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  Contents

  Christmas Dinner

  The Winter Fairy

  Holiday Hoopla

  Wynter’s Journey

  The Winter Promise

  Winter Storms

  Old Christmas

  Christmas Dinner

  Robyn Neeley

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Robyn Neeley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6511-2

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6511-3

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6512-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6512-0

  Cover art © istock.com/style-photographs and 123rf.com

  To my loving grandparents and one sweet kitty.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  More from This Author

  PROLOGUE

  The Letter

  One Month Before Christmas

  Today, there was a letter in the mailbox. Betty reached in for the velvet white envelope, her feeble hand trembling. It was addressed to her and her husband, Bruce. She clutched the envelope and climbed back up the hill to their log cabin. Cool, white mist wrapped around her legs. Once she reached the top of the hill, she could no longer wait. She opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of matching velvet white paper.

  Her hand flew to her heart. Her granddaughter Amanda would be arriving next month.

  She had so many wonderful memories of her second grandchild, particularly during this time of year. As a little girl, Amanda had always been the first to try out the frozen pond out back, ice-skating for hours upon hours. She was also the first downstairs on Christmas morning, sliding down their wooden banister to make her entrance. She loved this holiday—she took after her father in that regard.

  Amanda grew up to be a TV news anchor and was working in Wilmington, North Carolina. She abruptly moved there from New York two years ago to get a fresh start. For the last two Christmases, her seat at the dinner table remained empty. Amanda told her parents that she couldn’t get the time off from work, but Bruce and Betty knew better. It broke their hearts.

  Betty entered the house and walked into the kitchen. Bruce sat at the square oak table engrossed in his crossword puzzle. She waved the letter slowly.

  “Is that for us?”

  She nodded. “It says Amanda will be arriving next month.”

  “Amanda?” His eyes widened, and he set his pen down. “How old is she now?” He looked up toward the ceiling. “Thirty?”

  She nodded and handed him the letter.

  “I’m surprised she’s joining us so soon.”

  Betty watched her husband study the paper closely. He rose and peered out the kitchen window in the direction of the mailbox. “Maybe it’s a mistake?” he asked, hopefulness in his voice.

  Without a word, Betty reached over and claimed the letter from Bruce’s shaky hand. She folded it, placing it carefully back in its envelope. It was best to leave him alone with his thoughts.

  She walked into the living room and took a seat in her favorite rocking chair. Setting the envelope on a nearby end table, she picked up a pair of knitting needles and yarn.

  The red and green meshed string immediately attracted a buff-colored tabby who sauntered over from her napping spot near the stone fireplace. The cat jumped onto Betty’s lap, rubbing its soft head against the ball of yarn.

  Forcing a smile, she set her needles aside and began petting the purring feline. “Sydney,” she said, patting the cat on its head. “Amanda’s coming home next month. Won’t you be happy to see her after all this time? She’ll be here in time to join us for Christmas dinner.”

  With that realization, a tear rolled down her cheek.

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 22

  The mayor of Wilmington was high on top of the naughty list this year. News anchor Amanda Turner was going to make sure he received a well-deserved stocking full of coal to hang in his jail cell.

  She stood in the control booth and reviewed her notes. Minutes ago, her script had been successfully uploaded into the teleprompter. She was finally ready to break the news. For months, she had worked tirelessly to expose Mayor O’Malley for mishandling his reelection funds. Lavish vacations, special gifts for his wife, and expensive outings around town with local celebrities were just a few ways he spent his supporters’ donations. His inexcusable behavior was about to be revealed. Amanda would make sure that the honest, hard-working people of Wilmington knew the truth and that WENC news was on their side.

  Her producer, Jeff Wakefield, tested out the shot of Jenny Jenkins, a field reporter stationed outside the mayor’s office where the press conference would later take place.

  “Good morning, Jenny,” Amanda said, leaning over Jeff’s shoulder. “You look great. Ready to break the story?”

  “I’m ready.” Jenny gave them a thumbs-up signal. “Talk to you soon.”

  Jeff turned to pat Amanda’s back. “Santa Claus certainly came early for us, didn’t he?”

  She laughed. “Yes, he did.” Busting the mayor had been a long time coming. It was a real team effort—with the exception of one particular colleague—her tall, dark, and arrogant co-anchor who was now ten minutes late.

  Rumor had it he’d had some fun at the staff Christmas party last night. Not that she paid attention to office gossip—nor had she attended the event. She wasn’t a fan of Christmas these days. Besides, she was way too busy taking down the mayor.

  She set aside her backup notes and fished out her compact from her purse to check her makeup one last time. The news station didn’t have a professional makeup artist for the on-air talent, but her assistant, Lacy Cavanaugh, had given her a hand this morning to make sure her face was flawless.

