A Love Inspired Christmas Bundle: In the Spirit of...Christmas / The Christmas Groom / One Golden Christmas

In The Spirit of…Christmas

The Christmas Groom

One Golden Christmas

Table of Contents

In The Spirit of…Christmas

By Linda Goodnight

The Christmas Groom

By Deb Kastner

One Golden Christmas

By Lenora Worth

In The Spirit of…Christmas

By Linda Goodnight

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Leaning over the steering wheel of his blue-and-gray Silverado, Jesse Slater squinted toward the distant farmhouse and waited. Just before daybreak the lights had come on inside, pats of butter against the dark frame of green shutters. Still he waited, wanting to be certain the woman was up and dressed before he made his move. She had an eventful day ahead of her, though she didn’t know it.

Aware suddenly of the encroaching autumn chill, he pulled on his jacket and tucked the covers around the child sleeping on the seat beside him, something he’d done a dozen times throughout the night. Sleeping in a pickup truck in the woods might be peaceful, but it lacked a certain homey comfort. None of that mattered this morning, for no matter how soul-weary he might be, he was finally back home. Home—a funny word after all these years of rambling. Even though he’d lived here only six years after his mother had inherited the farm, they were formative years in the life of a boy. These remote mountains of southeastern Oklahoma had been the only real home he’d ever known.

Peace. The other reason he’d come here. He remembered the peace of lazy childhood days wading in the creek or fishing the ponds, of rambling the forests to watch deer and squirrel and on a really lucky day to spot a bald eagle soaring wild and regal overhead.

He wanted to absorb this peace, hold it and share it with Jade. Neither of them had experienced anything resembling tranquility for a long time.

The old frame house, picturesque in its setting in the pine-drenched foothills of Oklahoma’s Kiamichi Mountains, was as it had always been—surrounded by green pastures and a dappling of scattered outbuildings. Somewhere a rooster heralded the sun and the sound sent a quiver of memory into Jesse’s consciousness.

But his memory, good as it was, hadn’t done justice to the spectacular display of beauty. Reds, golds and oranges flamed from the hills rising around the little farm like a fortress, and the earthy scent of pines and fresh air hovered beneath a blue sky.

“Daddy?”

Jesse turned his attention to the child whose sleepy green eyes and tangled black hair said she’d had a rough night too.

It was a sorry excuse of a father whose child slept in a pickup truck. And he was even sorrier that she didn’t find it unusual. His stomach knotted in that familiar mix of pain and joy that was Jade, his six-year-old daughter.

“Hey, Butterbean. You’re awake.”

Reaching two thin arms in his direction, she stretched like a kitten and yawned widely. “I’m hungry.”

Jesse welcomed the warm little body against his, hugging close his only reason to keep trying.

“Okay, darlin’. Breakfast coming right up.” With one eye on the farmhouse, Jesse climbed out of the truck and went around to the back. From a red-and-white ice chest he took a small carton of milk and carefully poured the contents into a miniature box of cereal.

Returning to the cab, he handed the little box to Jade, consoling his conscience with the thought that cereal was good for her. He didn’t know much about that kind of thing, but the box listed a slew of vitamins, and any idiot, no matter how inept, knew a kid needs milk.

When she’d eaten all she wanted, he downed the remaining milk, then dug out a comb and wet wipes for their morning ablutions. Living out of his truck had become second nature for him during fifteen years on the rodeo circuit, but in the two years since Erin had died, he’d discovered that roaming from town to town was no life for a little girl. She’d been in and out of so many schools only her natural aptitude for learning kept her abreast of other children her age. At least, he assumed she was up to speed academically. Nobody had told him different, and he knew for a fact she was smart as a tack.

But she needed stability. She deserved a home. And he meant for her to have one. He lifted his eyes to the farmhouse. This one.

A door slammed, resounding like a gunshot in the vast open country. A blond woman came out on the long wooden porch. Of medium height, she wore jeans and boots and a red plaid flannel jacket that flapped open in the morning air as she strode toward one of the outbuildings with lithe, relaxed steps. No hurry. Unaware she was being watched from the woods a hundred yards away.

