Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas

by Juliet Blackwell

  Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas

  Where love begins on Main Street and ends happily ever after....

  Christmas, the most magical season, is almost upon the small mountain town of Snow Creek. For seven couples, holiday wishes mean more than just gifts or parties. Can Snow Creek pull off its annual holiday miracle of bringing love to town?

  Featuring seven original romances by New York Times and bestselling authors…

  Juliet Blackwell

  LGC Smith

  Cecilia Gray

  Adrienne Bell

  Rachael Herron

  Ruby Laska

  Lisa Hughey

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Copyright 2012 by Pens and Friends

  Cover Design by Kim Killion

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written consent from the author/publisher.

  Queen of Hearts

  by Juliet Blackwell

  Serafina Rogers is not an impulsive person, but lately something’s gotten into her. She walked away from warm San Diego, her scumbag ex-fiance, and her teaching job in order to come to Snow Creek and take over her deceased aunt’s witchy supply store. Unfortunately, her hunky cowboy landlord, Joe, has other plans for the space, which hasn’t turned a profit in years. Neither Joe nor Serafina believe in magic, much less romance. But when a Yule log is tossed on the fire, Serafina begins seeing things in her aunt’s deck of cards, and Joe’s niece goes missing…they might just have to change their minds.

  Queen of Hearts

  Three old men, heedless of the cold, sat outside a shop called Magic Baubles, watching a pretty, but frazzled-looking, young woman attempt to maneuver a large foreign car into a prime parking spot on the street in front of them. The driver appeared to be attempting a three-point turn, but by now was on her seventh point. Reverse, forward, reverse…inch by tortured inch.

  “Big car,” said the first, pushing heavy-rimmed glasses higher on his bulbous nose. “A sawbuck says she’s a skier stopping for supplies.”

  “Nah,” replied the second, scratching his pink, bald scalp before adjusting his Greek fisherman’s cap. “No skis. Prob’ly lost.”

  “I’d say tourist,” nodded the third, his face a mass of dark, leathery wrinkles. “Headin’ over to the Mitten Inn.”

  The other two shrugged. It didn’t much matter, in the end. This was their perch, where they passed the time each morning after fixing a breakfast of coffee and eggs at home. On special occasions they might treat themselves to a plate of corned beef hash at the Main Street Diner, where they would flirt shamelessly with the waitresses. But mostly they sat here, on the bench outside Magic Baubles, just as they had for years, ever since they’d slowed down and Darlene Gilbert had set this carved wooden bench out front, as if inviting them to set a spell. They teased Darlene about reading cards and brewing potions—“woo-woo witchy nonsense,” they called it—but it was said with deep affection. Her passing had left an aching void in their hearts. A few months ago, they had dressed in their Sunday best and drove their battered pickup trucks out to the old cemetery on the edge of town, the one ringed by tall cypress trees, to see their old friend off on her journey to the beyond. Unsure what to do next, they found themselves meeting here at the bench, as usual. Darlene would have approved, they nodded to themselves. After all, there wasn’t much to do in a small town like Snow Creek, not when you’re on the far side of eighty.

  They didn’t whistle at the girls, harangue the whippersnappers, or tease the tourists—at least not when the tourists could hear. Mostly they sat and enjoyed the fresh air and each other’s company, watching the new arrivals drive down Main Street in their flashy automobiles and shiny SUVs. Snow Creek’s legendary snow always seemed to catch the tourists by surprise, even though it was the main reason anyone ever came to town.

  The woman in the too-big car backed up to try again.

  “She ain’t no quitter, I’ll give her that,” said the man in the fisherman’s cap.

  The trio looked to their right at the sound of heavy boots clomping on the sidewalk. A man and a girl approached. The dark-haired, petite teenager wore too much makeup and a frown, mumbled a quick “Mornin’” to the men on the bench, and let herself into Magic Baubles with a key. She flipped the hand-painted, gothic-lettered sign in the window to Open and slammed the door.

  The man lingered near the bench, crossing his arms over his broad chest and leaning against the building’s weathered grey clapboards. He wore a fleecy sheepskin jacket, blue jeans, and a cowboy hat. Tall and lean, he had the sort of ropy muscles that spoke of hard labor instead of an expensive gym. The kind they’d all had, back in the day, when they’d been young and full of sass.

  “Mornin’ Joe,” said one.

  “Mornin’ Leo, Sully, Ray,” said Joe with a nod to each.

  Joe had known these men all his life. Sully had taught him to fish, Leo made him work like a demon on his cattle ranch, and Ray had schooled him in manners on more than one occasion. It always surprised Joe to see them shrinking into themselves, as though they had already taken a few steps into the world beyond. Joe glanced at his watch. He was itching to get to work, but forced himself to chat with the threesome for a few minutes as he did just about every morning.

  Slow down, Darlene used to tell him. Take time to listen to the oldsters. They know more than you know.

  “How’s everybody doing today?” Joe asked.

  “Fair to middlin’,” said Ray.

  “Sciatica’s actin’ up,” said Leo. “You got any more of that salve you use for the horses? Darlene used to mix somethin’ up for me, don’t know what it was but it worked real fine. But now….” he trailed off, and they observed a moment of silence for their departed friend.

