The woman behind the counter wore an expression of empathy mixed with disbelief. Yes, she understood his reasons and yes, she still thought he was off his nut. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the receiving end of such a look and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last time.

Unless he got himself killed, of course, and he had little intention of allowing that to happen.

His wife would never forgive him.

"Okay, Dr. Lightman." Folding his paperwork, she stuck it in a long envelope and pushed it to his side of the counter, along with a set of keys. "It's the red one. Space number 67."

"Thanks, darlin'." Cal nodded, readjusted the duffle bag over his shoulder and headed toward the glass doors at the far side of the building. He pulled in a deep breath just before they slid open to allow his exit.

The cold slammed into him, biting through three layers of clothing and sinking into muscles and bone. He shuddered, lips numbing and eyes watering. At least his short beard allowed some protection for his cheeks and jaw from the sting.

He ducked his head and jogged across the airport access road to the parking structure, hoping he wouldn't slip and fall on his ass. Traffic was nonexistent, save the occasional hardy soul unwilling to sleep in a plastic chair or on short industrial carpet.

Not that it would have been the greatest thrill of his life or anything, but the idea of sleeping in the terminal had little to do with his decision. It had everything to do with a promise. He'd promised someone very important he'd be back in time and he had no intention of breaking it.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he darted into the stairwell, allowing the heavy metal door to slam and echo behind him. The level he needed was only two up, but the frigid air seemed harder to move in and out of his lungs.

He panted on arrival, streaming eyes scanning for the right vehicle through the blur. It didn't take long to find it. The truck was a huge, dark red dually, eight-cylinder, 4x4, club cab. It was way more than he needed. In the past, he'd mocked men who felt the need to make up for some inadequacy by purchasing such a monster. But for tonight, he'd wanted four-wheel-drive and this was the only one the rental company had left.

So it goes.

Cal climbed up the step ladder, tossed the duffle bag on the passenger seat and swung into the cab. The artificial scent of bottled new car pummeled him for a moment before he acclimated. The vehicle's ignition caught with a loud rumble and he maneuvered the behemoth from the parking structure and into the white out.

Snow flew at the windshield in large kamikaze clumps and Cal kept it slow as he entered the freeway onramp, heading east.

Plows had been working overtime in a Sisyphus-like attempt to keep the main arteries clear, but the accumulation of ice packed on asphalt was quick to give the uninitiated and unprepared a terrifying ride if they weren't vigilant.

Despite the all-wheel-drive digging in, the truck still slid on occasion and Cal was quick to compensate. D.C. snowstorms were not this intense and the same held for London. He'd just lucked out that the main leg of his journey home had ended a couple hundred miles away and his connecting puddle jumping flight had been cancelled. Which was probably a good thing in the long run, cue Buddy Holly and the day the music died.

Not that driving was any better, but at least he was the one in control of his destiny or as in control as he could be considering the bear of a storm smacking at him from all angles.

Cal clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles bloodless. At one point, he'd made it up to 30 mph for a time, but the oppressive darkness contrasting with white played havoc with visibility pushed it back down to about 20.

He'd tried to call from the airport, but the signal had been spotty at best. He could only hope he'd been able to communicate his intentions of a late night arrival. There'd been disbelief and a little anger on the other end from what he could tell. If he survived, she might very well kill him.

Of course, at this rate, it might be more of an early morning arrival of imminent death.

Muscles knotted and popped in his shoulders, neck and back, but determination kept him going. Even if he did arrive in the morning, he would still be on time and that was the important thing. She wouldn't be disappointed.

What seemed like hours later, he made out the familiar sight of the Cardinal perched within the state billboard welcoming him back to Virginia. Had it really been hours? A quick glance at the dashboard clock assured him it had. Every ache in his body backed him up on that.

Sudden brake lights in front of him flashed a harbinger of blood on the highway.

He could have sworn there was nothing before him, but any time for thought snapped away as instinct replaced it. Cal pulled to his left, tires spinning without grasp, finding purchase, spinning again. The back of the semi was too close and everything slowed as he prepared for impact.

But the impact didn't happen. He'd missed by inches as the rental took a 360 degree circuit and he found himself facing east once more, breath stopping, heart blasting in his ears.

The tractor trailer had disappeared into the storm and Cal could only surmise the driver was oblivious to his lack of taillights. It didn't stop him from wanting to track the bastard down and punch him in the eye though.

