by Leah Atwood
Wrapped In Love
A Christmas Novella
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2016 by Leah Atwood
Cover Design © Covers by Ramona
Cover Image © Adobe Stock Photos
Unless otherwise noted, scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Other Available Titles from Leah
An Excerpt from Waiting on Love
Chapter One
Jase McCade opened his cabin door to find a wall of snow two feet high. Last night’s howling wind had brought a storm that layered the earth in a tranquil blanket of white. He scooped a handful and squeezed the snow. It didn’t compact.
Good. He’d take a powdery snow over a wet one any day—less chance of icy layers over the roads.
Before he cleared the snow from the porch, he took a moment to appreciate its beauty. The first major snow of the year always ignited excitement in him, no matter how many he experienced or what inconvenience they caused. This year’s first storm came later than normal. He couldn’t recollect the last time Wyoming hadn’t seen snow until Thanksgiving. That it came on a holiday made the event that much more special.
There was nothing like a white Thanksgiving, except for a white Christmas. Living in Wyoming all his twenty-seven years, he’d seen his share of both. Over the years, he had also learned a thing or two about coping with the weather extremes.
A shovel inside the house, for example—no using cookie sheets and a mop bucket to scoop snow for him. Tate, the owner of the Bar M where Jase was foreman, had monitored the weather closely for the last week. Once they’d wrapped up final preparations last night, he’d grabbed a shovel from the barn and brought it back to his cabin, set it right inside the cabin.
He closed the door to prevent more of the cold air from coming into the house. A cup of hot coffee called his name. He trekked to the kitchen and poured a cup from the pot he’d started brewing before checking outside. The steam rose to his nose, and he breathed in the rich aroma of his favorite dark roast.
His phone rang from the bedroom. The caller was either Tate beckoning him to the barns or his mom calling to wish him Happy Thanksgiving and ask if he’d still be able to make it for dinner. Carrying his cup, he went to his room and unplugged his phone from the charger.
Good thing he wasn’t a betting man, or he’d have lost. Lance Bare, one of the few ranch hands who didn’t live at the Bar M, was calling. He was young, only seventeen, and helped out for extra money before he’d be leaving for college on scholarship next year.
Jase set down the coffee and answered the phone. “Morning, Lance.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. McCade.” A note of hesitation invaded his greeting. “I have a slight problem. I know I’m supposed to be there this morning, but my family needs me at home.”
Had it been anyone else, Jase might suspect they were making excuses not to work a holiday, but Lance was a good kid, honest as they came. “Everything okay?”
“The storm finally did in our roof. I need to help Dad clean up the mess and secure the hole.”
His heart went out to the Bare family. They were good people, but down on their luck, living in a rundown trailer across town. “Is everyone safe?”
“Yes, sir. Thankfully, my parents had just come into the living room, or they would have still been in bed, right below the cave-in.”
“Do you need any help?” He put a hand to his chin and ran down a mental list of whom he could send.
“No thanks. I feel bad enough about missing work today.” Lance sighed.
Jase figured he was worried about the lost pay. He’d talk to Tate and see if they could afford to slip a Thanksgiving bonus in his check tomorrow. “Don’t give it another thought. The snow and holiday will keep most of the men close by today, and they can pick up the extra work.”
“Thanks, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He ended the call and said a prayer for the Bare family. If he made it off the ranch today, which he was determined to do so he could spend the afternoon with his mom, he’d stop by their home later and check on them.
Before he attacked the snow drift on his porch, he called Tate at the main house, gave him the heads-up on Lance and verified plans for the morning. Once he finished that conversation and called his mom, he bundled in warm layers and shoveled his porch, followed by a path to his truck. The task became much easier where there weren’t any drifts, just the nine inches of snow that had fallen. Not ideal, but better than the two-foot drift by his door.
Hours later, once the livestock were fed and accounted for, and all tasks accomplished, Jase put his truck in four-wheel drive and made his way into Weatherton for Thanksgiving with his mom. Although he was close to her, his real motivation to get there had more to do with Cara Scott, his childhood friend and mother’s neighbor.
Cara, with her midnight raven hair and sad brown eyes, a sweet disposition and a heart that never stopped giving. They’d grown up together, were in most of the same classes during their school years, and both came from longtime Weatherton families, dating back to the late eighteen hundreds. He’d always enjoyed her friendship, but it hadn’t been until she moved in next to his mother that they’d become close. Even more recently, his feelings for her had developed into something beyond friendship.
She had so much to offer a potential husband that he didn’t know why she was still single, except that she hadn’t found the right person. He wanted to be that man. His heart screamed at him louder every day to make a move and let her know of his interest. Cara was nothing like Laura, who had broken his heart, but that fear of rejection had held him back for too long.
