by Beth Ciotta
She sailed through the tiny kitchen, through the living room, and into her bedroom, stopping short at the cedar chest containing a few cherished belongings. Heart in throat, she opened the lid and stared down at the black case she’d carried to and from private lessons, to and from university classes, rehearsals, and stages.
With trembling hands she pulled the case from the chest and laid it lovingly on her bed. She opened that lid, too and, for a moment, just stared at the instrument that had essentially been an extension of her for most of her life.
“Long time, no see, my friend.”
Swallowing hard, she skimmed her fingers down the violin.
Scroll, pegs, neck, strings, fingerboard, bridge, F-holes, chinrest.
Her pulse skittered and skipped as she primed the bow with rosin then tuned the strings. All by rote.
“You’re rusty. I’m rusty. Forgive me if I skip extensive foreplay and get to the main event.”
A song whispered through her mind as she readied to play. She closed her eyes, breathed, and put bow to strings. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was music. It filled her with melancholy for years wasted and joy for the years to come.
She focused on joy.
She sat on the edge of the bed, pouring her heart into a stilted version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. By the time she reached the bridge, she didn’t feel so rusty.
When she reached the end of the song, she opened her eyes and saw her mom standing in the doorway, eyes shining with tears.
“I was worried about you,” she said, “so I ran over to…and then I heard…” She beamed. “You’re sparkling.”
And tingling, Chrissy thought. Head to toe. Heart and soul. “Didn’t sound great, but it felt wonderful.”
“Sounded beautiful to me. And you… Oh, honey.” Eva clasped her hands to her heart. “The old you.”
“Only different.” Her dream had shifted, along with her passion and priorities.
Not impossible.
Probable.
Doable.
Derring-doable.
“Now if we can just get the light back into Mason’s eyes,” Eva said. “For all the merry he’s making, he seems sad. I don’t know what happened between you two but—”
“I’m going to fix it, Mom.”
These last two weeks Mason had been the solid force in their lives. So confident. So determined.
“All we need is for one thing to go right. Us.”
Chrissy returned her violin to its case. “Could you…Would you please keep this, my playing, to yourself for a while?”
“It won’t be easy, but sure.”
“And let Mason and Mel know I’d like to get a jump start on my birthday celebration?”
Eva smiled then pushed off and headed out.
Chrissy pulled her phone from her hoodie pocket and made a call. “Hey, Bryce. It’s Chrissy Mooney. You know that ’tis-the-season miracle thing?”
* * *
Mason knew Chrissy was up to something, but he couldn’t guess what. Saying they’d swing back later for Rush, she hustled him and Mel out of her parents’ house and insisted on taking a detour to the Coyote Club.
She refused to say why.
Driving through Nowhere was an eerie affair. The streets were deserted but every storefront and streetlamp boasted festive decorations—a ghost town alive with the spirit of Christmas.
Mason held silent as they rolled down Frontier, his mind chewing on his splintered mood.
Part of him gloried in the Mooneys’ old-fashioned ways—the Christmas Eve dinner, the lazy morning gift-exchange. Like any kid, Mel had been crazy excited about her booty. He’d probably taken a hundred pictures with his phone. Photographic evidence of their first Christmas as a family. That part of him was ecstatic.
Another part feared he’d left reality in the dust when he’d reunited with Chrissy, pushing and contorting their relationship to fit his own needs. To fill the void. Bald fact, he couldn’t force true love and family any more than she could force pure joy and happy.
Had he jinxed them a second time by proposing too soon? He’d been so focused on magic, but like Chrissy, what he needed now was the real. This mystery stop at Coyote’s agitated his already prickly mood.
Chrissy, on the other hand, vibrated with restrained giddiness. Talk about a curve ball. She shifted in her seat, talking and signing over her shoulder at Mel who was buckled in the backseat, hugging tightly to her stuffed blue dog. “Almost there!”
“And we’re going there why?” Mason asked.
“I told you. It’s a surprise.”
Rolling back his shoulders, he focused on their destination.
The Coyote Club sat at the far end of town, west of Café Caboose and east of Chet’s Farm and Feed. Even though the freestanding honky-tonk had been days from going under, Morgan had framed all the windows with colorful twinkling lights and had wrapped the veranda’s railing in vining evergreen, giving the club a festive vibe.
Wallowing in misfortune wasn’t the former athlete’s style. Mason liked that. He liked a lot of things about Bryce Morgan, including his willingness to change and adapt his business for the benefit of his “team”. They’d put off in-depth discussions regarding renovation of the club until after the holidays, but Mason was looking forward to their joint venture.
