A Christmas Visitor Read online

  A Christmas Visitor

  The Cape Light Titles

  CAPE LIGHT

  HOME SONG

  A GATHERING PLACE

  A NEW LEAF

  A CHRISTMAS PROMISE

  THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

  A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER

  A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  A CHRISTMAS STAR

  A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS

  A Christmas

  Visitor

  A Cape Light Novel

  THOMAS KINKADE

  & KATHERINE SPENCER

  JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  A Parachute Press Book

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  A CHRISTMAS VISITOR

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley hardcover edition / October 2007

  Berkley trade paperback edition / October 2008

  Jove mass-market edition / November 2009

  Copyright © 2007 by The Thomas Kinkade Company and Parachute Publishing, L.L.C.

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  Cover art: Evening Carolers by Thomas Kinkade. Copyright © 1991 by Thomas Kinkade.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-21535-7

  JOVE®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the authors nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  DEAR FRIENDS

  EACH YEAR AS CHRISTMAS DRAWS NEAR, I FIND MYSELF eagerly awaiting the precious time I will spend with my family and friends. What could be more special than spending the holidays with the people we love? Those whom we hold most dear always enrich this holy season. They show us the true meaning of love. They show us the true meaning of Christmas.

  But as I think about this, I remember an exceptional Christmas when we welcomed a stranger into our home, and I am reminded of the blessings that visitors can bring with them.

  So come with me now to Cape Light, our quiet town by the sea. Let us call on Miranda Potter, who will learn both the joys and sorrows of letting a stranger into her heart.

  Let’s spend some time with Reverend Ben Lewis, who will meet an unexpected visitor and find a renewed sense of faith.

  And finally, let us visit Molly Willoughby, for whom a startling arrival will prove to be the most wonderful blessing of all.

  Come with me to the town of Cape Light, whose residents will welcome us into their homes and allow us all to share in the delight of Christmas miracles and the joy this holiday brings.

  Merry Christmas!

  Thomas Kinkade

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER ONE

  A BITING WIND SWEPT THROUGH POTTER’S ORCHARD. Miranda wrapped her arms around her waist, trying hard to ignore the cold. She watched the bare branches of the apple trees bow and sway like a row of dancers on a stage. The dusting of snow that had fallen at Thanksgiving had all but vanished the past week. But it was always colder up here at the top of the hill, where the view below stretched out wide and unobscured.

  This was her favorite place. She came here nearly every evening, just as the sun began to set. From this point, she could see the entire village tucked into the cape, the harbor dotted with boats and glassy chunks of ice, opening to the dark sea. Out past the harbor, where the sky and ocean met, low clouds were tinged purple and rose, predicting a clear day tomorrow.

  It was hard not to be hopeful here. Hard not to see “the big picture,” as her grandmother would say. Hard not to feel faith in something larger than herself, something positive and good, urging her forward, though her life seemed confused lately, with too many choices and no clear path to follow.

  Miranda watched until the sunset faded and the sky above turned inky, midnight blue. White stars dotted the sky and the lights glowed below in the town of Cape Light, looking like a miniature village, set out under a Christmas tree. Finally, it was time to go.

  “Dixie! Come!” Miranda called for her dog, but as usual at this point in their walk, when Miranda was most eager to get home, the dog ignored her. Instead, Dixie sniffed and licked at something on the ground. “Oh, great.” Miranda groaned, and started toward the dog, hoping to reach her before she started rolling around in ecstasy and wound up smelling too awful to be let back inside.

  “Dixie! Come now. Come on!” Miranda shouted and clapped her hands, trying to sound stern.

  The dog glanced her way then lay down. Then she lifted her head and barked. Like a rebellious child, answering back.

  Miranda sighed, and slowly walked toward her. Dixie was her darling, her pal, a bear-sized mutt with a stubborn streak as big as her heart. Generally calm and well-behaved but very independent, a trait they definitely shared.

  Miranda drew closer, half expecting Dixie to leap up and play a chase game. But the dog didn’t budge. “Stay, Dixie. Good girl.”

  Dixie stared up at her, panting, then barked again.

 
Miranda finally realized what was going on. The dog was keeping watch over a body—a man lying prone on the ground.

  Was he dead?