He remained still for a moment, alone on the highway once more. Muscles not clenched before, now marched down his neck, back and flared across his shoulders for even coverage. Hell, even his ass hurt.

Maybe a 24-hour diner would be wise for a few moments. Skip the tea, go for the coffee (his wife would be impressed) and get his bearings together for the last leg.

Pressing his lips together, he crept forward once more, keeping his eyes tuned for roadside adverts. A couple of miles down, a truck stop/café promised "hot showers" and "home cooking."

Good enough.

He inched down the ramp, the bright lights from the truck stop guiding his way. Despite the storm and early hour, the place was bustling. Inclement weather or not, all manner of goods needed to be transported.

One side of the establishment was reserved for tractor trailers and other large vehicles. There were even some snowplows parked, while their drivers sought caffeine and company for a bit. Cal drove the rental to the other side to hold its own against dozens of other pickups, dwarfing a few compacts by default. He lucked out and found a space mere yards from the front. Taking a breath, he jumped down from the cab and strode toward the front door, its festive jingle bells chiming when he pushed through.

The furnace blasted him, bringing an immediate sprinkle of sweat to his brow. The place would be considered a convenience store, but that was a very loose interpretation of what it was. The business merged into unnecessary items in a blink, with gifts ranging from t-shirts, to homemade jarred jellies to pocket knives to fake coonskin caps. The walls held an assortment of tacky art, nostalgic signs, deer heads and one moose staring down in glassy-eyed accusation. It was 7-11 meets the Bear Country Jamboree and designed to entertain travelers while lightening their wallets. The road weary can be a gullible lot.

The café's entrance waited just to the left of the jingling doors and Cal pivoted that way. Booths lined two walls of the perimeter, while a counter with stools offered service just to the right. True to his nature, he studied other patrons as he strolled in. Booths next to the windows were filled with an assortment of travelers: grizzled truck driver types with red-rimmed eyes and jerky motions indicative of speed or way too much caffeine, an older couple shared a piece of pie and affectionate glances, and a young family with two sleeping tykes nursed drinks and a plate of French fries, waiting, no doubt, for a break in the storm.

Cal slid in and dropped onto one of the cracked vinyl stools at the counter.

"What can I get you?" A plump, warm-eyed waitress with a thick, but frayed cardigan smiled at him. It was genuine, but fatigued. She pushed premature gray strands of hair behind one ear. A slim gold band dulled by continuous exposure to water and solvents circled her finger and in that moment he knew he'd be leaving a good tip.

"Just coffee, darlin'."

"Sure thing. You're a long way from home." Her eyes warmed further with interest. Her own voice held an accent from the deep-south. He would guess Georgia, if asked.

"Not as far as you might think."

"Gotcha. Home is where the loved ones are."

"Absolutely."

She twisted, grabbed the coffee carafe and filled his mug. "Anything else? Apple pie maybe? It's fresh."

"I'm good." Cal leaned forward, inhaling the rich fragrance of what his wife called "heaven in a cup." He didn't disagree at the moment. Taking a sip, he burned his tongue and then took another sip, before glancing over his shoulder at the windows.

A swirling fury of snow storm.

He pulled his cell from his pocket. Still, no signal.

Cal sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose where a headache had settled in. It was the business trip that just refused to end.

A bear of a man lumbered into the café and plunked down on a neighboring stool. It creaked in protest when he swiveled toward the counter and waved a thick hand at the waitress.

She flicked an eyebrow in recognition. "Hey, Scotty. Usual?"

"Yup." He wore slate-gray coveralls under a thick Sherpa coat. A black knit beanie had been pulled down over his ears, but flipped up at the front, allowing thick, fuzzy eyebrows to creep from underneath.

The waitress grabbed a Styrofoam to-go cup and filled it with coffee, dropping in a cinnamon stick before popping the lid on. "Hell of a night for you guys."

"No doubt. Have to get out of here in a few minutes. Just needed some heat and a jolt of caffeine."

"You be careful out there, ya hear?"

"Yes ma'am." Scotty smiled and his brutish appearance melted into teddy bear. "Tell Chris and the little one I said hi."

"Will do, sweetie."

Cal turned and dipped his head toward the big guy. "Hey, mate."

"Hey yourself." The man's smile lessened from familiar, but remained amicable.

"You stuck out workin' in this? Plows or power lines?"

"Plows. We're trying like hell to keep the roads at least kind of clear. Worst storm in almost a decade, but we're doing our best."

"What direction ya headed?"

