Brides Of Christmas Volume One

Brides of Christmas

Volume One

by

Fleeta Cunningham

Barbara Edwards

Jan Romes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Brides of Christmas Volume One

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by…

Jan Romes

Barbara Edwards

Fleeta Cunningham

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2015

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0505-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0555-4

Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

Published in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Big on Christmas by Jan Romes_________________________1

Late for the Wedding by Barbara Edwards_________________80

Till the World Is Safe for Dreams by Fleeta Cunningham ______147

Big on Christmas

by

Jan Romes

Twelve Brides of Christmas Series

Dedication

To the fine folks of Woodstock, Vermont,

for providing the perfect setting for this story.

A special thanks to

the Woodstock Chamber of Commerce

for information regarding Wassail Weekend.

Chapter One

I’m not a ‘partridge in a pear tree’ kind of girl. I don’t do tinsel. Or twinkle lights. And eggnog makes me barf. Cassie Newman bit down on her bottom lip when her boss raised a dark, bushy eyebrow.

Grinchin’, are we? Luke Stennett stacked another box next to the counter.

I’m not being grinchy. I just can’t wrap my head around eggnog. Cassie shuddered for effect. Who came up with that concoction anyway? Did someone at a party say, ‘Hey, why don’t we throw a few eggs in the rum and see what it tastes like?’

It also has cloves, vanilla, cinnamon… Never mind. We’re more about wassail than eggnog anyway. So you’re safe.

Doesn’t the traditional recipe for wassail include eggs?

Luke gave her a who-are-you look, and Cassie pressed her lips together to stifle a grin. She was Cassandra Rosalyn Newman from L.A, according to her resume. The part about California was completely true.

My dad and I make ours without eggs. We use apple cider, lemons, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, brown sugar, and a splash of brandy. Tomorrow we’ll throw a batch in the slow cooker and let it simmer all day so it smells up the store. Nothing better than a hot cup of wassail on a cold November day to keep people in the store longer. While they sip, they can browse.

Luke used a box cutter to slice open the first of ten boxes delivered by UPS. He reiterated his request for Cassie to start decorating. The other hardware stores have had their decorations up for a month. I stall until the fall foliage crowd thins out before I put mine up, but I’m about a month behind because of my dad’s issues. It’s a week from Thanksgiving, which means it’s crunch time. Folks will start wandering in for tree stands and skirts, ornament hooks, holiday mailbox covers— he held up an extension cord—and these. If I don’t have the place looking like Christmas with holiday music playing in the background very soon, shoppers will take their business elsewhere. I can’t afford for that to happen.

Okay, boss, I’m on it. She took a few steps and stopped. Why is Woodstock more about wassail than eggnog?

Still stuck on the eggnog bit, huh?

Cassie was stuck on the whole decorating, gift buying, and overall madness that came with Christmas. She understood the religious aspect but not the excessive hoopla. She also didn’t get why everyone thought Christmas wouldn’t be complete without snow. It was white, fluffy stuff that required a shovel or plow and made the roadways slippery. What was the big deal?

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug at Luke’s question. What can I say? I dig until I fully understand things. I’m an info sponge. Or, as her parents put it, she was a total geek. They hadn’t said it to be mean; they’d stated the obvious.

A smile worked its way to the corners of her mouth. She knew things that most people could care less about, like chewing gum while peeling an onion will keep you from crying, bats always turn left when exiting a cave and if you raise your legs slowly and lie on your back you won’t sink in quicksand. She also had a special affection for making jewelry out of odd things like washers, wire, scrap pieces of metal and glass beads.

Woodstock is proud of its English roots and is rich with Christmas tradition. It’s only fitting that we celebrate with wassail. Luke raised and lowered his eyebrows. You’ve only been here a short time so you haven’t experienced your first Wassail Weekend.

You dedicate an entire weekend to drinking the stuff?

Luke laughed, and Cassie tried not to enjoy the vigorous masculine vibrancy coming from deep in his chest.

It’s more than that. We have an equestrian parade, holiday shows, historic home tours, and the annual lighting of the yule log. You won’t want to miss the hundreds of luminaries that light the way to the living Christmas tree in the village square. I could go on and on. He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the storage room. Most of the decorations are in boxes and red plastic tubs on the bottom two shelves on the north side of the room.

