Favorite Excerpt contest!

Winners of the excerpt contest are:

Winning Author-Liberty Blake with her excerpt for Christmas Lights! Congrats Liberty:)

Winning voter is Ginny Lamere-Congrats!



From December 2-December 5th, please vote for your favorite excerpt from our participating entries below. Winners will be announced on Dec 6th! Please remember, if you use the Anonymous feature for voting to leave a valid email address as well, otherwise the vote will not be counted. Thanks for your understanding and participation:)

Excerpt #1-A Groom for Christmas

CHAPTER ONE

“I have two days to find a fiancé.” Ignoring the anxiety that tightened her stomach, Graceann Palmer dipped her fork into her apple pie à la mode and slipped the tasty treat into her mouth.

Her friend Kate sat next to her at the counter in the quaint fifties-era Spirit Lake Diner, located just outside the small Pennsylvania town of the same name. Kate grinned. “You could advertise online: Fiancé wanted for Christmas. Good pay. Temporary position.”

“Like I’d get a real upstanding guy that way,” Graceann said.

Kate shot her a sympathetic smile. “Face it. You’ll have to tell your family you lied.”

Bing Crosby’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas flowed from the jukebox, mocking Graceann. Her lie had caught up with her. She would come home for Christmas, minus a made-up fiancé.

Graceann finished her pie and pushed the plate away. “Tell my family the truth and have my mom try to fix me up with someone like the dentist she invited to spend the holidays with us last year? Boring, conceited, and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Yuck.”

The door opened, bringing in a fresh round of cold, snowy late December air. Shivering, Graceann drew her sweater closer around her.

“I wouldn’t mind finding that under my Christmas tree,” Kate said.

Graceann followed her friend’s gaze to the tall man who’d just entered the diner. Dressed all in black—black motorcycle boots, black jeans, black leather jacket—and walking with the lithe grace of a panther, he took a seat at the other end of the counter. She studied him while he studied the menu. He had classic “bad boy” written all over his features—sharp cheekbones, dark stubble on a square jaw, and midnight black hair tied into a ponytail. Long, tapered fingers held the menu.

Suddenly, he looked up. Clear blue eyes connected with hers. Recognition spiked through her and sent her pulse jumping like a kid on Christmas morning.

“The Falcon,” she whispered.

“What?” Kate gasped. “You’re right. It is The Falcon.”

His full lips tilted in a slow, sexy grin, showing even white teeth. He nodded at them before turning his attention to the waitress. After he gave his order, he didn’t look in their direction again.

Kate gripped Graceann’s arm, her fingers digging into Graceann’s flesh beneath the heavy sweater. “Wow. The Falcon. I heard he left town the day after his graduation from Spirit Lake High fourteen years ago and hasn’t been heard from since.”

“Wonder what he’s doing back here,” Graceann said. In school, she’d had a crush on The Falcon even though he was two years ahead of her. She’d never told anyone, not even Kate.

“He’s a little scruffy,” Kate said.

“Scruffy, my tush. He’s hot.”

Kate grabbed her arm again as Graceann lifted her coffee mug. Coffee sloshed over the sides onto the counter. Setting the mug down, Graceann gave her friend an exasperated look. “What?”

“I have it,” Kate said. “Your fiancé.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Falcon. I’ll bet he’ll pretend to be your fiancé. After Zach bowed out, you said you’d be willing to pay someone. The Falcon always needed cash. Do it. Ask him.”

“You’re crazy. I haven’t seen him in fourteen years. He could be a serial killer for all we know.”

Kate shook her head. “He’s not. We would have heard.” She leaned closer. “You’ll be at your grandmother’s with the whole family. You’ll be safe. Your grandmother is old-fashioned. She’ll put you in separate rooms. It’s not like he’s a total stranger. Bring him to meet the family, pretend you’re wildly in love. Your mom will quit trying to fix you up. After the holidays you won’t ever have to see him again. Once you’re back in New York, you can tell your family you broke the engagement. That’s what you planned to do with Zach.”

Graceann put a hand up. “This is the craziest idea you’ve ever had, and you’ve had plenty. I can’t ask this guy to go along with my scheme. I’ll have to resign myself to fending off another loser my mom pushes at me. She means well, but she won’t accept that I’m not interested in marriage. After what Michael did, my whole family feels sorry for me. I don’t want or need their pity.”

“Michael was a jerk. He didn’t deserve you. Listen to me, Graceann. Ask. The. Falcon. What could it hurt to at least ask?”

“His name is Jake, and I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t wait too long. He’ll be out of here and you’ll have missed your chance.”

Graceann sipped her coffee and stole glances at Jake Falco. Maybe Kate was right. Jake had always been nice to her and had even come to her aid once when the mean girls were harassing her. He might help her out now. At her grandmother’s, they’d be surrounded by family. She wouldn’t be alone with him. Her gut feelings were usually on target, so she’d learned to listen. She’d ignored her instincts with Michael and look how that had turned out. Something was telling her to go ahead and take a chance on Jake.

“I’ll do it.” She stood before she lost her nerve.

He raised his head as she approached. His eyes, blue as a bright winter sky, lit with awareness. He brazenly scanned her in the same way he used to check out some of the other girls in school, but never her.

Her heart pounded, the sound pulsing in her ears. She nearly turned to rush back to her stool, but desperation propelled her toward him.

“Graceann Palmer,” he said when she reached him. His voice, deep, smoky, richer than she remembered, warmed her like well-aged whiskey.

The opening line she’d rehearsed dried in her throat. “Hello, Fal…Jake,” she stammered.

He gestured to the stool next to him and threw her a sardonic smile. “Have a seat. Catch up on old times.”

What was she doing? They were no longer in high school. This man was a stranger to her now. She sat down gingerly and glanced over at Kate. Her friend gave her the thumbs-up sign.

“So, Graceann Palmer,” he said, turning in his stool to face her. “What have you been up to?”

Giddily flattered that he remembered her name, she found the words to answer him. “I moved to New York City.” She smoothed a hand over her jeans, feeling as nervous as the awkward teen she’d once been. “I design jewelry.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Impressive. Did you design that necklace you’re wearing?”

She raised her left hand to rub the large blue stone set in sterling silver and hanging from a silver chain. It was one of her favorites. “I did.”

Uneasy under his intense gaze, she lowered her hand to rest it on her thigh.

“Not married?” he asked.

Her chest knotted with the familiar pain of betrayal. “Not married. What about you?”

“Nope. Never been.”

Whew. She hadn’t considered the possibility he’d be married. “Where do you live and what sort of work do you do?”

