Upon a Midnight Clear Read online

  Sky completed his reading, signaling bedtime for the young ones. Following a giddy round of good-night kisses from all of her aunts and uncles, Lilly was carried from the room over Sunny's shoulder to the big loft bedroom upstairs. Eric and Evan were relegated to Sky's old room and the same old bunk beds that Cale himself had slept in many a night as a boy. The older "boys"—Sky, Trevor, and Cale—would later be shipped across the yard to the old bunkhouse for the night. As soon as the children were tucked in, the business of hanging their stockings and bringing their presents out of hiding to place under the tree began. Soon the room was filled with laughter and the space under the tree was filled with gifts. Champagne was poured, as was the tradition, and another round of Christmas cookies circulated on silver trays.

  There being little room left under the tree, Quinn stacked her family's gifts here and there around the room. Feeling Cale's fingers on her arm, she turned to him and said, "I have no gift for you."

  ""You can make it up to me later." He grinned. "When we get back to the cabin. I'll sure you'll think of something. But in the meantime, I have something for you."

  "You do?"

  "Um-hmm." He took her by the hand and led her to the doorway, where just that morning her mother had hung a sprig of mistletoe.

  "Now, give me your hand."

  Puzzled, she held them both out to him. Around the ring finger of her left hand, he began to twist a piece of tinsel that had fallen from the tree.

  "It's not much, I know," he said, "but as soon as we can get into Bozeman, we'll find something that's a little more permanent. But for now, it will have to do."

  "I always thought it would be so romantic to get engaged on Christmas Eve," she told him. "But are you sure… ? Cale, please don't rush into anything you're not sure of…"

  "Well, after having twelve years to think about it, I'd say I'm about as sure as I could be. And you, Quinn… ?"

  "I've always been sure, Cale. I've never loved anyone but you."

  "Well, then, I guess that settles it. Maybe we should try having that little talk with your parents again."

  He took her in his arms and swayed to the slow sweet Christmas music on the stereo. She had never tried dancing to "I'll Be Home for Christmas" before, but it seemed to fit.

  Later, as she helped clean up the plates and glasses, she stopped in front of the window that overlooked the hills.

  The moon was big and bright, lending a luster to the all-white landscape that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. How perfect it all was. How wonderful. She had never known just how much love her heart was capable of holding until tonight. Her family, Cale, the boys, all had…

  She blinked, then leaned closer to the window, and a slow smile crossed her lips. There, by the fence, a shadowy figure stood, as if gazing at the ranch house.

  Quinn touched the frosted pane with the fingers of her right hand.

  "Thank you, Grandmother," she whispered.

  "What are you thinking?" Cale's face was reflected in the glass, his arms wrapping around her from behind, drawing her close into a secure and loving circle. "Are you thinking about all the Christmases we missed spending together?"

  "Oh, no," she told him, turning in his arms and pulling his face close enough to kiss, "I'm thinking of all the Christmases yet to come."

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  MARIAH STEWART is the author of several award-winning contemporary romances. Moments in Time, her first book, was the winner of the prestigious Golden Leaf for Best Single Title of 199S, and was a nominee for Romantic Times magazine's Reviewers Choice Award for Best Contemporary Novel of 1995. Her second book, A Different Light, was the recipient of the 199S Award of Excellence for Best Contemporary Romance. Carolina Mist was a bestselling romance in 1996, and was a finalist for the highly regarded Holt Medallion. Devlin's Light, released in the summer of 1997 (an Amazon Top Pick for August), begins a three-book contemporary family saga for Pocket Books. Also, watch for Moondance in early 1999.

  A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, Marian Stewart currently lives in Lansdowne, Pennsylvania, with her husband, two daughters, and one very large golden retriever in a century-old country Victorian home, which is, alas, still being renovated.

  * * *

  Linda Howard

  White Out

  * * *

  Chapter One

  It was going to snow.

  The sky was low and flat, an ominous purplish gray that blended into and obscured the mountaintops, so that it was difficult to tell where the earth stopped and the sky began. The air had a sharp, ammonia smell to it, and the icy edge of the wind cut through Hope Bradshaw's jeans as if they were made of gauze instead of thick denim. The trees moaned under the lash of the wind, branches rustling and whipping, the low, mournful sound settling in her bones.

  She was too busy to stand around staring at the clouds, but she was nevertheless always aware of them hovering, pressing closer. A sense of urgency kept her moving, checking the generator and making sure she had plenty of fuel handy for it, carrying extra wood into her cabin and stacking even more on the broad, covered porch behind the kitchen. Maybe her instincts were wrong and the snow wouldn't amount to any more than the four to six inches the weather forecasters were predicting.

  She trusted her instincts, though. This was her seventh winter in Idaho, and every time there had been a big snow, she had gotten this same crawly feeling just before it The atmosphere was charged with energy, Mother Nature gathering herself for a real blast. Whether caused by static electricity or plain old foreboding, her spine was tingling from an uneasiness that wouldn't let her rest.

  She wasn't worried about surviving: she had food, water, shelter. This was, however, the first time Hope had gone through a big snow alone. Dylan had been here the first two years; after he died, her dad had moved to Idaho to help her take care of the resort. But her uncle Pete had suffered a heart attack three days ago, and her dad had flown to Indianapolis to be with his oldest brother. Uncle Pete's prognosis was good: the heart attack was relatively mild, and he had gotten to the hospital soon enough to minimize the damage. Her dad planned to stay another week, since he hadn't seen any of his brothers or sisters in over a year.

  She didn't mind being alone, but securing the cabins was a lot of work for one person. There were eight of them, single-storied, some with one bedroom and some with two, sheltered by towering trees. There were four on one side of her own, much larger A-frame cabin, and four on the other side, the nine buildings curving around the bank of a picturesque lake that was teeming with fish. She had to make certain the doors and windows were securely fastened against what could be a violent wind, and water valves had to be turned off and pipes drained so they wouldn't freeze and burst when the power went off, which she had absolute faith would happen. Losing power wasn't a matter of if, but when.

  Actually, the weather had been mild this year; though it was December, there had been only one snow, a measly few inches, the remnants of which still lingered in the shaded areas and crunched under her boots. The ski resorts were hurting; their owners would welcome even a blizzard, if it left behind a good thick base.

  Even the infamously optimistic slobber-hound, a golden retriever otherwise known as Tinkerbell even though he was neither female nor a fairy, seemed to be worrying about the weather. He stayed right behind her as she trudged from cabin to cabin, sitting on the porch while she worked inside, his tail thumping on the planks in relieved greeting when she reappeared. "Go chase a rabbit or something," she told him after she almost stumbled over him as she left the next to last cabin, but though his brown eyes lit with enthusiasm at the idea, he declined the invitation.

  Those brown eyes were irresistible, staring up at her with love and boundless trust. Hope squatted down and rubbed behind his ears, sending him into twisting, whining ecstasy as he all but collapsed under the pleasure. "You big mutt," she said lovingly, and he responded to the tone with a swipe of his tongue on her hand.

  Tink was five