by Ginny Baird
THE HOLIDAY BRIDE
By
Ginny Baird
Published by
Winter Wedding Press
Copyright 2012
Ginny Baird
Kindle Edition
ISBN 978-0-9858225-5-2
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient, unless this book is a participant in a qualified lending program. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to export portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].
Characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Edited by Martha Trachtenberg
Cover by Dar Albert
Chapter One
Lucy hoisted her waitressing tray high and snaked through the crowd at the packed diner. Paper Christmas decorations plastered the walls and plastic holly was draped from the counter to the floor. Customers hunkered forward over steaming cups of coffee and generous wedges of pie, as their heavy coats overburdened hooks by the door. Lucy spied a couple across the way snuggled giddily together on one side of a booth. Suddenly, the man involved slid from his seat and dropped to one knee. Lucy paused in her tracks, her heart thumping below the loud chatter. Though she couldn’t hear his words, his intent was clear as he pulled a ring box from his pocket and took his companion’s hand.
“Hey! Watch it, will ya?” Belle shouted, nearly crashing into her. Belle had worked here forever, and her years of experience were etched in her face.
Lucy lowered her tray, steadying it in her grip. “I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t see you coming.”
Belle’s eyes fell on the happy couple across the room, both now standing and engaged in a joyful embrace. “Maybe if you kept your eyes on your customers, instead of mine, you’d be more aware.”
Lucy sighed, her gaze skimming the tiny solitaire on her left hand. It was hard not to think of Mitch and make a comparison. He hadn’t even bothered to ask her officially. Instead, he’d just shrugged and said, Well, you know what this means, handing over the ring. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
“You just do that,” Belle said, raising her own tray and stepping past her.
Lucy swallowed hard, collecting herself. Though Belle came off as gruff, she wasn’t all bad. Everyone here was cranky by now. They’d been working like crazy all season long. Here it was Christmas Eve, and business hadn’t let up one bit.
Lucy adjusted the silly Santa hat that Gus had forced her to wear and pasted a smile on her face. She’d been on her feet for ten hours and every one of her muscles ached. One of these days, she was going to get a better job, one that allowed her to sit once in a while. From the looks of this crowd, she thought, trudging through the sea of elbows and clattering dishes getting tossed in bus buckets, that day wouldn’t be anytime soon.
On the other side of town, William Kinkaid stood by the snowy window as his five-year-old daughter said her prayers. Springy chestnut curls spilled forth as she bent her head, fingers interlaced. “God bless Daddy and Justin, and Mommy in heaven...”
William felt the familiar ache in his chest, just as he did every time the kids mentioned Karen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to remember her. Maybe it was more that it was hard for him to remember her himself.
“Okay, pumpkin,” he said fondly as she finished up. “It’s into bed with you.”
Carmella hopped into bed and scooted down under the covers. “Will Santa really bring me what I asked for?” she asked, looking at him trustfully with big dark eyes.
“What did you ask for, sweetheart?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her little head. “It’s a secret.”
“Santa’s not going to bring you that, fuzz brain,” Justin called from the doorway. William turned to find his twelve-year-old son standing in the threshold.
“Be nice, Justin. And you go to bed, too. Or else, Santa won’t bring you what you asked for either.”
Justin shrugged and strode away, his shirttails hanging around the slouchy jeans that draped loosely on his lanky frame.
William returned his attention to Carmella, still waiting on his answer. “Of course, sweetheart. You bet. Santa will do everything in his power to bring you what you want.”
Carmella grinned, settling her head on her pillow. Something crackled underneath.
“Carmella?” William asked, leaning forward to check and see where the sound had come from.
Carmella flipped over and hugged her pillow. “It’s all right, Daddy. You don’t need to see.”
He studied her, stroking his chin. “Why don’t I?”
“Because it will only make you sad.”
William steadied his emotions, thinking his precocious little girl always had a way to read him. At times, it seemed she was five going on thirty-five. Maybe that was because she spent most of her time around much older folks.
“Your old man’s pretty tough, you know.” He extended a hand, expecting her to turn over her hidden stash. How bad could it be? A handful of pilfered candy canes? William resisted a chuckle, maintaining his stern daddy pose.
Reluctantly, Carmella pulled a stack of papers from under her pillow. William was stunned to see they were advertisements, torn from catalogues and magazines. “What’s this, pumpkin?” he asked, fanning through them. There were pictures of families, and mothers with daughters, all dressed in the finest fare.
Carmella blinked, then said urgently. “I was looking at clothes, Daddy! Girls like fashion!”
William stroked his chin, and eyed her suspiciously. “So I’ve heard...” Something about this didn’t add up. He didn’t think pressure was that keen to keep up with labels in kindergarten. Although his mom had repeatedly warned him: You can’t have those children walking around like ruffians, William. For heaven’s sakes, buy them some decent clothes. That’s where all the catalogues had come from. They were entirely his mom’s idea. Though William didn’t believe his kids looked that bad. He basically let them wear what they wanted, and always shopped at the upscale malls. “Well, if it’s fashion you’re after, we can hit the stores the moment they reopen after Christmas.”
