A Date With Santa

Romance blooms when an unlikely couple plans to surprise a child in need of some Christmas magic in this sparkling holiday romance from #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber. For single career woman Clare Madison, Christmas means pre-made cookies and artificial Read more

The Gift of Christmas

Ashley Robbins clenched her hands together as she sat in a plush velvet chair ten stories up in a Seattle high-rise. The cashier’s check to Cooper Masters was in her purse. Rather than mail him the money, Ashley had impulsively decided to deliver it herself.

People moved about her, in and out of doors, as she thoughtfully watched their actions. Curious glances darted her way. She had never been one to blend into the background. Over the years she’d wondered if it was the striking ash blond hair that attracted attention, or her outrageous choice of clothes. Today, however, since she was meeting Cooper, she’d dressed conservatively. Never shy, she was a hit in the classroom, using techniques that had others shaking their heads in wonder. But no one doubted that she was the most popular teacher at John Knox Christian High School. Cooper had made that possible. No one knew he had loaned her the money to complete her studies. Not even Claudia, her best friend and Cooper’s niece.

Ashley and Cooper were the godparents to John, Claudia’s older boy. Being linked to Cooper had pleased Ashley more than her friend suspected. She’d been secretly in love with him since she was sixteen. It amazed her that no one had guessed during those ten years, least of all Cooper.

“Mr. Masters will see you now,” his receptionist informed her.

Ashley smiled her appreciation and followed the attractive woman through the heavy oak door.

“Ashley.” Cooper stood and strode to the front of his desk. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Cooper.” He’d changed over the last six months since she’d seen him. Streaks of silver ran through his hair, and tiny lines fanned out from his eyes. But it would take more than years to disguise his strongly marked features. He wasn’t a compellingly handsome man, not in the traditional sense, but seeing him again stirred familiar feelings of admiration and appreciation for all he’d done for her.

“Sit down, please.” He indicated a chair not unlike the one she’d recently vacated. “What can I do for you? Any problems?”

She responded with a slight shake of her head. He had always been generous with her. Deep down, she doubted that there was anything she couldn’t ask of this man, although she didn’t expect any more favors, and he was probably aware of that.

“Everything’s fine.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she opened the clasp of her purse and took out the check. “I wanted to personally give you this.” Extending her arm, she handed him the check. “I owe you so much; it seemed almost rude to put it in the mail.” The satisfaction of paying off the loan was secondary to the opportunity of seeing Cooper again. If she’d been honest with herself, she would have admitted she was hungry for the sight of him. After all these months she’d been looking for an excuse.

He glanced at the check and seemed to notice the amount. Two dark brows arched with surprise. “This satisfies the loan,” he said thoughtfully. Half turning, he placed the check in the center of the large wooden desk. “Your mother tells me you’ve taken a second job?” The intonation in his voice made the statement a question.

“You see her more often than I do,” she said in an attempt to evade the question. Her mother had been the Masters’ cook and housekeeper from the time Ashley was a child.

He regarded her steadily, and although she could read no emotion in his eyes, she felt his irritation. “Was it necessary to pay this off as quickly as possible?”

“Fast? I’ve owed you this money for over four years.” She laughed lightly. Someone had once told her that her laugh was one of the most appealing things about her. Sweet, gentle, melodic. She chanced a look at Cooper, whose cool dark eyes revealed nothing.

“I didn’t care if you ever paid me back. I certainly didn’t expect you’d half kill yourself to return it.”

The displeasure in his voice surprised her. Taken aback, she watched as he stalked to the far corner of the office, putting as much distance between them as possible. Was it pride that had driven her to pay him back as quickly as possible? Maybe, but she doubted it. The loan to finish her schooling had been the answer to long, difficult prayers. From the time she’d been accepted into the University of Washington, she had attended on faith. Faith that God would supply the money for books and tuition. Faith that if God wanted her to obtain her teaching degree, then He would meet her needs. And He had. In the beginning things had worked well. She roomed with Claudia and managed two part-time jobs. But when Claudia and Seth got married, she was forced to find other accommodations, which quickly drained her funds. Cooper’s offer had been completely unexpected. The loan had come at a time when she’d been hopeless and had been preparing to withdraw from classes. They’d never discussed terms, but surely he’d known she intended to repay him.

A tentative smile brushed her lips. She’d thought he would be pleased. His reaction amazed her. She attempted to keep her voice level as she assured him, “It was the honorable thing to do.”

“But it wasn’t necessary,” he answered, turning back to her.

Again she experienced the familiar twinge of awareness that only Cooper Masters was capable of stirring within her.

“It was for me,” she countered quickly.

“It wasn’t necessary,” he repeated in a flat tone.

Ashley released a slow breath. “We could go on like this all day. I didn’t mean to offend you; I only came here today because I wanted to show my appreciation.”

He stared back at her, then slowly nodded. “I understand.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Have you heard from Claudia and Seth?” he asked after a while.

Ashley smiled. They had so little in common that whenever they were together that the conversation invariably centered around Claudia and their godson. “The last I heard she said something about coming down for Christmas.”

“I hope they do.” His intercom buzzed, and he leaned over and pressed a button on the phone. “Yes, Gloria?”

“Mr. Benson is here.”

“Thank you.”

Taking her cue, Ashley stood. “I won’t keep you.” Her fingers brushed her wool skirt. She’d been hoping he would notice the new outfit and comment. He hadn’t. “Thank you again. I guess you know that I wouldn’t have been able to finish school without your help.”

“I was wondering…” Cooper moved to her side, his look slightly uneasy, as if he was unsure of himself. “I mean, I can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Rather not what?” She couldn’t remember him ever acting with anything but supreme confidence. In control of himself and every situation.

“Have dinner with me. A small celebration for paying off the loan.”

“I’d like that very much. Anytime.” Her heart soared at the suggestion; she wasn’t sure how she managed to keep her voice level.

“Tonight at seven?”

“Wonderful. Should I wear something…formal?” It wouldn’t hurt to ask, and he hadn’t mentioned where he intended they dine.

“Dress comfortably.”

“Great.”

An hour later Ashley’s heart still refused to beat at a normal pace. This was the first time Cooper had asked her out or given any indication he would like to see her socially. The man was difficult to understand, always had been. Even Claudia didn’t fully know him; she saw him as dignified, predictable and overly concerned with respectability. In some ways he was, but through the years Ashley had seen past that facade. He might be refined, and sometimes overly proper, but he was a man who’d been forced to take on heavy responsibility at an early age. There had been little time for fun or frivolity in his life. Ashley wanted to be the one to change that. She loved him. Her mother claimed that opposites attract, and after meeting Cooper, Ashley had never doubted the truth of that statement.

Ashley chose to wear her finest designer jeans, knowing she looked good. At five foot nine, she was all legs. Her pink sweatshirt contained a starburst of sequins that extended to the ends of the full length sleeves. Her hair was styled in a casual perm, and soft curls reached her shoulders. Her perfume was a fragrance Cooper had given her the previous Christmas. Although not imaginative, the gift had pleased her immeasurably, even though he hadn’t given it to her personally, but to her mother, who’d passed it on. When she’d phoned to thank him, his response had been clipped and vaguely ill-at-ease. Politely, he’d assured her that it was his duty, since they were John’s godparents. He’d also told her he’d sent the same fragrance to Claudia. Ashley had hung up the phone feeling deflated. The next time she’d seen him had been in June, when her mother had gone to the hospital for surgery. Cooper had come for a visit at the same time Ashley had arrived. Standing on opposite sides of the bed, her sleeping mother between them, Ashley had hungrily drunk in the sight of him. Their short conversation had been carried on in hushed tones, and after a while they hadn’t spoken at all. Afterward he’d had coffee out of a machine, and she’d sipped fruit juice as they sat talking in the waiting area at the end of the corridor. She hadn’t seen him again until today.

Over the months she had dated several men, and she’d recently been seeing Dennis Webb, another teacher, on a steady basis. But no one had ever attracted her the way Cooper did. Whenever a pensive mood overtook her, she recognized how pointless that attraction was. Whole universes stretched between them, both social and economic. For Ashley, loving Cooper Masters was as impossible as understanding income tax forms.

The doorbell chimed precisely at seven. Claudia had claimed that she could set her watch by Cooper. If he said seven, he would arrive exactly at seven.

A sense of panic filled Ashley as she glanced at her wristwatch. It couldn’t possibly be that time already, could it? With one red cowboy boot on and the other lying on the carpet, she looked around frantically. The laundry still hadn’t been put away. Quickly she hobbled across the floor and shoved the basket full of folded clean clothes into the entryway closet, then closed the door with her back as she conducted a sweeping inspection of the apartment. Expelling a calming sigh, she forced herself to smile casually as she opened the door.

He greeted her with a warm look that gradually faded as he handed her a florist’s box.

To Cooper, apparently informal meant a three-piece suit and flowers. Glancing down at her jeans and sweatshirt, one cowboy boot on, the other missing, she smiled weakly and felt wretched. “Thank you.” She took the small white box. “Sit down, please.” Hurrying ahead of him, she fluffed up the pillows at the end of the sofa, then hugged one to her stomach. “I’m running a little late tonight. If you’ll give me a few minutes I’ll change clothes.”

“You look fine just the way you are,” he murmured, glancing at his watch.

What he was really saying, she realized, was that they would be late for their reservation if she took the time to change clothes. After glancing down at the hot pink sweatshirt, she raised her gaze to meet his. “You’re sure? It’ll only take a minute.”

His nod seemed determined. Self-conscious, embarrassed and angry with herself, Ashley sat at the opposite end of the sofa and slipped her foot into the other boot. After tucking in her denim pant leg, she sat up and reached for the florist’s box. A lovely white orchid was nestled in a bed of sheer green paper. A gasp of pleasure escaped her.

“Oh, Cooper,” she murmured, feeling close to tears. No one had ever given her an orchid. “Thank you.”

“Since I didn’t know the color of your dress…” He paused to correct himself. “…your outfit…this seemed appropriate.” He remained standing, studying her. “It’s the type women wear on their wrist.”

As Ashley lifted the orchid from the box, its gentle fragrance drifted pleasantly to her. “I’m always having to thank you, Cooper. You’ve been very good to me.”

He dismissed her appreciation with a hard shake of his head. “Nonsense.”

She knew that further discussion would only embarrass them both. Standing, she glanced at the closet door, knowing nothing would induce her to open it and expose her folded underwear to Cooper. “I’ll get my purse and we can go.”

“You might want to wear a coat,” he suggested. “I heard something about the possibility of snow over the radio this afternoon.”

“Yes, of course.” If he remained standing exactly as he was, she might be able to open the door just enough to slip her hand in and jerk her faux fur jacket off the hanger. Somehow she managed it. Turning, she noted that Cooper was regarding her curiously. Rather than fabricate a wild excuse about why she couldn’t open the closet all the way, she decided to say nothing.

