12 Christmas Romances To Melt Your Heart (12 page)

P
eter rubbed
his wife’s bright red robe, lying across the bench seat next to him. “Another year, Diane. Another year of smiles and laughs without you. But, I know you’re up there somewhere watching over me.”

“Mr. Gibson, you okay?” one of the girls in the back of the wagon asked.

“Yep. Just perfect,” he answered, turning to glance at them over his shoulder.

Both girls grinned and situated themselves on the bench he’d built in the back.

“You girls ready to pass out the treats?”

“Absolutely, Santa.”

The music for the stroll alternated between the marching band and the group of carolers up at the front. The festive lyrics of
Jingle Bells
danced through the air and Peter smiled, still able to hear Diane’s voice singing in his memory. It was layered over by the children lining the sidewalks of the streets. He waved and laughed, alternating his focus from one side of the street to the other.

“Merry Christmas, Somewhere!” he shouted every so often.

The girls in the back threw mini candy canes and wrapped bits of chocolate at the groups of people, and Peter’s chest ached at the sound of children squealing in delight.

He and his wife hadn’t been able to have children. It was one of the only things he truly regretted about not remarrying. He was past having kids now. At fifty-five, his life was starting to slow down. Not speed up.

They turned the corner at Boundary and headed west toward Third. The houses along the south side of Boundary were beautifully decorated. All the residential areas around Town Square always went above and beyond, whether they had a small house or one of the historical mansions. Everyone worked together to make the neighborhoods into a winter wonderland.

A car in the distance backfired and one of the mares nearly jumped out of her shoes.

“Whoa, girl,” he cooed, settling her with soft whispers and assurances. Hopefully that car didn’t come any closer.

The mare yanked the reins, but finally settled back into a slow walk. Between all the squealing children, the carolers, and the marching band, she was doing fantastic. The mares that usually pulled the sleigh annually were some old farm horses from the Harris farm, north of town. But the Harris’ had retired to Florida and sold the place, along with all the animals. Now some guy who ran a security firm owned it. He couldn’t remember his name, but he’d seen him a few times. Definitely ex-military.

“Everything okay, Mr. Gibson?” One of the girls asked, her voice shaking just a tad.

“It’s fine, hon. Don’t worry.”

He clucked his tongue and turned north onto Third Street, following a few yards behind the cheerleaders from the high school.

A backfire popped again, this time closer. The muscles in his arms tensed. This time both mares pranced nervously under the reins.

“Girls, I want you to climb down and walk. Just in case. These girls are not handling that noise well.” Peter pulled tight, trying to keep the mares from getting any lead. They were much younger than the old gals he was used to as well as the docile stock he worked with at Saddles for Hope. The last thing he needed was for them to bolt and the teens in the back to get thrown. “Whoa, girls. Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s just somebody’s old car.”

The elves hopped out the wagon a few seconds later and dropped back a few yards behind him, carrying the giant Santa sack between them. Candy still flew to both sides of the street and children continued to smile and laugh.

Peter tried to wave a few times, but each time he put both reins in one hand that damned car would backfire again. He didn’t want to disappoint the kids, so he tried again. The car hadn’t backfired for at least a minute. Maybe the idiot had finally turned it off.

No. Such. Luck.

A huge crack split through the air as they passed the Grove apartment complex and with only one hand holding the reins, Peter couldn’t hold the powerful quarter horses back again. His arms were already shaking from keeping them calm for the last five blocks.

One of the mares reared up, and the left rein slipped from his hand before he could tighten his hold. “Whoa!” he shouted, trying to reassure the horse and warn the people ahead of him at the same time. “Girls, move to the right!” he bellowed at the cheerleaders ahead of him. The horse would break left into the residential area. They wouldn’t run toward the storefronts.

A second later, the wagon had hopped the sidewalk and they were running over flowerbeds and sidewalks. People were scattering in all directions. Screams from both sides of the wagon made his blood run cold. He could only pray everyone made it out of the way in time.

He wrestled with the remaining rein in his grip and yanked on the mare harnessed to the right.

Everything happened in a few seconds, but it felt like time had slowed to a standstill.

