Spotlight & Giveaway: Promise Me This Christmas by CJ Carmichael

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you CJ Carmichael’s new release: Promise Me This Christmas

Mysterious events threaten more than a new romance–check into Bramble House B & B this Christmas…

 
Amy and Chet Hardwick anticipate another full house of guests for their third Christmas at Bramble House, including Amy’s brother rancher Carson Wilcox. But a series of unexplained mishaps begin to worry Amy, especially when journalist Larkin Carrillo arrives to investigate.

Following a painful assault the night of her high school graduation, Larkin left Marietta, determined to never return. But her grandmother is ill and needs help. Running into her once close friend Carson, stirs up happy memories along with unwanted wishes. She needs to focus on her grandmother’s health, and look into the curious and potentially dangerous happenings threatening the sterling reputation of Bramble House.

Carson doesn’t give up easily. He wants a second chance with Larkin. Helping her solve the problems at Bramble House may not only help save his sister’s business, but also convince Larkin that he can be trusted with her journalistic integrity and friendship. She’s built walls, and he may need some mistletoe magic to win her heart and promise to be his for this Christmas and for always.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Promise Me This Christmas 

Chapter One

Friday, December 19

The two hours in the day while her son, Robin, napped was precious time to Amy Arden. He was such a busy little boy now that he was walking, it was hard to find the time to concentrate on her work and the special touches that went into running a bed and breakfast during the holiday season.

For instance, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d updated the Bramble House Instagram account. And with only one week until Christmas she still hadn’t finished the last touches on her decorating. At least this morning, while out on a walk with Robin, she’d picked up the fresh mistletoe she’d ordered from the florist shop on Main Street. Now she finally had a chance to arrange it in a decorative ball and tie it with red ribbon, being careful not to prick her fingers on the thorns in the process.

From out the kitchen window she could see fat snowflakes softly twirling in a slow dance to the ground. Instrumental carols played quietly from the speakers her husband, Chet, had installed last month, but otherwise the house was quiet. Her cook, Jo O’Neil, whose morning shift started early, had gone home, and Ella, along with their new hire, Shelley Wheeler, were upstairs folding towels, and would soon leave as well.

All of the guests were out enjoying seasonal fun in the small Western town of Marietta, Montana, except for elderly Ethel Carrillo, who was in the library, settled with a good mystery novel. It was perfect weather for the week before Christmas, the B & B was fully booked, and all her decorating—after she hung this mistletoe—was finally done.

Amy should have felt at peace. Instead, prickles of anxiety, as relentless as the snowflakes outside, were spoiling her usual holiday cheer. Her worry sprang from nothing major; it was more a collection of little nagging irritants. Like her half brother Carson deciding to spend Christmas with them instead of with his parents and brothers on the Whispering Pines Ranch.

When Carson had first asked to book one of their rooms for the holidays, she’d been excited. She’d given him the Twins’ Retreat over the garage, no charge of course—he was family. She’d only found her father and discovered she had three half brothers after moving to Montana three years ago. This had seemed like a great opportunity to get to know her oldest brother, Carson, better—and for him to bond with his nephew as well.

But Carson had seemed distracted when he’d arrived last night, and she hadn’t seen him at all since breakfast. She was beginning to suspect he had another reason for being in Marietta this Christmas—something he was keeping secret.

In fact, there was something a little “off” about all the guests who’d booked in for the Countdown to Christmas package this year.

Gibson Adlington, a fiftyish-year-old man in the Copper room, almost never smiled. She feared he was going to be one of those impossible-to-please kinds of guests. And the older couple in the Henry and May Bell room were giving off weird vibes too, especially the wife, whose enthusiastic praise for their room, the Christmas decorations, and this morning’s breakfast had felt overdone and insincere.

Then there was Ethel Carrillo’s granddaughter, Larkin. A journalist from Denver, she’d taken an extended holiday to be with her grandmother, who was recovering after surgery to repair a broken hip. Like all the other guests, they were booked to stay through to Christmas morning, at which time Ethel was supposed to move back to her home, here in Marietta, while Larkin would presumably return home to Denver.

Ethel was a peach, but her granddaughter seemed on edge. This morning after seating her grandmother at the breakfast table, Larkin had disappeared, which Amy found strange. Wasn’t she here to spend time with her grandmother? And yet she’d abandoned her on the very first morning.

