Christmas Clash (16 page)

She thought she saw him start to smile, but he didn't. Was he really going to make her explain it? Was that part of the healing process? She took a deep breath. She was calm. She wasn't fidgety. She wasn't even all that nervous. Telling him why she loved him seemed like the perfect way to put the past behind her and start a new year with nothing hanging over her head.

“Because you understand me. You really seem to get me.” She stood straighter and clasped her hands in front of her. “I can trust you, even if you think you can't trust me. I know for certain you'd never do anything to hurt me. I know we have our tiffs and whatnot, but they're almost … I don't know, they're different. You look at me like no one has ever looked at me before.”

“Still doesn't sound like love.” He swayed his head back and forth.

“I love how you think you can hide your emotions, but you can't with me,” she said. “I always know. Well, usually. I understand you. I like who you are. I think you are amazing and …” She suddenly found it harder to catch her breath with him only inches away. He'd moved closer somehow. “The best part of my day is when I get to see you. I swear I feel a flutter in my chest. It's dumb, I know.” She chuckled and tried to look away, but she couldn't. “Talking to you is so easy and showing you who I am is easy, too. You're the only person I've ever felt this way around.”

Confessing her feelings should have been scary, but it wasn't. She felt good. She'd probably overanalyze this moment later and want to unsay every word in favor of self-preservation, but right now she felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders.

“Then why do you want to get over me?” he asked.

“Because I know you don't feel the same and we will be business neighbors for a long time. I wanted to deal with these feelings so I don't dread coming to work every day.”

“You're wrong.”

“About?” Her eyebrows knitted together.
I think I know my own feelings.

“You can't read me as well as you think.” He moved his hand from his side and stuck a finger out at her. The twinkle in his green eyes she'd seen when they'd danced in the snow and caroled in the wind returned.

“Why do you say that?”

Luke turned and walked across the bar to the jukebox, pressed a couple of buttons, and returned. He held out his hand to her, like he had the only other time they'd danced together. She placed her palm in his and he pulled it to his heart. The music to Lynyrd Skynyrd's “Christmas Time Again” started and she smiled. He kissed her and pulled her closer. Her free hand automatically slid around his waist. She felt him clench her lower back, leaving no space between them.

“Because if you could,” he whispered into her ear, his breath sending chills down her back, “you'd know that I am completely in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

Holy smokes, he loves me?
She'd never been so happy to be wrong before in her life.

“How long?” She moved her head back to look up into his eyes.

“Elementary school long.”

“Oh.”

She didn't know what to do with the unexpected information. He loved her, too? She grinned. Could she really see herself being with one person and trusting him for the rest of her life with her heart? She looked deep into his eyes.
Yes.

“You are a real person with highs and lows in life, like me, and I want to be with you for every step. I want to be an active part of your everyday life for the rest of mine. There is no one else on the face of this planet I enjoy more. Hell, I love to make food for you, dance with you, and argue with you.” He grinned. “I
really
love arguing with you. Because I know, at the end of it, we'll be together and that bond is stronger than anything life can throw at us. You're the love of my life.”

She swayed into him and brought her lips up to meet his.

“I love you.” She barely moved her mouth away from his.

She'd never forget the sparkle in his eye and the softness to his touch.
Merry Christmas to me.
Together they'd create a bright, feisty future.

“Hey babe, here's a coffee.” Luke handed Candace a ceramic mug and kissed her forehead.

“Thanks.” She tapped her keyboard with her fingertips, not actually pressing any buttons. “Why do I have to write an acceptance and concession speech beforehand? Can't I just wing it?”

“Says the woman who likes to be prepared for every possible situation.” He sat down on the couch next to her, the morning sunlight peeking through the blinds in their living room.

His hand rested on her thigh as he drank his coffee and craned his neck to see her screen. Candace hit the delete button and let out a loud sigh.

“It's too early in the morning to think,” she said and sipped her coffee.

“Which one are you working on?”

“Both. Well, right now the acceptance. It just feels, I don't know, stiff and canned. If I win, I want to say something inspiring to everyone who'll be there and who helped along the way.”

She bit into her bottom lip and slowly released the soft skin. Luke studied her face, like he'd been doing for nearly eleven months—five of which had been lived in blissful matrimony.
She's so beautiful. I'm one lucky man.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and keeping their skin together, faced her screen to get a better look.

“I don't think this is the place to talk about injustice. I think you were on to something with your ideals and plans in their purest forms and thanking the people there.”

“Sounds like bragging.”

“Sweetheart, when you beat Jeffrey Dean tomorrow for a spot on the city council, you will have earned the right to brag.”

She adjusted to face him and her brilliant blue eyes took his breath away. Some days it was actually hard to believe they were married and she was all his.

“I really want to win,” she said.

“You're going to. I know it.”

She'd run a solid campaign and had done well in the one debate that had been set up for all of the candidates. The press had been fairly kind, but she'd had to face criticism over her family and their already big influence and her motivations.

“What if I don't?” she whispered.

He could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “Either way, I'm proud of you for seeing a problem and stepping in to make a difference. You've brought attention to issues that people might not have heard about otherwise. You're making the average citizen in Casper more aware. And that's commendable.”

“If I lose you might have to give my concession speech. I'll be huddled in the corner in the fetal position.”

He laughed at the image knowing Candace would never show that much emotion in public. If she lost, she'd wait until she was home, with him, before breaking down. He swallowed hard. He hated when she was upset.

