Mrs. Stewart gave Olivia a quick hug and off the Stewarts went.
Alone once again, recalling that she’d winced when he taken her hands just moments ago, he said, “Love, please take off your gloves. I’d like to see your hands.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that you do.”
“Olivia...please.”
Heaving a sigh, she unbuttoned her kid gloves, carefully slipped off one then the other, and held out her hands, palms up.
“Sweet merciful God...”
“I told you that you didn’t want to see them, but did you listen? No.”
Gently, he took her battered hands in his. “How on earth do you even hold a tea cup? Look at these blisters, cuts.”
Bright splotches of color suddenly adorned her cheeks and she pulled her hands away. “They’re better today. Truly.”
As she put on her gloves Colin studied the compassionate, extraordinary and beautiful woman before him. He’d been wrong. He wasn’t the least bit cursed but greatly blessed to have her in his world. But for how much longer? She was American and might leave at any moment.
“Lady Dunfirth, what are ye doing three weeks from Sunday?”
“I’ve no idea. Why?”
He took her into his arms. “On that day I would very much like ye to marry me.”
Her jaw dropped for a moment and then her lovely doe eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you serious? You do understand that I’m still a suffragist and still want to earn a law degree.”
“I understand and aye, I’m serious. I love ye, have from the very moment ye dove head first into the thicket and caught that wee pig. Just promise that you’ll not do anything rash and find yerself thrown in prison.”
Grinning, she slipped her arms about his neck. “I promise. And yes, I’ll marry you, you silver-tongued devil. How could any woman possibly say no to so eloquent a proposal?”
~*~
The wedding took place not three weeks later but three months later at the insistence of Liv’s father, who had to cross an ocean, and that of the Duchess, who never having had a daughter of her own went mad planning a wedding that all in Clachankirk and surrounds would long remember.
The bride, dressed in an exquisite gown of gold satin and cream-colored lace, carried a large bouquet of mistletoe tied with a bright tartan bow as she walked down the aisle with her proud father at her side. As for the groom, the MacNab wore his best kilt, his ceremonial sword and the biggest smile anyone could ever recall seeing on the man.
For eighteen months all went well and then suddenly Colin was riding like the wind for Edinburgh’s gaol where he hoped to post bail for his very pregnant wife. But that’s a story for another time...
The End
ABOUT SANDY BLAIR
USA Today Bestselling author Sandy Blair has slept in castles, dined with peerage, floated down Venetian canals, explored the great pyramids, lost her husband in an Egyptian ruin (she still denies being the one lost,) and fallen (gracefully) off a cruise ship.
Winner of RWA’s © Golden Heart and the National Readers Choice Award for Best Paranormal Romance, the Write Touch Readers Award for Best Historical, the Golden Quill and Barclay awards for Best Novella, nominated for a RITA and recipient of Romantic Times BOOKReview’s 4 ½ star Top Pick and K.I.S.S. ratings, Sandy loves writing about Scotland’s past.
When not writing, Sandy, a resident of coastal New Hampshire, is a popular conference presenter, teaches on-line writing courses and fundraises for her and her Scot hubby’s favorite charities.
Connect with Sandy Blair at www.SandyBlair.net
CLOSE TO SANTA’S HEART
SUZANNE FERRELL
CLOSE TO SANTA’S HEART
CHAPTER ONE
“You’re going to be the cutest elf the Yuletide Jubilee’s ever had,” Twylla Fisher announced, as Sylvie Gillis stepped out of the client changing room at The Dye Right Salon. “Come to think of it, you’ll be the first one we’ve ever had.”
It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The last client for the day left an hour earlier, leaving them to close up. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree played over the salon’s sound system. The pair had just finished putting up the Christmas lights in the shop’s window in preparation for kicking off the holiday season on Tuesday—the next day they were open.
Sylvie stood in front of the mirror at the hair washing station at the back of the salon. Turning a little to the left, a little to the right, she had to admit the elf costume Twylla made her fit like a glove. “When Cleetus told me he always played Santa for the Jubilee, I immediately wanted to be his elf.”