Thumps, and then the sound of a shovel scraping over stone, drew Amy’s attention to the patio doors. Her husband was out there, clearing the snow from their back entrance. Chet cut a fine figure in his tan cowboy hat and the sheepskin coat she’d bought him last Christmas. When he noticed her looking out at him, he tossed a snowball in her direction, which splatted onto the window and then disintegrated. He made another pass with the shovel, then opened the door. She heard him knock the snow from his boots before stepping inside.

“Man, that snow is pretty but there’s so much of it! And it’s still coming. In another couple hours all the sidewalks will need clearing again.”

“Thank you for staying on top of it.” Robert, their hired handyman, usually came with his electric snow blower early in the morning. But on extra-snowy days like today, that wasn’t enough. The last thing Amy and Chet wanted was for one of their guests to slip and fall.

Chet put away his outdoors things then came to the table where she was working and circled his arms around her waist. “Mm, you’re nice and warm.”

Her heart still tumbled whenever he touched her. Or smiled at her. Or said her name in that certain tone of his. She turned to give him a proper kiss. “Robin is napping. I could warm you up properly.”

“Really?” He looked hopeful but cautious. Her husband knew her well. And he understood that if she didn’t attack her to-do list now, she wouldn’t get another chance until tomorrow.

“Maybe after we hang the mistletoe? And water the Christmas trees?” It was tradition to put up four trees in Bramble House, each with ornaments following a specific theme: literary for the library, naturally; Montana for the tree in the foyer; Bramble family miniatures for the sitting room; and copper and mining for the dining room. For trees this year they’d selected short-needled fir, cut fresh with a permit on National Forest land, and they were all soaking up water like crazy.

“Oh, and there are some bills I have to pay today,” she suddenly remembered.

Chet gave the end of her ponytail a soft tug. “That’s okay, babe. You’re worth waiting for. How is the new hire working out?”

Shelley Wheeler had contacted Amy a week ago. A recent high school graduate, Shelley worked evening shifts at the May Bell Care Home but was looking for some daytime hours for extra holiday money. Amy and Chet knew their small staff could use the help and that evening they’d gone over the numbers to see if they could afford her. When they decided they could, Amy had phoned the administrator at the care home, who had given Shelley a thumbs-up recommendation.

“Shelley’s been great so far,” Amy said. “Always willing to help with whatever needs doing, and she’s got a nice, cheerful attitude. Both Jo and Ella like her.”

“Awesome. Now how about I get the stepladder and meet you and the mistletoe at the front door?”

Hanging a ball of fresh mistletoe was one of their many holiday traditions, and as Chet looped the red ribbon over the hook he’d installed for this purpose, Amy stood back and admired the effect.

“You trying to guess who’s going to fall in love and steal a kiss under the mistletoe this Christmas?” Chet teased.

“Guilty as charged.” Amy didn’t know if it was something about this house, or the charming town of Marietta, but it did seem that new romance often bloomed under this roof. It had happened for her and Chet, as well as their good friends Oliver and Gemma, who now lived just a few blocks away. Even the week when Robin had been born, so stressful, yet ultimately joyful for her and Chet, had seen another of their guests, librarian Mackenzie Sifton, find love with Chet’s business partner at the rodeo school, Craig Denton.

“I’m not holding out hope for this batch of guests though.” She’d already confided her reservations about their guests to Chet. In the past they’d been so lucky, booking low-maintenance folk who added joy to the season. But this year… She was bracing for something. She just didn’t quite know what.

“Don’t give up on them yet. Maybe they’ll surprise you.” Chet gave the ball of mistletoe a twirl. “How does it look?”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s test it out.”

He reached for her hand and swept her into his arms. Maybe Bramble House wouldn’t see any new love stories this Christmas. But thankfully, she still had hers.

Larkin Carrillo had been roaming the streets of Marietta for hours, in a state of disassociation, impervious to the cold and the snow. She ate breakfast at the Main Street Diner and hardly tasted a bite. She stopped for an Americano at the Java Café, checked out the Western wear store, and popped into a delectable chocolate shop. As a journalist, she was usually extremely observant. Today, however, everything passed in a blur.

