Dreaming of a White Christmas Read online

  The blond? That was another story altogether.

  Then there was the issue of his father. Ben rolled over and punched the skimpy pillow. Thanksgiving mornings in the past, he’d headed for the house in the canyon to be poked and prodded by maiden aunts who thought him too thin and teased by uncles who resented his firm stance on bachelorhood. Then came the big blow up with his father at the store.

  Callahan males were a pigheaded bunch and Elias Callahan was the most pigheaded of them all. Ben’s sisters would say Ben had inherited a good measure of that family trait, as well, but what did they know? He drifted off to sleep, wondering if even his mother, rest her soul, could have negotiated a truce in this ongoing war between father and son.

  Probably not, as Ben refused to apologize for choosing to serve his country in the Marine Corps over serving his father’s business interests at Callahan & Callahan.

  Ben awoke from a dreamless sleep to the smell of something cooking. Lunch, he discovered a few minutes later when he slipped into his boots and headed downstairs. Passing on the turkey and dressing, he situated a slice of pumpkin pie on a paper plate and anchored it with a cover of foil. It sat beside him on the seat of his truck until the light at Mountainview and Riverside when a Channel 43 news truck ran the light and nearly broadsided him.

  He pulled to the curb to scrape the pie off his floor mat with an out-of-date map of Los Angeles, then climbed from the truck and deposited the mess in a trash receptacle. So much for his Thanksgiving feast. Glancing up Riverside, he noticed what looked like a traffic jam at the next light.

  “The big unveiling,” he muttered as he jogged back to the truck and climbed inside. “Big deal.”

  At one time it had been a big deal. Being the sole male heir, Ben had done the honors at the annual post-parade Thanksgiving morning unveiling ever since he was out of diapers. Photos of Elias Callahan’s future business partner went out on the wire services along with images of the store windows that never failed to draw a crowd. Afterward, at the traditional meal in the company dining room, he’d been given first chance at the turkey leg.

  Ah, the perks of inheriting the keys to the kingdom.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d lost interest and still he honored the tradition. Until four years ago.

  Ben let out a long breath and shook his head. Easing onto Mountainview, he accelerated. Three blocks away a soft bed awaited, while up on Riverside a painful memory of what used to be was being filmed for the evening news.

  The choice was simple. Why then, did he slip his cap on and hang a U-turn to head back toward Riverside?

  Chapter 4

  "Casey, you do the honors.” Elias Callahan leaned close. “And don’t be nervous.”

  Don’t be nervous? That was like saying don’t breathe or don’t blink. Oh, anyone could manage it for a moment or two, but any consideration of accomplishing it long-term was out of the question.

  Casey glanced over at the store owner and he gave her what looked like an encouraging nod. As she raised her hand to press the giant candy-cane-colored button, cameras began to flash. She lost track of where the button had been placed. It took her two tries to make contact with the device, but when she managed, the music started and the curtains opened.

  Through the spots dancing before her eyes, Casey watched the crowd’s astonished faces turn to smiles. Then the applause broke out.

  She’d chosen to stand near her favorite window, the scene from Granny’s house. Whether the other two windows were a hit or a flop was uncertain. But she knew from watching the crowd on the other side of the glass that this one had met with appreciation. Granny would be pleased.

  Elias Callahan grasped her elbow and guided her away from the throng. “Miss Forrester, perhaps you would do the honors of posing in the window nearest the door.”

  Neon Noel. Not her favorite.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Father.” Mrs. Montero gestured toward the replica of the Forrester family parlor. “I think I like this one.”

  A moment later, Casey stood in front of Granny’s fireplace. A half dozen journalists awaited her upstairs, each having been selected to write about the new window dresser at Callahan & Callahan.

  It was all too much, really, this attention. Coupled with her lack of sleep, the excitement made her woozy and she swayed. Catching herself on the mantel, she stared past the crowd on the other side of the window to the vehicles passing on Riverside.

