A Soldier’s Christmas Wish: Holidays in Heart Falls: Book 2

by Vivian Arend

  Mack swore.

  “Don’t move,” Ryan ordered. He had the broom out a minute later, the debris from the accident cleared out of sight before Mack was finished growling in frustration.

  A second cup appeared beside him, the kettle as well, then Ryan twisted to lean against the counter, arms folded over his chest.

  “You want to try that again with a little less enthusiasm?” Ryan deadpanned.

  “Thanks.” Mack stirred himself a cup of hot cocoa, offering his friend a tired smile along with one of the monster-sized chocolate chip cookies that had shown up at the fire hall. A gift from some member of the community. “I’m a bit of a grump tonight.”

  Ryan twisted away and made himself a cup of tea. “Since you’re off work yet still hanging around here, Brooke must be otherwise occupied for the evening.”

  “Girls’ night out.”

  “I bet your ears are burning.” Ryan grinned. “I assume that’s what they do at these nights. Talk about their guys.”

  Mack wasn’t going to assume. “Chances are high they’re dirt-talking everyone in town, including you.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Ryan pressed a hand to his chest as if he were utterly innocent.

  “You’re male. You’re single. There’s got to be something you’ve done wrong recently.” Mack winked. “Nah, I figure we’re low on their priority list for talking about at this time of year. Probably more tied up in holiday plans. Speaking of which, what’s the best homemade gift you’ve ever gotten?”

  Ryan blinked at the change of topic. “Talia.”

  “Seriously? Her birthday is on Christmas day?”

  His friend nodded. “Other than that, there was a picture that Justina gave me the first year we were married. I like it better than our wedding pictures. Just an ordinary moment, but we looked so damn happy together…”

  His voice faded, and Mack didn’t push. He knew Ryan’s wife had passed away a number of years ago, but it had to still hurt.

  “Are you trying to come up with something good for Brooke?” Ryan asked.

  “Something homemade,” he acknowledged. “A picture could work.”

  His friend sat beside him at the long table, far enough away from the volunteers to have privacy. Ryan spoke soft enough that his voice wouldn’t carry. “Are things serious between you?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  Ryan snorted. “It just seems as if—” He stopped dead in his tracks.

  Mack waited for him to continue, but Ryan seemed intent on the bottom of his teacup.

  Mack hit his shoulder. “What?”

  A gentle shrug. “You’re not moving very fast.”

  Frustration welled up again, but this time Mack didn’t succeed in holding it back. “I can’t ask her to do anything until I can afford a place for us both, and until this month, every extra cent I’ve been making has been going to help my parents so they don’t end up losing their home.”

  Ryan looked at him steadily for a moment. Then he nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Being there for our parents—it’s a great privilege. A burden at times, but…”

  “No, I want to do it. They deserve all the help I can give them, and it wouldn’t have been a big deal except it’s meant holding my tongue when I would’ve liked to have spoken sooner.”

  “You’ll get no harassment from me,” Ryan told him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without my parents’ help when Justina passed away. Anything I can do for them in the future—they won’t even have to ask.”

  Finally sharing the truth let something inside Mack relax. “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

  “Of course not.” Ryan eyed him. “Does Brooke know?”

  “She knows I’ve been sending them money, but I’ve never come right out and told her why. I didn’t want her first introduction to them being the fact they got in financial trouble.”

  “Things are tight for everyone right now,” Ryan pointed out. “I think she’d understand.”

  She would—but he still wanted to be able to do the next thing before he spoke.

  Ryan rubbed his hands together. “So, on to the more important topic of what you’re going to make for Brooke that absolutely screams how you feel about her.”

  “I think your idea of a picture is a good one. I think I’ve got one that would be perfect.”

  He opened up the photo app on his phone, pausing at the first image he hit.

  He’d taken some shots of the photo album Brooke had found so he could use the images when he was adjusting the decorations. All of the rooftop cutouts were now LED compatible and low wattage, stored in the back of his truck for the opportunity to put them up wherever ended up being the most appropriate.

  But in the mixed-up mess of pages with no organization at all, there were lots of pictures as well of a younger Gary Silver celebrating the holidays with Brooke’s Gram and Grandpa. They were seated on old couches covered with throw cushions, Christmas cookies on a plate on the coffee table.

  Legs crossed, one of Gary’s feet was clearly visible. Slipper-clad.

  Mack looked closer, sliding to another picture, and sure enough, they were there again, set after set of the infamous slippers that had begun this entire thing, and he realized he not only needed a present for Brooke, he needed one for Gary.

  He was on his feet, still staring at the pictures, headed for his coat and shoes, when a soft laugh brought him back from his musings.

  “Good to see a smile on your face again,” Ryan said with a smirk.

  It wasn’t just a smile, it was knowing he’d been handed a Christmas miracle and now knew exactly what needed to happen. Mack was out of the fire hall and driving through the wintry cold before he realized he was probably out of line visiting at this time of night.

  But there were still lights on at the Heart Falls Seniors Lodge, and as he made his way in, the warm scent of supper lingered in the air combined with the sound of Christmas carols, and the tightness in his chest grew lighter.

