by Mary Leo
Hamilton watched Catherine and Henry working together in the kitchen. After a few minutes he turned back to Gaby. “They look like a couple who has been together for a long time.”
Gaby couldn’t help the little grin that stretched her lips.
“I know that look,” he teased. “You’re hiding something. Don’t tell me they’re dating.”
Gaby nodded.
Hamilton gazed back at his mom and Henry, then back at Gaby. She couldn’t help but grin. She figured if he guessed, she’d have to tell him the truth. It was only fair now that they were into telling the truth. “That’s crazy. There’s more, isn’t there? Are they married?”
“Engaged.”
“What?” He said it so loud both Catherine and Henry looked their way.
“I couldn’t help it,” Gaby told them, shrugging. “He guessed.”
“Well, I’ll be . . . ” Hamilton began, looking completely stunned by the news.
Just then the buzzer went off on the oven indicating the turkeys were done.
“Let’s eat!” Henry said in that booming voice of his.
***
The wine was poured, various plates of steaming side dishes sat on the table, Grandma Win’s fancy china sparkled in the candlelight, and a monster-sized roasted turkey rested at the end of the table waiting for JT to do the honors.
Mom had said grace, thanking God for her family, and for the wonderful moment. Then everyone held hands and sang the turkey song, and when it ended with applause and whistles, baby Autumn Grace decided she had missed enough of the festivities and wanted in on the fun.
Gaby’s water broke.
“I think it’s time,” Gaby leaned over and whispered into Hamilton’s ear while she tried to hold back the moan from the intense pain she was feeling.
“Time for what, cupcake?” Hamilton asked, while holding up his glass of white wine for a toast.
“I’m sorry,” Gaby said. “But my water broke.”
At once he pushed his chair back and within moments everyone in the cabin took some kind of action with what seemed like a chaotic plan.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, sweet pea,” Catherine told her. “Let’s get you to your room.”
Catherine seemed to be by Gaby’s side before she could blink, slipping an arm around her waist and steadying her on her feet.
Hamilton was suddenly on his phone. “Wait,” he ordered. Then he turned to Gaby. “Doc Holiday wants to know how long you’ve been having contractions and how far apart are they?”
“Since early this morning, and now it seems like . . . a continual contraction.” Gaby could barely get the words out the pain was so intense. She couldn’t help but allow a soft moan to escape. She’d never expected it to hurt as much as it did.
Hamilton relayed the facts to Doc Holiday on the phone. Then he said, “He’ll be right over. There’s no time to get to the hospital.”
And almost like it had been planned, everyone seemed to know exactly what to do.
Epilogue
One year later…
JT and Madison…
Madison put the finishing touches on her gift box and stood back to admire her latest creation. The box stood twenty-four inches high, but each side was only twelve inches wide. The perfect size for a chocolate donut cake. Inside, she’d placed two-dozen donuts in diminishing circles, with one final sprinkled donut cresting the top. And on top of that, a miniature figurine with a pickaxe over his shoulder and a pipe in his mouth.
Grandpa Win had done so much to keep his family together, to bring love to his grandsons. It seemed only fitting that he should have a cake in his honor. She knew donuts weren’t typical Thanksgiving fare, and Hamilton would probably pass out when she brought all this processed sugar into his healthy kitchen . . . but the donuts, well, they’d become a tradition for JT and Madison. They’d tied the knot this summer and she’d never been happier in her life.
“You ready to head up to the cabin?” JT asked, coming into the kitchen with Moof at his heels. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck.
“I am, Mr. Winchester. But first I need to tell you a secret.”
He leaned to the side, so he could see her face. “Should I alert Mrs. Shelton?”
“Not yet. This one is just for us.”
She took the hand that was nestled just under her breasts and moved it down to the hollow between her hips.
Interested, JT watched.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered.
He shook his head.
“Well, maybe we need to give it a few months. Maybe like . . . .nine.”
Scout and Ciara . . .
