I’d left the porch light on, and the fireplace still warmed the living room. Myra had left hours ago and I was curled up in a blanket on the couch with the stuffed eyeball Spud had offered me for comfort.

It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas eve.

The storm wasn’t letting up.

My phone in my hand was fully charged and utterly, exhaustingly silent.

So silent I’d turned on Ryder’s sound system and queued up a Christmas music playlist to take my mind off my worry.

It wasn’t working.

The song switched to Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto soothing her way through Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. As soon as she reached the troubles being out of sight lyrics, I couldn’t stay still.

My troubles were right here in front of me. Or, really, that was the trouble. Ryder wasn’t here in front of me.

I got up and paced. The glittering, twinkling lights of the tree filled the room with a sense of promise, of miracles, of magic.

Before I could overthink it, I lay on my back and scooted under the tree. I spit a few dead needles off my mouth and wiped my face in case of spiders, then looked up through the branches.

Bundles of tiny lights spangled the tree in a fairy field of reds, blues, green, yellows, and purples. White twinklers winked like galaxies stirred by a winter wind.

Fir needles prickled against the light, shadows coyly curled around curved-mirror ornaments that hung joyful and fat.

It was beautiful.

I could see how this would enchant little Ryder. It felt private, hushed, magical.

Here under the tree was a secret moment where all the hopes and wishes of Christmas hung waiting on silvery hooks.

I’d told Jean I wasn’t going to wish for snow. I’d told her I’d use my wishes for more important things.

I’ll Be Home For Christmas started, and Ryder’s promise to be here, with me, echoed through me with every note.

So I made a wish.

Please let him be all right. Please let him be safe. Please let him call me so we can laugh about this. I need to hear his voice. I need to know he’s okay.

I repeated those words, over and over until the song ended.

And then my phone rang.

I scuttled out from under that tree so fast, I nearly tipped it over.

“Are you okay?” The words were out of my mouth almost before I’d swiped the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, beautiful.” Ryder’s words were a little slow, like he’d had one too many drinks. “Merry Christmas.”

“Where are you? Are you okay? Are you drinking? Drinking? You better not be driving.”

I couldn’t hear any noise in the background, which was a little weird.

“So, change in plans.” He cleared his throat, which turned into a hard rattling cough. “There’s been. Change.”

“Where are you?” I jogged over to my laptop, pinging Jean, who was on duty tonight.

Her face appeared in a little box on my screen. “What’s wrong?”

“Ryder’s on the line.”

“Your phone?”

I nodded. “His speech is slurred.”

She was already busy typing. “Keep him talking.”

“In my truck?” Ryder finally answered. “The…I must have blacked out for a minute.”

He coughed again and it didn’t sound good.

“Are you hurt? Honey. Are you hurt?”

I could hear his breathing, wanted him to answer, needed him to answer.

“Delaney?” he said it clearly, like he was trying to get a grip. “Right. I’m outside Sisters. Was…last I…before I blacked out.”

“The GPS on your phone is active.” I had resorted to cop-voice because any other voice would be trembling.

“Jean’s getting a lock on you. Are you on the road? Are you driving?”

“No? No. I got out. A woman and kids. Oh, hell. I need to check. They were stuck and I was pushing, pushed. The ditch.”

He grunted and I heard the creak of what I could only assume was his truck door opening.

“Ryder Bailey, do not exit your vehicle,” I ordered. Images of him on a precarious cliff or stalled in the middle of the highway, or stuck in a snow bank filled my mind.

“They were babies, Laney, just babies.”

“Who? The woman and kids you pushed out of a ditch?”

“Yeah.” He panted, each inhale hitched as if hooking on something sharp. “They were here…”

“Are you on the road? Do you see any markers?”

When he didn’t answer, I shot Jean a look.

“I don’t think he’s outside Sisters,” she said. “Heavy snowfall took out a couple towers. Give me a second.”

“Ryder,” I said. “you need to get back in the truck where it’s warm.”

I heard wind, I heard his breath, then all I heard was a very soft, “Oh,” before his phone cut out.

The Christmas music in the background was sweeping through Carol of the Bells. For some reason, I noticed it, like that one detail was important.

The rest of my brain refused to work, to move past the silence, that final: “Oh.”

I stared down, down, down at my phone as if my hand belonged to someone else. As if I were floating somewhere near the ceiling, operating my body from a distance.

“Answer your phone.” I whispered as I dialed him back.

It went to voice mail. I dialed again.

And again.

And again.

“What?” Ryder’s voice. Rough. Faint.

I blew out my breath, anger, fear, panic. Inhaled slowly.

Keep it together, Delaney.

“Ryder, tell me exactly where you are right now.”

He grunted. I could tell he was moving around. “On my back? In snow. You woke me up?”

He moved. “Blood. Someone’s bleeding?”

“Is someone with you?”

“No.”

“Are you bleeding?”

He paused, finally: “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Head. I’m seeing double too. Hell.” He sucked a breath and sort of exhaled a shaky laugh. “I think I got run off the road. I don’t remember getting hit…”

“Where is your truck?”

“Uh. Over there.”

“Get in your truck. Now, Ryder. Right now.”

“So bossy.”

I bit my lip to keep from screaming at him. “I am your boss, Reserve Officer. Now move it.”

He groaned. “My GPS?”

“Yes. We’re narrowing it down.”

There was nothing but short, huffed breaths, and then more groaning, a few curse words, and finally the sound of a door shutting again.