  A truck slowed and edged to the curb, its occupant’s face hidden beneath a cap. He leaned against the steering wheel before turning to look her way.

  Elias Callahan cleared his throat. “Miss Forrester, shall we?”

  When she glanced in his direction, she saw he wore an odd expression. He, too, was staring at the man in the truck.

  The look on the older man’s face concerned her. “Someone you know, sir?”

  Mr. Callahan turned his back on the window and headed for the exit. “Not anymore,” he said, as he disappeared into the store.

  The interviews lasted until midafternoon, then the group headed for Thanksgiving dinner in the employee dining room, an event that had begun years ago when the late Mrs. Callahan balked at serving Thanksgiving dinner after spending the morning at the unveiling. She’d elected to bring the feast to the store and a tradition was born.

  By the time Casey left the store, she was sleepy, stuffed, and floating on air. Gary, the store’s Web guy, had a stack of articles on the store printed out for her while Mrs. Montero advised her to go home and tape the news broadcasts. The clincher was when Granny Forrester called Casey’s cell phone to say she’d been contacted by a wire service for her opinion on the room that was supposed to be a replica of hers.

  “How do they find these things out, Granny?” she asked as she snapped her seat belt and threw the Bug’s gearshift into reverse.

  “I don’t know, honey, but don’t worry. I told them it was the prettiest store window I’d ever seen. Well, actually. . .”

  “What? Don’t you like it? I tried hard to make it look just like your parlor.”

  “Oh, I like it fine enough, honey. I just don’t understand why you’d want my plain-old house featured in a fancy store window. Now that beach room? That was a pretty one. Oh, and the window with the red snow? Well, I just loved it, even if I never would have dreamed up that color combination.”

  “I’m glad you liked it, Granny.”

  “I did, that’s for sure. So did your mama and daddy. They’ll be calling you next. I told them they had to wait until I had my turn since it was my house you used.” She chuckled, then grew silent. “Casey, honey, I wonder if it’s too soon to ask what day you’ll be here next month.”

  “What day?”

  “For Christmas. You are coming home for Christmas, aren’t you?” She paused. “Why, the Forrester Christmas tradition wouldn’t be the same without you here to be a part of it. All your cousins will be here. You’ve never missed a year, you know. None of you have.”

  Casey shifted into drive and headed the Bug across the parking lot. “Yes, of course I’m coming home. I wouldn’t miss it. I just haven’t had a moment to think about exactly what day.”

  “I understand. Just as long as you’re here in time to have our special Christmas get-together with your cousins.”

  “I’ll be there. I promise. I’ll let you know the minute I make the plane reservations.”

  Signaling to turn onto Riverside, her phone beeped. A number she didn’t recognize scrolled across the screen. Rather than cut short her call with Granny Forrester, she waited until she reached home to check her messages.

  “Casey, this is Elias Callahan. I want to congratulate you on a job well done. I’ve been at this all my life and I’ve never seen a more enthusiastic reception to our store windows than I saw today.”

  She gulped and plopped onto the threadbare sofa. Elias Callahan was pleased with her work.

  “I’ve left instructions with your supervisor that you’re to be given a week’s
paid vacation starting Monday morning. When you return from your well-earned sabbatical, we’ll talk about a raise, eh?”

  A week off and a raise. She gulped again. She’d only take it if it didn’t affect her planned vacation over the Christmas holidays. Nothing could keep her from Pierce City at Christmas.

  “Oh, and don’t make plans for Christmas Eve. I’m hosting a dinner in your honor. The invitations went out this morning. How’s that for a Thanksgiving surprise, Miss Forrester?”

  ~

  Ben stabbed at the last piece of pumpkin pie, then washed it down with milk straight from the carton. The football game ended and a commercial for a delivery company came on as he rose to head for the kitchen to toss his paper plate and fast-food wrappers into the trash.

  While he tried to convince himself that somewhere in the Bible it said that a turkey sandwich eaten alone was preferable to a feast shared with a contentious parent, the nightly news theme song floated toward him. Without dishes to rattle or anything to clean, Ben followed the sound of the talking heads into the living area.

