Free The Year the Cat Saved Christmas - a novella by Barbara Bretton

act to
follow."
    "So what's the problem? You love her. She
loves you. Seems to me that's the ticket to a happy ending."
    "She loves me?" His tone was laced with
hopeful skepticism. "What makes you think she still loves me?"
    "Not my place to tell you," Don said. "You
need to figure that out for yourself."
    "I've been trying to figure it out for the
last eight months," he said, "and the only thing I know for sure is
that she wants a divorce."
    "Maybe she does," Don said slowly, "and maybe
she doesn't."
    "Great," David said. "Now you're talking in
riddles."
    "I've been around a long time," the
pharmacist said, "and I've learned a lot about people standing
behind this counter. All I can tell you for sure is that the two of
you still love each other. That has to mean something."
    David's heart was beating on the outside of
his chest. "Do you really think she still loves me?
    Don tossed him a sprig of mistletoe. "If you
really want to know, why don't you ask her?"
    He had argued, debated, shut up, shut down
and everything in between but the one thing he had never done was
ask if she still loved him.
    "Ask her," David said, clutching the
mistletoe. "I'm going to ask her."
    He bolted for the door.
    "Hey!" the pharmacist called out. "Didn't you
want something?"
    "My wife," he said as he hit the street. He
wanted her love, her friendship, her company. He was going to take
her in his arms and ask her if she loved him and if he didn't like
her answer first time around, he was going to kiss her soundly and
ask her again.
    The whole town couldn't be wrong. He and Jill
belonged together. They had belonged since their first phone
conversation, their first car ride, their first kiss. And he wasn't
going to just ask her if she loved him, he was going to tell her
how he felt, tell her all the things he hadn't told her for too
damn long--that he loved her and needed her and that there had to
be some way to put it all back together again.
    She wasn't in front of the store where he'd
left her.
    He looked up one side of the street then down
the other.
    She wasn't anywhere.
    "Damn it, Jill!" He dragged a hand through
his hair. "Where are you?"
    First his cat and now his wife. He was
beginning to see a pattern taking shape. He still had the car keys
so she couldn't have gone far. Maybe she'd spotted Sebastian and
had gone off in pursuit. He noticed Ted Weinstein watching him from
the bakery window and he darted into the shop.
    "Have you seen Jill?"
    "Son of a gun," said Ted, grabbing his hand
and shaking it. "It's true. You two are back together."
    "Not yet," David said, "but we will be if I
can find out where she went."
    "That way," Ted said, pointing north. "Toward
Burnt Sugar Hill."
    Suddenly it all made sense. The little
cottage where they had dreamed big dreams. David laughed out loud
and planted a kiss on the baker's weathered cheek. "I owe you, Ted.
Big time."
    Ted made a face and wiped off the kiss with
the back of his hand. "Send a greeting card. This kissing stuff is
too continental for me."
    David ran through the snowy streets. There
was a shortcut that would take him back to their house. It had been
a long time since he'd taken that route but somehow it felt like
yesterday. He didn't feel the cold. He didn't slip on the ice. He
ran faster than he'd ever run before, as if somebody had attached
jet skis to the bottoms of his shoes. Somebody was watching over
him, maybe the goddess of stupid husbands who'd almost let the best
woman on earth walk away without a fight.
    So what if she got mad or slapped his face or
said she never wanted to speak to him again. She'd already said she
wanted a divorce. There was nothing else she could do that would
hurt him more than that. This time he'd stand his ground and fight
for his family and he wouldn't back down.
    "Jilly!" She was halfway to Burnt Sugar Hill
when he saw her figure through the swirling snow. "Wait up!"
    If anything, she walked faster. Her head was
ducked low against the wind and snow. Her