He took the coat from her grasp, holding it open for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. It seemed as if his hands lingered longer than necessary on her shoulders, but it could have been her imagination. He had never been one to display affection openly.

“Where are we going?” she asked, and her voice trembled slightly, affected by even the most impersonal touch.

“I chose an Italian restaurant not far from here. I hope that suits you.”

“Sounds delicious. I love Italian food.” Her tastes in food were wide and varied, but it wouldn’t have mattered. If he had suggested hot dogs, she would have been thrilled. The idea of Cooper eating anything with his fingers produced a quivering smile. If he noticed it, he said nothing.

Cooper parked outside the small, family-owned restaurant and came around to her side of the car, opening the door for her. It was apparent when they were seated that he had never been there before. The thought flashed through her mind that he didn’t want to be seen with her where he might be recognized.

But she quickly dismissed the idea. If he didn’t want to be with her, then he wouldn’t have asked her out. Those thoughts were unworthy of Cooper, who had always been good to her.

“Is everything all right?” As he stared across the table at her, a frown drew his brows together.

“Yes, of course.” She looked down at her menu, guiltily forcing a smile on her face. “I wonder how long it’ll be before we know if Claudia will be coming for Christmas,” she said, hoping to resume the even flow of conversation.

“Time’s getting close. I imagine we’ll know soon.”

Thanksgiving was the following weekend, but Christmas displays were already up in stores; some had shown up as early as Halloween. Doubtless Seth and Claudia would let them know by the end of next week. The prospect of sharing the holiday with her friend—and therefore Cooper—produced a glow of happiness inside Ashley.

The waiter took their order, then promptly delivered their fresh green salads.

“It’s been exceptionally chilly for this time of the year,” Cooper commented, lifting his fork, his gaze centered on his plate.

Ashley thought it was a sad commentary that their only common ground consisted of Claudia and the weather. “Yes, it has.” She looked up to note that a veiled look had come over his features. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing. Read more

Mail-Order Bride

Now available for the first time as an eBook, Debbie Macomber’s irresistible novel puts a modern spin on an old-fashioned way of finding “the one.” After Caroline Myers gets her heart broken, her beloved great-aunts send her on a spur-of-the-moment Read more

Let it Snow

A snowstorm threatens to ruin Christmas for two mismatched strangers traveling together―until a spark of romance brightens the season in this charming short novel from Debbie Macomber. Shelly Griffin is looking forward to spending time with her beloved father in Read more

Christmas Masquerade

CHANGE PARTNERS Jo Marie first met Andrew, her dream man, in the crush of a Mardi Gras parade. But by Christmas, he was introduced to her as someone else’s fiancé. Yet Jo Marie noticed that Andrew and his intended didn’t Read more

That Christmas Magic

Available in one volume for the first time, Christmas Masquerade and The Gift of Christmas, two of Debbie Macomber’s classic holiday novels about finding love and faith and rediscovering oneself Christmas Masquerade After Jo Marie first meets Andrew, her dream Read more

Starry Night

Chapter One

Carrie Slayton’s feet were killing her. She’d spent the last ninety minutes standing in two-inch heels at a charity art auction in a swanky studio in downtown Chicago. She couldn’t understand how shoes that matched her black dress so beautifully could be this painful. Vanity, thy name is fashion.

“My name is spelled with two l’s,” the middle-aged woman, dripping in diamonds, reminded her. “That’s Michelle, with two l’s.”

“Got it.” Carrie underlined the correct spelling. Michelle, spelled with two l’s, had just spent thirty thousand dollars for the most ridiculous piece of art Carrie had ever seen. True, it was for a good cause, but now she seemed to feel her name needed to be mentioned in the news article Carrie would write for the next edition of the Chicago Herald.

“It would be wonderful to have my husband’s and my picture to go along with your article,” Michelle added. “Perhaps you should take it in front of the painting.”

Carrie looked over her shoulder at Harry, the photographer who’d accompanied her from the newspaper.

“Of course, Lloyd and I would want approval of any photograph you choose to publish.”

“Of course,” Carrie said, doing her best to keep a smile in place. If she didn’t get out of these shoes soon, her feet would be permanently deformed. She wiggled her toes, hoping for relief. Instead they ached even worse.

Harry, bless his heart, dutifully stepped forward, camera in hand, and flashed two or three photos of the couple posing in front of what might have been a red flower or a painting of a squished tomato or possibly the aftermath of a murder scene. Carrie had yet to decide which. The title of the work didn’t offer a clue. Red. Yes, the painting was in that color, but exactly what it depicted remained a mystery.

“Isn’t it stunning?” Michelle asked when she noticed Carrie staring at the canvas.

Carrie tilted her head one way and then another, looking for some clue as to its possible significance. Then, noticing that Michelle, spelled with two l’s, was waiting for her response, she said, “Oh, yes, it’s amazing.”

Harry didn’t bother to hide his smile, knowing that all Carrie really wanted was to get out of those ridiculous shoes. And to think she’d gotten her journalism degree for this!

Carrie knew she was fortunate to have a job with such a prestigious newspaper. A professor had pulled a favor and gotten her the interview. Carrie had been stunned when she’d been hired. Surprised and overjoyed.

Two years later, she was less so. Her assignment was the society page. When she was hired, she’d been told that eventually she’d be able to write meatier pieces, do interviews and human-interest stories. To this point, it hadn’t happened. Carrie felt trapped, frustrated, and underappreciated. She felt her talent was being wasted.

To make matters worse, her entire family lived in the Pacific Northwest. Carrie had left everything she knew and loved behind, including Steve, her college sweetheart. He’d married less than six months after she took the position in Chicago. It hadn’t taken him long, she noted. The worst part was that Carrie was far too busy reporting on social events to have time for much of a social life herself. She dated occasionally, but she hadn’t found anyone who made her heart race. Dave Schneider, the man she’d been seeing most recently, was more of a friend than a love interest. She supposed after Steve she was a bit hesitant to get involved again. Maybe once she left the Herald and moved home to write for a newspaper in the Seattle area, like she planned, things would be different.

Back inside her condo, Carrie gingerly removed her shoes and sighed with relief.

This was it. She was done. First thing in the morning she would hand in her two-week notice, sublet her condo, and take her chances in the job market in Seattle. If the managing editor, Nash Jorgen, refused to give her the opportunity to prove she had what it took, then why stay? She refused to be pigeonholed.

That decided, Carrie limped into her bedroom and fell into bed, tired, frustrated, and determined to make a change.

“You can’t be serious,” argued Sophie Peterson, her closest friend at the newspaper, when Carrie told her of her decision.

“I’m totally serious,” she said as she hobbled to her desk.

“What’s wrong with your foot?” Sophie asked, tagging behind her.

“Stupidity. This gorgeous pair of shoes was only available in a half-size smaller than what I normally wear. They were so perfect, and they were buy one pair, get the second half off. I couldn’t resist, but now I’m paying for it.”

“Carrie, don’t do it.”

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of wearing those heels again. I tossed them in a bag for charity.”

“Not that,” Sophie argued. “Don’t hand in your notice! You’re needed here.”

“Not as a reporter,” Carrie assured her, dumping her purse in her bottom drawer and shucking off her thick winter coat. “Sorry, my mind is made up. You and I both know Nash will never give me a decent assignment.”

“You’re your own worst enemy.” Sophie leaned against the wall that separated their two cubicles and crossed her arms and ankles.

“How’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re the perfect fit for the society page. You’re drop-dead gorgeous, tall, and thin. It doesn’t hurt that you look fabulous in a slinky black dress and a pair of spike heels. Even if I could get my hair to grow that thick, long, and curly without perming the living daylights out of it, Nash would never consider someone like me. It isn’t any wonder he wants you on the job. Give the guy a little credit, will you? He knows what he’s doing.”

“If looks are the only criterion—”

“There’s more,” Sophie said, cutting her off. “You’re great with people. All you need to do is bat those baby blues at them and strangers open up to you. It’s a gift, I tell you, a real gift.”

“Okay, I’m friendly, but this isn’t the kind of writing I want to do. I’ve got my heart set on being a reporter, a real reporter, writing about real news and interesting people.” In the beginning, Carrie had been flattered by the way people went out of their way to introduce themselves at the events she covered. It didn’t take long for her to recognize that they were looking for her to mention their names in print. What shocked her was the extent people were willing to go in order to be noticed. She was quickly becoming jaded, and this bothered her even more than Nash’s lack of faith in her abilities.

The holidays were the worst, and while it was only early November, the frenzy had already started. The list of parties Nash assigned her to attend was already mammoth. Halloween decorations were still arranged around her desk, and already there was a Christmas tree in the display window of the department store across the street.

Determined to stick with her plan, Carrie went directly into Nash Jorgen’s office.

A veteran newsman, Nash glanced up from his computer screen and glared in her direction. He seemed to sense this wasn’t a social visit. His shoulders rose with a weary sigh. “What now?” he growled.

“I’m handing in my two-week notice.” If she’d been looking for a response, she would have been disappointed.

He blinked a couple of times, ran his hand down the side of his day-old beard, and asked, “Any particular reason?”

“I hoped to prove I can be a darn good reporter, but I’ll never get the chance writing anything more than copy for society weddings. You said when you hired me that you’d give me a shot at reporting real news.”

“I don’t remember what I said. What’s wrong with what you’re writing now? You’re good.”

“It isn’t what I want to write.”

“So? You make the best of it, pay your dues, and in time you’ll get the break you’re looking for.”

Carrie was tired of waiting. She straightened her shoulders, her resolve tightening. “I know I’m fortunate to work for the Herald. It was a real coup to get this position, but this isn’t the career I wanted. You give me no choice.” She set her letter of resignation on his desk.

That got Nash’s attention. He swiveled his chair around to look at her once more. His frown darkened, and he ran his hand through his thinning hair. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

A chill went down her spine. Nash was actually listening. “Yes, I’m serious.”

“Fine, then.” He reached across his desk and picked up a hardcover book and handed it to her. “Find Finn Dalton, get an interview, and write me a story I can print.”

She grabbed hold of the book, not recognizing the author’s name. “And if I do?”

“Well, first, there’s a snowball’s chance of you even locating him. Every reporter in the universe is dying to interview him. But if you get lucky and he’s willing to talk and we print the piece, then I’ll take you off the society page.”

Carrie wavered. He seemed to be offering her a chance, as impossible as it might seem. Now it was up to her to prove herself. She dared not show him how excited she was. “I’ll find him.”

He snickered as though he found her confidence amusing, and then sobered. He regarded her with the same dark frown he had earlier before a slow, easy smile slid over his harsh features. “I bet you will. Now, listen up—if you get an interview with Finn Dalton, you can have any assignment you want.”

