Dreaming of a White Christmas Read online

  Dreaming of a White Christmas

  by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  Dedication

  To Brittany Bodden, Kristy Bodden, Sally Miller, Meagan Holman, Lauren Adams, Megan Adams, Alison Goss, and Sarah Goss, my precious nieces. . . may the Lord always lead you and guide you.

  And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold,

  I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest

  and on earth peace, good will toward men.

  Luke 2:10–14

  Chapter 1

  Cade’s Point, California—Thanksgiving Eve

  It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I’m sitting in a store window up to my eyeballs in work.”

  Ducking beneath the swag of brilliant green tinsel, Casey Forrester surveyed her progress as she suppressed a yawn. It must be near to midnight. She’d know the exact time if she hadn’t lost her watch somewhere in the simulated red snow.

  Casey leaned against the paper-covered glass of Callahan & Callahan’s easternmost window. Honey, you’re a long way from the Ozarks, but this is a whole lot better than a double helping of Granny’s turkey and Aunt Lou’s pumpkin pie.

  All right. So it wasn’t really better, but if she repeated the thought enough it might push away some of her homesickness. After all, she was doing exactly what she’d always wanted to do: design store windows.

  And how bad could it be to have all your dreams come true in a place where palm trees and beaches were the standard scenery? After all, Cade’s Point had the benefit of being situated comfortably between Los Angeles and Malibu on the Pacific Coast Highway. While their neighbors to the north and south paid city prices for their oversized homes, the post–World War II beach shacks and bungalows bordering Riverside and Cade’s Beach Boulevard could be had for a steal.

  Someday she would make one of those lovely cottages hers. Until then, she’d settle for two rooms and a bath in a converted attic across from the beach. If she stood on the toilet and craned her neck, she could see Cade’s Beach and the glorious Pacific beyond.

  “Sun, sand, and a view of the beach from my bathroom window. What could be more perfect?” She stumbled over a cable, then righted herself by reaching for the first of three blue tin trees. “All right, I admit it, Lord. I don’t want to be here tonight. I’m tired.” Casey punctuated the statement with a yawn.

  Obviously the Lord wanted her here or Mrs. Montero, the store’s manager and Elias Callahan’s daughter, would never have entrusted Casey with the job of creating the Christmas displays for Callahan & Callahan Fine Clothiers, the most fashionable store on the entire West Coast. Considering this time last year she was planning what to wear to the Christmas formal at Ole Miss, Casey considered herself extremely blessed. Mrs. Montero told her she’d beat out a long line of much more experienced competitors to win the position.

  Casey’s first assignment: create a drop-dead amazing set of store windows to celebrate Callahan & Callahan’s newly remodeled Cade’s Point store. The offices where the big brass worked were just two floors up, so Casey had spent the past few months designing windows that would be seen by most of America come Thanksgiving Day under the watchful eyes of everyone from the janitor to the CEO himself, Elias Callahan. At least they tried to watch. Mrs. Montero had upped the pressure by electing not to preview Casey’s designs and decreeing that anyone caught looking over Casey’s shoulder would be summarily dismissed.

  Given all the hype, gratefulness at being given her big chance had soon turned to sheer terror at the prospect of messing up. When the three windows of Callahan & Callahan opened on Thanksgiving morning, the whole world would be looking at Casey’s work for the first time.

  Well, anyone who watched local TV or cable news, anyway.

  Fear overtook her, and Casey had to sit. She sank down beside a pile of gifts wrapped in rainbow colors and topped by bows of silver and gold, and rested her head on her knees.

  What if the world wasn’t ready for her designs? What if she had created a huge flop?

  What will I wear?

  Mrs. Montero told her preview photos of the windows were considered a hot commodity on the Internet. Yesterday, Mr. Riley, a security guard, caught a guy from the National Questioner posing as a deliveryman so he could peek at the design.

  Brenda from accounting and Liz, the new hire in cosmetics, told her at lunch they’d been approached by e-mail from several journalists offering payment for pictures of the famous Callahan & Callahan windows. Neither accepted, not that they had any more access to the designs and the actual windows than anyone off the street.

  Casey felt her pocket where the keys rested against a partially wrapped peppermint and a note reminding her to grab milk on the way home. As of this afternoon, she held the only key to the three locked windows. Even Mrs. Montero couldn’t get in, although in theory she could order Casey to hand over a key anytime she felt the need to peek.

  Slowly she rose, then reached down to fluff up the faux snow where her rear had made an impression. One final check of the display Casey called Neon Noel and she tiptoed to the exit hidden behind the brilliant orange bag of toys. The door clicked behind her and she fitted the key into the lock, then rested her forehead on the steel door.

  “Lord, what have I done?”

  “You’ve created a right interesting set of windows, I’m sure.”

  Casey jumped, her breath caught just shy of her throat. Resplendent in his Christmas-green coveralls stood Mr. Riley, a man whose age defied calculation. Rumor was, he’d been hired by the original Callahans, although Mr. Riley refused to confirm or deny this.

