Luke's Gift

By Kaylie Newell

After serving in the Army, Luke Harlow returns home in time for the holidays to help his brothers raise their twelve-year-old half-sister. With his new job as Marietta's police officer, Luke finds himself in the middle of a festive mystery that the entire town will want solved before Christmas morning.

Mary Best is Marietta Courier's most promising young reporter. When she starts spending time with sexy Luke Harlow to write an article about his heroic military service, she begins to suspect there’s more to this new police recruit than meets the eye. He’s kind, generous, and very mysterious. When anonymous gifts start appearing around town for people in need, Mary knows there’s a story there. A magical one. It doesn’t take long for the breadcrumbs to lead right back to Luke.

As the gifts pile up, so does everyone’s urge to unmask Marietta’s secret Santa. Luke is deeply private, and Mary is deeply curious- opposites who’ll find themselves tumbling toward each other amidst the snowy backdrop of a town fully embraced in the spirit of Christmas. But when Mary uncovers Luke’s secret, will she be able to bury her reporter’s instincts for the sake of love? And will Luke finally be able to trust someone with his heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949068917

Kaylie Newell

For Kaylie Newell, storytelling is in the blood. Growing up the daughter of two writers, she knew eventually she’d want to follow in their footsteps. She’s now the proud author of over a dozen books, including the RITA® finalists, Christmas at The Graff and Tanner’s Promise.Kaylie lives in Southern Oregon with her husband, two daughters, four sweet dogs, and an indifferent cat.Visit Kaylie at http://www.facebook.com/kaylienewell

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Chapter One

Mary Best sat at her desk in the small newsroom, staring at her favorite picture of Peter Jennings. Her idol stared back from the old magazine clipping, his brown eyes not conveying much more than they had yesterday. Or the day before, or the day before that. Mary still didn’t know whether or not to pursue the job in New York, where most of her coworkers and friends thought she should go. Or to stay here in her small Montana hometown which always had and always would have a firm grip on her heart. Not to mention her sensibilities.

What would you do, Peter? she asked.

That’s a picture you’re talking to, Mary. Plus, he’s dead.

Mary looked up to see her editor standing there. He was in desperate need of a haircut, his glasses were askew, and his green-and-red Christmas tie was crooked. He was a hot mess.

I know he’s dead, Leon. Thanks for pointing that out.

He smiled and took a sip of coffee from a Marietta Courier mug. Marietta’s #1 News Source! it boasted in big, blocky letters. The paper was small, published only twice weekly. But it had a rich history and a loyal following. It had managed to keep up with digital demand while still catering to readers who preferred print-a rarity these days. The mug didn’t lie.

Also, he was TV. Not newspaper.

Mary turned back to the picture and touched the dog-eared corner affectionately. I know. But he was a journalist first and foremost. And a really good one. That’s what I love about him.

I love Connie Chung too, but I don’t talk to her picture.

Leon.

Yes?

What did you want again?

He rubbed the back of his neck. Oh. I almost forgot. Betsy Franklin is up front asking for you.

Oh, God.

I know. And she’s not happy.

Mary swiveled to face him. She wouldn’t be. The story I did on her son...

But it was the truth.

It was. It was the truth.

So, there’s that, Leon said. And it was a good piece, kid. Peter would be proud.

She didn’t know if she had the strength to face Betsy Franklin. At least not before another half-gallon of coffee.

Thanks, boss, she said, running a hand through her short hair. I’ll be right up.

She watched Leon walk away and tried to summon some calming thoughts. Closing her eyes, she pictured Wyatt’s sweet face. His distinctive smile and baby fine hair that went in every direction imaginable. He always did the trick. If he could face what he did on a daily basis, she could suck it up and face one angry mom.

Hopefully.

I understand why you’re upset, Mrs. Franklin, Mary said. Any mother would be. But—

You don’t understand anything. The other woman was taller. And bigger. And currently assessing Mary like an ant she wanted to squash. Her perfume was overpowering, and sweet as a drugstore lollipop.

Mrs. Franklin, everything we printed was fact. Thomas was arrested for breaking and entering. He stole that cash, the computers, and—

"Allegedly. He didn’t confess to anything. And it was Matt’s idea, anyway."

Mary gritted her teeth. She could hear her dad now...Always someone else’s fault... He’d retired a county sheriff, so he’d seen more than his fair share of this kind of behavior. As a result, he’d taught his only daughter to be shrewd and wary. It was one of the reasons she wanted to be a reporter. To uncover the truth, no matter how deeply buried.

They were in on it together, she said. The robberies, the planning, the whole kit and caboodle.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Mary’s face burned. She was young, only a few years out of college. And in cases like this, youth was a distinct disadvantage. With all due respect, that’s none of your business.

