🎇📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation(Independence Day Edition)🎥📘🎇: The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara

Summary:

Civil War Trilogy #2

“My favorite historical novel . . . a superb re-creation of the Battle of Gettysburg, but its real importance is its insight into what the war was about, and what it meant.”—James M. McPherson

 

In the four most bloody and courageous days of our nation’s history, two armies fought for two conflicting dreams. One dreamed of freedom, the other of a way of life. Far more than rifles and bullets were carried into battle. There were memories. There were promises. There was love. And far more than men fell on those Pennsylvania fields. Bright futures, untested innocence, and pristine beauty were also the casualties of war. Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer Prize–winning masterpiece is unique, sweeping, unforgettable—the dramatic story of the battleground for America’s destiny.

Praise for The Killer Angels

“Remarkable . . . a book that changed my life . . . I had never visited Gettysburg, knew almost nothing about that battle before I read the book, but here it all came alive.”—Ken Burns

“Shaara carries [the reader] swiftly and dramatically to a climax as exciting as if it were being heard for the first time.”—The Seattle Times

“Utterly absorbing.”—Forbes

1. THE SPY

He rode into the dark of the woods and dismounted. He crawled upward on his belly over cool rocks out into the sunlight, and suddenly he was in the open and he could see for miles, and there was the whole vast army below him, filling the valley like a smoking river. It came out of a blue rainstorm in the east and overflowed the narrow valley road, coiling along a stream, narrowing and choking at a white bridge, fading out into the yellowish dust of June but still visible on the farther road beyond the blue hills, spiked with flags and guidons like a great chopped bristly snake, the snake ending headless in a blue wall of summer rain.

The spy tucked himself behind a boulder and began counting flags. Must be twenty thousand men, visible all at once. Two whole Union Corps. He could make out the familiar black hats of the Iron Brigade, troops belonging to John Reynold’s First Corps. He looked at his watch, noted the time. They were coming very fast. The Army of the Potomac had never moved this fast. The day was murderously hot and there was no wind and the dust hung above the army like a yellow veil. He thought: there’ll be some of them die of the heat today. But they are coming faster than they ever came before.

He slipped back down into the cool dark and rode slowly downhill toward the silent empty country to the north. With luck he could make the Southern line before nightfall. After nightfall it would be dangerous. But he must not seem to hurry. The horse was already tired. And yet there was the pressure of that great blue army behind him, building like water behind a cracking dam. He rode out into the open, into the land between the armies.

There were fat Dutch barns, prim German orchards. But there were no cattle in the fields and no horses, and houses everywhere were empty and dark. He was alone in the heat and the silence, and then it began to rain and he rode head down into monstrous lightning. All his life he had been afraid of lightning but he kept riding. He did not know where the Southern headquarters was but he knew it had to be somewhere near Chambersburg. He had smelled out the shape of Lee’s army in all the rumors and bar talk and newspapers and hysteria he had drifted through all over eastern Pennsylvania, and on that day he was perhaps the only man alive who knew the positions of both armies. He carried the knowledge with a hot and lovely pride. Lee would be near Chambersburg, and wherever Lee was Longstreet would not be far away. So finding the headquarters was not the problem. The problem was riding through a picket line in the dark.

The rain grew worse. He could not even move in under a tree because of the lightning. He had to take care not to get lost. He rode quoting Shakespeare from memory, thinking of the picket line ahead somewhere in the dark. The sky opened and poured down on him and he rode on: It will be rain tonight: Let it come down. That was a speech of murderers. He had been an actor once. He had no stature and a small voice and there were no big parts for him until the war came, and now he was the only one who knew how good he was. If only they could see him work, old cold Longstreet and the rest. But everyone hated spies. I come a single spy. Wet single spy. But they come in whole battalions. The rain began to ease off and he spurred the horse to a trot. My kingdom for a horse. Jolly good line. He went on, reciting Henry the Fifth aloud: “Once more into the breech . . .”

Late that afternoon he came to a crossroad and the sign of much cavalry having passed this way a few hours ago. His own way led north to Chambersburg, but he knew that Longstreet would have to know who these people were so close to his line. He debated a moment at the crossroads, knowing there was no time. A delay would cost him daylight. Yet he was a man of pride and the tracks drew him. Perhaps it was only Jeb Stuart. The spy thought hopefully, wistfully: If it’s Stuart I can ask for an armed escort all the way home. He turned and followed the tracks. After a while he saw a farmhouse and a man standing out in a field, in a peach orchard, and he spurred that way. The man was small and bald with huge round arms and spoke very bad English. The spy went into his act: a simple-minded farmer seeking a runaway wife, terrified of soldiers. The bald man regarded him sweatily, disgustedly, told him the soldiers just gone by were “plu” soldiers, Yankees. The spy asked: What town lies yonder? and the farmer told him Gettysburg, but the name meant nothing. The spy turned and spurred back to the crossroads. Yankee cavalry meant John Buford’s column. Moving lickety-split. Where was Stuart? No escort now. He rode back again toward the blue hills. But the horse could not be pushed. He had to dismount and walk.

That was the last sign of Yankees. He was moving up across South Mountain; he was almost home. Beyond South Mountain was Lee and, of course, Longstreet. A strange friendship: grim and gambling Longstreet, formal and pious old Bobby Lee. The spy wondered at it, and then the rain began again, bringing more lightning but at least some cooler air, and he tucked himself in under his hat and went back to Hamlet. Old Jackson was dead. Good night, sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest . . .

He rode into darkness. No longer any need to hurry. He left the roadway at last and moved out in to a field away from the lightning and the trees and sat in the rain to eat a lonely supper, trying to make up his mind whether it was worth the risk of going on. He was very close; he could begin to feel them up ahead. There was no way of knowing when or where, but suddenly they would be there in the road, stepping phantomlike out of the trees wearing those sick eerie smiles, and other men with guns would suddenly appear all around him, prodding him in the back with hard steel barrels, as you prod an animal, and he would have to be lucky, because few men rode out at night on good and honest business, not now, this night, in this invaded country.

He rode slowly up the road, not really thinking, just moving, reluctant to stop. He was weary. Fragments of Hamlet flickered in his brain: If it be not now, yet it will come. Ripeness is all. Now there’s a good part. A town ahead. A few lights. And then he struck the picket line.

There was a presence in the road, a liquid Southern voice. He saw them outlined in lightning, black ragged figures rising around him. A sudden lantern poured yellow light. He saw one bleak hawkish grinning face; hurriedly he mentioned Longstreet’s name. With some you postured and with some you groveled and with some you were imperious. But you could do that only by daylight, when you could see the faces and gauge the reaction. And now he was too tired and cold. He sat and shuddered: an insignificant man on a pale and muddy horse. He turned out to be lucky. There was a patient sergeant with a long gray beard who put him under guard and sent him along up the dark road to Longstreet’s headquarters.

He was not safe even now, but he could begin to relax. He rode up the long road between picket fires, and he could hear them singing in the rain, chasing each other in the dark of the trees. A fat and happy army, roasting meat and fresh bread, telling stories in the dark. He began to fall asleep on the horse; he was home. But they did not like to see him sleep, and one of them woke him up to remind him, cheerily, that if there was no one up there who knew him, why, then, unfortunately, they’d have to hang him, and the soldier said it just to see the look on his face, and the spy shivered, wondering, Why do there have to be men like that, men who enjoy another man’s dying?

Longstreet was not asleep. He lay on the cot watching the lightning flare in the door of the tent. It was very quiet in the grove and there was the sound of the raindrops continuing to fall from the trees although the rain had ended. When Sorrel touched him on the arm he was glad of it; he was thinking of his dead children.

“Sir? You asked to be awakened if Harrison came back.”

“Yes.” Longstreet got up quickly and put on the old blue robe and the carpet slippers. He was a very big man and he was full-bearded and wild-haired. He thought of the last time he’d seen the spy, back in Virginia, tiny man with a face like a weasel: “And where will your headquarters be, General, up there in Pennsylvania? ’Tis a big state indeed.” Him standing there with cold gold clutched in a dirty hand. And Longstreet had said icily, cheerily, “It will be where it will be. If you cannot find the headquarters of this whole army you cannot be much of a spy.” And the spy had said stiffly, “Scout, sir. I am a scout. And I am a patriot, sir.” Longstreet had grinned. We are all patriots. He stepped out into the light. He did not know what to expect. He had not really expected the spy to come back at all.

