“I have to get it back. The signed contract was in it. When does the mail leave Christmas Town on Saturday?” Her voice rose along with her panic.
“I don’t know, but you can’t do anything about it at two o’clock in the morning. What would happen if you don’t get it back?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Would they force her to honor her contract? Actually, they wouldn’t have to. If the university received the contract, she’d be honor bound to keep it.
“Isn’t the postmaster Mark’s cousin?”
He was. Maybe Mark could call Jay Alexander tomorrow, and she could get the contract back…if it hadn’t left Christmas Town. Except, she’d just told him earlier she didn’t trust him. She checked her watch. He just left, and he probably wasn’t in bed yet. Call him now, or tomorrow?
She took out her phone and called. She couldn’t sleep unless she did something.
He answered on the first ring. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“No, too wired. You?”
“Just got Lizzy down. She said her own prayers tonight.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “Good. Uh, are you and the postmaster tight?”
“Me and my cousin? Sure. Why?”
“I really don’t want to explain tonight, but could you call him first thing in the morning and see if I can retrieve an envelope that I accidentally mailed?”
“Sure. I’ll call him before he goes to church, and if it’s still in Christmas Town, we’ll get it. I’ll call you after I talk to him in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
“This envelope. It must be pretty important.”
“It is. I’ll explain in the morning.”
At eight-thirty, Amy sat in the post office parking lot, surprised to see several cars in the employee lot. Mark pulled in beside her and got out with Lizzy beside him. She dropped his hand and ran to Amy. “How’s Gingerbread today?”
Amy’s heart swelled at the lilt in the child’s voice. “She’s fine. Waiting to see you, actually. When we finish here, would you like to go to the farm?”
Lizzy glanced up at her dad.
“I think we can manage that.” He turned to Amy. “Jay said to knock on the front door.”
“I hate that he had to come out on Sunday.”
Mark nodded toward parked cars. “Don’t worry. He said he’d be here, anyway. People send cards to Christmas Town to get them postmarked, and the post office runs an extra crew this time of year to accommodate the volume.”
A postal employee let them in, and they followed him to the sorting room where the postmaster was pulling cards from a gray sack. When he saw them, he walked toward them.
Amy’s eyes bugged at the room filled with gray sacks of mail. “You have to stamp all of these letters?”
“Yep. Hey, cousin.” Jay shook hands with Mark. “At least we have it automated now. Thank goodness we only do this once a year.”
“So where do we begin?”
His smile faded. “Unfortunately, we don’t process anything but Christmas mail here. Everything else goes to Portland, and yesterday’s mail went out last night on the mail truck.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks anyway.” It was over…unless it dropped out of the mailbox. “If you happen to find a large white envelope addressed to the University of Houston and with my return address on it, would you call me…or Mark?”
Jay looked as though he felt as bad as she did. “Pretty sure that won’t happen, but if it does, I will.”
Numb, Amy turned and walked out of the post office.
“You want to tell me what this is all about?” Mark asked when he and Lizzy caught up with her.
“It was the contract I signed for the university in Texas. I changed my mind, but Teri had already mailed it.”
“You weren’t going?”
She dropped her gaze. “No, but it’s a moot point now.”
He lifted her face until she was looking into his brown eyes. “Why did you change your mind?”
She pressed her lips together, unable to answer him.
“Was it because of me?”
She half shrugged. “Maybe.”
“How long is the contract?”
“A year.”
“That’s not long.”
Hope bloomed in her chest. “Really?”
“Kiss her, Daddy. What are you waiting for?”
“Get in the truck, pipsqueak.” He drew her in his arms. “I’ll wait twice that long for you, Amy. If you’ll have me.”
~*~
Christmas Eve Lizzy sat between them at the pageant, and Amy couldn’t believe how quickly the week had passed. She’d expected to hear from the university once they received the contract, but not a word.
