Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The letters… Of course, the letters. She struggled to sound implacable, but her voice emerged as a husky murmur. “It had better be a good story.”

  He kept hold of her shoulders, but his touch was tender. She could escape if she wanted to. She found she didn’t want to.

  He sucked in an unsteady breath. “It’s a love story.”

  Love? She frowned, still lost in a mist of sensuality. “I don’t understand.”

  Edmund sighed and released her, to her regret. “I know you don’t. And it’s mostly my fault. But I’ve always been so terrified of my powerful feelings frightening you away, that I’ve been infernally dishonest with you, my darling.”

  She liked being his darling. Almost as much as she liked his kisses. However, this didn’t sound good. She frowned. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

  His laugh was hollow. “Of course I am. I’m afraid that you’ll never love me.”

  Silence crashed down. Felicity stared into his face, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Edmund—”

  He spoke over her. “I told you there was a story. Well, here it is. It starts with a bumptious brute of an army captain, who thinks he has the world at his feet. Then he meets a beautiful, innocent girl at a ball in London, and he realizes she’s the only world he needs. Against all odds, he wins her for his wife, but she’s so fragile and fine, he fears that he’ll hurt her. He wants her too much, needs her too much…loves her too much.”

  “My dear…” she started, wondering if she was dreaming. After nearly eight years without him and last night’s extraordinary pleasure, this gift he offered her seemed too generous, too rich.

  He raised his scarred hand. “Let me finish while I still have the nerve to speak. Anyway, back to our two lovers. Before our army captain can work out the best way to proceed, his country sends him hundreds of miles away from his bride. His only contact with her is a string of amusing letters that say nothing about love or longing or loneliness…”

  “I didn’t know you loved me.” Under his intense stare, she trailed off, letting him go on.

  “Luckily our hero survives the war to return to his wife, many hard years later. And he finds time has made no difference to his feelings. He loves her just as much and wants her even more. And this time, he can see that she’s ready to meet him as an equal.”

  She blushed as she recalled the morning’s activities. “She certainly did that.”

  “But that makes him even more terrified, because he’s as much under her spell as he ever was. And now he’s back to his real life, and they have to work out a way to go on together. He’s burning up with love for her—how can he bear it if she feels nothing for him, except duty and lukewarm liking?”

  Despite the turbulent emotion vibrating in the air between them, she gave a choked laugh, weighted with unshed tears. “After last night, you can never accuse me of being lukewarm.” She drew herself up to her full height, as the last of her shyness fell away forever.

  Of course she’d tell him she loved him. Very soon. But first she had a puzzle to solve. “So tell me about the letters.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s no great mystery. Above Vittoria, we got hit by a French cannonade, and everything in the camp caught fire in a flash. I ran back through the flames to save your letters. I couldn’t let them burn. They were all I had of the woman I love.”

  Felicity caught his hands as her heart dipped with an overpowering mixture of distress and astounded joy. She wanted to berate him for risking his life over something as trivial as a letter. Yet how could she chastise him, when he loved her enough to face that danger? “That’s why your hands are scarred.”

  “Yes.” His fingers curled hard around hers.

  “I should have guessed it was something like that.” Her voice shook, as she remembered her shock when she found the charred letters. The tears she’d struggled to hold back trickled down her cheeks.

  Blazing gray eyes focused on her face. “Flick, could you love me?”

  “Could I? I already do. So much.” Her tears threatened to turn into a flood. With a tenderness she no longer needed to rein in, she touched his scarred cheek. “I loved you the moment I saw you.”

  Elation dawned over his features, making him strikingly handsome. “You love me?”

  “I always have.” This time, the admission came more easily.

  “And I love you.”

  Her laugh contained a crack. “Which makes me very happy.”

  His laugh was just as shaky. “Oh, my love, what a Christmas.”

  “Yes, what a Christmas,” she whispered, and stepped into his arms under the kissing bough.

  Through the thunderous rejoicing in her heart, Felicity felt Digby pressing into her side. As the kiss heated up, she became vaguely aware that Biddy had come in, probably to announce Christmas dinner.