She turned a corner and found herself on Collier Avenue, not far from her grandmother’s bungalow. A snowflake landed on her eyelashes, and she blinked it away.

She still couldn’t believe she’d seen Carson Wilcox. In person. Just a few feet away from her. One minute she’d been helping Gran into her seat at the Bramble House breakfast table, and the next she’d noticed a big, broad-shouldered man across the table watching her.

The size of him had been startling. Even seated he’d seemed tall and large. Not fat. The opposite actually. Muscular and solid. Something about him seemed familiar, and she gave him a second look, this time snared by his dark blue eyes.

They’d locked gazes for only a moment, yet it felt as if she’d plunged into icy waters, her breath caught, her nerves jolted.

They’d been eighteen the last time they saw each other, nine years ago. Why was Carson Wilcox here, in Marietta? His ranch—assuming he still lived there—was near the town of Gardiner, more than an hour to the south. How was it possible they’d ended up at the same bed and breakfast?

After her initial shock, she’d noticed the lack of surprise on his face. Why wasn’t he as taken aback to see her as she was to see him?

The chef came out of the kitchen, introduced herself as Jo, and began to run through the morning’s menu. Larkin didn’t hear a word. Blood pounded in her ears and her palms went damp. No, this couldn’t be happening. She didn’t dare take another look at Carson, who she sensed was watching her. Instead, she leaned over to whisper in her gran’s ear. “I need to check on your home renovations. Enjoy your breakfast and I’ll be back later to take you someplace nice for lunch, okay?”

Her poor grandmother had looked confused at being abandoned, but Larkin had seen no other option. No way could she sit across the table from Carson and make polite chitchat. So she’d bolted. Grabbed her coat from her room, slipped on her boots at the main door, and headed out into the snow.

She and Carson Wilcox had grown up together in the small ranching community of Gardiner, Montana, outside of Yellowstone Park. They’d gone to the same school. Been best friends for a time. And then more than that. Though she had other friends, and a full after-school calendar, including being editor for the school paper and playing forward on the girls’ hockey team, Carson had been her world. In fact, if they hadn’t had that one, horrific fight, they might have gone to prom together. Heck, they could even be married by now.

Although they had been young, they’d been so much in love that they’d talked about going to the same college and getting married right after they graduated. She had been so certain that the two of them belonged together. Or at least she had been, until they’d had that big fight, and he’d betrayed her, leading her to the worst night of her life.

It was a time she didn’t want to relive, not even in memory. When she’d left Montana to go to college, she’d been determined to never go back. A decision that had been made easier when her mother took a new job in Denver and her parents relocated. Gratefully she’d taken a job in the city after college, as had her older sister. Her only remaining tie to Montana at that point had been her beloved grandparents, but as they frequently visited them in Colorado, she found it easy to keep her vow to avoid the Treasure State she’d once loved.

And she wouldn’t be here now if her gran hadn’t fallen and broken her hip six weeks ago. Larkin’s mother used up all her vacation days from work to be with Gran during the surgery, and then the transition to a rehab center, where Gran had stayed for over four weeks. So when her parents asked if Larkin would spend the week before Christmas with her grandmother while her house was remodeled for her new needs, how could Larkin refuse? It certainly hadn’t occurred to Larkin that Carson might book into the same B & B. What were the odds of that happening? She couldn’t believe her lousy luck.

Larkin stopped outside the familiar bungalow with its low-pitched roof and welcoming front porch. It was all too easy to imagine her grandparents coming out the front door to welcome her, and for a moment she gave in to a nostalgic longing for happier, childhood days. Every summer she and her older sister, Cara, had visited them for a week, swimming in Miracle Lake, picnicking at River Bend Park, and picking strawberries and raspberries in her grandparents’ big sprawling garden. When she was older and had her driver’s license, she would come for weekends, on occasion bringing along a friend—usually Carson. Gran and Gramps had been so active and healthy back then.

It had been a shock when her grandfather passed during the pandemic. Only her grandmother and parents had been allowed to attend the small funeral. And now her sweet grandmother had been sidelined with her broken hip. Despite the setback, Gran was determined to return to independent living in her own home. But that would only be possible if certain modifications were made: a zero-threshold shower with grab bars there, as well as by the toilet. Her parents had booked a small local firm to do the job, and the work had been scheduled to begin today with a guarantee that it would be complete by Christmas.