Twylla laughed. “I don’t think you just want to be the deputy’s elf.”
Sylvie grinned and met her boss’ gaze in the mirror. “Who wouldn’t want to be his special girl? He’s the sweetest man I’ve even known.”
In her life she’d know plenty of jerks, for sure—three of them in her immediate family. She shook off that ugly thought. No use in going there, she’d left that life behind her when she came to Westen. Now she had a good job styling hair in Twylla’s salon, a nice little house all her own, and Cleetus. Yes, sir. Coming to Westen was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
“So when does the big guy get to see you in this?” Twylla picked up a tub of perm rods and curlers for cleaning. She danced her way to the sink to the rhythm of the happy music.
“Monday. We’re going to the Senior Center for their holiday party. When Cleetus told me about being Santa for the Jubilee, I thought it was a one-time thing, just for the three-day event.”
“Oh, no.” Twylla shook her head as she sprayed hot water over the rods. “Cleetus is Santa for the entire town from December first until Christmas Day.”
“I know that, now.” Sylvie reached for the little journal she kept in her bag. She flipped to the December calendar. “We’ve got an event almost every day or night for the entire month of December. And except for the Jubilee weekend, we have two or three events every weekend day.”
“Has he asked you to go with him to the Sheriff’s wedding, yet?”
“Yes, and he’s asked me to go with him a week from Monday to get fitted for a tux. He’s so excited about being one of Gage’s groomsmen, but it’s got him nervous, too. It’s really cute.”
Twylla looked at her over her shoulder. “You must have it bad. As nice as Cleetus is, I don’t think anyone but you would call that large man cute.”
The wall clock chimed once. It was thirty minutes after the hour.
“I’d better change. Cleetus will be here in a few minutes to take me to dinner, and I don’t want him to see my outfit until Monday. I want him to be surprised.”
“He’ll be surprised all right,” Twylla called after her, as she closed the dressing room door.
Working quickly, Sylvie changed from the Kelly-green elf costume and red-and-white striped leggings into a pair of black leggings, the oversized yellow sweater that came half way down her thighs, and her black, mid-calf boots. The costume packed into her over-sized shoulder bag, she buckled the black belt on, cinching the sweater in at the waist.
The door chimes sounded up front.
With a quick peek at herself in the mirror, she picked at her golden-red hair to make it look a little spikier. After leaving Bartell’s Levee, the small town she’d grown up in, she’d dyed her strawberry-blonde hair even redder, and cut it super-short. It was her first shot at independence, and she didn’t intend to let someone tell her what to do—ever again.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt.
“Evening, Miz Twylla,” Sylvie heard Cleetus say, as she opened the changing room door.
She peeked up to the front. There he stood. Her heart did that little flutter thing it did every time she saw him.
Tall. Cleetus had told her once that without his boots he was six feet, five inches tall. Add on those working boots, and he was well over six-and-a-half feet. Since she was barely five-feet on a good day, she came just to his mid-chest re
gion. He had very broad shoulders. He’d played defensive lineman in high school, and even helped coach this year’s high school State-champion team. While he was a big man, with nice muscles, he wasn’t fat or chubby, even. In fact, he had padding built into his Santa suit, just so he’d look the part.
The best part about Cleetus? He was a gentleman. It had taken him nearly a month to ask her out. Most people in Westen—old or young, longtime townspeople or newcomers—all knew Cleetus. She’d seen him dealing with the teenagers on and off the football field. The players respected him. The kids that were troublemakers were intimidated by his size. Even belligerent drunks on a Saturday night at the Wagon Wheel Tavern calmed down when the giant of a man walked onto the scene. But those that were closest to him knew he was a gentle giant at heart, and never hurt anyone.
She grabbed her bag and winter coat, then headed to the front. “You’re a little late, tonight, Cleetus. Trouble in town?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, grinning down at her. “Had to help Old Man Simmons get his car started. Think he needs a new battery. It’s been sitting out in the cold and rain the past few days.”
