On the 10th Day of Christmas…Muffins & Mistletoe

Today I invite you to join me for a sneak peak into my new "Starlight Hills" series, book 1 - Falling For You will be out in early 2012.

Stick around to the end and comment for a chance to win a free download of my holiday novella, A Knight in Her Arms.

      "This is wrong, and I will not be a part of your schemes."
       Elizabeth "Bitty" Crane kept her back to her husband, pretending she didn't hear him while she filled the display with her freshly baked muffins. She'd already planned her defense knowing his old-fashioned attitude would have him protesting her latest idea.
       George leaned over the counter of the Little Bitty Bake Shop and blocked her retreat to the kitchen.  "I know you heard me, Bitty. You've gone too far this time."
       "I haven't done anything. Sometimes fate just needs a helping hand. And, when it comes to the Starlight Hills Preservation Society, any fundraising is good fundraising. So pipe down and move out of the dark ages."
       George grumbled under his breath as she scooted around him with her empty tray.
       He trailed her into the kitchen, like a bloodhound latched on to a scent. “Auctioning men off to women is just wrong. If a man is interested in a woman he asks her out—it’s that simple."
       "It's all in good fun and will raise money we need to restore the Gallagher Movie Theater." She paused to touch his arm and went in for the kill. "Don't you believe in our cause, George?"
       His brow furrowed with her well-played, guilt-ridden line. It wasn't often in their thirty-three years of marriage she'd resorted to guilt, but this time it was necessary to get him on board. If the women in this town had to wait for the men to do all the asking, they were in big trouble. Their son, Jimmy, was no exception.
       George stared her down and tried to look stern, his caramel-brown eyes narrowing. "Did the rest of your committee agree to this?”
       "In fact, it was almost unanimous." Bitty nodded and began loading her gingerbread muffins onto the empty tray, leaving two to be hand-delivered to Corinne Mackenzie.
       He folded his arms across his chest and shook his full head of thick black hair. "It’s the almost that concerns me."

      Corinne Mackenzie rushed up the steps of Town Hall, anxious to get out of the cold. Once inside, she stomped the snow off her boots while she did a quick scan of the area for any sign of Jimmy Crane. Then she came to her senses. Of course, Jimmy wouldn’t be here. He'd been avoiding her. She knew it. The whole town probably knew it too.
       Determined not to let their break up ruin her holiday, she pushed him out of her thoughts and focused on the woman coming to greet her, bakery bag in one hand and a wide smile on her face. Between them, fresh pine roping hung from the arched entrance to the main hall, fragrant trees stood tall at each side and glistened with tinsel, white lights and red glass ornaments. Festive and magical at the same time. She pulled off her gloves with a relieved sigh, giving the scents of Christmas a chance to surround her.
       "Good morning, Corinne. Fresh from the oven. I know how you love them warm."
       "You do know my weakness, Mrs. Crane." Taking the offered bag, Corinne tried not to think what a wonderful mother-in-law Bitty Crane would have been. Then she thought about her waistline and decided she was better off without the permanent supply of the woman's irresistible carbs.
       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 blue eyes perpetually filled with mischief. Corinne had to give the woman credit. If it wasn't for Bitty, the annual holiday gala might never be the most talked about event of the season it had become over the last few years.
       Bitty took her by the elbow and led her over to the stage.  "There's been a slight change in set-up plans and so much to do before the gala tonight."
       "That's why I'm here," she said with a slight giggle as she ripped apart a muffin and then popped a bite-sized morsel of gingerbread heaven into her mouth. Decorating would also keep her mind off Jimmy and her biggest mistake since the spray-on tan in her senior year of high school had turned her skin fluorescent orange.
       "The rest of the ladies will be here any minute, but we need to move these tables off to the side to make room for the—oh good, Jimmy, you’re here!"
       "You said it was an emergency."
       The sound of his voice pinged along her spine, up to the base of her neck, and she shivered. Before her mouth went completely dry, she swallowed the remaining bits of muffin and hoped she didn't choke. Could there be a more embarrassing way to die than to choke to death while praying for the love of your life to save you with some good old-fashioned mouth-to-mouth?
       While she tried to catch her breath, he walked up beside her and Bitty. After a cursory nod in her direction, he faced his mother. "Okay, you've got me and my tools for the next four hours. Then I have to help Dalton at the Miller house. So, what's this idea of yours?"
       He wore jeans, a plaid flannel shirt in shades of green that opened to a white t-shirt underneath. The irresistible urge to touch his arm made her fingers twitch and her palms sweat. Knowing he'd pull away was the only thing that stopped her. She caught his sideways glance  and he quickly turned his attention back to his mother. Deep in conversation, he pushed a hand through his thick brown hair, which only doubled her desire to move closer and brush the stray lock off his brow.
       She was miserable and she only had herself to blame.
       Jimmy and Bitty talked and laughed, but Corinne didn’t hear a word. She nodded and smiled, but her eyes never left Jimmy's face. They could be discussing the gala or making fun of her new haircut—she'd never know. Whatever his words, his voice soothed the ache in her heart, if only for a few minutes.
       He was thinner than he'd been the last time she'd seen him, a day's growth of beard covered his jaw line and was it a hint of sadness she caught in his eyes? Had it been three weeks since they'd last spoken, three weeks since those lips had touched hers?
       The next thing she knew a box of ornaments and fresh greens had been thrust into her arms. She blinked to clear her daydreaming vision to focus on Bitty and her detailed directions.
       "Don't forget to hang the mistletoe in the doorway," she said with a wink.
       Sometime in the last few minutes, while Corinne had been busy zoning out to her own thoughts of Jimmy's lips on hers, the other committee members had arrived. They were busy moving tables and covering them with bright red tablecloths. Festive Christmas music filled the hall; the ladies began to sing as they worked. She just didn't have it in her to even hum along.
       In what seemed like only minutes, the hall was shaping up to be a winter wonderland. Candles, poinsettias and fresh pine centerpieces adorned every table, gold and silver decorations glittered from the ceilings. With her last decorations hung, she pulled the mistletoe from the box and found herself searching for Jimmy.
       The only man carrying two-by-fours, with a tool belt jingling at his waist, he wasn't hard to find.
       "Can we talk?"
       "I'm a little busy here, Corinne."
       She moved to the opposite side of the platform he was building, hoping to make eye contact. "I guess that’s why you haven't been returning my texts or my calls?"
       "Yeah, well, it's a busy time of year."
       He pulled a nail from his belt and hammered it into the wood between them with a thud. Tears welled up along her lashes, threatening to spill over and for the first time in weeks, she didn't try to stop them. Jimmy needed to see them; he needed to see that he wasn't the only one in pain right now.
       "Jimmy, I didn't think I was ready. I thought you'd understand that I was only asking for time-"
       Bang. He hammered in another nail and then his narrowed eyes met hers across the platform. It might have been the reflections from the Christmas lights blinking around them, but she thought she caught a tear on his lashes too.
       His jaw clenched and then he leaned toward her. "You needed time to decide if you wanted to be my wife? Seems to me that would be something you'd know in your heart. You shouldn't need time to think about it."
       He pulled out another nail and the hammer easily found its mark with another bang. Her whole body stiffened with the vibration and the room suddenly got quiet. All eyes and ears were on them.
       "Can we go outside for a few minutes and talk about this?" She wanted to beg, wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the flannel encasing the muscles of his arm. Most of all, she wanted to lean into his embrace and ask him to forgive her for being scared and not taking the leap of love he'd offered.
       He dropped his hammer on the stage and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Three weeks ago I would have gone anywhere you asked. Time changes things, doesn't it? Well, I don’t have time right now to guess at how you feel."
       With a nod of his head in her direction, he picked up his hammer and walked away. She swallowed the lump in her throat, wiped the tears from her cheek and yelled after him, "Stop being so stubborn, Jimmy. What's it going to take? A neon sign for you to understand that I'm telling you how I feel?"
       Corinne stood there and watched his retreating back until he disappeared behind the stage curtains. Bitty's arm snaked around her shoulder and she dangled the sprig of mistletoe in front of her face.
       "Sometimes you have to show a man you mean business."

