Santa Reads Romance Read online

  May ran into the kitchen to get some plates and silverware. Hunter took the quilt off the bed and spread it before the fire. They were going to have Christmas dinner.

  Soon they were seated before the fire feasting on the riches they had found.

  May looked at the wonderful food before her, the sweet puppy lying contentedly by the fire, chewing on his ham-bone, and the man next to her, who against all expectations had turned into a real-life hero.

  Her eyes filled with moisture. “This is the best Christmas I've ever had, Hunter.”

  He put his fork down to cover her hand with his. “Me, too, May.”

  They came together to kiss.

  “Casper?” She planted a soft kiss next to his dimple.

  “No, honey.”

  May sat back on her haunches. “Then what is it?”

  Hunter grinned at her. “Christopher,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Christopher? But that's a nice name!” She was indignant.

  He laughed. “I never said it wasn't, Ms. Bea. That was your idea.”

  “No wonder you had on a Santa suit,” she grumbled. “With that name you were a shoo-in. How come you don't use it?”

  “My grandfather's name is also Christopher. It got too confusing at family get-togethers.”

  As simple as that. No wonder he wasn't a writer. A writer would have a much better story than that.

  However, flights of fancy notwithstanding, she was absolutely crazy about the publisher.

  Hunter reached over, his hand clasping her about the neck. “You know what?” Their noses were almost touching.

  “What?” she purred.

  “I think I'm in love with you.”

  May blinked, stunned.

  “Know what else?” he went on unperturbed.

  “N-no.”

  “I think you love me, too.”

  A writer and a publisher? How existential… May's thoughts were interrupted by his next question.

  “Know what else?”

  May shook her head.

  “I predict that you and I will be here next Christmas and we'll be old married folks.” He stopped to stare at her poignantly. “What do you think of that, May?”

  She did not have to think. “Mmmm, I just love sequels… ” May closed the small distance between them.

  After they ate, May went to store the leftovers in the refrigerator and Hunter was picking up in the room. He had already replaced the quilt on the bed and was in the process of folding the large cloth sack when a small card floated out of the bag to fall at his feet.

  Thinking it was a tag that had fallen off a gift, he bent down to retrieve it and was about to throw it away when he spotted his name on the front of it. Gingerly he opened it and read:

  To Hunter,

  It seems Benny and you are a perfect match. The other half of your gift is a lifelong one— something you've been needing for a long time. Remember, it only comes from following the “directions” exactly. Merry Christmas.

  Your Friend, the Old Coot

  P.S. It's a good thing I have an extra suit.

  A cold sweat broke across Hunter's brow. He suddenly remembered the names of some of those nurses in the hospital. Nurse B. Litzen? Nurse Donner? And that little red-haired one… Rudy.

  No way.

  What about that deli that supplied all those gifts for the children? Katya and Rolph Ingles… K. & R. Ingles… Kringles?

  It couldn't be.

  At that moment May came back to the room. Seeing his ashen expression, she asked, “Is something wrong, Hunter?”

  He rubbed his hand across his face. Who would believe it? “No, everything is fine, sweetheart. C'mere, Benny.” He patted his leg so the dog would come to him.

  Benny obediently left his mangled hambone and trotted Hunter's way.

  When the dog was sitting by his feet, Hunter reached down and untied the blue ribbon around the dog's neck. “Welcome home, boy.” He ruffled the fur on Benny's head.

  Tongue hanging out, Benny gave his new master a look of pure adoration.

  The burst of static from the radio surprised both of them. “Hey, Douglas, you there?” It was the sheriff's office.

  Hunter went over to the radio, flicking the switch. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “I have an urgent message from your editorial director.”

  Hunter took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

  “She says, ‘Rex's manuscript arrived last night from Sri Lanka. It's a knockout. Relax and enjoy the holiday.’”

  Hunter was nonplused. Rex had come through. Big time. He actually felt his eyes get damp.

  “We should be able to dig you out day after tomorrow,” the sheriff continued.

  “That's okay, Sheriff.” He met May's eyes. “Take your time.” He switched the radio off.

  May beamed at him. “You got your manuscript!”

  Hunter hugged her to him. “That and a whole lot more.”

  “How romantic!” May gazed up at him, love shining in her eyes. “Oh, Hunter, I absolutely adore you!”

  He looked down at May and sighed. Writers. They were the best.

  Happy

  Holidays!

  About the Author

  Hailed as a break-out talent and publishing phenomenon by Publisher's Weekly, Dara Joy has written eight consecutive New York Times and USAToday bestselling novels. Over the span of her career, she has consistently been an Amazon bestselling author, hitting single digits on multiple Amazon best-seller lists, including Amazon's Top 100 and the Top Movers and Shakers list. Millions of Ms Joy's books have been sold worldwide and translated into numerous languages, including German, Norwegian, Chinese, Korean, Russian, Spanish, Japanese, and Thai.

  If you would like to find out about upcoming giveaways and other good stuff, I would love to have you join our mailing list! Just go to: http://officialdarajoy.com/MailingList.html Simple as that.

