by Caroline Lee
On the other side of the small tree in the clearing, Hunter pulled down the last of the lace ribbon she’d used to decorate her pitiful Christmas tree. He carefully folded it and held it out for her to tuck into the tissue paper she used to store them during the year.
As she finished, he clasped his gloved hand over hers. When she met his eyes, his were sparkling.
“Be careful with those, my love. I want them to be in pristine condition for next year’s tree.”
She glanced around her clearing in the woods. “This one will be even taller. I won’t be able to reach the topmost bow again.”
He chuckled. “You’ll never go without Christmas cheer again, wife. I’ll be cutting down a tree and dragging it inside for you to decorate.”
Wife.
They’d been married that morning, in the first service of the new year. Perhaps not officially married, not until another pastor visited Everland and could officiate, but as the town’s reverend, Hunter and Snow had stood up in front of neighbors and friends, and they’d repeated their vows to one another.
As far as Snow, Hunter, the people of Everland, and God Himself were concerned, they were married.
What a perfect way to start a new year!
“I think that sounds lovely, husband. You’re always more comfortable out in nature anyhow, and this way, you can bring a little nature in!”
He grinned, his hand lifting to stroke her cheek. “You are brilliant, my love. Maybe one day…”
When he flushed and trailed off, she hurried to press her hand against his, to press his palm to her cheek. “What?”
“I’d…um…” He took a deep breath—he hadn’t had any more issues since he’d shared his life’s breath with her—and offered her a lopsided, embarrassed grin. “I’d like children, Snow. I know we never spoke of that, but I’ve always wanted babies, and I hope you—”
With a joyful cry, she flung herself into his arms, holding tight to the lace in one fist. He caught her with a slight grunt, but quickly steadied them both.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes, please!” She beamed up at him. “I’ve never spoken of it before, and I was a little nervous with you, but I would love a child of my own. I…” She bit her bottom lip, not sure if she should confess all, then threw caution to the wind. “After our first meeting, I started daydreaming what she’d look like, our daughter.”
He was staring at her lips. “And what would she look like?”
“She’ll have your lovely brown eyes, and our—”
A shared trust, Doc had said. A metaphor for physical relationship.
Well, tonight, she and Hunter were married. They were going to return to her home, the house she’d inherited and purged since Lucinda’s death, and they were going to consummate their marriage.
Frankly, Snow couldn’t wait. She wanted children, and she wanted to feel Hunter’s hands on her. All of her, and that included her hair.
“Snow?” he prompted.
Swallowing, she stepped away from him and tucked the lace packets into the pocket of her coat. She lifted her hands to her tignon and untied the knot which held it in place.
“Hunter, I told you how my—how Lucinda had me keep my hair covered, right?”
When he nodded, his eyes following her movements, she began to unwrap the white-and-gold headscarf she’d chosen for their wedding day.
“My father had pale hair, and Lucinda believed it was the sign of nobility…of somehow being better than everyone else. I suspect that’s where her desire for pale skin came from as well.”
He hummed in agreement and crossed his arms, considering her words. “That seems likely. She had red hair, but powdered it, you said.”
“Yes, and she passed that hair on to Rose, her daughter. But imagine her anger when I was born with…”
She took a deep breath and unwrapped the last pass of the tignon, draping the material around her shoulders. His eyes followed her hands as she pulled the pins from her braid, then ran her fingers through the waves.
Blonde hair—paler than blonde, almost white—flowed through her fingers. She rested her thick hair across her shoulders as well. Then she met his eyes.
He was breathing heavily, his gaze locked on hers. She knew how that hair looked, against her darker skin. It was…
“It’s an oddity. An abnormality. It’s why my stepmother named me Snow, even before my own mama was gone.” She shrugged. “Everyone assumes my hair is dark, as it should be, but…”
In two swift steps, he reached her. His hands went to her hair, and he hesitated only a moment, before lowering his fingers to stroke it, to caress the locks.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered reverently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
In his eyes, she saw only sincerity, and knew it was the truth.
Her husband had seen her—all of her—and still loved her.
A shared trust.
Slowly, her lips tugged upward in a smile.