The little man was there: a soggy spectacle on a pale and spattered horse. He sat grinning wanly from under the floppy brim of a soaked and dripping hat. Lightning flared behind him; he touched his cap.

“Your servant, General. May I come down?”

Longstreet nodded. The guard backed off. Longstreet told Sorrel to get some coffee. The spy slithered down from the horse and stood grinning foolishly, shivering, mouth slack with fatigue.

“Well, sir”—the spy chuckled, teeth chattering—“you see, I was able to find you after all.”

Longstreet sat at the camp table on a wet seat, extracted a cigar, lighted it. The spy sat floppily, mouth still open, breathing deeply.

“It has been a long day. I’ve ridden hard all this day.”

“What have you got?”

“I came through the pickets at night, you know. That can be very touchy.”

Longstreet nodded. He watched, he waited. Sorrel came with steaming coffee; the cup burned Longstreet’s fingers. Sorrel sat, gazing curiously, distastefully at the spy.

The spy guzzled, then sniffed Longstreet’s fragrant smoke. Wistfully: “I say, General, I don’t suppose you’ve got another of those? Good Southern tobacco?”

“Directly,” Longstreet said. “What have you got?”

“I’ve got the position of the Union Army.”

Longstreet nodded, showing nothing. He had not known the Union Army was on the move, was within two hundred miles, was even this side of the Potomac, but he nodded and said nothing. The spy asked for a map and began pointing out the positions of the corps.

“They’re coming in seven corps. I figure at least eighty thousand men, possibly as much as a hundred thousand. When they’re all together they’ll outnumber you, but they’re not as strong as they were; the two-year enlistments are running out. The First Corps is here. The Eleventh is right behind it. John Reynolds is in command of the lead elements. I saw him at Taneytown this morning.”

“Reynolds,” Longstreet said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You saw him yourself?”

The spy grinned, nodded, rubbed his nose, chuckled. “So close I could touch him. It was Reynolds all right.”

“This morning. At Taneytown.”

“Exactly. You didn’t know any of that, now did you, General?” The spy bobbed his head with delight. “You didn’t even know they was on the move, did ye? I thought not. You wouldn’t be spread out so thin if you knowed they was comin’.”

Longstreet looked at Sorrel. The aide shrugged silently. If this was true, there would have been some word. Longstreet’s mind moved over it slowly. He said: “How did you know we were spread out?”

“I smelled it out.” The spy grinned, foxlike, toothy. “Listen, General, I’m good at this business.”

“Tell me what you know of our position.”

“Well, now I can’t be too exact on this, ’cause I aint scouted you myself, but I gather that you’re spread from York up to Harrisburg and then back to Chambersburg, with the main body around Chambersburg and General Lee just ’round the bend.”

It was exact. Longstreet thought: if this one knows it, they will know it. He said slowly, “We’ve had no word of Union movement.”

The spy bobbed with joy. “I knew it. Thass why I hurried. Came through that picket line in the dark and all. I don’t know if you realize, General—”

Sorrel said coldly, “Sir, don’t you think, if this man’s story was true, that we would have heard something?”

On July 1, 1863, more than 150,000 soldiers were drawn by fate to the defining moment of the Civil War.

Release Date: October 8, 1993
Release Time: 254 minutes
271 minutes (director's cut)

Director: Ronald F. Maxwell

Cast:

Union

Jeff Daniels as Colonel Joshua Chamberlain

Sam Elliott as Brigadier General John Buford

C. Thomas Howell as Lieutenant Thomas Chamberlain

Kevin Conway as Sergeant Buster Kilrain

Brian Mallon as Major General Winfield Scott Hancock

Buck Taylor as Colonel William Gamble

John Diehl as Private Joseph Bucklin

Joshua D. Maurer as Colonel James Clay Rice

John Rothman as Major General John F. Reynolds

Richard Anderson as Major General George Meade

Billy Campbell as Lieutenant Andrew Lewis Pitzer

David Carpenter as Colonel Thomas C. Devin

Maxwell Caulfield as Colonel Strong Vincent

Donal Logue as Captain Ellis Spear

Dwier Brown as Captain Brewer

Herb Mitchell as Sergeant Andrew J. Tozier

Emile O. Schmidt as Brigadier General John Gibbon

Confederate

Tom Berenger as Lieutenant General James Longstreet

Martin Sheen as General Robert E. Lee

Stephen Lang as Major General George Pickett

Richard Jordan as Brigadier General Lewis Armistead

Andrew Prine as Brigadier General Richard B. Garnett

Cooper Huckabee as Henry Thomas Harrison

Patrick Gorman as Major General John Bell Hood

Bo Brinkman as Major Walter H. Taylor

James Lancaster as Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Fremantle

W. Morgan Sheppard as Major General Isaac R. Trimble

Kieran Mulroney as Major Moxley Sorrel

James Patrick Stuart as Colonel Edward Porter Alexander

Tim Ruddy as Major Charles Marshall

Royce D. Applegate as Brigadier General James L. Kemper

Ivan Kane as Captain T. J. Goree

Warren Burton as Major General Henry Heth

MacIntyre Dixon as Major General Jubal Early

Joseph Fuqua as Major General J. E. B. Stuart

Tim Scott as Lieutenant General Richard S. Ewell

George Lazenby as Brigadier General J. Johnston Pettigrew

Graham Winton as Major General Robert E. Rodes

Author Bio:

Michael Shaara was born in Jersey City in 1929 and graduated from Rutgers University in 1951. His early science fiction short stories were published in Galaxy magazine in 1952. He later began writing other works of fiction and published more than seventy short stories in many magazines, including The Saturday Evening Post, Cosmopolitan, and Redbook. His first novel, The Broken Place, was published in 1968. But it was a simple family vacation to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, in 1966 that gave him the inspiration for his greatest achievement, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Killer Angels, published in 1974. Michael Shaara went on to write two more novels, The Noah Conspiracy and For Love of the Game, which was published posthumously after his death in 1988.

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The Killer Angels #2

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🎇⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine(Independence Day Edition)⏳🎇: The Teacher and the Soldier by RJ Scott

Summary:

Ellery Mountain #2

How can Daniel convince the man he loves, to stay with him in Ellery?

Luke Fitzgerald left Ellery Mountain for college and vowed never to return, but with his father murdered, he has no choice but to return. Luke only goes home to sell off his share of the Ellery Mountain Cabins, but everything changes when he meets the son of the other owner.

Daniel Skylar is an ex-soldier who lives every day to the limit and sees a future in Luke. It doesn’t matter what Daniel says, or how much he needs Luke; Luke isn’t staying once everything is sold off. Surely Daniel can understand that?

Blogger Note:

When I read Ellery Mountain it was an established series and read #1-7 back to back and only writing an overall series review.

Original Overall Series(1-7) Read July 2015:

What starts out as three friends weekly get-togethers we discover how lives can intertwine over time in very unexpected scenarios that can actually create a pretty good life, community, and family.  Each book in this series centers on a different couple and because of that, strictly speaking each story is a standalone but in my opinion you really should read this one in order because one half of the couple had either a cameo or was mentioned in passing in the previous book.  Also, each of the previous couples have at least a partial scene in the following installments.  For these reasons I'm doing an overall review as opposed to each book having their own write up.  Ellery Mountain has loads of drama, interesting and intriguing characters both main and secondary, hints of mystery, and of course plenty of romance, not to mention what would an RJ Scott story be without some well placed hotness.  So come along with the Ellery Mountain Fridays and see what life has in store for them.

RATING:

Only the darkening sky told Luke Fitzgerald what time it was. His cell was in the car with a dead battery and he never wore a watch. The evening was drawing in, and with it the familiar coolness of a fall night in the mountains, and if he wasn’t careful he would get caught in the regular evening rain he remembered from his childhood. Coming here, to Ellery, to the place he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life, was something he had never thought he would do. Not all the time his dad had been alive anyway.

Leaning against the fence, he stared down at the town nestled in the V of the valley caused by Ellery Mountain and Mercury Peak. Where he had been able to see things clearly a few short minutes before, now everything was blurring in the deep grey-blue smudge of evening light. Luke tracked the car’s progress by its headlights as it left the town and made its way up into the mountain. There had been a few cars passing by today, but Luke was far enough away from the road that no one had stopped to ask him what the hell he was doing rooted to the same spot for hours.

