You Were Meant For Me

by Kait Nolan

  “Got it.”

  “Do you, Tess, take Mitch to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you love him, honor him, and keep him in sickness and in health and forsaking all others so long as you both shall live?”

  “I will…ooooh holy shit!” Tess clamped down on his hands as the shock wave of pain rippled through her body.

  “Breathe, baby. I’m right here with you.”

  “Push!”

  “Not. Yet,” she gritted out. “Finish it.”

  “Oh, oh, now the vows. Do you have any written?” Sandy asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” Mitch asked.

  “Okay, improvise. Repeat after me. I, Mitch, take you Tess, to be my wedded wife.” She reeled off some variation of every classic movie vow ever.

  Shifting around so he could look into her eyes, Mitch repeated them. “—for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish ’til death do us part.” Not a single waver.

  Despite the waves of pain and stress coursing through her system, a rush of pure love for this man swept over her. Tess got halfway through her own vows before the next contraction hit. She screamed her way through the end of them, and this time there was no stopping that wave.

  “It’s crowning! Look at that thick head of hair!”

  “Oh my God, it’s happening.” Mitch swayed a little.

  “Don’t you dare pass out on me,” Tess snarled.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. I love you. You’ve got this.”

  “Tess, honey, you need to bear down with everything you’ve got,” Dr. Jenkins ordered.

  “We’re gonna just fast forward to the end. By the authority vested in me by the state of Mississippi and the office of Mayor, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  It was official. She was a Campbell, and it was time to bring this baby into the world. Knees pulled up to her shoulders, she bore down with all her might.

  “The head’s out. Stop pushing, Tess, for just a second. I’m just going to clear the baby’s nose and mouth.” The doctor made some adjustment to the baby’s position. “Okay, one more push.”

  She pushed, and the baby slid right out into Dr. Jenkins’s waiting hands.

  “Time of birth 13:48.” Hands gently supporting the baby’s head and butt, she raised the tiny figure into the air. “Congratulations, you two! It’s a girl!”

  The baby let out an offended wail, as if she disapproved of the fanfare. Tess laughed through the tears she hadn’t noticed.

  “Holy shit, we have a daughter,” Mitch breathed.

  “Here we go, Mama.” Dr. Jenkins laid the baby on Tess’s chest.

  The baby blinked up at her with wide blue eyes. She was so tiny, and the love welling up in Tess’s heart was so huge.

  “Hi. Hi there. I’m your mama.” She looked up to find tears streaming down her new husband’s face. “This is your Daddy.”

  He reached out a trembling finger to stroke the baby’s cheek. “Hey, baby girl. Hey there, Vivi.”

  “Vivi?”

  “I was thinking Vivi Anne. We’re big on using family names in the south.”

  “Vivi Anne Campbell.” Tess tested the sound of it and smiled. “That’s perfect.”

  “I think you can kiss the bride now—ow!”

  “Shut up! They’re having a moment.”

  Tess couldn’t tell who was talking and didn’t care. She was too focused on Mitch’s as he grinned down at her.

  “The peanut gallery is not wrong. I love you.”

  As he reached out to cup Tess’s cheek, bending to press his lips to hers, she realized they’d really done it. They got married. And she couldn’t imagine a more perfect beginning to the rest of forever.

  Choose Your Next Romance!

  Remember our sweet waitress Hannah Wheeler? She’s up next in the Wishful lineup. Her story, A Lot Like Christmas, features plenty of Casserole Patrol and is certain to brighten the heart of even the grinchest of Grinches—including Army Ranger Ryan Malone.

  If you’d rather pop over and read Miranda’s story, then take a walk on the slightly shadowier side of Wishful with Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Book 3 in the Wishing for a Hero series. This one includes derring do, public serenading, and plenty of interfering Campbells.

  Can’t decide? Keep turning the pages for a sneak peek of both!

