by Calista Fox
“I don’t know. I mean, let’s face it. I was staying at the B&B instead of at my mother’s. I’m just used to hotel rooms and I never really felt like I belonged anywhere in particular.”
“Me, either.”
They were both quiet a few moments. Then Scout said, “We always did like it at Tilda’s. All that space to play in. The backyard. The—”
“Cornbread and cookies,” they said in unison.
Ciara smiled. “Just one of those places destined for greatness, I suppose.”
Scout didn’t say anything for a while. She settled into him with her cheek pressed to his chest.
Eventually, he said, “Great house for an entire hockey team to gather after games.”
Without even thinking about it, Ciara added, “Pee-wees, too. Little Scout Winchester Mini-Me’s.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah. Hmm.”
They fell silent again.
She had no idea how much time passed. Then he asked, “How many Scout Winchester Mini Me’s were you considering?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she playfully mused. “We need three forwards. Two defensemen. A goalie…”
“Ha, ha.”
She laughed along. “I never really thought about any of this until the dedication. It was all just so perfect.”
He kissed her softly. Said, “That’s when it all started to fall into place for me, too. I just have a few things to square up first.”
“You need to tell your family about the full extent of your injuries.”
“Yes.” He kissed her again. “That’s second on my list.”
“The first is?”
“Oh, shit.” He shook his head. “I can’t possibly be having this much trouble counting. I meant that was third on my list.”
“Scout.” She nudged him. “Don’t leave me in suspense…”
“First order of business,” he clarified, “is telling you I love you.”
Her heart melted. She smiled. “Oh, well. That’s fantastic.” She kissed him. A slow, sexy one. Then said, “Please continue.”
“Second order of business,” he told her as he stood, with her curled in his arms, and walked them over to the bed. “Is to make love to you. Though… Damn. There my counting abilities go to hell in a handbasket again. Numbers three, four and five should be solely dedicated to making you come.”
“As if I’d complain about that,” she muttered under her breath.
“Then, priority number six will be to share my entire new existence with my family.”
“Just don’t tick off anything numerically to them. Your mother will be incensed she’s low-woman on the totem pole and you will never be forgiven—nor will I.”
“Something tells me she’ll understand.”
They snuggled close. Scout twined the fingers of one of her hands with his. He kissed her knuckles and then asked, “Really, how cool would it be if we got married and lived in Plymouth Rock?”
Her stomach fluttered. “Scout…” She couldn’t hold back the wide grin. “So very, very cool.”
“All right, then.”
Ciara felt a warm, mystical aura surround her. From Grandpa Win? Tilda? The cosmic forces? Who knew?
She sighed contentedly, and said, “All right, then.”
The love of her life kissed her.
And Ciara suddenly realized that maybe things actually did happen for a reason. And there was a hell of a lot of beauty in holiday magic…
Chapter Nine
They were huddled under the covers the next morning. Lying on their sides, face to face. Scout was mesmerized. As always.
A soft smile curved Ciara’s pretty pink—wholly tempting—lips. She cracked an eye open. “You’re staring at me.”
He chuckled. “Couldn’t help it.”
“You figured if you stared long enough, I’d wake up? And then…?” She wagged her brow suggestively.
“I’m all about the and then…”
With a soft laugh, she said, “That makes two of us.”
He kissed her. Then he told her, “I’m already instantly used to this, you know? Waking up with you in the morning. It’s what I want every morning, Ciara. It’s the way it should always be between us.”
Her fingers lightly grazed his temple. “I’m sorry about your career, Scout. I really am. I’m sorry about mine ending, too. In terms of the capacity we were both used to, had both planned out. But all I can think right now is that there are huge opportunities for us to move forward.”
“Like the cosmic force got it right?”
She smiled. “Or maybe Grandpa Win. Who knows? Just seems like if we’d continued down our previous paths, we wouldn’t have ever fully found our way to each other. And the truth is… Being right here in this moment with you… It makes me feels as though I truly needed a catalyst to bring me around. I needed the avalanche. The confrontation with you. All of it.”
Ciara shook her head. Apparently tried again to clarify her thoughts. “I mean, I own this astounding house that I’ve always loved. Have always loved coming back to. And my friends are in Plymouth Rock. The society is in Plymouth Rock. And you’re right—I am the heir to that legacy. So for me, it just feels as though I’ve finally found my place. Finally found my…home.”
“A foreign word to us both,” he concurred as he swept a few strands of hair from her cheek. “But I hear what you’re saying. Can even back it up by telling you that when I was in that rink the other day, I actually did feel like I’d returned to something significant. That this town was my home, too. Even if I hadn’t spent a shitload of time here, it’s where my family always returns to, where my friends still are. Where you are. Where Win Creek Cabin is.”
Ciara’s eyes lit up. “You’re not selling, are you?”
“How the hell could I possibly agree to it? I hated the idea to begin with. So did JT. And from what I’ve heard of their arguments, JT has pretty much set Hamilton straight when it comes to Dad and also what it means to keep this cabin in the family. If the slate’s been cleaned with my brothers, I can’t imagine why Ham would follow through with this insane deal. Not that he can, with me and JT blocking him. Still. What’s most important is that our younger brother finally takes off the rose-colored glasses. He needs to see this place and this family for what it is.”
