It's beginning to look a lot like a Christmas in thisSunshine Valley novella from USA Today bestselling authorMelinda Curtis that will appeal to fans of RaeAnne Thayne and Sheila Roberts. Everyone in Sunshine Valley, Colorado, is in the Christmas spirit except for Everett Bollinger, the new town manager. With money tighter than ever, Everett has had to make some tough decisions about the local holiday celebration. And taking the blame has put him in a very un-festive mood. Rosalie Reyes has big plans to open her new pet shop during the Christmas parade. But it seems like Everett is determined to sabotage the parade and her business too. With the help of the local matchmakers and a rambunctious Saint Bernard named Remy, Rosalie is about to unleash the town's holiday cheer and make it a paws-itively amazing Christmas for all. Including a certain town manager who's about to discover the reason for the season...is love.
Release date:
November 26, 2019
Publisher:
Forever Yours
Print pages:
92
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How did it get to be Christmas again so soon?” Bitsy Whitlock organized her cards while her friend’s granddaughter serenaded the card players. Bitsy had a pair of threes, an ace of spades, plus a jack and eight of hearts. In other words, nothing.
“Ho-ho-ho. Cherry nose.”
“Time flies when you’re a widowed grandma.” Mims Turner set down her cards, casting a grin toward her granddaughter, otherwise known as their songstress—Vivvy, a blond cherub cuddling a plush Santa.
“Ho-ho-ho,” Vivvy crooned from her seat on Mims’s hearth. “Cherry nose.”
Cute as Vivvy was, cute as Bitsy’s own grandchildren were, cuteness didn’t make up for the empty space in Bitsy’s king-size bed. At the holidays, the loneliness of widowhood tended to creep up on her.
“Are we finishing the game now? Or taking a break?” The red-and-green tie-dyed shirt Clarice Rogers wore hung loose on her shoulders compared to the last holiday season. “I think the eggnog needs more nog.”
“Ho-ho-ho. Cherry nose.” Four-year-old Vivvy sang louder. She’d inherited her loopy blond curls from Mims. “Gammy, sing!” As well as her grandmother’s take-charge attitude.
“Hat on head,” Mims warbled dutifully, with head-shaking, gray-curl-quaking intensity.
“Eyes so red!” Clarice sang at the top of her seventy-something-year-old lungs.
“Those aren’t the words,” Bitsy murmured, staring at her cards.
“Go along with it,” Mims urged before singing, “Special night.”
“Beard bright white!” Clarice may have gotten the Christmas carol wrong, but she got an A for enthusiasm, just like Vivvy.
Won over by cuteness, Bitsy hummed along.
It was Black Friday, and instead of shopping, the three grandmothers in Sunshine, Colorado, were playing poker. There was business to be taken care of in addition to holiday planning. Business that rode on the outcome of their poker game.
Matchmaking business.
Bitsy, Mims, and Clarice made up the board of the Sunshine Valley Widows Club, which was open to anyone who’d suffered the loss of a spouse or partner. But they were playing poker as the sole members of what they privately called the Sunshine Valley Matchmakers Club. The winner of the pot of pennies earned the right to decide who they were going to help find love this holiday season.
Bitsy had someone in mind—a young widow who probably laid a hand on an empty bed pillow every night like Bitsy did and wished…
“Must be Santa.” Little Vivvy rocked back and forth. “Must be Santa.” She got to her feet and danced with her plush Santa. “Gammy, sing again.”
Mims obliged her granddaughter, embellishing the song with arm movements and googly eyes that made both Bitsy and Vivvy giggle.
“My eggnog needs more nog.” Tossing her gray braids over her shoulders, Clarice hobbled to Mims’s kitchen, where they’d left the bourbon.
At this rate, the trio of matchmakers would be passed out on the floor with Vivvy at naptime, game still unfinished. Bitsy was fond of Vivvy but the sweet girl stood in the way of serious matchmaking decisions. If only she could be distracted long enough for them to finish the poker game.
But how?
