Holiday Serenade, The Read online

  The Holiday Serenade

  Professional gambler Rhett Butler Blaylock is everything Abbie Maven doesn’t want in a man—flamboyant, flashy, and unreserved. After a horrible experience in her youth, she has spent her life trying to make all the right choices, pouring her energy into being the best possible single mother to her son. But though Rhett doesn’t seem to be husband and stepfather material, he awakens emotions in her that are as frightening as they are powerful. They had a fling she’s never forgotten, and now he has followed her to Dare Valley, Colorado with the intention of winning back her heart…this time, forever.

  Rhett’s determined to show Abbie he can be the man of her dreams. He’ll do whatever it takes for the woman he loves, including giving up his flamboyant lifestyle and bad–boy image. As Christmas approaches, he prepares a special surprise for her, hoping the holiday will work its magic and grant him a miracle. Will his holiday serenade heal Abbie’s heart and convince her to give love a second chance?

  PRAISE FOR AVA MILES’ DARE VALLEY SERIES

  NORA ROBERTS LAND

  "It {NORA ROBERTS LAND} captures the best of what I love in a Nora Roberts novel…" —BlogCritics

  “…finding love like in the pages of a Nora Roberts story.” —Publisher’s Weekly WW Ladies Book Club

  "Debut author Ava Miles combines small–town romance with big–world issues in a full–bodied romance fiction in the first of the Dare Valley series…and paints a wonderful idyllic setting for this small–town series with great characters." —USA Today, Happily Ever After

  "Ava Miles's debut novel is warm, funny, and wholly entertaining." —Joyfully Reviewed

  FRENCH ROAST

  "An entertaining ride…{and) a full–bodied romance." —Readers’ Favorite

  “Her engaging story and characters kept me turning the pages.” —Bookfan

  THE GRAND OPENING

  “Ava Miles’ Dare Valley world is a wonderful place to visit…”—Tome Tender

  “The latest book in the Dare Valley series is a continuation of love, family, and romance.” —Mary J. Gramlich

  A serenade for the ages…

  And then the crowd seemed to part, and her fairy tale prince appeared. He wore gray dress pants and a white dress coat with a white shirt underneath. The gray silk tie had sparkles on it, something only Rhett could pull off. He wasn’t truly in a Christmas costume, but it didn’t matter. It was the most dressed up she’d ever seen him. And her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

  “Don’t make the man suffer much longer,” Jill suggested, giving her a squeeze. “It’s Christmas. Time to make up. Let’s go, girls,” she said to the others.

  “Wait,” Abbie called after them, but they just smiled and continued on their way.

  Rhett bowed grandly in front of her. When he straightened, he plucked a red rose from his lapel and extended it to her. “Merry Christmas, Abbie.”

  As she took the rose, part of her wished she wasn’t wearing white gloves. She wanted to run her fingers over the velvety petals. Instead, she brought it to her nose. “My goodness, this one is fragrant.”

  That cocky smile flashed across his face. “What can I say? This hotel carries great flowers.”

  And since ordering the flowers fell under her purview, she appreciated the compliment.

  “So,” he continued, his golden eyes as inviting as shiny tree ornaments, “do you like it? I missed you so badly last Christmas that I wanted to celebrate being together this year. And I know you like elegant parties.”

  She bit her tongue as she struggled with what to say. “Rhett, this is…lovely…more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But you know we’re not a couple.”

  His smile lost a few watts of its power. “Sure we are. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

  To my brother, Greg, for being willing to share his own creative talents with me and for his unfailing support in this new journey I’m on. Here’s to always supporting each other.

  And to my divine entourage, who makes my heart sing.

  Acknowledgements

  Gratitude is the open door to abundance, and these are the people who open that door for me:

  My editor, the amazing and always supportive, Angela Polidoro; my incredible assistant, Maggie Mae Gallagher; Gregory Stewart for the Dare Valley map and so much more; the Killion Group for the cover art; my copy editor, Dana Bigelow; my eformatter, Meredith Bond; Bemis Promotions for my website; Julija Bakovic for ongoing proofing and her love of my stories; and Dr. Tabitha King for her help on all things medical like always.

