I love holiday romances and Sheila Roberts can always be counted on to bring me one that makes me laugh, engages my baking urges, and fills my heart with joy. I'm looking forward to another heartwarming journey in Christmas from the Heart.
Christmas
from the Heart
By
Sheila Roberts
Publisher:
MIRA Books
Release
Date: September 24, 2019
Sometimes
you need to look beyond the big picture to see what really matters
Olivia Berg’s charity, Christmas from the Heart, has helped generations of
families in need in Pine River, Washington, but this year might be the end of
the road. Hightower Enterprises, one of their biggest donors since way back
when Olivia’s grandmother ran the charity, has been taken over by Ebenezer
Scrooge the Second, aka CFO Guy Hightower, and he’s declared there will be no
more money coming to Christmas from the Heart.
Guy is simply being practical. Hightower Enterprises needs to tighten its belt,
and when you don’t have money to spare, you don’t have money to share. You’d
think even the pushy Olivia Berg could understand that.
With charitable donations dwindling, Olivia’s Christmas budget depends on
Hightower’s contribution. She’s focused her whole life on helping this small
town, even putting her love life on hold to support her mission.
When Guy’s Maserati breaks down at the edge of the Cascade foothills, he’s
relieved to be rescued by a pretty young woman who drives him to the nearby
town of Pine River. Until he realizes his rescuer is none other than Olivia
Berg. What’s a Scrooge to do? Plug his nose and eat fruitcake and hope she doesn’t learn his true identity before he can get out of town.
What could go wrong?
Excerpt
Livi
poured the last of Joe Ford’s coffee down the drain and stuck the mug in the dishwasher,
all the while kicking herself for getting up on her high horse. Way to alienate
a possible donor. More than just a donor, she had to admit. She liked Joe Ford,
liked talking to him.
Rather, she had liked talking to
him until she blew it. What had she been thinking, anyway?
She hadn’t. His comment had hit a
nerve and she’d simply reacted. And now he’d bolted. They’d been making such
progress, too, sharing life experiences. Obviously, they had things in common.
Well, not the skiing. Her brother had skied but she’d always been a little
afraid of going fast downhill. Still, she liked to cross country ski—something
that was much more affordable. Maybe Joe liked to cross country as well. He
obviously enjoyed the outdoors. So did she. He’d lost a parent, so had she. He
liked cookies. She did, too.
She leaned against the counter and
chewed on her lower lip. He especially liked sugar cookies. She hadn’t baked
those since Mom died. Everything else she’d managed—the pies at Thanksgiving,
the Christmas decorations, every other cookie. But the frosted sugar cookies,
that was a different story.
She could still see herself as a
little girl, perched at the edge of the kitchen table, helping her mother frost
and decorate those cookies. The stars got yellow sprinkles, the Santas were
trimmed with pink frosting, and the trees, the best of them all, those got a
light green frosting and a gentle shake of multi-colored sprinkles—“Not too
much dear, just enough to look pretty”—and a silver dragée at the top to stand
in for a star. Livi always concentrated so hard to make sure that tiny silver
ball was placed exactly. “Oh, that’s perfect,” Mom would say, and it described
both the cookie and their time together.
“I don’t think I can do it, Mom,”
Livi said.
Not
even for Christmas from the Heart? a voice seemed to whisper.
Livi took in a deep breath.
And
to bring back a happy memory? To honor those special times and the life we
enjoyed together? And to pass on a little of that happiness?
Passing on happiness, keeping her
mother’s memory alive—yes, she should make those sugar cookies. Livi took out
the old, blue mixing bowl that had been her grandmother’s and then her
mother’s. She got out the eggs and butter and flour and sugar and got to work.
Half an hour later the kitchen smelled just the way she remembered.
“I wish you were here in person,”
she said as she rolled out another batch of cookies. “But I’ll settle for
having you here in spirit.”
And wouldn’t it be fun if,
someday, she had a little girl of her own to bake sugar cookies with?
Ding,
ding, ding, said her biological clock. I’m
winding down so you’d better find a sperm
donor soon.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” she
muttered.
Did Joe Ford have a girlfriend?
And why was she even bothering to
speculate about him? She’d be lucky if she even got so much as a dollar from
Joe after chewing him out.