Newlyweds Scout and Ciara burst into the kitchen at Win Creek Cabin with their new brood. Eight-year-old twins Brad and Heather, whom they’d recently adopted, and three more kids they were hosting during the holiday exhibition season, Toby, Evan and Vince. Scout had expanded every opportunity for kids to play hockey and that meant putting up visiting teams to keep costs down.
Scout unloaded bags of food and beverages he’d brought with them and then he turned to Ciara and gave a grand gesture with his hands—to which she responded by pulling her sweater tight across her belly. It wasn’t much of a baby bump, but she declared, “Tada!”
Everyone erupted with cheers. Then the women went about discussing all things babies, and the kids ran out with Scout to get the toboggans from the shed and hit the slopes.
The Winchester family traditions lived on.
Hamilton and Gaby…
“Dinner’s almost on the table,” Hamilton yelled to Gaby from the kitchen at Win Creek. Grandpa Win’s table was perfectly set with Grandma Win’s colorful china, a fire burned bright in the hearth, and the aromas that wafted through the air caused Hamilton’s mouth to water. Between himself, his mom, and Henry they’d put together their finest meal yet. Nothing compared, not even the best meals on his menu at Henry Hamilton’s Farm to Table Dining, which was doing so well, they’d branched out and opened two more restaurants: one in Vale and one in Boulder.
Gaby had taken a part of the Plymouth Rock restaurant space and created an Italian bakery and coffee bar that featured her cannoli, cookies, and biscotti. She couldn’t be more proud of how well it was doing, and how well it had been received in town. The past year had changed her life, and she was thankful Grandpa Win had had a hand in making their dreams come true.
“It’s gonna be the best Thanksgiving dinner anybody ever tasted,” Henry said as he pulled the first golden brown turkey out of the oven. Then he kissed his bunched fingers. “Delizioso!”
Henry’s cookbook had recently hit the New York Times best sellers list and he was working on his second offering, “Gluten Free Italian”.
“It smells amazing,” Gaby said as she entered the kitchen holding Autumn’s hand. Autumn Grace wore a frilly pink dress, white sparkly shoes, and white tights. Her curly dark hair surrounded her cherub face and rosy cheeks. As soon as spotted her daddy and her grandpapa she giggled with excitement making an awkward beeline for her daddy. She’d only recently mastered the art of walking and was still a bit wobbly. Hamilton picked her up and gave her a twirl. She giggled some more and it tickled his heart to hear her laugh.
“My bella bambino!” Henry said, then he gave Autumn a quick nuzzle before he plated the turkey and carried it off to the table where the rest of the Winchester crew was already seated.
Gaby walked over to Hamilton and gave him a kiss. “I love you, Hamilton Winchester. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving right back at’cha. I love you, Gabriella Winchester, and you too, my little munchkin.” Then they both gave little Autumn a bunch of wet kisses as she chortled and squirmed in Hamilton’s arms.
When they turned to join everyone at the table, the room was suddenly filled with the sweet scent of pipe tobacco, stronger than it had ever been. Then in the next instant it was completely gone and Hamilton knew Grandpa and Grandma Win were finally at
peace.
—The End—
Keep reading for a sneak peak at the first book in the Snowed In and Snuggled Up Holiday Trio.
A Little Bit of Sugar
Snowed In and Snuggled Up Holiday Trio, Book One
By Erin Quinn
Chapter One
The Winchester brothers were coming home.
All three of them. At the same time.
That hadn’t happened in years and every female this side of the grave had perked up when she’d heard the news. Madison wouldn’t be surprised if a few down under had taken note, too.
Like bees, they’d buzzed about it over the tables at Bella’s Bakery, sweetened the air at Artie’s Groceries, and buttered the bread at Venti’s Italian restaurant with their gossip. Everyone had something to say about it.
And no matter how many times Madison told herself she didn’t care, she couldn’t keep her distance from the conversations about their native sons, or the mere mention of the Winchester name . . . . It brought a rush of twisted excitement each time she heard it.