The warmth of Luke’s hands permeated Cassie’s cable-knit sweater, and she took a silent breath. She’d gotten lost in his blue eyes for the last six months, and now the feel of his fingers was a new kind of bliss. That small inhale of air she’d taken teased her nostrils with his delicious scent. Her nerdy brain scrambled to figure out what his cologne contained. She detected notes of mint, lemon, cedar wood and labdanum. There was also a trace of something she couldn’t quite pin down. She put her hand to her mouth and grinned behind it. Regardless of the cologne’s makeup, Luke Stennett smelled good, was easy on the eyes and hard on the equilibrium. He was five feet ten inches of East coast yummy. With just a smile he could knock her feet out from under her—figuratively, though he did make her weak in the knees. She’d read about that happening in cases where the person was inundated with high levels of the neurotransmitter dopamine. She quietly snorted a laugh. Only she would be pondering the science of attraction while the person causing the intense rush of pleasure still had his hands on her.

Cassie trekked toward the storage room. Let me go on record that I’m not big on Christmas, but I’ll get the place looking like a wonderland instead of a hardware store. I’ll do you proud, boss. Over her shoulder she said, But I’m not wearing a Santa hat.

****

She wasn’t big on Christmas? Most of the women he knew went gaga over the holiday. Some put up multiple trees in their homes and started buying presents in July. Luke ran a hand over his face as Cassie walked away. She was different, in a good way. Softness surrounded her, but she wasn’t a wimp by any stretch of the imagination. She worked hard and seldom asked for help. Her amber eyes glistened with intelligence and humor. When it was just the two of them she jokingly sassed him. She was open and honest. After a recent discovery that made him question every detail about his life and who he could trust, he needed open and honest. Luke sighed. He wouldn’t dwell on what he’d found at the courthouse. No good would come from letting the information fester. To keep from remembering what he’d read, he placed his full focus on Cassie. She was dealing with something too. He could feel it. Sometimes when she didn’t know he was looking, he saw sadness in the depths of those amazing eyes. He wouldn’t press her to share what was behind it, but if and when she was in the mood to talk, he’d listen.

Luke reached for the clipboard to double-check what had been delivered against what he’d ordered. In the process he knocked over Cassie’s Styrofoam cup of chai tea. He caught it before it spilled. That was close. He set the tea aside and shook his head. The one thing about Cassie that drove him up a wall was finding her cups all over the store. She was meticulous and finicky to a fault, except when it came to her tea. One minute it would be by the cash register, the next, he’d find it near the chicken wire in the back of the store, or on the second floor in the aisle with the fluorescent bulbs.

The bells above the front door jingled.

Hey, handsome, Paula Reddington said in the same overly enthusiastic voice she used when he made his trips to the bank to deposit the days’ receipts. She’d practically knock the other tellers out of the way so she could wait on him. If he held the deposit until the next day, she came looking for him. Like today.

Hey, Paula. Luke couldn’t keep from smiling, because the redhead didn’t hide her attraction. He was equally forthright with his non-attraction. They both knew it wasn’t going to happen for them, but the chase had become a game.

Paula leaned across the wide counter and batted her eyelashes. I’m headed to Montpelier next weekend for a wedding. Would you like to be my date?

I would, but I have to clean out the garage.

Paula wrinkled her nose, but animation danced in her eyes. You’re a twenty-eight year old fuddy-duddy.

Yep.

I’ll keep trying, she said.

I’ll keep dodging, he replied.

They shared a laugh.

Paula scanned the store. I’ve been meaning to ask you about your helper.

Luke ran the box cutter through the tape on a second box. Ask me what?

Cassie left the land of sunshine and surfers for maple syrup and mountains? Who does that? Paula put a hand on each side of her mouth and whispered loud enough for the restaurant next door to hear. Maybe she’s in the witness protection program.

Luke purposely frowned. Would the Feds tuck in her a town of three thousand? I don’t think so.

Hefting two boxes of extension cords in his arms, he carried them to an empty end-cap and started to arrange the cords in neat rows. Paula’s comment, while absurd, was food for the part of his brain hungry for stimulation. Cassie did keep to herself. Woodstock was a small community so he should stumble upon her outside of work once in a while, but he had yet to see her at any restaurants, taverns or bistros. They hadn’t bumped into each other at the grocery either. She didn’t appear to be withering away from malnutrition so she must be eating. Hmm. Maybe she really was there to hide out and only slipped out of her apartment under the cover of darkness. He snickered at how easily Paula’s vivid imagination spilled over.