  Visit Dara on Facebook at:

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dara-Joy/334247403836

  FROM THE AUTHOR:

  Well, I hope I've given you some laughs and a bit o' love n' happiness for the holiday season.

  To continue the good cheer, here's a nice, long excerpt for you from my novel, HIGH ENERGY. Trust me, Tyber Evans is perfect to curl up with next to a roaring fire… only it might be hard to tell the actual fire from, ah, him. (You have been warned, dear friend. Enjoy!)

  Love, Dara

  HIGH ENERGY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 1996, 2011 Dara Joy

  Kindle Edition

  Chapter One

  “Men? Boil them in oil!”

  “You don't mean that.”

  “Cut off their—”

  “Zanita!”

  Zanita grinned at her friend Mills. “— lying tongues.“

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I was going to say lying tongues.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, so I wasn't. Anyhow, I am through, through, through!”

  Mills sighed dramatically. “Haven't I heard this before?”

  “I mean it this time, Mills.” Zanita slammed her palms down on the kitchen table for emphasis. “I have had it!”

  “Really. Was it any good?” Mills tried to hide her smile in her coffee cup.

  “Will you be serious? I'm trying to have a discussion here.”

  Mills sat back in her chair. “Is that what this is? And here I thought you came all the way over here for a good old rant-and-rave session.”

  Zanita threw up her hands in disgust. “That too!” She looked dismally down into her mug. “It certainly wasn't for your coffee.”

  “Watch it. Everyone loves my coffee. Just because you happen to prefer brew a spoon can stand up in doesn't make you a reliable
critic. And we are getting off the subject— something you are remarkably good at, Zanita.”

  “Well, what did you expect?”

  Mills raised an eyebrow. “Lucidity? Rationality? Perhaps a modicum of believability?”

  “All right.” Zanita looked her square in the eye. “It wasn't.”

  “What wasn't?”

  Zanita slumped in her chair. “It wasn't any good.”

  Mills peered at her friend as if she had just come off Mars. Since people often wore that expression around her, Zanita chose to ignore it.

  “You didn't!”

  “I did.” She exhaled. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?” Mills gave her a smug look.

  “Okay, okay.” Her friend knew her too well. No big surprise. “It was just so … blah.“

  Mills blinked several times. “Blah?”

  “You're looking at me like that again.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I come from the mysterious face of Mars.”

  “Sorry.” Mills leaned forward in her chair. “But we are talking about Rick, aren't we? Your current paramour?”

  “My last, late paramour.” Zanita ran a hand distractedly through her short black curls. “And why are you so shocked?”

  Mills leveled her a look. “I shall count the reasons.” She ticked her fingers off one by one. “First, as I recall, wasn't it you who said you would never get involved with anyone again after Steve left you with nothing to remember him by except a mountain of debt?”

  Zanita closely examined the flowers on the wallpaper to her left. “I guess that was me,” she mumbled.

  “And wasn't it you who waited two years before going out again with anyone else?”

  Zanita peered at the intricate pattern on the tile floor. “I guess that was me also.”

  Mills nodded to emphasize Zanita's admission. “And wasn't it you who's been dating Rick for three months, telling the poor guy, who happens to be crazy about you, that you want nothing more from him than a platonic friendship?”

  Zanita drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “So what's your point?”

  Mills zoomed in. “What made you suddenly sleep with the guy?” she bellowed. “And it's a little hard for me to believe a man like Rick would be 'blah' in bed.”

  Zanita hiked her shoulders. “I don't know why. Maybe I was curious.”

  “Curious? What kind of a reason is that?”

  “I don't know!”

  “I can understand passion, or a mad, wild fling, or even good old-fashioned horniness, but curiosity?”

  “Get off my case, will you?”

  Mills felt instantly contrite. “I'm sorry, Zani, it was just so unlike you. You weren't turned on in the least?”

  Zanita grimaced. “No. And despite what you believe, 'blah' describes the experience perfectly. It was all over very quickly.”

  Mills lowered her voice to what she deemed a serious tone. “Did you … ?”

  “No.” Zanita ran her index finger around the rim of her cup; she was about to make a terrible confession. “Mills, I've— I've never.“

  Mills eyebrows shot up. “Not ever?”

  Zanita sunk further into her chair. “Nope.”

  “Not even with Steve?”

  She sighed. “Not even with Steve.”

  Both women were silent for a few moments, the absolute seriousness of the subject demanding the proper respect.

  Zanita took a gulp of coffee. “Do you think it's me? I don't think it's me.”

  Mills was outraged. “Of course it isn't you!”

  The two friends sat in silence pondering the dilemma.

  Finally, Zanita broke the silence. “Well, what is it, then?”

  As was Mills' habit when she was deep in thought, she took a large sip of coffee, then slowly lowered her mug to the table. Zanita knew she wouldn't speak until the sound of the cup hitting the table had faded away. At that precise moment, Zanita could count on Mills having an inspiration.

  Here it comes, she thought; the woman's a genius.

