The Christmas Keeper Read online

  PRAISE FOR JENN McKINLAY’S ROMANCES

  “Jenn McKinlay writes sexy, funny romances that will leave you begging for more!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis

  “Funny, charming, and heart-stoppingly romantic. Jenn McKinlay is a rising star.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jaci Burton

  “McKinlay delivers heartwarming humor at its finest.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Lori Wilde

  “Clever writing, laugh-out-loud humor, and a sizzling romance. This one is a keeper.”

  —USA Today bestselling author Delores Fossen

  “A beautifully written love letter to the romance genre from someone who understands just how important these books are to their readers.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Enchants from the very first page. . . . A sparkling gem of a book that is sure to lift your spirits!”

  —RT Book Reviews (top pick)

  “Funny and sweet. . . . A book to enjoy.”

  —USA Today

  “A sweet, endearing, heartwarming read that is perfect for the holidays.”

  —Harlequin Junkie

  Titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Happily Ever After Romances

  THE GOOD ONES

  THE CHRISTMAS KEEPER

  Bluff Point Romances

  ABOUT A DOG

  BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE

  EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY

  Cupcake Bakery Mysteries

  SPRINKLE WITH MURDER

  BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF

  DEATH BY THE DOZEN

  RED VELVET REVENGE

  GOING, GOING, GANACHE

  SUGAR AND ICED

  DARK CHOCOLATE DEMISE

  VANILLA BEANED

  CARAMEL CRUSH

  WEDDING CAKE CRUMBLE

  DYING FOR DEVIL’S FOOD

  Library Lover’s Mysteries

  BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

  DUE OR DIE

  BOOK, LINE, AND SINKER

  READ IT AND WEEP

  ON BORROWED TIME

  A LIKELY STORY

  BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

  DEATH IN THE STACKS

  HITTING THE BOOKS

  WORD TO THE WISE

  Hat Shop Mysteries

  CLOCHE AND DAGGER

  DEATH OF A MAD HATTER

  AT THE DROP OF A HAT

  COPY CAP MURDER

  ASSAULT AND BERET

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf

  Excerpt from Paris Is Always a Good Idea by Jenn McKinlay copyright © 2019 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780451492463

  First Edition: October 2019

  Cover art: cowboy leading horse by David Aaron Troy/Getty Images

  Cover design by Katie Anderson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  For my mom, Susan Norris McKinlay: thank you for always making Christmas, and every holiday, so magical. Love you forever.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This was such a fun book to write, and I had so many people help it come into being that I’m hoping I don’t forget anyone. So here goes. I am very fortunate to have a plot group that gleefully helps me rewrite and revise my ideas until I’ve sufficiently tortured my characters. Hugs and high fives to Kate Carlisle and Paige Shelton! They are both brilliant authors, and I feel very lucky to call them my friends.

  Also, I so appreciate the enthusiasm of my editor, associate editor, and agent—Kate Seaver, Sarah Blumenstock, and Christina Hogrebe—who cheer me along through the entire process, from the original idea all the way to the finished book. I swear I could not get there without the three of you. Special thanks to the team at Berkley, who are amazing at making all the stuff happen: Jessica Mangicaro, Fareeda Bullert, Tara O’Connor, Brittanie Black, Katie Anderson, and Stacy Anderson.

  Special thanks to my friend author Beth Kendrick (who is also a doctor), whose brilliance helped me to understand how to write about head traumas accurately. Any mistakes are mine, all mine!

  Lastly, to my fam—the Hub and the Hooligans—thank you so much for making every day a laughter-filled adventure. Truly, I am so blessed to have you three in my life. But also, thank you for Maktao, Shukuru, and Esampu. When I asked for an elephant for my birthday, well, you three certainly delivered, and I am now the foster mama of these babies at the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust. Watching their shenanigans on Instagram has brought me great joy!

  For anyone interested, there are amazing groups out there supporting wildlife, and I urge you to find an organization with a solid reputation that will allow you to foster an animal in need (Hub got to name a sea turtle for his birthday). There really is no greater feeling in the world than to know you’re making a difference, even if it’s just a little one.

  Happy holidays and happy reading, everyone!

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Jenn McKinlay’s Romances

  Titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Excerpt from Paris is Always a Good Idea

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  She had never believed in love. Maybe for others but not for her. But then he smiled at her and it was as if she’d found a piece of herself that she didn’t know was missing. When he took her in his arms and held her close, she knew that for the first time in her life, she was home.

