Four For Christmas
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Authors: R. G. Alexander
Four For Christmas
By R. G. Alexander
Four For Christmas
Published by R.G. Alexander
Copyright 2011 by R.G. Alexander
Kindle Edition
Edited by Alien Nookie
Cover Art by R.G. Alexander
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book may not be resold or given away to other people.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To Cookie—love is the reason. To Robin L. Rotham, for always being there, and always teaching me, and always being my friend. You never let me down, and I can only hope to live up to that. Finally to all of my readers-this Christmas story is for you. Every time a bell rings…well, you know the rest.
Table of Contents
First Chapter of “Three For Me?”
She was lost in the Colorado Rockies with snow whipping against the windshield like hail, and if she had to guess why the steering wheel was pulling so hard to the left? She would say she had a flat. Her holiday joy was now complete.
Georgia pulled over onto the snow-covered shoulder and braced herself before going out to look. Sure enough, her rear driver’s side tire was flat as a pancake.
Shivering in her Louisiana excuse for a winter coat, she got back into the car and called Connie for the second time in the last half hour. “That’s it, Christmas and I are officially done.”
“I hear you selling but I’m not buying,” Connie‘s sass came through loud and clear. “Georgia Virginia Bale giving up on Christmas? That’s like saying the sky is green. That night is day. That classic movie colorization was a good idea or—or that
Mick Jagger
will be playing Tiny Tim in a live remake of Scrooge.”
Georgia snorted, leaning back against the headrest of her rental car as she listened to Connie’s voice piping through the speakers. At least she had cell phone reception and heat. But that didn’t make up for everything else.
“Get ready for those big man-lips to say, ‘God bless us, everyone’,” she sighed. “I’ve got a flat tire.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Sadly, I am not. We have to admit when we’re beaten, Connie.” Georgia warmed her hands on her coffee thermos and took a sip. “You know my holiday track record.
I
love
it
but it does
not
love me. When you invited me here I thought this year I’d have a real Christmas in a real winter wonderland. I’d make a snowman or a snow angel or a snow
something
harmless and gentle. I was not expecting to be stranded in a blizzard, though I probably should have been.” She shivered, despite the hot air blowing on her boots. “And damn it, Connie, you did not tell me it would be this
cold
.”
“Spoken like a true southerner. Snow is cold? Who knew?” Connie dropped her sarcastic tone as swiftly as she’d picked it up. Georgia knew why. Her friend was worried. “As much as I’d love to believe in miracles, I don’t think we could get triple A out in this weather. Just tell me where you are and let Lee call Simon. I told you about Simon, right? One of his business partners? He has a truck with chains on his tires and a tow thingy that—“
“No.” Georgia sat up straight, her voice adamant. “I don’t care what kind of tires or thingies your friend has, nobody should be out in this weather. It’s humiliating enough, and it’s my own damn fault for listening to this sadistic GPS and missing the exit. I would have been there by now if I had just ignored her like I wanted to.”
“
Recalculating…Recalculating…
” The GPS blurted with unexpected but impeccable timing.
“Oh shut up!” Georgia snatched the useless device off its suction cup with a pop and tossed it on the floor of the passenger side. “Bitchy little know-it-all.”
Connie snorted. “Does she at least tell you where you are right now?”
“I’m officially nowhere,” Georgia huffed. “The last sign I saw was for Woodland Park and a place called Divide. Not sure where that is in relation to Denver, but at least I can say I’m now officially in the mountains. Don’t worry. I’ll make it to you eventually.”
In the background, a familiar voice said, “Divide? Oh she’s less than two hours away. Tell her to let us call in Charli’s boys.”
“I heard that, Lori Ann. No one’s
boys
need to be called. I know how to change a flat tire. Besides, I have Roux to keep me company. She isn’t complaining, so there’s no reason for me to either.”
The large black mouth cur in the back seat raised her head sleepily when she heard her name. She stared at Georgia with those big, knowing eyes, judgmental in her silence. “I know. I know. I should have stopped as soon as this weather started. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking to me anymore?” Connie sounded amused.
