The Christmas Bride

By Christy McKee

Emma Kimball is struggling to keep tradition alive. Drowning in debt from her late mother's medical bills, she escapes to spend the holiday in her childhood's beloved small-town inn. The last complication she needs is for her handsome ex to crash her wintery wonderland.

 

Dr. Jake Cutter almost has it all. Nine years after their painful breakup, he's bent on chasing a Yuletide miracle to win back the woman he loves. Even knowing she's skittish to reconnect, he's willing to do the work to thaw her heart.

 

Scared she'll wreck her future and end up with someone just like her overly controlling father, a trait she learned years ago is a part of Jake, a wary Emma resists the allure of her old flame's attempts to reconcile. But as he worries about once again messing up the best thing ever, he refuses to stop hoping he's been good enough to earn a kiss underneath the mistletoe.

 

Can an unexpected holiday reunion turn out to be the greatest gift of all?

 

The Christmas Bride is a heartwarming contemporary romance. If you like complex characters, idyllic seasonal settings, and jingle-bell charm, then you'll adore Christy McKee's tale of forgiveness and fate.

 

Buy The Christmas Bride to unwrap happily ever after today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Oct 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957228570

Book preview

The Christmas Bride

Christy McKee

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Champagne Book Group

The Christmas Bride

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

712 SE Winchell Avenue, Depoe Bay OR 97341 U.S.A.

First Edition 2022

eISBN: 978-1-957228-57-0

Copyright © 2022 Christy McKee All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Robyn Hart

Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you for complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.

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Chapter One

What the… Emma’s pink-mittened hands clenched the steering wheel in a death grip.

On the dark, snow-covered lane, a behemoth of a black SUV barreled straight toward her, then skidded broadside, giving her no place to go. No, no, no. It was coming at her way too fast to avoid a collision. Clamping her eyes shut, she jammed on her brakes and sucked in what was possibly her final breath.

When nothing happened, she cracked one eye open to witness, at the last possible moment, the SUV pulling out of its skid and skirting by her with barely an inch to spare. The mush-brained, unapologetic driver shot her a thumbs up as he drove off. Jackass.

Heart still thumping on an adrenalin high, Emma guided the old Jeep into the inn’s empty, snow-blanketed parking lot. Weak with relief, she slumped in her seat, waiting for her pulse to work its way back to normal.

Merciful heavens, the six-hour drive was over. The tension in her neck and shoulders began to melt. Yet, as grateful as she was to be at her destination finally, a sense of dread crept over her. She’d never been to the inn without her mom. Was coming a colossal mistake? No. Days before her mother’s death, she begged Emma to promise to go to the inn this year for Christmas, as they had always done.

The old Wagoneer’s door creaked open with a shove, and a blast of cold wind smacked into her, followed by a tempest of fat snowflakes. Mercy. Shivering, she climbed out into the snowy night and focused only on how wonderful the inn’s warmth and holiday spirit would feel as soon as she was inside.

Shouldering her hanging bags and rolling her suitcase, she was puffing by the time she reached the old Victorian’s wide front porch. A jewel-like reflection of hundreds of tiny lights glittered through the ornate, beveled glass door. Two eight-foot-tall glittering topiaries stood like sentries on either side of the door, a preview of the abundance of Christmas spirit. The front door swung open, and Mrs. Pennebeck greeted her with a welcoming smile.

Darling Emma, Merry Christmas. She clasped her in a warm embrace. I am beyond glad you’re here.

Emma closed her eyes for a second, letting the warmth seep into her. Breathing in the scent of Shalimar jolted her senses. Had Mrs. Pennebeck always worn the same spicy perfume as Emma’s mother? She remembered the scent of Shalimar lingering after her mother’s goodnight kiss or when she hugged her before she left to go out for the evening. She’d come to realize the emotional power of scents and the many sweet, forgotten memories they brought, like welcome, unexpected gifts.

