One Tough Christmas Cookie - Lucy McConnell Page 0,5

if things got better. He had to act.

He stormed through the house to grab his truck keys. Mom was at the table, coloring with the girls. She was having as much fun as they were bringing princesses and elves to life with crayons. Cookie crumbs abounded, and a plate of homemade Oreos sat in the middle of the table.

He snatched one, in case he didn’t have time for lunch. “I’m going to look for Doc.”

“We’re going to keep on coloring and make some dinner in a bit.” Mom’s smile was big and wide and set in place like it had been cut with a cookie cutter. She was worried about Dunder but didn’t want the girls to know.

“If he gets here before I find him, call me.” Caleb shut the door quickly, not wanting to cast a cool breeze or feeling over the cozy gathering. One of these days, his own kids would color at that table with their grandma.

He couldn’t think about the future right now, though. Dunder was counting on him, and he wasn’t going to let the reindeer down. He’d scour the county for Doc and not come home without him.

Chapter 3

Faith

Some people had issues with hospitals, but Faith wasn’t one of them. The smell of antiseptic and that weird green bean tinge from the food trays was par for the course. Frankly, it smelled like her the elementary school cafeteria where Mrs. Brinhall had taught her and a handful of other low-income sixth graders how to serve up a lot of food—fast. Working in the lunchroom wasn’t a popular thing to do, but she’d gotten all the leftover peanut butter bars she could eat. Did they even serve those anymore? It would be a darn shame if they didn’t. She’d bet the hospital had something like that on the menu.

The receptionist’s desk was chest high and covered in aged-pink Formica that screamed for a makeover. Cream walls were covered with children’s artwork in gold frames, popular in the 1980s. Small-town hospitals were way down on the list for cosmetic upgrades. Hopefully, the medical equipment was newer than the decorations.

The man working the phones had a Mr. Rogers vibe going. His high forehead was covered in wrinkles and disappointment—as if everyone who asked a question was an idiot. Faith wasn’t one to be deterred by a bad mood—she worked with pit bulls, after all. This guy couldn’t be that bad.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she leaned her hands against the edge of the counter and said, “Hi, I was told to ask for Dr. Calvin when I got here. He’s expecting me.”

With a huff and an eye roll, Grumpy Rogers picked up the phone and pressed a couple buttons. “Cheryl, there’s a lady at the front desk asking for Dr. Calvin.” He covered the receiver and looked over his glasses at her. “Name?”

“Faith Saintsbury.”

He dropped her gaze and glanced down at the table, repeating her name for the nurse in a slow, deliberate way. The nurse probably wanted to strangle him on an hourly basis. How did this guy get to be the face of the hospital? Either the town was too small to find a replacement, or someone in HR had lost a poker game.

He hummed in response to whatever Cheryl said a couple times and then hung up. “You can go back to the nurses’ station. They’re prepping the patient for surgery now, so you need to hurry.” He snapped his fingers and pointed down the right hallway. She found herself breaking into a jog at his command before realizing that he wasn’t in charge of her.

Slowing to a fast walk, she made it to the nurses’ station, where Cheryl, according to her name tag, motioned toward an open door. “He’s in there, honey.” Her voice was deep and smooth and just the kind of tone you wanted when coming out of surgery or coming up to breathe after bad news. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a low bun, and her brown eyes, peering over half-moon glasses, were full of sympathy.

“Thanks,” Faith threw over her shoulder before coming up short in the doorway.

The man she called “Dad” didn’t look at all like himself. How long had it been since she’d seen him? It had been ages, according to the lines on his face and the gray tint to his skin. Gray, like the color of a headstone. She shook herself as a David Marley warning shivered over her skin.