by Celia Aaron
Christmas in Blackwood
Celia Aaron
Christmas in Blackwood
Celia Aaron
Copyright © 2019 Celia Aaron
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
Contents
Christmas in Blackwood
Accidental Santa
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Also by Celia Aaron
About the Author
Christmas in Blackwood
by Celia Aaron
Azalea Attorney Ella King has a case. Browerton Attorney Hart Blackwood does, too. Too bad they’re adversaries. When Ella and Hart clash, sparks fly in and out of the courtroom. But with the holidays approaching, the judge wants their troublesome case off his docket. Despite the giving season, Hart and Ella’s clients can’t agree on anything, and Ella and Hart are locked in a head-to-head battle. It would take a Christmas miracle to thaw relations between the parties. But could the memory of one night years ago reignite an even bigger flame between Hart and Ella?
Accidental Santa
In the mood for More Christmas cheer? I’ve got you covered.
Lindsay
Working as an elf during the holidays isn't exactly what I had in mind when I moved to the big city to be an actress, but when a job at Marley's Department Store opens up, I take it. The only problem? I find out I've got bigger shoes to fill when I discover Santa passed out drunk right as the kids are lining up to see him. Someone has to play Santa. That someone is me. But when I meet the 'mean' Crane Marley, will I be able to keep up the holiday charade?
Crane
This company is a chain around my neck, but at least I've found one jewel in it. Lindsay, a new holiday hire, is making me feel things other than my usual greed, disdain, and irritation. She's my employee, but the moment I see her mouth-watering curves and get a taste of her quick wit and charm, I ignore the handbook and do everything I can to get her under the mistletoe.
Has the mean Mr. Marley finally met his match?
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Chapter 1
Hart
She’s done it again.
I rub my eyes and skim through the most recent filing.
It’s just shy of midnight. We have court tomorrow at nine. And she’s over in Azalea, probably drinking coffee, definitely in Christmas pajamas, and filing a motion to try and win this case. She’s clever. Too damn clever.
She should be asleep. Instead, she’s churning out court documents so fast it’ll take me all day just to draft a response, and another day if I want to respond coherently.
“Fuck.” I lean back and sip my bourbon. A cold breeze pushes through my open window and rustles the papers on my desk. December in Mississippi is the time for sleeping in, taking half days, and enjoying all the four-day weekends. But here we are, set for court in the morning, and now she’s added another pleading to the stack.
Her digital signature is perfect, her name in loops and swirls. Ella King. Has she ever made a mistake? From her prim courtroom attire to the way she ignores every bit of my Southern charm—she’s been an obsession of mine from the moment I met her. How could she not be? It doesn’t help that on top of all her smarts, she has a figure that I want to trace with my tongue. Maybe I turned out more like my brother than I’ve cared to admit, because when I see her, I want her so badly that chasing her down doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Doesn’t seem crazy in the least.
Yeah, this case is clearly driving me over the edge.
Why did I take this on? I ponder it over another sip of bourbon. Because I’m a sap. Because defending Bonnie’s Diner from a ridiculous lawsuit seemed like a fun change from my usual drudgery of wills and estates. Because it’s time for the Blackwood brothers to clear the air and rehab their reputation in this town. And maybe because I saw her name on the complaint filing. Ella King. I had to know if she remembered me.
I close the pleading, then go to one of the other tabs on my desktop. Ella’s brown eyes flash from the screen, her neat black skirt suit effectively summing her up. She’s not messy. She’s got her life all straightened out. But then again, she’s missing something. I have what she needs. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Her photo taunts me the same way her knee-length skirts do in the courtroom. It’s funny. She thinks her longer skirts are so demure, but she fails to realize the way the fabric hugs her ass. I don’t fail to realize it. Not even a little. Every time she heads up to the bench, I sit back at my counsel table and enjoy the view. Am I a dog? Definitely. Will that stop me? No.
The clock strikes midnight, and I finish my drink.
I won’t respond to her motion. Not tonight. But I’ll definitely give her my thoughts on it in the morning. Sparring with her in the courtroom has quickly become my favorite pastime. When she gets those little pink blooms in her cheeks, I know I’ve got her riled. I want to see those up close when she’s riled in an entirely different way. Preferably while she’s beneath me.
All the same, she’s ruining my lazy December. Judge Houston is in knots over all these briefs. His docket should be quiet, not a single case needing attention. But like me, he didn’t account for Ella King tearing up the Mississippi roads to make court appearances over here in the Delta. She belongs back in Azalea at her brother’s firm, not haunting Browerton. She’s a pain in the ass.
Once I beat her in this case, I’ll show her just how much of a pain in the ass I can be.