No longer. If he didn’t act soon, he risked losing her forever. And if she didn’t return his feelings, at least he’d tried.
What normally took twenty minutes once he left Bar M land, took forty-five minutes with the covered roads. He pulled into his mom’s driveway, surprised to see it clear of snow. She hadn’t shoveled it on her own, had she? He’d told her earlier that he’d take care of it once he got there—no point in risking a fall or worse when he was perfectly capable of the job.
He climbed out of the truck, not bothering to lock the door behind him. No one would mess with his vehicle here, and on the off chance they did, there wasn’t anything worth stealing. Standing at the front door, he knocked. “Mom, I’m here.”
She didn’t answer the door or call to him, so he knocked again. When there still wasn’t an answer, he turned the door knob, expelling a relieved sigh when the door opened. Worry filled his mind. Had she overexerted herself shoveling the driveway? Visions materialized of her sprawled on the floor, dying of a heart attack.
“Mom, are you here?” He went room to room, searching for her.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. “I’m right here. Are
you okay? Why do you sound so frantic?”
“I knocked on the door and waited for five minutes.” A slight exaggeration… maybe. “I was worried about you.”
His mom’s eyes shot to the side, giving him a look as though he were crazy. “I was in my closet and didn’t hear you.”
He pointed outside. “You shouldn’t have shoveled the porch and walkway. I told you I’d take care of it.”
She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you feeling okay? You’re acting awfully strange today.”
“I’m fine, but you shouldn’t be doing that much work at your age.”
“I’m fifty years old, not a hundred.” She huffed and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. “But if it makes you feel better, I didn’t clear the snow. Cara came over this morning and did it for me.”
“Oh.” His mom was the strongest woman he knew, but she was all the family he had left. If he came across as overprotective, then so be it. Wasn’t a son supposed to take care of his mother? “I’ll have to tell her thanks.”
“Are you certain you’re feeling fine?” Her eyes narrowed to slits of worry.
“I’m fine. I was just concerned for you.”
She placed a palm on his cheek. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t have to worry about me. You have your own life now, as it should be.”
A smile curled his lips. Maybe he had overreacted. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“And to you.” She lowered her hand. “Help me out, and get these rolls from the oven while I set the table. Cara should be here any minute, and I want to make sure it looks perfect.”
“Sure thing.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over a barstool, his pulse increasing at the mention of Cara. After slipping his hand into a turkey-shaped potholder, he pulled out the tray of yeast rolls and set them on the stovetop.
Now that he knew his mom was fine, his senses came alive to the Thanksgiving feast she had prepared. A roasted turkey sat proudly on a copper platter, ready to be carved. His fingers itched to snatch a piece of the golden skin. He leaned over, smelling the sage in the stuffing—his favorite smelling dish, albeit, not his favorite tasting of the meal. That honor was reserved for the bird. His eyes skimmed the remaining dishes of creamy mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and candied sweet potatoes. He put a hand over his stomach to cover the growl. He’d been too busy today to eat anything other than a small blueberry muffin, which Lanie, Tate’s wife, had given him this morning.
He crossed the kitchen and went to the dining room. “What should I do with the rolls?”
“There’s an extra bowl on the kitchen island. Would you mind loading them in there?”
Nodding his acknowledgment, he eyed the table with curiosity. “Why do we have four place settings? Who else is coming other than Cara?”
“She’s bringing a date.” His mom glanced up from adjusting a folded napkin. “I thought I told you.”
His heart stopped, and he had to swallow before he could answer. “No, I don’t think you told me.”
“You’re right—I didn’t.” A broad smile appeared and she cleared the extra setting. “But the look on your face told me exactly what I needed to know.”
Confused, he ran a hand through his hair. “What are you talking about?”
“How you feel about Cara.” She winked. “You’re crazy about her, aren’t you?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Yes. Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me.” His mom sat beside him. “As far as I can tell, she can’t tell at all.”
“So she hasn’t said anything?” He clenched his jaw before he could say more. He didn’t need his mom running interference—he was completely capable of initiating a relationship with Cara.
Even if he had taken his time getting to that point.
“No, but if my guess is right, she feels the same way.”
As much as he wanted to, he didn’t press for more details. “That’s good to know.”
“I wouldn’t wait much longer to ask her out.” She met his gaze and held it. “Even though I was joking about her bringing a date tonight, I do know several men who eat at the diner on a regular basis, hoping to take her out after her shift.”
“Has she gone out with anyone recently?” The question slipped out before his filter could shut it down.
“No, not that I know of.” Standing up, she gave his shoulder a pat. “Come on, let’s finish setting up this meal.”
