“… so Faith Aldridge ended up being Hope Scroggs’s long-lost twin sister.” Rachel kept right on talking as she filled Sam’s cup with steaming, black coffee. “And I’ll tell you what. Those two look so much alike that the entire town was fooled. All except for Slate. He knew after just one kiss that Faith wasn’t Hope. ’Course, he figured out some other things as well—like he couldn’t live without our little Faith.”

The news surprised Sam. Slate Calhoun had been the hometown football hero while Hope Scroggs had been the homecoming queen. It just made sense that they would end up getting married. Of course, love had never made sense.

Sam glanced out the front windows, but Ethan had long since returned to his old truck and driven away.

“I bet Hope was brokenhearted,” she said.

“We all figured as much.” Mayor Harley Sutter swiveled around on the barstool next to Sam’s, his big belly brushing the counter, and his handlebar mustache wiggling as he talked. “But as it turned out, Hope has always been in love with Colt Lomax.”

“Which surprised the heck out of me,” Sheriff Winslow said. “Colt spent more time in my jail than Elmer Tate.”

“And maybe that’s why Hope fell in love with him. It’s hard to resist a bad boy.” Rachel winked at Sam. “Ain’t it, girl?”

Sam smiled in agreement, even though she’d never had a thing for bad boys with bad attitudes. Just soft-spoken farm boys. And it seemed that time hadn’t diminished her feelings. The moment she looked into Ethan’s green eyes, she’d been lost all over again. And when he’d pulled her into his arms, for one brief second, she’d thought he’d felt it too. But it turned out his greeting had been no different than Rachel Dean’s.

“So how long do you get to stay, Sam?”

Sam glanced down the counter to the cowboy with the contagious grin. “Only until the day after Christmas, Kenny Gene. If I’m going to pay back all my student loans, I need to find a job and quick.”

“Well, I don’t know why you couldn’t just set up shop right here in Bramble,” the mayor said. “Folks in Bramble have to go all the way to Odessa to find a vet. ’Course, most folks don’t mess with that and just take their animals to Ethan. That boy has a real gift.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sam said dryly. Of course she knew Ethan had a gift and had known it long before anyone else. It was Ethan who opened up the world of animals to her. Ethan who showed her the comfort found in the soft cuddle of fur or the warm nuzzle of a cold nose. And maybe that was her problem. She’d gotten her love of animals confused with her feelings for the young man who had offered a haven from her dysfunctional family.

As if reading her thoughts, Mayor Sutter asked, “So how’s your mama doin’? She still livin’ in Austin?”

Sam didn’t have a clue. The last time Sam had spoken to her mama had been on her fourteenth birthday—the day her mother had left town. She wanted to blame her mother for the rift in their relationship, but Sam was the one who hadn’t returned her letters or phone calls. Still, the town didn’t need to know that.

“So tell me more about this live nativity scene,” she said in an attempt to change the subject.

Fortunately, Mayor Sutter latched on to the new topic like a bass to live bait. “It was Pastor Robbins’s idea. I guess the church he worked at before us used to have one every Christmas Eve—supposedly it gets everyone’s thoughts back on the reason for the season.”

“Animal poop?” Kenny Gene piped up. “Because I gotta tell you, puttin’ all those animals in that little stable the pastor had me build is just askin’ for trouble.”

“Which is why we put you on poop patrol,” Rachel Dean said.

Kenny Gene’s eyes narrowed. “But I thought I got to be the Angel of the Lord.”

“You do, son.” Mayor Sutter patted him on the back. “But when you ain’t spreadin’ tidin’s of great joy to all people, you’ll be spreadin’ manure in the church flowerbeds.”

Kenny’s eyes lit up. “Well, I guess that ain’t so bad.”

“I just wish our hunt for baby Jesuses was goin’ so well,” Rachel said as she poured the mayor more coffee.

“Jesuses?” Sam said. “You need more than one?”

Rachel’s smile got even bigger. “Since we couldn’t decide on who should get to be Mary and Joseph—Faith and Slate or Hope and Colt—we decided to have two shifts. ’Course, now we need two Jesuses. And we’ve had tryouts for the last week and a half, and not a Jesus have we found. Dusty Ray don’t fit in the manger. Rufus Miles throws fits like he’s possessed. And Titus Smith is allergic to hay.” She released her breath in a long sigh. “Which means we might have to settle for the porcelain doll Darla made. And I gotta tell you that Chucky-lookin’ thing scares me to death.”

