"How could you know, Mr. McCormick? While I appreciate your sincerity, I do not wish your pity." Saran caught Brady’s reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. He stood in the entrance, twisting his tweed cap in his hands. In silent duty, Thomas reached for the coat and hats, leaving Brady with nothing except a look on his face that appeared to ask why he was there.
Saran mustered her resolve to face the man who had haunted her dreams over the past few days. The man she would never know, because his heart was firmly tied to the heart of his deceased wife.
"I did not come here to offer you pity, Miss Reichardt, but to explain to you that I am guilty of secluding myself in my own form of pity. I have been blind to what blessings I have, to those who, past and present, enrich my life more than I give them credit for.”
Saran was unprepared for this sudden change in his demeanor, careful not to read more into it than the fact that it was Christmas Day. Reason told her that she’d only known this man and his son for a few days. How could she already have feelings for him? Yet Daniel had captured her heart from the moment she’d met him. Was it not possible that his father could do the same? Despite the odd fluttering in her stomach she had to remind herself that Brady McCormick was a proud man, determined to keep the memory of his wife alive for his son and himself.
"I fear I’ve misjudged you, Miss Reichardt."
Though she didn’t think it prudent to allow the smooth as silk tone in his voice to affect her fragile emotions, she couldn’t help but be curious as to what he was admitting. It appeared to her that he was nervous—this giant of man with a stubborn streak wider than the great Mississippi.
And why, in heaven’s name, would he be nervous?
"May I come in?"
He stood just outside the parlor, his shoulders filling the entrance with their breadth. He’d trimmed his hair to a neat length above his ears. Probably not so she’d notice the strength of his clean-shaven jaw as he swallowed.
"Forgive my manners, Mr. McCormick. Please come in. And I’m not adverse to apologies, but I do not wish them tagged onto my mother’s memory out of guilt." Saran clamped her hands together, keeping firm hold on her silly schoolgirl emotions as he approached her.
Brady walked straight to her, standing toe to toe, his presence seeming to draw the very breath from her lungs.
"You are a stubborn and proud woman, Saran Reichardt," he said quietly.
She laughed softly and looked down at the rug. "Now that, Mr. McCormick, is what we refer to as ‘the pot calling the kettle black.’”
"I am familiar with the saying. Perhaps you are correct.”
She looked up and caught his half-smile.
"My first wife, Mary Margaret, she was…ah, well, a feisty woman.”
Saran bit back the thought that she had to be in order to be married to him.
“I’d known her since I was as young as Danny, and we had more than one round of words in our lifetime together."
Saran listened, somewhat surprised at how it affected her to do so. She wasn’t sure if she felt sorry for him, or jealous of what they’d shared or—it dawned on her with sudden clarity—of what she wished she could have with him. She lifted her face to his and smiled. "Now, why doesn’t that surprise me, Mr. McCormick?"
He offered her a grin, and Saran detected a glimpse of his impish son.
"I suppose it shouldn’t, but in all the days since she died, I never thought I would find a woman who could rival her.”
Saran’s breath caught in her throat. Her tongue was glued soundly to the roof of her mouth and her brain void of thought. She could only stare at him.
"Och, there I go again causing you to question my manners.” Brady scratched his head.
He scanned the room as though searching for a way to change the subject. With a step around her, he checked the tree, assessing it with admiration. "This is lovely. Daniel told me that you allowed him to help decorate it. It’s been a long while since the boy had a tree. Thank you.” He eyed the tree, and nervously reached out to touch an ornament. “Did he make this?”
She nodded and smiled as she pointed out several others the boy had crafted. "Your son is a delightful young man, Mr. McCormick." She did not think about what came next from her mouth. “You’ve no reason to thank me. You and your wife should be proud of how you’ve raised him.”
He held her eyes for a moment and then cleared his throat. "You are a remarkable woman, Saran Reichardt…for an American woman."
Saran shut her eyes, preparing to enlighten him on his ancient misconceptions about women. “Mr….” His fingertips lightly touched her cheek, scattering her thoughts. She wasn’t sure whether to stay or bolt from the room. She swallowed hard before she pressed her thoughts from her mouth. "That does not negate the fact that, in the time I’ve come to know you, I find you more often than not a stubborn oaf." She searched his eyes. Why should she feel this scattered, this…befuddled? Perhaps it was the effect of the scent of too much pine, or the warmth of the fire—maybe it was the distant laughter of her father and Daniel. Whatever it was, it came with an unwarranted sense of restlessness, an inability to make straight the thoughts in her mind. It had been so from the first day they met and now…now this? What was she supposed to do with this?