      Jimmy Crane couldn't remember the last time he'd been this embarrassed.  He'd agreed to build the catwalk down the center of the room never guessing he'd end up walking it himself. Now, he stood behind the red curtain while his very own mother introduced him and planned to auction him off in her "Stud Muffins and Mistletoe" fundraiser!
       He should have known something was up when she insisted he wear a tux tonight.
       "Ladies, get your checkbooks out for our first bachelor of the night, my adorable son, James Thomas Crane!"
       For two horrified seconds, he stood rooted to the floor behind the curtain, his heart thumping to the beat of the music. Strobe lights criss-crossed the stage; whistles and hoots filled the room. He was going to have a serious talk with his mother when this was all over.
       He thought about sneaking out the back door, but he'd have to get by the oldest member of the Starlight Hills Preservation Society. With her hands on his back, eighty-five year old Mrs. Dempsey leaned into him and whispered, "Show 'em what you got, Jimmy, it's for a good cause," and then she shoved him out onto the stage. At least she didn't swat him on the ass.
       The women in the audience were on their feet, but he couldn't imagine any of them paying money for a date with him.
       "Turn around, Jimmy. Don't be shy," his mother called from the podium to his left, as if it were perfectly normal to pimp your own son. "And ladies, he's a handyman, he'll bring all his tools on the date."
       The double entendre met with hoots from the women and groans from the men. He had a really bad feeling about this.
       "A hundred dollars."
       Corinne.
       He couldn't see her, but he knew her voice. Someone else bid a hundred twenty-five and then Corinne was there—directly in front of him, raising her hand. "One hundred fifty."
       There she was, all dressed up in her red velvet dress with its plunging neckline, he found himself stepping closer to the edge of the stage. The single strand of pearls he'd given her last Christmas circled her neck and her long sandy hair was swept back off her face. Seeing her this morning had been torture. It had taken every ounce of strength he'd had to keep from pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless.
       The sight of her tears nearly undid him. He'd been kicking himself all day for walking away. Why did he do that? Pride or insanity? Those were the only two reasons he came up with, and he wasn't proud of either one. Now here she was, bidding on him—showing the whole town she was ready to be his wife.
       "Two hundred," shouted Melody Miller. 
       The two women stood arm to arm, jockeying for position.
       "Three hundred."
       What was she doing? Corinne didn't have that kind of money.
       Melody elbowed her out of the way, shaking her hips and thrusting out her more than ample chest. "Four hundred."
       Corinne teetered on her high heels and Melody inched closer to the stage. He'd swear she hip-bumped Corinne right into the lap of Lance Baldwin. And Lance, leech that he was, quickly wrapped his arms around her and whispered something in her ear.
       Jimmy's blood boiled in his chest, down to his fingertips. He tried to stare out across the stage and strobe lights to give Lance a warning gesture. Punching a man in the face at the holiday gala would definitely have the town talking all winter.
       "Five hundred for Jimmy, and Lance, let me go!"
       Beautiful and strong-willed, that was his Corinne Mackenzie. His. In that moment, he didn't need to think, didn't need time for his wounded heart to forgive her. He simply needed Corinne in his arms. Now.
       Without a second thought, he walked straight to the edge and jumped to the ground.
       As he hauled Corinne from Lance's arms he heard his mother knock her gavel to the podium to declare Corinne the winner of the first bachelor auction of the night.
       For one second he allowed himself the pleasure of looking deep into her green eyes, glistening in the bright lights and filled with tears of love. The bare skin on her arms brushed­ like silk against his fingertips. The scent of her perfume made him hungry to feel her body against his.
       He pulled her up close and sealed his lips against hers. All satin and warmth and a hint of gingerbread on her breath—Corinne Mackenzie was worth waiting for.
       The Starlight Hills Preservation Society might be five hundred dollars richer, but from where he stood, under the mistletoe with the woman he loved—Jimmy Crane was now the richest man in town.

*The End*

Want more holiday romance? A Knight in Her Arms is my sexy holiday time travel novella  and it's available now for only .99 from: Amazon and Barnes & Noble
 

Debora

Debora writes romance - all types of romance! Her tastes vary from the paranormal to romantic comedy and everything in between. Believing variety is the spice of life, her website changes frequently to appease her creative spirit! She freely admits to being a caffeine and chocolate addict and loves to talk about romance writing with anyone who'll listen. Her latest release, A Knight in Her Arms, was released August 3rd. Visit her website for me details!

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Tags: 12 Days of Christmas Stories on PC, Debora Dennis

On the 9th Day of Christmas…Fall for Love

Fall for Love

by
Silke Juppenlatz

      Renee tugged on the fir, guessing the height while she checked the branches. It was a pretty tree, and it would fit her tiny living room.
       “Don’t get that tree.”
       She turned to see who’d murmured the advice, but saw no one. “Excuse me?”
       “It’s lousy for holding needles.” The voice came from behind another tree. “Don’t buy it.”
       “I’m not taking advice from a Christmas tree.” Renee chuckled. “I think you might be telling me fibs, so I take you home with me and get you out of the cold.”
       An answering chuckle sounded through the branches, then a man stepped around the tall tree — and Renee’s mind went blank. Holy crap. Adonis was alive and kicking, and giving Christmas tree advice.
       Adonis winked at her, an amused smile on his lips. “Hey, if it gets me fed, I might just come home with you. I never pass up turkey, especially not if I don’t have to cook it.”
       Renee couldn’t get over the laughing deep blue eyes in a face that belonged on the cover of a magazine. He was about half a foot taller than her. Strong and well built, with long legs encased in denim and a torso covered by a sheepskin jacket, he looked as sturdy as an oak. Unruly dark hair surrounded his face. He reminded her of a Viking she’d once seen — only this guy would give her sigh-worthy painting a run for its money. Where did they make men like him?
       Wait a minute. Had he just invited himself to dinner?
       Ignoring his comment, she smiled back. “So why shouldn’t I get the fir? It’s pretty.”
       “Your fir is a spruce. A Norway Spruce, to be exact. It’ll drop all its needles on the floor if you so much as sneeze.” He took the tree from her, lifted it, and dropped it on its stump. A rain of needles dropped out of it. “See?”
       “Oh.” No, that wouldn’t do. She lifted the label on the tree. “But it says here it’s a fir.”
       “Mislabeled.” A boyish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.
       “All right, not that one then.” She looked around the lot. “What do you suggest?”
       He took her hand and led her to a bluish tinged tree. “This one wants to come home with you.”
       Renee was still recovering from having a large male hand engulf hers and stared at the tree without really seeing it.
       “Your hands are icy, Renee. Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” He took her other hand and held them in his.
       She’d forgotten them, but the warmth from his hands more than made up for it. Wait. “How do you know my name?”
       He flashed another of those cheeky grins at her. “I know everything.”
       “Really.” Despite loving the feel of his hands on hers, she tugged them away and shoved them into her pockets. Everything inside her cried out to snatch his hands back, and not just for the warmth. Damn. What was going on with her? “You’re Santa and you know I’ve been naughty?”
       A sad look entered his eyes as he looked at her. “You haven’t been naughty.”
       No, she hadn’t, and judging by that look — he knew. “Who the hell are you?”
       “Not Santa.”
       No shit. He certainly didn’t look like Santa, or she’d be pushing kids aside for a chance to sit on his knee. And other places. Renee blushed. God, what was she thinking? “How do you know my name?”
       He shrugged. “I just know.”
       Was he some kind of freak stalker? Like she didn’t have enough of those already, what with Brian watching every move she made. Renee pushed the thought of Brian’s obsessive behavior aside. She wouldn’t think about him. Buying her first tree was supposed to have been fun, now it had turned into something sinister instead. She touched the branches of the tree he’d led her to, just to stop herself from reaching for him. The urge was there, and she couldn’t explain it.
       “Renee, I won’t let him hurt you,” the stalker said, taking her hand again. “I promise.”
       Was he reading her mind? Renee yanked her hand back. “All right, mister. Who are you, how do you know my name, and why do you know about Brian?”
       “I’m Maceiriel.”
       She’d never heard such a ridiculous name and didn’t recognize it either. “Go away, Mr. Maceiriel. You’re creepy.”
       He took a step back, clearly offended. “It seems I don’t know everything, after all.”
       “Must come as a shock.”
       Those beautiful eyes cooled and he turned to walk away. “I didn’t know you were so mean.”