  “Sure thing,” said Joe. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

  “’Preciate that.”

  Now, all four men turned their attention to the woman as she finally nosed her BMW into the parking space. It sat at an angle to the curb, but that was no big deal. The citizens of Snow Creek observed the spirit of the law, not the letter, and appreciated a sincere attempt.

  “We’re thinkin’ the Mitten Inn has a new guest,” Sully said.

  “Think so?” Joe shook his head. “Gotta say, she’s alone. Nobody comes to the Mitten Inn to pass the holidays by themselves. That would be downright sad, wouldn’t it?”

  The old men nodded.

  Through the snow-framed windshield Joe could see the driver’s face: cute, but pale, even stricken-looking. Not the eager look of a woman on vacation, filled with anticipation. She wore a plain white shirt buttoned all the way up to her chin, a boring dark-colored jacket that looked like it belonged in a boardroom, and her honey-colored hair was swept into a prim, no-nonsense bun. All buttoned up and buttoned down. But the truth was, Joe had always had a soft spot for this type of woman. There was something about the strand of hair that fell loose of the bun, the one button that looked about to open…Joe always wondered what lurked beneath such outwardly formal attire.

  As he studied her, the woman leaned forward and rested her forehead on her h
ands, still gripping the leather-bound steering wheel. Whatever brought her to Snow Creek, Joe thought, it wasn’t a romantic getaway.

  “I gotta go with Sully on this one,” said Joe. “That woman looks plain old lost to me.”

  ***

  Serafina closed her eyes and rested her head. Just for a moment, just to steel herself. She tried using a trick she’d developed as a child when she needed to calm down: she called up a mathematical equation in her mind, methodically sifting through the numbers and symbols. The x’s and y’s drifted about in her mind’s eye like helium-filled balloons, bobbing and weaving until she pulled them, one by one, into the formula and made them stick.

  It usually worked. Just not today.

  Stupid car.

  When the flirtatious young man behind the rental car counter suggested she upgrade from a small compact to a luxurious BMW, complete with sunroof, Serafina envisioned herself driving to her new life in style, her hair billowing in the breeze like a glamorous 1950s movie star. Like Grace Kelly. The car was an indulgence she could scarcely afford, but she had worked so hard, didn’t she deserve the occasional treat? But the moment she drove off the lot, Serafina knew she had made a mistake. The weather was far too cold to open the sunroof, and the car was much larger than she was accustomed to driving. She didn’t feel glamorous; she was no movie star. Who was she kidding? She felt clumsy and awkward, and cold. Serafina had managed the car well enough on the freeway but the windy two-lane road up to Snow Creek had been a white-knuckled drive. She’d been relieved to finally arrive in town, only to discover the fresh new hell of parallel parking.

  Having an audience of locals—three elderly men and one way-too-handsome cowboy—witness her humiliation hadn’t helped. Now she was frustrated and sweating with the effort of parking this monstrosity of a rental car. She was willing to bet Grace Kelly had never had to parallel park.

  Serafina blew out a long breath. When you can’t go back, go forward, she reminded herself, and, recovering her wits a bit, swung the door open. Her heart sank as she felt snow crunching beneath the soles of her new boots. I’m not good with cold, she thought. Then again, if she were to be honest—and Serafina was always brutally honest—she wasn’t good at anything lately…with the possible exception of choosing the worst of all possible options, each and every time.

  Like deciding to teach mathematics to college students instead of making a fortune in the computer industry, Serafina grumbled mentally as she circled the car to get her bags from the trunk. Like choosing a fiancé whose orderly lawyer’s mind she had admired until he came home one day and announced he’d fallen in love with his much-younger paralegal, they were flying to Hawaii to get married, and would Serafina please find someplace else to live because the condo was in his name.

  I’ve become a cliché, Serafina remembered thinking as she packed up her life, a life that had seemed so on track for a happy ending. She’d tried many times to get Drew to take a vacation, to go to Hawaii for a romantic getaway, but he’d always refused, citing his work. Now that he’d made partner in his law firm, Drew was ready to celebrate—with a pretty young blonde with a tattoo of a bluebird on her shoulder. A bluebird, Serafina thought, her anger growing.

  This happened the same week the faculty dinosaurs in the mathematics department—all old men, of course— had undermined her with the administration and sabotaged a grant for a program she’d been developing for six months. And then, on top of everything else, her reliable old car had died in the middle of I-5, stranding her in morning rush hour traffic.

  That’s it, she had thought. I have had it, I am out of here. And on impulse she resigned her teaching position and left sunny, warm San Diego for this frigid, snow-covered mountain village in order to…what? Take over her Aunt Darlene’s witchy supply store? Seriously?

  This was not a Grace Kelly move. Grace Kelly had left Hollywood stardom to marry a Prince and live in a palace by the sea.

  “Idiot,” she whispered, and yanked on the bulky suitcase. She was a super-efficient packer, resulting in a suitcase so heavy the airline had charged extra. “Freaking idiot.”

  “Help you with that?”