  Mills looked straight at her and pronounced, “It wasn't right.”

  Zanita's violet eyes blinked twice. “That's it? It wasn't right?” She dropped her head to the table. “Jeez, Mills, give me a break.”

  “Think about it.”

  “No.” Came the muffled reply from the tabletop.

  “Think about it. With Steve, subconsciously you never really trusted him— for good reason, I might add— so you couldn't … let your guard down, so to speak. There was always something missing. As for Rick— ”

  Zanita lifted her head slightly from the table. “Please, no more psychobabble, I beg you.”

  Mills continued unperturbed. “With Rick, there was nothing. No passion. No lust. Ergo no fulfillment.“

  Zanita sat back up. “You really think so?”

  “Yes. Zanita, I've known you practically all my life. When you're in doubt about something, you always hold back. You withdraw into yourself.”

  “I do?” She thought about it a moment. “You're right. I do. I never realized that before.”

  “On the other hand, when you feel strongly about something, you jump right into it, head first, no holds barred.”

  Zanita's tone became distinctly cool. “Are you saying I leap before I look?”

  “Drop the affronted act. Face it, girlfriend, you are not by nature a person who is concerned about the end justifying the means.”

  “Meaning?”

  Mills stretched her arms out. “Meaning, you act first, then live with the consequences later.”

  “So, Dr. Ruth, what does this all have to do with my problem?”

  “Everything. When you meet a man who makes you leap before you look, you will be just fine.”

  “Well, I have nothing to worry about, do I?” she asked sarcastically. “We both know there isn't a man in existence who could befuddle me in that manner.”

  Mills started giggling, saw Zanita's expression, and quickly placed a hand over her mouth.

  “What is so funny? You are supposed to be my friend.”

  “It's just that I suddenly got this mental picture of some man coming along, tricking you into playing the shell game, and when you don't guess correctly, throwing you over his shoulder and hauling you off to bed.”

  Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing.

  “Talk about slight of hand …” This caused another round of laughter.

  “Please— “ Zanita gasped, holding her sides.

  “The hand,” Mills giggled, “is quicker than the eye!”

  “Stop!”

  “N-now you see it— “ Mills couldn't finish, she was laughing so hard.

  Zanita groaned. “That's terrible.”

  Mills wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, I needed that. Didn't you say something about a seminar tonight?”

  “Yes, thanks for reminding me— I need to get down to the student union at Hampshire to sign up for it.” Zanita reached for a cookie on the table.

  Mills automatically joined her. “I hate these damn things.”

  “Then why do you buy them?”

  “Because they're so good.” She took a big bite out of the cookie.

  “They are good— give me another one.”

  “Here, take the whole bag— please.” She pushed the bag to Zanita. Zanita pushed it back.

  “No way. I couldn't stand to see them staring at me in the middle of the night.”

  “They never last to the middle of the night here.” Mills sighed as she took another cookie. “So what's the seminar on?”

  “Psychic development,” she mumbled around a chocolate chip.

  “I didn't know you were interested in stuff like that.”

  “I'm not— I want to do a piece on this guy who's been going around telling people he's a psychic healer. I've heard some disturbing things about him, but I haven't been able to substantiate anything yet. I thought if I went
to a legitimate class on the subject, I could pick up some background information.”

  “The paper sent you on this story? They're finally letting you do some investigative reporting?”

  “Not exactly. I'm doing this on my own.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “I need to do this, Mills. I have to get off garden party assignments. All the Chief ever gives me to cover is fluff. How am I going to get at the good stories unless I take the initiative on my own?”

  “Maybe he doesn't want you getting hurt. Stuff like that can be dangerous, Zanita. We both know Hank is a nice old relic from a prior century, but he's been around the block. Maybe he's looking out for you.”

  “Cripes, Mills, I'm twenty-seven years old! I don't need a curmudgeon of a boss who acts like my grandfather.”

  “The curmudgeon is your grandfather.”

  “That's beside the point. He used to be a great reporter. In his heyday, he exposed racketeers and gangsters. And a lot of political corruption. I cut my teeth on his stories.”

  “That was a long time ago. I think Hank is quite content with his small-town newspaper. And every now and then he does keep the selectmen on their toes.”

  Zanita drank the last of her coffee. “True, but I'm not content. If I can get a story, I can go to a major market.”

  “You mean you'll have a legitimate excuse for abandoning Hank. He's put blood, sweat, and tears into that paper. Sure, it doesn't have a large circulation, but the people around here like it. What's more, they buy it. And you know why.”

  Zanita closed her eyes. “Because they trust what they read in the Patriot Sun.“ She regarded Mills. “All the more reason for me to get this story. Old Mrs. Haverhill gave this man lots of money because he told her he could cure her stomach cancer with a healing. She died this morning.”

  “I don't mean this to sound cold, Zani, but the woman had an incurable illness. She would've died anyway.”

  “True, but she didn't deserve to be bilked and lied to. He took terrible advantage of her when she was in an extremely vulnerable position. It was contemptible.”