The Christmas Light (Now and Forever Romance Book 6)

by Regina Duke

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurb

  The Christmas Light

  Regina's Books

  Regina's Bio

  THE CHRISTMAS LIGHT

  by

  Regina Duke

  The Christmas Light

  Copyright © 2018, 2019 Linda White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Regina Duke.

  Published by RD Books

  United States of America

  Electronic Edition: April 2019

  Digital ISBN 978-1-944752-33-0

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  Digital formatting by StevieDeInk, [email protected]

  Edited by Marian Kelly, RavensGateEditing.com

  Cover by StevieDeInk

  Cover photo from Fotolia.com

  Hannah Gordon’s life is a mess and there is no room in her heart for Christmas spirit. Then she meets Trevor Gatlin and things are looking up, until her hopes are dashed. Can a Christmas tree heal her heart? Find out in this lovely offering by USA Today Bestselling Author Regina Duke.

  The Christmas Light is number 5 in the Now and Forever Romance series.

  Hannah loved the cabin in Truckee. Her grandfather had left it to her because she was his only living relative. He’d raised her from the time she was five years old, and it had never occurred to Hannah that his being her grandfather meant he would get old so fast.

  Even when she went away to college, she came back every chance she got. And then there was that new job in Reno and that darned snowstorm that hit right after Thanksgiving. She wanted desperately to blame the weather for what happened last year, but she’d had several months of grief therapy since, and she had come to grips with the fact that it was just Grandpa’s time to go.

  The memory of that last Christmas still haunted her. Even with six feet of snow on the ground, she’d chained up her car and made the drive to spend Christmas with her last remaining relative. She had his high cheekbones and amber eyes, complete with baby laugh lines, and although his hair had turned completely white, she’d seen the pictures of him in his youth with the same thick black mane she had.

  At least she’d arrived in time to say goodbye. She found him at the foot of the stairs, looking gray and barely able to speak. He motioned her close and whispered, “I’ll always be with you. Don’t be afraid.”

  She took a moment to call 911, but it was too little too late, and Grandpa expired right there on the floor.

  It didn’t make sense. She was only twenty-three. How could he be eighty-five?

  Her therapist had reminded her, relentlessly, that Hannibal Gordon had married late. He’d been forty when her father was born and sixty-two when her parents insisted on naming her after the old man. Hannibal became Hannah, and she was proud of her uncommon name.

  Hannah’s parents had died in her father’s Piper Cub as they tried to fly out of an unexpected thunderstorm. They were on a second honeymoon, during which five-year-old Hannah had been staying with her grandfather.

  From that day forward, he’d become her sole legal guardian. They already had the same name, pretty much. She started school right there in Truckee, and she had so many fond memories of running through the trees or snowshoeing up the hill to the house and having hot chocolate waiting for her when she arrived.

  Losing her grandfather at Christmas had soured her completely on the holidays.

  When she called the phone number he’d written on the will tucked into the drawer of his bedstand, she was stunned to learn that he’d left her everything. The surprise had not been so much that he made her his heir, but rather how much she was going to inherit. The cabin was clean and modern, with the bedrooms downstairs and the living areas upstairs so that light could still come in when winter hit and the snow got really deep. When the lawyer told her it would appraise at over a million dollars, her jaw dropped.

  “Location, location, location,” said the lawyer. “But don’t worry, the upkeep is taken care of for another twenty years. And your grandfather wanted you to take your inheritance in monthly payments. He didn’t want you to pull the capital and kill the golden goose.”

  Hannah had stared at him blankly. “What goose? We don’t have a goose. Only Grandpa’s Siamese cat.”

  The lawyer scanned the documents spread out before him. “Mr. Gordon lived a spare and simple life, but he held about twelve patents from his days in Silicon Valley. You will have an income for the rest of your days, if this Arturo fellow doesn’t cause any trouble. Is he a relative?”

  Hannah sagged in her chair and shook her head. “Arturo is the cat. Not a goose. A cat.”

  The lawyer finally seemed to realize that Hannah was still in shock. He had been the one who recommended a therapist for grief counseling. And he had reassured her that her future was bright. Hannibal Gordon had provided well for his only grandchild.

  Now, almost a year to the day after that frantic call to 911, Hannah contemplated putting on her snowshoes and walking down to town. She’d been out and about over the last year, but summer had passed in a haze. The fall was cold and wet, and fitted her mood. But when the first snow came, her grief had threatened to overwhelm her again. Getting outside today sounded like a good idea. But when she looked out the window, flakes were coming fast and furious, and she knew she would not be walking to the shops in this storm.

  All the suffering that had been so tidily corralled by the therapist who’d explained all the stages of grief— and actually gave her a timetable to use while she read book after book about the grieving process—all those feelings clawed their way out of their cold storage unit and flayed her heart wide open. Grandpa had loved the snow. He taught her to snowshoe, ski, sled, build snowmen, and he also taught her how to survive if she was ever lost in a snowstorm.

  He had prepared her for everything except the most horrible thing of all—the day when her grandfather would no longer walk the earth.