“Should he be out driving in this weather at night?” she asked, handing Cleetus her coat. He always held it for her to put on when they were leaving. She hid her own smile. He’d told her he’d rather help her with the coat, than have one of his fellow deputies see him holding her bag.
“He should be good. The rain’s stopped, and it’s supposed to dry up before the temps drop below freezing. Besides, he was going over to the hospital to see his sister. Couldn’t very well tell him not to do that.”
“How is Miss Evangeline?” Twylla asked, putting her own winter coat on, then grabbing her bag and keys. She reached for the plastic bag of dirty towels—the salon had no washer or dryer, so she or Sylvie took turns doing laundry each night—only to have Cleetus heft it up like it weighed no more than a paperweight.
“I’ll get this,” he said, then continued with his assessment of the elderly siblings. “Mr. Simmons said she’s doing better. They’re hoping she’ll come home from the hospice center for Christmas.” Cleetus held the door for the two ladies, as Twylla turned off the lights and flipped the security button. Finally, she closed the door and locked up.
“You gonna join us for dinner over at the Peaches ‘N Cream tonight, Miz Twylla?” he asked, taking Sylvie’s hand in his free one.
Sylvie smiled. At first, he’d been shy and hesitant around her. That was until they both almost died in a house explosion. After he saved her life, he’d become confident and openly affectionate. And she definitely liked it.
Twylla shook her head, grinning. “Thanks for the invitation, but I have a hot date with Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth tonight, while I work on finishing my knitted stocking caps for the craft fair at the Jubilee.”
“Oh, man. Thor or Avengers?” Cleetus sounded like a teenage geek.
Twylla laughed. “Both, but I have to get started watching quick. Can’t miss the first Sunday morning service of the season. Love singing Christmas hymns in the choir.”
“Will you be singing O Holy Night on Christmas Eve again?” Cleetus asked as the trio walked over to Twylla’s car in the parking lot next to the salon. After he hoisted the bag of towels into the passenger seat, he stood to the side, looking at Sylvie. “You should hear her hit those high notes. Sends shivers down your spine. Nothing like it.”
“Really?” Sylvie stared admiringly at her boss. “I didn’t know you sang with the choir.”
“I’ve sung with the choir my whole life, even when I came back to town.” A shadow passed over Twylla’s face. It happened so quickly, Sylvie wasn’t sure if Twylla’s face had changed, or it was just a play of the shadows from the nearby streetlamp. She gave them a half smile as she continued. “I’ve had to learn to blend in with the other voices, unless I’m doing a solo. It’s good practice for me, blending in. And yes, Cleetus, I’ll be doing O Holy Night on Christmas Eve again.”
She climbed into her car. “You two have fun.”
Sylvie and Cleetus stepped back as she pulled out.
“I worry about her.” Sylvie watched her boss and friend drive down Main Street.
“Why? Did something happen today?” Cleetus asked, his voice lowering a bit in that serious-concerned-deputy way that always made her feel safe.
She squeezed his arm where her hand was tucked in the crook of his elbow as they headed down the street towards the Peaches ‘N Cream Café. “No, nothing unusual today, she just has these moments when she seems sad. She tries to hide it, but I’ve seen it when she thinks no one is looking. I wonder if it’s something in her past. Has she lived her long?”
“Miz Twylla’s lived here most of her life. She was a few years behind me in school. Always fun and loved to sing.”
They paused at the corner for the light to turn green. A few cars passed in front of them, the passengers waving at them. Sylvie and Cleetus returned the wave, something she’d done all her life. She’d always considered it a Southern thing. When she moved to Westen, she discovered that some things were the same in small towns, no matter where they were located.
The light changed and they headed on down the block.
“You said Twylla lived in Westen most of her life. Did she move here when she was little?”
“No, ma’am. She left after high school. Went to New York and sang on stage. Most of us lost contact with her for a while. Then when her mama was taken ill about five years ago, she came back home and took care of her until she passed. Then she bought the Dye Right, and you know the rest.”
“I wonder if something happened to her when she lived in New York?”
