Nickolai's Noel

Avon, Massachusetts

Copyright © 2014 by Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones.
All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-8560-1

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8560-9

eISBN 10: 1-4405-8561-X

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8561-6

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

Cover art © iStockphoto.com/Jason_V and iStockphoto.com/Pampalini

STARRY SNOWFALL

© Fons & Porter’s Love of Quilting

This stunning pattern, also known as “Starry Nine Patch,” was designed by Liz Porter and offers cozy, rustic charm with a beautiful motif of blue stars falling against a snowy white backdrop.

Simply sign up with your email for our Crimson Romance newsletter, and you’ll receive access to download your FREE PDF copy of this gorgeous quilt pattern, courtesy of
Fons & Porter’s Love of Quilting
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www.crimsonromance.com/starrysnowfall
to download today!

For the Huntville Havoc, for giving us our first taste of hockey—especially Kevin Glenoe, Branden Parkhouse, and Matt Singleton. Our questions were legion and their patience was infinite.

Piece By Piece might be on its way to becoming the Hard Rock Cafe of quilt shops. Not even noon, and two celebrities had already walked through the door of Noel Verden’s little patchwork emporium.

First came country music superstar Jack Beauford—who maybe shouldn’t have been such a surprise since his ancestral home, Beauford Bend Plantation, was located nearby. He’d come with Noel’s friend, Emory Lowell, to bring a quilt that Noel needed to make a pattern from.

But if Jack Beauford’s appearance had surprised Noel, seeing Nickolai Glazov, who played center for the Nashville Sound, walk into her shop had practically sent her into outer space. True, a hockey player—even one of Nickolai’s caliber—wasn’t as recognizable to the world at large as Jack Beauford, but Noel wasn’t the world at large.

She loved hockey—and the Sound in particular—the way other Southern women loved football. Much as hockey had been late in coming to the South, Noel had been late in becoming a fan, and there was still a lot she didn’t understand about the game. But, merciful heavens, she loved the chaos, the fast pace, the noise, and—if she were going to be honest—the fights. Noel knew these were odd things for a quiet, mild-mannered woman to love, especially one who spent her days patiently fitting pieces of fabric together with perfect precision and the tiniest of stitches to paint a picture meant to last several lifetimes.

People who ought to know said Noel was an artist of the finest degree, but they might revise their definition of artist if they ever saw Nickolai Glazov on ice.

She laughed a little under her breath. Maybe it was true that all celebrities knew each other, because it had taken Jack and Nickolai approximately thirty seconds to strike up a jovial conversation. Hmm. Interesting. As far as Noel knew, Emory hadn’t dated anyone since coming to Beauford two years ago, but Jack Beauford had an arm around her, and Emory was hanging on to him for dear life.

Noel loved Emory and wished her the best, but that still wasn’t as interesting as Nickolai Glazov. He looked more powerful in person, even without all that gear. And power was something Noel admired, probably because she’d never felt like she had much.

The woman who had come in with Nickolai was trying to get everyone’s attention and not having much luck. The best Noel could tell, Jack and Nickolai knew each other through Gabe, Jack’s pro football player brother, and Nickolai was asking after him. Emory didn’t look very interested in anything; in fact, she looked distracted.

Finally, Jackson Beauford said, “We’d better get going. Noel, we’ll be in touch.” And he and Emory left.

Noel turned her attention to Nickolai and the woman with him—who had to be a model or a dancer. Dressed in gold shorts, a black tank with a wide, jeweled, gold belt, and really high platform sandals, she was tall and very beautiful with skin the color of milk chocolate, and cheekbones that looked like they could cut glass. Even if Noel had the nerve to wear an outfit like that,
it
would wear
her
, not the other way around.

“What can I do for y’all today?” Noel asked, though she knew what the answer would be: just browsing.

But no.

Nickolai pushed his loose black curls back and let his smiling, electric blue eyes meet hers.

“Tewanda saw the article about the artisans of Beauford in
Garden & Gun
magazine and thinks she would like to have a quilt for her birthday gift.” His English was nearly perfect, though charmingly accented with Russian. She also thought she detected a little French inflection, probably from his days of playing for the Ottawa Senators.

Tewanda’s plethora of gold bracelets jangled when she placed her hand on a jutted-out hip. “The article said you made a baby quilt for Nicole Kidman. Is that true?”

