A/N: I'm grateful, as always, for your wonderful feedback/reviews (& faves/follows). They spur me on. Hugs.

P.S. Remember how Nathan reacted in S10 when he saw Elizabeth in that wedding gown? Man was transfixed. That's along the lines of what I was going for below when. . . well, you'll see. ;)

— Chapter 4 —

Dawn of Redeeming Grace

HOPE VALLEY, NORTHWEST Canada — Christmas Day, 1903

• • •

WHEN ELIZABETH AWOKE CHRISTMAS MORNING, the air smelled of fir. Winter's thin, clear light filtered through a crack in the heavy night curtains. It caressed the hard planes of Nathan's face, gentled now in sleep, and cast delicate highlights over Elizabeth's rich whiskey strands splashed across the pillow in a river of brunette silk.

Drifting back from a sleep that had been deep and dreamless, Elizabeth blinked groggily as she noted her nightly migration closer into Nathan. Waking in his arms was nothing unfamiliar—yet this Christmas morn all felt born anew.

Nestled to his heart, so close her lashes brushed his cotton nightshirt, she felt the moment the cadence of his breathing altered, knew he was awakening, but couldn't bring herself to shift position.

She didn't want to move. Not yet. There was a strange lethargy pulling at her. Her arms and legs, her entire being, felt warm, and comfortable, and relaxed.

"Morning, Nathan," she vocalized, knowing they had to rise soon for church but somehow unable to pull herself away. "Merry Christmas." She laugh sleepily. "Again."

Their baby moved within her, softly reassuring. Instinctively, her hand slipped to cuddle the movement. Good morning, little one. Welcome to your first Christmas!

Sudden emotion stung her eyes. How incredible, how miraculous, how real this all was. Their baby. Two words which during five years she'd wondered if she'd ever be able say in reality. And now here they were, living that reality. A dream come to life.

"Blessed Christmas, my love. Both my loves." Thick with sleep, Nathan's voice was low and rough over her head with remnants of the night. "Is she up already?"

"Mm-hmm," Elizabeth mumbled wispily, rubbing sleepiness from her eyes.

"Mornin', sweet girl." Nathan kissed the sweet swell that housed their child—resulting in a happy flutter from the babe within—and then her.

Elizabeth basked in the luxurious warmth of his affections, running her hands gently over his sleep-disheveled hair, a gesture she knew he loved. He dropped his head onto her shoulder, allowing her greater access, and she hummed with laughter, softly tunneling her fingertips through the slightly waved strands, luxuriating in the warm satin thickness as they parted and fell around her fingers.

"Keep this up, Mrs. Sheriff, and I'll be asleep before the quarter hour," Nathan groaned, muffled against her shoulder.

"Oh, we definitely cannot have that."

His eyes opened. "No. We cannot." He caught her hands, kissed her fingertips, and gently rolled away from her to his feet, careful not to jostle the warm bed covers from her; the room having grown cold during the night.

Barefoot, he crouched before the stone fireplace he'd built in their bedroom, kindling a fresh log into flame to warm the room while they readied for church. Elizabeth burrowed her face resistantly into his warm pillow, soaking in his lingering scent, fighting the call of duty that was circling her awareness.

"Come, my beautiful slugabed." The mattress dipped as Nathan sat on the edge.

"Five more minute?" she wheedled, catching his hand in both of hers.

He settled beside her, his head indenting the pillow, a smile indenting his cheeks. "I guess five more minutes won't kill us. It'll give the room time to warm."

"Nathan?"

"Mmm?"

"Shall we open Christmas gifts after church? Get some breakfast, open them at our leisure?"

"I still feel spoiled from last night's anniversary gifts." He ran his hand over her cheek. "But I'd love to open Christmas gifts with you when we get home."

"Me too." Elizabeth turned on the mattress to face him fully, supporting her growing babe with one hand. "Speaking of gifts: do you mind if we stop by the boarding house after church? Caught off-guard by the storm and stranded away from home, I doubt Mrs. Bouchard has any baby items—I have so many, I'd like to drop some off for her."

"That's a beautiful notion." His hand softened around her cheek. "You know this is one of the reasons I married you, right? Your selfless heart."

She teased her cheek deeper into his palm. "No, I learned that from you, my Nathan."

Voiceless, he embraced her under the warm coverlet as tightly as her belly would allow, those hard arms ever so gentle about her.

"Is it certain we cannot stay thus all day?" she murmured. "You know your arms are always my favorite place to be."