Taking small steps, Carrie backed out of the office. She pointed at Nash. “I’m holding you to your word.”

The managing editor was already back to reading his computer screen and didn’t appear to have heard her. It didn’t matter; she’d heard him, and he’d come across loud and clear.

Once she was out of his office, she examined the book to see the author photo, but couldn’t find one, not even on the inside back flap.

Walking back to her cubicle, she paused at Sophie’s instead. “You ever heard of Finn Dalton?”

Sophie’s eyebrows lifted on her round face. “You mean you haven’t?”

“No.” The book title wasn’t much help. Alone. That told her next to nothing. The jacket revealed a snow-covered landscape with a scattering of stubby trees.

Sophie shook her head. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“No. Who is this guy?”

“He’s a survivalist who lives alone someplace in the Alaskan wilderness.”

“Oh.” That was a bit daunting, but Carrie considered herself up to the challenge. She’d been born and raised in Washington state. She’d hoped to join her family for Thanksgiving, but if she needed to use her vacation time to find Finn Dalton, then she was willing to.

“His book has been on the bestseller lists for nearly seven months, mostly at the number-one position.”

Carrie was impressed. “What does he write about?”

“He’s the kind of guy you can set loose in the wild with a pack of chewing gum, a pocketknife, and a handkerchief, and by the time you find him he’s built a shelter and a canoe. From what I’ve read, his stories about Alaskan life and survival in the tundra would kink your hair. Well, not that yours needs curling.”

This was Sophie’s idea of a joke. Carrie’s wild dark brown curls were the bane of her existence. She tamed them as best she could, but she often found herself the brunt of jokes over her out-of-control hair.

“Nash says he doesn’t give interviews.”

“Not just doesn’t give interviews—this guy is like a ghost. No one has ever met or even talked to him.”

“Surely his publisher or his editor—”

“No,” Sophie said, cutting her off. “Everything has been done by computer.”

“Well, then . . .”

“All anyone knows is that he lives near an Alaskan lake somewhere in the vicinity of the Arctic Circle.”

“How is it you know so much about this guy?”

“I don’t, and that’s just it. No one does. The press has gone wild looking for him. Plenty of reporters have tried to track him down, without success. No one knows how to find him, and Finn Dalton doesn’t want to be found. He should have called his book Leave Me Alone. Someone could pass him on the street and never know it was him, and from everything I’ve read, that’s exactly how he likes it.”

Intrigued, Carrie flipped through the pages of the book. “Nash said I could have any assignment I wanted if I got an interview from Finn Dalton.”

“Of course he did. Nash has been around long enough to know he’s got you in a no-win situation.”

Carrie glanced up. “I don’t care. I’m going to try.”

“I hate to be a killjoy here, but Carrie, no way will you find this guy. Better reporters than either of us have tried and failed. Every newspaper, magazine, and media outlet is looking to dig up information about him, without success. Finn Dalton doesn’t want to be found.”

That might be the case, but Carrie refused to give up without even trying. This was far too important to drop just because it was a long shot. “I’m desperate, Sophie.” And really, that said it all. If she was going to have a real career in journalism, she had to find Finn Dalton. Her entire future with the Chicago Herald hung in the balance.

“I admire your determination,” Sophie murmured, “but I’m afraid you’re going to hit one dead end after another.”

“That might be the case.” Carrie was willing to admit to her friend that finding Finn Dalton wouldn’t be easy. “But I refuse to quit without trying.” She knew Sophie didn’t mean to be negative. “I want this chance, and if it means tracking Finn Dalton into some forsaken tundra, then I will put on my big-girl shoes and go for it.” But not the heels she’d worn last night, that was for sure.

The first thing Carrie did in her search for Finn Dalton was read the book. Not once, but three times. She underlined everything that gave her a single hint as to his identity.

For two days she skipped lunch, spending her time on the computer, seeking any bit of information she could find that would help her locate Finn Dalton. She went from one search engine to another.

“How’s it going?” Sophie asked as they passed each other on their way out the door a couple of days later.

“Good.” Through her fact-finding mission, Carrie was getting a picture of the man who had written this amazing book. After a third read she almost felt as if she knew him. He hadn’t always been a recluse. He’d been raised in Alaska and had learned to live off the land from his father, whom he apparently idolized. One thing was certain, he seemed to have no use for women. In the entire book, not once did he mention his mother or any other female influence. It was more of what he didn’t say that caught Carrie’s attention. Read more

Jack Frost

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber comes a heartwarming new novella about the power of Christmas to melt even the coldest hearts. With the rest of her family on a cruise, Lindsay Calhoun will be spending her Read more

Forever Under the Mistletoe

“What do you mean you won’t be home for Christmas?” Emily Springer was sure she couldn’t have heard correctly. She pressed the telephone receiver harder against her ear, as though that would clarify her daughter’s words.
“Mom, I know you’re disappointed….”

That didn’t even begin to cover it. Emily had scraped and sacrificed in order to save airfare home for her only daughter, a student at Harvard. They always spent the holidays together, and now Heather was telling her she wouldn’t be back for Christmas.

“What could possibly be more important than Christmas with your family?” Emily asked, struggling to hide her distress.

Her daughter hesitated. “It’s just that I’ve got so much going on during those two weeks. I’d love to be home with you, I really would, but … I can’t.”

Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat. Heather was twenty-one; Emily realized her daughter was becoming an independent adult, but for the last eleven years it had been just the two of them. The thought of being separated from her only child over Christmas brought tears to her eyes.

“You’ve got all the neighbor kids to spoil,” Heather continued.

Yes, the six Kennedy children would be more than happy to gobble up Emily’s homemade cookies, candies and other traditional holiday treats. But it wouldn’t be the same.

“I was home a few months ago,” Heather reminded her next.

Emily opened her mouth to argue. True, her daughter had spent the summer in Leavenworth, but she’d been busy working and saving money for school. If she wasn’t at her library job, she was with her friends. Emily knew that Heather had her own life now, her own friends, her own priorities and plans. That was to be expected and natural, and Emily told herself she should be proud. But spending Christmas on opposite sides of the country was simply too hard – especially for the two of them, who’d once been so close.

“What about the money I saved for your airfare?” Emily asked lamely, as if that would change anything.

“I’ll fly out for Easter, Mom. I’ll use it then.”

Easter was months away, and Emily didn’t know if she could last that long. This was dreadful. Three weeks before Christmas, and she’d lost every shred of holiday spirit.

“I have to hang up now, Mom.”

“I know, but … can’t we talk about this? I mean, there’s got to be a way for us to be together.”

Heather hesitated once more. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“Of course I will,” Emily said, dredging up the remnants of her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look pathetic to her daughter – or to heap on the guilt – so she spoke with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Disappointment pounded through her with every beat of her heart. She had to remember she wasn’t the only one who’d be alone, though. Heather would be missing out, too. “What about you?” Emily asked. Caught up in her own distress, she hadn’t been thinking about her daughter’s feelings. “Will you be all alone?”

“For Christmas, you mean?” Heather said. Her voice fell slightly, and it sounded as if she too was putting on a brave front. “I have friends here, and I’ll probably get together with them – but it won’t be the same.”

That had been Emily’s reaction: It won’t be the same. This Christmas marked the beginning of a new stage in their relationship. It was inevitable – but Christmas was still Christmas, and she vowed that wherever Heather was in future years, they’d spend the holiday together. Emily squared her shoulders. “We’ll make it through this,” she said stoutly.

“Of course we will.”

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Emily promised.

“I knew you’d be a trouper about this, Mom.”

Heather actually seemed proud of her, but Emily was no heroine. After a brief farewell, she placed the portable phone back in the charger and slumped into the closest chair.

Moping around, Emily tried to fight off a sense of depression that had begun to descend. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, too restless to read or watch TV. The house felt … bleak. Uncharacteristically so. Maybe because she hadn’t put up the Christmas decorations, knowing how much Heather loved helping her.

They had their own traditions. Heather always decorated the fireplace mantel, starting with her favorite piece, a small almost-antique angel that had belonged to Emily’s mother. While she did that, Emily worked on the windowsills around the dining room, arranging garlands, candles and poinsettias. Then together, using the ornaments Emily had collected over the years, they’d decorate the Christmas tree. Not an artificial one, either, despite warnings that they were safer than fresh trees.

It sometimes took them half a day to choose their Christmas tree. Leavenworth was a small Washington town tucked in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, and it offered a stunning array of firs and pines.

This year, without Heather, there would be no tree. Emily wouldn’t bother. Really, why go to that much effort when she’d be the only one there to enjoy it. Why decorate the house at all? Read more

When Christmas Comes

“What do you mean you won’t be home for Christmas?” Emily Springer was sure she couldn’t have heard correctly. She pressed the telephone receiver harder against her ear, as though that would clarify her daughter’s words.
“Mom, I know you’re disappointed….”

That didn’t even begin to cover it. Emily had scraped and sacrificed in order to save airfare home for her only daughter, a student at Harvard. They always spent the holidays together, and now Heather was telling her she wouldn’t be back for Christmas.

“What could possibly be more important than Christmas with your family?” Emily asked, struggling to hide her distress.

Her daughter hesitated. “It’s just that I’ve got so much going on during those two weeks. I’d love to be home with you, I really would, but … I can’t.”

Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat. Heather was twenty-one; Emily realized her daughter was becoming an independent adult, but for the last eleven years it had been just the two of them. The thought of being separated from her only child over Christmas brought tears to her eyes.

“You’ve got all the neighbor kids to spoil,” Heather continued.

Yes, the six Kennedy children would be more than happy to gobble up Emily’s homemade cookies, candies and other traditional holiday treats. But it wouldn’t be the same.

“I was home a few months ago,” Heather reminded her next.

Emily opened her mouth to argue. True, her daughter had spent the summer in Leavenworth, but she’d been busy working and saving money for school. If she wasn’t at her library job, she was with her friends. Emily knew that Heather had her own life now, her own friends, her own priorities and plans. That was to be expected and natural, and Emily told herself she should be proud. But spending Christmas on opposite sides of the country was simply too hard – especially for the two of them, who’d once been so close.

“What about the money I saved for your airfare?” Emily asked lamely, as if that would change anything.

“I’ll fly out for Easter, Mom. I’ll use it then.”

Easter was months away, and Emily didn’t know if she could last that long. This was dreadful. Three weeks before Christmas, and she’d lost every shred of holiday spirit.

“I have to hang up now, Mom.”

“I know, but … can’t we talk about this? I mean, there’s got to be a way for us to be together.”

