Four For Christmas

Chapter One


She was lost in the Colorado Rockies with snow whipping against the windshield like hail, and if she had to guess why the steering wheel was pulling so hard to the left? She would say she had a flat. Her holiday joy was now complete.

Georgia pulled over onto the snow-covered shoulder and braced herself before going out to look. Sure enough, her rear driver’s side tire was flat as a pancake.

Shivering in her Louisiana excuse for a winter coat, she got back into the car and called Connie for the second time in the last half hour. “That’s it, Christmas and I are officially done.”

“I hear you selling but I’m not buying,” Connie‘s sass came through loud and clear. “Georgia Virginia Bale giving up on Christmas? That’s like saying the sky is green. That night is day. That classic movie colorization was a good idea or—or that Mick Jagger will be playing Tiny Tim in a live remake of Scrooge.”

Georgia snorted, leaning back against the headrest of her rental car as she listened to Connie’s voice piping through the speakers. At least she had cell phone reception and heat. But that didn’t make up for everything else.

“Get ready for those big man-lips to say, ‘God bless us, everyone’,” she sighed. “I’ve got a flat tire.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Sadly, I am not. We have to admit when we’re beaten, Connie.”

Georgia warmed her hands on her coffee thermos and took a sip. “You know my holiday track record. I love it but it does not love me. When you invited me here I thought this year I’d have a real Christmas in a real winter wonderland. I’d make a snowman or a snow angel or a snow something harmless and gentle. I was not expecting to be stranded in a blizzard, though I probably should have been.”

She shivered, despite the hot air blowing on her boots. “And damn it, Connie, you did not tell me it would be this cold.”

“Spoken like a true southerner. Snow is cold? Who knew?” Connie dropped her sarcastic tone as swiftly as she’d picked it up. Georgia knew why. Her friend was worried. “As much as I’d love to believe in miracles, I don’t think we could get triple A out in this weather. Just tell me where you are and let Lee call Simon. I told you about Simon, right? One of his business partners? He has a truck with chains on his tires and a tow thingy that—“

“No.” Georgia sat up straight, her voice adamant. “I don’t care what kind of tires or thingies your friend has, nobody should be out in this weather. It’s humiliating enough, and it’s my own damn fault for listening to this sadistic GPS and missing the exit. I would have been there by now if I had just ignored her like I wanted to.”

“Recalculating…Recalculating…” The GPS blurted with unexpected but impeccable timing.

“Oh shut up!” Georgia snatched the useless device off its suction cup with a pop and tossed it on the floor of the passenger side. “Bitchy little know-it-all.”

Connie snorted. “Does she at least tell you where you are right now?”

“I’m officially nowhere,” Georgia huffed. “The last sign I saw was for Woodland Park and a place called Divide. Not sure where that is in relation to Denver, but at least I can say I’m now officially in the mountains. Don’t worry. I’ll make it to you eventually.”

In the background, a familiar voice said, “Divide? Oh she’s less than two hours away. Tell her to let us call in Charli’s boys.”

“I heard that, Lori Ann. No one’s boys need to be called. I know how to change a flat tire. Besides, I have Roux to keep me company. She isn’t complaining, so there’s no reason for me to either.”

The large black mouth cur in the back seat raised her head sleepily when she heard her name. She stared at Georgia with those big, knowing eyes, judgmental in her silence. “I know. I know. I should have stopped as soon as this weather started. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking to me anymore?” Connie sounded amused.

Georgia knew she was being slightly defensive. “We all have our eccentricities, buddy. I’m the crazy writer who talks to my dog, and you…”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Connie knew what she was going to say. She and Lori Ann shared more than a roof over their head. They shared a husband. Both women had married a man named Lee Barrow—a man Georgia had yet to meet, since she’d missed the wedding cruise to Cozumel.

He was obviously a man with many gifts. And a lot of stamina.