He scooted down in a rustle of sheets until they were eye level. "Hmm."

She flattened her palm on his chest. "I'm not serious about the opening question. But my closing statement was definitely, definitely serious."

Their noses brushed. "I'm pretty serious about you too, counselor," Nathan whispered, words playful, eyes weighty. "I find your closing argument, er, statement, most compelling."

"Right?" she teased, then sighed. "But I'm afraid I am going to have to leave said arms. It takes me longer and longer to get ready these days. . ."

He chuckled softly. "Guess our five minutes are up."

"If only we could stretch time."

Nathan arose and catching her hands in his, helped her roll more than rise to her feet, laughing together at the practiced smoothness of their little routine to get her rounded form out of bed.

"I can't help but wonder how many more times we'll get to do this." A wistful expression flashed across Nathan's face, grieving a loss that had yet to happen.

She rubbed her lower back, where a tightening band had begun to creep. "I don't think it will be much longer at all," she confided softly, and his breath snagged.

His eyes lit. "Do you think—?"

"I don't know, but. . . perhaps? You know I've had a deep sense that our baby and Christmas are connected. Somehow. So, perhaps yes."

Concern replaced the light in his gaze. "Are you alright? Ought you to leave the house?"

"Yes, darling, I ought." Slow and soft, she reached up and moved the perpetually fallen lock of hair from his temple. "If I feel something more imminent at any point, I will let you know, I promise."

His brow still slightly creased with concern, he gave her a searching look. What he saw seemed to reassure him for he deferred to her judgement with a quick nod before retiring to the attached washroom to change into the suit he had, pressed and waiting, on a hanger inside.

Elizabeth dressed behind the elegant privacy screen in the corner, grateful for the fire in the hearth that took the chill off the air. She heard the connecting door open and caught her breath.

This was it; her moment of truth had arrived.

Picking up her skirts, she moved out from behind the screen and into Nathan's line of sight, her breath quickening. She dropped her skirts, smoothing a nervous hand across the material. It felt like living water under her hand.

Would he. . . like it?

Something sweetened in his gaze as he took in the sight of her—she had her answer.

She had been keeping her Christmas gown a surprise and now stood before him, feeling oddly shy for all that she'd been married five years to him—this amazing man who had turned to absorb her appearance and now stood watching her with eyes that lit and melted in molasses succession.

Her heart skipped.

The sequence of emotions rolling through his eyes spoke louder than any words.

The dress, a dusky, smoked French-blue, was cleverly gathered and loosened to maximize comfort and the feminine grace of her expectancy, and cascaded over her changed form in a sumptuously soft waterfall that drew her husband's eye in renewed tenderness.

Ever so slightly elevated at the front to minimize chances of tripping—it being a struggle to see the floor over her swollen midsection—the hemline curved gracefully downward, drifting across the glossy floorboards behind her.

The small train rustled against wood as she shifted on her stocking feet, turning to give him a better view of the full-length dress.

At her throat, her new snowflake necklace glimmered, while tiny diamonds caught white fire and sparkled in dainty falls of silver at her ears.

Nathan stirred as if from a trance. "You look. . . " He swallowed tightly, his voice uneven. "You're a vision."

Lost in his eyes as an instant blush tiptoed up her cheeks, Elizabeth dropped her gaze to the dress, almost shy, self-consciously fingering the delicately elegant lacework at her wrist, feeling like a new bride stumbling over her words as sentences escaped her in mindless chatter.

"Dottie's a wizard with cut and material; she did an incredible job with it, don't you think?" She raced on. "It's no wonder she fields orders from all over the territory now. She deserves every bit of her success, and I think—"

"Beautiful." It was a title, and it cut her off.

Firm. Decisive. Gently vehement.

Nathan's hands were bracketing her waist, having closed the distance in a silent flash to materialize before her. "You're the enchantress, beautiful." Eyes spilled over into hers the tender ardor of his conviction. "She may be a wizard, Elizabeth, but it's you who makes this dress."

Her cheeks were pools of lava, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "Help me with my shoes?" she whispered, a touch breathless.

Nathan led her by the hand to the cedar chest at the foot of their bed, seating her upon its tufted lid. In another of the pregnancy rituals they had developed over the last nine months—as she became progressively less able to reach her feet—he knelt on one knee to ease her feet into the waiting shoes, paired side-by-side on the thick area rug that extended past the bed.

