Love, Laughter and Happily Ever After: A Short Story Collection

by Daisy Prescott

  Yes, I have a heart. No, it's not three-sizes too small.

  There's not a snowflake's chance in Phonenix I'm ever dressing up as Old Saint Nick.

  "It's a Christmas miracle." Diane points to a quiet Alene, happily playing with my beard.

  "Hello, Papa Silver Fox." The blond man with the toddler greets me with a friendly smile.

  I lift an eyebrow at him.

  "Quinn," Diane chides him. "Be nice to Olaf."

  "I'm paying him a compliment! Silver foxes are all the rage. Hi, I'm Quinn." He extends his hand over the bar. I shift Alene and shake it. "The little one is Lizzy and the handsome man pretending to be a puppy with her is my husband, Ryan."

  He says all of this as if I'll remember. "Nice to meet you."

  The man and child in the window both give me friendly woofs.

  Diane introduces me to the rest of her friends. I pretend I'm interested while smiling down at Alene.

  "You should bring them to Sal's, Maggie." Diane gives her former landlord a knowing smile. The kind of looks women exchange that send a nervous tremor down the spines of men.

  "We went there for lunch. Unfortunately the resident silver fox is on vacation this week," Maggie answers.

  "Selah was heartbroken," Maggie's guy Gil says.

  A shorter woman with dark hair pokes her head around his tall frame. "You know what helps with heartbreak? Beer. What do you have that's extra hoppy. Cause it's the hop, hoppiest time of the year."

  After singing the last sentence, she grins at me as if she somehow knows how much I hate that song. I sense a kindred sister of sarcasm.

  Reluctantly returning Alene to her mother, I recommend an IPA and fill the rest of their order. The tall blond one named Kai, who looks like an old Viking, slides a fancy black credit card on the bar, subtly letting me know he's paying for whatever they drink. I appreciate a man who doesn't waffle when it comes to taking care of the check.

  John wraps his thick arms around both Diane and Alene before kissing their cheeks. "Helen's outside in the car."

  Diane's smiles and then frowns. "You think she'll be okay? It's her first overnight without us."

  He kisses his wife softly on the lips and tells her, "Without us? Or us without her? We can cancel. Or go home early."

  She frowns again. "And give up the chance at a full night's sleep? Are you crazy?"

  He grumbles about priorities before she kisses his cheek. "I'll walk her out and be right back."

  John watches them go with love in his eyes and all over his face like he got smashed with a love pie right in the kisser.

  I remember that feeling. Best one in the world.

  Before the divorce. Before the kids grew up and moved away.

  When I was a young man in the Navy, I fell in love with a teacher from Oak Harbor. She wasn't charmed by my stories from around the world or my good looks. To a young buck with an ego, I accepted her challenge, making it my mission to make her fall in love with me. I sent her pearls from Japan and fancy perfume from France. Before I got transferred from Everett, I made her a promise. If she married me, as soon as I finished in the Navy, we'd move back to the island and never leave again.

  I kept my end of the promise.

  She now lives on a golf course in Phoenix with a retired insole salesman. Our youngest son, Neil, calls him Dad, too. Neil's always been a little prick. Steve at least remembers to call me on my birthday.

  I'm the one who never left. Born here, I'm going to die here. Not for a long time, God willing.

  Here's the part of the story where the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future show up, isn't it?

  "Bah humbug," I grumble under my breath.

  "Did you just say—" Diane asks as she returns childless.

  "He's been muttering it all night." John slings an arm over her shoulder. "Shall we go take advantage of our hotel room?"

  She grins and nods. "I made sure to avoid the Room of Unmentionable Things."

  "I heard that! I highlighted that quote in the review!" Holding up his arm in triumph, Tom shouts from his table. How he heard her from across the room, I can't figure out. I can barely hear myself complain in my own head. Hailey nudges his shoulder and lowers his arm.

  I watch John and his wife say good-bye to their friends, and dammit if my heart doesn't feel fuzzy and warm.

