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A CHRISTMAS KISS
“That was cheating,” she said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It was such a small kiss, really, not one that should shoot desire through her like a bolt, but it had—right to her toes.
“I suppose I should have warned you first,” he said without even a hint of apology in his tone.
She gulped. “Yes, that would have been nice.”
He looked down at her, his gray eyes intense with an expression she could hardly read. “Miss Amelia, I’m going to kiss you.”
A little thrill went through her, and she lifted her chin. “All right.”
And he did, bringing his mouth against hers, a slow, wonderful kiss that made her knees instantly weak. Carson’s kisses had been full of blatant lust, but Boone’s was more like warm, dark chocolate spreading slowly through her. Delicious, and beyond divine…
Books by Jane Goodger
Marry Christmas
A Christmas Scandal
A Christmas Waltz
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Christmas Waltz
JANE GOODGER
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 1
Small Fork, Texas
1894
As Lady Amelia Wellesley stepped from the stifling air of the train into a blast of heat such as she’d never felt before, she had a sense of deep foreboding that she had just stepped into a nightmare of her own making.
This could not be the place.
After all she had gone through, after sitting endlessly in a cramped and oven-like train car for days, after crossing the bloody Atlantic and being abandoned by her maid, this could not be Small Fork. Amelia stood on a dusty platform in a dusty, dry world devoid of all color but for the bright bleached blue sky above her, and could not believe she had reached her destination. It was impossible. Carson had described Small Fork in detail in his slow Texas drawl, and she had the images etched in her brain.
“Well, it’s the prettiest little town you ever saw,” he’d said. “The main street has a church with a white steeple that stretches to the sky, pointing up to heaven. There’s roses everywhere and houses with white picket fences, children playing everywhere you look. And in the center of town is a park with a whitewashed gazebo where the local band plays concerts every Saturday night. All the townspeople gather ’round, and there’s dancing.” Those had been his exact words.
She had not seen a blade of proper grass in three days.
“Miss. Your bags are yonder,” the porter said, wiping his brow with an already damp-looking cloth. “Good day, ma’am.”
Horrid day, more like it, she thought darkly. The thick feeling of regret began seeping through her and she stalwartly pushed it back where it belonged, in the pit of her stomach where it had been since the day she’d lied to her brother and told him Carson had sent for her. Their manor house by the sea seemed so very far away at the moment as she stood quite alone on the platform watching the train she’d been in since Fort Worth move slowly down the track to God knew where.
Amelia eyed her pile of luggage, knowing there would be no porter to help her carry it to wherever she should go. With that thought in mind, she looked down the unpaved street and saw only a handful of buildings, and even fewer pedestrians. The architecture was vaguely reminiscent of paintings she’d seen of Spain, but without the charm of the Mediterranean as a backdrop. There was no gazebo, and certainly no church with a steeple. The only recognizable structure was a strange looking windmill, lazily turning in the hot breeze.
A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts, then moved to soak into her already damp chemise.
Carrying her pelisse, she lifted her chin and pretended she wasn’t more frightened than she’d been in her entire life. It wasn’t the first time in the past month that she’d had to do that, and she feared it would not be the last.
As she stepped down from the depot boardwalk and walked along the street, lifting her skirts slightly to avoid the swirling dirt, she noted a mercantile, a bank, and a larger two-story building further down, with the words “Hotel/Saloon” painted on a faded, warped sign moving lazily in the wind above the entrance. There were other buildings, but they were nondescript and could have been saloons or even homes. She eyed the town’s sparse inhabitants, wondering who would be the most helpful. Sitting in a wooden chair leaning up against the wall of the hotel was an old man who appeared to be sound asleep. Other than two horses tied up outside the hotel, and a shaggy dog lying outside the mercantile, there wasn’t another soul in sight.
It seemed as if the town had been plopped down in the middle of a barren field for no apparent reason. There was no river, no protective valley, nothing for miles but endless land that ended on the horizon with an odd-looking mountain range.
The mercantile seemed like a good place for information and the dog appeared much friendlier than the old man outside the hotel, so she headed there. The dog, likely as hot as she was in the sweltering heat, raised its head and gave its tail a halfhearted wag before letting out a groan and falling back to sleep.
“Hello to you, too,” Amelia said, smiling, feeling a certain camaraderie with the dog. She was entirely overdressed for such a temperature,