So that was her. That was Lindsey Mitchell, the modern-day pioneer woman who chose to live alone and raise Christmas trees on Winding Stair Mountain.

Well, not completely alone. His gaze drifted to a monstrous German shepherd trotting along beside her. The animal gave him pause. He glanced over at Jade who was dutifully brushing her teeth beside the truck. She hadn’t seen the shepherd, but when she did there would be trouble. Jade was terrified of dogs. And for good reason.

Running a comb through his unruly hair, he breathed a weary sigh. Dog or not, he had to have this job. Not just any job, but this one.

When his daughter had finished and climbed back into the cab, he cranked the engine. The noise seemed obscenely loud against the quiet noises of a country morning.

“Time to say hello.” He winked at the child, extracting an easy grin, and his heart took a dip. This little girl was his sunshine. And no matter how rough their days together had been, she was a trooper, never complaining as she took in the world through solemn, too-old eyes. His baby girl had learned to accept whatever curves life threw her because it had thrown so many.

Putting the truck into gear he drove up the long driveway. Red and gold leaves swirled beneath his tires, making him wonder how long it had been since anyone had driven down this lane.

The woman heard the motor and turned, shading her eyes with one hand. The people in the nearby town of Winding Stair had warned him that she generally greeted strangers with a shotgun at her side. Not to worry, though, they’d said. Lindsey was a sweetheart, a Christian woman who wouldn’t hurt a flea unless she had to. But she wasn’t fool enough to live alone without knowing how to fire a rifle.

He saw no sign of a weapon, though it mattered little. A rifle wouldn’t protect her against the kind of danger he presented. Still, he’d rather Jade not be frightened by a gun. The dog would be bad enough.

He glanced to where the child lay curled in the seat once again, long dark eyelashes sweeping her smooth cheeks. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been a lousy husband and now he was a lousy father.

As he drew closer to the house, the woman tilted her head, watching. Her hair, gleaming gold in the sun, lifted on a breeze and blew back from her shoulders so that she reminded him of one of those shampoo commercials—though he doubted any Hollywood type ever looked this earthy or so at home in the country setting. The dog stood sentry at her side, ears erect, expression watchful.

Bucking over some chug holes that needed filling, Jesse pulled the pickup to a stop next to the woman and rolled down the window.

“Morning,” he offered.

Resting one hand atop the shepherd’s head, Lindsey Mitchell didn’t approach the truck, but remained several feet away. Beneath the country-style clothes she looked slim and delicate, though he’d bet a rodeo entry fee she was stronger than her appearance suggested.

Her expression, while friendly, remained wary. “Are you lost?”

He blinked. Lost? Yes, he was lost. He’d been lost for as long as he could remember. Since the Christmas his mother had died and his step-daddy had decided he didn’t need a fourteen-year-old kid around anymore.

“No, ma’am. Not if you’re Lindsey Mitchell.”

A pair of amber-colored eyes in a gentle face registered surprise. “I am. And who are you?”

“Jesse Slater.” He could see the name held no meaning for her, and for that he was grateful. Time enough to spring that little surprise on her. “Calvin Perrymore sent me out here. Said you were looking for someone to help out on your tree farm.”

He’d hardly been able to believe his luck when he’d inquired about work at the local diner last night and an old farmer had mentioned Lindsey Mitchell. He hadn’t been lucky in a long time, but nothing would suit his plan better than to work on the very farm he’d come looking for. Never mind that Lindsey Mitchell raised Christmas trees and he abhorred any mention of the holiday. Work was work. Especially here on the land he intended to possess.

“You know anything about Christmas-tree farming?”

“I know about trees. And I know farming. Shouldn’t be too hard to put the two together.”

Amusement lit her eyes and lifted the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget the Christmas part.”

As if he could ever forget the day that had changed the direction of his life—not once, but twice.

Fortunately, he was spared a response when Jade raised up in the seat and leaned against his chest. She smelled of sleep and milk and cereal. “Where are we, Daddy?”