  T.F. For being my holiday serenade.

  To all of you readers, who continue to enjoy all of the quirky characters and heartwarming stories of Dare Valley. Thank you for reading!

  Let your heart be filled with cheer,

  Darlin’, your Holiday Serenade is here.

  It lets me tell you that I want you,

  That you’re my Christmas dream come true,

  That I don’t see anyone now but you.

  Let the snow fall on your thick, dark hair,

  Let the winter wind touch your cheek like I want to.

  Come cozy up by the fire with me,

  Under the lights of our own Christmas tree.

  Let me love you,

  Serenade you,

  My Christmas dream come true.

  Country Singer Rye Crenshaw’s Special Christmas Release, “The Holiday Serenade”

  Lyrics by World Series of Poker Champion, Rhett Butler Blaylock

  Chapter 1

  Usually Abbie Maven adored the way Christmas allowed her to get her Martha Stewart on by decorating and baking her heart out.

  Usually she loved sharing the thirteen different types of cookies she made with family and friends, everything from star–shaped sugar cookies dotted with candy silver balls to grinning gingerbread men.

  Usually she didn’t have a crazy cowboy and badass poker player named Rhett Butler Blaylock in her kitchen popping cookies into his mouth faster than the Cookie Monster while cracking obscene jokes from a barstool in front of her kitchen island.

  “You know, Abbie,” he murmured, leaning on the tan granite countertop and waggling his ash–brown brows, “it seems downright chauvinistic of you to make only gingerbread men. Maybe you should add breasts to some of these for balance.”

  Like that would ever happen in her kitchen, with its caramel–colored cabinets and stainless steel appliances, now dotted with vintage Christmas cards of red–cheeked Santas, frolicking reindeer, and luminous angels.

  Her sixteen–year–old son, Dustin, hooted with laughter from his barstool beside Rhett. She even saw her brother, Mac, and his fiancé, Peggy, standing to her right, bite their lips as if they were trying not to join in on the hilarity. Thank goodness Peggy’s eight–year–old son, Keith, was in the other room watching the claymation version of Rudolph The Red–Nosed Reindeer, which everyone agreed was disturbing. This was so not the PG–rated cookie baking experience she preferred. Especially when everyone was only watching her work in the kitchen, the biggest hangout room in the house. They’d complained that making gingerbread men was too hard. Wimps.

  The urge to squirt the egg–white gingerbread frosting onto Rhett’s red thermal shirt and jeans came over her, but better sense prevailed. Her action might prompt him to strip his shirt off in her kitchen, and frankly, she wouldn’t be able to draw a straight line with her frosting if he did that. The man had the best chest she’d ever seen—not that she’d seen many outside of the movies and firemen calendars.

  Instead she gestured toward the remaining dough in the bowl, which gave off that special gingerbread scent she loved, redolent of coffee and spice. “Since your poker babes have such remarkable attributes, p
erhaps you should be the one to shape some female cookies?”

  He must have caught the challenge in her eyes. Their ongoing battle over his poker entourage was one of the main reasons why she’d refused to renew their relationship when he moved to her new town of Dare Valley, Colorado, months ago with the sole purpose of getting her to agree to marry him. He’d played poker in overseas venues for a year after she broke off their secret relationship. He’d returned six months ago, declaring his love for her and saying he wouldn’t ever leave her again. And, shockingly, he’d stuck by that vow.

  Dustin angled his head to the right and flashed a smile at their ongoing banter, and suddenly he reminded her of his father, a man whom she’d believed to be sincere and kind until he'd blown that illusion to smithereens.

  Trusting men hadn’t been her strong suit since then. Add in the fact that she and Rhett were still ill–suited beyond words, and she hadn’t caved to Rhett’s dogged pursuit.

  If there was one thing Abbie had learned to value in life, it was order. Okay, and control, but that made her sound like a control freak, which she was so not. Mostly.

