Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

Her jaw hinged open. "Dropping dead?" She stomped up to him, hands on hips. "I've never had a health violation in my restaurant. I tested and retested the ingredients today to…be…sure…"

He grinned at her.

The meany was teasing her?

"My apologies, Chef Anderson, for the inappropriate joke." He turned to Marsha. "Would you please keep an eye on the buffet line?"

She smiled and nodded. "I'd be happy to."

He wrapped his hand around her arm. "Chef and I are going to have a taste of her creations."

The touch of his hand sent sparks flying through her body.

They filled plates, hers with a sample of everything, his with mounds that would have made her pass out.

He guided her to a small room off the kitchen. A cozy table and four chairs sat next to a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the mountain.

She sat and stared outside.

"Reminds you of home?"

She nodded and looked at him. "It does." Her voice choked. "Christmas with the family."

He stared at her for a moment. "Wait here." He jumped up and left the room.

She quickly tasted everything on her plate. It was still fresh and would definitely not kill anyone.

Finn walked back into the room carrying a one-foot live pine tree in a pot of soil. The pot was wrapped in festive foil, and each limb of the tree had a tiny ornament and garland strung from it.

It was so sweet of him to do this for her. She pressed her lips together to stop the emotion from bursting out and embarrassing her.

He stared at her.

With a curve of her lips, she said, "It's perfect."

Finn looked down, then a moment later, touched something on the tree and tiny lights came on, and the star on top lit up. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank you." It came out a whisper. Was it the loneliness of being away from her family today? Or was it Finn's kindness that had her chest tight and her heart aching with unshed tears?

With a mouth full of food, he said, "This is excellent."

She pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms on the table, watching him dig into her cooking. "I printed recipes off the internet. I don't know how authentic they are."

"Much better than anything Killian ever made."

"Who is this Killian?"

He smiled at her. "My soon-to-be ex chef."

She tipped her head. "Please don't fire him because of today. I would feel so bad—"

"Uh uh." He waved a fork and swallowed his food. "I'm not firing him. I'm promoting him."

Her mouth opened but she didn't know how to respond.

"He'll be in charge of supervising the chefs."

"Oh. He's a better manager than he is a cook?"

"Exactly." He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and sat back. "And you, Roxanne Anderson from Minnesota. I'd like to give you a tryout in the kitchen of my Irish Pub."

A thrill of excitement raced through her. "Really? I'd love to. Thank you."

"Thank you for stepping in today. You saved the party." He nodded toward the kitchen. "Probably saved Marsha from a heart attack, too."

"She's a sweetheart." Roxanne hated for this to end, but she had a job to do, and Finn needed to get back to his guests. "May I call you at the casino?"

"You'll stay the night." He stood and picked up their plates, balanced them in one hand, and held his other hand out to her. "Even though you're native Minnesotan, it's too dangerous for you to try to make it down tonight."

She took his hand. The electric shock of the touch had her heart thumping and her belly jittering. She took back her hand and looked out the window at the accumulating snow. "Okay. I'll take you up on your offer." She gestured toward the dining room. "Are we making another meal tonight? For the guests?"

"No. They're all heading home this afternoon. They each have houses on the mountain, and every year, those of us stuck in Vegas over Christmas get together."

"What a nice tradition." She wished she had a group of friends who would celebrate with her. Some day. She sighed.

"Hey." He set down the plates and put his hands on her arms. "What's that face for? What's wrong?"

She tipped her head down and held in the sad whimper that rose in her throat. "Being in a new town…it's been difficult."

He touched his knuckle under her chin and lifted her head. "You won't be lonely long." His green eyes darkened and the sincerity in his gaze shook her. "You're an amazing woman. What you did here today was unexpected and incredibly unselfish." He ran his thumb along her jaw, then looked startled at his action and dropped his hands.

"Those people out there, my guests, are in the same situation you're in. They couldn't get home to family because of contract restrictions, or bad weather and airport closures. The meal you made them helped ease that feeling of homesickness."

"Wow." She smiled, her heart a bit wobbly at his praise. "A cooked goose did all that?"

He grinned. "A delicious cooked goose." He picked up their plates. "I'm guessing I couldn't talk you into leaving the dishes for tomorrow?"

She took the plates from him. "No. Definitely not."

"When you and Marsha are finished, come and sit in the living room with us."

Her mouth dropped open and she shook her head.

"Don't look so pale. Marsha joins us every year. One of those musician-types plays piano and we sing everything from Silent Night to Jingle Bell Rock. We have a couple drinks and head outside to make snowmen. That Christmas tree I brought in here? Its great grandfather is standing all decorated next to the fireplace. You'll love it."

