Linda Miller - Christmas In Mustang Creek

“Uh, yeah, good morning.”

“How much snow did we get?” He was just making conversation, not actually expecting her to know, since she probably hadn’t been up long enough to check the weather.

She surprised him, though. “About a foot, I think, but it’s hard to tell with the window iced over.” She rummaged through her suitcase, produced some socks and sat down on her rumpled bed to put them on. “My rental car is sporty—I’m not sure it has studded snow tires.” A reflective pause. “I hope they have the streets cleared.”

Jax felt the need to keep things on an even keel. “I have a breakfast meeting next door at eight. If you want to join us, I can take you anywhere you want to go afterward. My truck can handle it.”

She hesitated, visibly preoccupied. There were tiny candy canes on her socks. Another gift from her aunt? He guessed that was the case, since the sophisticated woman he’d known in New York would not wear candy canes. He preferred the small-town candy-cane girl; he’d always known she was there.

Charlotte said, “I might call you if I have problems but I need to go home and make sure everything’s fine so that when I see Aunt Geneva, I can tell her Can-Can and Mutley are okay. That’s the first thing she’ll want to know.”

“Dog and cat?” It was an educated guess, based on previous conversations.

She nodded, and actually ripped loose with a tiny smile. “A friend of my aunt’s is taking care of them. My aunt might be too...vague to have animals. Her doctors seem to think so anyway. The whole idea breaks my heart. She loves those critters so much. They’re wonderful company, and she’d be lonely without them. I can’t stand the thought.”

He might have fallen more in love with her right then, if that was possible. “So you came back for Christmas,” he said carefully.

She meant to stay in Mustang Creek for good, but he didn’t want to let on that he knew, didn’t want to confess that he’d been paying attention to her social media posts. He’d watched to see if she was dating anyone else while he was back in Idaho, and there’d been no hint of anything serious, not even one picture or perky post. There’d been images of her and friends here and there, but either she was just more private than most of his friends, or she hadn’t really dated.

He figured it was the latter, and that gave him hope.

“I’m not going back to New York,” she told him flatly, pulling on a pair of short boots. She stood and shook back her hair. “Aunt Geneva needs me, so this is where I’ll be.”

“What a coincidence,” he said. That word again. “This is where I’ll be, too.”

“Coincidence, huh?” Charlotte seemed skeptical and a little intrigued. “I guess we’ll just have to agree that this town is big enough for both of us.” It was difficult to look innocent if you were wearing only a pair of boxers while the woman of your dreams stood in the same room. He adjusted the sheet. “I knew Nate in college. Now that he’s gone into partnership with Tate Calder in the horse-breeding business, he needs an associate for the practice. So, yes, maybe it’s a coincidence—that my friend from vet school happens to live in your hometown. I remembered how you’d described the place, and when he suggested I might want to join his practice, I jumped at the chance.”

Her reply made Jax wonder if she’d heard his explanation at all. “We’ll both be in Mustang Creek,” she said. She sounded resigned, but he couldn’t quite interpret her expression.

“We sure will. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime. You can buy.”

“Dream on, cowboy.” Charlotte fished out a small knitted cap from her suitcase and slipped it on.

Her aunt had crocheted it, he figured. It looked homemade, and she looked delectable.

The woman he’d known in New York, always wearing designer outfits and pricey shoes, the woman he’d called Charlie, probably wouldn’t have been caught dead in that hat, not in the city anyway.

Cute was the only word he could come up with, and it made him laugh. Charlie, the original uptown girl—cute? What a concept. “We spent the night together, so maybe you do owe me dinner. Just sayin’.”

She pointed at her bed, but he could swear there was a gleam in her eye. “I slept here, and you slept there. Which means we didn’t ‘spend the night together,’ not in the strictest sense of the term, anyhow.”

“You’re right,” he said, with a twinkle.

“Jax, could you stop messing with my head for a second, please?”

He did his best cowboy imitation. “I’ll try, but, darlin’, you make it difficult.”

Some nuance in his tone or manner must have gotten to her, because she blushed. Despite all the big-city polish, Charlotte was still a small-town girl. She said hurriedly, “I need to go. I haven’t met this Mrs. Klozz who’s been helping Aunt Geneva, but apparently, she doesn’t have a cell phone, so I doubt she even knows I’m in town. I also need to check on the house and the animals, and then visit Aunt Geneva.”

“Don’t get stuck in the snow.”

She muttered as she wheeled her suitcase toward the door, “I’ll do my best.”

3

The old house was covered in snow, but it looked warm and inviting. A decorated Christmas tree stood framed in the big front window, and Charlotte could have described every single one of those beloved ornaments in detail.

She smiled at the blue one with the image of a small town that had “Silent Night” printed on it in lacy white letters. The twisty ones with frosted glass in various colors. The sparkly red reindeer she’d bought with babysitting money and hung on the tree when she was twelve, so delighted to contribute. It really didn’t match the antique decorations, but Aunt Geneva had loved it, hugged her tightly, and the memory of her warm acceptance left Charlotte sitting in the car for a few minutes, teary eyed. This was hard.

Very hard.

Geneva should be coming out on the porch right now, wearing an apron like she always did and waving hello, her eyes alight.

Okay, put that aside. Life changed, Charlotte knew it did. Her aunt was in her eighties, and she’d seen a lot of Christmases over the years. The two of them had shared so many good memories; Charlotte refused to spoil them with regrets. She got out and shut the car door, noting that someone, no doubt Mr. Simpson next door, had plowed the driveway.

She didn’t need a key after all.

The faceted glass front door opened easily. The smell of cinnamon and allspice immediately hit her, and Charlotte realized someone was inside, baking cookies.

It was very much like coming home—even without Aunt Geneva.

“Hello,” she called out cautiously, not wanting to startle anyone.

Mutley came running, leaping all over her, barking with excitement. His breed certainly wasn’t a known pedigree—more like a combination of half a dozen or so—hence his name. She appreciated being greeted with all that unbridled enthusiasm. Can-Can was curled up on the sofa on her special blanket, and she raised her head and gave a feline yawn, followed by her version of a smile before she settled back into her nap.

Both animals were fine. That was a relief anyway. Charlotte assured Mutley she loved him, too, fended off a few more dog kisses, then set down her suitcase and tried again. “Um, hello?”

“Hello, dear.” The woman who bustled out of the kitchen was short and a little stout, white-haired, her eyes bright and her smile infectious. “I’ve been expecting you. That was quite a storm, wasn’t it? I made coffee and there’s a warm crumb cake, sweet rolls, too. It’s a new recipe, and I need an opinion.”