Shifting his stance, Luke pulled away from the fence and stretched tall. His back ached, his head hurt and he felt like shit. Driving straight through for eight hours was possibly the worst decision he had made since he’d decided to come back to Ellery. His chiropractor was going to have a cow when he assessed the damage Luke was doing to the already heavy tension he carried through his back muscles and up into his neck.

The headlights shot momentarily through spaces in the fir trees on each bend. He identified it on the last bend as a cop car, the white standing out against the dark of the trees. When it pulled onto the shoulder next to his car, Luke wasn’t surprised. Cops were far more attuned to spotting cars parked off the main road. The lights of the car meant he didn’t get a good look at the cop until he was less than four paces away. The cop stood loose-hipped and with his hand resting on the weapon in his holster. Peering through the gloom to the cop’s face, Luke knew that fate was fucking with him. Not only had an Ellery cop found his hiding place, but that Ellery cop was Corporal Finn Ryan.

Finn Ryan in the flesh. The man who was so closely involved in the death of Luke’s dad. Christ. Way to slap what Luke had hoped to avoid right up in his face.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Finn asked firmly.

Luke pushed his clenched fists into his pockets and stilled the rising anxiety in him.

"No problem, officer," he said. "Just visiting town and spending a little time clearing my head after a long drive."

Finn took another step closer and a look of recognition passed over his face. Luke remembered Finn as tall, dark and rangy as hell, although his memories were of a boy of fifteen, not one of…what would it be now? Twenty-four? He’d been five years younger than Luke if he remembered correctly. Luke really didn’t want to remember anything about Ellery.

"Luke?" Finn looked momentarily taken aback before regaining his posture.

"Hi, Finn."

They’d not been friends in school, just people who knew each other by sight. Luke was at college whilst Finn was still a freshman. Of course Finn, being a resident, would have heard all the rumours about him and his dad. Hell, he probably knew everything that had happened. Familiar resentment built inside Luke. He was bigger than that, bigger than his dad’s abuse, or his mom’s abandonment, bigger than this town. He would not let this place drag him down again however hard they tried.

"You missed the funeral," Finn offered. There was no accusation in his voice. He was simply making a statement and one that hung in the air with no possible answer Luke could give. Or at least not one that didn’t involve reiterating the contents of two years of counselling sessions and eight years of living his life.

"Busy," was all Luke eventually offered in response. Finn didn’t call him on the excuse.

"You’ve been up here a while, Luke. Widow Jenn called it in. Said a stranger had been standing here for hours and he was just staring down at town."

Luke shrugged. He couldn’t deny the hours had passed as he’d gazed down at the town and the tiny distant shapes of gravestones in the far churchyard of St Jeremiahs. He had deliberately stayed up here until darkness had begun to creep over the mountain. Call it self-preservation but there was no way he was driving into Ellery in the daylight. He changed the subject.

"Widow Jenn is still alive?" he said. Finn took the change of subject in his stride and nodded.

"Ninety-eight and thriving on ten a day with a glass of whisky," he said.

"She still has those binoculars?" Luke snorted a laugh. Widow Jenn was one of the more colourful characters in the town and when he was younger she’d had her fingers in so many pies—evidently that hadn’t changed.

Ellery Mountain—a series of books set in the town of Ellery in the Smoky Mountains focusing on heroes as they navigate the barren landscape of being gay in a small town. Read stories of men like Finn the cop, Daniel the ex-marine, Kieran the carpenter, Marines, SEALs, teachers, soldiers, and a town that embraces them with love.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Original  /  Part 1  /  Memorial Day Edition

Author Bio:

Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.

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The Teacher and the Soldier #2

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🎅🎆🎄Christmas in July 2023 Part 1🎄🎆🎅

🎅💕🎅🎆🎄🎇🎄🎆🎅💕🎅

I've wanted to do a Christmas in July series for a few years now but time just didn't seem to agree.  I wanted to feature stories that I have recently re-read but once again, time had other plans so for my Christmas in July 2023 series, I'm featuring another 20 of my favorite Christmas set LGBT reads.  I say "Christmas set" because some are not really holiday-centric but set, at least in part, during the holiday season and for me that is all it takes to be a Christmas read(and yes, I'm in the "Die Hard is a Christmas Movie" camp😉).  Some I've had opportunity in the past to re-read or re-listen and I've included the most recent review.  As always, the purchase links are current as of posting but if they no longer work for a dozen different reasons, be sure to check out the author's website/social media sites for the latest links.  There are genres of all kinds here, whether you are a holiday lover or perhaps you just want to read something set in cooler weather on a long hot summer night, either way there is something for everyone here.

🎅💕🎅🎆🎄🎇🎄🎆🎅💕🎅

Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4

A Christmas Hex by Jordan L Hawk

Summary:

Hexworld Short Story #2.5

Roland knows he will never find love. Everyone views wolf familiars like himself as dangerous beasts, unable to rein in their savage impulses. He’s resigned himself to his fate—or so he thinks, until he meets the dashing Augustus Cao. His witch.

Gus is on the trail of a gang of thieves, and Roland holds an important clue. Even though they can never bond, Roland can’t pass up the opportunity to spend a night with his witch.

Can Roland conceal his secret, while helping Gus catch the thieves? Or will the handsome detective be the one to steal his heart?

Original Review November 2016:

A great little Hexworld standalone novella to kick off my holiday reading season.  A Christmas Hex may not have the Metropolitan Witch Police but it's no less of a little mystery with private investigator Gus and his would-be wolf familiar Roland.  Not a lot I can say without spoilers but I will say I loved it and it's a great addition to the Hexworld universe.

RATING: 

A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton

Summary:

Snowed Inn

An avalanche, a quaint Christmas inn, and an assignment to sit on an international thief until the cops can arrive. What could go wrong?

Felix can’t believe his luck when a perfect stranger offers him the use of a pre-paid cabin at a mountain inn. He’d planned to ignore Christmas this year, working through the holidays in his job as a nurse in a Denver maternity ward. After all, Christmas won’t be the same without his beloved mother, who recently passed. But the inn, decked out like a Hallmark movie set, is the perfect place to soothe his heart, rekindle his Christmas cheer, and maybe even find romance? When a gorgeous ex-Marine befriends him and sticks by his side through a whole day of Christmas activities, Felix thinks he’s found true love.

Riggs’s plans for a ski vacation are buried when an avalanche blocks off the mountain inn where he’s staying from the rest of the world. A midnight phone call enlists Rigg’s help watching a guy on the FBI’s Most Wanted list who is supposed to be staying at the inn. The FBI and the police can’t get through until the avalanche is cleared. Riggs steps up to do his duty one more time. But the man who is supposed to be The Falcon, an international thief, has one hell of a Clark Kent type alter ego, because he seems like the sweetest man Riggs has ever met. The more time they spend together, the more attracted Riggs becomes to him, and the more determined he is to make The Falcon reveal his true colors.

Will love prevail? Or will the law?

A Changeling Christmas is a mistaken identity, snowed in together, rom-com romance with all the Christmas feels.

Original Review December Book of the Month 2022:

Sometimes things are just too good to be true and that might just be what Felix is facing when a stranger offers him the use of his cabin.  What makes it too good to be true is something you have to find out on your own but it's the perfect setup for Felix and Riggs, another stranger Felix meets who is determined to stay by Felix' side.

Secrets of different levels are embedded in layers throughout the story and when the men are faced to confront said secrets is it too late to find happiness?  Perhaps.  Are they too much for the pair to overcome or is it just a perfectly setup holiday tale by the Queen of Christmas?  You know my answer to that one: you have to read for yourself to discover that part of of this holiday tale.

There is probably a little more mystery element in A Changeling Christmas compared to the other entries in the Snowed Inn series, although there are a couple I haven't read yet.  Is mystery an overwhelming factor? No.  Does it make the romance more drama-centric? Perhaps. Does the holiday spirit get lost in said drama and mystery? Not at all!  Some might think it unplausible that Felix would blindly follow the stranger's wishes but there comes a time when we all just need a break from life and this is Felix's chance for a short break.  Course, if he only knew what following the stranger's wishes would lead to he may have taken another option but then he may never have met Riggs.  So once again fate seems to know exactly what it's doing😉 

A Changeling Christmas is not a story to be missed.  Eli Easton has once again brought the holiday magic to life that entertains from beginning to end.