She couldn't imagine what it would be like to hang out with Vegas's premier performers—not to mention a casino owner. "As long as Marsha's there too, okay. But you know I'm going to be too starstruck to say a word."

"You'll get used to them. They're just people, like you and me."

She gave him a dubious look. "You're the one I should be more nervous around. I'm just glad I didn't know this was Finn Brayden's home, I probably would have made a mess of every dish."

"Oh, yeah?" He grinned. "So, I'm someone who makes you startstruck, too, then?"

She bit her lip and felt another blush rise. "You're one of the young legends of Vegas. Your casino, the incredible restaurants you've opened." She looked at him, a wave of shyness stealing over her. "You're larger than life."

He took the plates from her and set them down again. "You're going to have to forgive me for doing this, but I can't fecking stop myself." He cupped each side of her face in his palms. "I want to kiss you, Roxanne. I've been wanting to do it since I saw you standing at the buffet table cussing like a sailor."

She giggled, then sobered. "Kiss me, then, Finn."

"Aw, mavourneen, my sweet. Merry Christmas."

His lips touched hers.

She thanked heaven for granting her wish for snow.

####

 

I hope you enjoyed the story. May your holidays be filled with joy, and may all your wishes come true!
Laura
~Smart Women ~Sexy Men ~Seductive Romance
LauraBreck.com

Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

 
Two and a half hours later, Roxanne put the finishing touches on the last of nine dishes. She'd been very relieved to find out the names on the menu were in traditional Gaelic, and the English meanings were very close to what Americans served at holidays. The goose roasted happily in one of the ovens. Spiced beef slices rested in a chafing dish in the warming oven next to stuffing, sliced soda bread, and three kinds of potatoes. Her mince pies were cooling and she stirred the whiskey sauce for the baked pudding. Luckily, the Christmas Cake came ready to serve, and Marsha was in the china closet looking for the perfect serving platter for it.

A man walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place. This must be Mr. Finn. Young, at least five years younger than her twenty-eight. How had he made his fortune? He glanced around. "Killian?"

Killian was the name of the absentee caterer. Roxanne wiped her hand on her apron and walked toward him. "Yes, but please, call me Roxanne." A twinge of guilt tightened her chest at the lie. Marsha had begged her not to let on that the caterer hadn't shown up until after the meal was finished. She'd sworn to keep the secret until the end.

He tentatively reached out and shook her hand, as if he was too good to shake hands with a lowly kitchen worker.

"Everyone's back, they're upstairs changing right now. I'll bring them into the serving room in fifteen?"

A tinge of nervousness rattled her before she reminded herself she'd done this same type of meal a hundred times. "Yes, that'll be fine."

He furrowed his brows. "Everything is ready, isn't it?"

Roxanne forced her best smile. "Of course it is." She gestured around the kitchen. "See for yourself." She half expected the man to actually look in each oven and pan.

He nodded. "Fifteen minutes." Turning on his heel, he raced out.

Roxanne made a face and mouthed those same two words to the man's retreating back as the oven timer rang. "Marsha!" She dashed to the oven and pulled out the goose.

The woman came into the kitchen carrying a gold and crystal pedestal plate. "Look at this. Just perfect for—"

"Beautiful. Sorry, but we just got our fifteen-minute warning."

Marsha squeaked and hustled to the counter and placed the sliced cake on the platter. "You met Mr. Finn? Isn't he just the most handsome thing?"

"Yes." If you liked the snippy kind of man.

"When you bring the cake out, will you light the flames under the chafing dishes?"

"Will do, Chef."

The compliment hit Roxanne like a joyful burst of adrenaline. She smiled at Marsha, who was grinning at her with a sweet look on her face.

Taking a deep breath, Roxanne said, "Let's do this."

Fourteen minutes later, everything was set. Roxanne adjusted the flames under the chafers, checked to be sure the right serving utensil sat next to the dishes, and slid back the hinged covers.

Voices came from another room and she quickly pulled off her apron and stuck it under one of the skirted tables. Seven people walked in and she smiled. Her face fell when she recognized most of them. This wasn't a family gathering. It was a celebrity party.

A Vegas magician who had his own casino showroom stood next to a female comedian who performed worldwide. A country superstar who'd just opened at a casino held hands with his wife, also a singing star. A politician and his wife walked in next, followed by two beautiful women.

Her mouth formed the words "holy shit" and she caught the amused glance of the next person to walk in the door.

He was a tall, gorgeous man with auburn hair that curled past his collar, sparkling green eyes, and a body that filled out his polo shirt and khaki pants very well.

He spoke to the magician as he guided the two women to the beginning of the buffet line.

Roxanne handed plates to the ladies, listening to their excited comments about the food. The country star and his wife were next, and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. They chatted with her as they started filling their plates.

