A Montana Christmas Reunion

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Yes,” she said firmly, gripping the edge of the counter as she faced him.

  He stopped rolling the top down on the kibble bag. “Yes, what?”

  “If you’re asking...will I go along with a double wedding, my answer is yes. Unless you object.” She gazed at him from hopeful, watery eyes.

  Saxon tossed the kibble bag into the pantry and yanked her into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m asking...begging,” he said, covering her upturned face with kisses. “I thought you were mad at me. I thought you wanted me to leave. But...Jewell, I told Uncle Leland they’re meddling busybodies. We can do something on our own later if your dream wedding is for something bigger.”

  “Sooner is better. I thought I was going to have to find a way to propose to you,” she finally got out breathlessly. “I just...want us to be together and make a family when our baby comes. Honestly, I’ve been all over the map, wanting you to leave and scared to death you would. While you were in New York, Leland said I should grab the brass ring and not end up an old grump like he was for so long. I was afraid. I’ve sent you away twice. It’d serve me right if you went and told me to go jump in the lake.”

  “I love you, Jewell. I always have.”

  She touched his face. “I’ve been a fool not to see that as much as I love this town and people, I love you more. When you tour again, after our baby is born, we’ll go with you,” she promised in a rush. “I’ll have someone cover my practice. We’ll make it work.”

  “I’m done touring, babe.”

  “But...you just got that big award.”

  “No better time to go out than when you’re on top. Prepare to get sick of seeing me hanging around plunking on my guitar while I write songs. I’m ready to be a househusband and full-time babysitter, sweetheart.”

  “Really?” She slipped her arms around his neck. Pure joy filled her as they made plans while the coffee perked.

  * * *

  BY THE NEXT day word of both weddings sped like wildfire through the grapevine. Jewell’s friends were over the moon, as were Doreen’s.

  “Myra’s mom is coming to see the babies. She’ll sew your dress, as well as Mom’s,” Lila informed Jewell. “If you imagined wearing blue jeans, no way. We chose green velvet for you and red for my mom. A festive Christmas Eve wedding.”

  “Great, we’ll look like Santa’s elves.”

  “Quit grumbling. It’s out of your hands. Mindy found the rest of us simple winter-white knit dresses with long sleeves at an online outlet. They’re ordered and should arrive by the tenth, the day Myra was supposed to have her twins.”

  “That’s the day we’re dedicating the refuge,” Jewell said. “And the day Saxon and I hope to learn if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

  “No better way to close out a super year.”

  “On that score, I agree,” Jewell said, content at last.

  * * *

  THE DAYS AFTER she and Lila spoke passed swiftly. Doreen wanted to bake their wedding cake—double hearts. But her new employee at the café wrested the chore out of her hands.

  Saxon and his uncle did their best to stay out of everyone’s way. Then on December 10 he and Jewell went to see Dr. Archer.

  The doctor and her nurse congratulated the pair on their upcoming nuptials, which earned them invitations to the Christmas Eve double ceremony at the Owl’s Nest.

  “I’ll be out of town,” Dr. Archer said. “But first let’s see what shows on this ultrasound.” She ran the wand over Jewell’s rounded belly and the infant appeared on-screen seeming to wave a hand.

  Jewell and Saxon were so transfixed they almost missed a view showing they were going to have a daughter. When Dr. Archer pointed it out, Saxon clasped his soon-to-be wife’s left hand—on which he’d placed a beautiful emerald engagement ring, one Seth Maxwell, the former gem hunter, had rounded up. Kissing Jewell’s palm, Saxon said with feeling, “I hope she has your red hair.”

  “I hope she has your talent,” Jewell responded as the doctor printed copies of the picture of their baby.

  Dr. Archer smiled. “She’ll be perfect. Go book an appointment for in the New Year.”

  They went to do that hand in hand.

  * * *

  THAT AFTERNOON THE friends met at the forest. The men strung a mesh fence, then set Hunter’s signs. The women oohed over them, and over Jewell’s ultrasound photo. All at once fat snowflakes began to drift from clouds occluding the mountains. Three snowy owls flew down to silently circle the group as if giving their blessing. Linking arms, they all happily watched the gorgeous birds.

  * * *

  SCANT WEEKS LATER the Christmas Eve weddings went off without a hitch even on a snowy day. Before the ceremony, the minister christened Zeke and Myra’s twins.

  After the couples’ vows, Leland hugged Doreen and prepared to give a champagne toast, except with apple juice for Jewell.

  “To my lovely bride and to my nephew and his. I will always consider this day icing on a long-awaited cake.”

  “I consider it a true season of miracles,” Jewell said, nudging Lila, who’d once mentioned that very thing.

  Saxon raised his glass, then hugged Jewell and added his pledge. “Sweetheart, for the rest of our lives I’m going to write and sing you all the love songs you inspire.”