  A bolt of joy struck him at discovering Geraldine still sitting in the common area where the TV was set to the image of a flickering fireplace.

  She looked at him and blinked. “Well, now, this is a surprise.”

  He dropped into the chair beside her. “I need your help.”

  7

  One week before Christmas, and desperation was setting in. Something eventually had to work, even if Brooke had to go and capture a couple of Christmas elves and shake them until magical holiday goodness fell out of their pockets.

  “You know, none of those ingredients are going to jump up and attack you.” Mack slid in behind her, his strong body a wall at her back as his arms wrapped around and tugged her close.

  “Never know. I’ve heard chocolate chips can be awfully menacing,” she returned, twisting to face him and letting her annoyance slip away. “Sorry I’m being a grump. I’m very grateful you’re letting me use the kitchen here at the fire hall to keep working on the disaster cookies.”

  “And the disaster muffins and the disaster cake.” He caught her chin in his strong fingers and kissed her slow and steady until she wasn’t really thinking about all the previous batches that had failed.

  She wasn’t really thinking about anything except his lips, his hands, his touch.

  When he let her up for air, she clung to his shoulders to keep from swaying. “Remind me again what we’re doing tonight.”

  His wicked chuckle echoed through the room. “We’re cooking.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She rubbed against him slowly, nibbling on her bottom lip as she stared at his mouth. “Getting all heated up sounds like a great idea.”

  Sadly, he stepped away, tapping her nose with his finger. “I’m on duty until Ryan relieves me, and there are two volunteers currently working on homework in the back room.”

  Brooke let out a long, hard-done-by sigh. “Fine, then I guess I’ll have to torture kitchen implements instead of turning up the heat the way I really want to.”<
br />
  “Oh, to hell with good intentions.” Mack caught her before she could turn away, sliding a hand against her lower back and pressing their bodies together.

  The power behind his muscles was an edgy addiction. She wanted to run her hands all over him, to tease as she touched. To press her palms over the ridges of his abdomen and up his broad chest.

  Or drop them lower to where thickness grew as he kissed her again. Demanding, challenging. Making it clear without words how much he wanted her.

  She caught his collar and pulled back far enough to whisper. “I know. Me too.”

  Mack took a deep breath. “Brooke—”

  The door opened behind them and they sprang apart. Brooke turned toward the recipes lined up on the table, distractedly trying to push aside the thoughts of her and Mack tangled together in a sexual haze.

  Mack finished answering the question the volunteer had and then they were alone again.

  He grinned sheepishly. “So. You want to do the cake, or the muffins first?”

  They both got to work, carefully measuring into the mixing bowls. “What are we trying that’s different this time?” Mack asked.

  “Pastry flour instead of regular. And I double-checked at the grocery store for different varieties of baking powder and baking soda to see if anything there could make a difference in how much they rise. Something’s wrong, but I know the recipe works. I remember the taste of them.”

  It wasn’t how she wanted to spend the evening, but as they progressed to the point of putting what looked like delicious baked goods into the oven, Brooke had to admit it wasn’t all bad.

  She liked spending time with Mack, period. That sense of ease had returned as they moved around the kitchen in what was pretty much a dance.

  It turned into an actual dance. As she closed the door of the oven and stood, Mack caught her by the fingers and tugged her into his arms. He had music playing on his phone, and he kept her up against him, close and intimate, as they swayed. His strong arms held her with absolute control.

  Brooke rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “This is nice,” she murmured.

  “Hmmmm.”

  He didn’t stop, not even when the volunteers came into the room and offered a round of applause. In fact, Mack twirled her out and then back, which made their audience cheer a little louder.

  “We’re heading out,” Charity said. “You need us to do anything before we leave?”

  “Right. We could change the music, or sign you up for tango lessons,” the other quipped.

  Mack twirled Brooke expertly, dipping her over his arm and staring into her eyes. “I think we’re okay.”

  The volunteers snickered but left with cheerful goodbyes.

  “That wasn’t very polite,” Brooke teased as Mack continued to dance them around the kitchen.

  “You’re in my arms. I didn’t need to interrupt that just to say goodbye.”

  There was something in his eyes. It was sensual, yet rich and full. Possessiveness, yet belonging. As if him not wanting to let go of her was perfect because not only did she want to be there, but if she got to choose, him being in her arms was the one thing she’d demand most as well.

  He slowed their motion, barely moving now. Tight enough together that if they’d been skin to skin this would’ve been a dance of an entirely different nature.

  “God, I want you.” The words were whispered. His voice was deep and rasping as if escaping a barrier he hadn’t wanted to breach. “I need you.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Mack.”

  “Let me make you feel good.” It wasn’t a demand. It was the request of a man dying of thirst.

  “But—”

  “Brooke.” A step above a growl. He spun her in his arms, once again looming over her. One hand caged her ribs, the other sliding over her belly to press her hips back against his.

  His lips ghosted over her neck. Her ear. Teeth nipping at her earlobe before he sucked at the sensitive skin below.

  She was melting. It didn’t matter that the winter storm shaking the building was blowing hard enough to make the windows rattle. Ice crystals and freezing cold air stole in through whistling gaps.

