A Cold Creek Christmas Story. RaeAnne Thayne

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      “I know. I’m late. I just have to grab Aunt Mary’s present. Give me a second.”

      She found the gift in her bedroom closet, the door firmly shut to keep Lucy from pulling apart the tissue paper inside the gift bag.

      “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

      Linus’s tail wagged with excitement, but Lucy curled up on the sofa, making abundantly clear her intent to stay put and not venture out into the cold night.

      “Fine. Be that way,” she said, opening the door for the dog. The two of them made their way through lightly falling snow to the ranch house, a sprawling log structure with a steep roof and three gables along the front. Linus scampered ahead of her to the front door. When she opened it, the delicious scents of home greeted her—roast beef, potatoes and what smelled very much like cinnamon apple pie.

      As she expected, her entire family was there, all the people she loved best in the world. Aunt Mary, the guest of honor, was busy at the stove stirring something that smelled like her heavenly brown gravy. She stepped aside to let Faith pull a pan of rolls out of the oven as Hope helped the children set the table, where her husband, Rafe, sat talking with their neighbor Chase Brannon.

      The children spotted Linus first. They all adored each other—in fact, the children helped her out by letting him out when they got home from school and playing with him for a little bit.

      “There you are,” Faith exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry.”

      “Sorry. I sent you a text.”

      Faith made a face. “My phone ran out of juice sometime this afternoon, but I didn’t realize it until just now. Is everything okay?”

      Not really, though she wasn’t sure what bothered her more—the movie decision she would have to make in the next few days or the reappearance of Flynn Delaney in her world. She couldn’t seem to shake the weird feeling that her safe, comfortable world was about to change.

      “Fine,” she said evasively. “I hope you didn’t hold dinner for me.”

      “Not really. I was tied up going over some ranch accounts with Chase this afternoon, and we lost track of time.”

      “Fine. Blame me. I can take it,” Chase said, overhearing.

      “We always do,” Hope said with a teasing grin.

      Chase had been invaluable to their family since Faith’s husband died, and Celeste was deeply grateful to him for all his help during the subsequent dark and difficult months.

      “I’m happy to blame you, as long as that means I wasn’t the cause of any delay in Aunt Mary’s birthday celebration,” Celeste said with a smile as she headed for her great-aunt.

      She kissed the woman’s lined cheek as the familiar scent of Mary’s favorite White Shoulders perfume washed over her. “Happy birthday, my dear. You are still just as stunning as ever.”

      Mary’s grin lit up her nut-brown eyes. “Ha. Double sevens. That’s got to be lucky, right?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “I don’t need luck. I’ve got my family around me, don’t I?”

      She smiled at them all and Celeste hugged her again, deeply grateful for her great-aunt and her great-uncle Claude, who had opened their hearts to three grieving, traumatized girls and gave them a warm haven and all the love they could need.

      “We’re the lucky ones,” she murmured with another hug before she stepped away.

      For all intents and purposes, Mary had been her mother since Celeste turned eleven. She had been a wonderful one. Celeste was all too aware that things could have been much different after their parents died if not for Mary and Claude. She and her sisters probably would have been thrown into the foster care system, likely separated, certainly not nurtured and cared for with such love.

      She had a sudden, unexpected wish that their mother could be here, just for a moment, to see how her daughters had turned out—to meet her grandchildren, to see Hope so happily settled with Rafe, to see the completely unexpected success of their Sparkle book.

      December always left her a little maudlin. She supposed that wasn’t unexpected, considering it had been the month that had changed everything, when she, her sisters and their parents had been hostages of a rebel group in Colombia. Her father had been killed in the rescue effort by a team of US Navy SEALs that had included Rafe Santiago, who was now her brother-in-law.

      She wouldn’t think about that now. This was a time of celebration, a time to focus on the joy of being with her family, not the past.

      She grabbed a black olive out of a bowl on the counter and popped it in her mouth as she carried the bowl to the table.

      “I talked to Joan this afternoon,” she told Hope.

      “I know. She called me, too. I reminded her that any decision about making a movie had to be made jointly between us, and each of us had veto power. Don’t worry, CeCe. I told her firmly that I wouldn’t pressure you. You created the Sparkle character. He belongs to you.”

      That wasn’t completely true and both of them knew it. She might have written the words, but it was Hope’s illustrations that had brought him to life.

      “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted as Faith and Mary joined them at the table carrying bowls and trays of food.

      “Your problem has always been that you analyze everything to death,” Mary pointed out. “You know someone is going to make a Sparkle movie at some point. It’s as inevitable as Christmas coming every year. People love the story and the characters too much. If you like this production company and think they’ll do a good job with it based on their reputation, I don’t know why you’re dragging your feet.”

      Mary was right, she realized. She was overthinking, probably because she was so concerned with making the right decision.

      She hated being afraid all the time. She knew it was a by-product of the trauma she and her sisters had endured at a young age, but neither Hope nor Faith seemed as impacted as she had been.

      Hope seemed absolutely fearless, spending years wandering around underdeveloped countries with the Peace Corps, and then on her own teaching English. Faith had plowed all her energy and attention into her family—her marriage, her children, the ranch.

      Celeste’s life had become her job at the library and the stories she created.

      In some ways, she supposed she was still a hostage of Juan Pablo and his crazy group of militants, afraid to take a move and embrace her life.

      “Everything’s ready and I’m starving,” Mary said cheerfully. “What are we waiting for? Let’s eat.”

      Dinner was noisy and chaotic, with several different conversations going at once.

      “How did story time go?” Faith asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

      She instantly remembered the shock of looking up from Dr. Seuss to see Flynn and his daughter.

      “Good.” СКАЧАТЬ