All They Want for Christmas

by M. K. Stelmack

  Her not-so-jolly Christmas...

  or a holiday surprise?

  Bridget Montgomery’s Christmas is looking decidedly not festive. Her beloved aunt is gone, leaving only a struggling diner and a mountain of debt. Which Bridget now shares with her ex-fiancé and newly single dad, Jack Holdstrom. Saving the diner is their first priority. But Bridget’s already falling for Jack’s troubled adopted girls. Will the spirit of Christmas mean losing her broken heart to Jack again, too?

  “I gave up on us...”

  “The last thing I wanted was to upset you,” Jack said softly. “I didn’t think— You sounded so calm on the phone. It was easy to convince myself that we’d grown apart, that you wanted it, too.”

  “I guess I was in shock.”

  “You cried.” A flat statement of regret.

  “Yes.”

  “I am sorry. You don’t know how sorry.”

  “That,” Bridget whispered, “was a long time ago. Apologies aren’t necessary.”

  “Apologies are absolutely necessary,” he whispered, “for our future.”

  She stood inches away from the only man she’d given her heart to. Truth was she had forgiven him. No, she’d never blamed him. It was as Auntie Penny had said when she told her they’d broken up. It’s sad to hear, but, my dear, you weren’t meant to be together.

  She’d believed her aunt for twelve years, but now...had they both—no, all three—been wrong?

  Dear Reader,

  Christmas has come early this year! Here’s your chance to have holiday cheer while soaking up the sun. This story marks the start of my new trilogy, The Montgomerys of Spirit Lake. You might remember that Spirit Lake was the setting for my previous Heartwarming trilogy featuring the Greene family.

  The Greenes were a great bunch, and Mel appears again in this story. But he keeps a low profile because it’s all about Jack and Bridget, the eldest Montgomery sister. And Jack’s newly adopted girls. And Bridget’s sisters and mother. And the customers at the restaurant they operate. And pretty soon, it’s the whole town. That’s the way Christmas snowballs, right?

  I would love to hear from you. Harlequin Heartwarming has a daily blog where you can find me and the rest of your favorite authors. You can find me on Facebook under M. K. Stelmack Author, or visit my web home at mkstelmackauthor.com, where I have excerpts and pics and links to more.

  Happy reading! And let me be the first—as I’m sure I am—to wish you all a very merry Christmas.

  Best,

  M. K.

  All They Want for Christmas

  M. K. Stelmack

  M. K. Stelmack writes historical and contemporary fiction. She is the author of A True North Hero series with Harlequin Heartwarming, the third book of which was made into a movie. She lives in Alberta, Canada, close to a town the fictional Spirit Lake of her stories is patterned after.

  Books by M. K. Stelmack

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  A True North Hero

  A Roof Over Their Heads

  Building a Family

  Coming Home to You

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  To parents of daughters.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EXCERPT FROM MONTANA WISHES BY AMY VASTINE

  CHAPTER ONE

  BRIDGET MONTGOMERY AND her two sisters stood around the kitchen island heaped with baked dishes from what looked like half the Spirit Lake population. Auntie Penny would have packed the lot off to the community kitchen. No outside food at my restaurant or my home.

  Dead. Auntie Penny. The two didn’t belong together.

  “Why did everyone think we need food?” Krista said. “We hosted the reception. At the restaurant. Just the leftovers from that filled the fridge there.” She tapped her lips and eyed a cupcake stand that had somehow survived the trip home with all the iced confections in place. “Mind you, those are begging to be eaten.”

  “Giving food is a deep cultural gesture of gratitude and goodwill,” Mara said. She inhaled. “Is that lentil dal I smell?”

  Bridget had worked in a restaurant for the past dozen years, and all she could smell was food. She exchanged a dubious glance with Krista. Were Mara’s other senses taking over as her sight failed?

  “Maybe,” Krista ventured.

  Mara sidled along the island, sniffing like a scent dog. “There it is. How about we have it for supper?” She lifted a stack of three lasagnas in aluminum foil pans—three!—which Bridget swiftly took, then reached for a ceramic baking dish.

  “Bingo!” Mara swung her load away, her elbow catching on the cupcake stand.

  Burdened with the heavy lasagnas, Bridget could only watch as Krista launched herself across the island to snag the stand, but not before a half-dozen cupcakes toppled to the tile floor.

  Reflexes honed from a dozen years of spills on a public dining floor kicked in for Bridget. “Don’t move,” she ordered Mara and then used the lasagnas to plow an opening between the coffee machine and toaster—creating another accident waiting to happen—and joined Krista at Mara’s feet to pick up cupcakes.

  “I’m sorry,” Mara said. “I saw the cupcakes, but then I just...didn’t.”

  “No worries,” Krista said. “Now I’ve an excuse to eat one.” She licked the icing—white with blue snowflake sprinkles. Very Christmassy. A week into November and for the first time in almost forever Bridget couldn’t summon up any Christmas spirit. Not even a single “ho-ho-ho.” And to think that back in July, she’d sung the entire “The Twelve Days of Christmas” to a disbelieving breakfast crowd. For the fun of it.