The big man frowned. "Well, east initially. Then south for a ways."

Good enough.

"Mind if I trail ya? Important I get home tonight."

Thick shoulders lifted and dropped. "Suit yourself. Headed out now, so don't lag."

"No problem." Cal got up, yanked his wallet from his front pocket and with little hesitation, pulled out a large bill. He caught the waitress's eye. "Stay safe and warm."

Her eyes widened and went bright with thinly veiled tears as he dropped the bill next to his mug.

"Oh my…goodness. Thank you!"

"Merry Christmas, darlin'."

Adjusting his coat a bit tighter around him, he flipped up the collar and followed the snowplow operator into the freezing darkness.

LTMLTMLTMLTM

It was well after four when Cal let himself in through the connecting garage door. He kept his movements stealthy and didn't turn on any lights.

Shifting the duffle bag off his shoulder, he crossed the kitchen and stopped just at the edge of the living room. Christmas music drifted to his ears, volume quiet.

Gillian sat awake between the soft colored glow of the tree lights and the glare of an old black and white film, a wine glass loose in one hand. Her gaze remained fixed to the screen, but the set of her jaw showed worry and diverted attention. As he watched, the worry mingled with sadness and a flash of anger, before settling into unblemished worry once more.

Cal cleared his throat and she jumped, spilling a few drop of wine on her jeans.

"Oh my God, Cal." Her voice remained low, but held the familiar sharp edge of anxiety.

"Hey, darlin'."

Before he could utter another word, her arms folded around him, her warm body pushing the chill from his. He dropped his duffle bag and crushed her further against him, meeting her lips with his in a flurry of relieved pecks.

"I'm sorry…"

"You had me scared to death…"

"I know." He threaded his fingers into her soft hair to still her movements for just a moment before leaning in and pressing his mouth to hers in a slow, sensual, toe-curling, tongue-caressing, true hello. Gill sighed into his kiss, running her hands over his shoulders and grabbing onto him.

God, he'd missed her. Only gone three days, but it may as well have been three months.

Cal followed his 'I missed you' kiss with another short one before pulling back just enough to see her eyes. Her lids had dipped, mouth parted just enough to invite more happy exploration if he was lucky.

And then she slapped him on the chest, hard enough to startle him.

"Ow!" It was more of a preemptive 'ow' than a true one. If he hadn't been layered, it might have stung a bit.

"That's what you get for being an idiot. I can't believe you drove 200 miles in this storm. Are you bloody insane?"

"Probably." He brushed his fingers down her cheek, smiling at the British euphemism. " I mean, really, you can't be surprised."

"I'm not, but, God Cal, it's awful out there."

He crinkled his brow, beseeching. "I had to."

"She would have understood."

"I know, but I promised her."

Gillian looked into his eyes, crumbling a little. He knew she couldn't stay mad when he gave her that expression, especially considering the circumstances.

She pulled a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "I gather you got it."

"I did. Braved the biggest mall in the country at Christmas time to do it." He shuddered to emphasize the true horror.

Her face crumbled even more, irritation losing ground to love and admiration. "You're insane."

"Yes I am. You already pointed that out, but you knew that long before you married me."

"True. You know you could have gotten it here though."

"Out of state is more 'exotic'."

"Uh huh."

"Hey, I don't make the rules." Cal leaned down, grabbed his duffle bag and brought it to the couch. Unzipping it, he dug inside, finding his target in moments and held it up. "What do you think?"

Gillian's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "It's perfect."

"Donne know why the place is called Build-a-Bear. Should be called Build-a-Critter or Stuffed Animal Du Jour."

"She'd going to love it."

He grinned at her and without another word, headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"Cal, she was waiting for you. She just finally fell asleep at midnight! ."

"S'okay, I won't wake her."

Slowing down, he passed the master bedroom and then pushed the door to the second bedroom in. For several moments, he gazed at the beautiful child curled in her bed. She was a miniature Gillian, perfect in every detail. But she'd inherited his eyes and in-your-face attitude, which occasionally resulted in trouble at school.

On tiptoe, he slipped into the room, careful to avoid any unintentional pitfalls of toys designed to make a racket or cause pain to adults. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his daughter's forehead. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

He left the stuffed mouse, complete with elf dress, within the circle of her splayed arms. The little girl grabbed it, a tiny smile curving her lips. A mumble made it from her dream world to the outside. "I love you Daddy."

Okay. I hope y'all enjoyed this bit of Christmas froth. Happy Holidays! :D