Catching Christmas Read online

  ADVANCE PRAISE FOR

  Catching Christmas

  “Blackstock’s Catching Christmas is not your average romance. Darling and laugh-out-loud cute, it makes the reader think about the important things in life. I read it in one gulp and wished there was more. Highly recommended!”

  —Colleen Coble, USA TODAY bestselling author of

  the Hope Beach and Lavender Tides series

  “The feel-good Christmas book of the year. Blackstock’s tale of love and redemption wrapped in a holiday bow will leave you smiling. Don’t miss Catching Christmas.”

  —Rachel Hauck, New York Times bestselling author of

  The Wedding Dress and The Love Letter

  “Terri Blackstock’s latest offering touches tender places with its quirky characters and stirring plot. Catching Christmas explores what happens when the paths of a disenchanted taxi driver collide with that of an overworked attorney. Blackstock weaves a compelling, romantic tale that is sure to get you into the Christmas spirit!”

  —Denise Hunter, bestselling author of

  Honeysuckle Dreams and A December Bride

  PRAISE FOR TERRI BLACKSTOCK

  “If I Live is a grabber from page one, delivering an exhilarating mix of chase, mystery, and spiritual truth. Longtime Blackstock fans will be delighted, and new Blackstock fans will be made.”

  —James Scott Bell, bestselling author of

  the Mike Romeo thrillers

  “Blackstock proves once again that she is the queen of Christian suspense in this third and final installment of the If I Run series.”

  —CBA Market for If I Live

  “Wow! What an ending to Casey Cox’s edge-of-your seat quest for justice! Unputdownable from start to finish, this novel will keep readers glued to the page, ignoring anything else they may have planned for the day, until they’ve fully absorbed every twist and turn.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars, TOP PICK! for If I Live

  “In Blackstock’s stirring conclusion . . . Readers of Christian romantic suspense will find much to like.”

  —Publishers Weekly for If I Live

  “Emotions, tensions, and suspense all run high in this fast-paced, edge-of-your-seat thriller. The continuing storyline in Blackstock’s If I Run series keeps readers hungrily devouring each new book and waiting impatiently for the next.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars, TOP PICK! for If I’m Found

  “With nimble use of alternating viewpoints, Blackstock has delivered a fine follow-up to If I Run that ratchets up the tension for the final installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly for If I’m Found

  “Crisp dialogue and unexpected twists make this compulsive reading, and a final chapter cliffhanger leaves things poised for a sequel.”

  —Publishers Weekly for If I Run

  “A fast-paced, thoroughly mesmerizing thriller, If I Run offers distinct Christian undertones. Though not preachy, this layering adds to the complexity of this suspenseful novel. An enthralling read with an entirely unexpected conclusion makes the reader question if a sequel could be in the works.”

  —NY Journal of Books

  “Blackstock’s newest novel, If I Run, is the best suspense novel I’ve read in decades. Boiling with secrets, nail-biting suspense, and exquisitely developed characters, it’s a story that grabs hold and never lets go. Read this one. Run to get it! It’s that good.”

  —Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author of

  Mermaid Moon and the Hope Beach series

  OTHER BOOKS BY TERRI BLACKSTOCK

  IF I RUN SERIES

  1 If I Run

  2 If I’m Found

  3 If I Live

  THE MOONLIGHTERS SERIES

  1 Truth Stained Lies

  2 Distortion

  3 Twisted Innocence

  THE RESTORATION SERIES

  1 Last Light

  2 Night Light

  3 True Light

  4 Dawn’s Light

  THE INTERVENTION SERIES

  1 Intervention

  2 Vicious Cycle

  3 Downfall

  THE CAPE REFUGE SERIES

  1 Cape Refuge

  2 Southern Storm

  3 River’s Edge

  4 Breaker’s Reef

  NEWPOINTE 911

  1 Private Justice

  2 Shadow of Doubt

  3 Word of Honor

  4 Trial by Fire

  5 Line of Duty

  THE SUN COAST CHRONICLES

  1 Evidence of Mercy

  2 Justifiable Means

  3 Ulterior Motives

  4 Presumption of Guilt

  SECOND CHANCES

  1 Never Again Good-bye

  2 When Dreams Cross

  3 Blind Trust

  4 Broken Wings

  WITH BEVERLY LAHAYE

  1 Seasons Under Heaven

  2 Showers in Season

  3 Times and Seasons

  4 Season of Blessing

  NOVELLAS

  Seaside

  The Listener (formerly

  The Heart Reader)

  The Heart Reader of Franklin High

  The Gifted

  The Gifted Sophomores

  OTHER BOOKS

  Shadow in Serenity

  Predator

  Double Minds

  Soul Restoration: Hope for the Weary

  Emerald Windows

  Miracles (The Listener / The Gifted)

  Covenant Child

  Sweet Delights

  Chance of Loving You

  Catching Christmas

  © 2018 by Terri Blackstock

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-310-35173-3 (e-book)

  Epub Edition August 2018 9780310351733

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Blackstock, Terri, 1957- author.

