A Little Christmas Magic

  A Little Christmas Magic

  by

  Sylvie Kurtz

  Bestselling Author

  A LITTLE CHRISTMAS MAGIC

  Awards & Accolades

  Waldenbook Bestseller

  National Reader's Choice Award, Finalist

  "Have a box of tissues handy for this one. It is by turns heartwarming and heartbreaking. I recommend this book highly to those who enjoy more serious, emotionally touching fare, with a laugh thrown in now and then to relieve the tension."

  ~Janice Bennett, www.thebestreviews.com

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417083-9

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2001, 2011, 2012 by Sylvie Kurtz. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Dedication

  To Chuck, Axel, and Cassie—

  the best presents in my life.

  A Special Thank You

  To Margie D'Agostino for sharing her school cafeteria expertise.

  Any mistakes in procedures are the author's.

  DO NOT DISTURB!

  He had the snarl of a wounded grizzly and the gentle touch of a healer. But who was the surly stranger next door? His imposing presence alarmed widow Beth Lannigen. Yet behind her neighbor's icy glare, she saw a longing that warmed her own barely healed heart. For Christmas, Beth set out to make her handsome neighbor smile.

  Logan Ward needed solitude, no the holiday cheer of a petite blond angel and her too-cute son. But soon he was listening for Beth's knock at his door. Around mother and child, Logan felt like the hero he'd once been called—and that was dangerous for a man whose heart was slowly thawing…

  Dear Reader,

  Christmas at my grandmother's house had a magical quality to it. One year, I found myself with two young children, far from my family in a strange place, and I couldn't create the magical memories of the season I'd experienced. But I told myself it could be worse—I could be facing a Christmas without my beloved husband and my children. This is where the seed for Logan and Beth's story sprouted. They both lost so much, yet love found its way back into their hearts. I hope you enjoy their journey of discovery.

  May this holiday season find you surrounded by love, and may it feed your spirit with joy!

  Sincerely,

  Sylvie

  Chapter 1

  Logan Ward stumbled to the window, yanked up the blinds and flinched at the unexpected morning brightness. A few more blinks brought alien scenery into focus. Snow. A carpet of crystals covered the world—the canted yard, the forgotten brick-red wooden barn, the bowed fence posts meandering toward a stand of pines beyond.

  When he'd arrived in Rockville yesterday, he'd expected the cold. He'd known about the snow. He'd even counted on the short, dreary winter days to help make him forget. What he hadn't foreseen was how that same snow would smile in the low-angled light of the sun, and dazzle.

  The joyful squeal that had jerked him out of his nightmare skirled through the glass once more.

  A kid.

  On his property.

  He couldn't allow that.

  He shoved away from the window and dragged on clothes. Where had the kid come from, anyway? Didn't he have parents to watch over his welfare? How could they let a child wander without supervision? He plucked his discarded ski jacket from the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, jammed his feet into boots, then yanked open the front door.

  The cheer of Christmas carols pulled him to a stop and sawed at his nerves. He hated Christmas, hated the whole damned holiday season.

  The narrow country lane separating his property from his neighbor's should have meant peace and solitude. Obviously, he'd been mistaken.

  With her fuchsia coat and teal-colored pants, the woman across the street appeared as bright as the decorations she hung.

  He hated bright.

  And her singing came to him as a free-tripping sound.

  He hated bubbly.

  As he watched her string lights along the edge of the roof, a sour taste filled his mouth. In his home away from town, he'd hoped to avoid all the festivities, the lights, the wreaths, the whole Santa scene.

  As he stood there rooted, disliking the woman he'd never met, a blast of wind cascaded a shower of snow from his roof into the collar of his shirt, reminding him of his mission: the kid trespassing on his property.

  "Welcome to New England," he mumbled, wriggling his shoulders to hasten the melting of the snow. He turned up the collar of his ski jacket and stepped into the drift of snow covering the stone walkway.

  At least the stupid mutt who'd disturbed him last night wasn't still hanging around. Dogs had such needy personalities. And the last thing he wanted was to be needed by anybody—even a dog.

  Last year he'd put up with all the Christmas fuss, but pretending had almost killed him. He couldn't bear to face the bustle this year. From now on he'd use the back door and wouldn't wander to the front of the house. And Rockville was definitely out of bounds. Thank God for the Internet and home delivery.

  By the time he reached the child, he was more than ready to growl. "Hey, you! Yeah, you. Come over here."

  Gripping his bright red saucer, the boy complied.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Logan snarled.

  "It's the first snow. Miss Mac always lets me sled when it snows."

  "Do I look like Miss MacDonald?"

  The boy cocked his head and looked at him with a serious expression for a moment. His daughter, Samantha, had looked at him the same way before answering any question where she risked having one of her privileges curbed. Pain, sharp and swift, tightened his chest until breathing required his full attention.

