The Christmas Kiss

by Virginia McCullough

  Mike stepped forward and said, “I’m confident the three generations of Abbots who took care of this land long before I was born would be gratified to see what the sanctuary board and Bluestone River are doing today.” He pulled off the cloth and said, “As of today, this spot is officially relaunched as the Hidden Lake Bird Sanctuary & Nature Center.”

  The logo showed the outline of a tree in black with six birds perched on the branches. “Let’s spread the word about this treasure and make it grow.” Mike stayed in place until the applause died down. When he yelled Merry Christmas the crowd began to break up. Most of the crowd headed into the woods to walk on the planking and see the lights from all angles.

  Emma hung back when people approached Parker to introduce themselves and chat. But when he saw Ruth and Jim Kellerman, Parker said they should go say hello.

  “Maybe you should go alone,” she said. “I’m not one of Jim’s favorite people.”

  He took hold of her hand. “Ah, it’s Christmas. Give it a chance.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “When you put it like that...”

  Ruth and Jim sat on the benches set up near the office.

  “Merry Christmas,” Parker said when they reached the couple. “I’m glad you came. I hope you’ll come visit the crow soon. Like I told you on the phone, Jim, I believe the crow will live at the sanctuary now. We only name the permanent birds. Maybe we should call him Jim.”

  Jim waved off that idea, but Ruth nodded. “I like that. For sure, we’ll stop in. I’m delighted you saved his life.”

  “After what you did for the crow,” Jim admitted, “I get what you’re doing a little better now.”

  “Nice to see you,” Emma said, directing her remark to Ruth. She didn’t want her presence to break the cordiality between Jim and Parker.

  “Same here,” Ruth said, getting to her feet. “We’re going to become members, but right now we need to get home.”

  Jim held up his aluminum cane and nodded to Emma. “My bum knee is giving me fits, so I’m hobbling around with this. But I like your cane better. Maybe I should get a fancier one like that.”

  Emma smiled. “I do like to make a fashion statement, Jim. I think you should do the same.”

  Jim pointed to the pier, with the lights shining on the new logo. “You’ve done okay with your family’s money, Emma. Your parents would be proud of you. Neil, too.”

  At the mention of Neil, Ruth started to pull Jim away, but Emma said, “I think you’re right, Jim. I hope so. My parents and Neil loved Bluestone River as much as we do.”

  An hour later, it was over, the cleanup work done. With their arms around each other she and Parker walked to his cabin. “I’m not ready for the day to end,” she said.

  “No reason it has to,” Parker said, taking her hand. “It all went so well, but I have to admit I missed Nic’s presence. It’s Christmas Eve. She would have enjoyed this so much.”

  “I think about her mulling over her career choices at the fair at Neville. She reminded me of you. I can only imagine how much you miss her tonight.”

  “I expect I’ll talk to her tomorrow. She was kind of vague about her plans. Well, their plans.”

  When they sat at the table, Parker suddenly frowned and pointed to the corner by the couch. “There’s a huge box I’ve never seen before sitting over there.”

  “Oh, really? What could it mean that it’s wrapped in paper with snowmen all over it?” Emma smiled smugly. “Would you like to open your Christmas present now?”

  He paused and stammered his answer. “Uh, sure. As long as you open yours, too.”

  “I will, but you first.” Emma went to the corner and started dragging it, but Parker followed her and carried it to the table.

  “How did you get it in here?”

  “I have my ways. His name is Mike. I brought it with me when I came back after going home to change. He managed to slip in here when you weren’t looking.”

  Parker ripped off the paper and opened the box. He grinned as he lifted the carving of the goose. “A Guy Hammond original,” he said, in a hushed tone. “It’s incredible! Nearly life size.” He ran his hand across the smooth wood and the carved texture of the wings.

  “I know you admire his work, especially the detail. I could tell by the way you’ve looked at my canes.”

  Parker nodded. “True. He’s exceptional. I’ll keep this in here, at least for a while. Then maybe I’ll showcase it in the center.” His smile widened. “Maybe.” Parker put the carving on the table and then pulled Emma to her feet. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her once and then again. Finally, he let her go. “Now it’s your turn. Sit back down.”

  Emma did as he asked, excitement bubbling inside her. He was back. They were back. The launch had been beautiful and filled with love and pride in the center, and in Bluestone River, too.

  Parker took a tissue-wrapped package out of the closet and put it in front of her. “Get going. I can’t wait for you to see what’s inside.”

  She tore into the tissue that covered a large intricately cut crystal bowl.

  “It’s not a Hammond, but I thought of you when I saw it.”

  “Oh, Parker, it’s beautiful. I love it.” She pulled out a ball of tissue from inside the bowl and another box fell out. This one was a square carved jewelry box. Another Guy Hammond treasure. She lifted the lid and took in a breath. A tiny ring box was nestled in the velvet lining. She looked up at Parker.

  “Will you please open it?” he whispered.

  “Are you sure?” Emma asked.

  “I am. I’m dying here waiting for you to tell me you are, too.”