"Nollaig Shona Duit, Miss Reichardt."
He took her hand and brought it his lips, his kiss lingering as he glanced up at her.
Over his shoulder, Saran spied Thomas hanging a sprig of mistletoe with Daniel's help over the parlor entrance. Together they quietly retreated, covering their mouths to hide the elation of their secret deed. When had Thomas gotten a streak of whimsy?
Saran blinked as Brady followed her gaze. She felt brazen, but uncertain of the wisdom of her thoughts. How long had they known each other? Wasn’t it just yesterday that she’d wanted to strangle him? Saran did feel sure that she wanted to learn as much about Brady McCormick as possible. If that took a lifetime, then so be it. It was imperative, however, that she understood his intent. Whatever the future held, she would have to know it was with a fresh start. She wouldn’t try to fill another woman’s shoes.
"Are you familiar with the tradition of mistletoe, Mr. McCormick?
A spark of passion flitted through his dark eyes.
"I’ve heard stories, Miss Reichardt."
He allowed her to lead him to the parlor door, draped also with fresh pine garland. Saran glanced above her head, and though she waited patiently, her insides churned. His hand touched her chin as he stepped closer, and she raised her eyes to his. Moved by the magic of the holiday, the love of hearth and home, and the warmth of his body near hers, Saran gently cupped his face and kissed his lips. Tentative, she allowed her lips to linger a moment on his, sensing his uncertainty in how to respond. She lowered to her heels, fearful she’d overstepped her boundaries. Before she could apologize, he caught her waist and tugged her close. With a smile that heated her to the core, he kissed her fully, leaving nothing to question. Saran’s world tipped on its axis, her fingers digging into the sleeves of his jacket. A mix of emotions washed over her—fear, joy, anticipation, and desire. And the fact that she barely knew him.
She stepped away, trying to find her tongue, nervously patting at her hair. "I am not that kind of woman, Brady McCormick. I want you to know. I don’t know why I feel this way. I barely know you.”
He took her hand and tugged her into his embrace, laying his cheek against the top of her head. “I am just as surprised by my feelings as you are, Miss Reichardt.” He leaned back to look at her. “May I call you Saran?”
She nodded, her gaze drifting down to the tempting lips that had just kissed her senseless.
"I would like the chance to start over, Miss Reichardt. I would like to get to know you better, if you could see to giving me a second chance.”
"I…I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."
Brady caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Aye, the feeling--if it is the one I hope that
it is--is as fine and confusing as anything. I’ve not felt it in a long while, I assure you, nor did I expect to so strongly feel this way again in my lifetime. But I don’t wish to frighten you. I am a patient man, Saran. I won’t rush you before you are ready to understand what your feelings for me may or may not be.”
“So, does this mean that you’ll be taking up residence here in New York?”
He glanced over her shoulder. “It appears, quite remarkably, that I’ve just been offered a job. And what about you, will you be staying on to teach?”
“It would seem that Daniel will be in need of a teacher.”
“Aye, he will need a fine teacher, to be sure.” His eyes ricocheted from her lips to her eyes.
“And what is it that you need, Brady McCormick?” Saran studied the warmth of sincerity in his gaze. “Now that you have a job, a home, and a teacher for Daniel?”
He swallowed, grazing his knuckles softly across her cheek. “Someone to love, Miss Reichardt. Is that too much to hope for on this Christmas Day?”
Saran covered his hand, resting them both against her cheek. “Hope is what Christmas is all about, Brady. And you have just given me the best Christmas present I could ever hope for.”
She pushed up on her toes and captured his mouth in a fiery kiss.
From the author~
Holiday time is one of the most wonderful times of the year! One of the first memories of making gifts for my relatives and teachers was taking whole cloves and sticking them in a fragrant orange. Attached with a festive ribbon, their aromatic scent of clove and citrus would serve as a modern-day pomander in any room or closet. I still try to do a few to set in a wood bowl, with fresh evergreen as a table centerpiece during the holidays. The lovely scent is as part of Christmas as any! Speaking of scents! Who can resist the scent of pies, and cookies baking in a kitchen during holiday time?