“I live here and there,” he said with a shrug. “Some would say I don’t work at all.”

“Intriguing.” She noted the age and well-worn dullness of his distressed leather jacket. Maybe Kate was right. He’d lived on the poor side of town when they were growing up. Maybe things hadn’t improved since he’d lit out all those years ago.

The sounds of food sizzling on the griddle and silver clanking against glass filled the diner, but an uncomfortable silence settled between them. The pungent odor of hamburger and onions cooking roiled her already unsettled stomach.

“I’m surprised you recognized me,” she said into the silence. “It’s been fourteen years.”

He studied her. When his glance dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkened. “How could I forget those beautiful green cat eyes of yours or those lips?” he said in a husky voice.

Stunned silent, she opened her mouth and snapped it shut. Up close, he carried the scent and the appearance of the outdoors—all hard muscles, bronzed skin and the aroma of clean, pine-scented air. She swallowed. It was easy to believe the rumors that had swirled around him in school, stories about the women he’d slept with. Not girls. Women. He was playing with her. He couldn’t really be trying to seduce her. Unlike the insecure girl she’d been, she could now handle the likes of Jake Falco.

Graceann drew a deep breath and plunged in. “I have a proposition for you.”

He quirked that eyebrow again. “Sounds interesting.”

“It’s not what you think.”

He laughed. “What I’m thinking is very good.”

Heat suffused her cheeks. “Clean out your mind. It’s a business proposition.”

“Too bad.” He signaled the waitress for two cups of coffee, then re-settled onto his stool, his attention on Graceann. “Go on. I’m listening.”

 

 

Excerpt #2-On the 12th Date of Christmas

 

 

Cheyenne shrugged, but smiled as they inched closer, careful to stay behind some taller people. A few kids already stood in line by the well, wanting to make wishes. A few feet away, safely positioned behind a sunglasses vendor, Robin listened to the exchange between Santa and the kids. Warm waves of excitement rolled over her skin as she heard Jonas's voice. It was him! Stifling a giggle, she pulled out her phone and brought up the camera function. She zoomed in on Jonas, as he knelt to talk to a little girl wearing a pink dress who had her blonde curls up in pigtails. She snapped a picture of him as he directed the child to the well to toss her coin in for her wish.

"Is it him?" Cheyenne whispered from behind her.

Robin nodded and focused, taking another picture. "Yup. I'm going to send him a picture text of himself." She giggled as she punched the appropriate buttons on her phone to do the task. "I don't know how soon he'll check it."

"Can I help you ladies?" A spiky haired, scrawny man stood behind them now, eyes narrowed. Robin straightened her spine. Ah, they must look a little suspicious.

"No. Just ready to embarrass my boyfriend." She cracked a grin. Whoa. She'd said boyfriend. Well, that made the most sense to tell the guy, as he already stared at them with a frown. He probably wondered what kind of mischief they were up to.

"Is he the Santa unknowingly having his picture taken by you?" The frown on the guy's face disappeared as the corners of his lips twitched.

"Absolutely. I just sent him the picture, too." Robin stuck her phone back in her pocket, stealing another glance over at Jonas. At any time, he would pull out his phone to pretend to check the time, when he'd really be peeking at his texts. At this time, there were no kids around him, as they all had scurried off with their families. Any second now. And boom. The moment she'd been waiting for. The quick sneak into his pocket, pulling the phone out slightly. Then he snapped his head up, searching his surroundings. She tried to back up and ended up bumping into Cheyenne, which caught them both off guard. That only caused a bigger distraction and Jonas caught sight of them. He smiled and waved.

"Well, he's on to you now." The guy smirked.

"Yes, I noticed that. We'll be going now. Have a great day." Robin tugged on Cheyenne's sleeve, pulling her away. They both burst into laughter as they approached Jonas. "That was a bit embarrassing," she whispered to Cheyenne, who nodded. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Cheyenne's were red as she stifled another giggle.

"Ho ho ho!" he said cheerfully. "Santa doesn't appreciate sneaky women taking pictures of him. You two are on the naughty list this year." His eyes sparkled with laughter as he couldn't take them off of Robin.

"I'm shaking in my boots." Robin shivered for effect. She looked him up and down. "You've gained a lot of weight since I saw you last. What in the world is in your diet?" She poked at his fake pudgy belly, laughing at the way he pushed her hand away.

"Hey! Santa does not appreciate naughty girls poking at his belly, either!"

"Boy, Santa doesn't appreciate much this year, does he? Have a little cheer! No more of your grumbling," Robin cracked, elbowing Cheyenne as they both laughed.

Jonas reached into his pocket and handed her a dime. "Here, why not make a wish? Then be on your merry old way and leave Santa to his work." A gentle laugh came from his lips. Robin knew he enjoyed this just as much as she did.

"Can I wish myself off the naughty list?" Robin batted her eyelashes at him, edging closer to the well and preparing to drop the coin in.

"It doesn't work that way, young lady. Santa loves the flirting, but you're still on the list," Jonas said close to her ear. How many more times could he get another shiver out of her?

"Darn." She feigned a sad face, then dropped the coin in after thinking of a wish. "Despite your pudgy belly, you make a really hot Santa." She backed away from him with a smile.

"Santa will be calling you with details for your second date." Jonas used a deep rumbling voice.

"I'll be looking forward to it. Have a good day, Santa." Robin waved at him. Her spirits lifted as she walked away with Cheyenne. A few feet away, they looked at one another and burst into laughter.

 

Excerpt #3-Holiday Hoopla

“So, you need a gift for your sister?”

He turned and looked around the store. Halle took the opportunity to check him out.

About my age . . . no ring. Why haven’t I ever met him before? This town isn’t that big. Halle bit

the side of her bottom lip. Her “consequences-be-damned-there-is-fun-to-be-had” streak was

pulsing through her body, and this cowboy made her feel like being naughty. Here I thought the

holiday season was going to be boring.

 

The stranger peered over the rack of spices and miscellaneous cooking items. “I didn’t

realize you had a bunch of different stuff in here.”

“Sure do—something for everyone. What does she like?”

“Blue.” He looked up. “She loves blue.”

“Blue . . . okay. I have some blue necklaces I made over here.” She motioned to the glass

cases that doubled as her front counter. “I also have a matching scarf and hat set in ocean blue.”

She scooped up the items and held them toward him.

“Oh, those are nice. You make this stuff?”

“Some of it—mostly the necklaces.” She caught his gaze and lowered her voice in

mischief. “Sometimes, when I’m feeling really sexy, I crochet.”

