She closed her eyes. So did he. But then he murmured, “Did I tell you I loved you last night?”

  “About forty times. Did I tell you I loved you?”

  “You did. But you were pretty happy, so I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

  Her eyes popped open. “Seriously?”

  “Well, if you really meant it, I’d think you’d want to tell me about the present that requires a forklift.”

  She laughed. And punished him with a tickle, which seemed to call for more kissing and murmuring sweet nothings rather than talking. Eventually, though, between Bubbles’s snoring and daylight and Sam’s big smile—well, it was pretty obvious that neither of them were going to be able to sleep in.

  “Merry Christmas, Poppy.”

  “Merry Christmas, Sam. And I do think it’s about time I gave you your present.”

  “Finally. Although wait a second.” He stormed out of bed again, took something from the pocket of his jeans, and came back under the covers. “You first.”

  It was her turn to leap out of bed, scrounge around for the sweater she’d worn yesterday, unzip it, and bring out her cell phone. She opened it—once she was snuggled next to him again.

  “This wasn’t a present I could carry or wrap up. For now, all I can show you is a picture.” Poppy took a breath. “I found this place where a guy carves pictures or script onto stones. And then I found this beautiful, huge white rock.” She spread her arms out, indicating the rock’s size. “About that wide and half as tall as me, which is why it’s so heavy. It came from a quarry in North Carolina, so it’s a mix of marble and white granite. It’ll be ready in another couple weeks. I’m having it engraved to say SAM’S SLICE OF HEAVEN.”

  She thumbed through the pics, showing him the rock, the carver, the plan, what the finished rock would look like.

  Poppy held her breath, unsure whether Sam would like it or think her idea was nuts. “I thought it could be a marker at the start of the driveway? You know, kind of helping people trying to identify your place.” She hesitated. “Or anywhere you wanted it.”

  The longer he looked at the pics, totally silent, the more she worried it was a terrible present. But then, his eyes met hers and simply held that gaze.

  “Poppy.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I haven’t cried since I was eleven years old and broke my arm. And I’m not about to cry now. But I have to say that’s the most thoughtful, personal gift anyone ever gave me. You know me.”

  She let out a huge, happy sigh. “I’m hoping to know you a whole lot more. Were you afraid I was going to give you a tie? Socks? Who—What’s that?”

  He’d unearthed a small green velvet box from his jeans’ pocket, but that’s all she could see; he was clutching it pretty tightly. “Now, you may not like this. And that’s okay. We can exchange it for something you do like. I’m no good at things like—”

  “Sam. Quit being mean. Fork over the box.”

  He started to. But then his cell phone bleeped a loud drum roll . . . and that call changed everything.

  * * *

  SAM KNEW THE instant he heard his mother’s voice that there was trouble. When she said, “Now don’t worry, there’s no crisis,” he knew immediately there was a crisis.

  His dad had fallen, doing something stupid. Getting on a stepladder to get some big old bowl out of the top cupboard. “He says he’s fine,” his mom said. “But he fell on a hip and his shoulder. I want him to go to the ER. He won’t. Your father is a stubborn goat, Sam—”

  He missed some of this, because he’d heard some of those phrases before—probably most of his life.

  “He says he’s coming to Christmas at Conan and Karla’s and I can’t stop him. I don’t think you can talk any sense into him. I don’t think anyone can. But—”

  “But,” Sam said calmly. “You’d like me to come over and see what’s what. So if we have to strong-arm him, there’ll be two of us on the same side.”

  The relief in his mom’s voice said it all. “He’ll be mad if you come.”

  “I’ve survived his being mad at me before.”

  “Honey, I want to meet your Poppy. One way or another, there’ll still be Christmas at Conan’s. Everything could still work out just fine. I just—”

  “I know. You’re worried. So. Take me less than a half hour to get there. We won’t make any plans or changes in plans either way. Let’s just see what the situation is, decide together. He’s sitting down?”

  “Yes. In his chair in the living room. He’s pretty much swearing nonstop because of my making such a fuss.”

  “You get an A+ from me, Mom. You’re always the one who knows when it’s time to make a fuss. I’m proud of you. And I’ll be there in two shakes.”

