Книга - A Cold Creek Christmas Story

A Cold Creek Christmas Story
RaeAnne Thayne


THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY…When one of her children’s stories becomes a major success, quiet Celeste Nicholas is suddenly the talk of the town. She should be gloriously happy…but something is still missing from her life. Could the return of her childhood crush be the answer? Flynn Delaney has moved back home for his daughter’s sake. He might be a millionaire, but no money in the world can help a little girl heal from the loss of her mother. Yet shy librarian Celeste and her stories do hold some indefinable magic. Flynn came home looking for support…can he find that, and true love, in the one that got away?







“I had no idea it was your birthday in three days!” Celeste exclaimed. “We can certainly consider this an early birthday present. That would be perfect!”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a small stuffed animal.

“That’s Sparkle, from the book!” Olivia rose to see it more closely.

“That’s right. My sister made this while she was drawing the pictures for the first Sparkle book last Christmas. We have just a few of them left over from the original hundred or so she made and I wondered if you might like one.”

Olivia’s eyes went huge. “Really? I can keep it?”

“If you want to.”

“Oh, I do!” Almost warily, she reached for the stuffed animal Celeste held out. When it was in her hands, she hugged it to her chest as if afraid someone would yank it away.

For just a moment, as Flynn watched, his daughter looked like any other young girl, thrilled to be receiving a present. The sheer normalcy made his throat suddenly ache with emotions.

* * *

The Cowboys of Cold Creek:

Love on the ranch!




A Cold Creek Christmas Story

RaeAnne Thayne





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


RAEANNE THAYNE finds inspiration in the beautiful northern Utah mountains, where the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author lives with her husband and three children. Her books have won numerous honors, including RITA


Award nominations from Romance Writers of America and a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews. RaeAnne loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website, www.raeannethayne.com (http://www.raeannethayne.com).


Contents

Cover (#u1b6451dc-dcb1-5845-b129-a30deca257a7)

Introduction (#ud7be8f32-90a7-5718-9b29-a86e92bada1c)

Title Page (#u9e14dc14-a067-520f-9801-e8a3990c4434)

About the Author (#u101e82bb-494d-5de8-9678-933f94f13d34)

Chapter One (#ulink_b07ddbe2-c101-5172-8834-a40b6f675c42)

Chapter Two (#ulink_924a0fc4-d56c-5999-b1aa-07ba45f316f8)

Chapter Three (#ulink_d8659d1e-eec6-51e2-a86d-9d60dec638b7)

Chapter Four (#ulink_54b13204-1e64-5512-9655-d374e2b743c0)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_c78ce201-f990-5630-b033-b30efb30ad20)

If she didn’t have thirty children showing up in the next half hour, Celeste Nichols would have been tempted to climb into her little SUV, pull out of the Pine Gulch library parking lot and just keep on driving.

She shifted the blasted endlessly ringing cell phone to the crook of her shoulder while she sorted through the books scattered across her cubicle in the offices of the library to find what she would be reading for story hour.

“I told you earlier in the week, I’m not ready to make a decision about this yet.”

Joan Manning, her and Hope’s long-suffering literary agent, gave a low, frustrated sound of disapproval. “We can’t hold them off much longer. We’ve already stalled for two weeks. They want to start production right after the holidays, and they can’t do that without signatures from you and Hope.”

Celeste gazed down at a copy of Dr. Seuss’s perennial holiday favorite, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. She had a feeling she was the one being the Grinch here. Hope was completely on board with the extraordinary offer one of the leading animation companies had made for movie rights to their book, Sparkle and the Magic Snowball.

Celeste was the one who couldn’t quite be comfortable with the idea of someone else taking control of her words, her creation, and turning Sparkle into an animated movie, complete with the attendant merchandising and sublicensing. A fast-food chain was already talking about making a toy for its kids’ meals, for crying out loud.

The whole journey of the past twelve months seemed like a bizarre, surreal, completely unbelievable dream.

A year ago she had known exactly who she was—an unassuming children’s librarian in the small town of Pine Gulch, Idaho, in the western shadow of the Teton Mountain Range.

Now, to her immense shock, she was a celebrated author about to see the release of her second children’s book with several more scheduled in the next few years. Along with that had come things she had never imagined when she’d been writing little stories for her niece and nephew—she had a website, a publicist, a literary agent.

Her quiet, safe world seemed to be spinning out of her control, and this movie deal was the prime example.

“A few more days, Celeste,” Joan pushed. “You can’t keep stalling. You have to make a decision. Hollywood has a short attention span and an even shorter supply of patience. Do you want your story made into a movie or not?”

She liked Joan very much, as brash and abrupt as the woman could be, but everything with her was an emergency and had to be decided right now. Pressure pains stabbed with little forks behind her eyes and her shoulders felt as if someone had jammed them in a vice and was cranking down hard.

“I know. I just need to be sure this is the right choice for Sparkle.”

“Sparkle is a fictional character. You need to be sure it’s the right choice for you and for your sister. We’ve been going over this for weeks. I don’t know what else I can say to convince you this is the best deal you’re going to get.”

“I know that. You’ve done a great job with the negotiations. I just need...a little more time.”

“A few days,” Joan said, her voice clipped with frustration. “That’s all, then I have to give them some kind of an answer.”

“I know. Thank you. I’ll get back with you tomorrow or the day after.”

“Just remember, most people would see this as a dream come true.”

Apparently, she wasn’t most people. After they said their goodbyes, Celeste set her cell phone back on the desk, again fighting the urge to climb into her SUV and keep on driving.

That was her sister Hope’s way, to wander from place to place as they had done in their itinerant childhood. Celeste was different. She liked security, consistency.

Normalcy.

In the past twelve months her life had been anything but normal. She had gone from writing only for herself and her niece and nephew to writing for a vast audience she never could have imagined.

It had all started when her sister Hope had come home the previous Christmas for what was supposed to be a brief stay between overseas teaching jobs. Hope had overheard her reading one of her stories to Louisa and Barrett and had put her considerable artistic skills to work illustrating the story to sell in the gift store of their family’s holiday-themed attraction, The Christmas Ranch.

The result had been a sweet, charming Christmas story about a brave little reindeer named Sparkle. Neither Hope nor Celeste had ever imagined the book would be touted by a presenter on one of the national morning news program—or that the resulting sales would explode internationally and end up saving the floundering Christmas Ranch and the family’s cattle operation, the Star N Ranch.

She was beyond gratified that so many people liked her writing and the story—and especially Hope’s delightful illustrations—but some part of her wanted to go back to that peaceful time when her biggest decisions revolved around what to read for her weekly story hour at the Pine Gulch Public Library.

With a sigh, she turned back to the job at hand. She was still sorting through the final choices when the head librarian poked her head into the cubicle.

“Looks as if we’re going to have a nice crowd.” Frankie Vittori, the head librarian, looked positively gleeful. “I hope we have room for everybody.”

“Oh, that’s terrific!” she exclaimed, mentally shelving her worries about the movie deal for now.

She meant the words. She loved nothing more than introducing children to the wonder and magic to be found inside the pages of a good book.

Books had saved her. During the chaos of her childhood, they had offered solace and safety and hope amid fear. She had no idea how she would have survived without friends such as Anne of Green Gables, Bilbo Baggins, Matilda, Harry Potter and Hermione and Ron Weasley.

“I only hope we’ve got enough of our craft project to go around. It seems as if the crowd increases every month.”

Frankie grinned. “That’s because everybody in town wants to come hear our local celebrity author read in hopes of catching a sneak peek at the new Sparkle story coming down the pike.”

She managed to conceal her instinctive wince. She really didn’t like being a celebrity.

On one level, it was immensely gratifying. Who would have ever dreamed that she—quiet, awkward, introverted Celeste Nichols—would be in this position, having people actually care what she had to say?

On another, it was terrifying. At some point the naked emperor was always exposed. She feared the day when somebody would finally ask why all the fuss about her simple little tales.

For now, Frankie was simply thrilled to have a crowd at the library for any kind of reason. Celeste’s boss and friend vibrated with energy, as she always did, her toe tapping to unheard music and her fingers fidgeting on the edge of the desk. Frankie was as skinny as a flagpole, probably because she never stopped moving.