  She’d ended her therapist visits right before Thanksgiving. It seemed a smart thing to do, since the therapist was in Reno and she didn’t want to be driving back and forth when the snows came. In November she had checked her timeline and seen that she should be well into acceptance by now. So much for psychology. She spent almost all of December—the first twenty-two days—holed up in the cabin, staring out at the forest as the snow came down, thicker and thicker.

  At long last, today—the twenty-third—she longed to leave the house but the storm showed no signs of ending. She settled for spending a while on the upstairs balcony. Bundled in sweatshirts and a down jacket, she turned off all the lights in the cabin, took a mug of hot tea out on the deck, and sat in a plastic chair until the snow piled up six inches thick on her legs and forearms. Her tea was filmed over with ice, and she wondered if she could stand to stay out there long enough to go join her grandfather.

  At that moment a breeze rustled the thousands of evergreen branches in the forest, and she could almost make out a voice.

  Always.

  Was that the word? She stood up, surprised by how much snow was displaced by her movement. How long had she been sitting there?

  The breeze was picking up, the snow pelting her now.

  “Okay, okay, Grandpa,” she muttered. “Freezing to death was a stupid idea. I get it.�
�� She shook off the snow, emptied her tea cup over the edge of the balcony—the snow was already three feet deep—and retreated into the cabin.

  She wasn’t really suicidal. She was just so heartbroken, still, after all these months. She unbundled herself and turned the water on for another cup of tea. The room was filling with gloom. In all the Christmases she’d spent with her grandfather, there had been a glorious tree, decorated as brightly as a lighthouse, in the corner of the living room. This year, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to put up any decorations. Without a tree to brighten the space, she needed to turn on the reading lamp by his chair. Her chair now. She could still imagine traces of his cherry tobacco hanging in the air.

  Arturo had settled on the back of the small sofa, waiting for a ray of sunshine to warm him, and if that failed, he was strategically located three feet above a floor vent. He had looked for Hannibal for a week after he died, but finally seemed to realize the old man wasn’t coming back.

  Hannah envied him his ability to keep going, as if adjusting to the new normal was what cats did. She wished she could do the same. When the teakettle whistled, she poured water over her tea bag and spooned a glop of honey into it.

  The ringing of the phone on the coffee table was not what she wanted to hear. By the third ring, she decided she had to pick up.

  “Hannah, where are you? I thought you were coming to the party.” The disappointment in her friend Eva’s voice filled her with guilt.

  “Oh my gosh, I lost track of time.”

  “Well, it’s not over yet. And don’t give me any excuses. I’m sending my cousin to pick you up. Well, sort of my cousin. Okay, second cousin. I think. He’s related to me, I’m pretty sure.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Eva, someone’s at the door.”

  “I know! That’s what I’m trying to say! My cousin should be there by now with his four-wheel-drive. His name is Trevor. If the person at the door gives you a different name, don’t go with him.”

  Hannah had plenty of time to walk to the front door—also on the upper level of the house—while Eva babbled on. She opened the door and stood there, staring in disbelief, at the hunk of manhood shaking snow off his cap and ear flaps. He wore no winter coat, just a pale blue long-sleeved tee shirt that clung to every ab, individually. After six she lost count. He was smiling broadly, pretending that his teeth were not chattering.

  “Hi. I’m Trevor. I’m here to take you to Eva’s party.”

  Hannah nodded, unable to form words for the moment. She handed him the phone, waved him inside, and retrieved the down jacket she’d just taken off.

  “You been outside?” he asked. Then he spoke into the phone. “She’s fine, Eva. I didn’t get lost. And I thought you said she was the Plain Jane of your group of friends.”

  By then, Hannah had her coat on, and when he said that, she grabbed the phone. “Eva! Did you really say that?”

  Eva was laughing. “No, of course not. I told him you were a looker. He thinks he’s funny. See you soon!” She hung up.

  Hannah set the phone on the entryway table and zipped up her jacket. “I guess I’m going to a party.”

  Trevor looked concerned. “You sound miserable. I thought party invitations cheered people up.”

  He had a lovely voice, deep and musical. How come Eva had never mentioned him before? “You need a coat,” she said.

  “I just came straight here when Eva said you needed a ride. I’ll be fine once we get in the SUV.”

  Hannah said, “Looking at you makes me cold.” She opened the coat closet, then realized the only men’s clothing in there was her late grandfather’s. But she’d already offered. She pulled out a navy blue down jacket. “Put this on.”

  “I’m really fine,” protested Trevor. He held up his ear-flap cap. “I’m keeping the heat in with this. Does it make me look like a logger?”

  Hannah suppressed a snicker. “It makes you look Canadian. And considering the snow coming down out there, it also makes you look really smart. Too bad that impression is ruined by your tee shirt.”

  Trevor surrendered with grace. “In that case, I shall accept your loan of a jacket.” He whisked it on quickly. “Nice. Shall we go?”

  Hannah saw no way out now. After all, this beautiful man had driven to her house in a snowstorm. She picked up her house keys and shoved them in her pocket. “I’m ready. Hold onto the banister because the stairs can be icy.”