Don’t think
like that, she told herself. You’re
making him sugar cookies. Sugar cookies make great olive branches. So maybe
she’d get a donation for Christmas from the Heart after all.
Of money. She’d probably have to
settle for just money.
She finished with her baking and
got the cookies frosted. And only shed a few tears in the process. She decided
to take a few in to her father, who was hiding out in the den with a book.
“I thought I smelled something
good,” he said as she came in. “What have we here?” Then he caught sight of
what was on the plate, and his smile faltered.
“I think Mom would want us to keep
enjoying them,” she said, although looking at his expression she doubted he’d
find any enjoyment in her offering.
He nodded and took the plate.
“Thank you, Snowflake.”
She twisted her fingers together.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Yes, you should have. It would
have made your mother happy to see you making them.”
“It would have made her happy to
see you eating them,” she said softly.
He nodded, but made no move to
take one.
He looked like a man anxious for a
solitary moment so she kissed his cheek and left him, shutting the pocket door
behind her. It was barely closed when she heard a sob. This had not been one of
her better ideas.
With a sigh, she returned to the
kitchen. Oh, well. They were done now. May as well take some up to Joe. She put
some on another plate and went upstairs to deliver the cookies to her impromptu
houseguest and maybe a little speech about how she really was a nice person and
never got snappy, then knocked on the door.
It felt like the little drummer
boy was banging around in her chest. This was going to go over about as well as
the delivery to her father. She’d already given Joe cookies at dinner. This
would come across as a desperate ploy for attention. But it was too late to
slink away now that she’d knocked.
Joe opened the door looking wary.
Until he saw the cookies. “Oh, wow.”
Success. She smiled. “Peace
offering,” she said as she handed over the plate.
“There’s no need for that.”
“I thought there was. I got a
little snappy.”
He shrugged. “We all do when we’re
stressed and overworked.”
“Which is why I guess I should be
saving up for a vacation.”
“All work and no play, they say.”
“Oh, I fit in some play.”
He leaned against the door jamb
and helped himself to a cookie. “Yeah?” He took a bite. “Oh, man, that’s good.”
“Just like you remember?”
“Better. Only don’t tell my mom.”
He took another bite. Chewed, swallowed.
And she stood there, not wanting
to leave.
He didn’t seem to want her to.
“So, what do you do for fun around here?”
“I ski.”
“Yeah?”
Okay,
tell the whole truth. “Cross country,” she said.
He nodded, half approving. “Pretty
country for that.”
“I was never brave enough to try
downhill,” she confessed.
“You should try it. It gives you a
real rush.”
A real rush. When it came down to
it she didn’t do much of anything that gave her a real rush.
“What else?”
What else? “There’s a restaurant
here in town that has a little dance floor. Morris and I go dancing sometimes.”
Oh, no, that had been a misstep. “Not that there’s anything between us,” she
hurried on. “We’re just friends.”
“One of you is just friends,” Joe
said.
Joe had good powers of
observation. “We’ve known each other for years.”
“But he’s not cutting it.”
“Morris is a nice man and a good
friend.”
“Like I said, he’s not cutting
it.”
“He doesn’t care if he ever sees
the Eiffel Tower.” Good grief. What was she saying? “Okay, how shallow does
that make me sound?”
“It doesn’t. You’re obviously two
different people who want different things out of life. No point being with
somebody when it’s not going to work.”
Well, she and Morris did want the
same basic things—a home and family. Did Joe Ford want a home and family?
“What else do you do for fun?” he
prompted.
“Not much,” she admitted. “My
family used to play cards, but Dad and I haven’t done anything like that since
we lost Mom.”
“Cards, huh?”
Now he was looking at her
speculatively.
Cookies and cards. Joe Ford could
be lured back out of the guest room. She cast out a lure she was sure would
work. “I’m unbeatable at progressive gin rummy.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up,
and the little drummer boy woke up and started on his drum again. That smile.
Oh, that smile. It lit up his eyes. Lit her up pretty good, too.
“Yeah?” he said.
She raised her chin in challenge.
“Yeah.”
“Got some cards?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be down in a few,” he said.
“I don’t believe in stroking
egos,” she warned.
