Any Given Christmas

by Candis Terry

  Emma’s expression didn’t change. Her hands remained clutched around the deck rail.

  “I will do better in the future,” he said, purposely omitting the word promise. Knowing that for the most important member of his audience, that term held little meaning when it came from him.

  “I’m proud to be a member of this community. This is home. And I plan to stay.” Dean forced himself to break eye contact with Emma when all he wanted to do was hold her until she forgave him. He glanced at his family beside him and smiled when his father’s arm slid around his shoulders. Someone handed him a giant pair of scissors. “So it’s with pride and honor that we welcome you to the Letty Silverthorne Sunshine Camp.”

  The crowd applauded as the scissors sliced through the ribbon. Kate moved closer, took his hand, and gave it a squeeze of encouragement. He glanced up to the deck to find Emma again, but she was gone.

  Once the attendees of the ribbon-cutting ceremony were happily chowing down on Kate’s newest pastry creations and visiting the new animals in the barn, Dean slipped into the house expecting to find the dreaded envelope sitting on his kitchen counter and the love of his life gone for good. But when he walked through the French doors, there she stood, looking out the windows at the water sparkling on the lake. The envelope clasped in her hand.

  He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Em? You okay?”

  She gave him a nod that was barely visible. “It really is a spectacular view.”

  “It’s more spectacular when you’re here to share it with me.” He turned her to face him and wasn’t surprised to find tears wetting her long, dark lashes.

  Her bottom lip quivered. “I really don’t want to like you.”

  “I know, honey. But before you go getting all wrapped up in that ugly stuff, I just want to say one thing. And I want you to know I mean it from right here.” He placed her palm against his heart. Then he cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Em. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while.”

  She glanced away. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yeah. I am.” He tucked his fingers beneath her chin and brought her gaze back around. “I just wasn’t sure what it was, because . . . I’ve never been in love before. When I went back to Houston I felt lost without you. You’re the best part of my life, honey. Even before the doctor told me the chances of my shoulder ever being a hundred percent again were slim, I knew what I wanted to do. What I needed to do. That’s what made it easy.”

  “What was easy?”

  “To resign.”

  “You quit?”

  He nodded.

  “The news said—”

  “Doesn’t matter what they say anymore.”

  “But why did you walk away when there’s a chance your shoulder will heal?”

  “My football career was a really great ride and I’m not going to lie and say I won’t miss it.” Beneath his hands the tension in her body slowly unwound. He took a chance and slid his arms around her waist. When she didn’t push him away he felt the weight lift from his shoulders. He could make this right. He had to make this right. She felt so good in his arms again. “But it needs to be a great ride for every man on that team. They matter to me. The organization and the fans matter to me. I didn’t want to leave them in limbo, wondering who their captain was, who they should show their loyalty to. For the sake of everyone the best thing to do was to walk away.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then just listen. At some point,” he said, “a man needs to realize where he wants to be for the rest of his life. I want to be with you, Emma.”

  He tucked her into him just a little closer. “At Kate’s wedding you said something to me that really stuck. You said it again the other night.”

  She shook her head and her silky blond hair resettled over her slim shoulders. “I said a lot of things.”

  “You told me you were completely forgettable.”

  She shrugged. “And?”

  “You were so wrong, honey. From the moment we met I’ve thought about nothing but you.”

  Moisture seeped into her eyes and brightened their depths. “Then why didn’t you call when the doctor gave you the news? I was worried about you.”

  “I know. And I apologize. Believe me, I’ll never let that happen again. But, Em, that news hit me hard. I’m a thirty-four-year-old man. I’m in my prime. Football is all I’ve ever known. When someone tells you you’ve just lost your livelihood, it’s like they’re saying you’re no longer man enough. I didn’t know how to face you. I didn’t know what you’d think of me. And I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if all I saw was pity in your eyes.”

  “I apologize too. Because even though I didn’t really understand, one thing was clear. I’ve always thought you were about more than football, Dean.”

  Relief flooded his bloodstream and he smiled. “Someone else once told me that too.” He cupped his hands around her arms and lowered his forehead to hers. “Since I was seven years old I’ve strapped on a suit of armor to get done what needed to be done. I just didn’t know how to react without the armor.”

  “What makes you think you’ll be able to do without it now?”

  “Because this is who I am. Not the guy who’s been playing a part for the media all these years. I’m not Good Time Charlie. I’m just Dean Silverthorne, the man who loves you. I need you to believe that.”

  “I want to, but—”

  “Just give me a chance, honey. I promise I won’t let you down ever again. I want us to build a life together. Once we have the camp going, I want to build a school for developmentally disabled kids where you can help kids in our community and the surrounding areas.”

  “You’re unemployed. How can you afford that?”

  “I have a job. Here. But I’ve also been offered a color commentator position with ESPN. I won’t be gone as often as I would have been as a player, so you wouldn’t have the burden of responsibility all on your shoulders.” His palms slid down her arms and he took her hands in his. “Can I show you something?”

  “What?”

  “Just come upstairs with me.” He tugged.

