Mistletoe Kisses & Christmas Wishes: A Christmas Romance Boxed Set Book Bundle Collection

by Leah Atwood

  "Wait!" He caught up to her outside the picnic shelter and held up her bag. "You left this."

  "Oh. Thank you." She reached out to take her bag.

  He held onto it for a moment before releasing it. "I hope I haven't driven you off."

  She opened her mouth to deny he'd done any such thing but couldn't, although not for the reason he might think. "No, it's all right. Really."

  "I didn't mean to intrude. Please, you can have the table to yourself."

  "It's not that." Not exactly, anyway. She settled on telling part of the truth. "I need to stretch. It's been years since I rode a bike, and my legs are cramping."

  "Be sure and drink lots of water, too." He smiled that hauntingly familiar smile. "I should introduce myself. My name is David Schaefer, and I'm here on vacation for the next couple of weeks."

  "Nice to meet you." She returned his smile. "I'm Piper Harrington."

  He skimmed a glance over her. "How far have you come today?"

  "Just from Rosario." She strapped her bag onto her bike.

  "Will you make it back okay?"

  "Oh, yes. I'm doing so well I'll probably go on to Doe Bay."

  He lifted a brow. "Is that wise? It's quite a ways for someone with leg cramps."

  "I just need to work those out with more exercise."

  He frowned. "I hate to nip ambition in the bud, but maybe you should aim for somewhere closer. You might not do as well on the return trip, and then you'd be stuck."

  She fastened her helmet while debating whether or not to admit defeat or continue to salve her pride. "Thanks for your concern, but I'll be all right."

  "I hope so. Look, I know we've only just met, but would you care to have coffee together sometime?"

  Once long ago, an invitation from such an attractive male would have gone to her head, but she was a schoolgirl no longer, even if the possibility of a date with him made her feel like one. She had to be honest, though. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm not up for something like that."

  "Thought I'd try." The glance he sent her almost had her changing her mind. "Take it easy on yourself today."

  "I will." She pushed the bicycle into motion but stopped and looked back from the road.

  He was standing where she'd left him, looking a little forlorn. He must be lonely. For that matter, she had to be, too. There could be no other reason she would feel such a wrench when parting from someone she barely knew. He raised a hand, and she waved back. The familiarity of David Schaefer's face nagged at her, but try as she might, she couldn't place him. Strangely rattled by the encounter, she had to pull her attention back to the mechanics of steering and shifting gears. With the wind cooling her face, she followed the road as it curved around the lake. An eagle sent out a piercing cry from its perch in a fir tree across the water, bringing her fully into the moment. The forest closed in, and she slipped through light and shadow.

  A silver Mazda with darkly tinted windows sat alongside the road with its nose facing south. Maybe the driver had stopped to eat lunch or gone fishing, but it seemed a strange place to park. Beyond the car reposed a one-lane bridge with broad concrete rails lined by moss. On one side of the vintage structure rose a cliff, and a cascade tumbled away on the other. The road bent out of sight ahead. She strained to hear above the rushing water, in case any vehicle might approach from the opposite direction. In a car, crossing this bridge would seem like nothing but a bicycle went more slowly than a car. She nerved herself. It wasn't all that far. She could do it. With her nerves jangling, she placed her tires on the bridge.

  A car roared to life behind her. It had to be the Mazda. Surely the driver would see her and stop.

  The engine revved. Tires squealed onto the road behind her.

  Piper's mouth went dry.

  Please God, don't let me die like this.

  The Mazda roared like an angry bear ready rend its prey.

  She pumped the bicycle peddles, but she wouldn't have time to cross in time. Instinct took over, and she aimed for the side of the bridge, where the broad railings might catch her. It wasn't much of a chance but the only one she had.

  Now or never…

  The bike jerked out from under her as she hurled herself onto the mossy concrete. Metal crunched. Brakes squealed. Rubber burned.

  She clawed the railing. Moss came away in her hands. Screaming, she plunged over the side.

  Her shoulder thumped into soft soil. Gravity carried her over and down. The ferns and saplings she grabbed whipped through her hands. She splashed into the stream below the bridge and came up, sputtering. At least she'd stopped rolling. Fighting free of the stream she hoisted herself onto the bank beside it. She'd fallen only a short length, as it turned out, but that wasn't how her body felt. Black dots floated around the edges of her vision, her head wobbled on her neck, and she couldn't summon air past the stitch in her side.

  Tires swished onto the bridge, and a car door opened. With the engine idling, footsteps crunched toward the edge of the bridge. The hair on the back of Piper's neck bristled. Any normal person would have hailed her by now and asked her if she was hurt. She had to run. Even as the thought spun through her mind, blackness swarmed over her.

  Read the second chapter of Deceptive Tide for free!

  About Author

  Janalyn Voigt

  My father instilled a love of literature in me at an early age by reading chapters from The Wizard of Oz, Robinson Crusoe and other classics. When I grew older, and he stopped reading bedtime stories, I put myself to sleep with tales I ‘wrote’ in my head. As a precocious reader, I soon graduated to the novels in my parent's bookcase. I'm sure those books contributed to my growth as a writer. My sixth-grade teacher noticed my storytelling ability and encouraged me to become a novelist. His influence helped me identify my career path. I'm now considered a multi-genre author, but I like to think of myself as a storyteller. The same elements appear in all my novels in proportions dictated by their genre: romance, mystery, adventure, history, and whimsy.