The sight of the child brought Lindsey Mitchell closer to the truck.

“You’re at the Christmas-tree farm.” She offered a smile that changed her whole face.

Though she probably wasn’t much younger than his own thirty-two, in the early-morning light her skin glowed as fresh as a teenager’s. Lindsey Mitchell was not a beautiful woman in the Hollywood sense, but she had a clean, wholesome, uncomplicated quality that drew him.

Something turned over inside his chest. Indigestion, he hoped. No woman’s face had stirred him since Erin’s death. Nothing stirred him much, to tell the truth, except the beautiful little girl whose body heat warmed his side just as her presence warmed the awful chill in his soul.

“A Christmas-tree farm. For real?” Jade’s eyes widened in interest, but she looked to him for approval. “Is it okay if we’re here, Daddy?”

The familiar twinge of guilt pinched him. Jade knew how her daddy felt about Christmas. “Sure, Butterbean. It’s okay.”

In fact, he was anxious to be here, to find out about the farm and about how Lindsey Mitchell had come to possess it.

“Can I get out and look?”

Before he had the opportunity to remember just why Jade shouldn’t get out of the truck, Lindsey Mitchell answered for him. “Of course you can. That’s what this place is all about.”

Jade scooted across the seat to the passenger-side door so fast Jesse had no time to think. She opened the door, jumped down and bounded around the pickup. Her scream ripped the morning peace like a five-alarm fire.

With a sharp sense of responsibility and a healthy dose of anxiety, Jesse shot out of the truck and ran to her, yanking her shaking body up into his arms. “Hush, Jade. It’s okay. The dog won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Lindsey Mitchell was all sympathy and compassion. “I am so very sorry. I didn’t know Sushi would frighten her like that.”

“It’s my fault. I’d forgotten about the dog. Jade is terrified of them.”

“Sushi would never hurt anyone.”

“We were told the same thing by the owner of the rottweiler that mauled her when she was four.” Jade’s sobs grew louder at the reminder.

“How horrible. Was she badly hurt?”

“Yes,” he said tersely, wanting to drop the subject while he calmed Jade. The child clung to his neck, sobbing and trembling enough to break his heart.

“Why don’t you bring her inside. I’ll leave Sushi out here for now.”

Grateful, Jesse followed the woman across the long front porch and into the farmhouse. Once inside the living room, she motioned with one hand.

“Sit down. Please. Do you think a drink of water or maybe a cool cloth on her forehead would help?”

“Yes to both.” He sank onto a large brown couch that had seen better days, but someone’s artistic hand had crocheted a blue-and-yellow afghan as a cover to brighten the faded upholstery. Jade plastered her face against his chest, her tears spotting his chambray shirt a dark blue.

Lindsey returned almost immediately, placed the water glass on a wooden coffee table and, going down on one knee in front of the couch, took the liberty of smoothing the damp cloth over Jade’s tear-soaked face. The woman was impossibly near. The clean scent of her hair and skin blended with the sweaty heat of his daughter’s tears. He swallowed hard, forcing back the unwelcome rush of yearning for the world to be normal again. Life was not normal, would never be normal, and he could not be distracted by Lindsey Mitchell’s kind nature and sweet face.

“Shh,” Lindsey whispered to Jade, her warm, smoky voice raising gooseflesh on his arms. “It’s okay, sugar. The dog is gone. You’re okay.”

The sweet motherly actions set off another torrent of reactions inside Jesse. Resentment. Delight. Anger. Gratitude. And finally relief because his child began to settle down as her sobs dwindled to quivering hiccups.

“There now.” Adding to Jesse’s relief, Lindsey handed him the cloth and stood, moving back a pace or two. She motioned toward the water glass. “Would you like a drink?”

Jade, her cheek still pressed hard against Jesse’s chest, shook her head in refusal.

“She’ll be all right now,” Jesse said, pushing a few stray strands of damp hair away from the child’s face. “Won’t you, Butterbean?”

Like the trooper she was, Jade sat up, sniffed a couple of times for good measure, and nodded. “I need a tissue.”

