by Caro Carson
“Ryan...?”
This man didn’t seem to be angry at her at all. Considering how furious Ryan had been just days ago, it couldn’t be him. Then again, Santa was an important role. Santa could never get angry in front of children—and Ryan would never ruin Christmas for a child, despite its having been ruined for him.
But Ryan also had no earthly reason to ever wear a Santa suit. Whoever this year’s Santa was, it couldn’t be the man who’d so recently broken her heart. It was pitiful that she missed Ryan badly enough to imagine it was him.
At last, the ceremony was over, the photographer was satisfied, and the cast was free to return to the theater to remove their costumes. Santa offered Kristen his arm as she headed across the green to the theater, and they each smiled and returned waves from the children and adults they passed.
They entered the theater through the stage door, which led almost directly to the black curtains of the wings. Santa looked all around, turning in a full three-sixty. “Are there any children here? No? Good. I’d hate to confuse the little kids.”
He pulled off his hat with one hand and his white beard with the other, and turned to kiss Kristen, hard.
She hadn’t seen his face, but it didn’t matter. She recognized his kiss.
“Ryan.” She murmured his name against his lips, but before she could begin to ask him the questions his presence raised, he spoke.
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for being a stubborn, pigheaded jerk.”
“But...” She shook her head at his padded costume, just one more mystifying piece of the puzzle that was Ryan. “Why?”
“Because I hurt you. I jumped to all the wrong conclusions, and I refused to listen to you when you told me the truth. I don’t deserve it, but please forgive me.”
“I meant, why are you Santa Claus? This is like your worst nightmare.”
“Not even close. Losing you is my worst nightmare.”
Most of the actors had made their way back to the dressing rooms, but Ryan pulled her deeper into the wings, where the black curtains muffled their voices and gave them a sense of privacy.
“I’m wearing this suit so you’ll know that I mean it when I promise you that I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”
“You won’t assume I’m some kind of gold-digging, movie star wannabe?”
Well, that had rolled off her tongue a little too easily. She’d had a week to relive every painful word he’d said to her, though.
He dropped his head for a moment, chagrined, then looked at her again with such tenderness in his expression, it took her breath away. “For starters, yes. That kind of mistake. I’m so sorry. Do you know why I assumed the worst? Because those were the only type of women I’d known. They were the only type of women I dated, because they couldn’t hurt me. They didn’t matter. If they walked away, nothing inside me would shatter.”
He touched her face with one hand, tentatively cupping her cheek, then stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “But you, Kristen, you matter.”
“Oh, Ryan.” Kristen turned her face into his hand.
“I didn’t know how to handle that. You are this wonderful, remarkable, beautiful woman who somehow fell into my hands, but I didn’t know how to hold you. I was so afraid I’d lose something good, that I was paralyzed. I did nothing. That was a mistake, too.
“I was afraid to lie to you and afraid to tell you the truth at the same time. I told myself you couldn’t handle too many corrections all at once, but the only real truth was that I was petrified I’d lose the best thing in my life. That’s you. That will always be you.
“I learned when I was young that nothing good lasts forever, but I don’t think that’s true any longer, not after meeting you. I believe forever is possible, a good forever, as long as I can spend it with you. I’m wearing this Santa suit because I’m not going to avoid the good things in life anymore. I hope that, someday, you’ll love me again. I hope that you’ll trust me not to make the same mistakes again.”
Kristen swallowed past the lump in her throat. Just seeing his face again, just being touched by him again, made her happier than she could have believed possible just a short time ago. She pressed her hand to heart, feeling out of breath from the emotions.
“If you can’t forgive me tonight, I understand,” Ryan said. “I screwed up badly, but I’ll be here tomorrow. And next week. Next year. You promised me you’d never walk away from me, and I’m here to make the same promise back. I’m staying. Right here in Montana, right here with you, until you believe me when I say I love you.”
“Oh, Ryan.” Kristen tried to throw her arms around his neck, but his red suit’s padding was completely in the way. Her hoops pushed gracefully behind her when she got close to him, but his stuffed belly stayed stuffed.
Ryan unbuttoned the coat and tossed it on a folding chair. Underneath, he was wearing a fitted black T-shirt with the baggy red velvet pants. He pulled her into his arms and held her against his strong chest almost as tightly as she’d dreamed for the past lonely week.
“I don’t want you to settle for a Scrooge when you want a Santa,” Ryan whispered. “I don’t want you to settle for a lawyer when you want a cowboy.”
“I don’t want a lawyer or a cowboy. I want a Ryan.”
“Michaels or Roarke?”
