Free Making Spirits Bright by Fern Michaels, Rosalind Noonan, Nan Rossiter, Elizabeth Bass Page B

you’re not going to let me brush it aside. Actually, I was thinking how nice it is to be with a man who has manners. You know, you’re sort of old-fashioned. I like that about you. Not something a modern woman admits to these days.”
    She glanced at him, surprised at the tenderness in his expression.
    “I guess I should say thanks. And you’re right, I am a bit old-fashioned. My dad was adamant when it came to treating women with respect. He always treated Mom and Grace like they were a queen and a princess. I just followed in his footsteps. Are you telling me you dated a bunch of ill-mannered slobs?”
    They came to a clearing, one Melanie was quite familiar with. Tall pine trees flanked the clearing, their pungent odor refreshing. Even though cutting one’s own Christmas tree down in Colorado without a permit was illegal, Melanie’s parents had owned this particular piece of property for at least twenty years. Her father always replanted what they took. It was kind of like their own personal Christmas tree farm.
    Spinning around hoping to catch a glimpse of just the right tree, Melanie watched Bryce watching her. “Hey, you’re not looking. You have to spin around like this.” She twirled around, both hands splayed out at shoulder level. “When I was little, I would use this method, and whatever tree my right hand pointed to, that’s the one we would chop down. Didn’t matter the shape or size, Dad can work miracles with a pair of clippers, so ... well, that’s what I did—actually, still do. Look.” She pointed to a small blue spruce about fifty feet away from where they were standing. “What do you think?”
    Melanie watched Bryce closely as he came up next to her. He didn’t touch her, he simply looked at her, his forest green eyes shining as bright as the sunlight that filtered through the massive pines. “I think I’m falling in love with you, that’s what I think.”
    A soft gasp escaped from her lips, her breath caught in her lungs, then she exhaled.
    “I think I am, too. Falling in love.”
    There. She’d said what she’d never imagined she would say to a man she’d practically just met.
    Bryce wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down on the snow-laden ground. “Ever make a snow angel?”

Chapter 13
     
    Olga Krause normally wasn’t one for theatrics, but that day she would make an exception. It was, after all, the time of year one showed goodwill to one’s fellow man. Besides, she really didn’t have a say in the matter.
    “I want you to know this is highly unusual,” she said to the police officer and to Carla Albright, a social worker she’d known since coming to work at the orphanage twenty-seven years ago. “Come inside; you’ll let out all the warm air the state has to pay for.” Olga Krause opened the back door for the pair. Highly out of line, they were.
    “I know it is unusual, that’s why we’re here,” Carla stated matter-of-factly.
    The policeman, who couldn’t have been a day over thirty, held a small infant carrier by its sturdy plastic handle, while in his other hand, he gripped the hand of a little boy. The child’s face was red, his bright blue eyes cloudy and puffy, as if he’d been throwing a temper tantrum. Miss Krause peered inside the carrier. Practically a newborn. And she did not accept newborns under any conditions. Or she wouldn’t if given the choice. They cried constantly and were never satisfied. Fortunately, the state agency rarely saw a newborn. It seemed adoptive parents wanted them. She did not understand why. Why would one willingly want a baby? She had eleven children at the agency ranging in age from nine to fourteen. Not that she liked them, but they were much easier to manage than infants. Babies required constant attention.
    “Follow me,” Olga Krause said to the two unwelcome visitors. “Let’s go to my office.”
    They followed her down the dark hallway.
    “You would think the state would spring for some lights,” Carla