“Whoa, pretty lady! Whoa!”

A woman screamed and Peter’s heart nearly stopped beating. One of the horses bumped her, and she went sailing backward onto the lawn to his left.

“Dammit!”

Two huge animals —wolves—leapt out in front of the startled mares, snapping their jaws and snarling. A second later, there were two VonBrandts next to them, waving their arms and distracting the mares. The one on the left reared again, but seemed to be much more worried about the one-hundred-fifty pound hybrid wolf growling at her side than the long forgotten car exhaust.

He recognized Aaron on the right, but he didn’t know the man on the left.

Peter grabbed the side of the wagon to lower himself to the ground, but paused. Taking a deep breath, he contemplated the golden-eyed black wolf only a few feet away. “I really need to go check on her.” He pointed over his shoulder where he’d seen the woman get nearly run over. “Is he—”

“Midnight won’t hurt you. Go ahead, we’ll stay with the mares,” the stranger said.

Peter nodded and jumped to the hard ground. He sprinted toward the woman sitting on a nearby lawn.

She was shouting at another man, who was standing over her, trying to help her to her feet.

“Get away from me. I don’t want you on my property. None of you. I’ll sue this town for the damage! This stupid parade will never happen again!”

C
arolyn Myers bit her tongue
. Her ankle hurt like she’d been hit with a two-by-four. Oh, wait. She’d been run over by a horse pulling Santa’s sleigh!

Of all the things, it had to be a freakin’ wagon designed to look like a sleigh. The incompetence was intolerable. How
dare
they put jittery horses in a public parade.

This was just another thing to add to her long list of reasons she hated the holidays. Hated Christmas, especially. At the top of the list, because her husband had left her on Christmas Eve for another woman.

After that, the tinsel and lights had lost their charm. She hated the colors red and green. This stupid parade every year was just extra work. She had to go out and clean up the candy and crap they tossed to the onlookers who lined the streets and trampled her lawn. Every year she petitioned the town to pick a different street for the stroll and every year she was told the same thing.

No.

The Holiday Stroll was always a mess. So loud. The children squealing and parents hollering at them. The din of the off-key marching bands. The annoyingly chipper attitudes of all the carolers and other participants made her physically ill.

Why couldn’t her husband have left her on Martin Luther King Day or Presidents Day? Why did he have to go and ruin a holiday she’d used to love?

Now she couldn’t stand the sight of a piece of holly without wanting to scream. The hole in her heart had never healed. Ten years, and it still felt as fresh as the day Bill had walked out on her. Now Christmas had dealt her another blow.

And it felt like a really bad sprain.

“Ma’am, are you sure you don’t want me to call for an ambulance?”

She looked up into the strangers’ face and frowned. “I’ll be fine. Just get off my lawn and leave me the hell alone.”

The young man’s eyes widened and he backed away, as if she were an animal with its teeth bared. Kinda like those monstrous hybrid wolves standing next to the horses and sleigh. Good grief, they were huge.

“That wasn’t very neighborly of you,” a gravely voice rumbled to her left.

She turned to meet a pair of honey-brown eyes and a smile that made even her frosty wall of self-imposed-isolation melt just a bit.

Two dimples creased his cheeks as a smile split the lower half of his face. A hint of silver peeked from beneath the white wig, and his cheeks were scruffy with a day-old beard as he tugged the bearded white sham down to hang around his neck.

“Maybe I’m not a nice neighbor,” she spat out, instead of wincing at the pain lancing through her left ankle. “Maybe you should leave me alone, too. Didn’t you hear what I told him?”

“Maybe I’m too stubborn to take orders from a beautiful lady who’s obviously in a great deal of pain.”

Carolyn opened her mouth and then snapped it back closed. When was the last time a man had called her beautiful? She couldn’t place a single instance in the last decade. Although, it wasn’t like she gave men much of a chance, either. She worked from home on the computer, ordered her clothes online, and ate takeout pretty much every day of the week. Putting on makeup was a thing of the past.

She didn’t need or want the attention of anyone, especially a man.