Wrong, in every way.
Her best friend and partner in crime, Christopher Kuchar, heard it from Zoe Martelle, who heard from Henry Venti who got it from Catherine Winchester herself. Her sons, JT, Scout and Hamilton, were coming home for Thanksgiving. They could be here any day now.
They’d all been expecting Scout—the town had voted to rename Winchester Ice Rink to Scout Winchester Ice Rink and there would be a ceremony tomorrow in his honor. But the other two brothers joining him? That was the shocker no one could believe.
Until rumors begin to surface. Talk of an investor meeting with the three brothers while they were here—which immediately sent the local gossips into wild speculation about which investor and what investment the brothers could be making. Property? Property here? Was it possible they might be thinking of moving home after all these years?
Madison rubbed her neck, hoping it wasn’t true. The last thing she needed was to see JT Winchester every single day. And in a town the size of Plymouth Rock, Colorado, it would be hard not to.
A blast of cold air snapped Madison from her angst as Mrs. Shelton came through the front door of Lane’s packaging—the mail depot and packaging shop Madison had taken over from her grandmother six years ago. Mufasa, Madison’s giant shepherd mix, lumbered to his feet from his coveted spot near the window, and went to greet the older woman. Moof knew better than to bark at the customers, but ever the gentleman, he did feel it was his duty to allow some one-on-one time with his perky ears and waggy body.
Mrs. Shelton didn’t care much for dogs. They couldn’t talk and didn’t do anything worth gossiping about, but she knew resistance was futile. She air-patted Moof a few times before making her way to the counter. Not an adequate show of affection in Moof’s estimation, but he accepted the token and flopped on the floor again.
Mrs. Shelton had her weekly bundle of bills—no online payments for her, no sir—in one hand, and a cup of coffee and a white paper sack from Bella’s Bakery clutched in her other. Inside the bag would be a cherry Danish. Mrs. Shelton was nothing if not predictable.
“Morning, Mrs. Shelton,” Madison said, taking the stack of envelopes and fanning through them to make sure they all had stamps before adding them to the basket for pick up. Plymouth Rock didn’t have its own post office but a mail truck made a daily delivery and pick up at Lane’s—just as it had for the last fifty years. Change took its own damn time in Plymouth Rock—or simply skipped them altogether.
“Have you seen JT yet?” the elderly woman asked casually as she selected a copy of the Durango Herald from the rack beside the counter and paid for it. The Plymouth Rock newsletter next to it was free, so she took that, too. “Lorelai told me he pulled in around eleven last night.”
He was here, already? “She saw him?”
“Said he drives a fancy SUV. Black, she said. Just a guess, since the color was hard to make out in the dark. She said she’d recognize JT Winchester anywhere, though. No missing that man.”
Any man under the age of fifty was hard to miss in this town. Single people didn’t arrive in Plymouth Rock without notice and very few decided to stay. They migrated to and from, like ducks fleeing a frigid fall. But JT Winchester had always cut an imposing figure, even when he was a teenager. He’d been the captain of the football team and their hometown hero. Everyone had expected him to go pro.
Everyone but Madison, that is.
He’d left the rest of the town scratching their heads when he’d quit playing for UC Boulder after his sophomore year and transferred to ASU, declining a follow up offer to play for the Sun Devils in favor of dual degrees in English Literature and Sustainability. He’d since put both degrees to good use.
“Is JT staying with his mother?” Madison asked, knowing the question would become part of Mrs. Shelton’s narrative from this point on. But pretending she didn’t care would only raise Mrs. Shelton’s antennae and add intrigue to her translation of the conversation.
No one in Plymouth Rock had forgotten the Chocolate Donut Incident. No one ever would.
“I’m not sure if he’s staying with Catherine or up at Win Creek Cabin,” Mrs. Shelton said pensively. “I want to know, too.”
Like it was her business. But that was life in this town. Privacy was a hard won and often pointless battle.
