Do you look at Christmas through the eyes of a child?

The holiday has always been a magical time of year for me. Mystery and secrets abound. Sparkling lights and festive decorations spin a glint of wonder that widens children’s eyes all over the world. Aside from the scent of cinnamon, peppermint, and scrumptious baked goods, a stir of benevolence floats on the air throughout the holidays, and they conjure favorite Christmas memories dusting my past.

Those memories inspired my Christmas stories, especially my favorite, In Time for Christmas. My last blog post introduced you to the magical tale. Today I want to whisk you through time with my heroine as she realizes she’s not in Kansas anymore. Please take a moment to read the beginning pages of In Time for Christmas.

The story, set in 1858, sweeps you back to a simpler era where the spirit of Christmas thrives and romance will steal your heart. I hope you love this excerpt of In Time for Christmas. 

In Time For Christmas

Chapter One

Gasping for air in a snow globe of sand and water, Carson Marlow dug her fingers into the coarse, rugged beach and clung to the shoreline. She collapsed face down, submitting to the tide splashing over her battered body. Drained of energy, she forced her eyes open a slit and stared through grit-sodden hair at the ebb and flow of the surf. Like greedy fingers, the waves stole tiny treasures from the shoreline and returned them to the bowels of the lagoon.

Her head pounded in unison with her heartbeat. Struggling for another breath, she willed a hand to wipe away a clump of sandy hair shrouding her face. Her fingers brushed over her forehead and scraped across a massive lump. What had happened in the hours––or days––leading to this moment, she couldn’t recall. Her awareness only awakened as she pummeled through the current and washed onto the beach.

She summoned her muscles to give her the strength to roll onto her back then sucked in a long breath, filling her lungs. The peppery-sweet scent of Carolina allspice wafted through the air and mingled with the dank, earthy smell of the shoreline. The sun beat down on her face but did little to soothe the effects of the piercing cold water and the added chill of a crisp breeze. Another breath, and the ache in her chest deepened.

Head still spinning, Carson squeezed her eyes tightly and challenged her memory. Fuzzy snippets flashed, independent of each other. Shivering from a deep sense of fear, as much as her physical condition and the temperature, she pulled herself into a sitting position.

She gazed around but saw no familiar landmarks…only forest behind and the water beyond. Unaware of her exact location or the circumstances behind her arrival on this beach, she had enough presence of mind to realize she’d survived some tragic event or trauma. A stab of fear swirled through her core. Was she still in peril? Had she fled from someone or something? Yes. Why else would she wash ashore with no boat or Jet Skis in sight? Lying on an open beach might put her in the crosshairs of…who? Carson didn’t know. Her instincts screamed danger and warned her not to sit here and invite a threat to surface.

She stood on shaky legs, and a wave of dizziness caught her off guard. Again, she shut her eyes tightly then opened them and focused on a downed tree branch until her stance steadied. She gazed at her soaking-wet jeans and cross-trainer shoes. Though drenched, they appeared intact. Patting her rear pocket, she hoped to find her cell phone. No such luck.

A quick search of the nearby ground told her no personal items washed ashore with her. An eerie sense of pins and needles crept over her body like a squadron of scurrying ants, and she willed the sensation to dissipate––this time to no avail.

Her medical training snapped into gear. Fearing the unknown would drain her energy and hinder her ability to handle this bizarre situation. Calm…she needed to stay calm. She lowered her gaze. The ripped neckline and blood splatter on her light-blue shirt confirmed an accident or confrontation. Was the blood hers? She inspected her arms and torso, finding abrasions, contusions, bruises on her ribs, and scratches on her bare skin, which accompanied her aching body. The throbbing pain in her chest felt like a broken rib…maybe two. The inspection was thorough, but everything she discovered only led to more questions.

Examining the coastline, she pinched her brows. She couldn’t pinpoint this area of the lake, which, for Carson, seemed very odd. Having lived on the lake in Reynolds Plantation most of her life, she’d memorized the entire northern shore of Lanier. Not recognizing this inlet shot a stab of prickles down her neck and into her shoulders. She twisted her long hair until most of the water released, then searched the shoreline in both directions. If she stayed close to the water, she’d likely get her bearings soon enough.

The hematoma on her head would explain her short-term memory loss and disorientation. Both symptoms matched those of a concussion, and acknowledging the diagnosis calmed her frazzled nerves. Mind spinning, Carson attempted to retrace her last memories, but again, only disconnected moments flashed briefly, then faded.

Recalling her emergency training, she directed her thoughts to what she knew for sure…basic information, like name, occupation, address, and date. She could answer those questions. Her name––Dr. Carson Marlow. A stab of panic shot down her arms and her fingers went numb. The hospital…they must be frantic…had she missed any scheduled surgeries? She trembled…a normal reaction she knew would strain her energy, too. Refocus Carson. She couldn’t worry about surgery now. Survival took precedence.

