A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart

the nightstand, then flipped back the blankets to reveal burgundy sheets.

      “Oh, wait,” he said. “Make note of which side of the bed you get in on because you have to leave on the same side in the morning or you’ll have bad luck.”

      “Here we go again,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “Another St. John superstition.”

      “Well,” he said, shrugging, “at least I have a variety to offer. You’re zoned in on the Jenkins Jinx and that’s it.”

      Maggie looked up at him and frowned. “Which has generations of proof that validates it.”

      “That may be true, but you’ve managed to punch holes in all the superstitions I’ve presented so far, shown me that there’s room for doubt. The same may hold true for your jinx.”

      “No,” Maggie said, taking a step backward. “I’m not going to even entertain the idea that the jinx can be broken. I’ve seen the heartache suffered by those who thought they could do exactly that. No.”

      “Okay,” Luke said, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean to upset you on this incredibly perfect night.” He swept one arm in the direction of the bed. “Madam?”

      Maggie settled onto the bed with a sigh of pleasure.

      “Oh, this is heavenly,” she said.

      “I’m going to go turn out the lights in the other rooms and dump the soupy ice cream,” Luke said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

      “‘Kay,” she said, then yawned.

      Luke chuckled, then strode from the room. When he returned, Maggie was sound asleep. He slipped carefully into the bed next to her, then propped up on one forearm to watch her sleep.

      So lovely, he thought. Maggie was here with him, where she belonged. If only there was a golden ring on her finger symbolizing her being his wife, his partner in life.

      He was winning little victories each time she made it clear that the newest superstition he’d declared was foolish, should be dismissed as nonsense. Each of those incidents gave him ammunition to demolish the Jenkins Jinx. He was definitely making progress. Wasn’t he? Oh, man, he just had to be.

      But Maggie was so…so fierce about the jinx, was determined not to fall prey to the belief that she could be the one to prove it untrue, to break the long cycle of disastrous marriages in the Jenkins family. No, she had said. No.

      And little victories meant nothing if he didn’t win the final battle. He couldn’t bear that thought. He’d just keep on as he was, chipping away at that wall of Maggie’s. He was going to conquer the demon that held her so tight.

      He was going to marry Maggie Jenkins. She loved him, he believed that with every fiber of his being. And heaven knew that he loved her. That love would grow, become stronger, unbeatable, smash the jinx into dust to be blown into oblivion.

      Luke nodded decisively, snapped off the lamp, then settled close to Maggie, his head on the same pillow as hers just as he’d promised.

      But it was many hours before he finally slept.

      Two weeks later Maggie and Luke stood in the honeymoon suite on the top floor of one of Phoenix’s exclusive hotels.

      “Luke, this is awful,” Maggie said with a burst of laughter. “A heart-shaped bed? A color scheme of bright red? Velvet spread, upholstery, even the drapes? A shiny red hot tub? It’s so tacky, it’s beyond belief.”

      “Oh, I don’t know,” Luke said, grinning, “I guess it depends on how you feel about red. This place could sure turn a guy off Valentine’s Day. Man, they went nuts in here.”

      “The manager said it’s very popular,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “That’s a scary thought.”

      “Yep,” Luke said, glancing around. “It’s even worse than the one that had forty-two stuffed toy cupids. I counted them, you know, and there were actually forty-two of those chubby little guys ready to shoot arrows. That was a nightmare waiting to happen.”

      “Well, cross this one off the list of possibilities.” Maggie looked at her watch. “I’ve got to rush. I’m meeting Janet and Patty at the bridal shop for the first fitting of their bridesmaids’ dresses.”

      “Have you…um…looked at wedding dresses yet?” Luke said, sliding a glance at her.

      “No, not yet. I’m sure the perfect dress for…for Precious is there because the selection is wonderful. That shop is where Ginger got her gown. They’re terribly expensive, though.”

      “No problem,” Luke said. “Don’t even think about the money. The sky is the limit…or whatever. In other words, go for it.”

      “Right. Let’s get out of here. All this red is giving me a headache.”

      “Are you sure you can’t come to my place tonight?” Luke said as they started toward the door.

      “No, I’ve got to go see my mother, Luke. You know, have dinner with her, chat, what have you. She’s feeling neglected and I don’t blame her. I haven’t been to her house in far too long. I’ll just go straight home from there.”

      “I’ll miss you,” he said. “I’m getting very spoiled having you next to me in my bed at night and seeing you when I open my eyes in the morning. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.”

      Maggie gripped the doorknob, then hesitated and smiled up at Luke.

      “Yes,” she said, “I agree. It’s very, very nice.” She laughed. “By the way, you know that superstition you laid on me last night? I want you to know that I purposely put on my left shoe before my right one this morning and I have not had one bit of unluck, if there is such a word.”

      Luke braced his hand flat on the door to prevent Maggie from leaving the brilliant-red suite.

      “Well, now, aren’t you turning into a risk taker?” he said, smiling.

      “Not really, Luke. I mean, after all, these are just superstitions that I’m declaring to be untrue. You should be feeling a step-by-step sense of freedom as each one gets checked off your list. I don’t think I’m taking any risks by doing that.”

      “Interesting,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “So you’re saying that superstitions, old wives’ tales, jinxes are based on a foundation of long-standing foolishness.”

      “Well, no, not entirely. I was referring to superstitions only. There are certain jinxes that have proven merit.”

      “So you say,” he said thoughtfully. “Or could it be rather a long string of poor judgment? I had this friend in college who was convinced he was jinxed when it came to owning a car. Every used vehicle he purchased turned out to be a lemon. So he quit, gave up, said never again. He rode a bike, took buses and taxis. Man, what a hassle.”

      “But smart,” Maggie said decisively.

      “I didn’t go with that theory. I convinced him to try one more time, run that risky risk. We went to a used-car lot and he looked at a bunch of vehicles, then settled on the one he would buy if he was going to, which he wasn’t. We took it for a test drive and stopped to see another buddy of mine who was a mechanic.”

      “And he said the car was a clunker. Right?” Maggie said.

      “No, he declared it to be prime, good for another hundred thousand miles, so my friend bought it.”

      Maggie blinked, then frowned. “Really?”

      “Really. The last time I saw him he was still driving that thing. He said it gave him cold chills to dwell on the narrow existence he would have had if he hadn’t sucked in a deep breath that day and taken that risk, bought the car.”

      “But—”

      “Think about it.”