So where were they? There were no vehicles parked in front of Gran’s house. No footsteps in the pristine carpet of snow covering the walkway and porch steps. And as Larkin approached the front door, she couldn’t hear any sounds of activity. She took the key her grandmother had given her and let herself in the front door. She passed through the short hall that led to the bathroom then looked through the open doorway with dismay.

Her father had stripped out the old tub to make room for the new shower, but beyond that, nothing had been done. All of the tiles and other materials her father had purchased for the job were untouched. If the construction crew had been here at all, they hadn’t done a damn thing.

She pulled out her phone and called the number for the A Plus Construction Team. She was rewarded with a recorded voice, inviting her to leave a message. “This is Larkin Carrillo. My parents hired you to make some modifications to the bathroom of my grandmother’s house. The work is supposed to be completed by Christmas—one week from now—but it hasn’t even been started.” She gave her grandmother’s address and her own phone number, along with a request that she be contacted as soon as possible.

Damn it, she thought as she ended the call. Her grandmother was going to be so disappointed if this work wasn’t done as promised.

As she locked up the house, she felt weighted down by disappointment and worry. Maybe a little work would help clear her head. Taking the shovel that had been propped up in the back corner of the porch, she cleared the snow off the porch and walkway. As she shoveled the fluffy snow, she wondered how much vetting her parents had done before selecting the contractor. Both her parents were lovely people, respected academics who’d done well in their field of developmental psychology. But they were not always the best when it came to practical decisions. According to her grandmother, Larkin, with her cooly analytical brain, determination, and toughness, took after her grandfather. Back in his day, Gramps had worked for both the Forest Service and the Sheriff’s Department, where he’d worked his way up to the top nonelected position.

She hoped the contractors would call back soon. She and her grandmother were booked through Christmas at Bramble House. But after Christmas morning, the B & B closed for the season. Which didn’t leave many options for either her grandmother or herself. Her boss had given her this week off reluctantly, with the expectation that she be back at work on the twenty-seventh to produce their last issue of the year. She couldn’t let him down.

Job completed, Larkin returned the shovel to the porch and began walking back to Bramble House, in no hurry to get there. She passed a female jogger with a well-trained border collie at her heels, both undeterred by the weather. A minute later, a UPS man with a large package dashed from his truck to the front door of a house where a woman stood at the open door waiting. At Front Avenue, Larkin turned left, taking only a passing interest in the various buildings and businesses around her. And then she saw a sign for the Copper Mountain Courier.

She remembered her grandparents reading the weekly paper, sharing snippets of news, and stories that made them laugh. They always finished with the obituaries, where they seemed to know just about everyone who had died in their close-knit community.

The paper in Denver, where Larkin worked as a staff writer, published a daily news bulletin, as well as a weekly print issue with a circulation of around sixty thousand. It wasn’t the New York Times or the Washington Post, but Larkin loved everything about her job, from the hustle and chaos of the newsroom to the excitement of chasing a story, to the feeling of connection being a reporter gave her to her adopted home.

It was her dream to one day move to a bigger city where she could work on important stories of national interest. But for now she was content where she was, living close to her parents and her sister, who was now married with a new baby.

She felt a little sad that she wouldn’t be with them this Christmas. But the sacrifice was worth it to have this time with Gran. Who knew when, if ever, she would have this opportunity again.

Larkin peered inside the window to the small cluttered workspace. She spotted two desks and a large table, probably used for layouts. Only one person was in the office, a woman with dark-brown hair cut in a chin-length bob, her head bent over her computer. It made Larkin glad to see evidence of a small local newspaper surviving in the world of instant digital news. On impulse, she checked the door, and finding it unlocked, went inside.

The woman glanced up with a quick smile. She was pretty with a heart-shaped face, and alert dark-brown eyes. “I’ll just be a sec.”

Larkin took the opportunity to browse the framed photos hanging on the wall by the entrance, detailing the history of the paper. It seemed the Courier had been in the Akers family since inception in 1917. Right in the middle of the First World War. What a time to be a reporter that must have been.

“Can I help you?”

Larkin stepped forward and offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Larkin Carrillo. I work as a staff writer for the Westward Beacon in Denver and I couldn’t resist stopping in.”

