Holding Holly (Love and Football Series)
Read Holding Holly (Love and Football Series) Online
Authors: Julie Brannagh
Tags: #Romance, #Sports, #sports romance
To Judi, because Santa Claus doesn’t always wear a bright red suit and sport a long white beard
.
I
WANT TO
thank my wonderful editor, Amanda Bergeron, for all of her hard work and her enthusiasm. It’s book #5, and I am still pinching myself that she chose my books. I’d also like to thank my terrific agent, Sarah Younger of Nancy Yost Literary Agency, who chose my books too. Sarah works hard on my behalf. We bonded over our shared love of football, and I am so lucky to have her.
I’d like to thank the Avon Books art department for a cover I fell in love with, among other things. I’d also like to thank the copyediting group, especially Beverly, who keeps all of my grammar and punctuation issues on the down-low.
I’d like to thank my husband, Eric, for a million reasons, but most of all because he made sure I could pursue the thing I wanted most in life. I love you, honey.
Amy Raby and Jessi Gage (the Cupcake Crew!) are my critique partners, my Friday standing dates, and my biggest cheerleaders. I wuv you both too.
Thank you to Greater Seattle RWA. Thank you so much for your friendship, your encouragement, and for all the chocolate. I owe all of you more than I could ever say.
I’d like to thank Tiffany’s. I hope to be able to afford to shop there in the near future.
As always, thank you to former and current Seattle Seahawks for interviews they’ve given in various forms of media that were a huge help in my research. I named my hero after one of the most inspiring players in the NFL, Derrick Coleman. I hope he won’t mind.
Would you like to “adopt” a local letter to Santa Claus and brighten a child’s holiday? It’s as easy as appearing at your local post office and presenting a photo ID. The procedure is outlined here:
https://about.usps.com/corporate-social-responsibility/letters-to-santa.htm#p=1
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Here’s to the happiest of holidays for all my readers, and a wonderful and prosperous New Year for you and all those you love.
Go Sharks!
Contents
An Excerpt from
Catching Cameron
An Excerpt from
Covering Kendall
An Excerpt from
An Heiress for All Seasons
by Sophie Jordan
An Excerpt from
Intrusion
by Charlotte Stein
An Excerpt from
Can’t Wait
by Jennifer Ryan
An Excerpt from
The Laws of Seduction
by Gwen Jones
An Excerpt from
Sinful Rewards 1
by Cynthia Sax
An Excerpt from
Sweet Cowboy Christmas
by Candis Terry
D
ERRICK
C
OLLINS HAD
two jobs today: to smile, and to sign the credit card receipts.
Derrick’s mama and grandma had been asking—well, nagging—him to join them for a trip to Noel, Washington, for the past couple of years. If they went on his Tuesday off from the Sharks, they might have fun, and he might not have to sign a hundred autographs before they left the parking lot. Hopefully he’d have the element of surprise; nobody expected a six-foot-five, three-hundred-pound male in a place he imagined was dominated by females 365 days a year.
The first week of December was prime time to spend a few hours in a snow-dusted holiday paradise. Noel was a little town a hundred miles east of Seattle that had arisen from the ruins of a former logging town. The city fathers believed that “all Christmas, all the time” might be a way to bring tourism and the resulting jobs to the area. Surprisingly enough, their idea paid off in a big way.
People came from around the world to visit Noel’s charming little shops, restaurants, and the town square, which boasted live holiday music year-round. The post office hand-cancelled hundreds of thousands of holiday cards with their distinctive postmark each year. The town’s location also helped with the wintry weather theme: Noel featured ice and snow from October until April each year. When it wasn’t snowing, there was a countdown-to-Christmas clock in the square, and Santa made an appearance on a raft in the river during the Christmas in July festival. It was fun for kids of all ages, including a defensive tackle for the Sharks and the two women who had made sure that he’d gotten his ass through college and who still kept him out of trouble.
Derrick’s mama and grandma were currently in the quilt shop, which appeared to be every crafter’s fantasy. He didn’t understand why they took a perfectly nice piece of fabric, cut it up, and sewed it together again, but they’d gotten involved in a program which provided “baby” quilts to low-income new mothers through one of the local hospitals. Mama and Grandma’s sewing machines were going day and night as a result, whenever they weren’t at church or watching his grandma’s beloved mixed martial arts broadcasts. He couldn’t figure out why a woman who identified as a pacifist couldn’t wait to watch some guy beat the crap out of another guy.
He strolled through the front door of the quilt shop and up to the counter. The woman behind the cash register looked a little scared, he thought. He towered over her. Maybe she was startled by his sheer bulk and his long dreadlocks.
“Hi. I’m Derrick Collins.” He nodded toward his mama and grandma. “They’re with me. Please make sure they buy whatever they want. Here’s my card for their tab.”
He handed her his platinum American Express card. She took it with shaking fingers. He noticed she was wearing a wedding set on the third finger of her left hand. Maybe he should encourage the cashier to call her husband and ask him if he knew who Derrick Collins was; a couple thousand bucks was walking-around money for him.
