Word Count 370
Tiny flakes of white danced in the breeze and flitted here and there outside the window behind Murdoch Lancer’s desk in the great room.
Scott Lancer stood beside his father gazing out through the tall pane of glass. “I thought you said not to expect snow for Christmas.”
Murdoch sighed. “I did. I’ve only seen snow here at the house once . . . no twice in all the time I’ve lived here. Neither time was on Christmas day.”
One of the French doors rattled shut behind them. “Do you see what it’s doing out there?” Johnny Lancer asked amidst the tapping of his boots against the tile floor.
“Yes, I do,” Murdoch replied without turning to watch his younger son approach.
Johnny edged in beside Scott and clapped him on the shoulder. “Guess that makes you happy, huh?”
“Yes . . . very happy,” Scott replied. “Christmas simply wouldn’t seem like Christmas without it.”
Murdoch turned his head to look at Scott. “Homesick for Boston, are you, Son?”
“A little.” Scott met his father’s gaze. “But I’d much rather be here than there.”
“Me too, if you get as much of this stuff back there as you say you do,” Johnny said.
Scott smiled at his brother. “I suppose you’d rather be in Mexico about now.”
Johnny shrugged. “Nah . . . it was a little hot for comfort when I left.”
Silence filled the room. Murdoch shifted his eyes back toward the window as a multitude of thoughts ran through his mind.
After a while, Scott spoke in a soft voice. “Beautiful . . . isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Murdoch said, but his mind wasn’t on the snow. Although it was a welcome sight, it wasn’t the best gift he had been given that day.
“It is pretty to look at,” Johnny said. He gave Scott another slap on the shoulder. “Looks like Santa brought you something special after all.”
Scott laughed. “It does indeed . . . along with all the other gifts I’ve received today.”
“Amen to that,” Murdoch said. He couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas–the first one shared with his sons.
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