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Home for Christmas

Ethan hefted the evergreen wreath out of the back of the SUV, grimacing a little at the unexpected weight. The guy at the tree lot had tossed it in there like it was made of tissue paper. How in the heck was this monstrosity supposed to stay put? He’d lay even money that it would fall right off the door hanger from the sheer bulk of it.

Oh, well. It still looked nice, and Sophia would be able to figure out what to do with it. She was a genius at those things.

A smile softened the line of his mouth. He could just see her, soft wavy brown hair bundled up on the top of her head, little bits of it curling down around her face like she’d completely forgotten it was up there. Her hazel eyes would light up with surprise when she saw the wreath, and she’d say—

“What are you doing here?”

Ethan looked up. He wasn’t even to the porch yet, still wrestling the decoration up her walkway, but she’d already opened the door.

“Merry Christmas.” He heaved the wreath another foot or two. “Brought you an early present.”

“Uh, thank you.” Her eyes darted from side to side. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Concentrating on the wreath, Ethan almost missed the tone of her voice. She sounded—upset. Distracted. Not at all like the sweet, positive Sophia he knew.

“You okay?” Finally at the porch, he leaned the wreath against the railing and climbed the steps. He brushed a curl away from her face. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I, uh—”

A thud resounded from inside the door, and Sophia’s daughter poked her head out. “That’s the last of them—hey!” She rushed over to give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Thanks,” he said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on your way across state with lover boy.”

She smacked him on the shoulder, just as she did every time he called Robert that. “We’re heading out in a few minutes. In fact, I have to get going. Maybe you can talk some sense into Mom.”

“What?” His head swiveled from daughter to mother. “What are you talking about?”

Samantha glared at her mother. “You haven’t told him yet?”

“Samantha,” Sophia said, shooting her a look that was full of warning.

Sam let out a huge gust of a sigh, then gave her mom a hug. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

“I love you. Be safe,” Sophia said.

“You too,” Samantha said, which made no sense. How much trouble could Sophia get into here at home?

Especially when he’d be keeping an eye on things, like always?

Sam gave him another hug, pausing long enough to whisper “call my cell” in his ear when Sophia wasn’t looking. Then she was off the porch and in her car before he could ask her why the hell she was acting like a double agent.

Shaking his head, he turned back to Sophia. “Tell me what?”

“Hmm?” She was fussing with the red velvet bow at the top of the wreath.

“Sophia.” He waited until she looked up. “Samantha asked if you’d told me yet. Told me what?”

“Oh, nothing.” She bit her lip. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said, “No, that’s not true. Samantha is mad at me for making some plans for the holidays.”

“She’s going to be gone, anyway. Why would she have any say in it?”

“Exactly what I said!” Sophia smiled at him. “I knew you’d understand.”

She’d been smiling at him for over a decade now, since he and Dan started their property management business together. It was only in the last six months or so that it had started knocking him on his ass.

Even now, his breath hitched when she turned the full wattage of her smile on him.

He cleared his throat. “So what kind of plans?”

“Oh, you know.” She waved one hand, as if that explained everything. “Just wanted to do something…different this year.”

Ethan nodded. Last Christmas had been hellish for all concerned.
“So I—”

A honking horn interrupted whatever she was going to say. A flash of—was it relief?—washed across Sophia’s face.

“There’s my ride!”

Ethan turned, confused, to see the airport courtesy van idling in the driveway behind his SUV. “Your ride?”

By the time he looked back, Sophia was already locking the front door, several suitcases piled around her feet. “With the new check-in procedures, I want to be sure to get there in plenty of time.”

“Check in? Get where? Where are you going?”

She hesitated. “On an adventure,” she said finally.

“And adven— Sophia, have you lost your mind?”

“Probably,” she said, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

“Get back from where?” He couldn’t seem to do much more than repeat what she’d just said, but damned if she hadn’t completely pulled the rug out from under him. “What about Christmas?”

Her gaze softened and she placed one gloved hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry to do this in this way,” she said. “I know it’s not very fair of me.”

The driver beeped his horn again. Didn’t the jerk understand this was important?

Sophia was busy gathering her suitcases, though it was obvious she wouldn’t be able to carry all of them in one trip. With a mounting sense of dread, Ethan picked up the last two and followed her to the van.

The driver got out to stow the bags. Sophia started to climb into the van, but Ethan stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Can’t you at least tell me where you’re going?”

