A Season of the Heart: Rocky Mountain ChristmasThe Christmas GiftsThe Christmas Charm

by Jillian Hart

  “Two days ago, the Mounties started up the dogsled teams again, carrying mail back and forth along the valley,” he said. “I’ve been dying to tell you all afternoon. I posted a letter yesterday.”

  She looked up and stared at the serene expression on his handsome face. “Who did you write to?”

  “My father.” James looped his long arms across her back, encompassing her with a stillness as she listened to his every word. “I got to thinking about what you said. I was a child when I attempted to work in the mines. I didn’t understand all the angles and how difficult it is for a man to face the world and have to look after a family.”

  “What did you say in the letter?”

  “It was only a Christmas greeting, really, a wish for a happy new year. He probably won’t read more into it. He likely won’t write me back.”

  “He might.”

  “You don’t know how stubborn he is.”

  “I’m glad you wrote to him. Maybe now you can think about your past with a bit more cheer.”

  “I consider it your Christmas gift to me. You made me see the light. And no matter what happens with my father, I know I tried my best.”

  His words filled her with an easy warmth. What else was inside of his character that she never would have guessed? “And you, James, you made me realize that I’ve been making my life more complicated than need be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She took another breath of him, enjoying the fresh mint traces of his shaving cream. “It seems that for every year that went by, I’d get more determined that every man who showed an interest in me was after my money.”

  “Some might have been.”

  “But not you. There are more facets to you than I ever would have suspected.” She gripped his waist. “I was too harsh on some of the other men, though.”

  “Can’t say I’m sad about that. I’m glad you gave them the boot.”

  She smiled at his possessive remark. “About Angelina…I must confess that I’d grown terribly selfish about her, too. When we couldn’t find her folks, I allowed myself to think that maybe…maybe she could stay here with me. That she was a sort of gift sent by heaven. Wasn’t that ridiculous?”

  “Ah, Maggie…”

  “And then when we found Kyle and Lynne and David, I knew in my heart that the gift I’d been given was the opportunity of giving her back….” Saying it aloud, Maggie felt a joyous exhilaration that Lynne must have felt when she’d finally seen her baby alive.

  They relaxed like that for a moment, James and Maggie, listening to the warm howling wind outside, the fire spewing flames in the stove, the crackle of timber around them as rafters heaved and expanded with the heat.

  “You know what, Maggie? You’re standing under the kissing ball.”

  Her gentle laughter was caught short by his kiss. A powerful set of hands slid up her back and coaxed the last vestiges of chill from her bones. She felt so protected, so wanted by this man, and for all the right reasons.

  But alone with him tonight, kissing him with every nuance of sexuality in her, hearing him moan and pull her closer, wanting more, warned her to stop before they did something she might regret. As much as she wanted this, too…

  She broke free of his mouth and, panting, pressed her forehead into his chest. “James, I—”

  “Maggie, I’d like you to be my wife.”

  It took a moment to comprehend his meaning. Slowly, feeling a burning heat in her neck and a thundering in her pulse, Maggie lifted her lashes to study his face. Tenderness etched the corners of his mouth, and that heartbreaking vulnerability unique only to James, glistened in his eyes.

  “I love you, Maggie. Will you marry me?”

  How could she not have known he felt this way? Joy filled her heart.

  “It would be my honor, James. I think I’ve been in love with you for years, since the first time you sang me a song and kissed me.”

  Laughing, he swooped down for another heated kiss, but when his hand reached around to cup her breast, she softly nudged it lower.

  “Not until we’re married.”

  He growled with a mix of displeasure and open frustration at being told to stop. “You’re an honorable woman, but your honor can drive a man insane. I’ll respect your wishes, but let’s speak to the minister tonight after Christmas Eve services. Now that I’ve found you, I’d like our life together to begin as soon as possible.”

  “Will you always be so eager?”

  His murmur was almost a plea as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Always.” Then to her utter, blissful delight, he added, “I’d like us to have children, Maggie, as many as you want.”

  Ten days later on January third of the new year, James opened his eyes and adjusted them to the morning light that poured across Maggie’s bedroom. Warm and content, he turned to gaze at the naked woman lying on her side next to him.

  Maggie was facing the wall, away from him. James devoured the sight of her smooth back, the bumps of her spine, the way her loose blond hair covered the pillow like flowing ivy. He loved the sound of her deep breathing and the way her lungs worked in and out, gently causing her waist to move up and down. She had one knee pressed to her belly, angling her beautiful hips toward him, exposing a smooth white rump. He sighed, longing to make love to her again. But instead, he tugged the goose-down duvet over her hips, figuring she was cold, also stealing a glance at her finely turned calves and slender ankles.

  The rustling of the covers made her stir. Rolling around to face him, she opened an eye.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fielder.”

  “Huh,” she said lightly. “If I had known you loved to hog the covers, I might have reconsidered your proposal.”

  He grinned at her remark, kissed her forehead, then yanked at the portion of the duvet that was hiding her breasts, thereby releasing them for his viewing pleasure.

  “That’s more like it. I want to see what I own.”

  She hit him playfully on the arm, but he grinned at the sight of two rose-tipped breasts jiggling beneath her arm.