One last series note: Snowed Inn is a multi-author series of standalones with the only real follow thru being the avalanche that traps the main characters at The Retreat.  The entries can be read in any order although if I'm completely honest I'm glad I read RJ Scott's Stop the Wedding first simply because there are the occasional wedding(or non-wedding) comments, none of which really effect or play a role in any of the other entries but I was glad I knew what they meant having read Wedding first.  But that's more a personal preference of mine than an actually need to know scenario.  I still have a couple of entries to read but so far they are all topnotch.

RATING:

You're the One by Davidson King

Summary:

Thomas Vale is one of Hollywood’s most sought-after actors. He’s as humble as they come and adores his family. This Christmas he wants to give his dying grandfather the only thing he’s ever asked Thomas for: for Thomas to fall in love.

Noah Berry has worked for Thomas since before he was a household name. He doesn’t have a close-knit family, but he’s fine with the way things are as long as he has Thomas. After all, Noah has been secretly in love with the man for years.

Thomas gets the crazy idea to bring a fake boyfriend home, but Christmas approaches and nobody is worthy enough to fulfill the task. Noah steps in—if he can’t have Thomas in real life, he can pretend for a little while and make an old man happy.

Original Review December 2021:

Davidson King does the holiday!!  YUMMILICIOUS!!!!

Fake boyfriends✅

Unspoken love✅

Friends to lovers✅

Holiday-loving family✅

Romance✅

Humor✅

Heart✅

You're the One ticks all my holiday romance boxes.  Thomas and Noah's Christmas journey may not have the mystery, violence, and action that Davidson King often brings to the page but that doesn't make it any less brilliant.  Personally, I think those missing elements speak volumes to the incredible talent the author has for storytelling.  

Knowing King's penchant for giving her couples a HEA, I think we can all guess where the men's journey ends up but the road they travel getting there is so much fun, so full of holiday spirit, so many edge of your seat smiles that I won't spoil it for anyone.  Just know that you won't be bored, you won't be Bah Humbugging, you'll be Santa HO! HO! HO-ing! many hours after the final page.

If you're a fan of Hallmark Christmassy romances, not only will you love You're the One but you'll be blown away because IMO, King's holiday fare is 200% better.  Some may call it "holiday schmaltz" but I call it "holiday heart". Davidson King may regret having written such a holiday gem because I am already highly anticipating next year's holiday story.

RATING:

Perfect Gifts by RJ Scott & VL Locey

Summary:

Harrisburg Railers #12

Family comes first in all things. Whatever the cost.

Ten had always heard the saying, “Out of the mouths of babes,” but he hadn’t expected it to hit home as it had. After a comment from their daughter, Ten and Jared ponder an addition to the family. Moving into the adoption process is nerve-wracking and riddled with anxiety—kind of the way the Railers have been playing as of late. Bringing two young men into their homes and hearts won’t be a smooth ride. But with patience, humor, and love, the bumpy road might just be a little easier to travel.

Expanding their small family was always in the cards, but no one could have foreseen the process clashing with the worst ever start to a Railers season. A string of losses, a vital player missing from the defense, a captain in the emergency room—and winning a single game seems impossible, let alone getting the team to the playoffs. Faced with hard decisions, Jared refuses to take his work home, but it’s difficult when your husband is at the leading edge of the losing streak. His focus fractures when one sibling they’re matched with is frustrated, angry, and has a healthy dose of mistrust.

Jared and Ten’s parenting skills are tested, but they’ll do anything to make a place in their home the perfect gift for two children lost in the system.

Original Review November 2022:

Gotta start by saying: YAHOO!!!! Another Railers holiday tale!!!!

The authors may have tagged this a Christmas Railers novella but it actually encompasses multiple holidays including Turkey Day and that is a holiday that is rarely touched on, or at least not nearly enough.  That right there is worthy of 1 bookmark alone.  Being Harrisburg is worthy of another.  What gave it the other 3? Read on.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: love, love, LOVE men who care for kids!  Seeing Ten and Jared's family grow is so heartwarming, watching them tackle fostering and adoption of older kids turned me into a big puddle of sappy goo.  Now that's not to say this leg of the crowned Princes of Scott & Locey's hockey universe is cliche by using the term "sappy" oh no, no, no, no.  Sure some moments may seem cliche but that doesn't make it bad.  With so many health issues in our family, status quo or cliche, is often a welcomed treat so when I say "sappy" all I'm really saying is "can we bundle those boys in layers and layers of bubblewrap so harm never comes to them?"

Soren and Milo are amazing! Milo is the quintessentially adorably loveable little boy.  Soren is the epitome of "give me your best shot and I'll tell you what for" chip on his shoulder older brother.  Some might say Soren is a little brat but not me, what I see is a scared boy having to be older than his years to protect his little brother.  He's thrown for a loop when he meets Ten and Jared and it raises his guard up even higher.  Now I'm not going to say more because despite this being a holiday novella and Scott & Locey are always about the HEA, I don't want to spoil any of the journey the Madsen-Rowe household embarks on, just know that your heart will thank you for the experience.  Seeing little, itty bitty Lottie walking and talking and being all kinds cute is plus. 

How can I write a review for a Railers tale without mentioning one of the funniest scenes I've read in ANY story in a long time?  Adler and Stan loudly discussing naughty Valentine gifts as Ten tries to shut them up as a reporter is only 10' away.  How can that not leave you ROTFLYAO?  Trust me, I'm glad I read this when I was at home and not in the waiting room at Mayo Clinic, they may just have had to call security because I would literally have been on the floor laughing hysterically.  Thank you, ladies for including a convo that could only work with Adler and Stan.

The hockey universe consisting of Harrisburg, Owatonna, Arizona, & Boston Scott & Locey has created should be read in order, especially those involving Ten and Jared.  Will you be lost if you read Perfect Gifts without having read any of the other universe? Probably not but there are other characters mentioned and seen who make a lasting impression if you know their individual stories as well.  None of the stories will leave you sorry you picked them up.  Just so much yumminess all over the place and I don't mean just the sexy times, but overall heartwarminess(yeah I know that's not a word but I think it sums it up pretty spot on).

RATING:

Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield

Summary:

Nick & Carter Holiday #23

Monday, December 26, 1994

It's Boxing Day and Nick and Carter are flying on their customized 767, The Lumberjack 3, from Sydney to Pago Pago.

And, actually, when they get to their destination, it will be Sunday, the 25th of December—Christmas Day—again.

It's that whole International Date Line thing, doncha know.

Anyway, on this second Christmas Day of 1994, they're going to finally fulfill the dying wish of an old friend who once got them out of a big jam.

And, along the way, they'll make some new friends, uncover a hidden secret or two, and finally solve a thorny problem they've had for the last few years.

Join them, won't you, for all the fun of not just one Christmas Day, but two!

Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is the twenty-third in a series of short stories and novellas all centered around specific holidays.

Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.

Original Review December 2022:

Another holiday in the lives of Nick and Carter.  Seeing the pair on Christmas, or rather two Christmases, is a pure delight.  Emotionally charged due to personal nostalgia on the men's part as they prepare to say a final goodbye to an old acquaintance of yesteryear.  Yet another snippet in the couples' journey making me want to get to know their entire journey even more.  There is familiar names and new ones, through each we get to explore Nick and Carter's relationship even deeper.  There is no doubt the pair love each other and have done so for decades.  I love seeing them as mature adults reminding us that life, love, and learning never ends. One of these days I will go back and read about Nick and Carter's full journey but until then I continue to enjoy these beautiful holiday snippets.

RATING:

A Christmas Hex by Jordan L Hawk

I. 

“So,” Gus said as he slipped into a chair beside Roland, “do you have any plans for Christmas?” 

Roland—like most familiars, he’d given up his last name—nearly dropped his spoon into his chop suey. As always, the sight of August Cao set his heart to racing. Gus’s short-cropped black hair shone in the restaurant’s hexlights, and his crisp white shirt set off his light brown skin. Dark eyes regarded Roland, and a small smile teased the corners of Gus’s full lips. 