“And I don’t believe in chivalry,”
he shot back. “There are no friends in cards.”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn
you,” she said and sashayed off down the hall. Oh, yes, she and Joe Ford were
now well on their way to becoming friends. Could they possibly become more?
By
the time he came down, his hostess had the cards out and hot chocolate poured
into mugs. More cookies sat on the plate on the kitchen table. Greeting card
perfect.
She smiled up at him as she shuffled the deck and taunted,
“Prepare to lose.”
“I don’t lose at cards. He and his
brothers used to play a lot of poker on those ski trips to Vail. He always came
away with the pot.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Ever
hear the expression pride goes before a fall?”
“Yeah, and I’m afraid you’re gonna
fall big time,” he said as he sat down. All those shiny curls, those pretty,
green eyes—someone else at this table was in danger of falling. Big time.
She dealt three cards for the
first round. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“You that confident, huh?” he
teased. Her perfume reached out with invisible fingers and tickled his nose. He
wanted to play with a lock of her hair.
She looked at her hand and smiled.
“I am.”
She must have gotten a wild card.
“Want to bet on it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think
so.”
“Ah, not so confident after all. I
don’t want that card, by the way,” he said, passing on the four of diamonds on
the discard pile.
“Oh, I am. But, on the off chance
that you got lucky I wouldn’t have anything to pay you with. I’ve only got a
couple of dollars in my purse. I don’t want that either,” she said.
He drew and got a wild card, which gave him
three of a kind. “So, wager something else.”
“More cookies?”
“You already gave me cookies.”
“Fudge?”
“Not that into fudge.” Looking at
Livi, he had something much better in mind.
“Okay, then what?”
“How about a kiss?”
Her
eyes opened wide and her face flushed. “A kiss?” she repeated as if he’d just
proposed she sleep with him.
Okay,
that had been stupid. What could he say? He’d been under the influence of
perfume.
He
bluffed it out. “Hey, I like to gamble big.”
“We hardly know each other,” she protested.
Wasn’t
that the truth? If she knew he was Guy Hightower, the one and only corporate
executive who’d scrubbed his company’s donation to Christmas Expressions for
the first time in decades, she’d spit in his face. But right now he was plain
old Joe Ford, enjoying an evening with a pretty woman.
“We’re
getting to know each other,” he pointed out. And he realized he wanted her to
get to know him, to see that he was more than the stingy guardian of a
company’s treasure chest. “One kiss won’t hurt. Unless there’s someone else?”
“No,
no.” The words came out half assurance and half regret.
“Well,
then?”
“What
will you give me if I win?” she asked, her cheeks still flushed.
If
I lose I’ll make breakfast tomorrow. How’s that?”
That
was acceptable. Her smile returned. “Okay. We just happen to have plenty of
eggs.”
“Good,”
he said, then discarded and laid down his cards, face up.
“You
had a wild card,” she accused.
“But
not up my sleeve.”
She
frowned and drew. Then laid down. She’d had a wild card, too, but nothing else
matched. Even when she played it on what he’d laid down, he still caught her
with ten points.
“I’m
looking forward to that kiss,” he teased, bringing back her blush.
“It’s
only the first hand,” she said. “You got lucky.”
He’d
like to get lucky with Little Miss Helpful. But that really wasn’t in the cards. He’d have to
settle for a kiss.
She
won the next hand, going out with a run of four, but only caught him with a
couple of points, and the third hand went to him. “I hope you’re a good
kisser,” he teased as he dealt the cards.
“I
hope you’re a good cook,” she retorted.
“Not
really, but I can handle eggs.”
“You
don’t cook much?”
“No
time, really,” he said. “I put in pretty long hours.”
She
examined her cards. “No one in your life to cook for you?”
She
was fishing. He hid a smile. “Nope. Back to that time thing.”
“You
have to make time for people somewhere in your life.”
“I
have people in my life. I’ve got my mom and two brothers, a couple of nephews
and a niece, a stepdad and stepsisters, people I work with.” His family was too
busy to hang out outside of work. He rarely had time for his old college
buddies. Most of his social life revolved around business.
It
counted. “But really, when you’re working sixty and seventy hours a week, it
doesn’t leave a lot of time for much of anything else.”
