Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright
Sam went absolutely still. The air between them whispered madly with electricity.
Dani flushed. “I mean, it was…I was…”
Sam’s eyes glowed. “I like the way you put it the first time.”
Moving slowly, he came to her side. His powerful shoulders gave the impression of strength and command, but the hand that reached out to touch her cheek was infinitely gentle.
As she stood in the living room, with the house redolent of the aroma of dinner and echoing with the sound of a child’s bedtime prayers, Dani looked into this mystery man’s eyes—the same man who poured ketchup on her roast beef hash and dried her dishes and made her heart race every time she looked at him—and realized something.
This must be what it’s like to be married.
Dear Reader,
The holiday season is a time for family, love…and miracles! We have all this—and more!—for you this month in Silhouette Romance. So in the gift-giving spirit, we offer you these wonderful books by some of the genre’s finest
A workaholic executive finds a baby in his in-box and enlists the help of the sexy single mom next door in this month’s BUNDLES OF JOY, The Baby Came C.O.D., by RITA Award-winner Marie Ferrarella. Both hero and heroine are twins, and Marie tells their identical siblings’ stories in Desperately Seeking Twin, out this month in our Yours Truly line.
Favorite author Elizabeth August continues our MEN! promotion with Paternal Instincts. This latest installment in her SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series features an irresistible lone wolf turned doting dad! As a special treat, Carolyn Zane’s sizzling family drama, THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, continues with His Brother’s Intended Bride—the title says it all!
Completing the month are three classic holiday romances. A world-weary hunk becomes The Dad Who Saved Christmas in this magical tale by Karen Rose Smith. Discover The Drifter’s Gift in RITA Award-winning author Lauryn Chandler’s emotional story. Finally, debut author Zena Valentine weaves a tale of transformation—and miracles—in From Humbug to Holiday Bride.
So treat yourself this month—and every month!—to Silhouette Romance!
Happy holidays,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
With deep gratitude to Lynda Curnyn, editor, for her kindness and
care in helping me finish this book.
Dedicated to Tim Blough—old friend, new husband!—whose arms
are the warmest place I know.
And to Laura Lea Seidenberg Warren, 1930-1997. You gave me
life and, with the courage of a lion, the gentleness of a lamb, showed me how to live it. How I miss you. L’chaim, Little Lady. To life.
Originally from California, Lauryn now lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where she can look out her window and see deer walking down the street. She holds a B.A. in Drama, and when not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and husband, going for long hikes with her dogs and finding new ways to cheat at Crazy Eights.
Lauryn is the recipient of the 1995 Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Traditional Romance.
“Look, Daddy, Teacher says every time a bell rings another angel gets his wings.”
“That’s right. That’s right! Atta boy, Clarence.”
The last lines of It’s a Wonderful Life competed with the phlegmy hiss of a decrepit heating unit in the corner of Sam Mclean’s motel room.
Sam gazed inexpressively at the black and white TV as Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and a gaggle of Hollywood extras gathered around a Christmas tree for a rousing chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Shifting on the lumpy, coarse motel mattress, Sam grunted. TV programmers were a sadistic bunch. Barely through one holiday, and they couldn’t wait to remind you there was another panting in the wings.
Reaching for the small plastic bottle on his night stand, he glanced at the digital clock—the most modern gadget in the room—and sighed. Four hours to go until midnight. Officially, it was still Thanksgiving.
Holding the vial of pills in his right hand, he used his thumb to pop off the plastic top. He was getting good at this—could hold, open, hang on to the top and even close the bottle again with just one hand. It was a little game he played with himself, a talent he’d perfected with lots of practice and which left his other hand conveniently free for the water chaser.
Shaking two oblong white pills into his mouth, he reached for the glass of tap water he kept by the bed, swallowed and set everything on the nightstand. Leaning on his left hip, he winced. And swore. Once again he’d waited too long to take the painkillers.
The fact that the meds were supposed to be ingested with food could not persuade him to return to the dinner he’d abandoned two hours earlier. Pressed turkey, gravy that was the same bright yellow as the bugs smashed on his windshield, and cubes of damp bread that tasted like they’d been stuck together with Elmer’s White Glue—the turkey special from Hungry Harry’s Country Diner made mess hall slop look like five-star cuisine.
Gripping the handle of the handsome walnut cane his outfit had given him the day he was discharged from the base hospital, Sam sat up and carefully lowered his feet to the floor.
Jeez!
Every move made him feel like he was being stabbed from the inside out.
He stood, gained his bearings and walked—or rather limped—to the window, passing the small round table that held his aborted meal as he went. Lying open next to a cup of piss-poor black coffee was the letter his friend Joseph Lawson had sent one week before Sam’s discharge.