Fur and feathers, he was gorgeous. And the last person in New York Roland ought to be falling for. 

“No,” said Roland. Because he never did. He’d spent every Christmas alone since he was fifteen, and with good reason. 

A reason he found himself in danger of forgetting, when Gus’s ankle rubbed against his beneath the table. 

The feel of Gus’s warmth, brushing against him even so casually, sent a rush of blood to Roland’s face—and another to his groin. Gus had seated Roland in a shadowy corner of the restaurant, half-hidden from the other diners by one of the ornamental wooden screens. Had Gus put him here in the hopes of a discreet flirtation? 

“That’s a shame,” Gus said. “The Chinese half of my family will spend it working, but the Irish side would disown me if I didn’t spend the day with them.” His dark-eyed gaze slipped down Roland’s face, taking in the tie Roland had agonized over choosing, the coat from which he’d brushed every trace of animal hair. “No one should be alone on Christmas.”

Roland’s belly cramped around the egg roll he’d just finished. He’d first come to the restaurant last week, hoping for nothing more than chop suey and a drink. Maybe a bit of inspiration for his next Howl and Roger mystery, so his editor would quit sending him increasingly angry telegrams. 

But Roland had noticed Gus the moment he’d set foot inside. The waiter’s slim form deftly wove between packed tables, balancing trays of food or dirty plates. When he turned and gave Roland an appraising look of his own, Roland had realized two things. 

First: he desperately wanted to get to know the handsome waiter better. 

And second: the man was his witch. 

But he could have neither man nor witch, as badly he might wish otherwise. His damnable nature made sure of it. He’d spent ten years hiding the truth. Keeping his secret close, because to do otherwise was to invite disaster. He should have turned around that very moment, left the restaurant, and never returned. 

Instead, he’d stayed. And perhaps Gus had felt the connection between them, the instinct that linked familiar and witch, because he’d not hesitated to come over and introduce himself. 

Roland had eaten dinner there every night since. They’d talked, whenever Gus was on break. Smiled. Exchanged lingering looks. He’d let himself pretend, for one precious week. Indulged in the illusion that he wasn’t alone, that he might dare have a relationship. That he might even bond with his witch. 

And now it had to come to an end. 

“I disagree,” he said, deliberately putting a bit of coolness into the words. “Christmas is a day like any other. People make an absurd fuss over the holiday.”

A frown line appeared between Gus’s dark brows. He turned his gaze away from Roland to the rest of the dining room. The frown deepened—then he abruptly stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, his tones clipped. 

He left, without so much as looking back. Roland’s heart sank, and he swallowed the impulse to call after Gus. 

This was for the best, after all. Better to have Gus think his flirtations had been rebuffed, than to continue on. It would have been different, if Roland’s familiar form had been that of a cat, or a dog, or even a bird. And not just with Gus—his entire life would have changed. 

He wouldn’t have been alone for the last ten Christmases. 

“Hey, Johnny!” one of the other diners shouted. White, like most of those on the restaurant’s second floor, the third being reserved for Chinese customers. “Where are you going? Where are our drinks?” 

Roland looked up and saw Gus had hurried past the other customers and was making for the exit. Another waiter dashed in to apologize to the diners, while Gus hurried out the door. 

He was just leaving? Why? Surely not because of what Roland had said. 

Roland wavered. He might not be able to bond with Gus, but he didn’t want the last memory of his witch to be tainted, either. At least if they parted on good terms, he’d have something to look back on fondly, during the long lonely nights. 

Roland hurriedly dug out sixteen cents to pay for the meal and tea, and left it on the table. Retrieving his hat and coat, he hastened after Gus.

A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton

CHAPTER 1

Felix

Epic disaster: thy name is Felix Bordeaux.

My cheeks burned with humiliation, and disappointment churned in my gut. In fact, there was a whole host of miserable emotions littered around my feet like invisible crumpled-up Post-it notes. Maybe in a discount-bin shade of puke green.

I picked at the moist label on my beer bottle. The colored Christmas lights strung up over the bar danced along the brown glass and my hands. "I know what you'd say, Mom," I whispered. "It will happen when it's supposed to. But how can it ever happen when I'm a veritable black hole in any social setting? Horizon of Doom. That's me."

"Did you say something?"

I looked up to see a good-looking man standing near me at the bar. He was probably waiting to order a drink. I cringed. "Huh? No. I wasn't talking to you. Sorry."

I looked back at my beer bottle, turning it around and around. I'd had enough rejection for one night. I wasn't going to engage with anyone. Maybe ever! Yes, that was the only acceptable solution. I was never going to engage with anyone ever again. Except for my patients. But definitely not men. Or, at least, not men like that. No spank you. That was my Christmas promise to myself. Even if it only made me feel more miserable.

I waited for the guy standing at the bar to leave. But he didn't. I could still see him in my peripheral vision. Heck, I could feel him. He had an intense aura. I snuck another look. He was staring at me. Crap.

"I'd like to buy you a drink. Come sit at my table with me," he said.

"Me?" I looked around to make sure he was, in fact, talking to me.

"You." His voice was firm, and he didn't crack a smile. He had an air of authority like he was used to being obeyed. He turned and stalked away.

I hesitated. What did he want? He hadn't been eyeballing me that way. At least, I didn't think so. If this was a pickup, he needed to work on his game. Then again, tonight I'd sent the first two guys at Speed Dating fleeing for their lives before I'd slunk away in shame myself, so who was I to judge?

It was curiosity more than anything that made me pick up my beer bottle and follow him.

He took a seat at a small table for two. Awkwardly—because that's how I roll—I sat in the other chair. He proceeded to study me some more. I held my beer bottle and looked around to avoid his gaze.

The Retreat’s tavern was a warm space with rustic beams, dark wood tables and chairs, a pool table, and a big TV currently displaying a fireplace with holiday music. Christmas lights were strung everywhere, and there was a Christmas tree in the corner, all decked out with red bulbs and paper beer coaster ornaments. The place was nearly empty, but then, the speed-dating event was still going on. The one where I'd crashed and burned.

I snuck a look at the guy. Tallish, probably my height of six foot. Fit body. Dark hair worn to his shoulders and layered in an immaculate haircut. Piercing dark eyes. Huh. We looked sort of alike. Or, rather, he looked like me if I were a thousand times cooler and had my shit together so tightly it could have been Shapeweared.

I swallowed. "What?"

"I'm Alastor. And you are?" He finally cracked a smile. Maybe it was my imagination, but it was a little like seeing a shark smile.

"Um. Felix. Felix Bordeaux."

"Are you staying at the hotel, Felix?"

I shook my head. "I wish. No, I just drove up for the speed-dating thing, you know?"

"Isn't that going on right now?"

I felt heat on my cheeks again. "I, uh, left early."

He stared at me.

"It wasn't for me. I'm not good at meeting people." Understatement of the year. "I should have known better? I guess?" I huffed a bitter laugh. "In fact, the second guy I sat down with told me I needed a class in conversational skills." God, I could still see the sneer on his face. "The saddest thing is, he wasn't wrong. Only my friend, Dawn, she insisted I do it? She made me, actually. I had to drive up for the speed dating or she wouldn't let me take her shift on Christmas. So."

Alastor gave a slow blink. "She wouldn't let you take her shift on Christmas?"

I nodded. "I'm a nurse. I decided to work this year on Christmas Day so others could have it off. Like Dawn. This is my first Christmas since my mom died, see. And it couldn't really be Christmas without her. I figured I might as well work. Make up for all the years someone worked so I could have the holiday off. Not that there's been that many. I only graduated from nursing school a couple of years ago. But, hey, pay it forward. Right?"

I chuckled, but his face was utterly expressionless. I mentally kicked myself. I'd done it again. Mentioned my mom in the first sixty seconds. I was pretty sure that's where I'd lost the two guys I'd sat with in speed dating tonight. When would I learn?

I sighed. "Never mind. Thanks for the, um…." Oh, right. He hadn't actually bought me a drink. I stood up.

"Wait." Alastor grabbed my wrist. He managed to tug me back down into my seat while signaling for a waiter.

The waiter appeared out of thin air. "An Elijah Craig for my friend, Felix, here. Neat." He turned to me. "It's the best bourbon money can buy in Colorado."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks, but I have to drive home tonight. And I'm kind of a lightweight."

