The Godmother (Everland Ever After Book 11)

by Caroline Lee

  Practical Suzy was frowning down at the card attached to the package, studying it from all sides, as if it would reveal the answers to all life’s secrets.

  Grumpy Grunhilda, for once, seemed almost uncertain, her arms folded across her chest as if she knew Christa now knew the truth about Sibyl’s real godmother and was concerned about her reaction.

  Bashful was smiling at Christa, and Doc… Well, Doc’s expression was curiously blank as she sat at the table with her hands folded in front of her.

  “It’s for you,” she declared in a monotone. “The package.”

  “Open it, dearie!” Helga burbled. “We’ve all been beside ourselves since it was delivered this morning. Do you want some tea?”

  As Christa numbly shook her head and stepped into the room, Dorcas swallowed and poked the package again. “How can we be beside ourselves? I’m beside you, and you’re beside me, so I suppose that could work if we each—”

  “Shut up, Dorcas.” The chorus came from Doc, Bashful and Grunhilda.

  When she stepped up to the table, the other women moved aside to give her space, and Christa realized she was standing beside her chair. Her chair, the chair where she’d sat during their meetings. She was never going to sit there again, was she?

  With a sigh, she reached for the package and tugged it toward her. It was white and oblong and was tied with a large red bow. It looked like the sort of thing someone might have shipped in and delivered to the mercantile, but so much fancier than any package she’d ever seen.

  “Open it!” Dorcas screeched.

  Christa looked up and met Suzy’s eyes, then Bashful’s.

  “Open it,” the flamboyant woman whispered with a soft, encouraging smile.

  So, taking a deep breath, Christa reached for the bow.

  As it fell open, she pulled the lid off the box, then sucked in a startled breath.

  A collective, “Oooh” went around the table, as each godmother—sometimes despite herself—leaned in to get a better look.

  Christa forced herself to move, to place the lid down, to reach into the box and close her fingers around the diaphanous material. And she wasn’t the only one in the room who murmured appreciatively when she pulled the gown out.

  She couldn’t help holding it up to her shoulders and peering down at the way the gorgeous material, a stunning gold silk, flowed from where her bosom would be, down to the skirts, which were four times larger than anything she’d ever worn, much less owned. This gown was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.

  And it was for her?

  Suzy cleared her throat. “Here’s the card.”

  It almost hurt to put down the dress, and at the last minute, Christa decided she couldn’t do it. Crushing the fabric against herself with one hand—vaguely knowing it wasn’t good for the dress, but not able to force herself to let it go—she reached for the card with the other.

  Happy birthday, dearest Christa.

  My feelings for you are deeper than mere gifts can convey, but I wanted you to have something as beautiful as you are. When you wear this gown, I want you to feel as lovely as I see you. Will you do me the honor of appearing on my arm this evening at Everland’s Christmas Eve festivities, and allow me to tell you the truth of my feelings in person?

  Because, you see, sweetheart…I love you.

  Yours, I hope,

  Andrew

  Her hand was shaking by the time she finished reading, and as Bashful snatched the card from her and held it up to read it out loud, Christa lifted the gown once more to stare at it in wonder. How would she be able to pull herself away from the mirror, once she had it on? It was just so…perfect.

  It’s the way he sees you.

  “Because, you see, sweetheart…I love you,” Bashful read, and every godmother there—even Grunhilda—sighed happily.

  “It’s like something out of a storybook,” whispered Dorcas.

  Helga slapped her arm, “That’s because it is dearie. It’s a fairy tale.”

  A fairy tale. Yes. Yes, that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

  Slowly, Christa looked up and, holding her breath, met Doc’s gaze.

  Behind her glasses, the old woman winked. “Well then, this means Christmas needs a godmother, doesn’t it?”

  And Christa’s heart began to pound in excitement.

  I love you.

  She was going to the Christmas Ball, dressed as a princess, and surrounded by not one, but six godmothers. She loved Andrew, and he loved her, and soon, they’d announce their feelings for one another.

