Small Town Christmas is a heart warming story of unrequited love that turns
into love forever. Once you start reading you won't be able to put it down.
~Paty Jager, author of Marshall in Petticoats and Gambling on an Angel,
available at The Wild Rose Press
Small Town Christmas captures the warmth and flavor of hometown life in this delightful holiday novella set in a cozy little town struggling against
modernization. Holly McCall and Tucker Callahan face a similar challenge.
Holly chases dreams of big city fame and fortune while Tucker longs to
instill small town values in his two young daughters.
Yet, for all their differences, the chemistry between the two sizzles from
the moment they run into each other—literally. Ms. McCaffrey had me
squirming in my chair with a mere kiss. Did I say mere? There was nothing
mere about Tucker Callahan’s kiss or Holly’s response. A feel good read
with a sweetly sensual flare, Small Town Christmas is a must read.
Nicole McCaffrey packs a powerful punch of emotion on every page. Between
Holly’s memories of an unrequited crush and Tucker’s uncertainty of the
opposite sex after a failed marriage, Small Town Christmas tugs at the
heartstrings.
~Darah Lace, author of Yesterday's Desire and Wrong Number,
Right Man - available at The Wild Rose Press
Derek Calavicci opened the door to his penthouse apartment and stepped inside. Home, although it never really felt that way. At one time the navy and pewter color scheme, so carefully chosen by the designer, the expensive but tasteful furniture and state-of-the-art gadgets had soothed him. But not lately. He set his keys on the kitchen counter and picked up a stack of personal mail waiting there.
Gabrielle, his younger sister and personal assistant, strolled into the room. Dressed in her robe and fuzzy pink slippers, she had a toothbrush sticking out of one side of her mouth and a towel wrapped around her head. She often stayed at his place when he was gone, and judging from the clothes, shoes and magazines strewn about, she had done so this past week.
“So, how was Tokyo?” she asked around the toothbrush.
“Fine.” He put his hands to his hips and glanced around the apartment. “It’s a good thing I pay the cleaning lady so well.”
She moved to the kitchen sink to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. “How did the bourbon commercial go?”
“It was fine.”
“Did you get lucky?”
He didn’t answer her, merely shook his head in wonder.
“Okay, for other guys it’s getting lucky. For you it’s par for the course. So… did you?”
“Would I tell you if I did?”
“You’re always so grumpy when you get home from these things.”
He headed for the sofa and flopped down, finally allowing the exhaustion of the long flight and the time change to overtake him. “There’s a fourteen-hour time difference between here and Tokyo. I’m beat.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, grateful that he was no longer in motion. Not in a plane, not in a limo, just sitting still.
“Hope you aren’t too jet lagged, you’ve got an early flight in the morning.”
He raised his head just enough to look at her. “Where the hell to now?”
She laughed and headed toward his desk. “You really are out of it. The Romantic Moments conference starts this weekend.”
“Christ.” He dropped his head back down. “Little wonder I’m more comfortable in hotels than in my own home.”
“You’re never here,” she agreed, holding out a note pad for his inspection.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“It’s your messages. Your voice mail filled up twice so I had to write everything down.”
“I’m too tired to read them. Anything important?”
“Mmm, depends on what you call important. Or who.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Let’s see… Megan called. She’ll be at the conference in Florida; she’s really looking forward to ‘hooking up’. She’ll be in room eight-twelve. Amber, also going to the conference, is in five-seventeen. Oh, and Shannon is going to be in New York next weekend and she’d like to … well, I’m not about to repeat it. Is she double jointed or something?”
“Damned if I can remember.”
“Anyway, there’s another page and a half of these.”
“I’ll look at them later.”
“Good idea. Oh, and Frankie called. About nine times.”
“What the hell did she want?”
“You. Under her tiny, little thumb. When are you going to fire her and get a new manager? One who doesn’t want to run your life.”
“Why bother when I can just avoid this one as much as possible?”
“She wants to make sure you two are on the same flight tomorrow so she can go over a few things with you on the way down,” Gabby spoke over her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen. “Something about the ‘Flawless’ campaign. You know, that new line of men’s cologne and skin care products you’re promoting.”
He raised his head again. “And?”
She returned, holding out a bottle of water and gave him a triumphant smile. “And I made sure to book you on a different flight.”
“Good girl.” He unscrewed the cap and took a long drag. “What do I have going on today?”
“I canceled everything when I realized you were getting back so late. Thought you might want a little break.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t forget Anthony’s engagement party is tonight.”
“I can’t believe my kid brother is getting married. Did I buy them something nice?”
“Besides paying for the wedding? Crystal. Expensive and impractical, just your style.”
“I’m such a nice guy.”
“Well, you’d better be prepared to answer the inevitable from the relatives tonight.”
“You mean the ‘and when are you going to settle down’ stuff?” Now that he’d turned thirty, that was all anyone wanted to know. His younger brother’s engagement had only made it worse.
“Exactly. At this point, I’m beginning to think you’re commitment-phobic myself.”
“I’ve got nothing against commitment.” He raised his feet to set them on the coffee table. “But whenever the urge strikes, I lie down until it passes.”
“Yeah, I know. Preferably with a blonde or a redhead.”
Wild Texas Wind - coming June 18 from The Wild Rose Press
Prologue
San Antonio, Texas
Spring, 1883
“Brought you some towels, sugar.”