“That’s weird. So do I.” His lips started to curve up until the chirping sound of his cell

phone suddenly cut it short. He retrieved it from his front jean pocket.

“Excuse me.” He turned his back to her and spoke quietly into the phone. All she could

hear was mumbling.

Halle laid the crocheted set on the counter and spied her wine glass. Where does drinking

during a transaction stand on the appropriate meter? Hell, I own the joint. The words of her

father sounded off in her head causing an eye roll. She owned the business, not the physical

store, as he’d so astutely pointed out in what had started as a civilized meeting last week.

She moved to retrieve her glass when she heard a low “sonuva—”

“What?” Halle stopped in her tracks just out of reach of her glass.

She wracked her brain for what the problem could be. Maybe she’d had one too many

glasses of wine. No, wait; she did a mental count. She’d only been on glass number two when

whoever this was walked in and made her spill half of her new glass.

“No. Not you.” He pocketed his phone and looked at her. “Family issues.”

“Family, huh? They’ll getcha.” Yeah, that was clearly the best thing to say. Oh well, he’s

nice to look at. She let her gaze wander down his nicely fitted jeans to his cowboy boots, and

back up. After all, it was the holidays; everyone deserved a little happiness, right? Even her.

*

Blake Ellison continued to watch the woman. Can’t I have a moment of peace? I can’t

even Christmas shop without . . . This gal has the right idea, drinking in the afternoon. That’s my

kind of day. He wished it was just because of the holidays, but lately his life was complicated

with unfair obligations that made him want to drink—a lot . . . a whole lot.

Blake assessed the friendly sales gal. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy pony tail

that was weirdly sensual. Her fresh face was a welcome relief from the overly made up women

he usually encountered.

“I’m Blake by the way.” He offered his hand.

“Halle, nice to meet you.” She slipped her hand in his firmly. Strong. Good. Limp fish

handshakes were the worst.

 Excerpt #4-The Lord Who Sneered

He favored her with a questioning look from the corner of his eye, one that raked her from head to toe. "It is less than rare when a woman grants me the favor of her presence for longer than it takes to execute a Quadrille, leave alone one of such beauty."

 

            His naked admiration caused Lady Sophie to burn with an emotion with which she had had little acquaintance.   It was both exhilarating as well as somewhat distressing and left her casting about for a suitable response.  "Handsome is as handsome does, my lord.  Those who should shun you for anything as inconsequential as a scar is not worth as much as the time it takes to perform the opening bows."

 

            He had no immediate reply to this. Instead, he lifted his hand so that it hovered over hers for a moment before he snatched it away and uttered a harsh laugh.  "And yet I remain more alone than even Bluebeard."

 

            Lady Sophie felt his misery like a cloud of ice over her heart.  She thought of her loving father and mother, her bothersome but adoring younger brothers and sister and her devoted governess, all who peopled her life with companionship and affection.  How should she find value in a single day of her existence without them?  Impulsively, she placed her hand over his fingers so that the ring was thoroughly obscured.  "Should it be easier, now, my lord, to tell the story?"

 

            He closed his eyes as if pained beyond measure.  "I have no use for your pity, Lady Sophie," he said through gritted teeth.  "And I shall tell you naught save my assessment of the weather if you do not remove your hand at once."

 

            Wounded to the core, she did as he commanded.  "There is your ring laid bare for your perusal, my lord.  I wish you joy of it."

 

            He opened his eyes and looked at the ring as if to sear its image into his mind.  "You do not know what game you play at, Lady Sophie."

 

            "I am at no game, my lord.  I only wish to see you heart-whole.  If that ring holds the origins of your solitude, then why remind yourself continually of what you have suffered?"

 

            He turned his head to stare at her, the expression in his eyes one of misgiving and his mouth pulled taut so that the scar was a white gash in the light of the moon.  "The answer to your question is one I cannot abide.  Perhaps you might tell me, Lady Sophie, how to choose differently than have I. First, however, you must know whose ring I wear."

Excerpt #5-Helena's Christmas Beau

Duncan Chapman winced at the crash ringing from the nursery above his brother’s study. “You didn’t consider the noise your darling hellions could produce when you chose this room as your sanctuary, I take it.”

Philip Chapman, Viscount Steepleton, chuckled. “The children weren’t born when we moved in here. Paul has become much more active since the weather turned cool. They’ve been rather quiet today, though.”

Shaking his head, Duncan returned to gazing out the window overlooking the kitchen garden. A young woman wearing a drab gray dress, unadorned black cloak and equally plain bonnet paced back and forth in one corner. There was nothing about her to hold his attention, but he continued to watch.

Suddenly she turned, shielding her eyes from the ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, and looked directly at him. He recognized the heart-shaped face of his sister-in-law’s cousin, Miss Helena Richardson. He hadn’t seen her in more than a year, at the small gathering of family and close friends following her fiancé’s funeral. The harsh color of her half-mourning garb washed away any bloom in her features, leaving her wan. A pity, given the striking beauty she was. Perhaps the Christmas season was still difficult for her to face without Tobias.

“Well, at least she won’t spend it alone,” Duncan muttered aloud.

“Who won’t spend what alone?” Philip asked.

“What?” Duncan went back to the seat he’d vacated when the children’s noise had disturbed him. “I didn’t realize I‘d spoken aloud. Helena was in the garden. She appeared sad. I thought it kind of Lydia to invite her here so she’s not alone over the holidays.”

“Sad? I wouldn’t use that word to describe Helena. She came to keep Lydia company during her confinement with Thomas. Helena is in charge of the holiday festivities, and my housekeeper is none too pleased.”

“Isn’t Lydia the one who would be displeased? It is her household.”

Philip shrugged. “Lydia was more than happy to relinquish the duties this year. She is not fully recovered from Thomas’ birth, and since Paul and Mary are now old enough to participate, she wants us to take part in all the traditions her family celebrates.”

“All of them? What does that mean?”

“I’m not quite certain, to be honest. A lot more than we Chapmans are used to, I’ll wager.”

“I hope the ladies don’t expect me to participate. Those traditions are for children.”

“Lydia would understand, but I’ll let you tell Helena. She assumes everyone is as excited about the holiday as she is.”

A thud shook the ceiling, followed by a small child’s laughter. The noise was so loud Duncan expected to find plaster covering his sleeves. “Have you invited the entire village to play in your nursery? What are they doing up there?”

“Using up their endless energy, I imagine. You should go up and see them. They’ve missed their uncle.”

