The Christmas Bliss Romance Collection

by Jennifer Youngblood

  Somehow, Beckett managed to get to his feet as he stumbled out of the office. He caught sight of Houston out of the corner of his eye. The older man pulled the phone away from his ear, his features drooping into a frown. “What’s going on?”

  Beckett kept on moving. As he exited the building, Ava came running up. When she saw him, she stopped in her tracks, her face draining. “I’m sorry.” Tears rose in her eyes. “I wanted to be here when Houston told you.” She barked out a laugh. “I didn’t realize Houston was meeting with you until the last minute. Then, I got a speeding ticket on the way over.”

  Every muscle in Beckett’s body quivered, and it was all he could do to control his voice as he ground out the words. “How could you? I trusted you!” His voice was like thunder, his anguish rising in his chest like a hideous, black mountain. He looked at the woman he thought he was falling in love with. Even with her pinched expression and pale face, she was exquisite—a beautiful Jezebel who’d murmured sweet lies into his ear to manipulate him. Her golden hair still called to him, making him want to run his fingers through it. Her crystal eyes were regretful, worried as they sought his. “I wanted to tell you the truth.” Her voice was persuasively soft.

  How easy it would be to take her into his arms, forget that she’d used him.

  “What truth is that?” he barked, heat combusting through him. “That you used me!”

  She rocked back. “No, I never used you.”

  He snarled out a laugh. “Of course you did. You were bitter because your grandfather named me as beneficiary of his living trust. You thought if you could trick me into falling in love with you that you’d have complete control.”

  Her lower lip trembled, eyes filling with panic. “No, that’s not true. I would never do that. I wanted to tell you the truth, planned to be here when Houston met with you so I could tell you. My grandfather’s instructions were very clear and precise, Houston was the one who was supposed to deliver the news. I didn’t want to break protocol and run the risk of messing anything up.”

  He grunted. “That was mighty convenient, huh?” Something else occurred to him. “No wonder you didn’t seem all that surprised when I told you about my past.” He got up in her face, his voice escalating. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she croaked, a tear running down her cheek. “You’ve got to believe me. I would never do anything to hurt you. I’m falling in love with you.”

  The words he most wanted to hear. Now, they were a cruel mockery. His head was on fire. He threw up his hands, pushing out a hard laugh. “I find that hard to believe!”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Must I spell it out? You’re engaged to another man!”

  An incredulous laugh rumbled in her throat. “What?”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t try to deny it,” he lashed out. “I saw the picture of you and Wesley.” His insides were being gutted.

  “I don’t know how in the heck you got that idea, but you’re dead wrong.”

  She was convincing with the sparks shooting from her eyes, nostrils flaring. He wanted to believe her, but the proof of her treachery was plain as day. There was a two billion-dollar trust on the line and Beckett got in the way. Rage tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She touched his arm. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll explain everything to you. Please.”

  “You must think I’m stupid.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I guess I am stupid. I thought I was in love with you.” He jerked his arm out of her grasp. The fingers of despair clutched the base of his skull. “No!” He had to get away. “Don’t ever contact me again!”

  He pushed past her.

  “Beckett,” she screamed, her voice shrill. “Hear me out! Please!”

  Tears wet his eyes as he swallowed down the despair in his throat. His feet picked up the pace and then he was running.

  For the first time in years, all he could think was how badly he needed a drink.

  * * *

  Beckett sat slumped over the edge of the bar, looking down into the shot glass filled with clear liquid. All he had to do to end the pain was bring the glass to his lips, tip it up, and swallow. Ava had been calling repeatedly, had left over a dozen texts, telling him that they needed to talk. As far as Beckett was concerned, there was nothing left to say. He’d also missed a few calls from Jazzie, wondering why he’d not come to pick her up.

  His heart tugged. Jazzie! If he threw in the towel and started drinking again, Jazzie would be the one who got hurt the most.

  “That’s right, she would be hurt the most.”

  He jumped, startled that the woman beside him had spoken. He turned to look at her. For a second, he thought his eyes were deceiving him. He blinked, then looked again. His weary mind was imagining things. Maybe his brain was tricking him. He’d been sitting here for hours, staring into the liquid. Before that, he’d gotten in his truck and drove aimlessly before finally ending up at a bar. Maybe he was in a drunken state, hallucinating. “You’re the Fruitcake Lady,” he uttered. She was wearing the same brown cape he remembered. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, the leathery wrinkles deepening.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, your prophecy of me finding love by Christmas came true.” His stomach clenched as he let out an acerbic laugh “Of course, I lost it just as quickly. You forgot to add that part in.”

  She dipped her head in a thoughtful pose. “I guess that depends on your definition of lost.”

  He picked up the glass, swirling the liquid. One little drink, that’s all he needed to take the edge off.

  “It never stops with one,” the woman countered in a scratchy voice.

  He sat the glass down with an audible plunk. “How do you keep doing that? Are you clairvoyant or something?” he mumbled.

  Amusement lit her eyes. “Something like that.” Her tone grew speculative. “You know, earlier, your thoughts were right on track. You could do a lot of good with the inheritance.”

