A Gypsy, A Tramp, Some Christmas Thieves and a Redhead

by bundysbaby

An AU Christmas romance...

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there at the soft opening, Dad." Jim Frayne's deep voice skipped over the miles between Dubai and Groverville, Vermont. "I'm still tied up with construction on the WH Beach Resort."

"It went really well, Jim. Everyone loved all the new amenities and the town wants to vote me in as mayor." Matt Wheeler laughed. "It's going to be spectacular in the winter. The critics love your new design, and I've been contacted by Architectural Digest."

"They know a good and fair man when they see one." Jim glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall of the construction trailer. "It's after six here, and everyone has knocked off for the day. I'm going to give the site a quick look-see and get something to eat."

"It's only around nine in the morning here. I haven't even had breakfast. Have a great evening, Jim. Love you. Your mother and sister send theirs, also."

"Love you guys, too. Talk to you soon." Jim terminated the connection and sat back in his office chair, running a large hand through his red hair. He was tired, he was dirty, and he longed for a good burger from anywhere in the United States. That wouldn't be happening anytime soon, though. Jim hoped to be home by Thanksgiving. It was only the end of July.

This is the last time I stay away from home for long. I need my family, and I need my country. As he placed his hard hat upon his head, he knew that statement would prove false. It was the nature of the job.

Matt Wheeler sighed. He was a tall man, with red hair and green eyes, just like the man he called his son. In fact, most thought Jim was the result of an affair Matt had before he married the beautiful and smart socialite, Madeline Hart.

People couldn't be further from the truth.

Matt's family farm was located up near Albany, New York. Every summer, the family decamped from the hot, dirty environs of New York City and established summer residency at the farm. He met Winthrop Frayne there, a chance meeting as children that led to their lifelong friendship.

The only thing was, Matt thought lifelong would be a lot longer than it turned out to be.

Matt and Win roomed together through college. He was best man at Win's wedding to Katie Vanderheiden, as Win was his best man when he married Maddie. The two men, while similar in looks and often mistaken for brothers, took different paths in life.

Matt was groomed to assume control of Wheeler Incorporated, LLC. Upon his marriage to Maddie, who was the heir apparent for Hart Industries, LLC, the two companies merged into Wheeler Hart International, a global powerhouse.

Win Frayne, on the other hand, graduated with a degree in environmental science. He was much sought after for his expertise in pollutant control and management of natural wildlife areas. A few years after he and Katie married, they were blessed with a baby boy, James Winthrop Frayne II, named after a favorite uncle.

Matt and Maddie found it difficult to conceive when they were ready to expand their family. Two years after the birth of Jim, Maddie gave birth to a daughter, Madeleine Grace Wheeler. Matt fell into immediate, all-encompassing love with his girl and nicknamed her Honey, for her sweet disposition.

When Jim was five years old, tragedy struck. Katie Frayne cut herself while chopping cucumbers for a salad. It wasn't too bad, or so she thought. The wound, however, festered and became infected. By the time Win took her to the hospital, sepsis had taken root in her ravaged body. It was too late, and she passed away a few days after being admitted.

At her funeral, Win took Matt into one of the side rooms at the funeral home. "Matt, I need to ask you a favor," Win said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Anything. Anything at all," Matt replied, placing his hand on Win's thinner-than-usual shoulder. Matt took a good look at his best friend and did not like what he saw. Win's suffering over Katie's death prematurely aged his face. His skin was ashen and his eyes sunken in.

"I never… I never expected Katie to go before me," Win began, his voice quivering. "We thought there was so much time. But, as it turns out, we were out of it. I'm going to ask something of you, Matt, and it also involves Maddie. I hope you'll discuss this with her and let me know."

Matt appeared puzzled. Did Win need money? If so, Matt would give him everything he needed and more.

"If anything happens to me, I want you to promise to take Jimmy. Adopt him and treat him like your own son. I can't think of anyone else who would be better suited to take care of my rambunctious boy."

"Win, I would be honored, and I'm sure that Maddie will agree. You have a long time ahead of you." Matt bit his lip and had to ask. "What about your uncle, the one that Jim was named after? Won't he try to get custody if anything happened to you?"

"No. He shut himself up after his wife Nell died and refused to have anything to do with me. Last I heard, he was very ill and died. Apparently, Uncle James left everything to some charity."

Matt leaned over and gave his friend a hug. "I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers. That way, any miscreant relatives that come out of the woodwork won't be able to subvert your wishes."

Win smiled for the first time in a long while. "Thanks, Matt. Thank you. You've taken a big load off my mind."

Matt hadn't even realized he stood up and walked over to the huge glass wall in the penthouse at the WH Mead's Mountain Resort. I think Win knew his days were numbered. That's why he insisted on me adopting Jim. And it was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Matt turned his eyes heavenward, grinned, and gave a little salute. "I'm taking good care of our boy, Win. I hope you and Katie think so."

888888

It was no wonder that the little town of Groverville wanted to elect Matt Wheeler as their mayor. The billionaire with the Midas touch bought the family-owned but faltering Mead's Mountain Inn.

It was a pity, really, because the ski lodge was in such a great area. However, the lifts were in bad need of repair; the snowmaking equipment was outdated, and the Lodge itself looked like something out of the 1950s.

And then, Matt Wheeler arrived. He presented grand plans to the town and its people, promising to completely revamp the Inn and the surrounding trails as well as provide jobs and security to the townspeople. It took three long years and lots of meetings with the architect, Jim Frayne, Matt's son. However, the plan was finally hammered out as well as ordinances to keep the charming New England town as delightful and old-fashioned as it was.

Three years later, Matt, Maddie, and Honey Wheeler were cutting the ribbon for the soft opening in the summer of the newly rebranded WH Mead's Mountain Resort.

And resort was exactly the correct moniker.

The Lodge had been completely gutted and redone while keeping a low profile and letting the mountain be the star. One wing was devoted to family-friendly and more inexpensive type rooms, plus arcades, family-friendly restaurants, and even washers and dryers.

Another wing was for adults wishing for all the amenities. A spa, high-end shopping, and haute cuisine lived there.

Both wings attached to the soaring atrium lobby. Large windows let in tons of natural light. Hand-hewn stone fireplaces flanked each side of the reception area, along with comfortable leather furniture, bookcases and wi-fi stations.

For those wishing more privacy, Jim designed bungalows, hidden into natural hollows and protected by indigenous plants and trees. Attached to the resort were an award-winning golf course, stables, and indoor-outdoor Olympic-size pools with a lazy river running between them.

In the winter, gates shut off the flow of water to the outside as guests were still able to have a long, leisurely ride.

There were several bars, some with entertainment and others a quiet place for après-ski. A stage modeled after Radio City Music Hall awaited the performers to come.

Upscale restaurants and shops were beginning to dot the town, each tasked with staying within the building code guideline. The townspeople did not want huge amounts of condos or high-rise buildings.

That summer was a busy one in Groverville as Jim stayed overseas, the need to get home growing every day.

December of that year…

Gypsy took the last bow of this long-ass tour. Man, she was tired! She left the applause and demands for yet another encore and bounced to her room in that peculiar, energetic walk that was hers alone. He short black bob and bangs were plastered to her face with sweat, and she pushed them to the side, growing more irritable by the second.

The stage manager walked with her, blathering on about how successful the show was and how Gypsy sold out the arena in a half hour. She gave the man a polite smile as she shut her dressing room door in his face.

Once inside, she sat on the small vanity chair facing the well-lit mirror and grabbed an ice-cold bottle of pure spring water. She gulped it down, her body crying out for replenishment of the moisture it lost as she sang and danced across the stage.

The woman sitting in the shadows smiled, unfurling her legs and walking over to the star. A quick glance at the two and one might assume they were twins. Both had the same short, shiny black hair, big brown eyes, and fair skin. Both were petite but curvy. But wasn't Gypsy's nose just a tad perter? Her mouth a bit wider, her lips just a whisper fuller?

"Are you ready?" Gypsy asked the other woman.

"You pay me to be ready, and anyway, I love you, and I'd do it for free." Joeanne Darnell gave a quick hug to her employer and friend.

"I'll tell my accountant," Gypsy deadpanned, looking directly at their reflections, and giggled when she saw the shock on Jo's face. "Just kidding! Do you and Ned have the logistics of escaping without been torn apart by the fans?"

Ned Schultz was Gypsy's head of security, and man, he was wonderful at his job. "Yeah, we do. He and the other musclemen are going to hustle me into the limo, then the private plane back to the States. Then, best of all, a blessed month off from this madness. Honestly, I don't know how you stand it."

Gypsy shrugged. "You either accept it, or fame consumes you whole."

There was a rap at the door. "Limo's here, Gyp."

Gypsy stood and hugged Jo. "Go. Have a nice vacation. I'll see you soon, but not too soon. I'll be out of here before the roadies come for all the stuff."

Jo hugged her back and strode to the door, in the process becoming Gypsy. She turned and smiled, fluttering her fingers before slipping out.

Gypsy had no time to waste. She grabbed her go-bag, pulled off the wig and cap, and hustled over to the ladies' room. In less than four minutes, Gypsy was no more. The cracked mirror contrasted with the luxurious suite she just exited and staring back at her was just Trixie Belden from Sleepyside, New York. Her curly blonde hair hung past her shoulders, and huge, china blue eyes took up most of her face. The stage makeup swirled down the drain and what was left was porcelain skin dotted with pale gold freckles on the bridge of her nose.

Some battered old jeans, sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt completed her transformation. No-one even noticed another very pretty woman as she joined the crowd leaving the venue and caught a taxi to the airport. Once inside the vehicle, the driver murmured the magic words.

"Where to, ma'am? If you're hungry after the concert, I can drive you to Eagle's Nest." He waited for her response, watching her through the rear-view mirror.

"No, thank you. I'm not in the mood for Chinese food. Even from an eagle."

The flare of recognition lit his eyes as he maneuvered into traffic. They didn't speak on the way to the airport, not until she handed over the exorbitant fare. The bills protected the tiny flash drive with the encrypted intelligence that she removed from an earring.