“Perhaps later, if it’s not too cold, I can join them in the park so they can run. It is apparent they don’t require my company to enjoy themselves.”

Laughing, Philip leaned back in his chair. “You are afraid of them. I never would have guessed it.”

“Not afraid. Astutely cautious. I know Lydia has them well trained enough to be civilized when guests are present, but they’re still too young to be trusted in their native habitat.”

“You aren’t a guest, you are family.”

“My point exactly—they can’t be trusted around me. As I said, I’ll visit with them out of doors.”

A tap came from the doorway. “Am I interrupting?” Helena asked.

“No. Duncan just arrived and we were catching up on news.” Philip motioned for her to join them.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Chapman,” Helena said. “You’ve arrived just in time for stir up.”

Whatever that was, it could explain all the noise in the nursery. “Stir up?”

“Of course. We must stir up the plum puddings today so they may age properly before Christmas.”

She wanted him to help bake puddings? He didn’t even cook his meals. He failed to see how he could contribute. “Ah, well then, I’m sure the cook will be busy this afternoon.”

She stood beside the desk, her smile growing. With her cloak and bonnet removed, she looked slightly less severe, although her brown hair was styled in a simple twist. “But we all must stir the pudding at least once, for luck.”

Philip beat him to the question. “For luck?”

“Yes, for the entire household.” She looked at Duncan. “We wouldn’t wish anything bad to happen to Philip and Lydia’s family, would we?”

Duncan shifted in his seat. She would have him cast as the Christmas villain for his lack of cooking skills. But he wasn’t going to play her game. “Of course not. I fail to see how my not stirring the pudding would bring bad luck. My parents’ cook managed well without me all these years.”

“It’s tradition. Every year on the Sunday before Advent, the vicar reads the Book of Common Prayer. ‘Stir up, O Lord, we beseech thee—‘”

Philip cleared his throat. “We know the passage, Helena. No need to recite it for us.”

A flattering shade of peach crept over Helena’s cheeks. She studied them as if they spoke a foreign language. “Doesn’t your family have Christmas traditions?”

Pushed by a sudden, inexplicable need to defend his family, Duncan responded. “Naturally. We go to church that morning and have a special supper with roast goose and yes, plum pudding for dessert. And not once has the cook required our assistance in the preparation of any of it.”

She walked toward him, her head tilted to one side. “That’s all? You don’t do anything more to celebrate?”

“Well, we exchange gifts. And Mother gives out baskets on St. Stephen’s Day,” Duncan said.

“I imagine she also sees that the greenery has been gathered to place about her home, and supervises any other decorating. This is my favorite time of year. I love the way the house smells when it is filled with evergreen branches.”

She was correct. In the past, when he arrived home a day or two before Christmas, the work had already been done. And the house did have a crisp, fresh scent to it.

Helena turned to Philip. “Perhaps you two will find a suitable Yule log.”

Philip held up a hand. “I have no objection to greens, but even the kitchen hearth isn’t big enough for an entire tree. I say no Yule log.”

“But it brings so much good luck,” she argued. “You must spread the ashes in the fields for the crops, and put some in the well to be certain the water stays safe.”

Duncan hadn’t realized she held to such superstitions. “Do you really believe in luck? That it can be manipulated by such pagan rituals?”

Her smile faded, revealing hollows in her cheeks he hadn’t noticed before. Her chin lifted slightly. “I’m not a simpleton, nor a pagan. I don’t believe stirring the Christmas pudding for luck means I may run barefoot in the rain without my cloak. The gods wouldn’t really punish us for not burning the Yule log. But so many things in life are left to chance. Who does it hurt to continue the traditions?”

“Children do enjoy the little rituals,” Philip said. “I have fond memories of the season when we were young. Receiving gifts on St. Nicholas Day awakened the anticipation of more to come.”

Helena folded her arms and stretched to her full, yet insignificant, height. “Well, we are about to gather in the kitchen for stir up. Your children expect you to join us.”

With that, she left. Duncan watched her glide through the doorway and he chuckled. “When did she become such a harridan? She’d have the Iron Duke quaking in his boots.”

Rising, Philip laughed. “She never yells. She simply makes one feel guilty if one dares to disregard her wishes.”

“We’d better hurry, then.”

Lydia and the children already waited in the kitchen. Four-year-old Paul tugged on Helena’s skirts. “Can I put the silver in the puddings?”

“We may ask Cook if she’ll allow it. She doesn’t like it when we get in her way.”

“I won’t get in her way. I’ll drop the threepence in and jump away.” Paul sprang into the air to demonstrate.

Helena patted his head. “I don’t believe we’ll need to go to that extreme. Simply stepping aside should do.”

From his position at the end of the long table farthest from the fire, Duncan observed the others. The cook’s assistant pulled the turnspit chain, rotating a large joint of meat on the spit on the hearth. The footmen had bored, vacant stares but they stood at attention in a corner in front of the large hutch. The butler kept glancing at the doorway as if he hoped to escape.

On the table were several enormous bowls filled with brown, speckled batter. Helena picked up the wooden spoon sitting nearby. “Let’s begin. Lydia, do you want to recite the blessing?”

Paul climbed onto a stool and peered into the bowl. “I know it. Mama taught me. ‘Stir up, we b’seech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenshusly bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenshusly rewarded.’”

Helena and the others chuckled at his earnest recitation. “Very well done, Paul, thank you. You may be the first to stir. Don’t forget to make a wish.” She lifted Paul to take his turn.

Philip and Lydia stirred and stepped out of the way. Duncan stepped forward and reached for the spoon.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Helena repeated, her raised brow daring him to argue.

As he took the spoon, certain she wouldn’t know whether he wished or not, he noted the slight shadows beneath her eyes. All his bravado left him. He sighed. What would it cost him to make a wish? I wish for Helena to be truly happy again. He ran the spoon around the bowl.

When the last of the servants had a turn, Lydia thanked them all. “Shall we have some biscuits in the nursery?”

Paul and two-year-old Mary clapped and cheered. “Yes please.”

“Come have biscuits,” Paul pleaded, tugging on Duncan’s hand.

“I must read some papers I brought with me,” he replied.

Philip lifted Mary into his arms and walked toward the hallway. “Surely you can have one biscuit and a glass of milk.”

Duncan sighed. He didn’t care for sweets, and liked milk even less. “Very well. One biscuit before work.”

As they left the kitchen, Helena spoke to Mrs. Avery. “Biscuits are more appealing than adding the coins to the batter, it would seem. Here are the threepence for you to add. I leave you to your work.”

“Thank you, miss,” Mrs. Avery said, her relief evident in her tone.

