I nod. “Yes, it does. Because I still have a present to unwrap.” I look over at Smith, eyes glittering with love.
9
Smith
When the cops leave and the ambulance drives away, I look at Sugar who’s standing in the doorway of my cabin, her silhouette so damn gorgeous. Her curves make my cock ache, her long hair making me wistful for the future we haven't had yet.
Damn, we've hardly had one single day, but one day is enough.
“Give me a sec,” I tell her as my throat dries and my heart pounds, knowing that what happens next will change everything.
She nods, clearing away the cups from the coffee table where the officers left them and I reluctantly leave her to head to my bedroom. There, from my dresser drawer, I pull out my mother's engagement ring. It was one of her possessions that I kept after she died. It's a glittering diamond on a golden band and I hope it fits.
I put it in my pocket and walk back to the living room, clearing my throat. Sugar is wearing a pair of leggings now and a chunky sweater that falls off her shoulder. I love the look. She looks tousled like she's just woken up from a night of mad lovemaking. I grin, figuring she has.
“Why are you smiling like that?” she asks as I step toward her.
“I was just thinking that this was a pretty damn strange Christmas morning.”
“Agreed,” she says with a shake of her head. “We can keep our French toast tradition, but I don't want any more cougars or cops on our steps on Christmas morning.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Our steps?” I ask, “and our traditions?”
She shrugs sheepishly. “Well, you did say you loved me and last night I remember you telling me you didn't want me to leave.”
“I do and I don’t.”
She licks her lips. They're so damn kissable and I can't help myself. I lean in, lingering there because it's the place I belong. “I love you, Sugar.”
“I love you too, Smith,” she says. “I'm lucky you're good at poker.”
“And I'm lucky you have a thing for lumberjacks.”
She laughs. “I thought you were a carpenter?”
“I still have to show you my workshop,” I say.
“You do. I want to know what you build.” She takes my hand in hers. “You could show me now.”
I nod, swallowing my words, wanting the moment to be just right when I pop the question that will change everything. We slip on our winter coats and she borrows my boots. The snow crunches under our feet.
“It's so beautiful up here in the mountains,” she says. “I can't believe my brother even got up here with his motorcycle.”
We look in the distance where the three bikes sit. The police officers said they would come later on to get them. We said there was no rush. We hoped everyone could enjoy their Christmas to the best of their abilities and rounding up these motorcycles didn’t need to be a priority.
“I'm glad they were caught. Hopefully, those girls can have a future.”
Sugar nods, her fingers laced with mine as we walk to my workshop. “I don't really know Joslin, Trudy, or Sarai,” she says. “They’ve only been around a month or so and I never got close to them. I've never been really a girl's girl.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“I've always been a loner. You know? I was on my own so much growing up with just my brother. And he didn't exactly look out for me. So it was hard to connect to other girls. I always felt so different from everyone else. What about you, Smith?”
I shrug. “Hell, I live up in the mountains all by myself. I know a thing or two about being a loner.”
Sugar nods. “Yeah, but it sounds like you had a family at some point that loved you and made you feel safe?”
“I did and I'm grateful for that. Losing my parents was rough, and I was an only child. I have some distant relatives off in the city and I see them a few times a year, usually at Thanksgiving or Easter. But the truth is, I don't need a lot of people to keep me happy. I always figured if I met my one and only at some point in my life, that would be the icing on my cake.”
“What about kids?” she asks, catching me off guard.
I smile. “Kids? I don't know. It depends on what my wife thought about it.”
She nods, swallowing as I opened the door to the woodshop. “I suppose that would be important,” she says. “For your wife to want children.” She pauses. “And if she didn't?”
“Life is about give and take, right? So, if the woman I loved didn't want children, I suppose I'd understand. Are you saying you don't want kids, Sugar?”
“I wasn't saying anything. I'm not anyone's wife, so I'm not exactly in a place to make any sort of assumptions or offer ultimatums.”
“I see,” I tell her chuckling as my finger moves to switch on the lights. “The thing is when I turn on the lights and you see what I've been working on in this cabin, it’s either gonna give you baby fever or have you run out the door.”
“Kind of ominous,” she says with a laugh. “What in the world are you building?”
I flip on the lights. In my woodshop, there are a dozen wooden cradles.
“You make baby cradles?” she asks incredulously.
I run a hand over my thick beard. “It's my specialty.”
“How in the world did you get into this?” she asks, walking down the row of the wood cradles, intricately shaped and hand-carved. “They’re gorgeous.”
“I got hired to make one by this fancy hipster couple in the city. They liked it and posted a photo of it on Instagram or some shit. Next thing I knew, I got so many orders I can't keep up.”
Sugar shakes her head in disbelief. “So, you're a mountain man, with a chiseled body, a perfect beard, who makes hot cocoa and has a cozy mountain cabin who makes baby cradles for a living?”
“That’s about right.”
She lets out a loud burst of laughter that has me shaking my head. “Smith. You're ridiculous. Ridiculously perfect.”
“So, what will it be? Does this have you running for the door or come down with baby fever?”