She took a deep breath and forced her thoughts to focus on vital information she could verify. Occupation––pediatric surgeon at Northside Hospital–Forsyth––check. Address––she knew that one, 2021 Hidden Cove Lane, Lake Lanier, Georgia––check. Date…November…right? She wasn’t sure. Not a good sign, but almost drowning might have that effect on anyone. Marital status––divorced…a brief event in her life she wished she could forget. Children, none…not even a pet. She scoffed. Her basic information sounded like a love-starved workaholic…which was exactly what she was.

At least she wasn’t helpless. She brushed the sand and debris from her clothes. A cool breeze skidded across the water, and she shivered. Her sopping hair and wet clothes stuck to her skin, deepening the chill. The friction from rubbing her hands over her upper arms did little to warm her. She needed dry clothes sooner than later. She glanced in both directions…which way should she go?

Gut instinct steered her south. A quick gaze at the afternoon sun aimed her internal compass, and she turned toward the flow of the current. Her whole body ached. Stepping gingerly to avoid a stumble, she plodded forward, constantly searching for some sign of human life…a boat, wave-runner, or a campground. Granted, lake activity dwindled after Labor Day, but the Georgia autumn temperatures inspired camping, hiking, fishing, and die-hard boaters who enjoyed Lake Lanier well into December. Instead, the area felt eerily empty. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what yet, but her instincts rarely misled her. For now, she’d forge onward. Surely, she’d come across someone…or, at least, see something familiar.

The beach narrowed to a scarcely traveled forest path, making her hike exponentially more difficult. Carson ached from the top of her head to her toes, but she wouldn’t stop until she found help. Though the path turned inland, if she could hear the water lapping against the shore, she knew she’d find her way to civilization.

The trek no longer consisted of sand and beach. Tree roots, brushwood, and overgrown vegetation underfoot added to the already strenuous hike. The good news was the foliage blocked the breeze, so along with the sunshine and exertion, the chill threatening hypothermia faded. She sucked in a long breath, happy she avoided a major peril––but breathing easily lasted only a heartbeat. She stumbled and wrenched her ankle.

Exhausted and angry for taking her focus off the trail, Carson leaned against a tree and examined the injury. A slight sprain. She needed to wrap her ankle to keep it from swelling. Ice would help––or cold water. She envisioned the lake beyond the trees. No. She couldn’t bear the thought of exposing herself to freezing cold water again.

She removed her shirt. Using her teeth, she ripped off a few inches at the hem, then pulled on the remaining garment and sat on a nearby log. After securing the handmade bandage, she searched the ground for a sturdy branch…one she could use as a walking stick. Easy enough to come across in the woods. Spying a perfect specimen for the job, she stood and limped a few yards from the path toward the lake. She snatched the small branch and used another stick to smooth away the surface twigs.

As she inspected her handiwork, she heard rushing water and paused to listen. Heading south, she knew the lake lay to her right, even though she’d drifted too far inland to see the water through the thick foliage. Though the deciduous trees had already lost some leaves, the Georgia pines and evergreens intermingled and blocked her view.

The Buford Dam spilled water into the Chattahoochee River, which would account for the curious sound, but no way could she be that close and not recognize the surrounding area. Bracing her weight on the cane, she edged closer to the water. A scuffle above drew her attention to the treetops, where a squirrel chased a playmate, scuttling from branch to branch.

Crisp leaves crunched beneath her feet, but aside from occasional bird chirps and small animals rustling through the underbrush, she’d heard very little since she began her hike. Only the sounds of nature. Under normal circumstances, she’d welcome the utter silence. The void of distant boats or airplanes soothed her nerves, but now, the absence nudged an unsettling bristle down her back.

When she could see the far shoreline, she picked up her pace as best she could until she reached the bank. Gazing across the water, she froze. A cold sweat weaseled down her arms, and the hairs on her neck prickled.

Carson stared at the rushing water, certain she was not on the banks of Lake Lanier. In fact, she wasn’t by a lake, at all. The body of water before her had a constant current running south. This was a river. Her fingertips numbed, and a wave of vertigo rushed through her head. What river? Was she still in Georgia? How did she get here? Too many questions, and Carson had no answers for any of them.

Chapter Two

Breath caught in her throat, Carson stared at the river, completely baffled. As the rapids rushed past, the turbulence ricocheted off the ridge behind her and echoed through her head. She turned and glared at the summit. Only then did she realize the boisterous torrent emanated from within the forest. She plodded toward the crest, her walking stick catching on vines and underbrush.

