Mistletoe Magic

By Leah St. James

Christmas Delivery
A chance encounter on a stormy Christmas Eve challenges a woman’s beliefs and heals life-long wounds.

Santa Suit Hijinks
Will the discovery of a childhood love’s criminal activity break a narcotics investigator’s heart for good or lead to renewed love?

Found in Translation
A math professor’s rudimentary language skills lead to confusion, and the potential for new love, during a Christmas vacation in Paris.

Second Chance Christmas
Two broken-hearted people share an unforgettable Christmas cruise and learn to love again.

A Critterful Christmas
A wounded cat and injured dog bring a lonely veterinarian and small-town police officer together during a stormy Christmas Eve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah St. James
• Release date: Dec 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463302026

Leah St. James

Leah writes stories of good and evil, the mysteries of life, and (most of all) the enduring power of love. Although romance is her favorite genre to read, as a writer, she enjoys tackling subjects that make people think, and her stories have covered topics from murder to the question of life after death, from infidelity to infertility.She married her college sweetheart, and together they have two amazing sons, two beautiful, smart and accomplished daughters-in-law, three grand-cats—Hercules, Beep, and Jack—and a grand-dog, Gus, all rescues. They treasure their time with family and friends, traveling when they can, and analyzing the plots of movies and TV shows.She loves chatting with and getting to know readers! Please visit her on her social media pages or send email to [e-mail]. To stay up to date on future releases, you can sign up for her (soon to be launched) quarterly newsletter.

Book preview

MISTLETOE MAGIC

A Holiday Collection

by Leah St. James

Contents

Copyright

About the Collection

Dedication

Christmas Delivery

Santa Suit Hijinks

Found in Translation

Second Chance Christmas

A Critterful Christmas

Thank You

About the Author

Also by Leah St. James

Copyright

Mistletoe Magic

Copyright © 2021

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Cover Art Design by Creative Author Services

Published by Leah St. James in the United States of America

First Electronic Edition: November 2021

About the Collection

Christmas Delivery

Originally published in 2013, updated 2021

A chance encounter on a stormy Christmas Eve challenges a woman’s beliefs and heals life-long wounds.

Santa Suit Hijinks

Originally published in 2014, updated 2021

Will the discovery of a childhood love’s criminal activity break a narcotics investigator’s heart for good or lead to renewed love?

Found in Translation

Originally published in 2016, updated 2021

A math professor’s rudimentary language skills lead to confusion, and the potential for new love, during a Christmas vacation in Paris.

Second Chance Christmas

Originally published in 2017, updated 2021

Two broken-hearted people share an unforgettable Christmas cruise and learn to love again.

A Critterful Christmas

Originally published in 2018, updated 2021

A wounded cat and injured dog bring a lonely veterinarian and small-town police officer together during a stormy Christmas Eve.

Dedication

To all who love happy endings and the blessings of Jesus’ birth. Also to my fellow Roses who made writing, sharing and reading these stories such a joy over the years.

CHRISTMAS DELIVERY

a short story

by Leah St. James

Christmas Delivery

This was the last place she expected to spend Christmas.

Angela Jensen fought back a sigh. As if sensing her thoughts, Ron leaned over until his lips brushed her ear. This environment, this setting—it must be strange to you. More than strange. Foreign.

Nodding, she turned to catch his gaze. Yes. She wasn’t about to give him more. Not here. Not now.

His brows drew together. Do you want to leave?

No, I’m fine. Really. And she was fine, just not comfortable, not at ease.

And damned if she’d get up and walk the wrong day down that long, long aisle, crowded with processing choirs, with all these people watching.

Life as an atheist wasn’t easy, especially during America’s annual homage to over-indulgence known as The Holidays. Even harder when it was your birthday, and your mother had lost her life while giving you yours.

Friends who thought it was a double day for celebration were wrong. For her and her dad, it was a day of mourning. So around age five she convinced her father to let her celebrate her birthday in July so she didn’t have to compete for attention with the Baby Jesus, or a dead mother.

In his logical, engineering-minded way, he’d agreed. It made it easier for him, after all. He didn’t want that memory any more than she did. Sometimes she wondered if either of them remembered her true birth date anymore.

