by Lori Wilde
“Giving us an exclusive interview,” Iris supplied, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Won’t this make for sensational television?” She turned to the cameraman. “Randal, did you get a shot of the look on Mark’s face when he saw Carrie?”
From behind the camera, Randal made the “okay” sign. Mark had been so startled to see Carrie that he hadn’t even noticed the camera was recording. Some newsman he was.
You’re not a newsman anymore. You’ve been cooped into a smiling boob. If he harbored any lingering doubts about leaving Fact or Fantasy, they completely evaporated in that moment. He’d already asked Burt Mernit to be let out of his contract; he didn’t have to stay here and do this.
“Have a seat Mark,” Iris said. “I’m conducting today’s interview. Oh and in case you’re thinking of refusing, I’ve talked to Burt. If you don’t want to be sued for breach of contract, you’ll give this interview.”
The second she saw the stunned look of betrayal on Mark’s face, Carrie knew granting the interview was a big mistake, but there was no turning back now.
He sat in the chair behind her, his eyes burning into hers.
A poignant bleakness crept over her—bleak as a North Pole blizzard wind. She’d been here before, felt this before. When she’d lied about wanting out of their marriage. She’d been so young and foolish then. What was her excuse now?
“Carrie,” said Iris, who was perched on a third chair in front of their two chairs. There were three cameras. One on her face, one on Mark’s, one on Iris. “You and Mark Leland were high school sweethearts.”
Carrie couldn’t get her breath. The air in the room tasted stale. “I . . .” She swallowed, kept her gaze fixed on Iris so she didn’t have to look at Mark. “Yes.”
Iris shifted her attention to Mark. “And do you confirm this, Mark?”
“I do.” I do. The same words he’d spoken at their wedding.
“High school sweethearts,” Iris said directly into the camera. “In a town that romanticizes first love.”
Iris returned to Carrie. “And you bought into the legend. To the point where you and Mark decided to run off to Vegas and get married when you were only seventeen. Is that correct?”
“It is.” Oh God, this was a train wreck.
“But things did not end with a happily-ever-after for you, did they?”
Silently, Carrie shook her head. She felt like she was on trial. She didn’t know it was going to be like this. She could feel the heat of Mark’s stare on her, but she did not dare meet his eyes.
“Please speak up,” Iris urged.
Carrie cleared her throat. “No, they did not.”
“And why is that?”
“We were too young.” She wasn’t going to say anything more. It was the truth, and the rest of the details weren’t anybody’s business but hers and Mark’s. “And the marriage was annulled.”
“In the aftermath of your tattered marriage, did you ever fling a penny into the Sweetheart Fountain and wish to be reunited with Mark?”
“I did,” Carrie confirmed.
To the camera, Iris said, “The sweetheart legend claims that if you toss a penny into the fountain you will be reunited with your first love and be happily married for life.”
“Yes.”
“But the legend did not come true for you, unlike all the other people in your town who claim that it did. Why do you suppose that’s the case?” Iris leaned forward, malicious delight in her eyes.
“Iris,” Mark said, his voice hard as a stone. “You’ve made an erroneous assumption.”
The woman snapped her gaze from Carrie, swiveled her head to face Mark. “And what is that, Mr. Leland?”
“That the course of true love runs smoothly. The sweetheart legend is based on Jon Grant and Rebekka Nash who were separated for fifteen long years. You’re missing the entire point. Just because lovers are separated does not mean they stop loving each other. Sometimes circumstances are beyond their control.” He shifted his gaze from Iris to Carrie. “Or sometimes, in the case of Carrie and me, love is the reason we were separated in the first place.”
Iris looked miffed. “How do you mean?”
“Carrie loved me so much that she put my needs ahead of her own. She knew that if she didn’t convince me to go, then I would not have taken the scholarship I’d been awarded to attend Columbia. I would not have gotten my degree. I would not have this job or the lifestyle that I do today. So she pretended our marriage was a silly mistake, and she did it because she loved me. Did it hurt? Hell, yeah. But I eventually came to realize why she’d done what she’d done. I also figured out just how much she loved me.”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Pul-lease.”