She’d resigned herself to a year in Houston, and Mark had agreed with her that they needed to wait until the contract was up before planning a wedding. Amy sighed. At least she’d be learning about hippotherapy under an expert.
Lizzy kept looking up at her and giggling. Once she started talking it was like she didn’t have an off button. After the last song by the children’s choir, the lights went up, and Lizzy said, “Now, Daddy?”
He scooped his daughter up into his arms. “Yes, now.”
Mark grabbed Amy by the hand and pulled her out the door toward the gazebo. They’d sat near the back, so they were the first ones out and the first ones to reach the gazebo.
Amy eyed Mark. “What’s going on?”
Lizzy clapped her hands. “Show her, Daddy.”
Mark set Lizzy down and slipped a white envelope from his jacket. Amy caught her breath. The contract. “Where did you get that?”
He pointed to the top of the envelope. “You didn’t put stamps on it. When it got to Portland, they caught it and sent it back. I told Jay to let me know if it showed up at the post office, and he called this morning.”
Amy pressed her hands to her face. She didn’t have to leave Christmas Town. She couldn’t believe it. She threw her arms around Mark.
He pulled her close to his chest. “I can get used to this.”
“Me, too.”
He looked up and she followed his gaze. Mistletoe.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said softly.
“I know.”
“We probably have an audience.”
“You mean besides Lizzy?”
He brushed her lips with his. “Do you like Valentine weddings?”
Her heart was about to explode. “I think they’re very romantic.”
“Then will you do me the honor, Amy Logan, of being my wife?”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”
Lizzy tugged on her sleeve. “Are you going to be my new mommy?”
Amy knelt. A mixture of hope and worry was stamped on Lizzy’s face. “Is that okay?”
Lizzy looked up at Mark. “Do you think Mommy would care?”
He smoothed back her hair. “I think your mommy would be very happy for someone to love you like Amy does.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Lizzy threw her arms around Amy’s neck, and she held the child close, savoring the moment.
Lizzy tilted her head. “Does this mean I get to ride Ginger all the time?”
Amy grinned at her. “I don’t see why not.”
She stood, and Mark kissed her lightly. “That’s a down payment until we get home,” he said.
“Then that’s where we need to be.” She leaned her head on his chest. She couldn’t ever remember a better Christmas Eve.
The End
A Note from the Author
Thank you so much for reading The Gingerbread Pony. I became interested in hippotherapy when I was a walker for my speech therapist daughter who uses the therapy in her practice. I was amazed at how the rhythm of the horse made a difference in children who stuttered or couldn’t form words. The Gingerbread Pony was born out of that experience.
&n
bsp; If you enjoyed The Gingerbread Pony, you may like my Harlequin Heartwarming stories. Matthew’s Choice is the first book in my series set in small town Cedar Grove, Mississippi. The second book, The Christmas Campaign, releases November 1, 2015.
If you enjoy romantic suspense, I believe you’ll like Shadows From the Past, the first in my Logan Point series. Other books in the series are A Promise to Protect and Gone Without a Trace. For information on when my next book comes out, follow me on Twitter at @ptbradley1 or like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/Patricia Bradley Author .
The Gingerbird House
Rula Sinara
Copyright © 2015 by:
Rula Sinara
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.
150921.175527
Dedication
This story is dedicated to all who are or have been homeless due to circumstances beyond their control. I wish you the gift of strength, love, family and home this holiday season and beyond.
And to those of you with generous, open hearts who have gone above and beyond to help any living thing in need. Bless you.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Melinda Curtis and Anna J. Stewart for their generosity, patience and guidance. It was such an honor to be a part of the anthology, A Heartwarming Christmas, and to work with such an extraordinary group of authors.
To Kristan Higgins for sharing her love of small towns and for writing the foreword to the anthology.
