The Christmas Cookie Collection By: Lori Wilde
~Blurb~
There’s a legend in Twilight, Texas. It says that if on Christmas you sleep with kismet cookies under your pillow and dream of your one true love, he will be your destiny.
Carrie, Raylene, Christine, and Flynn are all members of the Christmas Cookie Club. Each has a story to tell, and each discovers the miracles of the season and the power of love.
Carrie: Reconnects with her high school sweetheart . . .the only man she’s ever loved.
Raylene: Discovers that the daughter she gave away at birth is living right in Twilight . . .
Christine: Has given up on love . . . until the man of her dreams walks through her shop door.
Grace: It’s Christmas Eve and Flynn and Jesse Calloway are thrilled to be expecting a new baby. Then Flynn’s car hits a patch of ice, and Jesse must move earth . . . and heaven . . .to save her and their unborn child.
5.0 Star Review – The Christmas Cookie Collection
I recommend this book.
I enjoyed this book by Lori. This book sweet romance, laughs, heartache, and a missing wife.
Carrie:
Carrie MacGregor and Mark Leland were high school sweethearts who ran off to get married. After they returned to the town pressure made Carrie ask for an annulment. Mark left for college and has not been back for eight years. He is coming back to town to shoot a TV show that is trying to prove if the legend of the town is fact of fiction. Is there still an attraction between the two? Or have they moved on?
Raylene:
Raylene was young and thought the best thing for her daughter was to give her up. When her husband finds out he leaves her. Now she is alone and heartbroken. When she finds her daughter she is grateful and happy but still feels the guilt about giving her up. This story also contains a side story of her daughter, Shannon and Nate.
Christine:
Christine a bakery owner is closing one night when a man from her past comes into the shop. She is surprised he remembers her. He needs a cake and arranges for her to deliver it for his daughter’s birthday. After spending time with him she realizes she still has a crush. Does he feel anything for her?
Grace:
Flynn is pregnant with Jesse’s baby when they are pulled over one night. After the police take Jesse in for questioning and she start home something happens that causes her to lose control of the car. When Jesse finally comes home and the house is empty he is frantic. Will he be able to find Flynn and if he does will she be okay?
Lori’s characters are very believable and real. They have awkward moments and are caught unaware so it not just the same story. You get new characters with a past you learn about with everyone of them. I always feel she fills in all the areas you need to know about the characters that if you met them you would be wondering about anyway. So in a sense you feel as if you know them and might one day sit and have conversions with one of them.
Very good read.
Contact Info for Lori Wilde
About Lori:
LORI WILDE is the New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty books. A former RITA finalist, Lori has received the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Holt Medallion, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice, and numerous other honors. She lives in Texas, with her husband and a wide assortment of pets. Lori teaches Romance Writing Secrets via the internet through colleges and universities worldwide at www.ed2g.com. Visit her at www.loriwilde.com or @LoriWilde on Twitter.
Read an Excerpt
Down at the Horny Toad Tavern off Highway 377 in Twilight, Texas, Elvis Presley was singing, “Blue Christmas.”
The jukebox music sounded tinny and faraway as it bled through the door into the crisp night air. Weather reports predicted temperatures would slide below freezing by morning, and listeners had been urged to bring in plants and pets. No holiday lights decorated the building as they had in previous years. Other then Elvis’s mournful tune, the establishment gave no hint that Christmas was on the way. Only a few cars sat in the parking lot, sparse for a Saturday night, but most of the hamlet’s denizens were out celebrating the annual Dickens on the Square.
In the thick of darkening shadows from the cedar copse rimming the outskirts of the parking lot, a silent figure in a red suit, long white beard, and shiny black boots waited, watching the back entrance of the tavern, hungry to catch a glimpse of one person in particular.
After an interminable half-hour, shortly before midnight, the rear door to the Horny Toad opened, hinges creaking in the cold and letting out the strain of the Eagles singing “Please Come Home for Christmas.”
The watcher tensed, heart pounding and wind-burned hands fisted inside the pockets of the Santa costume.