  "You look like the Grinch," the boy finally said.

  The Grinch. Green, bitter, empty. That's exactly how he felt. "Miss MacDonald doesn't live here anymore, and I don't want you on my property. Is that clear?"

  A cantankerous pout creased the child's cold-reddened face. "But I don't got a hill at my house."

  "That's not my problem. Where do you live?"

  The boy's chin pointed toward the house where the real estate agent had assured him a nice little widow lived. Why hadn't it occurred to him the widow might have children and grandchildren who'd visit? No, his mind, bent on escape, had simply pictured a blue-haired granny, knitting as she rocked by the fireplace, quietly, peacefully—alone.

  "Mom said I could stay till she called me."

  "And I say it's time to go home."

  The boy made a dash
for the hill, but his snow pants and the snow saucer encumbered him, and Logan easily caught him on the fly. Feet kicking, the boy fought. "No, no, I wanna stay!"

  The boy thwacked his saucer against Logan's knee.

  "Ow! Why you little—" Logan snatched the weapon from the boy.

  "Let me go!"

  In answer, Logan clasped his wriggling prey securely against his hip and marched toward the overbright package perched on a ladder... to the woman who was busily turning the frozen landscape he'd purposely sought into the winter wonderland he wanted to avoid more than anything in the world.

  * * *

  From atop her ladder, Beth Lannigen blew on her bare hands to warm them, then tugged on the string of lights and stretched past her comfort zone to reach the next permanent hook she'd installed along the roof's edge several years ago.

  At the sound of crunching footsteps behind her, she smiled. Her six-year-old son was returning from his sledding spree down Eve MacDonald's hill and would want some hot chocolate. She could use a cup herself. "Done already, Jamie? I was going to get the toboggan in a few minutes and join you."

  "Is this yours?"

  At the booming voice Beth startled and looked down at her unexpected guest. A tall, somber-looking man dangled her squirming son by the scruff of his coat in one hand and held his saucer in the other. "Jamie! What are you doing to my son? Let him go this instant!"

  Just as her foot left the top rung to hurry to Jamie's rescue, a dog scrambled around the corner of the house, tripped over its own feet and slammed into the ladder, knocking it right out from under her.

  Her heart surged in her throat. Panic bubbled through her like a boiling teakettle. Reflexively she clutched the rain gutter's edge with both hands to regain her balance. For Jamie's sake, she bit down her screech of terror.

  Pulse zigzagging madly, she searched for a soft landing area and gulped. Two stories looked much higher hanging from the roof's edge than standing safely on a ladder.

  "I'm going to fall." She hadn't meant to say anything, but suddenly disaster seemed inevitable. Visions of broken legs and broken arms danced in her head.

  "You're not going to fall," the gruff voice below her said. "Hang on."

  Try as she might, Beth couldn't get a good view of what was happening on the ground. Through the haze of fear, only the sounds reached her. Jamie's saucer hit the ground with a thunk, his boots with a plop. Snow crunched. The ladder squealed and rattled as it was righted. And with each second Beth's hold on the narrow gutter got more tenuous, her thoughts more frantic. I can't get hurt. Not in front of Jamie. That thought alone kept panic, if not completely at bay, at least in check.

  "Mom! Come down, come down!"

  "I'm okay, Jamie. I'll be right there."

  "The ladder's right under you," the gruff voice said.

  With her foot Beth reached for the solid feel of aluminum but couldn't find it.

  "To your left," the stranger directed.

  Muscles shaking from her effort, she closed her eyes and regrouped. As she reached for the ladder once more, her grip slipped. The meat of her palms caught the gutter's sharp side. Pain sliced into her bare hands. Tears burned her eyes. She bit her trembling lips and whimpered.

  "Mom! Come down!" The blur of Jamie's bright-green coat caught her side vision as he rushed to the ladder.

  "No, Jamie, stay where you are!"

  No sooner had she started to speak than strong arms dragged Jamie down from the first rung and set firmly on the ground.

  "I'll help her," the stranger said. "You stay here and make sure the ladder stays still."

  Her arms shook from her effort to hang on. Her shoulders ached. Her fingers cramped. Tears of pain stung her eyes. She couldn't fall. Not in front of Jamie. He couldn't see his mother in a broken heap. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on. Taking in a shaky breath, she forced herself to speak calmly.

  "Jamie, why don't you go inside and get my gloves?"

  "But I gotta hold the ladder for you."

  She swallowed hard and strained to speak in an even tone. "I really need my gloves, sweetheart. My hands are cold."

  "O-okay," Jamie said, hesitation making him stammer. "I'll be right back."