Wait until she told her family who she spent Christmas with.

More guests filtered in, including a talk show host, a major financier, and a whole band. As the guests finished going through the line, they headed into the adjoining dining room and sat at a huge table decorated with a green tablecloth, gold napkins, and arrangements of flowers in cranberry-filled vases.

The last two men in the serving room were Mr. Finn, who hadn't changed clothes since he'd been in the kitchen, and the tall, dreamy man. They seemed to be arguing quietly. Mr. Finn pointed at her and walked into the kitchen.

She gulped. Had she been found out?

The hunk strolled toward her, a concerned look on his face. "Killian?"

She nodded. "Please, call me Roxanne." She handed him a plate.

"Roxanne." He set the plate down. "Could I talk to you for a moment?" His light Irish accent was too sexy.

She felt heat rise up her cheeks. "Of course."

The magician came back into the serving room. "This is absolutely fabulous. My God, Finn, Killian has outdone himself. My compliments to the chef.

Roxanne smiled and nodded, but when she realized what he'd called the man next to her, her face sobered. Looking up at the stud next to her, she asked, "You're Finn?"

He nodded. "I'm Finn Brayden, owner of the Emerald Isle Casino."

Oh holy crap. "And Killian is…?"

"Not you." He turned and pushed open the kitchen door. "If you have a minute." He gestured for her to go in ahead of him.

Marsha's voice melded with the voice of the smaller man as they argued.

Finn cleared his throat and there was silence. "What the feck is going on here, Marsha?" His accent thickened.

The cook started talking about the caterer at the same time the snippy man said, "I knew nothing about this, and I—"

"Dún do bhéal," Finn said and pointed at the man. "You. Out."

He stomped from the room.

"Marsha." Finn crossed his arms over his chest and stood glaring. "Who the hell is this?" He jerked his head toward Roxanne. "And where is Killian?"

"Mr. Finn." She wrung her hands in front of her belly. "This is Roxanne…uh…"

"Roxanne Anderson."

He barely spared her a glance.

Marsha's face looked pale. "Killian called and said he couldn't make it up the mountain and was turning around and heading back to the city. Then ten minutes later, this angel was sent from heaven in answer to my prayers."

He turned full on Roxanne then, his narrowed gaze boring into her.

She pressed the palms of her hands together in a saintly gesture and fluttered her eyelashes.

A barely perceptible tick curled the corner of his lips for just a second.

When Finn didn't speak, Roxanne stuffed her hands in her apron pockets and told her story. "I was hired as your wait staff. Marsha and I together figured out how to—"

Marsha stepped forward. "Oh, Mr. Finn, truly, Roxanne did it all herself. I was just the helper."

Finn nodded to Roxanne. "Continue."

"I have a culinary certificate, ran a restaurant in Minnesota, and am currently employed at the Faroh's Steak House in the King's Palace Casino."

He lifted a brow.

She knew she had to tell him everything. "I'm a waitress."

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and took a deep breath.

"But I'm applying for cook positions. I've only been here two weeks, and with the downturn in the economy, it's tough—"

"Okay." He held out a hand. "Everyone has eaten your food. I guess there's nothing we can do now but wait and see if they start dropping dead."

 

********
Stop by tomorrow to read Chapter Three!

Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter One

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Chapter One

 

She had just one wish for the holidays. Snow. Roxanne Anderson yawned as she showed her clear plastic purse to the security guard at the employee exit of King's Palace Casino.

"Night, Roxie." He winked. "Merry Christmas."

She checked her watch. Five minutes after midnight. She smiled at the burly guard whose wrinkled face, gray hair, and glasses reminded her of her grandfather back in Minnesota. "I guess it is officially Christmas Day. Have a wonderful Christmas, Burt." And like her grandfather, Burt was the only person she allowed to call her Roxie.

She pushed out through the heavy metal door. No snow in the Las Vegas forecast, but an icy blast of air cut through the T-shirt and jeans she'd changed into after her shift. The casino required she leave her skimpy waitress costume hanging in the locker room so it could be cleaned or repaired if necessary. She'd like to leave it behind permanently.

God, she hated waitressing.

Roxanne stepped up into the shuttle that waited to take employees to the far parking lot. The heat in the van blasted full-strength to ward off the cold high-desert winter.

She pulled the pins and ponytail holder from her upsweep and let her long, red hair fall across her shoulder and down over her breast. She itched her scalp, digging her fingernails in, loosening the hairspray she used to keep the mandatory hairdo in place.

Once the vehicle was half full, it took off. She glanced around but didn't know anyone. Not unusual, with the number of employees working at King's.

The shuttle stopped and everyone filed off.

"Merry Christmas," the shuttle driver repeated to each of them.