“Tissue coming right up.” Red plaid jacket flapping open, Lindsey whipped across the room to an end table and returned with the tissue. “How about some juice instead of that water?”

Jade’s green eyes looked to Jesse for permission.

He nodded. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Lindsey started toward a country-kitchen area opening off one end of the living room. At the doorway, she turned. “How about you? Coffee?”

The woman behaved as if he were a guest instead of a total stranger looking for work. The notion made him uncomfortable as all get out, especially considering why he was here. He didn’t want her to be nice. He couldn’t afford to like her.

Fortunately, he’d never developed a taste for coffee, not even the fancy kind that Erin enjoyed. “No thanks.”

“I have some Cokes if you’d rather.”

He sighed in defeat. He’d give a ten-dollar bill this morning for a sharp jolt of cold carbonated caffeine.

“A Coke sounds good.” He shifted Jade onto the couch. Her hair was a mess and he realized he’d been in such a hurry to get here this morning, he hadn’t even noticed. Normally, a headband was the best he could do, but today he’d even forgotten that. So much for first impressions. Using his fingers, he smoothed the dark locks as much as possible. Jade aimed a wobbly grin at him and shrugged. She’d grown accustomed to his awkward attempts to make her look like a little girl.

He glanced toward the kitchen, saw that Lindsey’s back was turned. With one hand holding his daughter’s, he took the few moments when Lindsey wasn’t in sight to let his gaze drift around the house. It had changed—either that or his perception was different. Eighteen years was a long time.

The wood floors, polished to a rich, honeyed glow, looked the same. And the house still bore the warm, inviting feel of a country farmhouse. But now, the rooms seemed lighter, brighter. Where he remembered a certain dreariness brought on by his mother’s illness, someone—Lindsey Mitchell, he supposed—had drenched the rooms in light and color—warm colors of polished oak and yellow-flowered curtains.

The house looked simple, uncluttered and sparkling clean—a lot like Lindsey Mitchell herself.

“Here we go.” Lindsey’s smoky voice yanked him around. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his intense interest. No point in raising her suspicions. He had no intention of letting her know the real reason he was here until he had the proof in his hands.

“Yum, Juicy Juice.” Jade came alive at the sight of a cartoon-decorated box of apple juice. “Thank you.”

Lindsey favored her with another of those smiles that set Jesse’s stomach churning. “I have some gummy fruits in there too if you’d like some—the kind with smiley faces.”

Jade paused in the process of stabbing the straw into the top of her juice carton. “Do you have a little girl?”

Jesse was wondering the same thing, though the townspeople claimed she lived alone up here. Why would a single woman keep kid foods on hand?

If he hadn’t been watching her closely to hear the answer to Jade’s questions, he’d have missed the cloud that passed briefly over Lindsey’s face. But he had seen it and wondered.

“No.” She handed him a drippy can of Coke wrapped in a paper towel. “No little girls of my own, but I teach a Sunday-school class, and the kids like to come out here pretty often.”

Great. A Sunday-school teacher. Just what he didn’t need—a Bible-thumping church lady who raised Christmas trees.

“What do they come to your house for?” Jade asked with interest. “Do you gots toys?”

“Better than toys.” Lindsey eased down into a big brown easy chair, set her coffee cup on an end table and leaned toward Jade. Her shoulder-length hair swept forward across her full mouth. She hooked it behind one ear. “We play games, have picnics or hayrides, go hiking. Lots of fun activities. And,” she smiled, pausing for effect, “I have Christmas trees year-round.”

Christmas trees. Jesse suppressed a shiver of dread. Could he really work among the constant reminders of all he’d lost?

Jade smoothly sidestepped a discussion of the trees, though he saw the wariness leap into her eyes. “I used to go to Sunday school.”

“Maybe you can go with me some time. We have great fun and learn about Jesus.”

Jesse noticed some things he’d missed before. A Bible lay open on an end table near the television, and a plain silver cross hung on one wall flanked by a decorative candle on each side. Stifling an inner sigh, he swallowed a hefty swig of cola and felt the fire burn all the way down his throat. He could work for a card-carrying Christian. He had to. Jade deserved this one last chance.