Heather hesitated once more. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“Of course I will,” Emily said, dredging up the remnants of her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look pathetic to her daughter – or to heap on the guilt – so she spoke with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Disappointment pounded through her with every beat of her heart. She had to remember she wasn’t the only one who’d be alone, though. Heather would be missing out, too. “What about you?” Emily asked. Caught up in her own distress, she hadn’t been thinking about her daughter’s feelings. “Will you be all alone?”

“For Christmas, you mean?” Heather said. Her voice fell slightly, and it sounded as if she too was putting on a brave front. “I have friends here, and I’ll probably get together with them – but it won’t be the same.”

That had been Emily’s reaction: It won’t be the same. This Christmas marked the beginning of a new stage in their relationship. It was inevitable – but Christmas was still Christmas, and she vowed that wherever Heather was in future years, they’d spend the holiday together. Emily squared her shoulders. “We’ll make it through this,” she said stoutly.

“Of course we will.”

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Emily promised.

“I knew you’d be a trouper about this, Mom.”

Heather actually seemed proud of her, but Emily was no heroine. After a brief farewell, she placed the portable phone back in the charger and slumped into the closest chair.

Moping around, Emily tried to fight off a sense of depression that had begun to descend. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, too restless to read or watch TV. The house felt … bleak. Uncharacteristically so. Maybe because she hadn’t put up the Christmas decorations, knowing how much Heather loved helping her.

They had their own traditions. Heather always decorated the fireplace mantel, starting with her favorite piece, a small almost-antique angel that had belonged to Emily’s mother. While she did that, Emily worked on the windowsills around the dining room, arranging garlands, candles and poinsettias. Then together, using the ornaments Emily had collected over the years, they’d decorate the Christmas tree. Not an artificial one, either, despite warnings that they were safer than fresh trees.

It sometimes took them half a day to choose their Christmas tree. Leavenworth was a small Washington town tucked in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, and it offered a stunning array of firs and pines.

This year, without Heather, there would be no tree. Emily wouldn’t bother. Really, why go to that much effort when she’d be the only one there to enjoy it. Why decorate the house at all? Read more

A Mrs. Miracle Christmas

Mrs. Miracle shows an ordinary family that they are blessed beyond belief in this uplifting holiday tale from #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber. As the holiday season begins, Laurel McCullough could use some good news. She and Read more

Dashing Through The Snow

Chapter One

“What? Are you kidding?” Ashley Davison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The reservation clerk for Highland Airlines glanced up nervously. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sell you a ticket to Seattle. If you’d kindly step aside and wait a few minutes—­”

“Can’t or won’t?” Ashley cut in, growing more frustrated and worried by the minute. She drew in a deep breath in an effort to control her patience. The woman behind the desk, whose name tag identified her as Stephanie, was clearly having a bad day. Getting upset with her, Ashley realized, wasn’t going to help the situation. She made a determined effort to lower her voice and remain cool-­headed.

“I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry . . .”

Ashley refused to take no for an answer. Surprising her mother by flying home for Christmas was too important. “I understand getting a ticket to Seattle three days before Christmas is pushing my luck,” she said, doing her best to appear calm and composed. “If I’d been able to book a seat sooner, I would have. Getting Christmas off from work was a complete surprise. I attend graduate school and I also work at a diner. I hated to miss the holidays with my mother, but I didn’t have any choice. She’s a widow and my brother lives in Texas and can’t get home for Christmas, so there’s only me.” Perhaps if the reservation clerk knew her story, she might reconsider the can’t sell you a ticket part of this discussion.

“Then my boss decided to close the diner between Christmas and New Year’s for renovations after the refrigeration unit broke, and then he thought he may as well get a new deep fryer, too, so it just made sense to close down. All this happened at the very last minute, and because he felt so bad he gave me a Christmas bonus so I could fly home.”

“I’m so sorry . . .” Stephanie said again, looking nervous. “If you’d kindly move aside and wait a few minutes.”

“I haven’t seen my mother since last August,” Ashley continued, refusing to give up easily. “I wanted to surprise her. It would mean the world to both of us to be together over the holidays. Would you please look again? I’ll take any seat, any time of the day or night.”

Stephanie didn’t so much as glance down at her computer screen with even a pretense of trying to accommodate her. “I can’t . . . I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Ashley couldn’t help wonder what was up with this can’t business. That made it all the more nonsensical.

“You can’t,” she repeated. “There must be more of an explanation than that. It just doesn’t make sense.”

The reservation clerk frowned. Her eyes roamed about the area as if she was looking for someone. That, too, was irritating. It was as if she was seeking a replacement or someone to rescue her.

“I believe you have your answer,” the man behind her in line said impatiently. He shifted from one foot to the other, letting Ashley know he didn’t appreciate her arguing with the clerk.

Ashley whirled around and confronted him face-­to-­face. “In case anyone forgot to mention it, this is Christmas. How about a little peace on earth and goodwill toward men? Be patient. I’ll be finished as soon as possible and then you can talk to Stephanie, but for now it’s my turn.”

In response, he rolled his eyes.

Ashley returned her attention to the woman at the counter. “If you can’t find me a seat on a plane to Seattle, I’d be willing to fly standby.”

Stephanie shook her head.

“All the flights to Seattle are already booked?” The man next in line blurted out the question.

Stephanie’s eyes widened as if she, too, was surprised he’d jumped into their conversation. “I . . . didn’t say that. I’ll speak to you directly in just a moment,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Ashley flared, forgetting her resolve to remain calm and collected. This was too much. With her hands on her hips, she stared down at the other woman. “This is discrimination. Just because he’s a man and good-­looking you can dredge up a seat for him, but not for me?” This was gender discrimination. Where was a television crew when you needed one? This would make a juicy piece for the six-­o’clock news.

Seeing that the line was getting long and the Grinch behind her wasn’t the only one with a short fuse, Ashley decided to drop the entire matter.

“Okay, fine, have it your way, but I think this is just plain wrong.” With that, she grabbed hold of her suitcase and with all the dignity she could muster started to walk away, feeling more stressed with each step.

“Miss, miss,” the airline employee called after her. “If you’d kindly wait a few minutes I’m sure we could resolve this.”

“No way,” Ashley refused. “As you’ve repeatedly said, you can’t sell me a ticket.” With that, she headed out of the airport with her dignity in shreds.

Ashley hadn’t expected it would be easy to catch a last-­minute flight. She’d already tried to find an available seat online, without luck. For reasons she couldn’t understand she kept getting booted off the website. That was the reason she’d decided to come directly to the airport and try her chances there.

Naturally, flying home was her first option. But other modes of transportation were also possibilities. She could always try the bus or travel by train, if there was even one scheduled. The most expedient way to make the trip would be to drive. Unfortunately, her fifteen-­year-­old hand-­me-­down car wasn’t in the best of shape and she was afraid of it breaking down along the way. To top it off, snow was predicted. Under normal circumstances, snow close to Christmas would be ideal, but not in an aging vehicle. If she could afford . . .

Ashley stopped mid-­step. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? She could always rent a car! The solution was right in front of her, the answer obvious. She should have thought about it long before now. And really there was no better place to rent a car than in an airport.

Perfect.

Reversing direction, Ashley headed toward the car rental agencies, traveling down the escalator, rolling her suitcase behind her. When she reached the rental area, all of the agencies displayed signs that stated all their cars had been rented. All but one. Ashley made her way to that counter.

The longer she waited in line, the more she fumed about the airline clerk who’d insisted she couldn’t sell her a seat. The nerve. And then to basically reassure the man in line behind her that there were seats available. That was discrimination of the worst kind, even if the guy was eye candy. Stephanie was clearly looking to do him a favor, which only served to irritate Ashley further. Truth be told, she’d noticed him, too. Hard not to, really. He was tall and stood with military precision, his dark appearance lean and strong. She suspected he was either military or former military. He gave that impression.

The line for the car rental agency slowly crept forward. As luck would have it, the very man who’d been so annoying at the airline counter came to stand behind her again.

It gave Ashley satisfaction to see he hadn’t been any more successful with Stephanie in obtaining a seat than she had.

“So Stephanie couldn’t sell you a seat, either,” she said, trying hard not to gloat.

“All she had available was standby,” he grumbled, fingering his cell.

Ashley would have gladly accepted a chance for a standby flight. It wouldn’t have mattered how long she had to wait. “Not good enough for you, I suppose.”

He glanced her way and frowned, his look darkening. “I can’t take the chance. I need to be in Seattle.”

“I do, too,” she insisted. “It’s almost Christmas.”

“This is for a job interview.”

“A job?” Ashley echoed. “And you have to be there right before Christmas?”

Instead of answering, he returned his attention to his phone, frowning once again. Apparently he wasn’t interested in making conversation with her. Fine. Whatever. That being the case, she wasn’t interested in talking to him, either. Read more

Merry and Bright

Merry Knight is pretty busy these days. She’s taking care of her family, baking cookies, decorating for the holidays, and hoping to stay out of the crosshairs of her stressed and by-the-book boss at the consulting firm where she temps. Read more

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy

Alone at Christmas. Greg Bennett feels his life has been a waste. Sixty years old and he has no one to spend Christmas with, no one who cares. Greg knows he’s made mistakes, hurt people, failed in all the ways Read more

Mr. Miracle

CHAPTER 1

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Six years out of high school, Addie Folsom had envisioned returning home loaded and driving a fancy car. Instead, she was limping back in a twenty-year-old Honda with close to three hundred thousand miles and her tail between her legs.

So much for the great promise of moving to Montana and walking into a get-rich-quick opportunity. She’d left Washington State with such high hopes … and ended up living in a leaky trailer and waiting tables in a run-down diner. It took all six of those years for Addie to admit she’d made a very big mistake. Pride, she’d learned, offered little comfort.

Oh, she’d returned home for visits at least a couple times a year. When asked pointed questions about her work in the silver mine, she’d made sure her answers were vague.

Then, last summer, her chiropractor father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack.

Addie had adored her dad as a child, but the moment she’d hit her teen years, their relationship had deteriorated. She hadn’t repaired things before he’d passed away so suddenly. In retrospect, she suspected she and her father were too much alike. Both were stubborn and headstrong, unwilling to admit when they were wrong or make the effort to build bridges.

They’d argued far too often, her mother stepping in, seeking to make peace between her husband and her daughter. How sorry Addie was for the strife between them, now that her father was gone.

For now, she was home for good. Addie parked in front of the single-story house where she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life. She loved that it had a front porch, which so many of the more modern homes didn’t. Normally, the Christmas lights would already be up. Her father had always seen to that the Friday after Thanksgiving. This year, however, the two arborvitae that bordered each side of the porch seemed stark and bare without the decorative lights.

Her mother must have been watching from the living-room window, because the minute Addie climbed out of the car, the front door flew open and Sharon Folsom rushed out with her arms open wide. “Addie, Addie, you’re home.”