  My father instilled a love of literature in me at an early age by reading chapters from The Wizard of Oz, Robinson Crusoe and other classics. When I grew older, and he stopped reading bedtime stories, I put myself to sleep with tales I ‘wrote’ in my head. As a precocious reader, I soon graduated to the novels in my parent’s bookcase. I’m sure those books contributed to my growth as a writer. My sixth-grade teacher noticed my storytelling ability and encouraged me to become a novelist. His influence helped me identify my career path. I’m now considered a multi-genre author, but I like to think of myself as a storyteller. The same elements appear in all my novels in proportions dictated by their genre: romance, mystery, adventure, history, and whimsy.

  Sign up at http://janalynvoigt.com to be notified when these titles release, for book extras, and reader bonuses.

  Epic Fantasy: DawnSinger and Wayfarer are the first two novels in the epic fantasy series, Tales of Faeraven. The final books in this series, Sojourner and DawnKing, are under contract with my publisher.

  Historical Fiction: Hills of Nevermore, first installment in the Montana Gold series set during Montana’s gold rush in the days of vigilante justice, will release in 2017.

  Romantic Suspense/Mystery: Deceptive Tide (Islands of Intrigue: San Juans) is romantic suspense, but I’m also planning to write mystery novels in a classic style inspired by Mary Stewart and Victoria Holt.

  Find out more about my books and about me as an author at my website: http://janalynvoigt.com. Happy reading!

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  Scrooge Falls in Love

  Typecast Christmas

  Susette Williams

  Chapter One

  “Are you crazy?”

  As a wide-eyed Charity Fletcher turned in shock, Tate Stephens realized his thoughts had indeed slipped through his gaping pie-hole, as his mother liked to call it.

  “I beg your pardon.” Though her voice quivered a fraction, her body straightened.
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  “Is there some sort of psych evaluation test that I wasn’t aware of, Mr. Stephens?”

  “Perhaps there should be.” He felt his left eyebrow arch and mentally counted to three—as far as he could get before his anger spewed out. “What in God’s creation gave you the right to cast my invalid nephew as Tiny Tim in the school play?”

  “Ah. So that’s what this is about.” Charity sighed. “When he asked me to play the part, I told him you wouldn’t be happy, but then again…”

  “Then again, what?”

  Charity swallowed, her lips pursed. “You don’t appear to be happy about anything.” Her smile appeared to be less than sincere, more of a smirk. “And to be honest, I had no choice but to allow Matthias to play that role. I can’t very well discriminate against him because he has spina bifada, now can I?”

  He started to say something, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond. She continued with her verbal tirade, “The last thing we need is the school board getting a lawsuit against us, do we Principal Fletcher?”

  Tate’s fist involuntarily clenched at his sides. “Board or no board, my nephew does not need to be typecasted for any role.”

  “He wasn’t typecast.” Charity sighed. “Matthias really wanted the role and said nobody could understand Tiny Tim’s character the way he could.” She busied herself gathering papers off her desk to put in her apple covered tote bag, then paused to look at him again. Her eyes were soft pools of tranquility, laced with pain. “Matthias knows he’s smaller than the other kids. He even argued that was why he should have the part—he was the only one who could pull off playing that young of a character.”

  Matthias could be stubborn that way—one of the things Tate admired and disliked all at the same time. He ran a hand through his hair, turned and walked away, stopping after a few steps before he turned and faced Charity again. “I think it would be best if I regularly monitored the play’s progress. Please email me a schedule of practice times and locations.”

  Charity crossed her arms in front of her and frowned. “You’re going to babysit my class to make sure that your nephew is safe?”

  Tate smirked. “Something like that.”

  “Why don’t you just stick a kick me sign on the back of his shirt?” She threw her hands up in the air, obviously not thrilled with his decision. She balled her hands up into fists and firmly planted them on her hips. “Don’t you think he has enough problems around school being related to you?”

  “I beg your pardon—what is that supposed to mean?” Heat rose in his cheeks. Counting was not going to cool him down this time.

  “I’m sorry,” Charity stammered. “That came out wrong.” She took a deep breath and continued, “If a student is related to a faculty member, they often get labeled as a teacher’s pet. The other kids think twice about being friends with them if they’re afraid of it causing problems for them.” Her tone softened. “Think of it from a student’s point of view. You’re the principal. No student wants to get on the principal’s bad side. That fear alone should keep anyone from messing with Matthias, but he still needs to prove himself among his peers. You can’t watch over him like he’s still a toddler.”

  Tate considered her words. She was right—whether or not he liked it! “Did anyone ever tell you that you can be quite annoying?”

  “All the time.” Charity grinned. “Does this mean you will let things be and not follow Matthias around?”

  “Ha.” Even to his own ears, his laugh sounded brusque. “I intend to hold you personally responsible if anything happens to my nephew—so see that it doesn’t!”