  His body sprang to life. “You’re a beauty.”

  He traced a kiss along her arm, then lowered his mouth to one of the rose tips. Licking lightly, he enjoyed the smoothness of her nipple and the way his wife stilled beneath his touch. He sucked her other breast as Maggie cupped it toward him. How did he get so lucky to marry a woman so full of sensuality and pleasure? And love.

  His heart went wild when she slid her hand along his body, beginning with his waist and moving to his bare hip. When she grasped his thickening shaft and slid her silky fingers along his skin, he moved closer to get more of her.

  She tossed a leg across his hip. He angled himself to the moist, dark target and gently pressed himself along her opening. She was slick again, and she thrust herself toward him so he could enter.

  He uttered indecipherable sounds of pleasure as they made love, lying side by side, he with his hands on her breasts and back, she tugging him by the waist so that he could push himself deeper.

  He tried to hold back so that she would climax first, sucking her breasts and her throat until he felt her tense. Without restraint, his beautiful wife released and contracted in wave after wave of splendor. James knew that as long as he lived, he’d never get enough of seeing her like this. He wanted to please her in every way, in every facet of their lives.

  When she relaxed, he grinned and playfully tugged at a nipple. She responded with a laugh and pushed his shoulder so that he was lying on his back with her riding on top.

  “Hmm,” he growled, watching her breasts bounce. “You do know how to please me.”

  And then it was his turn. He felt the slow build, the tension rising in every muscle, the contractions about to explode. When he reached the pinnacle, he felt her loving touch in the way her hands slid along his chest, and the tiny kisses she planted along his throat. “Oh, Maggie…”

  When the interlude was over, she slid off of him to her back, kicking the cover
s back on top of them.

  “No matter how long I make love to you,” he said, watching the sunshine pour over her face, “it’s never, ever enough.”

  “That’s how I feel, too.”

  “What shall we do today, Maggie? You name it and I’ll make it happen.”

  With a boisterous smile, she moved closer so they were resting hip to hip. She curled her feet with his so that their toes wiggled together. He loved the feel of that, too. They’d been married since January first, a new year to start a new beginning, Maggie had said, and so far they’d spent almost two whole days in bed.

  The first two weeks of the new year were always quiet for her business, she’d told him, and so she’d closed the store. He had two more days of rest himself, then he’d return to duty. He hadn’t told her yet, but later this year when his enlisted time was over, he was planning on retiring from the force to pursue trapping and hunting for a living. He knew she’d be pleased, for Maggie could continue working in her store and not have to relocate to Alberta district once Fort Steele was closed.

  “It’s time I get you outdoors so that folks don’t think I’ve kidnapped you,” he told her. “Shall we visit your sisters today? Your nieces and nephews can show you how the new coats and boots you bought them fit.”

  “Yes, I’m in the mood for visiting. Let’s do that.”

  He watched Maggie dress. She slid expertly into her corset but asked him to tighten the laces, which he eagerly did, loving the way it made the top of her breasts nearly spill over. They dressed together, as husbands and wives do.

  With the barking of dogs outside, Maggie slid the curtains aside to peer out. The many buttons on her cuffs and high-pinched collar glimmered in the bright sunshine. “Someone’s coming in on dogsled. Looks like the Mounties with a mail run.”

  “Let’s see,” he said, drawing closer, buttoning his sleeves and patting his collar to sit straight over his tie.

  James recognized the constable, but there was a stranger rising from the sled. An old man dressed in a faded brown coat with patches on his elbows—

  “Oh,” James gasped, recognizing the aged face.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My father,” he whispered, an ache rising to his throat.

  Maggie looked from James to the old man standing out in the cold, who was looking from store to store and home to home, perhaps wondering where to begin knocking. He looked frail, thought James as his heart sped. His father’s hair was totally white beneath his old cap, and he wasn’t as heavy as he used to be. Not nearly as formidable as he’d once seemed to James.

  “He got your letter.” Maggie’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Must have,” James replied, trying to suppress his own.

  She pressed her hand into his and gave him time to consider what to do.

  James clasped her fingers, ever so grateful that Maggie was by his side. “Let’s go out and bid him good welcome.”

  THE CHRISTMAS CHARM

  Mary Burton

  Chapter One

  Grant’s Forge, Virginia

  December 25, 1869

  Colleen Garland had established a strict routine when her husband suffered a devastating stroke seven years ago. Since that day, she rose before dawn, dressed in a starched calico skirt and white blouse, swept her blond hair back into a stern bun and made a modest breakfast of toast and one boiled egg. The early mornings were spent feeding, shaving and dressing her husband and seeing her younger sister off to school. Save for the day of her husband’s funeral eight months ago, she always opened the shades of Garland’s Mercantile at precisely eight o’clock.

  There were so many days and nights when her life felt as if it was spinning out of control. There was no one to talk to, no one to share her burdens with. It was the routine that gave her a sense of control not only over her business but her personal life, as well. Her husband and sister depended on her to keep their home together and her customers depended on her attention to detail, her organization and her talent for finding just about anything anyone needed.