“I’m glad you did. I’m Marly Everett, formerly Akers. I love meeting fellow journalists, though I’m sure, to you, our paper here must seem very small peanuts.” She wore a simple, yet elegant diamond and wedding ring set on her left hand, and now that she was standing, it was apparent she was around five months pregnant. Glancing at her desk, Larkin saw a photo of a handsome cowboy holding a cute blond toddler in his arms.

Deep inside, Larkin felt a pang. Maybe the Copper Mountain Courier was a lot smaller than the Westward Beacon. But this woman had more than a meaningful career. She also had a gorgeous husband and children. It was a package Larkin doubted she’d ever have.

“I’m a big fan of small independent press. It’s tough for journalists of all types these days,” she said.

“Yes. It was a different world back when my great-great-grandfather started this business. But some things are universal. Like people being curious and caring about the events and people in their community.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Fostering a sense of connection and responsibility to your community is what local reporting is all about.”

Marly nodded, then glanced at her watch. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? I make a mean pour-over coffee.”

“I’m already caffeined up for the day. But I’m happy to talk.”

Marly led her to a small office with an antique wooden desk. She invited Larkin into a very comfortable high-backed leather chair, then went to sit behind the desk. “This is supposed to be my office, but I do most of my work in the bullpen. I like looking out at the street. Now tell me what brings you to Marietta.”

“My grandmother. She broke her hip six weeks ago.”

Marly took a moment to process. “Ah, your grandmother must be Ethel Carrillo. She used to write a gardening column for us back when my mother was running the paper. I didn’t know she’d injured herself. How did she fall?”

“Stepping off a curb. She’s really quite spry still, but she said she was distracted by a barking dog, and didn’t realize she was so close to the edge of the sidewalk.”

Marly grimaced. “Oh dear.”

“Gran just finished her rehab three days ago, so I’m here to cover the week up to Christmas. We’re staying at Bramble House B & B while her house gets remodeled to make it safer for her.” At least that had been the plan. Larkin snuck a look at her phone. Still no message from the construction company.

“Interesting…” Marly leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “So you’ll be at Bramble House for a while?”

“We leave after Christmas breakfast.” Larkin wondered where this was leading.

“I’m in a bit of a jam,” Marly said. “My senior reporter retired last month, and I haven’t been able to replace him. Honestly, I doubt I’ll ever be able to replace him.”

Larkin hoped Marly wasn’t thinking of her for the position. “I’m only in town for a week.”

Marly raised her eyebrows hopefully. “If that should change…”

“It won’t.”

“You sound definite on that.”

“I am.”

“In that case would you be open to taking on an assignment while you are here? We’ve been profiling local businesses at the Courier, and I was thinking for our Christmas issue it would be apropos to feature Bramble House—in particular their Mable Bramble Christmas Tea fundraiser.”

Larkin didn’t know what to say. Right now it was hard for her to imagine returning to Bramble House at all. What if she ran into Carson again? But of course she had to go back for her grandmother. It was already past the time Gran usually ate her lunch. Was it possible Carson wasn’t staying for the entire week? Could she dare hope he’d be gone by the time she returned?

Somehow, she doubted she would be that lucky.

“It shouldn’t take too long to write,” Marly cajoled. “Take some pretty festive photos, interview the owners, write a bit about the history—the house was originally built by one of our early copper barons, Henry Bramble—and then mention the tea and how proceeds are used to help underprivileged kids attend the local rodeo school. It would really help me out.”

It seemed churlish to refuse, especially since it did sound like a simple assignment. “Okay, I’ll do it. When do you need the copy?”

“By the twenty-third. Thanks a million, Larkin. I’m so glad you decided to stop in.”

When Robin woke from his nap, Amy took the adorable scamp down to the kitchen for his late lunch. Since he’d moved from two naps a day to one, he was now sleeping from eleven-thirty until one-thirty, so he missed their official lunch hour. Amy hoped to eventually shift his nap a little later, but for now Robin was getting a prenap lunch and a postnap lunch. She popped him into his high chair and put some choices on his tray. A sliced boiled egg, diced apples, small pieces of cheese. As he ate, she filled his sippy cup with milk.

It was almost time to put out cocoa, hot apple cider, and freshly baked cookies in the sitting room for the guests. But she knew Robin would be full of energy after his nap and lunch. He’d love to go outside and play in the snow.

