Gideon, handsome in his black woolen trousers, shirtsleeves and brocade vest, banked the fire on the hearth. When he turned around, Lydia was standing right behind him, shyly holding a package.
“I thought we were waiting until morning,” Gideon said, looking puzzled.
“This is special,” Lydia said softly, placing the gift in his hands.
Slowly, Gideon untied the ribbon, laid back the wrapping paper. Saw the watercolor painting she’d taken weeks to get just right.
It was a second portrait of him, but this time, unlike in the earlier likeness she’d done, he was facing forward, with a little smile crooking up one corner of his mouth and peace in his eyes.
“I look like a man who means to stay put for good,” he said, his voice hoarse and his eyes suspiciously bright. Then he bent his head and kissed her, lightly, but with a promise of more fevered kisses to follow. “And that’s exactly what I am.”
* * * * *
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Christmas is a time for fresh starts, and in Mustang Creek, Wyoming, anything is possible—even an unexpected love between a graphic designer with deep country roots and a Hollywood executive who lives life in the fast lane.
Read on for a sneak peek of A Snow Country Christmas
an all-new Carsons of Mustang Creek novel
from #1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller and HQN Books!
Raine McCall first frowned at the screen and then stared at the clock.
Her computer was right. Two in the morning? No way.
Oh, she’d be the first to admit that when she was working she lost track of time, but she was always there to put her daughter on the school bus and make sure Daisy had done her homework and had a healthy breakfast.
She’d always suffered from what she called WSS. Whimsical Sleep Schedule.
Awake at all hours, losing track of time if the muse was in the mood, and she’d been guilty of falling asleep in the chair at her desk. Daisy had told her more than once, with a maturity beyond her years, she thought she worked too hard, but then Raine didn’t really think of it as work. Spinning dream images into reality was a unique joy and she felt sorry for every person in the world that had a job they disliked.
She wasn’t the only one awake either. Taking a break, she checked her email and was startled. Mick Branson? The Mick Branson had sent her a message? Hotshot Hollywood executive, way too focused, and no sense of humor—though come to think of it, he did smile now and then. He was good-looking, but she couldn’t get beyond the sophisticated polish. She was a Wyoming girl through and through and thousand dollar suits weren’t her preference. Give her a hat, jeans, and some worn boots.
Of course she’d met the man quite a few times at the ranch because he was the driving force behind the documentaries that Slater Carson, her ex-boyfriend and father of her child, made, but getting an email from him was a definite first. Sent five minutes ago? She was too intrigued not to open it.
I’m going to be in Mustang Creek for the holidays. Can we have a business meeting? Maybe over dinner?
That was interesting, but currently she was up to her ears in deadlines trying to produce artwork for the labels for Mountain Vineyards wines. Her graphic design business had really taken off, and she wasn’t sure she could handle another project.
From what she knew of Mick Branson, it wouldn’t be a small one either.
She typed back. When did you have in mind?
Tomorrow night? If you don’t already have plans, that is.
On Christmas Eve?
Well, Daisy did usually spend that evening with her father’s family and Raine spent it alone with a nice glass of wine and a movie. They always invited her, but she went the next day instead for the big dinner celebration and skipped the night before in favor of solitude. It was never that they made her feel like an outsider; quite the opposite, but Slater needed some time with his daughter to make memories without Raine always in the background. So while she appreciated the invitation, she’d always declined. It had been difficult when Daisy was little to spend such a magical evening away from her, but he was entitled. He was a wonderful father.
She typed: On the 24th of December, I assure you no place is open in Mustang Creek. This isn’t California. You’d have to come to my place and I usually just eat a hamburger and drink wine.
He wrote back: That sounds fine. I like burgers and I enjoy wine. Let me bring the beverages. Please excuse me if I’m inviting myself.
She couldn’t decide if he had, or if she’d done it. She really did need to get more sleep now and then. She typed: Mountain Vineyards for the wine.
You got it.
Have a safe flight.
Thank you, but I’m already here. See you tomorrow. Don’t mention to anyone, especially Slater, that I’m in town please.
Raine sat back and let out a breath. She hadn’t ever anticipated spending an evening with someone like Mick Branson, much less Christmas Eve.
Luckily, she thought, she’d thoroughly cleaned the house the day before when she realized that sound she abstractly heard in the background was the vacuum. Daisy was voluntarily doing a chore she usually argued over? Raine decided then and there—once she recovered from her shock—that maybe she had been spending too much time in her office. Sure enough, the house needed dusting, the kitchen floor had crumbs on it and the laundry room was in dire need of a workout.