  He turned around, saw Poppy pulling on clothes, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. “Your dad is hurt?”

  “A pretty good fall, I gather. If he’s feeling good enough to swear, he’s probably okay. But my mom’s shaken up.”

  Poppy said, before Sam could, “You have to go. Of course. I’ll just head home, Sam. I can walk easily enough—”

  “No. Poppy. I have to go over there, see what’s what. But there’ll be a Christmas at Conan’s no matter what. I really want you to come. They all really want you to come—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think we should plan anything or worry about it. You’re going to your dad’s; you may have to take him to an ER or a doctor. I’d just totally be in the way—”

  “Wait. Yeah, I have to do that. But whatever happens with my dad, I’ll know within a couple of hours. If he’s in trouble, that’s that, I’ll be canceling out of Christmas at Conan’s. But if Dad’s okay, he’ll be adamant about coming to Christmas. That’s a guarantee. So I may drop you at your place right now, but I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on and what the next plan is.” He loped over, tilted her chin, popped a kiss on her mouth. Then softened that first kiss into another, slower one. “I want Christmas with you, Red.”

  Poppy got that look on her face. The reasonable one. She was going to raise sensible, practical problems with her getting in the middle of the family’s commotion.

  “Please?” He added an extra punch. “It’s not just for me, Poppy. Kristin will be upset if her grandpa is hurt, but she’ll talk to you. Bubbles has to come because I can’t leave the dog for the whole day, and you know she won’t behave well. And my dad can be ornery if he doesn’t feel well. You know how to handle ornery. You’re perfect with ornery. And sooner or later the chaos’ll be over and we can still have part of the day together.”

  She threw up her hands. “I’m on board. But only if it all works out with your dad and the doctor. You have a heap of other things to think about besides me today.”

  Actually, he didn’t. He had a sudden sharp premonition that something wrong could happen if he let her out of his sight today.

  But that was ridiculous. He never had premonitions, never claimed to have any superstitions. He just naturally wanted her with him, especially on a day that could cleave them even closer together.

  Still, there was no help for starting the morning rambunctiously. He drove Poppy to the cottage—where she unwillingly admitted this part of the plan was pretty good. She could get a chance to shower and choose fresh clothes. And Bubbles, being the traitor she was, was happy to stay with Poppy.

  It was a half-hour drive to his parents’ place, where Sam found pretty much what he expected. His mom, Elys, answered the door and just motioned him in. “You try dealing with him,” she said.

  Taran—an old Cornish name that meant thunder—suited his dad perfectly. He was bear-size, like his sons, trapped in his easy chair where his mom had packed his hip and shoulder with ice bags. “She keeps yelling at me,” Taran immediately complained to Sam. “I’m going to Christmas. I don’t care what your mother says.”

  “I’m not the one yelling!” Elys yelled back. “And you’re not going anywhere but to the ER. Unless Sam says it’s okay for you to go to Conan’s. And that’s that.”

  “And since when do you tell me what to do?” Taran demanded.

  “Since the day we met and you realized how much smarter I am than you.”

  “Hah,” Taran grumbled.

  Sam long knew that they could both be a handful. Especially when they were both worried about each other, for unknown irrational reasons, they took to arguing. Sam let them both rant on, pulled up a chair next to his dad, gently touched the shoulder, then gently rotated it.

  “I’d know if it were broken, son. It’s not. I’m going to have a couple big bruises by tomorrow. No big deal. I can sit at Conan’s house no different than I can sit here. I’m not dying. I don’t need x-rays.”

  Sam wasn’t quick to believe him. “Can you stand up? Walk a bit? Show me what’s happening with the hip.”

  “It’s just a hip. I’m getting older. Naturally everything hurts now and then.”

  “You listen to Sam, Taran!” His mom spoke from the kitchen, where she’d sped off to start packing things up for the family Christmas. “If we’re going to the ER, Sam’ll take the food and presents over to Conan’s.”

  Again, Sam ignored them both. “Dad, I want you to slowly stand up. Show me where it hurts. High hip, low hip? Is it sharp when you put your weight on it?”