Chapter Two
Cara Scott secured the straps of her plastic pie carrier. She only had to make it next door without falling, but with her penchant for clumsiness, she wasn’t taking any chances on the pies. One pumpkin and one apple made from her great-great-grandmother Tallie’s recipe.
According to her mother, Tallie had come to Weatherton in the late nineteenth century as a bride who married for convenience. Scott family roots ran deep in this town, but there weren’t many of them left. She had a few distant relatives around, but no one close. When she was ten, her father died, and her mother had moved back to her family in New Mexico after Cara had graduated high school. Her brother, following in their father’s footsteps, had joined the Marine Corps and was stationed in North Carolina.
Sadness squeezed her heart. She missed her family, especially on holidays. Her mom repeatedly asked her to move to New Mexico, but Cara couldn’t give up her roots. It’s one of the reasons she’d started baking—using her ancestor’s recipes brought her closer to them, as though she could know them through their legacies. Plus, she loved Wyoming, especially Weatherton, though lately, she wasn’t sure why she stayed. The town had seen better days, and there weren’t many opportunities for the younger generation not born into ranching like her cousins.
She shoved away the sullen feelings. Today was a day for thanks, not lament. Though her immediate family had spread across the United States, she had Mrs. Abigail McCade, her next-door neighbor. In a way, Abby had become an honorary mother. They spent time together almost every day, even if only for a few minutes. Whenever Cara had a problem, she knew she could talk to her about it and receive wise advice.
Despite the freezing temperatures, she threw on her coat but didn’t zip it. Traveling the hundred feet between her front door and Abby’s didn’t require layers like when she’d shoveled the snow earlier. She scooped the pie carrier into her hand and left out the front door, walked down the steps, across the sidewalk, and up the walkway to Abby’s house
Laughter rang from inside. Abby’s as well as the deep chuckle of a male.
Cara didn’t need to see him to identify the man. She would know Jase McCade’s voice anywhere. It was the voice she often dreamt about at night. For several years, his mom had been her neighbor, and she’d seen him often until he took the job as a foreman at the Bar M Ranch several months ago. Since then, she barely saw him and missed him horribly, more than she had a right to.
Only after she stopped seeing him at his mom’s on a regular basis did she realize she’d fallen in love with him, but she was too shy and old-fashioned to let him know, especially when he only seemed interested in friendship. Because he was Abby’s son, he was the one problem Cara didn’t discuss with her.
She knocked on the door after shifting the pie carrier to her left arm. Jase answered the door, looking good in a long sleeved black button up shirt left untucked. His beard had grown out from the day’s worth of stubble since she’d last seen him but remained neatly trimmed. She’d never preferred facial hair, but on Jase, it worked. She especially liked how his beard was a shade lighter than the rich brown hair on his head and had a hint of auburn to it under rays of direct light
“Happy Thanksgiving.” He took the carrier from her and stepped aside. “Come on in. Mom’s putting the finishing touches on the table.”
“I told her earlier she didn’t have to go to any special trouble on my account.” She walked beside Jase as they went to the kitchen.
Jase laughed. “You should know her wel
l enough by now to know she loves to play hostess.”
“Yes, I do, and she does a great job with it.” Cara told her heart to settle down. Just being in proximity to Jase shouldn’t cause a reaction of this magnitude. “Even when I’m only here for tea, she makes it a special occasion.”
“I’m not surprised.” He turned and smiled, tossed a wink her way. “But any time spent with you would be special.”
He’s only being nice, don’t read into it. “The food smells fantastic.”
“Mom’s a great cook. Coming home for a meal’s always a treat.”
“Didn’t Bar M just hire a new cook?” She remembered her best friend, Lanie, who was married to the Bar M’s owner, had mentioned the hands grumbling about the lack of decent food in the interim.
“They did, and she’s great. The men actually look forward to meals again.”
She? Unwarranted pangs of jealousy struck her. Get it together, Cara. You have no claim to Jase. “That’s good.”
Abby came out of the kitchen with open arms that closed around Cara. “I’m so happy you’re spending Thanksgiving with us.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
***
“Do you want to take some leftovers home with you?” Jase’s mom stood at the counter, stacks of plastic food containers in front of her.
“No, thanks. I’ll be too busy the next few days to go back to my cabin and eat.” He set the three-quarters full bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter.
“What about you, Cara? There’s plenty.”
Cara dropped her plate in the sink and began running dishwater. “I’ll take a small plate if you don’t mind. I’ll take it to work and reheat it tomorrow for lunch.”
“You’re a guest.” His mom shook a finger at Cara. “Don’t you even think about washing the dishes.”
“You prepared the entire meal. Helping to clean up is the least I can do.” She shot his mother a good-natured glare. “Besides, if you don’t let me help, I won’t take any leftovers.”
