One Christmas Wish (13 page)

“That's not necessary.” For the first time in her life, she didn't roll her eyes at Gracie's obsession with appearances. Instead, she chose to hold onto the words her mother had uttered in that one moment of vulnerable authenticity.
I only wanted you to be happy
. Smiling up at Gracie, she squeezed her mom's hand. “I don't care what everyone else thinks of Isaac. He's perfect for me.”

That was all that mattered.

W
aterproof mascara is a big fat lie,” Julia complained to Isaac while they waited with the rest of the wedding guests to watch Ben and Paige make their debut as husband and wife.

She'd cried through most of the ceremony. Well, when she wasn't busy making sexy eyes at Isaac, that was. Because now that she understood the kind of love Ben and Paige shared—now that she felt it herself—her heart had softened into a big ball of mush and even the slightest expression of sweet romance brought her to tears.

“You're the loveliest woman in this room,” Isaac insisted, handing her a Kleenex.

She blotted it underneath her eyes so she wouldn't tear up again. “You're just saying that so you can convince me to sneak upstairs later.” Not that she'd object.

Isaac laughed. “You already know me so well. But we can't leave the party yet.”

No. They couldn't. Because now it was official. Paige had legally become her sister and she wanted to be the first one to congratulate them.

The hundreds of people milling around the Walker Mountain Ranch's great room made the place feel warm and cheerful. When they'd first told her they wanted to get married on Christmas Eve, Julia had thought they were crazy. But now that she saw everything—the garlands and the lights and the sprigs of holly and mistletoe—she realized it was the perfect day.

Across the room, the doors whooshed open. Everyone hushed and scattered to form a clear path down the center of the space.

“For the first time, it is my great honor to announce Mr. and Mrs. Noble!” Bryce, who'd been Ben's best man, swept out an arm in grand presentation, then stepped aside.

Holding hands, the groom and his beautiful bride made their way across the room, waving and laughing as people whistled and hollered.

And what do you know? Julia was crying again.

When they made it to where she sat, Ben paused and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She tried to squeeze back the tears and brace herself. They hadn't exactly had a chance to talk about what had happened yesterday.

“I'm sorry, Sis.” He ruffled her hair. “Don't worry. Isaac set me straight.” Ben gave Isaac some bro code glance that she couldn't interpret. “We'll miss you like crazy, but you'll tear it up in Dallas.”

“I'll come back and visit,” she promised, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I have to make sure you're being good to your wife.”

“He was
really
good to me in the limo,” Paige informed her.

Gross.

Her sis-in-law gave her a big old hug. “Seriously, Julia. I'm so excited for you.” Her eyes glimmered as she slid a glance to Isaac. “For both of you.”

Something secretive passed between Paige and Isaac.

“What's going on?” she asked, trying to read their faces.

“Oops. The band is starting up.” Her sis-in-law yanked Ben toward the dance floor. “That means it's time for our first dance.” They bounded away before Julia could interrogate her.

Slipping her hand into Isaac's, Julia watched her brother take Paige in his arms as the band started playing Van Morrison's “Crazy Love.”

Another round of tears mingled with her freshly applied mascara.

Isaac knelt beside her and just the feel of his cheek against hers warmed her all the way through.

“Think I can steal you away for a minute?” he murmured.

A minute? This man could steal her away forever and she wouldn't put up a fight. “Of course,” she managed, heart lifting at the prospect of
finally
being alone with him. They hadn't been alone together since that morning.

Oh, wow, that morning…

Isaac weaved her through the crowd to the French doors that led out to the patio. “It's pretty cold out,” he said, bending down to wrap her in the warmth of a soft blanket.

“Where are we going?” She'd hoped for upstairs, but it appeared they were headed outside instead.

“You'll see.” He opened the door and carefully eased her chair through. The air was shockingly cold, typical for Aspen in December, but her eyes heated the second she realized what he had done.

A section of the patio had been cleared of snow and there were candles everywhere, the flames flickering in the slight breeze. “I know you said you can't dance with me,” Isaac murmured, slipping in front of her chair. “But I think you can.” He lifted her into those strong arms and she buried her face against his neck.