Duncan trudged up the stairs at the slow speed of his nephew. All that pomp for ten minutes worth of batter stirring. What other rituals did Helena have in store over the next few weeks? He might regret agreeing to spend the entire month in his brother’s household.

 

Excerpt #6-Muffins & Mistletoe

Corinne stood under the fresh pine roping that hung from the arched entrance to the main hall and took a deep, lung-filling breath. Fragrant real trees stood tall at each side of the arch, glittering with tinsel, white lights and red glass ornaments. She pulled off her gloves with a relieved sigh, letting the scents of Christmas surround her. She was determined not to give in to her personal despair and allow it to squelch a festive holiday mood. After all, she had a plan.

 

Mrs. Crane's blue eyes danced with merriment as she held out the signature yellow bag and gave it a shake. "Good morning, Corinne. Fresh from the oven—I know how you love them warm."

 

"You do know my weakness, Mrs. Crane." Corinne tried not to let her mind race ahead and think what a wonderful mother-in-law Bitty Crane would be. Then Corinne thought about her waistline and decided she might be better off without the permanent supply of the woman's irresistible carbs.

 

It was hard enough walking by the Itty Bitty Bake Shop every day on her way to work with the tantalizing smells of muffins wafting through the air—having it in the family would be way too tempting.

 

On the other hand, maybe it was all those carbs that gave Bitty her boundless energy. Always bobbing here and there, dark brown curls framing her cherubic face, her cornflower blue eyes filled with mischief and love. There were no frown lines on her sixty-year-old face, only laugh lines that reached up to her eyes when she winked.

 

Everyone agreed the annual Preservation Society Holiday Gala would never be the most talked-about event of the season if it weren't for Bitty Crane and her exuberant dedication.

 

Corinne looked away from the woman whose eyes reminded her so much of Jimmy's. While Jimmy had inherited his six-foot-one height from his father, there was no doubt those dancing, all-seeing, soul-searching eyes came from his mother.

 

She let Bitty take her by the elbow and lead her into the ballroom. "There's been a slight change in setup plans and so much to do before the gala tomorrow night."

 

"That's why I'm here," Corinne said with a sigh, trying not to smile as her little white lie slipped easily past her lips. She popped a bite-sized morsel of gingerbread heaven into her mouth while she followed Bitty to the stage. It was difficult to keep her mind off Jimmy when she was so close to his mother, and her mind raced in search of a way to get her to intervene.

 

Surely his mother had the power to make him listen, didn't she?

 

Corinne pulled another piece of muffin from the bag while Bitty pointed to her left. "The rest of the ladies will be here any minute, but why don't you get started moving these tables off to the side to make room for the—oh, good, Jimmy, you're here!"

 

Corinne turned her head so quickly it felt like her neck snapped.

 

She blinked and he was there, every tall, dark and sexy inch of him, and all she could do was stare. Her inability to speak was thankfully masked by her mouth being stuffed with gingerbread.

Though this was exactly the scenario she'd hoped for, she was grateful her mouth was full of muffin since she couldn't find the right words anyway. It wasn't every day one groveled for forgiveness.

 

Excerpt #7-Nowhere for Christmas

Gavin's at the coffee shop on Central between Edith and Arno.

Clicking her fingers on the phone, she sent another message. How will I know him?

He's sitting outside. Grey stocking cap. With luggage.

A short while later, Avery was pulling their car up in front of the coffee shop. Only in Albuquerque would a coffee shop be painted the color of terra cotta and have dried chile peppers hanging from the ceiling.

She got out of the car and gazed at the front of the coffee shop. It was the twenty-third of December, but even in New Mexico, there was no more than one man brave enough to endure the weather outside. A nip in the air had encouraged all other patrons to enjoy the indoor atmosphere of the establishment.

Avery took note of the man as she approached. He was younger than she'd expected. With the stocking cap pulled down low, she couldn't get a look at his hair to see whether or not it had any grey in it. The scruff on his cheeks and chin was black as night, however, with no indication of aging. She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he had an angular face, a strong chin, and… he was drinking a fruit smoothie.

A bright yellow frozen beverage. At a coffee shop. In December. I'm going to have to make allowances for his artistic temperament. I get it. But is this necessary, God? Sticking me with a man who goes to a coffee shop and doesn't order coffee? You're laughing at me, aren't You?

Pulling her it's-okay-if-you-don't-love-coffee smile out of storage and dusting it off before putting it on, she approached the man. She held out her hand and said, "Mitchell sent me. Ready to go?"

He put down his blindingly bright beverage and ran his eyes up and down her figure. His sunglasses kept his eyes concealed, but his perusal still made her uncomfortable. When he made no move to shake her hand, she began to wonder if she had the right person. "What's your name?"

"I'm Gavin," he said. "Who are you?"

Eyeing his luggage, she took note of the oversized backpack and two large hard-sided cases she assumed held camera equipment. This has to be Gavin, but what if it's not? What if this guy murdered Gavin and stuffed him in an alleyway, then sat down in his spot to lure me into a false sense of security so he can do away with us, too, at his leisure? Homicidal tendencies might explain the yellow drink.

Before the man had time to sneeze, Avery whipped out her cellphone, took a snapshot of him, and texted it to Mitchell. Is this him?

She imagined the man blinking his eyes in surprise behind his dark glasses. Artsy isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind here. He was wearing black jeans, a grey jacket hanging open to reveal a like-colored sweater underneath, and a grey scarf wrapped around his neck a couple times. I thought artists wore lots of color. Guess that's what I get for assuming. He makes me think of a beatnik.

Avery's phone chirped at her, and she glanced down at it. Yep. That's Gavin.

Again frowning at the man's fruity beverage, she tried to shake off the feeling of dread swirling through her stomach. Straightening her shoulders, she held out her hand for a second time and said, "Hi Gavin. I'm here to pick you up and head to Nowhere."

He cracked a smile this time and said, "Heading to Nowhere – isn't that a country song?" Then, looking behind her, he asked, "Where's Avery?"

She stole a look behind her at the white car. What was he expecting? A limo? She gave him a puzzled look, brows drawn together, and said, "I'm Avery. Avery Weston."

Gavin jumped up out of his wrought-iron chair, knocking it back. "You can't be. Avery's a man."

Avery scratched her head and said, "I've been accused of a lot of things, but that's not one of them."

He turned the tables on her then, taking her picture with his phone, presumably to verify her identity with Mitchell.

