by Irene Hannon
Though her eyes were clouded with tears, Laura realized with a start that the toes of two boots had appeared in her field of vision. Probably a cop, about to cite her for trespassing, she thought dejectedly, quickly brushing a hand across her eyes before looking up.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” The words died in her throat. Nick stood at the base of the steps, his hands in the pockets of a sheepskin-lined jacket, snow clinging to his dark hair, his eyes shadowed and unfathomable, with a fan spread of fine lines at the corners that hadn’t been there two months before.
“Hello, Laura.”
“Nick?” She took a great gulp of cold air.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said lightly, though his tone sounded forced.
“I—I thought it would look pretty in the snow,” she stammered, still not trusting her eyes.
He nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.” He glanced at the shuttered windows and placed one foot on the bottom step. “I remember the day we were here, how you said it would be beautiful at Christmastime, so I thought I’d take a look. I see it’s still for sale.”
A door opened nearby and the sound of carols and laughter drifted through the silent air.
“Yes, I noticed.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go home for Christmas.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood.”
They fell silent, and Laura looked down, shuffling the toe of her shoe in the snow that was rapidly accumulating at the edge of the porch, trying to make some sense out of her chaotic thoughts. If Nick didn’t still care about her, he wouldn’t be here tonight, would he? Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to salvage their relationship. She looked up and found that he was watching her. This was the second chance she’d wished for. Please, God, don’t let me blow it! she prayed. Help me find the words to make Nick understand how much I care and how sorry I am for hurting him.
“Nick…I’ve missed you,” she began tentatively.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said quietly.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think these past couple of months, and I was wondering… Is there… Do you still…” Her voice trailed off. She was making a mess of this!
“Do I still what, Laura?” Nick asked, his voice cautious.
She took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say it. “Do you still…do you still want me?” she asked artlessly.
He hesitated. “I’ve always wanted you,” he replied, his voice guarded.
“No…I mean, do you still want to marry me?”
Instead of replying, Nick grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. She gasped in surprise as he hauled her up onto the porch and over to a dim light by the door that offered only marginal illumination. Then he turned her to face him, his jaw tense, his hands gripping her shoulders almost painfully, his eyes burning into hers.
“Laura, what are you saying?” he asked tightly.
He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, she thought. He wanted her to spell it out, and after her previous ambiguity, she couldn’t blame him. She drew a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, willing him to see the love, the sincerity, the apology, in her own. “Nick, I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. I’m especially sorry for being afraid to commit to you, for not trusting you, when I’ve never met a more trustworthy person. But when I left Joe, I vowed never to get involved with anyone again. And I did pretty well, till you came along.”
When she paused, he prodded. “Go on.”
“These past two months have been miserable,” she said, her voice breaking. “Maybe even harder emotionally than when I left Joe. Because when you left you took the sunshine with you. Oh, Nick,” she cried, clinging to him. “I want the same things you want—the rose garden and the picket fence and the family. I realize I’m no bargain, that I still have a lot of problems to work through. But I’d like to work on them with you beside me. I’d still like a lifetime warranty, but I’ll settle for an ‘I’ll do my best to make you happy.’ And I’ll do the same for you.”
He studied her face, wanting to believe, but afraid that this was all an illusion, much as he’d thought she was an illusion when he’d first seen her slumped on the steps. Then, too, he realized, she hadn’t yet said the three words that really counted.
Laura watched his face, saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes and her stomach knotted into a tight ball. She panicked. He was going to tell her to forget it, that it was too late.
“I…have the feeling…that the offer is…no longer available,” she said choppily. “I…know I hurt you, and I guess I can’t blame you if…if you can’t forgive me.”
“It’s not that, Laura.” He released her and turned to walk over to the porch railing, leaning on it heavily with both hands, facing away from her. “I was hurt. Deeply. But I never really blamed you. If anyone ever had a reason to be wary, it was you. It was egotistical of me to think I could overcome years of debilitating fear in just a few months. In the end, I was just sad. For both of us. But there was nothing to forgive. You were a victim of your circumstances.”
“Then what’s wrong?” she pleaded.
“I still want to marry you, Laura, but…”
“But what?” she asked desperately.
“You say you’re lonely, and God knows, I can relate to that,” he said with a sigh. “But that’s not reason enough to get married.”
“But it’s not just that. I want to be with you, Nick. For always.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she parroted blankly. Then suddenly her taut nerves shattered. “Well, why do you think?” she snapped. “Nick, I love you! What more do you want?”