To my Christmas Town sisters—Mel, Anna J, Anna A, Amy, Carol, Cheryl, Leigh, Tara, Cari, Pat and Liz—who embrace holiday spirit every day of the year. I’m proud to know you and it was a privilege to have The Gingerbird House share a world with your incredible stories. And to Annissa for her creativity and hard work on the anthology. I’m positive you’ll all be on Santa’s nice list.
To Liz Flaherty and Patricia Bradley for being my gingerbread sisters. I had so much fun working with you as we delved into our characters, Cass, Amy and Lia, and brought The Gingerbread Men to life. Your feedback, and Mel’s, was invaluable.
And last but not least, to my teenage son, who willingly read my story drafts with a red pen in hand. I’m sure the revenge was sweet lol ;). I still love you.
Praise and Awards
The Promise of Rain
2014 National Reader’s Choice Award Winner
2015 HOLT Medallion Award of Merit
2015 Golden Quill Award Runner Up
“The Promise of Rain is exotic, vibrant, touching, tragic and hope-giving….well-motivated, well-plotted and thoroughly authentic. A unique and beautiful story…”
~ Kathy Altman of USA Today’s Happy Ever After
“With a gut-wrenching opening, After the Silence will grab readers from the first chapter. This is a lovely and moving story of a family trying to heal and a heroine who just might be the key.”
~ RT Book Reviews
“Author Rula Sinara has a way with words that would take a reader right into her story-world and keep her entranced.”
~ Contemporary Romance Reviews
Chapter 1
The ominous snap of a twig echoed through the snowy woods at the edge of Christmas Town. Someone was coming. Quinn Weston pulled his son behind a mass of snow dusted firs and crouched over him. God help him, this wasn’t happening. The copse of trees behind them was silhouetted against the blood orange hues of the setting sun and the air was heavy with the unmistakable scent of more snow on the way. They’d come this far and no one was going to keep them from having safe shelter for the night.
“You said we were almost there. I’m hungry,” Jax said, flopping his gloved hands against his stomach. Quinn’s gloves made Jax look like a mini-snowman with oversized, boneless fingers, but at least they hadn’t been snatched by mischievous faeries and elves or swooping dragons who—according to Jax—were to blame for the disappearance of a ridiculous number of socks, mittens and hats in the past…including the last pair of kid-sized ski mittens he’d gotten him from a donation box. Quinn had secured this pair to Jax’s tiny wrists with an old pair of shoelaces. He pressed his finger against Jax’s mouth.
“Shhh. Almost there. Just one more game of hide-and-seek. Okay, buddy?”
He’d gone out of his way to preserve his six-year-old innocence over the past six months by turning everywhere they stayed into an adventure, even if he suspected Jax had caught on long ago. Man, he hoped he was telling the truth about this game almost being over. From what his grandfather had said before he died, the cabin on Two Sticks Farm had become too run down for anyone to bother with. If someone had moved in, Quinn was going to be in trouble. The long trek back into town was impossible at this point. Quinn’s back was stiff from giving Jax piggy-back rides where the snowdrifts were too deep for his legs. Besides, even if they made it back, they’d never find a place to stay. Availability was slim during the holidays…and nothing was free.
His chest ached at the sight of Jax’s Rudolf-red nose. Temps were dropping and the frosty air did nothing to numb the pang of frustration and desperation that threatened to break him. He was at the limit of what he could put the poor kid through and he wasn’t about to risk Jax’s life. This place was his last chance. Spending another night hiding out in a disgusting bus station bathroom in the city simply wasn’t an option. Not because he’d used up the last of his tokens for the trip out to Christmas Town, Maine, but because Quinn couldn’t fathom putting Jax through that again. Last night, sitting in a toilet stall with Jax huddled in his lap and Quinn’s arms protecting him from the smudged and smelly walls, had nearly crumbled his resolve.
But at least it had been warm.
If he couldn’t make this plan work, then maybe Jax's last teacher and the volunteer at the packed city shelter they’d tried to get into last night had been right. He needed to give his son up if he wanted to do what was best for him.
