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    Underneath My Christmas Tree: Love in a Small Town, #6
    Underneath My Christmas Tree: Love in a Small Town, #6
    Underneath My Christmas Tree: Love in a Small Town, #6
    Ebook88 pages1 hour

    Underneath My Christmas Tree: Love in a Small Town, #6

    By Tawdra Kandle

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Welcome to Burton, a small town just west of Savannah where the men are sexy, the women are sassy and happily-ever-afters are a specialty of the house.

    Elizabeth

    I have one goal in mind for this holiday season: ignore it. With my complicated family, non-existent love life and demanding job, skipping Christmas seems like the best plan ever.

    Until a Christmas tree lot pops up just outside my office, run by the hot and hunky Trent Wagner. 

    Trent

    I took this job because I needed to get away from my small Georgia hometown. Hauling a truckload of Douglas firs and blue spruces from my uncle's farm in Michigan to sell in Florida sounded like the perfect plan to find the space I need to finally get my life on track. I didn't plan on the instant sparks of attraction between us. 

    But no matter how hard I fight that temptation, no matter how much she ignores our spark, something unexpected—and wonderful—may show up beneath the Christmas tree this year.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTawdra Kandle
    Release dateJan 7, 2016
    ISBN9781524287481
    Underneath My Christmas Tree: Love in a Small Town, #6
    Author

    Tawdra Kandle

    Tawdra Kandle writes romance, in just about all its forms. She loves unlikely pairings, strong women, sexy guys, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. Her books run from YA paranormal romance through NA paranormal and contemporary romance to adult contemporary and paramystery romance. She lives in central Florida with a husband, kids, sweet pup and too many cats. And yeah, she rocks purple hair.

    Read more from Tawdra Kandle

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      Book preview

      Underneath My Christmas Tree - Tawdra Kandle

      1

      Friday before Thanksgiving

      Elizabeth

      Hey! Lady, didn’t you hear me knocking?

      With no little effort, I pulled my eyes from the computer screen and looked toward my office door, frowning. What? No. I’m sorry, what do you want?

      For the millionth time, I kicked myself for not hiring a secretary, let alone a receptionist. When Darcy had talked me into moving to Florida to be her law partner, she’d also convinced me that with our computer skills, we didn’t need to hire an office staff yet. Pretty sure she was wrong.

      The man standing in the doorway was staring at me as though I’d lost my mind. He was in jeans so faded they were barely blue and so tight they didn’t leave much to my imagination. His gray T-shirt fit pretty damn well, too. But it was the scowl on his face that grabbed my attention.

      Is that your Beamer out there in the parking lot? He hooked a thumb in the direction of building’s front door.

      Uh, well, yes, if you mean the dark blue one. Oh, God, did you hit it? Dismay filled me; I didn’t have time to deal with a wrecked car today.

      No, I didn’t hit it. If it were possible, the guy looked even less friendly. More annoyed. It’s in the way.

      I’m sorry, in the way of what now? My finger twitched over the keyboard. I really needed to get this motion finished.

      He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and leaned against the door jam. We’re trying to set up the tent for the trees, and your car is the only one that wasn’t moved.

      A vague memory sparked in my mind of an email from Logan Holt, reminding all of his building’s tenants to park on the side instead of out front. Was that today?

      Trees? I blinked at the man in my doorway.

      Christmas trees. He spoke slowly, as though to help me understand. We’re selling Christmas trees. We drove all the way down from Michigan, we got a tent to put up and a tractor-trailer full of trees, and your car is the only one in our way. Can you move it?

      I looked down at the computer screen. Damn, it’s almost four. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I fought to keep my hands from shaking with it. Listen, I’m sorry about that. About the car. But I’m under a time crunch here. I have to have this motion finished and delivered to the judge’s office in forty-five minutes, or I’m screwed. The keys are in my purse, hanging on the hook behind that door. Can you possibly move it for me?

      The man squinted at me. You want me to go through your handbag and drive your car?

      I tossed up my hands. Listen, buddy, right now, this motion is all I can think about. Go through my purse. Help yourself to any cash. Check out all my personal stuff. Tampons are in the zippered pocket. Do whatever you need to do, but just let me finish this.

      He stared at me a minute more, and I made a noise in the back of my throat meant to convey exasperation before I turned my attention back to the computer screen. In one part of my distracted consciousness, I heard him muttering to himself as he dug through my purse, but I tuned out all other noise and focused.

      Thirty minutes later, I leaned over and tugged the final page from the printer tray. Shrugging into my suit jacket—Judge Gardiner was a stickler for propriety in all things—I grabbed my handbag from the hook behind the door and spent the next two minutes digging through it, looking for my car keys before I remembered.

      Damn.

      I slammed my office door behind me, not bothering to lock it. I wasn’t going to be gone long, and Crystal Cove wasn’t exactly the crime capital of Florida. Plus Logan and his admin were still upstairs, and the people who worked in the title company office here on the first floor would be around for a while longer.

      Sliding sunglasses over my eyes, I stepped outside, and for a moment, I was disoriented: the warmth of late afternoon confirmed that I was still in Florida, but the almost overwhelming scent of pine made me feel like Vermont might’ve moved in next door. Christmas trees were everywhere: under the huge tent that took up most of our parking lot, leaning against the front of our building and some still in the truck. Two men were hefting the trees onto their shoulders and moving them into the tent.

      I glanced around, looking for the guy who’d taken my keys. When I finally spotted him in the far corner of the tent, working the stump of a six-footer into the square of a makeshift stand, I practically sprinted over to him.

      Hey. I need my keys. I thrust out of my hand, as though he might simply deposit them there.

      He grunted and looked at me over his shoulder, that same frown from earlier still wrinkling his forehead. Huh? What’re you talking about? Joe brought you back your keys.

      I shook my head. I don’t know who Joe is, but no one returned them. And I’m in a hurry. I need to get—

      Yeah, yeah, to the courthouse. He gave the tree a small shake, testing its stability, I guessed, and then pushed himself to stand. I realized he was a good head taller than me. I remember. I moved your car, and then I gave Joe the keys and told him to run them back inside to you.

      He didn’t. Nervous tension made me feel like I was about to jump out of my skin, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

      Are you sure? I mean, you were pretty much zoned out when I came in, so maybe he dropped them on your desk and you didn’t even notice.

      A moment of doubt flittered over me, but I shook my head. No, I would’ve seen him. And the keys weren’t there. I didn’t think they were, anyway.

      Well, hell. He scowled even more, which I hadn’t thought was possible. He must’ve gotten sidetracked and forgot.

      "Okay, fine. It happens. I get

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