Midwinter Magic (8 page)

S
ARAH LAY
atop the sleeping bag and stared up into the shadows of the tent. Even if she’d been capable of sleep, she wouldn’t have managed to get any. Not after Jack had turned her safe, ordered, black-and-white world upside down with nothing more than a fleeting look of pity.

Until that moment, she’d never felt the tiniest bit pathetic in her entire life. As in, century after century without the slightest twinge of self-pity.

No. Worse. Until she’d climbed that hill hand in hand with transitory mortal Jack Morgan, Sarah had actually believed herself to be pretty damn special. Superior. Enviable. Chosen.

While other inhabitants of Nether-Netherland struggled to find meaning, floundered for a purpose, dreamt of discovering a hidden talent for performing magic, Sarah Phimm had never suffered a moment’s doubt as to her destiny or her place in the universe.

She’d been
born
with wings. She hadn’t had to earn them in some complicated four-year recruitment process, or limp along on foot as so many others did. She could perform miracles. Not magic.
Miracles
. Could there possibly be a cooler innate talent than that?

No drone work on the pixie dust assembly line for her. Straight to the top. First day out of Uni, and she was already a guardian angel. Like any organization, the Heavenly Council had its red tape and its hierarchies, but Sarah had begun at the top. No internship, no apprenticeship—she was too good for that. Too special. Just
bam,
welcome to Earth, here’s a delicate mortal baby. The next seventy years of its life are in your hands.

As a calling, guardian angelship was revered. Even among magical creatures. It trumped sandmen, dragon slayers, fairy godmothers. It was the highest position she could have possibly achieved, and it had been hers for almost a thousand years.

And for the first time, the very, very first time. . . she felt more than a little duped for having taken the job.

What if she
wasn’t
the envied, exalted person she’d always imagined herself to be? How would she even know? As Jack had so world-shatteringly pointed out, her only interaction with others was during her end-of-month debriefing. A two-hour-long one-way conversation, wherein the only topic was Sarah.

Not exactly a global worldview.

What if the people she’d always looked down upon—the dreamcatchers, the tooth fairies, the license renewal clerks for transportation services—what if they looked down on
her
? What if they went home at night, to their families, their comfy chairs, their children, and looked at each other and said, “Poor old Sarah Phimm, stuck in that dead-end job. No friends. No home. Sure am glad I punch a time clock five days a week. Would sure suck to be on duty as some invisible ghost for the rest of eternity.”

What if they
didn’t
say that? What if they didn’t even remember her at all?

Maybe her superiors didn’t remember who she was either, if her file wasn’t right in front of their faces. After all, she was
a
guardian angel, not the only guardian angel. There might not be enough to go around for all seven billion of Earth’s human inhabitants, but there were plenty enough to clog up the Heavenly Council’s bureaucracy with meetings and TPS reports.

There had to be a better way. For her, and for every other angel out there, flying a mile in her feathers. She loved her job—she’d do it for an infinity of eternities if she could—but that didn’t mean the system was perfect. Or that she was in any sort of position to do anything about it.

She wouldn’t even
have
a job by the end of the month.

She’d be nobody.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from the pillow next to hers. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, you know,” she answered blithely. “Weight of the world, impending apocalypse. The usual.”

“None of that, missy. It’s almost Christmas!” Jack got to his feet and pulled her with him. “Less than three days to go, and we don’t even have a tree.”

“We have lots of trees. We’re in a rainforest.”

“But they’re not Christmas trees.”

“How do you know?”

“They’re not decorated.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “The first rule of Christmas tree is: ‘Thou shalt decorate the Christmas tree.’”

“That’s the rule?”

“‘Right after coffee.’ That’s the other part of the rule.”

“Christmas depends on your coffee intake?”

“Everything I do depends on my coffee intake.” His smile widened and the air in the tent seemed to disappear. “Well, almost everything.”

Sarah held her breath, unable to tear her gaze from his. She thought maybe he was going to kiss her. She
hoped
maybe he was going to kiss her.

But then he threaded his fingers with hers and tugged her out into the warm glimmer of breaking dawn.

Once he’d replaced his blood with caffeine and had his morning shower, he gathered up a pack of supplies and dragged her deeper into the jungle.

“Palm, kapok, brazil nut. . .” he muttered as they ducked vines and leapt over leaf-cutter ants.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, after the hike had stretched on for more than an hour.

“A tree! Aren’t you helping? I thought your job was to pay attention.”

“My job is to not let anything kill you. I’m not required to listen to botany monologues.”

“A Christmas tree, Scrooge McAngel.” He turned in a circle. “I’m going to have to give up on finding an evergreen, but I’m not giving up on St. Nick. You and the villagers are going to have a great Christmas, like it or not.”