It was another joint venture that had him twisting in the wind.
He glanced over at Chrissy while parking his SUV alongside Morgan’s pickup truck. “Now will you tell me—”
“Nope.”
He narrowed his eyes as she hopped out to help Mel out of the backseat. Shook his head when she hurried the kid toward the club’s front door.
“Closed for Christmas!” he called, but then the door swung open and Bryce Morgan stepped out, coffee mug in hand.
“I owe you,” Chrissy said to the man then hurried Mel inside.
Mason greeted his new partner with a handshake and a wince. “I don’t know why Chrissy pulled you away from your family—”
“I do. Don’t sweat it, man.” The former sports star slapped Mason on the shoulder then retreated into the shadows.
Mason stepped into the club, his eyes adjusting to the dim light and zeroing in on Chrissy and Mel as they shed their coats and made a bee-line toward the dance floor.
Oo-kay.
Curiosity officially off the charts.
Zig-zagging through tables and chairs, Mason frowned at the outdated, inferior speakers flanking the stage. Just one of the things he’d addressed with Morgan when they’d discussed the reinvention of the club.
Clutching her blue dog, Mel gravitated toward the Charlie Brown Christmas tree perched on the corner of the stage.
Mason moved in alongside Chrissy. “What gives?”
“The band playing here this week. Red Riot. They’re a quartet of good ol’ boys with old school ways. They always leave their axes on stage instead of taking them home. Bryce gave their leader a call and got clearance.”
“For?”
She smiled. “Us jamming on their gear. Here,” she said, pressing a small packet into his hand. “You’re going to need these.”
She hurried toward Mel, stooping down and signing to the wide-eyed girl.
Mason looked from the foam earplugs she’d given him, to the stage and Red Riot’s set up. He instantly noted the Stratocaster and electric fiddle. His heart slammed against his chest. “Oh, hell.”
Chrissy dug in her big purse, handing Mel her LED tambourine and then led her up the steps to the three-foot stage.
Mason could scarcely breathe.
He watched as she made use of her own earplugs then turned toward an antiquated rack of sound gear.
“Bryce already powered everything up!” she yelled at Mason. “Brace yourself!”
She pressed a button and music blasted from the speakers. He recognized the progressive rock recording right away. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s instrumental rendition of Carol of Bells.
Chrissy cranked the volume even louder.
The room rumbled.
Mel glanced down at her fuzzy pink boots.
She was feeling vibrations through the floor of the stage.
Chrissy swayed to the music, inspiring Mel to do the same then motioned her daughter to shake and hit her tambourine. Then she took up the electric violin and crooked an inviting brow at Mason.
Mouth dry, Mason shed his coat and hopped on stage. He strapped on the beat-up Strat and cranked the old Marshall amp to ten. He found a pick on top of the amp just as Chrissy put bow to strings.
Mesmerized, Mason watched as the woman he’d first fallen in love with at the Oakley Music and Wine Festival, reconnected with her musical passion.
She played along to the recording, smiling at him, smiling at their daughter.
Mel danced and smacked her tambourine, the LED lights twinkling nearly as much as her big blue eyes.
And Chrissy?
Chrissy sparkled.
A wall of noise pulsed through the air. Mason narrowed his field of listening to her fiddle, his guitar, and Mel’s off-beat tambourine.
The perfect blend.
When the song ended, Mason’s soul continued to dance.
Along with his daughter.
Tears glistening in her eyes, Chrissy plucked the foam from her ears and closed the space between her and Mason.
“I believe,” she said with a quick glance at Mel, “in our daughter’s ability to shine in this world exactly as she is. I believe,” she said, pulling the jeweler’s box from her hoodie pocket, “in us.”
Throat tight with emotion, Mason returned the guitar to the stand and took the ring from the box.
“I want to marry you,” she said as he slipped the diamond onto her finger, “because I want to spend my life with you, loving and caring for our daughter. I can’t promise I won’t have a problem adjusting to your wealth, but I promise not to hold it against you. You’re one of the most down-to-earth men I’ve ever known. I love you, Mason Rivers.”
Mason cradled her face and smiled into her eyes. “I love you, Christmas Joy. Happy birthday, baby.” He poured his heart into a kiss, his soul singing as she returned his affection in equal measure.
Mel joined in, hugging their legs then bouncing back and thwacking her tambourine.
Mason beamed at his daughter then winked at his future wife. “I think she’s requesting another song.”
“Making music with my family,” Chrissy said with a carefree smile. “Pure joy.”