His fingers were still twined in her hair, but his hands came up to cup her cheeks. She felt his warmth, his nearness, woven in with her very being.
A metaphor for a physical relationship.
“I love you,” she whispered, looking into his warm eyes. “Thank you for marrying me.”
His lips claimed hers, and for long moments, there was no sound, except for the birdsong and the snow, which had gently begun to fall. They were both wearing heavy winter coats, but pressed against him like this, she could feel all of him…and loved it.
She was the one who pulled away first. “Take me home, husband,” she pleaded.
He bent down to scoop up his hat—had she knocked it off?—and his lips pulled up in excitement. Grabbing her around her waist, he pulled her to him so quickly, she let out a surprised squeal, and he winked at her.
“Gladly, wife. But first…”
And when he broke into song, there in their little clearing in the woods, beside the almost-magical Lake Enchantment, she joined her voice with his, knowing they’d spend the rest of their lives singing for joy.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
On Historical Accuracy
This is the point in the book where I usually share interesting tidbits I’ve learned while researching. I’ll tell you that yes, all the lyrics for Christmas carols used are accurate for 1880 Wyoming. I’ll also mention that it was commonly thought pristine air would cure lung disorders (like asthma)…which is why southern California became so popular a few decades later. I’ve never heard of southwest Wyoming being particularly spa-like, but in Everland, we’ve created a special world! And besides, I’ve been setting up the “magical” properties of Lake Enchantment for a few books now. Don’t worry; that’ll be relevant again!
One thing I’d like to mention was how different this book was from other Everland stories. Snow’s story was a hard one to write, and I wanted hers to be sufficiently different from other Everland Ever After tales. I needed her to fall in love fast, so I employed a lot more magic than in other books.
In the original Snow White story, Snow finds refuge from her evil stepmother among seven dwarves, right? I needed seven somethings for my Snow to stay with when she was in trouble…and I knew I had this convenient Guild of Godmothers in town already. Way back in Little Red, I started laying the groundwork for this story, by giving each of the seven Godmothers a different personality. Doc has had the most appearances, but that’s because she’s my favorite.
In this book, you got to revisit a lot of previous couples and catch up with them. We also got to see a lot more of the Godmothers themselves, and see them use magic, which hasn’t happened much up ‘til now. I hope the explanations for their abilities all made sense! And don’t worry…you’ll be seeing them again.
Everland’s brides and their Godmothers:
Little Red: Grunhilda
Ella: Flamboyant Bashful
Beauty: The entire Guild
The Stepmother: Past members of the G
uild (15 years previous)
Rapunzelle: Helga
Briar Rose: Doc
Rose Red: Suzy
The Mermaid: Doc
The Prince’s Pea: Dorcas
Snow: The entire Guild (but especially Doc)
Have you read Rose Red, the story of Rose and Bear’s Christmas romance? It’s not the first Everland story, but it’d be a fun place to start! You can get a copy for free by signing up for my newsletter! Keep reading for a sneak peek…
If you’ve enjoyed Snow and Hunter’s Christmas romance, I urge you to friend me on Facebook or follow me on Bookbub. I frequently post fun stories, links to great books, and cute animal pictures.
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As always, big thanks to Alyssa, Sonya and Merry Farmer, to my beta readers and Cohort members, and to my editor CM Wright.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caroline Lee has been reading romance for so long that her fourth-grade teacher used to make her cover her books with paper jackets. But it wasn't until she (mostly) grew up that she realized she could write it too. So she did.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After in NC with her husband, sons, and brand-new daughter, Princess Wiggles. And while she doesn't so much "suffer" from Pittakionophobia as think that all you people who enjoy touching Band-Aids and stickers are the real weirdos, she does adore rodents, and never met a wine she didn't like. Caroline was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year in 2006 and is really quite funny in person. Promise.
You can find her at www.CarolineLeeRomance.com.
Other historical westerns by Caroline Lee
Everland Ever After:
Sunset Valley
Black Aces
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Sneak peek of Rose Red, an Everland Ever After Tale
The burning in his leg was excruciating. Barrett Faulkner had no idea how far he’d ridden since the ambush, but thank goodness the horse had been bright enough to find civilization. This barn had loomed out of the gathering dusk; he’d managed to fall out of the saddle into a snowbank, and lead the animal inside. Here, the smell of pigs seemed to make the air warmer, which was a blessing, and he’d sunk down onto a pile of logs in the near-darkness.