She shook her head, tears shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t. This is something I have to do on my own.”

Ethan just stared at her. It was as if she’d turned into a stranger overnight. Who was this woman, and what had she done with his Sophia?

She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll explain everything when I get back.” Then she vanished into the van.

He watched in disbelief as the van pulled out of the driveway and trundled down the road. His Sophia. Who was he kidding? She was as much a mystery to him now as she’d ever been. Probably more.

Eyes narrowed, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Samantha.
She answered in one ring.

“Okay, kiddo, I think it’s time someone told me what the hell is going on.”

Home for Christmas

“Craaap.”

The hushed, indignant tones of Scott Wyatt’s quarry reached his ears and he wondered what she’d done. Stubbed her toe? Spilled her usual caramel latte? He smiled and sat back, relaxing into the rigid, corduroy-covered foam blocks someone decided would pass as a chair, and waited for her to join him at their little group’s usual table. He’d have to look into getting new chairs, despite his sister’s protestations that these fit the décor of his coffee shop.

He pressed a button on his watch. “Ten twenty-two,” a nasally, female voice told him. Tara Patrick was late this morning, by just over twenty minutes. She’d never been late before. A frisson of anxiety skittered across his nerves, overriding the hard-on her voice always seemed to ignite.

“Come on, come on,” she mumbled.

He nearly groaned. Her choice of words and his heightened state of libido didn’t mesh. Scott imagined her teeth grinding together with her agitation.

A muffled cartoon ring-tone grew louder as it was drawn out of whatever hidey-hole it resided in. He’d heard it before. The song Tara had programmed onto her cell phone mirrored her normal personality. Fun and carefree. Lots of laughter.

Papers shuffled, cloth moved over cloth, a joint popped.

“Ouch. Son of a booger. Unh. Hello?” she said, her voice getting closer to him, the hello much stronger than her previous whispered mutterings.

Scott pursed his lips, hiding his grin and welcoming back the rush of blood to his groin where his cock hardened further. Sounded like Tara was having a rough day. In the two months he’d known her, he’d never noticed her usual happy-go-lucky self having a bad day.

Maybe he’d talk to Brianna and find out what was bothering the woman of his dreams. His sister and Tyler, her husband in heart if not on paper, would be here any minute.

Scott envied Brianna. She’d been lucky enough to find not just one man, but two. Tyler and Cole both loved and cherished her. Their relationship might seem strange to people who didn’t know them, but the trio was what worked for them and their two children.

Scott was waiting for that one special woman in a million he could share that same sort of bond with. He more than wanted it, he needed it. Felt it was the one thing missing in his life.

And somehow he had a feeling Tara might be the one, despite the fact he knew she’d been dating another man. He ground his teeth together thinking about her with someone else.

To Bean Or Not To Bean, the coffee shop Scott owned, was their regular Tuesday/Thursday meeting place. Brianna, Tyler or Cole, and Tara met him here usually without fail at ten o’clock. It had quickly become a habit and they’d all gotten to be a close group.

Scott was ready to get closer.

He squirmed in his seat and tried to adjust himself. Any harder and his dick would be imprinted with the buttons of his fly.

“What the hell? I asked you to leave three days ago.”

Scott tried to tune out her worried side of the conversation, which he easily picked out over the din of the entire cafe. Her voice attached itself to his ears like a magnet. Because of his blindness, his hearing had always been strong in his good ear. Especially having to compensate for the bad one. Now, thanks to revolutionary surgery he’d had to repair the damaged ear, his hearing was even more superior.

The door opened behind and to his left with a whoosh of cold, frosty air, tinkling the tiny overhead bell and swirling the robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee, peppermint and boughs of pine throughout the café. The espresso machine whirred, foaming up a fresh batch of frothy milk for the next customer’s order. A muted version of “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” floated around the room. Somewhere to his right, fingers clacked incessantly across a laptop keyboard as if the owner’s life depended on it. Cattycorner from him, loose change hit the floor followed by a “goddamn it”.

“He’s baaack,” a whiny, high-pitched voice sung out.

The woman did not even attempt to be discreet. Or maybe she did and his overdeveloped sense of hearing just made it seem that way. Scott hung his head at the distraction.

“Who?” a second woman asked.

“Blond Adonis, six o’clock.”

“Oh Lord, he’s hot.”

Scott snorted softly and grimaced behind his mug of café mocha. Since the two female voices emanated from his twelve o’clock and nobody sat behind him, he could only presume they were referring to him.