  There, in living color, was the smiling face of Sleep-ing Beauty. The camera panned back a bit to show her standing in the window that resembled someone’s living room—the window where he’d first seen her.

  The window where he’d spied on her from a distance this morning. Now that had been a dumb move. Not only had he seen Sleeping Beauty, but he’d laid eyes on his father for the first time since he left the military.

  Ben pushed the newspapers out of the way and perched on the edge of the coffee table. Snagging the remote from beneath yesterday’s sports section, he hit the Volume button.

  “The inspiration for that window came from my grandmother’s home in Pierce City, Missouri,” she said. “Every year my cousins and I get together for our traditional celebration before Christmas Day. Inevitably, it is snowing or has snowed, so that’s a part of what I think of as Christmas. I call this window Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

  A reporter questioned her further but Ben heard none of it. Instead, he stared at the window designer’s name, then reached for a pen and jotted it down in the margin of the comics’ page.

  Not that he intended to look her up. The last thing he needed was any connection to Callahan & Callahan. Still, she had seemed nice and she did offer to thank him. That rarely happened in his line of work. Most folks weren’t too worried about who was saving them, just that they were being saved. Some actually complained.

  Maybe he’d let her buy him a cup of coffee.

  A commercial came on and Ben hit the Mute button as his phone rang. He groaned as he rose and padded toward the sound.

  “Who would be calling me on Thanksgiving? Surely I’m not being summoned to work on my day off. Not again.”

  The phone rang a second time. He picked up without checking the caller ID.

  “Look, I’m not coming in to work today, Cap. You’re going to have to find someone else.”

  A click was followed in quick succession by the sound of a dial tone. Ben hung up and pressed the caller ID.

  “Callahan & Callahan Fine Clothiers?” Ben took a step backward. “Who would be calling from there on Thanksgiving night? Casey Forrester, maybe?”

  He smiled and punched the code for the call-return feature. As the phone rang, he ran over what he would say in his mind.

  Unfortunately, he needn’t have bothered. No one answered.

  ~

  It was Friday morning, and Casey’s shoe-box-sized apartment smelled like a florist’s shop. Between the dozen red roses her mama and daddy sent her, the huge arrangement of blossoms from her boss, and the fragrant fruit basket from Mr. Callahan, she could barely breathe.

  Slipping into her running shoes, Casey tucked her key into her pocket and headed outside for fresh air. Her walk to the beach turned into a run as soon as her shoes hit the sand.

  What a glorious day. The sun rode above a light wisp of clouds and added just enough warmth to the morning to keep the stiff breeze from being chilly.

  Casey vaulted over a clump of smelly seaweed, then picked up her pace. Mama told her this morning that back home in Pierce City, the streets were covered in a light dusting of fresh snow. It was hard to imagine that back home there were snowmen in the yards and fires in fireplaces while here in her new home there were people enjoying the beach and surfing.

  She ran past Java Hut and headed toward the pier. A half-dozen fishermen sat in silence, their lines bobbing in the surf. Toward the horizon, she noted more sailboats than usual. Must be the holiday weekend, she decided, as she completed her lap on the pier and returned to the beach.

  A half hour later, she landed on a stool at Java Hut’s beachfront counter. The combination of Christmas music on the sound system and the beach on the other side of the counter made her smile. Only in California.

  Someone had left the lifestyle section of today’s Times on the counter, and she slid it over while she waited for her coffee.

  “Sleeping Beauty?”

  Casey turned to see a familiar face coming toward her on the sand. The EMT, her rescuer from two nights ago, only today in place of his uniform and medical bag he wore a wetsuit and carried a surfboard.

  “Well, if it isn’t Prince Charming. Hi, Ben.”

  He looked surprised. “You remembered my name.”

  “It’s a gift. I remember everyone’s name. Just don’t ask me for directions.” She stuck out her hand and shook his just as she heard her name being called. “Oh, my latte is ready. Can you stay a bit?”