“She’s doing the same thing right now. That’s why she’s on this show. Not to help you bust some myth, but because she’s under the mistaken impression that I’m better off without her.”
Carrie blinked. Her heart pulsed. Her throat tightened.
Mark stood up, came to stand right in front of her. “Carrie, my love, I’m on to you. I made a mistake by walking away the first time. I let my ego get the better of me. But I know what you’re up to, and I’m not letting you get away with it. I belong here in Twilight with you. Coming home has shown me how much I’ve missed out on.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. She couldn’t speak. Not a word came out.
“I take full responsibility,” he said. “I let my hurt keep me from contacting you, from coming back. But I’m here now. I want to make amends.” Then he hitched up his pant leg and went down on his right knee.
Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would explode. She could hear the throb, throb, throbbing in her ears. Her entire body vibrated with the force of it.
Carrie looked down and saw a black velvet box clutched in his hand. He thumbed it open and the biggest diamond engagement ring she’d ever seen caught the light and sparkled.
“I told you when we got married the first time that one day I would buy you the kind of diamond ring you deserved.” His voice quavered. “Here I am, keeping my promise. Carrie MacGregor, will you do me the honor of becoming my bride? This time forever and always?”
“Mark,” she whispered. “Oh, Mark.”
Then tears were flowing down her face, and she was out of the chair and into his arms and kissing his face all over. His eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his chin.
Mark laughed and wrapped his arms around her, still on one knee. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She slung her arms around his neck and squeezed so tightly they both had trouble drawing in breath.
He stood up, taking Carrie with him. Then with his arm around her waist, he turned to face Iris Tobin and the camera. “Looks like this is one myth that has just been confirmed. In Twilight, Texas, true love really does conquer all.”
EPILOGUE
Carrie MacGregor loved Christmas.
She adored the carolers on the street corners, even though a couple of them were singing off-key. She treasured the artificial Douglas fir her friends had put up in the window of her shop for customers and the passing tourists to enjoy. She cherished the wreath hung from every intersection on the town square and The Sweetheart Tree in the park, hung with paper Christmas angels. She loved wassail and peppermint candy canes and popcorn garlands.
Yes, okay, she was a Christmas cliché—the fanatic who wasn’t happy until everything was gift wrapped or covered in tinsel. Every family had one. Merry Christmas!
Her only goal for the next month was to enjoy every single minute of the holiday with her new fiancé. Yes, Carrie loved Christmas, but not half as much as she loved Mark.
They walked hand-in-hand through the town square, taking in the annual Dickens-on-the-Square event. Street vendors sold food from carts—roasted chestnuts, turkey legs, spiced apple cider. Reenactors were dressed in Victoria
n grab from Beefeaters to English bobbies to Charles Dickens himself. The courthouse square hosted Santa’s workshop and children ran giggling about. The air was cool. A right nice fifty degrees.
After the interview in which Mark proposed to Carrie on the camera, the Fact or Fantasy crew had packed up and left Twilight. They still had no idea whether Burt Mernit was going to run the episode or not. They didn’t care. Mark was home to stay, and for once Carrie believed he was right where he was supposed to be.
With her.
He led her down the street to the walkway leading to Sweetheart Park. White twinkle lights decorated every tree in the park. They traveled along the wooden bridge spanning a narrow creek that was an offshoot of the Brazos, and they ended up in the middle of the park where the statue of Jon Grant and Rebekka Nash locked in a passionate embrace graced the flowing stone fountain.
“Got a penny?” Carrie asked.
Grinning, Mark fished in his pocket and produced a copper coin.
Carrie plucked it from her fingers, made a wish for a happy-ever-after love, and tossed it into the fountain. It hit with a merry splash.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” Mark murmured, drawing her close.
She nuzzled his neck. “You say the sweetest things.”
“Only because they’re true. I’m so sorry that it too me so long to get here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. You’re here at last.”
“I had to come back.” He smiled. “We were fated after all.”
