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Excerpts
A Little Holiday
Romance Digest
****
The Spirit of Christmas
By Ann Cory
A repetitive scratching sound woke Elisa from a sound sleep, a noise
like something or someone climbing around inside the chimney. She’d
just gotten to sleep after tossing and turning for half an hour,
which only added to the frustration. Once she was awake, it was
nearly impossible for her to fall back asleep. Insomnia was a
recurring event in her life and she fell into it easily. She heard
the scratching sound again and threw back the bed covers.
Her shaky hands fumbled along the nightstand until she located a
faintly sharp letter opener. The cool sensation against the palm of
her hand gave her a brief moment of empowerment. It wasn’t like
she’d ever needed to use it, but it gave her comfort. She reached to
the end of the bed for her robe and slid her arms in the silky
sleeves, tying the sash tight around her waist. Armed and hardly
dangerous, she tiptoed into the family room. Elisa’s fingertips felt
around for the light switch on the wall, and after a mental
countdown from three to one, she flipped it on.
The bright sixty-watt light bulbs brought the decorated room to
life, reflecting off strands of silver tinsel hanging every which
way among the Christmas tree. She noticed her Uma Thurman Kill
Bill-like image in the mirror against the wall and had to laugh. Who
was she kidding? Dressed to kill in a silk robe clutching a letter
opener. After she collected herself, she did a quick scan around the
room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was probably just her
imagination. Elisa walked over to the chimney and squatted down,
craning her neck to see up inside it. All that was visible was a
tunnel of black that stretched on forever. Satisfied with what must
have been an overactive imagination she considered going back to
bed. Then something caught her eye.
An unusual present lay on the floor beneath the tree wrapped in
shiny, silver paper. There had been precisely four presents neatly
tucked under the tree before she slipped off to bed, one from her
sister that had arrived a week early, one from a co-worker who was
her designated secret Santa, and two from herself: a writing journal
covered in red stilettos and the new Celtic harp CD she’d been
waiting for. Now as she looked quizzically beneath the tree, there
were five presents.
She bent down and picked it up. A little bell was attached to the
bow making a soft tinkling sound as she turned it over every which
way possible. Like a little kid, she shook it, pressing her ear as
close to it as she could. Whatever was inside was as secretive as
how it found its way inside her house. It occurred to her that her
landlord Mrs. Denton might have put it there. The lonely old woman
had entered her house before and left cookies, cakes and usually a
little something for her birthday. Elisa felt a tinge of guilt for
not having bought Mrs. Denton something, but would make it up to her
by calling for a bouquet of flowers delivered, maybe a pretty
poinsettia.
With a shrug of her shoulders she set the present back down and ran
to her bedroom, flinging herself onto the mattress and landing on
her stomach. She rolled around for the better part of two minutes
when reality hit her…Mrs. Denton was in the hospital getting hip
surgery, it couldn’t have been her. Someone else had been in the
house. With the letter opener clenched even tighter, she went back
to the scene of the crime. This time she looked behind the sofa,
both of the big, fluffy chairs, and even underneath the dark pine
coffee table. Elisa held her breath. If someone wanted to scare her,
they succeeded. Gone was the curiosity and intriguing thoughts of a
present she knew nothing about. Instead she was concerned for her
own safety.
****
The Man the Angels Sent for
Christmas
By Ellen Margret
Chapter One
A Village in England–1914
“Now, does anyone remember the name of the angel who appeared to
Mary and gave her the news that she was with child?”
Everyone’s hands shot up.
The Sunday school teacher smiled. “Perhaps that was a little too
easy.”
“Sure, we all know it’s Gabriel,” the boy with the black tousled
hair called out. He sat on a small wooden chair, tilting it back so
that only the back two legs were on the floor.
“Edward, it’s rude to call out,” the teacher said tersely.
Eddie wiped the back of his threadbare sleeve across his runny nose.
“Sorry, Miss, but I think we all knew the answer to that one.”
“But you had to be the one to call out, as usual. You always have so
much to say for yourself.”
Eddie shrugged and leaned even further back.
“Edward, you will break the chair. Now sit up straight and put both
feet on the ground.”
“Yes, Miss Prowd,” Eddie muttered, begrudgingly doing as he was
told. He settled his chair back down on all four legs and pulled up
the socks that had fallen around his ankles.
“Perhaps I should just ask you the next question, Edward.”
“If you like,” he sniffed.
“I shall make it a much harder question.”
Eddie shrugged again and picked at the corner of his nose.
