Noelle scanned the long table on the far side of the room for an empty space. Not finding one, she approached the next nearest table. Her mother had hijacked Ethan, saying something about helping her get more prime rib.

“Is this seat taken?” Noelle waited behind the seat next to Harold Talbott, a retired Air Force veteran and owner of the only grocery store in town.

Harold shoved away from the table, stood, and pulled out the chair next to him. “This seat has your name on it.”

Noelle returned the older man’s smile, then set her wineglass and plate overflowing with turkey and stuffing and German potato salad on the white tablecloth her mother used for special occasions. “Thanks.” She sat as Harold helped slide her chair under the table.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Ethan asked from the other side of the round table that could seat six.

“Help yourself, Doc,” Harold said before she could respond.

Ethan settled in, setting his silverware aside, and placing the napkin in his lap. “How’s Claudia doing?”

Typical Ethan, she thought. His first concern was always to check on his patients.

“The dementia is getting worse.” Harold’s somber voice was colored by a strong edge of concern. “She’s having trouble remembering what day it is, and keeps forgetting where she put things. She’s getting confused and frustrated more often. Plus, she’s continuing to withdraw.”

“Is that why she didn’t come tonight?”

“That, and her specialist put her on Donepezil. She’s lost her appetite and is tired all the time. I didn’t want to leave her alone, but she insisted I come tonight, so our daughter came up from Denver to keep her company.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes distant, contemplative. “That's to be expected. Why don't we have lunch next week? I’d like to show you an article in one of my medical journals. Then maybe you can discuss the options with your doctor.” Ethan scooped a combination of prime rib and mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Thank you for caring.”

Ethan swallowed his food. “You’re welcome. And I mean it about talking to your doctor, okay?”

But Ethan went far beyond his role of doctor. She’d overheard the phone calls over the past few days—him fighting with the insurance company on behalf of his patient, and listening to Mrs. Cranston tell her stories. He sincerely cared, and his empathy made him different. She laid her hand on top of Harold’s. “Is there anything I can do while I'm here?”

“Maybe you can stop by the hair salon and sing her a song. She’ll get her hair cut on Thursday.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“I’ll call Sue at the salon and set things up. Claudia loves your singing. Always has. It will be a treat.”

Drops of gratitude pooled in her heart, pumping her full of confidence. “She also loves Christmas carols. Maybe I can throw in a few.”

Harold’s eyes went a little misty as he talked about all the Christmas music he loved. The conversation meandered into holiday traditions, then stories about Christmases past, with Harold carrying most of the conversational weight. She added a sentence or two now and then, but Ethan was quiet. He watched. Listened. His typical monosyllabic responses whittled down to silence. She caught herself more than once twirling her hair around her finger. A dumb-blonde habit she thought she’d broken.

Harold pointed his fork at her after he swallowed a bite. “Your mom says you’re on your way to California.”

“That’s right. I’m meeting a friend there.”

“Your friends here miss you. I hoped you might consider staying.”

“Just passing through.” She worked hard to hold on to the stubborn conviction that had become slippery recently. Lately she’d begun to question why she was really going to LA. Yes, she wanted to sing and write songs, but why LA? Was it the right move?

There were studios in Denver. In fact, there were big names recording in Colorado. Plus, these days, with the internet and social media, she could create, record and distribute music from almost anywhere, as long as she was willing to travel. Money was the issue, and LA had to be the most expensive place to be. Then again, Colorado wasn’t a megatropolis of opportunity.

Decisions. Decisions.

Fears of making the wrong decision doubled the doubts. Fears of staying brought on the feeling of failure. What had she said to Ethan? Something about never being able to see fear until it reveals itself.

She dragged her cranberry sauce around her plate with her fork, making a swirling design.

“Noelle?” Ethan set his fork on his plate. “You said you were looking for different material. What if you write a song about Alzheimer's? It affects about six percent of the senior population. Researchers think the disease is genetic, but more research needs to be done to prove the theory. Writing a song might help the cause, and help you connect with new audiences.”