  Title: Catching Christmas / Terri Blackstock.

  Description: Nashville : Thomas Nelson, [2018]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018008671 | ISBN 9780310351726 (hard cover)

  Subjects: LCSH: Christmas stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3552.L34285 C38 2018 | DDC 813/.54--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018008671

  Printed in the United States of America

  18 19 20 21 22 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  This book is lovingly dedicated

  to the Nazarene.

  Contents

  Advance Praise for Catching Christmas

  Other Books by Terri Blackstock

  Chapter 1: Finn

  Chapter 2: Sydney

  Chapter 3: Finn

  Chapter 4: Sydney

  Chapter 5: Finn

  Chapter 6: Sydney


  Chapter 7: Finn

  Chapter 8: Finn

  Chapter 9: Sydney

  Chapter 10: Finn

  Chapter 11: Sydney

  Chapter 12: Finn

  Chapter 13: Finn

  Chapter 14: Sydney

  Chapter 15: Finn

  Chapter 16: Finn

  Chapter 17: Sydney

  Chapter 18: Finn

  Chapter 19: Finn

  Chapter 20: Finn

  Chapter 21: Sydney

  Chapter 22: Finn

  Chapter 23: Finn

  Chapter 24: Finn

  Chapter 25: Finn

  Chapter 26: Finn

  Chapter 27: Finn

  Chapter 28: Finn

  Chapter 29: Sydney

  Chapter 30: Finn

  Chapter 31: Finn

  Chapter 32: Finn

  Author Note

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Finn

  I’m not a violent man, but I have a dozen reasons for pulling my cab over and throwing the chattering man in my back seat onto the curb. His cheesy Christmas outfit is one of them. His love affair with Uber is another.

  “Not trying to insult you or anything,” the man says. “But I don’t see why any of you are still working for cab companies. The Uber model is the wave of the future, don’t you think? I mean, seriously, it’s so convenient for consumers, with the app charging your credit card and everything. And you don’t have that blasted meter staring you in the face . . .”

  I look at the man in the rearview mirror. “You got money or not?”

  “Of course. What do you mean?”

  “You sound like a guy who has a problem handing a credit card or cash to an actual human being. You’d rather put it in an app where who knows who in India or China or somewhere is saving all your data.”

  The man’s laughter is defensive and unnatural. “How old are you?” he asks. “You don’t look old enough to be suspicious of the Internet. You look like that guy Luke on Gilmore Girls. My wife would love you. You probably get that a lot.”

  “Never heard of the guy,” I say, even though I get it at least once a week.

  “The way he looked at the end of the series.”

  The older version, of course. I’m feeling older all the time, even though I only turned thirty a month ago.

  I’m getting close to the guy’s destination, something I know since I have intimate knowledge of the St. Louis street map without a GPS, so it isn’t worth responding.

  But the guy loves the sound of his voice. “I only took a cab because it’s raining and it’s rush hour. Uber spikes their prices up at times like this. And there you were, sitting at the hotel where my convention was . . .”

  Now I have to respond. “So you’d rather ride with some dude who hasn’t had as many background checks as I have, who doesn’t have to pay the same license fees and taxes, who doesn’t know how to get where you’re going unless he’s looking at his phone while he’s trying to drive, who might have been working in a lab for his day job, where he handles live viruses and doesn’t believe in washing his hands—”

  “Come on,” the guy says. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Most ride-share drivers don’t do it for a living, pal. I know the shortcuts—”

  “But you don’t take them. Come on, you know cabs go out of their way to run up the bill. Those drivers may not do it for a living, but they’re good enough. And I usually know where I’m going. I can tell them how to get there.”

  “You know,” I cut back in, “that’s another thing. Good enough is really what you want? How about excellence? You watch TV on six-inch devices, you read your news on blogs, you eat fast food rather than cooking. You’re happier with two all-beef patties than you are with fine restaurants or—here’s a concept—home-cooked meals.”

  The guy leans forward on the seat, and I fight my urge to shove him back. “What is your problem?” he asks. “What does my diet have to do with driving a cab?”

  Nothing, but it has everything to do with me. I’m seriously losing it. I’ll never make it through this Christmas season.

  I reach the guy’s destination, and pulling over to the curb, I check the meter. “Eight bucks,” I say. “Do you want a receipt?”

  The guy doesn’t move. “I asked you a question.”

  I turn and look back at him. “You want me to keep that meter running?”

  The guy shakes his head, pulls out his wallet, and hands me a ten. “Give me a receipt, since I don’t have it on an app.”