  SAVANNAH Wilson closed the book and sighed. No one, but no one, wrote a love story tha
t hit her in all the feels like Destiny Swann did. The woman plucked her heartstrings like a virtuoso playing a sonata.

  “Savy, come on,” Maisy Kelly said as she entered the room. She slapped Savannah’s feet off the coffee table, grabbed her arm, and hauled her up to stand, which was no small feat given that Maisy was the short side of petite and Savannah was more Amazonian in height and build.

  “I’m reading,” Savannah said. She held up her book. “Isn’t that sacred time? You own a bookstore; I would think you of all people would respect that.”

  Maisy glanced at the book. Then she crossed her hands over her heart and said, “Oh, Her One and Only, that’s one of my favorite Destiny Swann books. I totally get it, I do, but you’re my sous-chef, and I need you in the kitchen. Besides, you shouldn’t be hiding in the parlor when we have a house full of people coming for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “I’m not hiding. I’m just not very good company right now,” Savannah said. She tossed the book onto the coffee table.

  “Work stuff?” Maisy asked. She tipped her head to the side and studied Savy through the black-framed rectangular glasses she always wore.

  “Yes, but it’s not about the bookstore. It’s stuff about my old job in New York, and I don’t want to talk about it,” Savy said. “Thus, the book.”

  “Escapism 101?”

  “I’m getting an A,” she said. “Although, Swann does set the bar pretty high in the hero department. I mean what man could possibly live up to Tag McAllister? He’s smart, kind, devoted to his grandmother, and completely swoon-worthy.”

  “Maisy, where do you want me to put my famous smashed potatoes with green chilies?” Joaquin Solis called from the doorway.

  Maisy glanced at him and then turned toward Savannah with her eyebrows raised above the frames of her glasses as if to say, Him. Savannah shook her head. It made her long wavy red hair, which she’d twisted into a sloppy knot on the top of her head, unravel and fall down around her shoulders. She glanced at the man in the doorway.

  He was watching her as if he could happily do so for the rest of the day, never mind the Crock-Pot of mashed potatoes he held in his hands. This little bit of domesticity only added to the package of hotness that was Joaquin Solis, but Savannah was immune to him. Mostly.

  She could, in a completely objective way, acknowledge that he had a certain something, sort of like acknowledging that diamonds were sparkly and chocolate was yummy. It didn’t mean she was going to partake of either and break her bank account or add some squish to her middle. She had greater willpower than that. Still, Joaquin, Quino to his friends, was the sort of man who made girls with good intentions do naughty things and not regret it one little bit.

  Tall with broad shoulders, he sported a thick thatch of dark hair, chiseled features, and eyes so dark they appeared bottomless. Joaquin was the sort of man women noticed. If it wasn’t his rugged good looks and honed physique, it was his wicked sense of humor and flirty ways that made ladies fan themselves when he walked by with a casual wink and his charmer’s grin. It worked on every female who crossed his path, Savannah had noticed—every one except Savannah.

  While she could admit that he was a fine specimen of a man, she had less than no interest in getting tangled up with Quino Solis. He was as entrenched in Fairdale as the old maple trees on the town green. Which was saying something, since their trunks were the size of small cars, as they’d been there since the founding fathers had declared Fairdale a town and planted them in an attempt to tame this wild patch of earth in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. Joaquin was like those trees—the roots ran deep.

  He owned the Shadow Pine Stables on the outskirts of Fairdale, where he offered trail rides and riding lessons and worked with special-needs kids using equine therapy. He was never going to leave this town he loved, and Savannah had no intention of staying. Anything that happened between them was just flirting with heartbreak, most likely hers, and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

  She was leaving Fairdale as soon as she got her old job in Manhattan back and no ridonkulously hot stable boy was going to change her career trajectory. She was 100 percent immune to him—okay, more like 95 percent. But she figured if she stayed out of his gravitational pull, she’d be fine.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Maisy said under her breath. She tossed her short dark curls and turned away, but not before Savannah retorted, “Neither do you. You’re marrying his best friend but that does not mean you are an expert on all things Quino.”

  “I don’t need to be,” Maisy said. “He is legendary in Fairdale.”

  Savy rolled her eyes. Like she cared if Joaquin had dated every available woman in their quaint college town of seventy-five thousand.

