Abby's Christmas. Lynnette Kent
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A dropped pin would have sounded loud in the absolute silence
Noah felt half the room staring at his unprotected back. The other half stared at his heated face. He couldn’t leave the diner without paying for his breakfast, or he would have been gone.
“What are you talking about?” Abby pushed between the chairs and the tables, arriving at Officer Hayes’s side. “I think you’ve been drinking, Wade.”
The officer shook his head and gave her a righteous smile. “Nope. Haven’t touched a drop all week.”
Her face set in a skeptical frown, Abby crossed her arms and stared up at the big man. “So what are we talking about here? A speeding ticket in one of those traps you guys like to set up in small towns?”
“No, ma’am.” Hayes looked around, making sure he had everybody’s attention. “Noah Blake was paroled from a state of Georgia correctional facility in Atlanta on Monday morning after serving three years of a seven-year sentence.”
“For what?” Abby’s voice wobbled.
“Manslaughter,” Hayes announced. “Mr. Blake, here, killed a man in Georgia. And he went to prison for it.”
Dear Reader,
After “Where do you get your ideas,” the most frequent question an author hears is “How long does it take to write a book?” The idea for the AT THE CAROLINA DINER series came to me in 1999 as I was writing other stories. I got the go-ahead from my editors in the summer of 2000 and submitted the first completed book in January of 2001. So in one way or another, then, I’ve been working on Abby’s Christmas for more than five years.
All that time I’ve been visiting a diner of my own—a small “restaurant/deli” near my home, where they cook a good breakfast (including grits) and keep my iced-tea glass full. The waitresses know me by sight and can usually predict what I’ll order. (I change my mind occasionally, just to keep them on their toes.) They call me “honey” and sometimes “darlin’” and they remember I want unsweetened tea. During the thirty or forty minutes I spend with them, I feel cosseted and cared for. Mothered.
Abby Brannon mothers her customers at the Carolina Diner. She longs for adventure, but accepts the chains of friendship and love binding her to her hometown…until Noah Blake returns. Noah’s had enough adventure to fill several lifetimes. Now he’s looking for a connection to the places and people of his past. Abby is definitely a part of that past. But is he part of her future?
I hope you enjoy the time you spend with my friends in New Skye, especially Abby and Noah. I love to hear from readers through the regular mail and by e-mail. My personal Web site is in transition, but you can reach me—and other great Superromance authors—at www.superauthors.com.
All the best,
Lynnette Kent
PMB 304
Westwood Shopping Center
Fayetteville, NC 28314
Abby’s Christmas
Lynnette Kent
A friend who talks me through my fears and doubts and celebrates my successes without reservation.
A writer who pushes me—and my characters—in the right direction with one little word: “Why?”
A woman who blesses my life and my work.
For Pam, with love
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE BELL ON THE DINER’S front door jingled, and Abby Brannon glanced up from the miniature Christmas tree she’d just started to drape with a string of shiny red beads.
A man stepped out of the bright December sunshine, then halted for a moment just over the threshold, blinking his eyes against indoor shadows. His black hair had been cut short, without much skill or style. He looked a little sunburned across his arrogant nose and high cheekbones. His broad shoulders filled out a scarred leather jacket, while dusty biker boots and lean hips in faded jeans completed the bad-boy-drifter picture.
The beads slipped through Abby’s fingers to clatter on the counter. Noah Blake.
Only when the newcomer looked at her across the empty room did she realize she’d said his name aloud. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “Is that you, Abby?”
At the sound of his husky voice, her heart jumped like a startled frog. She swallowed. “Who else would you expect to find at the Carolina Diner in the middle of the afternoon?”
She rounded the counter and confronted him where he stood, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to shake him a little. “You’ve been gone a long time, but things haven’t changed that much. Welcome back!”
His hands closed over her shoulders and he grinned down at her. If she hadn’t been stunned by his sudden arrival, she certainly was at that moment. Noah’s one-sided grin was a sugar high she’d never been able to resist.
“Thanks.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then let her go. “Kinda quiet in here, isn’t it?”
Abby fought to keep from touching the kissed cheek with her fingertips. “The usual lull between late lunch and early dinner. Come sit down. You look a little chilly—what can I do to warm you up?” Good thing she’d turned away before she asked that stupid question, so he couldn’t see her blush. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Got any hot chocolate?”
When she glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I haven’t had some in…a long time. I just thought it would taste good.”
“Well, sure. I can make you hot chocolate. Give me a couple of minutes.” She stepped through the kitchen door, then poked her head out again. “The menu hasn’t changed since you left, but in case you don’t remember…”
Propping one hip on a stool, Noah pulled the plastic folder out of the clip on the counter. “Right here.”
“You got it.” Abby smiled, then went into the empty kitchen to hyperventilate.
I can’t believe he’s here. She drew hot water from the pot and blended in cocoa powder and sugar until they melted. I thought he’d have got himself killed by now. Or arrested. Adding vanilla, then milk, she heated her brew on the burner. Why has he come back? Should I ask him? There’s no way it could have anything to do with me. Right?
The suggestion left her too shaky to pick up the mugs of cocoa. She bought time by squirting whipped cream on the tops, then dishing up a couple of cherries for decoration. When she thought her hands could handle the strain, she grabbed a thick white mug in each hand, dragged in a deep breath and headed back to the counter.
“Here you go.” Setting his drink in front of him, she backed up against the service counter and took a sip from her own. “Enjoy.”
Noah toasted her with a