The waiter ignored me. "Right away, sir," he said to Alastor with the sort of deference I'd never received in my life. He scurried away.

"About that…." Alastor gave me another of those shark-y smiles. "I have a cabin here for three more nights, and it turns out I need to leave. Immediately." A flash of anger crossed his face. He downed his own glass in one long swig. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Lennox will pay for this."

"I'm sorry to hear that?" I said sympathetically, though I wondered where this was going.

Those dark eyes focused back on me. "The cabin's prepaid and nonrefundable. It's yours if you want it. Otherwise, it'll be wasted. Say yes, Felix. A wise man once told me—when opportunity crosses your path, grab it with both hands and hang on for the ride."

"I… really?"

"Yea, really," he said dryly.

I was about to say Oh, I couldn't, but I stopped myself. I'd driven up in time to have dinner here tonight, so I'd taken a little tour of the hotel and grounds. I'd been envious of the guests. How wonderful it would be to stay in a place like this for the holiday season. The Retreat was a gorgeous mountain lodge, and it was chock full of Christmas cheer with lush decorations and evergreen boughs against a backdrop of rustic buildings, stunning mountain views, and the snow…. It was like a movie set. How I'd wished I had the money, and the heart, to stay.

This was the first time I'd felt a hint of Christmas spirit all year. I'd ignored the approaching holiday because Mom was gone, and the thought of having it without her was too painful to bear. But being at the Retreat for a few days? That would be a dream. I counted in my head. It was the 22nd. I could stay three nights and drive back to Denver early to work the Christmas shift on the 25th. I wasn't scheduled until then.

It was as if it was fate—or a Christmas gift. I felt a swamping wave of gratitude. Is this your doing, Mom? Gosh, you're the best.

"I don't have the money to stay here," I said carefully. "So if you'd want to be reimbursed—"

"Free, Felix," Alastor said firmly. The waiter arrived with a dark drink in a short tumbler, just like the one Alastor had downed.

"Drink." Alastor pushed the glass toward me.

I hesitated. "I shouldn't."

"You won't need to drive tonight. Come on. Down the hatch, and then we'll go look at the cabin."

"I didn't bring anything with me."

Alastor gave me a judge-y look. "Opportunity is knocking, Felix. You drove here for a speed-dating event, so you took one chance tonight. Take this one. Drink."

He was so persuasive. I picked up the glass and sipped it. Gosh, it was strong. But there was a smooth heat to it that was nice. I started to put the glass down, but Alastor touched my hand and guided the glass back to my lips.

I drank, eyes on him. Was he coming on to me after all? Did he expect a quickie before he left? In exchange for the room? I'd come up here to meet a man, but this one looked too much like me to spark any desire. It was a little squicky, in fact. I didn't want to have sex with myself. I mean, I do have sex with myself. A lot. But I don't stare at myself in the mirror while doing it.

I finished the drink, and when I had control of my burning throat again, I blurted, "I'm not a narcissist!"

Alastor stood up and raised one eyebrow. "Good to know. I suppose one of us shouldn't be. Come on, Felix. Let's go."

My head spun as we left the hotel. I wasn't kidding when I'd said I was a lightweight. One beer, and I was super mellow. Two, and I'd be asleep within the hour. The bourbon, on top of the half beer I'd drunk, left me feeling like I was submerged in a warm pool of honey, and I couldn't stop smiling. If this cabin didn't work out, I'd be spending the night in my car.

The cold night air revived me a little as we walked out of the back of the hotel and crossed a service road. The cabins were clustered together among tall pine trees and oozed glamping charm. Their lights shone as if fairies danced with lanterns in the snow. Daw!

"They're so pretty," I said, my voice slurring a little.

Alastor grunted. "Mine is called Towering Redwood."

I snorted. "Is that a cabin or a medical condition? If it lasts for more than four hours, there's a number you could call." Gosh, I cracked myself up.

Alastor sighed. "This one."

He walked up to one of the cabins. And, yes, Towering Redwood was the name listed on a plaque at the door. Alastor unlocked it and switched on the light inside.

Dang, it was so cozy and charming and wonderful. Mom would love this so much. It looked like one of those Sundance catalogs. The main room had raw log walls and wooden beams. A comfy-looking sofa in gray with red plaid pillows and a sheepskin throw sat in the middle of the space. There was a bear rug in front of a fireplace—hopefully not made from real bear—and a horned chandelier. A narrow Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights, white balls, and buffalo plaid ribbons added the perfect holiday touch. The kitchenette had pine cabinets and black appliances including —ohh!—a fancy coffee maker.

"The bedroom's this way." Alastor walked down a hallway.

I followed and peeked into a good-sized bedroom with a queen bed, red plaid flannel comforter and sheets, two rustic wood lamps, and a flat-screen TV on the log wall. White lights were strung around the log bedposts and made the whole room so romantic and homey.

"There's a full bath with shower and tub. Wine and snacks are in the kitchen. Oh, and there's a complimentary breakfast buffet at the lodge. Just show the room key." Alastor grabbed a black backpack from the closet and tossed it on the bed.

"Uh… Are you sure about this? I can really stay here for three nights?"

Alastor spun to me and grabbed my face with both hands. I gave an undignified little cry. His intelligent dark brown eyes stared into mine. Wow. We were exactly the same height. He looked annoyed. "Listen to me, Felix. Are you listening?"

"Mm? Your breath smells like cinnamon rolls. Is that the bourbon? Does my breath smell like cinnamon rolls?"

"Felix. I'm in a hurry. Got it?"

His tone was stern, so I nodded mutely.

"This cabin is yours, all expenses paid, for three nights. I only ask one thing in return. Are you listening?"

"Sure." I tried to smile, but he was smooshing my face.

"If anyone asks, you're me, Alastor Jeddard. Repeat it."

I frowned. "I don't lie. Mom always said lying was way more trouble in the long run."

Alastor's jaw ticked like he was grinding his teeth. "It's not lying. It's just… the place where I reserved it, it was a, uh, a special price and nontransferable. So if the hotel staff, or security, or anyone else asks, just say my name."

I still didn't like the sound of it. "But if they find out I'm not you, will I get in trouble? Will I have to pay? I can't afford this."

His jaw clenched again. "No, they don't actually care, Felix. They're just ticking a box. It's purely procedural. Say my name, and you'll be fine." He smiled and his tone softened. "It would be a favor to me. After all, the value of this cabin is over eight hundred dollars. You'd like to do me a favor just like I'm doing you one. Wouldn't you?"

"You should do nice things for other people whenever you have the chance. Put goodness out there, and it'll return to you. That was my mom's philosophy." Dang. Now I was serial quoting Mom. It had to be the bourbon.

Alastor blinked and nodded, his smile tightening ever so slightly. "Yes. That's right. Smart lady."

"She was."

"And you look like the sort of man who could use a vacation from being himself."

I frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, grab life, Felix. Escape from the same-old-same-old. Live a fantasy for a few days. Be me. What's the harm in that?"

What was the harm in that? Wasn't I just thinking what a disaster I was? Maybe I did need a break from myself. And being Alastor… it wasn't possible I could ever be that sure of myself, but it might be fun to pretend.

"So we have a deal, don't we, Felix?"

I thought about how nice this cabin was. And all the activities I'd get to participate in. And how it would actually make this year feel like Christmas after all. And maybe I'd meet a guy, if I was here for three nights. And what if Mom, now an angel in heaven, had nudged this opportunity my way. Who was I to refuse?

"Deal," I said.

Alastor let go of my face and gave a little sigh of relief. "Good. Now I have to go. Enjoy the cabin and don't forget our agreement."

Alastor grabbed his backpack from the bed. I watched him stuff things into it—mobile phone, a wallet, a small laptop, a few things from the bathroom. He bypassed the open closet, which was full of nice clothes. I followed him out to the main room where he put on a sleek black ski jacket that probably cost more than I made in a month. He attached a fancy pair of black leather dress boots to the bungee cords on his backpack and put on a different black pair of shiny ski boots.

He straightened up. "Well, that's it."

"What about your clothes?"

"I'm only taking the necessities. Do what you like with the rest."

Wow. That didn't sound right. "I can ship your things to you if you give me an address."

His eyes flashed something dangerous. "No! No address. That is, I'm not sure where I'm going next. Keep the stuff, toss it, or leave it here. I don't care."