With her final foot shod, he just looked up at her, his heart in his eyes, rendering her powerless in the face of it.

With a wordless murmur catching somewhere between her heart and her throat, she bent as far as she could to meet him in a kiss of deep tenderness, only to ease back with a muffled giggle as her belly protested.

"I think that's BGG's way of letting me know she'd rather we saved that move for after she's not getting squished between us," she said ruefully.

Nathan's eyes gleamed gently. "That's definitely not a problem," he retorted cheekily—then rubbed the roundness of her midsection with warm palms. "And I think that was Livia's way of letting us know she'd rather we not call her by that moniker."

He cleared his throat meaningfully, pushing his eyebrow in the direction of her stomach as if the baby heard and understood her mother's acronym nickname for her.

"What?" Elizabeth defended, feigning ignorance. "She likes it. Don't you?" She addressed her stomach with the same certitude Nathan had.

Nathan bent lower to speak directly to his unborn child. "Mama versus daddy, precious—who's right?"

Absolute and complete stillness responded.

He looked up. "I don't think she wants to take a side."

Elizabeth was sweetly complacent with the turn of events. "Our girl is smart."

"Just like her mama."

She pushed him away till he settled back on his haunches with a tiny grin. "Stop being so sweet!" But she was beaming. "It's distracting, and we need to get going."

"I'm always happy to be your distraction. However"—he sighed heavily, but the little grin gave him away—"in this case you're right; we need to move."

By the front door he helped her into a long, thick coat before rifling through the coat closet for his. Elizabeth took a moment to admire him.

Freshly washed, his hair was combed in a way that gave it some style. Clean-shaven; the granite line of his jaw a contrast to the warm light in his eyes as he turned back and met her gaze. His dark suit clung to wide shoulders. The crisp white shirt and formal tie of midnight blue stood in striking contrast to his outdoors skin.

But it was his blue eyes and the soft approval in them that made her knees unsteady.

"I'll go bring the sleigh around," he murmured finally, knotting a scarf about his neck, and grabbing large fur throws from the top of the closet.

She slipped her hand into his elbow. "I'll go with you."

He glanced down, where the buttons of her coat were beginning to strain around her heavily rounded waist. "Let me bring it around and pick you up."

Her hand squeezed, loving but decided. "I'm going, Nathan."

"You know I can't resist you when you get all bossy." He snugged one of the new cashmere gloves onto her hand, gave her a look.

Her smile was impish. "And I'm not afraid to use it to my advantage."

He grinned as he helped gather infant items for Fiona Bouchard, keying the front door lock behind them.

The walk outside was cold, but the interior of their small barn smelled warmly of sweet hay. Elizabeth greeted Newton with a gentle rub as Nathan readied him to pull the sleigh. Compact and light, two facing bench seats awaited them in the sleigh's small open interior.

Nathan tossed furs across the seats and boosted her up before vaulting up to join her. He settled beside her, tucked a fur around her, gathered the reins, and with a soft cluck to Newton, they were away, passing their house and before long moving through town.

Several inches of snow sprawled in windblown patterns across every surface, pristinely beautiful and sparkling like frozen dewdrops in the morning light. Elizabeth let her gaze drift over the main street as they entered it, picturesque in its Yuletide garb.

Up ahead, she caught a flash of emerald on a lissome figure.

"There's the Tremblays." Nathan nodded.

Impulsively, she clutched his arm. "Oh, let's give them a ride."

Already pulling over, Nathan smiled down at her. "Mr. and Mrs. Tremblay!" he hailed the couple, who turned with alacrity at the sound. He leaned across and patted the empty seat. "Please join us if you're headed to church."

Elizabeth was lost in admiration—and a touch of envy—at the stunning emerald cloak the woman wore. Embroidered, mink-trimmed, and richly colored, it flowed around her in a cuddle of soft wool as her husband carefully helped her up into the sleigh with hands that were vigilantly tender. It reminded Elizabeth of the long, fur-trimmed white cloak she'd worn for her winter wedding to Nathan.

Green eyes met Elizabeth's under feminine, darkly tinted lashes, while the woman's husband joined her in a swift, adroit movement.

"This is most kind of you," the woman murmured, settling herself alongside her husband. "Sam, my husband, very nearly threatened to carry me when I insisted on walking instead of hitching up our wagon."

A mutual glance of understanding passed between the two men; husbands, both with wives who looked due to deliver any moment.