Her husband, Lou, on the other hand, was the exact opposite—a deep reservoir of calm serenity.

They made the perfect pair and had two adorable kids who fell somewhere in the middle.

“I know it’s more work for you,” Frankie went on. “But I have to say, it’s a brilliant idea to have two story times, one for the younger kids in the morning and one for early and middle readers after school.”

Celeste smiled. “If you do say so yourself?”

Frankie beamed. “What can I say? I’m brilliant sometimes.”

“That you are.” Since Frankie had come to the library from upstate New York two years earlier, patron usage was way up and support had never been higher.

Frankie was bold and impassioned about the need for libraries, especially in the digital age. Celeste was more than a little envious of her overwhelming confidence, which helped the director fight for every penny of funding from the city council and the community in general.

Celeste would never be as outgoing and vivacious as Frankie, even though she was every bit as passionate about her job as the children’s librarian. She liked being behind the scenes—except for the weekly story times, her favorite part of the job.

She checked her watch and quickly stood up. “I guess I’d better get out there.”

She picked up the box of craft supplies they would use for the activity she had planned and headed for the large meeting room they had found worked best for story times.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Frankie said with a sly grin. “Make sure you check out the major hottie dad out there at ten o’clock.”

Despite her amazing husband, Frankie was always locating hot guys, whether at their weekly lunches at one of the restaurants in town or on the few trips they’d taken into Jackson Hole or Idaho Falls. She always said she was only scouting possible dates for Celeste, which made Celeste roll her eyes. Her last date had been months ago.

“Is he anybody I know?”

“I’ve never seen him before. He’s either new in town or a tourist. You can’t miss him. He’s wearing a Patek Philippe watch and a brown leather jacket that probably costs as much as our annual nonfiction budget. He’s definitely not your average Cold Creek cowboy with horse pucky on his boots.”

Okay, intriguing. She hadn’t heard of anybody new moving into the small town, especially not someone who could afford the kind of attire Frankie was talking about. Sometimes well-to-do people bought second or third homes in the area, looking for a mountain getaway. They built beautiful homes in lovely alpine settings and then proceeded to visit them once or twice a year.

“I’ll be sure to check him out while I’m trying to keep the kids entertained.”

Frankie was right about one thing—the place was packed. Probably thirty children ranging in age from about six to eleven sat on the floor while roughly that same number of parents sat in chairs around the room.

For just an instant she felt a burst of stage fright at the idea of all those people staring at her. She quickly pushed it down. Normally she didn’t like being in front of a crowd, but this was her job and she loved it. How could she be nervous about reading stories to children? She would just pretend their parents weren’t there, like she usually did.

When she walked in, she was heartened by the spontaneous round of applause and the anticipation humming in the air.

She spotted a few people she recognized, friends and neighbors. Joey Santiago, nephew to her brother-in-law Rafe, sat beside his father, waving wildly at her.

She grinned and waved back at him. She would have thought Rafe was the hot dad—all that former navy SEAL mojo he had going on—but Frankie knew him well and he wasn’t wearing a leather jacket or an expensive watch anyway.

She loved Rafe dearly, for many reasons—most important because he adored her sister Hope—but also because she wasn’t sure she would be standing here, ready to entertain a group of thirty children with the magic of literature if not for his role in their lives so many years ago.

She saw a few other hot dads in the crowd—Justin Hartford, who used to be a well-known movie star but who seemed to fit in better now that he had been a rancher in Cold Creek Canyon for years. Ben Caldwell, the local veterinarian, was definitely hot. Then there was the fire chief, Taft Bowman, and his stepchildren. Taft always looked as though he could be the December cover model on a calendar of yummy firefighters.

All of them were locals of long-standing, though, and Frankie knew them well. They couldn’t be the man she was talking about.

Ah, well. She would try to figure out the mystery later, maybe while the children were making the snowman ornaments she had planned for them.

“Thank you so much for coming, everybody. We’re going to start off with one of my favorite Christmas stories.”

“Is it Sparkle and the Magic Snowball?” Alex Bowman, Taft’s stepson, asked hopefully.

She blushed a little as everyone laughed. “Not today. Today we’re focusing on stories about Christmas, snow and snowmen.”

Ben’s son raised his hand. “Is Sparkle going to be here today, Ms. Nichols?”

Was that why so many people had turned out? Were they all hoping she’d brought along the actual Sparkle, who was the celebrity in residence at The Christmas Ranch?

Last year, Hope had talked her into having their family’s beloved reindeer—and the inspiration for her eponymously named series of stories—make a quick appearance in the parking lot of the library.

“I’m afraid not. He’s pretty busy at The Christmas Ranch right now.”

She tried to ignore the small sounds of disappointment from the children and a few of their parents. “I’ve got tons of other things in store for you, though. To start out, here’s one of everyone’s favorite holiday stories, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”

She started reading and, as usual, it only took a few pages before a hush fell over the room. The children were completely enthralled—not by her, she was only the vehicle, but by the power of story.

She became lost, too, savoring every word. When she neared the climax, she looked up for dramatic effect and found the children all watching her with eager expressions, ready for more. Her gaze lifted to the parents and she spotted someone she hadn’t seen before, a man sitting on the back row of parents with a young girl beside him.

He had brown hair shot through with lighter streaks, a firm jaw and deep blue eyes.

This had to be the hot dad Frankie had meant.

Her heart began to pound fiercely, so loud in her ears she wondered if the children could hear it over the microphone clipped to her collar.

She knew this man, though she hadn’t seen him for years.

Flynn Delaney.

She would recognize him anywhere. After all, he had been the subject of her daydreams all through her adolescence.

She hadn’t heard he was back in Pine Gulch. Why was he here? Was he staying at his grandmother’s house just down the road from the Star N? It made sense. His grandmother, Charlotte, had died several months earlier and her house had been empty ever since.

She suddenly remembered everything else that had happened to this man in the past few months and her gaze shifted to the young girl beside him, blonde and ethereal like a Christmas angel herself.

Celeste’s heart seemed to melt.

This must be her. His daughter. Oh, the poor, poor dear.

The girl was gazing back at Celeste with her eyes wide and her hands clasped together at her chest as if she couldn’t wait another instant to hear the rest of the story.

Everyone was gazing at her with expectation, and Celeste realized she had stopped in the middle of the story to stare at Flynn and his daughter.

Appalled at herself, she felt heat soak her cheeks. She cleared her throat and forced her attention back to the story, reading the last few pages with rather more heartiness than she had started with.

This was her job, she reminded herself as she closed the book, helping children discover all the delights to be found in good stories.

She wasn’t here to ogle Flynn Delaney, for heaven’s sake, even when there was plenty about him any woman would consider ogle-worthy.

* * *

Flynn didn’t think he had ever felt quite so conspicuously out of place—and that included the times he had walked the red carpet with Elise at some Hollywood premiere or other, when he had invariably wanted to fade into the background.

They all seemed to know each other and he felt like the odd man out. Was everybody staring? He didn’t want to think so, but he seemed to feel each curious sidelong glance as the residents of Pine Gulch tried to figure out who he was.

At least one person knew. He was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined that flicker of recognition in Celeste Nichols’s eyes when she’d spotted him. It surprised him, he had to admit. They had only met a few times, all those years ago.

He only remembered her because she had crashed her bike in front of his grandmother’s house during one of his visits. Charlotte hadn’t been home, so Flynn had been left to tend her scrapes and bruises and help her get back to the Star N up the road.

Things like that stuck in a guy’s memory bank. Otherwise he probably never would have made the connection between the author of his daughter’s favorite book, Sparkle and the Magic Snowball, and the shy girl with long hair and glasses he had once known in another lifetime.

He wouldn’t be here at the library if not for Celeste, actually. He had so much work to do clearing out his grandmother’s house and really didn’t have time to listen to Dr. Seuss, as great as the story might be, but what other choice did he have? Since leaving the hospital, Olivia had been a pale, frightened shadow of the girl she used to be. Once she had faced the world head-on, daring and curious and funny. Now she was afraid of so many things. Loud noises. Strangers. Crowds.