One of the loveliest of Christmas traditions was started years ago by a sweet neighbor lady who, having had no daughters of her own, would invite a few of the neighbor girls over each holiday and together they would make dozens and dozens of gaily decorated sugar cookies! As a gift, she gave each young girl a special apron to wear while baking and to keep after the holiday was past. My daughter still has all her aprons given to her, memories of special Christmas’s spent with friends and neighbors. And by the way, though the cookies are fewer (and she has never revealed her secret recipe!) my entire family awaits with great anticipation for Rhea’s cookies to show up on our doorstep each holiday!
To share in this festive season, I’m sharing some of my favorite cookie recipes with you, so that you might add them to your traditions, or perhaps start a new one. Whatever your traditions, I wish you and your families and friends all the peace, laughter, and love of the holiday season!
~Amanda
Cherished Holiday Recipes
Thumbprint Cookies
1 pound of butter(oleo)*1/2 cup of sugar*1 tablespoon vanilla*2 ½ cups flour *Plum or Peach jam.
Cream butter and sugar until fluffy. Add Vanilla and flour to make a soft dough. Roll into small balls. With thumb, press down on ball to make print indentation. Fill with a dab of jam or jelly. (1/8-1/4 Teaspoon) Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 15-20 minutes. Makes about 2 dozen.
Crackly Ginger Cookies
2 cups sifted flour* 2 teaspoons baking soda*1 teaspoon cinnamon *1/2 teaspoon ground cloves *1 teaspoon salt *3/4 cup Oleo or butter (soft) *1 cup white sugar *1 egg * ¼ cup dark molasses. Sift dry ingredients. Cream butter and sugar. Add egg and molasses. Beat until fluffy. Sir in dry ingredients. Chill 20 minutes. Roll in to walnut size pieces. Bake on greased baking sheet at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes.
About the Author
Amanda McIntyre’s storytelling is a natural offshoot of her artistic creativity. A visual writer, living in the rich tapestry of the American heartland, her passion is telling character-driven stories with a penchant (okay, some call it a wicked obsession) for placing ordinary people in extraordinary situations to see how they overcome the obstacles to their HEA.
A bestselling author, her work is published internationally in Print, eBook, and Audio. She writes steamy contemporary and sizzling historical romance and truly believes, no matter what, love will always find a way.
More about Amanda:
WEBSITE: http://www.amandamcintyresbooks.com/
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/AmandaMcIntyreAuthorFanPage
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/amandamcintyre1
Amanda McIntyre’s NEWSLETTER Storyteller at Heart…Romantic, Riveting, Rebellious. http://madmimi.com/signups/110714/join
Other Books by Amanda McIntyre:
CONTEMPORARY WESTERN ROMANCE:
Georgia on My Mind (Last Hope Ranch crossover-April 2017
Worth the Wait (Last Hope Ranch series-) Summer 2017
Wild at Heart (Wild Irish Kindle World. April 2017)
Lost and Found (November 2016)
Thunderstruck (Hell Yeah Kindle World) Nov. 2016
Going Home (Sapphire Falls Kindle World Oct 2016)
All I Want for Christmas (holiday novella)
No Strings Attached, Book I (Last Hope Ranch)
Rugged Hearts, Book I (Kinnison Legacy)
Rustler’s Heart, Book II (Kinnison Legacy
Renegade Hearts, Book III (Kinnison Legacy)
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE:
Stranger in Paradise
Tides of Autumn
Unfinished Dreams
Wish You Were Here
HISTORICAL:
Historical/Native American:
A Warrior’s Heart (Sept. 2016)
Historical/Victorian:
The Promise (November 2016)
Historical/Time-travel:
Closer To You (formerly Wild & Unruly)
Christmas Angel (formerly Fallen Angel)
Historical Paranormal/Fantasy:
Tirnan ‘Oge
Historical/Erotic Thriller:
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane
Historical/Erotic Romance:
The Master & the Muses *
The Diary of Cozette *
Tortured *
The Pleasure Garden *
Winter’s Desire *
Dark Pleasures *
*Starred titles available in audio and international languages
CONTEMPORARY ADULT FICTION:
Private Party
Mirror, Mirror
Naughty Bits, Vol III
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Promise
Copyright 2016 by Amanda McIntyre
Edited by Kristina Cook
Cover design by Syneca Featherstone
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Amanda McIntyre
http://www.amandamcintyresbooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
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