She returned the greeting and walked toward her truck. Her plans did not include a very merry Christmas at all. Driving up Mount Charleston to serve brunch at some rich Californian's chalet. But what else was she going to do? She didn't have the money to fly home to Minnesota. She was too new in town to have made any real friends. A week ago when the temp agency called her looking for someone who'd work Christmas Day, she'd jumped at the chance to get her bank account back above a zero balance.

She unlocked the truck but the driver's door handle stuck—again—and she jerked it a few times to get it open. Damn. She'd have to get this fixed, too.

Later that morning, after four hours of sleep, Roxanne dressed in black pants and a white shirt—the universal uniform for servers—pulled her hair back in a low pony, and poured herself a gigantic mug of coffee for the trip up the mountain.

After a half hour, the road sloped steeply upward. The clouds obscured the mountaintop and as she got closer, fog blotted out the sun.

Slowly the landscape of joshua trees, scrubby bushes, and tan dirt changed to pines and aspen and grass. Her breath caught. This looked so much like home. What was her family doing now? Probably opening gifts and sipping hot cocoa. Swallowing back a surge of homesickness, she turned on her headlights. The sky grew darker as she ascended.

A light sheen of moisture landed on her windshield and she turned on the wipers. Rain. Great. Not only a gloomy Christmas, but drizzly as well.

After a few miles, the wet turned to flaky. Snow? Really? It snowed in Las Vegas? She'd seen the white capped mountains in the distance, but it never connected that it was actually snow. That told her where her mind had been the last few weeks.

Once she'd given Charlie his ring back, sarcastically wished him good luck with his new girlfriend, and packed up everything she could carry in her truck, she'd focused on only one thing. Cooking in Las Vegas.

With chef jobs being so scarce because of the downturn in the economy, she'd taken a waitress job in a high-end restaurant, but the Egyptian goddess costume she was forced to wear didn't protect her butt from the pinchy fingers of oversexed, overserved men.

She mentally checked the list of restaurants she'd be heading to tomorrow to apply for any openings in the kitchen, then went over the list of the places she'd already applied. The nice thing about Vegas was the nearly unlimited number of restaurants in the valley.

The rear tires of her truck skidded toward the edge of the road.

"Crap." The snow came down heavier and accumulated on the blacktop. She shifted the truck into 4-wheel drive and listened to the axels engage. She smiled. "Yep. This is just like Christmas in Minnesota."

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the back entrance of the mansion. "Wow." She hadn't expected it to be this massive. The red log structure resembled an A-frame, but with three sprawling floors, it looked more like a ski lodge.

Roxanne rang the back doorbell and a large, older woman in a white apron opened the door. Her eyes were wild and her graying hair stuck up at odd angles. "Are you my wait staff?"

"Yes." She held out her hand to shake the woman's.

Instead the cook grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside. "God bless you for being early. The caterer couldn't make it up the mountain in the snow. He got halfway and turned around!" She shouted the words as if it was a federal offense.

Crap. Was the event cancelled? Would she still get paid? Roxanne looked around the huge stainless and marble kitchen. Cardboard boxes stood on every surface. "So, what's all this?"

The woman picked up a piece of paper. "The groceries were delivered yesterday. They were supposed to cook the dishes fresh today." She handed the sheet to Roxanne. "This is the menu, but for God's sake," her voice rose in pitch and alarm. "I don't know how to make those things."

She glanced down the list. It looked like Irish food. Strange choice for a Christmas brunch. She looked at the woman. "I'm assuming you're the cook here."

"Yes." Her hand shook as she held it out toward Roxanne. "I'm Marsha. I live on property and handle meals and cleaning."

They shook hands. "I'm Roxanne."

Marsha squeezed her hand between her two. "Thank God you're here. What are we going to do?"

"We?" How was she part of this? She'd been hired at minimum wage plus mileage plus gratuity to keep the buffet service filled and pick up dirty plates.

Marsha fanned her flushed face. "I've never done anything like this. The rare times Mr. Finn comes up here, it's usually for a day or two by himself. Not a party of twenty for the holidays!" The woman's eyes went a little wild. "Oh, God, what are we going to do?"

"Here." Roxanne pulled a stool closer. "First, you're going to sit down and take some deep breaths. Does Mr. Finn know that his caterer didn't show up?"

"No. I tried to call his cell, but they're skiing and it went right to voice mail. They'll be back in less than two hours, and I have nothing to feed them."

Roxanne checked the menu again. "This might be doable." She walked to the counter and went through each of the boxes, taking stock of the base ingredients.

Marsha pointed to the large double-door cooler. "Frigerated items are in there, on the right side." A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "What are we going to do?"