  Sneak Peek A Lot Like Christmas

  Book # 11 Wishful Romance

  Jaded Army medic Ryan Malone never expected his next mission would bring him back from Afghanistan to tiny Wishful, Mississippi. His great uncle's health is failing and the cantankerous old coot has pushed everyone in the family away. Ryan is their last resort to get Uncle Myron to move into assisted living before he breaks a hip--or something worse. He's looking to get in, get it done, and get back out. That definitely doesn't include taking time out for a sweet-faced waitress with a heart bigger than the Atlantic.

  * * *

  Interior designer Hannah Wheeler is a long way from the high-powered clients of her old Atlanta firm. Despite the fact that she's currently spending her days waiting tables, she's discovered she really enjoys the small town life she found with her sister. This Christmas season, she's finally ready to introduce Wishful to her true capabilities by using her skills to spread some holiday spirit. But with the Malone men, she's definitely got her work cut out for her.

  * * *

  Will Hannah's evergreen cheer thaw their frosty hearts and remind the two that the most important part of the holidays is family?

  Chapter One

  * * *

  “Sugar, are you tying utensils on that Christmas tree?”

  Undeterred by the Girl, you crazy tone, Hannah Wheeler finished attaching the dessert fork to a branch with a short piece of jute and shot a look over her shoulder at Omar Buckley, official master of the kitchens at Dinner Belles Diner. Taking advantage of the mid-afternoon lull, he leaned against the counter and watched her with undisguised bafflement.

  “You can’t judge until I’m done. Trust me.” By the time she finished with the tree, the whole thing would be cute, kitchy, and scream “diner.” It was just the first phase in her holiday plan to introduce Wishful to the skills she had besides carting trays and taking orders. The phase that would hopefully prove to them—and to herself—that she had the chops to pursue the rest of her revised dream.

  Janelle Duncan, the other waitress on duty, was a lot more interested in checking out Omar and his former running back’s body than in Hannah’s efforts at decorating. Hannah wasn’t overly concerned with the lack of cheerleading. In her previous life, she’d had far more difficult clients to please, and she’d always come through in the end. She’d learned that people usually didn’t have any vision until someone showed it to them. And that was fine. Hannah had enough vision for all of them.

  Grabbing a spoon and more jute, she turned back to the tree and jolted. A man stood on the other side of the window, peering inside. Hannah could hardly see his eyes past the scruff of a beard and the oily, matted hair. His shoulders were hunched against the unseasonably cold weather, and no wonder. The thin denim jacket—worn and stained—was hardly sufficient for the early December temperatures. Seeing the Army green duffle over his shoulder, her heart softened. She had a particular weakness for down-on-their-luck veterans. Offering a friendly smile, she waved for him to come inside.

  He blinked at her, expression unchanging, still standing there with a totally unnatural stillness that said he’d been a soldier. Hannah pointed at him and mimed drinking from a cup of coffee. She hoped he took it for the invitation it was and not as some kind of pity. Amping up the smile, she waited. She’d yet to meet the man who could turn away from that smile. Certainly, it had worked to keep her dad wrapped around her little finger from the time she was knee high.

  The stranger was no exception. He strode to the door and came inside, stopping just inside the threshold and scanning the room. She was pretty sure in a matter of seconds he knew where
all the exits were; had noted her, Omar, and Janelle, as well as the two other patrons; and probably knew where any weapons were likely to be. Or maybe she’d just watched the Bourne movies too many times.

  Hannah rose from her crouch beside the tree and held out a hand in welcome. “Please, have a seat. Warm up.” Taking a few steps closer to gesture toward a corner booth she knew would have the best visibility in the place, she noted the powerful smell of unwashed body.

  He must be homeless. Bless his heart. Hannah had seen it often enough when she’d lived in Atlanta, but here in Wishful, she hadn’t run across it. Keeping the smile firmly in place as he sat, back to the wall, she asked, “What can I get you?”

  “Just coffee,” he rasped in a voice that sounded rusty with disuse.

  “Coming right up.” With practiced efficiency, Hannah retrieved the coffee pot and turned over the waiting ceramic mug at the table, filling it just high enough that there was room to doctor it, if he were so inclined, though she figured a guy like him would drink it black.