  On the way home, Tate phoned his sister. “Hey, Jen. I thought I’d give you the heads up. Apparently Matt tried out for a role in the school play. But don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure I stay in front of the situation so it doesn’t become a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tate took a deep breath. He hated being the one to break the news to his sister. She’d had enough to deal with over the years. At least Tiny Tim’s dad didn’t abandon the family in the play, like Matt’s had done so many years ago. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Matt got the role as Tiny Tim in the school play.”

  “He did?” His sister screamed. “That’s wonderful. He really wanted the part.” There was a moment’s silence. “Wait a minute. You said there was a situation. What’s the problem?”

  “I thought you would be upset.” A horn blared. Tate glanced in his rearview mirror.

  “Who’s honking?”

  “It’s nothing.” Tate frowned. “I just cut somebody off.”

  “Look, Tate, I know you want to protect Matthias, but he’s okay,” Jen said “He accepts his disabilities because he’s never known anything different. Being in the play gives him a chance to put himself out there and connect with other students—a chance to get them to accept him for who he is.”

  “The students accept him for who he is.” Tate took a deep breath and exhaled. “This play is only going to make them focus more on his handicap.” Now that he’d voiced his concern, it didn’t sound so bad. Maybe the other students relating Matthias to Tiny Tim would help them be more sensitive toward him.

  “Do you even listen to yourself?” Jen sighed.

  Tate chuckled. “Yeah, I listen.” Good thing, because now he had to focus on how to oversee the play in order to keep an eye on the situation. “I love you, Jen. And don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter Two

  Charity checked her notes of what she needed to cover in her meeting as students finished straggling into the large, school auditorium. Last year was the first year she worked at Southwest Senior High. Because she didn’t know any of the other teachers well enough to ask for assistance with the set and costumes, she hadn’t tackled producing a school play—until this year, a decision that caused her to have second thoughts as she watched the room fill and glanced at Tate. He’d asked her if he could speak to the group when she was done making her announcements. It would have been nice if he’d elaborated on what he wanted to talk to the students about. Charity reminded herself that it was customary for a principal to speak to students. As the head principal, he was strict and ran a tight ship—nothing out of line. She sensed that the students feared him, not wanting to get on his bad side. She wondered if he even had a good side.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Fletcher.”

  Charity startled. “I’m sorry, Phil. I didn’t see you.”

  His lopsided grin made her smile. “That’s okay, but I’m afraid I’ve got a little bad news.”

  Her grin quickly faded. She noticed his hair was damp. “Are you sick?” Maybe he was running a fever. She resisted the urge to reach out and place a hand against his forehead.

  Phil shook his head. “No, I just got out of practice and the coach said we’re going to have to practice six days a week.”

  “Six days?”

  “Yeah, we have to be here Saturday mornings as well as after school every day.” Phil repositioned the strap of his duffle bag back on his shoulder as it started to slide. “It’s going to be hard for me to make it to practice every day. We have a lot of meets before Christmas break, so I’ll be at matches a couple times a week.”

  “But how are you—” Recognition dawned on Charity like a light bulb. “You’re not going to be able to participate.” She sighed. “You know this is going to affect your grade?”

  “I have to go talk to my counselor tomorrow and get switched to a new class,” Phil said. “I’m sorry, Miss Fletcher. I hate letting you down, but it’s my senior year and there’s a good chance I’ll go to state—I really need to get a scholarship for wrestling.”

  Charity patted him on the shoulder and grimaced. His shirt was damp. Sweat or a shower—she didn’t know and she certainly didn’t want to find out. Judging by the odor emanating from their proximity, she doubted he’d taken a shower. “I understand. I’ll work it out.
”

  She didn’t know how, but she would. What other choice did she have? Phil had been the best choice for the role, out of what few boys there were in the class. While two of the three ghosts in the play were males, Brad couldn’t remember to bring his homework, much less be trusted with the lead role; and while Caleb was exceptional in academics, he lacked social skills. Charity jotted down a reminder to replace Phil on her notepad so she wouldn’t forget to find someone else to play the role of Scrooge.

  “Are you ready to begin?” Tate approached her, wielding a cordless mic. He glanced at the audience, then back at her. “It looks like everybody is situated.”

  “Yes, I was just making some notes.” She took the microphone he held out for her and headed to the center of the stage. Charity sat her notepad down on a stood and addressed her audience, “I want to thank all of you for showing up today. Please remember that it is important to be here on time every day we have practice. If for some reason you can’t make it, please speak to me after class or practice.”

  Charity glanced at the front row. “I want to thank Mrs. Morrison and her class for agreeing to help with the set.

  A couple of the students clapped, while another cupped his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn and shouted, “Way to go, Mrs. M.”

  “Obviously the students appreciate your help as much as I do.” Charity smiled, but quickly continued so she could keep control of her audience, “As I was saying, they will be working during class time and after school in order to complete the set and props on time. Even though her class may be helping in the auditorium, please remember that practice time is not social hour.”

  Booing came from the audience. Movement to Charity’s left caught her attention. She glanced and saw that Tate stood erect, his glare obviously effective, since the few unruly students quieted down as soon as they made eye contact with him.