  Ben took a step backward and stuck the end of his surfboard in the sand. “Well, I don’t know, I—”

  Again, her name was called. “Hold that thought,” she said as she jumped up to retrieve her latte. When she returned, Ben had leaned the board against the side of the building and come around to take a seat beside her.

  Drops of water glistened in his short hair and dropped to his shoulders as he shook his head. The slightest hint of a sunburn touched high cheekbones and faded into the stubble along his jaw.

  And then there were those eyes. Green? No, blue but with a band of deep gold around their centers.

  What am I thinking?

  Casey set the latte on the counter. “I’m sorry, Ben. I told you I would buy you a cup of coffee next time I saw you. And here you are. What would you like? Vanilla latte, maybe?” She pushed the steaming cup toward the EMT. “Here, you can have mine. I’ll get another.”

  He eyed the coffee, then scooted it back in front of her. “Thanks, but I like my coffee a little less fancy.”

  “Without the vanilla?”

  His smile was amazing. “Without anything but coffee in it.”

  She jumped to her feet. “One black coffee coming right up.”

  Before she could reach the counter, he caught up with her. “Let me.”

  Casey stood her ground. “No way, buddy. I promised you coffee and doughnuts, and that’s what you’re getting.” She glanced over her shoulder at the gentleman behind at the cash register. “A black coffee and two doughnuts for the officer.”

  “I’m not—”

  “An officer.” Casey grinned. “I know. I’m just teasing.”

  “And I’ll pass on the doughnuts.” He turned his attention back to Casey as he followed her to their seats, coffee in hand. “Thank you for the coffee. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

  She settled on her stool and watched the EMT find his spot beside her. “And you didn’t have to save my bacon the other night. I really appreciated how you handled things. I was afraid I might have lost my job over what happened. I want you to know I’ve never fallen asleep on the job.”

  “I believe you.” Ben lifted the coffee to his lips and blew on the steaming liquid before making eye contact with her. “So, what do you do when you’re not sleeping in store windows? I mean, working at the store.” He set the cup down and upped his smile. “See, I can tease, too.”

  Now that was an interesting statement. Cas
ey gave her attention to the latte in her hands rather than meet his gaze. “Honestly, I haven’t had much time to do anything else other than work since I’ve been in California. Well,

  I like to run. Does that count?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about you, Ben?” She leaned on her elbow. “What do you like to do when you’re not saving damsels in distress?”

  Ben glanced at his wetsuit.

  “Besides surf,” she added.

  “Knit.”

  She nearly choked on her latte. “Really?”

  He chuckled. “No. There’s nothing better than surfing. You should try it.”

  “I wouldn’t know. The closest thing I’ve done to surfing is to try to sled down Jenson’s Hill standing up.” Casey giggled. “Trust me. That wasn’t pretty.”

  Chapter 5

  Why don’t you let me teach you to surf, Casey? You’re in shape. I’m sure you’d be great at it.”

  Ben tried not to groan as he went back to his coffee. There wasn’t a thing about what he’d just said that hadn’t come out sounding stupid. You’re in shape? What kind of thing was that to say to a woman he barely knew?

  Casey didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. “Honestly, I’d rather watch. I find it fascinating that someone can get on a board and ride a wave all the way to the beach without getting hurt.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Ben jerked up his sleeve and pointed to the pale crescent-shaped scar on the inside of his left wrist. “See that? Hawaii, five years ago.” He turned his hand over and flexed his forearm, revealing the reminder of a run-in with a piece of coral. “Bali.”

  Casey grasped his right wrist and touched the back of his hand, tracing the network of scars that ran from wrist to elbow. “What happened here?”

  Ben jerked his arm back and yanked on the wetsuit. “Afghanistan, three years ago.”

  “There’s no beach in Afghanistan,” she said with a slightly confused look.

  “Exactly.” But there’s a buddy of mine who never made it home.