  He jerked. “How?” he sputtered. He grunted, rubbing his jaw. “None of that matters anymore. I’m not accepting it.”

  He expected her to offer a response, but she just sat there, staring at him with those beady eyes. He swore she could see straight into his soul. “What?” he barked insolently. He bunched his brows, his fingers curling around the glass.

  “It was her choice.”

  “What?” he barked.

  She pointed. “Who’s that?”

  He turned to look. “Who’re you pointing to?”

  In a swift movement, belying her age, she snatched the glass from his hands and downed the liquid.

  “Hey!” Beckett countered.

  She shuddered, making a face. “That has got to be the nastiest stuff I’ve ever tasted.”

  “You can’t just take someone’s drink!”

  Her thin lips stretched into a smile that seemed to fall into the back of her mouth. “Now, the temptation’s gone,” she said glibly.

  A laugh bubbled in Beckett’s throat. Surprisingly, he felt relieved.

  “See.” She tapped his arm. “You don’t need that anymore. You’re a changed man.”

  His brain worked trying to unearth a forgotten memory. It was right there on the edge of his mind. For the life of him, he couldn’t quite get to it. He turned to her, studying her stringy tufts of cotton-white hair, lined face, and mismatched clothing swallowing her tiny frame. “We’ve met before.”

  She tipped a half smile, speaking to him in a slow, precise cadence like she was talking to a child. “Yes, at the fire station and when you helped me move into my house.”

  “Ah, but I went to the house we helped you move into, there was another family living there who said they’d been there for two years and had never heard of you.”

  A giddy laugh escaped her lips. “Oops,” she quipped, touching her mouth.

  “I mean we met before that.” He rubbed his forehead. “At least I think we have.” Maybe he was losing it.

  Sh
e let out a labored sigh. “No, you’re not losing it. We have, sort of, met before. It’s not important,” she said hastily.

  “But—”

  “But, you need to listen to me,” she said, her voice ringing with authority.

  Beckett marveled at how he felt compelled to listen to her. There was an inherent strength to the Yoda-like woman that commanded respect.

  “It was Ava’s choice to make you the beneficiary of her grandfather’s trust.”

  He jerked, his breath coming out in a loud gasp. “H—how do you know about Ava?” Was the woman telling the truth?

  “Deep down, you already know that I am,” she countered. “Ava’s grandfather would’ve left everything to her, had she desired it. Ava wanted you to have it because she knew you would be a wise steward.” She gave him a motherly smile. “All that glitters is not gold.”

  Beckett’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

  “Search your heart. Find the strength to forgive yourself for your past mistakes. Don’t be afraid to ask God for help. He doesn’t keep score of the blessings He gives you.” She stood.

  His mind was on fire. If it was Ava’s choice to leave Beckett the inheritance that could mean only one thing—that she really was falling for him.

  The woman’s eyes glittered with an ancient mirth that seemed to defy time and space. “Now you’re on the right track.”

  He caught hold of her cape. “W—who are you?”

  She scrunched her face, her wrinkles caving in on one another, shriveling it like a raisin. He held his breath as she peered into his eyes. Then she pushed a bony finger into his chest. “That’s not what you should be asking.”

  “Huh?”

  The corners of her lips tipped into a shrewd smile. “The question you should be asking is, Who are you?” She grew pensive, holding up a gnarled finger. “What kind of man is Beckett Bradshaw?” Pulling her cape tighter around her stooped shoulders, she turned and hobbled away.

  Beckett reached in his wallet and slapped down a ten-dollar bill for the drink. He couldn’t let the woman get away, not without finding out who she was and how she knew so much about him.

  He hurried after her. When he stepped outside the bar, he scoured the surrounding area.

  The woman was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 11

  Beckett sat in his truck, staring aimlessly at the swirling snowflakes colliding with the windshield and running down the glass in watery ribbons. If all that the woman had said was true … Tears pressed against his eyes. She’d admonished him to pray, to ask for the things he needed most. He needed Ava, needed the strength to take hold of this new responsibility. At the bar, he’d sat for hours staring into the abyss, the need for alcohol almost unbearable. And yet, somehow, he’d not succumbed to temptation.

  He laughed bringing his fist to his mouth. Of course, it helped that the little, old lady drank it. It’s time, his heart whispered. Time to put away the old and embrace the new. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he closed his eyes and bowed his head, opening his heart in prayer.

  An hour later, Beckett felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest as he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. Had it not been so late, Beckett would’ve called Ava to work things out. He still wasn’t pleased that she’d withheld the truth from him, pretended that their first meeting was happenstance. But, he couldn’t deny his feelings for her. The snow was coming down harder. He got out of his truck and tucked his chin into his neck as he walked briskly to the entrance of his apartment. He climbed the stairs to his loft on the second floor. As he stepped inside the door, he dusted the snow from his hair and removed his coat, tossing it on a nearby chair. He was physically exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep.

  He was headed to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He spun around and saw a man rushing towards him—blonde hair, an expression of pure hatred. Hot prickles of surprise jolted through Beckett like an electrical charge as his mind connected the person with the face. “Wesley?”