“Both, as long as he’s happy with me.”
“He couldn’t be anything else with you in his life, and that’s the whole truth.”
Kristen kissed him almost as passionately as she knew she’d be kissing him tonight. In her house. Finally.
The cast of the play had begun filtering back out of the dressing rooms. A man in street clothes whistled at their embrace. Kristen tried to brazen it out, giving the crew a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder as she broke off the kiss she’d initiated. She smoothed her gown into place over her hoops.
“Some things go without saying, but this needs to be said. I love you, Kristen Dalton. It’s been seven days since I’ve held you, and I never want to go seven days without holding you again.”
Ryan dropped to one knee in front of her, and Kristen thought her heart stopped. Cast, crew, costume—all were forgotten as she focused on Ryan.
He patted his oversize pants pockets and got a little of that deer-in-the-headlights look, but then he slid on his knee to the discarded Santa coat and dug through it until he came up with a gray velvet box. The theater people gathered around them began to buzz with excitement.
“I wanted to wear the Santa suit to show you how precious you are to me.” He opened the gray box and held it up. The diamond ring inside sparkled with every color of every Christmas light ever strung on a cozy house for two. “This is the other way I want to show you how precious you are to me. I love you with all my heart, Kristen Dalton. I will never deserve you, but I’m not going to let that stop me from being happy with you. Will you marry me?”
* * *
The photographer by the town Christmas tree was tireless in his effort to capture the happiness of the newly engaged couple.
Kristen had changed into her street clothes, including a chic white jacket with faux-fur trim and the most flattering nipped-in waist. She’d bought it this week in a futile attempt to use retail therapy to soothe her heartbreak, but now she was thrilled to have something fabulous to wear for her engagement photos. Ryan was looking handsome and sexy and cute all at once. That was possible when the fine tailoring of a man’s coat contrasted with the bright red Santa�
�s hat he wore.
“Wassail!” One of the street vendors came up to their little cluster of friends and family. “It’s on the house. Wassail to toast the happy couple.”
Kayla was standing next to Kristen, so Kristen took the chance to offer her some sisterly advice. As surreptitiously as she could, she gestured toward her sister’s thickening middle. “If I were you, I’d pass on the mystery punch this time.”
Kayla colored. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know your secret. I want you to be as happy as I am. We’ve got to talk.”
“Soon. Don’t worry about me right now. This is your special night.”
On Kristen’s other side, Ryan scrutinized the two cups he held. “Do you suppose this is safe to drink? They still haven’t solved the case of the Power of the Punch.”
“I was just saying the same thing to Kayla. You and I have so much in common.”
“On the other hand, we just got engaged. Who cares if the wassail is a little too strong?” He grinned at her, looking more carefree than she’d ever seen him look.
“It is a very old Christmas tradition.” She took one of the cups from him.
“You know, Christmas is rapidly becoming my favorite time of the year. If I’m going to be a changed man like Scrooge, I believe I need to fully support all the traditions.”
Kristen tapped her cup to his. “In that case, down the hatch.”
“In that case, Merry Christmas to the future Mrs. Roarke.” They drank to their own happiness, and kissed under the lights of the tree.
“From now on,” Kristen sighed, “I’m always going to love wassail-flavored kisses.”
“From now on,” Ryan said, “I’m always going to love you.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from A COWBOY FOR CHRISTMAS by Rachel Lee.
Don’t miss the next installment of the new Harlequin Special Edition continuity
MONTANA MAVERICKS:
WHAT HAPPENED AT THE WEDDING?
No one would ever guess that shy Kayla Dalton is the writer behind popular gossip column Rust Creek Ramblings. They’d be even more surprised to learn she had a one-night fling with Trey Strickland on the Fourth of July—and he’s about to get the Christmas gift of his life!
Look for
MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABY MAVERICK!
by Brenda Harlen
Coming soon from Harlequin books.
Also look for the other books in the series:
THE MAVERICK’S ACCIDENTAL BRIDE
DO YOU TAKE THIS MAVERICK?
AN OFFICER AND A MAVERICK
BETTING ON THE MAVERICK
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A Cowboy for Christmas
Rachel Lee
Chapter One
From the outside, the ranch house appeared ordinary. Large, from the days of big families, sided with freshly painted white clapboard, with a wide front porch. Inside, the house was anything but ordinary. It looked as if it might have come out of the pages of an interior design magazine.
With Christmas still ten weeks away, at least Abby didn’t have to deal with decorations. And by Christmas, she hoped to have better plans for her future than this.
