"Are you certain?" Cole searched her face. "This is your chance to be a superstar, Willow. You've made it. You don't have to choose. I'll make it work. I don't want you to make this sacrifice for me."
She shook her head. "I'm positive, Cole. I know what I want, and what makes me happy now. I thought it had to be in front of a camera, because that's all I knew. But it's not. It's with you, on a small island off the coast of Maine, with people who care about each other and stand beside each other." She smiled. "A place where Christmas matters."
A smile lit up his face, the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. "You made me believe in Christmas again, sweetheart. I don't want to face another one without you. If you come home with me, I'm never going to let you go. You realize that, don't you? Every Christmas is going to be with me, at that inn, helping other people find what it brought us."
"I'm counting on it." She beamed at him. "You taught me what Christmas is all about, and that's being with those who matter. Like you."
"Like you," Cole repeated. "I love you, Willow." And then he kissed her, and this time, it wasn't a kiss of good-bye. It was a kiss of shared dreams, healed hearts, and the promise of forever.
* * *
"They're coming up the walkway! Are you ready?" Willow raced into the kitchen, stripping off her apron. Her eyes were glowing, her hair was in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing the diamond earrings Cole had commissioned from a local artist on the island. The diamonds were framed by scallop shells made of white gold, which were dangling from a hoop designed to look like twisted twigs, immortalizing both their first kiss, and their second one years later.
They'd come out perfectly, and he'd been too pleased by them to wait for Christmas. Instead, he'd used Thanksgiving as an excuse, and surprised her earlier in the day, when they'd first woken up. She'd cried, and he'd gotten a little tight in his throat. They weren't just earrings. They memorialized the connection between them, the one that had endured over time and distance, until it had finally healed both their hearts.
Cole grinned as they sparkled on her ears, his heart tightening at the sight of them. He hadn't been emotional or sentimental before they'd met, but she'd changed that for him. She'd changed everything for him.
Willow's face softened when she noticed his gaze was on the earrings. "Cole, they're beautiful. I'll treasure them always."
"I know." He pulled her in for a quick kiss. "They just remind me of how you saved me. I love you, sweetheart."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into him, as she always did whenever he reached out for her. "I love you, too. Always and forever. Tell me again how you believe in the magic of Mystic Island? I love being right."
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "I chose to miss that ferry. The island didn't keep me here. I made the choice myself." When her brows knit in a frown, he laughed again. "Okay, I admit it. The island brought us together when we needed to find each other. I believe in love, and I believe in magic, and I believe in the island." The truth was, he did believe. Nothing else but magic could explain how he'd been lucky enough to find Willow.
The front door slammed and he heard Paul call out. "Happy Thanksgiving! Anyone around? I heard there's a Charbonneau holiday special going on the table tonight!"
"Come on back," Cole called out. "We're in the kitchen!"
"They're here!" Willow's eyes lit up, grabbing his arms. "I'm so excited. I told them all that it was my first Thanksgiving dinner, and I might ruin everything, but they didn't care."
"That's because they knew I had your back. I'm the best chef on the island. Everyone knows it." He nodded at the oven. "Turkey's almost done. We're all set."
"I'll go greet them!" Willow started to head for the door, but Cole grabbed her arm and hauled her back against him.
"Just a minute," he said, pulling her in for one last kiss, needing that connection with her, as he always did. She smiled, her face soft with understanding of how much he needed her. She melted against him, and it wasn't until he heard the catcalls from their guests that he broke the kiss.
Willow pulled away, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and happiness as she welcomed everyone into the kitchen. Paul, along with his three sons, who Cole had gotten to know again. Luc was there, with his son, while Rosie and her second, wonderful husband rounded it out. He and Willow had scheduled dinner late in the evening, after Rosie had served her guests. Since she was the one who had sent Willow to Cole's inn during the storm, she held a special place in their lives, especially tonight.
Cole grinned as greetings and hugs were exchanged. He thudded Luc on the back, glad that his friend could make it. He had a feeling Luc and his son would have had a pretty simple Thanksgiving if they hadn't joined them, and he was glad for the chance to add some holiday spirit to their table. He grinned at the thought, realizing he was thinking just like his dad used to, and it felt good.
He greeted Rosie and the others, then shook Paul's hand. "Glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss it. It's been a long time since we've had Thanksgiving dinner here," Paul grinned. "Are you really opening up for Christmas this year?"
"Yep. The upgrades are almost done. The place needed a lot more work than we thought." He was damn proud of all that he and Willow had accomplished. He'd hired out the electrician, but the rest they'd done themselves. He could have paid for someone to do it, but it had felt so much better to do it themselves, creating memories with Willow as the inn came to life. "We're going to need a handyman to help with things once we open. You interested?" He and Willow had decided to do the inn a little differently, and to make sure it didn't consume them. Now that Paul was retired from the hardware store, they'd both felt that it was a perfect solution to bring him on board.
The older man's face lit up. "Really? I'd love to."
"You're hired then." He grinned as Paul immediately turned to his sons and told them, his lined face creased with happiness.