He was beside her in one quick step, pulling her roughly against him, burying his face in her hair as he let out a long, shuddering sigh. “That will be plenty,” he said huskily.
“Then do you mind telling me what this was all about?” she asked, still mildly annoyed, her voice muffled by his jacket.
He took her by the shoulders and backed up far enough to look down into her eyes. “Laura Taylor, do you realize that this is the first time you’ve ever said, ‘I love you’?”
She frowned. “Yes, I guess it is. But I assumed you knew.”
“How could I know?”
“Well, by the way I acted. I tried to show you how I felt.”
“Showing isn’t the same as telling.”
She smiled, a sudden, euphoric joy making her heart soar. She sent a silent, fervent prayer of thanks to the Lord for granting her a happy ending after all.
“Are you saying you’d rather have words than actions?” she teased, tilting her head to one side and reaching up to run a finger down his cheek.
She heard his sharply indrawn breath and grinned.
“Well, action is good, too,” he conceeded.
“I thought you’d agree.” She slipped her hands inside his jacket and gazed up into his face, the ardent light in her eyes playing havoc with his metabolism.
“You can count on it,” he said huskily, pulling her roughly against him, his mouth urgent and demanding on hers. Laura responded eagerly, tasting, teasing, touching.
“Excuse me…are you folks lost?”
Startled, they drew apart, their breath creating frosty clouds in the cold night air. An older man stood looking up at them from the sidewalk.
Nick put his arm around Laura and drew her close. “No. Not anymore,” he said, smiling down at her. “We just came home.” Then he turned back toward the street. “We’re going to buy this house,” he called, and the jubilant ring in his voice warmed Laura’s heart.
The man chuckled softly. “Now that’s what I call a Christmas present!”
Epilogue
Nick brought the car to a stop and turned to Laura with an intimate smile that made her tingle all over. “Welcome home, Mrs. Sinclair,” he said huskily.
Her throat constricted at the tenderness in his eyes, and she swallowed with difficulty. “I love you, Nick,” she said softly, her voi
ce catching as her own eyes suddenly grew misty.
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” he replied, reaching over with a feather-light touch to leisurely trace a finger down her cheek, then across her lips. He drew an unsteady breath and smiled. “Shall we go in?”
She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice, and tried unsuccessfully to slow her rapid pulse as he came around and opened her door. He took her hand, drawing her to her feet in one smooth motion, then let his arm slip around her waist, pulling her close. She leaned against him with a contented sigh as they stood for a moment in the dark stillness to look at the old Victorian house, its ornate gingerbread trim and huge wraparound porch silhouetted by the golden light spilling from the windows.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, her eyes glowing.
“Beautiful is a good word,” he agreed.
She turned to find his eyes on her, not the house, and she blushed.
“You’re even more beautiful when you do that,” he said with a tender smile, touching her nose with the tip of his finger before taking her hand. As they climbed the steps to the porch he turned to her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t have preferred the Ritz tonight?”
“This is my Ritz,” she said softly, letting her free hand lovingly glide over the banister as they ascended.
“I agree,” he replied with a tender smile. For both of them, the house had come to symbolize their love and the promise of a rich, full life together.
When they reached the door, he fitted the key in the lock, and before she realized his intention he swept her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers, drawing a sweet response from deep within her. Only when the kiss lengthened, then deepened, did Laura reluctantly pull away.
“Nick! The neighbors might see us!” she protested halfheartedly.
He grinned. “They’re all in bed. Speaking of which…” He stepped across the threshold, pushed the door shut with his foot, and started up the curved staircase.
Laura didn’t say a word as a wave of excitement and delicious anticipation swept over her. She just nestled against his chest, enjoying the feel of his strong arms as she listened to the rapid but steady beat of his heart against her ear.
When they reached the bedroom, he carefully set her on her feet and removed the light mohair wrap from around her shoulders. Soft, classical music was playing and the room was bathed in a gentle, subdued light.
“I want to show you something,” Nick said, taking her hand and leading her to the antique oval mirror on a stand that stood in one corner of the room. He positioned her in front and then stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “What do you see?”
She gazed at their reflections, a tender smile on her face. She saw Nick, tall and incredibly handsome in his tux, the elegant formal attire enhancing his striking good looks and broad shoulders. And she saw herself, dressed in her wedding finery. Her peach-colored tea-length lace gown softly hugged her slender figure, and the sweetheart neckline and short, slightly gathered sleeves added an old-fashioned charm that perfectly complemented her femininity. Her hair hung loose and full, the way Nick liked it, and the soft waves were pulled back on one side with a small cluster of flowers and lacy ribbon, giving her a sweetly youthful appearance. But mostly what she saw was the two of them, together, for life.
