A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Summary:
A Christmas Engagement #1
In 1805, Charles Denham’s comfortable life in Regency London with his long-term partner Avery Mallory is disrupted by the sudden death of his father. As the heir to a modest country estate in Gloucestershire, Charles returns home to care for his bereaved family and take up his new responsibilities.
Overwhelmed with grief, rather than leaning on Avery, Charles becomes fixed on the idea of taking a wife for reasons of family duty alone. With this plan in mind, he travels the short distance to Bath only to find that Avery and his family have already arrived at the resort.
Will Charles follow through with his ill-conceived plan for a hasty betrothal by Christmas? Or will he come to his senses and resume his relationship with the nicest man in England?
Original Review January 2024:
I discovered Ellie Thomas' writing in the second half of 2023, I'm so glad I did. There is a lot of stories I have yet to read, many of which have already found a home on my Kindle but when I was looking for holiday stories and found A Christmas Engagement, how could I not jump in? Christmas ✅
Historical ✅
Second Chances ✅
Subtle(or not so subtle) Helpful Family ✅
Regency Era ✅
Friendship ✅
Heart ✅
Charles steps up to do what he thinks he has to when his father dies but is it really what is best for him? I think you can guess the answer to that but as I'm all about the spoiler-free zone I'll just reiterate my go-to line: you have to read for yourself to find out. There's always a fine line between duty and self, many can stand on the outside and not understand choosing duty over self but unless you lived that choice you can't completely get it. I can't imagine the heartache Charles faces when that line is before him and I can't say I would have Avery's willingness to accept that choice with such support but I do understand and commend it.
Ellie Thomas has once again painted a picture with words so deliciously that you can see it play out in front of you. If I wasn't already a fan, A Christmas Engagement would make me one. There's just the right amount of humor mixed into this heartbreaking yet oddly heartwarming tale of friendship, romance, and deciding if doing what society deems right is really what is best.
So many wonderful boxes ticked. My reading wants tend to favor the longer full-length novels but when a novella is well written it can pack quite a punch, A Christmas Engagement packs just that punch. I have already pre-ordered(2/10/24 release day) the follow-up novella, A Lasting Vow to see where the next leg of their journey finds Charles and Avery.
Summary:
Love at the Holidays
Can a lost single dad and a lonely cowboy find love—and the family of their dreams?
Jake
Becoming a single father definitely wasn’t in my plans. It’s the toughest challenge of my life, especially with my parents gone, but my little girl means the world to me. I’m driving her home to the Rockies for her first Christmas—and because I took a boneheaded shortcut, we’re stranded in the middle of nowhere.
With a blizzard closing in. Fast.
I’m more scared than I’ve ever been when a gruff, gorgeous cowboy gallops to our rescue.
Why does he look so familiar?
Cam
I was a skinny geek in high school with a hopeless crush on Jake—until he revealed his true colors. He’s a backstabbing coward, and I haven’t missed him one bit since he moved to the big city. I spend my days with my dog, my horse, and my yaks. I don’t do people.
Now of all the people in the damn world, he’s on my ranch. Stranded with his tiny, helpless baby.
I can’t abandon them to freeze—even though it means bringing Jake to my cabin to get snowed in. Even though I’ll be trapped with the only man I’ve ever loved.
Even though I only have one bed.
A Baby for Christmas by Keira Andrews is a steamy LGBTQ+ romance featuring a bisexual single dad at the end of his rope, a lonely demisexual cowboy who likes to take charge, hate to love, and of course a happy ending.
The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon
Summary:How The Cookie Crumbled
As sole heir to the Bredahl Cookies and Cakes fortune, Casper led a comfortable, happy-go-lucky life. Some would say, a charmed life.
Sure, there were challenges: relentless pressure to join the family business, and his unrequited feelings for former high school crush Raleigh Jackson. But yeah, a charmed existence, compared to life after being arrested for murder and spending nearly a year in Chippewa Falls County Jail, awaiting trial.
Exoneration, freedom, came at too steep a price. To say Casper isn’t in the mood for the holidays, is putting it mildly. In fact, the only thing he wants for Christmas is to see Detective Raleigh Jackson, the man responsible for wrongly putting him behind bars, get his just desserts.
Original Review April 2024:
Always love when a surprise release from a favorite author drops😉😉. Love it even more when it's a mystery from Josh Lanyon, the Queen of LGBTQ Who Done It?. So many wonderful authors in the mystery genre but there is just something special about Lanyon's storytelling that can make even the obvious culprits completely flabbergast the reader.
So onto The Lemon Drop Kid. What a great title! I keep picturing the lemon drop suck candies my grandparents always had in the house but in this case it's a lemon drop martini, the drink of choice of our hero, Casper Bredahl. To go with the awesome title is an even more fabulous book cover, martini glass full of floating skeleton heads is not only a bit creepy to fit the mystery side but also a bit comicbook-ish that shows you the fun loving guy Casper can be or should I say use to be, which brings me to my last observation on the cover: the two sides of who Casper is now, cynical because so many thought he was a killer and yet that carefree young man before the town turned on him still lingers underneath. I don't know maybe I'm reading too much into a cover but I love it!
I don't often talk much about the location setting of a story but how can I not in this case? When I read Chippewa County in the blurb I thought "it's gotta be somewhere else? How many people outside of the state even realizes there is a Chippewa County here in Wisconsin?" Nope, it was Chippewa County, WI which is only one county away from me, I can safely say I think that is the closest setting to my location yet. I mean, it's Western Wisconsin, our own state forgets we even exist half the time. So for that alone I applaud and want to thank Josh Lanyon.
So the mystery of Lemon Drop Kid? You know what's coming: you have to read for yourself because I won't spoil it. But OMG it's great. Yes, I had a feeling who the real culprit would be but I wasn't entirely correct on the why, so I was still guessing right up until the reveal. Spot on fun! The wrong guy getting arrested scenario happens a lot in all forms of fiction but rarely do we get to see what happens to them when they are cleared in the way of townspeople reactions or the wrongly accused reacting to their behavior. I think Josh Lanyon really captures that in this book. I don't know if the author sees this as cozy mystery? Personally I don't see dividing certain genres up, to me a mystery is a mystery, what kind of side content has no real baring on the overall story for me to break it down further but that's just me. I will say despite some of the more dramatic, or heart-hurting undertones of those around Casper and where they stood on his guilt or innocence, I do think there is a lightness to Lemon that made this a fun read on top of the mystery or the to-revenge-or-not-to-revenge quandary Casper finds himself in.
I look back at this review and I think I went off on a babble or two direction so I'm going to put it to you simply: The Lemon Drop Kid is a fun, heartbreaking, humorous, heartwarming, entertaining who done it that I couldn't put down until I finished and then I was kicking myself for not savoring it slower.
Summary:
Killian Thornton likes his downtown life, tending bar, and enjoying time with his friends and community. He'd given up on passion long ago—he wasn't cut out for grand romance or dramatic gestures. Then one night, in a characteristic act of kindness, Killian offers his couch to help a friend's little brother find his feet in a new city, and everything Killian thought he knew about himself and his little life gets turned upside down.