Addie paused halfway up the walkway and hugged her mother close.

Sharon Folsom brought her hands up to Addie’s face and smoothed back her dark brown hair. Her mother’s chocolate-brown eyes, a reflection of her own, held her gaze with an intensity of longing.

Addie found she couldn’t speak. It felt so good to be home, to really be home.

Her mother hugged her even tighter this time. “You said you were coming back, and I’d hoped …” She left the rest unsaid.

“I’m not returning to Montana this time, Mom.”

“Oh Addie, really? I couldn’t be happier. So you decided you are definitely back to stay?” She wrapped her arm around Addie’s waist and led her up the porch steps. “It’s so wonderful to have you home, especially at this time of year … it’s the first one that’s so difficult, you know.”

The first Christmas without Dad.

“I talked to your uncle Roy,” her mother said.

“Yes?” Addie tried hard not to show how anxious she was to hear what her mother had found out.

“He’s pleased to know you’re interested in health care. Your dad would have been so happy; that was what he always wanted for you. Roy said once you get your high school diploma, he’ll do everything within his power to get you the schooling you need. He’s even willing to hire you part-time while you’re in school and to work around your class schedule.”

Addie hardly knew what to say. This was an opportunity she had never expected. More than she could ever hope would happen. Now it was up to her not to blow it.

“Aren’t you excited?”

Again, her throat tightened and she answered with a sharp nod. She knew that no matter what she hoped to accomplish, she’d need her high school diploma. One class credit was all she needed. Why she’d dropped out when she was so close to graduation was beyond her. How stupid and shortsighted she’d been. Her one missing credit was in literature, so she’d found a class she could take at the local community college.

B-o-r-i-n-g!

As a high school sophomore, Addie had been assigned to read Moby-Dick. Because of her dyslexia, she was a slow, thoughtful reader, often using her finger on the page to help her keep track of the words. Then to be handed that doorstop and work her way through it page by excruciating page had been pure torture. Following Moby-Dick, she’d been completely turned off to reading in general … although lately, after her television had stopped working, she’d gotten a couple books at the library and enjoyed them immensely. Finding pleasure in reading had given her hope that maybe … just maybe she could return to school.

“I already signed up for a literature class. It starts this week, which I understand is a bit unusual; apparently, it was delayed until a teacher could be replaced.” Addie had thought she’d need to wait until mid-February, when the second semester began. This class was perfectly timed for her.

“You enrolled already?” How pleased her mother sounded, and her face brightened with the news.

They were inside the house now, and after removing her coat, Addie tucked her fingertips in the back pockets of her jeans. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she looked around and breathed in the welcome she found in the familiar setting. Her mother had placed a few festive things around the house to help celebrate the season. The Advent wreath rested in the center of the kitchen table. The first purple candle had been lit.

When she was growing up, it’d been a big deal to see who got to light the candle every night at dinner, Addie or her brother. Generally, Jerry was given the honor. Oh, how her brother had loved lording it over her. He lived in Oklahoma now, was married, and worked as a physical therapist for a center that trained Olympic athletes. He’d always been athletic himself, just like his best friend, Erich Simmons, who lived next door. The two had been inseparable; any mental image of her brother also conjured up his constant sidekick and the way she’d humiliated herself over Erich.

At one time Addie had thought Erich Simmons was the cutest boy in the universe. He was a star athlete, class valedictorian, and the homecoming king. Addie hadn’t thought of him in a long time and didn’t know why he’d popped into her head now. As a teen, she’d idolized Erich and hadn’t bothered to hide the way she felt. He, unfortunately, found her hero worship highly amusing. Oh, there’d been the usual antics when they were kids. Her brother and Erich had wanted nothing to do with her, despite all her efforts to follow them around. It wasn’t until she was fourteen and fifteen that she’d viewed Erich in a different light and sent him valentines and baked him cookies. It embarrassed her no end to remember what a fool she’d made of herself over him, especially since he treated her like a jerk.

“Addie?” Her mother broke into her thoughts. “You look a million miles away.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Bring in your suitcases. I’ve got your old room all ready for you.”

It felt wonderful to be home.

Addie unloaded her car, which, sadly, took only a few minutes. Everything she’d managed to accumulate in six years was contained in two suitcases and a couple boxes. When she finished unpacking, she headed directly for the garage.

Her mother found her there ten minutes later. “Addie, my goodness, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I’ve been looking all over the house for you. Are you hungry? Would you like me to fix you something to eat?”

“In a little while.”

“What are you doing?”

Addie stood in the middle of the garage, surrounded by several clear plastic boxes she’d brought down from the shelves. Her father had been a whiz at organization, a trait she’d inherited. “I’m looking for the outdoor Christmas lights.” Read more

Touched by Angels

The young man wore a staple in one ear. Brynn Cassidy tried not to stare as he paraded past her and slouched down in the desk in the farthest corner of the classroom. His nose was decorated with a safety pin. The fact that his hair was cut in a Mohawk style and dyed orange shouldn’t faze her. She’d been told what to expect.

Manhattan High School wasn’t St. Mary Academy, the parochial girls’ high school where she’d taught for the last two years. But teaching here was an opportunity she couldn’t let pass her by. She’d accepted this position to test her theories and gain experience in dealing with students from a disadvantaged neighborhood.

Next, a young lady entered the room in a miniskirt, blouse and no bra. Her hair, pitch-black and stringy, covered her far better than her choice of outfits. She glanced around, shrugged, and claimed the seat closest to the door as if it were important to make a fast getaway.

The room filled quickly. The school building itself was said to be dilapidated and run-down, but that didn’t trouble Brynn. St. Mary Academy was a turn-of-the-century structure with high ceilings and lovely polished wood floors that smelled of lemon oil.

When Brynn learned Manhattan High in the Washington Heights area had been constructed in the early 1950s, she’d expected it to be an improvement, but she was wrong. Like so many other schools, Manhattan High had been forced to make some difficult budget choices. Thanks to three failed school bond levies, modernizing the classrooms was on the low end of the priority list.

“Will everyone kindly take a seat,” Brynn instructed nervously. She stood in front of the class and was ignored, which wasn’t surprising since the bell had yet to ring.

Looking for something constructive to do, she walked over to the badly chipped blackboard and wrote out her name.

The bell rang, and several of the kids stopped talking long enough to indicate their irritation at being interrupted. The level of conversation increased once the bell finished.

Brynn returned to the front center of the room and waited. She’d learned early in her teaching career never to outshout her students. It only made her look foolish, and it didn’t work. After five full minutes of being ignored, she went to the wall and flipped the light switch a couple of times. This technique had worked elsewhere but had only a mild effect upon the class. The level of talking decreased momentarily while several glanced her way, then quickly continued their ongoing conversations.

Brynn decided she had no option but to wait them out. It demanded the longest fifteen minutes of her life to stand in front of that classroom until thirty people voluntarily gave her their attention.

It might have taken longer if the boy, Hispanic from the look of him, hadn’t raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. Ten or so other Hispanics stopped talking and turned around on their seats. An African American followed suit, and several of the others clustered together went silent.

The class had divided itself along ethnic lines, Brynn noted. The Hispanics sat in the front, the African Americans chose the back.

Once silence reigned, Brynn stepped forward. “Good morning,” she said with her brightest smile. “My name’s Miss Cassidy-

‘Why ain’t you married?”

“Because I’m not,” she answered simply, preferring not to get trapped in a conversation about herself “I’m your teacher, and —””You’re new, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” Brynn answered politely. “As you already know, we’re involved in an experimental program called Interdisciplinary Learning.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a nice girl like you should be teaching,” one of the boys called out.

Despite herself, Brynn smiled. “We’ll be spending three hours together each afternoon, exploring senior English, world history, and social science. You’ll notice how the classes are grouped along parallel lines.”

“is she speaking English?” one girl whispered loudly, leaning toward another.

Brynn decided it would be best to explain the concept in simpler terms. “The classes we’ll be studying are connected by subject. We’ll read The Diary of Anne Frank for the English portion, the history section will involve the study of World War Two, and in the last part of the session I’d like to discuss the justification for war and other value clarification.”

“All three hours will be spent with you?”

“That’s right,” Brynn said. “You’ll know me better than any other teacher, and by the same token, I’ll know you. I’d like it if we could work together as a team.”

“If we’re going to be spending this much time with one teacher, then it only seems right that you tell us something about yourself first,” the Hispanic boy who’d quieted the class said. Since she owed him a favor, she agreed.

“What do you want to know?”

“How long you been teaching?”

“This is my third year,”

“If she lasts the first week,” someone suggested under their breath.

“I’ll last,” Brynn assured them. “I’m too young to retire and too stubborn to quit.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Rhode Island.”

“Why’d you decide to teach here?”

“She’s a fool, that’s why,” someone answered for her.

“That’s not true,” Brynn countered. “As I explained earlier, we’re involved in an experimental program that’s being sponsored by the federal government. I was asked to participate.”

“Why’d you do it?”

The questions were making her decidedly uncomfortable. “Part of the agreement would be that a portion of my student loan would be forgiven.”

“Forgiven?”

“That’s the word the government used.”

“Where’d you teach before?” a Chinese girl asked, her gaze shyly meeting Brynn’s.

“St. Mary Academy. It’s a private school for girls near Rochester.”

” La de da,” one of the boys said in a high-pitched voice… Read more

Those Christmas Angels

Anne Fletcher pulled the last box of Christmas decorations from the closet in the spare bedroom. She loved Christmas—always had and always would, regardless of her circumstances. It was a bit early yet, a few days before Thanksgiving, but some Christmas cheer was exactly what she needed to get her mind off her problems. The grief that had been hounding her since the divorce five years ago… The financial uncertainty she now faced… The betrayal she still felt…

“No,” she said aloud, refusing to allow herself to step closer to that swamp of regrets. It often happened like this. She’d start thinking about everything she’d lost, and before she knew it, she’d collapse emotionally, drowning in pain.

Carrying the plastic container down the hallway, she glanced inside her art room and let her gaze drift over to her easel and her latest project. The bold colors of the setting sun against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean pleased her. Yes, she was divorced, but there’d been compensations, too. Her art had fulfilled her in ways she hadn’t even realized were possible.

How different her life was at fifty-nine than she would’ve imagined even five years ago—before the divorce. What Burton had done was unforgivable. He’d hurt her, and he’d cheated her out of funds that were rightfully hers.

Once again she stopped herself, not wanting to indulge those bitter memories and regrets. She’d done plenty of that in the beginning, when she’d first learned he’d found someone else and wanted out of their thirty-year marriage. It was a fling, or so she’d managed to convince herself. A midlife crisis. Lots of men had them. Any day Burton would come to his senses and see what he was doing to her and to Roy, their son.