“May I . . . may I please see your ID?” she asked. She must not have been a football fan, Derrick thought.
“Sure,” he said. He held out his driver’s license to her.
She looked at the photo, glanced at the card once more, flipped it over to look at his signature, and said, “Thank you very much.”
“Thank you. And I meant it: whatever my mama and grandma want.”
She nodded. At the rate the women cutting fabric and gathering notions a few feet away were going, they were already up to four figures.
“Is there a place close by I could get something to drink?” he asked.
“There’s a coffee shop across the hall that also sells wine and beer,” she said.
“Mama,” he called out. “I’ll be across the hall if you need me.”
“Okay, honey. We won’t be long,” she said.
Sure, they wouldn’t. He grinned to himself. They were going to shop until they dropped, and they’d fall asleep in the back of his Escalade as he drove them home. He’d get a pizza and play some video games with a few of his teammates tonight. Mama and Grandma would eat a light dinner at his place and spend some time excitedly planning their next projects.
He pretended like they drove him nuts, but nothing could be further from the truth. He should buy them a little house somewhere peaceful in the Seattle area where they could have some privacy when they were in town, but he had to admit that he enjoyed their fussing over him. They spent most of football season in Seattle, staying in his downtown Bellevue condo. The rest of their year they spent in his tiny hometown in Alabama. They’d started visiting him a lot more often after his last relationship came to a disastrous end.
He’d dated Jada for three years. It wasn’t working, but he didn’t want to be alone. She started hinting around about a ring, and he finally summoned the guts to break it off. He should never have asked her for a second date. She didn’t like his mama or his grandma, and the feeling was mutual. She thought his money was hers to spend. She was more interested in the fact that she was welcomed into the most exclusive nightclubs with him than she was in actually being with him.
She was the latest in a long line of women who had no interest in who he was. All they wanted was what he—and his money—could do for them. He realized he was not alone with this problem; it happened to most professional athletes. He seemed to be having trouble figuring out how to fix it, however.
“Your picker’s broken, honey,” his grandma had said to him more than once. “You need a nice girl. You’re not going to meet your future wife and the mama of your children in a nightclub.”
“But, Grandma, it’s hard to meet women.” The second the words left his lips, he realized he’d really stepped in it. It wasn’t hard to meet women. It was hard to meet the
right
woman.
“Come to church with us. There’s plenty of nice girls there,” his mama said. “My friend Mavis’s granddaughter is such a sweet girl. She’s about to graduate from the University of Washington, and she already owns a business. If you don’t like her, there are several more young women you might enjoy spending time with there.”
“Oh, yes, Derrick. We’ll also ask the pastor to pray that you’ll find the right young lady,” his grandma said. He was cooked now. The information would hit the church’s prayer chain, someone would call or e-mail one of the local media, and he’d be the laughing stock of the Sharks’ locker room.
“Grandma, you don’t have to do that—”
“We want you to find the perfect young lady to join our family,” his grandma said. “We can’t wait to meet her.”
He couldn’t wait to meet her, either. If she existed at all.
H
OLLY
R
EYNOLDS PLUNKED
herself down on a bar stool behind the counter of Caffeine Addiction, Noel’s coffee shop. Baristas started their day before the sun came up, and her shift didn’t end for another two hours. The business was typically crowded with tourists and locals. The owners had introduced wine, beer, and small bites last year, which drove profits even higher. Today, things were surprisingly quiet. Even the people who hid out in the back of the shop to work on their laptops had something else to do this afternoon. She was caught up on the cleaning and the million-and-one things to do while working in a coffee shop, so she had a few minutes to herself as a result.
Holly was in her last year of nursing school and on holiday break from the UW. She worked at least two jobs year-round to pay her tuition. She was trying to get out of school with the minimum to repay in student loans; she was also living with her grandma in Noel for the next couple of months. The owner of Caffeine Addiction was happy to hire an experienced barista for Noel’s ultra-busy holiday season. Holly wasn’t thrilled about wearing an elf costume to work every morning, but money was money.
She reached into the backpack she stowed under the counter and pulled a small stack of letters out of it. Maybe she could read a few of them while the shop was slow and make a few notes about what she’d like to say to each letter writer in response. She opened the first letter with care, pulling out a folded sheet of notebook paper with crayoned drawings of Santa Claus, an animal the child probably thought looked like a reindeer but actually resembled a moose, and Santa’s sleigh.
Every November 1, the Noel Merchants’ Association erected a mailbox in the town square so local children could drop their letters to Santa Claus inside. Holly’s grandmother had been secretly answering those letters by hand for thirty years now. When the merchants’ association urged her grandma to join the twenty-first century and establish a website to answer the letters by e-mail, Holly’s grandmother refused.
“Kids wait for mail,” she’d said. “I can’t disappoint them.”
Unfortunately, Grandma was recovering from carpal tunnel surgery this year. She was unable to handwrite the letters, so she’d asked Holly to help her with Noel’s beloved holiday tradition.
