He Had Buried Christmas Six Winters Ago. Then a Child Called Him Daddy—and a Dead Man’s Letter Brought His Daughter Home.
“Daddy…”
The word was barely louder than the fire settling into ash.
Yet Jack Callahan heard it as clearly as if someone had fired a rifle inside the room.
His eyes opened.
For one bewildered moment, he did not know where he was.
Then he felt the warm weight curled against his chest.
Three-year-old Gracie Collins had climbed into his lap sometime after midnight. Her golden hair spilled across his faded work shirt, one tiny hand clutching the cloth over his heart. The wool blanket Jack had instinctively pulled around her shoulders nearly swallowed her small body.
Outside, a Wyoming blizzard whispered against the windows.
Inside, the Christmas tree glowed beside a dying fire.
Jack stared down at the sleeping child.
Her blue eyes fluttered open for half a heartbeat.
And the room disappeared.
He saw another little girl.
Another Christmas.
Another pair of impossibly blue eyes beneath golden curls.
Lucy.
His daughter.
The child he had buried six winters ago.
Jack stopped breathing.
From the hallway came the faint scrape of a bare foot against the floorboards.
Sarah Collins stood frozen in the doorway.
Her dark hair had escaped its braid, and she had wrapped a faded shawl over her nightdress. Shock passed across her face when she saw her daughter asleep in Jack’s arms.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Jack could not move.
Sarah came closer.
“I’m so sorry. She sometimes does that when she dreams about her father.”
She reached down.
“I’ll take her.”
Jack’s arm tightened around Gracie.
Sarah stopped.
Jack looked at the child.
Then at the small pine tree standing beside the window.
Six years.
For six years there had been no tree.
No ribbons.
No candles in the windows.
No cinnamon.
No laughter.
No Christmas.
Nothing.
Now there were paper stars hanging from branches because Gracie had insisted the tree looked “lonely” without them.
There were two apple pies cooling in the kitchen.
A wooden horse Jack had carved for Gracie sat beneath the tree.
And against his chest slept a little girl who had just called him the one name he had believed he would never hear again.
Daddy.
His throat closed.
“Sarah…”
She waited.
Jack swallowed.
“What if you stayed?”
Her face changed.
He hurried on before courage deserted him.
“I don’t mean tonight. I mean after Christmas.”
Sarah said nothing.
“The west room needs fixing,” he continued awkwardly. “There’s plenty of food. More work around here than one man can handle.”
He glanced at Gracie.
“And she seems to like the place.”
A tiny smile touched Sarah’s mouth.
“She likes you.”
The answer hurt more than Jack expected.
Sarah’s eyes glistened.
“Jack…”
“I know what you said. You don’t need anybody saving you.”
He looked directly at her.
“I’m not asking to save you.”
His voice broke.
“I think maybe I’m asking you to save this house.”