  When the back door slam, she gave a sigh of relief. Then panic surged through her in a sense-stealing wave. As heavy footsteps tromped up the ladder rungs, her hold on the gutter failed. Arms cycling backwards, breath rushing out of her in a whoosh, she fell onto the stranger, taking him and the ladder with her to the snow-covered ground. With his arms wrapped protectively around her, he cushioned her landing with his body, which drew an oomph of discomfort from him.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Thoughts raced like an avalanche through her mind as she rebounded off the hard body below hers and bumped the ladder out of the way. She scrambled around and knelt beside him. He just lay there, eyes closed. His skin had an ashen, unhealthy color. She'd killed him! A fresh wave of alarm flooded her. She grasped the front of his jacket and shook it. "Hey, mister, are you all right?"

  "Fine," he grumbled, and reached up to rub his ribs.

  The dog, looking like an overcooked, understuffed sausage, crawled over whimpering an apology. With her hands feeling stiff and cold and stinging with pain, Beth didn't try to pet the animal.

  "It's okay," she crooned to the dog. "Are you all right?" The dog rolled over, exposing its pink belly. "Is she yours?"

  "No," the stranger barked, as if owning such a scrawny mutt was an insult.

  The tone of his voice made her remember what had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. Her concern for his condition flew away and was replaced by her responsibility as a mother.

  She stood up, fisted her aching hands and brought them to rest on her hips. The blood in the scratches stung and burned, but her anger blazed hotter.

  "Why were you manhandling my son?" A slow throb pulsed in both her hands, bringing out her contrary side. "Answer me!"

  "He was trespassing."

  The man rose like a disgruntled bear roused from a nap, yet a sense of power and presence radiated from him. As he dusted the snow from his jacket, he scowled at her from beneath dark brows, and she sensed a mighty grip on control under the keen sharpness of his gaze. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but whatever the color, friendly wouldn't describe them.

  "Trespassing!" Beth tripped over her tongue as she tried to sort through the barrage of conflicting thoughts assaulting her.

  This was her new neighbor? She'd known Eve MacDonald had sold her family home. Eve had been uncharacteristically closemouthed about the new owner, but Beth had assumed nothing would change. Rockville, despite its hard name, was an amicable town. Who was this man with the hurt eyes? Where had he come from? Why was he so surly? The slow burn in her hands turned into a full-blown fire, but her thoughts refused to sort themselves into order. "Jamie's gone sledding there since he was a baby."

  The silence between them was iceberg deep. His intense gaze sent a jolt of apprehension skittering down her spine. Who was he? Two day's worth of beard darkened his face. Red webbed the whites of his eyes. His pale skin contrasted starkly with his scraggly dark-chestnut hair. He looked like a cross between a ragged bear and a ghost. Normally she'd have found the hurt he tried so hard to hide intriguing, but not right now, not with Jamie's welfare on the line.

  "I own the MacDonald property now," he said in a flat voice, "and I'd appreciate it if you kept your son away from my yard."

  "What?"

  "See that your son doesn't trespass again."

  He turned to leave.

  "Hey! That's not how we do things around here. Neighbors look out for neighbors."

  "M-mom!"

  At the tremulous note in Jamie's voice, Beth glanced over her shoulder. Jamie had stopped midflight, arms extended, her purple gloves hanging from his hands like scarecrow straw. His gaze was frozen on the snow at her feet. "You're bleeding!"

  The instant Jamie uttered
the words, the ache in her hands throbbed and the pain doubled. A shower of tiny red drops joined the widening patches at her sides. Slowly she lifted her hands and turned them over, exposing the two red gashes cutting across both her palms.

  Whimpering, the dog inched forward, as if sensing Beth's pain.

  Her new neighbor rushed toward her, brushed aside the dog with a sweep of his leg, grasped her wrists and frowned as he examined the damage. She tried to snatch her arms back, but as if he were someone people rarely said no to, the strong warmth of his fingers demanded compliance.

  "Great! Now look what you've done. Let's get you inside." He spoke to her as if she'd been a disobedient six-year-old he wanted to banish to a time-out corner.

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Which way to the closest water?" He addressed his question to Jamie rather than to her. His tone suggested he'd rather eat a bowl of broken glass than be there. Not that she blamed him. The sight of blood didn't do much for her, either. But still, that didn't excuse his rudeness.

  He needed a session of the etiquette class taught by Mildred Wallace at the Historical Society House twice a year. "Politeness," Mildred was fond of saying, "doesn't cost anything, but the dividends will bless you with riches." This man needed a blessing or two. She snuck a quick peek. Or three.

  "The kitchen." Jamie ran ahead to open the door while her neighbor led her by the elbow.

  Until his shadow completely overwhelmed her, she hadn't noticed just how tall he was. She barely reached his shoulder. Two of her could fit in his width. He was a stranger. She wasn't sure she wanted him in her house.

  "Really, I'm fine," she said, giving him a nervous smile. "I can take care of myself."

  "I'm not going to hurt you."

  As she struggled to keep up with his ground-eating strides, she blushed. "Well, I didn't think..."