A woman appeared. Once upon a time she’d possessed beautiful blond hair, but now it had grown steely gray. The watcher’s breath caught. She had stopped dying her hair.
She carried a black garbage bag, heavy with clanking bottles, and started toward the Dumpster, her movements graceful as always. Years ago she’d been a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader and she’d kept her slender, hourglass figure even into her sixth decade of life. But instead of the mini-skirts she usually favored because she had the most sensational legs of any woman in town no matter what their age, she wore oversized blue jeans and a gray wool sweater with a saggy hem.
The watcher’s tongue moistened parched tips. Wishing. Wishing for so many things. Wishing, but unable to make those dreams come true. You couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how hard you might try. Redemption was so close and yet so far away.
The garbage bag made a muffled thumping sound when it landed in the Dumpster. The air smelled of juniper and wood smoke. She dusted her hands and turned toward the bar. Her breath came out in frosty puffs. The moonlight caught her face. Her eyes were worn thin, exhausted.
The watcher shifted in the darkness, gut twisting. Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can see you for just a little while longer. One last time.
She paused and looked out into the darkness, her face a portrait of abject bleakness.
A lump blocked the watcher’s throat.
The woman shook her head, pushed open the door. Roy Orbison was singing “Pretty Paper.” Sad songs. All sad Christmas songs. She stepped inside, the door snapping shut behind her.
A single chilly tear tracked down the watcher’s cheek. Gone. Everything once loved and taken for granted was now forever gone.
Down at the Horny Toad Tavern off Highway 377 in Twilight, Texas, Elvis Presley was singing, “Blue Christmas.”
The jukebox music sounded tinny and faraway as it bled through the door into the crisp night air. Weather reports predicted temperatures would slide below freezing by morning, and listeners had been urged to bring in plants and pets. No holiday lights decorated the building as they had in previous years. Other then Elvis’s mournful tune, the establishment gave no hint that Christmas was on the way. Only a few cars sat in the parking lot, sparse for a Saturday night, but most of the hamlet’s denizens were out celebrating the annual Dickens on the Square.
In the thick of darkening shadows from the cedar copse rimming the outskirts of the parking lot, a silent figure in a red suit, long white beard, and shiny black boots waited, watching the back entrance of the tavern, hungry to catch a glimpse of one person in particular.
After an interminable half-hour, shortly before midnight, the rear door to the Horny Toad opened, hinges creaking in the cold and letting out the strain of the Eagles singing “Please Come Home for Christmas.”
The watcher tensed, heart pounding and wind-burned hands fisted inside the pockets of the Santa costume.
A woman appeared. Once upon a time she’d possessed beautiful blond hair, but now it had grown steely gray. The watcher’s breath caught. She had stopped dying her hair.
She carried a black garbage bag, heavy with clanking bottles, and started toward the Dumpster, her movements graceful as always. Years ago she’d been a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader and she’d kept her slender, hourglass figure even into her sixth decade of life. But instead of the mini-skirts she usually favored because she had the most sensational legs of any woman in town no matter what their age, she wore oversized blue jeans and a gray wool sweater with a saggy hem.
The watcher’s tongue moistened parched tips. Wishing. Wishing for so many things. Wishing, but unable to make those dreams come true. You couldn’t turn back the clock, no matter how hard you might try. Redemption was so close and yet so far away.
The garbage bag made a muffled thumping sound when it landed in the Dumpster. The air smelled of juniper and wood smoke. She dusted her hands and turned toward the bar. Her breath came out in frosty puffs. The moonlight caught her face. Her eyes were worn thin, exhausted.
The watcher shifted in the darkness, gut twisting. Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can see you for just a little while longer. One last time.
She paused and looked out into the darkness, her face a portrait of abject bleakness.
A lump blocked the watcher’s throat.
The woman shook her head, pushed open the door. Roy Orbison was singing “Pretty Paper.” Sad songs. All sad Christmas songs. She stepped inside, the door snapping shut behind her.
A single chilly tear tracked down the watcher’s cheek. Gone. Everything once loved and taken for granted was now forever gone.
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