Carol Arens - Christmas Cowboy Kisses

Acclaim for the authors of Christmas Cowboy Kisses:

CAROLYN DAVIDSON‘For romance centring on the joys and sorrows of married life, readers can’t do much better than Davidson.’ —RT Book Reviews

‘Her novels go beyond romance

to the depths of the ultimate healing power of love.’

—RT Book Reviews

CAROL ARENS

‘Fans of rollicking romps and rip-roaring adventures in the Wild West are in for one exhilarating read as Arens pits a ditzy Easterner against a rough and rugged bounty hunter. The pace is faster than a lightning bolt, but Arens manages to paint a vivid portrait of the era and bring her characters to life in a short, fast format. Take a deep breath and enjoy!’

— RT Book Reviews on REBEL WITH A CAUSE

‘Arens sweeps readers to another time and place with grit, sweetness, and tender sensuality.’

— RT Book Reviews on RENEGADE MOST WANTED

LAURI ROBINSON

‘By capturing the atmosphere of Colorado’s mining towns, and the unique characters who populated the area, Robinson adds appeal and depth to a delightful Western. There’s enough humour, realism and sweet emotion for fans of light, quick Westerns to make everyone happy.’

—RT Book Reviews on INHERITING A BRIDE

‘Robinson’s heartwarming Western style is perfect for this story of a mail order bride and a proud rancher. The small-town backdrop, an adorable matchmaking teenager and the engaging and often humorous plot are simple and ideal.’

— RT Book Reviews on UNCLAIMED BRIDE

Reading, writing and research— CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.

While in the third grade CAROL ARENShad a teacher who noted that she ought to spend less time daydreaming and looking out of the window and more time on her sums. Today Carol spends as little time on sums as possible. Daydreaming about plots and characters is still far more interesting to her. Carol lives with her real-life hero husband, Rick, in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She feels blessed to be doing what she loves, with all her children and a growing number of perfect and delightful grandchildren living only a few miles from her front door.

With a degree in early childhood education, LAURI ROBINSONhas spent decades working in the non-profit field, and claims once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after romance novels have always been a form of stress relief. When her husband suggested she write one she took the challenge, and has loved every minute of the journey. Lauri lives in rural Minnesota, where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and four grandchildren.

Christmas Cowboy Kisses

Carolyn Davidson

Carol Arens

Lauri Robinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

A FAMILY FOR CHRISTMAS A Family for Christmas Carolyn Davidson Carolyn Davidson

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE Carol Arens

CHRISTMAS WITH HER COWBOY Lauri Robinson

A Family

for Christmas

Carolyn Davidson

Dear Reader,

One of my most beloved memories of childhood was the sight of our Christmas tree on Christmas morning. We never saw the tree before December 25th, nor did we help to decorate it, but come the morning of the big day there it was. Always touching the ceiling, strung with big lights of a sort now out of use, and hung with hundreds of strands of tinsel—put in place by some elf, we decided.

The ornaments were a mixture of heavy German balls in solid colors and glittering spun-glass pieces with gold dust scattered hither and yon. I still have one of my grandmother’s German balls—not the prettiest decoration on the tree these days, but one holding fond memories of a woman much loved and revered in the thoughts of her grandchildren.

There was nothing to equal the scent of our Christmas tree, for it was redolent with the aroma of a pine forest, and we spent long hours lying on the floor long after the gifts were opened, simply enjoying the sight and scent of our tree, which was always “the best ever.” Somehow the trees of today cannot compete with such beauty and majesty. Ah, the joys of childhood that shall forever dwell in our hearts.

Carolyn Davidson

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to my sister, Nancy, who shares my thoughts of Christmases past.

And, as always, to Mr. Ed, who fills my life with the rare beauty of his love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Connor’s Falls, Missouri December 18, 1887

It was snowing again. Joy stood at the window and looked out, her hopes of having a Christmas tree fading as she considered the white landscape that seemed unending. October had brought the first snowfall of the year and it had continued, inch by inch, and now lay several feet deep in the drifts by the porch. The tree she’d had her eye on for almost three months was at the edge of the woods, but it might as well be in St. Louis for all the good it did her today. She was tough by her own estimation, but hauling the sled through three feet of snow was an impossibility, even to her hopeful eyes. In all her twenty years, she’d never gone without a Christmas tree. But even though she told herself it wasn’t necessary for celebrating the sacred holiday, she’d still hauled out the decorations from the attic, just in case the snow stopped falling and she could shovel a path to the barn and then make her way from there across the meadow. She turned back to the stove and stirred the sausage gravy she was making for Grandpa’s breakfast. From the sounds of it, Grandpa was moving about in his bedroom directly overhead, where the register caught the early-morning heat from the wood-burning stove she cooked on. He called to her from the top of the staircase and she walked down the short hallway to answer his summons.

“Joy, I can smell sausage cooking up here. Did you make biscuits to go with it?” he asked hopefully as he made his way down the stairs. It was slow going, for he’d passed his eightieth birthday just months ago and he was becoming more frail by the day. In this weather, he had to stay inside, off the porch; in fact, for the most part, he was limited to walking back and forth between his bedroom, the kitchen and the parlor. She reached for his hand just as he touched the floor in the hallway and bent to press a kiss against her cheek.