The Sweetest Gift Read online

  THE SWEETEST GIFT

  8 Holiday Romance Stories

  “Christmas Star” by Christine Ashworth

  “Amy’s Wish” by Joan Bird

  “Her Christmas Cowboy” by Adele Downs

  “Out for the Holidays” by Susan Mac Nicol

  “A Family for Christmas” by Aubrey McKnight

  “A Gift of Trust” by Emily Mims

  “Kissing Mr. Scrooge” by Kary Rader

  “To Hell with Christmas” by Kat St. Croix

  www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

  CHRISTMAS STAR

  Copyright © 2014 Christine Ashworth

  AMY’S WISH

  Copyright © 2015 Joan Bird

  HER CHRISTMAS COWBOY

  Copyright © 2014 Adele Downs

  OUT FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  Copyright © 2014 Susan Elaine Mac Nicol

  A FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS

  Copyright © 2014 Kimberly Cannon

  A GIFT OF TRUST

  Copyright © 2014 Emily Wright Mims

  KISSING MR. SCROOGE

  Copyright © 2014 Kary Rader

  TO HELL WITH CHRISTMAS

  Copyright © 2014 Sara Dailey and Staci Weber

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

  ISBN 978-1-944262-01-3

  CONTENTS

  CHRISTMAS STAR

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  AMY’S WISH

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  HER CHRISTMAS COWBOY

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  OUT FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  A FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A GIFT OF TRUST

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  KISSING MR. SCROOGE

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  TO HELL WITH CHRISTMAS

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  Part 6

  THE SWEETEST GIFT

  8 Holiday Romance Stories

  CHRISTMAS STAR

  Christine Ashworth

  For Lynne Marshall, who watched me begin this story in the airport at San Antonio on our way home after RWA14. Thanks, neighbor, for always being there for a walk, or a talk about publishing, or just a hug. I appreciate it more than you know.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Way too many thanks must go to The Best Roommates Ever, Maggie Marr and Maria Seager. You may not remember, but you helped me with the initial plot during one windy night on our balcony during RWA14 (there was beer and wine involved). Wouldn’t have done it without your urging. My undying thanks as well to Debbie Decker, my other pair of eyes, who helped me see the light about the ending. Love you ladies!

  And for the gal who was there at the start, when I was a crabby facilities manager who wouldn’t turn the heat up in the office over a decade ago. Jenn Reese, I wouldn’t be here without you. My love and thanks, always.

  To Jill Limber, who met my enthusiasm for the StarTide series with her own, thanks so very much for taking a chance on me. I plan on doing you proud!

  Much gratitude, as well, to my fabulous editor Chris Keeslar, who has taken my meltdowns and inability to hide my feelings (plus snarky emails) in stride. You polished this and I can’t thank you enough. Next conference, I owe you a drink.

  Christmas Star

  Chapter One

  December 19th, evening

  Elle Houston drew her feet up onto the couch and nervously watched her fiancé—her fiancé—finish packing in the hotel suite he called home. “Are you sure you want to get married?”

  Taylor Collins, Grade A movie star, stopped adding shirts to his suitcase, tipped his head to one side and smiled, that lopsided grin that caused female hearts to flutter worldwide. “Are you getting cold feet?”

  “No. Of course not.” She’d never thought she’d get a proposal, ever. Not saying yes to the guy who was People’s Sexiest Man Alive? She’d have to be brain-dead. “I’ve got the guy all the girls want, the guy paparazzi clamor over.” She nibbled her top lip, considering. “I guess I’m still just a bit stunned that you proposed.”

  She’d been looking for romance. Her soul yearned for it, and they’d spent so much time together during filming that she’d, naturally, fixated on him. He’d noticed but been the perfect gentleman while they worked on the same set.

  When shooting wrapped, however, he’d asked her out. To her own surprise, she accepted. They’d had a month of intimate little dinner dates—getting there by separate cars, of course, dodging paparazzi. Movies in his hotel suite. Breakfasts in her apartment. Dancing on the beach in the moonlight, freezing their toes off and laughing at nothing. Making love. It had all been a sparkly fairy tale. But now, despite the ring on her finger, she found she wasn’t too sure of the ending. Their wedding was in five days, and something very like panic was invading her chest.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” he reproved. “Look, I wish I didn’t have to go, but you know how these things are. Why Sam decided to do the pick-up shots in New York City, I’ll never know.”

  “He wanted to be close to his family.” Elle thought everyone knew that. Their director was completely besotted with his wife and kids.

  Taylor came to her then, bent to give her a kiss. Elle responded, her arms urging him closer. She parted her lips, drew her tongue across his mouth and nipped, anxious to have him sweep her away.

  But he kept her at arm’s length. Gave her a wry smile.

  “We can’t do this. You know I’ve got a plane to catch, and the car will be here any minute.”