From the moment she’d found out that the author of her favorite book lived here in Pine Gulch where they were staying for a few weeks—and was the children’s librarian, who also hosted a weekly story hour—Olivia had been obsessed with coming. She had written the date of the next event on the calendar and had talked of nothing else.

She was finally going to meet the Sparkle lady, and she couldn’t have been more excited about it if Celeste Nichols had been Mrs. Santa Claus in the flesh.

For the first time in weeks she showed enthusiasm for something, and he had jumped at the chance to nurture that.

He glanced down at his daughter. She hadn’t shifted her gaze away from Celeste, watching the librarian with clear hero worship on her features. She seemed utterly enchanted by the librarian.

The woman was lovely, he would give her that much, though in a quiet, understated way. She had big green eyes behind her glasses and glossy dark hair that fell in waves around a heart-shaped face.

She was probably about four years younger than his own thirty-two. That didn’t seem like much now, but when she had crashed her bike, she had seemed like a little kid, thirteen or so to his seventeen.

As he listened to her read now, he remembered that time, wondering why it seemed so clear to him, especially with everything that had happened to him since.

He’d been out mowing the lawn when she’d fallen and had seen her go down out of the corner of his gaze. Flynn had hurried to help her and found her valiantly trying not to cry even though she had a wide gash in her knee that would definitely need stitches and pebbles imbedded in her palm.

He had helped her into his grandmother’s house and called her aunt Mary. While they’d waited for help, he had found first-aid supplies—bandages, ointment, cleansing wipes—and told her lousy jokes to distract her from the pain.

After Mary had taken her to the ER for stitches in her knee and he had finished mowing for his grandmother, he had gone to work fixing her banged-up bike with skills he had picked up from his mother’s chauffeur.

Later that day, he had dropped off the bike at the Star N, and she had been almost speechless with gratitude. Or maybe she just had been shy with older guys; he didn’t know.

He had stayed with his grandmother for just a few more weeks that summer, but whenever he had seen Celeste in town at the grocery store or the library, she had always blushed fiercely and offered him a shy but sweet smile.

Now he found himself watching her intently, hoping for a sight of that same sweet smile, but she seemed to be focusing with laser-like intensity on the books in front of her.

She read several more holiday stories to the children, then led them all to one side of the large room, where tables had been set up.

“I need all the children to take a seat,” she said in a prim voice he found incongruously sexy. “We’re going to make snowman ornaments for you to hang on your tree. When you’re finished, they’ll look like this.”

She held up a stuffed white sock with buttons glued on to it for eyes and a mouth, and a piece of felt tied around the neck for a scarf.

“Oh,” Olivia breathed. “That’s so cute! Can I make one, Dad?”

Again, how could he refuse? “Sure, if there are enough to go around.”

She limped to a seat and he propped up the wall along with a few other parents so the children each could have a spot at a table. Celeste and another woman with a library name badge passed out supplies and began issuing instructions.

Olivia looked a little helpless at first and then set to work. She seemed to forget for the moment that she rarely used her left hand. Right now she was holding the sock with that hand while she shoved in pillow fluff stuffing with the other.

While the children were busy crafting, Celeste made her way around the tables, talking softly to each one of them.

Finally she came to them.

“Nice job,” she said to his daughter. Ah, there it was. She gave Olivia that sweet, unguarded smile that seemed to bloom across her face like the first violets of springtime.

That smile turned her from a lovely if average-looking woman into a breathtaking creature with luminous skin and vivid green eyes.

He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her, though he told himself he was being ridiculous.

“You’re the Sparkle lady, aren’t you?” Olivia breathed.

Color rose instantly in her cheeks and she gave a surprised laugh. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“I love that story. It’s my favorite book ever.”

“I’m so happy to hear that.” She smiled again, though he thought she looked a little uncomfortable. “Sparkle is pretty close to my heart, too.”

“My dad bought a brand-new copy for me when I was in the hospital, even though I had one at home.”

She said the words in a matter-of-fact tone as if the stay had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He knew better. She had spent two weeks clinging to life in intensive care after an infection had ravaged her system, where he had measured his life by each breath the machines took for her.

Most of the time he did a pretty good job of containing his impotent fury at the senseless violence that had touched his baby girl, but every once in a while the rage swept over him like a brushfire on dry tinder. He let out a breath as he felt a muscle flex in his jaw.

“Is that right?” Celeste said with a quick look at him.

“It’s my very favorite book,” Olivia said again, just in case Celeste didn’t hear. “Whenever I had to do something I didn’t want to, like have my blood tested or go to physical therapy, I would look at the picture of Sparkle on the last page with all his friends and it would make me feel better.”

At Olivia’s words, Celeste’s big eyes filled with tears and she rocked back on her heels a little. “Oh. That’s...lovely. Thank you so much for letting me know. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Olivia said with a solemn smile. “My favorite part is when Sparkle helps the animals with their Christmas celebration. The hedgehog is my favorite.”

“He’s cute, isn’t he?”

The two of them gazed at each other in perfect charity for a moment longer before a boy with blond hair and a prominent widow’s peak tried to draw Celeste’s attention.

“Ms. Nichols. Hey, Ms. Nichols. How do we glue on the hat?”

“I’ll show you. Just a minute.” She turned back to Olivia. “It was very nice to meet you. You’re doing a great job with your snowman. Thanks for letting me know you enjoy the book.”

“You’re welcome.”

When she left, Olivia turned back to her project with renewed effort. She was busy gluing on the button eyes when the woman beside Flynn finally spoke to him.

“You’re new in town. I don’t think we’ve met.” She was blonde and pretty in a classic sort of way, with a baby on her hip. “I’m Caroline Dalton. This is my daughter, Lindy. Over there is my son, Cole.”

He knew the Daltons. They owned much of the upper portion of Cold Creek Canyon. Which brother was she married to?

“Hello. I’m Flynn Delaney, and this is my daughter, Olivia. We’re not really new in town. That is, we’re not staying anyway. We’re here just for a few weeks, and then we’re going back to California.”

“I hope you feel welcome here. This is a lovely place to spend the holidays.”

“I’m sure it is, but we’re not really tourists, either. I’m cleaning out my grandmother’s home so I can put it up for sale.”

He could have hired someone to come and clean out the house. There were companies that handled exactly that sort of thing, but as he and Olivia were Charlotte’s only surviving descendants, he’d felt obligated to go through the house himself.

“Delaney. Oh, Charlotte! She must have been your grandmother.”

“That’s right.”

Her features turned soft and a little sad. “Oh, everyone adored your grandmother. What a firecracker she was! Pine Gulch just doesn’t feel the same without her.”

His life didn’t feel the same, either. He hadn’t seen her often the past few years, just quick semiannual visits, but she had been a steady source of affection and warmth in his chaotic life.

He had barely had the chance to grieve her passing. That bothered him more than anything else. He hadn’t even been able to attend the memorial service members of her church congregation had held for her here. He had been too busy in the ICU, praying for his daughter’s life.

“I miss her, too,” he said quietly.

She looked at him with kindness and warmth. “I’m sure you do. She was an amazing person and I feel blessed to have known her. If you need help sorting through things, please let me know. I’m sure we could find people to give you a hand.”

With only a little more than a week to go before Christmas? He doubted that. People were probably too busy to help.

He didn’t bother to express his cynicism to Caroline Dalton. “Thanks,” he said instead.

“Despite your difficult task, I hope you’re able to find a little holiday spirit while you’re here.”

Yeah, he wasn’t a huge Christmas fan for a whole slew of reasons, but he saw no reason to share that with a woman he’d just met.

“Daddy, I can’t tie the scarf. Can you help me?” Olivia asked.

She could use her left arm and hand. He’d seen her do it at therapy or when she lost herself in an activity, but most of the time she let it hang down uselessly. He didn’t know how to force her into using it.

“Try again,” he said.

“I can’t. It’s too hard,” she answered plaintively. He sighed, not wanting to push her unnecessarily and ruin her tentative enjoyment of the afternoon.

He leaned down to help her tie the felt scarf just as Celeste made her way back around the table to them.

“I love that snowman!” she exclaimed with a smile. “He looks very friendly.”

