Love, Snow and Mistletoe: Four Sweet Christmas Romance Novellas

by Victorine E. Lieske

  “Maybe we should get out the Christmas decorations.”

  “You said we weren’t going to decorate this year because we were going to Aunt Leah’s house.”

  “We won’t be leaving here until the day before Christmas Eve. It won’t hurt to put up a few decorations.”

  Her hands went to her hips, her head tilting to the side in a gesture so reminiscent of her mother, it made his chest tighten. “That’s what I said last week.”

  He lifted his shoulders, glancing at Amy to see if she was listening. “You were right.”

  A week ago, he’d been thrilled to use traveling as an excuse to avoid decorating for Christmas. Though he enjoyed being with family and giving gifts, Monica’s death had robbed the joy from the season. But Amy seemed like the artsy type to him, and he suspected she’d like arranging the colorful Christmas decorations. He wasn’t sure why, but he thought he wouldn’t mind helping, if Amy was doing it.

  “Amy!” Cady shook her arm, and she jumped. “We’re going to decorate for Christmas! Want to help?”

  Her eyes lit up like a child, and she sprang to her feet. “I’d love to. I haven’t decorated for Christmas in forever. It’s no fun to do by yourself.”

  Ridiculously pleased with the smile he’d put on her face, he let Cady take him by the hand and drag him down the hall to the Christmas closet. Amy followed behind, dancing in anticipation. When he opened the door and flipped on the light, she let out a gasp.

  “I’ve never seen so many decorations in my life!” Amy’s eyes were round blue saucers.

  With a surge of guilt, he started to defend the collection. “A lot of this stuff has been passed down—”

  “Let’s use all of it! Mix the vintage decorations with the new… just like a family.” She pushed past him to pick up a lifelike, three-foot angel with iridescent wings. “Everybody, grab something and take it to the family room. We’ll get all the boxes out and then make a plan.”

  He couldn’t help comparing Amy to Monica, a sweet wife, mother and hostess, who had never been assertive. Rather than barking orders, she would’ve asked him how he preferred to use the decorations. Despite the stark contrast, he enjoyed Amy’s feisty attitude.

  As he placed two boxes on the floor between the couches Cady said, “What about a Christmas tree, Dad?”

  “We obviously can’t make it to town to buy one,” Amy said, tapping her fingernail on her tooth. “Do you have an artificial tree in that closet?”

  “An artificial tree?” Cady said with disdain. “We cut our own Christmas tree.”

  “You do?” Amy’s voice went up an octave as she chattered with excitement, shrugging into her coat and skipping toward the back door. “Yay! I’ve always wanted to cut a Christmas tree. I’ve read about it, but I’ve never had a chance to do it for real. Let’s go. Do you use an axe? Or a saw?”

  “We can’t go now,” Cadence grasped her elbow, tugging her back to the decorations. “We have to wait for it to stop snowing, or we could get lost. Right, Dad?”

  “Yep, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait. But we can—”

  “We can stack all the tree decorations in that corner by the window.” Amy tossed her coat over the back of a nearby chair. “That’s where we’ll put the tree. That way, you can see it from outside when you pull in the driveway.”

  “Whatever you say.” Max smiled.

  It was almost nine o’clock when the snow finally stopped. Outside, snow enveloped the grounds as if someone had sprayed a thick layer of cotton candy over the landscape. The moonlight glowed through the thin clouds, casting soft shadows on the pristine white blanket.

  The house was completely decked out in red and green and gold, including an elaborate nativity scene covering the table, angels on every shelf, and a plethora of Santas in every conceivable size and shape. If a soul could smile on the inside, Amy’s was doing it. She used to love decorating for Christmas when her mom was alive, but doing it alone was simply depressing. Decorating with Max and Cady had been so fun, she couldn’t help imagining how it would be if they were a family, getting ready for the holidays—a yearly tradition. How would it feel to wake up beside him on Christmas morning, his eyes filled with love, as he placed a tender kiss on her lips?

  Don’t forget about me, Zoey’s socks reminded her.

  Be quiet. She stomped her feet on the floor, but the wool socks only laughed at her.

