Page 1 of A Crawford Family Christmas

roe & callie

Callie

The air smells like cedar and kettle corn. My face hurts from smiling so big. Shortly after the year when Roe and I got married—well, when all of the Crawford siblings got married—we made a joint decision. Hayes had secured the family ranch with all the adjoining properties, so we took a chunk of acres that was overgrown and underutilized and began a Christmas tree farm.

It's taken several years, but this year the trees are finally big enough to harvest. So we’re having a grand opening and inviting the entire town out for campfire S’mores, pictures with Santa Claus, horse-drawn sleigh rides (okay, technically it’s a horse-drawn converted flatbed that’s basically a Christmas-themed hay ride), a walk-through light display, arts and crafts, and obviously the Christmas trees.

“Well, I for one can’t wait until we’re home so I can take that beard for a test-drive,” a woman’s voice purrs.

I fold my lips to keep from laughing out loud. But I reveal myself from behind the decorative partition behind Santa’s big red chair.

I clear my throat.

The man—one Abraham Whitmore decked out in his Santa suit—laughs. His wife, Emma, hides her red-cheeked face in her hands. “I am so sorry,” she says.

I laugh. “It’s not a problem. Truly. But maybe tone down the naughty talk until after the kids have come and gone.” I look at my watch. “The gates open in like twenty minutes.”

“Seriously, Callie, I’m mortified,” Emma says.

“Spicy, it’s all good,” Bram says, grabbing his wife’s hand and pulling her into his lap. “Callie’s married.”

“Happily married and a voracious romance novel reader. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Just giving you a time check.” I go to walk off and then turn back. “And I will admit to knowing a thing or two about a well-placed beard.” I wink and walk away, leaving the happy couple to giggle in my wake.

“Buttons, did I just hear you say what I think I heard?”

My husband, Roe, appears out of practically nowhere. He’s got a hammer hanging from his belt, but there’s nothing but sin in his eyes.

“You might have,” I say.

He pulls me to him. “Woman, you know better than to tempt me when we’re out in public.” He nuzzles at my neck, nibbling and kissing.

“You’ll have to just wait until later tonight,” I tell him.

“And you’ll ride my beard?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’ll ride whatever you want. But for the next few hours, I am the prim and proper Saddle Creek librarian, and you are my devoted husband.”

“I am always your devoted husband. Even when we’re sweaty and naked.”

I smack his rock-hard stomach. “Behave.”

“Can anyone hear me over this thing?” Rory’s voice comes from the walkie-talkie in my hand.

She’s in stereo, since there’s another clipped to Roe’s belt. A chorus of answers sound off, everything from “loud and clear” to “talk to me, Big Daddy.” That last one comes from Johnny. Because of course it does.

“I need to call an emergency meeting at the hot cocoa station,” Rory says. “All Crawfords and Burtons, please.”

I frown at Roe. “Wonder what that’s about?”

“No clue.” He holds his hand out to me, and I clasp it.

Our fingers thread together, and I smile up at him as we walk to the impromptu meeting.

“I love you, Callie Crawford,” he says.

“I love you too.”

Five minutes later, we find the crowd milling around the hot cocoa station. Rory is standing on a step stool, watching everyone approach. She starts counting and frowns.