"Have a safe flight, ma'am." Trixie slung her backpack on one shoulder and made her way into the terminal. It was going to be a long flight home, and she should be exhausted. Instead, the adrenaline was still charging through her system. She bypassed check-in, having done so via smartphone earlier, and headed directly for the lounge. Gypsy might be flying home in a private jet, but Trixie Belden was booked into Economy.

She paced in front of the plate glass window as the planes roared into the sky, waiting to board her flight. She'd be landing at JFK in New York, and then take a puddle-jumper to that new resort up in Vermont. Trixie realized her parents were upset she wouldn't be spending Christmas at Crabapple Farm in her hometown of Sleepyside, New York, but hell. She really needed space after the grueling tour that took her around the world for the past ten months.

Not to mention all the intrigue of being an intelligence officer for the CIA.

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In another airport, Jim Frayne was also boarding a flight home. It's going to be great to see Dad, Mom, and Honey again. The best part is spending Christmas in Vermont. He took his seat and promptly fell asleep, smiling to the Haynes sisters singling along with Wallace, Davis, and himself in that old dining car, heading up to a snowless Vermont.

888888

Helen Belden bounded into the warm kitchen at Crabapple Farm with a couple of steaming pizzas and a huge smile. Her husband, Peter, looked up from the crossword puzzle he was filling in… in ink. Damn the man for never hesitating!

"I sold Manor House today!" She danced around the kitchen, her pretty face lighting up with her victory. This sale would result in a nice fat commission for her and the real estate agency.

"Congratulations!" Peter grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap, giving her a wet kiss in the process. "Who bought it?"

"Matt Wheeler! You know, the billionaire! Apparently, he knows Ed and Sharon Lynch socially. The Wheelers have been looking to get out of the City for a while, and Ed mentioned how much he loves living here. He recommended me to Matt, and before you know it, I was showing Manor House to them."

Peter raised his black brows. "Matt?"

"And his wife, Maddie. And for your information, Mister Belden, they both asked me to call them by their first names since we are going to be neighbors."

"It's a good sale, Helen," Peter said, serious. "Manor House has stood empty far too long." He paused, thoughtful. "I wish you could sell Ten Acres as well."

"I do too, but you know how Mr. Frayne is. Stubborn to a fault."

Peter frowned, well aware of their next-door neighbor's eccentricities, one of which was placing a fake obituary in the paper so people would stop bothering him. "I went to see Molinson about him," he confided as he gathered the paper plates for Helen's impromptu victory celebration.

"Whatever for?"

"There have been some odd financial transactions in one of his accounts lately. I have some suspicion someone may be taking advantage of the old guy."

"It's that caretaker he hired. The man gives me the willies. I never used to lock our doors when you aren't home, but I do now." Helen gave a delicate shudder. Henry 'call me Jonesy' Jones was a big brute of a man with little class or polish. "What did the chief say?"

"He's going to get in touch with Frayne's attorney, a George Rainsford. When Mr. Frayne tried to file that bogus police report about the property line, he listed his attorney's name. I'm just surprised he didn't pull all his accounts from the bank because I work there."

"He's not that stupid, Peter. He knows you're the best."

"Maybe." Peter grabbed a slice of pepperoni (extra cheese, too) and took a big bite, eyes closing in bliss. "When is Trixie coming home? She's been gone forever."

Helen didn't want to have this conversation with him now, but she'd been putting it off long enough. "She won't be home for the holidays," Helen began and held her breath.

Some of the light in his eyes died out. "Again? How long is this thing lasting?" He wanted all his family here. His princess missed too much already.

"She's done up, babe. Mart made reservations for her at the new WH Mead's Mountain Resort. She'll be there three weeks to a month."

"That big new resort in Vermont? Trixie's not that far from home…"

"Hush, Peter. This whole um, Gypsy thing got way bigger than any of us ever planned." Helen glanced around, almost as if she thought the walls had ears. "Trix needs some space, to recoup and recover. She's an adult now. We have to respect her wishes." There was already a pile of Christmas gifts she forwarded to the family just waiting in the closet.

"I'll accept it, but I don't like it," Peter grumbled before taking another bite of pizza.

888888

Tom and Celia Delanoy were perusing the New York Times travel section. There was a big, splashy story about the opening of the Mead's Mountain resort; some pictures of the fabulous rooms, restaurants, and amenities and one blurb that caught their eye.

"It says here Matt and Maddie Wheeler are giving a Christmas Ball a few days before the big date," Tom pointed out. "Lots of celebrities and bigwigs in attendance."

"And that means lots of sparklies," Celia grinned.

"You make the reservations, hon. How are you at skiing?"

"As good as I am relieving all those rich people of their jewels."

"Then we should have a fun and profitable time."

888888

"…mansion was lovely," Maddie Wheeler was saying. "You should have come, Honey. It's surrounded by acres of lawns and woods, and there's even a stable and lake that come with the property."

Dinner was a more formal affair at the Wheelers', with butler and maid service and delicious food prepared by their own chef.

"I'm sure Regan will be glad to get out of Saratoga and into his own domain," Honey smiled. "And Dan has a place to practice!"

Bill Regan was the groom hired by the family to care for their horses at the boarding stable they used in Saratoga. Regan was another redheaded hothead and had several run-ins with the management over his perception the stable wasn't treating the horses up to his standard.

Daniel Mangan spent much of his time in an ice-skating rink, perfecting his speed skating. The Olympics were less than two years away, and he wanted to win one last gold medal for the US.

His Uncle Bill paid for all the rink time he needed since he was a youngster and unexpectedly orphaned. Regan stepped right up and although they needed a period of adjustment. Dan couldn't have asked for a better guardian.

"Still, I'll miss the City," Maddie lamented. "Never a dull moment here. We need to thank Ed Lynch for pointing out the benefits of living in the country."

Honey was surprised at Maddie's statement. "I didn't realize it was Mr. Lynch who told you about Sleepyside. I know his daughter Diana from social events. She and her husband, Mart Belden, have that talent agency, Amalgamated Artists Association. They rep Gypsy. I was trying to get her for the Christmas Ball, but she's not available."

"Belden? That was the name of our real estate agent," Matt blinked. "Helen Belden. She and her husband and son live in a lovely little farm in the hollow, right down the hill from Manor House."

"Ah, yes, Daddy. That's Di's mother-in-law. Di and Mart have known each other for a long time, since grade school. It's such a romantic story. He fell in love with her when she was in Kindergarten. Mart's sister tripped on a skirt or something, and they both ended up falling. And laughing about it." She glanced at her slim, gold watch. Jim should be on his way home."

Matt sat back. "It will be good for the boy to take some time off. He's been over in Dubai much too long. I'm glad he's going straight to Mead's Mountain."

"I'm glad we'll be up there with him this Christmas to celebrate," Maddie said dryly. "Now, who shall we hire to furnish Manor House? I don't want all gold and formal. It's the country, a place to relax."

888888

"…and cut. That's a wrap, people. We'll be on hiatus for the next several weeks. I expect everyone back on January 2nd or 3rd looking rested and rejuvenated." The director, the jolly Big Bob Wellington, turned to Brian Belden. "Great script, Brian. That cliffhanger will keep them guessing until we're back."

"Thanks, Bob. I hope the audience likes it as much as you do."

"Got a question before you leave. You going back home? That's not the question," Bob hastened to add.

"Yeah, Cali is okay, but New York is home."

"Your agent is Mart Belden from AAA? Any relation?" Bob couldn't see how. Brian was tall, dark and handsome, with coal black eyes and hair to match. Mart Belden was also good-looking, but he had blonde hair and blue eyes with the fair skin to match.

"Yup. I take after my dad and Mart, my sister Trixie, and little brother Bobby are all blonde like my mother." It wasn't the first time that Brian was asked about the relationship.

"He also reps Gypsy, right?" Uh-oh. He could see the shutters coming down in the other man's eyes. Nevertheless, he plowed on. He promised the network he'd at least ask.

"He does." The friendly voice dissipated and in its place was a clipped cadence.

"The network asked me to ask you if your brother could talk Gypsy into making a guest appearance in Project Dead. Of course, you would write her in." Man, he was beginning to sweat.

"Mart doesn't discuss Gypsy with me or anyone, not even his wife," Brian ground out. "You know how private Gypsy is. Besides, I think she's on tour. If the network wants her that bad, send an offer to Mart."

"We have. They have. Multiple times. The answer is always no."

"Then there you have it. Have a great vacation, Bob. See you in January." Brian turned and walked off, the tight set of his shoulders revealing his annoyance.

Oh, well. At least I can tell the network I tried.

888888

A few hours later, Brian was flying on the red-eye back to New York, still harboring a small amount of exasperation with Bob Wellington. Everyone wanted a piece of Gypsy, and he was not about to be the conduit.

There were perks to being a superstar. One of them, Trixie thought as she shut the door to the delightful bungalow set in snow, is that her luggage was already there, just waiting for her to unpack it. The resort offered this service to their guests staying in the most expensive suites or bungalows, but Trixie declined.

She had enough people pawing at her person and her clothes.

888888

The bed was huge and inviting. Only for a moment, she thought as she sank into its softness. Within seconds, she was sound asleep.

888888

Jim Frayne checked into his bungalow several hours later. There was a slight uproar; the staff assumed he'd be using the Owner's Suite aka the Penthouse. However, he left that for his parents and Honey and their guests. It was much too large for one person. A private bungalow suited him just fine. As he walked along the flagstone path, he noted how gorgeous the night was, the stars seeming close enough to touch. The moon glittered off the pristine snow, and he just had to grin.

Yeah, now the next thing was to get settled and order a nice juicy hamburger from room service. He passed another bungalow with its front porch light softly glowing and wondered who was staying there. A family? Honeymooners?

His thoughts were cut short as he reached his destination. He instructed the bellman to just leave the luggage in the living room – lucky his parents had the forethought to send some warm clothes to the penthouse. He turned on the fireplace, sat on the couch and his body forgot all about hamburgers, fries, and a Coke.