  Amy wiped the fog off the window and peered out at the postcard scene, the mug of hot chocolate in her hand re-steaming the glass. “Maybe we could go out and cut a Christmas tree in the morning, before I leave,” she said, hopefully.

  “The road might not get cleared until afternoon,” Max said, as he rearranged the logs in the fire. “If they get ours done tomorrow. At worst, we’ll have to wait one more day to get plowed out.”

  “Why do you have to go?” Cady appeared at her elbow, pressing her face to the glass. “You could just stay here with us.”

  “I’m sure Amy has important things to do.” Max put the fireplace screen back and turned to face her, pinning her with his intense green eyes. She realized she hadn’t thought of him as Lincoln Reeves since early that morning. “You never told me why you’re going to Pleasantville.”

  Should she tell him? He obviously didn’t recognize her. Since she’d arrived, the large television screen had only been on once, for about ten minutes, to check the weather report. He’d probably never read her bestselling books or heard the news about the upcoming television series. He knew her only as Amy Pinkerton, and she liked it that way. Tomorrow, she’d be gone, and he’d never know the difference.

  “I’m trying to visit all fifty states,” she answered truthfully, only omitting the reason. “This time, it’s Wyoming.”

  Cadence frowned and tilted her head in a way Amy was beginning to recognize as her thinking-hard expression. “You’re already in Wyoming.” Cady bobbed her chin. “You can just stay here.”

  Amy almost spewed hot chocolate out of her mouth. She swallowed, half-choking, and groped her way to the table to set her mug down. Her coughing fit continued, finishing off with three sneezes.

  “Bless you.” Max’s voice held a hint of humor, and she looked up to find him standing beside her, biting back a grin.

  “Thank you,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Can she stay, Daddy?” Cady folded her hands and pushed her lower lip forward. “Please?”

  Ghosting a smile, he replied, “I guess that’s up to Amy.”

  He thinks it’s funny that Cady put me on the spot. I’ll show him. Turnabout is fair play.

  Amy lifted her chin, holding his gaze. “That’s a good idea, Cady. Maybe I’ll stay here the whole week.”

  As she expected, she caught him by surprise, and his eyebrows arched high on his forehead before he turned his face away.

  Ha! Now you can be the one to disappoint Cady.

  “That’ll work,” he said. “You can stay here, and we’ll get your car towed to the shop. We’ll call the rental company and get a new one delivered.” He walked calmly to the couch, and opened his laptop, while Amy wondered if she might need to perform self-CPR.

  “I can’t stay here,” she croaked, over Cady’s celebratory yelps.

  “Why not?” He glanced up from his computer screen.

  “Because...” She attempted to swallow, though her mouth felt like someone had been running a blow-dryer inside it. “Don’t you think it would bother Zoey if I was here that long? I mean, not that there’s anything going on, but it might look bad.”

  He stared at her for so long that she wondered if her mascara was smeared under her eyes. Cady plopped down on the couch beside him, sporting her head-tilt again.

  “Why doesn’t Aunt Zoey want Amy to stay here?”

  His head shook. “I have no idea.”

  “Aunt Zoey?” The word wedged its way into Amy’s rock-hard brain. “Zoey’s not your girlfriend?”

  “My girlfriend? You thought…” He guffawed wit
h laughter, the sound reverberating off the vaulted ceiling, and Cadence dissolved onto the rug in a fit of giggles. “Zoey isn’t my girlfriend,” he said, when he caught his breath. “She’s my meddlesome twin sister.”

  What are you going to do, now? asked the treacherous socks.

  Chapter 6

  Amy yawned and rubbed her eyes as the morning light filtered through the blinds in her room. She was tempted to crawl back under the warm covers in the luxurious king-sized bed and go back to sleep. All night, her mind plotted an elaborate dream, featuring herself as Rebel, solving a mystery with the blazing-hot Linc Reeves. Or was it Max McCoy?

  She never should’ve agreed to stay at the McCoy ranch. She should’ve insisted Max drive her to Pleasantville today, as soon as the roads were cleared. How was she going to keep herself from falling for him, especially now that he didn’t have a girlfriend?