Olivia’s answering smile seemed spontaneous and genuine. Right then Flynn wanted to hug Celeste Nichols on the spot, even though he hadn’t talked to her for nearly two decades.

His little girl hadn’t had much to smile about over the past few months. He had to hope this was a turning point, a real chance for her to return to his sweet and happy daughter.

At this point, he was willing to bring Olivia to the library every single day if Celeste could help his daughter begin to heal her battered heart.


Chapter Two (#ulink_d5312103-589f-52bd-b847-e384372f70da)

She was late.

By the time she helped the last little boy finish his snowman, ushered them all out of the meeting room and then cleaned up the mess of leftover pillow stuffing and fleece remnants, it was forty minutes past the time she had told her sisters to expect her.

They would understand, she was sure. Hope might tease her a little, but Faith probably wouldn’t say anything. Their eldest sister saved her energy for the important things like running the cattle ranch and taking care of her children.

She stopped first at the foreman’s little cottage, just down the driveway from the main house. It felt strange to be living on her own again after the past year of being back in her own bedroom there. She had moved back after her brother-in-law Travis died the previous summer so she could help Faith—and Aunt Mary, of course—with the children and the housekeeping.

Hope had lived briefly in the foreman’s house until she and Rafe married this fall. After she’d moved into the house they purchased together, Faith and Mary had taken Celeste aside and informed her firmly that she needed her own space to create. She was a bestselling author now. While Faith loved and appreciated her dearly, she didn’t want Celeste to think she had to live at the ranch house for the rest of her life.

Rather reluctantly, she had moved to the foreman’s cottage, a nice compromise. She did like her own space and the quiet she found necessary to write, but she was close enough to pop into the ranch house several times a day.

As she walked inside, her little Yorkie, Linus, rolled over with glee at the sight of her.

She had to smile, despite her exhaustion from a long day, the lingering stress from the phone call with Joan and the complete shock of seeing Flynn Delaney once more.

“How was your day?” she asked the little dog, taking just a moment to sink onto the sofa and give him a little love. “Mine was crazy. Thanks for asking. The weirdest I’ve had in a long time—and that’s saying something, since the entire past year has been surreal.”

She hugged him for a moment. As she might have predicted, a sleek black cat peeked her head around the corner to see what all the fuss was about.

Lucy, who had been with her since college, strutted in with a haughty air that only lasted long enough for her to leap onto the sofa and bat her head against Celeste’s arm for a little of the same attention.

The two pets were the best of friends, which helped her feel less guilty about leaving them alone during the day. They seemed to have no problem keeping each other company most of the time, but that didn’t stop them from exhibiting classic signs of sibling rivalry at random moments.

She felt her tension trickle away as she sat in her quiet living room with her creatures while the Christmas tree lights that came on automatically gleamed in the gathering darkness. Why couldn’t she stay here all evening? There were worse ways to spend a December night.

Linus yipped a little, something he didn’t do often, but it reminded her of why she had stopped at the house.

“I know. I’m late. I just have to grab Aunt Mary’s present. Give me a second.”

She found the gift in her bedroom closet, the door firmly shut to keep Lucy from pulling apart the tissue paper inside the gift bag.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Linus’s tail wagged with excitement, but Lucy curled up on the sofa, making abundantly clear her intent to stay put and not venture out into the cold night.

“Fine. Be that way,” she said, opening the door for the dog. The two of them made their way through lightly falling snow to the ranch house, a sprawling log structure with a steep roof and three gables along the front. Linus scampered ahead of her to the front door. When she opened it, the delicious scents of home greeted her—roast beef, potatoes and what smelled very much like cinnamon apple pie.

As she expected, her entire family was there, all the people she loved best in the world. Aunt Mary, the guest of honor, was busy at the stove stirring something that smelled like her heavenly brown gravy. She stepped aside to let Faith pull a pan of rolls out of the oven as Hope helped the children set the table, where her husband, Rafe, sat talking with their neighbor Chase Brannon.

The children spotted Linus first. They all adored each other—in fact, the children helped her out by letting him out when they got home from school and playing with him for a little bit.

“There you are,” Faith exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Sorry. I sent you a text.”

Faith made a face. “My phone ran out of juice sometime this afternoon, but I didn’t realize it until just now. Is everything okay?”

Not really, though she wasn’t sure what bothered her more—the movie decision she would have to make in the next few days or the reappearance of Flynn Delaney in her world. She couldn’t seem to shake the weird feeling that her safe, comfortable world was about to change.

“Fine,” she said evasively. “I hope you didn’t hold dinner for me.”

“Not really. I was tied up going over some ranch accounts with Chase this afternoon, and we lost track of time.”

“Fine. Blame me. I can take it,” Chase said, overhearing.

“We always do,” Hope said with a teasing grin.

Chase had been invaluable to their family since Faith’s husband died, and Celeste was deeply grateful to him for all his help during the subsequent dark and difficult months.

“I’m happy to blame you, as long as that means I wasn’t the cause of any delay in Aunt Mary’s birthday celebration,” Celeste said with a smile as she headed for her great-aunt.

She kissed the woman’s lined cheek as the familiar scent of Mary’s favorite White Shoulders perfume washed over her. “Happy birthday, my dear. You are still just as stunning as ever.”

Mary’s grin lit up her nut-brown eyes. “Ha. Double sevens. That’s got to be lucky, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t need luck. I’ve got my family around me, don’t I?”

She smiled at them all and Celeste hugged her again, deeply grateful for her great-aunt and her great-uncle Claude, who had opened their hearts to three grieving, traumatized girls and gave them a warm haven and all the love they could need.

“We’re the lucky ones,” she murmured with another hug before she stepped away.

For all intents and purposes, Mary had been her mother since Celeste turned eleven. She had been a wonderful one. Celeste was all too aware that things could have been much different after their parents died if not for Mary and Claude. She and her sisters probably would have been thrown into the foster care system, likely separated, certainly not nurtured and cared for with such love.

She had a sudden, unexpected wish that their mother could be here, just for a moment, to see how her daughters had turned out—to meet her grandchildren, to see Hope so happily settled with Rafe, to see the completely unexpected success of their Sparkle book.

December always left her a little maudlin. She supposed that wasn’t unexpected, considering it had been the month that had changed everything, when she, her sisters and their parents had been hostages of a rebel group in Colombia. Her father had been killed in the rescue effort by a team of US Navy SEALs that had included Rafe Santiago, who was now her brother-in-law.

She wouldn’t think about that now. This was a time of celebration, a time to focus on the joy of being with her family, not the past.

She grabbed a black olive out of a bowl on the counter and popped it in her mouth as she carried the bowl to the table.

“I talked to Joan this afternoon,” she told Hope.

“I know. She called me, too. I reminded her that any decision about making a movie had to be made jointly between us, and each of us had veto power. Don’t worry, CeCe. I told her firmly that I wouldn’t pressure you. You created the Sparkle character. He belongs to you.”

That wasn’t completely true and both of them knew it. She might have written the words, but it was Hope’s illustrations that had brought him to life.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted as Faith and Mary joined them at the table carrying bowls and trays of food.

“Your problem has always been that you analyze everything to death,” Mary pointed out. “You know someone is going to make a Sparkle movie at some point. It’s as inevitable as Christmas coming every year. People love the story and the characters too much. If you like this production company and think they’ll do a good job with it based on their reputation, I don’t know why you’re dragging your feet.”

Mary was right, she realized. She was overthinking, probably because she was so concerned with making the right decision.

She hated being afraid all the time. She knew it was a by-product of the trauma she and her sisters had endured at a young age, but neither Hope nor Faith seemed as impacted as she had been.

Hope seemed absolutely fearless, spending years wandering around underdeveloped countries with the Peace Corps, and then on her own teaching English. Faith had plowed all her energy and attention into her family—her marriage, her children, the ranch.

Celeste’s life had become her job at the library and the stories she created.

In some ways, she supposed she was still a hostage of Juan Pablo and his crazy group of militants, afraid to take a move and embrace her life.

“Everything’s ready and I’m starving,” Mary said cheerfully. “What are we waiting for? Let’s eat.”

Dinner was noisy and chaotic, with several different conversations going at once.