Excerpt from
Marry Poppins
An Impossible Dream Novella
~Book Three~
Prologue
Once upon a blustery day
Nowhere, Nebraska
Georgina Poppins whisked through life like a leaf caught in the wind. Settling every so often with a man or a job, then being swept back up into the chaos.
At first, she took her string of failures in stride. But then she turned thirty and more than a little disillusioned. Two of her longtime girlfriends were engaged to be married. Another owned a successful business. Another excelled at and juggled three fascinating jobs. Yet another was spiritually attuned and shrouded in a cloud of exhilarating mystery.
Georgie was scraping the ground.
In spite of her dysfunctional upbringing, her deepest desire was to marry a local boy and to start a family of her own. She’d been one of those girls who started fantasizing about the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect family before she even wore a bra.
Unfortunately, Georgie suffered the same rotten luck with men as she did with jobs. Her friends had lost count of her defunct relationships and careers.
Georgie hadn’t.
Her friends considered her ability to bounce back and adapt—time and again—as impressive. They called her multi-talented and resilient.
Georgie appreciated the positive spin on her inability to shine at any one skill and she did her best to affect a cavalier attitude regarding her string of professional disasters.
Teaching assistant, tour guide, party planner, florist, ranch hand, bartender, the shall-not-be-talked-about stint as a lingerie model.
Honestly, she was over trying to find her niche. She was tired of struggling financially. And she had lost hope in ever meeting Mr. Right.
She wanted what she wanted now.
So on a day when she’d been blown off by her latest boyfriend and threatened by bill collectors, Georgie threw caution to the wind. Like her friends, Bella and Chrissy, she tapped into Impossible Dream, an Internet site designed to match people with their most avid desire.
Yearning for your dream job? Dream vacation? Dream home? Our data analysts and researchers pride themselves on working magic.
Bella had applied for a dream partner—Prince Charming and a storybook illustrator rolled into one. Desperate to reconnect with pure joy, Chrissy had applied for happy. Both struck Georgie as pie-in-the-sky requests, but they’d both received prospects from ID.com within days.
Georgie filled out the required data sheet then stated her Impossible Dream, although surely it couldn’t be that hard to match her with her heart’s desire.
Four months later… Georgie was still waiting.
NOTE TO READERS
This series comes from the heart and a longtime love affair with fairy tale romances. I hope I provided you with a bit of joyous escapism! If you enjoyed ENCHANTING CHRISTMAS please consider writing a review on any e-tailer or review site (such as Goodreads). Spreading the word helps me to share the love.
Your support is very much appreciated!
Follow the adventures of the Inseparables in the next installment of Impossible Dream—MARRY POPPINS. For a glimpse of something different, visit my website to explore my many worlds. From steampunk to paranormal to contemporary.
Something for everyone!
www.bethciotta.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes several professionals to bring a book to life. Special thanks to EJR Digital Art for the fabulous cover art! My appreciation to my critique and editorial team—Elle J Rossi, Cynthia Valero, and Deborah Richardson (DRE&MS)—and to digital formatter Amy Atwell (Author EMS). A huge thank you to my marketing advisers: Bards of Badassery. And to Mary Stella for the proof read. You ladies rock! My on-going gratitude to my champion and agent, Amy Moore-Benson. And a heartfelt thank you to my husband, Steve, for supporting my not-so-impossible dream!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Storytelling comes naturally to award-winning author Beth Ciotta. Dubbed “fun and sexy” by Publisher’s Weekly, Beth is published in contemporary, historical, steampunk, and paranormal romantic fiction. Beth lives in NJ with her husband, two zany dogs, and a crazy cat. A veteran professional performer, Beth now pours her artistic passion into her writing. To learn more about her colorful life, visit her website or join her on Facebook or Twitter!
ALSO BY BETH…
~
Impossible Dream
BEAUTY & THE BIKER
~
The Cupcake Lovers
FOOL FOR LOVE
THE TROUBLE WITH LOVE
ANYTHING BUT LOVE
IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE
SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL
~
A Wild West Romance
LASSO THE MOON
ROMANCING THE WEST
FALL OF ROME
~
The Glorious Victorious Darcys
HER SKY COWBOY
HIS BROKEN ANGEL
HIS CLOCKWORK CANARY
For an extensive list of stories by Beth Ciotta visit:
www.bethciotta.com
COPYRIGHT
Enchanting Christmas
Copyright © 2014 Beth Ciotta
Cover Design © EJR Digital Art
Stock photo © Lja |Dreamstime.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means (electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Excerpt—Marry Poppins
Note To Readers
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Beth
Copyright