Instead, the crushing tiredness pulled him under as swiftly as a rip current pulled an unwary bather out to sea.

888888

Jonesy worked like a dog if a dog could work. The old man he was taking care of was a querulous old fool. Cantankerous did not begin to describe him. But this house! Man, it was a treasure trove of antiques. Not to mention the owner himself, who was an antique with pockets full of cash.

Well, not in a literal sense. But old James Frayne had a checkbook, and Jonesy knew how to write checks. He even knew how to gain access to the account by setting it up on his smartphone.

Besides, everyone knew the old geezer didn't have any living relatives. All he had to do was to suck it up and be nice to the old man. Who else would he leave Ten Acres to, other than his trusty caretaker?

It might even be better to help him along a little bit.

It was worth considering.

888888

For the first few days, safely ensconced in her bungalow at Mead's Mountain, Trixie did nothing but eat, sleep and then nap some more. She figured room service was wearing a path to her door. She read the trades on her laptop, noting that Gypsy returned to the States from her successful world tour and promptly disappeared as was her wont.

It was a good thing she, Trixie, was connected to the CIA. They helped maintain Gypsy's anonymity, despite the best work of a few tabloid investigative reporters. And thank heaven for Joeanne Darnell, who took so much of the heat.

The fourth morning, she awoke to a blanket of freshly fallen snow. It was lovely out there, and it was then she decided to rejoin humanity. Breakfast in the main lodge sounded wonderful, and maybe she'd check out some of the amenities. Horseback riding or sled tubing sounded like fun.

Or maybe she'd just sit in the lobby by one of those huge fireplaces and dream her life away.

888888

Jim Frayne hadn't been quite the slugabed Trixie had been. However, he also tasked room service. He found he was having a bit of trouble reacclimating to the colder weather after being in the hot confines of Dubai for so long.

He dressed in jeans, boots, a warm jacket, gloves, and a scarf. He still couldn't help merrily humming along to Irving Berlin's song Snow, right up until he felt the impact of a body on his. He looked down to see a beautiful face peeping up at him, an expression of complete mortification on it, and a charming flush staining sculpted cheeks.

"Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! I was looking at the trees and not watching where I was going." The voice was rather husky, sending a thrill down his spine.

Jim automatically extended his hand to help her up. She was beautiful, his libido reminded him. Long blonde hair framed her face with a singular blue to her long-lashed eyes. There was a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, and her mouth was full and kissable. Even though their hands were gloved, something like a sunburst tingled along their palms.

"No harm done." Jim grinned at her. "Truthfully, I wasn't watching where I was going, either. Too busy having White Christmas tunes playing in my head."

Trixie looked up. And up and up. The brick wall she barreled into was one handsome guy. A swoop of red hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were startling green. He had a wide grin and damn if he didn't have a sprinkling of freckles.

"Um, let me guess." Trixie threw out her arms to encompass all outdoors. "Snow!"

"Got it in one. Although it wasn't too hard to guess," he added, just to see if she would take the bait. He wanted to see that sweet blush bloom on her cheeks once more.

"Well, you don't look like the type who would be humming along to Sisters, but you never know."

They began to walk together towards the main building as she grinned up at him.

He nearly tripped.

Man, been away from the States too long when a smile makes me loopy. "I'm on my way to La Creperie for breakfast. Need to get out of my bungalow for a while. Care to join me?"

"I'd love to. But you have to let me pay as an apology for nearly mowing you down."

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "You don't have to, but I'll never turn down a free meal!" He looked at her hands, covered in mittens, and wondered if they harbored a wedding ring.

It would be a pity if they did.

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Honey Wheeler rolled her eyes. Not so that the interior decorator, recommended by her grandmother, could see. It was the third person she saw today, and a headache was developing. None of them were listening to what she said at all.

"And I envisage gold and green brocade as the unifying theme," Ralph expounded on his vision for Manor House. "I have lovely gilt-edged cupids that could frame the large mirror in the formal dining room. The mirror has a delicate filigreed frame."

"Thank you, Ralph. My parents have the final say, but I'll certainly present your vision to them." Honey began to nudge him to the front door. "We'll give you a call."

The pudgy little man kissed her fingers, leaving her wishing she brought some Purell along. She leaned against the door and blew out a breath. "Gold and green brocade, my ass," she remarked to the empty room.

Pauline wanted red to be the main theme, interspersed with gold everywhere. Honey imagined something like Early American Cathouse. All they would need was to light the front porch with a red bulb.

Rene wanted to completely gut the interior. His concept of the finished masterpiece sounded like something out of Beetlejuice, except there were no charming spirits to circumvent his disaster-in-the-making.

"Didn't Mom say that Helen Belden lived right down the hill? Maybe she's home and knows someone local. And I may get admitted to the loony bin, talking out loud to myself," she muttered as she pulled on an anorak.

She started on down the hill, its steepness making her gallop, just that little bit. Honey, a city girl by nature, thought she heard… clucking? She skidded to a stop in front of a tall, handsome man with black hair, scattering feed for the chickens at his feet.

Topaz to obsidian, slow smiles crossed their faces. Brian saw many beautiful women in Hollywood. Every one of them wanted to be an actress. Or sell a script. They saw him as an intermediary in their ascent to the top.

But this woman was different. She did have that kind of Grace Kelly patrician air, even though her jeans appeared worn and her anorak last year's fashion. She gave him a tentative, surprised smile and extended long, elegant fingers. "Hello. I'm Honey Wheeler. My family just purchased Manor House."

Honey thanked heaven for her deportment lessons. They allowed her to coolly introduce herself, instead of melting to the ground in a mound of slush at this guy's feet.

Brian took her hand without thinking. In fact, he wasn't thinking much of anything at all, other than wondering if he'd been in some horrific chicken zombie apocalypse, died, and went to heaven. "Brian Belden," he finally got out.

"Are you related to Helen Belden, the realtor?" Now that was a dorky question if ever there was one.

"My mother. Are you looking for her? She's back in the house." The sack of chicken feed was tip-tilted and creating a mound at his feet. When he felt the chickens pecking at his shoes, he broke the gaze and flushed.

"Yes, I am. I was wondering if she had a local tradesperson experienced in interior design."

"Why not walk back to the house with me and we can ask." Anything to stay with this angel for a little while.

Anything at all.

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"Tom, I couldn't get us a room in the resort. They're all booked up for the Christmas Ball. I did manage a B&B a few miles away. The tickets to the ball set us back a pretty penny. This better be worth it." Celia Delanoy tried using all her wiles on the reservation line, but the answer was always the same.

They were one hundred percent booked.

"It's the Wheelers, babe. I can guarantee the place will be flooded with joools." Tom was going through his closet. Did he get his tuxedo cleaned form the last job?

Celia sat on the bed and watched him. Oh, it was fun and exciting at first, boosting ice from rich assholes. But there had to be more to life than that adrenaline rush. What about a home? Maybe even a family, with regular jobs like real people?

"Tommy, did you ever think about our future? I mean, we can't be seventy and still as nimble-fingered as today."

Tom heard the wistful note in his wife's voice, turned, and sat next to her. The bed sagged a little under his weight. "What's wrong, hon?" He tipped her face up to his with his index finger, concerned.

"It's just that… maybe we should stop and think. What if we get caught? We'll go to jail, for sure. We won't be together, and I don't know that I could survive that." Tom began to speak, but she held up a hand. "I'd like to think about going legit. Get out of this business and maybe settle down somewhere, have a baby."

Tom dropped his hand, his brown eyes widening in surprise. "You never told me you wanted a baby."

Celia rolled her eyes and frowned. "Tom, when I met you at that crummy garage where you were working, I was taking care of my sister's baby. You must remember that. The car broke down. One of the things you said to me was that you thought I'd be a great mom – after you determined Frankie was not my child. And I told you I was just looking for the right person to be the dad."

He smiled at the not-so-distant memory. "You're right. You were wonderful with Frankie. I just hadn't thought…"

Tom gazed into Celia's gray eyes, saw the love, trust, and faith reflected there. Truth to tell, he was getting pretty tired of this peripatetic lifestyle, too. How much longer would their luck hold out? With the advent of surveillance cameras, sooner or later, no matter how much care they took, the all-seeing eye would catch them.

"Okay, tell you what," he grinned. "This will be our last job. We have a good amount set aside, babe. After the Christmas Ball, we'll retire. I'll open a garage somewhere, and you can be a stay-at-home mom if you want."

Celia was shocked, then an incredible feeling of warmth and an overwhelming wave of absolute love for the man across from her just washed through every atom in her body. "Really, Tom?"

"Really, Celia. Now, let's pick out our best clothes."

888888

Trixie wondered about the deference the staff exuded when she and Jim entered the restaurant in the main building. Obviously, she was used to it when she was Gypsy. She was just Trixie now. Therefore, she deduced, it must be directed at the tall redhead at her side.

He's handsome and charming, but that's not it. Something else going on here. The hostess was practically jumping out of her skin and so obsequious I almost expected her to genuflect. The couple was shown to a table with a lovely view of the mountain.

Trixie's blue eyes twinkled as they met emerald ones. "Are you someone important here? I couldn't help noticing the staff gushing all over you." Their waiter's hands shook as he came for their drink order.

"Not really, although I guess they think I am. My family owns this resort, and I was the architect for the renovation. My dad and mom are Matt and Maddie Wheeler." Jim flushed a little, not wanting his family's wealth to be the elephant in the room. Women either saw him as their personal bank or were scared away by the intense scrutiny of the wealthy dynasty.

Trixie's eyes lit up in recognition. "I didn't make the connection. You were in Dubai recently. My brother wanted me to go check out the WH Beach, but I didn't have a chance. I was in Europe until a few days ago. My mom is a realtor, and she just sold a property in my hometown to your parents." She paused, wondering if he knew he had a relative in Sleepyside.

"Dad told me about that," he grinned as the coffee was served. "They've been looking to get out of the City for some time. They really liked your mom and the property. My sister Honey is up there now, interviewing interior decorators. It really is a small world." His green gaze narrowed at the vision before him. "What were you doing in Europe?"