  Need made her bold, and she pressed her hand against the growing bulge in his pants. “Make love to me, Taylor. Please. Right now.”

  Grabbing her hands, he held them away from him and let out a short laugh. “You made me promise when I proposed. No more sex before marriage. I’m not going to start our life together by breaking that promise, honey.” He kissed the top of her head and let her go while movin
g out of her reach. “You’re going to have a great time at the Bidwell Estate. The spa there is the best ever, and so is the personal chef.”

  “So I’m supposed to get pummeled by a masseuse and eat my way through the hours all alone?” She snorted. “Lovely. My wedding dress won’t fit.” Not that she got to choose the dress. Taylor had done that. He’d chosen the dress, the venue, the date… Well, he’d also paid for everything. It would be petty of her to be mad. And she had enjoyed shopping with him, though her mother would have a fit when she found out.

  “You won’t be alone.” He zipped up his travel case and shrugged into his suit jacket. “My manager Conway will be spending the days with you. And Luc, the chef, is terrific. You’ll love his food.”

  His answers were curt, as if his mind were already on the plane.

  “I don’t mind postponing the ceremony until next month. Truly,” Elle said, trying to hide her sudden desperation.

  “Honey, I’m giving you the Christmas wedding you’ve always wanted, and I’m thrilled about it. Now, Conway will be here in the morning to take you to Bidwell. Be nice to him. He’s done major things for my career.” Taylor came around the back of the couch and gave her a brief kiss. “I’ll call you once I’m on set, and we’ll talk and text. All day long if you want.”

  She twisted around and stood on the couch, wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on. “What about guests? Who are we inviting? Should I invite my parents? What about your parents?”

  He rubbed her nose with his. “Silly nugget. You’re really worried, aren’t you?”

  Elle relaxed as he took her in his arms. She peered into his eyes but couldn’t read beyond the affable good guy he always projected. “Yes. I want to do this right, not fast. Not just because we could. You should meet my parents, I should meet yours, we should do the whole thing slowly. Just in case.”

  “Christmas Eve fits into my schedule. We’ll have an entire week for a honeymoon. Beginning in January my schedule is hell, you know that. If we don’t marry Christmas Eve, our wedding won’t happen until late next year.” He moved away, checked his appearance in the mirror, and picked up his travel bag. “New York at Christmas. Oh well. At least I get to attend the Copperstone party while I’m there. I did tell you we’re in talks for a new superhero movie, didn’t I?”

  She frowned in surprise. “No, you hadn’t mentioned it.”

  “Nothing is set in stone, but we’re talking. You’ve got my new cell number, so call or text me any time.”

  Elle dropped onto the couch, dissatisfied. The Copperstone party? And just what was wrong with waiting a year to get married? “All right. Call me the minute you land in the morning. Be safe.”

  Taylor stopped at the door of his apartment and sent her a smile. “It’s been a good month, Elle. I’m going to miss you.” He opened the door and was gone.

  “I love you,” she called, but the door shut on her uncertain words and bounced them back to her.

  She grabbed a pillow and hung on. Great. Four whole days at a private spa so grand she’d be afraid to touch anything or go anywhere, all with a guy she’d never met before a wedding that she wasn’t entirely sure of, in a dress she’d only tried on once. This was not going to be the best week of her life.

  Then again, avoiding Texas would be a good thing at this point. While she’d always had a thing for actors, Daddy hadn’t ever wanted her to fall in love with one. Especially one with such a huge female following, like Taylor.

  But she loved the glamour of the movies. Loved the larger-than-life men and women who acted in them. So when Taylor pursued her, she’d found her resistance was impossibly low. His charm bowled her over from the start. She’d never been pursued before, and she’d liked it.

  The ring on her left hand caught her eye. Two delicate spirals of diamonds swirled up each side of her finger to hold up the main stone, a gorgeous amethyst bigger than anything she’d ever seen. This wasn’t the simple diamond solitaire she’d always dreamed of, but something much grander. Something she’d have to take off before doing dishes, or gardening, or taking a shower, instead of something that would stay on her finger for the rest of her life.

  Elle stifled another niggle of unease and got ready for bed. After pouring herself a glass of white zinfandel, she snuggled down in the big bed to watch the holiday DVDs she’d brought with her. A Charlie Brown Christmas, Frosty the Snowman, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas were bound to cheer her up.

  Chapter Two

  December 20th, mid-morning

  Elle turned from staring out the window of the Lincoln to smile at her traveling companion.

  “Thank you for coming along. I much prefer company. I hope your holiday plans weren’t ruined. Do you have family in town?”

  Conway Davis, Taylor’s agent and manager, smiled. “It’s my pleasure. No, no family here in San Diego.” His phone buzzed and he checked his email. “Sorry. Business. Even with everyone taking these two weeks off, there are always deals to be made.”