“All right,” she said with a big, bright smile.
William kissed her on the head and said nighty-night, still feeling as if something were amiss. He’d really thought she’d wanted that enormous white teddy bear she’d already named Cubby. Hadn’t she ogled it each time they’d passed the window of that store?
He switched off the light, as she snuggled contentedly under the covers. “I know I’m going to get it. I just know.”
“And I’m sure you will, pumpkin,” he said, smiling softly.
William turned and ambled toward the door with a heavy heart. He couldn’t stand to disappoint his daughter. He hoped to goodness he’d gotten this Christmas right.
Lucy turned in a hurry, nearly crashing into Belle again. “Watch it!” the older woman shouted, clearly agitated. Even her patience was wearing thin, and Belle was long on patience. Lucy quickly backed up, but not in time to avoid splashing two new coffees down the front of her uniform. This great, just super, she thought, on the verge of tears. Her last customer had stiffed her a tip, all on account of some burnt toast that she’d had nothing to do with. And now, this.
“Say, Luce!” the kindly older cook called from the griddle. “Why don’t you call it a night? You’ve worked two hours over already!”
Belle offered to hold her tray as she dabbed her apron with a rag. “But this place is packed!” she told Gus, her voice cracking. Lucy
hated that her tone betrayed her. She was only thirty-one and was supposed to be tough. At least as tough as old Belle here. She thanked the other waitress and took back her tray.
“Packed or no, it will go on without ya. Now, scat! Consider it an order.” He motioned to Belle to take Lucy’s tray back and Belle sighed with resignation.
“Sure, yeah. You go ahead,” she said, accepting the mess. “Least you’ve got a life waiting on ya.”
Lucy swallowed hard, wishing that were true.
“But first,” Gus commanded, patting the counter, “come, sit. Woman can’t live by stress alone.”
Lucy gratefully took an empty stool near the register, feeling her tension ease. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until Gus set the big stack of pancakes before her. “Fresh blueberry. Your favorite.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Starve, more than likely.”
He poured her a glass of milk as she lifted her fork and waited.
“Oh no you don’t...” he joked, “you’re not dragging me into that disgusting habit of yours.”
“Please, Gus? It’s Christmas.”
He pulled a bottle of chocolate syrup from the fridge and set it on the counter with a thunk.
“There really is a Santa Claus,” Lucy said, greedily uncapping the bottle and pouring. Before she could ask, Gus had produced a can of whipped cream and spritzed a sweeping circle onto her chocolate-covered flapjacks.
“Yeah, and if he’s watching, the old guy is sick to his stomach.”
“It’s good,” Lucy said, digging in. “You ought to try it.” The blueberry confection coated in chocolaty whipped cream melted in her mouth like a warm bite of heaven. “Mmm. Delicious.”
“Thanks, but I give Pepto-Bismol enough of a workout.”
“You act like I’m the only person on the planet who eats this.”
He studied her with a mixture of affection and amusement. “That, sweetheart, is because you are.”
Her gaze trailed to the ancient tube television mounted in the corner. An old black-and-white rerun from one of her favorite nineteen-fifties shows was playing, the sort with the ideal intact family and happy mom and dad. “If only real life were like that.”
“Yeah, but life ain’t no TV show. Perfection like that only exists in—”
“I know, I know. Fairy tales.”
“The Classics Channel is full of them. Maybe you should watch it less, and live a little more.”
“God knows I’m trying.”
“So, where’s the lucky fellow tonight?”
“Working, as usual.”
“Socking away the dough for that love nest of yours?”
“I guess,” she said, knowing she sounded less than convincing.
“Somehow you don’t sound so excited.”
Her gaze panned back to the television. “Like you said, perfection only exists in fairy tales—and on the Classics Channel.”
Gus cleared her empty plate. “Sometimes you’ve just got to take what life serves you up. Even if it gives you indigestion.”
“Thanks, Gus,” she said with a weary smile. She stood and grabbed her coat off a nearby rack.
“Any time, kid. You have a Merry Christmas now.”
“Yeah, you too.”
The moment Lucy stepped onto the street, a frigid blast of air hit her smack in the face. She bundled her scarf around her head and neck and trudged down the street through the blinding snow. What had started as light drifts had turned into a heavy sludge that dropped from the sky in icy strips. At least she and Mitch had plans for tonight and she could look forward to a cozy evening indoors. While Mitch wasn’t much on romance, he’d promised for weeks that tonight would be special. As soon as her shift ended, he’d be taking off from work as well, so just the two of them could spend the time together they so badly deserved.
Lucy was glad to see the lights from Mitch’s real estate office burning brightly up ahead. He was always the last one working, though he maintained it was for a cause.
Lucy pressed through the heavy glass door, enveloped in a swirl of snow and sending its door chime tinkling. Whistling winds howled as she pushed the door shut.
Mitch didn’t even look up.
Lucy strode to where he sat and set her gloved hands on his desk, palms down on either side of his laptop. “Um-hum,” she said, leaning forward and hoping to get his attention.