He headed back the way they’d come.

Sarah hurried after him. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to cut down a tree?”

“No point, if there’s no pine trees. These are the same kinds as over by the village. Might as well pick something that’s already right there, if we’re going to be stringing tinsel on palm trees.”

“Are we going to be stringing tinsel on palm trees?”

“Somebody has to.”

They broke clear of the jungle canopy. Jack marched straight into the village—and then right out the other side. Sarah kept pace, mystified.

“Now where are we going? I thought you wanted a tree close to the villagers.”

“Within sight of the villagers,” he corrected as he came to a sudden stop. “Here. This is perfect.”

“It. . . is?”

Jack stood before a flowerless deciduous tree with droopy green leaves and rough gray bark. Sarah had seen better-looking trees on animated Charlie Brown specials.

“Verawood?” she asked doubtfully.

“Bulnesia, if you want to get technical.
Palo Santo
in Spanish.” Arms akimbo, he beamed at the thin-branched tree. “I’ll have to fashion some sort of rain-proof platform for the gifts, of course, but we couldn’t ask for a better location.” He pointed back toward the village. “Perfect view from any of the houses.” He swiveled ninety degrees to point in the direction of the bridge. “And perfect view for anyone entering the area. All we need now are some decorations. And some elves.”

Now she
knew
he’d lost it. “Elves?”

“Not
elf
-elves. Obviously I mean children.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “It wasn’t obvious? Are you saying there really are elves?”

She sang out, “I’ll never tell!” and raced him back into the village for supplies. In no time at all, they returned to the tree with two ladders, plenty of string, and every one of the children.

Jack pulled a long strand of silver-bell garland out of his backpack and let the kids lace it around the tree. He sang carols in English and Spanish as he helped them tie colored ribbons and brightly painted husks to the branches.

Sarah didn’t sing along. She didn’t know the words to “Burrito Sabanero.” She didn’t even know
Jack
knew the words to “Burrito Sabanero.” That was another downside to watching someone listen to their iPod. Who knew what else she’d missed over the years.

Catching her melancholy expression out of the corner of his eye, Jack motioned to the closest children and whispered in their ears.

Sarah narrowed her eyes.

The children guffawed with delight and ran off in opposite directions, pink-cheeked and giggling.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed further.

Jack flashed her a comically innocent smile and went back to work creating a mud-free platform out of bits of wood.

Not buying it, she crossed to where he knelt beneath the tree. “What did you just tell them?”

“I told them the story of mistletoe.”

“That’s why they were giggling?”

“They were giggling because I sent them off to find some.”

“Does Bolivia even
have
mistletoe?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered solemnly. “At Christmas, it’s the thought that counts.”

“What kind of—”

He pointed overhead. A little boy who couldn’t be a day over six lay draped over the closest branch, a purple-berried twig dangling from his tiny hands.

Sarah couldn’t stifle her laughter. “That’s
açaí,
not mistletoe.”

“Christmas,” Jack reminded her.

She smiled. “The thought that counts?”

“Absolutely.”

He put down his tools and cupped her face with his warm, calloused hands. He lowered his head until his lips were barely a breath from hers. “Merry day before the night before Christmas, Sarah Phimm.”

She slid her fingers into his hair and brushed her parted lips against his. “Back atcha, Jack Uzi.”

His mouth covered hers. The tree disappeared, the forest disappeared, the entire world disappeared. All that existed, all that mattered, was her and him, their mouths together, their hearts and breath as one.

The children’s whoops of delighted laughter brought her back to reality.

She pulled away, cheeks flaming, lips tingling. “Build your fireplace mantel, Santa.”

He grinned and went back to work on the small wooden platform. The raised base would keep the presents a safe distance from the ground, and the round-the-trunk design ensured the gifts would be visible from all angles.

She sat at the foot of a different tree to watch.

A split second of giggling was the only warning she got before an overhead branch dipped and another twig of dark-purple berries dangled over her forehead.

Jack immediately rose to his feet, as if he took this sacred duty very seriously indeed, and strode over to crouch beneath the giggling, trembling bough.

“This isn’t even how mistletoe
works,
” she grumbled with mock Scroogery.

He kissed her anyway.

Even when he was done with the lower platform and had moved on to rain-proofing the top and wind-proofing the sides, he abandoned his tools and tasks and carols mid-word every time a handful of berries appeared anywhere near Sarah’s head.

The kids loved it.
She
loved it, although she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so.

She suspected he already knew.

The more he built up the makeshift mantel, the more he tore away at the walls around her heart. How could she possibly leave this man? Her stomach clenched as an even worse thought occurred to her. Even if hell froze over and her rule-cleaving superiors somehow gave her another chance, how could she possibly go back to living invisibly, silently, robotically, now that she knew what it was like to truly live?