“My guess would be Win Creek Cabin,” Mrs. Shelton finished with a decisive nod. As if that would make it so.
It did make sense, though. The cabin sat on a gorgeous piece of real estate high up on the summit of Turkey Ridge, near enough to Win Creek to hear the gurgle of its waters. In truth, the house pretended to be a cabin but with five bedrooms, a gourmet kitchen and floor to ceiling views over the Rockies and the town proper, it didn’t fool anyone.
Grandpa Winchester—or Grandpa Win, as everyone had called him when he’d been alive—had left his three grandsons the cabin when he’d died. If she was JT, that’s where she’d be staying.
Mrs. Shelton took her coffee, pastry and paper, moving to her favorite table by the window, leaving Madison to obsess about JT in peace. It was pretty much all she’d been doing since she’d first heard he was coming home and it really pissed her off. It had been years since she’d dwelled on memories of JT. Longer still since she’d shed a tear. She was over him. That ship had sailed.
Quietly, she scanned the street beyond her big front window, looking for a fancy red SUV and the big man who drove it.
Here was here . . . somewhere close . . . .
The back door opened and Chris entered with another icy blast of winter, shrugging out of his heavy coat as he closed the door behind him. Moof trotted over to greet him, big doggy smile in place. Next to Madison, Chris ranked high as Moof’s favorite human.
“Guess what I heard?” Chris announced, bending to give Mufasa a hug and a vigorous scratching.
“JT got in last night,” Madison answered.
“No—wait, what? He’s in town?”
Madison nodded. “Mrs. Shelton told me. What were you going to say?”
Chris glanced at Mrs. Shelton before pulling Madison into the alcove by the mail cubbies and lowering his voice, although it was common knowledge that Mrs. Shelton had bionic ears making the effort pointless.
“I was at the bank making our deposit and Johnny Marcus said he heard that Jeff Winchester is coming to town, too.”
“No way.”
Jeff Winchester—aka Jefferson Tate Winchester, II and JT’s deadbeat father—was bad news all around. If he was back in town, no doubt JT would be cutting this visit short. JT and his father hadn’t seen eye-to-eye ever.
“Why in the hell is he here?”
Chris made big eyes and shook his head. “It can’t be good, whatever the reason.”
True that. But anything that got JT to get out of town quickly was a bonus. Right?
A sudden prickle at the back of her neck made her look up and out the big window at the front of the shop, just in
time to see a black SUV park curbside at Artie’s Groceries across the street.
JT Winchester, in the flesh, got out from behind the wheel. Larger-than-life, sexier-than-sin, and dangerous to every single cell in her body.
Just the sight of him turned her gray matter into batter. It always had. Scowling, she watched him enter Artie’s like his being here was the most natural thing in the world.
At her side, Moof made a high, questioning sound.
“You don’t think their dad is the reason they’ve come home, do you?” Chris asked, down on his knee, again, petting Moof. The dog knew his mark well and would pester Chris as long as Chris let him get away with it.
“Why would everyone be talking about the brothers making some local investments then?” she asked.
“What if they’re thinking of selling the cabin?” Chris responded and Madison’s stomach plunged.
The cabin sat on land that had been in the family for generations. Grandpa Win had handcrafted it for his beloved wife Grace. Selling it seemed like a sin.
“They wouldn’t sell the cabin,” Madison said decisively, not liking how much she sounded like Mrs. Shelton.
“It’s not like they use it. When was the last time they were all three here?”
For the funeral, when they’d laid Grandpa Win to rest. Five long years ago.
“How would I know?” she said.
The door to Artie’s Market opened and JT strode out carrying a canvas bag.
“Oh my God, that’s him,” Chris exclaimed, standing up and pressing close to Madison so he could peer out the window, too. “God, he’s good looking.”
She and Chris had the same taste in men. Chris was always more vocal about it, though.
JT’s winter coat added bulk to his big frame and the cold brought a flush to his face, but there was no mistaking who he was. There never would be for Madison.
