15
Lane tossed the wadded tissue paper into the trash bag. “Are you sure you were good enough to deserve all of Santa’s gifts?”
Jake looked up from his new whoopee cushion and grinned. “I bet he doesn’t bring me as many next year.”
The master of practical jokes made a good point. Lane had gone a little crazy this year, buying everything on Jake’s trickster list.
“Mom, can I go outside and try out this fake blood?”
Alice glared at Lane. “Can’t you buy the kid something normal, like a puppy or a sled?”
“You said no animals and he already has a sled.”
Alice threw a ball of wrapping paper at Jake. “Go ahead. Bundle up.”
Quick as a flash, Jake put on his coat and ran out the door.
Lane grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the plate on the coffee table next to the cinnamon candle Alice had brought and went to the kitchen for some milk. He pulled a glass from the cabinet and looked out the window, glimpsing the snow-covered Coal Mountain in the distance. So much for sharing this view with Rae today. How was she enjoying the afternoon in her big Tennessee mansion?
He swallowed his irritation. It was just as much his fault. So many times he’d come close to calling her. Confessing that he was an idiot, and he never should’ve let her leave. Like before, her music stood between them. Only this time, the distance was too great for him to cross.
Glass filled with milk, he returned to the living room and stole another cookie.
Jake charged through the door, cheeks wind-chapped, holding a box. “It’s for you, Uncle Lane!”
Lane raised a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
Jake held out the box. “Yeah. I found it on the porch. It’s got your name on it and everything.”
Lane reached for it, but then stopped. “Nice try, buddy. I’m not falling for that one.”
“What? Santa left it for you.”
“Uh, huh. I bet he did.”
“It’s not a trick. I promise.”
The wrapping job did look nicer than an eight-year-old could manage. Something about the hand-written tag seemed familiar too. He took the package and carefully ripped off the paper, expecting something to jump out at any second.
A microphone.
He lifted it from the tissue paper. No card.
Rae.
“Did you see who left this?” Lane tucked the mic back into the box.
Jake shook his head, eyes big as bowling balls. “Nope. But there’s candy in the snow.”
Alice laughed. “Candy? What are you up to, Jake?”
“Nothin’. I promise.” He followed Lane to the door. “I think it was Santa.”
Or a trouble-making female vocalist who knew how to get Lane’s attention. A trail of brown, yellow, and orange peanut butter candies started at the bottom of his porch steps and continued down the snow-covered driveway. He studied the petite footprints in the snow, unsure if they were Jake’s or Rae’s.
His heart drummed. He turned to get his coat.
Alice stood behind him with her car keys dangling in one hand and his coat in the other, wearing a satisfied grin.
He took his jacket and shoved his arms inside. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Alice shrugged. “Maybe.” She tossed the keys, and he snatched them in the air. “She called. We talked.” Alice rolled her eyes and smiled. “What are you waiting for? Go get her.”
Not stopping to let the engine warm, Lane threw the car into drive and followed the set of tire tracks next to the trail of candy. He smiled, remembering the day his four-wheeler had run out of gas in the woods, and they’d walked back to his place and watched E.T. The day he’d let her back in.
He loved Rae. If she’d really come for him, he’d hold on with all his strength this time. If they ended up in the tabloids, he’d use the opportunity to bring awareness to the disease. Other celebrities had done it and helped a lot of people.
The candy trail led to the covered bridge. An orange convertible was parked to the side of the entrance. He threw the car in park, killed the engine, and slammed the door closed behind him.
Cold air stung his cheeks and nose. His footprints swallowed the little ones leading into the bridge. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped inside, squinting to adjust to the dimness after the blinding snow.
Rae stood next to the middle window. The outside light washed over one side of her face. Dark curls spilled from a red hat that matched her coat and gloves. The closer he got, the more her smile wavered. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.”
Lane stopped in front of her, speechless.
Her eyes glistened. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
She rocked on her toes. “Did you get my gift?”
“I did.” He could warm her pink cheeks real quick. “What does it mean?”
“It means I choose you.” Rae swallowed. Squared her shoulders. She hitched her thumb at the beam where he’d carved their names. “I’ve wasted enough time, Lane. Forever’s waiting.”
He took his hands from his pockets. “It won’t be easy. I’ll be lucky to give you twenty good years.”
“Every year with you is good. MS doesn’t own you—doesn’t own us. I’ll do whatever I have to. We’ll make this work.”
“What about your contract?”
“I’ve got six months to fulfill the old and five years on the one I just signed.” With shaky hands, she reached for his. “I’ll be writing songs for other artists from now on. I’d like to sell the house in Nashville and add a small recording studio here. Work from home. Take care of you. Maybe start a family. Help you fight for that mountain.”
“Got it all figured out, do you?”
“I do. A greatest hits album is in the works, and my producer agreed to let me record a gospel album as well. With my income, we should be comfortable when the time comes for you to quit work.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“I know I love you. Just the way you are.” A pause. “Marry me?”
He chuckled. “You’re proposing to me? How unconventional.”
“When have you ever known me to follow rules?”
“Never.”
“Marry me?”
“All right, troublemaker. When?”
“Tonight.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“How do I know you’ll stay this time?”
“Because I treasure you.”
“And when you miss singing onstage? What then?”
“I’ll sing in the church choir.”
Lane pulled her against him and kissed her until she melted in his arms. He was definitely the one getting more this Christmas.