Holiday Serenade, The

The Holiday Serenade

Professional gambler Rhett Butler Blaylock is everything Abbie Maven doesn’t want in a man—flamboyant, flashy, and unreserved. After a horrible experience in her youth, she has spent her life trying to make all the right choices, pouring her energy into being the best possible single mother to her son. But though Rhett doesn’t seem to be husband and stepfather material, he awakens emotions in her that are as frightening as they are powerful. They had a fling she’s never forgotten, and now he has followed her to Dare Valley, Colorado with the intention of winning back her heart…this time, forever.

Rhett’s determined to show Abbie he can be the man of her dreams. He’ll do whatever it takes for the woman he loves, including giving up his flamboyant lifestyle and bad–boy image. As Christmas approaches, he prepares a special surprise for her, hoping the holiday will work its magic and grant him a miracle. Will his holiday serenade heal Abbie’s heart and convince her to give love a second chance?

PRAISE FOR AVA MILES’ DARE VALLEY SERIES

NORA ROBERTS LAND

"It {NORA ROBERTS LAND} captures the best of what I love in a Nora Roberts novel…" —BlogCritics

“…finding love like in the pages of a Nora Roberts story.” —Publisher’s Weekly WW Ladies Book Club

"Debut author Ava Miles combines small–town romance with big–world issues in a full–bodied romance fiction in the first of the Dare Valley series…and paints a wonderful idyllic setting for this small–town series with great characters." —USA Today, Happily Ever After

"Ava Miles's debut novel is warm, funny, and wholly entertaining." —Joyfully Reviewed

FRENCH ROAST

"An entertaining ride…{and) a full–bodied romance." —Readers’ Favorite

“Her engaging story and characters kept me turning the pages.” —Bookfan

THE GRAND OPENING

“Ava Miles’ Dare Valley world is a wonderful place to visit…”—Tome Tender

“The latest book in the Dare Valley series is a continuation of love, family, and romance.” —Mary J. Gramlich

A serenade for the ages…

And then the crowd seemed to part, and her fairy tale prince appeared. He wore gray dress pants and a white dress coat with a white shirt underneath. The gray silk tie had sparkles on it, something only Rhett could pull off. He wasn’t truly in a Christmas costume, but it didn’t matter. It was the most dressed up she’d ever seen him. And her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

“Don’t make the man suffer much longer,” Jill suggested, giving her a squeeze. “It’s Christmas. Time to make up. Let’s go, girls,” she said to the others.

“Wait,” Abbie called after them, but they just smiled and continued on their way.

Rhett bowed grandly in front of her. When he straightened, he plucked a red rose from his lapel and extended it to her. “Merry Christmas, Abbie.”

As she took the rose, part of her wished she wasn’t wearing white gloves. She wanted to run her fingers over the velvety petals. Instead, she brought it to her nose. “My goodness, this one is fragrant.”

That cocky smile flashed across his face. “What can I say? This hotel carries great flowers.”

And since ordering the flowers fell under her purview, she appreciated the compliment.

“So,” he continued, his golden eyes as inviting as shiny tree ornaments, “do you like it? I missed you so badly last Christmas that I wanted to celebrate being together this year. And I know you like elegant parties.”

She bit her tongue as she struggled with what to say. “Rhett, this is…lovely…more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But you know we’re not a couple.”

His smile lost a few watts of its power. “Sure we are. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

To my brother, Greg, for being willing to share his own creative talents with me and for his unfailing support in this new journey I’m on. Here’s to always supporting each other.

And to my divine entourage, who makes my heart sing.

Acknowledgements

Gratitude is the open door to abundance, and these are the people who open that door for me:

My editor, the amazing and always supportive, Angela Polidoro; my incredible assistant, Maggie Mae Gallagher; Gregory Stewart for the Dare Valley map and so much more; the Killion Group for the cover art; my copy editor, Dana Bigelow; my eformatter, Meredith Bond; Bemis Promotions for my website; Julija Bakovic for ongoing proofing and her love of my stories; and Dr. Tabitha King for her help on all things medical like always.

T.F. For being my holiday serenade.

To all of you readers, who continue to enjoy all of the quirky characters and heartwarming stories of Dare Valley. Thank you for reading!

Let your heart be filled with cheer,
Darlin’, your Holiday Serenade is here.

It lets me tell you that I want you,
That you’re my Christmas dream come true,
That I don’t see anyone now but you.

Let the snow fall on your thick, dark hair,
Let the winter wind touch your cheek like I want to.

Come cozy up by the fire with me,
Under the lights of our own Christmas tree.

Let me love you,
Serenade you,
My Christmas dream come true.

Country Singer Rye Crenshaw’s Special Christmas Release, “The Holiday Serenade”

Lyrics by World Series of Poker Champion, Rhett Butler Blaylock

Chapter 1

U
sually Abbie Maven adored the way Christmas allowed her to get her Martha Stewart on by decorating and baking her heart out.