"My brother and sister-in-law own AAA, you know, the talent and booking agency, Amalgamated Artists' Association. I scout out venues around the world for them, act as a liaison when needed. Just a general dogsbody," Trixie smiled. It was a great cover for Gypsy as well as her other job.

That sunny smile, those blonde curls catching the sun, and man, the bluest eyes he ever had the opportunity to contemplate drove every thought out of his head – albeit one not-so-honorable one – and made his mouth go dry. He took a sip of his coffee and hoped speech would return with the scalding black drink.

Trixie leaned toward him, cupping her chin in her hand and disregarding all of Miss Manners' dictates about elbows on tables. "Frayne," she mused, her use of his surname making him tingle. "Are you aware that our neighbor is James Winthrop Frayne? He lives in a ramshackle old mansion, Ten Acres. Could it be a relative?"

The shock of hearing his full name, plus the fact that his namesake and great-uncle was still alive made his jaw drop, and eyes widen. Jim's intake of breath was audible. "James Winthrop Frayne, you said?" his voice was hoarse and low.

"Why, yes." Jim was pale, and Trixie began to regret bringing up the subject. "It's a sad story. His wife, Nell, died because she stepped into a nest of copperheads. We're still rural, and there is an abundance of wildlife. Old Mr. Frayne became very eccentric after that, locking himself up in that old mansion. He wouldn't speak to anyone."

"I think… I think he's my great-uncle. But my dad told me he died when I was little after basically disowning him."

Trixie waved a hand. "Mr. Frayne published his own obituary in the Sleepyside Sun, hoping people would stop bothering him. I told you he was eccentric!"

"Dad must have seen the obituary somewhere."

"It stated he left his fortune to charity," Trixie snorted. "As if! He was having a property line dispute with my dad over six inches. I don't think the man has a charitable bone left in his body."

Her blue eyes widened at her audacity, disparaging this man's relative in front of him. "I'm sorry. My mouth runs away with me sometimes."

"It's okay," Jim assured her. His brain was galloping miles ahead. He had a living, blood relative. Even if his great-uncle was nuttier than a Snickers bar, he was still his kin. "I'm just stunned to find out Uncle James is still alive. The Wheelers adopted me when my biological parents died. I think of them as my parents, but I wanted to keep my last name."

"You don't have to explain, Jim," Trixie said softly.

He brought himself back to the present and the beautiful woman gracing the other side of the table. "You must have an exciting life, traveling the world on behalf of your brother's agency."

"Not as much as you would think. Sometimes I wake in a hotel room and wonder where I am. Not just what hotel, but what country. I'm here for a few weeks just recuperating. I've been on the road for nearly a year. You must travel for your job, too."

"Not as much. I was in Dubai for almost a year. When I am overseeing construction sites, I'm usually there for the duration."

"It must personally rewarding to see what you dreamed of coming to life."

"It is, after all the arguments and bad sub-contractors thinking they can get away with inferior construction," Jim laughed.

The meal came then, delicate crepes piled high with melting butter and lingonberries. Both tucked in to eat, suddenly starving.

And not just for sustenance.

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"Moms? This is Honey Wheeler. Her parents just bought Manor House." Brian led Honey into the lovely old farmstead.

Helen Belden was kneading bread, looking every inch like a fifties fantasy. Beautiful blonde with a smear of flour on one cheek; frilly little apron around a killer body. It was hard to believe she was Brian's mother.

"Oh, yes! I met your parents last week. Sorry I can't take your hand."

"I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Belden. I love the house." Honey watched with fascination as the doughy ball became elastic in Helen's magical fingers.

"I'm glad. Are you down here for a special reason?"

"I was interviewing interior decorators. None of them was the right match. My mother doesn't want some modernistic horror or gilt-edged excess. She wants the house to be country comfortable. I was wondering if you have anyone local who would understand that."

"Yes, we have a young man, Nick Roberts. He's a talented artist to boot." Helen gave one final pat to the dough and placed in a greased bowl, covering it with a dishtowel. "Let me give him a call. When is convenient for him to meet you?"

"If he's available today, it would be wonderful," Honey replied, still captivated by the simple task of making homemade bread.

"Let me wash my hands, and I'll give him a call." Helen left the room, leaving Honey, Brian, and all the electricity zinging between them.

"I know I've heard your surname before," Honey admitted, shyly.

Brian smiled, his black eyes crinkling at the corners and Honey felt her knees turn to jelly. "My brother Mart and his wife Diana own AAA, Amalgamated Artists Association. They are a talent and booking agency."

"That's it! My family is having the grand opening of WH Mead's Mountain Resort in Vermont shortly. We were trying to get Gypsy to make an appearance at the Christmas Ball. It's for charity, and we thought she'd bring in the big donations. She's not available, however."

If you only knew she's there right now. "Yeah, everyone wants to book her, I guess."

Helen came bustling back into the room. "Nick will meet you there in thirty minutes. Would you care to stay and have some coffee and cheesecake?"

"I'd love to." Honey grinned, and Helen hid a smirk.

This was going to be interesting.

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Breakfast ended far too soon to suit either of the participants. They reluctantly began the trek back to their bungalows, each trying to decipher how to express their interest in the other without it being creepy.

Well, it is a ski resort. Why don't I just ask her to ski? Jim opened his mouth to do just that, but Trixie turned to him on the path, her question coming out in little white puffs from the frigid air.

"I don't ski, too klutzy. I was thinking of going snow tubing in about an hour or so. Would you like to join me?" She was never this forward, but the handsome redhead intrigued and excited her.

She did ski, but insurance regulations for Gypsy were strict and precluded any dangerous sports.

"You don't seem klutzy at all. And I'd love to. I'll come by your bungalow to pick you up in an hour. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." They couple walked a little further, and Trixie graced Jim with her sunny, devasting smile. "See you in sixty."

Not much in this world stunned James Winthrop Frayne II. That sexy smile coupled with the killer curves rooted his feet to the ground, and all he could do was stare after her, nearly drooling. It was only when another guest bumped into him that Jim was able to gather his thoughts and nearly sprint back to his place.

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"Come on, Mart. I'm your brother," Brian wheedled. "Can't you get Gypsy to perform at the Wheelers' ball?"

"And she's your sister, lamebrain. She's exhausted, Bri. I'm not going to ask her just because you wanna make points with the beauteous Honey Wheeler. She needs to rest and have some fun." Mart raked a hand through his blonde hair. Damn, even his own family was getting on his nerves about Gypsy.

"Well, fine. I'll ask her myself, dorkface." And he would, too.

"Everything Gypsy does has to be booked through the agency. And we ain't booking her."

Brian snarled at the face on the screen. "We'll see about that."

Mart sighed just as Diana Lynch Belden entered the office holding a sheaf of papers. "I have a script for Gypsy, another remake of A Star is Born. What's wrong?" She noted her husband's flushed face and knit brows.

Mart glanced sourly at his spouse. Diana was simply gorgeous, one of those classic beauties that turned heads in every room. Blue-black hair caught the light, and her unusual violet eyes dominated her face. She was tall and sylph-like, and Mart's love since, well, forever.

"Brian is the matter. He has the hots for Honey Wheeler, you remember Moms said the Wheelers bought Manor House back in Sleepyside. They met, and he happened to find out the family was trying to book Gypsy for some charity event. He wanted me to use my influence to get her to agree."

Diana perched on the desk, the script forgotten. "She's done up, Mart. What doesn't he understand about that?"

"I guess he's not as lucky as we are." Mart's face softened, and his blue eyes twinkled as they took in the affronted face of his wife. "I'm not sure she would even consider dating him. The Beldens are not in the same class as the Wheelers… or the Lynches," he added.

Diana waved her manicured, slender fingers in the air. "As if that ever, mattered, Martin Belden. Don't forget, not that long ago your family was considered well off, and mine was dirt poor." Ed Lynch's inventive and creative mind was the conduit for his family's rise in fortune.

"We were lucky." He rubbed a hand on Di's tempting knee. "Do you think I should ask Gypsy?" They tried to never refer to her as Trixie in the office. Walls have ears, you know.

"No. I don't. What you said is true, babe. She needs to wind down. We had her on a hectic whirlwind this past year. I'm surprised she didn't become ill."

"You're right. You're right. Well, I guess we can turn down that script for her and concentrate on some of our other business for a change."

Di kissed his head and tossed the script in the recycle bin. "It was remade too many times, anyway."

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She was laughing up at him after taking a tumble off her tube. Snow was everywhere, sparkling in her hair, on her stunning baby-blue snowsuit, and especially on those long, long eyelashes.

"Snow looks good on you. Much better than mascara." He ran a light finger over her lashes, wishing he didn't have gloves on.

"You say that to all the klutzy women in your life," she giggled, wishing he didn't have gloves on. What would it be like to have his hands on her? She shivered, not with cold, but with want.

"You're cold, Trix. Let's go grab a cup of hot chocolate in the resort." Jim stretched out his hand to her to help her up. As their palms connected, covered though they were, the instantaneous static shock of meeting your soul mate shot straight through them.

"Why don't you come back to my bungalow, and I can make some for us?" The kitchen was small, galley style, but all the mod cons were there. Diana, bless her, made sure the fridge and pantry were well stocked. There was even a slender Christmas tree in the corner of the living room.

"I'd love to. Thanks." Jim realized he was still holding her hand and gave it a squeeze. The morning was delightful and now the afternoon was full of promise.

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Brian and Honey were approaching Manor House when she let out a shriek and took off at a run. A tall, red-haired man was standing there, hands on hips, looking at the stables. He was accompanied by a slightly shorter, dark-haired man and they were in earnest conversation.

"Regan! Dan!"

Both men turned, huge grins splitting their faces. "Well, if it isn't the infamous Honey Wheeler," the dark-haired one said. Brian followed along at a more sedate pace but felt a little pang when both men enveloped her in huge hugs, looking at him with interest… and warning.