“That’s
kind of sad,” she said, and drew a card.
“Sad?”
“Well,
it’s good to have a job, but I’d think you’d want a little more balance in your
life.”
This
from the woman who couldn’t afford to take a vacation. “I don’t just have a
job. I have a company. I’m responsible for a lot of jobs.”
“Of
course,” she murmured.
“You
make it sound like it’s a bad thing to be in business.”
“Oh,
it’s not,” she said quickly. “Without business people there’d be no one to
help organizations like mine,” she said.
Damn straight.
“I
guess I was just thinking that maybe there’s a difference between you being in
business and business being in you so much that the rest of your life gets
shoved off into a corner.”
She
discarded, and he picked it up. “It all goes together, Livi. I care about what
I do as much as you do, and for good reason. Businesses give people jobs. Jobs
equal security and happiness. Corporations get a bad rap, but when it comes
right down to it, those corporations that give people a paycheck help them have
a life.” So much for not getting into a philosophical debate.
“It
looks like you’ve got a pretty good life,” she observed.
That
hit a nerve. Yeah, he did. He had his condo and the family place in Vail. He
had stocks and mutual funds and a nice 401K. But so what? His dad had worked
hard and his father before him. Guy’s brothers worked hard and so did he.
“Should
I feel guilty because I’m doing well?”
“No,
not at all. I don’t begrudge anyone his success,” she said, keeping her gaze on
the card she’d just drawn.
“Are
you sure?”
“Really,”
she insisted, sorting through the cards in her hand. “But isn’t it wonderful
when you’re doing well to be able to help others do well, too?”
“I
do that,” he insisted. It was his turn. He drew and discarded. Well, rats.
There went a wild card.
She
beamed at him. “I’m glad to hear that. I think generosity is the best quality a
person can have. And speaking of, thanks,” she said, and scooped up his
discard. And went down, leaving him stuck with twenty-five points. “I like my
eggs over easy.”
“Don’t
put your order in yet. The game’s not over.” And neither was this conversation.
“You
know,” he said casually, as they organized their hands, “it’s easy for people
to judge how other people manage their money but sometimes they don’t have all
the facts.”
She
frowned.
“You
don’t agree with that?” he prompted.
“I
do in most cases. But some businesses …” She pressed her lips tightly together
and picked up a card.
“The
major donor you lost?”
“It
was wrong. The company’s founder was my
great-grandmother’s first donor. He supported Christmas from the Heart
wholeheartedly.”
Old
Elias Hightower again. Guy frowned.
To
hear Livi speak you’d have thought his great granddad was a saint. He may have
looked like a saint to a lot of people, but the ones he’d cheated early in his
life with shady business deals probably hadn’t thought so.
By
the time Livi’s great-grandma had come along, Elias had managed to pass himself
off as a solid family man and pillar of the community, all the while keeping
his mistress hidden from the public eye. Family legend had it that Elias had
tried to seduce Adelaide Brimwell, hoping to make her his new mistress.
Adelaide had threatened to tell her husband, and the only way to shut her up
was to make a hefty contribution to her charity. Elias forked over a sizeable
chunk and got to keep his false but good reputation, and Adelaide found a
champion for her cause. Thus began the relationship between the Hightowers and
Christmas from the Heart.
“I’d
say she pretty much blackmailed him,” Guy’s dad had once said when the subject
of corporate responsibility came up. “But in her case the ends justified the
means, and old Elias needed to pay for his sins anyway.”
This
was one bedtime story Olivia Berg had probably never heard.
“His
company has been there for us ever since,” Livi continued, warming to her
subject.
Paying
for great-granddad’s sins.
“He’s
probably turning in his grave at the way they’ve abandoned us.”
More
likely he was turning in his grave over how his great-grandkids had managed to
screw up managing the company since taking over. “The company could be having
problems you don’t know about.”
She
sighed. “I suppose. It was just the way the whole thing was handled. It was so
… heartless. And I bet if their CFO had looked hard enough he could have found
some money.
He
probably could have. But instead he’d given their money to higher profile
non-profits. Guy felt slightly ill. Cookies, hot chocolate and guilt didn’t mix
well together.