“Just a second,” Tara’s voice intruded. “Um, hello, you do know the blond Adonis is blind, right? Waggling your fingers at him isn’t doing you a bit of good.”

Scott nearly spewed his coffee across the room. He choked down what he could and coughed out the rest.

“Shit,” he muttered, and grabbed the napkin from its nine o’clock position on the table and wiped at his now damp shirt.

“And what makes you such an expert?” the first woman’s snotty voice retorted.

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact he’s wearing sunglasses inside? Or maybe it’s the seeing eye dog sitting next to him?” Tara nearly shouted.

Scott bit his lip.

“Or maybe it’s because I’m sleeping with him, and I can assure you, the man can’t see a thing. But damn, what he can do with those hands.” Tara made this little moaning sound and Scott nearly came in his jeans.

Love Me, Still

Cael pulled the heavy furs tighter around him as he, Niko and Riyu fanned out and trudged higher up the mountain. Their inability to shift and move faster frustrated him, but there was a human in the area. A trapper if he had to guess. They didn’t want to startle him by coming up on him in wolf form. It was a good way to get themselves shot.

For a week, he and the others had scoured the area around their old encampment. They could detect no trace of Heather’s scent. Then yesterday, when the wind had shifted and blew from the north, he had caught the faintest whiff of her.

They had charged up the mountain in the direction of the scent, anxious to find her.

Suddenly Riyu stopped ahead of Cael. He lifted his head and sniffed. A low growl emanated from his throat.

“What is it, Riyu?” Cael demanded as he surged through the snow.

Niko joined them and raised his head as well. “It’s her. I smell her. Much stronger now. She isn’t far.”

Cael inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as the sweet smell of his mate drifted through his nostrils. Longing, regret, so much sadness swelled within him.

He shoved past Riyu and Niko, increasing his speed up the mountain slope. Her smell grew stronger, and his body tingled with the anticipation of seeing her, even as his palms sweated in the frigid air at the thought of what he would say to her. How he would gain her forgiveness.

Then he stopped. Riyu nearly ran into him from behind. A low sob carried to them on the wind. Cael looked in the direction of the sound, and there he saw her. Poised on the edge of a drop off. Heather.

She took a step closer and stared down into the abyss. Terror clutched at Cael’s chest. Beside him, Riyu hissed in fear. She was going to fall.

Oh God. They’d never get to her in time.

In a flash, Cael transformed, lunging forward in the snow. He dug into the terrain, running as fast as his wolf shape would allow. Behind him, Riyu and Niko shifted and set out for Heather as well.

No! He couldn’t lose her again.

Just when he thought she would step off the edge, she crumbled into the snow and lay still. His heart raced with relief, but still he flew the remaining distance, his need to touch her, to hold her, to reassure himself that she was okay was all consuming.

He reached her just seconds before Riyu and Niko. He gently nudged her with his snout, but she was unconscious. He nuzzled her cheek and licked at her skin, trying to get her to awaken.

She was burning up with fever.

Cael shifted then stared down at his mate. Tears stung his eyelids, threatening to unman him completely. She was so fragile looking. Pale, thin, so breakable. And she wasn’t well.

“Is she alive?” Riyu asked in a rush of fear.

Cael nodded grimly. “She won’t be for long if we don’t get her out of the cold. She’s burning up with fever.”

“There’s a cabin in the distance,” Niko said pointing. “It could be where she’s been staying.”

Cael picked his precious bundle from the snow and hefted her into his arms. She had always been a tiny thing, but her lightness, even amidst the furs she wore, was alarming.

He pressed his lips to her hot forehead and closed his eyes as he followed Niko toward the cabin. I love you, my heart. I’m so very sorry for how I have wronged you. Please come back to me. I cannot live without you.

Riyu fell in beside him, looking anxiously over Heather’s unconscious form. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and Cael could see tears in his brother’s eyes.

“We failed her,” Riyu croaked. “When she needed us the most, we turned our backs. How are we ever supposed to get past something like that?”

Cael shook his head grimly. He didn’t have the words to offer comfort to his brother. Not when their mate was without.

Miracle at Midnight

A movement below caught her attention. Someone skimmed through the shadows—no, two someones. Using the darkness as their cover, they moved carefully through the courtyard, heading to the stockade. The stockade wouldn’t be heavily guarded. Instead, the soldiers manned the tall walls, to guard the village against the Comte’s veiled threat.