The soft notes of the music still strummed from inside the party. Shifting her, Isaac set her feet on the ground, but didn't let go. He held his arms tightly around her waist so she could stand with his strength.

Her feet and legs were weak, but he held her against him, swaying her in the music's magical rhythm like he'd done at prom all of those years ago.

“You were the last person I danced with,” she whispered. “Before the accident.”

His face lowered to hers. “You were the last person I danced with before I joined the Navy.”

She tipped her head back to study his face. “You haven't danced with anyone since then?”

“No. Didn't have a lot of opportunities. And even if I had, it wouldn't have been you.”

Smiling, she rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart pulse against her cheek.

The song ended too soon. She could've stayed like that forever, swaying in his arms, even though the temperature had to be dipping close to zero.

“Are you cold?” he asked, bending to settle her on a bench that had been draped with another blanket.

“No.” Her face felt the chill, but everything inside of her blazed with warmth and love and want.

“You've been busy today,” she observed, taking in the candles. There had to be fifty of them, all different sizes and colors.

The ambient glow softened the snow banks encircling them. Fluffy, stray flakes cascaded from the black sky.

“I
was
busy.” The sly smile on his face brought her back fifteen years. “Don't want to waste any more time.” He took a knee in front of her. “I know what I want. It's you. It's always been you. You're my past and my present and my future, Julia. You're everything.”

She should've said something. Anything. But she could only stare at him, heart opening, tears streaming down her cheeks.

His hand fished into his coat pocket and he pulled out a small velvet box. “Julia Noble,” he said with tears in his own eyes. “After all of these years, will you
finally
be my wife?”

His hand trembled as he opened the box and withdrew the ring, holding it up with an endearing look of hope.

It was exquisite. Exactly what she'd always pictured…a round diamond set in platinum, accented by royal blue sapphires. “It's beautiful…”

“Your brother helped me pick it out in town this afternoon.”

She pressed her fingers against her lips as if that would stop the tears. “Ben knows?”

He looked at her like she'd lost it. “Had to ask for his blessing so he wouldn't kick my ass later.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked me what the hell took so long.”

That sounded just like Ben.

Isaac inched closer to her. His knees had to be killing him, but she wanted to stretch out this moment and make it last forever. It was so perfect with the candles and the snow and the hum of love and happiness just inside of the doors…

“You still haven't given me an answer, you know,” he said, quite patiently.

Did he even have to ask? “Yes.” The word opened her heart to him. “Yes,” she said again so she could make sure this was real and not one of her childish dreams. “I'll marry you tomorrow, if you want.”

He slipped the ring on her finger, and she loved the weight of it, the finality.

“Something tells me tomorrow won't give Gracie enough time to plan the wedding of the century,” he said through a smirk.

“Exactly. I don't want that.” She hadn't waited so long for this—for
him
—to let Gracie hijack her wedding and turn it into some elitist black-tie event. “I only want you.” The rest of it—the flowers and the dress and the decorations and the food—none of it mattered to her.

Bringing her left hand against his lips, he kissed the tips of her fingers with a tender devotion. “Then we'll get married on a beach somewhere. As soon as you've earned enough vacation time.” His hands held her cheeks, thumbs sweeping across her jaw, and the raised bumps scattered down her body had nothing to do with the wind chill.

“You, me, any parents, siblings, and close friends who want to be there.”

She scooted herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close enough to bring that spark of heat low in her belly. With the soft snow falling all around them, the flickering candles hemming them into a safe, tranquil glow, she touched her lips to his and rested them there until it charged her body with a fierce craving. When she pulled away, she saw it in his eyes—the dream she'd always held onto. The guiding light of hope that had gotten her through.

“We'll have the ceremony at sunset,” he whispered in her ear. “With the waves crashing behind us.” He leaned against her and kissed her lips, slow and sensual, taunting her. “And then we'll start the rest of our lives together.”

A contented sigh swelled through her, until her whole body brimmed over with happiness. She took Isaac's hands in hers, those hands that had held hers so many times.

“That's all I've ever wanted.”

Sara Richardson grew up chasing adventure in Colorado's rugged mountains. She's climbed to the top of a 14,000-foot peak at midnight, swam through Class IV rapids, completed her wilderness first-aid certification, and spent seven days at a time tromping through the wilderness with a thirty-pound backpack strapped to her shoulders.