  “I just might do that,” Rhett replied, pinching some of the dough out of her holiday Christmas bowl and rolling it into a ball.

  “Sweet!” her son cried, jumping up from the bar stool right in front of her kitchen island like he was preparing to make Playboy centerfold gingerbread cookies, a teenager’s Christmas fantasy.

  Like she would ever allow that to happen in her home.

  Rhett put a hand on Dustin’s shoulder, and he eased back into his chair, about as deflated as an undercooked soufflé.

  “Maybe we can just put a dress on them,” Rhett said. “That way your mama can still maintain her dignity, Dustin.”

  The compliment did little to diffuse her. As a poker player, and a flamboyant one at that, Rhett had created a rough–and–tumble image for his act. Every time he played poker, he was accompanied by his poker babes—two women clad in tight, low–cut, often sequined gowns, with death–defying cleavage.

  Few knew these women were total brainiacs who worked as his scouts. Frankly, she didn’t care that they both had MBAs from Harvard and that he’d never been anything but professional with them.

  They were embarr–a–ssing, and she didn’t want them anywhere near her son.

  Plus, how could Rhett expect her to walk into a poker tournament with him if his poker babes were flanking them? Abbie wore conservative Ann Taylor suits most days. She was a single mother. Being respected and respectable was important to her, and she’d fought hard for it. She wasn’t about to give it up.

  Especially after the horrible way in which Dustin had been conceived when she was just eighteen. Why couldn’t he understand that?

  Peggy dropped a plastic container filled with the silver balls in front of Rhett. “If you’re going to make women with dresses, this might work for sequins.”

  Abbie gave her future sister–in–law a smile of genuine appreciation. Though there had been some bumps in their relationship, she and Peggy got along pretty well now. True, they didn’t always understand one another. As Dare Valley’s deputy sheriff, Peggy was a cop to the core, and Abbie really did aspire to be Martha Stewart. But they shared a more important commonality—they were both single mothers.

  “What a great idea!” Rhett agreed with his usual aw–shucks ease. “Do you have any of these bells in gold? I don’t always like my poker babes to wear the same outfits.”

  Mac snorted alongside Dustin—a truly horrible mannerism they’d picked up from Mac’s employee and close friend, Jill Hale, who was Jill McConnell now that she was married, but no one remembered to call her that. The Hales were still the backbone of the Dare Valley community, and married names didn’t seem to stick.

  Abbie shot Dustin a you’d better stop snorting look—something that wouldn’t work nearly so well with her brother. Her son stood and patted Rhett on the back.

  “You’re on your own, man. Mom may decide not to feed me, and I’m starving.”

  “Aren’t you always?” Mac asked, wandering over to the refrigerator to pull out a local brew. “Dustin, let’s go see what Keith is up to. Peggy?”

  She took Mac’s hand and gave him an intimate smile, which he returned. It made Abbie’s heart sing to see them so happy after everything they’d been through. But it pleased her less that they were doing everything they could to make it difficult for her to ignore Rhett. Granted, he was one of Mac’s oldest friends, and had been around for years, but now that he’d declared his love for her, she didn’t want him around all the time.

  Except when she did.

  Call her The Girl Conflicted. It could be an indie film.

  The focus of her conflicted thoughts gave her a wry smile as he came around and stood beside her at the kitchen island, his arm brushing hers. Tall, muscular, and as charming as the snake who talked Eve into biting the apple, Rhett knew he had rugged appeal. Sometimes he used it on her. Other times, he simply hung back and waited.

  Today he was definitely turning on the charm. Even the brief contact between them was like a match to the kindling—warmth caught from her arm and spread throughout her body.

  “It’s nice to be in the US of A for Christmas this year,” he commented. “Last year’s was pretty bad. I was in Monte Carlo playing poker, missing you. I got stinking drunk and went to the hotel’s gift shop to buy you a present I knew I’d never send.” He dug into his back pocket and fished out a thin box wrapped in shiny red paper.