Instantly, she realized the stealthy pair’s goal. They were to rescue the thief. Stupid, foolish men. She’d exact a harsh price for their treachery, one that would set an example throughout the land. She waited in the shadows, still as a statue, the cold seeping even deeper into her, turning her outrage into strong contempt. Then when two became three, when hushed whispers marked their retreat, she stepped out of the darkness.

“Guards! Stop those men!”

In moments, soldiers poured into the square. Amara rushed down several flights of stairs and out to where the three men knelt in the dirty snow, torchlight illuminating their defeat. She stood in front of them and felt as if her father and brother watched her, judging her.

Her family had ruled for a half-century, and in that time they’d rarely shown mercy. These men, who defied her on such a sacred day, deserved no compassion.

But that was exactly what one asked for. The thief, she believed.

“Please, Comtesse, have mercy. My children—”

“How old are your children?” she asked.

“My daughter is twelve, my son ten. Their mother died long ago. Now they will be alone.” His eyes held hope mingled with despair; tears left dirty tracks down his face.

But Amara felt nothing. He’d dared to steal from her and needed to be punished. She looked up at one of her soldiers. “Find these children. They will be sold to pay for this man’s crimes.” She only waited for his nod before turning away.

“Comtesse! May you be judged as harshly as you judge your own people!”

Amara didn’t even break stride. The doomed thief’s words meant nothing. She entered her chambers and shut the door, then closed her eyes, calming all her thoughts. No use letting some lawless man and his stupid curses upset her. She didn’t write the laws of the land. “Thou shalt not steal” was a commandment of God. She only upheld it.

Is mercy not also one of God’s traits?

The soft voice startled her. Her eyes flew open, and she looked wildly about her. “Who’s there?”

I am who you refer to as Pere Noel. I prefer Nicholas.

A man stepped out of the shadows. He wore the robes of a priest and held an ornate staff. He was very old, his white hair streaming over his shoulders. Somehow, he glowed and didn’t seem solid.

Pere Noel. Father Christmas. It couldn’t be. She had to be dreaming.

“Who are you really and what do you want?”

You are very demanding. He watched her, his bright blue gaze never wavering. I want you to answer me this question. What is your heart made of?

He mocked her. This apparition in her own chambers mocked her. All the hurt and pain of her father’s hatred, her brother’s disdain, filled her. Amara replied, “My heart is of stone, to survive this world.”

Pere Noel nodded, his eyes seemingly saddened. So be it.

He pointed his staff at her. Comtessa Amara de la Cortese of Dupois, for your crimes against children, you have condemned yourself by your own words to a life of stone.

Incredibly, the staff began to glow, and Amara felt herself grabbed by that light, frozen into place. She tried to cry out but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The lights lifted her up, and she dangled, helpless.

I will grant you a boon. His eyes snapped at each word. Every fifty years, the same length as your family’s despotic reign, you will be granted two days to discover the answer to this question—what is the true meaning of love?

Give me the correct answer, and your life will be your own. Give me the wrong answer and you will return to being a statue. You will have ten chances.

Then the light exploded, and Amara found herself outside, in the frigid cold, but she couldn’t feel it. She knew where she was. In front of the little church, still under construction. And she understood several things at once.

She was made of stone, to match her heart.

She’d been cursed with a task—to find the true meaning of love.

And she’d been inscribed with the following words,

In tribute to those who have lost heart.

Then consciousness faded away.

Second Chance Christmas

This was gonna be a helluva night.

Two large fans whirling above Lori Dayton did nothing to ease the sultry flush across her skin, or the increase of her pulse. One set of fiery blue eyes across the room was responsible for her sudden reaction and the instant tightening of her nipples. The man she’d dreamed of for the last four years moved determinedly from the entrance, straight across the dance floor, and past the wraparound bar, toward the poolroom situated at the far end of the establishment where she stood. He didn’t speak to her nor did he approach. But he was close—too close.

Focus and forget about Dean Wilcox.

He had clearly forgotten about her.

She diverted her gaze from his hot glare, choosing instead to study the intricate pattern of the tinsel draping the limbs of the large Christmas tree stuck in the corner. It must have taken hours to separate and lay each silver strand precisely an inch apart.

In the distance, she heard the band begin to warm up and laughter rang. The scent of cigarettes mingled with a variety of perfumes and colognes. A beer bottle or glass crashed to the floor. The loud, brittle sound startled her, making her heart lodge midway in her throat. Normal barroom noises, so why was she nervous?

