I
know that there are a few holidays between Labor Day and Christmas, but I
thought that I’d help to start getting you in the holiday mood. Sadly, I had to decline joining my esteemed
colleagues of The Roses of Prose in their forthcoming—and no doubt wonderful—Christmas
stories due to the ongoing time spent on my new house on top of other
obligations. However, I am joining my
former colleagues from A Cowboy to Keep in the forthcoming A Christmas Cowboy to Keep, coming
out in October. My own story is A
Christmas Carole. So here’s what I’ve been working on folks!
When single mom Carrie
Matheson inherits a Wyoming ranch and moves out of NYC, her six year old son is
not happy. Trying to help Tim settle
into life out west isn’t easy, especially when his pleas to Santa begin to get
replies from a mysterious correspondent.
Is it the crotchety ranch foreman upon whom she relies so much? Somehow
she doesn’t think so….
Tate Schrugge is amused by
his new neighbor when she jogs over with some mis-delivered mail. But Tate has just finished with a long-term
relationship, and the lithe blonde in front of him has just called him Scrooge.
If these two can get
together, it might be the Dickens of a romance.
EXCERPT:
Now her
mind started wandering back to Tate, to her uncle, to any place except work . .
.and then suddenly she remembered Tim’s letter to Santa. Oh My Gosh! What the heck did I do with the letter to Santa? No, please
tell me it wasn’t in the pile I gave to Scrooge!
She
scraped out her chair from the desk and stood, then sat, then stood again. Check the mail box, maybe I’ve left it
there, that’s the first thing.
Yanking a coat from her closet, she was halfway down her lane when she saw the mail van pull up and
the postal worker reach into her box.
“Wait!
Wait!” she screamed, one arm in and one arm out of her coat. “Is there a letter
for Santa there?”
The
pinched face of the letter carrier stared back at her from the window of the
van, as if he were framed for a not too flattering portrait. “Santa?”
“Yes, you
know Santa. Big belly, white beard, red outfit?”
“Ma’am,”
he drawled. “I don’t look at the mail, I only deliver it. Or collect it from
the boxes.”
“Exactly.
And my son wrote to Santa and I want to know if his letter is in your
collection.”
The young
man stared down at something at his feet, his bag she guessed.
“The
letters I collected are in the bag now. I can’t go looking through them all.
But I don’t recollect taking anything out
of your box, only leaving some things there for you.”
Carrie
slumped. She watched as the van pulled away, then turned and pulled the letters
out of the box for the second time that day.
Please tell me I didn’t give it to Scrooge. Now I
have to go ask for it back? Maybe he already put it in his box for the Post
Office to deal with? Yes! Post Office first!
Back at
the house, she gathered up her car keys, pulled on some gloves and a pompom
hat, and headed out.
Cars were
overtaking her, they passed her as if she were crawling when the two lane highway
narrowed into one. A woman on a mission, she was going along when she spotted
the flashing lights of the sheriff’s car in her rear-view mirror.
He tooted
her and passed, motioned for her to pull over. Can this day get any worse? Really?
Sitting as
calm and demure as she possibly could, she rolled down her window when she saw
the patrolman get out of his car with all the time in the world and saunter
over to her. He removed a pair of dark glasses and bent into the window.
“Guess I
know where the expression a New York minute comes from now, huh?”
“I beg
your pardon?” Carrie tried to keep her voice in an even tone, deciding there
was no point in getting grumpy with the man.
“You were
doing fifty in a forty mile per hour zone. We don’t take kindly to speeding
here in Wyoming. Maybe that’s okay in New York—”
Carrie’s
mouth hung open, deeply regretting not having re-registered her car as yet with
its yellow Empire State plates. She felt the patrolman’s eyes on her, sizing
her up. “People were passing me!”
“Well now,
I didn’t see anyone pass you. Registration and license please.”
Still
feeling as if she were catching flies, she fumbled in her bag for her license
and started searching about for the registration.
“You’re a
long way from home,” the man said mildly.
“No, no
I’m not, in fact. I have a ranch here. The Lazy M? I’ve just moved in.”
“Well. . .
.”
At that
moment there was the honk of another car and Carrie saw in her rearview mirror
a good-sized pickup pull in behind her.
“Hey
Grange!” ‘Scrooge’ stuck his head out his window but sent a winning smile in
the direction of Carrie’s car.
She
watched as the officer strolled over to chat with her neighbor, bending down to
his window for a confab. She could just pick up part of what they said.
“Long time
no see. . . how’s Katy doing and the new baby? . . .Been working pretty hard .
. .”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Are you two going to shoot
the bull all day?
“Looks
like you got my new neighbor . . . yeah, well, she’ll settle in… do me a
favor.”
Incensed
at the time they were taking, Carrie got out of her car and stomped over, her
pompom flapping down over one eye. “If you’re going to ticket me . . .” She
flicked the apex of her hat out of her eye and held out the license, which the
officer took with a sheepish smile on his face.
“Carole
Anne Matheson,” he read. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time. You take
things a bit slower, Miss New York. We’d hate to see you get hurt.” And with
that he handed the license back, tapped his hat, nodded to Tate, and headed
back to the patrol car.
Carrie
stood watching him go, feeling Tate’s eyes on her. “I suppose I have you to
thank for that.”
“Well. A
simple thank-you will do. Carole.” He
looked rather smug but she realized her heart was jumping out of her chest at
the sight of him in his Stetson, and those sapphire eyes peering up at her.
“Please
don’t call me that. I hate it.”
“Well,
let’s make a deal: you don’t call me Scrooge, I don’t call you Carole. How’s
that?”
“Fine. I
don’t suppose you found a letter to Santa in amongst the letters I brought over
earlier today?”
Tate
pulled back in and faced the road. “I may have.”
“Can I
have it back? Pretty please?”
Tate
leaned back, a pensive look on his face. “Too late,” he said at last. “Post
Office collected it.” He lifted a brow, staring up at her.
“Ah,
well.”
“I’m sure
Santa will get it. And answer. What did you ask for?” He pulled in his lips as
if he were trying to stop himself from laughing.
“Very
funny,” she replied. “My son wrote it and I have no idea what he asked for.”
Tate
tapped the wheel. “Well. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“Ya.
Thanks.” She started back to her car.
“Hey, wait
a minute.”
Carrie
pivoted back toward him.
“You owe
me one, don’t you?”
“I owe
you?”
“As in
dinner maybe? For getting you off that speeding ticket. I’ll collect you
Saturday. Eight. How’s that?”
The day
was just beginning to look a whole lot better.
A Christmas Cowboy to Keep goes into pre-orders on October 15 at Amazon.
A Christmas Cowboy to Keep goes into pre-orders on October 15 at Amazon.
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