by Jane Porter
Summer gave Billy a frosty glare but everyone else burst into laughter. Ivy laughed, too, thinking this was just possibly the best Christmas ever.
*
Ivy couldn’t stop looking at the gorgeous diamond ring on her fourth finger. All morning, all afternoon she’d pause to admire it. She was engaged. She was engaged, to Sam, her Sam.
Her happiness was almost overwhelming. It might have been a hard year or two, but all the ups and downs, all the heartache and trouble, somehow had come together for something wonderful, something magical.
She’d found her way back to Sam. And he loved her. She knew, this time, just how much he loved her, too. There was no question in her mind. No doubt. Just peace and joy.
She’d learned a lot about love as well, understanding that love wasn’t necessarily a fragile thing, nor was it a wish or dream. If anything, love was a muscle, and it required action. It required practice. It required patience and understanding, too.
She knew now that it wasn’t enough to just love. She had to grow and desire to do better. Love stronger. Love even when she didn’t feel love, and love even when things were hard.
After dinner, and two hours of playing Hearts, Ivy headed outside to stretch her legs, wanting some fresh air. She found her coat and gloves on the hall coatrack, and added the new scarf she’d gotten in her stocking, wrapping it loosely around her neck. In her coat pocket was a small apple she’d taken from the fruit basket earlier.
As the Wyatts talked and laughter filled the house, she opened the front door and slipped outside. Ivy walked away from the ranch house, boots crunching snow, hands buried deep in her coat pockets. She walked until she was swallowed by the tall snow-frosted trees and completely alone. Once hidden from the house, she looked up at the dark sky studded with stars and sent a silent greeting to her mom.
Her mom would have enjoyed this Christmas. Her mom had always liked the Wyatts, and she obviously loved Sam. Ivy was certain her mom had played a role in getting her and Sam together. Even now, she could feel her mom’s spirit all around her. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered. “Merry Christmas.”
Ivy headed back toward the house, stopping at the stable on the way. She’d visited Scotch earlier this morning, but the visit had been far too short with all the festivities going on and she wanted to give him the apple as a small Christmas treat.
Inside the stable, she breathed her favorite scent of leather, feed, and hay. She walked toward Scotch’s stall but he didn’t immediately look at her. Ivy gave him a pat, and then looked past his head to see what had gotten his attention.
In the stall next to his was Belle.
Belle.
Ivy’s legs went weak. She couldn’t move. Her legs could barely hold her.
Belle spotted her. She nickered. Once and again.
Heart racing, Ivy went to her beautiful girl. She stroked Belle’s cheek and then her soft velvety nose. Belle nuzzled her, pressing her face against Ivy’s shoulder, huffing as if to say hello. Ivy was determined not to cry again today. She cried when she’d gotten the ring. But oh, this was Belle, and she was here in the Wyatt stable, which could only mean one thing. Sam had bought her back. Sam had moved mountains for her, Ivy Wyckoff.
“Merry Christmas, babe,” Sam’s deep voice came from behind her. “Hope it’s a good one.”
She turned around and flung herself into his arm. “The best, Sam Wyatt. Absolutely the best.” Then he was kissing her, and it was truly the most perfect Christmas ever.
Epilogue
They married late afternoon on the front lawn of the Wyatt Ranch, the frozen grass covered in a glittering layer of fresh snow. The sweeping Gallatin mountains provided a dramatic backdrop while the inky-blue Yellowstone River snaked far below. Sophie and Grandad created an arch for the ceremony, and then Sophie covered the arch with fragrant greenery and pink and red flowers. The romantic arch created an air of rustic elegance, perfect for the intimate celebration.
For a wedding ceremony on the last day of December, Sam wore a cowboy hat, an oatmeal tweed blazer with a darker vest beneath. He’d paired his blazer to go with his best dark denim jeans, and his favorite dress boots. A simple red rose served as his boutonniere.
Ivy and Sophie had driven to Bozeman the day after Christmas and found a vintage wedding gown that only needed a couple of seams taken in to fit Ivy like a glove. The vintage bridal gown was reminiscent of a classic ball gown with a sleek crepe bodice, long narrow sleeves and a bateau neckline that tapered into a full, frothy tulle skirt. In the gown, Ivy felt like a princess, and she, too, wore boots, but she wore her favorite battered brown boots to remind herself to dream big, but also always keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.
Ivy plaited her hair into a long loose fishtail braid with a few loose tendrils to frame her face. Sam’s mom had given her a pair of her own Montana sapphire earrings to wear, and Ivy carried her mother’s leather-bound prayer book, the book tucked behind her crimson and pink floral bouquet.
Sophie served as Ivy’s sole bridesmaid, while Joe stood up with Sam. The only guests were immediate family and the justice of the peace made it a quick ceremony to keep Melvin and Summer from standing too long in the cold. A photographer the Wyatts knew, McKenna Sheenan, took photos, capturing Ivy and Sam’s happiness.