  Suddenly, a blue eye appeared in her mirror.

  She jumped.

  “Good morning, Brenda Starr. Ready for your big moment?” Tate Ryan stood directly behind her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Amanda snapped the compact shut, crossed the studio to the anchor desk, and took her seat. Her eyes zoomed in on his tie. “Seriously?” She pointed to the red and green stripes.

  “What?” Tate sat in his chair and spun around.

  “Your tie.”

  “Just trying to be festive. Do you have something against Christmas?”

  Amanda ignored him. She always wore royal blue on Wednesdays, and he knew it. Lacy always sent him an e-mail each afternoon, reminding him what color to wear the next day. It helped ensure t
hey didn’t clash on camera.

  He’d worn the tie to get a rise out of her. Typical Tate. She smoothed her straight blonde hair along her jaw line. Well, it wouldn’t work today. This was her moment, and nothing he could say, do, or wear was going to ruin it.

  Jeff stepped up to the desk. “Nice work, you two. You’re quite the dynamic duo.”

  “Thanks,” Tate responded and flashed a smile toward Amanda. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. It figured Tate would try to take some of the credit. It really didn’t surprise her. No matter. Jeff had agreed to let her break the story.

  “All right. Let’s give the mayor a Christmas gift he can rewind and replay into the New Year.” Jeff’s eyes twinkled. “Ho, ho, ho . . .”

  “Break a leg, Ace.” Tate winked.

  Ernie, their cameraman, signaled. “Three, two, one.”

  Amanda stared into the camera and smiled brightly. “Good morning, Wilmington. I’m Amanda Turner.”

  “And I’m Tate Ryan. Your morning news starts right now. Thanks for joining us.”

  She took a deep breath, her expression serious. This was it. Her time to shine. “In breaking news—” She paused, waiting for her next few lines to appear on the teleprompter.

  Something was wrong. Where was the next line? The words on the screen stopped moving. The machine appeared to be stuck.

  She looked down at the table and her heart galloped. Her backup notes were not on the desk. Dammit. She must have left them in the control room. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Please work. Please work. Improvisation was not her strong suit. You can do this. Say something. “In breaking news . . .” she repeated. That was it; her voice stalled out much like the teleprompter.

  “In news you’re hearing first on WENC,” Tate interjected.

  Ernie swung the camera over to Tate.

  “An investigation has uncovered that Mayor Chris O’Malley allegedly used reelection funds for personal use. Our Jenny Jenkins is reporting live from outside the mayor’s office where a press conference is scheduled for 10 A.M. Jenny, what are you hearing? Will the mayor be addressing these allegations personally?”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. She was unable to comprehend what had just happened. Tate had broken her story! She motioned for him to toss it back to her, but he either didn’t see her or didn’t want to. All she could do was listen as Tate fired one question after another to the reporter. Three minutes later, he wrapped up.

  “Thanks, Jenny. We’ll continue to provide coverage on this explosive story as it develops.”

  The camera zoomed in on Amanda, snapping her back to the moment. The teleprompter was working and running the next few lines. Words originally meant for Tate, but were now hers.

  Humiliated, she forced a smile and read the next line. “In other news . . .”

  • • •

  Tate chuckled and removed his tie. He didn’t care for bright red—and with green stripes, he could easily be mistaken for one of Santa’s elves. That is, except for his height. He only wore the tie to mess with Amanda. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a more suitable royal blue one and put it on.

  She was infuriated with him. No question about it. After the newscast, she’d stomped away from the anchor desk without saying a word. How was her freezing under pressure his fault? She should have thanked him, not given him the cold shoulder.

  His door suddenly flew open.

  Speak of the devil.

  And she was still as gorgeous as ever—even with imaginary darts spewing from her beautiful green eyes. He was a glutton for punishment.

  “What the hell happened in there?” Amanda burst in and slammed the door.

  The clock above the entrance shook off center. Tate calmly smoothed his tie, rubbing his hand up and down his chest. This ought to be good.

  “Hello, and you’re welcome.” He moved to straighten the clock. A benefit to being tall. What he really needed to do was move the timepiece to another wall since Amanda slammed his door often.

  “You’re welcome? You want me to thank you? You just humiliated me on live TV.”

  “No, I just saved you from humiliation. Big difference.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Did you jam the teleprompter?”

  “Excuse me? You think I sabotaged you?”

  Amanda cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “You really think I would do that? Aren’t we on the same team? You know—dynamic duo. I stepped in when you clearly needed some help.”

  “I was fine,” she retorted.

  “Right,” he said skeptically. “Not so great at thinking on your feet? I could give you a few pointers.”