"I felt like my back and legs needed to stretch." The lovely redhead leaned into her husband, dainty high cheekbones tingeing with silent apology. "But it turned out to be a longer walk than expected from the boarding house, so I'm grateful for the ride."

"You're most welcome," Nathan was warm. "Elizabeth, let me introduce Sam and Lillian Tremblay. My wife, Elizabeth."

They sank into introductory chit chat with an ease that pleased Elizabeth. "Tell me," she asked, "how does Mrs. Bouchard fare?"

"Safely delivered of a sweet little girl not too many hours ago." Sam Tremblay smiled down on his own expectant wife, breath a white puff in the nippy air. "She's small but healthy."

Elizabeth started. "A Christmas baby then? Oh, what a gift."

"A true Christmas blessing." Lillian Tremblay's gloved fingers rested over the cloak-encased roundness of her midsection, her tone unknowingly wistful.

Sympathetic, Elizabeth inquired, "Were you hoping for a Christmas baby?"

"I still am." Lillian's admission was soft.

Her husband's eyes on her were softer still. "Who knows?" he said lowly. "It's a day for miracles."

"We have the same hope," Nathan admitted quietly, and Elizabeth snuggled deeper into his side, feeling loved and seen.

"Ahoy the sleigh!" came a voice, and from nowhere Bill Avery swung aboard the moving sleigh. "You don't mind if I join you, do you?" he invited himself.

Elizabeth sat upright, mouth dropping in slight dismay. They were at capacity as it was. How would they—?

Lillian solved the dilemma.

Without hesitation, she smiled at Bill, and in a graceful move that revealed an intriguing glimpse of the dress under her long cape, she sat on Sam's knee, making room for the gruff lawman; her movements never less than poised, ladylike, her pose dainty.

Her husband curled a firm arm about her, pulling her back till she rested securely against his chest. Lillian turned her smile on him, relaxing into the bedrock of his support. Beneath the cover of her emerald cloak, Lillian's gloved hand creep into her husband's. His fingers closed about hers in warm acknowledgement, followed by a look meant clearly only for the two of them.

Hastily, Elizabeth glanced away.

Apparently her eyes hadn't been the only ones who saw the tender interlude. Under cover of their fur throw, Nathan's hand found hers and his thumb slowly brushed her hand, to and fro and back again.

Bill, hastily, muttered, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you out." His nose was pink with cold and perhaps more than a little chagrin.

"Ohh, it's no hardship," Lillian said very softly, the dreamy smile deepening the velvet flush on her lips.

Elizabeth was smiling to herself at the sweet marital moment—echoes of so many she shared with Nathan—as they pulled up to the church in a smooth flourish of snow under the runners, and dismounted from the sleigh.

Their timing was perfect.

The church bells began to ring out across the countryside, tolling the joyous tidings of a great Birth.

·oOo·

"Merry Christmas, Sheriff Nathan and Mrs. Sheriff!" Children of the town ran by them as they left church, hollering and whooping buoyant greetings.

"Have a blessed Christmas, children," they called back, chuckling at their antics, Elizabeth holding onto Nathan's arm and Lillian doing the same to her husband on the other side.

Lillian peeked over at her, the cloak's hood falling back to unveil her russet coiffure and elegant features, vividly contrasting with the snow and the crispness of cold air. "'Mrs. Sheriff?'" Her laugh was soft and feminine in her throat. "Oh, I like that."

"I do as well." Elizabeth snugged her hands more closely around Nathan's arm, feeling the strength beneath tighten in response.

"They dubbed her that almost as soon as we got engaged." Nathan shook his head, wryly affectionate. "Little rascals."

"What would you be dubbed?" Elizabeth peeped at Lillian this time.

Lillian cocked her head and glanced up at her tall husband from under the shelter of his shoulder. "Mrs. Builder? Mrs. Architect?" She twinkled. "Both apply."

Elizabeth's head perked up as she exclaimed. "Oh, how marvelous. Nathan loves to build himself, so—"

"Oh, Elizabeth!" a voice called in delighted greeting.

Rosemary Coulter swooped in on a waft of delicate Parisian perfume, kissing Elizabeth on both cheeks, and happily introducing herself to the Tremblays without the slightest hint of reticence.

Bill sighed dryly, coming up behind them with snow-crunching steps. "Trust Rosemary to wallop social boundaries to kingdom come."

"Now, Bill," Elizabeth began to chide until his lurking grin registered.

