That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(38)

“Over here,” Hannah said excitedly, picking it up gingerly. “She’s beautiful.”

Dressed in white satin with red velvet trim, the angel had flaxen hair and golden wings. The delicate porcelain face had been rendered with a serene look totally appropriate for gazing down on the holiday festivities year after year. Even Trace, with his jaded, unsentimental view of the season, could see the beauty of it.

“We always drew straws to see who would get to put it on the top after all the other decorations were on the tree,” Savannah said as she held the angel. “My dad or one of my uncles would lift up whoever won so we could reach the very top.”

“Can I put it on this year?” Hannah asked. “Trace could lift me high enough.”

“Maybe this year your mom ought to do it,” Trace suggested, seeing the nostalgia in Savannah’s eyes.

“No,” Savannah said at once. “It was always one of the kids. Of course Hannah should do it—that’s the tradition.”

“Well, it’ll be morning before we get to it unless we get started,” Trace said. “There are a lot of lights here, and there must be hundreds of decorations. You two sit back and relax while I get the lights on. You can tell me when they’re in the right place.”

“Ah, my favorite job,” Savannah teased, settling onto the sofa with Hannah beside her. “Supervisor.”

Trace had a devil of a time untangling all the lights, making sure they worked and then getting them on the tree. It was the first time such a task had fallen to him, and he was beginning to see why his father had always grumbled about it. Trace would have settled for three or four strands strategically placed, but Savannah was having none of that.

“At least four more strands,” she insisted. “I like a lot of lights.”

“I’m not hearing any carols while I work,” Trace chided. “What happened to the music? Isn’t that your job?”

“Oops. I forgot. What will it be?” She shuffled through a stack of CDs. “Bing Crosby? Nat King Cole? Kenny G? The Mormon Tabernacle Choir? Vince Gill? The Vienna Boys Choir?”

“Your aunt certainly had eclectic taste,” Trace commented.

“She loved Christmas music. She used to buy at least one new album every year. Obviously she kept up that tradition. So, what’s your pleasure?”

“Surprise me,” Trace said.

Despite the suggestion, Savannah didn’t surprise him at all when she chose the old standards of Nat King Cole. As the singer’s voice filled the room, Trace recalled the way his father had scoffed at the sentimentality of the holiday music. Trace had inadvertently carried that same disdain with him into adulthood. Now, though, with Savannah and Hannah singing along with the music, he began to enjoy the songs.

“Come on,” Savannah encouraged. “Sing with us.”

“No, thanks, I’d rather listen to you,” he said as he wrapped the final strand of lights around the tree.

“But singing helps to get you into the holiday spirit. It doesn’t matter if you’re off-key,” she told him.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice a little tight. “I don’t know the words.”

She stared at him with obvious astonishment. “You never learned the words to all the old standard Christmas carols?”

“They weren’t played much at our house. My father objected. He said it was just more crass commercialism. We were lucky he let us put up a tree. After a few years, he carried on so about that, that my mother settled for the little ceramic tree I told you about earlier.”

“But you must have heard the carols when you were at your friends’ houses,” she persisted. “Or on the radio.”

“I didn’t pay much attention,” he said defensively.

“How awful,” she said, studying him with sympathy.

“Savannah, I got along okay without knowing the words to a bunch of songs that get played once a year.”

She studied him seriously. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said, despite the wariness creeping over him.

“As a man who doesn’t seem to have many happy memories of the holidays, how did you end up running a toy company?”

“Long story,” he said.

“It’s still early. We have time.”

“I don’t want to bore Hannah with all this. Besides, we’ve got a tree to decorate.” He deliberately turned to Hannah. “Sweetie, are you ready to start hanging those decorations?” he asked, shutting down the topic of his career.

“Sure,” Hannah said eagerly. “Mom, you’ve got to help.”

Savannah cast one last curious look at him, before smiling and picking up several decorations.

By the time they were finally finished and all the boxes were empty, there wasn’t a bare spot on the tree’s branches.

“Ready for the lights?” Trace asked.

“Wait. Let me turn off the overhead lights,” Savannah said. “It’s better in the dark.”

As soon as the main lights were off, Trace plugged in the tree’s. The hundreds of lights shimmered, reflecting off the ornaments and filling the room with dazzling color. Even he was a bit in awe as he stared at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Hannah whispered.