Montana Christmas Magic

By Kaylie Newell

Can a rescue dog help two lost souls find love at Christmas?

All accountant Griffin Cole wants for Christmas is stability. After spending his childhood traveling the world with his one-hit wonder rocker dad, he loves his quiet and unremarkable life in Marietta. Then the beautiful Raelyssa Woods knocks on his door. Her bold spirit immediately turns his predictable life upside down, and suddenly Griffin wants to ask Santa for so much more.

Rae Woods loves running her café in the small Montana town she calls home. She specializes in comfort food because she loves spreading joy to everyone she meets—two-footed or four. But after she impulsively takes in a homeless dog she names Noel, her big heart lands her in bigger trouble when her landlord threatens to toss her out. Grasping at holiday straws, she remembers a cute accountant who owes her a favor—and she happens to know he’s got a fenced yard and hidden soft spot.

When Griffin reluctantly agrees to foster Noel, he inadvertently sets in motion several Christmas miracles that neither he nor Rae could have ever seen coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952560712

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

Book preview

Chapter One

Rae Woods made her way down the sidewalk, careful not to turn an ankle on any sneaky patches of ice. It was biting cold for late November—even for Montana, which was notorious for all kinds of cold. Especially the biting kind.

She dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her wool pea coat and turned to see Carol Bingley in her robe across the street. The older woman was bending to pick up her paper with a fluffy dog dancing at her feet. When she saw Rae, she straightened and waved.

No car this morning, Raelyssa?

Rae waved back. Carol never missed a beat. She was a nice lady but had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon and would probably have a rumor going that Rae had gotten her license suspended by suppertime.

Nope! Rae called. Just felt like walking!

Carol smiled and nodded as if satisfied. She snapped her fingers to the little dog who was doing its business on a naked maple and headed back inside with her paper tucked underneath her arm.

Dipping her chin into her scarf, Rae plowed forward. It really was a gorgeous day. There were fat, steely clouds overhead, promising snow later. Probably the first heavy storm of the season. The air was crisp and clean, and the mountains in the distance were the color of grape soda against the sky. Rae breathed deeply. Marietta was pretty all year round, but it was prettiest in the winter. Only her opinion, but it was a hill she was willing to die on, nonetheless. She loved winter. Because winter meant Christmas.

She sidestepped a frozen puddle, and then another. And then what looked like a miniature river snaking its way from the yard to her right. Frowning, she turned at the sound of water running. Only running wasn’t the right word. Rushing was more like it.

She gasped. A burst pipe was spewing next to the cute little 1920s bungalow on the corner. Or maybe even from it. She couldn’t tell if the water was coming from inside or outside, there was so much of it.

Stepping carefully, she headed up the walkway and knocked on the front door. She rubbed her hands together in the cold, waiting for an answer. Nothing. She knocked again, this time louder, and leaned over to look through a crack in the blinds. It didn’t look like anyone was home. Which meant they were in for a heap of trouble.

What’s going on over there?

Rae turned. This from Carol, who’d made a reappearance in her bathrobe, and was craning her neck for a better look.

Burst pipe! Rae called back. Do you have their phone number by any chance? I’m going to try and find the shutoff on the street.

That’s Griffin Cole’s place, Carol said. He’s out of town!

Crap, Rae muttered, making her way down the porch steps and over the water again. It splashed underneath her boots. Not the happiest thing to come home to—a broken pipe. She and her mom had been through this once; it had been right before Christmas her senior year. Flooded the living room and soaked all the presents under the tree. They’d spent Christmas with industrial-sized fans squatting all through the house, while her mom wrung her hands about how they were going to pay for it.

Frowning, Rae chewed the inside of her cheek and scanned the sidewalk for the trademark metal panel. If she couldn’t find it, she’d have to call public works, but who knew how long that’d take? In the meantime, this poor guy might be racking up thousands of dollars in damage.

Carol crossed the street, her pink robe swishing at her feet. I have his number for emergencies, she said, stepping up on the sidewalk next to Rae. But no answer. Shoot! Look at all that water.

I know. And I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

It’s just a shame he’s not home. Out in California visiting his father. You know. The famous one.

Rae wasn’t going to bite, which was exactly what Carol wanted. The poor guy’s house was flooding like something out of the Bible. Although, she had heard about the dad. The famous one. Everyone in Marietta knew about Eddie Cole. He was kind of a big deal.

Carol, can you call public works? Hopefully I can find the shutoff before they get here, but just in case.

Sure thing, hon.

Carol reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell, which she promptly stuck to her ear. Rae got the feeling Carol was in her happy place. On the phone, in a bit of a dramatic role. Which maybe wasn’t fair. But still.

Rae scanned the sidewalk again, then narrowed her eyes at a metal panel a few feet away. With all the frost and ice, it had blended.

Bingo!