Lewis Bernard, the funny, quirky guy happy to find a spot on Killian's couch, can’t believe his luck. After being forced to flee his parents’ house, he was afraid of what came next, but Sacramento seems to be treating him just fine. The stunningly handsome bartender who lives downstairs from his brother offers Lewis his couch and doesn’t even balk when Lewis discovers two abandoned kittens in a vacant lot as they walk home.
Vet bills, cat food bills, litter boxes—none of it was on Killian's Christmas agenda, but he jumps in gamely to help because all the shelters seem to be full, and that's just the kind of guy Killian is. But kittens can multiply faster than rabbits, and Killian and Lewis accidentally rescue more and more cats.
Lewis starts to panic. He really wants to know Killian better, but with each act of kindness, Lewis falls further in love while ruining Killian's life. How can Killian find time to fall in love with Lewis and ask him to stay if they’re inundated with destructive furry poop-machines who all seem to need a home before Christmas?
Christmas Falls Season 2 #4
When a sunshiny cinnamon stick with paws-itively purrfect holiday plans meets a grumpy Grinch neighbor with a smokin’ hot... chimney, bells aren’t the only thing jingling.
I spend all year gearing up for the Christmas Falls festival season. Those five weeks are showtime for the animal shelter, and I’ve got it down to a science to help all my four-legged friends find their furever homes.
My well-oiled machine goes off track when I discover a massive leak at the shelter. And Grandpa, my only family, is recovering from a hip replacement, and I can’t stop worrying about our latest shelter dog. To put a star on the top of my anxiety tree, Roman, my Scrooge neighbor, is giving me a hard time about the festive decor on my half of our duplex. It’s not my fault I’ve got more Christmas spirit in my pinky than he does in his entire broad-shouldered body.
But something about Roman tells me he could love Christmas and this town as much as I do if he just gave them a chance. I don’t care if I’ve got a thousand other priorities on my list, I’m making it my holiday mission to get him to let down his guard and show me the wonderful and caring man behind the terse talk and award-winning RBF. It’s like opening a present on Christmas morning and seeing exactly what you wanted from Santa.
It’s all tinsel and sugar cookies until my heart decides it wants Roman under the tree. But his New Year’s resolution is to leave town, and I can’t let myself fall for a man who doesn’t plan to stick around.
Christmas Falls is my forever home. How do I convince him it could be his?
Christmas Falls: Season 2 revisits a small town that thrives on enough holiday charm to rival any Hallmark movie. It's a multi-author M/M romance series.
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Charles paused before saying clearly and deliberately. “With Papa’s passing, it seemed expedient to start to look out for a wife.”
He heard Avery’s sharp intake of breath as Aunt Clarissa looked at him shrewdly. Her bright, old eyes, darker and sharper than Avery’s, seemed to pierce his soul. “You have come to the right place,” she remarked. “Far better to make your selection at your convenience in Bath than to be bothered with the fancy folderols of the London Season. I might be biased as I have fond memories of the place. The town will never be the same as in the heyday of Beau Nash, but it still passes muster, although I say it myself. And you should find a wide array of suitable ladies now you are resolved on matrimony.”
Charles had the sneaking suspicion that Aunt Clarissa was laughing at him and was spared further embarrassment by the timely approach of Mr. King.
“Ladies,” Mr. King uttered, addressing the group. “Might I interest you in a game of Cribbage at the Card Room tonight? The tables are filling up quickly, and I’d be glad to put your names down. From experience, these events prove very popular and can be over-subscribed.”
That popularity was confirmed by eager fluttering from the group of ladies, mercifully distracting Aunt Clarissa’s attention away from Charles.
Charles’ dearest hope was for Avery to have melted away into the surrounding throng during the conversation. Having only begun to establish himself in the confines of Bath’s society, Charles could not afford to cause gossip or general disgust by delivering a cut direct. And in truth, he flinched from being unnecessarily and publicly cruel. None of this was Avery’s doing. He must simply accept that Charles’ priorities had altered with his father’s death.
But when Charles glanced around, Avery was still standing there. He looked a trifle pale at Charles’ announcement but managed a smile as he said conversationally, “You must wonder why we are here. I’m sure you remember all those letters from my aunts pressing Aunt Clarissa for suggestions for her seventieth birthday celebrations?”
Charles nodded as he remembered their shared London rooms in Rupert Street, Avery’s face alight with laughter as he passed Aunt Clarissa’s typically scathing letter over the breakfast table for Charles’ amusement, in a gesture of everyday intimacy.
“Well, Aunt Clarissa refused to be contained by any sedate or convenient notions and decided to drag us all to Bath for the occasion, complete with a hired house on The Circus. According to her, since she’s in her dotage, she won’t get another opportunity to relive her past successes or criticise the current fashions and assembled company at the top of her voice. As you can imagine, both my aunts are thrilled.” Avery’s mobile mouth quirked with humour, and Charles was almost tempted to smile with him until Avery asked, “What does your mother think of your resolution to marry?”
Avery was still smiling, but his eyes seemed almost as shrewd and watchful as Great Aunt Clarissa’s. Charles was only glad that the necessarily loud interchange between the Master of Ceremonies and a lady of the party who was hard of hearing masked the personal turn of the conversation.
“She is delighted I’m assuming my obligations in seeking to establish our family connections.”
“Is she?” Avery sounded mildly surprised. “I’d have thought she would be far more concerned about your happiness and state of mind.”
“I am happy,” Charles retorted.
“If you say so,” Avery smiled agreeably before asking casually, “and since when have you been attracted to women?”
Charles bristled, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, I’d say if you seek marital accord.” Avery had the gall to look faintly amused as Charles cast around for a suitable retort, stumbling over half-remembered phrases he had recited to his mama. As Charles reeled off homilies on duty and family responsibility, Avery’s smile faded. But rather than displaying the outrage or bitterness of a repulsed lover, Avery’s expression was full of compassion, tinged with sadness.
Charles completed his speech, sounding pompous and prematurely middle-aged even to his own ears. Avery opened his mouth to impart an urgent observation before hesitating. Instead, he patted Charles on the arm, saying, “I’m sure you know best, Charles,” in a manner that implied no confidence whatsoever in his former lover’s judgement.
A Baby for Christmas by Keira Andrews
Chapter One
Cam
Three days before another lonely Christmas, I discovered a baby’s cry was unmistakable.
Carried on the bitter wind, the faint squall jolted me out of a daydream. Bonnie snorted and side-stepped, and I rubbed her chestnut mane as I leaned forward in the saddle.
What the holy hell?
I strained to listen, squinting beyond my herd of shaggy-haired yaks, who briefly lifted their wide heads at the sound before returning to business as usual. They chewed the long, yellowed grass poking up out of the thin layer of snow, their stony expressions and curved horns making them look a damn sight fiercer than they were.
Had the cry come from over toward the mountains? Noises loved to play tricks near the Rockies. I peered into the distance. Across the rolling, snow-dusted fields, beyond dense pine trees peppering the foothills, the white-capped peaks were hidden behind ominous gray clouds. More snow was coming.