Perhaps
this
was the real reason why the Heavenly Council never doled out second chances. Not because they held their angels to an impossible standard of perfection. But because no one would want it, after experiencing the wonders of imperfection.

She gazed at Jack. It was definitely love. She blushed beneath his every heated glance and melted at the barest brush of his lips. He was silly and flawed and joyous and sincere and thoughtful and bullheaded and everything she could ever possibly want. . .

And could never have.

T
HE NEXT
day, Jack rounded up Sarah and all of the village children. He bundled the kids into the bus he’d donated—driven by one of the parents—and followed behind with Sarah, in the SUV.

Being as it was Christmastime, there’d be no classes until next year. Being as it was Christmas Eve, this was his one and only opportunity to get presents under the tree before showtime. Especially since here, it was often the custom to open gifts on Christmas Eve, rather than Christmas Day.

Thanks to an evening children’s mass, the kids wouldn’t be back until after ten. Jack intended to have the town tree overflowing with presents long before their arrival. He dragged the kids into every storefront the small pueblo had to offer, gauging their interest in various toys and measuring clothes against their small frames.

They had to stop earlier than he expected. Not because they ran out of time or money. They’d run out of stores. He’d bought every toy and item of clothing even remotely suitable, and he was done shopping because there wasn’t anything left to buy.

He’d likely also singlehandedly revitalized the local economy.

While the various shopkeepers set about gift-wrapping his thousand-and-one purchases, he took his troops for a stroll about town. Hand in hand, he and Sarah led the way across cracked or missing sidewalks, past a barbershop and a bakery, over a well-worn soccer field, through a mildly graffitied town square.

To a Californian, the impoverished pueblo left much to be desired. To kids who didn’t even take nonleaking roofs for granted, it was nothing short of Wonderland.

They loved the school, with its crayons and books and cafeteria. They loved the church, with its lights and nativity and stained glass. They loved the park, with its concrete benches and trimmed grass and mosaic foun—

“Hey!” he shouted, sprinting toward them. “Don’t drink out of the fountain!”

Too late.

The older kids had dipped their hands in, telltale wetness still clinging to their palms and chins. The smaller kids had pushed up on their toes, leaning their bellies over the side of the fountain to dunk their faces directly into the water.

The slightly murky, slightly oily, peppered-with-rusted-pennies-and-bird-droppings water.

“Oh, God.”

The kids had stopped when he’d shouted, but Jack pulled them away from the edge anyway, as if mere proximity was a health risk.

Sarah jogged up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

He gestured into the basin.

“They drank the water?” She recoiled. “Gross.”

“Very. This water cannot possibly be healthy.” He ran a hand through his hair. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, only to leap right back up. “I brought them here to give them some fun, not to poison them. Are they going to get sick? They won’t die, will they?”

She blinked. Her lower lip moved speechlessly.

“Oh, right. You can’t tell me, and you wouldn’t help even if you could. Your miracles can only assist
me
.” He didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his voice. He wasn’t even sure he could. The “rules” might not be her fault, but that didn’t make it fair. Or right.

He’d spoken to Sarah in English, but it didn’t matter. The children were all staring up at him, round-eyed and nervous. One of them started to cough. Probably unrelated, he guessed, but still. Not good.

The oldest two—a girl and a boy who’d been coconspirators in the mistletoe game—seemed to be the only ones to put together the meaning behind his warning. The girl took a second glance at the water she’d been drinking and quickly turned away, as if nauseous. The boy laughed at her, but wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if wiping away a taste gone sour.

Jack tried to think. Maybe they would be fine, and maybe they wouldn’t. He was a billionaire, not a nutritionist, but he’d have to be blind not to see the potential for trouble. But what could he do? Sarah couldn’t help him because of the stupid rules, and he was fresh out of magic wands to whisk away all his troubles.

Or was he?

He slanted a considering glance toward Sarah’s concerned face. She
wanted
to help. He could see it in her worried expression, in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched as if itching to purify the water.

Well, he’d just have to make it easier for her to do so.

He sat back down on the edge of the fountain. “I’m going to drink some.”

“Don’t even think about it.” She dug her fingers into his sleeve. “People
die
from contaminated water.”

“Exactly.”

Before he could change his mind, he plunged his cupped hands into the grimy water and raised them to his lips. She’d either have to purify the water supply or risk him catching whatever diseases it contained. He lifted his hands to his open mouth—

And choked in disbelief as orange-flavored saccharine coated his tongue.

Sticky wetness dripped from his fingers, splashing his khaki pants with pale orange drops. He jerked his head toward the fountain. It now brimmed with translucent orange liquid. Not a speck of dirt or grime in sight. He didn’t have to take another sip to recognize the flavor.