Well, I can tell you what is my business. My son is my business. His reputation is my business. And I’m not leaving until this paper agrees to print a retraction.

The lobby Christmas tree winked behind Mrs. Franklin, its blue and white lights deceptively cheerful. Outside, a light snow began to fall, as if wanting to distract from the unpleasantness at hand.

Leon came up behind her, his fatherly presence offering comfort and grief at the same time. How was she ever going to make it big if he was always stepping in to fight these battles for her? At this rate, New York would eat her alive. Again, there was a panicky feeling at the thought of leaving all she knew, all she loved, for something unknown.

"Mrs. Franklin, I’m Leon McGrath, lead editor here at the Courier." Leon held a hand out, and the other woman eyed it like a day-old steak.

He cleared his throat. I can tell you that I approved Ms. Best’s article, and it met all our journalistic standards. There was plenty of research, and multiple sources were involved. We stand by our story.

Betsy Franklin crossed her arms over her bosoms and lifted her chin, her earrings swinging. For the first time Mary noticed they were little snowmen. A happy contradiction to the angry red earlobes they dangled from.

I’m not leaving here, she bit out.

Then we’ll have to call the police, Leon said calmly. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

You do what you have to do.

Chapter Two

Luke Harlow had been back in Marietta for only a month, but thanks to his new stint as a small-town cop, he’d been able to push his last tour to the back of his mind a bit.

Being out of the army after all this time was definitely something he’d have to get used to. Nobody telling him when he could eat, sleep, or take a piss. He’d almost forgotten how to function without giving or receiving orders in one form or another. It had been a long damn time since he’d been a civilian. But it was time. Probably past time, if he was being honest with himself.

The radio crackled from the dash of his cruiser. Four baker six? the dispatcher said.

He cued the mic on his shoulder. Go ahead.

"Disturbance. Marietta Courier. Suspect is an adult female refusing to leave. No weapons, no intoxication."

Copy. En route, code two.

Luke reached over to squelch his siren, and watched as cars pulled over for him one by one. The Courier was only a few blocks from where he was now, but he hated disturbance calls. As a military police officer, he’d seen things go south way too many times to count. He may be on a city beat now, but people were still universally nuts.

Mary must’ve been staring because Leon elbowed her in the ribs.

He asked your name, he said.

She smiled, embarrassed. Mary. Mary Best.

The tall police officer with the hazel eyes and sandy-blond hair bent his head and scratched something in his notebook. And you’re the one who called it in?

I am, Officer, Leon said. I called when she started getting belligerent.

And by belligerent, you mean...

She refused to leave, Mary answered. Called us a few names, that kind of thing.

The officer glanced up. He was so good-looking, it was almost ridiculous. Everything from his tanned, corded forearms to his sun-kissed hair, practically screamed surfer. The expression on his face was serious, though. His eyes were kind but guarded, and she guessed he’d probably been on enough of these calls to get fairly sick of them.

Her belly did a weird flip-flop thing when his gaze settled on hers.

I’m sorry about that, ma’am. We’ll try and get this sorted out quickly so you folks can get back to work.

Mary didn’t think she’d ever been called ma’am before. But decided she liked it. A lot.

He looked at her a second longer, then smiled. Dear Lord. The man had dimples that cut deep into each cheek. He was clean shaven, but there was a shadow on his jaw that promised a great beard if he skipped shaving for a day or two.

She let her gaze drop to his black, glossy jacket where a gold badge glinted underneath the fluorescent lights of the office. Then looked at his matching nametag, which read Officer L. Harlow.

Harlow... Harlow... She knew that name from somewhere.

Leon glanced over, and she realized he’d said something.

Hmm?

I said, I can take it from here if you want. Since you’re on deadline?

Crap. She’d almost forgotten. She was working on an article about a bond measure that had passed. Not nearly as exciting as staring at Officer Hottie all morning long. This wasn’t like her. She’d grown up around cops. She’d never been as swayed by the sexy authority thing as her friends. But this guy... This guy was different. There was something about him, or maybe about the way he looked at her, that was different. Could be just her libido talking, but she didn’t think so.

Harlow...

He looked up again. Yes?

Sorry. I just recognize your name, but I’m not sure from where.

He clicked his pen and tucked it back in his chest pocket. I’ve been gone a while, but I grew up here. Maybe that’s it.

Do you have family in Marietta?

She really needed to shut it. But she had a reporter’s brain, and those tended to be inconveniently nosey.

I do. A brother and a younger sister.

He obviously wasn’t going to volunteer names, so she bit her tongue, forcing herself to show some restraint. But he nagged at her just the same.

Okay, well...thanks for coming by, Officer, she said lamely.

No problem. I’m sure Mrs. Franklin’s cooled off by now. You’ll probably get an apology tomorrow.