“Joined from the first time we laid eyes on each other in study hall.”
“Linked for life.”
“There’s no escape.”
“If this is prison,” he said. “Lock me up and throw away the key.” Then Mark dipped his head and kissed her, proving once and for all that the sweetheart legend lived on . . .
*Editor’s note:
To learn what happened
to the Twilight bridge,
go to Lori Wilde’s
The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club
From Avon Books
More holiday fun in Twilight, Texas!
DON’T MISS THE NEXT TWO INSTALLMENTS OF
The Christmas Cookie Chronicles
By New York Times
Bestselling author
Lori Wilde
The Christmas Cookie Chronicles: Raylene
on sale November 29, 2011
The Christmas Cookie Chronicles: Christine
on sale December 13, 2011
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Excerpt from THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE CHRONICLES: RAYLENE
Down at the Horny Toad Tavern off Highway 377 in Twilight, Texas, Elvis Presley was singing, “Blue Christmas.”
The jukebox music sounded tinny and far away as it bled through the door into the crisp night air. Weather reports predicted temperatures would slide below freezing by morning and listeners had been urged to bring in plants and pets. No holiday lights decorated the building as they had in previous years. Other then Elvis’s mournful tune, the establishment gave no hint that Christmas was on the way. Only a few cars sat in the parking lot, sparse for a Saturday night, but most of the hamlet’s denizens were out celebrating the annual Dickens on the Square.
In the thick of darkening shadows from the cedar copse rimming the outskirts of the parking lot, a silent figure in a red suit, long white beard and shiny black boots waited, watching the back entrance of the tavern, hungry to catch a glimpse of one person in particular.
After an interminable half-hour, just shortly before midnight, the rear door to the Horny Toad opened, hinges creaking in the cold and letting out the strain of the Eagles singing “Please Come Home for Christmas”.
The watcher tensed, heart pounding and wind-burned hands fisted inside the pockets of the Santa costume.
A woman appeared. Once upon a time she’d possessed beautiful blond hair, but now it had grown steely gray.
The watcher’s breath caught. She had stopped dying her hair.
She carried a black garbage bag, heavy with clanking bottles, and started toward the Dumpster, her movements graceful as always. Years ago she’d been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader and she’d kept her slender, hourglass figure even into her sixth decade of life. But instead of the mini-skirts she usually favored because she had the most sensational legs of any woman in town no matter what their age, she wore oversized blue jeans and a gray wool sweater with a saggy hem.
The watcher’s tongue moistened parched tips. Wishing. Wishing for so many things. Wishing, but unable to make those dreams come true. You couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how hard you might try. Redemption was so close and yet so far away.
The garbage bag made a muffled thumping sound when it landed in the Dumpster. The air smelled of juniper and wood smoke. She dusted her hands and turned toward the bar. Her breath came out in frosty puffs. The moonlight caught her face. Her eyes were worn thin, exhausted.
The watcher shifted in the darkness, gut twisting. Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can see you for just a little while longer. One last time.
She paused and looked out into the darkness, her face a portrait for abject bleakness.
A lump blocked the watcher’s throat.
The woman shook her head, pushed open the door. Roy Orbison was singing “Pretty Paper”. Sad songs. All sad Christmas songs. She stepped inside, the door snapping shut behind her.
A single chilly tear tracked down the watcher’s cheek.
Gone. Everything once loved and taken for granted was now forever gone.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LORI WILDE is the New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty books. A former RITA finalist, Lori has received the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Holt Medallion, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice, and numerous other honors. She lives in Weatherford, Texas, with her husband and a wide assortment of pets. You may write to Lori at PO Box 31, Weatherford, TX 76086, or e-mail her via her home page at www.loriwilde.com.
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ALSO BY LORI WILDE
The Welcome Home Garden Club
The First Love Cookie Club
The True Love Quilting Club
The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club
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COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CHRISTMAS COOKIE CHRONICLES: CARRIE. Copyright © 2011 by Laurie Vanzura. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition November 2011 ISBN: 9780062116949
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