Ciara kissed him. Then said, “You’re so right. You’re absolutely right. But you have to be forthcoming as well.”
“I know.” He pulled her more closely to him, so their bodies sealed. He whispered, “Starting with telling you once again that I love you.”
“Oh, wait… I think this is my cue to leave, even if it isn’t the middle of the night,” she quipped. And winked.
“Sassy,” he said on a low chuckle. Then he kissed her. The kind of kiss they both felt to the depths of their souls. To heaven and beyond.
That evening, Scout built a bonfire for everyone to enjoy. But mostly, he was enjoying Ciara. He did take the time to meet up with his brothers and tell them he had to put his foot down on the sale of Win Creek Cabin. Remind this generation of Winchester’s of the legacy of the next generation of Win’s.
After stoking the fire in the bedroom, while Ciara settled between the sheets and thick down comforter, he stripped off his sweater and dropped it on top of the dresser.
Something new caught his attention.
He reached for the old photograph tucked into the corner of the mirror mounted on the dresser. Snatched it from its temporary perch. Studied it carefully.
His grandparents, his mother, his brothers and Ciara were gathered outside the cabin. The snowbanks were knee-high. More fat flakes fell. Old-fashion toboggans were stabbed into the drifts. Everyone was smiling. Tilda had taken the photo and had said something in her humorous way to get them all to laugh at the exact same moment.
Hell, Scout and Ciara must have been about ten that year. He remembered how much fun they always had sledding down the wide slopes on the mountain. All that fresh powder, the adrenalin
e rush and the incredible scenery.
He turned to her and handed over the photo. “Did you find this somewhere?”
She stared at the picture for a moment, grinning. Then lifted her gaze and said, “No. But I recall that day perfectly.”
“Yeah. So do I. We’d been fighting over the last of the boysenberry jam Mom had made and you were yammering about how the guest in the house should be offered the final spoonful and I said something like, ‘you’re not a guest, you belong here’ and then—”
“And then—” Ciara gasped. “Grandpa Win walked in, smiled at us and…walked away.”
“Not before he told us, ‘Someday you’ll want to share everything.’”
They stared at each other.
It took a few seconds for Ciara to come around and she asked, “Where’d you get that photo?”
“Magically appeared. Like the Winchester pickaxe when the avalanche hit. Like the spark against my new sign in the rink. Like the puff of air on the nape of my neck when Vaux could have crushed me with a royal flush.”
“Damn, your gramps works in mysterious ways.”
“Yes,” Scout said with a grin. “Yes, he does.”
On Thursday morning, Avalanche Road was cleared and blue skies prevailed. Scout drove Ciara down the mountain to her home and they enjoyed the Pilgrim Society’s reenactment of the landing—no rock in sight this year!—and the morning feast. Then they traveled back up the mountain and were greeted by Catherine and Henry. Along with JT and Maddie, Hamilton and Gaby, and the perfect opportunity for Scout to explain to them all about his current medical condition and professional status—and his and Ciara’s new future.
Saying the words out loud made him as emotional as everyone else. But this time, Scout wasn’t feeling angst toward a fate he had no control over—a fate he’d felt for the past year had mocked him.
This time, he really saw the present and the future for what it was. A golden light, a homing beckon, a full circle. Just the right balance of family love, professional growth and a seriously hot woman he’d never let go of ever again…
When they all sat down for Thanksgiving dinner, Scout knew he had a hell of a lot to be thankful for—and when he glanced over at Ciara, he saw the same in her eyes.
They were finally home.
—The End—
Keep reading for a sneak peak at the third book in the Snowed In and Snuggled Up Holiday Trio.
And Everything Nice
Snowed In and Snuggled Up Holiday Trio, Book Three
By Mary Leo
Chapter One
Hamilton Winchester had more important things to do during this Thanksgiving holiday than make his way back to Plymouth Rock, Colorado for some silly dinner. Okay, so maybe the real reason was to sign off on the sale of his grandparents’ cabin, but that could’ve been accomplished online. He knew the real reason. His sentimental mom wanted everyone together for one last meal at the cabin. Unfortunately, Hamilton’s schedule didn’t want to cooperate with her festive plans. He had real work to do with the latest company he’d just acquired if he was going to turn it around and sell it for a profit in the next eight months.
Sure he hadn’t been to the family cabin since Grandpa Win had died almost five years prior, and sure it would be nice to spend some time with his family, but the last time they were all together for Thanksgiving he and his brothers had argued, and his mom had come unglued over whether or not to buy an organic turkey from Bentley Farms or one from Artie’s Grocery Store. Hamilton only ate organic now, but at the time, organic was the only turkey Grandpa would eat. Nothing commercial for him. Then there was the argument over how to cook the darn thing: fried, baked or barbequed.
All-in-all, it hadn’t been a good experience. Ever since his grandfather had died, the holidays had never been the same in the Winchester family, mostly because Hamilton had been spending them alone. Grandpa Win was the glue that had held everyone together, and without him, they all seemed to drift apart.