  “What are you? Four?” Bridget snapped. “You’ll clean off the icing and leave the rest.”

  Krista kept looking at Bridget as she picked up a second upended cupcake and gave the festive top a long, slow lick.

  Bridget retaliated with a deep eye roll. Was she the only one who saw how much Mara’s eyesight had deteriorated in a year? And why was Mara going through this alone? Then again, what did any of them know about what the others were dealing with? Three sisters, three separate roofs.

  Bridget dampened a dish towel under the kitchen tap and handed it to Mara. “There’s icing on your—”

  “I know. I can see that far.” Mara whisked the towel from Bridget’s hand and wiped at the icing on her skirt. She must hate this fussing, must feel humiliated. Bridget fumbled for something to say.

  Krista set the mauled cupcakes back on the stand, as if no one would notice her tongue tracks. She really was four. “Couldn’t we just give the food away at the restaurant?”

  “Outside food is not permitted,” Bridget said, “and besides, most of this food is from Auntie Penny’s customers. I can’t serve Mel and Daphne’s lasagna back to them. No, we have to find a place for it all.”

  Krista opened the fridge. It was full. She opened the freezer drawer underneath. The same. “I’m out of ideas.
”

  “Isn’t there a deep freezer downstairs?” Mara asked.

  “Let me guess,” Krista said. “Full.”

  Full of pies and cakes made of raspberries and saskatoon berries and rhubarb. As well as casseroles, soups and stews. And a cold-storage room lined with canned pickles, pickled beets and asparagus tips, jams and jellies, salsas and sauces, chutneys and marmalades. For Auntie Penny, cooking and baking had been therapy, and in the months before she’d visited Deidre, the Montgomery sisters’ mother, she’d undergone a lot of sessions.

  Bridget’s gaze strayed to the kitchen window, where it was already dark outside at five thirty.

  And cold. Bridget clapped her hands. “I know. I’ll get out the coolers—and I have the big storage chest on the back deck. We’ll put everything in there.”

  “Are you sure it’s cold enough?” Krista said.

  “This is Alberta, not Ontario. It’s November. Yes, it’ll be cold enough.”

  “Won’t raccoons get in it?” Mara said.

  “And you,” Bridget said, “have spent too long on Vancouver Island. Raccoons haven’t reached here yet.”

  Krista split the top off a third cupcake. Really? “Basically, you’re saying that Alberta in the winter is only good for freezing food outdoors.”

  “Alberta is way better than—” Bridget stopped when she saw the growing grins on her sisters’ faces. The two always knew how to get under her skin. Common genes. She was adopted. Stranger genes. Still, she had loved Krista and Mara since meeting them at age six. Was forever grateful to her sisters’ parents for getting her out of foster care.

  “You have to remember,” Mara said, “that when the three of us came as kids, it was always during the summer. Yes, we were here for high school, but we moved on. You stayed. Spirit Lake is your home.”

  “Not ours” was the implied add-on. Putting her sisters back on planes, each heading in a different direction, meant she’d drive back to a house full of food and no one to share it with.

  She could picture Christmas Day. Eating chocolate-cupcake bottoms and lasagna straight from the aluminum pan. Texting her sisters. Watching a holiday movie where singles meet for their happily-ever-after. Checking to see if it was still too early to go to bed.

  * * *

  BRIDGET HOVERED HER thumbs over her phone screen, trying to think of another way to say “Thanks, we will miss her, too.” Mara sat on the kitchen floor among oversize coolers, calling out to Krista the size and shape of each dish she was ready to pack.

  They’d not wanted Bridget’s help. Just as well, with messages still popping up hourly. She’d answered no fewer than five hundred messages in the past three weeks with at least a few words. No using emojis out of respect for Auntie Penny. Never saw a smiley face I didn’t want to scream at.

  Thank you, Bridget typed. Your words mean so much. She hadn’t used that one in a while.

  She scrolled for anything from Jack. Out of curiosity. She’d personally messaged him the news, resisting the temptation to call. He and Auntie Penny had been close. As close as they could be when he moved from one place or another on the other side of the world. Bridget was merely the girlfriend he’d dumped a dozen years ago. Publicly, a girlfriend. Secretly, between them and Auntie Penny, his fiancée.

  He had texted back almost immediately. How are you?

  Fine. A stupid thing to say, considering she then unloaded the circumstances of her aunt’s death. A fatal car crash while in Arizona visiting her sister, Deidre.

  Can I call you? Now?

  He was somewhere in Venezuela—she knew from Auntie Penny. Only a difference of two hours. She typed Please, but then erased it and typed Thanks, but I’m okay when she could barely see the screen through her tears.

  His reply took longer. Maybe he was retyping. Or he had to pause while he inoculated children against malaria or patched up wounded villagers or dug a well or whatever crisis he was single-handedly resolving. We’ll talk soon.

  Talk? What did he mean? When? Which she’d deleted because it came across as needy, and went with Sounds good.

  No reply. Probably for the best. She would’ve been a sobbing mess, another humanitarian emergency for him to deal with.

  Two weeks ago, she’d notified him of the celebration-of-life date as part of a mass message, and he’d replied two days later, Talk then.