She was glad her friend had found happiness. No one deserved it more. When her grandfather was sick, Connie had been the nurse at his bedside, staying long past her shift’s end to keep Georgia company as her favorite family member slowly faded away.

That had been ten years ago now. They’d been friends ever since, managing to keep in regular contact despite Connie’s move to the mountainous west.

When Connie had told her about the cruise, about how Lee’s best friends had all gotten “together” in a four-way relationship afterward, Georgia had decided Colorado must put something strange in the water.

She may live in the state famous for New Orleans, vice and Mardi Gras, but outside of romantic fiction, she had never heard of any woman who truly loved more than one man at a time, let alone three, as that woman Charli claimed to. Not that she had any room to judge. Or that she wasn’t just the tiniest bit envious.

Connie laughed. “Yes, yes. We can discuss my eccentricities later. But you’re not crazy, hon. You are wonderful. Georgia? Did I mention how happy I am that you decided to come? Lee and Lori Ann can’t wait to meet you. And, well, I have some news…”

Georgia waited, thinking she’d paused for dramatic effect. She held her breath. Was Connie pregnant? “What news?”

Nothing. Static.

“Connie?”

Georgia looked down at her cell phone and swore. No bars. No signal. No news. “Shit.”

She slammed down her thermos and reached for the scarf and gloves on the seat beside her. “Of course. Because that’s how my month is going.”

Now she was completely disconnected. It was an unnerving sensation. What if she couldn’t get the lug nut off or the jack slipped and the car fell on her? She wouldn’t be able to call anyone for help. Or make one last phone call to her recent mistake of an ex-boyfriend to tell him that flashing his secretary at the last office party he’d begged Georgia to come to wasn’t the only reason she’d broken up with him. She had a list…though she’d refrained from checking it twice until that moment. And she knew exactly why.

Christmas.

She hadn’t wanted to be alone again for Christmas. Just once she wanted to remember what it was like to love the holiday as completely as she had when she was a child. When she thought the day belonged to her. She wanted to not spend her Christmas Eves crying into cartons of store-bought eggnog, watching movies about love and goodwill, miracles and the magic of the season.

With her grandfather gone, her long-widowed mother had taken to spending each year with a group of friends who liked to pretend they were riverboat gamblers. Santa was old hat with the slot machine set. Her younger sister, Valerie, had married as soon as she was legal and moved to live near her husband’s large family in California. They were very traditional there, and apparently none of those traditions included inviting the in-laws for the holidays.

Though they did send beautifully handcrafted Christmas cards.

She supposed she was used to it. Being alone. As a writer, she lived alone with her dog, her wild imagination and her tendency to talk to her characters as if they were real. Her only human friends were the other writers she corresponded with online, all of whom lived in different states. And Connie, of course. She rarely had the chance to go out and meet any new friends who lived nearby, let alone a decent man.

Decent, in this context, being one who didn’t disappoint her just in time for the holidays, insuring she would spend another year realizing her secret stash of mistletoe was pointless, and thinking up creative new insults to verbally hurl at those poor, unsuspecting seasonal jewelry commercials.

A part of her, she knew, still wanted all the holiday magic to be true. Still knew every carol by heart. Still believed every clichéd phrase that told her if she were really good, something amazing would happen to her—that love, like Santa himself, was real. You just had to have faith.

”Yeah, right,” she muttered, wrapping her scarf around her neck and mouth and bracing herself before opening the driver’s side door. “It is not a wonderful life and no, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. There are just people like Connie’s friend Charli, who are never alone, and people like you…who will always be.”

Which was fine with her. Who needed three demanding men always looking over her shoulder? Three men who each wanted all of her attention. It sounded like three potential heartbreaks waiting to happen. And far too kinky and complicated for someone like her to contemplate. Just the physical aspect alone boggled her mind. There were only so many positions after all.

She didn’t need that kind of company. She’d never needed anyone but her laptop and her dog. As long as she had a power source and some kibble, she’d be fine.