Eli, evidently tired of waiting in the cramped confines of the car, climbed out and said, "What's the holdup? At this rate we won't make it to Nowhere till two in the morning. Come on, people, daylight's burning!"

Gavin glanced from her to Eli. Then his phone vibrated, and he peered down at it. The part of his face she could see through the pseudo-beard flushed. His hand clenched around the phone in a death grip before relaxing.

"I don't travel with women. I thought I was riding with a man named Avery and his teenage son."

Eli's eyebrows shot up. "You thought Mom was a man? That's awesome. Wait till I tell Grandma and Grandpa! They're going to love it!"

Avery watched as Eli immediately began texting. Great. Now I'm a topic of gossip between my son and parents.

 

Excerpt # 8-A Cottage Christmas

Cornelia rocked back on her heels, shocked.

 

Geoffrey had never raised his voice in front of her before, never become impassioned enough in her presence to break his stoic façade. She had never seen him throw his wide hands about in gestures of frustration nor watched the blue of his eyes turn dark with anger. His breathing sounded harsh, like the horses at the racetrack Henry and Geoffrey had once taken her to, spent after their lightning-fast laps.

 

Watching his chest rise and fall beneath his sweater, it seemed like it was a stranger standing before her. The Geoffrey she knew had never met her eyes so seriously. He had certainly never popped out his fourteen-karat anchor tie stick and yanked his four-in-hand away from his throat, spreading the collar to reveal a pale neck in which a pulse beat viciously beneath his jaw.

 

It was hard to draw her eyes from his exposed neck, the blue of his veins vivid beneath his nearly translucent skin. A rosy shadow showed where his beard was already starting to shadow, though it was only midday. The small notch of flesh jumped beneath his jaw as if a butterfly were trapped in his throat desperate to flee. In the awkward silence broken only by Geoffrey’s breathing she could almost imagine that she heard the sound of the struggling wings.

Excerpt #9-Home for Christmas

Rachel leaned against the island counter, watching Nate Vaughn's retreating backside, relieved to see him go. Forget about wanting a nice guy in her life, even flirting was too strenuous for her bruised heart. She only wished she hadn't noticed how nicely Nate's jeans fit or how his leather jacket showed off wide shoulders or how the duffel bag he carried made her wonder where he'd spent last night.

 

None of those things should matter.

 

Not to her.

 

He might be show-off sexy with that razor stubble on his handsome face and an I'd-like-to-get-to-know-you-better smile, but she didn't need his business help or advice. She didn't want anything from him. Well, except the use of his kitchen.

 

Nate glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze straight on.

 

Busted for staring. Heat rose up her neck. Good thing she was flushed from the heat in the kitchen. Maybe her blush wouldn't give her away.

 

His lips curved into a wry grin.

 

Too late. Her face burned hotter. "Forget something?"

 

"If it's not too much trouble, save a piece of gingerbread for me."

 

By the time she finished baking, she would have platefuls of ends and cutouts. "No problem, as long as you don't mind the scraps."

 

"Don't mind at all. My hungry stomach won't know the difference."

 

She expected him to turn back. Walk away. Let her work.

 

Nate continued staring. He must want another look at the gingerbread houses. Except… she wet her lips… he was looking at her.

 

The hunger in his eyes made Rachel's blood simmer. His gaze ran the length of her slowly, appreciatively, like he wanted a taste of her.

 

Her heart thudded.

 

Something stirred inside Rachel. Excitement, yes. But also possibility.

 

He made her feel like an unexpected, but welcomed, guest at a cocktail party. That her flour-stained clothes were as appealing as a little black dress.

 

Did she dare let herself have some fun? Something missing from her life for a long time.

 

Self-preservation told her to look away. Run away would be better.

 

Safer.

 

She might not have dated many men, but she knew that look from the last cowboy who had broken her heart after Ty had broken his nose. Nate might be a great guy according to her brother, but she needed to keep her distance. She knew better than to think she could handle a man like Nate Vaughn.

 

Rachel cleared her dry throat. "Is there, um, anything else?"

 

"No."

 

He didn't look away. Or move.

 

She was transfixed herself.

 

Which made zero sense.

 

His dark chocolate eyes would not be good for her heart. His interest in her gingerbread would not be good for her peace of mind. His being a cowboy would make Ty go ballistic.

 

Rachel stared into a plastic container full of gumdrops. Green, red, yellow, purple and white. She imagined using the candies on the Brambly House B&B gingerbread replica she was designing, but Nate's sexy smile kept flashing in her mind, doing odd things to her tummy. Reminding her that people wanting to help was the reason her bakery belonged to someone else.

 

Footsteps sounded.

 

Rachel listened until the steps faded. She shot a glance at the doorway leading to the living area. Gone. She exhaled.

 

No one, especially a good-looking cowboy with an investment background, was going to play her for a fool.

 

Do you have a marketing plan? If you want any help or ideas…"

 

She grimaced. She'd lost years of hard work thanks to America's favorite television baker, Pamela Darby, and her crook of a husband, Grayson. They'd acted like surrogate parents. Rachel had eaten up the attention and praise, never once realizing they were using her for their own gain until it was too late. She would not be taken advantage of again. She would focus on what needed to be done and forget everything else.

 

Including yummy Nate Vaughn.

 

 

Excerpt #10-Frost

 

 

"Why are you here, Holly?"

 

 

 

The voice came from behind me and I struggled to tamp down the shiver of pleasure that surged through me. Amazing how one night of  broken  rules  could leave such an indelible mark on my soul-one which could not be erased. I turned and faced the man who'd had a recurring role in my dreams.

 

"You know why I'm here." I couldn't meet his gaze. Didn't want to risk being swept away in those icy blue eyes that swirled and darkened when he was either angry or lost in the throes of passion. I'd seen  both. If I had my way I'd see the latter again.  Soon.

 

"No, I don't." His voice held a note of hope when he continued. "So enlighten  me."

 

"On the job." Something kept me from coming out and admitting he was my target. What would I say? Don't  mind  me,  I'm just  here  to  capture you  and  take you back to the boss. Not exactly one of the steps of how to win and influence men. Keeping the mission secret was all well and good, until it came down to capturing the man. Sooner or later I'd have to come clean. I couldn't just take the surprise approach I had with Tiernan. Jack  was way too smart and would find a way out before I could slap the cuffs on him.

 

"I won't keep you then." Disappointment and bitterness lined Jack's  words and took me by surprise. He turned from me.

 

"What is going on with you?" Concern he'd changed and may no longer be the man I fell for seized me. Pain lacerated my heart. Was there nothing between us? Maybe there never was. Just fragmented memories floating around as though trapped in a snow globe.