"I know, I know," he grumbled with a smile. "It's Christmas, and yes, I am fond of Rosemary and have learned to accept her as she is."

"We wouldn't really want her to change too much, would we?" Yet another voice added to the vocal menagerie. Lee Coulter came up alongside Bill with a muted grin on his face, Mollie perched on his coated forearm.

Nathan immediately reached for the little girl who extended eager arms to be held. "Godpapa!"

Bill had the grace to look self-conscious, but it was swiftly erased by Lee's good-natured shoulder nudge. "Nope," he admitted, a smile working its way across his mouth, "we wouldn't want that, Lee."

"Oh!" Elizabeth dug in her small purse, biting her lip in concentration. "Seeing you reminds me, Rosemary—I almost forgot last night after the book reading, but I need to give you the key to the library. I'm so grateful it's you taking over while I'm on maternity leave."

A serious veil affixed itself to Rosemary's expressive features. "I just hope I can do the position justice."

"You're admirably suited to the job, Rosemary. Besides," Elizabeth bopped a kissed finger to Mollie's upturned little nose, "my bookworm goddaughter is eminently qualified to keep you company there."

"She'll be in heaven," Rosemary agreed fondly.

Mollie, however, was paying no attention. She was totally engrossed in one of the whispered conversations she and Nathan immediately engaged in nearly every time she could get herself within whispering distance of him.

Lee reached for Mollie. "Come, my girl, let's give godpapa Nathan a break and go home to eat some gingerbread pancakes, shall we?"

An instant change came over the small child.

Her sad little arms clung to Nathan's neck. She hid her face in his neck, his scarf obscuring her disconsolate features. "No," she whimpered, forlorn. "I wan'ta go home wif' Uncle Nat'n."

Nathan stroked her curls. "I have an idea," he whispered conspiratorially, as if it was just the two of them. "How about I come get you this week and we'll have a secret hot chocolate party at my house; just you, me, and Aunt Elizabeth."

She considered it seriously as the adults fought indulgent smiles. Mollie Coulter was hard to resist. Finally, she consented with a nod that sent her curls dancing. "'Kay, Uncle Nat'n. I wike hot choc'wut."

Nathan hugged her close. "Me too." Planting a kiss on the tip of her pert nose, he handed his goddaughter into Lee's waiting arms.

"Mollie, look." Lee angled himself so she could see where the boisterous children were now wriggling their entire bodies into giant red stockings on the church's snowy lawn, holding up the stockings by their white fur trimmings. "They're going to have a hopping race. Shall we go see who wins?"

She bounced enthusiastically on his arm. "Yes, papa! Wan'ta watch!"

He grinned at the group. "Guess that's it for us this morning. Have a wonderful Christmas! Sam, Lillian—may I call you that?—it was a pleasure to meet you."

Rosemary laid a gentle hand on Lillian's arm. "Please don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything—anything at all. We're not far from the boarding house."

Elizabeth couldn't help the warm swell in her heart at the welcoming nature of her friends as she watched them walk off, Rosemary having given her a big hug of farewell.

Nathan was talking. "Bill, we have yet to open gifts, including yours, but would you like to come by so we can give you yours?"

"Actually. . . " Elizabeth looked at Nathan, transmitting a silent message, then around at the circle of faces. "Can we persuade you three join us for breakfast?"

They hesitated, clearly not wanting to impose.

"Please do," Nathan urged. That was all the encouragement they needed.

"I'm not going to squish you four again though," Bill stated. "I'm going to walk back, saddle Hero, and ride over shortly."

"Give us thirty minutes or so?" Elizabeth suggested over the happy squeals of the children engaged in the hopping race. "We're stopping at the boarding house to drop off some baby items for Mrs. Bouchard."

Bill nodded. "Want me to let myself in and get breakfast started then?"

Elizabeth resisted the urge to hug him. "Bless you, Bill, that would be a boon."

Bill, being more father than acquaintance, had long possessed a spare key to their house, and they to his. And the man could cook. Widowed long since, he lived alone and had quite a culinary flair. He always said his cookbooks were all the company he needed. To see him with them was to believe.

He strode off, flapping a dismissive hand at Nathan's teasing chiding not to burn the coffee.

Another hurrying figure skirted past them, black and grey scarf flapping in the crisp breeze, seemingly unseeing in his haste.