She got out and looked up at the clouds that blocked the sun, her eyes squinting at the sharp wind that blew shards of snow into her eyes. She was safely on the side of the road, with mountains ahead of her and a wide, snow-filled plain beside her. No trace of civilization. No passing cars.

If any miracles were going to happen, Georgia was going to have to create them for herself. First she’d fix this tire then she’d find her way to Connie’s house before Christmas. For her friend’s sake, if for no other reason. The last thing she wanted was her bad holiday karma to rub off on her dearest friend.

She had to lean against the wind to make her way to the back of the SUV. The rental place had assured her it was in prime condition for a winter road trip. They’d said nothing about the tires. At least she’d remembered to make sure there was a spare before she left Sulphur, Louisiana behind.

As she moved her bags out of the way and gathered the tire iron and car jack with fingers already numb with cold inside her leather gloves, she remembered how Grandpa Bale had taught her to change a tire when she was sixteen years old. Right after he’d given her his beat-up ’69 Chevy for Christmas.

She’d loved that old truck. She’d spent most of her summer sitting in his garage, holding up the work light so he could tinker under the hood while he told her stories.

He loved telling his tall tales. He had one for every occasion. Every problem or question she had, he would solve or answer by sharing one of his long-winded epics. And each time he told them they got a little bigger, a little harder to believe. But not for Georgia. She’d believed and never tired of hearing them. Those stories had inspired her to become a writer. Had made her believe she could do anything and be anything she wanted to be. Which explained why her first book had been about him. Her childhood hero.

Though she’d loved his tales of bayou monsters and city dwelling crocodiles, her favorite story had always been the one about how he’d met Georgia’s grandmother at a Christmas Eve dance. How he’d been with a group of friends and noticed her coming out of the kitchen with a wobbling tray. How, by the end of that night, they’d kissed under the mistletoe and he’d known she would be his wife.

She’d died long before Georgia was born, but from Grandpa Bale’s vivid descriptions, she had been beautiful. Dark curly hair, like Georgia’s, but unlike her own fair, freckly hue, her grandmother’s skin was dark enough to cause a scandal when Grandpa Bale had made her his bride. But it was all worth it, he’d always assured his granddaughter. Because her smile, so brilliant and ever-present made him feel—in his words—“like Christmas morning everyday”.

She dropped the tire iron and swore, kneeling down to pick it up. She needed to stop reminiscing and focus on the task at hand or she would end up freezing to death on the side of the road, despite her layers of clothing.

Georgia heard a bark and an impatient scratch on the door nearest her head. “Are you sure you can’t hold it, Roux? You’re just as thin-skinned as I am. You won’t like it out here.”

Another scratch. Apparently she was willing to risk it. Georgia hurriedly opened the door before Roux could do any damage, and watched a blur of reddish gold leap past her and around the car, in search of a good patch of grass.

“Good luck,” Georgia called after her. “Just don’t wander too far.”

She wouldn’t. She never did. That was one of the things she’d always loved about her dog. Roux never left her behind. Which was why the idea of leaving her in a kennel for Georgia’s first road trip, her first trip out of state, was unimaginable. Luckily, Connie had known that before inviting them both over for Christmas.

Roux had been another gift from her grandfather. A wrinkly-skinned puppy he’d given her the same day he’d told her he was sick. Georgia sighed. She was sure this would be the year she didn’t miss him so desperately. Didn’t think about him constantly. The year she made new, happy memories for herself.

She got the spare tire on and rolled the old one out of the way when she heard Roux’s bark. Was it the wind that made it sound so far away? “Roux?”

The next bark sounded even farther away. Had the high pitch of anxiety to it. Not a good sign. She got up with difficulty, her limbs aching from the chill, and panicked. She couldn’t see Roux. Where was she?

Georgia cupped her hands over her eyes to keep out the icy wind, searching for that familiar reddish fur and black muzzle. “Roux, come back. Now!”

The dog’s long body was there for a moment, then disappeared again behind a sea of white.

“Damn it.”