  She’d quickly answered with Love to hear from you and then scolded herself for putting in the word love. It sounded at once breezy and weighty.

  He hadn’t called today. Had she really thought he would? More than three hundred guests, and the absence of even his voice was as much of a huge gaping hole as when he’d chosen not to come home to her twelve years ago.

  If she couldn’t handle his absence, what about Auntie Penny’s?

  Her phone screen was peppered with teary emojis and messages of prayers, thoughts, hugs and the open-ended “If there’s anything we can do...”

  Mara was up to her elbows in the cooler while Krista munched on shortbread from a cookie tin, content as always to let someone else do the work.

  “Stay,” Bridget said loudly, surprising herself. “Stay awhile...for Christmas.”

  Her sisters exchanged their telepathic looks.

  “That’s more than a month away,” Mara said cautiously.

  Almost two months actually, and her sisters had never stayed longer than six days since graduating from high school. But there was plenty of room. Mara could keep the guest room upstairs, and Krista could stay in the one downstairs.

  Krista’s mouth twisted into the beginnings of a refusal.

  “You’re between gigs, anyway,” Bridget said hurriedly. Krista was in the fashion biz. To be honest, Bridget didn’t know exactly what her youngest sister did, and she wasn’t sure she’d understand if she was told.

  “Yes, but that means I need to hustle to get another one. Rent doesn’t pay itself.”

  “I’ll pay,” Bridget blurted. How, she had no idea.

  Five years ago, Auntie Penny had mortgaged the house to the hilt to finance do-or-be-closed-down renos to the restaurant. Then the economy had seriously nose-dived and everyone decided to eat their omelets at home instead of at Penny’s. Each year had gotten worse. Before leaving for Arizona, her aunt had handed her an envelope “for us to discuss when I return,” which Bridget interpreted as ugly budget stuff. She’d dropped it into the mail sorter by the fridge. She was now too scared, and too tired, to read it.

  Still, surely, she could rustle up a couple thousand to cover rent.

  “I believe you. It’s just that—” Krista plucked at the dangly bits on her bracelet “—it’s just that...people are expecting me back.”

  Bridget sat up. “You’re seeing someone.”

  Krista fiddled with her mermaid pendant, a present from Auntie Penny when she was a kid. Bridget was floored Krista still had it, considering a six-month lease was her idea of a long-term commitment. “It’s not going so well. And then this thing with Auntie Penny happened... He said—he said that I need to get back or I can just stay here.”

  “He doesn’t own Toronto. He can’t tell you to stay away.”

  Krista gave Bridget a meaningful look. Bridget sucked in her breath. “You’re living with him.”

  “Yes.” A single word, heavy with worry.

  “Tell the jerk you’re taking his advice.”

  Krista rubbed the pendant over her lower lip, a thinking gesture. Bridget pressed for the advantage. “Right, Mara? You’re the psychologist.”

  “As of two months ago. I’m hardly an expert.”

  “You don’t have to be to know this guy has got to go.”

  “He’s got to go because you want Krista to stay,” Mara clarified. “And before you ask, I already have automatic withdrawal for my rent, so you don’t need to give me a cent.”

 
Mara might not need money, but she needed help. “So then,” Bridget said, “you’re both staying.”

  Her sisters offered up silence, which wasn’t an outright refusal.

  “Look. I know you guys have your own lives. I just—Couldn’t we do this Christmas together?” She was slathering on the pity-pleading as thick as the snowflake icing.

  Mara caved first. “I can’t stay for that long. Maybe another two weeks.”

  Bridget looked at Krista, who said, “Philip wanted me back yesterday.”

  “Tell Prince Philip you’ll be back when you’re good and ready.”

  “Bridget! Stop bullying me. I’ll say it my own way.”

  “But you are going to say it?”

  “Later.”

  “And you’ll stay for Christmas?”

  “Only if Mara does.”

  “Fine.” Mara thunked a lid tight onto a cooler. “Until after Christmas. But promise not to ask us to stay longer. I can’t refuse you anything.”

  Bridget jumped off the couch and twirled into the kitchen. “Yes, yes, yes! This will be the first time in seven years we’re together on the actual Christmas Day.”

  “We were all together three years ago,” Krista said.

  “Yeah, but you brought that dude who never got off his phone,” Bridget said.

  “He did when you threw it in the snowbank,” Mara reminded her.

  “I don’t regret it. You can’t be with a guy who smiles at a screen more than he does—”

  There was a knock at the front door. A taxi was pulling away from the curb.

  Bridget threw on the porch light. A man in a parka stood there with two kids muffled in winter gear. She gasped. Was it...? No, it couldn’t be.

  He threw back his hood. It was.

  Talk soon. She’d never imagined he’d meant in person.

  * * *

  JACK HOLDSTROM WANTED nothing more than to stretch out and sleep. The kitchen table they were all sitting at seemed good about now. The girls looked ready to join him. Dark smudges under their eyes stood out even on their brown skin, and their braids were fuzzy from thirty-two straight hours of traveling. So far in such a short time. The wait at Immigration in Toronto had taken the longest, and they’d missed their connecting flight west to Calgary.