 

"Nothing. Must be a real step down from  your usual detail. You get demoted?"

 

"You don't know what my detail is."

 

 

 

"You're   standing    here talking    to   me.   I didn't   fall               off              the                   sleigh     yesterday,

 

 

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his crisp grey slacks and started past me. "When I've made my decision regarding my future at the North Pole, I will let the Chief know."

 

I couldn't let him go. Allowing him to walk away would mean I failed. No matter what the history was between us, I couldn't let that  happen.  Without thinking, I grabbed his arm, leaned in close enough to smell the scent of cool pine­ laced breezes wafting off his skin, and whispered, " I don't want you to go."

 

And they were some of the truest words I'd spoken in regards to the man who 'd captured  my heart.

 

He turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against my cheek as he spoke. "Why?"

 

The slight contact wreaked havoc on my nerves and I began to tremble. He was so close. Everyone deserved a second chance, maybe this was my chance to let my guard down and seize a piece of happiness for myself. All I'd have to do is reach out and take him. But I couldn't. Doing so was against regulation. He was my assignment. Taking him into custody and returning him to the  North  Pole was  a direct order given by the Chief himself. Giving in to my own wishes and desires was not an option.

 

I couldn't shake the memories from our last night together and it made answering Jack impossible.

 

"I ...wrapping." My voice sounded far off and distant. Like I was having an out-of-body experience. Around Jack, I always wanted to be present in body, at the very least. I started to hyperventilate.

 

"So you haven't forgotten. " A small, swirling pattern of snowflakes took form in the depths of his eyes. "Walk with me."

 

Excerpt #11-Ghosts of Grace Cottage

 

 

 

“Are you sure?”

Elly grinned at her friend. “Sal, I think you’re doing this wrong. You’re a realtor, I’m looking for a house. Your job is to talk me into buying, not out of it.”

Sally, her lifelong buddy and trainee real estate agent, looked dubious. “It’s old.”

Elly let her gaze wander over the deep red bricks of the cottage almost obscured by the climbing white rose. She saw the faded paint on the window frames and doors, the cracked tiles on the roof. None of that mattered. Something about this place called to her, tugged at her. “Imagine it with snow on the roof.”

“I’m imagining the roof collapsing.”

“Just look at those flowers. Who ever heard of roses blooming so close to Christmas?”

“It’s a freaky property. The climbing white roses bloom all year round. The bushes in the front garden don’t bloom at all, ever.”

“Imagine lying in bed and letting the fragrance waft over you.”

“Imagine lying in bed and letting the freezing cold wind waft over you from the cracks in the wall caused by the climbing roses penetrating the mortar between the bricks.”

“You do realize, Sal, you have no romance in your life.”

“I have plenty of romance in my life. It’s six inches long and comes with batteries.” Sally turned to her. “Are you sure you want to rush into something now? So close to Christmas?”

“Yes. I spent the last twelve months travelling. It’s time to come home.”

“But…” Sally’s words trailed off.

Elly put an arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s the first Christmas without my parents. Life goes on.”

“You’re so brave.”

“No, I’m not, even after a year. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll see them again one day. You can’t avoid bringing up the subject of Christmas with me. It’s everywhere I look.” She gestured to the fairy lights in the trees and the snowman in the garden next door. “Just because I’m not up to all the festivities this year, doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”

“I don’t know why you don’t buy a lovely new place with the life insurance money.”

“My folks always wanted a country cottage. Maybe in some ways I’m fulfilling their dream.”

Sally yanked the collar of her coat higher as a chill breeze flew along the quiet country lane. “You know she died there,” she whispered. “The previous owner, I mean.”

“Miss Hardy was ninety-two years old. She had to die somewhere.”

“Doesn’t it freak you out?”

“Nope, from what I hear she had a long and happy life.”

“Really?” Sally shivered. “I don’t know where you get that idea. She was a recluse who wouldn’t let anyone inside the house to do repairs and renovations.  That’s why it’s so cheap. Did you hear the rumors? Some people say she used to talk to herself, and strange noises came from inside late at night.” Her voice dropped back to a whisper. “Maybe it’s haunted. I heard another rumor too.  They say a witch might have lived here a couple of hundred years ago.”

Elly laughed. “Sal, honey I think you have to go back to realtor school. Your selling method leaves a lot to be desired.” Her eyes turned once again to the faded beauty of the old home, and her voice was determined. “I want it.”

Excerpt #12-Gift from the Heart

There was a moment of silence and then, "I’ve missed that, Simone."

Her eyes slid to his, almost hesitantly, "What?"

His eyes were heavy on her face. "Your smile, the last few times I’ve seen you, it was in hiding."

She gulped deeply. It hit her that this was Lance. The same Lance she’d grown up with. The same Lance who had spent nights at her house, the same Lance she’d had her first crush on, the one that had also broken her heart. Somehow she managed to respond to him.

"I’ve had few reasons to smile." She freely admitted that. He knew those reasons.

"I’m glad I’ve given you one then."

Her breath escaped in a loud whoosh, leaving her agitated and breathless. She turned, looking around for something, anything else to focus on, rather than this man. Something on the far wall caught her attention.

A rough piece of wood hung there. The scrollwork was familiar, as was the quote sitting smack dab in the middle of the piece. Her heart began to thud in her chest. He still had it.

She stood on shaky legs, depositing her glass on the coffee table. It was time to go, past time.

 "Simone, what is it?" He jumped up, closing in on her as she tried to ease her way from the room.

"I need to leave. Now." There were no other words. She just had to go. She made it to the foyer, grabbing her purse from the hall boy, when he caught up with her.

"You can’t keep running. Eventually, we need to speak about our past."

Fury blossomed inside her. She spun to face him, surprised to find him so close. His unique scent teased her nose, reminding her. "Running? You think I’m running?"

Determination once again filled his eyes. "Yes, you’re running."

She cocked her head. "You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am running." She swiped her keys from her purse, slinging the object on her shoulder with force. "You’d know, after all, you being the freaking expert."

"Simone." He practically growled her name, and from the fire in his eyes, she could see that he was pissed.

"Goodbye, Lance." She didn’t wait for him to say anything else, but walked out the door.

 

Excerpt #13-Weighting for Christmas

Christmas Eve, Olivia

“Nathan!” A full bowl of popcorn fell out of my hand as I white-knuckled my iPhone. The steady salsa beat of Pitbull’s Manos Pa’rriba filled the kitchen.

His eyebrow arched. “Olivia, por favor apaguen la música.”