  Was it possible, after so many years, she was the main character in a love story?

  In that case, she’d better prepare to receive her Happily Ever After.

  “I’ve never seen you so nervous,” Max commented, his usual cheerful expression dour as he handed Andrew a cup of punch. “Christmas cheer got you down?”

  Staring down at the punch, Andrew knew his hands were shaking too badly to try to drink it. He’d likely spill it all over his starched shirt and fine waistcoat. This was the type of event—both the celebration and what he hoped would happen—where a man wanted to wear his best. And although the rest of Everland considered their “best” to be a suit and clean boots, Andrew had pulled out his New York wardrobe, aware the cost of the tuxedo he now wore was probably equal to the profits from Max’s ranch.

  And he knew, when Christa arrived, she’d wow everyone as well.

  He carefully placed the cup down on the nearby windowsill and resisted the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. Instead, he clasped them behind his back and gave his friend his full attention, hoping for a distraction. “Me?” He eyed Max. “You look particularly dour for Christmas Eve.”

  Max shrugged, then downed his punch. Staring into the now-empty cup, he confessed, “Dmitri and I had a chat. Some things you said the other day, during that poker game…” He shook his head. “All of my friends are finding love and getting married, even you. You—or that Chris O’Hare, I guess—joked about me needing a godfather, but…”

  Despite his own nerves, Andrew took pity on his young friend. “You’re ready to find love?”

  “I’ve been ready.” Max’s expression was bleak as he looked around the room, his gaze lingering on Gordy and Briar MacKinnon, who were laughing as they fed one another bites from the dessert table, and on Skip and Marina King, who were exuberantly whirling around the dance floor. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

  “And you don’t think you’ll find it here in Everland?”

  Max shrugged again and slid his hands into the pockets of his hand-me-down suit. “That’s what I was talking to Dmitri about. He doesn’t need me here, not really, not anymore. So I’m thinking about…I dunno…starting over somewhere.”

  An idea was starting to form in the back of Andrew’s mind. “Where will you go?” he cautiously asked.

  “I dunno,” his friend repeated. “Someplace far away from here. I’ll miss my friends, but I’ve been in my brother’s shadow for so long, it might be nice to go somewhere they’ve never heard of him, or my father.”

  Andrew could help with that. “Someplace like—"

  His offer was cut off by a collective gasp from the people around him. He and Max both whirled to see the source of the interruption, and as they did, Andrew’s smile bloomed.

  She was here. She was here, and she was wearing the gown.

  And she looked just as beautiful as he’d known she would.

  Christa stood in the entrance, surrounded by six strange women. Andrew felt as if he’d seen a few of them before, but every time he tried to remember where, the memory would skitter off, and he’d come back to staring, bemused, at the woman he loved. And since that’s all he wanted to do anyhow, he decided to ignore her companions.

  Dimly, he was aware of Max saying something, but Andrew couldn’t be bothered to try to listen. Instead, he took a step toward Christa, then another. She did the same, and they met in the middle of the church hall, as ever
yone else on the floor backed away to give them space.

  All except Max, who’d followed him, and the six women who were trailing Christa.

  But Andrew had eyes only for her, and when he held out his hands, she smiled and placed her own onto his. The familiar tingle spread up his arms as he pulled her closer.

  “You look glorious,” he whispered. When a blush climbed up her throat to lightly stain her cheeks, he realized what he’d said and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to start with happy birthday.”

  The blush didn’t go away, but she smiled softly. “Thank you for remembering. I can’t believe you did.”

  “I remember everything about you, Christa. Thank you for wearing the gown.”

  “Thank you for send—”

  When he brought her hands to his lips, she cut off her words, and her eyes widened. She’d curled her hair and piled it atop her head; the design accentuating her features in the most delightful way.

  “You got the note?” he asked hopefully.

  Mutely, she nodded, then cleared her throat. “I did, and I think we should talk about what you wrote.”