Chapter 2
Ella
The small town of Browerton wakes up with the sun. Log trucks pass me on the road as I drive to the courthouse. Bonnie’s Diner is already serving up their usual fare, the tiny gravel parking lot crowded. My stomach rumbles, but I can’t set foot inside. Not when the owners are on the receiving end of my client’s lawsuit. So, instead, I pull over at the small gas station closer to the town square and grab a pack of powdered donuts and a coffee.
“Court again?” Carl asks with a lopsided smile, one side lumpy from a wad of snuff next to his gum.
Browerton is just like Azalea—everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows everyone else’s business, and Carl knows more than most.
I nod and add a little more sugar to the tar he calls coffee. “Could be the last time for a while. Maybe I can win this thing and never darken your doorstep again.”
“Well, that’d be a damn shame, Ms. King. I like having new folks come around. Learn new things that way.” He scratches his gray stubble. “Like with you. I had no idea someone could steal a recipe. That seems bonkers, but here you are suing for it. This case been going on for months, so I guess there’s something to it, eh? I read up on it.” He points at a beat-up laptop behind the counter, car-grease fingerprints on the scratched silver case. “Intellectual property, patents, trademarks and all that. I went and looked up eggnog recipes at the county library, because that’s the point, isn’t it? The recipe. I remember when Ty and Rayford’s mama died. I went by the house to drop off so
me grape Fantas—she loved them, you know? And I can get them at a discount on account of the station. We used to spark back in the day.” He smiles, the lump in his cheek even more obvious. “But I don’t tell nobody about all that, now. Water under the bridge. Anyway, I was taking her them Fantas, and she was feeling poorly, and she talked about how, more than anything, she wanted her sons to reconcile. To love each other. And then she bummed some of my snuff, and we sat and talked about the good old days.” He nods. “She wouldn’t understand this trademark and patent business between her sons. Nope. But I do. I been reading and—”
“It’s intellectual property, not trademark or patent, but yes, there’s an issue that I think my client has a right to raise.” I’m almost caught in Carl’s chit-chat trap. He’s gotten me a few times before, but I’ve been pretty good at escaping the past handful of times. He reads constantly, knows about a million different facts, and has a story about everyone in this town. On top of that, he loves to talk. He’s like the loquacious gas station savant of Browerton.
“Christmas is almost here.” He rings me up on an old-timey cash register, though there’s a credit card scanner right next to it. “I expect Judge Houston wants to get on down to his place in Destin, especially now that snow’s in the forecast.”
“It doesn’t snow here.” I wave away his offered receipt. “Too far south.”
He tilts his head back, the wrinkles in his neck like lines in old leather. “Let’s see. Let’s see here now. I’d have to say that it ain’t snowed a lick here since 2007, I believe it was. And then it was just a dusting. About like them powdered donuts you like so much.”
“Right. I remember trying to make a snowman and only getting as far as a snow-egg.” I take the little roll of sweetness and turn toward the door. “So, no snow. Global warming and all that.”
“Actually, if you read the science, you’d know that global warming actually increases precipitation, even in winter time. So, there’ll be more snow. Can you believe that? Science, I tell ya. They come up with some crazy stuff.”
“Thanks, Carl.” I push through the door and into the chilly air.
“Bye, Miss King,” he calls.
A black sedan pulls up next to my white SUV, and I wrinkle my nose when I see who steps out of it. He is, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. I’ve been secretly drooling over him for months. But I can’t let that show. Not when I have a case on the line. Maybe if I hurry, he won’t see me, and I can—
“For staying up so late, you sure look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning.” Hart’s sunglasses hide his green eyes as he strolls toward the glass doors.
It’s not a compliment, so I won’t thank him. “You aren’t filing an opposition, I take it?”
“I’ll file one verbally first thing, Ms. King. Don’t you worry.” His arrogance makes me itch. He only graduated law school three years ago, and he already acts like he’s some hot shit trial attorney. His confidence is definitely not a turn-on. Not at all. I want to strangle him every time he drawls “Ms. King” at me across the courtroom. It’s like “Miss Kaang” the way he says it. I’m from Mississippi, too, but these Delta boys have ridiculously sexy accents. And it’s not just the accent, he says it like he knows me. No, like he knows secrets about me. It’s like a dark sort of… Jeez, what am I doing? Shaking my head, I start my car and back out, then get on the road to the courthouse.
I don’t need to spend any more time thinking about opposing counsel. Doesn’t matter how he talks, how he looks, how his suits fit his broad frame, or how much I wish that night four years ago had turned out differently. I’m here to win this case. That’s what I get paid for. As soon as that’s done, I’ll finally be rid of Hart Blackwood.
Chapter 3
Hart
Rayford is standing outside the courthouse, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, when I walk up.
“Mornin’, Counsellor.” He pulls the cigarette from his lips and flicks the ash.
I keep walking. No good can come of engaging with Ella’s client.