He opened the door, letting in a cold blast of air. I followed him onto the porch where he grabbed the skis next to the door, carried them to a patch of snow in front of the cabin, and dropped them.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What does it look like?"

"You're skiing? Now? At night?"

"There's a full moon. It's perfect skiing conditions."

He was right. The moon was full in the sky and the night was clear and cold. "Yeah, but… I thought you were leaving."

"So I am. Goodbye, Felix. And good luck."

He did some fancy maneuver where he planted one ski and one pole, turned, and he was off like a shot, looking like he'd been born on skis. Like he was the Aquaman of snow.

Was there a superhero who was, like, the master of snow? Snowman? No, that didn't sound right. There was no snow superhero. Missed opportunity there.

I watched as Alastor jumped a snowless patch of trail, swooshed between two cabins, and was gone.

"Thank you! And… make good choices!" I called after him, waving even though he couldn't see me.

Dang, he was skiing out? Guess that's why he couldn't take his luggage. What a weird thing to do. Why hadn't he just called an Uber if he didn't have a car?

Maybe he was a skiing fiend. Maybe there was a beautiful course between here and Chester Lake, the nearest town, and he just wanted to get in one more ski before going back to work. People could be passionate about that sort of thing.

I sighed. Why couldn't I be all cool and sporty like that? Devil-may-care? Sophisticated?

I laughed. "In my dreams. Huh, Mom?"

Still smiling, I went back into the cabin.

You're the One by Davidson King

CHAPTER ONE

Noah

“You need to calm down, Miss Thing.” I narrowed my gaze at the blond bombshell standing in front of me who thought she was getting in to see Thomas. 

“He’s expecting me.” She tried to push past security, toward me, thinking we’d roll over because she was Chantel Morrison, a box-office draw. 

“No…no, he is not. Shoo.” I made a sweeping motion with my fingers, and her ivory skin flushed red. 

“Listen, you little gnat—” 

“Nope.” I covered my ears. “Bye.” I spun on my heel and went into the room she was desperately trying to enter. 

When I shut the door, Thomas was sitting on the couch, a small smile on his face as he looked at me. “She’s relentless.” 

“Why, Thomas? Why did you have to take her to the Oscars with you? Now she thinks you’re going to have babies with her.” After locking the door, I went and sat beside him. 

“I didn’t know she’d turn into a face-hugger, Noah. She was actually quite relaxed and calm at the show. Then the next day it was bam, let’s get married.” 

Thomas Vale was everything in Hollywood, and I was his personal assistant. I’d been by his side since the days he could only get a minor role on a soap opera. When he skyrocketed to fame, he’d made sure I was holding on. We were friends…and I was madly in love with him. Not that he knew that—no, he could never. The trust Thomas had in me was worth never telling him that little fact. 

“Might I suggest going solo to the next award show?”

He chuckled. “Noted.” His phone buzzed and he sighed. 

“What’s wrong? Did she get your number? I will go out there right now and—” 

“No, she didn’t, and if she had, I’d have blocked her. No reason to summon your inner Bruce Lee on my account.” 

Yeah, I was only five foot seven, and the only exercise I got on the daily was swimming laps at night…well, when I could. Sure, a swift wind could blow me over. But I was spunky. I had defensive skills, thanks to many bullies while growing up. 

“Fine. Explain the frown and sigh and dejected body language?” I eyed him, then his phone, which he was scowling hard at. 

“Christmas is next month.” 

“Oookaaay? I’ve never known you to be a scrooge, Thomas. You’re actually a festive fella.” I laughed when he rolled his eyes. 

“I love Christmas. You know I always go home. Spend it with my family in the mountains. It’s the only time all of us are together for the year.” 

“And, what, it was canceled?” Getting him to tell me things sometimes was like pulling teeth. 

He turned his body slightly, folding his leg so he was now sitting on his foot, staring at me. “My grandfather—” 

“Victor or—” 

“William.” 

“Okay, continue.” 

“He’s dying.” Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and as if his pain were mine, I gasped. 

“Thomas, why didn’t you tell me?” I knew his family as if they were my own. Sure, I’d never met them because Thomas barely even had time to see them himself. But I’d practically memorized everything about them. Birthdays, anniversaries, where they lived, the pets they owned…all of it. 

“I was well aware you’d do this thing you’re doing right now, had I told you.” He waved a hand at me. 

“I’m concerned; how is that a thing?” He shrugged. “Just is. You’re dramatic.”

“Says the actor,” I huffed. 

“I know my grandfather is old…like really old. It was going to happen eventually.” 

“Yes. Life is funny that way.” He slapped my leg. “What? I’m agreeing with you.” 

“Anyway. Last Christmas, he knew he was sick. Lung cancer.” 

“Seriously, Thomas, why did you never tell me any of this? You said your grandfather had the flu. I sent flowers from you saying get well soon…to him…and he had lung cancer.” 

“I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry.” 

Here I was making him feel bad for not telling me when his grandfather was dying… I suck. “No, forget it. I’m a brat. Go on. I assume the cancer is back?” 

He nodded. “Thing is, last year he and I were sitting outside, watching my nieces play in the snow. He took my hand, Noah, and pleaded with me that before he died, he wanted me to fall in love. Of course I swore to him I was fine, but as his dying wish…he made me promise to try and let someone in.” 

My eyes widened. “He made you promise to fall in love with someone?” 

“No. He just said it would be his dying wish. And I really thought he was going to be okay, and I’d have time but…” He sighed again. 

“But time is running out.” 

He nodded. “I wish I could give him that. Show him I have someone in my life to love and I’ll be fine.” 

“Thomas, you can’t force yourself to love someone to appease a dying man’s last wish, even if it’s your grandfather. Don’t you think it would hurt him even more if he found out you were putting on a show on his account?” 

Thomas’s eyes widened and a huge smile graced his handsome face. I knew that look. “Noah, you’re a genius.” 

“Um, Thomas, whatever you’re thinking, no. It can’t be good.” 

“Because I’m happy?” 

“No. Because something you clearly heard made you grin like the Grinch, and nothing I said was a good idea.”

He tilted his head back and laughed so hard his body shook. Carefree Thomas was the best. 

“Hear me out.” He giggled like a child, excited and quite animated. 

“As if I have a choice.” 

My sarcasm was completely lost on Thomas, or he was ignoring it. More likely it was the latter. 

“The doctor gave him three months. If I can bring someone home for the holidays, and it’s massively convincing that we’re in love, it will make his final time peaceful.” 

All I could do was stare at him, waiting for the “Just kidding.” It never came. Sweet Mother Mercy. 

“Thomas, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.” 

“I don’t think so. If I find the right person to—” 

“Lie to? Thomas, you’re going to grab someone and be all, ‘Hey, I love you, meet my family?’ ” 

Thomas huffed. “No, but I’m in an industry full of actors. I’m sure I could find someone willing to do this.” 

I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to release the pressure. “And you don’t think, at the slightest convenience, they won’t sell this story to the tabloids? Thomas, why are you acting dumb? It’s not who you are. You’re above average in the smarts department.” 

He snickered and sat back. “It has to be the right person. Someone trustworthy but who could pull it off. We can have them sign an NDA.” 

“We…oh, I’m helping?” 

“Who else would be able to find the perfect person for me other than the person who knows me best?” He beamed and fucking fluttered his eyelashes…the asshole. 

“One day I will quit.” 

He stood and went over to the vanity. He was about to go on The Tonight Show in fifteen minutes, right before Chantel Morrison, which explained why she was there. 

“You’ll never leave me, Noah.”

He looked at me through the mirror and I pouted, knowing he was right. Was it just because I loved him? No, Thomas needed protecting, and I’d never let anything happen to him. 

“Fine, let me see what my brain can come up with. Operation Fool Grandpa is in full effect.” 

They knocked and told him it was time, and with one last titter, he left the dressing room. I sat on the couch for a few moments wondering how in the hell I’d help him pull this off.

Perfect Gifts by RJ Scott & VL Locey

“So, where do we think she got on the brother kick?” Jared asked as he stirred some of the honey that Adler’d brought us into his mug. Ad had taken up beekeeping. Why? Not a clue, but we all suspected that it was so he could brag about having a big stinger in the locker room. They’d found out Layton was allergic, so he watched the bees from a distance. 