  “Lights out, wonder boy,” Wesley said maliciously, swinging a bat.

  Beckett held up his hands in defense, heard a loud pop at the same instant a blinding pain shot through his head. He staggered and fell, going deadly still.

  * * *

  Hunger gnawed at Beckett’s gut, his footsteps heavy as he trudged through the wet snow. He was again homeless, Jazzie’s pleading expression searing through his mind. He’d just left the shelter where Jazzie had begged him to come home, but he couldn’t. His weaknesses bound him with bands of steel, impossible to break through. A picture of Ava flashed through his mind. With it came an overwhelming feeling of longing and an urgency to get to her.

  The hunger persisted, nipping at his insides like a ruthless dog. No, he couldn’t be hungry. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams. All that glitters is not gold. The money meant nothing in comparison to his relationships. Beckett thought of Jazzie, his parents and siblings, Ava. All thoughts kept going back to Ava, the moon pulling the tides.

  He was on the train, wrapped in the suffocating blanket of his guilt. A UTA transit officer boarded the train. Beckett tensed, wondering if he’d be thrown off for not having a ticket. Wait a minute! Was this a dream? He’d lived this before. The officer was coming his direction, methodically checking all the passengers’ tickets. The officer stopped by the woman sitting directly in front of Beckett. Beckett looked, then looked again. Brown cloak, snow-white hair, stooped shoulders. The woman turned so that he caught a glimpse of her face.

  He flinched. “It’s you!” Why was the Fruitcake Lady on the train? She was arguing with the UTA officer, causing a scene. The officer put her in cuffs, was about to haul her off. She caught Beckett’s eye and smiled, wide-cheeked, her mouth falling back into her face as it had at the bar.

  “You caused a distraction to keep me from getting thrown off the train. Why?”

  The scene shifted, and he was once again trudging through the snow. He was encapsulated in the isolation of the deserted rural road. No, he wasn’t alone. Someone else was here. He saw the headlights and the car in the snow. He felt like he was separated from himself, watching a story unfold as he went to investigate, then came across the woman. She reached for his hand, begging him to stay with her. He felt more than heard the thoughts in his head, could tell how hard it was for him to break through his protective shell of isolation. For so long he’d kept himself quarantined from other people. He was no longer Beckett Bradshaw, a productive citizen, but a faceless vagrant scavenging the streets to survive. Still, something inside him whispered that he couldn’t leave the woman. He warred with himself, that epic battle of right and wrong waging, his need to help another human being winning out in the end.

  Beckett’s body convulsed as he coughed in acrid smoke. Hands shook his arms.

  “Wake up!” a scratchy voice ordered.

  He opened his eyes and strained to see. Smoke burned his eyes. It only took a second for his mind to process what was happening. He was in a fire! He felt his clothes, his hands frantically patting down his torso, wondering why he wasn’t in uniform. Where was the crew?

  “You have to get out!”

  He forced his brain to focus on the blurry face hovering over him. Old with loose wrinkles. “It’s you again. The Fruitcake La—” The words choked in his throat as he coughed. His chest hurt from the smoke. Pain throbbed through his head. He touched the back of it, surprised to find it sticky and wet.

  The old woman tugged at his arm. “Get moving! You haven’t got much time.”

  He groaned as he sat up, then doubled over coughing. His head swam as the woman shoved him. Instinct took over as he lifted the bottom of his shirt to his mouth and crawled toward the stairs. Stand up and you’re dead. Stay low and go! The heat was blistering, causing rivulets of sweat to drip from his forehead. His eyeballs felt like they were burning through to the sockets as
he strained to see through the smoke. Normally, Beckett and his crew would try to find the source of the fire and contain it. Then, they’d methodically check the structure, room by room, for victims. In this case, he was the victim. He heard a cracking sound as the far end of the room caved in. He had to get out! Getting to his feet, he went down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he kicked open the door, practically falling out of it into the cold, night air. Large snowflakes swirled around him as he got to his feet and turned to face his building, clutching his chest. Smoke billowed from the roof. Where was the woman? Had she gotten out?

  It went through his mind that every worldly possession he owned was in that building. He heard the squeal of the fire engine siren, briefly wondered which shift was working tonight, as he staggered onto the snowy grass and collapsed.

  Chapter 12

  The persistent ringing of Ava’s phone jolted her out of her sleep. She groaned as she reached for the phone. “Hello.” Her voice was groggy, and she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. She’d been so distraught over Beckett, afraid that he’d never speak to her again, that she’d not gotten to sleep until two a.m. Her mind kept rolling everything around, making her feel more and more guilty for not telling Beckett the truth straight out. Hang the conditions of the trust! Ava should’ve been the one to tell him. She was still peeved at Houston for going through with it, even when she asked him to wait.

  No hello or good morning. “Have you seen the local news?” Houston asked bluntly.

  She raked her hair away from her forehead, exhaling a dry laugh. “Sure, I’ve been up since five a.m. watching it,” she said sarcastically.

  In characteristic Houston form, he completely ignored her comment. “Beckett’s loft apartment caught on fire last night.”