Miss Prowd rolled her eyes in dismay. “Edward, who decreed that all
the world should be taxed?”
Eddie’s brow furrowed and he scratched his nose. Then he sat up even
straighter. “Ah, I know that. It’s Lloyd George.”
The little girl with the short blonde hair giggled. She poked Eddie
in the ribs.
“Don’t do that,” he snorted, glowering at her.
She gave him a knowing smile. “It was Caesar Augustus who decreed
that all the world should be taxed. You’re daft, Eddie.”
“Is that so? Well, Maggie-Ann, you’ve got ears that stick out like a
goblin and a nose that’s turned so far up I can see your brains!”
Maggie-Ann burst into tears. “You’re a horrid boy, and you’re as dim
as our coalhouse. I hate you!”
Miss Prowd tapped the chalkboard. “Now, now, that’s enough from both
of you. I want everyone to be friends here. We live in very troubled
times, as you probably all know.”
The fat boy at the back of the hall stood up. “Yes, we’re at war. It
happened on my birthday, on August the fourth. My dad told me we’re
at war with Germany because of what they did to Belgium.”
“Yes, Percy, that’s true. Belgium was invaded by Germany, and now
our country is at war. I hope you all realize that we must all pull
together for the sake of England. We must be comrades and think of
the men who go to fight for our wonderful country.”
“My dad’s off to war,” Eddie declared with obvious pride. “He leaves
next week, and my mum won’t stop crying.”
“So you must be the man of the house, Edward.”
“Suppose so,” he replied, eyeing Maggie-Ann with her wet eyes.
Miss Prowd was suddenly called aside by the vicar.
Everyone started talking.
Maggie-Ann moved to another chair further away from Eddie. “I’m not
going to sit by you, ever again.”
Eddie shifted along so that he was right next to her, once more.
“Oh, yeah, and why is that?”
“It’s because you’re rude and daft.”
He scoffed. “At least I’m a boy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that boys grow into men, and men go to war. Men fight for
their country and become heroes. Women can’t do that. Women are
useless and only good for having babies.”
****
Moonlight
and Mistletoe
By Megan
Hussey
Chapter One
“Ho! Ho! Ah-choo!”
Stanley Turreck doubled over, clutching the faux white beard he had
nearly sneezed off his face.
Stanley was the resident Santa Claus in the holiday shopping section
of Leveaux Department Store. And in many ways, he seemed an ideal
choice for this position.
He boasted the prerequisite hearty laugh, round belly, genial manner
and an acute allergy to Christmas tinsel.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Derrick Barnes left his place behind the Leveaux gift-wrapping table
and rushed to aid his stricken coworker.
Aside from being a Leveaux stock boy, Derrick currently appeared as
this year’s Christmas elf in the holiday shopping department. And
while kids sometimes scoffed at the tall, muscular blond man who
called himself an elf, their mothers liked him just fine. Just fine
indeed.
Derrick, twenty-two, boasted striking green eyes that matched the
hue of his velvet costume, and long blond hair that now was topped
with a charmingly lopsided hat.
He also boasted a gentle manner appreciated by Stanley, who rose
from his plush burgundy Santa’s chair and patted his assistant’s
shoulder.
“I’ll be fine once I resign,” he told him.
Derrick’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.
“It appears you have a cold, sir,” he shrugged. “You shouldn’t have
to quit—maybe just take a day or so to rest.”
Smiling, Stanley removed his festive red hat and handed it to
Derrick.
“It isn’t a cold,” he admitted sheepishly. “I have an allergy to
Christmas tinsel, the stuff that’s hanging all over our display
tree.”
“I should have said as much in the interview,” he continued, “but I
really needed this job.”
Derrick nodded, patting the man’s back.
“I hear ya,” he nodded. “I’m working two jobs to support myself
through college.”
Stanley cocked his head and winked slyly.
“Yes, I’ve heard about your ‘other job,’ ” he chuckled. “It sounds a
tad more interesting—and profitable—than this one.”
The Sudafed Santa again sneezed, saving Derrick from what could have
been an embarrassing response.
“I have to go.” He offered Derrick an apologetic handshake, adding,
“Please send my apologies to Ms. Leveaux.”
Nodding, Derrick returned the sniffling man’s handshake.
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” he assured Stanley.
* * * *
“Who in the bloody hell has an allergy to holiday tinsel!”
The deeply tanned face of Sophia Leveaux turned a festive shade of
red as she faced her resident elf across her freshly polished desk.