"Bill Regan, Dan Mangan, this is Brian Belden. He and his family live in the farmhouse in the hollow. His mother found us this place. Brian, Regan oversees the stables and Dan…"

"I know Dan. Great job at the Olympic trials. Hope you'll bring home gold for us." Brian extended his hand and both men shook it firmly. They liked Brian's easy grin and friendly manner.

"Thank you, I hope so too."

"There's a huge lake past that tree line there that's part of the property," Brian explained. "It freezes solid once it gets cold. It will be great for you to practice on when you can't get to a rink."

"Thanks, man. What are you two up to?"

Honey rolled her eyes. "You know my mother. She had me meet some of her pet interior decorators out here, none of whom listened to a word I said. Mrs. Belden arranged for a local guy to meet me here, and Brian offered to accompany me and wait for him. I didn't expect you yet."

"I'd thought I'd come and scope out the stables. See if they need any modification or repair. The whole place is in great shape. I'll have the horses down here next week." Regan finally had a home for his babies.

When you were mega-rich, closing on a house took a matter of days, not weeks. Especially if the house was vacant for years.

"Uncle Bill, I'm starving," Dan complained. He burned a lot of calories every day and needed something to stoke his furnace.

"I can recommend a burger joint in town, Wimpy's," Brian beamed out his infectious smile. "Right on Main Street. You can't miss it; it's a couple old railroad cars joined together. Their burgers are the next best thing to my mother's, and you can't beat the thick shakes and fries."

"Thanks for the info. Honey, I think your appointment is arriving." Regan saluted the two and moved on with Dan. On a whim, he turned to Brian. "Do you ride?"

"Yeah, we all do. We had lessons at old Mr. Tomlinson's stable when we were kids."

"Great. We'll need somebody to exercise the horses." Ragan sauntered away, whistling.

888888

Jim ran to his bungalow to change while Trixie did the same. Just as she was getting ready to start the process of making homemade hot cocoa, her special phone rang.

She sighed and picked it up, plugging in the daily code. "I'm on vacation," she said, her voice reflecting her feelings regarding the unwelcome call.

"I know. But, you're right in the thick of things," the gruff voice at the other end barked out. "We have a job for you."

"I. Am. On. Vacation. What part of that don't you understand?" Trixie gritted her teeth in frustration.

"Listen, Agent Belden, the job is right there at the resort. We're aiding the FBI. They got word there is going to be a major jewelry heist at the Christmas Ball. We need Gypsy to provide a distraction while the Feebs grab the culprits."

"And why are we assisting on a domestic job like this?" she snarked. Gleeps, couldn't the FBI handle their own cases?

"They know who the thieves are, a husband and wife team. They haven't been able to grab them. They want a scene created after they see the couple do their thing. Once they're caught, the jewels will be returned to the owners. The Feebs want the couple for some info, and they'll trade them immunity for it."

"What kind of information can be so valuable? I can't imagine jewel thieves having that sort of intel."

Leighton Oglivie frowned into the phone. This one always wanted to know why. He bit back a sigh and answered her question, even though he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. "I don't know if you know, but sometime in 2010, a couple of famous masterpieces were stolen from a Paris Museum. They've never been recovered."

"So?"

"The Feebs got a tip the paintings are here, in the US, and are about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder on the black market. The fence this couple uses for the jewels also is purportedly involved with the sale of the stolen artworks. The proceeds are earmarked to fund a terrorist cell," Oglivie said darkly. "The Feebs haven't been able to identify the fence. Once they do, they can identify the cell."

"What do you need Gypsy to do?" Trixie sighed. Here I go again.

888888

Brian's phone vibrated with the text message. You're in luck, bro. Gypsy just agreed to do a set at the Wheelers' Christmas Ball. You can tell Honey that you prevailed upon your poor-put-upon brother to relent and nudge Gypsy into agreeing. Hope she's worth it! ?

Yes! If Brian hadn't been within a few feet of Nick Roberts and Honey, he would have pumped his fist into the air. The two were talking, arms sweeping, fingers fluttering, and Brian knew Nick had secured the job of helping to furnish Manor House.

He waited until Nick left with a jaunt in his step. "Your mother was right," Honey enthused. "He's exactly what we wanted."

"I have more good news."

Honey's topaz eyes were perplexed. What kind of good news could Brian impart? They just met.

"And what is that?"

"Gypsy agreed to sing at the resort Christmas Ball." He left it unsaid that he had anything at all to do with it, hoping she'd jump to an incorrect conclusion.

And so, she did. His reward was a mind-numbing, brain-melting kiss that was supposed to be a friendly peck, but, oh, was so much more.

888888

Jim was back at Trixie's, settling on the sofa was a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Made with milk, not that namby-pamby stuff that was watered down and maybe had a hint of cocoa, if one were lucky.

Maybe.

His green gaze brightened as he watched her sit down on the chair across from him. Simple clothes, a pair of black leggings and a red sweater that had Ho Ho Ho embroidered in white. Her feet were stuffed into short boots, and her blonde curls beamed a tangled halo around her head.

There was something off about her though. Trixie's eyes were still the same stunning blue, but there was a hint of sadness there. Jim placed his mug on the table and asked. "Is something wrong?"

Trixie looked shocked for a moment, trying to read the meaning behind that simple question. She straightened her shoulders and gave him a half smile. "What makes you think something is wrong?" she parried.

"I don't know." Jim shrugged. "You seem more subdued, a little sadder than when we were at breakfast and tubing."

And here I thought I had a poker face. There's no harm in telling him the truth. Just not all of it.

"Phone call from work. I have to work on Christmas Eve, not too far from here." In fact, right there in the Great Ballroom.

"That sucks. You couldn't beg off?"

"Nope. Checking out a venue for AAA. I'll be back for Christmas, though."

"I thought you'd go home to family. We're all spending the holiday here. My parents are giving a charity Christmas Ball here on Christmas Eve. I'm sure you've seen the flyers."

"I've been traveling so much this year, I just needed a break. Moms – that's my mother – has a tendency to go a little nuts at holiday time. For Thanksgiving, she hosts an open house that I think everyone in Sleepyside drops in on. It's days and days of non-stop cleaning and baking."

Jim wrapped his large hands around the mug, taking a bracing sip. "I know what you mean. Even though I was stationed in one place for nearly a year, it can be exhausting dealing with local customs, even food. All I wanted was a hamburger. A nice, juicy hamburger."

"Yup. When I got here, that was the first thing I ordered from room service."

"I'm glad you have an appetite and are not one of those eat one carrot stick and then excuse yourself to go to the ladies room type of woman. Most men like women with, um, curves."

Trixie giggled, watching as Jim tried not to dig himself any deeper. She could see the wheels turning, trying to decide if he offended her.

"So my brothers told me," she eased his mind. "I'm not that type!"

They spent the rest of the afternoon just talking, cups of cocoa growing cold, as the purple night shadows crept over the warm bungalow.

888888

The next couple of weeks were a blur of activity for everyone. Nick Roberts set about turning Manor House into a home. It wasn't difficult; the place had great bones. It was amazing how fast suppliers and tradespeople were able to deliver when they found out they were dealing with the Wheelers.

Honey spent most of her time in Sleepyside, overseeing the renovation and getting to know Brian Belden a whole lot better. She started off staying at the Glen Road Inn but ended up in the spare bedroom at Crabapple Farm. Helen Belden insisted upon it. The Beldens were a warm, loving family and truth to tell, Brian was the reason she agreed.

She craved more of those kisses, even though they were circling around each other right now. Honey discovered that Brian lived most of the year in California, was the author and scriptwriter for her favorite television series, Project Dead. He learned she was an attorney, being groomed to take over her father's empire.

Two disparate worlds that met with a bump of fate. And if their most secret dreams came true, something new and beautiful would arise from that impact.

Regan and Dan brought the horses down from Saratoga and settled into the little house attached to the stables. The four of them often went riding in the huge nature preserve that came as part and parcel of Manor House. Dan was thrilled with the lake and boathouse, laughing at Honey and Brian as he whizzed by them.

888888

Chief Molinson called Peter Belden into his office. Once there, he was introduced to George Rainsford, old Mr. Frayne's attorney, and Matthew Wheeler. If he wondered why Matt Wheeler was present at the meeting, he soon discovered the connection.

"Mr. Belden, thank you for bringing the financial improprieties that were occurring in Mr. Frayne's accounts," Rainsford started out. "We completed an investigation, aided by Chief Molinson here. It appears that Mr. Frayne's caretaker, the man called Jonesy, was accessing his accounts. Out and out fraud by a scoundrel!" Rainsford became red in the face. "I should have realized it sooner."

"Will you be arresting him?" Peter directed this question to the chief.

"No, once he got wind that we were closing down his access, he took off. Plus, he thought that Mr. Frayne had no heirs. It turns out, he does. Mr. Wheeler here can explain everything."

"My son, Jim, is the great-nephew of your Mr. Frayne. In fact, he was named after him. Winthrop Frayne and his wife Katie were my best friends in college. He told me how his uncle declined after his wife, Nell, perished in some freak accident. Later, he thought his uncle passed away after he read an obituary. When Win and Katie died prematurely, I adopted Jim. James Winthrop Frayne II."

"That's wonderful news!" Peter interjected. "How on earth did you piece this all together?"

"With the help of your daughter," Matt said, surprising Peter. "Jim is staying up at the WH Mead's Mountain Resort, and so is your daughter. They ran into each other – literally, from what I was told. They got to talking and Trixie, is it? Trixie recognized the name. Jim asked me to investigate it for him. I haven't called him back with all the details yet, because of this Jonesy character being in the mix."

George Rainsford was completely satisfied with this turn of events. "We got Mr. Frayne into a hospital. He was rather excited to learn about Jim. Seems he had a christening cup made when the child was born, but never gave it to Win and Katie. It was around the time Nell passed on. Your son will be heir to a considerable fortune, Mr. Wheeler. Frayne may have been, shall we say, eccentric, but he was a wily, shrewd investor."

"What about this Jonesy? He gets away scot-free?" Peter was incensed.