  “I’m sorry, little lady. I ought not to have spoken without first letting you know I was here.” He cocked his head to the side, then pointed to a spot just north of her eyebrows. “Did you mean to have that red fuzz in your hair?”

  Swiping at her forehead, she watched a sizable chunk of cherry-colored faux snow land between her sock feet. Casey quickly picked it up and stuffed it into her pocket alongside the mint and note.

  “Thanks,” she said, as she pushed on the door one more time to be certain it had closed tight. One more window to check and she could call it a night. Or a morning, if it was as late as it seemed.

  “If you’ll excuse me.”

  She ducked past Mr. Riley to head to the south end of the building. This side faced the ocean, thus lending itself nicely to a beach theme she’d come to call Sandy Claus.

  “You done for the night, Miss Forrester?” he called as she rounded the corner at foundations.

  “Not yet,” she said, “but you don’t have to stay on my account.”

  It was a well-known fact that Mr. Riley’s job was a token one. The real security for Callahan & Callahan’s flagship store was an alarm system handled by a firm out of Los Angeles whose prototype was in use at the governor’s mansion in Sacramento.

  Casey didn’t know he’d caught up with her until he banged his flashlight against the escalator. She jumped.

  “You’re a skittish thing, aren’t you?”

  She gulped to slow her racing heart. “Well, sir, I guess I’m just not used to watching a big-time security man like yourself on the job. I sure do appreciate the work you do here, Mr. Riley.”

  The old man hitched up his coveralls with one hand and gripped his flashlight with the other. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

  Well who was? With few exceptions,
the folks she’d met since she arrived in town last July were all from somewhere else. The California native seemed as rare as the California condor.

  “No, sir,” Casey said. “Pierce City, Missouri, by way of Ole Miss.”

  He gave her an appraising look. “Thought as much.”

  Okay. “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me.” She unlocked the door to the beach scene and stepped inside.

  “You going to be in here long?” he called.

  “Fifteen minutes at the most.” She stuck her head out to see him standing where she’d left him. “Were you in a hurry?”

  “I don’t suppose,” he said. “I’ll go make my rounds one more time before I leave. Ought to take about fifteen minutes, twenty at the most.”

  She stepped into the window and reached for an errant elf whose swim trunks had been put on backward. “That should give me plenty of time.” A moment later, Casey left the display and locked the door, satisfied that all was well at the North Pole Pier.

  One more window, her favorite, awaited her final inspection. She called it Dreaming of a White Christmas, and it was a near-perfect reproduction of Granny Forrester’s front parlor back in Pierce City. Complete with a towering, bedecked spruce and gifts wrapped and tagged with the names of her cousins, it boasted a well-worn King James Bible open to the story of the Nativity and a cane rocker just like Granny’s. Wooden ornaments sat waiting in a basket on the hearth, a reminder of the Forrester family tradition.

  Casey stepped inside and hit the switch, bathing the window-turned-room in a homey combination of warm lamplight and cozy orange firelight from the faux fireplace in the corner. She walked toward the fireplace, marveling that the flames were no more real than the cherry-colored snow in the Neon Noel window.

  It seemed as though, if she were only a few feet closer, she could warm her hands by the fire and fill her empty stomach with the freshly melted ingredients for s’mores that waited on the hearth. And the stockings? Exact replicas of the ones she and her cousins hung every year on Christmas Eve.

  Closing her eyes, she wondered what Granny Forrester was doing right this minute. Probably sleeping, she decided, for the matriarch of the Forrester family rose before dawn and, in her own words, went to bed with the sun.

  Definitely not California hours. Even now Casey could hear the sounds of traffic dashing past on the boulevard.

  She shrugged the tiredness from her shoulders, then reached for the crocheted granny-square afghan currently draped on the arm of the plaid sofa. Cuddling the soft material against her cheek, she turned to peruse the details of the room.

  Doilies on sofa arms. Check.

  Braided rug on floor. Check.

  Framed photographs of family. On this she had been forced to compromise. While they weren’t actual family members, they would fool just about anyone except her family.

  Casey lowered herself into the rocker and arranged the afghan over her legs. Two days until her big debut. She reached for the Bible, a happy find in the back of a dusty shop in the valley, and sighed. Words from the second chapter of Luke rose unbidden in her mind: “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

  She settled deeper into the cushions of the cane rocker and pulled the afghan to her chin, closing the Bible. The firelight beckoned, so she turned her attention there as she suppressed a yawn.

  “And this shall be a sign unto you; ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will toward. . .”

  A moment later, Casey jerked as something hit the floor with a thud. The Bible. She reached over to set the heavy volume back in its place on the chair-side table, then rose and stretched before heading toward the door.

  Stepping out of the window, she walked into total darkness. “What. . . ?”

  She reached behind her to open the door, then flipped the switch inside. Light streamed through the opening and lit the space around her.

  “Mr. Riley?” When he failed to answer, she called again. “Must not be able to hear me.”