  His arms were a fiery furnace. His hand rose to collar her throat. Controlling yet gentle. Immobilizing her so when he slid his other hand under the waistline of her pants, she had nowhere to go.

  “Open your legs for me,” he whispered. “Let me touch you. Let me take what I need.”

  She was getting the better end of the deal, and as his fingers slid through her folds, Brooke couldn’t stop the gasp of pleasure that escaped.

  It was followed rapidly by another, his fingers strumming slowly as if he were playing her like a musical instrument. Teasing, rising to circle her clit then dropping before anything spectacular could happen.

  She’d stepped with her feet apart, but he used his own leg to widen her stance even more. It left her slightly off balance as she stood spread-eagle, shaking in anticipation of his touch.

  “There we go.” He tucked his fingers deeper, sliding into her and leaving his palm pressed against the most sensitive part of her sex. “Now we’re cooking.”

  Brooke closed her eyes as she placed her hands on his strong forearms, savouring the connection. Under her fingers, muscles flexed as the hand between her legs played. The other stayed steady and in control, his thumb caressing back and forth against her carotid artery.

  Spiraling pleasure rose and she rocked against him. The motion was futile yet unstoppable, because she couldn’t change a thing with her motion. She wasn’t in charge, he was. Controlling the depth, controlling the pressure. Giving her exactly how much she needed for this to happen.

  Drawing closer, his lips hovered at her ear. A sharp nip, and a spark flared, building in her core and edging outward as he picked up the pace just enough. Matching her harsh breathing, the warm air of his exhalations skimming over her cheek.

  “I can’t wait until I have you to myself. Somewhere private. Somewhere warm, so I can strip you down and then it won’t be my fingers between your legs. It’ll be my tongue, and after you’ve come, my cock. Pushing into you and filling you up.”

  “Mack—”

  “I might even fuck you like this. Bend you over so I can bury myself deep then pull you up to hold both your breasts and lock you in place while I drive my cock into you.”

  “Mack.”

  “Or I’ll take you to the floor. Not on your back, but over me. Up on your knees far enough so you don’t have to move and I can give you the ride of your life.”

  He teased his fingers out to catch hold of her clit, pinching in a tight circle before driving in and pressing the heel of his hand down hard.

  She was gone. The spiral pleasure of heat that had been whirling inside was now an inferno, racing through her system and to the farthest edges of her limbs. She gasped for air, heart pounding, chest heaving. Body clamping down tight around his fingers as if she didn’t want to let go.

  It took a while to come to her full senses. That was when she realized that sometime during her orgasm, she’d dug her fingernails into his forearms. She swore as she let go, caressing the marks gently. “Sorry.”

  She got a kiss and a chuckle for her apology. “I like your claws.”

  The oven timer buzzed, and they both laughed.

  “Well-timed,” Brooke offered in a wavering voice, her strength still pooled somewhere around her toes.

  Mack made sure she had her hands braced on the counter before he let go. “Give me a minute. Don’t you try opening the oven or I’ll spank your ass.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  He had his hands in the sink, washing up, when footsteps rang up the metal stairway. Brooke glanced over to discover Ryan bounding through the door with his usual enthusiasm.

  “Hey, guys, something in here smells good.”

  Brooke picked up the oven mitts off the counter to keep her face hidden. “The smelling good part we’ve got down pat.�
�

  Mack stole the oven mitts from her, winking and sending her cheeks flushing again. “Let me take care of this part. I’m good around hot things.”

  And even though a few minutes later it was clear that the muffins and the cake were less than successful, both crumbling into piles of inedible dust after being pried from the cooking pans, Brooke found it hard to be frustrated.

  Spectacular orgasms had a way of making other disappointments vanish.

  It was not a message Mack had expected to receive. Yet there it was, plain and clear, hand-delivered by Ashton Stewart, the foreman at Silver Stone ranch and, as it turned out, one of Gary Silver’s drinking and card buddies.

  “Are you sure this is for me?” It was a stupid question, and the expression on Ashton’s face said as much, but it seemed unbelievable.

  “Not the kind of mistake I would make, delivering one man’s mail to another.” Ashton pointed at the envelope. “Gary gave that to me this morning when I stopped by. Said he couldn’t leave the shop but needed to get in touch with you. Seems he doesn’t have your phone number.”

  Mack read the message again. Nothing fancy, written in a broad pen on an old piece of newsprint. Probably the only thing Brooke’s father had been able to find in the shop at the time.

  We leave for the graveyard at four o’clock. Brooke will want you along.

  “Okay.” Mack glanced up to find the older man assessing him. “Graveyard visits. Anything you can tell me about that?”

  “You asking what the protocol is in general, or something specific?” Ashton adjusted his cowboy hat before slipping his fingers into his pockets.

  “Both.” Brooke hadn’t said anything about a visit to her grandparents’ gravesides being a part of their holiday traditions.

  The older man thought for a moment before nodding firmly and looking Mack straight in the eye. “He’s not quite sure what to think of you. Gary, I mean. But he thinks the world of his daughter, and he cared for his parents with a deep and powerful love. The fact he’s invited you along means something.”