Bitsy rummaged around in the black leather bag at her feet. She may be thrice widowed, but she was always prepared—Band-Aids, hair spray, clear nail polish, antacids, and…“Vivvy, I have a candy cane in my purse. Would you like it?”
Vivvy gasped, dropped Santa, and ran across the wood floor, blond curls bobbing. She put her little hands on Bitsy’s leg and bounced up and down, no longer interested in singing.
Clarice returned with a bottle of bourbon just as Bitsy unwrapped the cane and handed it to Vivvy.
The little angel took a lick and then spun away like a ballerina, chanting, “I love Bitsy. I love Santa. I love Christmas.” And then she was silent.
“Back to the game, ladies.” Clarice topped off their eggnogs and settled into her chair. “Per the rules, once we start the game, we must finish the game.” Clarice was their secretary and the keeper of club rules. She nodded toward little Vivvy. “Nice save, Bitsy.”
Bitsy inclined her head. “I think we need to add an event to the Widows Club schedule. Our account balance is low.” As treasurer, Bitsy managed club funds. She sipped her eggnog and glanced at the cards she’d been dealt. She had a feeling about that ace. She kept it and the pair of threes, weak though they might be.
“Let’s postpone new events until next year.” After reviewing her hand, Mims discarded two cards. Didn’t mean the club president had three of a kind. She had a tendency to keep face cards, even if they didn’t match or were different suits. “I’m warning you gals. I have a good hand and a person in mind who needs Cupid’s help.”
Cupid, aka the Matchmakers Club.
“You should get better at the bluff.” Clarice ran her fingers down one of her long braids and then discarded one card. Just one! She had a competitive hand, all right. “Last game of the year and it’s going to be mine.”
It wasn’t an idle threat. Bitsy’s pair of threes were worth nothing. She wasn’t going to beat Clarice without some bluffing.
Clarice dealt their replacement cards. Bitsy glanced at hers.
For the love of Mike.
She’d received another three and a jack.
Why didn’t I keep that handsome jack?
Bitsy bit her cheek to keep from frowning. No sense emboldening her opponents. “Are we doing a gift exchange this year?”
Mims rubbed the worry lines from her forehead. She had bubkes, for sure. “I liked what we did last year. Lunch at Los Consuelos.”
“Boring.” Clarice inserted her cards into her hand. She had something, all right. Either two pair or a full house. Nobody sorted a garbage hand.
Despite sagging spirits, Bitsy kept biting her cheek.
Clarice tapped her cards on the table. “Ladies, are you in or out?”
“I’m in.” Bitsy went big, tossing in ten pennies, working the pretense of a good hand.
Mims folded.
Clarice slanted Bitsy a sideways glance. “You’re looking to end the game on this hand.”
“I’ve got some shopping to do.” Another bluff. Bitsy had done all her shopping online this year.
Instead of folding, Clarice counted out ten pennies. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The moment of reckoning had come. There would be no more bluffing.
“Three of a kind.” Shoulders drooping, Bitsy fanned her cards in front of her. “All threes. Pathetic, I know.”
“My hand is more pathetic than yours.” Clarice huffed and tossed her cards down. “Three of a kind. Mine are twos.”
“I won?” Bitsy couldn’t believe it. “With threes?”
“Merry Christmas,” Mims mumbled. She’d been on a losing streak lately. In fact, Bitsy couldn’t remember the last time the club president had won.
“I got sticky hands.” Vivvy flexed her little fingers as she walked toward Mims, candy cane eaten.
With Mims about to go on grandma cleanup duty, Bitsy didn’t waste time gloating. “I choose Rosalie Reyes.” The widow who reminded Bitsy of herself.
“The gal with the dog?” Clarice sat back in her chair.
“I love puppies.” Vivvy held her hands in front of Mims. “Sticky, Gammy.”
“Rosalie is the widow with the dog,” Bitsy confirmed. “She’s only just come back to town. I was thinking Doc Janney would be perfect for her.” He was so patient and intuitive. He’d know when a memory of a lost love lingered, and he’d be big-hearted enough not to be jealous.
. . .
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