      Renee stared after him, feeling as if she’d just kicked a puppy. He had no right to be offended. What woman would trust a stranger? Especially one who seemed to know far too much about her? She dragged the heavy pot-grown Blue Spruce to the checkout and paid for it, cursing the stalker for landing her with one of the most expensive trees on the lot.
       The lot owner helped her strap the spruce to her car and told her how to look after it. Why on earth had she taken some stranger’s advice on a tree? All she’d wanted was a pretty, not too tall, not too short, tree. Now she’d ended up with something a lot more permanent than she’d wanted.
       Renee parked outside her house and contemplated getting the tree inside. Somehow. It was too heavy for her to lift, and she didn’t want to drag it off. It would either scratch the car, or crash to the ground and break, and she’d end up doing this all over again. She should have gone with the one she’d initially picked. There’d be none of this hassle now.
       “Need a hand?”
       Renee spun around to find her stalker leaning against the hood of her car. “How…what…?”
       The cheeky grin was back. “Magic.”
       Seriously? She stared at him, half believing it. “All right, how did you really get here? And more to it, how do you know where I live?”
       His smile became even more endearing. “I told you. Magic.”
       She narrowed her eyes at him.
       “So do you want help? I feel responsible, since I told you to buy this tree.” He came around the car. “It seems fair that I help you get it inside.”
       Inside? Into her house? Was he serious? “What makes you think I’ll let you in? I don’t know you from Adam.”
       His expression became thoughtful. “I know Adam. Nice man, but he can hold a grudge with the best of them. Still hasn’t forgiven Eve for that apple thing.”
       Cute, real cute. “Are we talking about the original, as in, first man in the Bible, Adam?”
       “That’s him. You know him too?” A curious look followed.
       Jesus, the guy had a screw loose. “Of course I don’t know him! How could I? He’s fictional, a metaphor of some kind.”
       “Oh.”
       Something was off about him, but Renee couldn’t put her finger on it. Some kind of escaped lunatic? Was he dangerous? “What did you say your name was?”
       “Maceiriel. You can call me Mac.”
       “All right, Mac. Who are you? I mean, really?” She untied the rope holding the tree to her roof, not paying attention to the back. “You know entirely too much about me, and I’m pretty sure we’ve never met before.”
       “Watch out!” Mac rushed toward her.
       “Wha–” The tree slipped off the roof, taking her down with it. Mac knocked her sideways into the grass, a split second before the tree could bury her beneath branches and the sturdy pot.
       She pushed at the weight on top of her, but it wouldn’t budge. Not the tree. Mac. Finding Mac on top of her, his face a mask of confusion, was somewhat disconcerting. For a brief moment all she could do was lie there, stare into his blue eyes, and feel every inch of his hard body against hers. The shocking truth was…she didn’t mind.
       He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re very pretty, very soft. I didn’t know it felt like this.”
       Renee swallowed hard. Pretty? Soft? Okay…it was a welcome compliment, considering she wore more clothes than an arctic explorer, but still…she didn’t know this guy. “Would you get off me, please?”
       “Of course.” There was a certain reluctance in his voice, and he didn’t move. His gaze drifted across her face and became pensive. “So soft.”
       “Uh, Mac? Let me up?” She pushed against his shoulders. “Kinda uncomfortable here. Not to mention wet.”
       Mac blinked. Slowly, as if her words had no meaning for him. God, the man truly had the most kissable lips she’d ever seen. She wanted a taste so bad, it tied her in knots. Without thinking, she lifted her head and kissed him.
       He sucked in a sharp breath and jerked at the same time. His eyes were wide and shocked, staring at her as if he couldn’t comprehend what she’d just done.
       That went well. Renee blushed to the roots of her hair. She’d kissed him. Good grief, what had she been thinking? “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. If you let me–”
       He placed a finger on her lips to cut her off. “Would you do it again? It was…it…was…” He sighed. “Please? One more time?”
       Hell yeah. Never mind they were lying in the grass in front of her house, giving her neighbors reason to gossip for the next twenty years. She could just picture them whispering about Renee Collins doing the wild thing with a man on her front lawn. Oh yeah, plenty of ammunition — and she didn’t care. Not while the sexiest man she’d ever met asked her to please kiss him. She arched up and kissed him. His sharp intake of breath and the sudden rigidity of his body told her he liked it. His moan of pleasure sent her pulse racing. Renee waited for him to take charge, but he didn’t. He responded, his lips nibbling more than they were kissing, but he neither deepened the kiss, nor did he take over.
       Renee pulled back, amazed by the pain-pleasure grimace on his face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing had become erratic. For all his beauty, he looked as if he’d just experienced his first kiss. Which, of course, was nonsense. No man who looked like him would go through life without ever having been kissed.
       “It’s…I never knew…I understand now,” he whispered.
       Mac opened his eyes and smiled so beatifically, her heart jumped into her throat and lodged there. Wow. No one had ever looked at her like this. As if she were heaven on earth.
       “Mac? Can we get up now? My neighbors will think–”
       “Yes.” He bent down and stole a quick kiss before rolling off her. “Yes.”
       She let him help her up, still wondering why he acted as if he’d never been kissed before. They got the tree inside — well, Mac did, refusing to let her help — and put it up in the living room. Renee stood back and admired the beautiful spruce. It had been a good choice, despite the cost and hassle.
       “It’s lovely. Thank you for telling me to pick this one.”
       “You’re welcome.” Mac eyed the box of decorations. “Can I help? I’ve never decorated a tree before.”
       Right now, she’d let him do most anything. He intrigued her. She still had no idea where he’d come from and how he knew about her, but it didn’t matter. For some reason she trusted him not to hurt her, and he seemed to get more enjoyment out of being allowed to pin baubles on a tree, than a three year old kid.
       A loud knock on her door made both of them turn. Mac’s expression darkened. “Don’t open the door.”
       “Hey. This is my house.” Renee headed out of the room to see who had knocked. The moment she saw Brian on her doorstep, his dark hair immaculate as usual, she wished she’d heeded Mac’s request. All of a sudden Brian’s suited and booted attire seemed pompous, and she much preferred jeans and a sheepskin jacket. “What do you want?” Brian tried to get inside, but she blocked the doorway. “I asked what you want. I didn’t ask you inside.”
       “Ah come on, Ren. I just want to talk.” Once more he tried to get around her.
       Talk? Paw her, insult her, or threaten her, more like. “We have nothing to talk about. Go away. It’s over.”
       Anger sparked in his eyes and he glared at her. “It is not over. You are mine. Now stop with this nonsense and let me in.”
       “No.” Renee tried to shut the door, but his foot prevented it. “Move your foot.”
       “You’re acting like a spoiled brat. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you only have yourself to blame.” Brian shoved at the door.
       “You had sex with other women! How the hell is that my fault?” Renee struggled to shut the door, or at least hold it so Brian couldn’t come in.
       “You weren’t exactly forthcoming in the bed department. I had to go somewhere else for it.”
       “It’s over, Brian! Quit bothering me.”
       “I’m not–” His gaze fixed on something behind her. “Who is he?”
       Renee turned and relaxed her grip on the door, giving Brian the opportunity to storm inside. The two men stared at each other, only Mac didn’t look in the least concerned, while Brian seethed with rage.
       “What are you doing here, with my woman!” Brian snarled at him.
       “She doesn’t belong to you. She belongs to herself.” Mac looked straight into Brian’s eyes. “You want to leave her alone. You want to find someone to love, someone who will love you back. Renee is not that woman.”
       Brian blinked and his jaw slackened.
       “You can still redeem yourself. If you keep going down the path you chose up to now, you will never gain forgiveness for your sins.” Mac placed his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Do you understand?”
       “Yes.” Brian nodded. He turned and shot a sheepish smile at Renee. “Sorry, Renee. Take care of yourself and be happy.”
       Be happy? Usually it was Go to hell, not Be happy. Renee could only watch, her mouth open, as he walked out of the door without a backward glance. When he’d disappeared around the corner, she turned back to fix Mac with a confused look. “What just happened here?”
       He shrugged. “You saw what happened.”
       “I saw, but I don’t believe it.” She glanced outside to where Brian had disappeared. “What was that? Some kind of hypnosis? You do Jedi mind tricks?”
       He smiled innocently. “I just made some suggestions. It is up to him to heed them.”
       “Well, damn, Mac. Can you suggest to my boss that he should pay me more money?” Renee chuckled.
       “No.” Mac shifted uncomfortably. “Please don’t say damn.”
       “Oh. Sorry.” Apparently she’d offended him. “Shall we go and finish the tree?”
       “Sure.”

      “I like this. It’s fun.” Mac tossed tinsel on the tree. “Shame it’s nearly finished. I enjoy helping.”
       “Next you’ll tell me you want to help me bake cookies.” Renee clipped a silver icicle on a branch and stood back. “Wow. It looks amazing!”
       “You’re baking cookies?” Excitement lit his eyes.
       “Not tonight. I’m baking them tomorrow.” She grinned. “Let me guess. You’re a sucker for cookies.”
       “Never had one.”
       Never had a cookie? Renee gaped at him. “Seriously? Do you want one?”
       Something flashed in his eyes, and for a moment she thought it was panic. It made no sense that innocent chat about cookies would provoke such a reaction, so she dismissed it.
       “I shouldn’t.”
       That did it. The hope in his eyes, coupled with an expression of curiosity, was hard to resist. She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the kitchen. “Sit. We’re fixing this never-had-cookies thing. Right now.”
       Pulling out the container with the remnants of the Christmas cookies she’d baked last week, she watched him. He looked as excited as a kid. Where had he been, to never have had a simple cookie? He looked about thirty, and she couldn’t imagine he wasn’t capable of walking into a bakery and picking some up for himself. So why had he never tried them? Clearly he wanted to.
       “Here. Those are almond cookies. They are better fresh, but it’s nothing to sniff at a week later, either.” She held the tin out to him.
       Mac pulled the cookie out and turned it in his fingers. “You made this?”
       “Yes.”
       He bit the corner off and chewed slowly, savoring every crumb. His gaze lifted to hers, and he smiled. “Wonderful.”
       Renee laughed. “All right. You can come back tomorrow to bake cookies.”
       “I can?”
       “Yes.”
       “I’ll be here.” He rose to his feet. “I should leave now. Thank you for letting me help. It was fun.”
       Renee watched him walk out, still puzzled why he seemed so odd. Good God…she’d kissed him. A complete stranger — and she wanted more.

      A loud thump at the door made her sit bolt upright in her bed.
       Not Brian again, please.
       It remained quiet for a while, so she relaxed again. The cold draft from the window made her shiver and she got up to close it, casting a cursory glance outside to make sure nothing was going on.
       Spotting a dark shape on her doorstep made her blood freeze in her veins. The way the figure was crumpled there in the shadows made it difficult to see if it was man or beast, but she was certain whatever it was…needed help. Renee dragged her bathrobe on and, unable to find her slippers, rammed her feet into a pair of hiking boots. She tied the laces with shaking fingers, then headed down the stairs.
       She turned the porch light on before cracking open the door, and a cry escaped her lips when she recognized Mac, a puddle of blood beneath him. “Mac! Oh my God, Mac, you’re bleeding. What happened?”
       He lifted his head and smiled. “I fell.”
       She tried to see where the blood was coming from. It looked like it was pouring from his back, but she wasn’t sure. There was blood everywhere. “Can you get up? No, wait, I’ll call an ambulance.”
       “No. Don’t. It’ll be all right.” He struggled to his feet.
       “You need a doctor!” Renee wedged her shoulder under his arm and guided him inside to a chair. “Sit. I’ll get help.”
       “No, Renee. It will heal. It’s not so bad.”
       She helped him get the soaked jacket off, stifling a cry of shock when she saw his back. There were two large holes either side of his spine. “Not so bad? Are you nuts? If Brian did this, I’ll gut him.”
       “Brian didn’t harm me. My brothers removed my wings.”
       His wings? “What?” Renee knelt down next to him. “Mac, you’re confused. Try to remember what happened.”
       “I told you. I fell.”
       Those injuries weren’t from a fall, she was certain. It looked like someone had tried to gouge out his shoulder blades. “Who attacked you?”
       “No one. It had to be done. It is always done.” He lifted his hand and stroked her face. “Don’t worry. They’ll grow back. They always do.”
       He was delirious. And he needed a doctor. “I’m calling an ambulance. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
       Mac caught her hand. “I fell. I did it so I could be with you. My brothers told me not to, but I wanted you more than heaven.”
       Renee stared at him. Wings. Heaven. He’d never had a cookie. He’d never been kissed. He’d sent Brian away with just a few suggestions. Her jaw slackened. “You can’t be…You’re not…?”
       Mac cocked his head to one side. “Can’t be what? In love with you? I am. It feels wonderful.”
       Renee stared at him. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be an angel, and yet everything he’d done and said pointed at it. “You’re an angel?”
       “Yes.”
       “That’s how you knew…stuff?”
       “Yes.”
       “And you’re in love with me?”
       “Yes.” Worry etched deep lines into his face. “I’ve said too much, haven’t I?”
       Or not enough. “I didn’t see wings.”
       “I hid them. They would have drawn too much attention.” His gaze lifted to hers. “They won’t be white anymore, when they grow back.”
       She’d kissed an angel. Had she caused this? “You fell because of me?”
       Mac drew her closer. “Not because of you. Never that. I fell for you. It was my decision to leave, and I did.”
       I wanted you more than heaven.
       Hadn’t she wanted someone like him? She’d prayed to meet a man who would treat her with kindness, who’d make her laugh, and who’d love her above all else. Renee let him pull her on his lap and snuggled close. “You won’t regret it.”