A lot more.
I could taste the moisture in the air. Smell it. Feel it in my bones like truth, as dramatic as that sounded. But I knew. Though still below freezing, I’d been able to leave my woolen toque at home and wear my favorite black Stetson. The temperature had risen enough that instead of crystallized snot, there was wetness inside my nose when I inhaled.
A blizzard was coming.
Cocking my head, I listened. There was only Bonnie’s snuffling breath and the whistling wind. After pulling off one of my work gloves, I scratched at my short beard.
“Losing my mind,” I muttered.
When I glanced over my shoulder at where Toby had run off a minute before, he was tensed and staring into the distance. Was he chasing a hare like usual? The spotted mutt barked once sharply.
A baby wailed.
Heart thumping, I wheeled Bonnie with a nudge of my boot, urging her into a trot to follow Toby, who raced down a slope and up the other side. The terrain here was rocky, and I didn’t push Bonnie to go faster even though something was very wrong.
There was nothing down this way except a creek and old Coyote Trail. Yet as we came up over the rise, the cries grew louder, shriller, and absolutely undeniable.
That was a baby.
And the blot of red on the landscape sticking out like a sore thumb was a car.
I automatically reined in Bonnie. It was plain wrong to see a car on this land. But there it was—a small Ford, maybe? Cherry red and stopped at the side of the abandoned dirt road that everyone had called Coyote Trail. If I’d ever known why it had that name, I couldn’t remember now.
The thin layer of snow showed the car’s tire tracks. Even if it hadn’t stopped here, it wouldn’t have gotten much farther. The afternoon was growing darker by the minute. The sun set by four-thirty this time of year, and the approaching storm sure as shit wasn’t helping.
Bonnie stamped her hooves, and I rubbed her tense neck. “Shh. I know. We’re going home real soon.”
Toby had stopped too, glancing anxiously between me and the car. There was a tall figure pacing on the other side of the vehicle, bouncing a bundle that had to be the crying baby.
Coyote Trail wasn’t marked and had only ever been known to locals—who also knew better than to try it now.
What damn fool would come down here with darkness and a storm closing in? With a baby?
I was mighty tempted to turn tail and leave him to it. I’d been looking forward to a quiet night by the fire with my book in one hand and petting Toby with the other. I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to deal with…whatever this was.
The baby screeched louder as if hearing my selfish thoughts, and I shifted in the saddle with a hot stab of prickly guilt. I’d never actually leave anyone stranded, let alone a child. Maybe they weren’t stranded at all—though they would be soon if they didn’t retreat back to the highway.
Nudging my heels and clucking my tongue, I got Bonnie moving. Toby raced ahead with a bark, and the man in the distance spun around and waved frantically. I lifted an arm in response.
The stranger—wearing a dark parka, a red woolen toque, and a gray scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face—hurried around the hatchback. “Thank God!”
He still held the crying baby, which was so bundled it was only a lump in a puffy yellow snowsuit and a thick blue scarf. Dark jeans clung to the guy’s lean legs.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked, none too friendly.
“I was taking the shortcut into Lonely Creek.” His low voice was muffled by his scarf, only his thick-lashed brown eyes visible between the scarf and hat. “Trying to beat this storm.” Fat snowflakes began to fall on cue, and he looked up, those pretty eyes narrowed. “Might’ve made it if the engine hadn’t conked out at the worst possible time.”
“Nope. Rockslide cut off Coyote Trail.” How did he even know it had existed? I added, “Maybe ten years back.”
The man groaned. “Fuuu—” He was patting the squirming baby hidden against his chest through the layers of winter gear, and he glanced down at it. “Fudge. Do you have a signal? I don’t have any bars.”
I had to laugh. Heartily. “No service out here.” My cell phone sat in a drawer except for when I went into town or Lethbridge.
He groaned again. “Look, I’m really sorry to put you out, but could you give us a lift to town?” He added, “Lonely Creek,” as if there were anything else around. Aside from the ski resorts up in the mountains, Lonely Creek was it.
Staying upright with the baby, he bent his knees awkwardly to pet Toby, who nudged him enthusiastically, tail wagging. Toby hardly ever met new people.
“My truck’s out by the big house,” I said. In only a minute, the snow was already falling more thickly, and the mountains had disappeared in a blink behind a curtain of white. “We’ve got to get inside.”
I glanced in the direction of the two-lane highway, which was even farther and not busy at the best of times. It was way too far, and we’d have to flag down a passing vehicle. Even on a sunny summer day, it wouldn’t be a great plan. It was a terrible one now, as much as I wanted to resolve this.
“You’re positive the engine’s toast?” I asked.
The guy nodded. “But I’m no expert, so please take a look if you can. The dealer promised this car had plenty of years left in it. It’s only been a week.”
He bounced the fussing baby as he walked back and forth, work boots crunching on the rocky side of the old road. Something about him seemed strangely familiar, but I pushed it aside. The clock was ticking.
I hopped down from Bonnie, who snorted disapprovingly but stayed put. Glad for my long leather duster as the wind whipped, I lifted the car’s hood with a creak and peered inside. I knew a bit about engines—enough to know this one was beyond me even if I’d had tools in my saddlebag. I couldn’t see anything glaring, so I closed the lid with a thud.
There was no other option. “We have to ride back to my cabin.” I mentally said goodbye to my peaceful night. More than that, I hadn’t had guests in…ever. Let alone a baby.
The man stared at Bonnie, who nosed at the ground. She was a tall sorrel horse, and though I wouldn’t normally put two grown men on her back, we didn’t have a choice. With darkness and snow closing in, it would take too long for me to ride back for my ATV. Besides, I trusted Bonnie’s surefootedness more than the machine’s.
Bonnie lifted her head, the fresh snow already blanketing her twitching ears, matching the white splotches on her face. I scratched her neck and murmured, “Sorry about this. It won’t be for long.” Louder, I asked the stranger, “Have you ridden before?”
The baby, who’d thankfully stopped screaming, gurgled unhappily. He patted her bundled back with his gloved hand and peered at Bonnie. “Yeah, years ago. But it’s not safe for her.”
“Bonnie’s solid. She can handle the weight for a short distance.” I glanced up at the gunmetal sky. We had to get the hell moving.
“I meant my daughter.”
Oh. Right. I squinted at the yellow lump. I could understand not wanting to take a baby on a horse. “We’ll go slowly, but we’ve got to go.”
The stranger eyed Bonnie warily but nodded. “What about all our stuff?”
“Just bring the necessities. The rest isn’t going anywhere. No one comes down here.”
“Okay. God, I’m such an idiot.”
I wasn’t about to argue, but I stayed silent and didn’t pile on either. Neither of us could turn back time and change his terrible choice to leave the highway.
I paced while he put the baby into her car seat in the back of the hatchback—then pulled out bag after bag after bag. Christ, how did one tiny human need so much stuff?
I cleared my throat. “You’re going to have to get that down to one bag.”
