"Will we eat at Barney's?" Christy asked.

"Don't we always?"

"Can I get a hamburger and a malt?"

"Don't you always?"

"Then we'll walk over to the park?"

Carroll nodded. "Yep."

"Then we'll walk all through the park and look at all the scenes?"

"Um-hmm."

"The lights only stayed on a couple of seconds last year," Christy pointed out. "There wasn't much to see."

"True. We're hoping that won't happen this year."

"Then we'll go visit all the stores?"

"Every one of them. Do you have your shopping list and your money?"

Christy patted the front pocket of her jeans. "Right here."

"Good. Now all we have to do is figure out how to keep your toes warm."

"I think I've got that covered." Slade leaned against the doorjamb holding two large socks.

"Slade!" Christy turned around and beamed at him, doing a little jig, one crutch just grazing her mother's toes. "Everything's just like I told you. We're going to eat at Barney's, then go to the park, then go shopping. Aren't you glad you decided to come?"

"Very, squirt." He motioned for her to sit on the large upholstered chair and went down on one knee. Working a thermal sock over her toes and the surrounding cast, he said, "But it's your mother's party, and maybe she'd rather just go with you."

"Oh, no, she wouldn't! Would you, Mom?"

Looking from imploring blue eyes to provoking gray ones, Carroll gave up. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. "The more the merrier," she said dryly.

"Thank you." He nodded in her direction. "Dinner's on me tonight."

Christy bounced in the chair. "Great! Can I have a hot fudge sundae?"

He pulled the sock up as far as it would go, then began working a wool one over it. "You may have whatever your mother allows you to have," he told her.

"I was thinking of ordering you a vegetarian plate," Carroll warned, pulling coats, scarves, hats and gloves from the closet. "All green veggies."

Christy grinned. "They don't really have stuff like that at Barney's," she assured Slade.

They used the station wagon, so Christy would have room to stretch out her leg. For once Carroll was grateful for her daughter's nonstop chatter. She identified every house for Slade, telling him the names of the owners and all their children, describing pets when they existed.

It would have been an awkward ride without her, Carroll admitted, because Slade's words still hung heavily between them. At least, as far as she was concerned, they did. She didn't know what to say to him. Obviously something needed to be said, but just as obviously, now was not the time. Not with Christy along.

"We're in luck," Christy said to Slade as her mother pulled into a small lot by the park. "The tourists only get out of their cars to visit the stores. Then they get back in and drive around to look at the lights. They don't know that the best place to be is in the park."

"That's right," Carroll agreed. "And we don't tell them. Come on, we'd better get a move on if we're going to eat before Kris turns on the lights."

Eating at Barney's was a bit like inviting all the neighbors in for dinner, Slade decided. Almost everyone in the place was a local, and almost all of them had something to say about the Christmas display.

Lindy from the boutique stopped at their booth with a tall, slim graying man who pumped Slade's hand. "Hi, I'm Tom Miller. Lindy tells me you're the man who's helping Kris with the lights. Can't tell you how long we've been waiting for this. We all thought they were going to come on last year, and they did- for about five seconds." He shook his head. "Then we had a power failure to end them all, and we lost most of our regular lights for about an hour. Sure hope you two have it figured out this time. Did Lindy tell you about the TV coverage?"

Slade nodded. "I wish I could say that things are going to be-"

"Mr. Ryan?" An elderly woman with blue tinted hair eased in beside the Millers and gently nudged them on their way. "I'm Matilda Gateway, president of the Woman's League, and I want to express my appreciation for your efforts on our behalf. No, don't try to get up, please. It's impossible in a booth. We are all most grateful to you. Kris says your help has been invaluable. We've waited for this Christmas Eve celebration for years, and now, finally, we will have it. Imagine, it's just two weeks away!"

That was only the beginning. Slade's food grew cold as one person after another stopped by the booth with assurances that they were looking forward to the festivities on Christmas Eve.

Carroll touched his hand, wincing as it clenched into a fist. "Slade, I'm so sorry," she whispered miserably while Christy was waving to a friend. "I had no idea it would be like this."

His eyes narrowed. "Kris hasn't told a soul that there's a problem with the rest of the lights, has he? Are you finished?" he asked abruptly, looking at his watch. "We should probably start walking. At least we know these lights are coming on."