  His heart began to pound, and suddenly remembering they had an audience, he glanced around them. “Here?”

  “It’s my birthday, and this is the Christmas Eve Ball. Where else would we discuss you loving me?”

  “I do.” If this is where she wanted to hear the words, he’d oblige her. “I love you, Christmas Harrington, and I’d dearly like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’re amenable.”

  Behind her, a few of the strange women sighed blissfully, but Christa’s lips merely twitched. “Was that a marriage proposal, Andrew?”

  “It was.” He could feel the sweat beading at his temples, and his stomach clenched with the fear she might say no.

  But after a long moment, she exhaled and nodded. He wasn’t certain what that meant, until her lips slowly pulled into a smile.

  “Then I have a question for you in return.” She cocked her head to one side. Before he could prompt her, she asked, “Why haven’t you kissed me?”

  Well, that was a simple remedy, and if she didn’t care about their audience, neither did he.

  With a low growl, he tugged her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers.

  She melted. There was no other word for it. She melted against him, melted into him, until he wasn’t certain where his skin ended and hers began. They became one being, truly and completely.

  This time, she was the one who sighed blissfully, and he knew he echoed the sound.

  In all his years, he’d never experienced a kiss like this one, and knew it was because Christa was the most special, most unique woman he’d ever met.

  “Marry me, Christmas,” he whispered against her lips, vowing to kiss her even more thoroughly when they were alone. “Marry me and make me the happiest man in this room. Marry me and stay in Everland as my wife. Be a part of my family, of this town. I want to help you support your family. I’ll even let you win at poker matches in the saloon, if you want.”

  One of her brows cocked in challenge. “Let me win?” she repeated.

  He leaned closer to her ear to whisper, “And you can dress as Chris O’Hare to do so, as long as you leave him outside our bedroom.”

  She burst into laughter and pulled him down for another quick, hard kiss. A kiss she led this time, because she was his equal in every sense of the word, and he was blessed to have a woman like her.

  “So is that a yes? Will you be my wife?”

  “Yes, but…” To his surprise, she turned to glance at the gathered women. “These are the God—I mean, the matchmakers I was hoping to join. I’m going to miss them.”

  Andrew studied the gathered women. “They’re not allowing you to join? But Sibyl Miller is happily married, and Max—”

  He bit off what he was about to say regarding his friend, remembering too late Max hadn’t been privy to the conversations about him.

  “Max is what?” the young man prompted, stepping closer, a brow raised in question. “Standing right here, waiting to be introduced to your lovely fiancée?”

  Chuckling, Andrew turned Christa toward Max, and when she offered a perfect curtsey, he beamed. “Max, this is Christa Harrington. Today’s her birthday.”

  “Well, then,” drawled Max, taking her hand and lifting it to her lips, “a very happy birthday—”

  Andrew snatched her hand back with a scowl. “You can offer felicitations without touching her.”

  His friend chuckled. “Fair enough. I am happy for you. For you both, you know.” He peered at Christa. “Although you look awfully familiar. You don’t happen to have a twin brother?”

  She was obviously hiding a smile—the twinkle in her pale eyes gave it away—when she shook her head. “No, but thank you for your nice words. I wish you the best as well.”

  Max’s smile pinched, reminding Andrew of their earlier discussion.

  “Actually,” he began carefully, “I had a thought. Max, you said you’d like to get away for a little while. I need a new manager in Scotland, someone I trust completely, to look after my businesses there since my cousin has his hands full running the clan. Well, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have looking after my interests than a friend who has proven to be innovative and trustworthy.” Max’s eyes had gone wide by the time Andrew asked, “Would you be interested in the position?”

  “Would I?” yelped the younger man, as he reached for Andrew’s hand to shake it energetically. “Are there any pretty girls in Scotland?”

  Chuckling, Andrew couldn’t be more pleased with his new manager. “They’re called lasses over there, and aye, I think you’ll be quite pleased.”