“C’mon, sis, call your shot,” Mitch, her partner and brother, impatiently encouraged. His eyes were fixed on the table as he chalked his stick. Will and Lance Carter had challenged them to a game of pool. She hadn’t wanted to play, but Mitch never turned down a challenge.

Two local gals had their hungry gazes pinned on Mitch’s muscular six-three frame like it was hunting season, and he was their quarry. They sat at a high-top table across the way, but looked like they wanted to slink across the room and wrap themselves around him. All three of her brothers were babe material—they had golden hair and eyes to match.

Women thought her brothers were hot, but as far as Lori was concerned, no man came close to the raw sensuality Dean Wilcox oozed. When the two gals who had been eyeing Mitch now ogled Dean, Lori realized she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Earth to Lori.” Mitch pulled her from her thoughts.

Focus.

Narrowing her eyes, she sized up the table. Pool stick in one fist, she dragged the other hand along the cool railing, moving slowly in search of the best shot. She fought not to look at Dean, not wanting to let him know he affected her, but she couldn’t help raising her eyes to meet his.

With a condemning stare, he watched her. Only six feet away, he stood with his legs were wedged apart, unyielding arms folded across his broad chest. His stance screamed that if she drew any closer to him he would still be miles away, still be untouchable.

Forget him.

“Eleven ball, corner pocket.” It would be a stretch, but it appeared her best choice. Leaning forward, she lengthened her five-seven frame across the table. With a jerk of her head she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and then positioned her fingers—

Well fuck. Her eyes were focused on Dean’s zipper, which was directly in line with the corner pocket. The impressive bulge revealed he was erect, hard. The muscles in her throat tightened as she swallowed. She knew that cock, knew its length and girth, the way it felt sliding between her thighs, filling her to—

Her heart began to pound. What’s the matter with me? Lust—nothing more. Remember the man hates you.

To make the situation more uncomfortable, when she leaned farther down, her T-shirt gaped to give him a direct, unhindered view of her bare breasts—helluva time not to wear a bra.

Dean made no attempt to look away. Instead, his eyes darkened. His nostrils flared.

And just like that her concentration flew out the door. Adios! It was gone in a heartbeat.

Once again she found herself thinking of him. Her vaginal muscles clenched as she imagined his strong hands touching her breasts, stroking the ache inside her. Her panties dampened.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, blinked.

Focus.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her breasts before. But each time she slipped the stick back and forth between the cradle of her thumb and forefinger, she thought of Dean buried deep and rocking inside her needy core.

Stop it.

With more force than she intended, she thrust her stick forward and struck the cue ball lower than anticipated.

In horror, she watched the spinning white ball raise from the felt, clear the rail, and nail Dean dead center of his groin.

They say cowboys don’t cry…

Evidently, they do if hit squarely in the nuts. Then all bets are off. They crumble like a day-old cookie to their knees. At least that’s what Dean did.

With a gut-wrenching “ugh”, he folded over, cupping his jean-clad crotch. She caught a glimpse of his painful expression as his golden skin tone drained to a pasty white. Like a snowman in the middle of summer, he melted and dropped to his knees. His head followed, bowing low.

“Ouch,” a choir of rowdy cowboys cried in unison, hugging their cocks. Then they began to laugh hysterically at their fallen friend.

Exactly what a man found funny about seeing another man getting his balls crushed Lori would never understand. Perhaps they were simply glad it was Dean and not one of them.

With a grin, Will retrieved the cue ball and positioned it behind the invisible boundary on the table. With ease, he stretched his tall frame over the ocean of green felt, then slid his pool stick through his fingers. “Mitch, your sister’s been back, what—two hours? Already the men in Safford have to watch their gonads.”

Lori restrained the urge to chuck the eight ball at his crotch. Instead, despite the warning in her head, she went to Dean’s side.

Crouched down next to him, she inhaled the warm scent of Old Spice. A tremor visibly shook him. Her hand wavered awkwardly above his shoulder as she fought the need to touch him. “Anything I can do?”

He yanked his head up, tossing back locks of wavy, black hair from his face. Blue eyes watered with the effort it took for him to breathe. “Get away from me,” he growled.

She flinched.

Those were the exact words he had spoken to her the last time she’d seen him. Funny they would be the first ones she heard returning home.