  More than a few folks whispered that she was far too young to be so prickly, but girlish whims were a luxury she couldn’t afford. So she held her head high and gave them no mind.

  However, this morning was different. Not only did she leave her bed unmade, but she didn’t bother with the stiff corset. Uncharacteristic excitement bubbled in her as she moved through the simply furnished parlor, past her sister’s closed bedroom door and down the back staircase to the kitchen.

  Her sister, Deidre, had arrived home yesterday from Hollins Institute. She’d been gone for five months and this was her first break. Today was just for the two of them.

  A large cast-iron stove dominated the kitchen. Across from it was a large wooden table, nicked and scarred by over fifty years of use, four straight-back chairs and a sink and pump. The floor was stone, a remnant of the tavern that had stood in this spot years ago.

  She flexed her cold fingertips before she opened the stove’s firebox and stoked the dimming embers. She started to feed in aged timbers. Slowly, the fire sparked, hissed and warmed the cold room.

  She sat back on her heels and watched the fire dance. During the years Deidre had been growing up, Colleen either worked long hours in the store or she was caring for her ailing husband. There was little time for Deidre and fun. She regretted the time the store and Richard’s illness took from her life, but there was no getting around it. She had an obligation to her husband, and the store had to stay open if they all wanted to eat.

  Still, she couldn’t avoid the stab of guilt. Her little sister had grown up and away from her. They’d lost so much time together.

  She lifted her chin, shooing the sadness away. No sense fussing over spilled milk. She rose to her feet and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

  This Christmas holiday was going to be extra special. No work. Just the two of them laughing and spending time together as they had so many years ago.

  Colleen crossed the room to the small pantry. Lining the walls were shelves filled with the peaches, tomatoes and berries she’d canned in jars at the end of summer. Two large ham legs hung from the ceiling. She chose three of her best apples from a basket in the corner, as well as the crock of sugar and the eggs she’d been hoarding for days.

  Returning to the worn kitchen table, she assembled her grater, mixing bowls and spoons. She started to shred the apples over a bowl. Apple bread was Deidre’s favorite. So many times her sister had begged her to make this when she was little. So many times circumstances forced her to say, “Tomorrow.”

  By the time she’d finished mixing the batter, a wall clock chimed seven times. The fire in the stove hissed and popped. She slid the pan into the oven and rose. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and in no time had cleaned her cooking utensils and put them back in their places.

  Without thinking she started toward the store, then caught herself. Normally at this time of day she was out front in the store, busy sweeping the floors, straightening a canned-good display or polishing the large front picture window. But today was her day off.

  She started to wipe down the already clean kitchen table. Once the table was rewiped, she rinsed out her cloth and laid it neatly over the edge of the sink.

  Colleen nervously patted her fingers on the side of her leg as she glanced around the clean kitchen. She was so used to working—it had become as much a part of her life as breathing. So this break in her routine felt awkward. This morning’s stillness gave her far too much time to think.

  Just eight months ago, all she’d craved was a moment’s peace. There’d never been a moment to think or feel. Now, instead of peace, she felt far older than her twenty-six years. Choices she’d made haunted her.

  Hot tears filled her eyes. “You won’t do this to yourself,” Colleen whispered, surprised by the unwelcome well of emotion. “What’s done is done.”

  She focused on her task.
Her first Christmas as a widow wouldn’t be sad. It would be happy. The apple bread would make this day special. She and Dee would decorate the table-top tree in the parlor with paper chains, ribbons and dried fruit and then tonight they’d go to church. The day would be perfect. Soon she would feel like her old self.

  Footsteps sounded on the back staircase as Colleen crossed the room toward the stove to make coffee. Deidre bounded down the stairs, so full of energy and life, she seemed to attack each day. “Good morning!”

  Deidre’s blue eyes sparkled as she smiled. She’d brushed her blond ringlets back off her face, leaving a few curling strands to dangle just above her forehead. Her new blue wool dress hugged her young body, accentuating curves that had grown quite womanly this last year. Eighteen and all grown up.

  Colleen was so proud of her sister. She was attending college as she’d once dreamed of doing. Her sister would have an education and choices—choices Colleen could have had if she’d not sacrificed her own future for Keith Garrett. The young farmer had stolen her heart the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. When the time had come for her to go to school, she’d said no, believing Keith would marry her. But the war broke out, Keith refused to marry her and he’d left to fight. Her parents had died during the next year and she and Deidre were alone.

  Even after eight years, the memories still sliced through her heart.

  “You are up earlier than usual,” Colleen said, grateful her voice sounded even.

  Excitement bubbled from Deidre. “I’m off to see Sally and Anne. We’re having breakfast.”

  Colleen didn’t hide her disappointment. If only the apple bread had been ready. “I’d hoped we’d have breakfast this morning.”

  Deidre’s skirts brushed the edge of the kitchen worktable as she held out Colleen’s best velvet Sunday hat. “Would you help me pin this on?”

  She smelled of rose water—Colleen’s rose water. “You’ve been in my dresser.”

  Her sister smiled. “The hat goes so well with this dress and your bottle of rose water is over half-full. You never use it anymore. I hate to see it go unused.”