"We have a BOLO out on him. I'd tell your son to watch his step, Mr. Wheeler. Jonesy found the will, and he was in the process of trying to forge a new one. He may feel Jim cheated him out of an inheritance."

"I let him know, but quite honestly, my son can take care of himself."

Another worry crossed Peter's mind.

Jim Frayne could take care of himself, but what about Trixie?

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Joeanne Darnell frowned. She really enjoyed being Gypsy's decoy, but she didn't relish being away on Christmas Eve. And the constant traveling resulted in a miniscule social life. Or rather, no social life right now. She couldn't tell anyone what she really did, so she was Trixie's assistant at AAA. It was as good as an excuse as any to be in the same cities.

Everything was wrapped up all neat and tight, just in case any nosy reporters came around. She often wondered how they got away with it for so long.

Of course, she had no knowledge of Gypsy's other little sideline.

She leafed through the magazine featuring Olympic hopefuls, stopping at the photos of Daniel Mangan. She sighed, licking her lips. He was one fine specimen of the male species! If only… nah. What were her chances of meeting him given her job?

Joeanne placed the magazine on the table and began to pack. Christmas Eve was not too far away, and she needed to be ready.

888888

Jim and Trixie spent almost every waking moment together. Oh, there were times when Jim had to care for a few things at the office that needed his attention. Trixie had to plot and plan Gypsy's performance at the Christmas Ball as well as confer with the Agency about the takedown of Celia and Tom Delanoy without any of the other guests realizing what was going on.

But, other than those brief respites, they took advantage of all the amenities the resort offered.

Even the staff noted the tender softening of Mr. Jim's face when he gazed at the bubbly blonde. It was obvious that little Ms. Belden returned his regard by the slight flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. Yeah. Bets were on as to how long it would take for the two of them to hook up. Staff took every opportunity to wander by the bungalows, hoping to catch one of them doing the walk of shame.

He told her about his great-uncle and how Matt Wheeler stepped in to assist. "It was all due to you recognizing my surname, Trix. That caretaker Uncle James had was robbing him blind. Your father had already alerted the authorities, though. Uncle James is now in rehab and getting stronger. He can't wait to meet me as soon as he is able."

"It truly is a small world. I'm so happy for you, Jim, and happy that old Mr. Frayne will recuperate and have family."

A few days before Christmas Eve and the invasion of family, Jim decided it was time to create a special memory with his special girl. He knew every expression on her beautiful face, could decipher her moods in an instant. His eyes knew the path of her curves as his hands itched to trace them. She was smart, fun, and more effervescent than the most expensive of Champagnes.

In short, he wanted her badly. Not just for a few hours or a holiday romance. Jim Frayne wanted forever. It might have been too soon to declare himself, and maybe he would scare her away. His need drove him on, even as his brain cautioned his heart.

Trixie was head over heels for the tall, handsome redhead. He was cautious, to be sure, reining her in just that little bit. She figured they balanced each other out in the end. She ran a hand through her blonde curls as she ached for him in her lonely bed. Sure, they kissed a few times.

Kisses that curled her toes and made her blood thrum in her veins.

Kisses that left them both gasping for breath. Yet, neither one had made a move to take these feelings any further.

The phone in the bungalow rang, and Trixie glanced at the clock. Midnight, the witching hour, when magic happened. And of course, it was Jim.

"Couldn't sleep thinking about you," Jim murmured, his voice hoarse and low.

"Me either," Trixie admitted, breathless.

"How about tomorrow, a special dinner in my bungalow? I'll order it from The Sasserie. I know you have to leave the next day until Christmas Day."

Trixie felt a pang at the deception. She wouldn't be leaving the resort, not really. Gypsy would be arriving, to much fanfare. She would need to be smuggled into the room and await Joeanne's entrance. How would Jim feel about the real Trixie Belden?

And about her dangerous sideline?

"Yes," she agreed at once, trying to dismiss that awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even if she only had tomorrow, it would have to last a lifetime.

"Great. See you at breakfast." Those three little words were at the tip of his tongue, the ones he never said to any other woman. He couldn't bring them to life yet. He didn't care what pop culture, poets, or society thought. Men fell faster, harder, and more completely than women. And they definitely wanted to express those feelings verbally.

And he would. He really would.

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"I have a hinky feeling about this job, Tom." Celia frowned in the mirror in the bedroom of the B&B where they were staying. Something wasn't right.

"It's just jitters, babe. You have them before every job. Besides, you know this is the last one. Then we'll retire to the country, and you can have those 2.5 kids."

"Ewww. I hate to see what half a kid looks like." She grinned at her husband but pressed a hand against her belly.

Something just wasn't copacetic.

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"Regan, would you and Dan mind coming to WH Mead's Mountain Resort over Christmas with the family? I want you to do a surreptitious check on the stables, and besides, you're family."

Matt Wheeler leaned on the fence surrounding the paddock in Sleepyside. The main house wasn't ready yet, but Matt wanted to see the progress.

Honey was right. Nick Roberts was the best man for the job. Contractors were buzzing around the place, fixing what needed to be fixed and restoring what needed to be restored. Furniture was ordered and with a word, would be delivered. The kitchen was being updated by Happy Home Restorations, another local firm owned by a Lester and Ruth Mundy.

"Are you sure, Mr. Wheeler? Dan and I wouldn't…"

"Nonsense. You both are family, and family sticks together. We'll be traveling up tomorrow, so get packing. I'm having Diego from Saratoga come down and care for the horses while we're gone."

As Regan turned to go, Matt Wheeler glanced down to the hollow. You could barely see the enchanting white farmhouse, the one where the Beldens lived. He liked Peter Belden when they met, had every intention of pursuing the friendship. Maddie was constantly on the phone with Helen.

Besides, I have eyes in my head. Honey and Brian think they are playing it cool, but I'm pretty sure I'll be gaining another son within a year.

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Henry Jones, aka Jonesy, was a psychopath. Not just your garden variety sociopath, but a full-blown psychopath. From a young age, he knew the world existed to serve him, not the other way around.

He spent his youth gifting, scamming, and conning his way into other people's lives. Like most psychopaths, he was gifted at ferreting out the weak and vulnerable, exploiting them for his gain.

Jonesy wore a mask of humanity. He could be a friend, caretaker, lover. But he felt nothing inside except for the vast empty space he needed to fill with whatever his mood dictated. Sex, drugs, money. He left a trail of broken people in his wake.

He was angry with that damn bank president, the one who alerted the authorities to his casual withdrawals from that rich old fart. He was angry with the authorities for having the temerity to suggest he did something wrong. James Frayne owed him.

He was just about to forge a new will, too. One that left that crappy old mansion and all Frayne's lovely millions to him. But noooooo. He discovered the old will, the one that names a great-nephew as heir. James Winthrop Frayne II.

Man, weren't his parents smart, naming him after the old man. They guaranteed an inheritance. One that should be coming to me for putting up with all his crap.

It wasn't too difficult to learn that the heir was adopted by a rich family and was a famous architect. And it wasn't too difficult to learn that the heir was spending the holidays at that resort in Vermont.

Well, maybe he'd just pay a little visit there. Yeah, good idea. He'd make James Winthrop Frayne II suffer the way ol' Jonesy was sufferin'. Teach 'im a lesson about stealing other people's inheritances.

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The resort was really rockin'. People were streaming in, not only for the lovely New England charm of it all but for the Christmas Ball given by the Wheeler family. It was going to be a dazzling scene, and rooms were booked up all the way in neighboring towns and villages. Honey was back in New York with her parents, but her heart wasn't present. It seemed to her that she left it back there in Sleepyside with Brian Belden.

It was fast, it was furious, but it was like that when you met the other half of your soul. She moped around their apartment, sighing and glancing out the window towards Westchester County. Matt rolled his eyes at his daughter's obvious signs of lovesickness. "Honey, you can go right back to Sleepyside after the Christmas Ball."

Honey looked affronted. "What makes you think that I need to go back to Sleepyside?" She couldn't be that transparent, could she?

"You could always invite him to the Christmas Ball, sweetie. He could stay with us in our suite. We have plenty of room." Maddie bustled into the room, looking as perfect as ever.

"I doubt that Brian has a tuxedo hanging around in his closet."

"Oh, I don't know about that. He said he's a scriptwriter and author based out in California for most of the year. They do have a lot of awards shows where people have to get dressed up in their finest. He may not have a tux here in New York, but I'm sure he has one in California. He can always have it expressed out."

"That's a great idea, mom!" Honey jumped and threw her arms around her mother, hugging her tight. "I'm going to give him a call right this very moment."

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Trixie was pacing the living room in her bungalow. "I am not going to faint on stage. You can put that out of your mind right this moment. Do you know what kind of rumors would start about Gypsy? I already have to deal with pregnancy rumors, drug taking rumors, and rumors that I am not a real person but some sort of a cyborg. I don't need to add any fuel to those fires." She ran an agitated hand through her blonde curls.

"The Feebs thought that that would be a good distraction while they scoop up their perps." Oglivie had his doubts about that rather weak plan.

"No, I have a better plan. This is what we're going to do…"

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James Winthrop Frayne II was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous since he went on his first date. He'd kissed lots of girls in the meantime, bedded some, but Trixie? Trixie was in a class all by herself. She was beautiful, adventurous, and had a kind heart. She never asked him for anything and insisted upon paying half. She didn't seem at all impressed about his family's wealth.

In short, she was the real deal.

And he didn't want to mess it up.

He paced the living room, glancing every now and then to the door that led to the bedroom. That was his ultimate goal, but only if she wanted to. The more he thought about it, the more he believed it wasn't his ultimate goal, but today's goal. His goal was maybe happily ever after. And you wanted to impress her, she with those tumbling curls, China blue eyes, and wide, kissable mouth.

Food was seductive, wasn't it? To that end, he contacted Nick, the chef at The Sasserie, one of the high-end restaurants in the resort. After much discussion, they arranged for a light but delectable tasting menu, accompanied by delicious vintage champagne.

Tonight was going to be one of the most important nights of his life, Jim thought, and he needed everything to be just perfectly perfect.

Even if it turned out to be just one night.

