Davis was nervous for a completely different reason. His palms were sweating against the steering wheel. "No need to be. After what you did for Charlie and the way my kids go on about you, my parents already think you're terrific."

Traditionally, the entire Davis clan gathered at Mom and Dad's house on Christmas Eve for a light meal before heading to candlelight service at church. Christmas morning was reserved for the kids to open gifts and a return to Grandma's for dinner Christmas afternoon. This year, Davis no longer felt at loose ends. He had Lana, and being with her filled him with contentment.

"I don't want to embarrass you." Fingers spread, she jiggled her hands up and down in front of her body. "Is this outfit okay?"

He glanced at her, there in the passenger seat of his truck, full of gratitude that he'd had the good sense to see her value in time to salvage what neither had intended to start. He was also amused. Did women always worry about their clothes being right? "You're perfect. Makes me want to drop off the kids and run away with you."

She laughed, flushing. "Maybe someday."

After tonight he'd know for sure if she really meant those words. Lana had choices she didn't know about. Davis wanted all her dreams to come true. He hoped he was one of them.

"Any word from Tess?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Lana shook her head. "Not yet."

"Don't give up. It's Christmas."

He knew how badly she wanted to get her sister into rehab, but all their efforts so far were in vain. Tess had Lana's cell number. Davis prayed she'd someday make that call and ask for help.

"I'll never stop praying," Lana said. "If God can change my life, He can change hers, too."

As they pulled into his parents' driveway, Duncan, Dad's Great Dane, lumbered toward them, backlit by the red lights glowing around the roofline. Though they were dressed in Sunday best, the three kids tumbled out to roughhouse with the giant, friendly dog. The sharp air was spiced with wood smoke and, as soon as Mom opened the front door, all smiles, Davis smelled his favorite chicken gumbo.

Amidst introductions, kids whooping it up and the background of television blaring It's a Wonderful Life, they were sucked into the warmth of family. He knew Lana was nervous, especially around Jenny, but she offered her help and disappeared into the kitchen with the other women. Mom would love her for chipping in.

In the living room, the men, including little Charlie, watched the familiar DVD. They'd watched it every Christmas Eve for as long as he could remember. Davis really wanted to talk to his dad in private, but the opportunity never presented itself. Tonight would be a surprise for him, as well.

One of the kids, Nathan he suspected, let Duncan in the house. The Great Dane went straight for the Christmas tree and snatched a candy cane before he could be wrestled back outside by the three guilty parties. Charlie laughed himself breathless which brought Jenny rushing into the living room.

After they'd stuffed themselves on gumbo and pecan pie, Davis glanced at his watch. Plenty of time before church. Lana sat at his side, the perfect spot and exactly where he'd planned for her to be. Where he always wanted her. But the choice was hers, starting now.

He waited for a pause in the conversation and when it finally came, he cleared his throat. A sudden fit of nerves danced in his belly. He reached for Lana's hand beneath the table and squeezed. She squeezed back.

"Everyone," he said, "I have something to say."

All eyes jerked to him and then to Lana. Speculative grins appeared on his parents' faces as they exchanged quick glances.

"Go ahead, son." Behind black-rimmed glasses, his dad's gaze was warm and encouraging. "If this is about you and Lana, I don't think any of us will be surprised."

His heart staccatoed. "It is. In a way." He shifted his chair to angle toward Lana. She'd turned a pretty shade of pink. Doing this in front of his family was harder than he'd expected. But absolutely right, too. He wanted Lana to know how proud he was of her. Here on Christmas Eve in front of the people he loved the most.

"Lana," he said and swallowed again. "I love you. My kids love you. We want you in our lives. You and Sydney. I never thought I'd feel this way about a woman again, but I do."

"I love you, too," she whispered, face red as Christmas but her blue eyes glowing with happiness. "I want-"

"Hear me out." He touched her lips with one finger, silencing her. "Before this goes any further, I have a Christmas present for you to open tonight."

Expression puzzled, she took the envelope from his hands and turned it over. "What is this?"

"It's one of your dreams. I want you to have it even if it means losing you."

"You won't-"

"I found Perry Grider."

"What?"

"Open the envelope, Lana."

He waited with a blood rush in his brain and his ears roaring while Lana read the letter.

"Someone wants to publish my song. For money." Astonishment quickly changed to excitement. "Is this legit? Is he for real? How did this happen?"

Though scared of losing her, Davis couldn't help the smile in his chest. He'd given her this and she was thrilled.