“Um…” The man opened the jam-packed trunk area. He rooted around, coming out with a Toronto Blue Jays duffel. “If I put everything in here, does that work?”
“It’ll have to.” I removed Bonnie’s saddlebag and saddle, keeping the bridle in place and feeding her a frosty apple from my pocket. “I’m going to leave these in your car.”
He blinked at me. “We’re going to ride without a saddle? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“It’s better for Bonnie. We can’t both fit in the saddle, and if I ride behind it, it’ll be a lot of weight on her kidneys.” I squeezed it onto the driver’s seat since it was the only empty space remaining in the car.
As I watched the guy shove diapers, bottles of formula, and jars of baby food into the Jays duffel, the earlier tug of recognition reared up and gave me a vicious kick. I sucked in a harsh breath.
Those thick-lashed brown eyes. Baseball. Long legs. Standing over six feet. Someone who knew old Coyote Trail existed.
No.
Impossible.
Hellno.
“Jake Gregson?” I accused, sharp as a blade.
Jerking upright from where he leaned into the back seat, he thumped his head on the rim of the doorway and yanked down his scarf.
This man wasn’t a stranger after all. I knew the rotten core beneath that pretty face all too well.
Aside from facial scruff over his pale, smooth skin, the strong jaw and full mouth were the same. I hadn’t let myself think about Jake Gregson in a long, long time, but face-to-face with him after—what, thirteen, fourteen years?—it all flooded back.
Desire. Idol worship. Betrayal. Shame. Fury. Hurt.
The hurt could still steal my breath after all this time, and I hated that more than I could stand. I also hated that the bastard was even hotter in his early thirties than he’d been as a teenager. And he was here, invading my land and my life.
I had no choice but to deal with it. I couldn’t abandon him and the baby to freeze. Where was the mother? The front passenger seat was stacked with boxes.
“Do I know you?” Jake asked. He peered closely at me. “I haven’t been home in forever. Sorry, man. I’m blanking.”
That shouldn’t have twisted my guts. I shouldn’t have cared. Of course he didn’t remember. I’d been nothing to Jake Gregson. Never had been, never would be.
“Don’t strain yourself.” I kept my voice gruff and steady, because I’d let him know he could still hurt me over my dead, rotting corpse. “Cam Walsh.”
He jerked like he’d been slapped before going very still. “Is that a joke? It’s not funny.”
I barked out a laugh. “Well, I was a joke to you. But no. I’m Cam Walsh.”
Jake jutted his chin forward, cocoa eyes wide and jaw dropping. “Cam? But you were tiny.” He waved his hand up and down to indicate my body. “And now you’re—” He gaped.
I could admit I’d enjoyed reactions like this the rare times over the years that I’d run into someone from high school. Since my days were usually spent with Bonnie, Toby, and my yaks, it hadn’t been often.
But I didn’t puff up my broad chest and give him a wink like I had Madison Massey when she’d hit on me in the feed store in Lethbridge without recognizing me as the kid she and her friends had jeered at.
As I stared him down, Jake sputtered and shook his head. “Seriously? Cam?”
Then the weirdest thing in an already bizarre day happened: His face brightened with a smile.
He had no damn right.
But my stupid, stupid heart still stuttered in the face of Jake Gregson’s gleaming teeth, the creases in his cheeks, and the crinkle of his eyes. Shit, the way I’d once treasured every single smile he’d granted me.
It’d been pathetic then. Now? My skin went hot with rage at my reaction.
The smile vanished as he snapped his mouth shut and swallowed thickly. “Um… Hey, man.”
We stared at each other in silence, the snow falling thickly. Toby bounded to my side, looking between us with a confused little whine. In the back seat, the baby fussed with soft cries that would probably be screams again soon.
“Wow,” Jake said, having the nerve to laugh. “You look so different. You’re huge!”
I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “I was a late bloomer.”
Jake had been the tall, buff guy back then. I couldn’t get a good look at his muscles now under the parka, but at six-three, I was a couple of inches taller. It was a petty victory, but I’d take it.
“Ready?” I asked coldly.
“Um, I think so.” Jake eased the baby from her car seat and examined Bonnie. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
Not answering, I grabbed the duffel and returned to Bonnie, taking hold of the reins. “You get up first.”
“Right.” Jake glanced around as if he was hoping for a last-minute save from anyone else. But it was just us for miles with snow and dark falling fast. “Wait, I’ll get the carrier.” He shifted the baby and awkwardly searched in the back seat with his barely free hand. “Can you take her for a sec?”
I didn’t know shit about babies unless they were cows, yaks, horses, or goats. I dropped the crammed duffel and reluctantly reached for the squirming bundle. A delicate little face with big brown eyes peeked out from thick layers of wool and padding. She looked impossibly tiny to have that much lung power.
I’d once nursed the runt of Mrs. Pinter’s goat litter, feeding him with a bottle and keeping him warm when he was abandoned. Animals were easy. This was a human, and humans were nothing if not complicated as hell.
“This is Cora.” Jake was still holding on to her even though I had her securely under the arms of her snowsuit.
I said, “Uh-huh,” because it seemed like he was waiting for me to respond.
He was still holding on. “I’ve got her,” I said.
Frowning, Jake let go just long enough to yank out a harness thing before locking the door with an electronic beep. The car looked so old I was surprised it didn’t require an actual key to lock.
As he strapped the harness to his chest, I held the baby uneasily. From under her toque and hood, she blinked at me with those huge, serious eyes, her thick lashes like her father’s. I gingerly swung her back and forth. Babies liked motion, right?
Please don’t cry again.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Jake took her back, buckling her securely against his chest facing him. Jake murmured, “We’re okay. We’re going to ride on a horsey! Yeah, we are.” He glanced at me and dropped the light, singsong tone, his cheeks flushing red. “So, how do we…”
Dropping to one knee, I held out my gloved hands as a stirrup and ordered, “Put your boot in my hands. You’re going to hold on to Bonnie’s mane just before her withers.” I glanced up to find him staring between me and Bonnie with an anxious frown.
Standing impatiently, I put his hand on the right spot before dropping back down. Jake still hesitated. I snapped, “Or you can freeze out here.”
I braced for his weight. It was awkward with the baby strapped to him, but Jake raised himself over Bonnie, who obediently stayed still. I passed up the duffel, and Jake held it over his lap. “Scoot as far forward as you can,” I said, before grasping Bonnie’s mane myself. I reached behind Jake and over his thigh, brushing against him. “Brace yourself. I need to hold on to you.”
I hadn’t ridden bareback in ages. When I’d been a skinny kid, hopping up onto a horse had been a hell of a lot easier. I hesitated, glancing up at the darkening sky, snowflakes catching on my beard. We had to move, and I prayed I wouldn’t end up flat on my face.
Bending my knees, I did a little skip-hop and threw my leg over Bonnie’s back, holding her mane with one hand and gripping Jake’s hip with the other as I pulled myself up behind. Bonnie remained steady, and I murmured, “Good girl,” as I leaned around Jake to rub her neck.