“How did story time go?” Faith asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

She instantly remembered the shock of looking up from Dr. Seuss to see Flynn and his daughter.

“Good.” She paused. “Charlotte Delaney’s grandson, Flynn, and his daughter were there. I guess he’s in town to clean out Charlotte’s house.”

“Flynn Delaney.” Hope made a sound low in her throat. “I used to love it whenever he came to stay with Charlotte. Remember how he used to mow the lawn with his shirt off?”

Celeste dropped her fork with a loud clatter, earning her a curious look from Hope.

“Really?” Rafe said, eyebrow raised. “So all this time I should have been taking my shirt off to mow the lawn?”

Hope grinned at him. “You don’t need to take your shirt off. You’re gorgeous enough even when you’re wearing a parka. Anyway, I was a teenage girl. Now that I’m older and wiser I prefer to use my imagination.”

He shook his head with an amused look, but Celeste was certain his ears turned a little red.

“You said Flynn came into the library with his daughter,” Faith said, her voice filled with compassion. “That poor girl. How is she?”

Considering Flynn’s connection to Charlotte, whom they all had loved, everyone in Pine Gulch had followed the news reports. Celeste thought of Olivia’s big, haunted eyes, the sad, nervous air about her.

“Hard to say. She limped a little and didn’t use her left arm while we were doing the craft project, but other than that she seemed okay.”

“Who is Flynn Delaney and what happened to his daughter?” Rafe asked.

“It was all over the news three or four months ago,” Chase said. “Around the time Charlotte died, actually.”

“You remember,” Hope insisted. “We talked about it. He was married to Elise Chandler.”

Understanding spread over Rafe’s handsome features. “Elise Chandler. The actress.” He paused. “Oh. That poor kid.”

“Right?” Hope frowned. “What a tragedy. I saw on some tabloid in the supermarket that Flynn never left her side through the whole recovery.”

Somehow that didn’t seem so surprising, especially considering his devotion to his daughter during story time.

“What happened to her?” Louisa asked. At eleven, she was intensely interested in the world around her.

Her mother was the one who answered. “Elise Chandler was a famous actress,” Faith said. “She was in that superhero movie you loved so much and a bunch of other films. Anyway, she was involved with someone who turned out to be a pretty messed-up guy. A few months ago after a big fight, he shot Elise and her daughter before shooting and killing himself. Even though she was injured, Olivia managed to crawl to her mother’s phone and call 911.”

Celeste had heard that 911 call, which had been made public shortly after the shooting, and the sound of that weak, panic-stricken voice calling for help had broken her heart.

“She seems to be doing well now. She didn’t smile much, but she did tell me she loves the Sparkle book and that her dad used to read it to her over and over again in the hospital.”

“Oh, how lovely!” Hope exclaimed. “You should take her one of the original Sparkle toys I sewed. I’ve still got a few left.”

“That’s a lovely idea,” Mary exclaimed. “We definitely should do something for that poor, poor girl. It would have broken Charlotte’s heart if she’d still been alive to see Flynn’s little girl have to go through such a thing.”

“You have to take it over there,” Hope insisted. “And how about a signed copy of the book and the new one that hasn’t come out yet?”

Her heart pounded at just the idea of seeing the man again. She couldn’t imagine knocking on his door out of the blue. “Why don’t you take it over? You’re the illustrator! And you made the stuffed Sparkle, too.”

“I don’t even know him or his daughter.”

“As if that’s ever stopped you before,” she muttered.

“It would be a really nice thing to do,” Faith said.

“I baked an extra pie,” Aunt Mary said. “Why don’t you take that, too?”

All day long people had been pushing her to do things she didn’t want to. She thought longingly of jumping in her SUV again and taking off somewhere, maybe Southern California where she could find a little sunshine. As tempting as the idea might be sometimes, she knew she couldn’t just leave her family. She loved them to bits, even when they did pressure her.

She wanted to tell them all no, but then she thought of Olivia and her sad eyes. This was a small expenditure of effort on her part and would probably thrill the girl. “That’s a very good idea,” she finally said. “I’ll go after dinner. Linus can probably use the walk.”

“Perfect.” Hope beamed at her as if she had just won the Newbery Medal for children’s literature. “I’ll look for the stuffed Sparkle. I think there’s a handful of them left in a box in my old room.”

What would Flynn think when she showed up at his house with a stuffed animal and an armful of books? she wondered as she chewed potatoes that suddenly tasted like chalk.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was doing this for his daughter, a girl who had been through a terrible ordeal—and who reminded her entirely too much of herself.


Chapter Three (#ulink_29e72f77-b4e3-5bb9-954d-02c066e01a41)

“Are you sure you don’t want to help? This tinsel isn’t going to jump on the tree by itself.”

Flynn held a sparkly handful out to his daughter, who sat in the window seat, alternating between watching him and looking out into the darkness at the falling snowflakes.

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “My arm hurts too much.”

He tried to conceal his frustrated sigh behind a cough. The physical therapist he had been taking her to since her injury had given him homework during this break while they were in Idaho. His assignment was to find creative activities that would force her to use her arm more.

He had tried a wide variety of things, like having Olivia push the grocery cart and help him pick out items in the store, and asking her help in the kitchen with slicing vegetables. The inconsistency of it made him crazy. Sometimes she was fine; other times she refused to use her arm at all.

After their trip to the library, he’d realized his grandmother’s house was severely lacking in holiday cheer. She had made a snowman ornament and they had nowhere to hang it.

Any hope he might have harbored that she would show a little enthusiasm for the idea of decking their temporary halls was quickly dashed. She showed the same listless apathy toward Christmas decorations as she had for just about everything else except Celeste Nichols and her little reindeer story.

Other than hanging her own snowman ornament, she wasn’t interested in helping him hang anything else on the small artificial tree he had unearthed in the basement. As a result, he had done most of the work while she sat and watched, not budging from her claim of being in too much pain.

He knew using her arm caused discomfort. He hadn’t yet figured out how to convince an almost-seven-year-old she needed to work through the pain if she ever wanted to regain full mobility in her arm.

“Come on. Just take a handful and help me. It will be fun.”

She shook her head and continued staring out at the falling snow.

Since the shooting, these moods had come over her out of nowhere. She would seem to be handling things fine and then a few moments later would become fearful, withdrawn and just want him to leave her alone.

The counselor she had seen regularly assured him it was a natural result of the trauma Olivia had endured. He hated that each step in her recovery—physical and emotional—had become such a struggle for her.

After hanging a few more strands, he finally gave up. What was the point when she didn’t seem inclined to help him, especially since he’d never much liked tinsel on trees anyway?

His father hadn’t, either, he remembered. He had a stray memory of one of his parents’ epic fights over it one year. Diane had loved tinsel, naturally. Anything with glitz had been right down her alley. Her favorite nights of the year had been red carpet events, either for her own movie premieres or those of her friends.

His father, on the other hand, had thought tinsel was stupid and only made a mess.

One night when he was about seven or eight, a few years before they’d finally divorced, his mother had spent hours hanging pink tinsel on their tree over his father’s objections, carefully arranging each piece over a bough.

When they’d woken up, the tinsel had been mysteriously gone. As it turned out, Tom had arisen hours before anyone else and had pulled off every last shiny strand.

After a dramatic screaming fight—all on his mother’s side—she had stormed out of their Bel Air house and hadn’t been back for several days, as he recalled.

Ah, memories.

He pushed away the bitterness of his past and turned back to his daughter. “If you don’t want to hang any more tinsel, I guess we’re done. Do you want to do the honors and turn out the lights so we can take a look at it?”

She didn’t answer him, her gaze suddenly focused on something through the window.

“Someone’s coming,” Olivia announced, her voice tight. She jumped up from the window seat. “I’m going to my room.”

He was never sure which she disliked more: large, unruly crowds or unexpected visitors showing up at the door. Nor was he certain she would ever be able to move past either fear.

With effort he forced his voice to be calm and comforting. “There’s no reason to go to your room. Everything is fine. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

She darted longing little glances down the hall to the relative safety of her bedroom, but to her credit she sat down again in the window seat. When the doorbell rang through the house, Flynn didn’t miss her instinctive flinch or the tense set of her shoulders.