  She edged back, her hands going all clammy. Oh, no. Not this. “Rhett, please, I—”

  “I figured that I’d give this to you now since I already have another one for this year’s Christmas.” When she didn’t take it, he set it down on the countertop next to the green sugar sprinkles. “You can open it now or whenever you’d like.”

  The package might as well have been an airplane’s black box, housing information she desperately wanted to know but was terrified of all the same.

  “Later, then,” he said after a tense moment, forcing a smile. Rhett tapped the box before wandering over to the kitchen table.

  What to say? Suddenly she felt guilty. He was giving her a present for heaven’s sake, and she couldn’t even say thank you. Why did he do this to her manners?

  Her arm locked in place. She simply couldn’t reach for it. “Rhett, you didn’t need to—”

  “What else can I help you with?” he asked, cutting off her pitiful statement of gratitude. “Do you need me to glue anything onto those wreaths over there? I can probably manage that if you show me where you want the red flowers and gold bells.”

  Her newest craft project lay on the kitchen table. Dustin had told her he was too old to be her Wreath Glue Man. Apparently he had an image to uphold. She didn’t even want to know what that meant. Funny how he hadn’t nixed helping her with the gingerbread houses… She’d see how much he actually ended up doing in the end.

  Rhett picked up the fake red amaryllis flowers she’d laid next to the first wreath. The sight of it in his huge hand should have looked silly, but like Dwayne Johnson, The Rock, Rhett combined Alpha male toughness with a softer, playful side. In moments like this, it was easy to imagine them together. Then she would see him playing poker with his poker babes, and she’d remember that his public persona was anathema to her. Even though he was making other modifications designed to show her he was changing his ways, part of her was terrified he’d change on her again, just like Dustin’s father had done.

  Inside of her beat the heart of a woman who wanted hearth and home.

  But she still wanted to be touched by this man—caressed by him, kissed by him.

  He’d told her that he wouldn’t do that again until she asked.

  So far, the duct tape she’d metaphorically placed on her mouth was working…even though the sex–starved woman inside her wanted to beg.

  “Do you want all your wreaths to look the same or different?” He set the flower aside a
nd picked up the navy and orange glue gun.

  “Rhett, I don’t—”

  “Just let me help you, Abbie. I won’t say anything. We can turn on some Christmas music and work in silence.”

  For someone who pretty much talked all the time, he’d become a master at simply being in the same room with her without saying a thing.

  He reminded her of General Patton in the strategy he was using to pursue her: circling her, laying siege, and then doing something like this. Simply pitching his camp close to hers without doing anything more.

  Somehow that meant more to her than anything else. She hadn’t expected to find peace with Rhett, but she had. She’d found it in so many ways when they were together—after they’d made love; in the mornings, when she’d wake up first and watch him sleep; at breakfast, when they’d both read the paper. And now this.

  She hit the switch to her kitchen radio, and the newest Christmas song from Rhett’s close friend, country singer, Rye Crenshaw, filled the room.

  “This song is pretty romantic for Rye. Has he met someone?” she asked, listening to the lyrics. You’re my Christmas dream come true.

  Rhett turned his back to her and busied himself with the green floral wire. She’d be shocked if he knew what to do with it.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” he answered, finally taking a seat at the kitchen table, where a sugar plum spice candle flickered. He was silent for a long moment, and then he said, “I don’t mind admitting I’m kinda missing my mama around this time of year, especially with all these things you’ve been busying yourself with. She likes to bake and decorate like you do. And she makes the finest wreaths in Natchez, if I do say so myself.”

  She gave the gift box another wary glance, skirted the kitchen island, and walked toward Rhett, watching with something like disbelief as he arranged the flowers and bells on the wreath. Rhett had decided to spend Christmas with her and her family instead of being with his own mother. Mac had insisted they needed to invite him, and because she wasn’t cruel, she’d agreed. He’d be part of their enormous Christmas celebration with the Hale clan, who had become an extension of their family through Peggy, whose brother was married to Meredith Hale.