There were no two ways about it: Jake was between my legs with my junk shoved against his ass. I had to reach an arm around him to control the reins. I let my left hand hang at my side, or else I’d practically be hugging him from behind.
Bonnie huffed, and I vowed to give her extra treats when we got back to the cabin. Toby was darting around, playing in the falling snow and having a grand old time as always. I urged Bonnie forward, and she picked her way up the slope and back to where the yaks grazed.
I tried very, very hard not to think about Jake Gregson’s ass.
It was beyond bizarre to have him wedged against me, Jake sitting ramrod straight and stiff, one hand clutching the duffel on his lap and the other around the baby strapped to his chest. He smelled like sweat with a faint hint of…rose?
I could barely concentrate, my mind spinning, but Bonnie knew the way. We passed the yaks, who grunted and ignored Toby as he darted among them.
Jake said, “Those are weird-looking cows.”
“That’s because they’re yaks. Humps. Horns. Shaggy coats.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Toby! Leave them be!” I called. Snow stung my face as the wind gusted. “Is the baby okay?”
Jake turned his head, bumping the brim of my Stetson. “Yeah. Sleeping somehow. She’s magic like that.”
I kept my eyes on the white horizon. His face was too close to mine, and I could hear the love in his voice. It made me remember a time when praise from Jake—even an offhand comment about how he liked my boots or something—had fueled me better than a Red Bull.
He added, “Thank you. Seriously, man. You saved our lives.” He sounded completely sincere, but he’d fooled me before. I said nothing.
Jake’s breath puffed warmly over my cheek before he turned back. This had to be some messed-up dream. “Um, is it far?” He nodded to the fields in front of us, Bonnie walking at a good clip toward the cabin. She wanted back in the barn no doubt.
“A few klicks.”
“What if the horse trips on something? If I fall off, I’ll crush Cora.” His voice was suddenly tight with worry.
I clenched my jaw at the insult to Bonnie, which wasn’t really fair. I couldn’t blame him—the baby was so tiny and helpless. After a moment of hesitation, I drew my left arm around, holding the reins in both hands, pressing fully against Jake.
“I won’t let you fall,” I muttered.
Jake tentatively leaned back against me, the bulk of his body against me pleasantly warm as the wind picked up. “Thanks.”
Shit, it had been too long since I’d rubbed up against another man. If I was enjoying the feel of Jake Gregson of all people, I was clearly overdue for a trip into Lethbridge to have a few drinks and hook up with a convenient guy.
I realized as I thought back that it had been more than a year. Almost two, probably. I enjoyed getting off as much as the next person, but it had never been a priority the way it seemed to be for others.
As soon as the blizzard passed, I’d drive in for the night and find a guy. It would be a Christmas present to myself. I’d been working my ass off, and I deserved a break. First, I just needed to wait out the storm and get Jake on the road and back where he belonged.
I had no clue where that was—and I didn’t much care as long as it was far, far away from me.
The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon
Prologue
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Lemon Drop Kid.”
Huddled in a booth at Cutter’s Mill Bar and Grill, Dax and I looked up from our drinks—and kept looking up—as Officer Raleigh Jackson, Little Copenhagen PD’s finest, gazed down at us with resignation.
Dax, being the goofball that he was, giggled.
Me, being whatever I was seventeen months ago, choked mid-swallow on my lemon drop martini.
Technically, it was a choke and a teeny-tiny splutter, made worse by Dax—still giggling maniacally—energetically pounding my back.
So, the teeny-tiny splutter became a full splashdown. I could see Raleigh—Officer Raleigh Jackson—prismed through the glittery drops of martini on my eyelashes. I think he was trying not to laugh.
But he sounded as serious as ever when he said, “Jeez, I hope neither of you juvenile delinquents plan on driving anywhere tonight.”
I found my voice and said, a little hoarsely from all the coughing, “You know we’re thirty, right?”
Raleigh’s lip curled. “You’re twenty-eight, Caz, and that’s a legal technicality.”
“Rude,” Dax observed.
We’ve been best friends since the sixth grade, Dax and I. No origin story. We randomly got seated next to each other in Mrs. Kaynor’s homeroom, and the rest was history
“I’ll say.” It did kind of sting, given it was Friday night and we weren’t doing anything that everyone else in the place—barring Officer Killjoy—wasn’t.
“You could drive us home,” Dax suggested. He flinched when I kicked him beneath the table, then grinned even more broadly.
Raleigh snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m on duty.”
“So?”
“So,” Raleigh shot back. A reminder that, sure, he was older, but not that much older, and snappy repartee had never been his long suit.
“I call bullshit,” Dax retorted. “You just ordered beer and a plate of potato skins to eat at the bar.”
That was news to me, and you’d have thought it was news to Raleigh, given his expression.
“Anyway, I’ve got a ride.” Dax added slyly, “You could drive Caz home, though.”
Dax always had a ride, literally and metaphorically. He was the original chick magnet: slim and blond with dark soulful eyes, which was false advertising because he was the least soulful person on the planet. He was also short, which I used to tell him was where the magnet part came in. He could have easily fit on the front of some lucky girl’s refrigerator.
Raleigh’s dark brows pulled into a straight and forbidding line. “Ha.”
Frankly, it was a pretty half-hearted effort. Like he was afraid he was going to be roped into driving the kiddy carpool, but knew it was his duty.
“HA!” I said with a lot more vim and vigor. Because thanks, but no thanks.
In fact, we got a few glances from our fellow drinkers.
Raleigh noticed the interested looks and retreated posthaste to the bar.
I glared at Dax. “Seriously?”
“Hey, he noticed you the minute he walked in here. I think he was going to grab his food and take off, but he changed his mind when he saw you. It’s mutual, man. You should go for it.”
“Go for it? What are we…” I groped for a suitably scathing descriptor because the idea that Raleigh might actually sort-of be even a little bit interested was way too… Much.
Dax supplied, “Horny? Yes, we are. And so’s he. Come on, you guys have been dancing around this since you were kids.
“He still thinks I am a kid,” I said a little bitterly.
“He’s only three years older than us.” Dax added slyly, “You know he’s not seeing that coach anymore.”
I grunted, but Dax grinned. “You don’t fool me. Your face is the color of your hair.”
My hair is brown with some reddish glints, so nope. I offered my middle finger in the hope he could still make out shapes.
But I can’t deny that the news Raleigh was no longer seeing Muskies football coach Harbin Folke cheered me up no end. So, when Dax eventually left with his girl du jour, I didn’t phone for an Uber.
I didn’t phone anybody. I sat there nursing my third lemon drop, watching out of the corner of my eye as Raleigh ate his loaded potato skins and chatted with the bartender.
When he finally pushed his plate away, my pulse picked up, because it was liable to look like I was waiting—hoping—
Because I was.
Raleigh half-turned on his stool, scanned the room casually, caught my gaze. We stared at each other. He glanced away, ordered a second beer, and when it came, he picked it up and wandered over to my booth.