  One thing people either get or don't get about this island is we're all family. We have a bunch of crazy aunts in those ribbon-wielding gossipers, Sandy, Connie, and Sally. They meddle and gossip because they care. The brotherhood of friends with John and Tom at the heart is as strong as blood. No longer boys, they've become honorable men. For the most part. Maggie's circle is the only family she has now that her parents have passed. Knowing she is loved and cared for would make Ann happy again. As the younger generation pairs off and starts their own broods, our family grows and expands to include the newcomers like Dan, his lady Roslyn, sweet Diane, and even the younger Kelso's girl, Cari. Despite our differences, Dan's become a true friend to me, pushing back the loneliness solitary life can bring. Our family happily welcomes home the wayward sons and daughters like Hailey King. Hell, I'd greet my own boys with open arms and a smile if they came to visit.

  Some may say we're stuck in the past here. Those people are the ones who don't understand the magic of life in a small town.

  I feel a lump lodge in my throat and a burning behind my eyes.

  Dammit.

  "Bah humbug," I grumble to dispel the feelings filling up my crotchety old heart.

  "Merry Christmas to you, too!" Tom shouts from the corner.

  The Kelsos follow his lead and raise their voices. "Merry Christmas to us all."

  Next thing I know, the whole crowd is echoing their words with glee.

  "Merry Christmas, one and all," I softly say, catching Maggie's eye.

  Louder, I shout. "Merry Christmas to all. Now go home. It's last call."

  THE PINK PEARL

  A pirotica short

  Introduction

  First published under Selah Elmore's pen name, The Pink Pearl was the name of one of Selah's erotica books in Geoducks Are for Lovers. I had a blast writing a pirate story and always promised myself I'd write more. Someday. Maybe.

  This short is different than the rest. For one thing, there are sword jokes and pirate puns.

  If you've been reading my books since the beginning in 2013, you might remember this tale of sexy pirates on the high seas.

  Published under the pen name Suzette Marquis

  Suzette Marquis is the pen name of Selah Elmore, who is a fictional character created by Daisy Prescott. Still with me? Suzette writes steamy tales of pirates when not daydreaming about lumberjacks and bearskin rugs. Daisy Prescott is a full time writer, who dreams up characters who demand their own publications.

  Chapter 1

  Fiona

  Sweat began to drip down her chest, pooling between her breasts. She noticed his hair along his brow was dampened from his own exertion.

  Fair Robert thrust as she retreated. Sprung free from the leather strip that normally bound them, his long golden locks hung in his face

  He pulled back before thrusting again. She mirrored his actions. When he advanced, Fiona responded, her muscles clenching as she reacted to him.

  With one final thrust, she came undone. Literally. The tip of his sword untied her chemise, freeing her full breasts to the cool, morning sea air.

  “Had enough, Mistress Fiona?” he asked.

  “You do not play fair, Robert. Hardly more than a glancing blow, certainly not deadly.” She glanced down at her perked nipples. “Not even un petit mort.”

  His answering smirk was meant to disarm her, but she wasn’t finished with their sparring. As he stared at her exposed chest, she swiftly sliced the air with her own sword, flicking his unguarded blade down toward the floor of the cabin. Her own sharp edge tore through the laces of his breeches before settling its point at the newly exposed skin.

 
“Your cockiness always gets you into trouble.” She smiled, watching as the cream colored linen slid down his hips, exposing the skin of his hipbones and a noticeable trail of hair.

  “I do believe it is my cockiness that attracted you first, mi’lady.”

  “No. It was the sight of your ass bent over the rigging that first caught my eye. Luckily for me, your face lived up to your name.”

  A swift movement, a parry, and his blade clanked against hers once again. Ignoring that her breasts were exposed, she advanced on him, forcing him into the corner of the cabin.

  “Shall I threaten you with the plank?”

  “You can threaten me all you would like. However, I’ll never walk the plank and we both know it,” he said, his voice husky from their sparring.

