Christmas in Wishful by Kait Nolan

Author:Kait Nolan [Nolan, Kait]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Take The Leap Publishing

Though he really needed to get moving, Sergeant Ryan Malone lingered over his coffee and surreptitiously watched the waitress as she continued to decorate the diner’s Christmas tree, both because he was wondering how the hell it would turn out, all loaded with forks and spoons, and because he kept expecting to catch a glimpse of elf ears through that fall of dark hair. She’d make a good elf with that fine-boned face and fair skin. She hummed while she worked, the edge of a smile just waiting to bow up those full lips. How could anybody over the age of ten be that unrelentingly cheerful and innocent? She made him feel ancient at twenty-seven, though she was probably close to his age.

He strained to hear the tune and finally recognized “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.” Certainly the rest of what he’d seen of Wishful fit the bill. As he’d come into the downtown area, he’d noted the holiday decorations mounted on all the light poles and the twinkle lights wrapped around the denuded trees lining Main Street. People bustled along the sidewalk, toting shopping bags and pretty, wrapped packages. It was about as far as he could get from the war zone he’d been walking in mere days ago, and the switch had him feeling more off balance than the jet lag.

Across the room, Elf Girl plugged in the lights and the tree lit up.

Well, I’ll be damned.

The glow of the white twinkle lights bounced off the silverware and gave the tree a warm, inviting glow. He’d never imagined utensils would make good ornaments for a Christmas tree.

Elf Girl stepped back, crossing her arms and beaming in satisfaction. That smile did something to a man. Certainly it had done something to him. He’d had no intention of stopping in the diner. None at all. Then she’d flashed those dimples at him, and he’d been pulled inside as if she were a kerosene heater that could thaw his frozen hands and feet.

She’d thought he was homeless. After traveling for three days straight to get from Bumfuck, Afghanistan to here, he sure as hell looked it. God knew when he’d last shaved. They had relaxed grooming standards where he’d landed this deployment. Exhaustion had carved lines around his eyes. He’d been awake way too damned long even before he boarded the MAC flight back to Fort Polk, where he’d picked up the rust bucket of a truck he’d borrowed from a friend still overseas. Smitty had sworn the thing was ugly but sound and would get him the six hours to Wishful. Ryan had believed him—until the ancient Chevy began to sputter and wheeze when he was nearly to his destination. The truck had crapped out eight miles from town.

Ryan had left in such a hurry, he had little with him other than his duffle. Not even a coat to face the frigid December weather. And since when was it this freaking cold in Mississippi in December? He’d found an ancient and smelly jacket shoved behind the seat.

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