So. Raleigh. Think of the boy next door in a 1950s rom com. His dad was chief of police and becoming a cop was all Raleigh wanted to be growing up. He was popular, he played quarterback three out of his four years in high school, and yep, right after college he became a cop. Also, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. He had straight dark hair, light gray eyes, and a handsome, serious face. He did not look like someone who smiled much, and that was true, but he had a great laugh. His nose wrinkled just a bit, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his chuckle came out all husky and boyish. It was one of my favorite sounds way back when making Raleigh laugh had been one of my goals in life.
I gazed up at him, and my heart was in my throat.
“Waiting for someone?” He looked very serious, so maybe he was just concerned with me driving while over the legal limit.
But Dax was right. It was now or never. So, I smiled. “I hope so.”
Raleigh tipped his head, like he was trying to see me better, then he gave a half-smile and slid into the booth across from me.
“It’s been a long time, Caz,” he said. “How’ve you been?”
“Great.” I shrugged. “Busy.”
“They make you vice president over at Bredahl Cookies and Cakes yet?”
“Nope. But there’s no escape.”
“You can run but you can’t hide?”
“Exactly. I can’t even run very far since I live in my sister’s backyard.”
Raleigh laughed that soft, husky laugh, and I got that warm, funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was a little twinkle in his pale eyes as he said in seeming commiseration, “Family business.”
“Yeah. Speaking of which. Have you made detective yet?” I mean, I knew he hadn’t. For one thing he still wore that snazzy navy-blue uniform that hugged his shoulders, thighs, and ass. For another, I’d have heard about that. The whole town would have heard about that.
Raleigh grimaced. “Still working on it. Pop says, the problem is nothing happens in Little Copenhagen that requires detecting.”
I grinned. Not only was Raleigh’s pop chief of police, his father before him, and his father before him had also been Little Copenhagen’s chief of police. There had never been any question of what Raleigh was going to be when he grew up. Just like there had never been any question of me eventually running Bredahl Cookies and Cakes.
The difference was, Raleigh loved being a cop. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less than become a corporate executive for a cookie company. Even some of the most delicious cookies in the world cookie company.
Raleigh glanced at my empty martini glass, said lightly, “If you want another drink, I’ll drive you home.”
I gazed into his eyes, smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Raleigh held my gaze, slowly smiled.
The 12 Kittens of Christmas by Amy Lane
Last Call
KILLIAN THORNTON wiped down the varnished wooden counter in front of him and fought the first yawn of the night. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving, and the rush had been fierce—lots of people celebrating their “friendsgivings” anywhere but in their own homes this year—and he was ready to clean up and go home.
“Don’t do it,” Suzanne, his night manager, ordered.
“Don’t do what?” he asked, yawning.
“Don’t do that, you bastard!” she responded with a yawn of her own. “Dammit, I still have to count drawers!”
Suzanne had been hired ten years ago straight out of college; she had an MA in history and no interest in teaching. She was smart, could talk customers down off a drunken soapbox and count a drawer at the same time. She also didn’t hesitate to break out the baseball bat underneath the bar if things got rough, although they didn’t often get rough in Catches. Catches was a chain bar—you could find one in most major cities in America, although usually they were found in big malls and shopping centers, along with BJ’s and Cheesecake Factory. This particular Catches, though, was deep in Sacramento’s midtown, maybe three blocks from Lavender Heights and sitting cheek by jowl between a mom-and-pop Mexican food place and a designer thrift shop—but right across from a Starbucks. There was enough unique and personalized business going on around them for the place to have grown a little character of its own, and for people to need the reassurance of a brand name while pub crawling through midtown.
“Go ahead and start,” he said, moving on to polishing the brass fixtures. “Then we can go home.”
Killian loved this area—lived less than two blocks away, in an old square apartment building with five units, vintage wood frames and floors that swelled and stuck in the summer, and wrought iron that had been painted over often enough to obscure the filigree patterns on the stair rails and the sconces in the upper apartment. He had a car, but he could walk anywhere: the laundromat across the street, the bodega a block down, the comic bookstore five blocks away, even the place he bought his shoes. All of it was close enough for a brisk walk under the Sacramento trees. What was left of them, of course, after the storms the year before.
Killian had been visiting a friend who’d worked at Catches, after he’d done two tours right out of high school. He’d come home rootless—his folks lived in the Midwest and had been happy to see the back of him—and lonely. The Army hadn’t sucked entirely. Three squares, a salary, a daily goal. If it hadn’t been for being in a war zone, it might have been great. But the war zone thing had been… frightening. He’d seen some action, and he’d hated it. Hated the casual disregard for life, hated the moral grayness, hated not knowing if he was going to be woken up by trumpeted reveille or mortar rounds. Hated seeing the civilians hurt, hated hurting the soldiers, felt like he had no business there to intervene but no choice but to help keep the civilians safe.
And then he’d just… left. Time served, sir. Go back to your business, go to school, get a job, nothing to see here, folks.
It hadn’t sat right—guilt, anger, depression, the whole weight of it had rested on his shoulders. And he’d just come out to himself, if not the world. Going back home when he hated everything, including his own shadow, had not filled him with joy. Well, nothing back then had filled him with joy, but in particular going back to his fundamentalist family in the Midwest who wouldn’t understand his feelings about the war or the military or other men—that had filled him with everything from horror to irritation to disgust. So he’d taken Jaime, who’d been stationed with him briefly in Kabul, up on his offer to come visit Sacramento in the spring, when Jaime said the sun was pleasant and not destructive, and there might be flowers on the hills.
He’d fallen in love with Sacramento—and briefly with Jaime, although that had been more of a starter relationship than the real thing. Before their sad but amicable breakup, Killian had gotten the job at Catches, and after it had gotten his own apartment nearby. Jaime had taken his savings and started his own bar up in Folsom, where he kept promising to ask Killian to come work, but Killian kept thinking that he’d miss the big sycamore tree in front of his apartment in the spring, or the way the breeze off the river could cool the whole place down in the summer. He’d miss the thick, honey-dripping light in the late afternoons in the fall or the boozy happiness of the pub crawlers on a warm Friday night. He wouldn’t hear the women preening about their new looks as they left the nail boutique next door or be torn between the Starbucks across the street and the indie coffee place a block and a half down that he liked better. What if he never ate a dessert at Rick’s again? All of these things, these moments, had rescued him when he’d come to Sacramento eight years before—they’d anchored him, filled him with quiet joy when he’d thought that was the impossible dream.
He couldn’t leave them now. This city, this job, they’d served him so well.
And loneliness was such a small price to play for a little bit of peace.
But it meant that closing time at Catches had the same melancholy feeling as the Semisonic song. Nobody was ready to go home, but they couldn’t stay there.
Tonight, though, things had cleared out rather quickly, with the exception of the kid in the oversized white sweatshirt and the skinny pants with the big denim jacket and trout-fishing hat sitting on the barstool behind him as he played one more spectacular round of darts.
Thunk.25. Thunk.50. Thunk. 100.
The kid with the slender, lithe body and the vulpine little chin with a wide gamine mouth—not usually Killian’s type of face, but it was an interesting face, wasn’t it?
Thunk.25.
