by Erika Marks
Turning, Miranda sucked in a startled breath. Sure enough, there on the other side of the glass, wearing jeans and a blazer, and holding the biggest bouquet of purple irises Miranda had ever seen, stood—and smiled—Jackson Wilder.
Thankfully Temple rushed around to let him in. Miranda wasn’t at all sure she would have been able to move her feet even if the office had burst into flames.
“You just missed your song on the radio!” Temple cried, steering Jackson across the lobby to where Miranda continued to stand, frozen at the reception desk. She reached back to the knot of her hair, wondering if she had time to tighten it, knowing it looked as wilted as she felt at the end of the day, but it was too late.
“Merry Christmas, Miranda.”
She swallowed, hoping to wet her throat enough to get out a reply. “Merry Christmas.”
“Will you both excuse me? I was just heading back to clean up,” Temple said, sliding past Miranda and giving her a pointed grin that Jackson couldn’t see. “Nice to see you again, Santa.”
Miranda felt her cheeks flame. She waited until Temple had disappeared through the door before she turned back to Jackson. A thousand questions flashed through her mind as she searched his face but he just smiled.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me without the beard.”
If only.
She shifted on her heels, hoping—praying—she didn’t still have remnants of Wilson’s throw-up on her scrubs.
But Jackson’s eyes remained locked on hers.
“Your song’s on all the time,” she said, nodding to the radio. “Ollie and I heard it on our way to school yesterday. You must be very happy.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Great.”
“And Twisty?”
“Like a new horse.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He searched her eyes a long moment before he asked, “How are you, Miranda?”
A much harder question. No closer to a solution to fund her failing rescue than when he left two weeks ago, Miranda had been walking through her days with a bowling ball for a heart, so heavy it hurt to get out of bed. It hadn’t been easy keeping up appearances at work, but she’d managed. She only hoped Jackson didn’t ask.
“Did you find a new stable?”
So much for hope.
Miranda sighed. “Nothing yet,” she said. “I’m still looking though.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I’m hand delivering my Christmas gifts this year.”
She took the envelope, looking up at him warily as she slid her finger under the seal and withdrew a check—made out to Free Spirits Rescue.
“What is this?” she asked.
“The advance money for our song,” he said, as matter-of-factly as if she’d simply asked the time.
Miranda blinked at him. “Our song?”
“That’s right,” he said, taking a step closer. “Miranda, I would never have written ‘Rescued By Christmas’ if I didn’t end up in your barn, in your life. I wrote that song because of you and because of Oliver, and maybe even because of Twisty. So it’s only fair that you all get the advance.”
“But this is a check for five hundred thousand dollars,” she said breathlessly.
He smiled. “Like you said, it’s a popular song.”
She stared down at the check, pride and alarm colliding. Fear thrummed too. A check like this could change a life. But at what cost? She and Oliver were just used to it being only the two of them these last few weeks. Did she dare let Jackson Wilder back into their world?
Miranda looked up at him, wishing she could look at his face and not be bombarded with memories of their time together, or the taste of his kiss, the heat of his mouth on hers, the way he’d made her laugh—never mind Oliver. This close, she could smell the familiar mint of his skin. If she closed her eyes, she could find herself back on that couch, warmed by the fire and his smile…
She shook her head, as if to wipe it all away. She had to be sensible…didn’t she?
“And what exactly are the terms if I accept this money?” she asked, forcing a steeliness into her voice she most certainly didn’t feel.
“No terms. Use it however is best for the rescue. I know it can’t cover all your construction costs—and I know that even if you start building the stable, it won’t be done before your lease is up—but at least it can give you a good cushion to land on.”
But that wasn’t entirely what she meant by terms.
“What does it mean for us?” she asked cautiously.
“No terms there, either. I just wanted to come back and see you and Oliver. I missed you.”
How badly Miranda wanted to admit the same to him, but she just held herself, suddenly chilled with emotion. She looked up at him. “Jackson, it’s one thing to be stranded together over a few days—to pretend we’re different people…”
“I wasn’t pretending anything, Miranda. Were you?”
His eyes flashed meeting hers. It seemed their days of make-believe were past them.
“No,” she said softly.
He reached for her hand and threaded her fingers through his. His voice deepened, rough with meaning. “I know it takes time—no matter who you are or how you meet someone—but I also know that sometimes you just have to take a chance. Even if you don’t always know exactly what you’re doing.”
“That sounds suspiciously like how you ended up in my horse barn, Jackson Wilder.”
He chuckled. “Guilty as charged.” Taking her other hand, Jackson brought her against him, circling her in his arms, the same way he’d held her on the sled. Only this time, there would be no chance of them falling out. “Listen, I know it’s last minute, and you probably already have plans for Christmas Eve dinner…”
“Very serious plans, actually,” Miranda said, trying to bite back a teasing smile and failing miserably. “In fact, Ollie and I have been preparing the menu for weeks.”
Jackson nodded, clearly playing along. “Weeks, huh?”
“That’s right. But I should warn you, it’s going to be very fancy. We’re serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot chocolate, spaghetti and meatballs, meat loaf…”
He pulled her tighter against him, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “You know I have very strong feelings about meat loaf.”
Any evidence of chills that had prickled Miranda’s skin warmed immediately. She stared up at him, letting her eyes roam his face, his mouth. “Good,” she said. “I like a man who has strong feelings about meat loaf.”
Jackson reached out to cup her cheek in his palm, tilting her face up to meet his. “What about a man who has strong feelings about the woman who makes it?” he whispered low.
And as his mouth came over hers, Miranda whispered back, “I like that best of all.”
The End
Erika Marks’ new charming Christmas story
Christmas Comes to Snowfall
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Available Now
The Loveless and Dunn Series
Book 1: Bet the House
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Book 2: Pick Me
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Book 3: Forget Me Not
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A Very Married Christmas
A Loveless and Dunn Spinoff
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Stealing Hearts
A Loveless and Dunn Spinoff
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The Christmas Curse
A Loveless and Dunn Spinoff
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About the Author
Erika Marks
is a women’s fiction writer and the author of LITTLE GALE GUMBO, THE MERMAID COLLECTOR, THE GUEST HOUSE and IT COMES IN WAVES (July, 2014). On the long and winding road to becoming published, she worked many different jobs, including carpenter, cake decorator, art director, and illustrator. But if pressed, she might say it was her brief tenure with a match-making service in Los Angeles after college that set her on the path to writing love stories (not that there isn’t romance in frosting or power tools!) A native New Englander, she now makes her home in Charlotte, NC, with her husband, a native New Orleanian who has taught her to make a wicked gumbo, and their two little mermaids. For more on Erika’s books, visit her website at www.erikamarksauthor.com
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