A Very Crimson Christmas. Michelle Major
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“Now you’re older.”
Natalie continued to stare at him, arms crossed, the toe of her purple clog tapping on the floor.
“And smarter.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to Austin,” she said after a moment. “He’s all I’ve got.”
She didn’t meet his gaze as she said the words, but he could see how much they cost her. He felt a rush of emotion and a spark of envy. It was irrational and unfair, but Liam didn’t have anything—anyone—so precious to him in his life. He hadn’t since he’d left Crimson.
“I’ll keep him safe, Natalie.” He couldn’t stop himself from touching her, just a finger on the delicate bone at her wrist. “I’ll keep both of you safe.”
She went still as his finger grazed her skin. “I’m overreacting,” she said after a moment, shifting away from his touch. “It will be fun. Thank you for including us.” The words were as stiff as her body language, but Liam didn’t press her on it. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, he wanted from Natalie again—but he had an entire holiday season to figure it out.
* * *
Crimson, Colorado: Finding home—and forever—in the West
A Very Crimson
Christmas
Michelle Major
MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. She’s grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at www.michellemajor.com.
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To Wendy. Thanks for being a fabulous friend and for loving the Indian buffet as much as I do.
Contents
Natalie Holt blinked open one eye and slapped her hand against the alarm clock blaring out heavy metal music. Heavy metal wasn’t typically popular in the mountains, but she’d managed to tune in to a college station situated a few towns over from where she lived in Crimson, Colorado.
Not her preference, but she slept through every other genre from classical to country to talk radio. Even the annoying default alarm buzz couldn’t jolt her awake these days. Probably a result of averaging about four hours of sleep each night.
Last night had been closer to three hours since she’d stayed up to finish the month-end medical billing for the senior living center where she worked. She’d been lucky to pick up the extra position—her official third job. She needed the money but couldn’t afford to take any more time away from her nine-year-old son, Austin. A decent night’s sleep was one of the few expendable items on her schedule.
Austin was the best thing in her life, and Natalie would manage through bleary-eyed sleep deprivation or walk on hot coals if it meant keeping him safe. Even if she collapsed from utter exhaustion in the process.
But she