The kid who looked borderline familiar?
Thunk.50.
“You got the drawer for me to count?” Suzanne asked, suddenly standing right next to Killian. “Don’t you want to go home?”
Killian had been staring at the kid—twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe—throwing darts at the board with astounding precision.
Thunk.
“Wha—oh, yeah.” Killian went to the old-fashioned register—a Catches staple—and hit the No Sale button, popping out the cash box along with the receipt he’d generated with all the night’s transactions on it, as well as his first drawer count, done after the last—thunk—or, well, almost last customer had left.
Bullseye! Killian remembered who this kid was.
“Here’s the drawer,” he told Suzanne. “I’ll polish some brass and wait until you count it out.”
She snorted. “Puhleeze, Killian. Like your drawers are ever more than two bucks off.”
Killian inclined his head modestly. He did like a clean count at the end of the night.
“Well, then,” he said, “I’ll wait to walk you to your car.”
Suzanne was fit—as was Killian—but she also wasn’t stupid. “How very gallant,” she said. “I accept. I’ll be back in a sec after I get this in the safe.”
Killian nodded, because why use extra words when you didn’t need to, right? And then turned his attention to Lewis Bernard, his upstairs neighbor’s little brother.
Thunk. “Lewis?” he asked, timing the name carefully so as to not break the kid’s stride.
Lewis, apparently, could multitask. “Hey, Killian.” He yawned before bebopping to the dart board to pull out his latest round. “You almost done?”
“Yeah,” Killian told him. “You weren’t… were you waiting for me?” That seemed unlikely.
Lewis gave him a sheepish look that indicated the unlikely was true.
“See,” he said with a sigh, “Todd wanted to, uhm, have some time with his girlfriend tonight—you know, Aileen?”
Killian nodded because he did know her—and Todd. Todd had been his neighbor for about four years—had been to movie nights and was, Killian thought fondly, a friend.
“Yeah, well, Todd never gets a night off—you know that-- and he didn’t want his twinkie little brother around while they got their thing on. I guess it was true romance. Anyway—” He shrugged. “—I didn’t want to go up until he texted me, and, well, I knew you lived in the building. I figured I’d walk home with you, you could let me in, and I’d hang in the stairwell until he remembered I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Killian squinted at him. “Did he just… forget you were here?”
Lewis made one of those faces where he squinched his lips together until his top lip touched the bottom of his almost hawklike nose. Killian wondered if he ever put a pencil in the space when he was a kid, bored at school, and then he put a dart in there and tried to make it balance, and Killian didn’t wonder anymore.
“Lewis?” Killian prompted, and Lewis turned his head to the side with the dart caught lengthwise between his lip and his nose and smiled. The smile changed the curvature of his upper lip and the dart slid off, landing point first into the scuffed wooden floor with its own thunk.
“What?” Lewis asked, bending to pick up the dart.
“Did your brother forget you were here?”
“Mm… forget?” Lewis tilted his head, his shaggy blond hair falling into place with his every movement. “That’s sort of a harsh word, don’t you think? I, uhm, may have mentioned that he’s already involved.”
Killian squeezed his eyes shut. “Your brother forgot you need a place to sleep tonight,” he said on a sigh. “No worries. You can use my couch.”
Killian’s place was small; all of the apartments in the building were small. The building was a large blocky rectangle with a peaked roof, and the two bottom apartments were built like crooked shotguns: The front door opened from inside the foyer, and the apartments consisted of long skinny front rooms connected to long skinny kitchens that led to a hallway with a bathroom and bedroom on one side and some storage cabinets on the other. Killian had never been in any of the upstairs apartments, but given there were three of them and a flight of stairs, he was pretty sure they were even longer and skinnier than the ones on the bottom floor, and two of them shared a bathroom.
“Really?” Lewis asked, eyes enormous. “That would be amazing. My brother’s apartment is small.”
Todd lived in the unit that didn’t share the bathroom, thank God, but it still wasn’t big enough for a guest. Particularly if….
“Does Todd even have a couch?” Killian asked, horrified.
Lewis shrugged. “He’s got a nice recliner,” he said, as though making up for his brother’s shortcomings. “But you know the best thing he has?”
Killian stared at him, at a loss. “No idea.”
“An address not in Texas,” Lewis said, nodding sagely, and Killian sucked air through his teeth.
“Is that where you went to school?” he asked apologetically. Lewis’s pretty, angular face sported two yellowing crescents of old bruises under his brown eyes, and he was half afraid to ask where those had come from.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Lewis said. “There are a lot of great things about Texas. Barbecue, nice people, country music, wide-open spaces. You know what’s not great about Texas?”
“Fox News and bigots?” Killian asked, pretty sure this had been the reason Lewis had shown up to sleep in his brother’s recliner.
Lewis put a finger to a still-swollen nose, looking glum. “Yeah. Got out of college, tried to get a job—had three different companies outside of Houston tell me they ‘didn’t hire my kind.’” He sighed. “I’ve got a degree in software engineering.” He paused. “A master’s.”
Killian sighed. “Well, I wish you luck. You may have a better time finding a job here.”
“And my parents’ neighbors will quit signing petitions to evict them from the neighborhood,” he muttered.
“Oh God,” Killian said. “I’m sorry. High school must have been a drag.”
Lewis nodded and touched his nose again—gingerly. “Bingo.”
“Well, I can’t solve any of that, and politics depress me. But you can sleep on my couch.”
The way Lewis’s face lit up right then, like Killian was his hero? Killian rubbed his chest, surprised at the warmth that look generated. It felt… potent. And dangerous. Like the opioids he’d taken sparingly when he’d fallen three years ago and broken his ankle. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d crave more looks like that. And more, and—he couldn’t think about it.
It didn’t do to need people like that.
“Thanks, Killian. That’s kind.” Lewis’s voice had this sandpaper purr when he said “kind,” and Killian had to fight that uncomfortable, needy sensation.
“I need to finish my closing shit,” he said shortly, spinning away on his heel. “We’ll leave when Suzanne’s ready to go.”
Here Comes Santa Paws by Lee Blair
Chapter 1
Elias
“Spin for me, Prancer. Good boy!”The enthusiastic Wheaten Terrier barked eagerly, then caught the treat I tossed in his mouth.
Blitzen, the bulldog with a monocle-like marking around his left eye, snagged the shoelace of my Converse as he nudged his underbite against my foot. “Looking dapper as always.” He barked once in obvious confirmation. “Sit. Good boy.” I rewarded the adorable guy with a treat.
Prancer and Blitzen raced around the outdoor area behind Santa’s Helpers Animal Shelter with a half-dozen other dogs for their afternoon playtime.
We had a full house heading into the Christmas Falls Festival season. Our cozy Illinois hamlet, about four hours from Chicago, welcomed a flood of tourists to celebrate the festive season. Some of them, as well as locals, chose this time of year to add a furry member to their family.
Joy, our new Pitbull puppy arrival, plopped onto the pea gravel at my feet and rolled onto her back. Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth as she wiggled her body. How could I deny her belly rubs? I crouched and rubbed my palm across the short hair on her tummy.
