then moaned softly, her troubles with Stephan suddenly pushed aside. “Oh, my. Look at this.”
Meg snatched the letter from Holly’s fingers and read it aloud. “Dear Santa, my name is Eric Marrin and I am almost eight and I have only one Christmas wish.” She glanced at Holly and grinned. “W-U-S-H. I would like you to bring me a Christmas like me and my dad used—Y-O-U-S-T—to have when my mom lived at our house. She made Christmas…” Meg frowned at the spelling. “Seashell?”
Holly sighed. “Special.” She flipped through the rest of the papers, long lists of items suggested for Christmas gifts and decorations and special dinners and activities, all to be paid for by an unnamed benefactor.
Meg waved the letter under Holly’s nose, her apprehension suddenly gone. “You have to take this job, Holly. You can’t let this little boy down. This is what Christmas is all about.” She glanced around the square, then fixed her gaze on the department store. “Dalton’s,” she murmured. “You know, I’ve read about Dalton’s, last year in some upstate newspaper. The article said their Santa grants special wishes to children, but no one knows where the money comes from. Do you think that guy was—”
Holly shoved the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t care where the money comes from. We have a job to do and I’m going to do it.”
“What about our clients in the city?”
“You’ll take the train back to the city tonight and take care of them, while I do the job here.”
Meg smiled. “This will be good for you, Holly. No time to be lonely for your family, no time to think about that jerk, Stephan. An almost unlimited budget to make a perfect Christmas. It’s like you’ve won the lottery or died and gone to Christmas heaven.”
Maybe this was exactly what she needed to rediscover the spirit of the season! All the way up from the city, she’d stared out the train window and watched the picturesque Hudson Valley scenery pass by. And when they’d stepped off the train, she’d been transported to another world, where the commercialism of Christmas hadn’t quite taken hold.
Here, people smiled as they passed on the street and children laughed. From every shop doorway, the sound of Christmas music drifted out on the chill night air, mixing with the jingle bells from a horse-drawn carriage that circled the square. “It is perfect,” she murmured, the lyrics from “Silver Bells” drifting through her head. And spending Christmas in Schuyler Falls was a far sight better than passing the holiday buried in year-end tax reports for her accountant.
She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a merry Christmas after all.”
THE ANCIENT ROLLS ROYCE turned off the main road into the winding driveway of Stony Creek Farm just as Holly finished rereading her contract. The ride from downtown Schuyler Falls was even more picturesque than the train ride upstate, if that was possible. The old downtown gave way to lovely neighborhoods with stately brick and clapboard homes, built as summer homes for wealthy New Yorkers in the early part of the century, those who enjoyed the waters of nearby Saratoga Springs. Then, the streetlights disappeared and the houses became fewer, set back from the winding road and nearly hidden by thickets of leafless trees.
Somewhere in the darkness, the Hudson River streamed by, the same river she saw from her high-rise apartment on the west side of Manhattan. But here it was different, more pristine, adding to the magical atmosphere. The chauffeur, George, kept up a steady stream of informative chatter, giving her the history of the town and its people, yet steadfastly refusing to reveal who had hired him. She did learn that Stony Creek Farm was one of the few active horse breeding farms left in the area, owned by the Marrin family, longtime residents of Schuyler Falls.
As they slowly approached the main house, Holly peered through the frosty car window. On either side of the driveway were long white barns flanked by well-maintained plank fences. The house wasn’t nearly as grand as some she’d seen, but it was large and inviting with its white clapboard siding, deep porches and green shutters.
“Here you are, miss,” George said as he pulled to a stop. “Stony Creek Farm. I’ll wait out here to take you back to town if you’d like.”
She nodded. They’d dropped Meg at the train station to catch the late train back and Holly had picked up her overnight bag from a locker there. But as the hour was late, she’d decided to find a hotel after she’d introduced herself to Eric Marrin.
In truth, now that she was here, Holly wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of her assignment. Her contract expressly forbid any mention of who’d hired her or who was paying the bill, not that she knew herself. But for all the Marrins knew, she was a complete stranger intruding on their lives. “Why don’t you wait at the end of the driveway,” she said. With no visible transportation back to town, Eric Marrin and his father would be compelled to invite her inside.
George hopped out of the car and ran around to open her door. As she stepped out, she didn’t see any sign of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no lighted tree shining through a front window. Holly slowly climbed the front steps, then reached out for the brass door knocker. She snatched her hand back. What was she supposed to say?
“Hi, I’m here to grant your Christmas wish.” She swallowed hard. “My name is Holly Bennett and I’ve been sent by Santa Claus.” She was allowed to say she worked for the fat guy in the red suit, that much her contract did state.
“This is crazy,” she muttered, turning around. A cold wind whipped around her feet and she tugged the lapels of her coat up around her face. “They’re not going to let a perfect stranger in the house.”
But the prospect of finally turning a profit was too much to resist. Perhaps she could even give Meg a well-deserved bonus this year. Gathering her resolve, Holly reached out and pushed the doorbell instead. A dog barked inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. The light from the foyer framed a small figure, a pale-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a curious expression. His large black dog stood next to him, eyeing Holly suspiciously. This had to be Eric Marrin.
“Hi,” he said, his hand resting on the dog’s head.
“Hi,” Holly replied nervously.
“My dad’s still in the barn. He’ll be in soon.”
“I’m not here to see your dad. Are you Eric?”
The boy nodded.
Holly held out her hand and smiled. “I—I’m…I’m your Christmas angel. Santa sent me to make all your Christmas dreams come true.” She was sure the words would sound ridiculous once they left her mouth, but from the look on Eric’s face, she couldn’t fault her choice. An expression of pure joy suffused his features and the dog wagged his tail and barked.
“Wait here,” he cried. The boy raced off into the house and returned a few moments later. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his mittens and grabbed her hand. “I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice breathless with excitement.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he dragged her down the front steps, the dog trailing after them.
“To see my dad. You have to tell him we can’t go to Colorado for Christmas. He’ll listen to you. You’re an angel.”
They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.
“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”
Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”
When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the