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together—married, cohabiting, etcetera—they often go to one family one year, and another family the next. And children of divorced parents sometimes wind up so confused they don’t know where to go anymore—so they head to Cancún.”
    Mike was silent, shaking his head for a minute, and then said, “Here’s the only truth I know—we’re all going to die. You can even get out of the ‘taxes’ part of death and taxes. And when we die, there’s only one thing we take with us.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œLove,” Mike said, tapping his heart. “You and your siblings will talk about your mother and me when we’re gone, and that way, we’ll still be alive. Love lives on—not trips to Cancún, fruity drinks imbibed on a beach, or expensive clothing, or even a hotshot job. Your family loves you…you deserve a guy who knows about family, and love.”
    Morwenna stared at her father, stunned. She’d never heard such a speech from him before.
    â€œYou were the one who pushed me through school,” she reminded him. “Then it was, ‘We all have to be independent, make our mark in life! There’s no one you can depend on but yourself.’ I went to school. I learned how to negotiate, engage a client, play all the business games. I even own stock, for God’s sake.”
    She was surprised when he didn’t laugh, or at least crack a smile.
    â€œChristmas,” he said softly, “always makes me kind of sentimental.”
    He walked past her. Bobby came down the stairs, followed by Shayne, the kids and their strange guest, Gabe Lange.
    â€œWhat’s up? What’s with that look?” Bobby asked her.
    â€œDad. Our father has gotten all weird,” she whispered, looking past him with a careful smile. “Christmas Eve dinner is on, Mr. Lange.”
    He looked even better. Despite looking a bit worse for wear, the guy really did have a greatface, all the right bone structure in place, but a face that wasn’t too pretty, and the structure didn’t take away from the strength of his jawline. In Shayne’s flannel shirt and old jeans, he looked like a sandy-haired woodsman. He could have done a commercial for some kind of rugged men’s cologne.
    She reminded herself that many a serial killer had offered the world a pleasant face. She still didn’t trust him. He was a stranger in their midst.
    â€œThank you,” he told her. “Thank you for having me in your home like this. Christmas is a special time. I didn’t really mean to intrude,” he told her.
    â€œWell, I guess you didn’t collapse by our house on purpose,” Morwenna said dryly. “Come along.”
    She led the way from the parlor along the hall to the dining room, attached to the kitchen. Her mom was directing their extra guests to take their seats.
    They hadn’t expected Shayne’s kids, and they certainly hadn’t expected Gabe Lange, but her mother could always manage to make a meal stretch. Turkey would be the main course tomorrow. For Christmas Eve, Stacy always cooked a strange conglomeration of food—linguini with clam sauce, and potatoes and rice, a roast, broccoli with hollandaise sauce, green beans with slivered almonds, a massive “kitchen sink” salad and bread pudding. Perhaps the meal stretched so well because there were so many items to be had.
    Morwenna looked at her mother. “What else? What can I get? What can I do?”
    â€œDrinks,” her mother said, setting the bowl with the linguini on the table. “Take a tally. Kids, are you having juice? What would you like?”
    They were all startled when Genevieve answered with a little sniff. “I would like Mommy to be here,” she said.
    The adults froze. Connor placed his arm around his sister. “She’s on a trip. We’ll see her again soon,” he said.
    Morwenna dived in quickly,