After the vows were said, the sun began to set, creating glowing golden light behind the luminous mountain peaks. Joe brought out bottles of chilled champagne while Sophie retrieved a silver tray of champagne flutes. With Summer seated in a rocking chair, snugly wrapped in blankets, toasts were made, and glasses clinked, and Ivy and Sam kissed, and laughed, and kissed yet again. After the drama of the past week, and all the heart-wrenching revelations, Ivy had wondered if she’d feel strange getting married so quickly. She’d wondered if Sam would feel any regret, but every time he kissed her, he murmured, “I love you, Ivy girl.” Her heart did that furious double beat and she felt only love and gratitude. They’d found their way back to each other. They’d found their way back to love. If there was any regret, it was that Mom wasn’t here physically, but Ivy felt her spirit surrounding them.
“She wanted us to be together, didn’t she?” Ivy asked, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, as they stood at the railing and watched the sun go down together.
“She knew I loved you. She knew I’d always take care of you.”
Ivy snuggled closer. “I think she knew how much I loved you.”
“Soul mates with a little trouble communicating.”
She smiled and glanced up, her eyes meeting his. “You make me laugh.”
“Better than making you cry.”
She laughed again and then her laugh turned into a sigh as his head dropped and his lips covered hers in a slow, bone-melting kiss. Their kiss was ended by loud whistles and a chant of “Get a room.”
Sam lifted his head and made a face at his brothers.
Ivy arched an eyebrow. “They have a point. Where am I sleeping tonight?”
“My room,” Sam answered. “And then tomorrow we’ll start looking for our own place.”
They were called to dinner then, and they went inside to sit down at the dining room table, the table covered with antique lace, and the best china and crystal from Grandma Wyatt. The napkin rings were bronze horses and the flowers were the same lovely reds and greens and pinks from the arch. They feasted on French onion soup, prime rib, mashed potatoes and gravy, and an assortment of salads and vegetables. For the dessert, it was chocolate mousse and wedding cake.
Ivy teared up as she gazed around the table, thinking this was the best wedding she’d ever been to. How could anything be better? She was with Sam and her new family… the people she loved best.
The End
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The Wyatt Brothers of Mon
tana series
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Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Rachel Mills’ romance
Oh, Christmas Night
Jane Porter
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Rachel Mills felt positively ill. She sat down at her desk, and covered her face with her hands, struggling to breathe.
She didn’t get the promotion.
She’d been passed over, again.
Her throat thickened and her eyes burned, hot and gritty. It didn’t make sense. No one in her department had more experience, or a better work ethic, than she did. No one at Novak & Bartley put in more hours, or handled more, clients than she did.
How could they promote Jay Shields over her? He’d been hired three years after her. He used up every bit of his vacation time each year, every year, and then some. He frequently made mistakes requiring her to go in and clean up after him. She routinely solved problems he couldn’t. So why reward him?
Rachel didn’t want to believe it was because Jay was a man. She really, truly didn’t want to go there… but every person promoted these past few years had been a man. Plenty of women worked at Novak & Bartley, but most in support positions. She’d known this going in, too, but she’d viewed the lack of female leadership as an opportunity to prove herself.
And she had.
She’d gone over and above, time and again. She’d brought in new clients, increased the firm’s revenue, and had saved important accounts that were unhappy and wanted to go.
She’d done the research and crunched the numbers, and knew what was required to be promoted, too. She understood that one couldn’t ask for, or expect, more responsibility if one wasn’t adding sufficient value, which was why she was handling big accounts, and big money, and she didn’t make mistakes.
So why was she not recognized?
Rachel squeezed her eyes closed, air bottling in her lungs. She was hurt, but even more so, she was angry. The first oversight had been disappointing, but to be passed over three times? To be given flimsy excuses by upper management?
She wasn’t a child. She didn’t appreciate being patronized. But, really, she had no one else to blame. She’d known during the interview process eight years ago that she’d be one of the only female accountants at the firm, but it hadn’t worried her. She’d naively thought she’d be able to prove to them they’d hired the right person, and she’d demonstrate competency and excellence and she’d be the first of many women to work for Novak & Bartley.
But that hadn’t been the case.
Yes, a few female accountants had been hired after her, but none of them had been given a chance for advancement. None of them were invited to participate in Novak & Bartley’s annual golf tournament or the other VIP client events, either. It was as if they’d all hit a glass ceiling—and in this case, the ceiling was very, very low.
A light knock sounded on her door and Rachel lifted her head to see Alicia, one of the young women that worked in administration, standing in the doorway with a bright yellow package.
“I knew you’d be here,” Alicia said confidently. “Lots of the others have already left for Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving isn’t for another two days,” Rachel answered, sitting taller, squaring her shoulders. “What are your plans for the holiday? Going anywhere?”
“Heading to Santa Barbara. My boyfriend’s family is there.”
“Nice.”
“What about you?”
Rachel gestured to the boxes stacked in the corner. “Probably here, preparing for the SynTan audit.”
“That’s not for months.”
“Early January, but it’s better to be prepared.”
“You’re the queen of prepared,” Alicia said, smiling as she handed the package over. “This just arrived. It’s from Australia. Do we have clients in Australia?”