But avoiding Christmas, that was impossible. It followed her wherever she went, jingle-belling and ho-ho-ho-ing and Merry Christmas-ing at every corner until she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that yes, Jesus was a nice man, a good teacher. As for being the son of God, since there was no god, no all-knowing higher power who would make right all the wrongs in life, Jesus’ divinity, or not, was moot. Just get over it.

Usually she kept her thoughts and her beliefs—really, her UNbeliefs—to herself.

Americans were all about freedom of religion. They’d accept worship of animals and snakes, even sports teams or political parties. But tell them you believed in nothingness, and stares of contempt, or pity, quickly followed. Getting close to people was…difficult.

Until she’d met Ron. He’d been different right from the start, sneaking into her heart like he’d crept through a back door on ninja feet. He’d hooked her first with steady green-brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Charmed her with that easy grin that creased a dimple down the middle of his cheek, inviting her lips to follow. Even that awful flat Midwestern accent that sounded so out of place in rural Virginia intrigued her.

Of course, she’d kept her feelings of UN-faith from him for the longest time, evading questions about her upbringing, her personal habits, until they’d grown close. Until they’d begun to spend nights together, and on rare occasions, weekends.

Then one morning, not too long ago, when they finished making love, he lay over her, braced on his elbows and stared at her with an expression of such adoration, her throat had tightened, and she’d had to blink back tears.

What? she’d asked, prompting him to speak.

I was just thinking.

Of?

You.

What about me?

I love you, Angela. And I think you love me, too.

She’d nodded, her heart beginning to thud in big timpani booms. And she knew why. For the first time she feared the consequences of her UNbelief. Because Ron was what she’d call a believer, and for believers, belief was a biggie.

He didn’t spout scripture or spend endless hours at church. But he had a Bible on his desk and had dropped enough mentions about growing up in that culture.

So she told him. There’s something you need to know, about me.

This sounds serious, he said. Then he rolled over and settled against the headboard, dragging her next to him with an arm around her waist. Let me guess. You’re actually a CIA operative, working under cover, literally, to wring from me all the secrets I’ve been harboring about my plans to discover and clone the computer-hacking gene.

No. She’d tried to laugh, but it had come out sounding strained. It’s just that I’m not what you’d call a religious person.

So?

You don’t understand. I’m— For the first time since identifying her feelings, she had difficulty spitting the label from her mouth. I’m an atheist.

Okay. Typical guy answer that meant nothing. Not affirmation. Not condemnation. Just nothing. But he’d nestled her closer, wrapped both arms around her and began to rock her, as if trying to comfort. She didn’t want comforting. She wanted understanding, and acceptance.

Aren’t you going to try to convince me how wrong I am? Aren’t you going to try to save me? She lifted her arms and made jazz hands.

He chuckled, began to nibble on her ear. Why would I do that?

She twisted to face him. Isn’t that what religious people do? Try to make believers, or followers, out of us sinners?

The smile slipped from his face. That’s not my job, no. That’s God’s job. My job, my beautiful Angela, is to try in my all-too-human way to see you as God sees you, to love you as God loves you.

And how does your god see me?

As His child, of course, crafted in His image, designed to someday live with Him in perfect love, beyond the bounds of the earthly body.

Huh. She’d narrowed her gaze, trying to pierce through the words to an underlying deception, but found none.

When several days passed without a follow-up, she began to take him at his word. She began to let down her guard.

That’s how he’d suckered her into going with him to the Christmas Eve midnight service. They’d been at work at the county hospital, way out in the boonies, at the same time for once. She’d just come out of surgery and had plopped down at the computer in the nurses’ station to write her notes. He was in the next chair over, reviewing a patient’s records in preparation for a C-section.

Hey, he’d said, I know it’s not your thing, but how about coming to the midnight Christmas service with me at the church down the road?

She’d lifted an eyebrow, snickered, then gone back to reviewing the chart of the man whose heart was now pumping much more efficiently, and hopefully would for the next twenty years.

I mean it, Angie, he’d said, persisting. I’d like you to come with me. It’s mostly singing.

Ron, I thought I explained. Church isn’t—

I know, I know. He’d rushed the words, cutting her off. "I know all about your UNbelief. You’ve told me, and I respect your choice. I realize I’m asking a lot, but this is my first year here. My family is