Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe: A Short Story: The Brides, #2

By Lena Goldfinch

What's a wife to do when her Christmas plans fall apart?

Join Becky and Isaac from The Unexpected Bride in this romantic holiday short story complete with sleigh bells, mistletoe, and sweet surprises.

It's Christmas Eve, and smoke isn't just rising from the chimney—it's pouring from the stove due to yet another batch of burnt biscuits. Becky wants everything to be perfect for her family, but a ruined meal spells disaster for all her high hopes. Will the night end in despair...or with a happy Christmas dream?

Reconnect with your favorite characters from Book 1 of The Brides series and learn more about Jem (the hero of The Bartered Bride) in Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe.

Sneak Peek:
Includes an excerpt from The Bartered Bride, Jem's story.

THE BRIDES SERIES
The Unexpected Bride
Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe: A Short Story
The Bartered Bride 
Only the Heart Knows 

Sweet Historical Western Romance
Inspirational Romance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Road Publishing
• Release date: Jan 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524214784

Lena Goldfinch

LENA GOLDFINCH writes heartwarming romance and romantic fantasy for adults and teens. She's a sucker for a good old-fashioned romance, whether it's a novel, novella, or short story, young adult or adult, fantasy or realistic, contemporary or historical. Elements of romance, fantasy, and mystery have a way of creeping into her writing, whether she's writing historicals or something light and contemporary. Her works include: * THE UNEXPECTED BRIDE (Sweet Historical Romance) -- Coming October 6, 2014, Now Available for Pre-Order! * THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS * AIRE * SONGSTONE * HAUNTING JOY * TAKE A PICTURE: A Novella * CHAIN REACTION: A Short Story (Prequel to HAUNTING JOY) Future works: HAUNTING MELODY (HAUNTING JOY : Part 2) "Danger, magic, romance, and royal intrigue, AIRE is a must read!" --NYT Bestselling Author JESSICA ANDERSEN "Looking for something fresh and new to read? Try Lena Goldfinch's AIRE." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "SONGSTONE sings with characters who come to life, a story full of magic, heart and adventure, and a world that lets you smell the sea air and feel the tropical sun on your back." --LISA GAIL GREEN, author of The Binding Stone "SONGSTONE...an original fantasy world inhabited by superstitious tribal nations and intriguingly developed characters." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS...the perfect tiny romantic escape." --Tales of Whimsy Twitter: @lena_goldfinch FB: https://www.facebook.com/lenagoldfinch Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/lenagoldfinch Website: http://www.LenaGoldfinch.com

Book preview

One

Seattle, Washington Territory, December 24, 1870

Becky bit her lip in consternation as Isaac waved a thick black cloud of smoke out the kitchen window, frowning at the sound of him choking and laughing at the same time. She didn’t know what was so funny. The biscuits were ruined and there wasn’t time to make another batch now. The turkey was already on the table, ready to be sliced, and she’d just set out the cornbread dressing. The green beans were ready, as were the chunky roasted potatoes, tossed with onions, melted butter, and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. She had the dishes warming on the back of the cook stove, but if she left them too much longer they’d start getting mushy.

What? No biscuits? Pop asked from across the room. A quick glance at the mantel clock told Becky it was almost one o’clock now, so he’d been sitting there with his elbows propped on one end of their long wooden dining table for the past half hour. Pop loved their traditional Christmas Eve dinners together. As they had the past couple of years, he and Jem came over the day before Christmas, shared a feast, and stayed the night, so they could all be together—bright and early—when the boys got up to open their presents. Pop in particular loved Christmas. He made special gifts. He played music for them all and, afterward, enjoyed a nap by the fire. He loved his grandsons fiercely, and, almost as fiercely, he loved this special dinner—perhaps, she suspected, because he liked having a break from cooking for himself. He’d never been shy about telling her how much he looked forward to her biscuits. He’d even bragged about them to Brody at church this past Sunday. The man loved a good biscuit. When they weren’t burnt, that is. The boys and Jem loved them too. Isaac was known to put down half a dozen himself.

As Becky waved the acrid smell of smoke away from her nose, she thought about all her carefully laid plans. Nearby, on the kitchen worktable, sat the bread basket that she’d set aside to serve her fresh, hot-out-of-the-oven biscuits. She’d even lined it with a cheery red cloth, shot through with golden-yellow threads in a crisscross plaid pattern. Perfect for Christmas. She’d whipped a liberal amount of honey into the softened butter earlier. It had turned out so delightfully creamy and fragrant. But now there was nothing to put the honey butter on, unless she sliced up some of the oat bread from yesterday and set that out... But that wouldn’t be nearly as good as what she’d envisioned: the perfect dinner. It was supposed to be a gift, something she could give to everyone she loved all at once. And she’d been determined to get everything right—just this one time. But now...

Everything was supposed to be so perfect, she said under her breath, her eyes stinging with sudden tears.

Nothing to cry over, Becky, Isaac said, glancing back at her. He slammed the window shut as a wintry breeze blew in. Flakes of snow dotted his cuffs and quickly melted into the fabric. He was wearing the red shirt she’d made him years ago, like he did every Christmas. We’ve got plenty, he reminded her, indicating the green beans and potatoes on the back of the stove and the enormous roasted turkey and cornbread dressing sitting on the table.

The chill he’d let in circled the floor. Becky felt the icy air creeping under the skirts of her Christmas dress. She’d finished it just last week, a labor of love, fashioned in rich midnight-blue velvet. The weight of the fabric and the silky white ermine trim at her hem, neck, and wrists helped, but couldn’t quite keep the cold out. Despite the raging fire in the cook stove and the equally hearty fire snapping and cracking in the fireplace—which combined had been too warm before—she shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her sleeves, trying to warm herself.

I know, I know. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her fingertips to the corners of her eyes, gathering the moisture there, and then she briskly dried them on her skirt, impatient with herself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. They’re just biscuits.

"Just biscuits? Becky heard Pop echo. He probably thought he was being quiet. Not quiet enough though. His hearing might not be as good as it used to be, but hers was just fine. Her three-year-old twins, Jakob and Levi, abruptly quit their game of tag and climbed onto their chairs, leaning across the table to peer at their grandfather. They leaned forward so far they almost had their whole bodies laid across her place settings. Pop made a face at them, blowing out his cheeks and scrunching his eyes shut. They immediately blew their own cheeks out and took turns poking each other in the cheek to pop" the air out. Soon they were squealing so loudly she could barely hear herself think. It had been pretty much the same all morning.

It’s the baby, Isaac said, studiously ignoring his father and the boys. Not that Pop was the one being loud. The boys were making the racket all on their own.

The baby’s not making me cry! Becky protested. As if the sweet little one inside her could be blamed for burnt biscuits. Or her burnt apple pie.

Although...she had been a bit distracted lately, humming lullabies as she baked. Forgetting little things like adding the soda to the biscuit batter—the first batch. And the sugar to the apple pie—the first one. And taking the second batch of biscuits out of the oven in time. And checking on her second pie. Sigh.

Isaac stepped close and placed a hand on her shoulder in a rather hesitant fashion. Of course he’s not, he said soothingly. Becky noticed a decided twinkle in his eyes and couldn’t help smiling.

He? she asked, challenging him with a lift of her brows.

Isaac shrugged. I’ve got a big logging operation to run, you know, he teased. I need as many strong hands as I can get.

You’ve got plenty of ‘strong hands’ already. And besides, a girl would be lovely. Maybe she’ll be good with numbers, like me. She could help with the books.

Sure she could.

And now he was needling her. Deliberately and very obviously.

Infuriating man, Becky thought