Silke grew up in Germany and is used to things going bump in the night — and it wasn't always the acrophobic cat, or someone hitting their head on a low beam on the ceiling. She writes paranormal romance, usually at night, and blames Anne Stuart to this day for all her ambitions and strange stories, after reading one of her books.
These days the only thing going bump at "oh-dark-thirty" is her — usually when she smacks into the sofa while creeping to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
When she is not writing, you can usually find her somewhere in the Surrey countryside, come rain or shine, on the back of her dapple gray Paso Fino, Oscuro.

Silke likes to hear from her readers.
Feel free to contact her via her blog at http://www.evilauthor.com, follow her on Twitter, look her up on Goodreads or become a friend on Facebook and G+.

Her books Howl and Smitten are available at all major ebook retailers.

Silke

Silke writes paranormal romance, and knows a thing or two about things going bump in the night. Although it is usually her, creeping to the kitchen at O' Dawn Thirty to score another cup of coffee. She grew up in Germany, but her home of choice is in the UK, where she lives with her partner on the outskirts of London. Her first book Smitten is now available from Decadent Publishing.

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On The 8th Day of Christmas…Letters From Home

Letters from Home
By
Bethanne Strasser

 To me, Christmas is about a promise. The promise of new love. The promise of new life. The promise of eternal happiness.

This story is for anyone in need of a good, old-fashioned promise. May this Christmas season be filled with Love.

Dear Isabel,
Two months, three days and six hours until you come home. (No, I’m not counting)
Yesterday, I walked past the school and it reminded me of when I first saw you. You might not remember me because you were scolding some bully for picking on a little kid. I always wondered what set you off. You were bigger than life, long hair flying, mouth running—in Spanish! I had no idea what you were saying, but it didn’t even matter. I think that’s when I first fell in love with you…

       Isabel Rodriguez dropped the well-worn letter into her lap and stared through the tinted window of the crowded bus.
       He loved her? The idea of someone loving her made her stomach twist. She rubbed a hand over her heart. Her secret admirer wanted to meet. On Christmas morning, no less, but after twenty-four letters—two for every month of her deployment—she wanted the discovery. “Although, if he knew me at all,” she muttered under her breath, “he’d know I was going to church with my family.”
       The passenger next to Isabel—in her Christmas vest, bright green and red with Rudolf knitted on one side and Santa on the other, shifted, looking at her with a questioning frown.
       Isabel cleared her throat and smiled, “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”
       …just thinking that when she found out who’d made her fall in love with him without even telling her his name, she was going to kick his butt.
       The bus pulled into her home town of Red Bluff and stopped on the corner of Elm Street and Main.
       Cold air washed over her as she stepped down into Northern California’s December mist. The driver pulled her duffle from the cargo bay, and she thanked him.
       “No. Thank you, miss.”
       She smiled and shook the hand he offered. “Merry Christmas.”
       “Welcome home,” he added then waved before driving off.
       “Eesabel!” An oh-so-familiar voice echoed from the church parking lot, strong and clear—or just plain loud. Heels clattered over the cold cement and jangling sounds of bracelets filled the air like bells in a Christmas song.
       At first braced for impact, Isabel relaxed in her sister’s arms, the worry of tomorrow falling away.
       “Maria, girl,” she scolded. “You need a jacket.”
       “Never mind that. How was your flight home? Did you have to stay long on base before they set you free?” Maria looked her over—head to toe. “You lost weight again. Oh, but it’s so good to see you.”
       Isabel cringed inside. It seemed with every deployment she lost a few too many pounds. “I’m just glad to be home. Where is everyone? No balloons? No band? Not even a roll of ticker tape for my return?”
       “Very funny. We know you too well. You would be tempted to use your M-16. Come on. Mom says to stop at the church and light a candle. Then we’ll go home.” Maria hooked her arm through Isabel’s with a pregnant pause before she continued, “Have you gotten any more letters?”
       “He wants to meet.” Isabel still didn’t know what to think of it. A secret admirer? It was weird… yet romantic—for a deprived soul like herself. “Christmas morning.”
       The answering sigh was expected and familiar. “Have you figured out who he is?”
       She threw her bag in the back of the car with a shrug and climbed in. “No. I’ve thought about it, but in the end, something stops me from really trying. Is it wrong to just enjoy the conversation and the attention?” It had been a long time since anyone had pursued her. “He’s kind, smart, funny. He likes kids and wants a large family. Of course, I’ll have to convince him otherwise about that.”
       “Ha ha. You love us.” Maria tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Just one guess, though. You have to have at least one guess.”
       “You want to gossip,” Isabel accused with a laugh. “I don’t know. If I knew, I might not be so taken.”
       “So you are attracted. I do hope he’s young and good-looking” She wagged a finger in her direction. “He could be fat.”
       Maria’s reality check made Isabel smile.  “Love handles won’t matter as long as he has a brain and a heart.”
       The neighborhood passing by—the Christmas lights especially—drove home the absoluteness of her mission completed. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
       Straining her neck to see down River Road as they crossed it, she wondered if Zack was back yet. She missed having him to talk to like they’d been able to do while she trained at Fort Benning. 
       “Well, you won’t go alone.”
       But, Isabel had every plan to go alone. Good Lord, she didn’t need an audience to watch her make a fool of herself.

      “Can I get you something to drink, Isa? Gin and tonic? Or perhaps a beer?”
       “Isabel,” she corrected her new, old friend with a smile. “No, thank you. I might fall over. How about a glass of punch?” She put a hand on Phillip’s arm. A gentle squeeze had his eyes lighting up like her mother’s Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. He was a nice guy. Nice. And she wondered if he was the one. Her heart hadn’t fluttered when he approached her earlier, and after all the letters, she was certain there would be something—a spark of recognition.
       Isabel side-stepped into the alcove, out of the way of all the traffic—family, friends, and strangers. Exhaustion blurred the edges of the celebration as the last four days of processing and travel caught up with her. She needed just five minutes against this wall to get her second wind, because if there was one thing the Rodriguez family knew how to do well, it was celebrate. Holidays, holy days, first communions, weddings, even funerals.
       Food would pour out of the kitchen as if it was the last day on earth. Drink would flow and music would resound through the rafters. She loved it. And hated it. The family joke was that she’d joined the Army to be alone. There could be a grain of truth in that.
       A hand settled on her shoulder and she jerked away.
       Zack Benson raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa. Slow down killer.”
       Isabel scowled. “Oh, it’s you.”
       A long time ago, they’d been like siblings. Now, not so much. Now, she had an urge to fix her hair and stand up straighter. Those she could ignore, but the racing of her heart gave her away as it had since that summer after graduation.
       He was her friend nothing more, like a brother.
       “If Phillip’s bothering you, I could take care of him.”
       “You better not,” she demanded, horrified at the thought of him running off a potential love match and just as horrified that he noticed her awkwardness. “You’ve done enough for me in the past, thank you very much, Zack. I won’t have you messing with this.”
       “A love match, eh?” Zack held up a plate of food.
       “I didn’t say that.” Her frown caused a headache right between her eyes. She grabbed a piece of broccoli and dipped it.
       Zack brushed a finger across the paper sticking out of her shirt pocket and left a trail of warmth across her collarbone.
       Maybe the doctor was right about needing more rest. She blinked away a touch of lightheadedness. Yes, that was it—fatigue.
       She’d carried the letter for months. As proof that someone on God’s green earth wanted her. Maybe Phillip? “He works with the fire department—an investigator, and he’s very nice. He likes children.” As a matter of fact, he has two of his own. That hadn’t been in the letters.
       She wanted children, though.
       “You look like hell, Isabel. You need food and sleep in that order, not some idiot who writes sissy love notes and offers you beer when it’s obvious you’re about to fall over already.”
       Tears tickled the back of her eyes. She was tired. And irritated by the whole mystery. Chinese torture, that’s what it made her think of and she wanted to scream. “Don’t call him an idiot.”
       Zack was always being over-protective.
       “Mija, amor.” Her mother approached and interrupted, putting an arm around her and giving Zack a hard look. “Go find something to do besides tease my daughter.”
       Zack winced. “Los sientos, Margaret.” He waited a heartbeat. “And Isabel.”
       Phillip strode through the crowded kitchen toward her and a sound must have escaped, because her mother tsked. “Don’t get caught up in something that isn’t real, Isabel. You don’t even know if he’s the one.”
       “But, he could be the one, Mamá.” Her voice faltered and the room spun.
       Phillip was standing over her with a punch in one hand. The silly grin on his face turned to worry. “Isabel?”
       Isabel opened her mouth to respond. Nothing came out. Lightheaded, she frowned. A chair. She needed a chair.
       Her mom’s lovely face came into sudden, sharp focus. Her lips were moving, but it was as if someone had muted a television. Beautifully tapered fingers snapped at someone behind her.
       “Miguel!” Zack called to her dad. But, his strong, commanding voice faded.
       “I’m so sorry,” Isabel whispered as someone wrapped arms around her, and she slipped into the sweet, blessed oblivion of darkness.