Georgia knew she was being slightly defensive. “We all have our eccentricities, buddy. I’m the crazy writer who talks to my dog, and you…”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Connie knew what she was going to say. She and Lori Ann shared more than a roof over their head. They shared a husband. Both women had married a man named Lee Barrow—a man Georgia had yet to meet, since she’d missed the wedding cruise to Cozumel.
He was obviously a man with many gifts. And a lot of stamina.
She was glad her friend had found happiness. No one deserved it more. When her grandfather was sick, Connie had been the nurse at his bedside, staying long past her shift’s end to keep Georgia company as her favorite family member slowly faded away. That had been ten years ago now. They’d been friends ever since, managing to keep in regular contact despite Connie’s move to the mountainous west.
When Connie had told her about the cruise, about how Lee’s best friends had all gotten “together” in a four-way relationship afterward, Georgia had decided Colorado must put something strange in the water.
She may live in the state famous for New Orleans, vice and Mardi Gras, but outside of romantic fiction, she had never heard of any woman who truly loved more than one man at a time, let alone three, as that woman Charli claimed to. Not that she had any room to judge. Or that she wasn’t just the tiniest bit envious.
Connie laughed. “Yes, yes. We can discuss my eccentricities later. But you’re
not
crazy, hon. You are wonderful. Georgia? Did I mention how happy I am that you decided to come? Lee and Lori Ann can’t wait to meet you. And, well, I have some news…”
Georgia waited, thinking she’d paused for dramatic effect. She held her breath. Was Connie pregnant? “What news?”
Nothing. Static.
“Connie?”
Georgia looked down at her cell phone and swore. No bars. No signal. No news. “Shit.”
She slammed down her thermos and reached for the scarf and gloves on the seat beside her. “Of course. Because that’s how my month is going.”
Now she was completely disconnected. It was an unnerving sensation. What if she couldn’t get the lug nut off or the jack slipped and the car fell on her? She wouldn’t be able to call anyone for help. Or make one last phone call to her recent mistake of an ex-boyfriend to tell him that flashing his secretary at the last office party he’d begged Georgia to come to wasn’t the only reason she’d broken up with him. She had a list…though she’d refrained from checking it twice until that moment. And she knew exactly why.
Christmas.
She hadn’t wanted to be alone again for Christmas. Just once she wanted to remember what it was like to love the holiday as completely as she had when she was a child. When she thought the day belonged to her. She wanted to not spend her Christmas Eves crying into cartons of store-bought eggnog, watching movies about love and goodwill, miracles and the magic of the season.
With her grandfather gone, her long-widowed mother had taken to spending each year with a group of friends who liked to pretend they were riverboat gamblers. Santa was old hat with the slot machine set. Her younger sister, Valerie, had married as soon as she was legal and moved to live near her husband’s large family in California. They were very traditional there, and apparently none of those traditions included inviting the in-laws for the holidays.
Though they did send beautifully handcrafted Christmas cards.
She supposed she was used to it. Being alone. As a writer, she lived alone with her dog, her wild imagination and her tendency to talk to her characters as if they were real. Her only human friends were the other writers she corresponded with online, all of whom lived in different states. And Connie, of course. She rarely had the chance to go out and meet any new friends who lived nearby, let alone a decent man. Decent, in this context, being one who didn’t disappoint her just in time for the holidays, insuring she would spend another year realizing her secret stash of mistletoe was pointless, and thinking up creative new insults to verbally hurl at those poor, unsuspecting seasonal jewelry commercials.
A part of her, she knew, still wanted all the holiday magic to be true. Still knew every carol by heart. Still believed every clichéd phrase that told her if she were really good, something amazing would happen to her—that love, like Santa himself, was real. You just had to have faith.
”Yeah, right,” she muttered, wrapping her scarf around her neck and mouth and bracing herself before opening the driver’s side door. “It is
not
a wonderful life and no, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. There are just people like Connie’s friend Charli, who are never alone, and people like you…who will always be.”