He hoped whoever it was had a darn good excuse for showing up out of the blue like this and frightening his little girl half to death.

To his shock, the pretty librarian and author stood on the porch with a bag in her hand and a black-and-brown dog at the end of a leash. In the glow from the porch light he could see her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, and those long, luscious dark curls were tucked under a beanie. She also wasn’t wearing her glasses. Without the thick dark frames, her eyes were a lovely green.

“Hello.” She gave him a fleeting, tentative smile that appeared and disappeared as quickly as a little bird hunting for berries on a winter-bare shrub.

“Celeste. Ms. Nichols. Hello.”

She gave him another of those brief smiles, then tried to look behind him to where Olivia had approached. At least his daughter now looked more surprised and delighted than fearful.

“And hello, Miss Olivia,” the librarian said. “How are you tonight?”

Her voice was soft, calm, with a gentleness he couldn’t help but appreciate.

“Hi. I’m fine, thank you,” she said shyly. “Is that your dog?”

Celeste smiled as the dog sniffed at Olivia’s feet. “This is Linus. He’s a Yorkshire terrier and his best friend is a black cat named Lucy.”

“Like in Charlie Brown’s Christmas!” She looked delighted at making the connection.

“Just like that, except Linus and Lucy are brother and sister. My Linus and Lucy are just friends.”

Olivia slanted her head to look closer at the little dog. “Will he bite?”

Celeste smiled. “He’s a very sweet dog and loves everybody, but especially blonde girls with pretty red sweaters.”

Olivia giggled at this, and after another moment during which she gathered her courage, she held out her hand. The little furball licked it three times in quick succession, which earned another giggle from his daughter.

“Hi, Linus,” she said in a soft voice. “Hi. I’m Olivia.”

The dog wagged his tail but didn’t bark, which Flynn had to appreciate given how skittish Olivia had been all evening.

She knelt down and started petting the dog—using her injured left arm, he saw with great surprise.

“He likes me!” Olivia exclaimed after a moment, her features alight with a pleasure and excitement he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Of course he does.” Celeste smiled down at her with a soft light in her eyes that touched something deep inside him.

“I’m sorry to just drop in like this, but I couldn’t help thinking tonight about what you told me earlier, how the Sparkle book helped you in the hospital.”

“It’s my favorite book. I still read it all the time.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. I told my sister, who drew all the pictures, and she was happy, too. We wanted to give you something.”

“Is it for my birthday in three days? I’m going to be seven years old.”

“I had no idea it was your birthday in three days!” Celeste exclaimed. “We can certainly consider this an early birthday present. That would be perfect!”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a small stuffed animal.

“That’s Sparkle from the book!” Olivia rose to see it more closely.

“That’s right. My sister made this while she was drawing the pictures for the first Sparkle book last Christmas. We have just a few of them left over from the original hundred or so she made, and I wondered if you might like one.”

Olivia’s eyes went huge. “Really? I can keep it?”

“If you want to.”

“Oh, I do!” Almost warily, she reached for the stuffed animal Celeste held out. When it was in her hands, she hugged it to her chest as if afraid someone would yank it away.

For just a moment she looked like any other young girl, thrilled to be receiving a present. The sheer normalcy made his throat suddenly ache with emotions.

“He’s sooo cute. I love it! Thank you!”

Olivia threw her arms around Celeste in a quick hug. Flynn wasn’t sure if he was more shocked at her use of her injured arm or at the impulsive gesture. Like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times, Olivia shied away from physical touch right now from anyone but him.

Her therapist said it was one more reaction to the trauma she had endured and that eventually she would be able to relax around others and return to the sweet, warm little girl she once had been. He wondered if Dr. Ross ever would have guessed a stuffed reindeer might help speed that process.

Celeste probably had no idea what a rare gift she had just been given as she hugged Olivia back. Still, she looked delighted. “You’re very welcome,” she said. “You will have to come up to The Christmas Ranch sometime. That’s where the real Sparkle lives.”

Olivia stepped away, eyes wide. “The real Sparkle lives near here?”

“Just up the road.” Celeste gestured vaguely in the direction of her family’s place. “We’ve got a herd of about a dozen reindeer. Sparkle happens to be a favorite of my niece and nephew—of all of us, really. That’s where I got the inspiration for the stories.”

“Can we go see them, Dad? Can we?”

He shrugged. That was the thing about kids. They dragged you to all kinds of places you didn’t necessarily want to go. “Don’t know why not. We can probably swing that before the holidays.”

Christmas was just around the corner and he was completely unprepared for it. He didn’t like celebrating the holidays in the first place. He didn’t really feel like hanging out at some cheesy Christmas moneymaking venture aimed at pouring holiday spirit down his throat like cheap bourbon.

But he loved his daughter, and if she wanted to go to the moon right now, he would figure out a way to take her.

“I like your tree,” Celeste said, gazing around his grandmother’s cluttered living room. “I especially like the tinsel. Did you help your dad put it up?”

A small spasm of guilt crossed her features. “Not really,” she admitted. “My dad did most of it. I have a bad arm.”

She lifted her shoulder and the arm in question dangled a little as if it were an overcooked lasagna noodle.

To her credit, Celeste didn’t question how she could use that same arm to pet the dog or hold a stuffed reindeer.

“Too bad,” she only said. “You’re probably really good at hanging tinsel.”

“Pretty good. I can’t reach the high parts of the tree, though.”

“Your dad helps you get those, right?”

“I guess.”

Celeste picked up the bag of tinsel where Flynn had left it on the console table. “Can I help you put the rest of it up on the side you didn’t get to yet? I’m kind of a tinsel expert. Growing up on The Christmas Ranch, I had to be.”

Olivia looked at the tree, then her father, then back at Celeste holding the tinsel. “Okay,” she said with that same wariness.

“It will be fun. You’ll see. Sparkle can help. He’s good at tinsel, too.”

How she possibly could have guessed from a half-tinseled tree that he had been trying to enlist his daughter’s help with decorating, he had no idea. But he wasn’t about to argue with her insight, especially when Olivia obediently followed her new heroine to the tree and reached for a handful of tinsel.

“Can I take your coat?” he asked.

“Oh. Yes. Thanks.” She gave a nervous little laugh as she handed him her coat. At the library, she had been wearing a big, loose sweater that had made him wonder what was beneath it. She had taken that layer off apparently, and now she wore a cheerful red turtleneck that accentuated her luscious curves and made his mouth water.

He had an inkling that she was the sort of woman who had no idea the kind of impact she had on a man. As he went to hang her coat by the front door, he forced himself to set aside the reaction as completely inappropriate under the circumstances, especially when she was only trying to help his kid.

When he returned to the living room, he found her and Olivia standing side by side hanging tinsel around the patches of the tree he had left bare.

Her cute little dog had finished sniffing the corners of the room and planted himself on his haunches in the middle of the floor, where he could watch the proceedings.

Flynn leaned against the doorjamb to do the same thing.

How odd, that Olivia would respond to a quiet children’s librarian and author more than she had her counselor, her physical therapist, the caregivers at the hospital. She seemed to bloom in this woman’s company, copying her actions on the lower branches she could reach. While she still seemed to be favoring her injured arm, occasionally she seemed to forget it hurt and used it without thinking.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible way to spend a December evening while a gas fire flickered in Grandma Charlotte’s fireplace and snowflakes fluttered down outside the window.

After several moments, the two of them used the last of the tinsel and Celeste stepped away to take in the bigger picture.

“That looks perfect!” she exclaimed. “Excellent job.”

Olivia’s smile was almost back to her normal one. She held up the stuffed animal. “Sparkle helped.”

“I told you he would be very good at hanging tinsel.”

Whatever worked, he figured. “Let me hit the lights for you,” he said. “We can’t appreciate the full effects with the lights on.”

He turned them off, pitching the room into darkness except for the gleaming tree. The tinsel really did reflect the lights. His mom had been right about that, even if she had gotten so many other things wrong.

“Oh. I love it. It’s the prettiest tree ever,” Olivia declared.

“I have to agree,” Flynn said. “Good job, both of you.”

“And you,” Olivia pointed out. “You did most of it earlier. We only filled in the gaps.”