The marble courthouse is decorated with wreaths and garlands, some of them faded from the sun and well worn, others newer, likely purchased from the shiny Target over in Jackson. Taxpayer money is always the easiest to come by.
“Beverly.” I greet the clerk.
She gives me the same suspicious glare she always does. The Blackwood name has a long way to go around here, if Beverly is any indication. Our bad reputation is stickier than pine pitch, but I’m going to keep doing what I can to change that. I’ve even gotten Garrett to come to town more, convince everyone he’s not Boo Radley hiding out at the Blackwood house. Thank heavens his wife Elise took our last name. She’s the only Blackwood people seem to care for in Browerton.
I take the marble steps two-at-a-time, then head down the short hallway to the oak double doors leading to Judge Houston’s court. The faintest click-clack sounds from the rotunda behind me, and I smile. It’s her. I’d know those sensible heels anywhere. Hesitating outside the door, I check my phone for a moment. Or at least I pretend to. The click-clack grows louder until I see her at the top of the stairs. I walked away from her at the gas station, but here, I’m more than happy to let her go in ahead of me.
She looks up, her glasses perched perfectly on her nose. I can tell she’s trying to keep her face neutral, but her disdain for me isn’t a secret. Like everyone else, she’s not a Blackwood fan. Not yet, anyway.
Rayford slinks along behind her, his gray hair and watery blue eyes a testament to a life lived too hard. He and Ty may be brothers, but Ty got the good genes. Or maybe he was just smart enough to stay off meth, stay out of the lumber mill, and marry a good woman.
“Ms. King.” I open the door for her.
She looks up at me, her big brown eyes sparkling even in the shitty courthouse lighting. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.”
Rayford snorts. “Yeah, thanks, Blackwood.” He pushes past me and follows her in. The dipshit is blocking my view. But at least I catch her scent. I don’t know the perfume she wears—or even if it is perfume—but she always smells so, so good. I breathe her in as we file down the center aisle, the worn wooden pews empty on either side of us. She sets her neat legal pad on her table and asks Rayford to take his seat beside her.
Ty and Bonnie sit on the front row and rise when I approach. I point to the jury room at the side of the court and lead them in there, closing the door behind us.
“Good morning.” I shake Ty’s hand, then Bonnie gives me a warm hug.
“Morning, Hart.” Bonnie sits in one of the twelve black rolling chairs at the table as Ty crosses his arms and starts pacing—his usual.
I perch on the corner of the table. “They filed something last night. A brief that was several pages. I forwarded it to you and have a copy for you in my briefcase.”
“Will the judge want to talk about it today?” Ty runs a hand through his brown hair. I have to confess it’s still somewhat odd to see him in person. He never comes out front at the diner, and until this case, I’d never actually met him, just heard his voice through the window as Bonnie called out orders. But he’s a good-looking man. Then again, to snare a woman like Bonnie, he’d have to be.
“That pleading was heavy on argument and thin on case law, but he’ll probably bring it up, yeah, and I can argue it on the fly. But Judge Houston will most likely give me time to draft a reply. Likely won’t need to do that until after the holidays. In a nutshell, Rayford argues for half share in the eggnog sales you’ve made for the past three years. He’s reduced his claim to half, so that’s good. But given the fact you don’t feel you owe him anything—”
“No.” Ty paces away. “Not happening. Bonnie put everything into creating that side business.” He turns and puts a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “She is the one who deserves the profits. Not me. Not Rayford. Just because it’s from our mom’s recipe doesn’t give Rayford the right to try and take what we’ve created with it.” His
voice rises high enough for Rayford and Ella to hear. “Hell, he didn’t even go see Ma in the nursing home before she died. Didn’t pay a dime for her. Didn’t even care enough to come to the funeral.”
Bonnie pats his hand, then presses her dark brown cheek to it. “Ty, don’t get worked up again. We have Hart. He’s going to figure this out for us.”
He leans down and kisses her crown. “Right.” He sighs. “You’re always right.”
Bonnie lifts her gaze to me. “I hope you recorded that.”
I smile. “Nope, but I’ll happily testify to what he just said.”
“To sum up, your honor, Rayford was ostracized by his family because of his addiction. He admits that he’s not been wise in his life, but he’s also been clean for the past two years. Now that he’s turned his back on the things that got him into trouble, he wants to make a fresh start. Half the money from the eggnog business will allow him to do that.” She stands directly in front of the judge, giving me an excellent view of her backside. “And now, especially with Christmas coming up next week, the spirit of the season lends itself to adjudicating this matter in favor of Mr. Rayford Hawk. This is even more pressing given the fact that Bonnie and Ty Hawk have expanded their distribution of Bonnie’s Eggnog this year. It’s available in stores as far away as Birmingham and Dallas. Half of what they’re making on these sales rightfully belongs to Rayford according to their mother’s will. Assets are to be divided between them, and that family recipe is an asset.”