Only he hadn’t, and Anne walked out of divorce court numb with shock and disbelief. Not until the judge’s gavel echoed through the room had she fully believed her husband was capable of such treachery. She should’ve known, should’ve been prepared. Burton was a top-notch divorce attorney, a persuasive man who knew all the ploys. But despite everything, she’d trusted him.…

Her friends had been stunned, too—less by Burton’s deception than by Anne’s apparent acceptance of what he’d done to her. It wasn’t in her to fight, to drag her marriage and her life through the courts. Burton had recommended an attorney, whom she’d obediently retained, never suspecting that the man who’d represented her in court would apply to Burton’s law firm as soon as the divorce was final. Of course, he’d been hired.…

Burton had promised to treat her fairly. Because she was convinced that he’d soon recognize what a terrible mistake he was making, she’d blindly followed his lead. Without a quibble and on her attorney’s advice, she’d accepted the settlement offer—one that had turned out to be grossly unfair. Although she hadn’t been aware of it at the time, Anne was cheated out of at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of assets.

Burton’s ploy in this particular case had been simple: he’d strung her along. Twice he’d come to her in tears, begging her forgiveness, talking about reconciliation, and all the while he’d been shifting their assets to offshore accounts. All the while, he’d been lying, stealing and cheating. She’d loved him and she’d believed him, and so had taken her husband at his word. Never had she dreamed he could betray her like this. After thirty years, she’d walked away with only a pittance. And, needless to say, no alimony.

Yes, Anne could fight him, could take him back to court and expose him for the thief he was, but to what end? It was best, she’d decided long ago, to preserve her dignity. She’d always felt that life had a symmetry to it, a way of righting wrongs, and that somehow, eventually, God would restore to her the things she’d lost. It was this belief that had gotten her past the bitterness and indignation.

Admittedly she couldn’t help lapsing sometimes, but Anne tried not to feel bitter. At this point, she couldn’t see how anger, even righteous anger, could possibly benefit her. She’d adjusted. Taking the little she’d managed to salvage from her marriage, she’d purchased a small cottage on St. Gabriel, a tiny San Juan island in Puget Sound. In college all those years ago, when she’d met Burton, she’d been an art student. She had a flair for art and enjoyed it. Given the demands of being married to a prominent divorce lawyer, she’d put aside her own pursuits to assist Burton. Her husband’s ambitions had become her own, and Anne was the perfect wife and hostess.

It’d been a disappointment to her to have only one child, a son they’d named after Anne’s father. Young Roy was the light of her life, her ray of sunshine through the years. When she wasn’t hostessing social events on her husband’s behalf, Anne spent her time with Roy, raising him with limitless love and motherly devotion.

If she felt any bitterness about the way Burton had treated her, it was because of what he’d done to Roy. Unfortunately, Roy was the one who’d introduced Burton to Aimee. He’d never forgiven himself for that, despite Anne’s reassurances. Still, Roy assumed responsibility for what had happened. He couldn’t seem to forgive himself for his role in the divorce, no matter how innocent that role had been.

To complicate the situation even more, he refused to forgive his father, not only for betraying Anne but for stealing Aimee, the woman he himself had loved and planned to marry. Roy’s anger was constantly with him. The anger had become part of him, tainting his life, as though he wore smudged, dark glasses that revealed a bleak, drab world. All Roy cared about now was his business, his drive for more and more, and while he’d achieved greater success than most men twice his age, Roy wasn’t happy.

Her son’s cynicism troubled Anne deeply—even more than the divorce itself. She’d put that behind her, as much as she was able, and built a comfortable life for herself, doing what she loved best—painting. Mainly through word of mouth, her work had begun to sell at the local farmers’ market and then at a couple of galleries in the area; it now provided her with a small income.

Anne would’ve given anything to help her son. Regardless of how much money he made or how many accolades he received, he remained lonely and embittered. She desperately wanted him to find happiness.

In the five years since the divorce, Roy had not spoken to his father once, despite Burton’s repeated efforts. Yet Roy was so like Burton. He shared his father’s talents, his ambition. They shared another trait, too, the one that concerned Anne the most. He possessed his father’s ability to be ruthless about marriage and relationships. He was thirty-three, and in Anne’s view, he should get married. However, her son resolutely refused to discuss it. His attitude toward love and commitment had been completely warped. He no longer dated, no longer sought out relationships.

The only thing that mattered to Roy was the bottom line. He’d grown cold and uncaring; little outside of Fletcher Industries seemed to affect him. Anne realized her son was in trouble. He was hurting badly, although he seemed incapable of recognizing his own pain. Roy needed someone to teach him the power of forgiveness and love. She’d wanted to be that person, to show him that forgiveness was possible, but in his zeal to succeed, Roy had started to block her out of his life. It was unintentional, she knew, but nonetheless, it hurt.

Roy had established Fletcher Industries, his own computer security company, in Seattle, shortly after he graduated from college. His innovative, cutting-edge software led the competition in the field. Recent contracts with the government and several banks had given Fletcher Industries a solid position as one of the top companies of its type.

Those first years after he’d formed his business, Roy spent far too many hours at work. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay in the office for two or three days at a time, living on fast food and catnaps. That all changed after he met Aimee. Her son had fallen in love and he’d fallen hard. Anne had been thrilled and Burton was, too. Then Roy had brought Aimee to his parents’ home in Southern California to introduce her… and all their lives had exploded.

Following his parents’ divorce, Roy had quickly reverted to his old habit of working long hours. Only now a callousness had entered into his business dealings. Anne was aware of this, but she was helpless to change her son, and her heart ached with her inability to reach him. Time and again, she’d tried to tell him what he was doing to himself—that he was damaging his life and his future—but he couldn’t or wouldn’t hear.

The kettle whistled, and leaving the Christmas box in the hall, Anne moved into the kitchen. She took the blue ceramic teapot from the cupboard and filled it with boiling water, then added a tea bag—Earl Grey, her favorite—and left it to steep. After a moment, she poured herself a cup and took a first sip of the aromatic tea. She frowned, berating herself for allowing her thoughts to follow the path they’d taken. Just when she assumed she was free of Burton, she’d wallow in the pain all over again and realize how far she had yet to go. There was only one cure for this bout of self-pity and for the worry that consumed her. Setting down the china cup, Anne bowed her head and prayed. Sometimes it was difficult to find the words to express what was in her heart, but not today. The prayer flew from her lips.

“Dear Lord, send my son a woman to love. One who’ll help him heal, who’ll teach him about forgiveness. A woman who’ll open his heart and wake him up to the kind of man he’s becoming.”

Slowly, as if weighed down by her doubts, Anne’s prayer circled the room. Gradually it ascended, rising with the steam from the teapot, spiraling upward out of the simple cottage and toward the leaden sky. It rose higher and higher until it reached the clouds and then sped toward the heavens. There, it landed on the desk of the Archangel Gabriel, the same Archangel who’d delivered the good news of God’s love to a humble Jewish maiden more than two thousand years ago.

Gabriel, however, was away from his desk.

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy, three Prayer Ambassadors who had a reputation for employing unorthodox means to achieve their ends, stood just inside the Archangel’s quarters. Together the three of them watched as the prayer made its way onto his desk. Only the most difficult prayer requests went to the mighty Gabriel—the prayers that came from those who were most in need, from the desperate and discouraged.

“Don’t read it,” Shirley cried when Goodness, unable to resist, bent to pick up the wispy sheet.

“Why not?” Goodness had always had more curiosity than was good for her. She knew that peeking at a prayer request before Gabriel had a chance to view it was asking for trouble, but that didn’t stop her. Mercy was the one most easily swayed by things on Earth, and Shirley, well, Shirley was nearly perfect. At one time she’d been a Guardian Angel but had transferred to the ranks of the Prayer Ambassadors. That had happened under suspicious circumstances, so Shirley’s perfection was a little compromised. Shirley never mentioned the incident, though, and Goodness dared not inquire. She knew that some things were better left unknown—despite her desire to hear all the sordid details.

“Goodness,” Shirley warned again.

“I’m just going to glance at the name,” Goodness muttered, carefully lifting the edge of the folded sheet.

“Is it anyone we know?” Mercy demanded, drawing closer.

Goodness eyed Shirley, who was trying not to reveal her own interest. “Well, is it?” Shirley finally asked.

“No,” Goodness said. “I’ve never heard of Anne Fletcher, have you?”

“Anne Fletcher?” Shirley echoed, and then as if her knees had gone out from under her, she sank into the chair reserved for Gabriel. “Anne Fletcher from California,” the former Guardian Angel repeated slowly.

Goodness looked again, lifting the edge of the sheet just a bit higher this time. “Formerly of California,” she said.

“Oh, no!” Shirley cried. “She moved. I wonder why. Tell me where she’s gone.”

“The San Juan Islands,” Mercy said, leaning over Goodness to take a look for herself.

“She’s in the Caribbean?” Shirley said, sounding distraught.

“No, in Puget Sound—Washington State,” Goodness told her.

“I remember it well,” Mercy said with a dreamy smile. “Don’t you remember the Bremerton Shipyard? We had so much fun there.”

“What I remember,” Goodness informed her fellow angel, “was all the trouble we got in when you started shifting aircraft carriers and destroyers around.”

“I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize for that,” Mercy muttered, crossing her arms defiantly. “It was a fluke. Nothing like that’s happened since, and frankly I think you’re…”

Her words faded as she saw Goodness studying Shirley. “How do you know Anne Fletcher?” Goodness asked softly.

“Poor, poor Anne,” Shirley murmured, seemingly lost in thought. “I knew her mother—I was her Guardian Angel. I was with her mother, Beth, when she gave birth to Anne.”

So Shirley had a connection to Anne Fletcher. “I didn’t read the request,” Goodness said, more eager than ever to throw caution to the winds and take a second, longer look.

“Maybe there’s something we can do,” Mercy said. It sounded as if she was encouraging Goodness to flout protocol, and Goodness was happy to go along with the implied suggestion. She quickly scooped up the prayer request, then almost dropped it when a voice boomed behind them.

“Do for whom?” it asked.

Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel.

Goodness spun around and backed against the side of the huge desk, crushing her wings in her attempt to hide. Oh, this wasn’t good. Gabriel was their friend, but he wouldn’t tolerate their snooping around his desk.

“Nothing.” Mercy moved closer to Goodness until they stood shoulder to shoulder, wing to wing.

Shirley was lost in her own thoughts, sitting in Gabriel’s chair, apparently oblivious to their dire circumstances.

“Do?” Goodness choked out. “Are we supposed to be doing something for someone?”

“It’s Anne Fletcher,” Shirley whispered, peering up at Gabriel, apparently still in a stupor. “We’ve got to help her.”