  Serafina jumped. It was the Cowboy, standing right behind her. His eyes were a light blue, vivid against a tanned face sporting just a hint of dark whiskers. He wore an honest-to-gosh cowboy hat, his jeans were worn, and his boots were scuffed. At least he was authentic, not a wannabe like those who wandered around Old Towne San Diego as if extras on a Wild West movie set.

  “Um…no thanks,” Serafina said, a blush burning her cheeks. “I’ve got it.”

  Joe smiled, tipped his hat, and stepped back. There was something intriguing about this woman—an outsider, clearly, but not a skier. Definitely not a local…yet something about the tilt of her hazel eyes, the way she carried herself, seemed familiar.

  Joe’s eyes widened. Could this be the niece Darlene was always going on about? What was her name…Sara something?

  “You’ll love her, Joe,” Darlene used to say as she crushed spices, seeds, and dried leaves with a massive stone mortar and pestle to make one of her herb-infused brews. Joe didn’t put any store in magic, per se, but he’d seen enough to know that spirit had a real hand in healing. If it made people feel better to hold a crystal in their hand, or sleep with an herbal sachet under their pillow, or drink one of Darlene’s custom brews, far be it from him to cast aspersions. Still…he wasn’t sure about the old woman’s judgment when it came to her favorite niece.

  “Once you get past the shell, you’re going to love her. Poor thing’s a mess at the moment. But I know you’ll find there’s something special about her. I see it, clear as day, in my cards."

  “You’re a fraud,” Joe had teased. “You can’t see anything at all, much less in your cards.”

  Darlene had just grinned, revealing several missing teeth. Darlene had been ancient and about as ugly as could be, her face nothing but wrinkles and age spots. Even her eyes, which had once been a beautiful hazel, had become cloudy with the cataracts she refused to have surgery to correct, claiming she would die soon enough. And then she had. Her passing left an empty space in Joe’s life, as well as in the town. He had known her since he was an angry teenager, when she had offered him the solace, affection, and guidance his mother never could, much less his distant, violent father. Joe figured if he had a decent bone in his body, it was due to that tiny, crazy old woman.

  Speaking of crazy women…he couldn’t just stand by and watch the one in front of him struggling with her suitcase. He leaned in to grab the handle.

  Serafina responded with an aggressive, elbows-up move she had learned in self-defense class.

  “Whoa.” Joe held his hands up in surrender, a crooked smile on his handsome face. “Sorry, only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “Okay…are you looking for the Mitten?”

  She blinked. “The what?”

  “The Mitten.”

  “I’ve got…I’ve got gloves in my suitcase, thank you.”

  He smiled again. “I meant the Mitten Inn. The hotel. It’s down Main Street a spell, back a couple of blocks closer to the highway. Big Victorian place, so dolled up with Christmas decorations it looks like a postcard. You drove right past it.”

  Serafina shook her head and returned to wrangling her suitcase. She didn’t mean to be rude, but she just wasn’t good with people. Even blue-eyed, handsome cowboys.

  Especially blue-eyed, handsome cowboys.

  She gave the heavy bag another hard tug and finally pulled it out with an oof, letting it fall at her feet. With a sinking sensation, Serafina realized there was no way the rollers would work on the gravel and accumulated snow by the side of the road. But having made such a show of refusing assistance, she was going to have to brazen it out.

  “Mornin’, Joe,” said another elderly man as he walked by, gazing with curiosity at Serafina.

  “How you doin’, Elmer?” replied Joe.

&
nbsp; “Help the lady with her bag, why dontcha Joe?” he frowned.

  Joe shrugged. “Apparently, she can do it herself.”

  “Heya, Joe,” a young woman called out as she headed across the street. Her flirtatious smile fell as she looked at Serafina with concern. “Does she need help?”

  “Doesn’t want any,” said Sully, helpfully.

  “Nope,” chimed in Ray. “Doin’ it herself.”

  “Independent sort,” Leo added.

  Serafina couldn’t believe this. Where she was from, people didn’t speak to strangers; even in sunny San Diego, they minded their own business. But what had she expected, moving to a small town? Idiot.

  Serafina let the heavy bag rest on the ground for a moment while she caught her breath and checked out her surroundings. The town had gone all-out for the holidays. Strings of brightly colored lights twined up the old-fashioned streetlamps, and the shops were decorated in ribbons and sleigh bells, reminiscent of a Currier and Ives print. She had passed a massive Christmas tree on Main Street, decorated to the hilt. There were Victorian houses and covered walkways next to Magic Baubles, her aunt’s store. Sunset Magazine hadn’t exaggerated when it called Snow Creek “a snow globe come to life.” A perfect place to celebrate Christmas.

  Meanwhile, Serafina felt like The Grinch.

  She pushed that thought away. Right now all she wanted was to make it into Magic Baubles. She would go inside and shut out these too-friendly locals, then sit down and put pencil to paper, and figure everything out. She thought better on paper.

  Gripping the heavy suitcase with both hands, Serafina carried it awkwardly over to the bottom of the steps leading to the store. She set it down to rest for a moment.

  Joe crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the neighboring car, the expression on his face flickering between bemused and amused. Would she be able to lug it up those five steps?