A Western Winter Wonderland by Cheryl St. John, Jenna Kernan, Pam Crooks

Christmas Day Family by Cheryl St.John
Marvel Anne Henley’s life runs as regular as clockwork. Sometimes in the silence of her home she can hear the passing of days and months as years slip past. She doesn’t believe in magic or miracles or happy-ever-afters. She’s content running her boarding house and sewing dresses for the ladies of Patton Bend, Colorado. She agrees to board the new doctor for a few days, but when Nathaniel Hunter shows up with two small children and plans to stay for weeks, her household and her equilibrium are thrown into turmoil.

Nate is intriguing and vibrant and ready for a grand passion. She’s too old for him, but the attraction is tempting – disturbing. He makes her want more, makes her feel young. The little family brings new life and laughter to the old house, but Nate’s nearness taunts her secret out of its hiding place and forces her to face her past. It will take courage to bring her dreams back to life, but there’s no better time for healing than during the season of hope and rebirth. It’s not a miracle, but a simple change of heart that opens the door to their future.

You can find the summary for all three novella’s here. We have an excerpt from each of the stories and on October 1st will have a guest post from each of the authors. And I do believe a contest as well!

A Western Winter Wonderland will be available October 1st from Harlequin Historical.

Excerpt: Christmas Day Family

Seth wasn’t surprised at how clean and organized the attic was, considering Marvel’s pension for order. The space was understandably chilly considering the thickness of snow lying atop the roof.

He took several steps forward and picked up one of the lamps, then moved from canvas to canvas, kneeling to better see her artwork. A few still-lives portrayed realistic-looking fruit and delicate flowers and china. Here and there a landscape revealed her eye for lighting and color. But the paintings of houses and barns, porches and stores were the scenes that touched a corresponding chord within him.

Against the doorway of the general store leaned a broom. A pile of dust and dry crumbs lay near the straw bristles as though the owner had only just stepped away and would be right back.

A rocking chair sat on a wide painted porch, half a bowl of apples on its seat and a pile of peelings on the worn floor. A toy train and a few marbles showed that a little boy had been at play in the dirt at the foot of the stairs. A fat cat slept in the sun on the banister nearby. The missing woman who’d been peeling apples and her child were as real as if they’d been included. The observer expected them to return at any moment.

Seth was amazed by Marvel’s ability to paint life and energy into places where people lived. From a crouching position, he looked up at her. “These are amazing.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“No one has ever seen any of these?”

She shook her head. “My father saw some of the first attempts. I never intended to show people. Painting used to free something inside me. I-I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I just put them away and didn’t think about it any more.”

“What about after your father died? Why didn’t you start again?”

She shrugged and he read vulnerability in her eyes.

Why had she chosen to share her work now? With him–a near stranger? “Why did you show me?” he asked before he thought hard enough to stop himself.

Her brows lowered in a frown while she considered his question. “I’m not sure,” she answered finally. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”

She was quite unlike anyone he’d ever met before, open and honest, yet shyly hesitant in an all-together disturbing combination. And she’d shared something private with him. He helped her stack and cover the paintings. She swept her skirts aside and headed for the stairs. He followed her down and along the second floor hall, where he peeked in on the children before continuing down the stairs.

“Why don’t you paint any more, Marvel?” he asked.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs with her hand on the banister and looked up at him. “It was something I did when I was young. I’m an adult now, with responsibilities.”

“Artists of all ages paint. I don’t see what age has to do with it.”

She continued on through the foyer. “I just mean I’m not a carefree child any longer.”

“Neither was Van Gough or Divinci.”

“You cannot compare what I do to a master. That was merely a passion of my youth.”

He followed her toward the sitting room. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with passion at any age.”

By the time they reached their destination, her cheeks were bright with color. She busied herself placing their cups and saucers on the tray.

Seth reached out and gently took her wrist in his grasp, halting her movements. She froze, looked at his hand, then slowly raised her gaze to his.

“It’s a shame you’ve forsaken something that you do so well, especially if it gives you pleasure.”

“Life isn’t all about pleasure, Dr. Paxton.”

“Seth.”

“Seth,” she repeated, cheeks blazing.

“I believe life should be filled with as many pleasures as we can absorb,” he disagreed.

“You don’t know me and you don’t know about my life.”

“I know something about self-denial and sacrifice,” he told her.

She could only look at him. Wonder what he spoke of. Wonder why he cared what she did with her life. He didn’t know anything about her or the things that had shaped her into the woman that stood before him. His touch on her wrist radiated warmth along her arm and sparked an awakening fire that humiliated her.

This time the look in his eyes was not amusement or curiosity. He was looking at her with sensual awareness, with restless heat and keen longing that ripped the air from her lungs as though she’d been struck.

She lost track of any coherent words she might have thought to say. Her attention focused on his lips, parted now and shaped with a fascinating bow in the upper and tempting fullness in the lower. Her heart chugged like a freight train climbing the Rockies, and her breath caught.

In the seconds that followed, she wasn’t quite sure how she came to be standing in the circle of his arms or when he’d released her wrist and wrapped that arm around her shoulder to draw her close against him, but the next thing she knew they were locked in an embrace and she was kissing him back with all the longing and passion she’d buried for a lifetime.

The kiss wasn’t wise, but it was real. This feeling that exploded and took over her senses didn’t listen to caution, but blazed ahead and turned her bones to jelly.

He was beautiful, this man. Strong arms and hard chest, lips that delighted and aroused, and at that instant she would have given everything to cast the rest of the world aside and know only this man and this moment and never let go.

Everything that had been asleep in her woke up at his bidding and pushed aside the tears she’d cried and the promises she’d made herself. She’d made all the mistakes she was going to. Wisdom was her ruling trait now.

Seth kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though he didn’t need air as much as he needed to taste her. At the velvety touch of his tongue against hers, she sighed and collapsed against him, but he easily absorbed her weight and held her fast.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and she reached to grasp his jaw. His rough chin and cheek were an exotic texture she explored until her palm tingled.

From the outer room the grandfather clock chimed the hour in deep resonating tones, and the sound filtered into Marvel’s senses, awakening her to reality. Time wasn’t her friend.

Harlequin Historical is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited. As such all excerpts are copyrighted © by said publisher, and all rights are reserved by the publisher.

Look for an excerpt from Jenna Kernan’s Fallen Angel tomorrow morning…