  “No,” his dad said, sounding both surprised and relieved. “Yes, it hurts. I know it’s going to be purple and blue by tomorrow. But there’s nothing broken. I broke enough bones as a kid to know what a broken bone feels like. And it’s not like this.”

  Slowly, eventually Sam capitulated, brought in his mom. “Here’s what I think. I’ll pack the car. Mom, you drive the two of you to Conan’s—”

  “Sam—”

  “Hear me out, Mom. I’m going back to pick up Poppy and Bubbles and our Christmas stuff. I’ll call Conan to give him a heads-up. Dad’s going to behave himself, settle in a chair with some ice. We’ll do a little Christmas, see how he is. If there’s any sign he’s in any real pain, he goes straight to the ER. But I’m pretty sure it’s a reasonable decision to just wait and see for a few hours.”

  “I told you, Elys!”

  His mom started to speak again, but Sam interrupted. “I need you to drive him, Mom, because I don’t think he could comfortably get in and out of my truck. But if you two are going to squabble the whole way—”

  Both claimed they never argued, and of course they could ride together peaceably.

  Personally, Sam didn’t see how it could possibly be harder raising kids than it was raising parents—an opinion he wanted to share with Poppy, and did, around a half hour later.

  * * *

  POPPY WAS READY. More than ready. She’d spiffed up, obvious in hope that Christmas at his family’s was still on. Her hair was all soft and glossy; she’d added some makeup, a white velvet tunic, and Christmas-red lipstick—which quickly transferred to his lips. The kiss was too short, though. It was obvious she’d been nonstop thinking. “Sam, we should plan, in case you need to take your dad to the hospital later, and how I’d get home—do you want me to drive separately?”

  He should have known. Give her a family crisis and she ran to take responsibility. “I’ll handle all that. But what is all this?” He saw the mound of stuff on the counter.

  “It’s not my fault. I can’t go to someone’s house on Christmas without bringing gifts, Sam. They’re not what I would have picked if I’d had time to shop. But there’s a hairband for Kristin with sparkly lights. One of my handmade Christmas bulbs for your mom, another for Conan’s wife. A bottle of wine. Another container of spaghetti ice cream—because I didn’t have anything else homemade around. But there’s also a container of cookies . . .”

  SAM COULDN’T BELIEVE it. The whole Christmas to-do came together like clockwork. They’d barely arrived at Conan and Karla’s before his two brothers leaped on Poppy on sight. “Our hockey buddy, and are we looking for a rematch! We’re thinking the three of us against Sam—”

  Conan’s wife had decorated the house within an inch of its life, some trimmings gorgeous, some clearly made by Kristin, all equally displayed. Bubbles took one look at Karla and slunk over to Kristin, where she was safe. Elys took one look at Poppy and let out a sound of delight. “Why, you’re gorgeous. And here he said you were just a plain-looking woman . . .”

  Poppy laughed. It was obvious she’d hold up to the teasing. Even better, she sank next to his dad—ostensibly to meet Taran—but mostly to have a quiet conversation with him. His dad calmed down as if someone had sprinkled him with fairy dust.

  Sam parked next to Poppy at least a half-dozen times, but someone always pulled her away. Kristin, to show the presents Santa had brought her, and then to discuss them at length. The women, who started carting things to the dining table. Karla asked her for help “for a second” because she was right in the middle of mashing potatoes when their young toddler woke up and started crying. Poppy changed the baby and put her down—which started the crying again—so she hauled the little one to her shoulder and carried her around, led by Kristin, who hadn’t finished her conversation yet. Eventually Sam’s mom pulled Poppy aside for a secret tête-à-tête—just behind the Christmas tree—and he could guess she was being grilled.

  Since Poppy was laughing with his mom, he wasn’t worried that she needed saving. She was doing fine. More than fine. She fit in his family like the perfect cherry in a cherry pie.