Eventually, Sara did the responsible thing and got an education in writing and journalism. After a brief stint in the corporate writing world, she stopped ignoring the voices in her head and started writing fiction. Now, she uses her experience as a mountain adventure guide to write stories that incorporate adventure with romance. Still indulging her adventurous spirit, Sara lives and plays in Colorado with her saint of a husband and two young sons.

Learn more at:

SaraRichardson.com

Twitter, @SaraR_Books

Facebook.com/SaraRichardsonBooks

M
orning is hands-down the most beautiful time of day in the mountains.

Ruby James stepped out of her Honda Civic and raised her face to the sky, closing her eyes, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent of the dew-kissed grass. At five o'clock the sky was still dark and studded with stars, but the frayed edges of the mountainous horizon glowed with the promise of light.

A new day. Fresh, clean air, a blank slate of possibilities. Each morning for the last year, she had been the first one to greet it at the Walker Mountain Ranch. And for the first time in her life, she had started to understand freedom. It manifested itself in the expanse of mountainous space, in the stillness of a world still asleep, in the opportunity she'd been given to take care of herself, to pursue a life she wanted, instead of one that had been thrust on her by a broken system.

The air's chill infused energy into her blood as Ruby tromped from her parking spot behind the Walker Mountain Ranch, lugging along a cloth market bag that held her very own personal set of stainless-steel measuring cups and a marble rolling pin. Elsie Walker, her boss and the head chef at the ranch, kept a set at in the kitchen, but Ruby preferred to use her own for baking. Then she'd take them home each night to polish them and bring them back the next morning. It was something akin to having a briefcase—she imagined—except instead of a laptop and a cell phone and whatever other devices were popular at the moment, her briefcase was filled with kitchen utensils. They were the best ones she could find at that gourmet kitchen store in town, solid and unbendable, the highest-quality materials for baking. And this morning she had to do her best baking because their best clients would be coming off the trail later this afternoon, and everything had to be perfect.

Each year in the spring, before things got busy, the Walker Mountain Ranch welcomed a group of foster kids from other towns in the area. They came to stay for free. They went on a backpacking trip. They went whitewater rafting. They did the ropes course and zip line and had the chance to just be kids without a care, for once in their lives.

She would've given anything for that chance back when she was being carted to foster home after foster home. So when Elsie had told her about the group—when they'd started planning—Ruby had decided she would do everything she could to make this week at the ranch the best of these kids' lives, cooking for them, volunteering to help out while they were at the ranch—anything to make them feel wanted and accepted and free.

She approached the lodge's back door, the familiar scent of wood stain greeting her. The massive logs stacked one on top of each other always reminded her of the Lincoln Logs she and her brother Grady used to play with before Mama went to prison. They'd build structures almost exactly like the one that stood in front of her, grand mountain palaces where magical things happened—where families gathered around fireplaces and drank hot chocolate. Where there were no drugs and no cops and no fears. They'd set up the fences and add in small plastic farm animals they'd shoplifted from the drugstore, pigs and cows and chickens, and even a crotchety rooster they'd called Slim.

Back then, she'd believed things could turn around for them. She'd believed Mama would go to rehab like she always said, and then things would be normal. Once, she'd even shoplifted an apron for Mama—a frilly thing that looked handmade. As if when Mama put it on, she'd be magically transformed into the woman Ruby had always dreamed she would become. The mom who made chocolate chip cookies and drove the car pool and cut her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in funny shapes that'd make her giggle at school.

But Ruby didn't believe in magic anymore.

Shaking her head at herself, she paused to study the Walker Mountain Ranch's lovely façade. Maybe that's why she'd ended up here last year. When she'd gotten in the car, she didn't know where to go. She'd never had a place, and god knew Aspen, Colorado, was worlds away from Cherryville, North Carolina. But it was either stay there with Derek and live with the bruises that always splotched her skin, or go. Disappear. Build a new life, a new name, a new future for herself.