  “Well, Lord above, all my wishes have come true.” Biddy’s jubilant voice rang out from the other side of the room. “This is the best Christmas present an old woman could ask for. Welcome home, Master Edmund. Welcome home. You’re safe and loved, and you never need to stray from home again.”

  Edmund drew away from Felicity and smiled down into her eyes with such adoration, she felt the winter day turn to midsummer. She wondered how she could ever have doubted that he loved her, even as she marveled that such a wealth of love could exist in the world and belong to her.

  “Amen to that, Biddy,” Edmund said, without looking away from his wife.

  “Amen indeed,” Felicity murmured, stretching up to steal another kiss under the mistletoe.

  ABOUT ANNA CAMPBELL

  Australian Anna Campbell has written ten multi award-winning historical romances for Grand Central Publishing and Avon HarperCollins, and her work is published in eighteen languages. Anna has won numerous awards for her Regency-set stories including Romantic Times Reviewers Choice, the Booksellers Best, the Golden Quill (three times), the Heart of Excellence (twice), the Write Touch, the Aspen Gold (twice) and the Australian Romance Readers Association’s favorite historical romance (five times). Anna is currently engaged in writing the “Dashing Widows” series, which started in 2015 with The Seduction of Lord Stone. You can find out more about Anna and her stories on her website: www.annacampbell.com

  HUNT FOR CHRISTMAS

  TINA DESALVO

  HUNT FOR CHRISTMAS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fa La, Louisiana (known affectionately as Fa La La)

  “It’s very weird not to hear or see another human speaking or even a car passing in the distance,” Edward Stein said, looking around as if he’d missed one of those things in the calm bayou waters and weeping willow trees around them at the old boat launch where he and Camille stood. “I’ve never experienced this before in New York, that’s for sure. We could be the only two people on earth. All I see is swamp. All I hear are mosquitoes and insects buzzing.” Her colleague and -not quite- boyfriend swatted his hands into the air in front of him and dodged his head at the bugs that seemed to be drawn to him as if he was coated in sugar.

  Bringing Edward home with her for Christmas was a mistake.

  Coming home was not. It was time. Past time.

  Camille Comeaux may have tried lying to herself that she was only returning home to Fa La La because it was Christmastime and the small community where she grew up and where her family still lived, needed help with its annual Cajun Christmas on the Bayou Celebration. True, it was a huge event, critically important to the community because it financially supported them for an entire year, but those weren’t the reasons she’d come back.

  She’d come home because she missed it. She missed her family, even if they were pushy and prone to interfering in her personal life. It had always been easier to go along with what they wanted for her than to figure out what she’d wanted for herself. A truth she wasn’t proud of. A truth that she’d painfully discovered when she’d overheard her papa speaking to her mother. He’d said that Camille didn’t know
what the hell she wanted and that he wondered if something was wrong with her for losing the man they all thought she would marry. That conversation had chased her away with hopes that distance would force her to get the kind of backbone in her personal life that she had in professional life.

  Only, she hadn’t really lost Ben Bienvenu. Their relationship, which everyone expected to end with a wedding march and I-do’s, was just a fantasy. Neither of them had wanted it, not really. It took her leaving Cane and Fa La La to figure that out.

  Still, it felt like a rejection…a jilting. Not by Ben, but by the people in Fa La La, especially her papa. She couldn’t land the man they all believed was her soul mate. Her papa had said some hurtful things about her that day as she stood in the hallway of her parents’ small home, including how she’d been too cold, too hard and too self-centered with Ben. His words had cut deep inside of her. He was wrong about what he’d said but what hurt worst of all, was that he’d thought of her that way. She hadn’t lived up to the expectations of her papa-the man she adored and loved beyond boundaries.

  Now, as she was returning home, she felt stronger and more confident in who she was and what she wanted. Just as she had planned when she left Fa La La. Still she was hurt by her papa’s words. She wouldn’t let him know it and would pretend she hadn’t heard them. Edward would provide some insulation. It was why she’d agreed to bring him. Well, that and he’d asked to come. She had no doubt a large part of the reason he wanted to join her was because he was curious about her remote childhood home that was only accessible by boat ride from Cane, Louisiana.