For all the times he’d donated to women’s and children’s shelters, he’d never once imagined he’d be in their shoes. And he’d never realized how men in his shoes were more likely to be seen as failures than as struggling. Neglect. He wished he could tear the word and the sound of that volunteer’s voice from his ears. Jax was not neglected. Quinn would—and had—been killing himself for months to make sure that didn’t happen. Jax was his life.
One word—neglect—was all it would take for his life to plummet into a deeper hell and for Jax to be taken from him and put in foster care. Or worse, given to his mother. Having money didn’t protect a kid from neglect. Not the emotional kind.
Which was why he was back in Christmas Town and why he didn’t want anyone to be able to track them down and tear them apart.
He peered around the side of the fir tree. The cabin sat in a small clearing flanked by an outcropping of stone on one side and a wooded trail on the other. If his memory served him right, it was about a quarter mile-long path that wove its way towards the main road at the edge of the property, down where his grandfather had once built a fresh produce stand. Another wider, gravel path to the left led to the farm’s main house and stables. His head throbbed with memories. He’d hated it here those two years after his parents had died. Couldn’t wait to leave. And now here he was seeking refuge. Oh, the irony. The evergreens along the trail rustled again and he caught a glimpse of light brown hair through the branches. His chest sank and he bit back a curse. Apparently, the place wasn’t abandoned.
Just think. There’s always a way. There’s always an option. You need to do what’s best for Jax and deal with the consequences later.
Hopefully, that wouldn’t include getting shot for trespassing.
“Stay down, cover your eyes and count to ten,” he said, pressing his hand against Jax’s shoulder. A haunting image of his little boy alone in the cold woods flashed throug
h his head. For all he’d done to protect Jax’s innocence, the last thing the kid needed was to witness his father getting shot and bleeding to death. But Jax being so scared that he’d take the hide-and-seek game too far would be worse. He kissed the top of the blue beanie hat that had yet to be stolen by fairy tale creatures. “If something ever happens to me or we get separated and you’re scared, I want you to keep screaming for help on the top of your lungs. Got it? Don’t stop ‘till help comes.”
Jax’s brow furrowed over his big, soulful eyes. He nodded. Quinn hated that he’d just scared him, but he didn’t have a choice.
“Hello?” Quinn called out before standing. He prayed his voice would be enough to prevent a shoot-first-ask-later situation.
Antlers shot up from the thicket and an overwhelming mix of relief and awe surged through him. A stag stared back with his ears perked and head held high. Master of the woods. A symbol of all Quinn had lost. Dignity. Confidence. His home. Quinn wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the stag was a sign that everything would be okay and that by some miracle, Quinn would regain his ground. But right now, all that mattered was that they had a safe place to stay.
The stag turned and vanished.
“Wow,” Jax said, standing up next to his dad despite his order to stay hidden. Quinn slipped his arm around him and swallowed hard.
“Come on. Let’s get you warmed up and figure out dinner.”
He fumbled with the last granola bar in his jacket pocket. Jax had filled up on grocery store samples at lunch. The lines had been long because of Thanksgiving, but at least he’d eaten a good meal at a soup kitchen the day prior. The kid needed some real food for dinner tonight. What were the chances they’d find old cans of soup in the cabin? How old was too old? If he was lucky, his grandfather’s fishing rod would still be there and the pond on the property wouldn’t be frozen over. He doubted—especially with all the wildlife—that any fruit would be left in the orchard, frozen or otherwise. One thing at a time. He needed to get Jax inside and then gather firewood. Tomorrow would be a fresh start. And maybe tomorrow he’d find out why his grandfather, in his last days after the stroke that had slurred his speech, blurred his memory and half-paralyzed him, kept struggling to say the same thing over and over. The only thing that had eventually given Quinn the idea of where they might find refuge…or desperately needed cash.
A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Page 72