Carol looked over. Oh, oh, wait just a second, she said into the phone. We might not need you. Hold on…

Rae bent down and pried the panel off with frozen fingers. Inside, was a dark hole, probably full of too many creepy crawlies to count. But right there, covered in cobwebs, was the water valve.

She looked up at Carol and beamed. Found it.

Oh, good on you, honey. Carol turned her attention back to her phone. Found the shutoff, but thanks. You don’t need to come.

Refusing to think about whatever lurked inside, Rae stuck her hand in the hole and turned the rusty valve, which squeaked in protest. She looked back up and saw the spouting water die down to a trickle.

Carol put her phone back in her pocket. It got so cold last night, it’s no wonder.

Rae slid the metal cover back over the hole, slapped the grime off her hands, and stood back up to survey the damage. Overall, it didn’t look too bad. Lots of water in the yard, but from what she could tell, the house itself seemed to have been spared. Hopefully.

Carol, thanks so much for helping. I appreciate it.

"Thank you for finding that shutoff. I’ll be sure to let Griffin know what happened. He should be back in a few days. Carol crossed her arms over her considerable bosom and frowned. These trips out west are few and far between. I don’t think he has the best relationship with his dad…from what I can tell."

Rae nodded, mentally translating from what I can tell, to what it really meant, which was from what I could get out of him.

Well, I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.

Oh, yes. Glad it wasn’t worse. Do you know Griffin?

Uh…no, I don’t. That wasn’t entirely true. She knew of Griffin, just like she knew of his famous rocker dad. But the man seemed to be a Cole in name only. Tall, rangy, super clean-cut, possibly even a little nerdy, Griffin Cole was a quiet accountant who had an office over by the library. He and his two brothers had been sent to Marietta as kids, so the story went, to live with an aunt while their father toured the country singing his Christmas hit from the nineties that had made him a household name. So, no. She didn’t know Griffin. But she knew enough to get by.

Nice boy, Carol said. Handsome. Reminds me of Clark Kent.

Rae smiled and raised her brows. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Carol Bingley might have herself a little crush.

Carol laughed. Stop. I could be his mother.

Older sister, Carol. Older sister.

Rae looked at her watch. At this rate, she’d be late for work. Ohh. I’d better get going. She headed down the sidewalk, waving over her shoulder. Thanks again!

Bye, hon. Merry Christmas.

It wasn’t even December yet, but as far as Rae was concerned, it was never too early to get excited.

She grinned. Merry Christmas!

Chapter Two

Griffin Cole hated Mondays. But that didn’t exactly set him apart. What did set him apart was his aversion to coffee. Which made Mondays twice as hard to bear.

Good morning, Griffin!

Tawny, his bubbly twenty-four-year-old front office assistant, loved them.

Morning, he managed, as he made his way into his office, head down, hoping she didn’t have any stories to tell about her Saturday night. She’d made it a habit of giving him a weekend briefing, which usually included getting tipsy at Grey’s and dancing with her cowboy flavor of the week. Tawny loved cowboys. Cowboys and Mondays.

He heard her push her chair back and come clicking up behind him in her heels. Gritting his teeth, he set his briefcase down and sat at his desk with an inward groan. Tawny was great. She really was. But Griffin wasn’t in the mood. Part of that had to do with the water damage in his living room. Something he was going to have to deal with sooner rather than later.

You have a message, Tawny said, smiling. Her teeth flashed against her tanning booth skin. She wore a pale pink blouse and her blond hair pulled back into a teased and sprayed ponytail. She did not look like a woman who worked for an accountant. Griffin’s walls were beige. His furniture was shades of beige. Sometimes his clothes were beige. Tawny never leaned toward beige, despite what her name suggested.

He adjusted his dark-framed glasses and took the piece of paper she held out. Oh, yeah? First thing, huh?

First thing. You bet. From the lady who called about your busted pipe. I didn’t know you had a busted pipe.

Tawny’s handwriting was hard to read, fat and bubbly. She dotted her i’s with tiny circles. But the name was clear as a bell—Rae Woods. He’d been planning on calling her later today to thank her for shutting his water off. If she hadn’t, he would’ve had a giant mess on his hands. As it stood now, he’d at least have to get some of the drywall replaced.

Yeah, happened while I was in California.

How was your trip?

Tawny said this while leaning on his desk, intent on details. Most people liked to ask. Because they wanted to hear about his dad. What was he like? And was Mistletoe Magic Griffin’s favorite Christmas song too?

It was good. It had been a lot more complicated than good, but the last thing he wanted to go into right then was his relationship, or nearly non-existent relationship, with his father. Mondays were crappy enough, as-is.

Tawny nodded, watching him like she really wanted to press. But didn’t, to her credit.

Anyway, she went on, this lady called, and she was really sweet. Wanted to check to see how bad the damage was. She said she’d been thinking about you. This, she relayed with an unmistakable twinkle in her blue eyes.