  Dear God, she hoped not. She ran forward and crouched down beside him. His head was turned to one side. She took off a glove and gingerly felt for the pulse in his throat. Though his skin felt icy, his pulse beat steady and strong. Thank goodness! she thought.

  “Hello?” she said uncertainly. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response. Now what was she supposed to do?

  In the pale moonlight, she could see that his face was streaked with dirt, and he had an egg-shaped bump on his forehead. The skin there was cut, and a thin trail of blood ran down his forehead and cheek. He didn’t look like a drifter or derelict. The pants and tweed sports coat he wore looked new, definitely not mismatched items from a thrift shop. But his coat wasn’t thick or warm. She hoped he hadn’t been stranded out here long. The temperature was falling. She had to get him off this hill and inside the house. The sooner, the better.

  “Hey.” She tried again. “Can you hear me? Are you awake?” When he didn’t answer, she touched his face and gently slapped his cheek. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing. Miranda began to get frightened. What if he were in a coma—or worse?

  Dixie whined, then nuzzled him, her wet nose against his neck. This time the stranger stirred and gave a low moan. His eyes slowly opened. His dark lashes were incredibly thick. How stupid to notice something like that, Miranda thought as he stared up at her, looking shocked then panicky.

  He made a quick, jumpy move, and she put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just stay still a moment. I don’t think any fast action would be a good idea right now.”

  He stared back at her but didn’t reply. Then he struggled to sit up and Miranda helped him, her arm around one shoulder. Despite his condition, she felt his strength, his arms and broad shoulders hard with muscle.

  “My head…” He lifted his hand and touched the lump, his face twisted with pain. “Wow…” He looked at his fingertips, tinged with blood.

  “You have a huge cut and a bump. Did you fall?”

  He stared down, his mouth a tight line. “I don’t think so…I don’t remember.”

  A fall that would cause a bump and cut like that seemed to Miranda something a person would remember. Then again, it wasn’t surprising that he was a little disoriented. He had been unconscious, lying out in the bitter cold.

  “Does it hurt any place besides your head?”

  “Not really…I don’t feel much right now, just half frozen.”

  “Think you can stand? I’ll help you. We need to get down to the house where you can warm up.” She gave him a wry smile. “You happened to pick the one place in the orchard where I can’t bring the truck. Even if I drive partway up the hill, you’ll still have to walk some distance and in the opposite direction from the house.”

  “Don’t worry, I can stand.” He started to push himself up then nearly tipped over. Miranda grabbed his arm and slung it over her shoulder. She was a tall woman, nearly five feet eleven. But he was taller and heavier than he looked.

  She listed to one side, supporting him.

  The corner of his mouth turned down in a thin, strained smile. “Think we’ll make it?”

  “Guess we’ll find out. Luckily, it’s all downhill.”

  “Great. If the force of gravity takes over, just let me roll down like a log.”

  His joke, despite his obvious pain, surprised her. A good sign, she thought, reflecting on his overall condition and the kind of person he must be. She was a great believer in finding a ray of humor in just about any situation, and she felt an automatic kinship with anyone else who reacted the same way.

  There was no more conversation as they stumbled down the path toward the house. Supporting him was real work. Every few steps Miranda felt him shudder and smother a grunt of pain. She sensed one of his legs had been injured, too—maybe his ankle or knee. She fixed her sights and her will on the warm, glowing lights of her grandmother’s rambling Queen Anne, which grew closer with each step.

  Dixie had stayed close by as they staggered down the hill but now ran up ahead, barking wildly. Through the bay window in the kitchen, Miranda saw her grandmother wipe her hands on her apron as she walked toward the side door.

  Sophie Potter opened the door, sounding impatient. “Dixie, stop that barking. Silly girl…”

  “Grandma, help me. Quick!” Miranda called.

  Sophie stood in the doorway, peering into the dark yard. “Miranda? What’s the matter? Is that someone with you?”

  “Yes…He’s hurt. Just come quick. Please…”

  Sophie pressed her hand to her mouth and ran out to meet Miranda, and not a moment too soon. Miranda felt as if she couldn’t hold him up another minute. The stranger’s head hung down heavily, resting against her own. He seemed to have spent whatever energy he had been able to summon, and she felt about to crumble under his full weight.

  “I got him. It’s okay.” Sophie quickly stepped to the other side of the man, helping to support him the last few yards.