"Remember when you gave me the song? I told Joshua Kendle about it and asked if he knew anyone in the music business."

"I'd forgotten he once lived in Nashville."

"Yeah, well, he called around and this is the result. They not only want to buy this song, they want to see what else you have. They're interested in putting you under contract to write exclusively for GT Music."

"GT? No way. They're big-time."

He grinned, both proud and scared. "Merry Christmas."

"Is this for real?" She pressed the sheet of paper to her face and laughed in awe. "This can't be real."

He watched her delight and reveled in it, all the while wondering if he'd just given her a reason to leave Whisper Falls. His family began to talk all at once, excited for her.

Suddenly, a dimple cheeked boy pushed between them, expression stricken as he faced Lana. "Does this mean you're not gonna be my mom?"

The conversations quieted. Davis put a hand on Nathan's shoulder, waiting for the answer, too. Slowly, Lana lowered the contract to her lap.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, incredulous. "That this would change the way I feel about you?"

"This is a game changer, Lana. You can move back to Nashville, write your songs, maybe even get another shot at a singing contract. This is your big chance."

"Yes, it is my big chance. To do the one thing I really want to do with my music...write songs. I don't want to live in Nashville. Been there, done that and have the scars to show. I don't want a singing contract. That life nearly destroyed me and Sydney. I want to write...but most of all, I want to be with you."

As if someone had turned on a vacuum and sucked out the anxiety, the tightness in Davis's chest eased.

"Positive?"

"More sure than I've ever been of anything."

"Nathan, son," he said as he gently moved his son to one side. "You'll have to excuse your old dad. I have a proposal to make."

Lana's hands flew to her mouth. "I'm going to pass out."

"Don't even think about it. I only want to do this once." Laughing at her a little and so thrilled, he thought he might pass out, Davis awkwardly maneuvered between the chairs and slipped to one knee in front of Lana.

"Lana Ross, I want to marry you and raise these kids together and if you want more, I'm good with that. I want to grow old with you, to share our lives and loves, to share your music. Will you give me the best Christmas gift a man could ever have? Will you be my wife?"

By the time he ended what he considered the longest speech of his life, Lana wept. No sound, but a waterfall of tears that touched him. His throat filled.

"Oh, yes." Her honeyed voice was thick with emotion as she whispered, "I would be honored."

They reached for each other, but before they connected, three small bodies barreled into the fray. The rest of the family was up, too, talking and pounding backs and grabbing hugs. Davis found Lana's gaze through the melee and winked.

"Meet you later," he said. "Under Nathan's mistletoe."

Through tears, she laughed and nodded.

And of course, they did.

The Christmas Child.

Linda Goodnight.

Chapter One.

In twenty years of Dumpster diving, Popbottle Jones had found his share of surprises in other people's trash. But nothing prepared him for what he discovered one chilly November dawn.

Agile as a monkey at seventy-two, Popbottle hopped over the side of the giant bin located downwind of Redemption's municipal building and dropped lightly onto a mound of battered cardboard boxes. The usual garbage and old-food smells rose to greet him, odors he'd trained his nose to ignore in pursuit of more profitable treasures. After all, he and his business partner, GI Jack, were in the recycling business.

From one corner of the dimly lit bin came a scratching sound. His heart sank. Rats or kittens, he suspected. Rats he shooed. The kittens, though, troubled him. He'd never leave domestic creatures to be scooped into a compactor and bulldozed at a landfill.

Gingerly picking his way through the mess, Popbottle directed his steps and his miner's lamp toward the sound. His stomach plummeted. Not rats. Not kittens, though two eyes stared out. Blue eyes. Frightened eyes. The eyes of a child.

Taking a bullet would have been easier, cleaner, quicker. Dying slowly wasted a lot of time.

Kade McKendrick dropped one hand to the golden retriever sitting patiently beside him along the riverbank and tried to relax.

Even now, when he'd been shipped off to Redemption, Oklahoma, for R & R, he wielded a fishing rod like a weapon, fingers tight on the reel's trigger. He'd become too paranoid to go anywhere unarmed.

Memories swamped him. Faces swam up from the muddy red river to accuse. Kade shifted his gaze to the far bank where straggling pale brown weeds poked up from the early winter landscape, hopeless sprouts with nothing in their future but more of the same. Feathery frost tipped the dead grass, shiny in the breaking dawn.

"Might as well give it up, Sheba." Kade reeled in the ten-pound test line, mocking his ambitious tackle. The clerk at the bait and tackle warned him that fish weren't biting this time of year.