Not that someone like Mr. Hollywood Executive Mick Branson, who probably lived in a mansion in Beverly Hills, would be impressed with her small and eclectic house anyway, no matter how tidy. Wait until he got a look at her Christmas tree. There was no theme to the ornaments; if something caught her eye, she bought and it put it up. There were owls, glittery reindeer, a glass shrimp with wings wearing a boa, all right alongside her grandmother’s collection of English traditional antique glass orbs in brilliant colors. Those heirlooms were hung up high thanks to Mr. Bojangles, her enormous Maine coon cat. He was somewhat of a reclusive character, but he became positively playful when the Christmas tree went up. Walking past it usually meant an unexpected guerilla attack on your ankles because he considered it his covert hiding place every December. Therefore the ornaments on the bottom were soft stuffed squirrels and bunnies with a few fake pine cones he could bat around. Add in Daisy’s giant dog, Samson, who accidentally knocked an ornament off every time he walked by, and her tree had no hope.
“Definitely not a designer tree, unless a deranged leprechaun arranged it” was how Daisy described it.
Raine loved it.
It was exactly her style. There was nothing wrong with being quirky. She went and switched off the lights and headed off to bed, wondering how she’d gotten roped into this situation.
Hollywood Hotshot Mick Branson eating hamburgers at her house on Christmas Eve?
Slater Carson was going to laugh himself into a fit.
Don’t miss
A SNOW COUNTRY CHRISTMAS
by #1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller!
Copyright © 2017 by Hometown Girl Makes Good, Inc.
ISBN-13: 9781488095603
The Bridegroom
Copyright © 2009 by Linda Lael Miller
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en permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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www.Harlequin.com
Sometimes, Mr. Right needs a nudge in the right direction… Don’t miss this beloved classic from #1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller.
It’s hard for Ashley O’Ballivan not to feel a little lonely. After all, everyone in her family is marrying and having babies—except her. She hasn’t had a booking at her bed-and-breakfast in far too long. And she hasn’t seen or heard from the handsome, mysterious man who broke her heart in months.
But then Jack McCall suddenly reappears—with no explanations and no promises. Jack has secrets, secrets he says he has to keep to protect her. Secrets she fears will ultimately take him away from her again. But this time, Ashley’s determined to convince him that he’s at home only in Stone Creek—with her.
Originally published in 2008
At Home in Stone Creek
LINDA LAEL MILLER
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
CHAPTER 1
Ashley O’Ballivan dropped the last string of Christmas lights into a plastic storage container, resisting an uncharacteristic urge to kick the thing into the corner of the attic instead of stacking it with the others. For her, the holidays had been anything but merry and bright; in fact, the whole year had basically sucked. But for her brother, Brad, and sister Olivia, it qualified as a personal best—both of them were happily married. Even her workaholic twin, Melissa, had had a date for New Year’s Eve.
Ashley, on the other hand, had spent the night alone, sipping nonalcoholic wine in front of the portable TV set in her study, waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square.
How lame was that?
It was worse than lame—it was pathetic.
She wasn’t even thirty yet, and she was well on her way to old age.
With a sigh, Ashley turned from the dusty hodge-podge surrounding her—she went all out, at the Mountain View Bed and Breakfast, for every red-letter day on the calendar—and headed for the attic stairs. As she reached the bottom, stepping into the corridor just off the kitchen, a familiar car horn sounded from the driveway in front of the detached garage. It could only be Olivia’s ancient Suburban.
Ashley had mixed feelings as she hoisted the ladder-steep steps back up into the ceiling. She loved her older sister dearly and was delighted that Olivia had found true love with Tanner Quinn, but since their mother’s funeral a few months before, there had been a strain between them.
Neither Brad nor Olivia nor Melissa had shed a single tear for Delia O’Ballivan—not during the church service or the graveside ceremony or the wake. Okay, so there wasn’t a greeting card category for the kind of mother Delia had been—she’d deserted the family long ago, and gradually destroyed herself through a long series of tragically bad choices. For all that, she’d still been the woman who had given birth to them all.
Didn’t that count for something?
A rap sounded at the back door, as distinctive as the car horn, and Olivia’s glowing, pregnancy-rounded face filled one of the frost-trimmed panes in the window.
Oddly self-conscious in her jeans and T-shirt and an ancient flannel shirt from the back of her closet, Ashley mouthed, “It’s not locked.”
Beaming, Olivia opened the door and waddled across the threshold. She was due to deliver her and Tanner’s first child in a matter of days, if not hours, and from the looks of her, Ashley surmised she was carrying either quadruplets or a Sumo wrestler.
“You know you don’t have to knock,” Ashley said, keeping her distance.
Olivia smiled, a bit wistfully it seemed to Ashley, and opened their grandfather Big John’s old barn coat to reveal a small white cat with one blue eye and one green one.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ashley bristled.