Sam muffled her laugh behind a cough. She had missed the craziness of Bramble. Missed it more than she’d realized. In the last seven years, she’d tried to become a cosmopolitan girl. But all it had taken was five minutes in Josephine’s to realize she was small town through and through.

“Not to say that Darla ain’t gifted,” Rachel continued. “Why, her manger-decoratin’ skills are gonna surprise the pants right off of Pastor Robbins when he gets back from that preacher convention in Dallas.”

Mayor Sutter nodded. “The pastor might’ve had a nice enough live nativity at his last church, but it’s not gonna hold a candle to ours.”

There was a chorus of “shore ain’ts” before the conversation moved on to Hope and Faith’s pregnancies and what they should name their babies. After a good hour of listening to children’s names weirder than Hollywood movie stars’, Sam decided she had delayed seeing her family long enough and got up from the stool.

“If you stop by the church a little before six, Sam, I’ll fix you up with a costume,” Rachel Dean said as she handed Sam her change. “We don’t got any more heavenly hosts’ wings or shepherd sheets, but I’ll find you somethin’.”

Sam smiled. It was so like the people of Bramble to include everyone.

“I’ll try to be there,” she said as she made her way to the door.

The weather had turned while Sam had been in the diner. Gray clouds blocked out the blue west Texas sky, and a cold wind press against her as she hurried to her rental car. She probably could’ve called her sister, Marcy, to pick her up from the airport in Lubbock. But she wasn’t willing to be stuck at her father’s house without a means of escape.

The one-story stucco house she’d grown up in hadn’t changed all that much over the last seven years. The lawn and flower beds were better cared for, and the yellow trim looked freshly painted, but other than that, it looked the same. It wasn’t a big house—no more than six rooms total—but it had been a comfortable home.

At least physically.

Emotionally was another story.

Ever since Sam could remember, there had been underlying tension in the house. When her mother and father weren’t arguing, they weren’t speaking. And their discontentment had filtered down to their children. By the time her mother had left, Sam felt almost relieved. Until she realized she was stuck with a father who didn’t know the first thing about showing love to his two teenage daughters.

As Sam got out of the car, a black Lab and a Yorkshire terrier came running up. But since her father had never particularly cared for animals, she figured they belonged to a neighbor. She gave each dog a good scratch before heading up the steps of the porch.

Rather than just walk in, she tapped softly on the screen door. But when the sound of Christmas music drifted from the closed windows, she pressed hard on the doorbell.

The door was pulled open by a woman Sam recognized immediately from the wedding pictures she’d sent. A puff of orange hair surrounded a round face with laugh crinkles at the eyes. Those eyes widened for only a second before the screen door was pushed open. The dogs squeezed past Sam’s legs just as she was pulled against a bright red sweatshirt with reindeer appliqués and a soft body that smelled of gingerbread.

“You came,” Laverne said against her hair. “I worried myself sick that you wouldn’t.” The back door slammed, and before Sam could utter a word, Laverne was herding her over to the large Christmas tree set up in the corner.

“I know I shouldn’t have kept it a secret,” Laverne whispered under her breath. “But I just didn’t want him to be disappointed if you didn’t show up.” She grabbed a big gold bow off a package beneath the tree and slapped it on Sam’s head. “There.” She grinned so brightly, her eyes disappeared. “You’re going to be the best Christmas present he’ll ever get.”

“Laverne!”

Sam’s father’s voice boomed from the kitchen, and Sam jumped. But Laverne didn’t seem to be too intimidated by the gruffness.

“Would you keep it down, Phillip!” she hollered back as she hurried toward the kitchen, the dogs on her heels. “I swear you’re goin’ as deaf as Moses Tate.”

“I’m not deaf, woman,” her father said, “I’m starvin’. When will that turkey be done?” There was a creak of the oven door, followed by a sharp slap.

“Oh, no you don’t, Phillip James Henderson,” Laverne scolded. “You’re not gettin’ a taste until it’s finished.”

“Blame ornery woman,” her father huffed, but with more humor than anger. “Well, if I’m not gonna get any turkey, I might as well get me some sugar.”

In the silence that followed, Sam stared at the doorway and tried to reconcile the happy, loving man in the kitchen with the angry, bitter father of her youth.

It proved impossible.

Pulling off the bow, she tossed it to the coffee table and was halfway to the door when her father’s voice stopped her.

