Happy Holidays! Today it’s my pleasure to feature Annie’s Gift (Rocky Hill Holiday Romance,
Book Five) by Barbara Bretton. There's lots of fun to be had including a scrumptious holiday recipe and a fabulous giveaway. So cozy in and enjoy a festive, yuletide treat!
Genre:
Paranormal romance
Publisher: Free Spirit Press
Date of Publication:
2017
ISBN: 1973271575
ASIN:
B077BF911C
Number of pages:
80
Word Count:
20,000
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
Book Description
Everyone
knows Christmas is a time for family but not for Harry Barnes. If he had his
way, he would close his eyes and not open them again until January second when
all the fuss was over. Once upon a time he had loved the season but that was a
long time ago. His wife Annie and daughter Erin are gone and he hasn’t spoken
to his only son, Sam, in years.
The
Christmas candlesticks he’d lovingly carved for Annie and their children are
buried in the attic under a thick layer of dust along with memories that could
break a man’s heart . . . if he still had one left to break.
After
years of living on military bases all around the world, Sam Barnes has moved
his family back home for keeps but they might as well still be in Japan or
England or Timbuktu for all the difference it makes. His father’s heart is
still closed to the idea of family and there is nothing Sam can do to change
it. Not even if the only thing his twelve-year-old daughter Riley wants for
Christmas is the grandfather she has never met.
But
then on a snowy Christmas Eve in Rocky Hill, Harry and Sam are visited by a
determined mother and daughter who have just a few earth hours to bring their
family together or lose them forever.
Let’s hear from the author…
I
love holidays. I love tradition. I especially love it when you can combine the
two at Christmas time. I love piling memory upon memory until the years are
nothing but a sweet blur of happy occasions spent with the people you love best
in the world.
Every
year I attend the candlelight tour of Rockingham, the Kingston NJ (formerly
Rocky Hill NJ) house where George Washington bade farewell to his troops after
the Revolutionary War ended. The docents are all in period costume. A woman in
a mobcap plays the harpsichord near the front room. Upstairs you can actually
touch the uniform worn by Washington’s aide de camp. If you close your eyes, I
swear you can hear the General’s voice ringing out over the bucolic New Jersey
countryside, peaceful now after years of bloody warfare.
The
kitchen isn’t part of the main house. It’s a small building off to the side
near the smokehouse. The rear wall is all hearth. Guides in long dresses and
white aprons hand you mugs of hot cider and offer spicy cookies piled high on
earthenware plates. Outside the air is crisp and December cold, but inside the
air is warm from the fire and filled with the delicious smells of nutmeg and
cinnamon and candle wax.
The
following Revolutionary War-era recipe has been adapted for our modern
kitchens.
Mulled Cider
Ingredients
1 gallon apple cider
2 sticks cinnamon
1/4 cup dark brown sugar (optional)
6 whole cloves
6 whole allspice
1 sliced lemon
Tie
cloves, allspice, and cinnamon sticks in a cheesecloth bag with kitchen string.
Combine cider, sugar (if using), and spice bag. Bring to a boil, reduce heat,
then simmer for fifteen minutes. Discard cheesecloth spice bag.
Serve
cider hot, floating lemon slices on the surface.
Enjoy!
He
heard a sound like autumn leaves crackling underfoot, and then felt a soft rush
of cinnamon-scented air as a small form appeared then disappeared right in
front of his eyes.
He
watched, paralyzed with fear and hope, as she took form one more time, looking
less like a hologram and more like a flesh and blood woman. The woman he had
loved since he was sixteen years old.
“Annie!”
Her name tore from his throat and spilled into the space between them. This was
his Annie, before sorrow and sickness had taken their toll.
Bubbles
of laughter danced in the air around her. "I did it! How about that,
Harry? I did it!"
He
reached for her hand but it was like grasping cotton candy. His brain was a
bowl of overcooked oatmeal. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
The
room began to spin. He could feel himself starting to go under and he put his
head between his knees.
“Low
blood sugar,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t miss that at all.”
“It’s
not low blood sugar,” he managed, gulping in some air. “I’m talking to a ghost.”
“If
you want to put it that way, I guess you are.”
What
other way was there to put it? He had buried his beloved wife six months ago
and now here she was in their living room acting like nothing had happened.
He
took another huge gulp of air then lifted his head.
“I’m
still here,” she said, her tone softening. “You can trust your senses.”
“Why?”
he asked, his disbelief beginning to show cracks. “How?”
She
spread her arms wide. “Look at this place! You’d never know it was Christmas
Eve.”
“It
doesn’t feel like Christmas Eve.”
“It
would if you put some effort into it. Put up a tree. String some lights.” She
aimed a sharp look in his direction. “Place the candles in the window where
they belong.”
“No.”
Her
brows darted into a scowl. “Did you forget your promise?”
“That
promise was made a long time ago. Things change.”
“Family
doesn’t.”
“I
don’t have a family anymore. When I lost you, I lost everything.”
She
reached out and for a second he imagined he felt the touch of her hand. But
that was crazy, wasn’t it? She was no more real than Santa Claus or Easter
Bunny.
“I’m
here because I love you,” she said. “And because you need me tonight.”
Tears
threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to believe.
“I
need you every night, Annie. That’s never changed.”
“But
tonight is the night you asked for me.”
One
moment he was standing there next to the refrigerator with a carton of brown
eggs in his hand.
The
next moment the eggs were on the floor in a yellow and white mess and his Annie
was in his arms.
He
had lived long enough to know that second chances didn’t happen often in life.
This
time he wasn’t going to let her go.
About the Author
Barbara
Bretton is the award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of fifty books. Her
titles have been published in twelve languages in over twenty countries by
Harlequin, Berkley, Crown, Pocket, and Free Spirit Press. When Barbara isn’t
writing, she can be found knitting, reading, and cooking in New Jersey with her
husband and a house filled with pets.
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1 comment:
This looks like a great Christmas read.
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