Satisfaction filled Cole as he opened a bottle of wine he'd found in the wine cellar. It was a vintage Chardonnay, the last bottle of his dad's favorite wine. He'd saved it for tonight. It felt right to honor his dad with their first holiday in the inn. The table was set with the finest china in the main dining room, but it felt natural to have everyone hanging out in the kitchen, like they used to do in the old days.
Willow gave him her special, warm smile as he handed her the bottle, and she began pouring with the flair of someone who'd been doing it her whole life. "I'm so excited for the guests to start arriving on December first," she declared. "I mean, I'm nervous, but I'm excited, too. It was so wonderful to see how the guests were eager to book reservations again, even though the inn had been closed."
Cole grinned, stepping back to watch the room as everyone fell into easy conversation. It was like being a kid again, only it was different now, because now he appreciated every minute of it. There was just one thing left to make it right. He tapped his wine glass to get people's attention.
The small crowd stopped talking and turned toward him.
"I wanted to thank you all for coming, and for sticking by me all these years. I'm glad to be back." Everyone raised their glasses in acknowledgement, and Cole grinned as he turned to Willow. "As much as I love being back here," he said, "it's you that makes each day matter. I love it when the first rays of sunshine touch your face, and I love falling asleep with you in my arms."
Her cheeks turned red, and she glanced at the others. "Cole, you don't need to—"
"I do. I need to do this in front of the people who matter to me." He walked over to her and went down on one knee, grinning when Willow's eyes widened. "Willow Morgan, these last ten months with you have been the best of my life. I can't live without you. I need you to be mine forever."
Tears glistened in her eyes, and she touched his face. "Cole, I know how you feel. I'm not going anywhere."
"I need to make sure of that." He held up the ring that had been burning in his pocket all evening. "This wa
s my mom's engagement ring, the one my dad picked out for her." He cleared his throat. "I will love you with all my heart, every second, of every day. Will you marry me?"
She dropped to her knees in front of him, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Yes, Cole, of course I will marry you. How could I not? I love you beyond words."
The room broke into resounding cheers, and someone thudded him on the shoulder as Cole took her into his arms, and kissed her. It was the woman in his arms, and the cheers surrounding them that made the moment perfect.
He was home, finally, where he belonged.
Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Rides a Motorcycle
A Wyoming Rebels Novel
He was tired.
He was cranky.
He was wet.
Zane Stockton idled his motorcycle outside his brother's ranch house, narrowing his eyes at the darkened windows. Gone was the time when he'd let himself in and crash. There was a woman in there now, and that changed all the rules, especially when it was two in the morning.
He probably shouldn't have come tonight, but he was here, and he was done being on the road for now. Rain had been thundering down on him for hours, and he was drenched all the way to his bones. He just wanted to sleep and forget about all the crap that had gone down today.
Trying not to rev the engine too much, he eased his bike down the driveway past the barn and turned right into the lean-to beside the bunkhouse. He settled his bike and whipped out a couple towels to clean it off, making sure it was mud-free before calling it a night.
He grabbed his bag from the back of the bike, scowling when he realized it had gotten wet, then sloshed across the puddles toward the front door of the bunkhouse. He retrieved the key from the doorframe, and pried the thing open.
It was pitch dark inside, but he knew his way around and didn't bother with a light. He dropped the bag, kicked off his boots and his drenched clothes, then headed for the only bed that was still set up in the place, ever since Steen and Erin had rearranged it for their own use during their temporary stay there. At least they'd upgraded their lodging so the bunkhouse was now available again for use by the family vagrant.
Zane jerked back the covers and collapsed onto the bed. The minute he landed, he felt the soft, very real feel of a body beneath him, including the swell of a woman's breast beneath his forearm. Shit! "What the hell?" He leapt to his feet just as a woman shrieked and slammed a pillow into the side of his head.
"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you! I'm Chase's brother!" He grabbed the pillow as it clocked him in the side of the head again. "Stop!"
There was a moment of silence, and all he could hear was heavy breathing. Then she spoke. "You're Chase's brother?" Her voice was breathless, and throaty, as if he'd awakened her out of a deep sleep, which he probably had. It sounded sexy as hell, and he was shocked to feel a rush of desire catapult through him.
Shit. He hadn't responded physically to a woman in a long time, and now he'd run into a woman who could turn him on simply by speaking to him? Who the hell was she? "Yeah," he said, sounding crankier than he intended. "Who are you?"
"You're Steen?" He heard her fumbling for something, and he wondered if she was searching for a baseball bat, pepper spray, or something that indicated she hadn't been nearly as turned on by his voice as he'd been by hers.
"No, a different brother," he replied, his head spinning as he tried to figure what was going on, and why he was reacting to her so intensely. "I'm Zane. Harmless. Good guy. No need to decapitate me."
There was a pause in her movements. "I wasn't going to decapitate you. I was looking for my shirt."
"Your shirt?" he echoed blankly. "You're not wearing a shirt?" He hadn't noticed much bare skin for that brief moment he'd been on top of her. How had he missed it?