"Mr. Bouchard!" Nathan called. "Let us give you a lift back to the boarding house. We were just headed there with some things for your wife. Congratulations on the little one, by the way." He helped Elizabeth into the sleigh. "Sam and Lillian filled us in. A Christmas baby, eh?"

The group piled into the graceful sleigh, Lillian again slipping onto her husband's knee to make room for the newcomer over Elizabeth's protests that it was her turn to make room this time.

"It's alright," Lillian said very softly. "I don't mind." She looked at her husband, and his hands tightened around her waist in a sweet response that would have been unnoticeable to most observers. Elizabeth Grant was not most observers.

The dark-eyed newcomer seemed a bit uncomfortable, rubbing at the fresh bandage on his brow. "I can't inconvenience you like this; I'll just walk."

Lillian looked at him then, and Elizabeth saw for the first time, the hint of steel that ran through the willowy beauty. "Mr. Bouchard, I'm not inconvenienced at all, however unusual our seating arrangement. Please stay."

Her husband looked at her quietly then, a simmering pride in his striking blue eyes—eyes so like Nathan's in color and intensity that they took Elizabeth aback each time she glimpsed them.

"Uncle Nat'n?!" Without warning, Mollie Coulter's little voice tripped across the distance to them, sounding rather urgent. "Can we haf' marshmallows wif' our hot choc'wut?"

"At least ten of them," he called back without hesitation.

Even from there, Elizabeth could see the little girl's eyes get big. "Pwomise?" she hollered with cautious excitement.

Solemnly, Nathan crossed his heart as he gathered the reins in preparation for departure. "Promise, Miss Mollie."

Elizabeth nestled closer. "You're going to make the best father," she whispered.

The expression in his eyes morphed, deepened; his lips parted as if to say something—

A voice interrupted for what felt like the twelfth time that morning.

"Elizabeth, don't you dare leave!" A pair of warm cognac eyes popped up over the edge of the sleigh. "I can see you have company so I won't keep you above a moment"—deep dimples appeared in wind-rouged cheeks that framed full lips—"but I have a little something I wanted to get to you before you left." Sophia Shepherd pressed a covered crock of warm soup into Elizabeth's hands. "So you don't have to cook a few meals. I know things are getting close for you."

"Sophia, you dear. Thank you." Elizabeth pressed the other woman's hand, eyes stinging at the kindness of the honey-blonde who was as thoughtful as she was brilliant. "This is a blessing, believe me."

"Merry Christmas, Grants and Tremblays!" Carson came up, caught his wife with a doting arm. Her smile grew brighter. "Enjoy that soup, Elizabeth. As a doctor, I vouch for its mouthwatering properties." He winked.

His wife shook her head modestly, but her eyes were bright with affectionate joy as she chuckled into Carson's gentlemanly face, downturned to her and fired with a hint of the mischievous streak she brought out in him—the longer they were married, the stronger it got. She made him lighter somehow, and he lit her up. Having stood with Rosemary as bridesmaid at their wedding, Elizabeth loved to see it.

"We'll let you get on with your Christmas," Sophia said warmly, settling back into Carson's arm.

The sleigh occupants waved goodbye and wished the couple a blessed day as the they began moving in the direction of the boarding house. Elizabeth caught sight of newly expectant Abigail Gowen as her husband Henry helped her into their enclosed carriage like she was made of the most exquisite glass. She blew her a heartfelt kiss, her heart spilling over at the happiness of her friends—all her dear friends.

Glancing back at the Shepherds, Elizabeth watched as Carson led his wife away by the waist, only to find herself laughing aloud at Sophia's playfulness as she lobbed a handful of loose snow at him.

The doctor chased Sophia a few steps until he caught her beneath the boardwalk, right under a large, conspicuously hung mistletoe. The last she saw of them before they turned a corner and the couple was lost to sight, was Carson gently cradling his wife's laughing face in his hands.

She settled back and felt Nathan shift to enclose her shoulders with his warm arm, handling the reins one-handed.

"We're so blessed," he ruminated lowly in her ear. "Our lives and hearts are full—and our Christmas morning is about to be equally full."

"It's not what we planned"—she reached up and touched the hand wrapped around her shoulder—"but it's perfect."

Christmas gift opening would have to wait. Their planned peaceful morning had become a time-span brimming with anything but quiet.

"Perfect for us," he whispered. And indeed it was.

In the glittering perfection of sparsely falling snowflakes, even the sky above seemed to echo in accord. A benediction from the heavens for a perfect Christmas, tailor-made just for them.