My Kind of Christmas by Robyn Carr Page B

kitchen?”
    “Well, that’s the beauty of having an uncle who owns a bar and grill—I raided the bar’s kitchen so I’m stocked with the essentials. Should we look through the fridge and cupboards together?”
    “Nah, I can manage. Is there anything you don’t like?”
    “I’ll eat anything. I’ll only be a minute.”
    “Take your time. I think I’ll be busy for a while.”
    “Then I might hop in the shower.”
    “Go for it. I’ll get busy,” he said, going first for the stack of logs beside the hearth.
    Fifteen minutes later when Angie came out of the bedroom in a comfy sweatsuit, freshly showered, she found Patrick had made a few changes. He had pushed the trunk that served as a coffee table away from the sofa. The quilt and pillows were folded and sat in the room’s only chair and the fire blazed in the hearth. His boots sat by the door and his jacket hung over a kitchen chair. He stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up and in stocking feet.
    He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
    “My favorite. You’re very handy.”
    “I found a couple of trays. We can eat in front of the fire.” He had the dishes sitting out and began to serve the bowls and plates. “What would you like to drink? I helped myself to a beer.”
    “I think I have some wine left. I’ll get it.”
    “Tell me about the emergency,” he said. “Did it make you want medical school more or less? Did it change your ideas about the peace corps?”
    “Oh, Patrick, I still have so much to learn. Megan’s injury tonight, though probably traumatic for her and her parents, was relatively minor—a laceration on her forehead close to her hairline. It needed a few stitches. But almost a year ago she had an accident and her face was cut. Dr. Michaels took her to the emergency room for stitches and, because of insurance issues, they just stitched her up without a plastic surgeon. Now she’s disfigured. If it isn’t fixed somehow, by the time she’s a young woman and her head and face have grown and matured, the scar won’t have grown with her. It could be monstrous. I’m not exaggerating.”
    He handed her a tray and picked up his own. “I take it they can’t afford to get her the proper surgery?”
    “Exactly. My uncle Jack has been here quite a while now—I think about eight years. There are things I’ve known about this place for a long time, but until I saw Megan’s face, I didn’t put them into perspective. There is some bounty here—people with money, with successful ranches or vineyards or businesses. But there’s also a lot of poverty, a lot of residents living from hand to mouth. Mel and Doc Michaels get a lot done and the town helps when it can—there’s a powerful sense of community here. But some things are just out of reach—like plastic surgery for an eight-year-old girl whose family has very little money. As Mel puts it, just keeping the house warm all winter is a struggle for them.”
    Patrick followed her to the living room, carrying his tray.
    She stood in front of the couch. “I take it you had the floor in mind, since you moved furniture around.”
    “If you’re going to be comfortable.”
    “It’s perfect,” she said, falling into a sit, legs crossed, without spilling a drop of soup or wine.
    When he was sitting beside her, balancing his own tray, she said, “They make a difference here—Mel, Jack, Doc Michaels and a lot of other people. They work where there’s need. They’re giving back or paying forward. I think the idea of the peace corps got points tonight.”
    “Most twenty-three-year-old women are saving for a party cruise or a car or the biggest, flashiest wedding money can buy.”
    She laughed. “Well, first of all, I don’t really come from people like that. Oh, my mom and my aunts have a real penchant for nice things—but I think they fall into the purse and shoe category, not cruises or cars. My parents’ idea of extravagance was a trip