  “I know nothing of the kind. You disobey me, you’ll get the plank. Or marooned. My ship, my rules. You are aboard the ship at my pleasure. Displease me, and you’ll be cast adrift without your sword.” Gliding the weapon over her head and then down, she deflected his blade. “Double cross me, and the family jewels will stay with me.”

  “I shall assume, by your scowl, double cross is not the double the lady prefers.”

  “You assume correct. And I prefer your sword still attached.”

  His haughty laughter filled the cabin. “Without my sword, what would be left of me?”

  “Enough to feed the sharks. Let them fight over the scraps.” She moved to deflect his advance and found herself with her back against the post of her bed.

  “Ah, my mistress finds herself with nowhere to escape.” He leered.

  His bare chest heaved with his breath as she let her eyes drift lower. And lower still, wondering how his breeches stayed on him. When her eyes reached the apex of his thighs, she found her answer.

  Taking advantage of his overconfidence, she allowed him to step closer. Sensing he was leaning in for a kiss, rather than a final blow, she wrapped her calf around his leg. This threw him off balance and he stumbled back as his breeches slipped lower on his hips. His erection sprang free when he landed on the silk, Oriental rug covering the wood floor.

  “Well, well. I seem to have full advantage now.” She licked her lips and watched him bob free. After flicking her gaze over her shoulder at the large mahogany captain’s bed, she quickly glanced back at him.

  “I can tell from the flush in your cheeks and your pert nipples that you like what you see. Perhaps I shall avoid another day being a meal for the sharks.”

  “Perhaps. Although, I’m not sure I’m done playing with you. I’m thinking of the strap or maybe my whip since you prove no challenge with your blade. Now that our clothes are in tatters, are you going to keep me waiting longer?”

  “Let me state that although I enjoy the sting of your whip, I believe earlier you mentioned un petite mort. Shall we change the game?”

  Her eyes traveled from the juncture of his legs, following that trail of hair up and over his stomach to his chest. Each group of muscles formed its own continent in the topography of his abdomen. Shadows and ridges outlined his pure masculine form. Briefly meeting his eyes, she shrugged what remained of her chemise from her shoulders, leaving her bare in the early light of morning peeking through the portholes of her cabin.

  With a swift movement, she was on her back on the bed, Fair Robert leaning over her.

  “Where was I?” he asked, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  “Much further south, I believe.” She shoved his head below her equator. “And practicing your French.”

  “Oui,” he murmured against her inner thigh. It was the last words uttered in either French or English for several moments.

  The scruff of his cheek dragged along her thigh while his hands splayed her open for his mouth. Whether he was practicing his French or Latin, he showed great enthusiasm for his task. Each swirl of his tongue, pressure from his lips, and movement of his fingers inside her brought her closer to her release.

  As the promised orgasm tightened her muscles, Fiona clawed at his long, golden locks. Her legs tightened around his neck and shoulders, and she swore he must be able to breathe through his ears.

  After her spasms ceased, her legs turning from steel to jelly, she lifted her head to catch him staring at her with a self-satisfied grin.

  “Did I please you, mi’lady?”

  “You always do. It’s why I keep you around rather than toss you into the sea with the morning’s chamber pots.”

  “You must admit, you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

  “I’d miss your tongue and your cock. However, both can be replaced. I have an entire crew who possess one of each, except those who have been gelded.” She paused, watching the grimace cross his face. “When we go ashore today in Port de Neuf, I am certain I will find more able bodied and willing seamen to satisfy my needs.”

  “Ouch. Mistress, you wound my heart with your words.”

  “Your ego seems to be in fine shape.” She took his sizable, rigid length in her hand. “Now, I think I’m ready for a different kind of sword play.”