Anticipation was in the air. People streamed into the park, calling greetings and stamping their feet to keep warm. Most of them were hopeful, but as one man pointed out, they had felt the same way the past year and the ones before that. As the hour approached, silence fell.

There was a collective gasp as the lights went on, spontaneous applause as the animated scenes began to bob, teeter and whirl. It was spectacular, Slade admitted. He was impressed. So was the crowd.

There was no doubt about it; Kris had done an impressive job. Everyone in the park said so. They told Slade and Carroll and Kris himself, when he strolled grandly down the avenue. Kris beamed and promised a grand finale on Christmas Eve.

Slade stared at him impassively and muttered to Carroll, "I can't take any more of this. Let's get out of here." They wound their way through the park, Christy tucked protectively between them, heading for the stores.

"Mom, look over there!" Christy pointed. "There's Mac and Red and all the other guys. I bet they came up just to see the lights tonight. Hey, Mac!" She waved and picked up speed.

The marines, eleven of them, turned at her call, then swept forward, surrounding them. Mac grinned down at Christy. "After all our work, we had to come and see what it looked like."

"Are you coming up for Christmas Eve?" Carroll asked.

He nodded. "None of us have enough time to get home, so we'll all be here."

"We'll look forward to seeing you," Carroll told him as they all turned in the direction of the shops. "Remember, you're invited for dinner."

As they strolled down the illuminated walk, Mac dropped behind with Slade. In a troubled voice, he said, "I don't see how the old man can add another fifty per cent to all this." He gestured at the brilliant display.

"He can't."

The two men exchanged glances.

"He's really setting himself up for a fall."

"A big one," Slade agreed. "And to make matters worse, they're talking about getting TV coverage for the big event."

Mac stared at him. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

"Can't you stop it?"

Slade shrugged. "Not me. I'm new around here. This thing is like a snowball rolling downhill, getting bigger and faster with every turn. Kris wants more lights." He gestured to the people around them. "They want more lights. The whole town wants more lights. So in two weeks they're going to have TV cameras on hand to record the biggest fizzle in history."

"So what are you going to do?"

Slade swore. "What am I going to do? Nothing. Kris asked me for advice, and I gave it. I told him it was impossible."

"Then what happened?" Mac finally asked.

"He didn't believe me. He said we'd just have to find a way to make it work. I would have to find a way to make it work."

"Oh, jeez."

"Exactly."


Carroll looked at the sleeping girl in Slade's arms. "Thanks for carrying her up. I never would have made it."

"My pleasure." And it was. His arms tightened reflexively around Christy before he bent down and placed her on the bed. "Want me to make some coffee while you tuck her in?"

Downstairs, as he measured the coffee, he thought of Carroll's wary glance and resigned nod. She looked about as thrilled as someone leaning against a stone wall, waiting for the firing squad to appear. Watching the thin stream of coffee trickle into the glass pot, Slade wondered how it would feel to have her face light up when he walked into a room, to share with the rest of her family the soft look of joy that deepened the blue of her eyes.

He leaned against the counter and forced himself to relax. He would know. Sooner or later, he would know.

Chapter Eight

"Why so grim?" Carroll stood in the doorway, an inquiring expression on her face. "Something happen to the coffeepot?"

He moved aside and gestured. "It's fine. I was just thinking."

"About Kris and the lights? I'm sorry he got you involved in all this." She took two mugs out of the cupboard, and reached for the powdered cream.

"Forget the lights. Forget Kris."

Carroll's hands stilled, and he could see tension in the set of her slim shoulders. "Then what-"

"Us. You and me. Slade and Carroll."

Apprehension and relief mingled somewhere deep within her. Finally. No more waiting for the other shoe to fall. No more pretending. Now they could talk it out and put it behind them.

She chose her words carefully, the ones she had rehearsed in the dark of the night. She kept her voice firm. Friendly. Kind. "Us? You make it sound as if we're a couple. We're not. There's a Slade Ryan who lives over there-" she pointed in the direction of his house "-and a Carroll Stilwell who lives here with her family. Two separate people, Slade. Neighbors, but that's all. Please don't read any more into it than there is."