Between Christmas and Romance

  A Sweet Holiday Romance

  by

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Between Christmas and Romance

  Copyright © 2019 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request” at the email address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by For the Muse Design

  Dedication

  To those who love small town life…

  Chapter One

  Steam redolent with the scents of cinnamon, cloves, apples, and a hint of citrus wafted in delicious, feathery plumes from the mug I held in my chilled fingers.

  My head dipped closer to the mug emblazoned with my store logo and I breathed deeply of the fragrance. Content, I sighed and took a sip, letting the warm, sweet liquid warm me from the inside out.

  Hemingway, my contrary cat, filled the quiet of the November morning with loud purrs as he curled up on the chair beside me. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume the finicky feline enjoyed the pleasing aroma, too.

  “What do you think, Hemi? Hmm? Is it time to go downstairs and open the shop?”

  The cat swished his tail but didn’t open his eyes or show any interest in moving from the overstuffed chair that had become our favorite spot to begin and end the day.

  Back in March, I’d been dropping the trash in the dumpster in the alley when I noticed the cat. Fully grown, the black-striped tabby was all tawny fur and bones. Although he was standoffish, it didn’t take long to win him over. Before I knew it, he’d become the store’s mascot.

  I used to feel sorry for him, but now I’m just glad for his company, even if he can be a little imperious at times.

  My hand gently stroked across the soft fur of his back and his purring increased in volume. “I’ll feed you breakfast,” I offered as an incentive to get him up and moving.

  Green eyes blinked at me as the cat lazily stretched then hopped down and headed toward my apartment door. He looked over his shoulder with a scowl, as though I should have immediately followed.

  “You’re getting bossier by the day, Hemi.” I picked up my cell phone and a set of keys, tucking them inside the pockets of my long cardigan sweater then opened the door. The cat marched out and around the bookcase that hid the entrance to our private domain.

  At the last minute, I remembered my glasses and snatched them from the pie crust table by the door, settling them on top of my head. I walked around the bookcase then pulled a wooden panel shut. It gave the appearance of a wall and kept anyone from finding my apartment door. A girl couldn’t be too careful about protecting her privacy and I guarded mine with extreme diligence.

  Hemi meowed and minced his way down the winding stairs, but I remained where I was at the top of the landing, looking out over my business. Since purchasing the bookstore last year, I’d worked hard to change it in a subtle way that wouldn’t upset or offend the residents of Christmas Mountain, my Montana hometown.

  After all, Rudolph’s Reads has been an institution in Christmas Mountain for what seems like forever. It was certainly a place of refuge for me during the challenging years of my childhood.

  When Mr. Abernathy, the previous owner, mentioned his plans to retire, I jumped at the opportunity to purchase the business. I needed a place of escape and I couldn’t think of anywhere better than the town where I spent my growing up years.

  With another sip of my spicy tea, I took one more glance over the rough-hewn timbers, shelves bursting with books, cozy seating areas, and the island in the midst of it all that served as the checkout counter and my desk. Above it, hanging from the ceiling, was a life-sized stuffed reindeer with a red nose holding a colorful copy of Twas the Night Before Christmas, as though he read the story. A balcony encircled the second floor of the store, leaving the center open, except for Rudolph and his book. And of course, there was my apartment tucked in the back, hidden behind a sturdy bookcase.

  I drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of the tea in my left hand as well as the smell of books, old wood, and lemon oil. I used the oil faithfully to keep all the shelves, beams, and furniture polished to a high shine.

  Hemi leaped onto the checkout counter and glowered at me with a demanding meow.

  “I’m coming, your highness.” With one last look around the store, I sauntered down the stairs, set the mug of tea near the cash register, then made my way down the back hallway to the storage room where I kept Hemi’s food and water bowl. He had a big, fluffy bed there, along with a litter box, and a collection of toys that he rarely even looked at let alone used.

  I cracked open the back door and he darted outside while I dumped cat food into his bowl and refilled his water dish. The cold caused me to shiver as I waited for the cat, but I breathed deeply. I appreciated the combined smells of wood smoke, pine trees, and fresh mountain air.

  Thankfully, Hemi didn’t tarry long in the great outdoors. He rushed back in and made a beeline for his food. The sound of his crunching drew out my smile as I closed the door and locked it, then washed my hands at the sink in the corner.

  On my way out front, I stopped to make sure the bathroom was clean and stocked with necessities for my customers. Assured everything was in good order, I continued to the checkout counter, turned on my computer, checked the connection of the cash register, and sipped my rapidly cooling tea.

  I’d just walked over to the door to unlock it when I felt something brush against my leg. A glance down confirmed Hemi did his best to cover my black tights with fur.

  “Must you do that, Hemi?”

  His innocent look won me over, like it always did. I bent down and gave him several good scratches along his back and in the spot behind his right ear that caused his purring to sound like a revving engine before I unlocked the door and turned the closed sign around to open.