Even though Mrs. Pennebeck was the same age as Emma’s late mother, she didn’t look a day over fifty. Not one strand of gray hair showed in her strawberry blonde upswept style. Seeing the pair of comical reindeer with flashing red and green lights on the front of her Christmas sweater made Emma laugh.

Mrs. Pennebeck released her, then linked her arm through Emma’s. Now, you’re here. I declare the season officially open.

She absorbed every detail as they walked deeper into the Christmas wonderland. At least fifteen feet tall, a beautifully decorated Douglas fir reigned supreme over the large foyer. The Waterford crystal chandelier, Mrs. Pennebeck’s pride and joy, reflected hundreds of pinpoints of light and ended with a holly ball adorned with real mistletoe. Fragrant pine boughs and tiny white lights illuminated the intricately carved mahogany staircase.

You must be tired after your long drive. Mrs. Pennebeck patted Emma’s arm. While you settle in, I’ll send refreshments to tide you over until dinner, which is at seven o’clock. Beef Wellington is on the menu tonight with some lovely surprises.

Sounds delicious. Mrs. Pennebeck had been Emma’s mother’s dearest friend. In many ways, she was Emma’s too.

She was here now, with someone who’d known and loved her all her life. Emma’s breathing eased, and the taut muscles in her neck and shoulders softened. It seemed like she’d been holding her breath for weeks, and now she could finally let go.

I have put you in the Delphinium suite on the third floor. It has a fireplace and a cozy sitting area. I hope you’ll like it.

Emma was relieved. The idea of returning to the suite she’d always shared with her mother bothered her for weeks. However, having a single room was a welcome alternative. It sounds lovely.

Tim will take your luggage.

The tall, gawky teenager waved at Emma from the foot of the main staircase where he stood, surrounded by a mountain of luggage. She plucked her backpack and a medium-size duffle from the pile and trooped upstairs behind him to the third floor. After generously tipping him for his Herculean effort, she closed the door, sagging against it, and surveyed the room.

It was a treasure, a perfect jewel box of a room. A white marble fireplace against a backdrop of blue delphinium wallpaper was beautiful, like walking into a summer garden. The sitting room with its pale blue velvet chaise lounge, draped in a thick white fur throw, faux, of course, would be the perfect place to snuggle and read.

It was a long time since she’d experienced the lightheartedness of joy. Yet, the Christmas tree standing in the bay window buoyed her spirits. Her very own private tree. Even Emma and her mother had never had their own tree. With its stunning silver and crystal ornaments, the white flocked tree was truly a work of art and deeply personal. The Waterford and Swarovski crystal ornaments were birthday and Christmas gifts from Emma’s mother to her friend for the last twenty-some years.

Tim delivered Emma’s snack a few minutes later and showed her where to turn on the gas fireplace. She put the tray on the table beside the chaise and stared at it. Can I do this…be here for Christmas without Mom? Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and grief slammed into her with a vengeance taking her heart in a cruel, painful grip.

There would be no late-night rehashing the evening’s festivities as she and her mother always did at the end of each evening. Instead, swamped by a wave of sadness, Emma buckled, sinking onto the velvet chaise. It was almost one year since her mother’s death, and the loss was still as painful and sharp as ever.

She relived her mother’s last moments on her subway ride home every afternoon. She was at her bedside, straining to hear each whisper of breath, knowing she was on the brink of her last. Yet, when it came, Emma was ill-prepared for the sense of disbelief and heartbreaking loss. Living through the agonizing replay of the final hour, over and over, surely must tax her own heart, yet it still beat.

A series of loud thumps and muffled curses grabbed her attention and drew her to the peephole in the door. Two hefty suitcases sat in the doorway across the hall, and Tim struggled with several king-size black garbage bags. The guest must be planning to move in for the winter with that mountain of luggage.

She sucked in a deep breath and glanced at her luggage. Zeroing in on her hanging garment bags, she dragged them to the closet, unzipped one then the other, neatly hanging her dozen or more outfits. As her mother taught her, always have two wardrobe choices for each planned activity. Laughter bubbled up inside Emma. Thanks, Mother.