  The weathered cypress planks of the boat launch wharf creaked under their feet when for the umpteenth time, Edward slapped at something that landed on his arm.

  “Was that a sparrow or a mosquito?” he asked, looking at her over the top of his designer black-framed glasses. “It bit me through my shirt. I thought they weren’t so active this time of year.”

  “That would be true if it was cold or windy, neither of which is the case this afternoon. Seventy-eight and clear.” Yeah, it was definitely a mistake bringing Edward. He’ll be obsessing over the mosquitoes for the entire time we’re here. Geez, wait until he sees the banana spiders.

  “That shirt is what attracts them.” Camille kept the impatience out of her voice. “Mosquitoes love dark colors, especially the dark blue of your Burberry shirt.”

  “All I brought are dark clothes.”

  “That’s because you were born and raised in Manhattan. Dark clothes are your calling card,” she said teasingly, earning a frown from Edward. He might not have much of a sense of humor, but he was one of the most dedicated doctors in the Bellevue ER where she’d worked alongside him as an emergency room physician for the last year. And he’d been a good friend to her, helping a bayou doctor adjust to city life. He’d filled some excruciatingly lonely times, making her feel wanted again. Normal.

  Edward slapped at his arm again. “What the hell? I swear, that was a bird with teeth.”

  Camille laughed. “We grow them big out here on the bayou. They particularly like city-folks’ blood. You know, it’s like if you eat chicken all the time, you want to eat steak from time to time.” Edward fastened the button on his collar and zipped up his black Gucci jacket.

  A horn blew from behind them and they turned around to see who it was. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said, as the hot pink truck belonging to Cane’s favorite, most eccentric citizen stopped where the wharf met the shell-covered parking lot.

  “That’s Tante Izzy.” She smiled and waved. She was hoping to see her this trip. Tante Izzy was such a wise, loving, and straight-talking woman. . .as well as Ben’s old-maid, elderly aunt. Not being part of her family was one of the hardest things about Camille and Ben not being together. “If Cane had a Queen Mother, it would be Tante Izzy.” She laughed. “Oh, and look, Madame Eleanor is with her. She’s Cane’s version of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. She’s a Traiteur—a Cajun healer.”

  She rushed to the truck and Edward followed. When she reached the driver’s side, she opened the door and hugged Tante Izzy. The truck jumped forward, and Tante Izzy slammed her heavily pink-sequined tennis shoe on the thick block strapped to the brake, there because she was so tiny she couldn’t reach it otherwise.

  “Put it in park,” Edward said, earning a frown from both Tante Izzy and Madame Eleanor, who not only shared similar disapproving expressions, they both wore similar cotton dresses with aprons over them. Tante Izzy’s were pink, of course, while Madame Eleanor wore a blue-gray color that matched both of the eighty-plus-year-old ladies’ hair. The similarities between the two ended there. While Tante Izzy was small-boned and thin, Madame Eleanor was a large woman whose big bosoms rested on her even larger belly.

  “Who’z dat bossy man?” Tante Izzy put her truck in park. Turning her attention to Edward, she asked, “Who’z youz daddy?”

  Camille laughed and looked at Edward. “That’s a question a lot of locals ask when they meet someone they don’t recognize and are trying to place which family they belong to,” she told him. “Tante Izzy, this is my friend, Edward Stein, he works with me in New York.” Tante Izzy shook the hand he extended to her.

  “Stein ain’t no local name, dat’s for sure.” She harrumphed and looked at him from head to toe. “Da mosquitoes are goin’ to eat youz up.”

  “So I’ve discovered.”

  “It’s good to see you, Madame Eleanor,” Camille said, speaking Cajun French, surprising Edward. Eleanor nodded.

  “He’z a doctor too?” Tante Izzy asked, also in Cajun French.

  “Oui.” Both ladies leaned forward in unison to look at him.

  “I gotz da warts and love potions, youz can treat da rest,” she told Edward in English.