“So I did. We’re all apparently excellent at decorating Christmas trees.”

Celeste met his gaze and smiled. He gazed back, struck again by how lovely she was with those big green eyes that contrasted so strikingly with her dark hair.

He was staring, he realized, and jerked his gaze away, but not before he thought he saw color climb her high cheekbones. He told himself it must have been a trick of the Christmas lights.

“Oh, I nearly forget,” she exclaimed suddenly. “I have another birthday present for you. Two, actually.”

“You do?” Olivia lit up.

“Well, it’s not actually your birthday yet, so I completely understand if you want to wait. I can just give them to your dad to hold until the big day.”

As he might have predicted, Olivia didn’t look all that thrilled at the suggestion. “I should open them now while you’re here.”

“I guess I should have asked your dad first.”

He shrugged, figuring it was too late to stop the cart now. “Go ahead.”

With a rueful, apologetic smile, she handed the bag to Olivia. “It’s not wrapped, since I didn’t know it was your birthday when I came over. I’m sorry.”

His daughter apparently didn’t care. She reached into the bag and pulled out a book with colorful illustrations on the cover.

“Ohhh,” she breathed. “It’s another Sparkle and the Magic Snowball book!”

“This one is signed by both me and my sister, who did the illustrations. I figured since it’s your favorite book, you ought to have a signed copy.”

“I love it. Thank you!”

“There’s something else,” Celeste said when his daughter looked as if she were going to settle in right on the spot to reread the story for the hundredth time.

Olivia reached into the bag and pulled out a second book. While it was obvious the artist had been the same, this had different, more muted colors than the original Sparkle book and hearts instead of Christmas ornaments.

“I haven’t seen this one! Sparkle and the Valentine Surprise.”

“That’s because it’s brand-new. It’s not even in stores yet. It’s coming out in a few weeks.”

“Dad, look!”

She hurried over to him, barely limping, and held out the book.

“Very nice. We can read it tonight at bedtime.”

“I can’t wait that long! Can I read it now?”

“Sure. First, do you have something to say to Ms. Nichols?”

Olivia gazed at the woman with absolute adoration. “Thank you so much! I just love these books and the stuffed Sparkle.” Again, she surprised him by hugging Celeste tightly, then hurried to the window seat that she had claimed as her own when they’d first arrived at Charlotte’s house.

He gazed after her for a moment, then turned back to Celeste.

“How did you just do that?” he asked, his voice low so that Olivia couldn’t hear.

She blinked, confusion on her features. “Do what?”

“That’s the first time I’ve seen her hug anyone but me in months.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small, sad, telling him without words that she knew what had happened to Elise and Olivia and about Brandon Lowell.

“I guess you probably know my daughter was shot three months ago and her mother was killed.”

Her lovely features tightened and her eyes filled with sorrow. “I do. I followed the case, not because I wanted to read about something so terribly tragic, but because I...knew you, once upon a time.”

Color rose on her cheeks again, but he had no idea why.

“She’s been very withdrawn because of the post-traumatic stress. I haven’t seen her warm up to anyone this quickly since it happened.”

“Oh.” She gazed at Olivia with a soft look in her eyes. “It’s not me,” she assured him. “Sparkle is a magic little reindeer. He has a comforting way about him.”

He was quite certain Celeste was the one with the comforting way, especially as she had created the fictional version of the reindeer, but he didn’t say so.

“Whatever the reason, I appreciate it. I had hoped bringing her here to Idaho where we can be away from the spotlight for a few weeks might help her finally begin to heal. It’s good to know I might have been right.”

* * *

The concern and love in his voice came through loud and clear. Flynn obviously was a devoted father trying his best to help his daughter heal.

Celeste’s throat felt tight and achy. This poor little girl had watched her mother’s life slip away. “She’s been through a horrible ordeal. It might be years before the nightmares fade.”

“You sound as if you know a little something about nightmares.” He studied her closely.

She didn’t want to tell him she still had nightmares from those terrible weeks in captivity and then their miraculous rescue with its tragic consequences. She had cried herself to sleep just about every night for weeks. In a second rapid-fire blow, just as the overwhelming pain of losing their father had begun to ease a little, their mother had lost her short but intense battle with cancer and they had come here to stay with Uncle Claude and Aunt Mary.

She couldn’t tell him that. She barely knew the man, and he had demons of his own to fight. He didn’t need to share hers.

“Everybody has nightmares,” she answered. “To paraphrase John Irving, you don’t get to pick them. They pick you.”

“True enough.”

Her dog made a little whiny sound and started looking anxious, which meant he probably needed to go out.

“I need to take Linus home. Sorry again to drop in on you like this out of the blue.”

He smiled a little. “Are you kidding? This has been the best thing to happen to us in a long time. She’s completely thrilled. And thanks for helping with the Christmas tree. It looks great.”

“You’re welcome. If you need anything while you’re here, my family is just a short walk away. Oh. I nearly forgot. This is for you.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out the pie Aunt Mary had boxed up for easier transport.

“What is it?”

“My aunt makes amazing berry pies. She had an extra and wanted you to have it.”

He looked stunned at the gesture. “That’s very kind. Please give her my thanks.”

“I’ll do that.” She reached for her coat but he beat her to it, tugging it from the rack so he could help her into it.

She was aware of him behind her again, the heat and strength of him, and her insides jumped and twirled like Linus when he was especially happy.

She was being ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn’t a thirteen-year-old girl with a crush anymore.

She quickly shoved her arms through the sleeves and stepped away to tie her scarf.

“Are you sure you’re okay walking home?” he asked. “Looks as if it’s snowing harder. Let me grab my keys and we’ll drive you home.”

She shook her head, even as she felt a warm little glow at his concern. “Not necessary. It’s not far. I like to walk, even in the snow, and Linus still has a little energy to burn off. Thank you, though.”

He still looked uncertain, but she didn’t give him a chance to press the matter. She returned to the living room doorway and waved at his daughter.

“Goodbye, Olivia. I hope you enjoy the book.”

She looked up with that distracted, lost-in-the-story sort of look Celeste knew she wore frequently herself. “I’m already almost done. It’s super good.”

It was one thing in the abstract to know people enjoyed her work. It was something else entirely to watch someone reading it—surreal and gratifying and a bit uncomfortable at the same time.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Olivia finally seemed to register that she had on her coat. “Do you really have to go?”

“I’m afraid so. I have to take Linus home or Lucy will be lonely.”

To her surprise, Olivia set aside the book, climbed down from the window seat and approached to give her one last hug.

“Thank you again for the books and for the stuffed animal,” she said. “It was the best birthday ever—and I haven’t even had it yet!”

“I’m so glad.”

“Goodbye, Linus,” Olivia said. She knelt down to scratch the Yorkie again and Linus obliged by licking her face, which made her giggle.

When Celeste turned to go, she found Flynn shaking his head with astonishment clear on his handsome features. She remembered what he had said about Olivia not warming to many people since her mother’s death, and she was deeply grateful she had made the small effort to come visit the girl.

“I hope we see you again,” he said.

Oh, how she wished he meant for his sake and not for his daughter’s. “I’m sure you will. Pine Gulch is a small place. Good night.”

She walked out into the snowy December night. Only when she was halfway back to the Star N did she realize she didn’t feel the cold at all.


Chapter Four (#ulink_01b9edd9-53ac-539a-8922-cd51a76d8bbc)

Over the weekend she tried not to think about Flynn and his sweet, fragile daughter. It wasn’t easy, despite how busy she was working an extra shift at the library and helping out in the gift shop of The Christmas Ranch.

Even the multiple calls she and Hope took from Joan about the movie development deal couldn’t completely distract her random thoughts of the two of them that intruded at the oddest times.

She knew the basics of what had happened to Elise Chandler and her daughter at the hands of the actress’s boyfriend, but she was compelled to do a few internet searches to read more about the case. The details left her in tears for everyone involved, even the perpetrator and his family.

Brandon Lowell obviously had been mentally ill. He had been under treatment for bipolar disease and, according to evidence after the shooting, had stopped taking his medication a month before, claiming it interfered with his acting abilities and the regular television role he was playing.

