by Lynn Patrick
“Wait until I get my hands on you!” she threatened.
Jumping up and down on the box and pointing a finger at her, the chimp was making strange noises that sounded like laughter. Morgana lunged to grab him, but he scooted under the worktable. At that very moment she heard the door open and her sister Blanche’s trilling voice.
“Step in here. Oh, dear, whatever are you up to, Morgana? You’ll have to pardon the mess,” Blanche said doubtfully to the couple who had followed her into the workroom. “Wait right here, won’t you?” She rushed to Morgana.
Looking past her sister, Morgana stared into the cool gray eyes of a striking-looking man in a three-piece suit. Although she disliked the formal business attire intensely, Morgana had to admit he was elegantly dressed, the gray suit perfectly tailored to his tall, trim form. An Italian import, no doubt. His companion was a young, petite blonde casually dressed in a flame-colored Gibson girl blouse and turquoise jodhpur pants. Morgana thought they made a strange couple.
When he unwraps her love, he uncovers her secret…
Abigail and Mistletoe
© 2012 Karen Rose Smith
Just before Christmas, trauma makeup artist Abigail Fox packs up her bag of tricks and travels to Crested Butte, Colorado, to help an actress who has lived in seclusion since a disfiguring accident.
The lodge owner irritates her with his suspicions that she’s only out to hook her name to a star. However, his broad shoulders and quiet intensity make her weak in the knees.
A former stuntman familiar with Hollywood politics, Brady is sure Abigail has ulterior motives. Why else would she travel far from home over a holiday if there wasn’t something in it for her? Yet gradually he realizes that with Abigail, what you see is what you get—a caring woman who only wants to help accident victims rediscover life.
Sheltered in Brady’s beautiful, snowbound world, warmed by his holiday wish that has nothing to do with Santa Claus, Abigail finds herself falling into his arms. But if he learns her terrible secret, the love that’s catching fire could blow up in her face.
Warning: Consummated love scenes.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Abigail and Mistletoe:
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Brady Crawford muttered as his black hiking boots purposefully ate up the distance between the parking lot and Colorado’s Gunnison Airport terminal.
“Because you like to do favors for your old man,” Ethan Crawford returned with a twitch of his lips that almost qualified as a smile.
Brady glanced at the man beside him as they kept step around the circular drive. At age sixty-five, his father was getting older, but was far from old. He was as vital and strong as he’d ever been. “A favor is one thing. Disrupting our peace is another. You know how I hate publicity, reporters and hangers-on.”
“It wasn’t too long ago you took the publicity and reporters in stride.”
The stiff December wind buffeted Brady with as much force as his memories sometimes did. “That was nine years ago, Dad. I like the seclusion of the mountains, the guests who come to the lodge because they want quiet and solitude. Having a movie star there doesn’t lend well to the atmosphere. Especially if she decides to promote the lodge to other movie stars.”
“Have you even heard a peep out of Theadora? She’s been hiding in her cabin since she arrived yesterday.”
Brady’s boot scrunched a snow mound on the walk. “Yeah, well, this lady we’re picking up today might change all that. I’m sure she’s not meeting with Theadora out of the goodness of her heart. If she’s a makeup artist, she probably wants to go places in Hollywood. Theadora might be simply a stepping stone for her.”
“Theadora’s been a recluse for too long. If this Abigail Fox can get her to go out in public without her veil, I’ll pay the woman’s fee myself and introduce her to anyone in Hollywood I know.”
Brady knew his father’s friendship with the world-famous Theadora Lorimar went way back. Once upon a time Ethan had been her chauffeur. When he began his own limousine service, he’d left her employ, but they’d remained friends. Theadora had never treated Ethan as a servant. Brady suspected his father felt more than friendship for Theadora but had never felt himself to be her equal.
Brady stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets. Theadora’s accident had changed everything for the two old friends. For the past few years, ever since her accident, she’d refused to see Ethan when he wanted to fly back to Beverly Hills for a visit. She had cut herself off from everyone—until a few weeks ago, when she’d called and asked Ethan if they had a vacancy at the lodge for the holidays for her and a young woman who would try to teach her to cover her facial scars with makeup.