  “Of course. Please.” As she watched him, she realized who he reminded her of—none other than Dorothy L. Sayers’s fictional character Lord Peter Wimsey. Blond hair, a slender but strong body, a slightly vacuous look on his handsome face but with what she suspected was a formidable intelligence behind it. He’d been nothing but kind during their trip.

  The Lincoln eventually pulled into a long drive that wound around to a grey, two-story estate set amidst trees and lush greenery.

  “This is it,” Elle said, and butterflies took up residence in her stomach. They’d arrived at the place where her life would change forever. A cloud passed over the sun. She shivered and looked up. Earlier it had been all blue sky. Now the storm clouds were gathering. An omen?

  Conway put his phone away. “Ready for the time of your life?”

  Elle ducked her head as the driver opened her door and got out instead of answering.

  A dapper man in a dark gray suit came toward them, all smiles. “Ms. Houston. Mr. Davis. Welcome to the Bidwell Estate. My name is Jamison, and I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

  ***

  Luc Favreau tipped his head to Bidwell Estate’s manager and raised an eyebrow. The man had come into his kitchen, something he rarely did, and seemed overly flustered. “So, we will be taking care of the skittish bride of Mr. Collins. You’re not worried, are you, Jamison? We’ve entertained many of Mr. Collins’s women here. Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “This is his bride, not his usual sort. She seems nice.” Jamison checked his notes. “Mr. Collins bought the place out, so Elle Houston and her escort are our only guests until the wedding on Saturday. Find out what she likes, so you can get an idea of what to prepare for the wedding breakfast, in case it varies greatly from what Mr. Collins has ordered. If she wants to cook, let her cook.”

  Luc rubbed his nose. “Look, I’ve got work to do in here. There are gifts for the staff to make, plus the turkeys to cook for the shelter, not to mention the daily meals. I can’t just turn my kitchen over to a guest because she has nothing else to do.”

  “Of course. Just, please, don’t do anything to upset her,” the resort manager implored. “Mr. Collins requested you specifically, and you’re getting quite a handsome check for this week on top of your usual salary.”

  Jamison had a point. Luc sent him a wry smile. “You worry too much, my friend. I will be a mirror to her mood.” At Jamison’s confusion he added, “It’ll be all right.”

  “Good.” Relief spread over the manager’s features as he ticked something off his list. “Ms. Houston and her escort are settling into their rooms. She might be down here before lunch.”

  Luc shrugged. “I’ll be making pasta. She can come down at any time.”

  Jamison nodded and hurried off to check the rest of the public rooms.

  Luc got out a bowl and threw in a couple handfuls of flour before cracking an egg into it and stirring. A little water, more stirring, more flour. He relaxed as he move
d the slightly sticky mass to the marble slab, tossed some flour on it, and kneaded the dough. He’d start with pasta for lunch. If the woman wouldn’t eat his fresh pasta, it would be a difficult week. Only time would tell.

  He’d do what needed doing, of course, to keep her happy, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Usually Gustavo, the other chef, took care of the celebrity women, as he enjoyed providing them a luncheon consisting of an amusingly small leaf of endive, with a bare quarter-teaspoon smattering of blue cheese and three dainty dried cranberries dotting the center. Luc shuddered at the thought. Give him a proper meal, like pasta, or a rich, hearty cassoulet, or perhaps a thick steak and smashed potatoes with grey salt from Provence and a light dusting of pepper. He preferred food that warmed and nurtured, any time, to rabbit food. But Gustavo had the holiday week off, as he had a wife and kids, whereas Luc…? Not a family member on this coast, unfortunately.

  Luc’s stomach rumbled as the dough grew silky under his hands. He sighed and tucked it under the bowl to let the gluten relax. He’d done some prep work earlier in the day for dinner that night, so could take a few minutes now to sit back with an almond croissant and a cup of coffee. He’d go to the fish market after lunch for the lobsters.

  Christmas music warbled cheerfully in his kitchen. He loved Christmas. He’d hung a garland of fragrant cedar around the French doors, and a wreath of bay and sage threaded with a glossy red ribbon hung on one door. His gifts for family had all been made or bought and sent off a week ago. The only thing left were holiday pastry wreaths to make, both for the staff here and for local friends. Filled with dried cranberries and almonds, it had become a tradition for him in a life that had precious little tradition left. So tonight, after the meal, he’d do more baking.

  Not bothering to remove his white apron, he grabbed a croissant, drew down an espresso, and went out onto the patio that adjoined the kitchen and stretched along the whole side of the house. He sank down in wrought iron chair and stared across the gardens without seeing them. This whole wedding business had him thinking about his own future. It was time to settle down. Start a restaurant, get married, have some babies. He was thirty-five, after all. He had a nice nest egg, had lived frugally for years, but he had never found the right property, the right partners, or the right woman….