Chet had gone into work for the afternoon, so she couldn’t ask him for help. She’d noticed her brother was in the library, chatting with Ethel. She could ask him, but he’d already promised to look at their garbage disposal, which had decided to act up now, just six days before they’d be closed for the season.

As Amy pondered her limited options, Shelley emerged from the back patio door, lugging the empty garbage canisters. She heeled off her snowy boots and gave Robin a big smile. “Hey there, cutie. Did you have a good nap?”

Robin threw a piece of cheese at her, then gave her a toothy grin.

Amy picked up the cheese and gave a rueful shrug. “Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, he tends to throw food only at the people he likes. Thanks for taking out the garbage and the recycling.”

“No problem.” Shelley returned the empty canisters to their proper places, then washed her hands. She’d been at work for six hours and still looked as good as when she’d arrived. Not so much as a wisp of her thick brunette hair had escaped the artful “messy” bun she’d started the day with. Her lightly made-up face remained dewy, and her white cotton shirt pristine.

“How do you manage to look so good after working so hard?”

Shelley laughed. “I’ve had plenty of practice at the care home. That job has its challenges. Believe me I’ve had worse things thrown at me than cubes of cheese.”

“Maybe you could teach me some of your secrets,” Amy said, noticing a stain from Robin’s oat cereal on the hem of her sweatshirt.

“You’ve got a cute new-mom look that suits you just fine, Amy.” Shelley’s smile seemed about to falter, but then it broadened again. “How about I set up the afternoon buffet for the guests before I go home?”

“That would be so helpful. I’d love to take Robin outside to play in all that fresh snow.” By now she assumed Shelley knew the drill, but just in case, she went over the items that needed to be put out. “Two thermoses, one with cocoa and another with spiced apple cider. Also, put out Jo’s fresh-baked cookies.” She gestured to a baking tray, cooling on the counter and covered with a thin cotton towel.

Shelley removed the towel, then frowned. “Do these look a little burned to you?”

Amy handed Robin his cup, then went to take a look. It was true, the edges of the cookies were darker than usual. Not quite burned, but not up to Jo’s usual standard. “Oh dear. I don’t think we have anything else to put out.”

“It’ll be okay,” Shelley said briskly as she began stacking the cookies onto a decorative platter. “I’m sure they still taste delicious.”

Amy was going to try one, to make sure, but Robin decided he was finished his lunch and communicated the message by tossing his cup to the floor.

“All done, Robin? You don’t need to throw things, my love.” Calmly she picked up the cup—which had a special lid to prevent leaks—and then unstrapped her son from the chair. He grinned at her, showcasing his neat row of new baby teeth. Honestly, he was just too cute.

“I’ll clean his chair and then take the beverages and cookies out to the sitting room,” Shelley said. “You go ahead and have some fun.”

“Dough,” Robin said once she had him in her arms. “Dough, dough, dough!”

Amy knew this was his way of communicating that he wanted to get down. She set him on the floor gently. “We’re going outside to play, Robin. But first we have to put on our coats and boots.”

Proving he understood, Robin began toddling toward the closet.

“You sure you’re okay?” Amy asked Shelley before following him.

“I’ve got this.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Shelley laughed. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“My husband says I’m a control freak. You don’t think so, do you?” Leaving Shelley shaking her head, Amy rushed after her little boy.

It was after two when Larkin finally made it back to Bramble House. She felt terribly guilty as she slipped off her boots at the main entry. She could smell spiced cider, and a tray of cookies beckoned in the sitting room, but first she needed to find her grandmother. She didn’t have to look too far. Gran was in the library, reading the latest Stephen King.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” Her grandmother smelled of roses and peppermints when she kissed her, a combination of her favorite perfume and her ubiquitous breath mints. Larkin could see the familiar package on a side table, next to her grandmother’s cell phone. “Are you starving?”

“Not at all, sweet child. You’ll never guess who took me out for lunch. You left the breakfast room this morning so quickly you must not have seen him.”

Oh no. She’d known it was too much to hope that Carson and her grandmother hadn’t connected. She’d hoped that he’d changed enough that her grandmother hadn’t recognized him. After all, it had taken a second look for her to realize who he was.