Mitch looked up with a start, and removed the pen clenched in his teeth. “Sweet Merry Christmas, Luce,” he said, studying the flakes stuck to her honey-blond hair. “You look like a blasted snow bunny!”
“That’s because I am a blasted snow bunny. Haven’t you even looked outdoors? It’s really coming down out there.”
Mitch craned his neck to peer over Lucy’s shoulder. “So it is,” he said with apparent surprise. “Sure wasn’t doing that this morning.”
“You didn’t even break for lunch?”
Mitch angled toward her, trapping her hands in his. “Babe,” he said, with serious brown eyes. “This is the big one.” His cell rang and he motioned for her to wait.
“Magic Maker Mitch, at your service!” he said into the mouthpiece before flashing Lucy a grin. She knew his spiel so well by now, she could practically spout it herself. “Closing on the thirty-first?” he continued. “No problem.”
Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. “But Mitch, that’s our—”
He quickly covered the mouthpiece to assure her, “I’ll have this all wrapped up by six, no problem.”
Lucy pursed her lips, wishing she could be sure. With Mitch she never knew. New Year’s Eve wasn’t some casual date. It was their—
“Can do, that’s my motto! Four o’clock on the thirty-first it is!”
He ended the call and ran a hand through the stubby brown hair he always wore in a Marine’s cut, though he’d never actually been in the service. Makes the clientele totally trust me, he liked to say, real apple-pie-like.
“Mitch,” Lucy said, speaking past the lump in her throat. “December thirty-first is our wedding.”
“Of course, I know that.” He stood and pulled her into his arms, soggy coat and all. “That’s precisely why I’m doing this. For you!”
“Me?”
“Baby,” he said, tilting up her chin and meeting her eyes. “You’ve got to trust me when I say this is the big tamale. We’re talking swimming pools, movie stars, the whole nine yards. Once this deal’s cut, we’ll get twice the house for our money.”
“But I already told you, I don’t need a big house.”
He jostled her in his arms. “You just say that because you’ve never allowed yourself to believe you deserve it. But I know better, you hear? And I intend to see that you, little lady, get all the happiness you deserve.”
Lucy’s cheeks warmed with a hopeful flush. “You mean you’ve changed your mind about having kids?”
Mitch studied her with alarm. “Kids? Hoo boy, Luce. I was talking about you and me! I don’t recall that discussion being on the table.”
“That’s because you keep taking it off,” she told him. “It’s important. A big thing we need to talk through.”
“You bet, and we will,” he said, releasing her. “Tomorrow, at my place. Turkey with all the trimmings!” He smiled sheepishly and lifted a stack of papers from his desk. “But first, I’ve got some files to go through.”
“But I thought you promised tonight—?”
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry. Really I am. But this deal will be worth it. Just you wait and see.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lucy said, resigned. Every new deal was the big tamale… or taco… or enchilada, and Lucy was growing weary of Mexican food. She shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling let down. It was their last Christmas Eve as single people and she’d really hoped that they’d spend it together. “Won’t I be seeing you later?” she asked with a tentative glance.
“Of course. You bet. I’m still planning on stopping over. Just as soon as
I wrap up things here, and deliver those packages.”
Lucy followed his gaze to a stack of neatly wrapped gifts by the copier. “What are those?”
“Just some things I said I’d take care of for a client.”
Lucy checked the clock on the wall, thinking that he’d never make it to her apartment at this pace. Maybe if she helped out, she’d speed things up a bit, so they could at least enjoy one glass of eggnog in tandem before midnight. “What’s the address? I’ll take them.”
“You’ll what?” he asked with surprise.
“I said I’d take them, Mitch. Just let me know where they’re going and I’ll drop them off.”
“Gosh, Luce! Are you serious?”
She nodded, then spoke under her breath. “Got nothing else to do.”
“You’re the best!” He took her by the shoulders and planted a big kiss on her lips. Then he scribbled an address on a post-it note and stuck it to the top package. “It’s not too far from here. Actually, it’s kind of on your way.”
Lucy had barely gone fifty feet when she started regretting her decision. It was as cold as Siberia out here, and the sidewalk was slippery besides. She adjusted the bulky sack holding the packages in her arms, wondering what sort of client couldn’t do their own Christmas shopping and delivery. Mitch really went overboard sometimes, forever banking on his zealous devotion paying off. If only he were a little less devoted to his work and a tad more attached to her, she would be happy. But what was happiness, anyway? Like Gus had just said, life wasn’t some fairy tale.
Lucy blinked at the glare of headlights meeting her head-on. She was approaching a crossing, and the driver apparently didn’t see her coming. He barreled straight ahead, obviously not spotting the stop sign, either. Lucy had been scurrying along, trying to make haste in completing her task, so she could get home. Now, she had to call herself up short and stop on a dime to avoid walking into the path of the oncoming car. She gripped the sack with a start as her sneakers skidded against slick pavement beneath her. Their soles were coated in a film of ice, lending her no traction at all. “Ohh, whoa!” she shouted, hydroplaning toward the intersection. She was sliding faster now, with no way to stop herself. Then, bump, she went over the curb and felt herself falling backward toward the sidewalk. Taillights streaked away as the back of her head came down hard.