Come to Idaho, Joe had written. Hang out for awhile. Take some time before you make any major decisions. And remember, there’s a job waiting at Lawson’s. Lawson’s, the family store Joe had taken over when his father passed away. Mom and the girls would love to see you again. Hell, why spend the holidays alone?
Sam adjusted his body, leaning his shoulder against the wall so his better, right leg would bear most of his weight. He ignored the remaining pain as best he could while he stared at the hazy moon.
Starless. There were too many streetlights, too much residual pollution to see the heavens here, even at night. He reached up to rub his eyes, then passed his hand over his cheeks and chin. Both were stubble free. Out of sheer habit he’d shaved this afternoon.
As a sergeant first class in the United States Armed Forces, he had spent his holidays on base or, when he hadn’t been able to avoid it, at the home of another officer. On those occasions, he’d been surrounded by laughter, good food, bright conversation.
He hadn’t felt any less alone then than he did right now.
Across the street, a red neon light blinked Bar. Sam felt his leg throb in cadence with the pulsing light, the pain an ever-present reminder that his days as a platoon leader were over. For thirteen years of service, he had belonged. If not to someone, then at least to someplace, something.
Now what? A desk job, pushing paper all day?
“Damn.” Sam whacked his cane against the wall with enough force to chip the plaster. An overwhelming sense of fruitlessness, an awful, gnawing emptiness assailed him. Without his work, who was he?
Once more his gaze fell to the letter he’d been carrying around for three weeks. There’s a job waiting at Lawson’s.
He rubbed his temples. Maybe. At least it would be somewhere to go. A way to pass the time while he figured out what to do with the rest of his life.
For a moment, he closed his eyes. The pain that washed through him this time had little to do with his leg.
When the wall heater gave a particularly nasty belch, Sam lifted his head and stared out the window, disappointed by the filmy clouds that veiled the face of the moon. Tired, he laid his forehead against the wall and came to a decision, if only to end his infernal waffling.
Maybe there would be stars in Idaho.
Rockview, Idaho
Thanksgiving
“Play the petunia game!”
Wriggling into the bottoms of his favorite superhero pajamas, Timmy Harmon fell back on his soft bed and thrust his bare feet in the air.
“Pick a petunia, Mommy.”
Grinning, Dani tugged her son until he was lying with his rump snuggled against her thigh, his rosy toes close enough for her to kiss. Timmy folded his hands on his belly and giggled. The petunia game was one of his favorites. It made the ritual of a nighttime bath almost worthwhile.
Bending toward her smiling five-year-old, Dani wiggled each little toe in turn. “One petunia for Timmy’s mother to pick. Two petunias for Mommy to pick…” She remembered her mother playing the silly, simple game with her. She’d loved it then as much as Timmy did now.
When she’d wriggled the last toe, Dani bent to place a noisy kiss on the arch of each child-size foot. Curled lovingly around his ankle, her fingers lingered a bit longer than usual tonight
From the first booties she’d put on him to the new blue and red sneakers he’d chosen himself for kindergarten, Dani always felt a bittersweet stir of anticipation when she looked at her little boy’s feet, so small, so wonderfully, restlessly eager. And growing so quickly.
Patting the soft skin of his instep, Dani released her hold and reached for a pair of socks still warm from the dryer. She held them up. “It’s cold tonight. You want socks?”
Timmy nodded. In the glow from the teddy bear lamp on the nightstand, her son’s hair was as russet as her own.
Dani rolled the blue cotton socks over his feet, tickling the arches as she went, filling with pleasure when he dissolved into giggles.
When the socks were in place, Timmy sat up on his knees. “Okay, Mommy, you go out now.”
“You haven’t said your prayers yet.”
“I know, but I’m going to do it myself tonight.”
I can do it was becoming an increasingly common refrain around their house, but rarely at bedtime. Resisting the urge to show her disappointment, Dani smiled and stood.
“Okay, pup.” She bent, kissing his downy cheek. “Lights out when you’re through.”
A stack of clean, folded towels awaited her atop the dryer, and more laundry tumbled inside, so Dani decided to busy herself with hausfrau duties until her own bedtime.
On her way to the hall closet, she glanced into the living room and saw her pop sitting on the couch, just as she and Timmy had left him, head back against the cushion, neck arched, mouth open wide as he snored. His hands lay on his lap, palms up—an unconscious yogi.
From the TV came the sound of voices raised in song. “Auld Lang Syne.” Dani grinned. The last scene in It’s a Wonderful Life. He’d watched that weepy old flick twice already this holiday season, and if she knew her father, he’d watch it twice more before Christmas. He saw things so simply, her sweet dad. Jimmy Stewart was still the best actor going, Donna Reed was the cutest girl, pumpkin pie with whipped cream turned a meal into a feast and…it was a wonderful life.