  Chapter 2

  Fair Robert

  The Mi’Lady docked a fair distance from the port-of-call. Gulls circled overhead and the sun shone down on the white sails of the ship as she anchored beyond the harbor barrier. The Jolly Roger flag had been taken down and replaced with the Union Jack while Captain Fiona Lindsley scowled. She planned to stay aboard the ship after commanding Fair Robert to take a small group ashore to collect supplies and procure the latest gossip. Robert knew that the last time in Port de Neuf had ended with a hasty retreat after Fiona was stopped and questioned on the dock by members of the British Royal Navy. She wasn’t willing to risk such a meeting again so soon after the near miss last month. The last thing they needed was to encounter a flotilla of war ships with eager seamen searching for the Pink Pearl. Or making enquiries about the captain of the Mi’Lady.

  Ashore, Robert left Sebastien and One Eyed Jack to gather supplies. He excused himself, saying he had a special, private errand for the captain. After making his way up the hill of the small port town with its brightly painted buildings to the Golden Parrot tavern, he entered a narrow, cobblestone alley. Glancing around to ensure he wasn’t followed, he saw only the tavern’s strapping, young cook, who was occupied tossing gray water into the gutter when he entered through the back door.

  He purposely sat at a small wood table in the corner of the tavern, too far from the weak light of the front door and the bar to be noticed by the small cluster of patrons. The tavern was quiet and the few drunks at the bar would be poor witnesses should things go afoul. He smiled at his cleverness and took a drink of his beer. With his back to the wall, he waited, digging his nail into the soft wood of the scarred and stained table top. Dressed in a flowing white shirt, pale tan trousers, and his typical faded brocade vest, he had attempted to appear discreet. He had even pulled his hair into a tidy ponytail at the nape of his neck.

  His pint of ale and his patience were almost finished when a man in the uniform of the British Navy entered the tavern and stood near the bar. He was paunchy and his hair was thinning, despite looking no older than Robert’s twenty-five years. Perhaps he was a well-fed officer. With a small nod from Robert, the man joined him at the table in the corner.

  “You have information about a rare pearl?” the sailor asked, giving Robert the once over.

  “I might. Did you bring what was promised?” he responded.

  “Aye,” the man said. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small, brown leather pouch, bulging and heavy in appearance.

  Robert took the bag and weighed it in his hand before tossing it once.

  “What information are you seeking?” Robert asked, tucking the pouch safely inside his vest. He knew better than to ask any names. In these transactions, names were unnecessary and dangerous. “The pearl you seek is no ordinary gem. It is far more priceless than the rarest diamond from Africa, and more coveted than all the rum on the islands. A small bag of coin
s will only buy a few clues.”

  “You are confident in your position, Robert. Or shall I call you Fair Robert?” At his surprised expression, the stranger continued, “Oh, I’ve done my research. I know quite a bit about you. Orphaned, and raised in a brothel, you’re a buccaneer, and dare I say, scoundrel. You’ve earned the reputation of a rapscallion across the seas.”

  “Your knowledge is impressive, but mine is what you seek. I believe that gives me an advantage. This,” he said, gesturing to the pouch tucked safely inside his vest, “is a promise that you will receive some of what you seek today, and the rest upon delivery of the gem.”

  “Fair point. If we attain the pearl, you will be rich beyond your imagination. As we agreed.”

  “The pearl is closer than you believe. You are looking in the wrong area.”

  “We’ve searched the coast and waters all around Jamaica last month. There was no sign, no hint or evidence, of any pearl. Not even idle gossip from drunken lips.”

  “Perhaps what you seek is not what you’ve been told.”

  “Rear Admiral Lindsley has been reticent to give details other than this pink pearl must be found and returned to him.”

  “Are you familiar with corsairs, sir? I would imagine that a man such as you, with all the ribbons and epaulettes of your ranking, would be.”

  “If you are referring to those despicable pirates, of course. Calling them corsairs or buccaneers only romanticizes their wicked ways.”

  “That is your first clue, sir.”

  “The pearl is being held by pirates? As booty? As ransom?”

  “Hardly, but you are warmer.”

  The stranger furrowed his brow. Robert waited, sipping his ale. It wasn’t for him to solve the mystery. His goal with this game of cat and mouse was to make himself a wealthy man.

  “Are you suggesting that what the Rear Admiral seeks is not a gem at all?”