He never should have had access to a firearm given his mental health but had stolen one from Elise’s bodyguard a few days before the shooting.

She found it a tragic irony that the woman used a bodyguard when she went out in public but had been killed by someone close to her using the very tool intended to protect her.

The whole thing made her so very sad, though she was touched again to read numerous reports about Olivia’s dedicated father, how Flynn had put his thriving contracting business in the hands of trusted employees so he could dedicate his time to staying with his daughter every moment through her recovery.

None of that information helped distract her from thinking about him. By Monday afternoon, she had almost worked the obsession out of her system—or at least forced herself to focus on work as much as possible, until Frankie came in after a morning of online seminars.

“I figured out who he is!” her friend exclaimed before she even said hello.

“Who?”

“You know! The hot dad who came to story time last week. I spent all weekend trying to figure out why he looked so familiar and then this morning it came to me. I was washing my hair and remembered that shower scene in Forbidden when the hero washes the heroine’s hair and it came to me. Elise Chandler! Sexy dad is her ex-husband. It has to be! That cute little girl must be the one who was all over the news.”

Flynn must hate having his daughter be a household name, even though her mother certainly had been.

“Yes. Flynn Delaney. Charlotte Delaney, his grandmother, lived close to The Christmas Ranch and he used to come spend summers with her.”

“You knew all this time and you didn’t say anything?”

It wasn’t her place to spread gossip about the man. Even now, just talking to her dear friend, she felt extremely protective of him and Olivia.

“I’m sure they would appreciate a little privacy and discretion,” she said. “Olivia has been through a terrible ordeal and is still trying to heal from her injuries. I don’t think they need everybody in town making a fuss over them.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense. That poor kid.”

“I know.”

“How is she doing?”

She thought of Olivia’s excitement the other day when she had taken the books to her and that spontaneous, sweet embrace. “She’s still got a long road but she’s improving.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Olivia is apparently a big Sparkle fan, and that was the reason they came to the story time.”

She had been touched several times to remember the girl telling her how much her book had helped during her recovery. Who would have guessed when she had been writing little stories for her niece and nephew that an emotionally and physically damaged girl would one day find such comfort in them?

To her relief, Frankie dropped the subject. Celeste tried once more to return to her work, vowing to put this ridiculous obsession out of her head. An hour later her hopes were dashed when Frankie bustled back to the children’s section, her eyes as wide as if she’d just caught somebody trying to deface a book.

“He’s here again!”

She looked up from the books she was shelving. “Who’s here?”

“Hottie Dad and his cute little girl! Elise Chandler’s poor daughter. They just walked in.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s a hard man to miss,” Frankie said.

Celeste’s heartbeat kicked up several notches and her stomach seemed tangled with nerves. She told herself that was ridiculous. He wasn’t there to see her anyway. Maybe he wouldn’t even come back to the children’s section.

“I wonder what they’re doing here,” Frankie said, her dark eyes huge.

It wasn’t to see her, Celeste reminded herself sternly. She was a dowdy, shy librarian, and he couldn’t possibly have any interest in her beyond her status as his daughter’s favorite author.

“Here’s a wild guess,” she said, her tone dry. “Maybe they’re looking for books.”

Frankie made a face. “He doesn’t have a library card, does he?”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “They’re only here for a few weeks, then they’ll be returning to California.”

The thought was more depressing than it should have been.

“Well, ask him if he wants a temporary one while he’s here.”

Why did she have to ask him anything? She wanted to hide here in the children’s section and not even have to face him. But a moment later Olivia limped in, Sparkle the stuffed reindeer in her hand along with the new book.

“Hi, Ms. Nichols! Hi!”

Celeste smiled at both of them. “Hello. It’s lovely to see you today. Happy birthday!” She suddenly remembered.

“Thank you,” Olivia said. “I begged and begged my dad to bring me to the library today.”

“Did you?”

She held up Sparkle. “I had to tell you how much I liked the new book, just as much as the first one. Sparkle is so funny. I’ve read it about ten times already.”

“Wow. That’s terrific. Thanks for letting me know.”

“And my dad read it to me twice and he laughed both times. He hardly ever laughs.”

“Not true,” he protested. “Okay, it’s true that I laughed at the book. It’s hilarious. But it’s not true that I hardly ever laugh. I don’t know where you came up with that. I laugh all the time. I’m a freaking hyena.”

Celeste laughed out loud, which earned her a surprised look from Frankie.

“You’re so lucky that you had the chance to read the new book,” Frankie informed her. “Half the children in town would willingly forgo all their presents under the tree if they could lay their hands on the next Sparkle book.”

Even though she was grossly exaggerating, the library director had the perfect tone with Olivia—friendly and polite, but not overly solicitous. She had a feeling Flynn would hate the latter.

“It’s really, really good,” Olivia said solemnly. “I still like the first one best, but the second one is almost my favorite.”

Frankie smiled, but before she could answer, one of the other library volunteers came over with a question about checking out DVDs, and she reluctantly excused herself to deal with the crisis.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Celeste asked after her friend walked away. “Would you like a temporary card so you can check out materials? I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem, considering I know where to find you.”

“No. Actually, we have another reason for being here.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, Flynn looked a little uncomfortable, which made her even more curious.

“Oh? What is it?”

He didn’t answer and Olivia didn’t say anything, either. Finally Flynn nudged her. “Go ahead.”

“It’s my birthday,” the girl began.

“I know. I think it’s great that you decided the library is the perfect place to celebrate a birthday. I completely agree!”

Olivia giggled a little. “No, we’re not celebrating my birthday here. I told my dad the only thing I want for my birthday is to have pizza.”

“Ooh, pizza. My favorite,” she said, though she was still mystified about why they might be at the library and why Flynn still looked uncomfortable. “Are you looking for a book on how to make pizza?”

The girl shook her head. “We’re going to the pizza restaurant down the street.”

“I can highly recommend it. It’s one of my favorite places.”

Olivia gave her a shy look. “That’s good. Because I want to have pizza with you on my birthday.”

She blinked, taken by surprise. “With...me?”

“Yes. That would be the best birthday ever. My favorite thing to eat and my new friend and the lady who writes such good Sparkle books.” She beamed as if the matter was settled.

“Don’t feel obligated,” Flynn said quickly. “If you already have plans, we completely understand. Isn’t that right, Olivia?”

“Yes,” the girl said.

Dinner. With Olivia and Flynn. She thought of a hundred reasons why she should say no. How could she possibly eat with these nervous butterflies racing around in her stomach? And she probably wouldn’t be able to think of anything to say and would look even more stupid than she felt.

All those reasons paled into insignificance. Olivia wanted to have pizza with her for her birthday, and Celeste couldn’t let her own social awkwardness stand in the way of making that particular wish come true.

“I would be honored to come help you celebrate your birthday. Thank you for inviting me.”

Olivia’s smile was sweetly thrilled. “She said yes, Dad!”

The sight of this tough-looking man gazing down at his daughter with such love just about broke Celeste’s heart. “So I heard. That’s great.” He turned to her. “What time are you finished with work?”

“Five-thirty.”

“Would seven work for pizza? We can pick you up.”

“I can meet you at the restaurant.”

“We don’t mind. Do you still live at the Star N?”

She knew he probably didn’t mean for that to sound pitiful, but she still had to wince. That wasn’t exactly true. She had gone off to Boise for her undergraduate work, then Seattle for her master’s degree. She wasn’t completely a homebody, even if she had jumped at the chance to return to her hometown library to work.

If she was living on her family’s ranch, it wasn’t because of any failure to launch, only because of the tragic circumstances of Travis’s death.

“I live on the ranch but not in the main house,” she told him. “I’m at the foreman’s place, the small log house closest to the entrance.”

“Perfect. Plan on us at seven.”

She was going out to dinner with Flynn Delaney and his daughter. This certainly wasn’t the way to get the man out of her head, but she didn’t see how she could refuse.

The truth was she didn’t want to anyway. She was both touched and flattered that sweet Olivia wanted to spend time with her for her birthday.

“Sounds good. Meanwhile, are you sure you don’t want to check out some books on a temporary library card? We still have a great selection of holiday books available. It’s the section there against the wall.”





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