  There was no mistaking a collective sigh shared by beaming guests.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS by Amanda Renee.

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  Twins for Christmas

  by Amanda Renee

  Chapter One

  Noah Knight’s wet jeans clung uncomfortably to his thighs. Drenched, he took refuge from the rain in a dimly lit bar. Finnegan’s Pub in College Station, Texas, catered to an older crowd. At thirty-two he wasn’t exactly middle-aged, but he was too old to find common ground with the majority of the local college students.

  Once, sometimes twice, a year he conducted helicopter-logging recruitment seminars in town. Now he had four hours until his flight home to Aurora, Oregon. It gave him enough time to grab a bite and a beer or two before catching a cab to the airport. Noah wanted a booth to himself, but they were all taken, so he sat at the bar. He wasn’t in the mood for company after being awake for the last thirty hours.

  He placed his order and reviewed th
e preliminary applications he’d collected during the seminar. One out of the twelve had potential, while the rest had been drawn to the danger of the job rather than the job itself.

  “Enough work for today,” Noah muttered. He flipped his portfolio closed and jammed it into his bag, then picked up the folded newspaper someone had left behind on the stool next to him.

  “That poor girl.” The bartender nodded to the paper as he set a pint of beer on a coaster in front of Noah. “She used to come in here and study right over there in that booth.” He nodded toward the corner of the pub. “Said it was quieter than the sorority house. Lived on coffee and fries.”

  Noah read the obituary.

  Lauren Marie Elgrove, 24, Boston, Massachusetts, formerly of Ramblewood, Texas, was killed Friday, November 18, 2016, in a car accident. Born on October 30, 1992, to James and Elizabeth Elgrove (both deceased) of San Angelo, Texas. She is survived by her twin twenty-one-month-old daughters, Charlotte and Cheyenne. Graveside services will be held at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday at the Memorial Garden Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, contributions to the Charlotte and Cheyenne Education Fund are being accepted through Hannah Tanner of Ramblewood.

  Noah felt a touch of sadness. A single cold paragraph seemed inappropriate when someone’s life had been cut so short. He unfolded the newspaper and the woman in the photograph above the obituary almost knocked him off his stool. Carefully he read the caption: “Lauren Elgrove with her daughters, Charlotte and Cheyenne.”

  Lauren. His shoulders sagged. They’d met a few years ago in this very bar. She had graduated earlier that day and had been celebrating with a friend. The memory made him smile. He had found her fascinating as she spoke of biochemistry and physics. He could still hear her infectious laugh. They’d spent the night together tangled between the sheets, but he woke up the following morning alone.

  Last names and phone numbers had been an afterthought and he’d never seen her again, which was a shame because he had wanted a chance to get to know her better. She’d popped into his head a few times since then, probably more than he cared to admit.

  He calculated the dates quickly in his head—they’d slept together around two and a half years ago. Staring at the photograph, he saw his own eyes reflected back in the twins’ faces. Noah’s chest tightened and he swore he stopped breathing. Was it possible? Were Charlotte and Cheyenne his daughters? His gut told him he already knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

  His mind raced. “Excuse me.” Noah fought to steady his voice and waved for the bartender. “You—” He cleared his throat as the man approached. “You said you knew this woman—Lauren Elgrove?”

  The bartender’s head slowly bobbed up and down. “She had a bright future ahead of her.”

  “There’s no mention of the children’s father. Do they have one?” Noah winced at his own question. Nervousness trumped diplomacy and tact. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he was the father.

  “I haven’t seen Lauren in at least two years.” The bartender shrugged. “I didn’t even know she had kids until I saw her obituary. Your order will be right up.”

  Noah attempted to wrap his mind around the possibility he’d fathered twins without knowing it. What were the chances? If she had spent the night with him, maybe she had done the same thing with other men. That didn’t seem like Lauren. Not that he knew who Lauren had really been. One night certainly hadn’t made him an expert. Despite the passion they’d shared, there had been a shyness about her and he doubted she’d slept around.

  He raked his fingers down his face and exhaled. How could it be possible? They had used protection. Picking up the paper again, he braved another glance at the photo. His hands shook as he scanned the grainy print. Speculating wouldn’t do him any good. He needed to physically lay eyes on them and see for himself.

  Noah smacked the top of the bar. “Change of plans. Make mine to go and can you call me a taxi?” Home would have to wait. Instead, he intended to rent a car and drive to the town mentioned in the newspaper. Ramblewood, wherever that was. He wasn’t leaving the state until he found out if those girls were his. His head began to spin. What if they were his daughters? Did he want to be their father?

  * * *

  FOR THE SECOND night in a row, Hannah Tanner paced the floor of the twins’ bedroom. She cradled one girl in each arm in an attempt to soothe them. It had been less than a week since Lauren’s death. She hadn’t yet processed that she’d never see her best friend again, let alone that she was the legal guardian of twins.