  She touched base with him. He touched base with her. But somehow the two of them kept getting separated. Maybe it was Christmas. His mom and Karla were ecstatic about their handmade ornaments. Kristin dragged her into a game involving “jewels” chasing around a board, only the toddler was with them. Sam crouched down to play with them, but then the toddler took off, trying to climb a bookcase, and by the time Sam had rescued the squirt, someone else had taken off with Poppy.

  It was his mother, that time. Who’d unearthed some baby pictures to show Poppy. Like the one of him in a diaper, splashing in a mud puddle. And worse.

  Finally, it was time for dinner, and before anyone could grab Poppy again, he claimed her and the seat next to her. Bowls and plates started sledding around the table, the clan all crowded into the small dining room, everyone happy—including him. Including her.

  Or she seemed happy, through the salad, through the main course, until desserts were brought in. Groans of Mercy! echoed around the table, but no one actually turned down dessert. Poppy became more quiet, though, her attention clearly distracted.

  Finally, she said, “Sam,” soft as a whisper.

  He leaned closer to hear.

  “Just take a quick look at your dad,” she whispered.

  His head whipped toward Taran, but initially he didn’t see anything. His dad had been having a good time, seemed to walk into the dining room okay, and certainly had piled mountains of food on his plate.

  Now, though, Sam noticed his dad’s plate had barely been touched. And Taran’s complexion had changed from a natural ruddiness to pale. He was still talking. Still pretending to eat. But his smile was set on automatic rather than natural.

  Sam almost vaulted out of his seat, but Poppy’s hand on his arm steadied him. “Think for a second,” she murmured. “I know what you want to do. But let’s make it less chaotic so everyone isn’t freaked? It’ll be easier to get him out of here if everyone stays calm.”

  He was calm. Sort of. He was mad at himself for not watching over his dad more carefully—and mad at his dad for hiding that he’d been going downhill. But Poppy was right. The darn woman was downright wonderful to have around in rough times—which he could have guessed long, long before this.

  “Hey, Brer?”

  His brother heard him, lifted an eyebrow. Sam motioned him into the living room. Conan saw his brothers and immediately joined them. The powwow didn’t take three minutes.

  Sam came back to the table, calm and easy. “After a fabulous dinner like that, I suspect we’d all like to put our feet up. What a great Christmas. The guys and I are going to take off for a bit, though.”

  “What? Where?” His mom asked the start of the questions.

  “Right now, everybody relax. But later . . . Mom, I’d like you to stay with Conan and Karla. Maybe for the night. Maybe just for a bit. When you want to go home, Conan will take you. Brer’s going to drive my truck and take Poppy home. And that’s so I can drive Dad in the folks’ car, more comfortable for him. We’re just going to have him checked out.”

  “Sam, I told you, I’m fine.” Taran started to stand up, but then he sank back in his chair again. “I’m fine,” he repeated, but a bead of sweat had shown up on his forehead. Even that slight movement turned his complexion from pale to ash.

  “I think you’re fine, too, Dad, but we’re all going to worry unless you get checked out, have an x-ray or two. Won’t take long. Promise. I’ll be with you. And I’ll get you home. Conan will take Mom home whenever she wants—or to the hospital if it turns out that’s a better idea. Right now there’s nothing for everyone to do but put your feet up, enjoy the rest of this great day. And I’ll call home, just as soon as Dad sees a doc. No discussion. Let’s just get this done.”

  The women came through, brought jackets, coats—even his mom calmed down. Taran didn’t try arguing again—which scared Sam, because if Taran wasn’t strong enough to argue, there could well be something seriously wrong with him. Possibly, though, seeing his three strapping sons standing together like an impenetrable wall was just too exhausting to try fighting with.

  Sam finally grabbed two seconds with Poppy, starting with a kiss. “Thanks. You were right. Needed to think, put it all together before raising the fire alarm.”

  “You knew that without my saying anything. It’s just that when it’s someone you love, like your dad, you want to jump in, not slow down.”

  “Don’t contradict me. You’re wonderful and that’s that. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Who is Bubbles going with?”

  “Brer. Whoever has the truck. But once we figure out what’s happening with Dad, we’ll get all the transportation organized. And you’ll already be at the cottage, so you’ll have your car in case anything goes on too long.”