  I’m pretty sure the guy doesn’t intend to tip me, so I fish two dollars out of my pouch and hand them back to him with a receipt. The guy snatches them and opens his door.

  “Want my card?” I shout after him.

  He slams the door, and I chuckle as I drive away.

  You run into jerks in every line of work. Unfortunately I meet more than my share, especially this time of year, when there are Christmas parties every single day.

  My radio crackles, and my dispatcher comes on.

  “Finn, where are you?”

  “Northwest,” I say. “What you got?”

  “Someone in that area called for a cab. Address is 113 Sensero Drive.”

  I groan at the address. “Come on, LuAnn, that’s a residential neighborhood. I was going back to the airport.”

  “You’re the closest. I was supposed to book this earlier, but I didn’t.”

  Why didn’t the person call Uber? It’s getting rare for people who aren’t accustomed to looking up a phone number to call the cab company. And they love to watch the progress of their Uber drivers on their phones, which I consider another way the government can keep tabs on us. Just sign up to drive for a ride-share company, and you, too, can be tracked anywhere and everywhere.

  Most of my fares these days are airport or hotel fares, and those are the easiest. Sure money, sure pickups, and not a lot of time lost waiting for someone. As irritating as those fares can be if they’ve been drinking, they pay my rent.

  But occasionally we get a call from an actual house. It’s usually someone who doesn’t know how to use a smartphone. Those can be the most irritating fares.

  I do what I hate and type the address into my dashboard GPS, since I refuse to do it on my phone as a matter of principle. I follow the voice guidance as I drive.

  It’s a white ranch-style house that looks like it needs a good coat of paint. The grass could use a mow. They probably aren’t big tippers. Great.

  I tap my horn and watch the door. There’s no sign of anybody, but I see through the screen door that the front door is open. As I wait, I turn on the radio and scan through “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” “Santa Baby,” and Michael Jackson’s version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” It’s been all Christmas, all the time, since Thanksgiving. I wonder if these oblivious station managers really think that if they take a break and play a Top 40 song people will flee in search of more “Jingle Bells.”

  Time is wasting. I’m going to the door. Try getting an Uber driver to do that.

  I straighten my backward baseball cap and go to the screen door. I make sure my knock conveys my impatience. When no one answers, I move closer to the screen and look inside.

  An old woman sits in a wheelchair, her head tilted forward. Either she’s sleeping or she’s dead. Great.

  I look back at my cab. I could tell LuAnn that no one came to the door, which is true. I could just drive off, but the woman will probably wake up and call back and complain that no one came.

  I knock again on the screen door. “Hello?” I yell.

  The woman jolts awake. “What?”

  “Did someone here call for a cab?”

  The woman looks around, as if she doesn’t know if anyone else is there who may have called. “Yes . . . uh . . . oh yes. Thank you so much.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Yes, please. Tha
t would be so nice.”

  I open the screen door and step into the small front room. Her purse sits on the table, so I point to it. “Do you need your purse?”

  “Please,” she says.

  I wheel her out the door, carrying her purse. “Should I lock it?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I lock the doorknob and pull it shut.

  The woman reminds me a little of my own mother in her last days, and that familiar bitter acid burns my stomach. I roll her to the car.

  “Uh . . . can you stand up or walk?”

  “With a little help,” she says. “My name’s Callie. What’s yours, honey?”

  “Finn,” I say, folding up her footrests so she can reach the ground. I help her up. She’s very weak as she takes one step, then falls purposefully onto the car seat. I wait for her to pull her feet in, but she just stays there with them hanging outside the car. Sighing, I bend down, pick up her feet, and put them into the car.

  I close her door and load the wheelchair into the trunk. When I get behind the wheel, I start the meter, wishing I could add the fifteen minutes it took me to get her into the blasted car. “Where are you going, ma’am?”

  She doesn’t answer, so I look back at her. She’s already asleep again. Unbelievable.

  So where am I supposed to take her? I call LuAnn back on the radio. “Hey, this fare I just picked up at 113 Sensero Drive? Did she tell you where she wanted to go?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “She wanted to go to a doctor’s appointment at St. Mary’s Hospital. Her appointment is at two.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I look back at her again and realize she isn’t belted in. She’ll probably fall over when I start moving. Sighing, I get out and go around the car, hook her seat belt.

  I pull away from the curb. At the first intersection, I glance in the rearview. She does fall forward, but the belt holds her body up.

  Is she sick? She looks as frail as a toothpick, and she has to be in her nineties. What kind of family would leave her to get to the doctor on her own? Isn’t there someone who could have done this for her?

  It only takes a few minutes to get to the hospital. I go to the clinic wing and pull up to the entrance. She’s still sleeping, so I go around to her door. I bend over and unclick her seat belt. “Ma’am? We’re here.”

  She comes awake and looks up at me with vacant eyes. “What?”