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Jonesy made his way to Darby, one town over from that fancy resort everyone was talking about. He wasn't staying at a B&B, nice chain hotel, or even one of those Motel 6 type of places. No, he was in the bad part of town, in a seedy, dilapidated old boardinghouse. The steps were creaky and the proprietor even more so.

His room was barely warm; the coverlet on the bed was old and tattered. He didn't even have the use of a private bathroom. He didn't care. No, not at all. All he needed in this life was to get up Mead's Mountain and get even with old Mr. Frayne.

Jonesy grinned in the cracked mirror, sat on the bed and waited for nightfall.

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Jim and Trixie enjoyed the day. There was ice skating on the rink, following by a hot chocolate at one of the stands. Yummy lunch and some steamy kisses followed, right up until the time they needed to take to get ready for their big date.

When Trixie entered her bungalow, Joeanne was waiting there, a big grin on her face having witnessed a prolonged goodbye at Trixie's door. "And just where have you been, Missy?"

Flustered, Trixie reddened. "And just what are you doing in my bungalow, Gypsy?"

"The FBI brought me out a little earlier. I think they're nervous about the whole sting. And don't worry, I'm not here to cramp your, um, style." Joeanne giggled. "Just waiting for the current occupant to check out so I can be smuggled in."

"There's no style to cramp."

"Oh, yeah, tell me another one." Joeanne flopped on the sofa. "Seriously, Trix. If you found someone, I think it's great. You need to tell him about Gypsy, though. It's a hell of a life."

Trixie frowned and bent her head, thinking how lovely the design in the carpet was. "I know," she murmured. "After Christmas." Trixie explained how they met and sparkled when she talked about all the time they spent having fun. She lifted her head, and those singularly blue eyes pinioned Joeanne's dark ones. "Are you getting tired of the charade, Jo?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. It has its perks as well as its downside. I get to see the world. I get to feel all the love your fans have for you without having one whit of your talent. It's been exciting and sometimes dangerous." Jo sighed. "But, like you, it's hard to meet that certain someone."

Trixie was gathering her thoughts when Joeanne's phone dinged. "They're ready to smuggle me in. In a laundry cart! Geez, you think they could have come up with something more inventive."

"See you tomorrow, babe." Trixie gave the woman a hug. A 'maid' knocked at the door and pushed the cart into the bungalow, shutting the door behind her. "Okay, Ms. Darnell. In you go."

She glanced at Trixie, wondering who she was and how Joeanne Darnell knew her. Ah well, those CIA jerks played everything close to the chest.

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Shadows were drifting across the white snow as the two occupants of two certain bungalows were getting ready. Breathe, Trixie. All you have to do is walk over there. And hope your brain doesn't turn to mush when you see him again.

It was much too cold for a dress, so she settled for some warm leggings and boots… topped by a red sweater that made the best of her killer curves. She shrugged into a quilted vest, turned off the lights sticking the key card in a zippered pocket.

Trixie hoped she didn't have to use it again tonight.

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The table was set, his bed ready, and all he lacked was his golden girl. Jim heard the knock on the door and nearly tripped over his own feet, and he ran to open it, not wanting to leave her out in the cold for long.

"Hey, babe. Come in." The fire was roaring, and the smell of Christmassy evergreen wafted through the air as she stepped into Jim's bungalow.

"Hi, Jim." Trixie stepped in as he closed the door behind her. "I have a surprise coming later."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "What sort of surprise?"

She flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his broad shoulder. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. Oh, how lovely!" Trixie spied the table, set for two, courtesy of the resort. "Everything smells delicious."

"Well, then, let's eat, baby." He took her vest and escorted her to the table, his hand resting in the small of her back.

The tasting menu from Nick at The Sasserie was divine. Not too much so they got overfilled, but just enough to satisfy. They toasted the season with Champagne and talked about everything. A spell was being cast in that bungalow, one that had tiny silken threads, stronger than the strongest metal, that was binding their souls.

Unbreakable.

An hour later, there was a knock at the door. "Delivery for Ms. Belden." Jim was slightly annoyed at the interruption that deflated their bubble, just a little.

Trixie brought in the pink box, its contents still steaming. "Warm chocolate chip and sugar cookies," she laughed. "Just the right dessert."

His gazed raked over her, smiling up at him, her bluer-than-blue eyes alight with merriment. And something else. There was something else there, something he couldn't decipher, but it was calling to him.

Jim's green eyes darkened as his whole body reacted to Trixie's effervescence. No bubbly spirit could ever capture her true self. Instead of reaching for a cookie, he reached for her. "I can think of a better dessert," he growled as his lips caught hers.

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Joeanne Darnell was pretty damn bored. After opening the door to the suite and glancing about, she made a run for it. "Just a little while," she thought, right before she ran full tilt into a body.

"Sorry, wasn't looking where I was go…" It was all she could squeak out. Maybe I have a concussion. What the hell would Dan Mangan be doing here?" Followed by Can it be déjà vu if it happened to someone else?

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Jonesy loitered outside the bungalow where The Heir was staying. The one that beat him out of conning that old geezer out of his millions.

He stashed a suitcase in the thick shrubbery, waiting for night to creep in and provide some cover. Inside the suitcase was a container of gasoline. Spread a little around the bungalow, especially the escape routes and…

And I'll have my revenge. The little blonde will be collateral damage. That's all.

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Brian Belden couldn't believe it. He was here, at this fabulous resort, at the invitation of his… girlfriend's? parents. He only hoped that his tux would arrive tomorrow. And there was a lot of thinking to be done between now and the first week of January when he was due back in Hollywood.

Suddenly, the California lifestyle did not seem that appealing.

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"You… you're Dan Mangan, the speed skater," Jo stumbled over her words.

"Last time I looked," quipped Dan. The woman was looking at him with big brown eyes, and man, he was a sucker for them. She was cute, too.

"I just love watching you skate!" Joeanne enthused. "I was glued to my television last Winter Olympics."

"Thanks. Thank you. Say, would you like to go for a coffee? I was just on my way down to the in-house Starbucks."

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. "I'd love to. My name is Joeanne," she said as they linked arms.

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Trixie was the first one to wake, her sensitive nose and pipes detecting the slight smell of smoke. Just as she sat up in bed, the fire alarm in the bungalow started to shriek. "Jim, wake up. There's a fire!" For a crazy moment, she thought the fireplace went up, but she realized the orange glow was outside of the place.

Jim leaped from the bed, pulling the blind aside. "Trixie, it's outside. Most of it is out. It melted the snow on the roof enough for it to side down and put it out. Get dressed, and we'll check out what's going on."

Several people were gathered outside as hotel security and fire came to investigate. "Did you see anything, Mr. Jim?" the head of security asked. Great. Just great. A super job like this and the owner's son nearly burns to death.

"No. We… I was asleep." He didn't want to drag Trixie into this. The smell of gasoline was dissipating. "The fire alarm went off in the bungalow."

Trixie moved over to the side, out of the way and watched Jim as he spoke to the resort staff. She turned to glance at the scorched clapboards when she thought she heard a faint voice.

Moving a little closer to the tree line between her bungalow and Jim's, she listened intently.

"Help me. Help. Please, someone help." She glanced over at Jim again; he was still talking to the staff. Deciding to act, she followed the entreaties to a small, shallow ravine. A few feet down was a man, his leg bent at an unusual angle.

And right next to him was a red gas can.

He didn't see her. She ran back to Jim, breaking into the conversation. "There's a man with a broken leg and a can of gasoline in the trees between the bungalows. He must have slipped and fallen down a slope and landed awkwardly."

She spied Matt Wheeler coming toward them, and faded away, making her way back to her bungalow. What a way to end a glorious night. Being with Jim was the best experience in her life.

And now, the morning sun brought Gypsy to the resort.

Trixie couldn't help wondering who the man was and why he tried to kill Jim.

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Dan and Joeanne heard none of the commotion outside. No, they were encased in a caffeinated bubble in Starbucks. Christmas music was soft in the background as they flirted and sipped, not wanting their time together to end.

"Will you be at the ball tomorrow?" Dan inquired. Maybe they could arrange to meet.

Joeanne frowned. She'd be there, but not as Joeanne Darnell. "I'm not going to the ball. As a matter of fact, I'll be leaving in a few days." She'd beg Trixie to let her stay, get her a room.

"Yeah, fancy dress balls are not really my thing, either. What do you say we meet up around ten? I think I can ditch my duty by then."

Joeanne did some fast mental calculations. Gypsy was scheduled to go on around eight. She'd sing for an hour, then duck back into the suite. Joanne would leave in one of the decoy limos, drive around for about an hour, and then be ferried back to the resort as herself.

"Eleven would work better for me," she smiled.

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"Jonesy. It was Jonesy, "Matt Wheeler was telling his son. "Caught him red-handed with the gas. Now we have him on fraud and attempted murder." He took notice of the table set for two, the burned-out candles and the lacy bra thrown casually across the sofa. He picked it up with a forefinger and held it up. "Did the fire interrupt something?" Matt cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

Jim grabbed the bra, stuffing it in his pocket. "No, the fire didn't interrupt anything."

Not exactly true. It ended the hours he and Trixie spent together in utter, transcendent bliss. Yes, he really did see shooting stars, pink moons, and unicorns farting glitter.

"Why was Jonesy trying to kill me?" Jim didn't want to talk about Trixie yet. It was still too new, too raw, too emotional to speak in a rational manner.

Matt shrugged, letting the subject of Jim's female visitor fall by the wayside. "Who knows? He was raving something about getting even with your great-uncle. The man is mad. He needs to be put away where he can't hurt anyone else."

"I guess so." Jim glanced over toward Trixie's bungalow. Morning was coming, and she'd be leaving until Christmas Day. "The ball is tonight, Dad. I think we both better get some sleep."

Too bad he wouldn't be next to his special girl.

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Joanne was on the phone with Diana Lynch Belden. "Wanna help me play a prank on Gypsy?" she smiled into the object. It was all good now. She had a room for after the ball, a date with that delectable Dan Mangan and life was gloriously glorious.