       The letter, which had been in her pocket last night, was gone. She threw back the covers of her bed, frantically searching, and dumped the contents of her dresser drawers. Gone? After all this time? She couldn’t believe it.
       She wanted to cry.
       Maybe it was a sign. She’d held onto it for so long. Maybe God was telling her to put aside false hopes. She sighed. That’s what her mother had said, anyway.
       After rushing to get out the door, Isabel drove to Ayer Park with a pounding heart and sweaty hands. She hadn't been this nervous since…well, ever. There wasn't even a car in the parking lot. Isabel shut off her car and got out. A breeze cut through the trees, and she tightened her coat, tying it off in front. She slipped her hands into leather gloves and stuffed them in her pockets.
       After years of playing in the park as a kid, the stone path was familiar under her feet.
       God had allowed her a good night’s sleep followed by the most gorgeous sunrise she’d seen since leaving Afghanistan. There was eternal promise in the blazing colors and it lifted her hesitant mood as she took the last turn in the path and followed it toward the row of trees along the river bank. A figure stepped into view.
       Someone was there.
       Slowing, she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a jean jacket—she knew that jean jacket. And a jaw line, smooth and square. She would recognize it anywhere. Her heart fell.
       Oh no. What had he done? A fire started under her feet and she steamed closer. That son-of-a-gun. She did not need his protection any more.
       “Zachariah Edward Benson!”
       He turned, watching her approach with hooded eyes.
       “You sent him away, didn’t you?” She stopped short in front of him and pummeled him with her fists.
       “Isabel,” he growled, trapped her in a grip and gave her a little shake.
       Her teeth chattered closed. And she stopped. “Who was it?”
       “Back to your old fighting self, I see.”
       She stomped her foot and looked him in the eye.
       All argument fled at nervousness shimmering in his blue eyes. Not just nerves. Longing. “But…”
       “I have something for you.” He fumbled into the front of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper.
       “My letter!” Isabel grabbed it from him and smoothed out the roughened edges. “How did you? I mean, when…”
       He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged a shoulder. “I took it last night after carrying you up to your room.”
       “You? Oh,” she breathed. “I’d thought…”
       “Um, do you think you might finish a sentence?”
       She shook her head slowly and really looked at him again. The spark of humor in his eyes. The slightly crooked nose, broken during combatives during training together a few years ago. Maybe it was okay that he’d scared the letter writer away. She already loved him. Letters from a stranger could not mean as much as what she was feeling right this minute.
       Isabel grabbed the letter by each side and started to rip.
       “What are you doing? Stop,” Zack exclaimed and stole the paper back from her grip.
       “Don’t you see?” she questioned, stepping closer to him and reaching for his hand. “It doesn’t matter anymore who was here.”
       His brow rose and, with a chuckle, he handed the letter back. “Read it.”
       A touch of sadness stole over her as she let go of love that could never match what she'd had right here all along.

I can’t wait to see you on Christmas morning.
Stay safe. I’m praying for you.

      What? Her gaze flew to Zack then back to the letter. Her heart pounded ferociously against her sternum, and a laugh bubbled out.
       A line had been added at the bottom of her letter.

P.S. It’s me.

Bethanne Strasser

Mother of FIVE smarty-pants and married to her Love for twelve years, Bethanne spends her time writing stories that always--without a doubt--end happy.

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On The 7th Day of Christmas…Last Christmas

 
Last Christmas
by
Lori Sizemore

      Daphne Howard drove back into her hometown and nearly turned around and left again. She actually stopped at the post office, but Mrs. Lawrence spotted her and waved hello. Then it was all over—her family would know she’d actually made it before she got back to the edge of town limits.
       Why couldn’t this be the year that the big blizzard hit? Why couldn’t there be a little snow on the road? Anything so she could call her mother and say, “Sorry, can’t make it!”
       When Daphne pulled into the long driveway, she counted nearly a dozen cars. With three brothers and even more aunts and uncles, that wasn’t surprising. Unpleasant, but not a surprise.  She’d just have to deal. It was only tonight and tomorrow, Christmas Day. Then she was out of here.
       Daphne let her used sunshine yellow convertible roll to a stop behind her brother’s minivan and her aunt Tillie’s SUV. She could do this. In less than five minutes, she’d carted in the box of presents and hugged every warm body within the two-story farmhouse. All except her parents.
       Mama was first. She elbowed her way through three boys a foot-and-a-half taller than her, their picture perfect wives, and Daphne’s seven nieces and two nephews. Big families—that was the Howard way.
       Mama grabbed Daphne tight and whispered, “I’ve missed you so much, baby girl.”
       Daphne bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep the tears from spouting. If she started now, she’d be a goner by the time she saw her dad.
       The front door opened and closed behind her as she inhaled the vanilla scent that would always be her mama. Cold air swooshed across them.  A smiled etched its way across her face in anticipation, but a bit of scolding, too.
       Daphne’s dad had just come home after a mild heart attack. He should be resting, not out blowing leaves or whatever he’d been doing.
       But, when Daphne turned, it wasn’t her dad standing there with big, brown eyes, staring her down. Josh. Daphne glanced at her mother, who gave a guilty little half-smile and avoided her gaze.
       She’d left this house, in her wedding dress, one year ago exactly tomorrow… and her mother had invited the man she’d left waiting at the altar for Christmas Eve dinner?
       Everyone stopped to stare at her. At the both of them, really. Even the kids seemed to hush their chatter when they saw Josh appraising Daphne from across the room.
       Daphne did the only thing a mature, rational woman could do—she walked out, just like she did a year ago.
       She found her dad upstairs in her parents’ room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Her dad struggled to sit up, his hair tousled from a nap.
       “She is a crazy lady,” Daphne mumbled.
       “Your mom? Tell me about it.”
       “What? Why?” Daphne shook her head and crossed to her dad. She’d been standing at the door, guarding it, while her poor dad tried to stand. She was some daughter. “Daddy, let me help you.”
       He waved her away. “I hate being sick. Your mother treats me like a child. ‘Don’t eat that, get some exercise, lie down, take your medicine.’ It’s enough to make you… Daph?”
       Daphne settled down on the bed beside him. “Yeah?”
       “Is that why you left?”
       “What?” She couldn’t stop wondering what Josh could be doing, just downstairs, right now.
       “That’s exactly what your mother does to you. Not the being sick part, but hell. She picked your wedding day. And your dress. And your major in college. Is that the reason?”
       “Maybe a little. But Mama only does it because she’s afraid of losing you.” Daphne eyed her dad suspiciously. “Did you set me up?”
       “Are you kidding? She’s driving me nuts. I’m not going to defend that. So what’s wrong?”
       “She invited Josh. I can’t believe she invited Josh. For Christmas. At the house we were supposed to get married in. At Christmas.”
       “She’s still close to him, baby.”
       “You’re defending her.”
       “Meh. I’ll pay you fifty bucks if you go get me a bacon cheeseburger and sneak it in.”
       “Not a chance.”
       “You’re a good girl, Daphne Anne.”

       Daphne marched back downstairs with determination. She wouldn’t let a little bit of awkwardness turn her into a child hiding from the mess she’d made. She’d just walk up to Josh and… um… apologize and then… Well, she’d figure it out.
       She approached Josh, who held her youngest niece on his hip. Daphne opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
       Josh raised his eyebrows expectantly and then, apparently, decided to take pity on her. “You look beautiful, Daph’. Merry Christmas.”
       Just then, Mama came over and took the little girl from his arms. “I’m sure you two would like some privacy. You probably have a lot to talk about.”
       Daphne leveled a gaze at her. “Mother.”
       She glanced around the room at her family only to realize every person in the room stared at the two of them. “This is going down as the second worst Christmas of my life.”
       Josh stepped past her, taking her hand, and pulled her to the door. He paused there and looked from face to face. “You know, I love this family. I loved the idea of being part of this family. But y’all really need to get over the whole ‘taking care of Daphne’ thing. She’s been a grown woman for a while now. Mrs. Howard, all of you—with all due respect—let her live her own life. Go back to making eggnog or making babies, or whatever you people do around the holidays, but let her do her own thing.”
       Daphne stared up at Josh in disbelief. Where had this man been a year ago? The two of them were practically trampled by her family’s beliefs about how things should be.
       Come to think of it, where had she been? It sure wasn’t anymore his responsibility than hers to stand up to them.
       “Josh?”
       “Yeah?”
       “I think my mom’s right.”
       “You what?” Josh examined her like she’d spoken in some foreign language.
       “She’s right, we need some privacy. We need to talk.”
       Daphne opened the door, stepped out onto the porch, and inhaled the scent of pine trees and snowflakes in the winter air. “Come on,” she said and led him to the old swing that hung from the big tree out back.
       She sat down on the swing and patted the seat beside her. “I need to show you something.”
       Josh settled onto the seat next to her then ducked his head to look up at her from the side.
       “Here.” Daphne pulled the worn piece of paper out of her pocket and smoothed it on her jeans.
       “What is it?”
       “Look.” She held it out until he took it. “It’s an advance. I finally sold one of my stories to a magazine. It’s not much, but—“
       “This is incredible. You did it.”
       Josh kissed her, surprising her. His lips captured hers and her heart started to race.
       When he pulled back, the cold winter day felt like a sweltering day in the middle of summer. “I really missed kissing you,” she murmured.
       He stood and said, “Wait right here. I have something to show you, too.”
       In only a couple of minutes, he came jogging back to the swing, a magazine in his hand.
       He held it out to her and her hands shook as she flipped through the travel magazine. Glossy pictures, write-ups about local activities. Except it wasn’t local to anywhere she’d ever been.  “Um, so… Alaska?”
       He gave a shake of his head. “Page seventeen.”
       Daphne took her time, reading through the article about a small festival, with ice and snow and hot… wait. Something looked familiar here. “Did you take these pictures? Oh, my God. You? How?”
       “My new job. I travel, snap pictures, and get paid for it. I’m going in a few days to Times Square for New Year’s Eve.”
       “I thought you wanted to work for the newspaper.”
       “Yeah, well, I thought you wanted to live and die in this stupid town.”
       “You mean you didn’t want to stay here and have fifteen babies and visit my parents twice a week for dinner? Seriously?”
       Josh knelt on the cold ground in front of her. “Only because I thought it’s what you wanted.”
       Daphne considered their engagement. The way her mother had swept in and planned everything. And Daphne had been too afraid to say boo to her about it. “Oh, God. I ruined our lives.”
       “They’re not ruined yet.” Josh slipped her hands in his, warming them. “You want to go spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square with me?”
       “You could forgive me after I just left you here?”
       “I think we can do things right, this time. What do you say?”
       “Merry Christmas and happy damn New Year, baby. Kiss me!”