~ * ~

We are happy to have you with us, Dr. Cutter. Mrs. Pennebeck smiled, reaching for his black wool overcoat as soon as he’d shrugged out of it. I will hang this right here in the closet so it will be ready for you when you venture out.

Returning to the check-in area, she pulled an old brass room key from the drawer and slid it towards him across the antique desk. Tim has already taken your bags to your room. The inn has a complimentary pressing service if any of your clothing needs attention. She walked around the desk and ushered him down the wide hall with gleaming hardwood floors into the large front parlor. Please make yourself comfortable by the fire. I’ll bring you a warm libation to chase the chill away.

Sounds perfect. Suddenly the inconvenience of moving out of his apartment didn’t seem so bothersome. Getting some care and coddling for a few days seemed a fine alternative place to be.

Jake settled into a tall wingback chair in front of the white marble fireplace, legs stretched in front of him, the warmth of the crackling fire seeping pleasantly into his bones. Moments later, a steaming mug of a frothy white drink appeared on the table next to him.

A Tom and Jerry. Guaranteed to warm you up and put you in the holiday spirit. The cordial Mrs. Pennebeck winked at him.

He nodded his thanks and took a healthy swallow, letting the rum mixture slide down the back of his throat, warming him from the inside out. The Tom and Jerry came with a nice kick to it.

While staring into the fire, his thoughts returned to the condo he’d bought in LA during his residency. It was a thousand square feet in beautiful Marina del Ray, nirvana, for single thirty-something professionals. But, whether he’d stayed in California or not, the condo would never be a forever place for him, only a temporary investment. Instead, he wanted a real house with a big yard with plenty of shade trees, a dog, a wife, and two to three kids.

Well, he’d found the house. The dog was next on his list—he’d already spoken with Mary Beth Kinsell at the local rescue. As for a wife and children, he’d dated a few women since he’d moved back to Haley; he couldn’t see spending the rest of his life with any of them. The one woman he should be with, he’d driven out of LA back to the other side of the country.

Get over it. The past is behind you. Leave it the hell alone. He downed the rest of his drink and sank deeper into the comfortable chair. Between the fire, old Tom and Jerry and Christmas carols emanating softly, he was on the brink of falling into a doze when a woman’s voice jarred him awake.

Chapter Two

Changing into gray wool slacks, a black cashmere turtleneck and black leather boots, Emma sat down at the elegant dressing table, draped in a white taffeta and lace skirt. The makeup mirror supported by a crystal pedestal was the most gorgeous she’d ever seen. Blending concealer under her smoky eyes, she added a creamy pink shade of lipstick and sparkling rose blush. Since a few waves remained in her long blonde hair, she feathered her fingers through it and let it fall to her shoulders.

Standing up, she glanced out the window and noticed the monster-size black SUV parked right beside her, the one responsible for almost running her off the road. The whole empty parking lot, and Mr. Reckless plants himself smack against her Jeep. Could this day get any worse? It would be her luck. The driver was the owner of the mountain of black garbage bags.

Downstairs, she hung her red wool coat in the foyer closet. She looked into the main parlor, one of four in all, to see the usual two shimmering Christmas trees on either side of the carved mahogany mantle decorated in white lace, ropes of glittering crystals and silver ornaments. Children staying at the inn would hang their stockings here, as she’d done for most of her childhood. Two tall wingback chairs faced the fireplace, their backs to her.

Her phone chirped once, twice. For two months, she’d been dodging bill collectors and hesitated before answering, but as soon as she saw caller ID, her taut shoulders slumped in relief. Thank heavens. The caller wasn’t the insidious co-op board president who’d been hounding her with calls for the past month. At least a dozen times, she’d explained her financial predicament to him. It didn’t matter. Caller ID showed it was her kindly neighbor, Mrs. Mercht. Wanting to have a private conversation, Emma walked into the empty parlor.

Hello, Mrs. Mercht, she said on speaker. Merry Christmas.

Miss Kimball, a nasal, entitled voice declared, Jonathan Tinsdale here. I’ve grown weary of you dodging my calls.