The poor woman was so distraught, it touched Roxanne's heart. "Okay. We can do this. I'm a trained chef."

Marsha closed her eyes, laced her fingers together, and moved her mouth silently. After a moment, she looked up to the ceiling then at Roxanne. "You're the answer to my prayers."

She let out a laugh. She'd never been called that before, but she'd run with it. "Keep praying, Marsha. I've never made most of these items before, and a few of them I've never even heard of."

"Oh, no." The worry lines crept back into her forehead.

"I'll need a computer."

Marsha stood and opened a large cabinet. "Here's the kitchen computer." She turned it on. "Printer, too."

"Perfect." Roxanne pulled a chair over and sat at the little desk. "If you'd take everything out of the boxes and organize them on the counters, I'd—"

"Right away." Her voice was so cheerful, Roxanne couldn't help but smile.

The menu listed nine items. She'd print out the recipes and figure out which ones she'd have time to make. "Marsha?" She turned toward the woman. "Will you say one more prayer? This time, for the chef?"

********
Stop by tomorrow for Chapter Two!

Going Home - Chapter Three by Jannine Gallant

 Jump to the first story

            The tires slid on the slush coated pavement of the freeway before catching. At the speed they were going, she’d be more than a little late for dinner. Not that they had a choice. Nor was she in a hurry to end their journey. Snow fell in big fat flakes to be slapped away by the wipers. Soft rock filled the car, a welcome change from holiday music, and warmth encompassed her.

            For the first time all day, Lacey relaxed. Her gaze rested on Reece’s big hands, firm on the steering wheel. Not for one moment did she doubt his skill on the slippery roads. The man oozed confidence and competence.

            His deep brown gaze shifted from the road to her face and back. “How long are you staying in Denver?”

            “A week.” She snuggled into the seat. “I’ve been looking forward to getting out of L.A. and going home.”

            “Home? Don’t you live in Los Angeles?”

            She nodded. “Yes, but Colorado is home. It’s where I grew up, where all my strongest memories are.” She stared through the windshield at the falling snow. “I enjoy my job. I have a great roommate and lots of friends, but I don’t feel a connection to Southern California. Does that make sense?”

            “Perfect sense.”

            When he didn’t elaborate, she touched his arm. “Is Denver your final destination or a temporary stop?”

            He winced. “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

            “I’m surprised.”

            His glance slid over at her again. “Why’s that? You don’t know anything about me.”

            “You’re wrong.”

            A dark brow shot up. “Oh?”

            “I know you’re kind and considerate. I know you’ve experienced loss. It’s there in the lines on your face and the sadness in your eyes. I know that you roll with the unexpected and make the best of it. Most of all, you seem like a man in control of your own destiny. That’s why I’m surprised you don’t have your future all worked out.”

            A smile eased across his lips. “And here I thought I was a closed book.”

            “Nope. You’re an easy read. I’m guessing you had a plan, but it got derailed.”

            His eyes widened. “Are you sure you aren’t a psychologist—or a mind reader.”

            “Nope. I just make a point of studying people beyond what I see on the surface.” A green highway sign flashed by outside the window. Still thirty miles to Denver. “What happened to change your plans?”

            His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “My fiancée sent me a Dear John letter a month before my tour was up. Apparently she fell in love with someone else while I was gone.” He shrugged. “Not that I blame her. Long distance relationships are a bitch in the best of circumstances. Knowing your fiancé is getting shot at and might never come home is the opposite of best.”

            Anger started as a slow burn in her chest and crept outward. She fisted her hands in her lap. He might act like having his life turned upside down and his feelings thrown back in his face wasn’t a big deal, but she didn’t believe him for a minute.

            “I know you’re too much of a gentleman to hit a woman, but I’m not.” She pulled a notepad from her purse and waited with pen poised. “Give me her address.”

            Laughter, rich and deep, echoed through the car. “Sonya probably has six inches and thirty pounds on you.”

            “I’ll still kick her butt. My parents made me take self-defense classes before I moved to L.A. They worry about me in the big, bad city.”

            Reaching across the center console, he patted her leg. “Small but mighty. Are you afraid of anything?”

            It took a moment to gather her wits. His warm hand through the fabric of her pants left an indelible impression on her thigh. She swallowed. “That one’s easy. Flying.”

            He grinned. “Ah, your terror in the face of a little turbulence is explained.”

            “Okay, tough guy, what’s your biggest fear?”

            His expression hardened. “I’ve already faced it. What Sonya did doesn’t even come close.”

            His tone told her he didn’t intend to elaborate, and she wouldn’t dream of intruding on his privacy. They were quite for several minutes, letting an Eagles’ tune fill the conversational void, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Lacey’s eyelids drooped. A muttered oath had them snapping open. Red taillights flashed in the evening gloom. The car slid as he braked but came to a stop several feet short of a big pickup.