Lori Sizemore

Lori loves happy endings, coffee, and techie gadgets. She writes contemporary romance with a dash of humor. The coffee she takes with a little cream.

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On the 6th Day of Christmas…Last Snowy Encounter

Here’s a teaser to Cole and Maddy for all those who have read Snowy Encounters and who are curious as to if Maddy’s crazy ideas ever work.

Last Snowy Encounter

By

Clarissa Yip

      “Just one time, I swear.” 
      Cole eyed his wife warily. As much as he loved her, the crazy ideas she came up with drove him nuts. If she wasn’t the hottest decorator in town and didn’t belong to him, he would have quickly turned tail and ran. But then, that wouldn’t be very manly of him. He glanced down the steep slope. They stood at the top of Death’s Peak. It was their spot—the one spot she’d run to when she wasn’t happy, but also the one place she’d wreaked havoc on him. He’d ended up in an ambulance, after the many times she’d accidentally tripped him down the hill.  
      He sighed. “Can’t we just do this at home?” 
      Maddy settled her hands on her hips and glared at him. “No.” 
      Cole pulled her into his arms and hid his irritation. “You remember what happened last time we tried this.” 
      She gazed at the night sky. “There are no trees above our heads this time. No snow will fall on us. Put up the tent and let’s do it.”
      It as in fulfilling her fantasy to make love outdoors. 
      “Let’s just go back to the house where it’s warm and I’ll build us a fire.”  
      She shook her head and pouted. “This is my Christmas wish. I want to do it here.” 
      Damn. The lip. She knew he couldn’t resist her pout. Shoving a hand through his hair, he looked around. “What if someone shows up?” 
      Maddy snorted. “Everyone is home celebrating Christmas. Besides, we did our family duties already.” Her eyebrow lifted. “What? Are you chicken?” 
      His eyes narrowed. “I’m just worried about you.” 
      “Don’t be. I’m pregnant, not disabled.” She patted her slightly rounded belly. 
      He bit his inner cheek. The bigger her stomach grew, the stronger those hormones struck. Trudging over to their belongings, he started to assemble the tent. Last time they’d tried this, snow had fallen from the branches and covered their naked bodies. Lovemaking suspended. 
      Who would have thought his spunky wife had such fantasies?  
      Once the tent was set up, he made sure the portable heater was on and lantern lit, before holding the flap open and turning to Maddy. “Done. Get in.” 
      Maddy hopped up off the tree stump and grinned. “About time!” She took two steps and slid backward. Cole quickly closed the distance, but not before she’d already fallen. At least the ground was fluffy with a fresh layer of snow. She glared at him, and he tried to keep from laughing. But mirth struck him as he clutched his stomach. Falling was natural to Maddy.  
      “The baby!” Maddy gripped her belly. Cole stopped and instantly went to her side.  
      “Are you okay?” He squatted down. She gave a soft moan. Fear and guilt instantly grasped him around the throat. “Is it the baby? Maddy, answer me.” 
      She peeped at him with a grimace. He cursed. He should have watched her more carefully, and here he was laughing at her. What type of man did that make him? He swallowed hard when she kept her head bowed. Four months into her pregnancy, he shouldn’t have allowed her to talk him into bringing her out here. Just as he started to slip his arms under her knees and around her shoulders, Maddy mushed snow into his face. 
      He froze then sputtered as he jumped up, spitting the cold out of his mouth. Settling his hands on his hips, he towered over her, glaring. She sat gripping her sides, giggling. Damn wench. “That wasn’t funny.” 
      “That’s what you get for laughing!” She held out a hand and he pulled her up.  
      “You could have been hurt. The baby could have been hurt.”  
      “Then you shouldn’t laugh at me every time I fall.” Maddy huffed.  
      “Then stop falling.”  
      “It’s your fault. You know how clumsy I seem to get around you. It probably wouldn’t matter even if we’re dating or ninety years old.” 
      Cole grinned. She did have a tendency to be klutzy around him. Only him. And it’d better stay that way for a very long time. Brushing the snow off her back, his hand lingered over her butt. He loved touching her ass. He wasn’t much of a butt man, but Maddy’s cute bottom always drew his attention, especially when she wore her black stiletto boots and sashayed around him like…. 
      He swung her up into his arms and strode to the tent. “Let’s do it.” 
      Maddy yanked the hair at his nape, and he grunted. “Now, you’re being vulgar.” 
      “You wanted to make love out here.” 
      “I said in the snow.” 
      “You’re crazy, woman. It’s the tent or nothing.” 
      She pouted. 
      “Stop that. You know I’d give you anything, but no way am I going to risk getting you sick.” 
      With a sigh, she brushed her lips against his jaw as he allowed her to slide down the length of him. “I know.” 
      He cupped her bottom, pulling her close against his groin. No matter how many times they’d made love, he’d never get enough of her. Keeping an arm around her waist, he lifted the flap of the tent. “Get in and show me your goods.” 
      Maddy giggled. She bent and started to maneuver into their temporary sleeping quarters. He gave her butt two pats before she disappeared inside. Sticking his head in, he frowned. The space was smaller than he anticipated. He should have grabbed the bigger tent from the lodge, but in their haste, he’d taken whatever was available. All thoughts fled as Maddie smiled seductively and slowly released the buttons on her coat.  
      Inch by inch, silky pale skin was revealed along with her black satin camisole. She shrugged off her jacket and slipped out of her jeans then sat demurely in her top and panties. She crooked one finger at him, and he was lost. Quickly shedding his oversized coat, he crawled into the tight space. His head hit the roof, but he managed to get his coat off.  
      Maddy helped him with his shirt. His elbow struck a metal bar. He ignored it and kissed her the moment he got his shirt off. Her fingers attacked his belt and unbuttoned his jeans as he searched for the hem of her camisole. Softness met his palms, and he slid his hand under, lovingly patting her stomach before closing over her breasts. 
      “Get these off. I want to see you.” Maddy tugged insistently at his jeans. He sat and she climbed over him, settling her legs on either side of his thighs as he tried to push his boxers and jeans off. She dug her fingers in his hair and continued to kiss him. He loved the taste of her—fruity and sweet. Her strawberry scent wrapped around him, drugging him as always.   
      Once he kicked his clothes away, he settled his hands on her hips and worked the satin top over her skin. They parted for a split second when he’d pulled her camisole off and threw it over his shoulder. 
      Maddy tugged at his hair, rocking against him as he kneaded her breasts, weighing them, loving them. They’d grown larger with pregnancy. The areolas were darker in color. He loved the little changes in her body as she blossomed with their child. Five more months and they would finally welcome their baby into the world. He was going to love Five Oaks as much as his parents did. 
      Bending down to sample her sweetness, Cole caressed her stomach before closing his mouth over her nipple. Maddy moaned and drew him closer, rocking against his groin. She tugged at his hair as he laved circles around the erect bud.  
      “I love when you do that,” she murmured. 
      He bit her gently, then kissed the spot and moved to her other breast. His hands slid over her hips to cup her butt, holding her flushed against him. The friction added to his desire. His head swam with each motion, each sensation. Frustrated with the satin barrier between them, he gave a quick tug, and the flimsy panties fell apart.  
      Maddy grinned and then gripped the sides of his face, kissing him. His tongue twirled with hers, her sweetness easily seducing his senses. Sliding from under her, he maneuvered her onto her back. He bumped his head on the top metal bar of the tent. Frowning and aggravated with their tight quarters, he settled himself between her legs. His eyes raked over her beauty and his annoyance slipped away. Her glow wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and he jerked her against him.  
      Nibbling along her jawline, he moved lower, trailing his lips across the smooth expanse of her chest. Maddy whimpered as his fingers found her. Wet and hot. She lifted herself on her elbows and peered at him with hooded eyes. The desire in her gaze flickered heat throughout his body. Control slipped the moment her tongue ran across her bottom lip. 
      Tugging her legs to hug his waist, he rubbed against her cleft. Her arms circled his shoulders, knees pressing into his sides. He leaned in to kiss her, but Maddy pushed at him. He frowned. 
      “Fire!” Maddy wriggled under him. 
      He held her tighter and tried to kiss her, but she gave him a shove. He didn’t budge. No way was she backing out now. It was her idea to make love out here. “Baby, you are hot. That won’t ever change.” 
      “No, fire!” She pointed to the corner. 
      Cole whipped around. Damn. Smoke rose from Maddy’s camisole. It had landed on top of the heater. His head hitting the roof of the tent, he grabbed his jacket and started to beat the blasted thing. Cursing aloud, he glanced at his wife to see her laughing, clutching her own coat to her chest.  
      Once the heater was off and the destroyed satin tossed aside, he settled back in defeat, bumping his head against the metal bar holding up the tent. Maddy slid her arms into her coat and grappled around for her jeans.  
      “You’re right. We should go home.” 
      He sighed. Lovemaking suspended. Again. He just couldn’t win.  
      Maddy leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips. “I know. My crazy idea. But I’ll make it up to you.” 
      His eyebrow lifted. 
      “When we get home,” she quickly added. 
      Stifling the urge to growl, he reached for his clothes. 
      “Next time, we’ll grab the larger tent, so you fit, big guy.” 
      He smiled. She said “next time.” 
      Hope wasn’t lost.

