A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6)
Read A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6) Online
Authors: CJ Carmichael
A Bramble House Christmas
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A Carrigans of the Circle C Romance
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CJ Carmichael
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A Bramble House Christmas
Copyright © 2015 C.J. Carmichael
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-943963-63-8
An Exclusive Excerpt from Promise Me, Cowboy
Coming Soon from CJ Carmichael!
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With love to my life partner, Mike Fitzpatrick, who, this Christmas, will also become my husband.
W
illa Fairchild hadn’t counted on driving through a blizzard on her first night in Montana, but given the way her life had gone the past two-and-a-half years, maybe she should have.
“Are we almost there?”
Her six-year-old son’s eyes looked huge reflected in the rearview mirror. Scout, strapped into a booster seat in the back of the rented Ford Escape, obviously found the big storm intimidating, too.
“Fifteen more minutes. I think.” Quickly she returned her focus to the road, her shoulders tight, her eyes straining. It was dark and snowy and she had to fight the wind to keep a steady path.
Traveling from Arizona to Montana for Christmas hadn’t been Willa’s idea. But a very special patient who’d recently passed away had gifted her a three-week stay at Bramble House B&B in Marietta, Montana. And when she’d mentioned the idea to Scout, he’d been excited to travel somewhere new and have a white Christmas for a change.
They were both open to fresh experiences these days, now that Scout had finally—thank you, God—been declared cancer-free.
A gust of wind rattled the car as a semi-truck blasted by her, sending up a cloud of snow as well. For two full seconds she was completely blind. And then she spotted the yellow dotted line again.
Whew.
Their flight from Phoenix to Bozeman had been smooth enough. They were in the rental car line-up when the snow started. By the time they were on the highway, the wind had begun to howl.
Just her luck.
The windshield wipers flapped against the steady onslaught of snow, yet despite the terrible road conditions, Willa knew she was driving too slowly. A steady stream of vehicles had been passing her since she’d merged onto the interstate. But she’d never driven in a snowstorm before and didn’t have the nerve to go faster.
She hunched over the steering wheel, her head aching with tension as another semi overtook her, spewing clouds of snow over her car, causing the Escape—and her—to shudder again.
Thwap, thwap.
Seconds later she could see again, and her panic subsided. Blurry fluorescent white letters on a green background appeared like a beacon on the right hand side of the highway. “Marietta 8.”
Thank God.
Scout had seen the sign, too. “Only eight more miles, Mom.”
“Yup. We’ll be there before you know it.” Willa was a master at sounding optimistic and cheerful when she felt the exact opposite.
It was a necessary skill to acquire when your son was diagnosed with acute lymphoid leukemia at the age of three-and-a-half years.
Willa snatched another glance at the rearview mirror, this time to check if another vehicle was about to pass. But all she saw was the same pair of large headlights that had been traveling behind her since she’d left the airport. Another chicken driver, like her, who was terrified of the snow, ice and wind?
At least the driver had the good sense to keep a large buffer between them. Willa didn’t think she could handle a tailgater tonight.
Another green sign loomed ahead—this one signaling the right hand exit, which would lead them to Marietta. A moment after Willa turned on her indicator light, the vehicle behind her did the same.
It was an interesting coincidence, but one Willa forgot all about as she focused on slowing cautiously, taking the turn safely, then gradually easing back to her cruising speed of forty-five miles an hour.
Thank God they were almost at Marietta, because if anything, the snow seemed to be coming down harder now. Gobs of it were collecting at the base of the wipers. She ought to stop and clear it off—but she could hardly see the lane she was driving in now, let alone the shoulder. It seemed safer to continue with reduced visibility than risk a stop.
Before long they came to the one-mile marker.
Willa could sense her son’s anticipation as he leaned forward in his booster seat until his head was almost in line with hers.
“Remember Mom,” Scout cautioned. “Don’t tell anyone about the cancer.”
Her son was tired of being “the boy with leukemia,” the kid other boys and girls were scared to play with in case they gave him germs, or hurt him in some other, incalculable way.
“I won’t forget.” How could she? It was the first and last thought she had every day.
My son is cured. Thank you, God.
The oncologist had assured her there were no more cancer cells in her son’s body. And yet...she couldn’t stop studying Scout’s face every day, worrying when he looked too pale, or seemed too tired.
She’d thought she would feel so happy the day their ordeal was over.
Instead, she felt drained. Old beyond her years. And very alone.
“I see lights! Look, Mom, through the snow! Isn’t it awesome?”
“Sure is.” Her muscles relaxed as she spotted the festive reds, greens and golds glowing in the distance.
Marietta. The Bramble House Bed and Breakfast. Christmas.
The drive—heck the past two-and-a-half years—may have been a nightmare.
But good things awaited them now, surely.
F
inn Conrad parked on a side street, killed his lights, and then waited while the woman and her son gathered their luggage and entered the bed and breakfast. From the outside, the three-story Victorian—the largest home on the block and quite possibly in all of Marietta—looked both stately and welcoming.
Fairy lights were strung along the eaves and porch railings and in the large front window, a Christmas tree glittered red, green and gold.
Presumably the Brambles had once been a family of some importance in this town. That they no longer held this position seemed self-evident, given that they had opened their doors to the hospitality trade.
Once the Fairchilds were inside and out of sight, Finn pulled his rented GMC truck into the guest parking lot, snagging an empty spot opposite from where Willa had parked her small SUV. Back here he could see a large garage with what looked like living quarters above. Lights glowed behind the pulled curtains.
He sagged into his headrest, glad the drive was over.
Willa Fairchild’s snail-like pace had almost been the death of him. She was either a very nervous driver or she didn’t have much experience with winter road conditions. Since he knew where she was heading, he could have passed her. But what if she hit a patch of black ice or something?
It was far from his place to worry about Willa Fairchild. Knowing she had a kid in the car with her, though, changed things.
So he’d followed a safe distance behind them to make sure they didn’t run into trouble.
He had so many questions about this woman. After today he added another to the list. What was she doing in Marietta, Montana?
It seemed to be a nice enough town. And Bramble House B&B had made the national spotlight last year when country music star, John Urban, announced on the Jane and Ty Show that he planned to go there for Christmas.
But there were lots of nice towns in this country, with plenty of charming bed and breakfasts. Most of them a hell of a lot easier to get to.
Maybe she had family here. Friends. He supposed he’d find out soon enough.
The clock on his dash clicked forward to eight p.m. He pulled out his phone and found four text messages from his mother. He texted to let her know he’d arrived okay, but didn’t answer any of her other questions.
He loved his mother, but she was an exhausting woman, especially since her divorce from his father two years ago. Every time a light bulb burnt out in her house, she was on the phone to him, wondering what to do. The fact that he lived in Colorado and she in Seattle made no difference.
His mother leaned on his three younger sisters, too, albeit in different ways. Molly, married with two children of her own, bore the brunt of their mother’s emotional distress. To her fell the role of listening to their mother’s litany of complaints about their dad’s desertion, his lack of loyalty to her and the family, his selfishness.
From an early age Molly’s twin, Keelin, had used academics as a buffer from their family issues. Now a genetics counselor, Keelin was a veritable workaholic. It was interesting how often the dates of her out-of-town conferences conflicted with family birthdays and holidays. Not that Finn blamed her. Their family could be exhausting.
The baby of the family, Berneen, was still living at home and attending the University of Washington. She was twenty-five years old and still hadn’t managed to complete a degree because she kept dropping out. One year it was to start her own jewelry-making business. When that didn’t pan out she tried writing and self-publishing a cookbook that netted her all of thirty-five dollars.