  Max let out another whoop, then dragged his hands through his short hair. “I can’t wait!”

  Andrew had forgotten about the women who’d escorted Christa to the ball, until one—a flamboyantly dressed woman, wearing too much costume jewelry—leaned in between him and Christa, and he jumped. She was vaguely familiar. Had she been one of the women with Christa in church the first time he’d met her?

  Before he could ask, the odd woman hummed in speculation. “You’ll have to alert our Scottish chapter, Christa.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “The guild has chapters all over the world.” The woman nodded to Max, who had hurried off, presumably to share his news with Dmitri. “You’ll have to write to them and let them know a potential suitor will be arriving.”

  Andrew wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but Christa was the one who rounded on the other woman with a frown. “Bashful, I know what you meant. I’m surprised because, well, I’m getting married…but you want me to contact the Scottish chapter? You said I couldn’t be a member of the guild—I couldn’t be a godmother—if I was married.”

  Smirking, the woman she called Bashful—which was ironic, of course—looked over her shoulder at an elderly bespectacled woman. “Doc? Can we bend the rules a bit?”

  “After all,” chirped a short, round woman, with a wart on her chin, “she’s marrying a godfather!”

  “What?” the old woman—Doc?—snapped. “What are you going on about, Dorcas?”

  “No, dear, she’s right.” A plump, cheerful woman leaned in and nodded to Andrew. “I’m Helga, dearie, and Dorcas, despite being a little dense at times”—instead of being offended, the warty one nodded—“is right. Andrew here was the one who offered Max a chance at a Happily Ever After. Max wasn’t our original client, true, but he has a better chance in Scotland than Wyoming, and he’ll become our sister chapter’s project.” She nodded firmly. “Andrew is a sort of godfather.”

  Remembering the jokes they’d made during the poker game with Max—calling Christa a godfather—Andrew leaned down to Christa. “Do you know what they’re talking about?’

  She was staring at the old woman with narrowed eyes. “I’m beginning to,” she muttered.

  “Well, Doc?” Bashful asked. “Can we make an exc
eption for Christmas?” A sharp bark of laughter told everyone she’d just made a joke. “A Christmas exception for our friend, Christmas! After all, we’ve all acknowledged that part of a client’s Happily Ever After is not just about romance, but about finding a place for herself. Could Christa be a part-time godmother?”

  The old woman sighed and threw her hands up. “Fine. Fine.” She glared at Christa. “You can be a part-time member of the guild. I suppose, since I wrote the book, I can revise it a bit.”

  Instead of being pleased, Christa was still staring suspiciously at the one they’d called Doc. “You’re going to let me marry Andrew and still be a godmother?”

  “A part-time godmother,” Doc corrected. “Because you’ll have other duties once you marry a man like Andrew Prince—family duties, and your heavy gambling schedule, of course.”

  Andrew snaked his arm around Christa, pulling her up close against his side. “She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. I’m happy to share my wealth with her family, but if she wants to continue earning it as she has been, I’ll be pleased to continue playing poker against her.” Suddenly, the thought of how much fun they could have playing cards in the privacy of their bedroom popped into his head.

  Christa nestled her cheek against his chest as she studied the women—the Godmothers.

  “Earlier, Bashful said it was part of a client’s Happily Ever After to find a place for herself.” Andrew saw Doc’s expression turn guilty, while Bashful suddenly beamed. “Am I…” Christa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Am I a client?”

  Clapping her hands together with the sound of a brass band, Bashful laughed energetically. “I was hoping you’d figure it out, my friend! After all, you were orphaned at a young age, were you not?”

  Christa nodded slightly, and he could feel her dazedness.

  Bashful continued, “I was assigned your file before you even arrived. Doc wanted you, but it was my turn in the rotation.”

  “I helped!” Dorcas called out, much too loudly, as Bashful’s grin slipped a little.

  Christa, however, straightened to stare up at Andrew. “I have a godmother.”