Once she intersected the narrow path, she stopped briefly and gazed around, listening for any recognizable noise. An airplane or boat motor…a leaf-blower, distant traffic. Instead, she heard rushing water. She limped toward the sound, closer, closer, until the gush intensified to a thunderous roar. Her thoughts spun as she attempted to make sense of where she was…and why.

She hobbled toward a bend in the trail, aware the source of the clamor lay just ahead. Pushing away vines, she peered through the foliage to see a beautiful waterfall. Goosebumps snaked down her back and onto her arms and legs. Where was she? No waterfalls existed––that she knew of––anywhere near Lake Lanier. How many times had she and her friends hiked the north Georgia mountain trails with a waterfall destination? Too many to count, yet never had they found one closer than an hour’s drive to higher elevation.

More questions swirled through her thoughts. Had she been kayaking or canoeing with friends before her accident? Maybe she was thrown from a boat…no…she had little time to enjoy water sports or any other activity since she took the job at Northside Forsyth. Frustration spinning, she tensed her muscles and blurted a bellowing shriek to release her pent-up exasperation. Thankfully, the outburst relaxed some angst. She drew in a deep breath and whooshed it free.

Staring at the falls, she noticed something odd poking through the cascade. She squinted, questioning if her eyes deceived her…an elbow? Doubting what she saw, she edged closer as a man’s head, shoulders, and completely bare torso protruded through the waterfall. Dear Lord…was she hallucinating?

The man rubbed his eyes and glared, as if asking a similar question, then lunged forward through the downpour, revealing himself from the thighs up.

Carson gasped. Not from fear or surprise, but from the sheer enchantment of the beautiful man standing before her…wearing nothing but a smile.

He glanced downward then quickly dipped behind the falls. “I’m sorry, miss. Allow me a moment. I didn’t realize anyone was close by,” he shouted over the sound of the cascade. “Until you shrieked, and when I peered through the water…I couldn’t believe my eyes. Where did you come from, angel?”

Completely mesmerized by what she saw, Carson was––for possibly the first time in her life––speechless. If she’d imagined the perfect male, this man was the embodiment of the image in her mind. Tall, tan, totally ripped, with thick, coffee-brown hair, and a well-trimmed beard and mustache. Not heeding for a moment anything she’d ever learned about strangers, Carson limped toward him––more to get a closer look than to ask for assistance.

Again, he peered through the cascade. “You’re limping. How did you injure your ankle?”

“It’s a little cool to play in the water, don’t you think?” She yelled to be sure he heard over the torrent.

“Most definitely. But I’ve traveled for days…and was in need of a good, hot bath. I settled for the waterfall. At least it rinsed off the dust and sweat.” He stepped from behind the right side of the falls and looked up. Still fastening his trousers, he lifted his gaze to meet Carson’s. “Now, let me take a look at your injury.” He grabbed the rest of his clothes and his boots then slowly approached. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Carson gazed at her ankle. As hot as this man was, she didn’t know him, and she wasn’t about to let some random man wandering through the woods come too close. “Thank you, but…I’m fine.” Of course, she was anything but fine. Still wet to the bone, lost, cold, no identification, or means of finding her way home…she’d never needed help more than at this very moment. “I’m just a bit lost.”

He halted his gait and glanced around the area before returning his gaze to Carson. “Did your horse throw you and run off…or perhaps you lost your traveling companions?” He sat on a large rock and slipped on his boots.

“Neither.” She watched his every move, admiring his numerous attributes. “I…um…I was involved in an accident.” She definitely needed his help…and wouldn’t mind hanging out with such an attractive man…but she’d heard too many stories involving women disappearing, and the endings didn’t bode well for them. Could she trust this man? Then again, did she have a choice? She certainly couldn’t continue wandering around the forest with a sprained ankle. “I seemed to have hit my head…I can’t recall how…and somehow, I ended up on a beach just north of here.”

As he slid into a gauzy, off-white shirt, he looked up and raised a brow. “Then you definitely need my help.” After adding a brown vest over his shirt, he wrapped a scarf around his neck, then crooked a finger under his coat collar and slung it over his shoulder. “I promise I mean you no harm, angel. May I approach?”

Carson bit the inside of her cheek and considered his request. He seemed concerned, and she had no alternative options. She nodded.

He stepped forward and kneeled then removed her makeshift bandage and examined her swollen ankle. “If you broke it, I doubt you would be walking. But a sprain can take a while to heal.” He rewrapped her dressing then stood and shook his head. “You shouldn’t put weight on that foot.” Raising his gaze to hers, he pinched his brows together. “I’m sorry to have given you any reason to think me less than a gentleman. My name is Piers Bradley, ma’am.” He offered a deep bow. “At your service.”