Sugar sighs. “Smith. I've wanted to be a mother all my life. I played with baby dolls way longer than most girls. I think I always wanted to be a mom because… well, I wanted to give a child the love I never received. I wanted to complete the circle.”
I step toward her, her compassion and love filling this workshop in a way it's never been filled before.
“That’s really fucking sweet,” I say as her eyes meet mine.
“Not pathetic?”
I cup her cheek with my hand. “Not pathetic. I'd say it's fucking perfect.”
She smiles softly a single tear runs down her cheek. “You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me,” she says. “I feel like pinching myself because this is all too good to be true. I’m scared I'm going to wake up from a dream.”
“This is no dream. This is our life now, Sugar, yours and mind.” I drop down to one knee. “I know we just met, and I know we have a lot to learn, but let's do it right. Marry me,” I say holding out the engagement ring. “Be my wife.”
Sugar covers her face with her hands overwhelmed with emotion.
“I need to see your eyes when you answer me,” I say pulling down her hand.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I will marry you, Smith. I will be your wife. Together we can make traditions, all sorts of them. You and me.”
I slip the ring on her finger, then stand, pulling Sugar to my chest kissing her softly. I run my hands through her long honey hair, her lips on mine. Our bodies linked. Our hearts pound.
“You are mine now, Sugarplum.”
Epilogue 1
Sugar
One Year Later…
I press my hand to my breasts, feeling like I'm about to burst. Smith notices and chuckles from the living room. He's sitting in a rocking chair with Susie in his arm. “You okay there, Sugar?”
“I'm just so full. I was so busy wrapping gifts that I lost track of time.”
&n
bsp; “Well, I think Beth is ready to eat,” Smith says, looking over at our daughter in the cradle next to the Christmas tree, her arms stretched out.
I step toward her and lift her from the cradle. Her pink swaddling blanket is snug around her three-months-old frame, She’s the most perfect thing I've ever seen. Well, one of the most perfect things.
We wanted to get pregnant, but twins ended up giving us a package deal. Two for the price of one. We couldn’t have been more pleased.
I offer Beth my breast and she begins to nurse. Smith sets the now sleeping Susie in the other cradle next to the Christmas tree and tells me he's going to start fixing us dinner. Christmas music circles around the room, the song I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus begins to play throughout the house, and I smile as I look around my cozy home.
The cabin that my husband built that has become my house as much as his. I've added some feminine touches, a few throw pillows, scented candles, and a few new ornaments to the Christmas tree. On the mantelpiece there are four stockings hanging there this year. One for him, one for me, and two pink velvet stockings for the girls.
Everything about the room feels magical. As Beth nurses, I close my eyes catching a few minutes of sleep. Delicious smells from the kitchen wake me up and Smith comes up behind me, kissing me on the head.
“I feel like the luckiest man on earth to have three girls to take care of at Christmas.”
“We are pretty lucky, aren't we?” I place the now-sleeping Beth gently in her cradle, knowing the two of them will sleep for a few hours before they demand another feeding.
In the kitchen, I smell the sweet scent of cinnamon. “Were you working on your French toast while I was nursing?”
There's a stack of French toast, a jug of syrup, and mimosas.
“It's our Christmas Eve tradition, isn't it?”
I laugh. “Yes, but it’s only five o’clock. It's not quite midnight.”
“I know, but considering the girls run our schedule these days, I figured we might as well eat while we can.
“Good call,” I say. Then licking my lips, I add, “But can we eat fast?”
Smith frowns.
“It has nothing to do with the food. I'm starved and this looks delicious,” I say filling a plate and sitting down at the kitchen table with him. “But I just had some other things I wanted to do before they woke up.”
“I thought you wrapped all the presents?” he asks. “Isn't that what you were doing all afternoon?”
“Yes. And the Christmas tree is decorated and the food's prepped for tomorrow.”
“Then what else have you got on your mind, Sugarplum?”
I lick my lips. “Well, I was hoping this wouldn't be the only sweet thing you’d eat tonight.”
Smith practically chokes on the mimosa, settling it down and coughing into his hand. “Sugar, you’re trouble.”
I shove a bite of French toast in my mouth and then reach for my husband's hand. “We can microwave this, you know.”
He grins. “We sure can.” Then he picks me up and carries me to our bedroom.
If I felt curvy last year. I feel even curvier this year. Having twins does that to a woman, but Smith loves it. He loves every last inch of me. He begins to strip me of my clothes one piece at a time. My top, my skirt, my tights, my panties, my bra -- until I'm in nothing.
“What do you think?” I ask, running my hands over my bare skin.
“I think you look ravishing.”
“Good,” I say shoving down his jeans so I can get a handle on his big thick cock. “Then devour me.”
He lays me down on the bed before his mouth dips to my creamy cunt. I'm already so wet and warm for him. I've been thinking about it all day long. Every time I thought about traditions and French toast, all I could think about was his beard tickling the soft spot between my legs.
His tongue runs up and down me and I run my hands through his thick hair. “God, I love you, Smith.”