“Well?” Nick prompted.
“I see a miracle,” she replied softly, her eyes glowing with happiness.
“I’m inclined to agree with you on that,” Nick concurred with a smile. Then his voice softened and his tone grew serious. “Do you know what I see? The most beautiful bride that ever lived and the most wonderful, desirable woman I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, Nick,” she said, her eyes misting. “I never thought I could be so happy!”
“Well, get used to it, Mrs. Sinclair. Because happiness is exactly what I have planned for you for the next sixty or seventy years,” he said, turning her to face him, taking both her hands in his as he bent to trail his lips across her forehead. “Now don’t go away. I’ll be right back,” he said huskily, his breath warm against her face.
She closed her eyes, letting his touch work its magic. “I’ll be here,” she whispered.
When Nick left, Laura turned slowly and let her gaze roam over the lovingly decorated room they’d created together—their first priority when they bought the house. The English country style suited the house, as did the canopy bed that was draped in a floral print of rose and forest green. The thick carpet was also rose-colored, and two comfortable chairs in complementary striped fabric stood close to the fireplace. Yes, this was far preferable to the Ritz, Laura thought with deep contentment. Tonight marked a new chapter in their relationship, and she wanted it to start here, in their own home.
Nick had clearly gone out of his way to make this night special, she thought with a soft smile, her eyes filled with tenderness at his thoughtfulness. Two champagne glasses rested on a low table, and the subdued lighting and soft music created the perfect ambience for their first night together.
Nick quietly reentered, pausing a moment to let his eyes lovingly trace the contours of Laura’s profile, bathed in the warm glow of the golden light. It was hard for him to even remember a time when she hadn’t been the center of his world. She brought a joy and completeness to his life far beyond anything he could ever have imagined. Today, as they’d recited their vows, he’d felt as if he’d truly come home. Gazing at her now, he was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for the gift of her love.
Quietly he came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. “Did you miss me?”
“Mmm. As a matter of fact, I did,” she said, leaning back against him.
“I brought some champagne.”
“I saw the glasses.”
“Will you have some?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He popped the cork, poured the bubbly liquid into the two waiting glasses and bent to strike a match to the logs. They quickly flamed into life, sending shadows dancing on the walls. It was chilly for the first day of spring, and Laura moved closer to the welcome warmth.
“Cold?” Nick asked as he handed her a glass.
“A little,” she admitted.
He gave her a lazy smile. “I think we can take care of that,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Laura flushed and looked down, a smile playing at the corners of her own mouth. “I was counting on it,” she said softly.
“But first…I’d like to make a toast.” Nick raised his glass, and Laura looked up at him, the love shining from her deep green eyes. “To new beginnings—and a love that never ends,” he said softly.
Laura raised her glass, and the bell-like tinkle as they clinked resonated in the room.
They both took a sip, and then Nick reached over and gently removed the glass from her trembling fingers. He set the two glasses side by side on the mantel, turned, held out his hand. And as she moved into his arms, Laura had one last coherent thought. The good book was right. To everything there was a season. And this, at last, was her time to love.
Dear Reader,
Ever since I could put pen to paper, I’ve enjoyed writing. It’s a very special gift for which I am deeply grateful.
Love is a gift, too. A precious and beautiful gift that requires courage and faith and trust—and yes, even risk—to reach its full potential.
It is a great joy for me to write about people like Nick and Laura, who find love and romance without compromising their moral values. And I am delighted to be part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, which recognizes that readers want books that reaffirm the existence of character and honor and principles in today’s world, despite media messages to the contrary.
I truly believe that good, old-fashioned romance lives even in this modern age. Virtues and values never go out of style. And heroes like Nick are out there, waiting to be found. I should know. I married one!
Happy endings…that’s what romance is all about. May you find your own happy ending—and a lifetime of
love!
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7659-2
ONE SPECIAL CHRISTMAS AND HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
ONE SPECIAL CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 1999 by Irene Hannon
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
Copyright © 1997 by Irene Hannon
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books.
® and TM are trademarks of Steeple Hill Books, used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
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*Vows
**Sisters & Brides
†Heartland Homecomings
††Lighthouse Lane