“I don’t,” Rachel answered, straightening. “Not sure about the firm.”
Alicia disappeared and Rachel turned the thick, padded DHL envelope over to read the address label. It had been sent from Lesley Hart, Rachel’s godmother, a godmother Rachel had only met a couple of times in her life, the last time being at Rachel’s mother’s funeral twelve years ago. Rachel had been a senior in high school and the funeral had been a blur of tears and hugs, as well as her father’s stoic silence, and after it was all over, she just wanted to put it behind her. She wanted to forget the pain and grief and she buried herself in her studies, because the one thing in life that didn’t let her down was numbers. Numbers never failed, and numbers never lied. Little wonder she chose accounting as her college major.
Uncertain as to what this mythical godmother had sent her, Rachel opened the envelope and drew out another envelope, this one bumpy with a letter, a folder of papers, and a key on a small key ring with a painted decorative accent that read “Big Sky.”
Frowning, Rachel held the key ring for a moment, the key pressed to her palm. Years ago her mother talked about being from Big Sky country, but Rachel had only been there once, and she was so young at the time that she didn’t remember it. Setting the key aside, she read the brief letter, and then read it again, more baffled with every reading.
It seemed that her godmother, the one she’d only met a handful of times, was gifting her a bookstore. In Montana. In the town where Rachel’s mother had grown up.
Perplexed, she read the letter a third time.
My dear Rachel,
I apologize for missing your 30th birthday last month, but hope it was happy. I thought of you on your special day, and I thought of your mother, too, and how proud she’d be of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better godmother but please know I carry you and your mother in my heart.
To celebrate your 30th birthday, and your impressive accomplishments, I am giving you Paradise Books, my bookstore in Marietta. I can’t imagine anyone more deserving. May it bring you the joy it brought me.
With all my love,
Lesley
Rachel blinked hard, the sudden rise of emotion catching her off guard, not just by the gift, but by the mention of her mother. No one mentioned her mother anymore. Dad certainly didn’t discuss her, and Rachel didn’t think of her, either, finding the memories too painful.
Rachel folded the letter, hiding the words and the emotion, and reached for the paperwork. There was a great deal of paperwork, too, as the gifting of a business, even a small business, wasn’t a small thing. The government didn’t just let one “gift” a business. There were taxes and paperwork, and more taxes, things Rachel knew well as a corporate tax specialist.
The paperwork included a description of the business—a historic red brick building which included an apartment carved from the attic rafters, allowing the owner to both live and work on the historic premises—along with the most recent tax returns on the building which indicated that the store hadn’t been open in several years.
Lesley shared in a handwritten note that the turn of the century brick building was paid for, and the property taxes had been taken care of for the next year, but she was aware that Rachel would incur some taxes with the gift and she hoped that the taxes wouldn’t be an undue burden. There was value in the store, but to be honest, most of the value was in the building itself, and Lesley suggested Rachel visit Marietta and see the store for herself. In fact, Lesley added, if she had time, she should go soon since Christmas was one of the nicest times of years in Marietta.
Exasperated, Rachel pushed the paperwork away, and turned in her chair to glance out the office window with its view of the 405 freeway and the tall Ferris wheel at Irvine Spectrum.
What was she supposed to do with a bookstore in Montana? Rachel’s entire world was here. She’d been born and raised in Irvine, attending UC Irvine where she’d studied accounting, and Irvine was where
she lived now, just seven miles from Novak & Bartley’s main office. How did one just pop into Marietta for a visit? It wasn’t close. It wasn’t convenient. And this wasn’t a gift Rachel could use.
Weren’t fairy godmothers supposed to show up when you needed them? Weren’t they supposed to swoop in and make things better?
Rachel turned from the window, her gaze sweeping in her office with the towering pile of files, and boxes of documents stacked in the corners, and it struck her quite forcefully that she’d sacrificed almost everything for this company and suddenly she wasn’t sure the sacrifices had been worth it. She’d let go of relationships and friendships for longer work hours, and how had it mattered? She wasn’t getting anywhere. And even if she stayed with Novak & Bartley, it was unlikely she’d ever make partner.
Exhaling hard, she reached for the keychain with the Big Sky accent, and turned it over, the worn brass smooth against her skin. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so devastated.
She’d poured herself into her job. She’d sacrificed virtually everything for work. There had been a plan, and it had looked so neat and tidy on paper. X number of clients times Y number of years and she’d be a manager, and then a director, and eventually a partner. Only it wasn’t working out that way. Her numbers were letting her down—no, Rachel stopped herself, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t the numbers that let her down. It was people.
So, what was she going to do? Go somewhere else, do something else, or just put her head down and work harder? Rachel didn’t know. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t get perspective.
She craved air, and space, and a chance to relax. Breathe.
Maybe a visit to this old bookstore in the middle of nowhere was exactly what she needed.
*
Atticus Evan Bowen, much like his namesake Atticus Finch, was an attorney from the South, unlike the fictional Finch, Atticus Bowen was from Houston, Texas, not Maycomb, Alabama, and his specialty was real estate law.