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Steve followed Lincoln into their house, exhausted from pulling an all-nighter but feeling more alive than he had felt in years, as if, for once in his life, he’d done something good for all the right reasons.
“Mom!” Lincoln called.
“In the kitchen, dear.”
Lincoln raced ahead.
The aroma of fresh coffee made Steve’s mouth water. The coffee at the station had turned putrid around one a.m. He walked through the arch and halted.
Lincoln was hugging their mother full bore. Sheer joy was flooding her face. Was it a Christmas miracle? Or was Lincoln actually getting comfortable in his own skin? Comfortable enough to say the words I love you to his brother and to demonstrate this kind of love for his mother?
Amen, Steve thought.
“Merry Christmas, boys. We heard you on the radio,” Frank said, pokerfaced to the displays of emotion. He unbuttoned the buttons of his cardigan before perching on a stool. “Wish you’d looped us in.”
“It was spur-of-the-moment.” Steve sauntered into the room while removing the Santa beard.
“Spur-of-the-moment,” Lincoln said, breaking free. “On impulse. Spontaneous.” He drummed the counter with his fingertips. “We rang bells.”
“We heard,” Ellery said, adjusting the front of her robe and pulling the belt tighter.
“Bells bring angels,” Lincoln went on. “Right, Steve?”
“Right-o.”
“They do, indeed.” Ellery patted Lincoln’s cheek. “Do you want some cocoa?”
“Yes!” He bounced on his toes. “Cocoa. With marshmallows. Lots of—”
“Sit,” Ellery ordered. “Can’t have you sloshing chocolate all over the place.”
Lincoln obeyed but his toes continued to tap the floor.
“How much did you raise?” Frank asked Steve.
“As of six a.m., five hundred thousand.”
Frank whistled. “I knew we had deep pockets in Hope Valley, but that’s a miracle.”
“Too bad you won’t be able to oversee the project, Steve,” Ellery said, filling a snowman mug of cocoa. “Want some?” She held up the matching pitcher.
“Coffee, please.” Steve tilted head. “What do you mean I won’t be able to oversee it?”
“Your agent called the landline when you weren’t returning his calls.”
Steve checked his cell phone. Five missed messages.
“He got you a job in Chicago,” his mother said.
“Chicago!” Steve whooped, and then drew up short. Wait. Hold on. Was this some new ploy Gloria had figured out on her flight back to Minneapolis? Did she think scoring him a job in a big-ticket market like Chicago would win him back? If it was, she had another think coming.
Lincoln frowned. His feet stopped tapping. “Chicago is far away.”
“Yes, it is.” Ellery glanced at Steve’s father.
“Why?” Lincoln whined.
“Why what, buddy?” Steve placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Why do you need to take a job so far away? Why can’t you stay here? Hope is here.”
Hope. Steve heaved a sigh and settled on the stool next to his brother. “Linc, we’ve been through this. I’m a sports announcer. I need to go where the jobs are. There’s no job for me here.”
“Yes, there is.” Lincoln put his mug down and bounded off his perch. “Mom. Dad. I have an idea. A good one. A really good one. It’s really, really good.”
Ellery put her hands on his shoulders. “Calm down, Son. Tell us your idea.”
“You and Dad should buy KQHV.”
Frank’s mouth fell open. “Buy the radio station?”
“You said you wanted another business, Dad.”
“I never said that.” Frank exchanged a look with Ellery.
“Yes you did. You said you should buy all the businesses in town.” Lincoln flailed his arms. “I heard you. You said, ‘Ellery, if I bought all the shops in this town”—he brandished a finger the way his father would—“Hope Valley would run like clockwork.”
Ellery snickered. “You have said that, Frank.”
“I was joking, Son.” Frank smirked.
“You have two businesses. Why not three?” Lincoln jutted a hand at him.
“Because there’s only your mother and me. Two adults. Two businesses.”
“If you buy the radio station, Steve can run it for you.”
Steve had sensed where this was heading and swallowed hard.
“He’s the Voice. He can do whatever programs he wants. He can do sports statistics and sports history, and every Christmas he could run Project Christmas Hope Valley, just like he and I did last night and this morning, and . . . and . . .” Lincoln whirled around and faced Steve. “You could stay here with me and Mom and Dad and, and, and . . .” He took a deep breath. “And Hope.”
Steve straightened. The possibility of seeing more of Hope sent a thrill through him, and to be honest, the notion of staying in town with his family and touching people personally, as Mr. Q had all these years, was growing on him. Maybe that was what he’d been missing at KPRL. The human connection. Was it time for him to abandon the idea of a big—bigger than big—career and come home to roost? His cell phone rang. He answered.
“Steve, it’s Ray Capellini. I can’t believe it, boy. You did it. You really did it. I know it’s Christmas day, but if you have time, stop by the office. I have a business opportunity I think you might like.”