  The way he interacted with Cadence dissolved Amy’s heart into a gob of goo. He bantered constantly with Amy, while acting all he-man protective, like she imagined a brother would. But make no mistake, when his lids dropped to half-mast over those smoldering green eyes, the word brother didn’t cross her mind. She had to concentrate to keep from panting like a schoolgirl with a crush.

  She wasn’t going to accomplish much writing during the next five days on the McCoy ranch, but at least she could learn about ranching in Wyoming. Maybe she could adjust her plot and use the foreman of a large ranch as the innocent man accused of murder.

  As she brushed her teeth, she checked her face in the mirror. She swiped a bit of mascara on her lashes, though it wouldn’t make her as gorgeous as his late wife. Amy had spied a picture of Cady’s mother in an old family photo on the mantle. Tall and slim, with long blond tresses, she was hauntingly beautiful—no wonder Max had never remarried. But the way Amy figured, there was at least a slim chance he might find her attractive, since she didn’t have much competition on the remote ranch out in the middle of nowhere.

  What if he decides to kiss me?

  Okay, it was a long shot, but it might happen. She practiced a sultry, enticing expression in front of the mirror—lips slightly parted, cheeks sucked in.

  No, it looks like I’m about to throw up. Let me try again.

  She pursed her lips and let her eyelids flutter.

  Looks like I’m being electrocuted.

  She gave up, and headed to breakfast, her stomach growling in anticipation, as the aroma of frying bacon reached her nostrils. She might not get kissed while staying at the ranch, but she was going to be well fed.

  Max crooned a slow love song as he poured more pancake batter into the skillet. On the back burner, bacon sizzled in the pan.

  “I think you might turn me into a country music fan.” Amy’s voice surprised him, and he turned to discover she’d slipped quietly onto a stool at the island.

  “You don’t like country music?”

  “I loved it as a kid—grew up listening to it.” She propped her chin on her hands, elbows on the counter. “Dad was a huge fan. He taught me how to two-step.”

  He picked up the skillet and flicked his wrist, flipping a pancake in the air and catching it.

  “Bravo!” She clapped her hands, her face alight with joy.

  “I learned to do that to entertain Cady,” he explained, amazed that she got excited over the smallest of things. “Why did you quit listening to country music?”

  “After Mom died, it seemed like Dad only listened to the sad songs. She had a stroke, so it happened without any warning. And Dad just sort of wasted away. He died in a car accident, when I was sixteen, but everybody said he hit that tree on purpose.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Max turned his back, struggling to keep his emotions under control. “That must’ve been terrible for you… it’s like your dad abandoned you.”

  I’ve done the same thing with Cady. I lost my will to live and be happy.

  He risked a quick glance and saw tears glistening in her eyes.

  “I get why he did it,” she said, with a sniff. “When you lose someone you love more than life, a part of you dies with them. I know he loved me, and I don’t blame him at all.”

  Redemption. For years, as much as he had with grief, he’d battled guilt that he couldn’t “move on” as everyone said he should. In a matter of minutes, when she should’ve been miserable from sharing her painful memories, Amy had shown him the path to forgive himself. She must’ve had training—maybe she was a professional counselor.

  “You never told me… what do you do for a living?” he asked, hoping to shift the subject to something lighter.

  “Guess.”

  “I bet you’re a counselor.” He turned the burner down under the bacon.

  “Interesting. I don’t think I could’ve handled that job. When someone tells me their problems, I feel them too much. That’s why I love books... at least the ones with happily-ever-afters. You can feel a whole gamut of emotions, but you get to feel happy at the end.

  “You may like books, but I know you’re not a librarian.” He paused for effect. “Because you couldn’t possibly be that quiet.”

  He loved making her smile so big her eyes crinkled in the corners.

  “You’re not a comedian,” she retorted, with a chuckle, “because that’s not funny.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “I’m sympathy laughing, to protect your delicate man-ego.”

  He lifted his chin in mock outrage. “My ego doesn’t like being called delicate.”