Seeing people wasn’t really on the need-to-do or want-to-do list. It was bad enough she had to come out and clean up her perfectly manicured lawn after the parade passed by. The service she paid to take care of it during the summer closed down in the winter. She’d tried to get the neighbors’ kids to do it for her one year, but they didn’t do a good enough job and she’d ended up having clean up after they left.

“I’m Peter Gibson,” said the giant male looming over her.

Ignoring the natural urge to introduce herself, she glared instead. “I was serious when I said I wanted you to leave me alone. Your parade is leaving without you.”

He knelt, meeting her eye level. “Do you have pain anywhere besides your ankle?”

“No,” she said, trying not to flinch when he gently moved her hand aside and raised the pant leg of her jeans.

“Ouch,” he exclaimed.

Her ankle was already double its normal size and turning purple.

“Who can I call for you? That needs a doctor’s attention, ASAP.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll wrap it up inside, and it’ll be fine. Just get back to your—”

He slipped an arm around her torso and another under her legs, scooping her up like damsel in distress.

Damn it to hell. She did not need a knight in shining armor to save the day. There was no such thing, anyway. “What the he—”

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear. “There are children. Watch the language.”

She snapped her teeth together, barely missing her tongue. Her lips compressed and she huffed, instead of yelling at him.

“I know a doc up at the theatre who can look at your leg, wrap it up, and make sure if you need to go to the hospital or not.”

“I’m not going.”

“I figured you’d say that. That’s why you’re coming with me.”

“I don’t want to come with you. You. You big oaf.”

“I’m Santa,” he said, a chuckle shaking her against his strong chest. “Everyone wants to be with Santa.”

“Not me.”

“Can we make it the rest of the way, Aaron?” Peter asked, stopping beside the wagon/sleigh.

Aaron VonBrandt nodded. “Who’s your friend? Is she injured?”

“She won’t say. But her ankle is twisted pretty bad. I’m going to take her up to the theatre and let Doc Cooper look at her.”

“My name is Carolyn Myers and I will be fine. Just put me down.” He had some nerve, talking to the man as if she wasn’t even present. She wriggled in his arms and he let his arm slip out from under her legs, but pressed her torso tighter to his firm chest. She couldn’t help but notice how in-shape he was. It’d been a long time since she had touched, much less been held, by a man under any circumstances.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled out.

She pushed away from his chest and huffed again. He was treating her like a child. She wasn’t one. Carolyn took a step and bit back the scream of agony that rose in her throat. Strong arms closed around her again before she could fall. When she caught her breath and opened her eyes, she was once again in Santa’s arms.

“I believe that means you won’t be going anywhere without me, Carolyn.” He flashed a wide smile. “How about you come to the theatre with me? Let me hand out all the gifts. Doc Cooper can wrap up your leg. Then I’ll take you home.”

“How about you take me home right now.”

His lips scrunched together in the most adorable way, and he shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

“I’m not dressed to stay out in this cold. I just came out to pick up the trash really quick.”

“I have a coat you can wear,” he said, then frowned like he’d spoken to soon.

He lifted her onto the wagon seat and looked up, meeting her gaze, a pained expression in his previously jovial brown eyes. “The coat is there on the seat. You’ll be plenty warm in it.”

She looked to her right. A beautiful red velvet coat, lined with thermal material on the inside and trimmed with fluffy white fur along the edges was carefully draped over the seat.

“Whose coat is it?”

He walked around the back of the wagon, to the other side as she slipped into the soft warm coverup.

“My wife’s.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Where’s your wife?”

“She passed away. I bring it with me every year to remember her by.”

“Oh, God.” She choked on the words. “I’m so sorry.” Carolyn started to pull the coat off and hand it back, but he put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“She won’t mind. And it looks good on you.” The pain had disappeared from his gaze and been replaced with a different look. It reminded her of the look her husband used to give her when they’d first gotten married.

The look of an interested man.

She closed her eyes and turned to face the horses hitched to the wagon. This was a complication she didn’t need, whether her body craved to be touched by his calloused hands again, or cradled in his arms against his solid chest.

I hate Christmas.