“We don’t go anymore since Mama died.”

Jesse grew uncomfortably warm as Lindsey turned her eyes on him. Was she judging him? Finding him unfit as a father because he didn’t want his child growing up with false hopes about a God who’d let you down when you needed him most?

He tried to shrug it off. No way he wanted to offend this woman and blow the chance of working here. As much as he hated making excuses, he had to. “We’ve moved a lot lately.”

“Are you planning to be in Winding Stair long?”

“Permanently,” he said. And he hoped that was true. He hadn’t stayed in one spot since leaving this mountain as a scared and angry teenager. Even during his marriage, he’d roamed like a wild maverick following the rodeo or traveling with an electric-line crew, while Erin remained in Enid to raise Jade. “But first I need a job.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about that. I know everyone within twenty miles of Winding Stair, but I don’t know you. Tell me about yourself.”

He sat back, trying to hide his expression behind another long, burning pull of the soda. He hadn’t expected her to ask that. He thought she might ask for references or about his experience, but not about him specifically. And given the situation, the less she knew the better.

“Not much to tell. I’m a widower with a little girl to support. I’m dependable. I’ll work hard and do a good job.” He stopped short of saying she wouldn’t regret hiring him. Eventually, she would.

Lindsey studied him with a serene expression and a slight curve of a full lower lip. He wondered if she was always so calm.

“Where are you from?”

“Enid mostly,” he answered, naming the small town west of Oklahoma City that had been more Erin’s home than his.

“I went to a rodeo there once when I was in college.”

“Yeah?” He’d made plenty of rodeos there himself.

With a nod, she folded her arms. “What did you do in Enid? I know they don’t raise trees in those parts.”

He allowed a smile at that one. The opening to the Great Plains, the land around Enid was as flat as a piece of toast.

“Worked lineman crews most of the time and some occasional rodeo. But I’ve done a little of everything.”

“Lineman? As in electricity?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve helped string half the power lines between Texas and Arkansas.”

His answer seemed to please her, though he had no idea what electricity had to do with raising Christmas trees.

“How soon could you begin working?”

“Today.”

She blinked and sat back, taking her coffee with her. “Don’t you even want to know what the job will entail?”

“I need work, Miss Mitchell. I can do about anything and I’m not picky.”

“People are generally surprised to discover that growing Christmas trees takes a lot of hard work and know-how. I have the know-how, but I want to expand. To do that I need help. Good, dependable help.”

“You’ll have that with me. I don’t mind long hours, hard work or getting dirty.”

“The pay isn’t great.” She named a sum barely above minimum wage. He wanted to react but didn’t. He’d made do on less. Neither the job nor the money was the important issue here.

“The hours are long. And I can be a slave driver.”

Jesse couldn’t hold back a grin. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Lindsey as much of a slave driver. “Are you offering me the job or trying to scare me off?”

She laughed and the sound sent a shiver of warmth into the cold recesses of Jesse’s heart. “Maybe both. I don’t want to hire someone today and have him gone next week.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Jade’s already been in two schools this year, and it’s only October.”

Her eyes rested on Jade as she thought that one over. One foot tapping to a silent tune while she munched gummy faces, his daughter paid little attention to the adults.

“I have about twenty acres of trees now but plan to expand by at least another ten by next year. Would you like to have a look at the tree lot?”

“Not now.” Not at all, ever, but he knew that was out of the question. Once he took possession the Christmas trees would disappear. “Just tell me what I’ll be doing.”

For the next five minutes, she discussed pruning and replanting, spraying and cutting, bagging and shipping. All of which he could do. No problem. He’d just pretend they were ordinary trees.

“I’ll need character references before I make a final decision.”

Jesse reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He’d been prepared for that question. “Any of these people will tell you that I’m not a serial killer.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

He must have looked as startled as he felt because she laughed. “That was a joke. A bad one, I’ll admit, but I can shoot and I do have a gun.”

Was she warning him to tread lightly? “Interesting hobby for a woman.”