Pressing her face against the top towel of the stack she carried, Dani let the material absorb her deep sigh. She stood a moment longer, watching her father’s glasses slip by tiny degrees as he snored, then she moved down the hall.
When she reached Timmy’s door, she stopped. Prayers usually lasted all of thirty seconds—forty if there was a pet frog involved—so the muffled sounds coming from her son’s room drew her like a magnet. Sidling alongside the door, she peeked in. The teddy bear lamp was turned off. A night-light provided the only illumination. Timmy spoke to a group of toy figures he’d assembled.
“One more glass of water, that’s all.” He lowered his voice to as deep a register as he could manage—a child’s version of a baritone.
“You were a good boy today.” He jiggled one of the toys, making it speak. “Tomorrow you can have a treat. We’ll go see Santa Claus. Would you like that?” he asked a figure lying on his pillow and in his own voice responded, “Oh, boy! And Mommy will make cookies. Them ones Santa likes.”
“Yes, pup,” he answered in the deep, manly voice again. “Now go to sleep. Mommy and I will watch you.”
Mommy and I? Dani leaned farther around the door. Timmy returned to his normal register. “Kiss Mommy,” he commanded the toy in his right hand—the father. Bringing the two figures together until they clacked heads, he made a noisy sucking sound. “Now tell Mommy you love her.” And once more in the baritone, “I love you. Now go to sleep.”
Walking his makeshift family across the bed, he seated them on the nightstand, positioning the plastic figures so that the two parents were standing protectively over their son.
Tucking himself beneath the quilt, Timmy curled up on his side, eyes open, curly head craned, watching his “family” watch him.
Frozen in the doorway, Dani forgot she was holding towels until the stack began to topple. Making a quick, noiseless save, she backed into the hall. Her steps to the closet were so automatic she barely registered she was taking them.
In the living room, her father’s snoring intensified to buzz-saw decibels. Dani stowed the towels, her hands shaking, her movements clumsy. Jelly seemed to have replaced the bones in her knees.
She remembered the promise she’d made her son the day they’d left the hospital together—she lonely and scared at twenty-three, he a tiny, defenseless bundle wrapped in her arms. We’ll be a family, you and I. I promise.
Pressing her palms against the oft-painted panel of the closet door, Dani touched her forehead to the wood and squeezed her eyes tight. Oh, God, had she failed? They were a family, weren’t they? She hadn’t blown it too badly yet, had she?
She certainly hadn’t meant to wind up broke in the boondocks of Idaho, in a house that was a paint job away from dilapidated, on a farm that barely supported itself. She hadn’t meant for them to be alone on Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year’s.
Hearing the sudden snort that signaled her father wakening from his nap, Dani pushed away from the closet, wiped her eyes and hurried into her bedroom. She closed the door softly behind her, moving toward the window without flipping on the light.
With the curtains drawn, moonlight cast silver beams into the room. Dani stood close to the cold glass, arms wrapped around her waist, staring out.
I should have moved to Los Angeles, some city where the local chapter of Parents Without Partners is bigger than the PTA.
This time her sigh was ragged and tired. It fogged the glass. Everywhere she looked, stars seemed to be winking.
“Whatever the joke is, I wish you’d let me in on it,” she whispered to the cosmos.
Somewhere under this very same sky were people who still made wishes, people who still believed. She’d been like that once, dreaming with her eyes wide open. That’s what she wanted for her son—enough innocence to believe that dreams came true. Five was too young yet to learn about life’s disappointments.
Shivering inside her thick sweater, Dani hugged herself more tightly. What, she wondered, could this nighttime sky with its moon and its stars and its mystery have to offer a not-so-young-anymore single mother who’d stopped believing in wishes long ago?
Letting her hands drift up until they were linked beneath her chin, she closed her eyes. And then, because she had no idea what else to do, for the first time in more years than Dani could remember, she prayed.
“Girl, you are out of your gourd!”
“Shh, Pop, Timmy’ll hear you.” From the kitchen doorway, Dani glanced into the living room to check on her son, who was still engrossed in running his dump truck up and down the legs of their sofa. His pliant lips sputtered as he made engine sounds.
Turning toward the oven, Dani removed a pan of oatmeal-coconut crunch cookies.
“Want coffee?” she asked her father. “There’s one cup left in the pot.”
Eugene Harmon shook his head. “Nope. I had three cups already. Too much caffeine.” He watched Dani cross to the fridge to pour herself a glass of orange juice. “’Course, I don’t want it to go to waste if you’re not going to have any.” He rose with his mug. “Pour it in there.”
Blinking rapidly behind his glasses, Gene hitched his trousers higher on his waist—his characteristic gesture when he anticipated something enjoyable. Dani smiled. Timmy had adopted the same habit of late.