  Emma lifted the lid and took in a breath. It was a diamond surrounded by a circle of deep red garnets. She held the box in her palm and stared at this ring that Parker gave to her in love. Nothing in her life so far had been as special as this moment.

  “Will you marry me, Emma? Maybe here at the sanctuary? Or the bridge where we danced the first time?” Parker paused. “Too much, too soon to think about?”

  Emma tapped her temple. “Give me a minute. My mind is racing. Not about my answer, that’s a big fat yes. But the wonder of it.”

  Parker took the ring out of the box. “May I?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said as she lifted her hand. He bent down and slipped the ring on her finger. She held out her hand and stared at it. “It’s perfect.”

  When he straightened up, she stood and walked into his open arms. “So, we’re engaged. Imagine that.”

  He kissed her and brushed his cheek across her hair. “Let’s really seal the deal. Wanna dance?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. But we need some music.”

  “I don’t think so.” He led her away from the table and began humming the opening bars of “White Christmas” as he circled his arm gently around her waist. “See? We can dance without music.”

  “With a voice like yours we can.”

  He took small steps across the floor, singing and humming. Then he stepped back and looked into her eyes and twirled her under his arm.

  “I love this, Parker.” Her voice was full of joy. “I can’t believe how much I love you.”

  “I’m one lucky guy.” He drew her into his arms again and started a new song.

  Suddenly, the cabin door flew open and amidst a great gust of wind and blowing snow, a person emerged, dropping a duffel and an oversized backpack on the floor with a thud. As if in triumph, she threw back the hood of her jacket and smiled.

  Nicole!

  Emma stepped back while Parker hurried to Nic and enveloped her in a bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you. How did you get here? And so fast? You were home when I talked with you last night.”

  “A friend from school was coming this way, so we shared the driving. She’ll pick me up after Christmas to go back, but that’s not importan
t now. I just couldn’t miss Christmas with you, Dad.”

  Nic smiled at Emma. “Oops. I’ve interrupted something.” Then she noticed the carving on the table. “That’s gorgeous.”

  “Emma gave it to me for Christmas.” Parker glanced back at Emma. “Uh, we have news.”

  “O...kay.” Nic smiled broadly. Then she picked up her pack and her duffel. “I’ll go dump these at my place. Then I’ll come back and you can tell me about it.”

  “Sounds good, Nic,” Parker said, shaking his head in amusement.

  Nic flew out the door the same way she flew in. “She’s like the wind herself,” Emma said.

  “Hey, at least we get to share our news and have a little celebration.”

  “So much to look forward to, Parker,” Emma said, stretching her arms wide. “We’ll have a wonderful winter.” She lifted her face for a kiss.

  He caressed her cheek and kissed her lightly. “I love you, Emma.”

  “Love you back,” she said. “And in case I forget, Merry Christmas.”

  * * *

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from A Man of Honor by Cynthia Thomason.

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  A Man of Honor

  by Cynthia Thomason

  CHAPTER ONE

  BROOKE MONTGOMERY CROSSED the newsroom at her usual hurried pace, grateful that none of the staff stopped her with any of the myriad of questions she answered every day. She had assignments to get to her writers before noon so the stories would be ready for the five o’clock broadcast.

  Could be worse, she thought. And usually is. Sometimes I hand my writers breaking news at four o’clock with only minutes to spare.

  She then expected them to compose literate copy before Fred Armitage, WJQC’s anchor for the last fifteen years, stared at the camera with his serious expression and said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Once again we have news.”

  Brooke heard scuffling behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Cissy Littleton approaching her. “Brooke, wait, did you get the news about horses being mistreated out in Chandler Acres?”

  Without slowing down, Brooke waved her papers at the young production assistant, who also filled in as an occasional copy editor. “It’s here, Cissy.”

  Cissy caught up to her. “Good, because you know I love animals.”

  “You should have the material for the teleprompter in an hour,” Brooke said. “If we have time, the horse story will be on. Just read through it for mistakes, but don’t add any personal feelings about the fate of offtrack horses. We run a legitimate news program here. If I know you, you’ll make a pitch for every citizen to adopt a seven-hundred-pound animal.”

  “I’ll be good, I promise,” Cissy said. She suddenly grabbed Brooke’s elbow. “Holy cow, Brooke, do you see that man with Milt Cramer coming into the newsroom? He makes Milt look like a troll.”

  “Milt is your boss, Cissy. Nice way to speak about him.”

  “He’s your boss, too, and I’ve heard you say worse.”

  “You have not,” Brooke retorted. “Unless it was two hours into happy hour at Pickler’s.”

  “Brooke!” Milt called out to her. “Come over here. I want you to meet someone.”

  Brooke shoved the papers into Cissy’s hand. “Get these to the writers immediately.”

  “In a minute,” Cissy said. “I want to know who the mysterious stranger is, too. He looks famous, doesn’t he?”