"I'm up for a good prank," Di laughed. How could she not be, being married to Mart Belden? The guy who once wrote advice to the lovelorn under the name of Ms. Lonelyhearts.

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The Grand Ballroom at the resort was decked out in its Christmas finest as the glittering guests began to trickle in. One end was taken up by a huge stage; reserved tables filled out most of the rest of the space. There was a good-sized area for those who wanted to dance when the band was playing, but it wasn't about that. It was to see and be seen at the charity event of the year.

Tuxedoed servers were adept at navigating the crowded room with their silver trays of Champagne and crudités. Matthew, Maddie, and Honey Wheeler greeted the guests as they arrived, thanking them for their generous contribution to St Jude's Children's Research Hospital. Partygoers were urged to have a marvelous time.

And oh, they did. Christmas music was playing, soft and sweet, in the background as everyone marveled at the new, best resort on the East Coast.

And then… it was showtime.

Of course, the stage was first commandeered by the charity and the event coordinators – the Wheeler family. A large sum was donated, and everyone felt just a little bit better about their largesse at this time of year.

A well-known comedian provided hilarious commentary on Christmas and holidays with his family. He finished his act to thunderous applause. Then, the stage went dark.

A few minutes later, it burst into life when Gypsy began to sing. She appeared in a spotlight in the middle of the stage, just a slow burn at first until she broke into her signature song, the energetic and effervescent Bubbly. Her curves were outlined in a red stretchy catsuit with white fur around the scoop neck and tight, long sleeves.

She glanced out beyond the hot spotlights, barely able to see the first couple of tables and almost lost her place in the song. Her mother, father, Brian, Mart, and even her brother Bobby were sitting at a table with the Wheelers and the Lynches – including Diana's twin brothers and sisters.

Gypsy noticed the two other men seated with the families, another redhead and a dark man she knew was Daniel Mangan, speed skating star.

The person commandeering a suppressed gasp was James Winthrop Frayne II, resplendent in a tuxedo that fit his supple form to perfection.

She couldn't see those green eyes, but she felt them on her. A tiny frisson snaked down her spine.

There's no way he could know, could he?

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Tom and Celia Delanoy worked the room, their expert fingers relieving guests of their expensive watches, diamond bracelets, and other shiny baubles. The FBI agents watching were quick to note they were selective about their victims. Slightly inebriated, happy folks with who wouldn't notice a thing until the next day.

It was just a waiting game now.

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Jim Frayne's gaze was pinioned to the petite woman on the stage with the huge voice. His eyes followed the bountiful curves outline by the sinfully red catsuit at the same time his brain made what he considered an erroneous connection.

Gypsy was an awful lot like Trixie.

The time they spent together at the resort before today. The hours in his bed where they learned everything about the other's body. He knew each of the curves and indents that made her all woman.

It couldn't be, could it? There were clues, though. Gypsy was repped by her brother's agency. Trixie traveled a lot by her own admission. I bet Trixie and Gypsy are never seen together, just like Clark Kent and Superman or Bruce Wayne and Batman.

No, it couldn't be true, but there was only one way to know for sure.

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Gypsy sang a medley of Christmas songs, giving them her own twist. The audience was delighted, singing along as she made them smile. "We had a member of the audience volunteer to come up on stage for the next song," she announced to the crowd.

With that, a tall man with a Santa coat, fake beard, and hat strode onto the stage, the instructions from the crew ringing in his head. Just keep your eyes on Gypsy and try to look dumbfounded.

Like that would be problematical.

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The band launched into the intro for Santa, Baby as Gypsy gathered tinsel garland from a stagehand. One look into the intense green eyes of her faux Santa and she knew.

It was Jim. And she knew who to thank for setting this up. Oh, she was definitely gonna get back at Joeanne.

Gypsy started singing the sultry tune, winding the garland around Santa, touching him and rubbing her body against his, her connection with the man in the Sant suit giving her an added bit of sexiness. The crowd went wild, hooting and hollering.

Jim stared into brown eyes, not the startling blue he was used to. Her hair was a black bob, but damn if it wasn't his special girl. He knew those lips, that mouth, and those hands on his body. He knew every single curve. The families, the room, everything faded away except the roaring in his ears and her scent, her touch and that voice.

All too soon, the song was over. "Let's give our volunteer, Jim Frayne, a round of applause," she announced. A minute later, she was backstage as she changed into a simple midnight blue gown shot with silver threads. Her makeup was repaired, and within five minutes, she was back on stage.

"Thanks, you've all been great. For my final number, I'd like to do my version of All I Want for Christmas is You.

Gypsy launched into the song, not a bouncy, happy version. It was a torch song, a ballad, full of love and longing. Even the most obtuse member of the audience wondered why the songstress appeared to be singing to someone at one of the front tables.

She couldn't help it. All her training fell away as she sang to Jim and Jim alone. There was no way he knew it was Trixie Belden singing that song to him, but she did it anyway.

The applause was thunderous as she walked off the stage, her adrenaline kicking up a notch. It was now. It was going to happen now.

Gypsy returned to the stage. "Thank you, everyone. I'll do one more song, the Christmas carol I love the best. "

The lights dimmed, and stars were projected on the ceiling. Gypsy stood in the spotlight, in her dazzling dress, and there was no trace of the playful vixen. She began to sing the beloved tones of Do You Hear What I Hear, her voice ringing out clear and true.

As her voice faded away, the lights went completely dark, and only a shining star remained in the heavens of the ballroom.

The audience gasped, moved by the beauty of her voice and the ending of the song, as the FBI moved in, night vision goggles in place. Within a few seconds, the Delanoys were hustled out and brought to a trailer waiting in the parking lot.

"I told you I had a bad feeling about this, Tom," Celia hissed.

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Gypsy left, or rather Joanne Darnell did. Trixie made her way back to her bungalow, tired beyond belief. An encoded message from Oglivie said the Feebs got their perps. The Delanoys were already talking and making deals. She had a reunion with her parents and brothers in their room, thankful they would have Christmas together, even if it wasn't at Crabapple Farm.

Diana took her to one side, confiding the family gossip, especially the interesting tidbit about Brian and Honey Wheeler. She did not confide that she would be announcing she and Mart were expecting. No, that would come at the celebration tomorrow, on Christmas Day.

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Joanne Darnell met up with Daniel Mangan, feeling just a tad melancholy as they walked into the soft snow falling. "I miss my family this time of year," she just got done saying, when the hotel intercom called her name.

"I wonder what they want?"

"Joanne Darnell, please proceed to Bungalow 6." Joanne bit her lip. She hoped nothing happened to Trixie. Or maybe her little stunt with Jim Frayne was about to get her fired.

"Let's go, Joeanne," Dan grinned. "Maybe there's a Christmas miracle."

And it was. Her tentative knock was answered by her father, Joe Darnell, who swept her into a huge hug. It was followed by her mother, Anne, and she was passed to Sally, her sister. "How… how did you get here?"

"The agency arranged for everything once they learned you wouldn't be able to get home for Christmas in time," her mom beamed. "And who is this young man?"

Dan was absorbed into the family unit as if he knew them forever. It may not have been the evening they planned, but it may be the start of many more evenings like this.

There really were Christmas miracles.

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Trixie shut the door behind her, wondering if she forgot to turn off the stereo and lights earlier. A voice floated out of the living area. "Welcome back, Gypsy."

Jim.

Trixie closed her eyes, opened them and strode into the room. A fire was glowing, Jim was sitting on the sofa, and her two worlds were colliding. "How did you get into my bungalow?"

He unfurled his length from the sofa, green eyes gazing into hers. "Helps when your family owns the resort," he smirked. "Gypsy."

"Why do you keep saying that?" She moved over to the fire, warming her cold hands as she bit her lower lip. How could he possibly know?

Jim placed his hands on her shoulders, startling her as he turned her to face him. This was going to be one of the most important conversations in his life. He needed to see those eyes that haunted his dreams, that halo of golden curls that surrounded her beautiful face.

"I know," he confessed, his voice low, hoarse, and urgent. "I know every curl on your head, every freckle on your face. I know every curve of your body, what your eyes look like when you're sad, happy, passionate, or singing a love song. What I don't know is why the deception."

"It didn't start out that way, Jim. You must believe me. I always loved to sing. Always. I didn't want my family impacted by my ambition. You know how it is, the paparazzi following their every move, bringing up peccadillos from the past. When I was born, Mart couldn't pronounce Trixie. It came out Gypsy, so that's who I became when I started doing this professionally."

"I don't understand, Trixie. How could you keep up this charade so long? I'm sure the tabs are salivating for any tidbits about the global superstar."

Trixie licked her lips, and his eyes followed the tip of her pink tongue on that luscious mouth. "I, uh, have another job. A very important job. Let's just say that Gypsy allows that important job to get done, and there are some powerful people manipulating everything behind the scenes."

"You're a spy," he said flatly.

"No, not a spy," she answered, the truth shining out of those magnificent eyes. "Let's just say Gypsy deals in information exchange."

Jim walked over, taking her hands in his. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles, setting off sparks inside of her. "I don't care if you're Trixie or Gypsy. I don't care what you do for a side job. What I do care about," and he took a deep breath here. "What I do care about is what you think about tall redheads with freckles, a sometimes flaming temper; a guy who has to travel a lot but wants to build a life with you." His voice got quieter when he whispered out the last words.

Trixie took her hands from his and cupped his face. His beard was a little scratchy, his lips were appealing for hers, and his eyes held hope. Hope and a darkly decadent desire, barely banked.

"There will be difficulties," she whispered back.

"I know there will be." So close, so very close, their breath intermingled.

"I'm willing to take that chance." Trixie went up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.

"So am I. Merry Christmas, baby."

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

Dawn broke over Groverville. Kids rushed out of their beds, eager to see what Santa brought. A soft, pristine blanket of snow made everything look fresh and new. All over the world, people looked to the heavens and prayed for peace and Christmas miracles.

In one small bungalow in the woods, a man and a woman created something wondrous.

It was true.

There really were such things as Christmas miracles.