“The festival starts this week. You know what that means? It’s our busiest time of the year. I’m sure all of you will find a home by the new year.” She licked my hand when I reached to scratch her ear.
When I’d taken over as the shelter director four years ago, I’d worried the high adoption numbers came from tourists getting caught by the spirit and spontaneously choosing to adopt an animal as a gift. I wasn’t a fan of adoptions on a whim. Fortunately, I quickly learned that many tourists planned their trip around adopting a pet and used their time enjoying the festival to meet the animals and make thoughtful choices.
Christmas had always been my favorite holiday, but there was nothing like spending it in a Christmas-obsessed town. The festival season was full of events, from a tree lighting to ice sculpture demos to an Arts and Crafts Fair to a gingerbread house contest—and everything in between. It was like living in a Hallmark movie.
After giving Joy a treat for her best effort to sit, I left the dogs under the supervision of my fabulous volunteer and right-hand human, Nancy, to check on Carol. I’d kept her in a private kennel since she’d been found wandering a neighborhood, unchipped, and brought in after Halloween. In the weeks since, she’d been standoffish and anxious.
I walked down a hallway of kennels until I reached hers at the far end. A construction paper wreath with Carol scrawled in purple crayon hung next to the door. It was so sweet of the local elementary kids to make those for us.
“Good morning, Carol. How are you?” She scooted to the far corner as I let myself into her space and sat in the corner. She was a large Bernese Mountain Dog and Labrador mix with caramel-colored legs, white paws, and a black back. Her face had a white stripe down the middle, caramel cheeks and eyebrows, and black everywhere else.
I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but it was a difficult balance between socializing and trying to prepare pets for adoption. She also had a grumpy streak, which had been my personal catnip since I was a little kid, determined to win over the grouchy librarian.
To keep getting her used to my presence, I read emails aloud to her from my phone.
“I got the dogs put up,” Nancy said as she approached. “Still not responding?” She smiled warmly at me.
Despite how often I offered to find a way to pay her, she insisted on donating her time. She called it her retirement hobby. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun and her dark-olive skin was flushed like it usually got after she played with the dogs.
“Nope, but we’ve got time. Maybe she’ll warm up to me after the holidays when it’s quieter here.”
She pulled a familiar biscuit from her apron. Even grumpy Carol couldn’t resist the peanut pumpkin bites made by Hank, the hockey director at the community center who moonlighted with a dog treat business called Bailey’s Dog Treats. I reached out to accept the biscuit from Nancy.
“Nancy brought you a treat.” Carol’s ears twitched, but she kept her distance. I tossed it toward her, then let myself out.
“She’ll be okay.” Nancy patted my back.
“I hope so. I know she’s stressed around all these animals, but since there’s no one available to foster her, I don’t have another option.”
“Don’t you mean no one who meets your qualifications?”
I laughed. “She needs a certain fit, and anyone I’d approve to take her already has a full house.”
“You’ve got a big heart.”
“Yours is bigger.”
She waved me off and smiled. “Two volunteers are coming in to help assemble more adoption goodie bags.”
“That’s perfect. All the flea medicine doses should arrive today too. Those are always a hit.”
I gave Carol one last look before Nancy and I moved to my office and continued discussing our preparation for all the adoptions we anticipated in the coming weeks. After confirming the volunteer schedule to help manage the influx of shelter visitors, we shifted to going over our participation in the festival events.
“Is Jasmyn still taking photos at the Santa Claws Pet Pics & Adoption event?”
I searched Jasmyn’s name in my email to double-check. I thought I’d confirmed with her last week. “She is.”
Lots of our adoption successes came to Sugar Plum Park to get photos of their furbabies with Santa, while others wanted to meet animals available for adoption. It was also one of our biggest fundraisers because of the shelter calendars we sold.
Nancy lowered her notepad. “I think that’s it.”
I leaned back in my office chair and felt the knot of tension between my shoulders melt away. “This gets easier and easier each year.”
Nancy clucked her tongue. “Don’t jinx us.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “I wonder if this Christmas will be as eventful as last year?”
“You mean when the cat got loose at pet pictures in the park?”
“I mean how many people fell in love. Valentine’s schmalentine’s. Christmas is the season of love around here. Instead of Cupid, we’ve got an elf. Think he’ll strike again?” Her dark eyes twinkled.
“Are you looking?” I leaned in and dropped my chin on my hands. Ever since her husband passed a few years ago, I hadn’t noticed her expressing interest in romance.
“I thought you might be. Did you hear there’s a matchmaking service in town? That sweetheart, Nick Morgan, is doing it.” A mournful expression crossed Nancy’s face. “His late wife, Nicole, was such a dear. It’s lovely he’s started matchmaking in her honor.”
“She was wonderful. But, Nancy, I’m way too busy to even think about dating. Plus, with Gramps’s surgery recovery, I’ve got no time.”
Her lips stretched into a thin line. “That’s an excuse people make when they choose not to make time.”
I opened my mouth to argue but couldn’t come up with anything.
“Speaking of Jim, how’s his recovery going?”
I snorted. My grandpa was a stubborn old man, and I loved the hell out of that wily troublemaker.
“He’s home recovering now, but he won’t let me stay with him.”
“It’s a hip replacement, not his deathbed. He’s tough.” An affectionate smile curved her lips.
“I know, but he’s supposed to follow strict orders for movement and rest. You think he’s going to follow those rules if he’s left to his own devices?” I blew out a breath.
She leaned toward the desk and patted my hand. “I’m sure he’ll call if he needs you.”
“At least he’s following through with physical therapy.” I glanced at my watch. “Actually, his first appointment is this afternoon.”
Her sweet smile shifted into a teasing grin. “Hopefully, the PT can think on their toes.”
Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
After writing for years yet never really finding the right inspiration, Keira discovered her voice in gay romance, which has become a passion. She writes contemporary, historical, fantasy, and paranormal fiction and — although she loves delicious angst along the way — Keira firmly believes in happy endings. For as Oscar Wilde once said:
“The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.”
Josh LanyonBestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Amy Lane has two kids who are mostly grown, two kids who aren't, three cats, and two Chi-who-whats at large. She lives in a crumbling crapmansion with half of the children and a bemused spouse. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and gay romance--and if you accidentally make eye contact, she'll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She'll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.
Lee is a queer M/M author and screenwriter from Oregon. She’s constantly amused by the antics of her two ginger cats, considers daydreaming about future trips to Scotland a part-time job, and is obsessed with Schitt’s Creek to an alarming degree. She also hosts a podcast called the Low Angst Library—a show for lovers of low angst queer romance.
Ellie Thomas
SMASHWORDS / JMS BOOKS / B&N
Keira Andrews
CHIRP / AUDIOBOOKS / TANTOR / KOBO
EMAIL: keira.andrews@gmail.com
Josh Lanyon
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
Amy Lane
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
A Baby for Christmas by Keira Andrews
The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon
The 12 Kittens of Christmas by Amy Lane
Here Comes Santa Paws by Lee Blair