  Moving slowly, the two women managed to carry him in through the pantry and kitchen, then into the nearest sitting room. They steered him to the couch and set him down, with his feet and head elevated.

  “That cut on his forehead needs attention. I’ll get some water and antiseptic,” Sophie said, and started off in search of first-aid supplies.

  That was one of the many things Miranda loved about her grandmother. When there was a crisis or a job to be done, she didn’t waste a minute. She jumped right in without a lot of questions or chatter.

  Miranda dropped down in a chair next to the couch, too tired to do anything except watch their unexpected visitor. He lay stretched out, his eyes closed, his skin pale as paper. She hadn’t focused on his looks when they were outside in the darkness. Now she noticed the lean face with a shadow of stubbly beard, the long straight nose and square jaw, thick dark hair that curled a bit. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, a few years older than she was. He was handsome. Very handsome.

  Get a grip. The man is half-frostbitten and in serious pain, and you’re sitting here, ogling him. You’ve been stuck on this orchard too long, Miranda…way too long.

  He was shivering and she covered him with an afghan, then grabbed a quilt from the nearest bedroom and piled that on top as well. His eyes opened partway. He was watching her.

  “My grandmother’s going to get some antiseptic for your cut,” Miranda explained. “But I think you’re going to need to see a doctor as well.”

  He nodded.

  “My name is Miranda Potter. My grandmother’s name is Sophie.”

  She waited for him to reply, giving his own name, but he didn’t respond. Miranda couldn’t tell if he was blacking out or falling asleep. Or perhaps the pain was so bad, he couldn’t talk.

  Moments later Sophie returned with a bowl of water, a washcloth, and other supplies. “Where did you find this poor fellow?”

  “At the top of the hill. He was lying on the ground. Dixie found him, actually. I wasn’t even going to walk in that direction.”

  “How in heaven’s name did he end up there?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  He hadn’t said much, she realized.

  She did wonder how he had found his way to the middle of the orchard. Sometimes strangers wandered in among the rows of trees in search of help after a car broke down on the road that bordered the west side of the property. But the big hill wasn’t near the road. If his car had broken down and he had started walking, looking for help, he wouldn’t have ended up there.

  But he had to have come from somewhere.

  “He must have taken quite a fall.” Sophie dabbed at the bump and cut on the man’s head.

  “He said he doesn’t remember.”

  “Oh…dear. That’s not good.” She dipped the cloth and wiped the spot again.

  “I’
m going to call for an ambulance,” Miranda said.

  “Yes, you’d better.” Sophie’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. But Miranda knew her grandmother well enough to sense that she was concerned. “He needs some medical attention, more than we can give.”

  Miranda picked up the phone in the kitchen, dialed 911, and quickly explained the situation.

  “Keep him warm. Keep his head elevated and try to keep him awake,” the operator told her. “If he’s had a concussion, you don’t want him to lose consciousness.”

  “Right. We’ll keep him awake,” Miranda promised.

  Miranda returned to the sitting room, where her grandmother had put the cloth and water aside and sat on a chair, watching the stranger. His eyes were closed again, which alarmed her.

  “The EMTs will be here soon,” Miranda reported. “We’re not supposed to let him fall asleep.”

  “Of course. What was I thinking? I remember when your father was five. He decided he was a superhero and dove off the roof. We had to wake him up all night long and shine a flashlight in his eyes.”

  It was hard for Miranda to imagine her father as a child, gleefully pretending he could fly; he was so serious and rigid now. But she would have to ask her grandmother about that story some other time. Now Miranda walked over and gently touched the man’s shoulder. “Hey…how are you doing?” She crouched down beside him and watched his face. When his eyes slowly opened she felt relieved. “The ambulance is coming. You’ll be at a hospital soon.”

  “Thanks.” His head moved in a slight nod and she saw him wince with pain.

  “Try not to fall asleep, okay? It’s bad if you have a concussion.”

  “Okay. I’ll try,” he promised quietly.

  Dixie pushed her way between them and rested her head on the edge of the sofa cushion, her muzzle touching his leg. “Dixie, go away.” Miranda gently pushed the dog’s head aside.

  “That’s okay. Let her stay.” The stranger glanced at the dog, who was staring at him with the look of complete adoration that she usually reserved for Miranda.

  “Do you have a dog?” Miranda just wanted to keep him talking, to keep him alert until help arrived.