  He grunted something that sounded like “Thanks” and wrapped his hands around the mug. The skin of his knuckles was chapped with cold.

  “Can I interest you in some pie? Mama Pearl makes the best pie in six counties. The pecan in particular is to die for.” Hannah leaned in conspiratorially. “But, really, the coconut cream is my favorite.”

  His gaze slid over to the pie rack on the counter before he shook his head.

  Hannah didn’t let the smile slip. “Okay then. You just let me know if you need anything.”

  She replaced the coffee pot and circled around the counter and into the kitchen, where Omar had resumed his post at the grill. “Be a doll and dish up one of the specials.”

  “Didn’t hear him order the special.”

  “He didn’t. I’m giving it to him anyway. It can come out of my tips.”

  He gave her an indulgent smile. “Whatever you say, Marshmallow.”

  Janelle shot a look through the kitchen window toward his table and kept her voice low. “You sure you want to do anything to encourage him to stay? What if he’s not right in the head?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah snapped, gesturing toward Omar. “That’s like making the assumption that Omar is a thug because he wears a do rag and likes rap music. It’s not only rude, it shows an exceptional lack of compassion.” She snatched up the bowl of loaded potato soup so fast the garlic bread stick flew off the plate and onto the stainless steel counter. Blowing out a breath, Hannah carefully replaced the bread and pushed back out front, working to readjust her expression as she went. Sometimes people just killed her with their ignorance.

  The stranger’s brows drew together as she slid the bowl in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”

  Hannah just smiled. “I know. But you look frozen through, so I figured you could use it. On me. And thank you for your service.”

  The frown was just about the only part of his expression she could see as he stared at her. Then he nodded in thanks and picked up a spoon.

  Hannah left him to his meal, making a quick circuit to check on the other two customers before returning to her decorating. He’d dug into his soup with gusto by then. As she continued tying silverware to the pre-lit tree, she wondered what his story was. He definitely had that whole Don’t Pry blinking in neon above his head. Was he passing through? Wishful wasn’t exactly on the way to anywhere.

  As she made a fresh pass to top off his coffee, the stranger looked up. “Is there a garage around here?”

  Hannah had to think about that a moment. She didn’t drive, so she wasn’t as familiar with those details as she otherwise would be. “We have two that I know of.” She tried to think which one would be more likely hiring. “Lou Perkins is over on Grantham Street, about three blocks that way.” Hannah pointed toward the north end of the town green. “His nephew just got his second DUI and was shipped off to rehab a couple weeks ago, so he’s a little short-handed. And then there’s Benny Wills’s place on the west side of town.” She offered up some quick directions there as well. “There’s a gorgeous restored Chevelle sitting out front. You can’t miss it.”

  He watched her for another long moment with that inscrutable gaze before finally saying, “Thanks.”

  The bowl of soup had all but been licked clean. Hannah gestured to it. “Can I get that out of your way?”

  The stranger nodded, so she scooped up the dishes with her free hand.

  “Sure I can’t talk you into some pie?”

  “Not right now. Thanks.”

  She just nodded. “Endless refills on coffee. You stay as long as you like.”

  Though he really needed to get moving, Sergeant Ryan Malone lingered over his coffee and surreptitiously watched the waitress as she continued to decorate the diner’s Christmas tree, both because he was wondering how the hell it would turn out all loaded with forks and spoons and because he kept expecting to catch a glimpse of elf ears through that fall of dark hair. She’d make a good elf with that fine-boned face and fair skin. She hummed while she worked, the edge of a smile just waiting to bow up those full lips. How could anybody over the age of ten be that unrelentingly cheerful and innocent? She made him feel ancient at twenty-seven, though she was probably close to his age.