  “I’ll take those, Quino,” Maisy said. She scooped the Crock-Pot out of his hands and swept from the room, leaving Savannah and Joaquin alone. Subtle, Maisy was not.

  Savannah would have cursed her friend, but Maisy had been doing this for months, pushing the two of them together, clearly hoping to start a romance between them that would prevent Savy from returning to New York. Not gonna happen.

  An awkward silence filled the room. At least for Savannah it was awkward. Joaquin just shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and studied her in a way that made her feel like he really saw her and that he liked what he saw. It was too much. He was too much.

  She twisted her hair back up into its sloppy knot and he tipped his head to the side as he watched her. He seemed fascinated. It made Savy self-conscious, which never happened. Being taller than average with fiery red hair, freckles, and broad features, she was used to being overlooked as unfeminine, more handsome than pretty. She was fine with it as she liked getting by on her brains more than her looks, but Joaquin never overlooked her. She faced him, crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to stare him down. This was a mistake.

  He looked amused as he met her gaze. As if she was issuing him a challenge and he was eager to accept it.

  “Quit looking at me like that,” he said. The twinkle in his eye let her know he was teasing but she stepped in it anyway.

  “Like what?”

  “You know.”

  “I assure you, I don’t.”

  “Like you want me to kiss you,” he said. His gaze moved to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. It made her heart beat a little faster. She ignored it.

  “What?” she scoffed. “Did you fall off your horse and hit your head? I do not want you to kiss me.”

  “No?” he asked.

  He was the picture of innocence. Meanwhile Savy could feel her face heat up, because in fact she had thought about him kissing her. Not right now, but the idea might have flashed through her mind once; okay, twice; all right, probably five or more times since she’d met him, but that was only because she hadn’t been on a date in months and her hormones were wreaking havoc with her common sense.

  “No.” The word fired out of her like a bullet shot from a gun.

  “Huh,” he said. His gaze dropped back to her mouth. “My mistake.”

  “I’ll say it is.” She tried to sound indignant but the attempt was shaky at best.

  She marched stiffly past him, not giving him a chance to back up as she brushed by his muscle-hardened shoulder. A quick glance up and her gaze met his. His dark eyes were amused but they were also full of desire.

  It occurred to Savy that all she had to do was rise up on her toes, twine her arms about his neck, and kiss him and she could finally put to rest the curiosity she had about the feel of those full lips against hers. Would his kiss be soft or firm, gentle or rough? Would he hold her low and tight or high and loose? Would he bury his fingers in her hair while his mouth plundered hers, making it bruised from the impact of his kiss?

  Her thoughts must have been reflected upon her face, because the teasing glint left his eyes and he let out an unst
eady breath. His voice when he spoke dropped an entire octave and was little more than a growl when he said, “You really need to stop looking at me like that.”

  Savy felt a pull in her lower belly as strongly as if he had hooked a finger in her waistband and was drawing her in close. From the overheated look in his eyes, she knew he’d most definitely been thinking about kissing her. The attraction between them had its own sizzle and zip and she knew if she gave in to it, she was going to get burned. She quickly stepped away.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. She made an exaggerated shrug. “I was just thinking about how badly my toilet needs a good scrubbing.”

  Joaquin blinked at her and then he tipped his head back and laughed. Full lips parting over white teeth in a deep masculine chuckle that made her want to laugh in return. Whatever he’d been expecting that clearly wasn’t it.

  Savy took some satisfaction there, but the grin he sent her was full of admiration with a nice dose of heat, making it nearly irresistible. She fought the urge to fan herself as she hurried to the kitchen to help Maisy with dinner, and maybe while there, she’d just crawl into the freezer until her body temperature went down.

  * * *

  * * *

  THE countdown has begun,” Ryder Copeland said as he handed Quino a beer. They were standing outside Ryder’s half-restored Victorian house in the chilly midday air because Ryder thought deep-frying a fourteen-pound turkey was the coolest thing ever.

  “What are you counting down?” Quino asked. “How long until Maisy kicks your butt for drying out her bird?”

  “Ha ha,” Ryder said. He gestured to the bird that was sitting in a plastic tub on the wrought iron table beside them. “This poultry is going to be amazing. Just look at him.”

  “He looks like Deadweight Dougie,” Quino said. “Same male-pattern baldness and beer gut.”

  Ryder looked at the bird, then he picked it up under the wings and made it dance across the container. “He’s got about the same sense of rhythm, too.”