“Anne Fletcher?” Gabriel’s brow furrowed with concern.

“She’s said a prayer for Roy,” Goodness explained, and boldly handed Gabriel the request, as much as admitting it had been read. “She wants to believe. But she’s worried about her son and has given up hope that anyone can reach him. We can’t let her lose faith—we just can’t!” She gazed up at Gabriel with large, pleading eyes. Her wings were folded back and she hung her head as though she felt the same sense of despair Anne Fletcher did.

Goodness had never seen Shirley so upset. Clearly this Anne person was someone she cared about. Read more

Angels Everywhere

The manger was empty. Leah Lundberg walked past the nativity scene Providence Hospital put out every year, stopped, and stared. The north wind cut through her like a boning knife as Leah studied the ramshackle stable, her heart heavy, her life more so.

The blue of Mary’s gown had long since faded, she noted. Joseph, leaning heavily against his staff, was slightly off-balance, and looked as if he’d topple in a stiff wind. There seemed to be one less lamb this year and one of the donkeys ears was missing. It was a small wonder the structure remained upright with the weight of the angel, yellow now instead of golden, nailed to the top. Triumphantly, she blew her chipped hom proclaiming the glorious news of the Savior’s birth.

The hospital had reconstructed the Christmas scene every Advent for the last fifty years, long before Leah was born, long before she realized an entire lifetime of tears could be stored within a single tattered soul.

It was ironic that a woman who toiled as a nurse day after day on a maternity ward would be childless herself. Her work with laboring mothers was her gift, they said, her special talent. Women specifically requested that she be with them for the birthing of their children.

For whatever reason, Leah had been granted the touch, a gentle hand, and a sympathetic heart. Birthing mothers claimed she was inspiring, encouraging, and supportive. Labor didn’t seem nearly as difficult when Leah was with a patient. She’d heard it all before, countless times, the praise, the gratitude. What most of Leah’s patients didn’t know was that she, who was an expert at labor and delivery, had never given birthherself.

Her patients left the hospital with their arms and their lives full. Each afternoon, Leah walked out of Providence alone. And empty.

Tears crowded her eyes and spilled unheeded down her cheeks. She bowed her head and closed her eyes in prayer. “Dear God,” she whispered, choking down the emotion, “please give me a child.” It was a plea she’d whispered innumerable times over the last ten years. So often that she was convinced God had long since given up hearing. Or caring.

Wiping the moisture from her face, she gathered her coat more closely around her thin shoulders and headed for the staff parking lot. She forced herself to smile. it upset Andrew that she continued to dwell on their inability to have children, and she didn’t want him to know she’d been crying.

Her husband had accepted the news with little more than a shrug. He felt bad, knowing how desperately she longed for a baby, but it wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering to him. If God saw fit to send children into their -lives, then fine, if not, that was fine too.

It wasn’t all right with Leah and she doubted that it ever would be.

Leah’s prayer whistled in the breeze, up through the bare spindly arms of a lanky birch tree, winging its way higher and higher until it had ascended the clouds and drifted into the warm winds of heaven. It arrived fresh with the salt of her tears at the desk of the Archangel Gabriel. The very angel who’d announced the news of the virgin birth to Mary nearly two thousand years earlier. His responsibilities had been wide and varied through time, but he felt a certain tenderness for humans and their multiple problems. He found earth’s population to be a curious lot. They were stubborn, rebellious, and arrogant. Their antics were a constant source of amusement to those behind the pearly gates. Who could help laughing at a group of people who heatedly declared that God was dead and clung to the belief that Elvis was alive?

“Leah Lundberg,- Gabriel repeated softly, frowning. The name was vaguely familiar. He flipped the pages of a cumbersome book until he’d found what he was seeking. Sighing, he relaxed against the back of his chair and slowly shook his head. Leah was one of his most persistent cases. He’d heard her prayer often, had ushered it himself to the very feet of God.

Gabriel had sent countless couriers to intercede on Leah’s behalf, but their efforts had been met with repeated failure. Time after time, their reports came back virtually the same. It was a familiar problem that blocked the answer to Leah’s prayer. Herself.

It would have been much easier if Gabriel could sit down with Leah and talk out this matter face to face. Circumstances arose now and again when doing exactly what was required, but generally not when it came to answering prayer. Humans tended to believe all that was required of them was a few mumbled words, then they were utterly content to leave the matter in the hands of God.

Through the ages humans had yet to discover what should have been obvious. The answers to prayer required participation. The people of earth expected God to do it all. Only a shocking few realized they had their own role to perform.

A good example was a request that had come in earlier from Monica Fischer, a preacher’s daughter. Monica had asked for a husband. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem; she was twenty-five and strikingly attractive, or would be if she didn’t choose to disguise her natural beauty. The whole process of attracting a young man was complicated by her self-righteous attitude. Few men, even devout servants of God, were willing to marry sanctimonious prudes.

Gabriel hadn’t decided how he would handle Monica’s request or the prayer that had come in the unusual form of a letter from Timmy Potter. Gabriel had a soft spot when it came to children’s prayers. Timmy was nine, and had requested a father… Read more

There’s Something About Christmas

Chapter One

On that cold day I was born, in February 1955, my great-aunt gave me a classic fruitcake for the celebration of the occasion of my birth. Every year during the holidays I pull it out of the attic and take a look at it and it still looks great, and every year I try to get up the nerve to take a slice and try it.

–Dean Fearing,
Chef of The Mansion on Turtle Creek

This job was going to kill her yet.

Emma Collins stared at the daredevil pilot who was urging her toward his plane. She’d come to Thun Field to drum up advertising dollars for her employer, The Puyallup Examiner, and wasn’t interested in taking a spin around southeast Puget Sound.

“Thank you, but no,” she insisted for the third time. Oliver Hamilton seemed to have a hearing problem. However, Emma was doing her best to maintain a professional facade, despite her pounding heart. No way would she go for a ride with Flyboy.

The truth was, Emma was terrified of flying. Okay, she white-knuckled it in a Boeing 747, but nothing on God’s green earth would get her inside a small plane with this man — and his dog. Oliver Hamilton had a devil-may-care glint in his dark blue eyes and wore a distressed brown leather jacket that resembled something a World War Two bomber pilot might wear. All he needed was the white scarf. She suspected that if he ever got her in the air, he’d start making loops and circles with the express purpose of frightening her to death. He looked just the type.

Placing the advertising-rate sheet on his desk, she turned resolutely away from the window and the sight of Hamilton’s little bitty plane — a Cessna Caravan 675, he’d called it. “As I was explaining earlier, The Examiner has a circulation of over forty-five thousand. As you’ll see–” she gestured at the sheet “–we have special introductory rates in December. We serve four communities and, dollar for advertising dollar, you can’t do better than what we’re offering.”

“Yes, yes, I understand all that,” Oliver Hamilton said, stepping around his desk. “Now, what I can offer you is the experience of a lifetime . . .”

Instinctively Emma backed away. She had an aversion to attractive men whose promises slid so easily off their tongues. Her father had been one of them. He’d flitted in and out of her life during her childhood and teen years. Every so often, he’d arrived bearing gifts and making promises, none of which he’d kept. Still, her mother had loved Bret Collins until the end. Pamela had died after a brief illness when Emma was a sophomore at the University of Oregon. To his credit, her father had paid her college expenses, but Emma refused to have anything to do with him. She was on her own in the world and determined to make a success of her career as a journalist. When she’d hired on at The Examiner earlier that year, she hadn’t objected to starting at the bottom. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was spending half her time trying to sell advertising.

The Examiner was a family-owned business, one of a vanishing breed. The newspaper had been in the Berwald family for three generations. Walt Berwald II had held on through the corporate buyouts and survived the competition from the big-city newspapers coming out of Tacoma and Seattle. It hadn’t been easy. Now his thirty-year-old son had taken over after his father’s recent heart attack. Walt the third, the new editor-in-chief, was doing everything he could to keep the newspaper financially solvent, which Emma knew was a challenge.

“Hey, Oscar,” Oliver said, bending to pet his dog. “I think the lady’s afraid of flying.”

Emma bristled, irritated that he’d pegged her so quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He ignored her and continued to pet the dog. She couldn’t readily identify his breed, possibly some kind of terrier. The dog was mostly white with one large black spot surrounding his left eye. Right out of that 1930s show Spanky and Our Gang. Wasn’t that the name? She shook off her momentary distraction.

“I’m here to sell you advertising in The Examiner,” she explained again. “I hope you’ll reconsider.”

Oliver straightened, crossing his arms, and leaned against his desk. “As I said, I’m just getting my business started. At this point I don’t have a lot of discretionary funds for advertising. So for now I’ll stick with the word-of-mouth method. That seems to be working.”

It couldn’t be working that well, since he appeared to have a lot of time on his hands. “Exactly what is it you do?” she asked.

“I give flying lessons and I’ve recently begun an airfreight business.”

“Oh.”

“Oscar and I haven’t crashed even once.”

He was obviously making fun of her, and she didn’t appreciate it. Nor did she take his alleged safety record as an incentive to leap into the passenger seat.

“But then,” he added, “there’s always a first time.”

“Exactly what I was going to say,” Emma muttered. “Well, I’ll leave the information with you,” she said more pleasantly. “I hope you’ll think about our proposal when it’s financially feasible.”

Retrieving her briefcase and purse, she headed toward the door — which Oliver suddenly blocked with his arm. His smile was as lazy as it was sexy. Hmm, funny how often lazy and sexy went together. Considering all that boyish charm, plenty of other women had probably melted at his feet. She wouldn’t.

She met his gaze without flinching.

“Are you sure I can’t take you up for a spin?” he asked.

“Absolutely, positively sure.”

“There’s nothing to fear except fear itself.”

“Uh-uh. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other calls to make.”

He moved aside. “It’s a shame. You’re kinda cute in an uptight sort of way.”

Unable to resist, she rolled her eyes.

Oliver chuckled and walked her out to her car, his dog trotting behind him. Normally Emma would’ve taken time to pet the terrier, but Oliver Hamilton would inevitably read that as a sign she was interested in him. She was fond of animals, especially dogs, and hoped to get one herself. Unfortunately, her apartment complex didn’t allow pets; not only that, the landlord was a real piece of work. As soon as she had the chance, Emma planned to find somewhere else to live.

Using her remote, she unlocked her car door, which Oliver promptly opened for her. She smiled her thanks, eager to leave, and climbed into the driver’s side.

“So I can’t change your mind?”

She shook her head. The one thing a ladies’ man could never resist, Emma had learned from her father, was a woman who said no. Somehow, she’d have to get Oliver to accept her at her word.

She reached for the door and closed it. Hard.

Oliver stepped back.

After she’d started the ignition and pulled away, he smiled at her — a mysterious smile — as if he knew something she didn’t.