Abby had spent more than a week cleaning the house, erasing the last detritus of the remodeling, removing dust from every nook and cranny, making sure polished wood gleamed and mirrors provided perfect reflections.
It had been a lot of work, and she was certain she’d used some muscles she hadn’t needed in a while, but at last the house was ready for its new resident.
She wasn’t.
She’d never met her employer. Being hired by someone who worked for Rory McLane had been unusual for her, but probably not for him. He was a big country music star, after all, and could probably afford people to do everything for him, maybe even dress him.
The thought made her giggle, easing a bit of her tension as she waited for her new boss to arrive. She certainly had little enough to giggle about these days.
She didn’t mind the hard work at all. In fact, she’d enjoyed it. Not many jobs provided such a sense of accomplishment that she could actually see. What she minded were the circumstances that brought her here.
And she was uneasy about Rory McLane. With all his fame and money, he was probably puffed up and demanding. Egotistical. She clenched her fists for a moment and reminded herself that it didn’t matter what he was like. She had to put up with it because the alternative was unthinkable. Her husband had run away with her former boss, leaving her jobless and then essentially homeless when he’d sold his family house. Whatever McLane was like, she had to endure it.
Behind the house was a barn that had been refurbished, too, turned into a recording studio that she had only glimpsed. A special crew had been sent in to set that up and clean it. She guessed it required an expertise no housekeeper with a dust rag and mop could provide.
All of it blew her away when she thought about it. She reached out now and touched expensive woods no one around here could afford. She had stepped into a barn that housed not only a top-of-the-line recording studio but a kitchenette and a sitting area. She wondered if McLane might spend most of his time out there.
She hoped so, because she didn’t expect to like him. She couldn’t imagine how having all that money, all that success and all that adulation could fail to go to a person’s head.
She saw dust down the driveway and realized he must be arriving. She’d heard he was flying in his own small plane, but she had no idea if he was coming alone. She half expected to see a stretch limo come up the drive, but instead there was nothing but a brand-new beige pickup truck.
One of the neighbors, maybe?
She drew closer to the front window and watched. Just one truck. And when it pulled to a halt in front of the porch, just one man climbed out.
Abby didn’t follow celebrities, but curiosity had led her to look up Rory McLane on one of the multiple computers scattered throughout the house, and there was no mistaking the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat.
Tall, lanky, wearing jeans, a blue shirt and well-worn cowboy boots. Dark hair a bit on the shaggy side. He turned and pulled out a cowboy hat that didn’t look like any of the ones in his photos. This one had seen some mileage. He clapped it on his head.
This was not what she expected from his publicity photos. Instead of looking like a star, he looked like any rancher coming home.
No entourage. No gorgeous beauties, no stream of people. Just him, looking like an ordinary resident of this county.
Then he walked easily around the truck, dropped the tailgate and pulled out a couple of heavy suitcases. She watched, her mouth growing drier as he brought them up to the porch. Then he went back to the truck and pulled out a guitar case.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared her for the impact of this man in real life. His face looked a little careworn, but he was built like a stud. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong chin, straight nose..
.and when he looked toward the window he did it with eyes as blue as the Wyoming sky.
She could have stared at him forever. Odd, because he wasn’t perfect. His attractiveness ran deeper than looks.
The guitar case hit the porch with a quiet thud, shaking her out of her preoccupation. He went back to close the tailgate, and she decided it was time to start her job. Such as opening the door for him?
Dreading the first encounter, she walked out into the large foyer and depressed the brass latch, opening the door wide just as he was climbing the porch steps again.
“Mr. McLane?” she queried, as if she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her instant recognition.
He smiled faintly. “You must be Abby Jason?”
“Yes, sir.”
He paused just as he was about to lift one of the suitcases. Straightening, he put one hand on his narrow hips and studied her. She could imagine what he was seeing: corn-fed farm girl, a little too plump, plain, no makeup, work clothes. She hadn’t dressed to impress.
“Do me a favor,” he said, his voice a baritone that immediately suggested he’d be a great singer. “First names, and no sirs. I’m Rory. Nice to meet you, Abby. Are your rooms okay?”
“Very nice,” she admitted. She hadn’t expected to have her own small suite of rooms at the back of the house. Nicely furnished, too.
“Good. I’d love some coffee if that’s not too much trouble. Just let me carry my bags in. I should be able to find my room since I approved the layout.”
He said that with a kind of humor that surprised her. She managed a nod. “Coffee coming up.”
“Staff of life,” he said pleasantly. One heavy suitcase in each hand, he started past her.
She hesitated. “Should I bring the guitar inside the door?”
He paused. “Thanks. That’s my old baby.”