“Samantha?”

She turned. Unlike the house, Phillip Henderson had changed a great deal. His hair was completely gray, and he was almost as chubby as his wife. Sam had to admit that the added weight looked good on him. It softened his features and made him seem more approachable. Or maybe it was the smile on his face. A smile that had been missing for much of her childhood.

Not knowing what to do, Sam held up her hands. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

They stared at each other for a few moments until Laverne prodded.

“Well, go on, Phillip. Hug the girl.”

Her father hesitated only a moment before taking the three steps necessary to pull her into his arms. It was awkward. Sam didn’t pull away; nor did she sink into the broad chest that smelled like Old Spice and chewing tobacco. She just stiffened up and waited for it to be over so things could go back to normal. But when her father finally pulled back, he didn’t appear normal. He appeared to be crying.

And Laverne wasn’t far behind him.

“I’ll just let you two chat,” she sniffed before heading back to the kitchen.

Once she was gone, Sam moved over to the partially decorated tree so she wouldn’t have to look at the man she no longer recognized. She had just leaned closer to examine a clay horse ornament when he finally spoke.

“I wrote you some letters.”

Her hand stilled on the bumpy horse’s mane. “I didn’t get them.”

“Because I never mailed them. I never could get the words right.”

Sam turned to find him standing close behind her. His eyes still glittered with tears, but his voice was strong.

“You made that one in fifth grade.” He nodded at the horse ornament. “I always refer to that year as the year of the horse. Every drawing, every library book, and every gift you asked for—or gave—always had to do with horses.” He reached down and lifted another ornament from the box on the table. His callused fingers gently removed the cotton before lifting a red-glitter pinecone. “Now, this one you made in first grade. It started losing its glitter the second year, which was why your mama wrapped it in cotton from then on.”

Sam hadn’t remembered that, and she wondered how he had. He went on to describe every ornament she’d ever made, recounting the year and details that she’d long forgotten.

“This one you and Marcy made.” He pulled out a colorful beaded wreath. “First time you’d ever worked on something together without fightin’.”

Sam couldn’t help the words that spilled from her mouth. “Unlike you and mama, who could never do anything without fighting.”

A sad smile played around his mouth as he hung the ornament on the tree. When he didn’t say anything, she continued with the questions that had eaten her up over the years.

“I realize people get divorced when they discover they don’t love each other anymore, but what I don’t understand is why you waited so long. Why did you continue to put your children through that?”

A long sigh escaped his lips, and he walked to the recliner and sat down. The Lab came wandering back in, and her father ran a hand over the dog’s shiny coat. “Because, believe it or not, I love your mama. And will love her until the day I die. It just took us a while to figure out that sometimes you can love someone and still not be able to live with them.”

“Geez, Daddy.” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm, or pain, from her voice. “I wish you’d figured that out before you had kids.”

Her father’s gaze snapped up, and he pointed a finger. “Don’t you even think it, Sam Louise. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but havin’ you and Marcy aren’t among them. Now, I realize you aren’t goin’ to forgive me anytime soon, and I guess I’ll have to live with that. But remember that forgiveness is like a gift—the receiver’s not the only one who benefits. And if you can’t see fit to forgive me, I wish you’d forgive your mama. She’s been real upset about you not replyin’ to her letters.”

Sam stared at him. “You talk to Mama?”

“About every week.”

“Without fighting?”

He laughed. “As strange as it may seem, your mama and I are better friends than we ever were husband and wife.”

“Hey, you two.” Laverne came back into the room carrying a tray filled with eggnog and gingerbread cookies. She set it on the coffee table and handed Sam the Santa mug she’d used as a child. “Marcy should be here any minute. So let’s turn up the music and finish decoratin’ that tree. But first I thought we’d have ourselves a little toast.” After handing Sam’s daddy a mug, she lifted her own. “Here’s to new beginnin’s.”

A part of Sam didn’t want to toast, or decorate a tree, or eat turkey dinner in a house filled with memories of her dysfunctional family. But there was another part of her—the part that had been so lonely the last seven years—that wanted to believe that people could change. That no one was perfect. And time might actually heal all wounds. And maybe those were the truths she needed to embrace this Christmas Eve while standing next to a father she’d yet to forgive and a stepmother who looked like a redheaded Mrs. Claus.

Sam lifted her Santa mug. “To new beginnings.”