“I’m not sure it’s what the producers in LA are looking for.”

Harold wiped his mouth. “Why not? If Kenny Chesney can sing about the disease, why not you?”

“There was another guy, too. Tim something.” Ethan pointed his fork at Harold, his gaze on the ceiling, his mind working.

“Tim Rushlow?”

Ethan pointed at her. “Yeah him. He wrote a song about Ronald Reagan.”

She took a deep breath. “He did, and he got some radio air time.”

Harold leaned her way. “I heard they played the song at 5K running events.”

“Charities do tend to adopt theme songs.”

She looked up at Ethan. “Is this your way of getting out of helping me with your song?”

“I said I’d help.”

“Yes, but—”

“You can do this, Noelle.” He spoke with more confidence than she felt at the moment.

What was wrong with her? Normally she was all-out confident. Never asking why. She always went for it, hoping something would stick. But lately. Lately, she was questioning everything. Thank heaven gratitude filled the gap self-doubt ate away. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“And so do I,” Harold added. “You’ve always been determined and driven.”

Maggie took the chair next to Ethan. “Why are you all looking so glum?”

Ethan relocated the water glass so Maggie could set her plate down. “We were just talking about—”

“How great this food is,” Noelle interrupted quickly, not wanting to talk about singing or music around her mother. Until tonight, her mom hadn’t embraced her career choice, and Noelle didn’t want to delve into the sour subject tonight. It was Christmas, after all.

Ethan studied her for a moment before turning to Maggie. “Mrs. Conroy, this meal is delicious.”

“Ethan, I told you before. Don’t you dare call me Mrs. anything. You do, and I start looking around for some old lady, and I refuse to be old. So you call me Maggie, or Mags, or nothing at all.”

“Why are you getting so fussy, Maggie Mae?” Harold pointed his fork at her mom. “Your daughter, Ethan, and I were having a pleasant conversation.”

“Of course you were. Noelle is the kindest, sweetest person on this earth. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her entire body. I’d wonder if she was my kid, except for the fact that I popped her out the night before Christmas. Fastest and easiest delivery of my three kids.”

“It’s usually the other way around.” Ethan pointed out. “Usually the more you have, the easier it is.”

“Not in my case.” Maggie thrust her knife a couple of times in Noelle’s direction. “My eldest was my perfect child. I swear she came out smiling. It wasn’t a month before she was sleeping through the night. Too bad my other children didn’t follow her example.”

“Now, Maggie,” Harold chided, “you can't pick favorites.”

“I’m not picking favorites. Noelle can be stubborn as a jackass. Takes after her father that way.”

There it was again, her mother comparing her to that loser. “Let’s change subjects, shall we?” Noelle added with a faux bit of Christmas cheer. “What’s your favorite holiday treat?”

The three groaned in concert.

“How about them Broncos?” Ethan supplied with a grin and a wink.

“That’s better.” Maggie grabbed the metal water pitcher and filled the glasses on the table.

At some point during the night the conversation turned its focus on Ethan. He answered question after question about his travels. With every passing minute he became more animated, the tension in his shoulders easing, and he even managed to smile now and then.

“I think Tom mentioned you were working in Nepal at some point.” Harold prompted.

Ethan swiped a napkin across his lips. “I worked there for a little over a year.”

The way he pulled at his collar when nervous tickled Noelle. “Why did you choose Nepal?”

“The country was rebuilding after its Civil War, and there was a great need for medical services. I was young and idealistic, and wanted to help. Besides, working in an emergency ward overseas, I got to see and do a lot of things other physicians starting out don’t normally get to do for years.”

“I get the impression you changed your mind.”

“One of the world’s leading infectious disease experts talked me into leaving Nepal and joining him in Tanzania. He said my skills were being wasted.”

“That’s a nice compliment.” Maggie tapped him on the arm.