  Ryan strained to hear the tune and finally recognized “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.” Certainly the rest of what he’d seen of Wishful fit the bill. As he’d come into the downtown area, he’d noted the holiday decorations mounted on all the light poles and the twinkle lights wrapped around the denuded trees lining Main Street. People bustled along the sidewalk, toting shopping bags and pretty, wrapped packages. It was about as far as he could get from the war zone he’d been walking in mere days ago, and the switch had him feeling more off balance than the jet lag.

  Across the room, Elf Girl plugged in the lights and the tree lit up.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  The glow of the white twinkle lights bounced off the silverware and gave the tree a warm, inviting glow. Who would’ve thought utensils would make good ornaments for a Christmas tree?

  Elf Girl stepped back, crossing her arms and smiling in satisfaction. That smile did something to a man. Certainly it had done something to him. He’d had no intention of stopping in the diner. None at all. Then she’d flashed those dimples at him, and he’d been pulled inside as if she were a kerosene heater that could thaw his frozen hands and feet.

  She’d thought he was homeless. He sure as hell looked it after traveling for three days straight to get from Bumfuck, Afghanistan to here. God knew when he’d last shaved. Exhaustion had carved lines around his eyes. He’d been awake way too damned long even before he boarded the MAC flight back to Fort Polk, where he’d picked up the rust bucket of a truck he’d borrowed from a friend still overseas. Smitty had sworn the thing was ugly but sound and would get him the six hours to Wishful. Ryan had believed him—until the ancient Chevy began to sputter and wheeze when he was nearly to his destination. The truck had crapped out eight miles from town.

  Ryan had left in such a hurry, he had little with him other than his duffle. Not even a coat to face the frigid December weather. And since when was it this freaking cold in Mississippi in December? He’d found an ancient and smelly jacket shoved behind the seat. It had all kinds of questionable stains, but it was another layer against the chill, so he’d put it on and started walking to town. No doubt that hadn’t helped with the impression of homelessness either.

  Too many people would’ve looked through him, pretending he wasn’t there, or gotten nervy, like the other waitress that’d been hiding in the kitchen since he walked in. But not the elf. Her instinct had been to bring bring him in out of the cold, warm him up, and feed him. She’d looked him straight in the eye and hadn’t even balked at the stench of the jacket. Wasn’t that interesting? Nice to know there were people like her out there in the world, even if he himself wasn’t in need of her kindness.

 
Well, he was thawed out now, and he was losing daylight. If he was gonna get by one of the garages to see about getting a tow, he needed to get moving. Waiting until Elf Girl slipped through the door to the kitchen, Ryan pulled out a wad of cash and left a ridiculous tip—more than enough to cover the soup and coffee—then headed out into the cold.

  As it had sounded closer, he took a chance on Lou Perkins’s place, trudging north along the town green until he located Grantham Street. The garage wasn’t hard to find, and the tow truck he desperately needed was parked right out front. The bay doors were closed, but the single door to the office part of the building was unlocked, so Ryan ducked inside. The office was empty. Some kind of hard rock Christmas music blared from the garage. Following the music, he tugged open another door and stepped into the work space. A pair of legs was visible beneath an older model Ford Escort. The work boots tapped in time with the music as their owner sang along with more enthusiasm than skill.

  “Hello?” Ryan called.

  The feet stopped twitching and the creeper shot out from beneath the car. A skinny, balding man with a graying goatee peered up at him. “What can I do ya for?”

  “Was hoping you could hook me up with a tow and some repairs. My truck broke down about eight miles from here.”

  The older man’s dark eyes skimmed him from head to toe as he sat up. “You walk all the way here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Reckon you could use some coffee. Pot’s on in the office. I gotta finish up here in the next little bit, ’fore Betsy Maynard swings by to pick this puppy up.” He tapped the bumper of the Escort. “Then we’ll see what there is to see.”

  Ryan thought about calling Percy. But that’d blow the element of surprise, and given the family’s reports of his behavior lately, Ryan wasn’t quite ready to give up that advantage. Resigned to waiting, he just nodded. It’d take less time to do this than to hunt up the other garage. And he was really damned tired. Retreating back to the office, he set down his bag and took one of the thinly padded chairs.