            Her heart settled back into a normal rhythm, and she let out a breath. “That was close.”

            “Close is a bullet creasing your neck and barely leaving a scar. I wouldn’t consider a hiccup in traffic close.”

            She stared at him as he eased the car forward. “Did that happen to you?”

            Pulling back the collar of his shirt, he uncovered a red welt across his neck. The pulse at the base beat strong and steady.

            Her stomach clenched, and she breathed through her nose. “I’m glad you aren’t going back.” The words rasped in her throat, hard and hurting. “I know we just met, but…”

            He touched her hair in a gentle caress before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “Thank you for caring.”

            “Why wouldn’t I?”

            In the distance, the glow of city lights glimmered along the horizon. They were almost to Denver. Anticipation mixed with regret, filling her with confusion. It was Christmas Eve, a time for family and tradition. She was going home to her grandma, and Reece would spend the holiday with his parents. They were nothing more than strangers whose paths crossed by chance. The hollowness inside grew as he left the freeway and followed her directions into a quiet neighborhood. Lights decorated the houses, glowing with Christmas cheer. When he pulled into her grandmother’s driveway, she sat still in her seat, staring at the illuminated tree shining through the living room window. The porch light welcomed her home.

            “I guess this is it.” She bit her lip.

            When he touched her cheek, she turned to face him. The warmth in his eyes set her heart beating in a fierce rhythm.

            “Is that what you thought, that I’d just drop you off and drive away?”

            Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug.

            “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”

            “No?”

            “Not a chance. My parents live maybe five miles from here. Seems likely I’ll swing through this neighborhood on my morning run.”

            She pressed a hand to her chest. “I make a mean cup of coffee, and my grandma’s cinnamon rolls are to die for. “After a five mile run, you’ll need sustenance for the return trip.”

            When he smiled, all the joy of the season filled her with happiness and hope.

“This isn’t the end, Lacey. It’s just the beginning. When I boarded that plane, I had no idea I truly would be going home.”

I hope you enjoyed Going Home. All my books can be found on my website, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble. Have a very, merry Christmas!

Going Home - Chapter Two by Jannine Gallant

 Jump to the first story

            Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

The song blared through hidden speakers in the overheated airport lobby. Arms crossed, Reece leaned against a post and waited patiently while the customer in front of him questioned the rental car agent about the best route to Denver. Five years ago, he would have wanted to strangle the guy for holding up the line. The Marines had taught him the value of patience—and that there were far more efficient ways than strangulation to take out an obstacle in his path. Eventually the man moved away, and he stepped forward.

The agent’s eyes widened as her gaze moved from his face downward. The diamond stud in her nose sparkled beneath fluorescent lights, and fingers with black painted nails fluttered. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

            “No, I don’t.” He softened the blunt statement with a smile. “I’d like to rent a car, preferably something with four wheel drive.”

            “Sorry, but we don’t have any left. Everyone upgraded when the snow started.” She tapped buttons on her computer and nodded. “Yep, the last vehicle on the lot that isn’t reserved is a midsized sedan. Will that work?”

            Her voice, raised to be heard over the endless loop of cheery holiday music, echoed in the sudden silence before A Holly Jolly Christmas erupted from the sound system. Behind him, people grumbled and swore as half the line stampeded toward the other rental agency desks.

            “I’ll take it.”

            She started tapping buttons again. “Good choice. I’m pretty sure the competition is sold out by now, too.”

            To his left, a thud shook the floor. He glanced over his shoulder and met Lacey Chandler’s wide eyed gaze. The color drained from her face, and she plopped down on top of the oversized suitcase.

            “How am I supposed to get to Denver, then?”

            The agent slapped a rental agreement on the counter and pointed. “Sign here. I’ll need to see your driver’s license and a credit card. ” Her brows drew together as she looked up and frowned at Lacey. “You should have made a reservation.”

            Her mouth opened, then closed, and her lips tightened. Reece admired her restraint. A moment later, the fight drained out of her, and her shoulders slumped. Compassion filled him.

            “I’ll give you a ride if you like.”

            Lacey regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and hope. She chewed her lip. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

            “We’re both going in the same direction, and I’ll enjoy the company.” He handed over his credit card then turned to face her. “I know taking a ride from a stranger is incredibly stupid, but I swear I mean you no harm. You have my word.”

            Troubled blue eyes regarded him for a long moment before she finally nodded. “I believe you."

            Relief surged through him. For some reason it was important he earn this woman’s trust. “Hold tight. I’m almost finished.” He glanced at the agent. “Aren’t I?”

