Page 18 of Let It Snow

Dane felt the man’s pulse falter and then disappear. He put Father Pedro’s hand over his chest and left his side.

He went to Shana and vowed he wouldn’t leave her side until she was a hundred percent or she pushed him away. Maybe never.

Bending over her again, Dane gathered Shana in. She’d been wet and frozen and blue, but was now alive and improving.

When he’d retrieved her from the water, he’d rescued his soul. He felt it all now. The sadness and the joy were both there at once, cohabiting in his soul. It was dark, but not empty. His greatest fears had come true and he still had more, still had a heart beating wildly, still had love, too much love to contain, to hide, too much hurt to ignore.

Her green eyes were wide open now and staring at him. She reached up and lowered the oxygen mask from her face.

“You saved me, Mr. Legend. Guess the hype was real.” Her smile was weak, but there was a spark of Shana, the spark he needed to see, in her twinkling green eyes and in her sassy quip.

“It’s what I do.”

“It’s what I do too. Don’t forget.”

He grunted. He swelled with pride and felt a prick of irritation that bloomed into fear at the same time. “Not for a while.”

“You going to play nursemaid now?”

He nodded. “I’ll be at your beck and call.”

She scoffed. Then she coughed and he squeezed her to him, willing his warmth to infuse her, willing his energy to regenerate her. Whatever he had was hers—all the life that he felt in him now had been a gift from her.

He looked over at Pedro—Pedro’s body—before Cap pulled a sheet over him. Dane wondered. The man had been tough for an old priest. He’d been sent, maybe by Oscar. Maybe not.

By the time they’d arrived at the hospital, dawn had risen up in a purple blue sky as the snow still fell, softly now. Glowing.

Shana looked out the window, following his gaze.

“I feel like we’re inside a damn snow globe,” Dane said.

“The way you talk—admit it. It’s magic.”

“Now who’s getting all fanciful?”

“It’s Christmas. Magic time if there ever was.”

Shana smiled and reached her hand up to his face. He took it. He hadn’t shaved in who knew how long. His face was in that in-between stubble and beard stage of unkempt. Shana didn’t seem to mind. She caressed and stroked and he felt her hands, warm now. And that warmed his insides.

“What do you say we get out of this joint? The hospital is no place to spend Christmas Day.”

She sat up with a big energetic Shana the Warrior Princess smile. “I was never one to worry about conventions like waiting to be discharged.”

Christmas Day

They gathered in the living room of Dane’s beach shack, which had mostly been used as his office with a desk holding his secure phone and a computer, a file cabinet, chair and couch. But someone had put up a real Christmas tree, decorated to the nines with lights and tinsel.

Shana lay on the couch. Dane had tucked an old afghan around her. His mother’s. A family heirloom. She pulled it up close and nestled into the warmth. Even though Dane had sprung her from the hospital prematurely, she doubted she’d have gotten more nursing attention there than she’d received from Dane all morning. She looked around the room. This was better.

All her favorite people—her Martha’s Vineyard family—surrounded her in the small room, mostly standing. Dane perched on the end of the couch near her and kept his hand on her shoulder, tangled in her hair.

Sassy Stephens and Ronnie Ryan were there. They’d brought food and set it out on the small scuffed coffee table. There was a mince pie and Christmas cookies. Cap and Vendi stood with drinks. Even Jim Evans from the deli and Tom Jones from the Lucky Parrot had dropped in. They’d heard about the ferry incident. They’d known without being told that Dane and Shana would be involved, but they hadn’t realized how involved.

“What about Father Pedro?” she forced herself to ask. Another casualty on her watch. She swallowed hard.

Cap said, “They’re ready to send his body back to South America. We need to hear from Oscar about exactly where.”

“Speaking of the devil—the only devil more devilish than I am—let’s give him a call now.” Dane sounded cheery, especially considering the death of the padre, but a euphoric bubble rose in her chest knowing the reason for Dane’s mood was her.