  “I’m fine right here.” She tugged back.

  “I’m not taking you upstairs for that. I really want to show you something.”

  She released a sigh. “Fine.”

  He took the resignation envelope from her hand. “Can we leave this here?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind about that yet.”

  “I know.” He set the envelope on the kitchen counter. “It will be right here if you still want to give it to me.”

  He took her soft hand in his again and led her up the stairs. When they reached his bedroom doors he told her, “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “So suspicious.” He chuckled. “Close your eyes, honey. Please.”

  She shook her head but complied.

  He opened the door and led her inside. “Keep them closed and stay right here.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “I hope to change that.” He went to the walk-in closet and retrieved his surprise. When he came toward her, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Okay, now open your eyes.”

  Her long-lashed eyelids fluttered open and then widened at the tiny fluff of fur he held up in front of her.

  “A kitten!” She took the little grey fur ball into her hands and he could feel the chill melt from her heart. “Oh, he’s adorable.”

  “He’s yours.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Dean nodded and grinned at the way she held the tiny cat up and nuzzled his nose with her own. He knew how much she missed Oscar and he was so happy to see the joy on her face. “If you look at the ribbon around his neck, I believe he has a present for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, honey. Only for you.”

  Her brows came together as she cradled the kitten against her chest—luck
y cat—and untied the blue ribbon at the top of his neck.

  A substantial—but not ridiculously large—Tiffany engagement ring fell into her palm.

  She looked up at him, her mouth forming a perfect O that he wanted to kiss very much. Instead he took her hand in his and lowered himself to one knee.

  “I love you, Emma Hart. The only other women I’ve ever said that to are my mother and my sisters.” He kissed her fingers. “You’re the most unforgettable woman I’ll ever know. I don’t deserve you. I know that. Honey, you were right about the whole marriage, babies, and happily-ever-after. I want to marry you and love you and have enough kids to start our own football team. I want it all. With you. Please say you still love me.”

  Her fingers tightened around his hand and he laid them against his heart. “Please say you’ll marry me.”

  “Oh, Dean.” She crumpled to her knees and took his face in her hands. Tears filled her blue eyes and spilled over her long, dark lashes. “Yes, I do love you. And yes, I will marry you.” And then she gave him that smile that always gave him a kick in the heart. “If you promise to include a few cheerleaders on that team.”

  “I’ll give you anything you want as long as you promise to love me forever.”

  She leaned her forehead against his. “I’ll love you forever and then some.”

  Complete and utter joy rushed through his veins like it did when he ran out onto the field to the roar of the crowd. Only this was even better.

  For the last and most important game in his life, Dean stepped back into the pocket, slid the ring on Emma’s finger, and the Hail Mary spiraled into the end zone.

  He leaned back on his heels and laughed like a fool.

  The love of his life laughed along. “What’s so funny?”

  He pulled her to her feet, planted a big kiss on her soft mouth, and thrust a victorious punch into the air.

  “Touchdown!”

  At three a.m. Dean held the kitten against his chest and tip-toed down the stairs so as not to wake Emma. He’d kept her busy in bed for the rest of the afternoon and evening. This was the first time she’d actually been able to sleep.

  His bare feet squeaked across the hardwood floors and into the kitchen. From the counter he picked up Emma’s resignation and ripped it in two, flipped the lid on the trash can, and dumped the envelope inside. Then he opened the door into the garage. Side by side sat the SUV he’d bought and his mother’s piece-of-crap Buick. He walked past the new vehicle, lifted the door handle of the rusted heap, and slipped inside. The kitten curled beneath his chin. The fur tickled and he laughed.

  “Such a happy sound.”

  Dean looked up. Instead of her usual place in the backseat, his mother had taken the shotgun position.

  “You’re allergic to cats.” Her green eyes twinkled.

  “Yeah. I know.” He stroked the kitten’s soft fur and the little body rumbled with a deep purr. “My eyes and nose are itching like crazy. Don’t care, either.”

  “Wow. You must really be in love.”

  “That would be an understatement, Mom.”

  “Not a disaster?”

  He laughed. “Did I actually say that?”

  “Oh yeah. Among other absurd things.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Took you long enough to realize she was the one.”

  “Hard-headed.”

  “Yeah. Probably why your shoulder got busted up and not your brain. Although there were moments I wondered.” She shot him a grin. “You going to be okay with never playing football again?”

  His shoulders lifted. “I’m not going to say I won’t miss it. But honestly, I’ve got so much dancing around inside me right now . . . it just feels too good to care about a game. Besides, if I’m ever lucky enough to have a son . . .”

  “Oh, I like the way you think.”

  “Me too. I may never throw another touchdown pass, but all I really want is to be able to hug my wife and pick up my kids. You know?”

  She nodded. “Best feeling in the world. Have you and Emma set a date?”

  “Ummmm.” He thought of Emma sprawled out in the big bed upstairs. “We’ve been . . . a little busy.”

  “TMI, young man.”