He cast his angel an incredulous stare. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“What?” she asked innocently. “You
like
orange Tang.”

“I did when I was eight!”

She shrugged and lifted a palm. “
They’re
eight.”

“I thought you were just going to purify it.”

“It’s purified.”

“I thought it would still be
water.
”

The edge of her lips quirked. “What’s wrong with a little flavor?”

“What’s wrong with a nice Chianti?” he countered.

“No vitamin C,” she pointed out. “Think of the children.”

“I always do,” he said quietly. “Are they safe?”

“Never been healthier. I neutralized every virus and germ in a ten-yard radius.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. He looked over at the kids. They were crowded around the fountain, jostling and laughing, the moment of terror forgotten.

She’d saved them, despite the rules.

Not just that, he realized slowly, as the cascading towers of orange Tang glistened in the sunlight. The bigger miracle here wasn’t that she’d saved the day, but
how
she’d saved the day. She’d hadn’t just twitchy-eyed some clean water. His serious, rule-following guardian angel had actually had some fun with it. She’d done something
playful
.

He stared at her in astonishment. . . and love.

He should probably take her temperature, or check her for a concussion. He kissed her instead. Twice. And then another time for good measure.

The father who’d driven the children’s bus stepped out of the row of shops and waved to let Jack know the presents were done being giftwrapped.

Jack glanced over his shoulder, trying to come up with a rational explanation for why the crumbling water fountain was now flowing with orange Tang, and blinked to discover that it wasn’t.

Water flowed from all three levels, splashing into the basin below. Safe, clean, pure water.

“Tang you very much,” he whispered.

She elbowed him. “Don’t you have a chimney to slide down?”

Right.

He sent the kids into the church so they wouldn’t see the presents being loaded into the SUV. And loaded. And loaded. There would barely be enough room to shoehorn him and Sarah inside.

He couldn’t have been more pleased.

As soon as they were back in the car, he kissed the tip of Sarah’s nose and turned the wheel toward the river. They had a solid four or five hours until the children would get back to the village, but Jack wanted to set things up sooner rather than later. Over the past week, the rain had gone from intermittent drizzle to an almost constant downpour, and the sky was once again turning dark and swollen. He wanted to get the presents safely situated before the heavens opened up and drowned them.

He glanced at Sarah and grinned to himself at her trick with the fountain. As soon as they’d decked the tree, he had some tricks of his own he’d like to show her. Preferably horizontally. And nakedly. Definitely nakedly.

Wait. . . what was he thinking? His fingers tightened on the wheel as a sudden doubt snaked down his spine. He has the one-in-a-million luck to get sent a guardian angel, and the first thought that occurs to him is boning her?

Not his
first
thought, he reminded himself piously. His first thought had been saving the children. His
second
thought had been taking the angel to heaven.

He downshifted over some rough terrain. Probably there was a special place in hell for people like him. A special room called “Egocentric Assholes Who Performed Unholy Acts with Guardian Angels.” Probably guys like him were exactly why Heaven was so stingy with assigning angels in the first place. Probably just the fantasy alone was more than enough to ensure a nice toasty future.

Didn’t stop him from wanting her, though.

He slid another glance her way and faced the truth. He would never stop wanting her. He was throwing every fiber of his being into creating the Best Christmas Ever because he couldn’t bear to contemplate what would happen afterward.

She’d lose her job, she’d said. Even if she didn’t, it didn’t take a genius to realize they’d never trust her alone with him again. He figured he’d pretty much lost all guardian angel rights the first time he’d kissed her.

Being on his own in that sense didn’t bother him in the least. He hadn’t even known he
had
a guardian angel until just recently, so it wasn’t like he would miss having an invisible, wordless entity shadowing his every move.

What he
would
miss. . . was Sarah. His temperature dropped and his skin went clammy. His stomach twisted upside-down just thinking about it. Which was why he wouldn’t think about it.

He would think about tonight, and the next night, and the next night. He would think about the time they still had left, not the eternity they would be apart. He only wished he’d been able to appreciate the thirty-five years they’d had together before he’d been clued in. And honestly, could there be any greater proof that she was the perfect woman for him than that? She
knew
him. She knew him better than anyone ever had or could.

She knew every tiny secret he’d tried to hide from others, every humiliation he’d tried to block from his own mind, every success and every failure, every joy and every sorrow. And she liked him anyway.

He grinned at her. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. He grinned wider.

An eternity together wouldn’t even be enough.

He coaxed the SUV along the dirt road as the first drops of rain splattered against the windshield. He was grateful for the rain. It meant no one would interrupt their party of two.