“Try the engine,” I told him.

I could hear the battery clicking and knew that engine wasn’t going to turn over.

“Well, that sucks.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m down a ravine.”

“Can you see anything else?”

“Snow.”

“He’s in a ravine in his truck,” I told Jean.

“Keep that cell on,” she said.

“Do you have emergency supplies?” I asked him.

He shifted a bit. “I think I gave them to the mom.” He exhaled slowly. “Freezing to death was not in my holiday plans.”

“You’re not dying. I won’t let you die.”

“Was joke,” he slurred.

“You stay awake,” I ordered. “Bundle up with everything you have and stay awake.”

More movement. His voice was a little muffled when he spoke. “Talk to me, Delaney. Keep me awake.”

“I put up a Christmas tree.”

“You told me that already.”

Right. Oops.

“I laid down under it and stared at the lights.”

Pause.

“Ryder?”

“Here. Still here. Was it nice?”

“Beautiful. You need to stay awake. Are your eyes open?”

“Mmm.”

“Liar. Open your eyes.”

A sigh. Then, “Tell me something. A thing you liked about Christmas.”

“When I was little?”

“Yeah.”

“Presents.”

“If you want me to stay awake, better tell me a longer story.”

“All right, hang on.” I wracked my brain and glanced at Jean again.

“Somewhere off of Highway 20 near Three Fingered Jack.” Jean’s fingers were flying. “Emergency services are stretched thin. There’s no way a vehicle can get through that. Highway 20 is closed under snow and ice. I’ll see if I can contact Santiam Ski Patrol. But that’s a lot of terrain to cover.”

“Hey,” Ryder’s voice was rough and whispery. “Thought I got a story?”

“Right. Hold on, I’m thinking.”

Jean speared me with a look. “We need to call on something other than emergency services if we want to find him quickly.”

That was one advantage to being a small town full of supernatural beings and vacationing gods. We could call on people with unusual abilities when things got bad.

Of course, most supernatural beings wanted to be compensated for their effort and time. And some of them, I thought as my soul-losing deal with Bathin sprang to mind, set a pretty high price.

“Get someone,” I told her. “Now.”

I turned all my attention back to Ryder. “Okay, you have to answer every time I say your name. Got that, Ryder?”

“Affirmative. Roger that.”

I started pacing again, envying the dragon and dog who were curled up and comfy in front of the fire as the storm raged outside.

The tree lights caught my eye, and I gazed up at the star. I knew what memory I should share.

“When I was little, my mom read me a book about a Christmas star. It was supposed to be a sweet story about the little star that fell to earth and got lost. Finally, with some help from forest creatures, a snowman, and a couple children, the star was set upon a Christmas tree to shine brightly and bring joy to all. Are you listening, Ryder?”

“Star. Tree. Snowmen. Riveting.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, you wanted me to share. I could just read you the phone book.”

“You don’t own a phone book. Get back to the star. What happened?”

“First, you need to know I hated that story.”

“This is supposed to be a happy memory, Delaney.”

“Shut up. I’m getting there. I hated the story because it always made me sad.”

He grunted. “Why?”

“Dad asked me that one night when he found me staring at the Christmas tree and crying. I tried to lie. I was never very good at lying to him.”

“No,” he agreed, “you weren’t.”

I liked that Ryder knew that about me. That he had been there in my life, known me that long.

“I told him the story made me sad. I was sorry for the star because when it fell, it had to leave behind all its family and friends. Even though it got to shine bright as a Christmas star for a few days, after that it would be all alone, stuck down on earth and looking up at the friends and the place it would never be a part of again.

“Still with me, Ryder?”

“I’m here. Little lonely star far away from home and friends. You know, you could have come up with a less depressing story to take my mind off my situation.”

“There’s more to it. Dad told me distance couldn’t keep us from the ones we love. He said we are all made of stardust, all a part of each other. Even though the little star was stuck here on earth, it carried its friends and family in its heart because it held the memory of the things they had shared, the laughter, the sorrow, the joy. He said we can’t lose those we love, because the sky, the earth, and everything between—including us—is part of the same thing: love.”

A pause ticked by.

“I miss him,” Ryder said. Still a little slurred, still a little slow. “Your dad.”

“I do too. But when he told me that, it didn’t make me feel better. I was still sad for the little star.”

“Such a softy. How did you end up a cop?”

I laughed. “A lot of hard work. Dad knew I was still sad. I could never hide that from him, either. So you know what happened?”

“Mmmm?”

“I woke up on Christmas morning and the living room was filled with stars. Paper stars hung from the ceiling, from the windows, from the branches of the Christmas tree.” I swallowed a smile remembering.

“He’d cut a hundred paper stars out of gold, silver, white, and blue. Must have taken him hours to hang them all. Written on every single one of them was one word: love.”

I was quiet while I tried to corral the emotions that came along with the memory. I hadn’t thought about that Christmas morning in years.

“He told me the stars had come down from the heavens to visit the Christmas tree star so it wouldn’t be lonely. He told me it was a Christmas wish come true.”

“Delaney,” he said, as if just talking was taking every ounce of energy he had. Or maybe the story had touched him, a little bit of my remembered joy and sorrow now his.

“I need to say something. I should have said it a long time ago. Thought I’d have time. Thought we’d have time…”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, afraid that if he said something, if he said he loved me, he’d really be saying good-bye.

“Just save whatever you have to say for when you come home. Because you promised you’d come home, Ryder.”

“Laney…I’m sorry.”