“Stanley, apparently,” Derrick shrugged. “His exact words were ‘I’ll
be fine once I resign.’ ”
Chuckling dryly, Sophia tapped her ruby red fingernails furiously
against the surface of her defenseless desk.
“I asked him to entertain the children with whimsical rhymes,” she
shook her head. “That, however, was not the one I had in mind.”
Derrick again shrugged, shifting uncomfortably.
“He also sent his apologies,” he offered.
“Did he send a new Santa?” Sophia barked, dark eyes flashing. “It’s
only a month before Christmas, and I’m going to have some very
unhappy children in my store.”
Derrick nodded.
“We do have a problem,” he conceded, adding, “I’m one of the few
male employees here. Would you like me to play Santa?”
Sophia smiled, her eyes scanning her employee’s tall, muscular
frame.
“You look nothing like Santa. The kids wouldn’t want to sit on your
lap—at least not as much or as fervently as their mothers would.”
She paused, raising her eyebrows.
“Or, given your other profession, maybe you could sit on theirs,”
she suggested dryly.
Derrick rolled his eyes.
Hardee. Har. Har.
Aloud he asked, “Did you have another suggestion?”
Sophia narrowed her eyes in contemplation.
“As you said, most of our employees are women—very slender women who
would never fit in a Santa suit,” she smiled slightly. “At
ninety-eight pounds, even I would never qualify.”
Aside from that, Derrick thought, Santa is allegedly a
nice person. Another strike against Sophia.
The firm snap of his manager’s fingers jarred his wayward thoughts.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed.
What have you got? Derrick raised his eyebrows as he
contemplated his openly smug employer. A heart finally? No, it’s
just too much to hope for…
Oblivious to his ire, Sophia continued.
“Sheila Baxter, our PR person, is a big girl,” she said bluntly.
“She could fill out the uniform.”
For the first time that afternoon, Derrick Barnes smiled.
As a stock boy, he had seen Sheila Baxter only a few times.
Yet whenever I see her, she’s smiling, he mused. She has
the prettiest smile and hair as blonde as an angel’s. And she
publishes a mean company newsletter—one the staff can read halfway
though without contemplating group suicide.
Sheila could be defined as a full-figured woman, as Sophia
indicated.
But whoever said that luscious curves were a bad thing in a
female?
****
All I Want
By Jennifer
D. Bokal
December 22
My hands trembled as I took the small box from the UPS man. I knew
exactly what was inside. My husband Jake wanted this for as long as
I had known him. It was something I was never willing to give. But,
this Christmas was different. Ten years of marriage and three kids
had changed a lot of things about me. Change was a good thing,
right?
“We’ll see,” I thought while opening the brown cardboard box. Packed
in tissue paper was a red velvet bag. The bag felt heavier than I
had imagined. When I opened the drawstring a small scream of
surprise escaped my throat. I stopped short. My internal Mommy Radar
tuned into the Baby Napping frequency. Not hearing the yowl of a
cranky 2 year-old, I reached for the phone.
After two rings my best friend and neighbor Eva answered. “Hello,”
she breathed heavily into the receiver.
“Eva? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just trying to move the Christmas tree and clean
underneath.”
“Clean, UNDER the tree,” I asked incredulously sitting down at the
kitchen table. “Why on earth would you to do that?”
“Captain Sparks ate fruitcake and then threw up under the tree.”
“EWWW. This is why I will never have a dog. They are nasty
creatures.” The word “nasty” brought me back to the reason I called.
“Hey! They came in!”
“Really? What do they look like?”
Taking the silver steel bands out of the bag, I studied them. They
were cold and hard. The black velvet on the inside made them look
more cheap and sleazy than I expected.
“Like handcuffs,” I replied trying to hide my anxiety. Did I really
want to do this? “They have keys and everything,” I said as I
deposited two shiny metal keys beside the red bag.
“Sarah, my friend, this really is a whole new you! When you said you
wanted to bring excitement back in your life you weren’t kidding.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Maybe I should have gotten my shoulder length
chestnut hair cut short. All the other thirty-something mommies who
wanted to get back into the grove seemed to be doing just that.
Trying to change the subject I added, “I cannot believe how long it
took for these handcuffs to get here. I ordered them right after
Thanksgiving. Do you think I should send an e-mail and complain?”
“Do you recall the name of the web site where you ordered your
handcuffs?”
“Yeah, it was Sex Fifth Avenue.” What was she getting at?