“Want one of these?” Reaching for the giant cookies, she pulled her hand back abruptly and affected an innocent look. “Oh, sorry, Pop. I forgot, you’re cutting back on sugar, too, aren’t you?”
Gene pulled a dish from one of the cabinets. Brown eyes shining as he acknowledged the gibe, he tapped the center of the chipped china dessert plate. “Just put it right there.”
They settled at the breakfast table, and Dani began to fidget, plucking at a piece of orange pulp that was stuck to the rim of her glass.
“You know, it’s not such a bad idea when you think about it,” she said hesitantly, easing back to the topic at hand. She raised her eyes to her father’s. Behind wire-framed glasses, Gene regarded his daughter stonily, and Dani squirmed with the need to defend the decision she’d come to during the night “Pop, how many great marriages do you know of? I mean really great ones. Love affairs. Name three off the top of your head.”
Gene popped a piece of cookie into his mouth, taking an excessively long time to chew. “Antony and Cleopatra.”
“Live people.”
Reaching for his coffee, he frowned.
“See?” Dani countered. “Bet you can’t name even one.” Digging peanut butter from a groove in the pine table, she smiled sadly. “Me, either. Except for you and Mom.”
Rubbing his nose where long ago his glasses had left a permanent indentation, Gene nodded. He spoke infrequently of his late wife, but Dani knew he thought of her often.
“You and Mom used to laugh so much. I remember thinking you were telling her jokes.”
Gene smiled. “Sometimes I was.” They sat quietly a moment, then he offered, “You could have that, too. You’re so pretty, honey. And smart. Maybe I never.told you that enough.”
“Yes, you did.” Dani hated the look of uncertainty on her father’s face. “You did everything just right, Pop.”
“Then don’t rush into anything,” he cautioned, referring to the plan she’d related to him this morning. “Marriage is hard work. Without love—”
“I’d rather have commitment without love than love without commitment. And don’t tell me I can have both.” Already primed to utter exactly those words, Eugene’s mouth snapped shut. “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I have a child. I don’t have the time to chase rainbows. I don’t have the energy.”
“You could still meet someone…the natural way.”
Wincing at the clear implication that what she was about to do was highly unnatural, Dani countered, “Where am I going to meet someone in Rockview?”
Fewer than a thousand people lived in the historic mining town, most of them married. Or incontinent “Face it, Pop, when we went eeny-meeny-miney-mo with that map, we landed in a town that makes Noah’s Ark look like a singles’ cruise.”
“You could get out more. Take a girlfriend and drive into Boise. Maybe there’s someplace there you could go dancing.” His inflection rose with hopefulness.
Dancing. After nine or ten hours of work every day, Dani’s feet hurt just thinking about it. “I don’t want to pick someone up at a dance. Or have them try to pick me up. I like my idea better.”
She splayed her hands across the scarred top of the pine table. There was a business-size white envelope next to the ceramic salt shaker. Gene’s gaze followed hers, and his expression grew more troubled. With an effort, Dani steeled herself to proceed even in the face of her father’s uneasiness. Even in the face of her own.
Inside that envelope was her chance to create a family for her son. Mentally, she reviewed the words she’d written and had read to her father early this morning.
A home for the holidays Small family on small farm seeks man willing to make our house his home. Must love kids and hard work. Clean living, solid background with work and personal references required. Ninetyday trial period leading to legal union. Serious inquiries only.
“I got most of my cars through the newspaper,” Gene grumbled. “Half of ’em were lemons.”
Dani mustered a smile. “That’s why I’m insisting on a trial period. It’s like a three-month test drive.”
Gene found little humor in the situation. He shook his head, then stood. “Well. We better get going if we’re going to make it to Lawson’s in time to see Santa.”
The abrupt change in topic threw Dani off stride. She’d intended to talk until Pop saw things her way. But he’d always been the kind of father who let his daughter make her own mistakes. And she’d made some dillies. Praying this wasn’t going to be another of them, Dani picked up the envelope and tucked it in the pocket of her cardigan. Later, she would ask Pop to run the ad over to the Tribune office while she did the grocery shopping. That way she’d have no chance to get cold feet. The County Trib was circulated all over the state. Her ad would get a lot of play.
“I’ll get Timmy. Thanks for coming with us, Pop. These outings with you mean the world to him.”
Gene waved her gratitude away. “He’s my grandson, isn’t he? Better make him put on his mittens. Looks like it may snow again.”
Dani rose. Instead of proceeding to the living room, she laid a hand on Gene’s arm. “It won’t be just anybody. If the right person doesn’t come along, then we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing. But I have to try, Dad. For Timmy.”
Gene covered her hand with his and nodded.
Turning, Dani called out to her son. “Grab your coat and your mittens, pup. We’re going to visit Santa!”