  “Oh. . .Okay, you have a deal.” He smiled and Eleanor sat back in her seat.

  “It’z her bread and butter,” Tante Izzy said, then lowered her voice to speak to Camille in French. “It’z a good thing youz here, little Camille. Fa La La needs help wit it’z problem. Dey might as well have been nailing Jell-O to da wall wit how dey are tryin to fix it.”

  “What problem?” Camille asked, in French, worry making her voice raspy.

  “Let her people tell her,” Eleanor said, also in French.

  “No. Tell me what’s wrong, Tante Izzy.”

  “I’ze don’t go against my Traiteur. She helps me wit my ar-thi-ritis.” She pointed to the backseat. “Take dat for youz momma. When she tole me you were comin’ now, we hurried up to stop here on our way to da rosary before da weekday mass. We made pecan pralines with sugar I got from da local sugar cane mill. It’z for y’all to sell at da Fa La La Cajun Bayou Christmas.”

  “Dey came out real good,” Eleanor added as Camille opened the back door and retrieved the box. It smelled like toasty pecans, vanilla, and creamy goodness. She handed the heavy box to Edward and closed both the back and front truck doors.

  “Thank you. I’m sure they’ll sell out fast.”

  “Of course dey will,” Tante Izzy said and drove off.

  As they returned to the wharf to wait for her papa, she wondered what problem Tante Izzy was talking about. No one from her family had ever mentioned any concerns with the Christmas Celebration. Before she could give it another thought, she heard her papa’s boat in the distance. “That’s him.” She shaded her eyes to the bright sun.

  “How can you tell? He’s far off.”

  “I know that old outboard motor when I hear it. Bummbummbumm, pop. He’s in his twenty-foot crabbing boat.” She clapped her hands. Excitement and nerves made her heart race. God, please don’t let me see any of his awful words in his eyes. I can forget those words and move forward as if it never happened if I don’t see them in his eyes. She walked to the edge of the dock and waved as he approached and slowed the engine.

  “He’s not in a hurry, is he?”

  “Idle zone.” She saw her papa’s big welcoming wave. “Remember I told you, everyone’s in idle zon
e here. Things move at a very different pace on the bayou.”

  Edward slapped his cheek where an enterprising mosquito found uncovered flesh. “Damn it. The mosquitoes are more vicious than the gangs that come into the ER on a Saturday night.”

  “Toss me the line,” Camille shouted to her papa, whose smile was as sunny as the early afternoon sky. She blew out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. He looked happy. Happy to see her. His bright smile didn’t dim as he maneuvered his old wooden boat alongside the dock. She caught the line on the first toss, tied it to one of the pilings, and their differences and time apart slid away.

  She stepped onto the boat. It bobbed in the shallow water, but her legs were as steady as they ever were. She threw herself into her father’s arms. “Oh, Papa.” Just those two words caught in her throat and the tears came instantly. “I’ve missed you.”

  He kissed the top of her head, his rough beard catching in her dark strands. His hair was once the same coal color as hers before gray started marking his years ago. It seemed there was more since she last saw him.

  “My little bebette,” her papa said, his Cajun accent as thick and beautiful as ever. “I knew youz wouldn’t stay away for Christmas. I’m happy youz here.” He tightened his arms around her and she felt warmth and love in his embrace.

  “No Papa. I came home for Christmas.”

  “Thanksgiving,” Edward said to Camille. “We’re here for Thanksgiving.” She didn’t bother telling him that in Fa La La, Christmas began with Thanksgiving.

  Her papa looked at him over Camille’s head, which was easy enough for him to do, since he was a good foot taller than her petite five foot two inches. “Il est un couillon.” Camille covered her laugh, hearing her papa refer to one of the top ER physicians in New York as a fool.

  “I’ve missed you.” She rested her cheek on the soft, worn denim overalls covering his chest and inhaled deeply. He smelled of fresh air, Dial soap, his favorite Juicy Fruit gum, and home before she’d heard his terrible words. She could’ve stayed right there in his tight embrace, but Edward cleared his throat, reminding her he was there too.