As afternoons go, this wasn’t one of my better ones.
The bullet had gone into his thigh a good distance above his knee, and gone out the other side. From the pain—it’d nearly made him black out when he was probing around—he figured it had nicked the bone. Luckily, it seemed to have missed the major artery, because he’d been upright for the last few hours and wasn’t dead yet. Nah, the bleeding seemed normal, so that was a small blessing. Now, all he had to worry about was infection, not being able to stem this bleeding, and the fact that he might never walk again.
And he’d failed to stop Quigg and his boys from robbing that mail coach. All in all, not a banner day.
Without light of some sort, he wasn’t going to have an easy time dealing with this gunshot wound, either. Well, this was a barn, right? There had to be some kind of tools or lantern or something that he could use. And just as soon as he rested for a bit, he’d find them. Probably. Maybe. Why was he so tired?
There was a snuffling noise, and something nudged him in the side. It was a pig. He’d managed to prop himself against a pig sty of some sort, and now one of the animals—were all pigs this large?—was nosing at him. Probably trying to find food. Or eat him. Didn’t pigs eat flesh? He stifled a groan; why did he feel like his mind was so full of holes, when it was just his leg? Lack of blood, maybe…
“Go on, leave me alone.” The pig just nudged him harder, so Bear shifted slightly, each movement sending shooting pains up his leg, and pushed at the pig’s snout. “I’ve got enough to worry about without you bothering me.” Sure as sunrise, that darn pig came right back, trying to nuzzle at him. Bear reached over and grabbed one of its ears, prepared to wrestle the animal away from him, when he heard her voice:
“Hello?”
He froze.
Shoot. His instincts were really gone. Bear had heard the door open, he now realized, but hadn’t reacted. And now there was someone in the barn with him. A woman, which was worse.
“Hello?”
What’d she think? That he was just going to announce himself? Bear almost snorted, and tightened his hold on the pig. He’d been so close to stopping the gang that he been plaguing these parts, and a stupid move on his part had gotten him shot. The last thing he needed was word of his survival to get back to Quigg and the others. They’d come looking for him. No, he just needed to lie low until this leg wound healed, and report to his supervisors back in D.C. He didn’t need a nosy farmer—especially a woman—knowing his whereabouts.
She didn’t take the hint, though. The light in the barn increased slightly when the outer door opened wider. It might’ve been dusk, but it was still brighter outside. Oh shoot, she was coming in.
“Hello? Listen, I saw your tracks.” She sounded scared. So why was she coming inside? “I can’t tell what you are, and yes, I realize that it’s probably silly to be yelling into a barn, on the off chance that you can understand me. I mean, if you’re a wounded wolf or something, you’re probably scared and vicious, aren’t you? But these are my hogs, and we need them to not be eaten.” He heard her put something down, and then rustling came from near one of the walls. “At least I haven’t heard too much squealing.” No, the pigs were grunting and shuffling, and even the one in his hold hadn’t seemed to mind Bear’s intrusion. “So I’ll just leave the door open, and hope that you run along, if it’s not too much trouble. I really don’t want to have to come after you with a pitchfork, Mister Wolf.”
That’s when the light flared, as she put the match to the lamp, and turned to sweep the inside of the barn. She was petite, with big scared eyes and a bunch of red hair. Too pretty to be some farmer’s wife, Bear couldn’t help thinking. But right now, that wasn’t his problem.
She froze when the light hit him, not at all hidden beside the pen, and he knew what he must look like. No wonder she took a step back, and then another. It must not be a nice surprise, to find a bleeding stranger—one who looks like an outlaw—in one’s barn.
But the longer they stood like that, her frozen with the lantern raised, him gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, Bear knew that he had to do something, say something, to get her to leave. To forget she had a wounded man hiding in her barn. “All things considered, ma’am, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go get that pitchfork.”
Goodness! What’s Rose going to do when she finds a wounded Bear in her barn? Find out in Rose Red!