Hamilton felt somewhat relieved his dad was pushing to sell the cabin. He’d just as soon wash his hands of the damn thing and be done with it. All it did was remind him of spending time with his grandparents, and that part of his life was once and for all over.
Not that his dad had any fondness for the cabin to begin with. Hamilton knew his dad was pushing this deal purely for his personal financial gain. The man was all about the deal, and nothing and no one else mattered: not his three sons or his own dad’s legacy, which at this point in Hamilton’s life was fine with him. More and more, despite his best efforts to the contrary, he was becoming his father’s son . . . a condition he sometimes disliked in himself, yet somehow couldn’t seem to shake.
Hamilton had his own set of favorite memories from the cabin: his grandpa had taught him to play one of his old guitars that he’d kept up in the attic, his gram had taught him how to bake his first pie in that kitchen, he’d broken his right arm when he fell out of the oak tree in the back yard, he learned how to ride Old Glory, his grandma’s favorite horse the summer his dad left home, and it was on the front porch, while sitting on that old metal slider that he kissed his first girl, little Gaby Venti. She was all of maybe seven or eight years old and he, a year older.
That year she’d been visiting her dad and his then new wife on the Fourth of July. Her dad owned a successful Italian restaurant and a house in town, located right next door to the house Hamilton had grown up in. He didn’t remember Gaby ever living with her dad for any length of time--her dad had had too many wives and lovers for that. Nope, she only visited. But whenever she did, he and Gaby were almost inseparable.
Then everything changed during the summer between high school graduation and college. They’d had what he thought was an inconsequential argument but their friendship never fully recovered. Sure, they’d still see each other from time to time, but it was usually when Gaby needed him to soothe her after a tough exam, or when she’d nearly been expelled from school for punching her roommate in the face. Then there was the time they met back home in Plymouth Rock when her dad married his third wife or was it his fourth? Hamilton could never keep up. They’d spent the entire reception together, dancing, talking and flirting. She had promised to stay in touch, but she never returned any of his calls or emails.
Of course, by the time she’d turned twenty-six, Gaby had matured into a beautiful, intelligent woman who he’d had a brief interlude with several months ago. They’d run into each other at a Digital Marketing Summit in Denver and for some inexplicable reason, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Whatever they’d fought about in college seemed to vanish with that first hello, and ever since then it had taken every ounce of fortitude Hamilton had within him not to contact her again.
Unfortunately, their brief tryst should never have happened. She had a boyfriend back home in Los Angeles with wedding bells on his mind or so she’d said. For his part, he’d told her he was seriously dating someone in town, but that was a lie just so his ego could walk away from her with some dignity. Yes, he’d been kind of dating a couple women, Jessica Beasley, and a Sharon Somebody, but neither one of them was serious. And despite what Sharon had posted on his Facebook page, he was still very much a single guy.
In the end, both he and Gaby had agreed their romantic weekend had been a mistake, but damn if he didn’t still think of her . . . the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips, how her body seemed to melt into his.
He pushed those erotic thoughts away as he drove down the dark, snowy road to the cabin. Thinking about her now only complicated his already complicated life. Not that he could do anything about their situation even if he’d wanted to.
Gaby had always been elusive. Even back when they were kids she swore she never wanted to marry. She’d always wanted kids, but she never wanted a husband or so she’d said. Her dad was already on his fourth or fifth ‘serious’ girlfriend when Gaby was only ten years old. When Hamilton had caught up with her in Denver, her dad had abandoned the
marriage bargain completely and instead was actively pursuing someone he claimed was the love of his life . . . as if anyone could buy that one.
The private road leading up to the cabin had been cleared of snow, probably the work of his middle brother Scout, who liked to take care of things. If it wasn’t for Scout, the place would have probably fallen into disrepair after Grandpa died. Scout took after their grandfather: handy with a hammer and charming with his words.
Case in point, the town had just dedicated an entire ice-skating rink to Scout earlier that afternoon. It was now officially known as ‘Scout’ Winchester Ice Rink. Apparently, William, Scout’s birth name, would never appear on the new nameplate. Scout was a lot like Hamilton when it came to their names. Scout hated the name William, and Hamilton hated the nickname, Ham. Their oldest brother, Jefferson Tate, preferred to be known as simply JT Winchester.
Hamilton had attended the festive ceremony at the ice rink, complete with food and games for the kids, but hadn’t wanted to actually meet up with any of his family members. He’d stayed in the shadows, mostly, but had always been deeply proud of Scout’s accomplishments in hockey, especially when, because of him, the U.S. had won another Olympic gold medal.
He had planned to participate in the dedication, but then at the last minute couldn’t seem to bring himself to go up to Scout and congratulate him. He’d caught Scout’s attention from out in the stands, and Scout had given him a nod of acknowledgement, but, still, Hamilton had kept his distance. Scout, JT, and Hamilton hadn’t really been bonding in recent years, somewhat due to how they each felt about their dad. Hamilton had a relatively good relationship with their dad, and there were times when he even admired him. Unfortunately, Hamilton’s brothers had a much different take on their dad.