  Today, I planned to design my holiday displays between taking care of customers and answering the phone. I’d already cleared a section near the front of the store, between the romance and travel sections, where I’d started arranging holiday books and gift items.

  I could have focused solely on that, but my two part-time employees were unavailable to watch the store today.

  Marilyn, a sweet grandmother of five, came to me not long after I purchased the store. Desperate for a job that would get her out of the house, the poor woman claimed her husband’s retirement had been one of the worst things that ever happened to her. The man spent all his time at home offering suggestions on how she could improve her housekeeping efficiency or watching golf, which Marilyn despised. She needed time away from him to keep from threatening to leave him if he didn’t return to work.

  Karen had two rambunctious boys, ages three and two, and claimed working at the store a few days a week was the only thing that kept her sanity intact. Between the two of them, I had help from ten to two every weekday.

  But Marilyn h
ad gone to her daughter’s place in Bozeman for the Thanksgiving holiday and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. Karen’s boys were both sick so she didn’t feel right leaving them with her mother-in-law, who usually babysat for her on Wednesdays and Fridays. Karen promised to be at the store Friday morning bright and early to help with the Black Friday shoppers, though.

  The two high school students who worked every Saturday and alternating afternoons from three until six would be available to lend a hand, too. I asked both Aiden and Josie to come in this afternoon so they could help me decorate the store. We’d get the artificial Christmas tree set up and make a big dent in creating holiday displays.

  Gaze narrowed, I tipped my head to the right and envisioned how a Christmas tree would look at the back of the holiday display with white lights twinkling and traditional red plaid ribbons streaming around the branches.

  “Perfect,” I whispered. “It will look perfect.”

  It had been far too many years since I’d been able to celebrate Christmas in a truly meaningful way. Not until I returned to Christmas Mountain last year. It had been like a weight lifted off my shoulders the moment I drove into town.

  Home.

  Christmas Mountain was home and I belonged here.

  I was settled in as a business owner, even if I did prefer to hide out in my store rather than socialize. Friends from my school days occasionally talked me into outings. There were seven of us who had shared a special friendship thanks to our music teacher, Ms. King. Moments spent with Ashley, Morgan, Lexi, Emma, Faith, Joy, and my favorite teacher would always be sweet memories I cherished. Due to nothing but my own stubbornness, I’d lost touch with all of them until I moved back last year and reconnected with them. Now, the girls made sure I left the store on occasion and engaged in a little fun from time to time. And I’d renewed a close friendship with Joy that brought me a great deal of happiness.

  With my heart full of happiness at the prospect of another fabulous day spent doing something I greatly enjoyed, I made a pot of coffee, set out more foam cups and napkins near the pot, then flipped on the radio to a station that filled the store with easy listening music. Come Friday morning, I’d play non-stop Christmas music until New Year’s Day.

  I’m aware Christmas music can drive some people mad, but I love it. I cherish the old carols. I treasure the songs made popular during the war years. There are even a number of new Christmas tunes I adore. And I plan to play them all.

  Thoughts of Christmas songs caused me to hum a familiar carol as I gave the counter a quick once-over with a dust cloth before I plopped into the red leather high-backed office chair at my computer. I’d just finished replying to emails and placing an order for books when the bell above the door jangled.

  Mr. Abernathy walked inside and headed straight for the coffee. It wasn’t until he’d taken a sip that he casually made his way over to the counter. Since I purchased the store, this had become a routine we both enjoyed every Tuesday and Thursday.

  Like clockwork, he arrived at half past nine to drink coffee and jokingly tell me at least one way I could do a better job of keeping up the store his grandmother started. I’d feign offense, or tell him to mind his own business, then we’d talk about the latest new releases and anything exciting taking place in the book world or the community.

  If it wasn’t for Mr. Abernathy, I don’t know what I would have done, both as a child and when I returned to Christmas Mountain. He’d saved me from myself in my younger years, and from things I preferred not to think about more recently.

  “You do know shoppers will be in here wanting full blown holiday cheer bright and early Friday morning, don’t you, Miss Bennett?” he asked as he leaned an elbow on the counter and looked around the store.

  “I certainly do. That’s why I decided to take down the reindeer and put up a big beach display,” I teased, waiting for his reaction.

  He choked on his coffee and whipped his head around to glare at me instead of studying the festive Christmas travel mugs I’d already stocked on a nearby shelf.

  “You wouldn’t dare remove Rudolph.” Everyone in town knew the reindeer hanging above the cash register was like an institution, an unchangeable tradition. It would take someone bigger and braver than me to rid the store of the reindeer. Besides, with a name like Carol and a passion for all things Christmas, the last thing on my mind was replacing old Rudy.

  “Try me.” I grinned at Mr. Abernathy.

  He smiled and slurped his coffee.