Raz Colt leaned back in the steaming bath water with a deep sigh. Life didn’t get much better than this. A cigar in one hand, a glass of fine bourbon in the other, and a pretty little dove all set for this evening’s pleasure. As she closed the door behind her, muffling the sound of piano music from downstairs, the cloying aroma of cheap perfume wrapped around him.
He took a sip of the bourbon and sighed again as the smooth liquid warmed his gullet. The past month had seen a mountain of hard work. He'd helped a friend clear his name of a brutal murder charge and brought the real killer to justice, then stuck around Colorado just long enough to make sure they hanged the bastard. Hell, he’d even provided a new rope for the occasion. It wasn't often his chosen profession of hired gun brought him such personal satisfaction.
More gratifying was that his friend had found himself a good woman while working to clear his name. Marriage and family wasn't for every man, Raz certainly had no use for it, but it fit his friend like a new suit of clothes.
Betty Lou, or whatever her name was, inched closer, pausing long enough to refill his drink before taking the stool beside the tub. Dressed only in a camisole and pantalets, she had curves in all the right places plus a few extra. Perfect. A man liked a little something to hold onto in bed.
She trailed a finger in the bath water. “Want me to wash your back?”
He smiled languidly as the bourbon washed through him. “Darlin', you can wash anything you'd like.”
He’d been riding for weeks, heading straight to Texas after finishing up in Colorado. For no reason other than a sudden yearning to see his home state. After all that time on the trail, he was more than saddle sore, with aches in places a man didn’t like to think about.
She giggled a little too much at his comment, but he didn't mind. He sat forward, careful not to get the cigar wet or spill his drink, while she dipped a cloth in the water and lathered it with a spicy, exotic-smelling soap. Damn near anything would smell better than the fine layer of trail dust he’d come in with.
“So,” she said, gently applying the hot cloth to his back, “you new in town or just passing through?”
He closed his eyes, groaning as the heat penetrated aching muscles. Tired and sore as he was, she’d be lucky if she got a rise out of him before he fell asleep. “Ain’t decided that yet. What would you suggest, sweet thing?”
“Stay, sugar, stay," she cooed. "If you're lookin' for a good meal, Ma’s Place up the street is the best. And if you're lookin' for work, try the Triple H.”
He slumped back against the tub as she moved around to his front, soaping his neck and chest. “Triple H?”
“It's the biggest spread around. H.H. O'Hara's the richest man in these parts. He’s always lookin’ for help.”
Raz took another sip of his drink then clenched the cigar between his teeth. Ranching. He’d tried that once. Didn’t pay nearly as well as hiring out his gun. And he’d never been one for taking orders.
Betty Lou— or was it Linda Sue? –dipped the cloth again. "Want me to wash your hair?"
The bath was included with the price of the woman, after all. He'd always had clean habits, but he supposed half the men waiting in the parlor downstairs had no use for soap. “Why not?”
She ladled warm water over his hair, then lathered the soap between her practiced hands. “I ain't never seen hair like yours before,” she purred. “It's so black, it’s nearly blue. You Indian or somethin’, sugar?”
“Might be.” The fact that his mother was half Mexican, half Indian while his father was white, wasn't something he cared to discuss.
Betty Lou seemed to realize she'd hit a nerve. She slid closer, massaging soapy fingers over his scalp. “I think it's real handsome.”
Through partially lowered lids, Raz noted with pleasure the gentle sway of her bosom as she scrubbed. She’d gotten damp while washing his back and the camisole clung to her like a second skin. Rosy nipples, outlined against the wet material, practically begged for his attention. Her breasts were mere inches from his mouth, close enough to easily…
Of course, he'd have to set either the drink or the cigar aside to do that. He chose instead to simply watch, anticipating the pleasure ahead.
“Tell me more about this H.H. O’Hara.”
“Oh, the poor man,” Betty Lou sighed. “His daughter's been kidnapped. I hear he's right beside hi’self with grief.”
“Does he know who did it?”
She ladled rinse water over his hair. “They left a ransom note, but H.H. ain't one to be told what to do. So he's offerin' a lot of money to the first man that brings his little girl back alive. With her virtue intact.”
“Her virtue?”
Betty Lou pressed a towel to his sodden hair. "H.H. don't want nobody messin' with his baby girl. That's why he's offerin' such a big reward."
Reward? He bolted upright in the tub, sloshing water over the sides with the sudden movement. Removing the cigar, he turned his full attention to Betty Lou. “How big?”
She moved behind him to knead the muscles in his back. “I hear’d tell it was ten thousand dollars.”
Drink midway to his lips, he paused. Ten thousand dollars?
Without a word, he handed Betty Lou the glass and rose from the tub. He felt her curious stare as he slid on denims over still-dripping skin. Grabbing his gun belt, he strapped it on, then went for his boots. He shrugged into his shirt without bothering to turn it right side out or button it, rummaged through his pants pockets for a handful of eagles and pressed them into Betty Lou's palm. “This should take care of you for the rest of the night.”
His fallen angel looked downright disappointed, red-painted lips pouting prettily. “Where you goin', sugar?”
Raz dropped his hat on over wet hair, then bent to place the cigar between her parted lips. “Triple H.” With a wink he strode toward the door. “Whiskey, women and a fine cigar go a long way to make a man feel comfortable, but only one thing keeps a man warm at night, darlin’.”
She gave a huff of indignation and put a hand to one rounded hip. “What’s that?”
He tipped his hat to her and opened the door. "Money."