Ethan chuckled. “It would've been if I hadn't known he was short-staffed and needed another warm body.”

“But, still…” Noelle supported her mother’s statement. “It must have been nice to be asked.”

“It was,” Ethan nodded. “As it turns out, he was right. In Nepal I saw everything from gastrointestinal disorders to parasites to tuberculosis. Couple that with the lack of medication and nutritional disorders, and there was often little I could do to make patients comfortable. The hospital I was assigned to lacked structure, and I was doing very little in the way of prevention.

“In Tanzania, I was assigned to help with a malaria study. Several of the leading diagnostics experts were trying to develop a way to accurately diagnose malaria. We gained access to a rapid diagnostic test, but were forced to do more outreach than studies. We believed the country’s practice of overprescribing antibiotics was contributing to the spread of drug-resistant malaria strains. Our tests were inconclusive, but every year we were finding containment of the disease harder and harder.”

“Weren’t you afraid you’d get infected?” Noelle’s attempts to keep her concerns dialed back failed.

“No, not really. There’s a list of things you can do to prevent infection, like using treated mosquito nets, covering your body with loose clothing, using repellent, covering windows and doors with screens, plus there are anti-malaria medications.”

“Fighting malaria is important work. Why did you give it up?”

“I came to realize that while fighting malaria is important, I enjoyed working directly with the patients. Once I understood my calling, I decided practicing in Africa or overseas wasn’t required.”

“Is that why you ended up in LA?”

Tom placed his hands on Ethan's shoulders, effectively stopping the conversation. “Actually, that’s why he ended up here.” Tom squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. “Is everyone ready for gift opening?”

“Oh, goodness. Look at the time.” Maggie pushed her chair back. “I had better help Jenna put out the desserts.”

Harold reached for several empty plates. “I’d better get in line before the cheesecake is all gone.”

The table emptied faster than a nut bowl at a football party.

“Doc B, will you join us?” She hoped he would, since she was having a hard time avoiding being alone with the sexy hunk across the table. She didn’t need dessert. All she needed to do was spread Jenna's Sin Sugar on Ethan, and she'd be good to go.

The fantasies of working off the calories kept getting more and more elaborate and frequent.

“Just for a moment.” Tom set an envelope on the table. “I want to give Ethan this.”

Ethan stared at his uncle, who was sitting on the edge of the chair vacated by Maggie. “I thought we both agreed we were going to donate to charity this year.”

“We did, and I did, but this is something extra.”

“Do you want me to open it now?” Ethan glanced at the envelope and then his uncle.

“Your choice.”

Ethan ran his fingers under the edge of the flap, then pulled the official-looking piece of paper from the envelope and scanned the contents. “I thought…are you sure about this?”

“I’ve been sure since the first day you came to work for me. I've just been trying to find the right time.”

“This is unexpected. Thank you. Your vote of confidence means a lot.”

Noelle’s curiosity expanded. She leaned forward to get a peek at the paper.

Ethan tilted the paper in her direction. “Tom’s giving me his medical practice.”

“I’m not just giving it to you. You’ve worked hard for it. It's yours if you want it.”

“But, why now? Did something happen?”

Tom scooted the chair in closer. “The kid they brought in after the car accident on the highway got me thinking.”

“You mean the guy my age thrown from the car—the one who wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”

“Yeah, that one.” Tom pointed at the envelope. “You’re not young, and I’m getting old. If you sign on to take over, then we’ll need to get you in a position to fully take over when I snuff it. That takes time.”

“You’re too young to snuff it,” Ethan made the statement in a way that left no room for argument.

Without thinking, Noelle reached for his hand. “You’ll do great.”

Ethan grasped her fingers and didn’t let go.

Tom pushed back his chair. “I’ll let you two get on with your evening.”

Ethan studied the piece of paper. Noelle squeezed his fingers to get his attention. “I guess this means you're going to stay in Elkridge.”