“Yes Dahling,” Eva drawled. “SEX Fifth Avenue, not Sax. You should
be thankful your computer didn’t crash.”
“You’re right, they probably have a different meaning for customer
service anyway,” I added with a smile.
The rumble of the garage door opener told me Jake was home from the
university where he teaches Biochemistry. Even thought the semester
was over he always had a research project to keep him busy.
Far from the pencil-necked geeks that made up most of faculty at
Hudson Valley University, Jake looked like he belonged on the cover
of GQ. His broad shoulders tapered down to a thin waist with tight
abs and even tighter butt. Jake followed the workout schedule he had
from our days at HVU when he was captain of the baseball team. His
boyish smile, sandy blonde hair and green eyes made my husband, Dr.
Jacob Ivanovich, one of the most popular professors at school. All
the female students have a huge crush on Jake.
“He’s here. I’ve got to go.”
“Details,” Eva sang “I want details.”
****
Christmas Knight
by Lynne
den Hartog
“God, I hate Christmas shopping!” Cindy moaned to herself. “Three
hours of over-crowded, over-heated stores just for some lousy socks,
hankies and after-shave. Why do I always leave everything to the
last minute? My bloody feet are killing me." Planting her purchases
down on the cash-desk, she slipped off her shoe and massaged her
foot.
The cashier’s face mirrored her own. Dressed as a Christmas fairy
she was obviously not feeling the Christmas spirit. “Would you like
these wrapped for you?” she asked, with a strained smile. Cindy
looked behind her at the long queue and shook her head.
“No, there’s no need. I don’t want to hold
everyone up.”
“Oh, no. That’s not a problem. We have a special wrapping service in
the basement.”
“Oh, have you? Well, yes, that would be great.” It would at least
save her some time. She was hopeless at it herself. Sticky tape and
wrapping paper always turned into mortal enemies under her two left
hands.
The young girl beckoned to an assistant, who picked up Cindy’s
packages. He didn’t seem to be having a problem with his costume.
Surprisingly so. Cindy assumed that most men would be mortally
embarrassed to be seen wearing a powdered wig and tights. He was
quite good-looking under all that pancake makeup. Actually, more
than quite. A regular Prince Charming in fact. She wouldn’t have
minded meeting him at a ball. Or even having a ball with him. She
giggled.
Realising that he was speaking, she shook herself out of her
daydream. “If you’d like to follow me?” Cindy nodded and took a step
in his direction. And stopped dead in her tracks. Looking down she
saw one foot immaculately encased in a patent leather high-heeled
shoe, the other completely bare. Desperately scanning the ground,
she groaned. The missing shoe was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh—um...I seem to have a
slight problem.”
A grin hovered round the assistant’s mouth, but to his credit, he
managed to suppress it. “The shoe department is on the next floor.
If you fill in these gift tags I’ll make sure your purchases are
waiting for you in the basement.”
Cindy sighed in frustration. “I suppose I’ve got no other choice.
They were my favorite pair too. But thanks. I appreciate it.”
Twenty minutes later, sporting new shoes she could ill-afford, Cindy
was back in Santa’s grotto. Christmas music filled the air and
fairy-tale characters were milling around, doing their best to cope
with the last minute Christmas rush.
She hoped her packages were ready. She was already running late as
she still had Christmas dinner to cook. Idiot that she was she’d
invited the whole family over. Not one of her best ideas as even she
admitted she was one of the world’s worst cooks. If she didn’t get
the turkey in the oven soon it would end up as another failure on
her long list of culinary disasters.
Thankfully she spotted the assistant surrounded by her wrapped
gifts. He’d done a great job. The multicolored boxes, tied up with
red and green ribbon, actually looked quite exciting. You’d never
know they contained such humdrum items. Smiling gratefully, Cindy
gathered up her purchases, but they were a lot bulkier than she’d
expected. “Damn it! I’m never going to be able to carry all these in
one go.”
The assistant flashed her a sympathetic smile. “We do have a
delivery service. Though it’s a little expensive, I’m afraid.” He
quoted her a price that made her wince. With her credit card already
dangerously close to the limit there was no way she could afford
that. With a red face she shook her head.
“No—there’s nothing else for it. I’ll just
have to make two trips.”
“When do you need the presents?”
“Tonight. Why?”
“I could bring them along after I’ve finished work. Where do you
live?”
Cindy hesitated. Was it a good idea to give him her address? He
didn’t look like a mad axe-murderer, but then what did they look
like anyway? She decided to take a chance. “106 West Way, Apartment
13, but there’s no way I can put you to that trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. That’s quite near where I
live actually.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your Christmas
celebrations.”