“I don't think so.” He gathered her legs and swung them over his lap. “To either statement. If,
if,
you lose, you'll be gracious and come back in four years and do it all again. You'll be an excellent councilwoman. And I will make a great first councilman to the councilwoman.”

Candace laughed, set the laptop on their coffee table, and leaned her head back on a throw pillow. “I don't think that's a thing, babe. Nice try.”

“Sure it is. I'll get free coffee all over the place.”

“Nope.” Her dark hair swayed in the sunlight and she brushed a stray strand out of her face.

“I'll make you a deal. Go shower and put on your prettiest I'm-your-new-councilwoman suit and I'll finish your speeches.”

“You will?”

“Yep. We can't take a picture of you voting today in this getup.” He eyed her very short boxers and green tank top. “Well, we could, but it would not be for the public to see.”

She sat up quickly and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I know.”

He watched her walk to their bedroom before setting his coffee down and opening the laptop to her acceptance speech. That was the only one she was going to need today.

• • •

Luke stood in the voting booth and stared. Candace Carrigan.
Her name is in black and white. With my last name.
He smiled to himself as he colored in the bubble next to her name with the black pen provided in the little private voting station.

He hadn't been able to wait long to ask her to marry him. He'd gotten down on one knee just before the ball dropped on New Year's Eve. For a reason he'd probably spend the rest of his life figuring out, she'd said yes.

“All done?” he asked Candace as he handed his ballot to the lady who put it into their machine and handed him an “I voted” sticker, which he prominently displayed on his navy button-down dress shirt.

“Yes. It was weird to see my name on the list. Should we take a picture?”

They'd started a habit in which every time they did something wacky or life-changing they commemorated the event with a selfie. Luke took out his phone, switched the camera to face them, and they stood in front of a voting booth. He snapped a couple of pictures and then made sure to get one with them kissing. He hoped the photo would be to remember the day she was voted into office.

• • •

Candace stood in the pub watching the news. Luke had made her a Moscow Mule, but she hadn't touched it yet. She couldn't. Nor could she eat. When this was all over she was going to have to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“You'd think they were announcing a new president of the United States with how they are treating the results,” she said to Luke as he walked up beside her.

He wrapped his hand around her waist and she leaned into him. She longed for his touch and welcomed his closeness. She'd ended up with the sexiest, sweetest husband in the whole world.

“I take it they aren't to our district yet?”

“No. They've been talking about the voting sites and turn out and just taking so long.”

The pub was packed with family, both hers and Luke's; supporters; and people who'd volunteered their time to her campaign.

“Soak it all in. Soon you'll be so busy with council issues and the flower shop.”

She slipped her arms around her husband and smiled up at him. “Are you worried I won't have time for you?”

“I wasn't. Now I am.”

“I'll always have time for you, Mr. Carrigan.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know.” She rolled her head on his chest to look at the television screen.

Her name, Jeffrey Dean's name, and Fran Hesher's name, their other opponent, showed in white block letters against a bright blue screen.

She held her breath.
This is it.
Luke held her tighter.

“No matter what, you're awesome,” he whispered into her hair.

Figures flashed on the screen. Jeffrey Dean had a forty percent and next to her name, in big numbers, read fifty-two percent.

“I won!” She yelled and jumped up and down in Luke's arms.

He picked her up and twirled around. “Congratulations, baby.”

He set her down, put his hands on her cheeks, and kissed her.

“Go get 'em, my love.”

She had everything she'd ever wanted in life. And now she was going to make a difference in the community she loved. The eyes of the man who loved her twinkled with excitement. She was one lucky lady.

Dana Volney lets her imagination roam free in Wyoming where she writes romances and helps local businesses succeed with her marketing consulting company. Surrounding herself with good friends, family, and delicious cups of hot chocolate, she thrives on moments and memories created with loved ones, especially during the holidays. Dana is bold, adventurous and—by her own admission—good with plants, having kept a coral cactus alive for more than one year.

Halle Adams leaned against the counter and propped herself up on her elbows. She stared at the pink bottle brush Christmas tree on the jewelry case. The glittered star shimmered in the Christmas lights.
So simple. So pretty.
So
. . . She sighed. Earlier, when she'd poured herself a glass of wine, she'd cut the overhead lights and opted for the glow from the store's Christmas tree. She loved and hated this time of year. The beauty of the holiday was undeniable . . . the Christmas lights, decorations, even the music that piped out of her storefront speakers onto First Street. Passersby in her town of Casper, Wyoming caught a bit of the holiday cheer when they strolled past her newly decorated window displays full of short evergreen trees with hanging candy canes, wooden reindeers wearing her necklaces, and scarves and hats and rustic plaques proclaiming holiday cheer. On her door hung a bedazzled “open” sign. Twinkling lights cast a blinking reflection of her store marquee, Just Dandy, on the snow-dusted sidewalk.
Just Dandy. Just Dandy. Just Dandy . . . Yeah, like that was going to happen any time soon after this muck up.

The Christmas season had been magical since she was a little girl, but these days it also stirred up a restlessness she was only able to tame the rest of the year. Halle twisted the stem of the hand painted wine glass between her fingers. The end of a year, particularly after Thanksgiving, brought an emptiness with it that usually inspired her to act on a reckless whim.
Not that thinking things out works well. Case in point—Dad. I've got to break free from his strings.
She had a little over a month to really make this year count. There was something more to this life, something she knew she should do . . . she just hadn't been able to put a finger on it. Maybe if she hired Christmas carolers to serenade her customers the joy would rub off on her. People were happy everywhere, and while she mostly related, something was missing.