            She handed back his license and credit card. “A couple more details. Do you want full insurance?”

            Sleet rattled against the sliding glass doors leading out of the airport terminal. “Sure, give me the insurance. Oh, and for the record, I’ll be dropping the car off in Denver.”

            With an ill-concealed eye roll, she tapped on the computer again then pushed over a key. “Normally we like to keep our cars local, but since you’re a hero and all…”

            Taking the key, he scooped up the paperwork. “I’m no hero. The real heroes are the men and women still over there—and the ones who’ll never come home.”

Turning sharply, he hefted his duffle bag. When he bent to grab Lacey’s suitcase handle, his palm closed over slender fingers. Their gazes locked.

“I can get it.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless.

“Call me old fashioned, but my mother didn’t raise me to let a woman carry a heavy bag.”

“It has wheels.”

He pulled it from her grip. “The principle still holds. Humor me.”

Smiling, she slung the strap of her carry-on bag over her shoulder. “A man should always listen to his momma. I’m not going to stand in your way.”

“I like you this way better.”

Her brow shot up. “Huh?”

“Feisty beats defeated every time.”

She skipped a step to catch up with him, then tugged the hood of her jacket over her shining blonde hair as they stepped through the sliding doors into a gust of wind laced with snow. “I’m not usually such a baby, but the day started out bad and only got worse. I’ve been playing catch-up since the moment my alarm went off.”

Glancing at the number on the rental form, he located the slot holding a boring, tan sedan. With a shrug, he popped open the trunk. “Sounds a lot more exciting than my day. Let’s hear all the details.” After dropping his duffle bag into the trunk, he eyed her oversized suitcase and then loaded it onto the back seat.

She slid into the passenger side and turned to face him as he shut the door. Cold air filled the car, and a gust of wind rocked it. The storm was growing worse. He wished again for a four wheel drive and thought of the Humvees he’d driven when he wasn’t flying over the mountains of Afghanistan. Nothing rocked those babies but a roadside bomb. Dragging his thoughts back to the present before misery could grab him by the throat, he smiled at Lacey. She was both sweet and sexy, a contradiction that made him wish he hadn’t promised to be a complete gentleman.

Turning on the engine, he adjusted the seat and mirrors and cranked up the heat. “Why did your day start out so bad?”

“A last minute client demanded my attention. I had to change my flight to a later one to accommodate him. We all know how well that turned out.”

He frowned. “A client needed his accountant on Christmas Eve?”

Those big, blue eyes blinked at him, and color crept into her cheeks. “I’m not an accountant.”

“But you said—”

“No, you assumed when I mentioned numbers.” She straightened in the seat and lifted her chin. “I’m a personal shopper and a math whiz.”

Warmth filled him, and it wasn’t from the still cool air blasting from the heat vents. He tried not to laugh as he pulled out of the parking lot but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Will you hit me if I tell you that you look more like a personal shopper than an accountant?”

Her smile took on an edge. “I might.”

“You know what?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“I’m glad our plane got rerouted. I’m thrilled they ran out of rental cars. Something tells me the next couple of hours are going to be the highlight of my week.”

The conclusion to Going Home will post tomorrow. You can find all my books on my website, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble. Thanks for stopping by!