Great. The sanctimonious prick outfoxed her. No doubt the dreadful Mr. Tinsdale had brow-beaten poor Mrs. Mercht into colluding with him. Emma waited in silence for him to ruin her day.

Miss Kimball, you have left the board no choice. You are in arrears of your co-op fees for twelve months. As of five PM today, you are locked out of your apartment. You are no longer in good standing. Your dear mother would be appalled at your actions. After you have paid up, you will have access. Do I make myself clear?

Mr. Tinsdale. What kind of cruel person would kick a woman out of her home a few days before Christmas? I am homeless now. Are you happy?

I suppose it does give me a measure of satisfaction. At least now you realize the gravity of your situation.

As if she didn’t. She’d been dealing with thousands of dollars in hospital bills, doctor bills, private duty nurses, and repaying a reverse mortgage. I can assure you, Mr. Tinsdale, I know precisely how dire my situation is. Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Tinsdale?

Perhaps if you contacted your father.

Not an option, she shot back.

Well, then. As soon as I have a certified check, you will have access to your apartment.

Considering my checking and savings accounts have negative balances, it may be a while. Damn. What possessed her to divulge that?

If you fail to pay, we will be forced to put a lien against the property. If, or most likely on the day your apartment goes into foreclosure, we will get our money then.

Always a pleasure hearing from you, Mr. Tinsdale. Her words were laced with enough poison to take down a charging elephant. Emma punched the end icon to cut the horrible man off and heaved her phone onto the antique settee. You sorry, son of a…

Of all of the inns in the world, you happen to be in mine, a male voice remarked.

That voice! Assured, confident and totally in control of every situation. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to be sure it was him. Did she just declare herself homeless and broke? At the very least, she’d embarrassed herself in front of a total stranger, who, with some finesse, she could avoid for the duration. On the flip side, she’d laid bare her utmost humiliating predicament in front of the most arrogant, controlling man ever.

Almost paralyzed by dread, she dragged her eyes to meet his, then her mouth dropped open. Jake Cutter? Her Jake Cutter. Her heart rate shot up to marathon speed, and a giant fist gripped her poor, empty stomach. What on earth was he doing here in Haley at the Cromwell Inn? He was supposed to be in California, living his perfect life.

As if on cue to save her, Mrs. Pennebeck appeared in the archway. Surely it must be close to dinnertime. Thank heavens there would be other guests. Emma would sit as far away as possible to avoid having to talk to Jake or answer any questions he would ask. Homeless, broke. Good Lord. She cringed. If only she could click her heels and disappear to any place on the planet except Haley, Vermont.

Chef Casey has prepared a delightful dinner for you. Mrs. Pennebeck gestured for them to follow her into the elegant dining room.

Emma hurried behind her, hoping to get a seat at the end of a long dinner table with several guests in between her and Jake.

Since it is just the two of you tonight, I’ve tucked you into this cozy alcove. Most of our Christmas guests are not arriving until tomorrow.

Oh. Emma did her best to hide her dismay. Her hope flatlined when she saw the romantic table set for two standing in front of the bay window overlooking a twinkling fairyland tucked inside the inn’s bricked courtyard. The setting and view are lovely. Thank you.

I never anticipated having anything more substantial than pizza tonight. Dining here is an unexpected, very welcome pleasure. Jake smiled.

She’d forgotten how charming the man could be. Already he’d won Mrs. Pennebeck’s good opinion. But Emma was an expert on all things Jake. She would have to stay on her toes. No way was she falling under Jake Cutter’s spell again.

The prospect of sitting across the dinner table, alone with him, decimated Emma’s appetite. It was doubtful she could get anything past the tight knot in her throat. Wrapped in a fog of self-pity, she stumbled on the way to her seat. Jake, always the gentleman, came to her side to steady her and pulled out her chair.

The young, fresh-faced chef appeared at the table, dressed in a white coat with an embellished crest of the Cromwell Inn and, with a flourish, placed their plates in front of them. Beef Wellington, glazed mushrooms, artichokes and capers, and asparagus gratin. Sweet potato rolls and hazelnut butter. Enjoy.