Griffin leaned back in his chair. I don’t have any idea who she is, Tawny.

She was always trying to set him up. Sadly, crunching numbers was the love of his life. After watching the train wreck of his dad’s twenty-five years on tour, Griffin was perfectly happy doing math for a living.

Oh, I know who she is, Tawny said. "She owns that tiny café by the hospital. The Melt. She makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches. I mean, they’re delicious."

That little place that used to be the dog wash?

Yup.

He frowned. That’s hardly big enough to turn around in. How’s that a café?

Well, it barely is. There are a few tables and chairs, but she runs the business out of a food truck in the summers. She shrugged. Doesn’t matter. People don’t go for the atmosphere. They go for the sandwiches.

A grilled cheese café… He let that settle for a minute. It was actually a brilliant idea. There was a time when all he and his brothers would eat were grilled cheeses. Of course, they’d been under ten at the time, but still. She was tapping into a deep-seated craving for comfort food, and that was usually a good place to be.

Are you going to call her? Tawny put her hands on her hips.

Yes, Tawny. I’m going to call her. Can I look over my schedule first?

You’ve got the Butlers coming in at eleven. They need some bookkeeping advice. You should head over to the Melt for lunch. Thank her in person. She smiled sweetly. He could see right through her.

Thanks, I’ll just give her a call.

But the sandwiches, though.

She had him there. Coffee didn’t sound good. But a grilled cheese sure as hell did. At eight thirty in the morning. Who knew?

He opened his briefcase, refusing to look up at Tawny, which would only encourage her.

I saw Porter on Saturday, she went on.

Griffin could tell it was going to be a long morning.

Huh.

Sounds like the dude ranch is gearing up for a big summer. If last summer was any indication. And why don’t you want to work that ranch with your brothers again?

He did look up at her then and adjusted his glasses, which didn’t need adjusting. I do their books. That’s enough dude-ranching for me.

I think you’re a cowboy in disguise, Griffin. That’s what I think.

Okay.

And I think you need a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

He threw his head back and sighed.

"That’s all I’m saying."

Griffin watched her turn and walk out the door, ponytail swinging. His brothers were the cowboys in the family. Much to their dad’s chagrin. But Tawny was right about one thing… His stomach growled.

He did need a grilled cheese for lunch.

* *

The Melt was a café in name only. As Griffin stood there looking around, he felt mildly claustrophobic. It was cute, no doubt about that, with red checkered tablecloths on the small, round tables (three—there wasn’t room for any more) and a matching valance over the frosted windows that looked out onto Railway Avenue. It was a tiny yellow building that sat huddled at the edge of the hospital parking lot. A food truck was parked close by—a mobile grilled cheese unit eager for warmer weather. There were pictures on the walls of people eating sandwiches. Presumably her sandwiches. The place was cozy, which he guessed was the point. And most of the people in line didn’t seem to mind the lack of space. Several women had just walked past with their to-go orders, taking their lunches back to their offices, or cars, or wherever. Like Tawny had said, the food here was obviously the draw.

That, and possibly the petite woman working behind the counter, with the pretty face and megawatt smile.

Griffin cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, trying not to stare. But it was hard. His gaze seemed drawn to her.

She laughed as she rung up a customer, the sound carrying over the Christmas music in the background. There was Christmas music on at the end of November. Of course there was. He sighed, the smell of warm bread and cheese filling his senses. It was impossible to tell what was more distracting—the food, or the woman behind the counter.

It didn’t matter. He’d come to thank her, and that’s what he was going to do. And then he’d go back to the office, where he had a pile of paperwork waiting, and forget all about Rae Woods and her grilled cheese sandwiches.

The line moved up, and there was a pause in the music before the next song. And then, over the speakers, came the distinctive guitar riff that had dictated the entire direction of Griffin’s life. And his brothers’ lives. It was what had landed them in Montana as pre-teens. It was what had made their father rich and famous but his life a veritable train wreck. And what had made his youngest son decide to be an accountant, a career that screamed normalcy. Yeah, with a little beige on the side, but whatever.

Griffin stood there stiff as a post. Heat crept up his neck and into his face, as the song began to play in earnest. Marietta was a small town, and he wasn’t fooling himself thinking that most people didn’t know who Eddie the Christmas hit wonder Cole was. Still, the looks that settled on him right then were brief and well-meaning. People loved this damn song and just couldn’t help but be curious about Griffin, Porter, and Brooks Cole by association.

Next!

The line moved up again, and he waited as the elderly man in front of him ordered a classic with monster sauce, whatever that was, and waved to the big tattooed guy working the grill.

It’s on the house today, Chuck, the woman behind the counter said. They argued quietly for a minute, before the man finally seemed to give up and squeezed her hand from across the counter.

Bless you, he said.

Griffin studied his shoes, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping.

Next!

He stepped toward the counter.

Hi, there, she said, smiling. What’ll it be?