So she'd chased freedom. As she'd worked her way west, the mountains had called her name. She'd seen mountains before, of course, but nothing like the Rocky Mountains. Instead of mounded green hills, they were massive and sharp, lovely but impenetrable. Exactly the refuge she was seeking. While there was a certain fragility to her new life—her new identity—this was the first time she'd felt rooted since before Mama'd been put away.

As always, that thought burrowed deep in the tomb where she normally kept all of those memories vaulted. That was where they belonged. Stashed away. 'Course with Mama's birthday being today, those crushed hopes and dreams were getting restless, feeling almost uncontainable. Was she still in jail? Had Derek contacted her mother after Ruby had run away? Cold dread washed over her, and she plowed through the ranch's kitchen door before the tide of fear dragged her back into the currents of the past.

The kitchen was dim, with only the under-cabinet lighting turned on, but it was warm, too, scented with cinnamon and yeast. Inhaling the familiarity soothed the tremble out of her hands. No one here knew a lick of anything about her past, and she had to keep it that way. She couldn't risk Derek tracking her down, not after the threats he'd made the last time he'd beat her up.

Holding her breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding so hard. She had to calm herself down. Derek couldn't find her here, she'd made sure of that. She'd been sad to hear of her old neighbor's passing, but Ruby James's death had given her the perfect opportunity to escape.

The woman hadn't had any children of her own, and she'd always had a soft spot for Ruby. Still she'd been surprised to hear that Miss James had left her everything. Her house and her car. She'd never told Derek. She'd simply sold off everything except the Civic, and used the proceeds to fund her trip out west, paying cash for absolutely everything.

As a cop, Derek would have the means to look for her, to watch for a ping on her credit card, to scan reports from all over the country. That's why she'd been so careful. That's why she'd used Ruby James's name. That's why she'd cut up all of her credit cards.

No. He wouldn't find her, she told herself again as she marched to the other side of the room and set down her bag. It was time to stop thinking about him. About Mama. A new day. A new life. And she had cinnamon rolls to bake.

Bryce and Avery Walker didn't open the ranch until nine during the slow season, but Ruby and Elsie made all the baked good from scratch, which meant Ruby had to get an early start every morning. She preferred that, anyway. Being alone. It was easier because she didn't have to pretend. She didn't have to watch herself so closely, to guard every word and thought so she wouldn't risk confusing her new identity with her old life. When she was alone, she could let down her guard, turn on some tunes, and put her hands to work, rolling out scones and cinnamon roll dough and whatever else was on the menu for the morning.

Just the thought of that therapeutic process that included kneading and rolling and mixing was enough to set her emotions right. Even though she'd left it behind, her old life was always there in the dreams, in the memories. Sometimes they leaked out, spilling over into the present, but she could usually outrun 'em as long as she stayed busy.

And speaking of busy…she shimmied out of her fleece coat and hung it on the hook behind the pantry…she had a whole mess of baked goods planned for those kids—gooey chocolate chip cookies as big as their heads, fat, fluffy cinnamon rolls that would melt in their mouths. Smiling at the thought, she started to unpack her supplies. First, the heavy marble rolling pin that had cost her a small fortune. Admiring the swirled gray and white stone, she pulled it out of the bag and—

Crash!

The jarring sound stilled her. A breath lodged in her throat. She strained her ears, listening.

A series of thuds and rumbles sounded again from the pantry.

Oh, god.
A swallow tangled her windpipe. Something was
in
there. Her grip tightened on the rolling pin's handle. Was it a bear fresh out of hibernation? Scenes from that damn grizzly bear documentary she'd watched two days ago flashed like a horror flick—the bear towering on his hind legs, teeth gnashing, claws slashing through the air. Aspen had a major bear problem. They broke into restaurants and homes, raiding the kitchens, pilfering through the trash…

God. Oh, dear god.
Her heart catapulted into an arrhythmia. Perspiration beaded on her skin. She stared longingly at the kitchen door, all the way on the other side of the room. It might as well have been in Antarctica! There was no way she'd get over there without the
thing
hearing her! The pantry's half-open door stood between her and a clean escape…

More clatters cinched tension into her neck.

“Damn it!”