  He laughed again and it felt great. “As soon as we figure it out I’ll let you know.” He glanced up and found his mom studying him with a smile that lifted her almost-invisible dimples. “Hey, will I still be able to see you, now that your mission impossible is accomplished?”

  “Oh, you know me.” She chuckled. “I’m like Tom Cruise. I’ll come back for another sequel. Two down. One to go.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’m happy for you, Son. And so proud. Love you.”

  “Love you, Mom.” He blinked and she was gone.

  He snuck back inside the house, grabbed a drink of water, then he and the kitten headed back upstairs. After he tossed another log in the fireplace, he slipped between the sheets. The mischievous gray fur ball took this as a cue to play attack the feet whenever Dean made the slightest move.

  Emma slid over and pressed her warm naked body against his. “Where’d you go?”

  He leaned over and kissed her soft, sexy mouth. “Just had a little business to take care of.”

  “Mmmm.” She gave a sleepy sigh, then snuggled deeper into his arms.

  Without warning, the kitten pounced between them. Dean lifted the wiggling attacker to minimize the damage. “Hey, honey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I name the cat?”

  She tucked her hand beneath her cheek on the pillow and looked up at him. “I don’t think Mr. Perfect fits him.”

  “I’ve got a better name.” Dean laughed and kissed her nose. “One that fits exactly how I feel.”

  She gave him his favorite smile. “What’s that?”

  “Lucky.”

  Return to the Sugar Shack in Spring 2012 . . .

  Letty Silverthorne has her work cut out for her when her middle child, Kelly, returns home to Deer Lick reeling from a major courtroom loss and needing to shake the “Sister Serious” moniker she’s been carrying since childhood. With the help of her dead mother and a former bad boy in uniform, anything is possible at the Sugar Shack.

  Avon Impulse

  If you loved Any Given Christmas and want to see where it all began . . . turn the page for a peek at Second Chance at the Sugar Shack!

  Available wherever eBooks are sold

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kate Silver had five minutes. Tops.

  Five minutes before her fashion schizophrenic client had a meltdown.

  Five minutes before her career rocketed into the bargain basement of media hell.

  Behind the gates of one of the trendiest homes in the Hollywood Hills, Kate dropped to her hands and knees in a crowded bedroom In Style magazine had deemed “Wacky Tacky.” Amid the dust bunnies and cat hair clinging for life to a faux zebra rug, she crawled toward her most current disaster—repairing the Swarovski crystals ripped from the leather pants being worn by pop music’s newly crowned princess.

  Gone was the hey-day of Britney, Christina, and Shakira.

  Long live Inara.

  Why women in pop music never had a last name was a bizarre phenomenon Kate didn’t have time to ponder. At the end of the day, the women she claimed as clients didn’t need a last name to be at the top of her V.I.P. list. They didn’t need one when they thanked her—their stylist—from the red carpet. And they certainly didn’t need one when they signed all those lovely zeros on her paychecks.

  Right now she sat in chaos central, earning every penny. Awards season had arrived and her adrenaline had kicked into overdrive alongside the triple-shot latte she’d sucked down for lunch. Over the years she’d become numb to the mayhem. Even so, she did enjoy the new talent—of playing Henry Higgins to the Eliza Doolittles and Huck Finns of Tinsel Town. Nothing compared to the rush she got from seeing her babies step onto a stage and sparkle. The entire process made her feel proud and accomplished.

  It made
her feel necessary.

  Surrounded by the gifted artists who lifted their fairy dusted makeup brushes and hair extensions, Kate brushed a clump of floating cat hair from her nose. Why the star getting all the attention had yet to hire a housekeeper was anyone’s guess. Regardless, Kate intended to keep the current catastrophe from turning into the Nightmare on Mulholland Drive.

  Adrenaline slammed into her chest and squeezed the air from her lungs.

  This was her job. She’d banked all her worth into what she did and she was damn good at it. No matter how crazy it made her. No matter how much it took over her life.

  After her triumph on the Oscars red carpet three years ago, she’d become the stylist the biggest names in Hollywood demanded. Finally. She’d become an overnight sensation that had only taken her seven long years to achieve. And though there were times she wanted to stuff a feather boa down some snippy starlet’s windpipe, she now had to fight to maintain her success. Other stylists, waiting for their star to shine, would die for what she had. On days like today, she would willingly hand it over.

  In the distance the doorbell chimed and Kate’s five minutes shrank to nada. The stretch limo had arrived to deliver Inara to the Nokia Theatre for the televised music awards. With no time to spare, Kate plunged the needle through the leather and back up again. Her fingers moved so fast blisters formed beneath the pressure.

  Peggy Miller, Inara’s agent, paced the floor and sidestepped the snow-white animal shelter refugee plopped in the middle of a leopard rug. Clearly the cat wasn’t intimidated by the agent’s nicotine-polluted voice.

  “Can’t you hurry that up, Kate?” Peggy tapped the Cartier on her wrist with a dragon nail. “Inara’s arrival has to be timed perfectly. Not enough to dawdle in the interviews and just enough to make the media clamor for more. Sorry, darling,” she said to Inara, “chatting with the media is just not your strong point.”