I moan as he pleasures me, sucking my clit, making sure I enjoy every last second of this. I do. I need more though. I tell him to fill me up and he crawls up to me. His mouth dripping with my cream. He kisses me and I love it when he does it. It feels so dirty and delicious.
“Come inside me,” I beg. “Give me another baby. That's what I want for Christmas.”
“God, you know how much I love you?”
I look up at him, my husband, the love of my life. “Actually, I think I do.”
“No way, Sugarplum, I love you more than you could ever know.” He kisses me again, and I breathe him in, the wood shavings and fresh air scent of my mountain man.
“The babies are going to wake up soon,” he says. “I need to get to work. No more talking.” He presses a finger to my lips. “Shhh…”
I obey, and silently I wrap my arms around him pulling him close. Inch by inch, his thick cock fills me up. He closes his eyes. “What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Nothing but visons of my Sugarplum dancing through my head.”
Epilogue 2
Smith
Thirty Years Later…
Our daughter, Beth, is with her husband, mugs of hot cocoa in their hands next to the Christmas tree. Our son, Tanner, is with Sugar in the kitchen, making French toast. It’s Christmas Eve and the cabin – well the three times renovated cabin – is full. Our other daughter, Susie, is propped up in an armchair – six months pregnant – talking to Tanner’s fiancée about the wedding plans.
My six-year-old granddaughter Lucy runs up to me, her baby doll in hand, asking if I know what Santa is bringing her this year.
I look around, wondering if anyone will notice Lucy and I sneaking away. “I can’t tell you Santa’s plans, but I think I might be able to show you what I’ve been making in my workshop.”
Her eyes light up. She is our only grandchild – so far – and she has me wrapped around her little finger.
I take her hand and we weave our way through the cabin. Passing Sugar, I kiss my bride, who after all these years, still makes my heart flip-flop every damn time I see her. Her honey-blond hair is in a bun on top of her head, and she wears an apron. I kiss her cheek as I pass her, pausing to pull her to me. “I love you, Sugarplum.”
Tanner groans. “You guys are so bad.”
“No,” Sugar admonishes with a laugh. “We’re just sentimental this time of year.”
“Grandpa is taking me to his workshop!” Lucy says with delight.
Sugar and Tanner smile, knowing what I built her.
“Well you better be careful out there, Lucy,” Tanner says. “Because it’s my workshop too ya know.”
Pride swells through me. I love the fact my one and only son is taking up my trade. He is an even finer carpenter than me.
“I know, Uncle Tanner,” she says with an adorable voice of exasperation. “The rule is no touching.”
Sugar kneels down and kisses Lucy’s cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”
“Merry Christmas, Grandma.”
“Now you two be quick. Breakfast for dinner is almost ready.”
“Why is this the tradition?” I hear Tanner ask as I leave through the back door with Lucy.
I smile, chuckling to myself remember that first Christmas Eve with Sugar all those years ago. Once inside the workshop, I flip on the lights and take Lucy’s hand. “’Kay sweetie, your gift over here. The one that is wrapped up.”
“This is for me?” she asks, eyes big. She walks over to the package and unwraps it carefully. She gasps when she sees what I’ve made her. “A baby cradle for Julie?” she asks, placing her baby doll in the miniature cradle that I carved, sanded, and painted pink and white.
“Do you think she likes it?” I ask, knowing the answer by the look of pure joy in my granddaughter’s eyes. Tucked in the cradle is a small quilt Sugar made, and Lucy tenderly tucks her baby doll in.
Tears prick my eyes. I may be getting old, but damn, I can’t help but get sentimental this time of year. Sugar and I dreamed for so long o
f creating a family that would have a legacy, and that we would be lucky enough to watch our kids grow up, knowing my own parents were not so lucky. And somehow, we’ve made it though. We beat the odds and came out ahead. We’ve come out together.
“It’s perfect, Grandpa,” Lucy says. “I love it. And I love you.”
She wraps her arms around me, and I hold her tightly, the miracle of Christmas still not lost on me.
~The End~
Curves For Christmas!
Make sure to check out the other books in the Curves For Christmas Series!
Sleighing Mr. Right by Hope Ford on Nov 25th
Baby, It’s Hot in Here by Olivia T. Turner on December 3rd
Her First Noel by Dani Wyatt on December 9th
Frankie Christmas Romances…
Here is a list of all Frankie Love titles set at Christmas!
Enjoy, and happy holidays!
❄️
Mistletoe Mountain: https://frankielove.net/books/mistletoe-mountain-the-mountain-mans-christmas/
❄️
Sugar Mountain Christmas Bride: https://frankielove.net/books/sugar-mountain-christmas-bride/
❄️
Beauty and the Mountain Man: https://frankielove.net/books/beauty-and-the-mountain-man/
❄️
Let’s Merry Christmas: https://frankielove.net/books/lets-merry-christmas/
❄️
Merry Me: https://frankielove.net/books/merry-me/
❄️
Home Is Where The Beard Is: https://frankielove.net/books/home-is-where-the-beard-is/
❄️
Raised: https://frankielove.net/books/raised/
About the Author
His Sugarplum: Curves For Christmas Page 5