I bit my lip in an attempt to keep my jaw from falling to the floor. I pressed the stop button. “Es mejor que? Better?”

“Si, thank you.”
“You’re, you’re . . . naked.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he hung on to his scowl. After he adjusted his glasses, he covered himself with his hands. “I was asleep.”

“What—what—what are you doing here?” Looking like that. One of Dolly Parton’s signature songs ran through my head. Of course, in Dolly’s version, the guy was fully dressed, but I don’t think she’d mind looking at Dr. Nathan DuValle.

Yow-za! He looks better than I remember.

His sapphire eyes narrowed. “This is my aunt’s house, so I think I should ask you the same thing.”

I picked up the bowl and held it at eye-level, sort of hoping to block my view of his amazingly toned body and partially covered nether-regions. His jet black hair sat in beautiful disarray. I tried not to let his smooth-as-melted- butter British accent distract me, but add in ripped arms like

that, the entire package was more than tempting to gawk at. “I didn’t see your car.”

He shifted his weight. “It’s in the garage.”

“Right.” My shoulders relaxed as I rolled them, causing the bowl to drift slightly south. I tried to scan him again without looking obvious, but he caught me staring. I brought the bowl back up. “So, Marie is your aunt? She never told me that.”

“Oui, Marie est ma tante.” He smirked as he moved behind a high backed kitchen chair.

Disappointment settled in my gut at the blocked view. “First Spanish, then French, while naked?”

“They are romance languages,” he chuckled, but cleared his throat after he noticed I wasn’t amused with his dry British wit. “Sorry.”

“Good grief.” I peeked over the bowl and then turned my eyes to the ceiling. For the love of God, why was he here?

 

Excerpt #14-Christmas Lights

He was just about finished with the path to the chicken coop when a missile hit the back of his head. Rock stumbled and turned, opening up his face to another missile. He cleared the snow away from his eyes to find Azure with her arm pulled back, ready to pitch another snowball at him. His daughter was holding her belly and laughing merrily at him. He stared at Meghan and saw her rosy cheeks and bright eyes, and a happiness he had never observed in her before, right before another snowball hit him between the eyes.

He sent a light barrage of snowballs at Meggie and Azzie. After Rock allowed another snow ball to hit him he lunged at the two girls and carried them into the snow bank his shoveling had created.

They wrestled and squirmed under the weight of his body. His lips hovered near Azure’s for an endless moment while he was tempted to kiss the smiling sweetness.

 

Excerpt 15-The Strong Silent Type

For the past six months, Tina had no idea who was looking after her. Now she did, and a giddy surge of happiness made her body temperature inch up a degree. Hooking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, she thought of the rose in her mailbox a few days ago. She didn’t dare ask if he’d put the flower there. She was too afraid he’d say no.

“Thank you, Wade. For everything.” She stepped forward and grabbed his coat sleeve. Beneath her grip, his arm tensed. Something about his stiffness released a billow of tenderness inside her, eclipsing her hesitance. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a grateful kiss against his cheek. His whiskers prickled against her lips, markedly different from the soft baby’s skin she kissed a few moments ago. She liked the contrast.

Releasing him, she opened the door and watched him step onto the front porch. The freshening storm threw bits of sleet into her face, but she remained in the doorway to study the impressive breadth of his upper back.

Right before Wade stepped out of the light thrown off by the porch lamp, he turned. The wind whipped the hair out of his face, exposing the brutal scar slashing across his temple. Combined with the stark expression on his face, he looked incapable of affection. Tina knew better. This man had spent the past six months taking care of her house when she couldn’t, and he never sought the slightest acknowledgement in return.

Those selfless acts made her heart swell with warmth. “Goodnight, Wade.”

The dimple reappeared beside the corner of his mouth. “G’night, cupcake.”

Excerpt #16-The Soldier's Christmas

“Marissa, fetch the shotgun! Those damn deserters are stealing our eggs again.”

Hell and damnation! Would this madness never end?

Marissa quickly dusted her flour-caked hands on her apron and dashed toward the kitchen door. She snatched up the shotgun resting against the wall—she always had weapons on hand these days—and ran into the back yard. At least once a week she had to chase scavengers off the plantation. She was more than happy to help any soul in need if they saw fit to ask, but the plantation had already lost three laying hens and two roosters to deserters passing through. Times were hard and the farm couldn’t afford the loss.

Joining Genie in the yard, she swept a discerning gaze toward the chicken coop. “Where are they?”

Genie lifted a finger, pointing. “I saw one in the willow grove just a moment ago.”

“All right then.” Jaw set with grim determination, Marissa pulled the shotgun into the crook of her shoulder and strode forward, keeping the weapon angled toward the ground.

The old yellow lab, Jake, left his woven mat on the main porch and trotted to her side with his tail wagging. Marissa was glad for the dog’s company. While he would sooner love an intruder to death than harm a mouse, his size may deter any would be trouble.

A flash of gray movement drew Marissa’s attention. At the same moment Jake barked.

“You there,” she called. “Get off my property. I don’t want any trouble.”

The figure, broken by leaves and weeping willow branches, stalled for a moment before moving forward again. “Your property?” a deep voice rumbled from the grove.

The dog barked again, breaking away from Marissa, and loping toward the trees.

Heart thumping, she swung the shotgun up to the ready. With both eyes wide open, she stared expertly down the sites. “Stop now or I swear to you I will shoot.” Her weapon was loaded with powder and birdshot. It wouldn’t kill anyone, but it would make noise enough to wake the dead and sting like hell.

“Who the hell are you to threaten me in my own home?” The voice remained calm and totally unperturbed.

His home?

Confused, Marissa refused to relax her stance though she did move her finger away from the trigger.

More gray uniform became visible as the soldier strode through the long willow vines. He brushed a clump of leaves aside revealing a broad chest. Jake trotted up to him, tail wagging madly. “Hello, Jake.” The soldier reached down to scratch the dog’s head and then dropped to a knee, thoroughly ruffling the animal’s ears. A flash of tawny hair beneath a forage cap winked through the trees. “Good to see you, old boy. Been a long time.”

Marissa’s pulse quickened and a shiver traced her spine. Oh, dear heavens… it couldn’t be! Could it? There was something inexplicably familiar about the set of his shoulders and the way he moved. Her heart jumped and she began to tremble as excitement blossomed in her chest.

Dare she hope that her Christmas miracle had arrived?

 

  

 

Thanks for participating! Winners will be announced on December 6th! Please don't forget to leave an email address with your entry:) 

Best,

Jennifer Snow