Olivia, a veterinarian as well as Stone Creek, Arizona’s one and only real-deal animal communicator, bent awkwardly to set the kitten on Ashley’s immaculate kitchen floor, where it meowed pitifully and turned in a little circle, pursuing its fluffy tail. Every stray dog, cat or bird in the county seemed to find its way to Olivia eventually, like immigrants gravitating toward the Statue of Liberty.
Two years ago, at Christmas, she’d even been approached by a reindeer named Rodney.
“Meet Mrs. Wiggins,” Olivia chimed, undaunted. Her china-blue eyes danced beneath the dark, sleek fringe of her bangs, but there was a wary look in them that bothered Ashley…even shamed her a little. The two of them had always been close. Did Olivia think Ashley was jealous of her new life with Tanner and his precocious fourteen-year-old daughter, Sophie?
“I suppose she’s already told you her life story,” Ashley said, nodding toward the cat, scrubbing her hands down the thighs of her jeans once and then heading for the sink to wash up before filling the electric kettle. At least that hadn’t changed—they always had tea together, whenever Olivia dropped by—which was less and less often these days.
After all, unlike Ashley, Olivia had a life.
Olivia crooked up a corner of her mouth and began struggling out of the old plaid woolen coat, flecked, as always, with bits of straw. Some things never changed—even with Tanner’s money, Olivia still dressed like what she was, a country veterinarian.
“Not much to tell,” Livie answered with a slight lift of one shoulder, as nonchalantly as if telepathic exchanges with all manner of finned, feathered and furred creatures were commonplace. “She’s only fourteen weeks old, so she hasn’t had time to build up much of an autobiography.”
“I do not want a cat,” Ashley informed her sister.
Olivia hauled back a chair at the table and collapsed into it. She was wearing gum boots, as usual, and they looked none too clean. “You only think you don’t want Mrs. Wiggins,” she said. “She needs you and, whether you know it or not, you need her.”
Ashley turned back to the kettle, trying to ignore the ball of cuteness chasing its tail in the middle of the kitchen floor. She was irritated, but worried, too. She looked back at Olivia over one stiff shoulder. “Should you be out and about, as pregnant as you are?”
Olivia smiled, serene as a Botticelli Madonna. “Pregnancy isn’t a matter of degrees, Ash,” she said. “One either is or isn’t.”
“You’re pale,” Ashley fretted. She’d lost so many loved ones—both parents, her beloved granddad, Big John. If anything happened to any of her siblings, whatever their differences, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
“Just brew the tea,” Olivia said quietly. “I’m perfectly all right.”
While Ashley didn’t have her sister’s gift for talking to animals, she was intuitive, and her nerves felt all twitchy, a clear sign that something unexpected was about to happen. She plugged in the kettle and joined Olivia at the table. “Is anything wrong?”
“Funny you should ask,” Olivia answered, and though the soft smile still rested on her lips, her eyes were solemn. “I came here to ask you the
same question. Even though I already know the answer.”
As much as she hated the uneasiness that had sprung up between herself and her sisters and brother, Ashley tended to bounce away from any mention of the subject like a pinball in a lively game. She sprang right up out of her chair and crossed to the antique breakfront to fetch two delicate china cups from behind the glass doors, full of strange urgency.
“Ash,” Olivia said patiently.
Ashley kept her back to her sister and lowered her head. “I’ve just been a little blue lately, Liv,” she admitted softly. “That’s all.”
She would never get to know her mother.
The holidays had been a downer.
Not a single guest had checked into her Victorian bed-and-breakfast since before Thanksgiving, which meant she was two payments behind on the private mortgage Brad had given her to buy the place several years before. It wasn’t that her brother had been pressing her for the money—he’d offered her the deed, free and clear, the day the deal was closed, but she’d insisted on repaying him every cent.
On top of all that, she hadn’t heard a word from Jack McCall since his last visit, six months ago. He’d suddenly packed his bags and left one sultry summer night, while she was sleeping off their most recent bout of lovemaking, without so much as a goodbye.
Would it have killed him to wake her up and explain? Or just leave a damn note? Maybe pick up a phone?
“It’s because of Mom,” Olivia said. “You’re grieving for the woman she never was, and that’s okay, Ashley. But it might help if you talked to one of us about how you feel.”
Weary rage surged through Ashley. She spun around to face Olivia, causing her sneakers to make a squeaking sound against the freshly waxed floor, remembered that her sister was about to have a baby, and sucked all her frustration and fury back in on one ragged breath.
“Let’s not go there, Livie,” she said.
The kitten scrabbled at one leg of Ashley’s jeans and, without thinking, she bent to scoop the tiny creature up into her arms. Minute, silky ears twitched under her chin, and Mrs. Wiggins purred as though powered by batteries, snuggling against her neck.
A Stone Creek Collection, Volume 2 Page 50