She smiled her thanks to the young man and held off responding to Jake until she’d tamped down on her emotions and could present herself as aloof and disinterested. Most importantly, she wanted to steer the conversation away from the embarrassing phone discussion he’d overheard. For the first time in weeks, she regretted breaking up with Sloan Patterson, her on-again-off-again boyfriend of two years. He could have helped to create distance between her and Jake.

If I wasn’t driving defensively tonight, you could have killed me with that titanic size truck you drive. Emma used her fork to mash several stalks of asparagus.

It would have been a tragedy. He recovered quickly. Not getting to open your Christmas presents and missing out on one of Mrs. Pennebeck’s legendary turkey dinners. He carved a bite of the rare Beef Wellington and put it into his mouth.

A memory burrowed its way beneath her radar, and for a fleeting moment, she remembered his mouth, the way his lips would drag across her. Enough!

She snapped her thoughts back to the present. Do your patients find you amusing?

No, not usually. He picked up the bottle of red wine from the crystal coaster and poured a glass for her and himself. However, there are extenuating circumstances. He took a sip.

She rolled her eyes when he didn’t even bother to ask her if she wanted wine. Of course, there are.

"They’re asleep in my OR."

Funnyman. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

His eyes held hers, and she felt he was searching for something. Maybe an explanation of the phone call he’d eavesdropped on a few minutes ago. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable.

What? Emma grimaced, looking down at the mountain of pulpy green on her plate. I like it like this. Rolling her eyes, she jammed a bite of the mess into her mouth. Delicious.

You’re even more beautiful than you were nine years ago on the awful day you left me in LA and broke my heart.

Don’t you dare react. Do not give him the satisfaction. She forked another tasteless bite of green mush into her mouth.

You don’t remember abandoning me? he goaded her, feigning disbelief.

The truth was she didn’t leave him. Instead, he’d driven her away with his constant tactics to take control of her life. They dated for five years. Jake graduated from the University of Vermont three years ahead of her. He’d finished his third year of medical school at UCLA when she graduated. For graduation, her mother flew her to LA to spend a week with him. When Emma arrived, he’d ambushed her.

He’d found the perfect two-bedroom apartment for them close to campus and had already moved in. He’d even finagled an interview with the Dean of Admissions for the UCLA School of Social Work despite her early acceptance into the graduate program at NYU, where she’d always planned to go. Instead, her weeks’ vacation ended abruptly after three days.

Fate brings us together again. His silver-gray eyes pinned her.

She did her best to ignore his outrageous smoldering gaze and smug half-smile. Having a battle of wits with him was not going to happen. She was not up for it. I don’t think so, Jake. You know my mother and I spend Christmas at the inn, as we’ve done for years. Saying his name out loud gave her an annoying little thrill. "Why are you here?"

Well, Emmie…

Emma. She was quick to correct him. Everyone calls me Emma. Leave it to him to never go along with the pack.

Couldn’t he leave one thing alone? He was the only person who’d ever called her Emmie, and he bloody well knew it. There was a time she relished his pet name for her. Unfortunately, he’d lost the right to use it nine years ago.

"Emma, my being at the inn is a happy coincidence. The pipes burst over at Waverly Terrace, and my apartment flooded." He paused to cut a slice of beef, drag it through the rich wine sauce, then put it into his mouth.

The Waverly Terrace, here? So, you live in Haley now? What happened? Did the state of California evict you?

The last time she’d seen him, he was already preparing for the residency matching program, having spent weeks researching top programs in California. Determined and competitive, Jake networked to get excellent references and evaluations from med school. His ultimate goal was to match a residency program in the LA area and practice as an orthopedic surgeon treating high-profile professional athletes. Yet, for as long as Emma could remember, his dream was to live and practice medicine in California. What could have possibly changed?

"Less than two years ago, I was offered a partnership with Dr. Waite on a trip home. He will retire in a few years and was looking for a younger orthopedic surgeon. It seemed