Brady knew about scars—emotional rather than physical ones. They were tough and stubborn and sometimes you could cover them up, but they never disappeared entirely. He was afraid Abigail Fox was more interested in making money and a name for herself than in helping Theadora. His years in Hollywood as a stuntman had taught him people had ulterior motives, not selflessness in mind.
Inside the terminal there was hustle and bustle—guests flying in to ski at Mount Crested Butte Resort, others to explore the quaint town of Crested Butte, students from Western College in Gunnison flying home for the holidays. Christmas didn’t mean much to Brady now. It hadn’t for a long time, even though he and his staff decorated the lodge, hung wreaths on the cabin doors and served an elegant Christmas dinner. He supervised the activities; he didn’t get involved in them.
Flipping his sunglasses to the top of his head, he checked his watch and then the arrival time on the board for Abigail Fox’s flight from Texas. He headed toward the gate, his father beside him. “You didn’t have to come to town with me today. I could have picked up the supplies and Ms. Fox myself.”
Ethan lifted his black Stetson from his head and ran his hand through his gray hair. “I wanted to spend time with Theadora. But with that damn veil between us…” He paused and shook his head. “I haven’t seen her for three years and she still won’t let me see her.” Replacing his hat and shrugging, he concluded, “You can always use a hand with those cartons of canned goods. Truth is, I didn’t want to give you the chance to chase Ms. Fox away.”
“I wouldn’t do that. This means too much to you and Theadora.”
“To Theadora,” Ethan corrected.
Brady shook his head. Stubborn. Like father, like son. Ethan had convinced himself long ago that he and Theadora could never be more than friends. Just as Brady had convinced himself that Pine Hollow Lodge on the outskirts of Crested Butte was where he belonged.
Passengers were disembarking as he and his father reached the waiting area. Brady didn’t know what to expect, but when he saw the woman coming toward him, he didn’t have any doubt as to who Abigail Fox was.
The deep purple coat trimmed in turquoise was too elegant for the Gunnison Airport where jeans and ski parkas were normal sights. Her silk-clad legs were long with curves that made his gut clench until he got to her feet; then he almost burst out laughing. Spiked heels.
He hadn’t seen spiked heels on a woman in years. Even Theadora had had the good sense to wear sturdy boots. His grin almost turned into a rumble of laughter when he realized Ms. Fox was struggling with a garment bag over her left shoulder, a large suitcase in her right hand and a rectangular case the size of a weekender in her left. The garment bag’s strap had slipped down her arm.
Closing the distance between them in a few long strides, he reached for the large suitcase. “Let me take that for you.”
She’d been shifting her luggage on his first perusal, and her head had been bowed. Now, she lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue. He’d seen wildflowers that color when he’d gone hiking in the summer. Her hair was a combination of burnished copper and amber. It wasn’t curly, but waved around her face as if it was caressing her, and then fell to her shoulders. She wasn’t model-beautiful, but something about her eyes drew his to t
hem again. There was a gentleness there, or was it vulnerability? Or maybe it was a shadow of something running too deep to be named.
Mistletoe Magic
Lynn Patrick
One look at Melissa, and Rafe definitely has visions of a Sugarplum Fairy dancing in his head…
As an out-of-work schoolteacher, Melissa Ryan can’t be too choosy. Still, she enjoys her holiday job as the Sugarplum Fairy for a local department store, and when her paying job leads to a chance to moonlight as the Tooth Fairy, Melissa jumps at the chance. There’s just one problem: the head resting on the pillow belongs to the handsome Rafe Damon—not his five-year-old daughter.
Rafe is more than happy to wake up to a pink-tulle-covered armful of soft woman. A single father, Rafe is on the lookout for a soft, sweet woman—and Melissa more than fits the bill. But a fairy tale romance must eventually face the cold light of day, and Melissa and Rafe must work to achieve their happily ever after.
This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in December 1985 by Dell Candlelight Ecstasy.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Mistletoe Magic
Copyright © 2012 by Lynn Patrick
ISBN: 978-1-61921-030-1
Edited by Heather Osborn
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Original Publication by Dell Candlelight Ecstasy: December 1985
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2012
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
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