“I
guess I’m sounding ...” She stopped and gnawed that kissable lower lip.
“What?”
Guy prompted.
“Entitled.
And I shouldn’t feel entitled to something that’s given and not owed.”
She
had that right.
“But
I am hugely disappointed. After so many years, being cut off, losing that
funding—we were
orphaned. And insulted, to boot. We’re not leeches,” she said with a scowl.
“That was what the CFO called me. Picture that.”
He
was, and it made him wince. “Maybe he was having a bad day.” Or maybe he was being a jerk. “They’ll probably make up for it next year,” he said
and vowed to do exactly that.
“That
sure doesn’t help us this year. Honestly, if I had that man here right now I’d
…” She sputtered to a stop. “I’m sorry. I’m being completely unprofessional.”
“It’s
okay,” he assured her. “This isn’t a business meeting.”
“Still,
you’re right. I don’t know what’s going on at the company. For all I know the
man’s had to take a pay cut.”
Not yet.
“He’s
probably got a family to feed.”
Not even a cat.
“You
never really know about people.”
Thank
God she didn’t know about him. Guy was so rattled he missed picking up a card
he needed.
On
her turn, she drew and went down. “Ha! Gotcha,” she crowed.
Yes,
she did. She had him, hook, line and sinker, and he was flopping at her feet.
“So,
let’s quit talking about all those evil businessmen,” he said as they started
their next hand. “Tell me what you do for the holidays.”
That
put her in a happy mood again. “Well, on Christmas Eve day we’ll be delivering
Christmas stockings and turkeys to homes here in town and in Gold Bar and
Skykomish.”
Back
to Christmas from the Heart again. The woman lived, ate and breathed it. Guy
found himself envying her passion. In spite of the long hours he worked he
didn’t feel that kind of passion for his company.
“Then
my brother and his wife will come up to spend the night,” she continued, “which
means as soon as those deliveries are made I’ll be busy baking red velvet cake
and heating ham for Christmas Eve dinner. We always play a couple of games
after dinner and then stay up late watching Christmas movies. Of course, my
brother will still wake us up early to open presents.”
“Yeah,
I was always the one who did that.”
“You’re
welcome to join us for dinner if you’re still stranded here,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
If
he hadn’t promised his mom he’d be with her he’d have loved to. He could easily
envision Christmas in the Berg household—eggnog, presents, lit candles, smiling, happy
family. It was the kind of holiday his mom had created for them growing up,
only with more expensive presents. The kind of holiday he’d loved before his
dad died and it all fell apart.
“You
probably have your own Christmas traditions, too,” she said.
“We
did. When my dad was alive. Things changed after he died.” And not for the
better.
Guy
had just gotten his MBA when his father had his heart attack, forcing his sons
to shoulder burdens they weren’t yet ready for. Mike had already been working
at Hightower for four years, learning the business, and wife number one was
spending his money as fast as he could make it. Their dad had been grooming him
to take over the company, but that was supposed to have been much further down
the road. Bryan had gone to the Hightower salt mine right after college, and
he’d been there for two years and was still pretty much clueless and only
mildly invested in his job. Then there’d been Guy, the boy genius, the third
member of the young Hightower triumvirate that would someday control the family
empire. He’d been in no hurry to come on board. He’d worked hard in school and
wanted time off to play. There was time. The old man would be around forever.
Except
it didn’t turn out that way. Their father was an old man,
seventeen years older than his wife and worn-out. He’d thrown a clot when he
had the heart attack, and that had left him paralyzed on one side and in rehab.
“We
spent our last Christmas as a family at the rehab center.” Guy remembered how
the place had smelled—pine scented
cleaner trying to overpower the scent of urine. A little old lady had hobbled
past him, leaning on a walker and grimacing. She wore a Santa hat on her head,
probably stuck there by the woman who was with her and talking about the
wonderful turkey dinner that would be served later.