Mary didn’t think so. She’d seen the way Betsy Franklin had looked ten minutes before, like she wanted to rip Mary’s blouse off and strangle her with it. But it was a nice thought.

She gazed up at him. She had no idea how old he was, but judging from the sexy crinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes, she guessed he was older than her. Old enough that she felt like she was in high school again, lusting after one of her brother’s friends on the wrestling team.

Okay, she said. Thank you. And merry Christmas, Officer.

Merry Christmas to you, too.

And there were those dimples again.

Chapter Three

Wyatt planted his pudgy hands against the glass, leaning forward to stare at the chocolates in three-year-old wonder.

No, honey. Savannah pulled him gently away. You’ll get it all dirty.

Wyatt turned and looked up at his mother with big, blue eyes, fringed with thick lashes. Mary’s heart squeezed. His top lip, which had been a source of endless worry for Savannah since he was born, curved in an upside-down V, making it look like a ghost had its finger permanently pressed there. A cleft lip. That was the medical term. And the surgery wasn’t covered by their insurance.

Please, Mama?

Savannah turned to Mary in a silent plea. How can I say no?

Personally, Mary didn’t think there was anything wrong with chocolate before dinner, but she wasn’t the mom, here. Only the godmother.

She shrugged. Hey. You know how I feel.

"Okay, honey. You can pick one, okay? But then we have to get some for Granny’s birthday, remember? Then ice-skating."

At the mention of ice-skating, Wyatt lit up. Mary and Savannah took him out to Miracle Lake every Saturday night to let him slip-slide around on the ice. It was good for him, Savannah said. Getting other children used to his appearance, and in turn, getting him used to their reactions. He’d be starting preschool soon, and she was in the middle of saving for his operation. This is just our reality, she’d say. It won’t be forever.

Mary looked over at her best friend now, proud of her. Worried. Wishing she had the money for an early Christmas present. Life wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

Well, it looks like someone’s ready for some chocolate?

They all turned to see Sage Carrigan sauntering over looking like a sweet confection herself. The owner of Copper Mountain Chocolate shop was pretty, red-haired, and smooth-skinned. She wore a bronze-colored apron, and a lovely, welcoming smile. Mary had always liked her.

What can I get you ladies? And gentleman? she asked, winking at Wyatt.

A box of assorted butter creams, please, Sage, Savannah said, pushing her silky brown hair over one shoulder. And it looks like a milk chocolate covered graham cracker to go.

Coming right up. Y’all staying warm?

Mary dipped her chin into her scarf. "Barely. It’s freezing."

Sure is.

Sage busied herself behind the glass, tucking the chocolates into her signature copper tin.

Savannah looked over at Mary and put a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. He’d started bouncing on his toes.

Harlow, Savannah said, picking up their conversation where they’d left off. You know who that is...

No, who? It’s been bugging me for days.

Snow had started swirling outside the chocolate shop windows where lit wreaths hung, twinkling against the glass. The entire shop smelled sweet and spicy, like cinnamon and mocha.

That’s Tanner’s Harlow’s older brother. Luke. He’s been in Afghanistan, just got home last month.

Mary let out a breath. Of course. She knew who Tanner Harlow was—he’d worked on her parents’ yard last summer. He was the super-hot but very taken owner of Quaking Aspen Landscape. He’d built a reputation around Marietta for his artistic eye and attention to detail. Not to mention how he looked.

Savannah grinned, recognizing the expression on her face. Yeah. Handsome runs in the family.

That’s the understatement of the century.

You know, he’d be a great write-up for you, Mary. He’s a hometown hero.

Mary chewed the inside of her cheek as Sage put Wyatt’s graham cracker in a plastic bag. It wasn’t a bad idea. Leon would approve—he loved feel-good holiday stories.

You think he’d do an interview? Mary asked.

Couldn’t hurt to ask. It’s either that, or another story about bond measures. Not that I don’t love your bond measure stories.

Mm-hmm.

Here you go, ladies. Sage put the tin on the counter, and leaned over to give Wyatt his graham cracker. And this is for you sweetheart. Merry Christmas.

Wyatt took it and grinned, his blue knit cap falling toward his eyes. Thank you.

So polite.

Most everyone in town knew that Savannah was a single mom—Wyatt’s dad had taken off, leaving her to raise him alone. But she was doing a great job, and it showed.

Thanks, Sage. And thanks for the chocolates.

Come back soon, okay?

Mary took Wyatt’s hand as he waved goodbye. The snow was coming harder now, and she repositioned his hat on his head.

Savannah took his other hand and they paused for a minute, watching the fat white flakes accumulate on the street.

You think it’d make a good Christmas story? Mary asked, already picturing Luke Harlow on the front page of their little newspaper. She couldn’t think of a more attractive cover