  “I don’t need any help, especially from you.” She grimaced and narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t give me time to recover.”

  “Amanda, we were headed toward dead air. Now that would have humiliated not only you but the entire station. Did you want that to happen?”

  “No, of course not. I would have said something. I just needed a second. You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “Look, I was trying to help you save face. What’s the big deal?” He lifted his tie and pointed it toward her. “Better?”

  “Enough.” She gritted her teeth. “I couldn’t care less about the color of your tie, the suit you’re wearing, or the color of the dress on your bimbo last night.”

  He threw back his head and gave an exaggerated laugh. “For your information, it was pink—hot pink.” It was a lie, of course. There had been no bimbo or a hot pink dress last night. He’d gone home alone—like he had every night since he’d started working with Amanda. But she didn’t need to know that.

  Amanda shook her head and glanced up at the clock. They were scheduled to be back in the studio to cover the press conference. “This conversation is not over.” She opened his door.

  “It never is with you.” He walked up and faced her. This woman knew how to get under his skin. They were inches apart. Her vanilla scented perfume enticed his nostrils. What he wouldn’t give to swoop down and devour her neck. When it came to Amanda, there were so many things he really wanted to do rather than argue, but now wasn’t the time to act on his feelings. She’d most likely slap him.

  He lifted his hands and squeezed her shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a press conference to cover.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Later that evening, Amanda shifted in her stool at the Singing Surf Tavern on the waterfront and reflected on the day’s events. She sipped her white wine and closed her eyes. The cold liquid flowed down the back of her throat. Soon it would do its magic and erase the miserable day.

  She laughed bitterly. How could one ill-timed malfunction cost her the opportunity of a lifetime? At least her station had been the first to break the story. Maybe she was being too hard on Tate; perhaps she should’ve thanked him for jumping in when he did.

  But there was the little matter of him not tossing the story back to her. Not only did he break it, it appeared he enjoyed doing so. The way he gloated afterwards, believing he had saved the day. What was his deal? He hadn’t lifted a finger during the investigation but had gallantly walked around the newsroom all day like he was Tom Brokaw.

  She swirled her wine inside her glass. Why, at thirty-three, was he working in Wilmington? Why not a bigger market? He was talented and well liked. There was no denying that their ratings had improved since his arrival in January. Viewers really took to him—at least the focus groups indicated they did.

  Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the bar counter. Her younger brother, Alex, had sent her a text. The message, Check your Facebook, appeared on the tiny screen.

  That was vague. She touched the icon. There were no new messages. Perhaps her very pregnant sister, Quinn, had posted something on her wall about the baby. Amanda’s finger slid up and down, scrolling through the statuses. Jen, a production assistant, was making macaroni and cheese, and writing out her Christmas dinner shopping list. David, Amanda�
��s friend from church, was at the dog park. She laughed. It amused her how some people used the online platform to broadcast the most mundane events in their lives. Who really cares what you’re planning to make for Christmas dinner or that you’re picking up your dog’s sh—?

  Wait a minute. Her heart stopped and her fingers trembled. Brad Sullivan had changed his status from single to engaged.

  This had to be a cruel joke. Her ex-boyfriend was getting married? How could this be? Mister “I’m afraid of commitment” was engaged? To whom? It was only two years ago that he’d been her boyfriend.

  Brad wasn’t just an ex-boyfriend—he was her only ex-boyfriend. They had grown up together and had known each other all their lives, but it was only when she started working at their hometown news station after college that they began dating.

  While Amanda worked the eleven o’clock weekend shift, Brad had enrolled in the police academy program and, shortly after graduating, became a police officer for their town. They were together for five years.

  Amanda wanted to get married. There was no question in her mind that Brad was the one. They’d talked about it, but Brad seemed to always have a reason why it would be better to wait. He had made all the excuses under the sun from wanting them both to be better established in their careers to needing to save up enough money to buy a house.

  She never understood his logic. She was an anchor and he was a police officer in the town they grew up in—how much more established did they need to be? Her parents would have helped them build a cabin on their land, but he’d said he was too proud to accept their help.

  Two years ago, she thought Brad was finally ready to propose. Amanda drained her glass. Staring into its bottom, she thought back to that awful Christmas Eve that had changed everything.

  • • •

  Amanda could hardly wait. She brushed back the red velvet curtains in her childhood room and peered out the second story window at the decorated lawn below. Her gaze fell on the red and gold sleigh at the end of the driveway. The sleigh was part of the elaborately decorated lawn that brought thousands of visitors to her parents’ home in Bath, New York each Christmas. It would be the perfect spot for Brad to ask her to marry him. They had shared their first kiss in that sleigh.