  “Excuse me.” Her lips pursed as if she was holding a laugh inside. “I meant to say, your Tarzan-macho ego.”

  He grunted and pounded his chest. “Me, Max. You, Amy. Me show ranch later today.”

  They ate their breakfast with a side of laughter, and he forgot to ask again about her profession.

  Amy was so excited, she could barely conceal it. Cady had gone shopping with a friend’s family, so she had Max to herself the whole day. Bundled up in some of Zoey’s extra-heavy outerwear, she’d had a tour of the expansive ranch via snowmobile, though he explained she’d only seen a small portion. She’d learned about everything from the shape and placement of windblocks for the cattle to why there were no bull elk in the herds they saw.

  He’d promised Cady they would wait until she came home to pick a Christmas tree. But meanwhile, Max was taking her on a horse ride… her first.

  “You’ll love it,” he said. “There’s nothing quite like riding through the snow. It muffles all the sounds. So peaceful.”

  “They’re so much bigger in person than on TV,” she commented, as she stroked the neck of the mare Max had chosen for her. Her knees were shaking, but she hoped the horse wouldn’t notice her nerves. She’d heard horses could sense your emotions.

  “Don’t let her size fool you. Lady’s so gentle a toddler could ride her.”

  “Right,” she replied, thinking most toddlers weren’t as anxious as she was. She backed against the wall to stay out of Max’s way as he bustled about the stables, speaking to the horses in calm, gentle tones. She closed her eyes, letting his voice soothe her frazzled nerves.

  “Are you okay?”

  When she opened her eyes, his face was inches away, his left hand braced on the wall above her head. His gaze burned into her soul, reading her mind.

  He had to realize she was attracted to him. The rise and fall of his chest grew as rapid as hers. His pupils dilated. He had all the signs.

  He likes me, too!

  “I’m…” Her tongue stuck to the roof of her suddenly parched mouth.

  This is it! He’s going to kiss me. Oh my gosh!

  Closing her eyes, she did her best to look sultry, while avoiding both of the failed expressions from earlier in the day. With her heart beating hard enough to break her ribs, she held her breath, waiting for the touch of his lips. His arm slid around her back, sending a wave of chills in front of it.

  She waited… and waited…

  Just as she was about to
pass out from lack of oxygen, she cracked one eye open to find him staring at her with alarm, his right hand holding the bridle he’d evidently been reaching for.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, shifting the arm around her back to a more supportive position. “We don’t have to ride today if you don’t feel up to it.”

  So much for my enticing expression.

  “No, I’m fine.” She twisted away and ducked to tie her shoe, hoping he wouldn’t notice her beet-red face.

  “Are you sure? Because you look kind of… pale.”

  Pale wasn’t exactly what I was aiming for, but I guess it’s better than electrocuted. How could she have been so stupid? He didn’t want to kiss her. He didn’t even like her that way. Mortified, she scrambled for something to save face.

  “I’m worried about Damon.”

  “Damon?” He backed away, his fingers tightening on the bridle. “The guy you said wasn’t your boyfriend?”

  “To be honest, he’s more than a friend. It’s kind of complicated.”

  “I see.” His lips pressed together until they blanched. Twisting, he moved to stand beside the mare and slipped the bridle over her head. “Why don’t you just call him?”

  “I can’t get a signal at the ranch.” She left off the part about not wanting to talk to him.

  “You should’ve told me.” He’d snugged the saddle and buckled the strap. “When we get back, we’ll change your settings so you can call with Wi-Fi. You can talk to him all you want.”

  With his offer came a sinking feeling in the depths of her belly. If Maxwell McCoy felt the least bit of romantic attraction, he would never have offered to help her talk to another guy. He could’ve kept the Wi-Fi trick a secret, and no one would’ve been the wiser.

  She wished she’d insisted on moving to Pleasantville for the rest of the week. It was too late to change her mind now—Cady would be disappointed.

  At least spending time with Max over the next five days would give Amy enough material to create swoon-worthy book heroes for the rest of her writing career. No doubt, she’d remember her real-life Lincoln Reeves forever.