Todd’s plan was to sit Jamie down on the very spot where they had sat that magical night. He would get down on one knee, profess his eternal and undying love for her-Is “eternal and undying” a redundancy? he wondered-and ask her to be his wife. Although he was fairly sure of her answer, the thought of doing it both thrilled and terrified him.

He clicked on his AM radio and tuned it to 950. Sports analyst Jim Rome was on a tirade about the pitiful Bandits and their choke against the Mustangs on Sunday. That had been an awesome game! He had watched it at home, squished on a sectional with his two younger brothers and his younger sister-the sister being the most rabid Mustangs fan of all the siblings. For the past three years, she had handily won the family fantasy football league. The popcorn had been flying when Colson ran that interception back. One more game, Mustangs; just one more game!

After a twenty-minute drive, Todd pulled into the main parking lot at Arapahoe Community College-his last stop before heading to his job waiting tables at Chili’s. There was a problem with his spring schedule, and the three phone calls he’d made to the registrar’s office had not accomplished a thing. These next months were very important to Todd, because if he could get through this semester at ACC as well as he had made it through his last three, he could potentially enter Metropolitan State College next fall with a scholarship. And he knew that a scholarship was probably the only way he could afford Metro-even with the College Opportunity Fund stipend.

Jamie’s and his plan was to work hard at school for two more years. Then he would have his business degree from Metro, and she would have her BFA in 3-D graphics and animation with a minor in computer science from CU Denver-her parents had committed to fund her education through the bachelor level. After that, her artistic and Web skills would combine with his entrepreneurial spirit and business savvy, and they would slowly build what would ultimately become a thriving company. At least that’s how it looked in the business plan he had created for his small business management class last semester.

Todd knew that things would probably not work out as smoothly as they looked on paper. However, he also knew that no trial could bring them down, as long as he and Jamie faced it together.

Tuesday, December 23

Arvada, Colorado

Carol Marks walked her final piano student to the door and waved at the child’s parents, who were waiting out in the car. “Good job, Eric,” she called out as the nine-year-old ran to the driveway. “Maybe next week we can get you to sing along as you play.” Fat chance, she laughed to herself. After nearly four decades of teaching, this boy’s got to be the most stubborn student I’ve had yet.

She often wondered if it was time to take down her teaching shingle. With her husband’s salary, she didn’t need the aggravation of grumpy kids and surly parents anymore. But there was still something about it that she loved. She loved experiencing those “aha” moments with the students when something new clicked in their young minds. She loved witnessing the joy of a great performance at the yearly recitals. She loved seeing the wonder in the eyes of the kids as they opened themselves up to new musical adventures-Yeah, all except for Eric!

Although her love for teaching was the main reason she kept doing it, there was a secondary reason, too: the income from the lessons helped fund a Marks family addiction. For the past thirty or so years, Carol and her husband, Paul, had been Mustangs season ticket holders-not an inexpensive undertaking.

They’d started out with four tickets in 1977, a season that had seen Marc Warmuth at quarterback, rookie head coach Gary Lewis at the helm, and the mighty Red Scare defense destroying all those who took them on. Although the Mustangs were embarrassed in the PFL Cup that year by the Texas Outlaws, Paul and Carol had been hooked. Every year since then, they’d scrimped and saved to keep their tickets.

Over time they had gotten to know the people in the seats around them. Soon, four of the families began getting together outside of the football games. The ladies even gave their little group a name-the Buckaroos-which caused much groaning among the men.

As the years went on, they had watched each other’s families begin to grow and then spread out across the country. There was even a marriage between the Markses’ eldest son and another couple’s daughter.

The group’s conversations had gradually moved from children to grandchildren. Their pregame tailgating increasingly included items listed as “low-cal” and “fat free.” There had been two heart attacks and a cancer scare, but through it all the Buckaroos held together.

The move to Platte River Stadium created a temporary crisis among this happy band of four families. They were determined to keep their gang from falling apart. So together they had gone and scouted out the new stadium. And together they had put in for their new seats-the Markses only putting in for two now, since the kids were out of the house and starting families of their own. And now, even after three decades together, the group met for every game, either at the stadium for home games or at one of the family homes for away games.

That was the other reason Carol continued teaching piano. Her parents were gone, her kids were out of the house, and she didn’t want to take the chance of losing more family. Quite a few times over the years, she and Paul had helped supplement the cost of tickets for other members so they could stay together. Sure, Carol loved the Mustangs, but the real reason she went to the games was to see the Buckaroos.

Thursday, December 25

Parker, Colorado

Riley eased his Denali to the curb outside the Ricci residence in Canterberry Crossing, a subdivision in Parker. Off to his left he could see a group of four men teeing off on Black Bear Golf Course. Either they’re single, or they have very understanding wives, he thought.

He grabbed some packages from the passenger seat, then went around to the liftgate. There, protected in a shallow box, was his offering for the Christmas feast-brown bag apple pie (his mom’s recipe with the slight modification of a store-bought crust).

After Riley had left the air force, his mom had taken a day and taught him how to make one main course (pepper steak-steak au poivre, if he really wanted to impress), one side dish (green-bean casserole), and one dessert (apple pie). Mom reasoned that with these three recipes under his belt, he would always be prepared to bring something whenever he was invited to someone’s house. Good thinking, Mom, as long as I’m not invited to the same place twice.

He scooped up the pie, wrangled the liftgate closed, and walked up the path.

Before he even had a chance to ring the bell, Sal Ricci opened the door. “Welcome!” Ricci said as he took the packages from his friend’s hand. Then he called over his shoulder, “Riley’s here, babe.”

Riley pressed Lock twice on his key fob and followed Ricci in.

The smell of Christmas filled the air-the woodsy scent of a beautifully decorated fir tree, the cinnamon and clove fragrance of potpourri, the rich, thick smells coming from the kitchen, the… Whew, what is that smell? Riley looked down to see nine-month-old Alessandra preparing to crawl up his leg.

“Sorry, bud. I think she needs a change,” Ricci said, scooping his daughter up.

“What have you been feeding that poor kid? Pork rinds and broccoli?” Riley called after him. He sought refuge for his nose in the kitchen, where Megan was busy preparing the feast. “Merry Christmas, Meg. It smells wonderful in here.”

She put her spoon down and gave Riley a hug. “Welcome, Riley. It’s great to have you with us today. Wow, what is this?” she asked, taking the pie from his hand. “Is this homemade?”