"I'm wearing a camisole, but it's not exactly decent. Give me a sec." A small laugh drifted through the darkness. "You're such a guy. Of course you'd fixate on the possibility of me being naked. Do all men think only of sex?"
He grinned, relaxing. He'd startled her, but she'd regrouped quickly, and he liked that. She wasn't a wimp who was running to the door screaming. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Taylor Shaw. I'm Mira's best friend from home. I surprised her for a visit, but it turns out, there's no space in the house."
"Nope. Not anymore. I'm displaced too." He suddenly wanted to see her. "You decent yet?"
"Yes, but barely—"
He reached over and flicked on the small light by the bed. The soft yellow glow was less harsh than the overhead light, but it still took his eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. When they did, he saw Taylor sitting on the bed, curly blond hair tumbling around her shoulders in a disheveled mess that made her look completely adorable. Her eyes were green, fixed on him as she squinted against the sudden light. He could see the curve of her shoulders beneath the light pink, long-sleeved shirt she was wearing. The faint outline of a white camisole was evident beneath her shirt, not quite obscuring the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her gray yoga pants were frayed at the knee and cuff, but they fit her hips with perfection. She looked like she'd just tumbled right out of a bed, and she was sexy as hell.
But it was her face that caught his attention. Her gaze was wary, but there was a vulnerability in it that made him want to protect her. He had zero protective instincts when it came to women…until now, until he'd met this woman who'd tried to defend herself with a pillow.
Then her gaze slid down his body, and his entire body went into heated overdrive. It wasn't until her eyes widened in horror when her gaze was at hip level that he remembered something very important.
He was naked.
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Sneak Peek: No Knight Needed
An Ever After Novel
Ducking her head against the raging storm, Clare hugged herself while she watched the huge black pickup truck turn its headlights onto the steep hillside. She was freezing, and her muscles wouldn't stop shaking. She was so worried about Katie, she could barely think, and she had no idea what this stranger was going to do. Something. Anything. Please.
The truck lurched toward the hill, and she realized suddenly that he was going to drive straight up the embankment in an attempt to go above the roots and around the fallen tree that was blocking the road. But that was crazy! The mountain was way too steep. He was going to flip his truck!
Memories assaulted her, visions of when her husband had died, and she screamed, racing toward him and waving her arms. "No, don't! Stop!"
But the truck plowed up the side of the hill, its wheels spewing mud as it fought for traction in the rain-soaked earth. She stopped, horror recoiling through her as the truck turned and skidded parallel across the hill, the left side of his truck reaching far too high up the slippery slope. Her stomach retched as she saw the truck tip further and further.
The truck was at such an extreme angle, she could see the roof now. A feathered angel was painted beneath the flood lights. An angel? What was a man like him doing with an angel on his truck?
The truck was almost vertical now. There was no way it could stay upright. It was going to flip. Crash into the tree. Careen across the road. Catapult off the cliff. He would die right in front of her. Oh, God, he would die.
But somehow, by a miracle that she couldn't comprehend, the truck kept struggling forward, all four wheels still gripping the earth.
The truck was above the roots now. Was he going to make it? Please let him make it—
The wheels slipped, and the truck dropped several yards down toward the roots. "No!" She took a useless, powerless step as the tires caught on the roots. The tires spun out in the mud, and the roots ripped across the side of the vehicle with a furious scream.
"Go," she shouted, clenching her firsts. "Go!"
He gunned the engine, and suddenly the tires caught. The truck leapt forward, careening sideways across the hill, skidding back and forth as the mud spewed. He made it past the tree
, and then the truck plowed back down toward the road, sliding and rolling as he fought for control.
Clare held her hand over her mouth, terrified that at any moment one of his tires would catch on a root and he'd flip. "Please make it, please make it, please make it," she whispered over and over again.
The truck bounced high over a gully, and she gasped when it flew up so high she could see the undercarriage. Then somehow, someway, he wrested the truck back to four wheels, spun out into the road and stopped, its wipers pounding furiously against the rain as the floodlights poured hope into the night.
Oh, dear God. He'd made it. He hadn't died.
Clare gripped her chest against the tightness in her lungs. Her hands were shaking, her legs were weak. She needed to sit down. To recover.
But there was no time. The driver's door opened and out he stepped. Standing behind the range of his floodlights, he was silhouetted against the darkness, his shoulders so wide and dominating he looked like the dark earth itself had brought him to life.
Something inside her leapt with hope at the sight of him, at the sheer, raw strength of his body as he came toward her. This man, this stranger, he was enough. He could help her. Sudden tears burned in her eyes as she finally realized she didn't have to fight this battle by herself.
He held up his hand to tell her to stay, then he slogged over to the front of his truck. He hooked something to the winch, then headed over to the tree. The trunk came almost to his chest, but he locked his grip around a wet branch for leverage, and then vaulted over with effortless grace, landing in the mud with a splash. "Come here," he shouted over the wind.
Clare ran across the muck toward him, stumbling in the slippery footing. "You're crazy!" she shouted, shielding her eyes against the bright floodlights from his truck. But God, she'd never been so happy to see crazy in her life.
Wrapped Up In You (A Mystic Island Christmas) Page 12