The Santa Man

Chapter 19

Sarah made Christmas.

Hip watched in admiration as the woman who'd run away from the holidays at home create a Christmas for four very anxious and frightened children. While he had settled Amy Johnson into a comfortable makeshift bed in her SUV, put in an IV to get some fluids in her and had one more argument with her husband about letting Hip go in his place, Sarah had been taking over the Johnson kitchen.

And the Johnson kids were right there with her.

Hip watched from the door as Sarah wiped the kitchen table clean and, with the help of the oldest boy, put the last of the washed dishes in the cupboard. Hip held the second box of food, so he stepped into the room and deposited it on the table. Sarah, sleeves rolled up on a white sweater, smiled her dimpled smile. At him. At Horatio Ignatius Porter, awkward and silent and overwhelmed.

"More?" the boy said, his eyes wide.

"Cookies," the littlest one chirped.

The two little girls ran over to peer inside at the assortment of canned goods and the canned ham. The other box had held the perishables, a turkey, cookies, milk, butter and fresh vegetables. He sure hoped Sarah could cook, but if she couldn't he could put together something for tonight. Hip didn't want to think about how long they would be here. Greg said he'd come back as soon as he knew Amy was going to be okay.

"Tell Mr. Hip about your tree," Sarah suggested, sitting down at the table. The littlest boy crawled into her lap as if he'd known her forever.

Hip knew just how the boy felt. She'd touched his heart in a way no one else had, in a way he couldn't explain. Not that he was good with words anyway.

Not that he'd ever be good at saying how he felt.

"We got a tree," a little girl told him. "We gotta dec'rate it."

"Okay." He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.

"I made coffee," Sarah said, clearly amused as she eased the boy off her lap. "And we ate some of your friend's cookies. But we saved you some."

"Thanks." He watched her walk over to the counter, pour him a cup of coffee and carry the mug and a plate of cookies back to the table. She placed them in front of him as the little kid with his thumb in his mouth came over to lean against his leg.

"Sit down, Hip. You drink it black, don't you?"

"Yes." He managed to pull out a chair, despite the fact that two little girls and the little boy stayed close to him.

"My mama's sick," a girl told him. "Sarah said you made her better."

"Well—"

"You made a bed for her in the car," Sarah prompted. "And you gave her some medicine in her arm and you helped their daddy take momma to the hospital so she'd get better really, really fast."

"Yeah," Hip said, looking down into three pairs of worried blue eyes. "She'll be fine."

"Drink up, Hip," Sarah told him, reaching for the box. "I'll unpack this, see what we have here for Christmas dinner, and then we'll get the tree ready for Santa to admire when he gets here."

He did as he was told. He drank his coffee and he helped decorate a sad excuse for a tree Greg had erected in the corner of a well-used living room. He kept the wood stove, an insert into the fireplace, filled with wood and sending much needed heat into the room. A bank of windows, their curtains closed against the cold, lined one wall. Bookshelves and an oversize couch took up the other two. A television was tucked into a corner and the children insisted that they watch their Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer DVD.

It was a cozy scene, and Hip found himself melting into it. He couldn't help it. Between the warmth of the stove and the nearness of Sarah, and the children's relieved joy in finally decorating their tree, Hip found it easy to pretend that this life was something he could have. Sarah made pancakes for dinner, prepared the turkey for tomorrow and made sure all four children had baths and were in clean pajamas by eight o'clock.

When Hip returned from checking on the animals, he found four happy kids leaving cookies and carrots on the table for Santa and his reindeer.

"Greg called," Sarah said. "Amy's doing great. She's going to spend a couple of days at the clinic, and Greg's going to stay with her tonight."

"So we're not going to Billings. And you're not going to Mexico."

"Not right away, no." But she didn't look too unhappy about it. "I called Amber and told her where I was. She said to wish you a Merry Christmas and she hopes to meet you someday. And AAA said they have my car and they towed it to Lewistown, but the garage won't be open until the day after tomorrow." She turned to the kids. "Bedtime! The sooner you go to bed the sooner you can wake up and see what Santa Claus brought!"

Hip accepted good night hugs from the girls and promised to watch for Santa. The older boy rushed upstairs, his little brother trying hard to keep up with him. And Sarah, laughing, followed them.

Much later, in the quiet that meant the children had fallen asleep, Hip got the other two boxes of gifts out of the truck. Sarah took the one she'd hidden in the closet and together they arranged the packages under the tree. Someone in Willing had put labels on the bottom of each gift to identify who it was for.

"This is the best Christmas I've had in a very long time," she said, collapsing on the couch. The tree lights twinkled, making the ornaments shine. The television was, thankfully, no longer on. He joined her on the couch, leaving a careful space between them so she wouldn't think he was making a move on her.

"Why are you running away?" he asked.