Aware she’d sprained her ankle, she didn’t mention her background. Instead, she afforded him the gratification of helping a damsel in distress. In Carson’s experience, men typically felt a need to be a hero in the eyes of a woman. She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bradley. I’m Carson…Carson Marlow…and thank you. I could really use your assistance.” She looked around. “But, first, can you tell me where we are?”

“Please, Miss Marlow, if I’m to help you, I think we should be on a first-name basis. Don’t you agree?”

Again, she nodded. She wasn’t sure why, but something about this man sent a swirl of heat like warm honey through her entire body. He spoke eloquently, and certainly gave the impression of an old-fashioned Southern gentleman…which, in her mind, was an extinct animal.

“You’re shivering. Here.” He draped his coat around her shoulders. “Now, Miss––”

“Please, you’re right about using our first names. Call me Carson.” Again, she gazed at her surroundings. “I’m afraid I have no idea where we are.”

Piers hitched his head toward the waterfall. “This is Madison Falls. Does that help?”

She frowned. She’d never heard of Madison Falls, and she knew the names of every waterfall in northern Georgia, as well as several located in surrounding states. “I don’t recognize that name.” She shrugged. “How about the river?” At this point, she wanted to ask what state…but he might think she was a complete basket case. Surely, she was still in Georgia, wasn’t she?

“That would be the Chestatee River, ma’am.”

She grinned. Finally, a frame of reference…but how could Madison Falls be off the Chestatee? Wouldn’t she have heard the name before? “I know the Chestatee River, but…can you tell me the closest town?”

“Hmm. I’d say Dahlonega. The town is a few hours northwest of here.”

Carson breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. That’s not far from where I live. Can I borrow your cell so I can call a friend to rescue me and take me home? I must have lost mine in the river.”

Frowning, Piers rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but from the looks of things, I believe I’m capable of rescuing you.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the falls.

Startled, she dropped her stick and gasped. “Put me down.” She twisted and jerked. “I’m completely capable of walking.”

“Not with that swollen ankle, Carson. You could injure yourself worse.” He struggled with her for a moment, then swung her over his shoulder. “Please, settle down. I told you I’d get you home, and I’m a man of my word.”

Aware he was right about injuring her ankle further, she still refused to allow him to manhandle her. “Put me down this minute.” She pounded on his back, but his tensed muscles literally hurt her fisted hands. “If you don’t put me down this instant, I’ll scream.”

He paced behind the falls. “I think you’ve already tried that, madam.” He chuckled. “You’re as squirmy as a rabbit caught in a trap.”

The mist dampened the heat rising in Carson’s face. But, before she could complain again, Piers lifted her above his head then slid her to her feet next to a black horse. Still a bit uncomfortable, she stared at the beautiful animal. Horseback riding through the winding trails made perfect sense. What better way to trek through the forest? Of course, he might have mentioned the animal before scooping her into his arms. Not many people owned horses these days. Still, his gentleman status remained intact.

He reached into a saddlebag and withdrew a slab of what looked like dried meat. “Hungry?” He offered her a piece.

She frowned. “What is it?”

“Have you never seen dried beef before?” He chuckled.

“Not in a long time. I haven’t had jerky since I was a kid.” Stomach growling, she accepted the proffer, tore off a bite of beef, then returned it. “Thank you.”

“If you get hungry along the trail, I have some dried fruit and biscuits, too.”

“You’re certainly prepared.” She chuckled. “A regular boy-scout.”

Eyebrow raised, Piers tilted his head and rubbed his jaw then grabbed a canteen. After chugging multiple swigs, he held out the container. “The salt makes me thirsty. Want some water?”

“Please.” She gulped down several swallows then returned the canteen. “Thank you.”

Piers gave her a nod. “Sharing seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.” He raised a brow then stepped into a stirrup and swung a leg over the saddle. A moment later, he clasped hold of her wrist and, with a flip of his arm, somehow lifted and landed her into the saddle behind him. “Hold on tightly. Shadow, here, likes to run.”

A bit dismayed at everything about this man, Carson complied. “Where are you taking me?”

Clicking his tongue, Piers tugged the reins to the side.

Shadow turned and began walking.

Carson pressed her body against Piers and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I could take you to Dahlonega, if you prefer, my dear…but taking you home would be easier.”

Carson wasn’t sure if he meant her home or his, but, at that moment, she didn’t care. Her head brushed next to his and she almost swooned over his musky scent…his aura. Never in her life had she met anyone who captivated her quite like this man. Despite the trauma she’d gone through earlier that morning, the confusion and injury she endured, and the strange feeling she had that something was very wrong, she’d never felt more calm or safe than she did right now, clinging to Mr. Piers Bradley.

I hope this excerpt sparked your interest.  Grab your e-copy on this link: In Time for Christmas.

Also available in print and on Audible!