“Don’t know. Figure folks only talk about those things they want you to know.” He stopped to open the glass door into the café. He always held the door for her. Yet again, something she’d never had much growing up—courtesy from a man.
The aroma of roasted turkey and sage dressing hit them as they entered the warm café. Since there were long-distance truckers who made the Peaches ‘N Cream a regular stop on their routes, Pete, the café’s main cook, was still offering a Thanksgiving menu through the weekend. Sylvie didn’t mind. Turkey and dressing was one of the few meals she’d missed since leaving her parents’ home.
As she and Cleetus took one of the empty booths, his comment about people and their secrets still rang in her ears. It was a truth. There were things in her past she’d just soon stay there. She wouldn’t want someone prying into them, so she’d give Twylla the same courtesy—only talking about it, if her friend ever brought it up.
“You okay?” Cleetus leaned in and took her hand in his.
The concern in his eyes warmed her heart.
“No, I’m fine.” She rushed to reassure him, pasting a smile on her face. And she was fine, ever since she arrived in Westen and met him. “So we’re all set for the Senior Center’s party Monday?”
He hesitated, continuing to hold her hand and look in her eyes. Finally, he smiled at her, accepting that she was okay. “Miss Libby has us scheduled to be there at ten in the morning.”
“I thought Libby and Gage were still in Las Vegas, on their wedding-honeymoon trip?”
The county’s social worker and town’s fire chief had eloped to finally tie the knot, much to the delight of Westen’s citizens.
“They are. Miss Libby set up Santa’s appearance at the Senior Center and a few of the nursing homes in the county before she left town. They’ll be back by Monday.”
“Hey, Cleetus, Sylvie.” Glenna, one of the café’s waitresses, stopped at their booth to set out two glasses of ice water. A young woman, about twenty-five or so, stood just behind Glenna, who turned to motion her forward. “This is Hannah. She just got hired and is shadowing me for a few days.”
“Hi, Hannah,” Sylvie and Cleetus both greeted her.
“You’ll like working here,” Sylvie added.
“Everyone’s been pretty nice to me so far,�
� the brunette said with a shy smile.
“Do you know what you want tonight?” Glenna asked. “Or do I need to let you take a few minutes to look over the menu?”
“I know what I want,” Sylvie said, with a look at Cleetus.
“The turkey?” he asked, and she nodded. He grinned and turned to Glenna. “We’ll have two of Pete’s holiday specials.”
“Good choice,” the older woman said. “Anything special to drink? Some sweet tea?”
Sylvie shook her head.
“Nah, we’re good with water tonight, Miss Glenna,” Cleetus said.
The waitresses said they’d be back with their order in a bit, leaving Sylvie alone with Cleetus again. She glanced around the café. On the far side of the dining area, a huge Christmas tree stood near the old-fashioned jukebox, which was playing Christmas carols. It hadn’t been decorated yet, but by the looks of the boxes of ornaments and lights mounded on the nearby table, that would soon be fixed.
Next to the tree was Rachel Doone, the daughter of the owner, and a young man named Kyle who’d been working at the Peaches ‘N Cream for several months now, and played football for the local high school. The pair were busy putting fake snow on the windows, then trimming them with big, colorful Christmas lights—the old-fashioned kind, like they used to have in the fifties or sixties.
“Those two seem to be having fun,” she said.
Cleetus swiveled in his seat to see who she was talking about and gave an approving nod. “Yeah, Kyle’s a good kid. Rachel won’t have to worry about him acting ungentlemanly to her. Especially with Deke and Libby as his guardians.”
“Wasn’t he one of the boys you coached on the football team this year?”
Cleetus gave her a patient look as he shook his head. “Kyle is a wide receiver, so he played on the offense with Deke being his coach. I had the line players for both the defense and offense.”
“Oh, that’s right, the big guys who look like wrestlers in the middle of the field.” Sylvie was proud that she’d learned that much about football since dating Cleetus. He’d explained how the game worked, what each team was trying to do, and which was the offense, which the defense. Her father and brothers always watched football when she was growing up, but told her she didn’t need to know what was going on because she was a girl.
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 9