  Casey took a few steps out of the rectangle of light, then froze. She’d never get anywhere like this.

  Ducking back into the window, she grabbed the battery-operated floor lamp and headed for her office in the back of the store. Once there, she snagged her purse and empty lunch bag and made her way to the employee exit. It was locked tight.

  “Mr. Riley?”

  Still no answer.

  Gripping the floor lamp, Casey retraced her route, then turned toward the doors on the east side. They, too, were locked, as were the ones on the south and north sides. Until she found Mr. Riley, she was good and truly locked in, the only alternative being to trip the alarm by opening an emergency door.

  In her exhaustion, Casey briefly considered doing just that. Then she took that scenario one step further. Not only would she rouse the security guard and the Cade’s Point Police Department, but Mrs. Montero and Mr. Callahan would also be summoned.

  Then there was the matter of the press. If anyone saw the windows before the big opening, decades of tradition would be ruined.

  Better to ferret out Mr. Riley. Perhaps the elderly fellow had fallen asleep somewhere in the store. Lamp in hand, she set off in search of the security guard who held the key to her exit—literally. Unfortunately, after a half hour of searching and much banging on doors, walls, and other structures, she failed to raise the security guard.

  Panic edged into the corners of her mind and threatened to creep further. Casey shook her head and reached into her purse for her cell phone. If she couldn’t get out, she could at least call out.

  Casey opened the flip phone and punched the green button. Nothing happened.

  She tried again. And again. Dead. What a time to realize she hadn’t charged her phone.

  “Great.” Casey closed the phone and dropped it into her purse. “Now what?”

  Using a store line sounded like a great plan, until she realized she had no idea who to call. Back in Pierce City there were any number of folks who would get out of bed to come and rescue her from a locked department store or see her through whatever emergency had befallen her.

  But here in the city she knew no one that well. She did have a lunch table companionship established with Brenda from accounting, and Liz from cosmetics had offered a free makeover anytime she desired. Still, a live body across the lunch table and a pal who could hide your dark circles did not equate to a good friend you could call at midnight.

  Or whatever time it was.

  If I get out of here with a job, I am going to make sure Brenda and Liz know I’m that kind of friend. If. . .

  Casey leaned against the locked door and closed her eyes. Now what?

  Granny Forrester’s parlor beckoned, and she headed back toward the Dreaming of a White Christmas window to settle into the cane rocker. Best-case scenario: Mr. Riley would return to let her out or someone arriving early to work would take pity on her.

  Worst case? “Well, I just won’t entertain those negative thoughts. The Lord will get me out of this mess. He always does.”

  She’d nearly fallen asleep when she thought better of it. Staying awake was her only hope for keeping this minor emergency from turning into a major fiasco.

  Casey rose and rubbed her eyes. She’d make a pot of coffee up in the break room, then get something to read from the books-and-gifts department. Before she knew it, dawn would break.

  Or, better yet, Mr. Riley would come out of hiding and release her.

  The coffee made, she carried her mug and the most gripping mystery novel she could find into her office. Settling into her soft leather chair, Casey placed the book in front of her on the desk, then took a sip of strong black coffee.

  “T
his should keep me up.”

  Half an hour later, she lifted her head off the desk to realize she’d soaked the edges of the novel with the remains of the overturned coffee mug. Casey straightened the mess as best she could and fought to knock the cobwebs from her brain. What to do? She certainly couldn’t be caught sleeping at her desk. That would be more embarrassing than sleeping in the window and much more of a public spectacle.

  Sleeping in the window. Of course.

  She opened her desk drawer and picked up her notepad, then scribbled two notes, one each to her two companions. After placing the notes on their desks, she headed for the Cade’s Point Boulevard window where Granny Forrester’s parlor waited.

  Back in Pierce City, she and her cousins had spent many nights sleeping by the fire. They’d called it camping out. Tonight Casey would be camping out alone, at least until someone came to rescue her.

  Chapter 2

  Ben Callahan was a mess and he knew it. That last call, a four-car accident out in Hidden View, had done him in. Between the bumpy ride up the canyon’s fire road and the combative patient they’d transported to Valley General, he’d ended up feeling like he ought to be the ambulance’s next occupant instead of the EMT.

  If he weren’t so tired, he’d probably have the strength to count the number of runs the ambulance crew had gone on tonight. It numbered in double digits; this he knew for sure. The last time he’d spent a night like this, he’d been on the other side of the world in a combat zone.

  But then, some nights it seemed as though he’d never left the patch-’em-up-and-ship-’em-out mentality of the military. There certainly seemed to be parallels here in civilian life.

  Slamming his locker, Ben sank onto the hard wooden bench and rested his elbows on his knees. Soon as he gathered the strength, he’d change into his street clothes and head home.

  Home. Well, that brought a chuckle. The studio apartment he shared with an empty fridge and a dead plant could hardly be called a home. He let his chin drop and cradled his head in his hands.