Neither
Bryan nor Guy had stuck around for turkey dinner. Bryan had stood around
helplessly for twenty minutes while Dad sat in his wheelchair, unable to talk,
and Mom tried to smile through the tears washing away her make-up, then he’d
bolted. Guy hadn’t lasted much longer. After some inane comment on how Dad
would be out of that thing and back on top soon, he’d kissed Mom on the cheek,
promised to take her out to eat the next day and then beat it, leaving Mike to
eat turkey dinner with the aged and infirm. It went with being the oldest. Guy
had gone back home and found Bryan there, making serious inroads into a bottle
of Scotch. He’d joined his brother and they’d drunk their way through
Christmas. His dad died two days later, and they’d drunk their way through New
Year’s, too.
After
that Mom dived into mourning, Mike stepped into shoes still too big for him and
got his first divorce. Bryan got serious about work and tried to keep up. Guy
joined the Hightower Empire, put his shoulder to the wheel, and went to work.
As
for Christmas? At first they tried to re-create what they’d had as a family,
everyone gathering at Mom’s, but sadness tarnished it. After the first
Christmas without their dad, Bryan’s wife had stepped into the role of holiday
hostess, insisting everyone come to their house. That had really felt wrong.
The Hightower version of the holiday eventually turned into skiing with the
brothers when they were in between women or taking Mom out for dinner.
Guy
doubted he’d find that greeting-card-perfect Christmas with his mom’s new
family. She was determined to try, but really, it was like trying to patch up
something broken. You always knew it was cracked. You were always aware of the
patch.
He
hadn’t realized he was frowning until Livi laid a hand on his and murmured,
“I’m sorry, Joe.”
He
shrugged. “Stuff like that happens in every family.” Then he remembered her
mom. “I guess you already know that.”
Her
hand slid away and she looked at her cards, blinking back tears. “It’s hard to
lose people you care about. But it sure makes you appreciate the ones who are
left all the more. And it’s important to honor their memories and keep those
special traditions alive.”
Or
maybe make new ones. Hard to make new traditions when you didn’t have anyone
special to make them with.
He
got his head back in the card game. Christmases past were gone and out of
reach. Better to stay here in the present, playing cards with a little cutie
who, so far, thought he was a good man.
He
didn’t want to go too far into the future, either. Except maybe he could change
it. Maybe he could change her opinion of him. His was changing toward her.
Olivia Berg, he was coming to realize, was something special.
They
played out a few hands, the score remaining close. Until the last hand. Oh
yeah, luck was being a lady tonight. He stuck Livi with thirty points, and that
won the game for him.
She
looked stunned. “I can’t believe you beat me.”
“Well,
you know what they say. Pride goes before a fall,” he teased.
She
stuck out her lower lip. Oh yeah, he was ready for that kiss. “Hey now, no
pouting just because I’m not making breakfast.”
“You
got lucky.”
Oh,
how he’d like to get lucky. “Okay, time to pay up.”
Her
cheeks turned pink again.
“I
promise I’ll make it painless,” he murmured with a smile.
He
leaned across the table, and she did the same. Then he slipped a hand behind
her neck and drew her to him. He could smell that peppermint perfume. Her hair
was so soft. So were her lips and they tasted like hot chocolate. She sighed
into the kiss, and he let the moment stretch out, threading his fingers through
her hair. Her hands slipped up to the nape of his neck, her fingers soft and
warm against his skin.
He
could have gone on like that all night, moving them away from the table and out
onto that living room couch, deepening their kiss, pulling her close, enjoying
the feel of her curves, inhaling her scent. But that wouldn’t have been right.
Even what he was doing was sure to put him on Santa’s naughty list for life.
It
had been worth it though. He pulled back. “You’re a good loser. And a good
kisser,” he added, making her cheeks turn pink. “Now, you have to have had
other men tell you that,” he said.
She
shrugged.
“There’s
been no one special?”
“In
college. And Morris and I once, when we were younger. But …” She sighed. “I
don’t know what I’m waiting for.”
“The
right one?” Someone who deserved her. Which instantly disqualified him.
“I
guess. How about you?”
“I
thought I was in love once. Turned out I was wrong.”
Okay,
they were wandering into chick territory. Next they’d be sharing their every
heartbreak. He stood. “I’ve had enough sitting. How about a walk?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tell me about your Christmas traditions.
Fruitcake: yes or no?
Two people who comment before 11:00 PM, September 6 will each receive a copy of Christmas from the Heart.
(U.S. addresses only)