  Brooke watched Cissy tuck the papers under her arm, then they walked over to Milt. In truth, the man’s handsome face, perfectly square jaw, sandy blond hair and minor imperfections from scars on his face did look vaguely familiar, like someone she ought to know. But wouldn’t she have remembered a guy that good-looking, who stood at least six feet three inches tall?

  “Glad I caught you, Brooke,” Milt said. “I want you to meet the greatest wide receiver the Carolina Wildcats have ever had.”

  A conversational buzz began in the newsroom and seemed to spread in all directions. All keyboard tapping stopped, and Brooke felt as though she was the center of attention. Though, of course, she wasn’t.

  Milt identified her. “This is Brooke Montgomery, our head producer.”

  Brooke wiped her hands on her navy slacks and haphazardly tucked loose strands of hair into the topknot at her crown. Her comfy shoes and falling hairstyle were typical stress factors of her day as producer of the five o’clock news.

  She took the hand the greatest receiver offered her. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she said. She didn’t follow football and had no idea who he was.

  “He doesn’t need a name,” Milt blustered. “Brooke knows who you are,” he said to the “greatest.” “She thinks her job is to check every fact.”

  She looked at Milt. “That is my job, Milt.”

  The man smiled. “I’m Jeremy Crockett,” he said, still holding her hand.

  “Saddest day of my life when he retired last season,” Milt said.

  Okay. Brooke had heard his name before. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Cissy Littleton, Brooke’s personal assistant,” Cissy said, reaching for Jeremy’s hand and forcing him to turn his attention to her. “Nice to meet you.”

  Brooke let her get away with the exaggeration. Wannabe assistant was more the truth. Milt didn’t correct her, either. He probably didn’t know what job Cissy currently had. Milt didn’t pay much attention to the staff directly under Brooke’s supervision. He just let Brooke run the tight ship she commanded on a daily basis.

  “Same here,” Milt’s idol responded to Cissy.

  “I’m showing Jeremy the station,” Milt explained.

  “Well, fine,” Brooke said. She was used to people touring the newsroom, but usually the guests were middle-school kids who didn’t get WJQC’s owner as a guide. “I hate to rush...” Brooke nodded at Cissy to get her to move to the writers’ area. “We’ve got stories to finalize and a deadline looming.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Jeremy said.

  “Brooke, I’d like to see you in my office later,” Milt said. “I expect things will have calmed down by three o’clock.”

  Unless all hell broke loose, as it often did.

  “Come up to see me then,” Milt added.

  “Okay,” Brooke said. She acknowledged Jeremy one more time. “Hope you enjoy seeing how a newsroom operates.” She walked briskly away without waiting for a response. She hoped she’d shown acceptable enough manners to excuse herself.

  Cissy trailed behind her. “Can you believe it? A Carolina Wildcats football player right here in our newsroom.”

  “Yeah, that’s something all right.” They’d reached the glass doors that separated the top writers from the rest of the newsroom mayhem. “Don’t you have something to do, like deliver those rough copies?” she asked Cissy.

  “I do, but I can’t stop looking at him. Can’t you just picture him in those tight pants football players wear? I’ll bet he looks scrumptious.”

  Brooke gave her a warning look.

  “Okay, I
’m going.” Cissy grabbed the door handle, her attention still on Jeremy.

  “I’ve got to review some videos,” Brooke said after taking time for a last glimpse at the amazing Mr. Crockett. A wide receiver... Brooke thought he was a guy who caught the ball passed by the other guy—the quarterback, right? She could believe the guy was good. He had strong hands. Today, Jeremy’s legs were covered in beige khaki, so did not resemble the swoon-worthy image Cissy flipped for. But Brooke had to smile. She bet his legs did look pretty good in those tight pants.

  * * *

  AT THREE O’CLOCK Brooke waited outside of Milt’s office for his assistant to announce her presence.

  “Send her in.” Brooke heard Milt’s booming voice over the telephone. He sounded happy so she didn’t expect bad news.

  He stood when she came inside his office. “Have a seat, Brooke.” He came around his desk and leaned on the corner facing her. “How about that visit from Crockett today?” he asked her. “Made my week, I’ll tell you.”

  “Happy for you, Milt.” Brooke sat stiffly in a leather chair. “What was Jeremy doing here, if I may ask?”

  “You may, and I’m glad you did. Hold on to your stockings, Brooke. I have news.”

  Stockings? No one wore stockings anymore and certainly not in eighty-five-degree Charleston, South Carolina, in May.

  “I hired him,” Milt said.

  Brooke had to quit thinking of stockings and reorient herself to the sound of Milt’s voice. “What? You hired him? A former football player? For what position?”

  “He’s going to take over for Armitage in six weeks when the old boy retires.”

  Brooke had to concentrate to keep her jaw from dropping. Milt hired a jock to do the evening news? What credentials did he have? How much confidence would he inspire from listeners who were used to calm, collected, though sometimes dull Fred Armitage? “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

  “Jeremy is going to deliver the evening news. Quite a change from the format we’re used to around here. But Jeremy will add life and vigor to the broadcast.”