “They mumble about Florida from time to time, but I don’t know if they’ll ever go.

It’s Clara. They just adore her. You might go by and see them, Jason.

You know my mother was always fond of you. ”

He examined a slinky red dress no bigger than his palm. “Your father wasn’t.”

She grinned at that. “He just didn’t quite trust you.” She sent him a quick, saucy smile. “What father would have?”

“He had good reason.” As he walked toward her, he saw the doll she held.

“I’ll be damned.” Charmed, he took it, holding it under the light.

What had been a misshapen pile of rags was now a plump, sassy doll.

Exaggerated lashes spiked out from wide eyes.

Curls had been sewn back into place so that they fell teasingly over the brow.

It was soft, friendly and pretty as a picture.

Even a full grown man could recognize what would make a small girl smile.

She felt a ridiculous sense of accomplishment at seeing him smile at her work. “You approve?”

“I’m impressed. How much do you sell something like this for?”

“This one’s not for sale.” Faith set it in a large box at the back of the room.

“There are about a dozen little girls in town whose families can’t afford much of a Christmas.

There are boys, too, of course, but Jake over at the five-and-dime and I worked a deal a few years back.

On Christmas Eve, a box is left on the doorstep.

The girls get a doll, the boys a truck or a ball or whatever. ”

He should have known. It was so typical of her, so much what she was. “Santa lives.”

She turned to smile at him. “He does in Quiet Valley.”

It was the smile that did it. It was so open, so familiar. Jason closed the distance between them before either of them realized it.

“What about you? Do you get what you want for Christmas?”

“I have everything I need.”

“Everything?” His hands cupped her face. “Aren’t you the one who used to dream? Who always believed in wishes?”

“I’ve grown up. Jason, you should go now.”

“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you’ve stopped dreaming, Faith. Just being with you makes me start again.”

“Jason.” She pressed her hands to his chest, knowing she had to stop what could never be finished. “You know we can’t always have what we want. You’ll leave in a few days. You can walk away and go on to a hundred other things, a hundred other places.”

“What does that have to do with right now? It’s always right now, Faith.” He drew his hands through her hair so that pins scattered. Rich warm sable tumbled over his fingers. He’d always loved the feel of it, the smell of it. “You’re the only one,” he murmured. “You’ve always been the only one.”

She closed her eyes before he could draw her close. “You’ll go. I have to stay here. Once before I stood and watched you walk away. I don’t think I can bear it if I let you in again. Can’t you understand?”

“I don’t know. I know I understand I want you so much more now than I ever did. I’m not sure you can keep me out, Faith.” But he backed away, for both of them. “Not for long anyway. You said before I didn’t have a right to all the answers. Maybe that’s true. But I need one.”

It was a reprieve, it was space to think. She let out a long breath and nodded. “All right. But you promise that you’ll go now if I answer?”

“I’ll go. Did you love him?”

She couldn’t lie. It wasn’t in her. So her eyes were direct and pride kept her chin high. “I never loved anyone but you.”

It came into his eyes—triumph, fury. He reached for her but she pulled away. “You said you’d go, Jason. I trusted your word.”

She had him trapped. She had him aching. “You should’ve trusted it ten years ago.” He swung from the workroom and into the frigid night.