Noel reluctantly nodded. She never divulged her client’s names, but it was true, and it
had
been in the article, along with a quote from the woman herself attesting to the quilt’s beauty and fine workmanship.

“I did. She was lovely to work with.” Noel smiled at Tewanda, who did not smile back. “Did you have anything in particular in mind, Tewanda? I do custom commissions, but I have a few quilts in stock.”

“
Custom.
” Tewanda caressed her chin, even as her tone caressed the word. There was something a little crazy in her deep-brown eyes that made Noel want to back up a step. “How long would something like that take?”

That, always that.

“It depends on a lot factors—size, complexity of pattern, whether you would want embroidery, appliqué, or a combination.” Noel picked up her commission calendar. “For something small, like a simple appliquéd lap quilt, I could deliver sometime from mid to late February.”

“February! I can’t wait until February,” Tewanda shrieked. “And I don’t want something small! I need a king-size.” She turned and gave Nickolai a lascivious look—something Noel could have done without.

“It
does
take some time.” Noel tried to sound sympathetic. “I don’t use a sewing machine at all—for piecing or for quilting. And my quilting stitches tend to be twelve per inch.”

“So the magazine article said.”

It had been a long time since Noel had needed to remind herself that she was in business and couldn’t afford to sell only to people she liked, especially considering what she was compelled to charge for her handcrafted babies.

“Then maybe you’d like to look at what I have on hand.” Noel stepped from behind the counter and moved toward the back wall where the five quilts she had in stock were suspended from wooden dowels.

Nickolai, who had seemed oblivious to their conversation, turned away from the thread display he’d been looking at and gave Noel a crooked grin.

“I like this store—all the colors.” He nodded to the overstuffed chintz furniture clustered around the empty fireplace. “Do you make a fire in the wintertime? Is that where you sit to make your quilts?”

“Sometimes, if the piece isn’t too large,” Noel said. “Sometimes other quilters join me and we work together.”

“I like your frock,” he said.

She looked down at her loose, calf-length linen dress. With its empire waist and deep side pockets, it made sense for work, and she liked the pretty primrose print, but it was never going to make the cover of
Vogue
—or
Good Housekeeping
, for that matter. She looked at Nickolai to discern if he was making fun of her. But he smiled wide and gave her a friendly little wink.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tewanda snorted.

“Tewanda,
mon cher,
do you need a tissue?” He wasn’t making fun of her, either, had no idea she was being scornful.

“No, my precious. I’m fine. Come and look at the quilts.” Tewanda rolled her eyes and met Noel’s gaze. “He picked up that French in Canada. His accent is terrible, and it’s a crapshoot if he gets the words right.”

As she moved down the display wall like she was on a moving sidewalk, Noel got the feeling Tewanda was looking at the prices rather than the quilts themselves. She paused in front of the most expensive of the lot—
Starry Snowfall,
the one that depicted midnight blue stars falling on a pristine white snowfall. In truth, it wasn’t Noel’s favorite. It had been a commissioned by a besotted groom-to-be, and Noel had been more than half finished when the bride called off the wedding. Though it was within her rights, Noel had not had the heart to make the brokenhearted young man take the quilt. But favorite or not, considering the time she’d put into the piece, five thousand dollars was a fair price.

Tewanda looked
Starry Snowfall
up and down and turned to Noel.

“Is this all you have?”

All?
This woman had no clue how many hours it had taken to produce what was hanging on that wall.

“Yes. But
Starry Snowfall
is a king. And the snowflakes are very intricate.” Ah, the time she had put into those snowflakes, all for love gone wrong.

“Hmm.” Tewanda ran her fingers over the designs. Meanwhile, Nickolai was surveying the other quilts. “I like the blue and white.”

Just then Nickolai let out a delighted, musical laugh from where he stood in front of the last quilt in the display. “Tewanda! Come and see this one. It makes me smile!”

Lazy Morning
made Noel smile, too. Of all the quilts she’d ever made, it was one of her favorites and, business or not, she didn’t want this woman to own it.

With a heavy heart, Noel followed Tewanda to stand beside Nickolai. “Look!” Nickolai’s long arms gestured like a windmill at full tilt. “The quilt is an unmade bed!”