“Carson Wilcox!” Gran made the announcement like she was giving Larkin the best news ever. “He’s staying at Bramble House until Christmas as well. The two of you used to be such friends. Your gramps and I thought you might end up together.”

They’d done more than hope, Larkin knew. They’d counted on it. According to her mom, Gran had even cried when she heard the two of them had broken up.

“Carson? Gosh I haven’t seen him in forever,” she said, trying to sound normal, as if the very mention of his name didn’t fire up all her deepest emotions. “Where did you go for lunch?”

“He took me to Rocco’s. I had a very nice Caprese salad.” She leaned in closer to Larkin and added in a loud whisper, “He still works on his family’s ranch, but he has his own house. Built it himself. And the best part? He isn’t married. Doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”

“Gran!” She wondered what Carson had thought when her grandmother grilled him about his love life. Oh Lord. She loved her grandmother, but there were times… “You know I live in Denver. So why are you telling me all this?”

“Carson was a cute boy. But he’s matured into a very handsome man. So big and strong. Wait until you see him. You won’t think my idea is so crazy then.”

But Larkin had seen him. Her glance had been brief, but it had been enough for her to know her grandmother was right. The rest of Carson’s face had caught up to the strong jaw, the blue of his eyes had deepened, and he’d filled out into a strong, muscular man. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his dark blond hair. It was still thick and unruly and all the more attractive for it.

“I noticed they put out fresh cookies and beverages in the sitting room. I doubt if the cookies will be as good as yours, but should we give them a try?”

“Don’t think I don’t realize you’re changing the subject. But yes, that’s a good idea.” Her grandmother slipped a bookmark into place and removed her reading glasses. All of this she transferred to her tote bag.

“Don’t forget your mints.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

There was only one other person in the sitting room, a small man with neatly cropped gray hair. His face was dominated by a pair of dark round-shaped eyeglasses. Those, plus a narrow, beaked nose, gave him an owl-like appearance. He was at the buffet table, helping himself to a cookie, when Larkin joined him.

She gave him a friendly smile, which he didn’t return. She’d been about to make polite chitchat but decided instead to remain quiet. She poured hot apple cider for herself and her grandmother, then took the cups to the chair by the enormous fireplace where her grandmother had settled. “I’ll go back and get some cookies,” she said. “Would you like some grapes too?” They’d looked very tempting in the fruit bowl.

“I’d stick with the fruit if I was you,” the owl-like man said. He was seated on the other side of the room, next to the Bramble-family-themed Christmas tree. Larkin had examined it closely yesterday. All the ornaments were framed miniatures of the various Bramble family members, beginning with the original owners of the house, Henry and May Bell, at a place of honor near the top of the tree.

“Oh?” Larkin asked politely.

“The cookies are awful. Too dry. Not quite burnt, but close to it.”

“Oh dear. Really, Mr. Adlington?” Amy, the woman who had checked them in yesterday, had just appeared with a fresh thermos of hot water. Toddling behind her was a very cute little boy, with her blond hair and blue eyes. He looked around one, maybe a few months older.

“I’m not in the habit of lying.” The cookies could not have been drier than his tone. “When I checked your reviews before booking, I was struck by how many of your guests recommended the freshly baked cookies. I find it hard to believe these are what they were referring to.” He set the cookie back on his plate. “Have you hired a new cook?”

“Jo has been with us since we opened the place,” Amy said. “Well, except for a few weeks at the beginning. And she worked for the previous owner as well.” Amy helped herself to a cookie and took a bite. “Hm. I see what you mean.”

The little boy tugged on her pant leg. “Key? Key?”

His mother broke off a piece of the cookie and gave it to him. He seemed to have no problem with the quality.

Curious, Larkin took cookies for herself and her grandmother. The first taste wasn’t at all bad. “Macadamia nuts and white chocolate?”

Amy nodded.

“They’re nice and crisp,” her grandmother said. “Perfect for dipping into coffee.”

“If I wanted biscotti, I would have bought myself some biscotti.” And with that pronouncement, Mr. Adlington abandoned his coffee and his unfinished cookie and went up to his room.

When he was well gone, Larkin wrinkled her nose. “I guess every Christmas needs a grinch.”

“Larkin!” her grandmother admonished her.