That makes sense. Paula checked out a counter-display of keychain flashlights, flicking one on and off until Luke gave her a pointed look to make her stop. They’d probably put her in a big city where she could blend in. She twisted her mouth to the side and appeared to ponder the possibility. She looks familiar though. I just can’t remember where I’ve seen her.

The intrigue regarding Cassie deepened.

Luke turned his attention to the half-open door of the storage room. He wouldn’t mind finding out more about the five-foot-two-inch brunette, by way of those sweet pink lips. His inner voice wasted no time reminding him that kissing an employee wasn’t a good idea. Even if she didn’t work for him, he didn’t have the time or energy to seek the pleasure of Cassie Newman. Running the store and caring for his dad was almost more than he could handle. Still…

****

Cassie shifted the long, narrow Christmas tree box against her hip while she waited for the well-built redhead to complete her conversation with Luke. The suggestion that she might be in the witness protection program caught her by surprise. Although, she understood how her sudden appearance in Woodstock with no family ties in the area could be fodder for all kinds of rumors. She was tempted to cut the gossip off at the waist by telling the woman who was making eyes at Luke that there was nothing special about her being in their town. She’d come to Vermont on a whim. Sort of. She’d opened a map of the United States, closed her eyes and dropped her finger to the atlas. It landed on Woodstock. Sharing that information would generate more questions than answers so Cassie decided it was wise to leave things alone.

She peeked around the door in time to see Paula’s hand find Luke’s shoulder. A pang of jealousy hit her stomach, and she ducked back behind the door. She muffled a groan at the petty emotion. It was silly to get worked up where the redhead or Luke was concerned. If they were touchy-feely with each other that was their business. Luke was her boss, nothing more. Cassie winced. She’d come to Vermont to get a fresh start, not to get all giddy inside when he smiled or to let the green-eyed monster surface when someone else—especially a buxom redhead—paid attention to him. Jealousy was detrimental to that fresh start, and it reminded her of the life she left behind. Over the years she’d been jealous of her friends’ normal lives. It was weird how she’d coveted their lives while they coveted hers. Her closest friends knew all about her unusual kind of upbringing. They thought it was cool to have globetrotting, hippy-type parents who left her in the care of a nanny for months at a time. It wasn’t cool. It was difficult. You have to chart your own seas. Travel your own path, her father had said more times than Cassie cared to remember. She deeply loved the longhaired, free-spirited, convention-shucking people who brought her into this world, but she didn’t go along with their position that she had to rely on herself instead of them. They didn’t rely on themselves. They relied on each other. On a yacht. In the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. Or in the Mediterranean off the coast of Greece.

Suck it up, Newman. You’re twenty-five, not fifteen. It was time to leave L.A. behind and focus on the life ahead. In Vermont. Clean air. Room to breathe. Great people, including Paula Reddington.

Bounding out of the storage room at the sound of the front door opening and closing, she spied Paula with a cheeky grin waving at her through the plate glass window on her way back to the bank. Cassie balanced the box on her forearms so she could return the wave. Turning to Luke she put her teeth together in a toothy smile. Do I have carte blanche as to where I put things?

Luke’s blue eyes roamed over her with a curious gleam. I’ve always put the tree in the front window. If you have another idea, go with it.

The middle of the window is perfect. Cassie moved a tall box holding snow shovels and one with ice scrapers out of the way to make room for the tree. She rubbed her hands together and wiggled her fingers to let him know she was ready to spin her magic.

Have at it.

Fifteen minutes later, the tree was assembled. Do you mind if I make a quick trip to the fabric store? I want to get some off-white satin to use as a tree skirt and to line the base of the window.

Satin in a hardware store? Luke pointed to the tree with the box cutter in his hand. You must have a vision.

The contrast of smooth and silky against a backdrop of rough and masculine… Her words trailed off when something deliciously wicked flashed through Luke’s eyes. You know, she said, nuts, bolts, wrenches, smoke-detectors. Cassie pressed her lips together to stop from sounding like a moron.

Luke headed to some empty shelves close to Cassie and stacked boxes of snowflake-shaped LED lights until he ran out of room. Tell me more.

Are you handy with a saw?

There was an undercurrent of humor in