  Mr. Abernathy could only be described as a strange little man. I had no idea how tall he claimed to be, but since I was five-eleven, I guessed him to be a good six inches shorter. He was thin, pale, with a mustache that reminded me of Mr. Spacely, the anti-hero from The Jetson’s cartoons. But Mr. Abernathy was kind. At least if you got past his bookish exterior to the softie he really was at heart.

  I first discovered the haven of Rudolph’s Reads when I was eight. I’d ducked inside to avoid my mother as she searched all over town for me and lost myself in the rows of books.

  Mr. Abernathy had scowled and warned me not to touch anything I didn’t plan to buy, but I couldn’t resist walking through the store, inhaling the scents of books and adventures. When I left, he gave me what was almost a smile. The next time I ventured in, he told me the same thing, but showed me a section of used books at the back of his store and suggested several I might enjoy. A comfy sitting area in an alcove tucked beyond the view of shoppers became my spot. I would curl up there and read to my heart’s content. Mr. Abernathy even let me read new books, as long as I didn’t damage the books or crack the spine. I was fifteen when I gathered the courage to ask him about a job. He hired me on the spot and I worked evenings and weekends, at least when my mother didn’t have other plans.

  He and Ms. King are the reasons I somehow survived my childhood.

  “Do you need help with the tree?” Mr. Abernathy asked after he took another long drink of the coffee.

  “Aiden and Josie will help. Between the three of us, we should be able to manage, but thanks for the offer. Will you come in Friday and let me know what you think?”

  He shook his head. “The last place you’ll find me is in a store on Black Friday.” He gave me an observant glance. “Unless you need help.”

  “I’ve got it covered. Why don’t you come in Saturday, then?”

  “I’ll do that, Carol.” He finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage can by the door. “You know how to call me if you do need help.”

  “I do, Mr. Abernathy. Thank you.” I watched as he walked outside and continued on his way, hunching into his coat in the cold air. Sometimes, I wondered if he was as lonely as I felt. As far as I knew, he’d never been married and had lived alone all these years. He had to be nearing his eighties. He’d seemed ancient the first time I met him and that was many years ago.

  “Is that going to be me in fifty years, Hemi?” I asked the cat as he sauntered in from the hallway and sat near the spinning rack of greeting cards, licking his front paws. “I’ll be the crazy cat woman who has a store full of books, cats running amuck, and no life.”

  About to depress myself with my maudlin musings, I shifted my focus back to the Christmas display. Thoughts of the upcoming holidays were sure to brighten my mood. I leaned forward and stared at the Christmas display space. I wanted it to be more than just a tree, holiday books, and a few gift items. I wanted people to walk in and be awed.

  Inspired, I looked up several ideas on my computer between customers. At a lull between shoppers, I hopped up and hurried to the storage room where shelves on one wall held a variety of decorations Mr. Abernathy had collected over the years. The new lights and ornaments I ordered were there, along with the ribbon I planned to toss like confetti around the displays. I was going to need more lights, garlands, ribbon, and a crate of candy canes if I wanted to make my vision for the store a reality.

  Excited, I grabbed a notebook I kept near the hallway door for capturing ideas
and began jotting down notes. I’d filled half a page when I heard the bell out front jangle, signaling the arrival of a customer.

  “I’ll be right there,” I called, hastily scribbling my thoughts before they skittered away like the last of autumn’s leaves.

  A jingling noise made me wonder if someone was playing with the bell, although it sounded different than usual. Annoyed, I shoved on the glasses I wore when there were customers in the store and rushed down the hallway, ready to admonish whoever was using the bell as a toy. Quite unexpectedly, I stepped out of the hallway, turned toward the door, and slammed into the broad chest of a man who smelled like leather, snowfall, and sunshine.

  It was an entirely heady and altogether unwelcome combination. Almost as unwelcome as his hands on my arms, even if they did steady me and keep me upright.

  With a jerk, I pulled out of his grasp, and stepped away. Expecting to see a face I knew, because it’s a small town and that saying of everybody knows everyone is true, I saw a stranger. Not only was the man unknown to me, but I had to tip my head back to look up at a face covered with dark stubble and shadowed by the brim of a cowboy hat.

  In the years I’d been away from Christmas Mountain, living in some of the biggest cities in the world, I’d learned to be careful, to stay on the defense for safety’s sake. Some might go as far as to say I have an overly ambitious sense of stranger danger.

  Everything about this brawny man put me on high alert. Warning bells clanged in my ears while my stomach cartwheeled with nerves. Normally, I don’t have this type of reaction to my bookstore patrons. Or even people I’ve never met.

  But something about this cowboy left me completely unsettled.

  And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  I took another step back, my eyes fastened on his square-tipped fingers as they pushed back his hat. Involuntarily, a gasp rolled out of me at the sight of his handsome face. The notion that he could have stepped right out of the pages of a western clothing advertisement didn’t seem far-fetched in the least. All he needed was a dusting of snow on his wide shoulders and a horse in the background.