“I like the people here. Between working at the office, the urgent care clinic, and volunteering for emergencies, my life is full.”

Meaning there will never be room in your life for anyone else—like a girlfriend or a wife. “You can’t work all the time. Maybe you should find a hobby. I know. You should take cooking classes. That way you wouldn’t have to resort to drinking those nasty shakes all the time.”

“If you love what you do, there is no need for a hobby.”

“True.” She pulled her hand back, as disappointment ebbed and flowed. “Should we go watch people open presents?” She put on her concert face, the one she’d perfected over time in front of the mirror.

Ethan shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a little box. “This is for you.”

Her lungs expanded with surprise, then deflated. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Are you kidding? You put up a tree and have been baking all week.” He pointed at the box. “It’s just a little something. Open it.”

She tugged at the red bow, and slowly opened the white box. Inside was a silver metal pick, with the words, “When words fail, the music remains.” A stinging sensation attacked her nose and eyes. She pressed her hand against her chest to stave off the onslaught of emotions.

“You get it. You get me.” The awe in her voice swelled. “When did you have a chance to shop?”

“One of the nurses at the hospital stamps jewelry, and I thought… Do you like it?”

“I love it. It’s wonderful.” Just like you.

She’d never meet anyone else as heroic as Ethan. There weren’t enough Ethan Brennan’s in the world.

“Thank you.” She said with an emphasis on the word “you,” and hoped he understood how much she appreciated that he believed in her.

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

The majority of people had gathered around the tree, yet she wished it was just the two of them. There were so many things she wanted to express to this honorable man, but now was not the time or place. She picked up her napkin and stealthily dabbed the corner of her eyes and blinked.

“Sure.” She glanced at the tree again. “I hope everyone likes socks, because that’s what everyone’s getting this year.”

“A practical gift is always good.”

Another supportive comment from the caring doctor. She had better guard her heart, since the smart, kind, gorgeous, addictive man would certainly wreak havoc with her heart.

She pushed back from the table. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Is everything okay?”

No. My head and heart are having a tug-of-war, and I’m afraid my heart’s winning. “Everything is fine. I’ll see if Ted needs any help in the kitchen.”

She turned away from the skepticism in his expression, and hurried down the staff hallway, past the kitchen, and out the back door. She needed to chill, and the below-freezing temperatures would help. The wind had blown a six-foot snowdrift against the fence. Maybe she could bury her head in the snowbank and pretend she didn’t love Ethan.

How had she let it happen?

She drew in a breath, letting the frosty air settle around her.

“What in the hell are you doing outside without a jacket? I raised you better.”

She held up a hand, hoping her mom would go back inside. “I just needed a minute, Mom.”

“Don't you dare get the flu just because you can't figure out what to do with that sexy doctor of yours.”

“How did you…never mind.” She could swear her mother was a mind reader.

Maggie laid an arm across Noelle’s shoulders. “I can tell you like him, but you're leaving. It's not smart to start something you can't finish.”

“I know, but it’s a little too late for that.” Her heart squeezed at the thought. “Why does my timing always suck?”

“You could always stay.”

And give up my dreams? No thank you. “I know you would like that, but I can't.”

“I'll give you the same advice my mother gave me. You don’t have to travel the globe to find what’s already in your heart.”

Noelle groaned. “Grandma was always giving advice, but I could never figure out what she meant.”

“You will. Give it time.” Maggie’s arms tightened around her. “Ready to come inside?”

“I think I need another minute.”

“I’ll give you two before I send Ethan out here. That cutie-pie will chase you back inside quick enough.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Maggie pressed her lips to her forehead. “Watch me.” She swore her mother giggled. “I love you, baby girl, and I’m glad you came home. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Come inside when you’re ready. I'll save you a mug of apple cider.”

Maggie disappeared through the back door. Noelle crossed her arms and shivered, then looked up toward the heavens. What am I supposed to do now?