He slammed the metal tackle box, startling the dog and a red-tailed hawk still napping on a nearby branch. The bird took flight, wings flapping like billows over the calm, cold waters. Sheba looked on, quivering with intense longing. Together, man and dog watched the hawk soar with lazy grace toward the rising sun. Other than a rare car passing on the bridge, all was quiet and peaceful here on the predawn river. The place drew him like a two-ton magnet in those dark hours when sleep, the vicious tease, evaded him.

Kade sniffed. His nose was cold, but the morning air, with crisp, clean sharpness, invigorated more than chilled. He picked up the scent of someone's fireplace, a cozy home, he surmised, with two-point-five kids, a Betty Crocker mom and a dad who rose early to feed the fire with fragrant hickory wood.

His lip curled, cynic that he was. Happy ever after was a Hallmark movie.

He, too, had risen early, but not for a cozy fire and a loving family. Although gritty-eyed with fatigue, he hadn't slept a full eight hours in months. But the shrink said he was making progress.

Kade huffed, breath a gray cloud. The shrink probably didn't wake up when his dog barked.

Gathering his gear, Kade started toward his car, a red Mazda Miata parked at an angle near the edge of the Redemption River Bridge. Sheba padded softly at his side, a loyal, undemanding companion who never complained about the nocturnal ramblings.

His great-aunt, on the other hand...

Ida June rose early and she'd be waiting for his return, spouting sluggard quotes, her favorite being, "The field of the sluggard is overtaken by weeds." There were no weeds in Aunt Ida June's fields. One positive aspect of visiting his feisty great-aunt was that she kept him too busy all day to think. Days were all right. Nights were killing him.

Sophie Bartholomew bebopped out the door of the Redemption Register, a happy tune on her lips and an order for six dozen cookies on her notepad. She stopped on the sidewalk and danced a little boogie to celebrate the sale. Her students would be pumped, too.

Sophie loved mornings, especially this time of year with Christmas right around the corner. Already, Redemption geared up for the monthlong celebration.

This crisp morning when the town was just awakening, the scent of fresh doughnuts tantalized the streets in front of the Sugar Shack bakery and cafe. Sophie headed there next to round up more orders for the annual fifth-grade charity cookie sale. Miriam, owner of the Sugar Shack, never minded, even though the sales cut into her business.

Down the block a city worker dangled from a bucket truck to lace white lights along the front of the town's historic bank building. Sophie gave a little wave. Christmas was unofficially here, and no one was happier about that than Sophie.

She loved everything about Christmas, from the celebrations and festivities to church and decorated cookies and gaily wrapped gifts. Even the commercialism didn't bother her. Christmas, she'd long ago decided, meant joy and love and Jesus, in whatever form it was celebrated.

Across the street on the town square, Ida June Click, octogenarian handywoman, pounded on a half-erected stable while a lean, dark man unloaded lumber from a truck, his navy plaid shirt open over a white T-shirt. Sophia recognized him as Kade McKendrick, Ida June's nephew, although Sophie didn't know him well. He was new in town, but her single friends and several not-so-singles noticed his comings and goings. He mostly stayed to himself. His quiet aloofness made everyone wonder, including her. But he was a looker, as her close friend Jilly Fairmont said. A mysterious looker. What could be more intriguing to a female? Not that Sophie thought all that much about her single status. She was too busy teaching kids and loving the life the Lord had given her.

She had one hand on the glass door of the Sugar Shack when she heard a shout. Over on the curb by the buff-brick municipal building, GI Jack, the eccentric old Dumpster diver who ran a recycling business and created junk art, waved his arms and yelled for help.

"Ida June," he called to the twig of woman in bright red overalls and a man's work jacket. "Get over here quick."

"Here" was a spot right next to an industrial-size trash bin.

"Not another cat. My cup runneth over already." But the feisty eightysomething woman hustled toward him just the same.

So did Sophie. GI Jack was not an alarmist, and one quick glance told her Popbottle Jones, the other eccentric Dumpster diver, was nowhere to be seen.

Traffic was slow this time of day, and Sophie darted across the street with barely a glance. Had something happened to Popbottle Jones?

"What can we do? Shall we call for an ambulance? I have my cell phone." Ida June, still a little breathless from the jog, whipped a modern smartphone from the bib of her overalls. "We must get him out of that Dumpster ASAP. He who hesitates is lost."

Confusion clouded GI Jack's face. "Well, yes, ma'am, I reckon so, but we don't need no ambulance."

"If Popbottle is hurt-"