His Christmas Bride. Dana Corbit

felt tired, and they weren’t even elbow-deep in cookie dough yet. Christmas always had been a trying experience for Dylan and his brothers. Their mother had made each celebration bigger, better and brighter than the last as she tried to make up for her husband’s absence in the boys’ lives. Dylan knew from experience that nothing could make up for that.

      Now his mother wanted to share the humiliating, sideshow event with the new in-laws. She acted as if the two families had been joined in marriage, instead of just his older brother and Jenna’s baby sister. If only he could have found another optometry conference to attend, he could have avoided this year’s festivities and the holiday guests with a legitimate-sounding excuse.

      When his mother started describing the thirty or so goodie platters they would make for church friends and neighbors, Dylan cleared his throat.

      “You know, Mom, maybe we should consider cutting back on the baking this year. Maybe make fewer platters. Or just give gifts from your bakery.”

      “Give gifts from the shop?”

      From her incredulous tone, he would have thought he’d just suggested giving day-old bread from the supermarket as gifts rather than the scrumptious, designer cakes his mother created at her bakery, Amy’s Elite Treats.

      “And why would we cut back, anyway?” She waved away his suggestion with a brush of her fingers through the air. “We have more hands in the kitchen this year.”

      That’s the point, he wanted to say. Fewer recipients would mean less baking and less time spent with all those extra hands. “Just a thought.”

      His mother rolled her eyes, turning back to the group. “Then Monday night we have tickets to the see The Nutcracker. Third row.” She shot her arm into the air as if she’d just won a medal. “And then we’ll take a car tour to see the Festival of Lights.”

      Dylan’s frustration built with each event his mother listed. Why couldn’t she see that all this busyness had nothing to do with the true meaning of Christmas? And of all the women in this world, why had Matthew chosen to marry a Scott sister? Okay, he would concede that point. Haley and Matthew were too perfect together for God not to have planned that one.

      But if Matthew had married someone else, they could have been enduring these excessive Christmas festivities with another family. Instead of this one. Now he would have to spend a miserable holiday trying to avoid the one person who’d always been able to send his stable life crumbling into invisible fault line: Jenna. Always Jenna.

      She represented his life’s biggest disappointment—the person he’d always loved who’d always been out of reach. She’d made him question everything he knew to be true: his values and even his faith. How could he not when he’d always been so certain that God intended them to be together? Even now, after working as hard to forget her as he had to finish his degree, he could no more prevent his gaze from shifting her way than he could have given time a lunch break.

      At twenty-six, she looked impossibly young with all that caramel-colored hair wrangled into a long ponytail. The only difference between the way she’d worn it in junior high and the style now was the longer bangs off to one side. Her face was thinner now, too, but that only magnified the impact of the high cheekbones and generous lips that were Scott family traits. She was painfully, perfectly beautiful.

      Stop. He looked from side to side to be certain he hadn’t said that aloud. After four years he should have been unaffected by those eyes, the color of iced tea, and that skin, like a porcelain doll.

      He hated that she still had such an effect on him. Why, around her, had he always been like a kid with a milk allergy who couldn’t resist a scoop of ice cream? Would he ever be able to look at her and feel innocuous familiarity and nothing more? Because the answer to that question could incriminate him, Dylan was grateful to Jenna for the night she’d pressed his hand regarding their friendship.

      It wasn’t the first time Jenna had behaved selfishly—far from it—but it was different from the rest. After he’d spent months scraping up the courage to ask her on a date, he’d finally asked and she’d accepted. Then, as he was leaving for his five-hour trip to the Michigan State campus to meet her, she’d called to reschedule their “buddies’ weekend” because some rugby player had asked her to a movie.

      In that moment, when the proverbial straw broke the camel’s back, he’d told her he was finished with her. He wouldn’t be her friend anymore. If not for that night, he might still be there, serving as her longsuffering best friend and always wishing for more.

      “Dylan, are you listening?”

      He shifted, glancing up to see his mother watching him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Sure, Mom.” At least he was now.

      “After church Sunday, we can get started on the Christmas-ornament project.” Amy turned to explain to the Scotts. “We do one every year. We need to find a new service project, too.”

      She paused finally, tapping her head with her index finger as though wondering if she’d forgotten anything. “Oh. Right. Rehearsal for Christmas Eve services. It’s our tradition to sing together in the choir, and I’m sure Matthew could use the extra voices.”

      Matthew appeared apologetic as he turned to his wife’s sisters. “I can always use every available voice.” He took his new bride’s hand. “I’ve already recruited one Scott sister for the choir.”

      “As if I had a choice,” Haley offered with a wink.

      “Now for the events on Christmas Day,” his mother began again.

      Amy Warren must not have heard Logan’s sigh because she prattled on, describing the elaborate Christmas dinner they would share. Dylan tuned out again, his attention pulled by something as strong as gravity toward the face he had no business looking at, the person who was toxic to his best interests.

      Jenna caught his gaze this time, pink lips lifting in a tentative grin. Ignoring the jolt he would probably always feel when she smiled at him, he turned away from her and focused on his mother again. Jenna wanted things between them to be the same as they’d always been. She’d made that clear enough in a few letters and during a stilted conversation at the wedding. But their relationship could never be the same.

      They were different people. At least he was. He was an adult now, a respected member of the Markston community, not the everyman she’d found so easy to overlook. And this new Dylan Warren refused to allow Jenna Scott to get under his skin again.

      Dylan planned to keep his distance from her during this visit just as he had for the past four years, just as he had at the wedding. Although he still felt guilty for using his graduate studies as an excuse to avoid going to Michigan for her father’s funeral nearly two years before, he couldn’t think about that now, not when he needed to focus on giving her a wide berth during her visit. If he could avoid caving in to her attempts to get close to him for the next two weeks, maybe he could finally exorcise her from his heart for good and get on with his life.

      His plan in place, Dylan sneaked another look at Jenna to test his resolve. Immediately he realized his mistake. As she listened to his mother’s speech, Jenna had tilted her head to the side, revealing a long expanse of her elegant neck above the collar of her uniform. The impulse to brush her skin there was so strong that Dylan had to fist his hands and turn away to shake it. He was in trouble, and he knew it. If he wanted to have any hope of maintaining his distance from Jenna Warren this Christmas season, he needed to start praying for strength right now and keep right on doing it through the New Year.

      Chapter Two

      Dylan slipped out of his muddy hiking boots and gave his head a hard shake, sending droplets of water from his hair flying every which way. Dripping less than he had before, he stepped through his mother’s front door.

      “I’d like to see a Currier & Ives painting of that precious holiday scene,” he groused.

      “I heard that, Dylan Thomas.” His mother came down the hallway and handed him