Usually she loved sharing the thirteen different types of cookies she made with family and friends, everything from star–shaped sugar cookies dotted with candy silver balls to grinning gingerbread men.

Usually
she didn’t have a crazy cowboy and badass poker player named Rhett Butler Blaylock in her kitchen popping cookies into his mouth faster than the Cookie Monster while cracking obscene jokes from a barstool in front of her kitchen island.

“You know, Abbie,” he murmured, leaning on the tan granite countertop and waggling his ash–brown brows, “it seems downright chauvinistic of you to make only gingerbread
men.
Maybe you should add breasts to some of these for balance.”

Like that would ever happen in her kitchen, with its caramel–colored cabinets and stainless steel appliances, now dotted with vintage Christmas cards of red–cheeked Santas, frolicking reindeer, and luminous angels.

Her sixteen–year–old son, Dustin, hooted with laughter from his barstool beside Rhett. She even saw her brother, Mac, and his fiancé, Peggy, standing to her right, bite their lips as if they were trying not to join in on the hilarity. Thank goodness Peggy’s eight–year–old son, Keith, was in the other room watching the claymation version of
Rudolph The Red–Nosed Reindeer
, which everyone agreed was disturbing. This was so not the PG–rated cookie baking experience she preferred. Especially when everyone was only
watching
her work in the kitchen, the biggest hangout room in the house. They’d complained that making gingerbread men was too hard. Wimps.

The urge to squirt the egg–white gingerbread frosting onto Rhett’s red thermal shirt and jeans came over her, but better sense prevailed. Her action might prompt him to strip his shirt off in her kitchen, and frankly, she wouldn’t be able to draw a straight line with her frosting if he did that. The man had the best chest she’d ever seen—not that she’d seen many outside of the movies and firemen calendars.

Instead she gestured toward the remaining dough in the bowl, which gave off that special gingerbread scent she loved, redolent of coffee and spice. “Since your poker babes have such remarkable attributes, perhaps you should be the one to shape some female cookies?”

He must have caught the challenge in her eyes. Their ongoing battle over his poker entourage was one of the main reasons why she’d refused to renew their relationship when he moved to her new town of Dare Valley, Colorado, months ago with the sole purpose of getting her to agree to marry him. He’d played poker in overseas venues for a year after she broke off their secret relationship. He’d returned six months ago, declaring his love for her and saying he wouldn’t ever leave her again. And, shockingly, he’d stuck by that vow.

Dustin angled his head to the right and flashed a smile at their ongoing banter, and suddenly he reminded her of his father, a man whom she’d believed to be sincere and kind until he'd blown that illusion to smithereens.

Trusting men hadn’t been her strong suit since then. Add in the fact that she and Rhett were still ill–suited beyond words, and she hadn’t caved to Rhett’s dogged pursuit.

If there was one thing Abbie had learned to value in life, it was order. Okay, and control, but that made her sound like a control freak, which she was so not. Mostly.

“I just might do that,” Rhett replied, pinching some of the dough out of her holiday Christmas bowl and rolling it into a ball.

“Sweet!” her son cried, jumping up from the bar stool right in front of her kitchen island like he was preparing to make Playboy centerfold gingerbread cookies, a teenager’s Christmas fantasy.

Like she would
ever
allow that to happen in her home.

Rhett put a hand on Dustin’s shoulder, and he eased back into his chair, about as deflated as an undercooked soufflé.

“Maybe we can just put a dress on them,” Rhett said. “That way your mama can still maintain her dignity, Dustin.”

The compliment did little to diffuse her. As a poker player, and a flamboyant one at that, Rhett had created a rough–and–tumble image for his act. Every time he played poker, he was accompanied by his poker babes—two women clad in tight, low–cut, often sequined gowns, with death–defying cleavage.

Few knew these women were total brainiacs who worked as his scouts. Frankly, she didn’t care that they both had MBAs from Harvard and that he’d never been anything but professional with them.

They were
embarr–a–ssing,
and she didn’t want them anywhere near
her son.

Plus, how could Rhett expect her to walk into a poker tournament with him if his poker babes were flanking them? Abbie wore conservative Ann Taylor suits most days. She was a single mother. Being respected and respectable was important to her, and she’d fought hard for it. She wasn’t about to give it up.

Especially after the horrible way in which Dustin had been conceived when she was just eighteen. Why couldn’t he understand that?

Peggy dropped a plastic container filled with the silver balls in front of Rhett. “If you’re going to make women with dresses, this might work for sequins.”

Abbie gave her future sister–in–law a smile of genuine appreciation. Though there had been some bumps in their relationship, she and Peggy got along pretty well now. True, they didn’t always understand one another. As Dare Valley’s deputy sheriff, Peggy was a cop to the core, and Abbie really did aspire to be Martha Stewart. But they shared a more important commonality—they were both single mothers.