“I was just planning on having a quiet night at home in front of the
TV.”
“Oh...I see.” she muttered, thinking how sad it must be to spend
Christmas alone. “Look, would you like to have Christmas dinner with
me and my family?” She’d had no intention of uttering those words
when she’d opened her mouth. They’d just popped out. Why on earth
would she ask a complete stranger to have dinner with her and her
family?
****
Remember Me
Next Christmas
by Herbert
Grosshans
Sometimes, when the moons are high on cold nights and the fog begins
rolling across the moor, I can hear them calling.
We don’t usually have snow for Christmas, but I think this year will
be different. I think this year will be just like the winter of ‘95,
when I saw them for the first time.
There were five of them, two men and three women. They were not
human; no human is that perfect and that beautiful. Little tufts of
fur grew from their ear tips and their strange eyes glinted with
blue fire, as blue as the water of a glacier lake and just as cold.
They came walking out of the moor during a snowstorm, like ghosts
out of nowhere. Their thin furs, which they had wrapped around their
lean bodies, had turned white with the dusting of snow.
I was a young man then, young and arrogant, barely out of my teens.
We all were, my brother James, my friends Jeremy, Peter, and Hagar,
who was the oldest. Tall and lanky, his long hair the color of the
setting sun, he was also the most arrogant.
The girls liked him; something I could never understand, until I saw
him naked one day. I’ve never seen anyone with a trunk that huge. No
wonder the girls liked him so much.
He was the first one to spot them and the first to step into their
path.
Times have changed since then, but in those days not many strangers
came through our village. The ones who did were always greeted with
suspicion.
“Ho, strangers.” Hagar spoke boldly. “State your business!”
He should have looked closer into their eyes. We all should have,
but we only saw their perfect bodies, especially the bodies of the
women. Even the furs didn’t hide the shape of their breasts and
flaring hips.
“We seek shelter from the storm,” one of them said, his voice soft
and silky.
“We’ve never seen the likes of you,” Jeremy said, studying the
strangers with open hostility.
The stranger laughed. “Where we come from humans know us well.”
“Where do you come from?”
“From there.” He pointed back into the moor.
“You live in the moor?” Peter asked.
“No. Way beyond that. We’ve been traveling for a long time.”
“We are tired and hungry,” one of the women said.
I was captivated by the sound of her voice. Her eyes traveled in my
direction, locked with mine. A subtle movement of her body made the
fur fall open and expose one of her breasts. Swallowing hard, I said
with a voice suddenly gone hoarse, “You are welcome to stay the
night with my family, but you’ll have to sleep in the barn.”
“That will be fine,” their leader said, “we thank you for your
kindness.”
I was still staring at the woman. Only now I realized how young she
looked. She was just a girl. The exceptional beauty of her face and
her smile put me under a spell and I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes
away from her. The girls in our village were ugly hags in comparison
and I knew from that moment on I could never again look at any of
them without thinking of her.
“I am Karima,” she said with her sweet, sultry voice.
My throat was frozen. I could only nod.
“Your father will be furious,” Jeremy whispered beside me.
“I’ll deal with my father,” I said, having found my voice again. It
was time I stood up against him. I was not a boy anymore.
We broke camp and saddled our horses while the strangers stood
watching us silently and patiently.
The village was only a little over an hour’s ride from our campsite.
“We’d better hurry,” Peter said. “I think the storm is getting
worse.”
He was right. The wind had become stronger and was driving the wet
snow into our unprotected faces. I looked at Karima, the girl I had
spoken to. She seemed to shiver inside her thin fur as the force of
the wind made it cling to her slender body. “You must be tired. Do
you want to ride with me?”
She gave me a grateful smile and came running. My horse whinnied and
shied away when she approached, but I calmed it with a few soothing
words. Holding out my hand, I helped her up; lithely she swung
herself behind me and snuggled against my back. Even through my
rough shirt I felt the softness of her breasts.
“What about us?” asked one of the other girls, giving Peter a sweet
smile.
Peter looked at me, and then shrugged. “Alright,” he said gruffly
then grinned lopsidedly. “My horse shouldn’t feel your weight at
all.”
My brother James invited the last girl to join him on his steed.
Jeremy and Hagar refused to be hospitable and digging their heels
into the soft bellies of their horses, they rode away without a
word.
“Your friends don’t seem to like
us,” Karima said softly into my ear.
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