Snowy Encounters Available at Decadent Publishing!

Clarissa Yip

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Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, A Passionate Christmas, Christmas, Clarissa Yip, Decadent Publishing, Writing

On the 5th Day of Christmas…More than a Miracle

More than a Miracle
by
Cynthia Selwyn  

      December 15th.  Morning

      "Mommy! What is Santa doing to that man?"
       Kelly stopped frosting the gingerbread house and peered under the table where her four-year-old daughter recently sat with a cache of stolen gumdrops. Shelby wasn't there; she was calling from the front room. Surveying the leaning gingerbread structure—more shack than house, really–Kelly sighed. "I don't know, honey. What is Santa doing?"
       "I don't know. But the ladder just fell on them."
       She dropped the frosting-smeared spatula and picked up her cell phone, then hurried to the front room. Shelby sat on one of the many moving boxes Kelly had yet to unpack. Out the picture window, she saw a man lying in the bushes, a plastic Santa atop him and a ladder across them both. Neither Santa, nor the man, were moving, but standing on the cement stoop and waving a dishtowel, her elderly neighbor stared at the man in horror—apparently too panicked to do anything else. "Come with me, Shelby," she ordered in a voice that made the child comply without question. She took the child's hand and together they went outside.
       As they crossed the street, she could hear the woman shrieking, "O-di! O-di! Madonna mia! Trey! O-di!" in time to her dishcloth waves.
       Kelly dialed 9-1-1 as they neared the man. "Shelby, go stand next to the lady," she told her daughter as she took in the scene. "This is Dr. Pierce. I need an ambulance."

       Trey opened his eyes, wondering why his bed was so uncomfortable and who was lying on top of him. And why was he so cold? He struggled to move, but a soft, feminine yet commanding voice told him, "You've had an accident. Lie still. I'm trying to get the ladder off you. The ambulance is on the way." A woman's face loomed over his and his heart stopped. "Theresa?" His wife had died in Iraq; he'd buried her three years ago last Christmas and felt her loss every day. So what was she doing looming over him, a halo shining brightly around her head? "Am I dead? God, I've missed you, baby."
       She frowned. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
       Fingers? Who cares about fingers? He smiled at her; she was beautiful to behold, even though her dark eyes were now as blue as the morning glories she'd loved. "I like what you've done with your hair."
       She nodded. "Thanks. The ambulance will be here, soon." She looked up and spoke to someone nearby. "He'll be all right, ma'am. Don’t cry."
       Nonny. She was talking to Nonny. Trey closed his eyes and took a deep breath—or tried to, anyway. It hurt too much. Why was she talking to his grandmother? Because I'm at her house. I was putting that stupid plastic Santa up next to the chimney. God, I hate that Santa. He's all faded.
       "I fell off the roof," Trey realized aloud. "I'm in the bushes."
       "That's right." Theresa loomed over him again. His heart fell. Not Theresa. A woman, but not his dead wife. She gently touched his face. "I got the ladder and Santa off of you. He's been crushed, I'm afraid."
       "Good," Trey said. The vibrant blue of her eyes held his own. He realized that he ached all over, but through the pain he felt something else, something connected ­­­­to the woman whose gaze locked with his. It was…wonder.

       "O-di!" Shelby muttered as one of Mrs. Natale's—Nonny, she said to call her Nonny—many grandsons knocked an ornament off the tree. He bent and picked it up amidst a wave of ribbing and more o-di's. He turned to Shelby and held the ornament out to her.
       "Here, Princess. You want to put it back on the tree?"
       "Up there." Shelby pointed to a high point on the tree and he lifted her up so she could hang the ornament on her chosen branch. "There."
       "No problem." He put her down and turned back to his conversation.
       Kelly shook her head. In the days after the ambulance had taken Mrs. Natale's grandson away, she'd somehow become enfolded in the familial embrace of this big, warm-hearted—and loud—Italian family. An only child herself, she'd always envied people with families like this and she couldn't deny Shelby the opportunity to experience it. Especially on Christmas Eve, when the entire Natale clan gathered at Nonny's for the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes. She'd had to Google it after she'd agreed to attend the gathering.
       There was other food, besides shellfish and salted cod balls and fried squid—calamar', Nonny had called it. Cheese lasagna, salads of every description, fresh bread, cookies, cakes, pies. Shelby was so full of sugar, Kelly was sure she was going to have to detox the child for days.
       Despite the house full of people and food, however, something was missing. Nonny had said that her grandson, Trey, would be there as soon as he got off from work. Kelly hadn't asked anymore, because she didn't want it to be obvious she couldn't stop thinking about him.
       Something about Trey had touched her. It had been odd to feel her heart hitch and her stomach jump as he lay on a flattened bush under the squashed Santa and heavy metal ladder.  But there was something in his dark eyes that pulled at her. It wasn't that he'd thought she was his deceased wife. She'd asked Nonny who Theresa was and was struck by the similarities between them; she'd lost James in Iraq three years before, as well. She'd wondered if that was what drew her to him but then realized she'd felt this pull even before she'd known the story of his lost soldier wife.
       A ruckus broke out in the kitchen, a chorus of "heys" and "Merry Christmas" and "It's about time you showed up, you chooch" that made her pulse begin to race. Was it him? She made her way to the doorway to watch the family greet their missing member.
       But Trey's dark eyes met hers right away, and the grin that spread across his handsome face made her breath catch and her knees grow weak. He pushed through the throng to stand before her.
       "You're so tall," Kelly blurted before she could think. "I mean, you looked shorter lying in the bushes."
       "And you're so beautiful." He laughed and brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. The warmth of his hand left a trail of tingles on her skin. "Thank you for saving me the other day."
       She shrugged. "I’m an ER doctor. It's what I do."
       He nodded. "I'm an EMT. Which ER? I don't recognize you."
       "We just moved here. It was an impulse decision. I wanted to be in a new place," she explained, pulling her gaze from his to take in his uniform. "You're a firefighter?" Her breath caught. Prior to going to Iraq to fight terrorism, James had been a firefighter.
       "Yes I am." He lifted his hand for her to shake. "Company 12."
       "Kelly Pierce. St. Joseph's Hospital." She put her hand in his; his fingers folded around hers and she trembled at the wave of emotion that washed over her at his touch.
       "Hey." Trey's brother shouldered his way up to them. "That's how you're gonna thank the lady? By shaking hands? I'm ashamed to call you my brother."
       Trey tightened his grip around Kelly's fingers. "Yeah, well maybe I'm a gentleman and not a buttagats, like you."
       Joey said something that sounded like "Gee-drool," and punched Trey in the shoulder before holding up a sprig of mistletoe. He held it over them. "There you go. Now you can thank her for real and still be a gentleman, stoonod."
       Trey looked down at Kelly—she laughed up at him, unoffended by his brother's suggestion. When he lowered his face so that his mouth hovered over hers, she stood on tiptoe to make their connection complete.
       As soon as their lips touched, emotion so strong swirled around and through her; she clung to Trey in case she fell. She realized then, he hung on to her as tightly as she held him. Love, powerful—and inexplicable—swept over her. As if it were meant to be. And she knew that Trey Natale would be her husband—and she, his wife—for the rest of their lives.

December 15th, one year later…
       "Thank you for coming with me." Trey blinked back tears as he placed roses on Theresa's grave. "It feels weird, in a way, but–"
       "It feels right." Kelly finished the sentence for him, as she so often did. It was spooky how well they were in sync, often understanding one another without words as if they were telepathic. "I understand." She shrugged. "Besides, I wanted to visit James, today, too." Then her eyes narrowed and she frowned as she studied Theresa's stone. "She was killed today? I mean, on this date?"
       Trey nodded. "I thought you knew. I said it was her anniversary."
       "I thought you meant your wedding anniversary." Kelly looked up at him with wide eyes. "James was killed today, too."
       "They died on the same day?" He shook his head. Too strange.
       Kelly bent and read his dead wife's stone; she gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth. "She was in James' unit! They served together."
       He gaped at her. Her unspoken thought hung in the air between them. And died together.
       Suddenly, it all made sense. Her practically unplanned move to the house across from Nonny's. His accident with the ladder, though he climbed them every day in far more dire situations. Their unexpected attraction and the strength of their love. Trey and Kelly had called it their Christmas miracle…but as they gazed at one another, they realized it was more than that. It was a final gift from their soldier spouses who'd lived and worked and died together, a Christmas gift of love.

Merry Christmas…Buon Natale!

A trapped-at-home mom of three, freelance fiction editor and romance writer, Cynthia Selwyn has been married to the same man for nearly twenty years. If there's anything she knows about relationships, it's that humor can keep the love alive (or at least on life-support).