Noticing her son was beelining to the crackling fireplace, Amy scooped him up. “I’m afraid Mr. Adlington hasn’t found much to his liking since he arrived. But I have to agree with him on the cookies. Maybe there’s something wrong with the oven.”

“That can happen,” Larkin’s grandmother agreed. “I ruined several of my husband’s favorite angel food cakes before I finally figured out my old oven was running ten degrees hot.”

“We have an oven thermometer so I can check,” Amy said. “In the meantime, I’m sorry about the cookies. I promise tomorrow’s will be better. Kris Krinkles is going to bake his classic molasses spice cookies before his afternoon shift as the Graff Hotel’s Santa Claus.”

“Kris Krinkles?” Larkin asked, amused. “Amy, is that really his name?”

“It’s what he likes to be called,” Amy said, not quite answering the question. “Hopefully you’ll meet him at breakfast tomorrow.”

“He came down this morning right after you left,” her grandmother said. “A lovely man, with a glorious white beard. All natural. He’s been the historic Graff Hotel’s Santa for years.”

“Then why doesn’t he stay at the Graff?”

“That’s a good question,” Amy said. “From what I gather, though, he’s been a Bramble House regular from the very beginning.”

The front door opened, and a gust of winter air snuck through the foyer and into the sitting room. A moment later Larkin heard the door close, and Amy’s husband appeared in the doorway. The little boy immediately clambered from his mother’s arms to his father’s.

Chet kissed his son’s chubby cheek, and smiled at his wife, before turning to the guests. “How are you ladies doing? Is the fire keeping you warm?”

“We’re very comfortable,” Larkin assured him. “But while I’ve got you and Amy together, I have something to tell you, and a request.”

“Oh?” Amy looked worried, but her husband just seemed curious.

“Marly Everett at the Copper Mountain Courier asked if I would write a profile on Bramble House for her Wednesday, Christmas Eve, edition.”

Amy exchanged a look with her husband.

“Sounds like free publicity to me,” Chet said.

“That’s exactly right,” Larkin agreed. “Marly wants me to cover some of the Bramble House history as well as the story of how you came to be the new owners. We’d also like to highlight your Christmas tea fundraiser. I was hoping the two of you could spare me thirty minutes or so for an interview?”

“It’s a busy time,” Amy said. She didn’t seem as enthused about the idea as her husband. “But maybe tomorrow, while Robin’s napping? He usually goes down around eleven-thirty.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Great. Do you ladies have plans for dinner? I’d be happy to make some suggestions,” Amy said.

“They already have a reservation.” A new voice sounded from the kitchen end of the house. A moment later Carson Wilcox entered the room, all six feet and four inches of him. “I fixed the garburator,” he told Amy. “And I heard the kerfuffle about the cookies, so I checked the oven too. It’s working fine.”

“Thank you,” Amy said. “That’s a really big help.”

“What’s that about cookies and the oven?” Chet asked.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and I’ll tell you,” Amy said as she followed her husband out of the room.

Meanwhile Larkin felt as if the world was spinning. Or was it her head? Was Carson some sort of appliance repairman as well as a rancher? And why had he said she and her grandmother had dinner plans? She noticed her grandmother smiling pleasantly and began to suspect there was a conspiracy going on. “Gran?”

“Carson invited us to the Graff Hotel for dinner. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

No. It didn’t sound lovely. Larkin glared at Carson. She longed to tell him to forget it. She’d rather fast for forty days and forty nights in the desert than go to some fancy restaurant with him. But her grandmother looked so excited and happy, she didn’t have the heart.

Excerpt. ©CJ Carmichael. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

USA Today bestselling author C. J. Carmichael has written over 50 novels, including two mystery series, as well as romance and women’s fiction. Three of her novels have been nominated for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award, including A Bramble House Christmas. A film version of A Bramble House Christmas premiered as a Hallmark Mystery movie in 2017.

Married, with two grown daughters and some adorable grandchildren, C.J. and her husband and their Welshie Jazz divide their time between their home in Calgary, Alberta and the family cottage on Flathead Lake, Montana. To be the first to know about upcoming releases and promotions please sign up for her newsletter.

Visit C.J.’s website at http://CJCarmichael.com

Buy: https://tulepublishing.com/books/promise-me-this-christmas/