  “Mommy!” Cheyenne shrieked at the top of her lungs. The girls had been restless last night, but tonight was much worse. She’d been adamantly against letting them attend Lauren’s funeral earlier in the day, but her family had convinced her the children needed some semblance of closure and a chance to say goodbye. She didn’t feel they needed to see the coffin or know Mommy was going in the ground. She shivered at the thought. She understood death, but it was Lauren. How could she be gone?

  The twins were having a hard time adjusting to the drastic changes in their lives and she couldn’t blame them. It had been bad enough when Lauren accepted a job so far away, moving her small family to Boston. Now the children were uprooted once again. Hannah couldn’t remember anything that had occurred in her life at twenty-one months old and she hoped the girls would forget both the upheaval and the funeral this morning. But doing so would mean they’d forget their mother, and Hannah couldn’t bear the thought.

  “What’s a matter, baby girl?” Her sister-in-law, Abby, entered the room and lifted Cheyenne out of her arms. “Hannah, why don’t you take a shower and unwind for a little bit. I’m not going anywhere. You need a break.”

  The strength to protest escaped her, which would have been fine if her heart didn’t fill with guilt every time the girls were out of sight. They were perceptive and they knew something was wrong. Her mother said they were grieving. How was that possible if they didn’t understand the concept of never seeing their mother again? No, they were confused. They’d been in a horrific car accident and now Mommy wasn’t around.

  Hannah padded down the hallway into the bathroom, closing the door and shutting herself off from the rest of the world. She could still hear the officer explaining what had happened. Lauren had been thrown from the car and had died on impact. Thankfully, the twins had been relatively unharmed. Hannah had caught a flight to Boston the following morning to pick up the girls, her mother by her side. Monday morning, the four of them had flown home to Ramblewood. The funeral home had arranged for Lauren to be flown back with them.

  Everything had happened so fast. Thanksgiving was in two days. The twins’ second Thanksgiving and the first without their mother. And then there was Christmas. How would they ever get through Christmas? How would they get through today?

  After her shower, she peeked in the room at Charlotte and Cheyenne. Both twins were curled up together in one crib while Abby read them a bedtime story. She tiptoed down the stairs, praying the worn boards wouldn’t creak and shift the twins’ focus from Abby onto her. Her belly growled. It had been days since she’d last eaten a decent meal.

  Trays of food covered the butcher-block kitchen countertop. She had intended to sand and oil the counter this week as part of her never-ending house renovations. It’d have to wait along with the rest of her plans. She grabbed a plate from the cupboard and lifted the foil lids of various dishes.

  “Honey, I didn’t hear you come down.” Her mother appeared in the doorway. “I’ve devised a system. Desserts not needing refrigeration are on this counter.” Fern waved her arm dramatically as if she were Vanna White turning a letter. “The other nonperishables, like breads and crackers, are over here. And I managed to freeze most of the casseroles, but I left the sandwiches and salads in the refrigerator for you to nibble on. What wouldn’t fit in your freezer, your father took home to ours. L
et us know when you need something and we’ll send it over.”

  “I think we have enough food to last a year.” Hannah chose a turkey sandwich, poured herself a glass of water and sat at the table. “Mom, how am I going to afford this? Most of my money goes into the ranch. I still have upcoming competitions I’d be crazy to back out of. We need the prize money. It helps that I board and train horses, but it’s still not enough for the three of us to live off. I can’t compete in Vegas in a few weeks with all this going on. I’d pick up some extra hours teaching at the rodeo school if I had any extra hours to give.” She shook her head. “That would mean spending less time with the girls, and I won’t do that to them. I still can’t believe Lauren didn’t have life insurance.”

  Fern sat across from her at the table, clasping Hannah’s hands between her own. “You have a huge support system in place. Everybody loved Lauren and the girls. Donations are already coming in. And your father and I will help you in whatever way we can.”

  Hannah cringed. She hated feeling like a charity case, but as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed the charity. When Lauren had discovered she was pregnant, Hannah promised she’d help raise the babies. Lauren’s parents had died years earlier and she’d had no one.

  “This house isn’t ready for children,” Hannah said. Her father and brother had begun working on the turn-of-the-century farmhouse as soon as Hannah and her mother had left for Boston. She wasn’t complaining, but the expenses had already gotten out of hand, charity or not. The ranch was supposed to be a long-term endeavor, and now she had to rush to finish the projects she’d started after Lauren moved out. “None of this feels real. I keep waiting for her to call or pop in and yell surprise any minute.”

  Hannah pushed the sandwich away. She had the annual Christmas Dash-4-Cash barrel race on Saturday and she needed to take home first prize. She couldn’t even begin to think how she’d maintain her rodeo schedule next year with the twins in tow. But giving it up was out of the question if she expected to keep a roof over their heads.