Going Home - Chapter One by Jannine Gallant

 Jump to the first story

          She had just one wish for the holiday. Survival. The aircraft jolted and shook like a tilt-a-whirl gone wild. Clutching the armrests in a white knuckled grip, Lacey Chandler braced her feet against the seat in front of her and prayed. When a sudden air pocket sent the plane in a free fall through space, a squeal of sheer terror tore from her throat.
          “You okay?”
          She stared at the man in the seat next to her. Lowering his newspaper, he regarded her with a raised brow. Even in her petrified state, she couldn’t help noticing his rugged good looks. She’d been sneaking glances since the plane took off in Los Angeles.
          Forcing her clenched teeth apart, she answered, “I’m just peachy for someone about to die.”
          His firm lips tilted up at the corners. “A little turbulence isn’t going to kill anyone.”
          Of course he wasn’t afraid. A camouflage print shirt hugged shoulders so broad they took up more than his fair share of the seat while the matching military issue pants strained across his thighs. Dark brown eyes held a depth of experience she couldn’t begin to understand—and didn’t want to. He probably ate terrorists for breakfast.
          Overhead, the fasten seatbelt sign lit up, and a loudspeaker crackled. “This is your captain speaking. Looks like the weather is growing worse, folks. Please return to your seats and buckle up.”
          “Worse? How can it get worse than this?” She bit her lip.
          A hard, calloused hand closed over hers and squeezed before pulling away. “I’m sure we’ll fly out of the storm in no time.”
          A tingle of warmth shot through her. Though she generally followed the old adage about not speaking to strangers, talking might take her mind off her imminent demise. She hesitated, eyeing him from the top of his closely shorn head, past prominent cheek bones and a hard chin, to the muscled forearms crossed over the newspaper resting on his lap. Though her seatmate was probably only a few years older than she was, late twenties she guessed, he didn’t look young or harmless—anything but. Still, she needed a distraction.
          “Are you in the army?”
          “Marines.”
          Not very chatty. She tried again. “Going home on leave for Christmas?”
          “Going home, period. I just finished my second tour in Afghanistan. It was enough.”
          “Oh.” The plane bounced, jostling her into those broad shoulders. “Thanks.”
          “For what?”
          “Putting yourself in harm’s way for me.”
          He shrugged. “I did what I was told, nothing more, nothing less.” The warmth in his chocolate eyes faded.
          Whatever he was remembering obviously wasn’t pleasant. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs a distraction. Prying her fingers from the armrest, she held out her hand. “I’m Lacey Chandler.”
          His grip was firm. Comforting. “Reece Hartman. It’s nice to meet you.”
          “Likewise. Where’s home?”
          He hesitated a moment before answering. “My parents live in a suburb of Denver.”
          “Yeah? So does my grandmother. That’s where I’m headed. My mom and dad are on a cruise in Greece. They’ve been saving for it forever, and my brother is spending the holidays with his in-laws.” She was babbling. She knew it but couldn’t stop. The plane rocked from side to side then shook like a dog coming out of water. Her voice rose as she braced her feet. “It’ll be just me and my grandma this year.”
          His big hand covered hers again. “Take a deep breath and try to relax. We’re going to be fine. Honest."
          Looking into those bottomless eyes, she almost believed him. Almost. “How can you be so sure?”
          “Because I’m a pilot. I’ve flown combat missions in all sorts of weather. Storms like this one are nothing out of the ordinary.” He frowned. “The landing could be a little tricky, though, if the temperatures keep dropping.”
          “I feel a whole lot better now. Instead of nose diving into a mountain, we’ll crash on the runway. That’s a much better option. Easier to identify the bodies.”
          His laugh rolled across her senses and curled her toes.
          “You’re a pessimistic little thing.”
          “Nope, just realistic. Numbers don’t lie, and I have a feeling we’re about to become a statistic.”
          “Numbers, huh? You don’t look like an accountant.”
          She narrowed her eyes and forgot all about the pitching plane for about three seconds. “What do accountants look like?”
          “Old and boring, not young and blonde and cute.”
          “Talk about a stereotype!”
          Before she could fully launch into a lecture, the loudspeaker crackled. “Change of plan folks. We have freezing rain in Denver, and they’ve closed the airport.”
          Groans and the buzz of conversations erupted throughout the plane. This couldn’t be happening. It was Christmas Eve for God’s sake.
          “Never fear, I have a plan B. We’re detouring to Cheyenne. That’s in Wyoming, people. Sorry for the inconvenience.” The speaker squawked and went silent.
          “The guy’s a regular comedian.” Reece shrugged his shoulders and smiled, his teeth gleaming white against his tan. Slowly the smile faded. “It isn’t the end of the world, Lacey. You aren’t going to cry, are you?”
          “Of course not.” She sniffed and blinked. “I’m just disappointed. It’s been a long day, and I know my grandma went to the trouble of making a big dinner.”
          “The drive will only take a couple of hours, give or take, depending on the roads.” He glanced at the big, black watch strapped to his wrist. “It’s only four now. Once we’re on the ground, you’ll call her and tell her you’ll be a little late.”
          She nodded. They were silent as the plane bumped and jolted then slowly began its descent into Cheyenne. Gray clouds and flakes of snow streamed by the tiny window. Clutching the armrests, she closed her eyes as the engines roared. A warm hand closed over her clenched fist, and some of the tension drained out of her. When the wheels touched down on the runway, she sighed in relief.
          “Safe and sound.”
          She opened her eyes and looked deep into his. “I guess I got my wish.”
          “Oh?”
          “We survived.”
          A slow grin spread. “Told you we would.”
          “A man of your word, I appreciate that.” She rose on shaking legs and pulled her carry-on bag from under the seat. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Reece. More like an adventure.”
          Standing, he brushed against her in the confined space and put a steadying hand on her back. Warmth coursed through her.
          “I disagree. It has been a pleasure.” His eyes never strayed from her face. “Have a merry Christmas, Lacey.”
          “You have a merry one, too, Reece.” With a final backward glance, she walked down the aisle and off the plane.

 Check back tomorrow for Chapter Two in Going Home. All my books can be found on my website, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble. Happy Hollidays!