Merry Humbug Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Merry
    Humbug Christmas
    Patrick stood up, and Connie moved right into his personal
    space and grabbed his hand like a ripe melon she had every intention of devouring. “Pleased, I’m sure. Is that an English accent you’ve got there?”
    Patrick eased his hand out of her grasp and clutched his heart.
    “Never label an Irishman by any other stamp,” he said poetically, narrowing his greenish eyes at Connie with a sly grin, “lest you one day find yourself in need of a dancing partner when there are only Englishmen in the room.”
    “I don’t know what you said exactly,” Connie admitted. “But I’m
    pretty sure you’ve just promised me a dance.”
    Patrick kissed her hand and held out her chair before taking the
    one next to Joss again.
    “I see you made it safely aboard,” he commented, and Joss smiled.
    “I did indeed.”
    What was it, she wondered, about an Irish brogue that made a
    person want to respond with words like indeed ?
    The waiter appeared and began filling each of the crystal glasses with sparkling cider. “My name is Victor,” he told them in a thick Russian accent. “I’ll be your vater this week. Anything you need, I vill be at your service.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Vik-ter ,” Connie said, and the others echoed their greetings.
    “Patrick,” Kathleen suggested. “Why don’t you make a little toast for our guests before we break bread together.”
    “Happy to, Mother.”
    When everyone raised their glasses, Patrick turned toward Joss
    and met her gaze for a moment.
    He has his mother’s eyes.
    “On behalf of my mother and myself, I bid a very Merry
    Christmas to all of you,” he said, and the former Merry Christmas Snow held back a snicker. “As in the old Irish blessing, may God give you, for every storm, a rainbow; for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise; a blessing for every trial. For every problem life Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 34
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    sends, a faithful friend to share; for every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for every prayer.”
    Once again Patrick turned toward her, and this time he winked.
    Joss was glad she hadn’t been standing when her knees grew weak
    like that. It could have been humiliating when she dropped like an anvil over the side of the ship at the mere wink of a green-eyed guy wearing a Jesus-in-the-manger sweater.
    “Joss Snow?”
    Joss reeled to find herself face-to-face with—
    “Marla? Marla Jenkins!” she exclaimed, hopping up from her
    chair. “What on earth?”
    “Rodney,” Marla called, wiggling her index finger at her husband
    until he followed it toward her. “This is Joss Snow, the young lady I told you about.”
    “Images Public Relations,” he said, shaking her hand. “I thought
    our meeting was in L.A. in two weeks, Ms. Snow.”
    “It . . . it is! What are you all doing here?”
    “What else?” Marla crackled. “Just like you! Celebrating
    Christmas!”
    Oh. Well, I’m not actually . . .
    Rodney Jenkins, CEO of Vandermere Hotels & Spas. This was
    the target client Images Public Relations had been chasing for the last couple of years. After meeting Marla Jenkins at the annual Women in Business conference in the valley, Joss had wrangled an opportunity to pitch for her husband’s account.
    But not here, she thought. Not on the Camp Happy cruise!
    “We like to go somewhere exciting every Christmas, and this
    sounded like a lot of fun, don’t you think so? Is this your husband?”
    “Oh,” she replied, her eyes darting to Patrick and then back to
    Marla. “N-no, no. No, he’s not. Not my husband.”
    Patrick extended his hand and gave Marla a warm smile. “Patrick
    Brenneman. Not the husband.”
    Joss’s heart pounded so hard that it rocked her chest as Rodney
    shook Patrick’s hand and offered an introduction. “Rodney and Marla Jenkins.”
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    Merry
    Humbug Christmas
    “Where are you