Christmas Roses
"My husband was a good man," Celia said, "and I grew to love him, but ours wasn't the kind of marriage I dreamt about, and it certainly wasn't the kind I read about."A raised eyebrow telegraphed Mark's feelings. "Are you talking about novels? They're not real.""The stories may not be real, but the love they portray is. I've seen it. I want a husband who looks at me the way Reverend Pearson looks at Bertha. I want a man who will love me for myself, not for my cooking or because I would be a mother to his son or even because he's lonely." Celia closed her eyes for a second before she said, "I want a man who will give me roses for Christmas."When she opened her eyes, Mark was staring at her, his expression inscrutable. "That's a pretty tall order. Roses don't grow in December, leastwise not in Wyoming Territory."Forcing a laugh to cover her embarrassment, Celia gave Mark a wry smile. "Then I guess I won't marry again."