  “So I noticed,” said Trevor.

  She was surprised by the brand new Ford Explorer waiting at the foot of her steep driveway. When Eva said he was a cousin, she’d expected an open-air Jeep. That was the kind of woman Eva was, wild and woolly and broke all the time.

  “Nice car,” said Hannah as she got in.

  Trevor turned up the heater. “Thanks. How do you ever get up your driveway? No offense, but I tried it once and slid downhill, so I gave up and parked in the road.”

  “How manly of you to admit it.”

  Trevor laughed out loud. “Eva said you had a great sense of humor.” He made sure the hot air was defogging the windshield, then pulled slowly forward.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hannah. “I didn’t mean to sound so snarky. I really appreciate the ride. As you discovered, my driveway is treacherous. At this time of year, I stay in shape by snowshoeing down the hill or skiing. My car is in the garage. His name is Steely Dan, and when I miss him, I sit in the driver’s seat and we talk about the wonderful places we’ll go when the snow melts.”

  Trevor nodded. “I see. Perhaps I should find a garage for Kimberly.”

  Hannah pulled back and stared at him.

  He shrugged innocently. “Doesn’t she look like a Kimberly? Women aren’t the only ones who name their cars.”

  Hannah suppressed a grin. “Nice to meet you, Kimberly.” She patted the dashboard. “I must admit, I admire your ability to navigate the winter roads.”

  “Kimberly’s or mine?” Trevor kept glancing sideways at Hannah.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “I’d feel safer if you watched the road.” She winced as a small red Toyota slid in slow motion down the hill in front of them.

  “No worries,” said Trevor. “Take a closer look. Some poor fool is trying to drive around without snow tires or chains. We’re fine.”

  Hannah said, “Good.” But she had a white-knuckled grip on the handle above her door.

  “Have you lived here long?” asked Trevor.

  “Most of my life. I just hate driving in the snow. But at least the tourist traffic slows down in the winter.”

  “That’s the right attitude. Find a silver lining.”

  Once they reached the bottom of the hill and the narrow road leveled off, Hannah relaxed a bit. “My grandfather always drove.”

  Trevor made an understanding noise. “Eva told me he passed last year. I’m so sorry. I know what that’s like.”

  “Oh really? You lost the man who raised you as his own?” She didn’t mean for it to come out icy, but talking about it still hurt.

  Trevor reached out and squeezed her hand, just for a moment. “As a matter of fact,” he said softly, “yes. My father…thirteen months ago.”

  Hannah sucked in a breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I guess I’m so wrapped up in my own loss, I forget that the rest of the world is subject to the same pain.”

  Trevor murmured teasingly, “Surprise.”

  Hannah sank against the soft leather seat, then sat up straight. “Is my bottom supposed to be warm?”

  “Heated seats,” said Trevor.

  “Awesome.” Hannah relaxed again. In dry weather, Eva lived about ten minutes from her place, but in a snowstorm, it was more like half an hour. She might as well make small talk. “What do you do?”

  Trevor looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “Beg pardon?”

  “Your job. Your career. What do you do for a living?”

  “Oh. I guess you could say I freelance.”

>   “You’re a writer?”

  His perfect eyebrows met in a small frown. “I think I have to sell something before I get to claim the title.”

  Hannah smiled.

  “What about you?”

  She thought about her answer for a few seconds. “My last position was working as a paralegal.”

  “But you take winters off because of the snow?”

  Hannah didn’t want to tell him she had inherited a fortune. If she’d learned anything during the year since the funeral, it was how many men suddenly found her interesting because she could play all day and pay all the bills. Or so they thought. As if grief hadn’t shut her off from the world enough, that realization had made socializing a nightmare.

  Instead of replying directly, she tilted her head to one side. “I should get better tires on my car.”

  “I can help you with that, if you like.” His tone was playful. “Being a man and all, I know all the right words to use at the tire store.”

  Hannah felt a genuine smile light up her face. It warmed her heart as it rose, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled from the inside out. “I will probably take you up on that,” she said. “Because I’m a woman, and phrases like ‘P-metric’ and ‘Euro-metric’ make no sense to my delicate princess brain.”

  “Good one!” Trevor was grinning from ear to ear. “I think we’re here, but I’ve only seen the front of her house once. With all this new snow…”

  Hannah pointed forward. “One more driveway.”

  “Thanks.”

  Enjoying a Christmas party was the last thing Hannah ever thought she would do again. A large part of it was having a handsome attentive man seeing to her every need and desire. The icing on the cake was the fact that they shared the same whimsical sense of humor. At one point, he bowed to her and offered her his arm while announcing in a perfect plantation drawl, “I believe this dance belongs to me, missy.”

  Hannah didn’t think her southern accent was nearly as convincing, but she gave it her best shot. “Why, sir…” Suh. “…I do believe I’ve misplaced my dance card.” Cahd. “Is your name Birmingham Jefferson Trevor Gatlin of the Mississippi Gatlins?”