Ruby inhaled a gasp. Not a bear! Definitely not a bear. A muffled string of curses edged her back against the wall. A man. There was a man in the pantry! Except there were no other cars outside. Bryce and Shooter, the ranch's other guide, had gone on a backpacking trip with the kids.

Wait a minute.
She jerked her head and squinted in a futile effort to examine the kitchen door she'd walked through not five minutes ago. It hadn't been locked. Holy Moses, it was
always
locked! If she hadn't been so preoccupied with the past, she would've noticed. Someone had broken in!

An icy sensation spread over her shoulders and locked them tight, the remnants of past trauma seeping into her.

Derek?

No, no.
He couldn't have found her.

Another crash seemed to shake the floor.

Panic came in wrenching gasps, clouding her vision, prickling her skin.
911.
She had to call 911 before the man came out and saw her.

Still gripping the rolling pin, she reached her other clammy hand into the market bag and fished for her cell phone.

The pantry door creaked, then cranked open all the way.

It was dark inside, but a man's silhouette stood under the doorjamb. A large man. Tall, broad shoulders. The hood of a black sweatshirt obscured his face.

“Freeze, dirt bag!” Arm stiff with fear, Ruby held out the rolling pin, brandishing it as if it was a gun.

“What the hell?” The man took a step toward her.

“I said freeze,” she squeaked, because technically, there wasn't much she could do if he decided not to obey.

“Easy,” the guy murmured in a patronizing voice, like he was trying to lure a scared puppy or something.

“You hold it right there, asshole!” She waved the rolling pin again. “I'm calling nine-one-one.”

“Take it easy.” Slowly, the man held up one hand while the other took down his hood. “It's me, Ruby,” he said. But
me
who? All she could see were the bright lights of fear shooting holes through her vision. Because she'd never been able to fight back. When Derek came at her, when he laced his fingers around her neck and reminded her he could squeeze the life out of her, she'd never been able to fight back…

Gasping for a breath, she realized her fingertips were tingling with numbness.
Oh god!
How would she fight back with a
rolling pin
?

“Ruby!” The man shuffled a step closer. “Lower the weapon.”

How? Her arms seemed locked in place. Her lungs heaved and gasped.
No!
Not here! Not now! She hadn't had a panic attack since she'd come to the Walker Mountain Ranch. But sure enough, her heart pounded so hard her head got light. It felt like her lungs were filling with water. She had to fight for a breath.

“Hey.” A hand enclosed hers.

Fire roared through her. “Don't touch me!” She ripped free and swung the rolling pin as hard as she could, feeling a thud as it collided with the man's body.

A winded groan punched out of his mouth and he sank slowly to the floor, clutching his groin.

“Holy Moses,” she whimpered. She'd taken the guy down. What now? What the hell should she do now? Frozen, she stood over him, still clutching the rolling pin.

“You hit me with that again, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to walk for a week,” the man said. “Kids'll probably be out of the question, too.”

A joke? The perp was joking with her?

Ruby's vision cleared. She gazed down at him and stared into eyes so blue they put the Colorado sky to shame. “Sawyer,” she panted. Realizing who he was didn't do much to curb the panic. Sawyer was Bryce's cousin! A cop! She'd nailed a cop in the balls with a marble rolling pin!

“I'm so sorry!” She dropped to her knees next to him. “Are you okay? I thought you were an intruder!”

“Obviously,” he mumbled as he gingerly sat up and hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees. He shifted slightly with a wince.

“Why didn't you stop me?” Yes, it was perhaps a bit unsympathetic for her to ask that question when the man's voice was still cracking like a preteen's, but what the hell? With all of those bulging muscles of his, he could've immobilized her with one maneuver. He could've taken away the rolling pin and they wouldn't be in this situation, now, would they?

“Didn't want to scare you,” Sawyer mumbled. “You already seemed pretty freaked out.”

Humiliation soaked her face. This was not good, him seeing her have a panic attack. Really not good. Out of everyone here, she'd avoided Sawyer the most. He was a cop. A little research and the man could bring down her entire fabricated life,

“You want to tell me why you didn't recognize me?” His tenor had settled back into the deep, gravelly lovemaking voice she'd heard before. A tingle raced up her spine. It was like having a conversation with Keith Urban.