“Probably at the indoor playground over in Camp Hill earlier,” I said while dunking a Stella D’oro cookie into my tea. I’d have a few. Cookies were not recommended by the Railers nutritionist as healthy afternoon snacks. “She was playing with Michelle Khan.”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Khan just had a baby,” Jared replied, then added one more dollop of honey to his mug. “A little boy.”

“Yep. She was cooing and cuddling the baby until we left. She even skipped the jungle gym and slide to tickle tiny Joey’s chin.” 

Jared’s eyes flared. Lottie never passed the jungle gym and slide. Ever. I’d had to climb in a time or two to extract her when it was time to go. Jared—the old D-man that he was—was too burly to fit. The parents who had gotten to witness a hockey player trying to wedge his shoulders into a skinny tube with monkeys painted on the sides had found it pretty amusing. As had the local press the following day. Nothing says professionalism after just signing a new multi-million dollar contract like being photographed wriggling through the monkey tumble tube. 

“That explains it,” he commented as he began thumbing languidly through his daily read of The Patriot News online. The man looked sexy AF in those reading glasses. 

“Yeah, I guess.” I nibbled on my cookie, my phone showing a half-read article in The Athletic waiting for me to return to it. “You know we could consider it.” That brought his gaze up from the local news. He studied me over the top of his DILF glasses. “What? It’s not as if we haven’t discussed having another baby. It was kind of always our plan.”

“Well… yes, I know we’ve discussed it.” He removed his glasses, folded them, and laid them by the cookie box. He assessed me intently. “Do you think it’s something we should look at more closely?”

“Maybe?” I reached for another cookie, my sight darting from the cookie to Jared to the window where the glass was coated with a touch of frost around the edges. Fall was here, and it was glorious. We had pumpkins to carve, cider to drink, and Halloween costumes to decide on before the end of the month rolled around. “I mean she is here alone all the time.”

“She’s not alone. She has us, a nanny, and now, a dog.”

“Well yeah, I don’t mean like we Kevin McAllister her or anything, it’s just…” I plucked the cookie from its wrap, then dunked it quickly into my tea, hurrying to get the shortbread treat to my mouth. I chewed, then swallowed. Jared sat across from me waiting patiently for me to make my point. “Okay, so, and never tell them—especially Brady—but having siblings to grow up with was pretty nice. Most of the time.”

Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield

Prologue 

Good Morning Australia

Channel 10 Sydney

Monday, December 26, 1994 

Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Good morning, Australia! I'm Kerri-Anne Kennerley, sitting in this morning for our Bert Newton who's on holiday, enjoying the spectacular Gold Coast on this Boxing Day. 

We begin today's show with a special interview. Nicholas Williams, the San Francisco-based owner of the Hopkins Hotel in Sydney, has spent the last ten days touring the country. This is his first time back to Australia since 1955 and our very own Charlene Thomas met with Mr. Williams at the Hopkins Bar to speak with him and get to know more about the very unusual owner of one of Sydney's most unusual hotels. 

(cut from studio to a restaurant interior) 

Charlene Thomas (holding a glass of red wine while seated at a bar): And what is this? 

Nicholas Williams (seated next to her holding a matching glass): This is a 1990 Grant Burge Shiraz, a wine we both really enjoy. This is a grape that some of our winemakers in California are just now starting to cultivate. There, like in France, we call it Syrah. (he takes a sip). 

Charlene Thomas: Yes, I've heard that. Are you a California wine connoisseur?

Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Not at all. I'm more of a beer drinker, myself. But, here at the Hopkins, we like to feature Australian food and wine. We try to do that in all our hotels. 

Charlene Thomas: How many Hopkins hotels are there, now? 

Nicholas Williams: This hotel was our fortieth when it opened in 1990. We're now up to forty-five. Our newest just opened in Singapore, which is where we were before we came here. 

Charlene Thomas: And how do you like being back in Australia? 

Nicholas Williams (smiling): We're glad to be back. It's been almost forty-six years since we skipped the country on an old Pan Am clipper that a friend of ours owned. 

Charlene Thomas (nodding seriously): Now, from what I've been told, you were fleeing arrest. 

Nicholas Williams: Yes. But the laws have changed—happily—and now we're back and happy to be here. Everyone has been very welcoming. 

Charlene Thomas: Is it true that you spend your Christmas and New Year in the southern hemisphere every year? 

Nicholas Williams: Yes. The first time we did that was in 1953 in Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil. Growing up in chilly San Francisco, it was nice to spend Christmas somewhere nice and warm. We've been to Brazil, Chile, New Zealand, and now we're here, in Sydney. (lifts his glass as if to toast). 

Charlene Thomas: I'll drink to that. Cheers. (the two clink glasses) 

Nicholas Williams: Cheers. 

(cut from bar to a balcony) 

Charlene Thomas: Now, this is a view that's worth waking up for. From here, I can see the harbor, along with the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. I'm standing just outside the luxurious Royal Australian Suite, on the 29th floor of the Hopkins. Let's have a quick look at the rest of what this sumptuous accommodation offers. 

(montage tour of rooms) 

Nicholas Williams (standing next to a second man who's seated on a couch): What do you think? 

Charlene Thomas: I think I'd enjoy calling this home for a couple of weeks. 

Nicholas Williams: We really like what our décor team did here. The Hopkins idea is modern style with relaxing comfort. And I think this suite, along with every room in the hotel, reflects that. 

Charlene Thomas: I agree. 

(brief slideshow of other guest rooms, cutting to table by window) 

Charlene Thomas: You've been quite busy in during the ten days you've been here. 

Nicholas Williams: We've enjoyed every day of it. 

Charlene Thomas: Let's see. (looks at notes). You've met with the Lord Mayor of the City of Sydney, Frank Sartor. You invited Prime Minister Paul Keating for dinner, here, at this very table. And I hear he was just as late for dinner as he is for cabinet meetings. 

Nicholas Williams (chuckling): Yes, but his wife, Anitta, kept us entertained. 

Charlene Thomas: You've seen an opera while in town. 

Carter Jones: We were lucky enough to be invited to sit in on rehearsals for Tresno, which opens early next month. 

Charlene Thomas: I understand you visited Alice Springs and climbed Ayers Rock, is that right? 

Carter Jones (smiling): Yes. 

Nicholas Williams: He did. Not me.

Charlene Thomas: I also heard you were the guests of honor at the Imperial Hotel on Erskineville Road last night. 

Nicholas Williams: Yes. 

Carter Jones: They treated us like royalty there. We had a great time. 

Charlene Thomas: Now that we're almost there, what are your holiday plans? 

Nicholas Williams: We'll be spending Christmas Day with some old friends, just north of Bondi Beach. 

Charlene Thomas: That's where you stayed when you were last here, correct? 

Nicholas Williams: Yes. That was during a big storm that nearly washed me right over the cliff and into the ocean. 

Charlene Thomas: Goodness! 

Nicholas Williams: Then, on the 26th— 

Carter Jones: Boxing Day. 

Nicholas Williams (nodding): We're leaving for Fiji and then on to Hawaii before heading home to San Francisco. 

Charlene Thomas: Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the start of the new year. 

(cut back to studio) 

Kerri-Anne Kennerley (seated and leaning forward): Thank you, Charlene. Sounds like you had quite the interesting time at the Hopkins Sydney. In a moment, Sally Browne stops by to talk about her take on this summer's must-wear fashions for the beach as well as around town. You won't want to miss what she's got to say. But first— 

(video ends)

Jordan L Hawk

Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.

If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.

Eli Easton
Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.

Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.

In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.

Davidson King

Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.

RJ Scott

Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.

VL Locey

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.

(Not necessarily in that order.)

She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.

Frank W Butterfield

Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.

Jordan L Hawk

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EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com

Eli Easton

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EMAIL: eli@elieaston.com

Davidson King

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EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com

RJ Scott

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EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk

VL Locey

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

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SCOTT/LOCEY MM HOCKEY ROMANCE  /  CHIRP

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EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com

Frank W Butterfield

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A Christmas Hex by Jordan L Hawk

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A Changeling Christmas by Eli Easton

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You're the One by Davidson King

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Perfect Gifts by RJ Scott & VL Locey

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Christmas Day, 1994 by Frank W Butterfield

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