She invites writers and readers to reach her at cynthia@author-wise.com or check out her blog at: cynthiaselwyn.blogspot.com. You can also find her at: http://www.facebook.com/cynthia.selwyn and follow her at: http://twitter.com/#!/cynselwyn

Cyn

Cynthia Selwyn (aka C.D. Yates) is the trapped-at-home mom of three and wife of one. When she's not hanging around with her Critters, she's editing for one of several e-publishers, writing erotica for Breathless Press or trying to get her characters (and her four-year-old) to behave.

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Tags: 12 Days of Christmas Stories on PC, Love, miracles, stories

On the 4th Day of Christmas…The Gift

The Gift

By Robin Delany

The Smith Bedroom, Dec 24, 12:05 a.m.

      Hattie lay on her side in front of Dylan, who draped a hand over her waist from behind. She kept her eyes trained on her bedside table and wiped at her watering eyes.  
      "I know we wanted to be pregnant by this Christmas, but it'll be okay, Hattie. We have each other, and that's all that matters." Dylan rubbed her hair, and his soft voice made another sob break from her throat.  
      "I know." She wiped again as fresh hot tears spilled over. "I should be happy for what we have."
      After a year and a half of treatments and three failed rounds of in vitro fertilization that had depleted their savings, they'd spent the last five months trying to face reality. She was barren. Barren. What kind of a-hole came up with that ugly term? Like her insides were a desert, or something. She ran a finger along the ruffled pillowcase that she'd so often imagined a tiny form laying on, suckling at her breast, its little fingers wrapped around her big one. 
      Dylan kissed her cheek. "We may not have a baby, but we have a lot." 
      She stared at the ceiling, not wanting to see the ruffle, but really, it didn't matter. Everything brought her loss into focus these days. Was it considered a loss when you never had something in the first place? 
      "For the past five months, I've been trying to count my blessings. I really have." She held a hand up so he could see her fingers as she counted them off. "I've got a loving husband, a supportive family, and the career in journalism I’d always dreamed of. I know I've got a lot. More than so many others, in fact. I just can't make my heart accept what my head tells it." It didn't matter that she'd wanted a child far longer than her career. Or that she'd owned about fifty dolls as a girl and taken meticulous care of each one. She'd even made little outfits for her egg in Home Economics class. 
      "I know, sweetheart." He rubbed a knuckle down her cheek. "Try to sleep. Life is always a little harder when you're coming down with a cold. You'll feel more optimistic in a few days when it's passed and you have more energy."  
      "I think it's probably a mild case of food poisoning," Hattie moaned.   
      "That's the last time we buy sushi from a gas station." 
      She swiped at the last of her tears. "You can say that again." 
      "That's the last time we buy sushi from a gas station."  
      She giggled, and elbowed him playfully. "Go to sleep."

      The Smith Bathroom, Dec 24, 6:05 a.m. 
       "I could loan you some money to try again," Mama said. 
      "After all these years of trying, I don't think there's anything left to do." Hattie sat on the edge of the tub, one hand holding her cell, the other covering her eyes. Her whole body ached and she'd had strange vivid dreams that agitated what little sleep she'd gotten. What the heck was her brain trying to tell her by having a giant octopus chase her across a parking lot? Ridiculous. Yet she'd woken in a sheen of sweat. 
      "You can try it again. Did you ask the doc—?" 
      "I don't know. Look, I'm not feeling well. I have to go."  
      "What's wrong, honey?" Mama's voice pitched higher, the way it did when she was concerned. "Are you sick?" 
        Her stomach roiled. "I think I have food poisoning. I'm nauseous and tired, like Dad was that time he ate the mystery container in the fridge when you weren't home to make dinner." 
      "Ugh. I still can't believe he did that."  
      Hattie smiled, practically hearing the eye roll in Mama's tone. Her stomach heaved. 
      "I'll see you when your flight gets in." Hattie pressed a hand against her mouth.  
      "But Hattie—"  
      She dropped the phone and voided her stomach for the second time that morning. And it was only six. This was going to be a long Christmas Eve.

      The Smith Living Room, Dec 24, 12:05 p.m. 
       Hattie cuddled with Dylan on the couch, picking at the bland turkey sandwich he'd made her.  
      "Now she thinks I'm dying of the plague."  
      Dylan laughed. "When you stubbed your toe, your Mama thought it was the plague." 
      "She's a little overprotective." Hattie tried to keep her mouth straight and failed. "She means well, but she's a diagnoser. During my childhood, I had ADD, PCOS, and any other syndrome with an acronym. By the time she gets here, she'll have my symptoms all figured into an official diagnosis and the pharmacy on standby with penicillin." 
      "I bet she will." Dylan's smile widened to show more of his teeth, and he tugged a strand of her hair. "So, what do you think I gave you for Christmas? What's your guess this year?" 
      She set the sandwich on the plate at her feet and leaned into him again, resting a hand on his stomach. "I'll bet it's a bowling ball. You've been wanting one all year. I bet you got one for me so you can use it when I say I don’t want it." 
      He lifted an eyebrow. "And I bet you got the ultimate box set of Sex in the City for me." 
      "Wasn't that what you wanted?" she asked with wide eyes. "I swore it was on your list." 
      He smiled down at her and tweaked the tip of her nose. "You're the best thing in my life. You know that?" 
      "Of course I am." Hattie laughed, stretching to kiss him. "I love you, too."

      The Smith Dining Room, Dec 24, 6:05 p.m. 
       Thud.  
      Hattie rubbed a hand over her face. Thud, thud. 
      She pushed away from the table and went to the door, pausing a moment before opening it to see Mama and Papa walking toward the house. Her stomach was rebelling again, but this time, it seemed, the rebels had pipe bombs and machine guns. Or at least pitch forks.  
      After hugs and kisses, hauling in bags and gifts, and an hour of work related small talk, Mama stood. "I've discovered the problem." 
      Hattie sneaked a sly glance to Dylan. "Oh?" 
      "Yes, and I've got just the thing for you here in my bag." Mama walked to where her purse sat on the kitchen counter and opened it. It must be an herbal remedy, if she had it in her purse. St. Johns Wort? Noni juice, perhaps?  
      Mama drew a long box with a light blue cover and a picture of a pregnancy test. Hattie's mouth fell open and a stone dropped into her stomach. 
      "That's cruel, Mama. I'm sick, and I'm tired, and now you shove this in my face?" She thrust a hand toward the disgustingly cheerful blue cover. 
      Dylan came to stand next to Hattie and put his hand on her shoulder. Papa looked away as if unaware of the conversation, as he had during every fight she and Mama had since her childhood. Hattie frowned. How diplomatic.  
      "That's right, sweetheart. You're sick. You're tired. When I called at eight o'clock, you said the smell of the pot roast was bothering you, and when I called again at two-thirty, you yelled at Dylan to take out the trash before it made you—what did you call it?—ah, yes, before it made you hork. You're pregnant, dear. Now take the test." 
      Hattie couldn't even let herself wish it in the smallest part of heart. It had been too long, there had been too many 'no's to have a 'yes' with no help. To have a yes at all. She clenched her jaw to keep her chin from trembling. "Mother, do you know what the doctor told me on our last visit?"  
      Dylan stiffened at her side, and Mama shook her head.   
      "That's because I couldn't bear to tell you. He said we'd be better off looking into a surrogate, since my body wasn't inclined to accept implantation." She stormed to the cabinet and pulled out the brochure he'd given them, and threw it on the table. It skittered off the edge and landed on the carpet at Mama's feet. 
      Mama bent to pick it up, studying the cover image of a couple standing on either side of a pregnant woman with their hands on her belly and insipid smiles on their faces. 
      "I can't give you grandkids. It's not going to happen. Face it." Hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks. 
      "All right, now you listen to me, Hattie Jane Smith. You will walk into that bathroom and take this test. If it says negative, I won't say another word." She shook the box and the test clacked around inside it. "But until then, I'm going to harp on this like the cruel mother I am." 
      "Fine!" Hattie scowled and snatched the box from her hands. "But after this, you'll never mention children to me again. Understand?"  
      Mama nodded, her chin lifting an inch. Hattie huffed and turned. From the edge of Hattie's vision, a smile lifted Mama's lips. The woman may have given birth to Hattie, but she would be the death of her one of these days.

      The Smith Bedroom, Dec 25, 12:05 a.m. 
       Hattie lay on her side in front of Dylan, who draped a hand over her waist from behind. She kept her eyes trained on her bedside table and wiped her watering eyes. 
      She sniffed and lifted the diamond bracelet he'd given her at the stroke of twelve. "We have to give this and your stereo to Mama for Christmas, you know. The insulated socks don't seem like enough anymore."  
      He kissed her cheeks. "Yeah, and we may have to get her a new car too." 
      She used a fingertip to wipe a tear from the ruffled pillow. "Don't go giving it all away. We've got more than just us to think of now." 
      "That's right. We did it, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear as his palm rubbed her lower abdomen. "We got our baby for Christmas."

I hope you enjoyed my little contemporary Christmas story, and I'd like to invite you to visit with me a bit more. I'm taking part in a blog hop all week (Dec 16th-23rd) Please join me on my blog for a chance to win a signed copy of Jillian Stone's An Affair With Mr. Kennedy, and a chance at the grand prize, a Nook Color.

Robin Delany

I have a fab hubby, 2 sweet babies, & I love 2 write romance, research, travel, read, & letterbox. I'm NOT trying 2 take over the world. Really...

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Tags: 12 Days of Christmas Stories on PC, A Passionate Christmas, Authors, Christmas, Christmas miracle, contest, Love, miracles, Passionate Critters, Robin Delany, Romance, Short story, stories, trying to conceive