As far as Emma was concerned, she’d made a lucky escape.

Her irritation had just begun to fade when she returned to the office and walked down to her cubicle in the basement, shared with half a dozen other staff. The area was affectionately — and sometimes not so affectionately — termed The Dungeon. Phoebe Wilkinson, who sat opposite her, glanced up when Emma tossed her purse onto her desk.

“That bad?” Phoebe asked, rolling her chair across the narrow aisle. She was one of the other reporters, a few years older than Emma. She was short where Emma was tall, with dark hair worn in a pixie cut while Emma’s was long and blond. Most of the time, anyway. Occasionally Emma was a redhead or a brunette.

“You wouldn’t believe my afternoon.”

“Did you sell any ads?” Phoebe asked. It’d been her turn the day before and she’d come back with three brand-new accounts.

Emma nodded. She’d managed to get the local pizza parlor to place an ad in the Wednesday edition with a dollar-off coupon for any large pizza. That way, the restaurant could figure out how well the advertising had worked. Emma just hoped everyone in town would go racing into the parlor with that coupon. Badda Bing, Badda Boom Pizza had been her only sale.

“That’s great,” Phoebe said with real enthusiasm.

“Yes, at least our payroll checks won’t bounce.” She couldn’t restrain her sarcasm.

Phoebe frowned, shaking her head. “Walt would never let that happen.”

Her friend and co-worker had a crush on the owner. Phoebe was the strongest personality she knew, yet when it came to Walt, she seemed downright timid — far from her usual assertive self.

Emma sighed. Her own feelings about men had grown cynical. Her father was mostly responsible for that. Her one serious college romance hadn’t helped, either; it ended when her mother became ill. Emma hadn’t been around to help Neal with his assignments, so he’d dropped her for another journalism student. Pulling out her chair, Emma sat down. She hadn’t worked so hard to get her college degree for this. Her feet hurt, she had a run in her panty hose and no one was going to give her a Pulitzer prize when she spent half her time pounding the pavement and the other half writing obituaries.

Yes, obituaries. Walt’s big coup had been getting a contract to write obituaries for the large Tacoma newspaper, and that had been her job and Phoebe’s for the past eight months. Emma had gotten quite good at summarizing someone else’s life — but that hardly made a smudge on the page of her own.

She hadn’t obtained a journalism degree in order to persuade the local department store to place mattress sale ads in the Sunday paper, either. She was a reporter! A darn good one . . . if only someone would give her a chance to prove herself. Emma longed to write a piece worthy of her education and her skills, and frankly, preparing obituaries wasn’t it.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer,” she confessed sadly. “Either Walt lets me write a real story or . . .” She didn’t know what.

Phoebe gasped. “You aren’t thinking of quitting, are you?”

Emma looked at her friend. She’d been hired the same week as Phoebe. The difference was, Phoebe seemed content to do whatever was asked of her. She loved writing obituaries and set the perfect tone with each one. Not Emma. She hated it, struggling with them all. The result was always adequate or better because Emma took pride in her work, but it just wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. She had ambition and dreamed that one day she’d write feature articles. Eventually, she hoped to have her own column.

“I don’t want to quit. I’ve been waiting six months for Walt to offer me something more than funeral home notices.”

“Sleep on it,” Phoebe advised. “You’ve had a rough day. Everything will seem better in the morning.”

“You’re right,” she murmured. An ultimatum shouldn’t be made on the spur of the moment. Besides, it wasn’t the obituaries or even drumming up advertising dollars that depressed her the most.

It was Christmas. Read more

Jingle All the Way

Love can transform even the best-laid plans in this heartfelt Christmas novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber. Trapped in the middle of five siblings, Everly Lancaster always had big dreams. Now a top real-estate executive, Everly Read more

A Cedar Cove Christmas

Even though she was listening to Christmas carols on her iPod, Mary Jo Wyse could hear her brothers arguing. How could she not? Individually, the three of them had voices that were usually described as booming; together they sounded like an entire football stadium full of fans. All three worked as mechanics in the family-owned car repair business and stood well over six feet. Their size alone was intimidating. Add to that their voices, and they’d put the fear of God into the most hardened criminal.

“It’s nearly Christmas,” Linc was saying. He was the oldest and, if possible, loudest of the bunch.

“Mary Jo said he’d call her before now,” Mel said.

Ned, her youngest brother, remained suspiciously quiet. He was the sensitive one. Translated, that meant he’d apologize after he broke David Rhodes’s fingers for getting his little sister pregnant and then abandoning her.

“We’ve got to do something,” Linc insisted.

The determination in his voice gave her pause. Mary Jo’s situation was complicated enough without the involvement of her loving but meddlesome older brothers. However, it wasn’t their fault that she was about to have a baby and the father was nowhere in sight.

“I say we find David Rhodes and string him up until he agrees to marry our sister.”

Mary Jo gasped. She couldn’t help it. Knowing Linc, he’d have no qualms about doing exactly that.

“I think we should, too—if only we knew where he was,” she heard Mel say.

Unable to sit still any longer, Mary Jo tore off her earphones and burst out of her bedroom. She marched into the living room, where her brothers stood around the Christmas tree, beers in hand, as its lights blinked cheerfully. Eversince their parents had been killed in a car accident five years earlier, her older brothers had considered themselves her guardians. Which was ridiculous, since she was over twenty-one. Twenty-three, to be precise. She hadn’t been legally of age at the time of their deaths, but her brothers seemed to forget she was now an adult.

All four of them still lived in the family home. Linc and Ned were currently seeing women, but neither relationship seemed very serious. Mel had recently broken up with someone. Mary Jo was the only one eager to leave, chafing as she did at her brothers’ attempts to decree how she should live her life.

Admittedly she’d made a mess of things; she couldn’t deny it. But she was trying to deal with the consequences, to act like the adult she was. Yes, she’d made a massive error in judgment, falling for an attractive older man and doing what came all too naturally. And no, she didn’t need her brothers’ assistance.

“Would you guys mind your own business,” she demanded, hands on her hips. At five-three she stared up at her brothers, who towered above her.

She probably looked a sight, although at the moment

her appearance was the least of her problems. She was dressed in her old flannel nightgown, the one with the Christmas angels on it, her belly stretched out so far it looked like she’d swallowed a giant snow globe. Her long dark hair fell in tangles, and her feet were bare.

Linc frowned back at her. “You’re our sister and that makes you our business.”

“We’re worried about you,” Ned said, speaking for the first time. “You’re gonna have that baby any day.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about birthing no babies,” Mel added in a falsetto voice.

If he was trying to add humor to the situation, Mary Jo wasn’t amused. She glared at him angrily. “You don’t have to worry about delivering my baby. This child is my concern and mine alone.”

“No, he isn’t.”

From the very minute she’d tearfully announced her pregnancy four months ago, her brothers had decided the baby was a boy. For some reason, the alternative never seemed to occur to them, no matter how often she suggested it.

“You’re depriving this baby of his father,” Linc said

stubbornly. It was a lament he’d voiced a hundred times over the past months. “A baby needs a father.”

“I agree,” Mary Jo told him. “However, I haven’t seen David in weeks.”

Mel stepped forward, his disapproval obvious. “What about Christmas? Didn’t he tell you he’d be in touch before Christmas?”

“He did.” But then David Rhodes had made a lot of promises, none of which he’d kept. “He said he’d be visiting his family in the area.”

“Where?” Ned asked.

“Cedar Cove,” she supplied and wondered if she should’ve told her three hotheaded brothers that much.

“Let’s go there and find him,” Linc said.

Mary Jo held up both hands. “Don’t be crazy!”

“Crazy,” Linc echoed with a snort of indignation. “I refuse to let you have this baby alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Mary Jo said. She gestured toward them. “I have the three of you, don’t I?”

Her brothers went pale before her eyes. “You… you want us in the delivery room?” Mel asked in weak tones. He swallowed visibly. “You’re joking, right?”

Mary Jo had delayed registering for the birthing classes because David had promised to attend them with her. Only he hadn’t managed to show up for the first session or the one after that or the following one, either. Giving up on him, Mary Jo had begun a session that week—a lot later in the pregnancy than she should have. She’d gone by herself and left the class in tears. Although she’d considered asking Ned if he’d be her birthing partner, she hadn’t found the courage to do it yet. And she wasn’t sure he’d be the best choice, anyway. Her other options were her girlfriends Casey and Chloe; however, Casey was terrified by the idea and Chloe, married last year, was expecting her own baby.

“Right.” She struggled to maintain her composure. “That was a joke.”

They released a collective sigh.

“You’re distracting us from what’s important here.” Obviously, Linc wasn’t going to be put off. “I want to talk to David Rhodes, just him and me, man to man.” He clenched his hands at his sides.

“And when Linc’s finished, I want a turn,” Mel said, plowing his fist into his open palm.

Mary Jo rolled her eyes. She’d defended David to her brothers countless times. She’d defended him to Casey and Chloe—the only other people who knew David was her baby’s father. Casey worked with her at the insurance company in Seattle, so she’d met David, since he’d come to their office for meetings every few weeks, representing corporate headquarters in California. David had charmed just about everybody—with the possible exception of Casey.

He’d always had such good excuses for missing the birthing classes, and she’d believed him. It was easy to do because she so badly wanted to trust him. He claimed to love her and while the pregnancy certainly hadn’t been planned, he’d seemed genuinely pleased when she’d told him.There were a few legal and financial matters that needed to be cleared up, he’d explained, but as soon as they were dealt with, he’d marry her.

For a number of months Mary Jo had convinced her brothers that David’s intentions were honorable. Now, though, she had to resign herself to the fact that David wasn’t willing or able to marry her. She realized she didn’t know as much about him as she should. Granted, he was older by at least twenty years, but her infatuation had led her to dismiss the significance of that. Now Mary Jo had to doubt his sincerity. She hadn’t heard from him in more than two weeks and he wasn’t answering his cell phone, and even during their last conversation, he’d been preoccupied and abrupt. He’d mentioned that he’d be in Cedar Cove for Christmas with his father and stepmother and would call her then.

“Do you want to marry David?” Ned asked. He was the only brother to take her feelings into consideration.

“Of course she wants to marry him,” Linc answered, scowling at him. “She’s about to have his baby, isn’t she?”

“I believe I can answer for myself.” Mary Jo calmly turned toward her oldest brother. “Actually—”

“You’re getting married,” Linc broke in.

“I won’t have you holding a gun on David!”

Linc shook his head, expression puzzled. “I don’t own a gun.”

She sighed; her brothers could be so literal sometimes. “I was speaking figuratively,” she said loftily.

“Oh.” Linc frowned. “Well, I’m not talking figures, I’m talking facts.” He raised one finger. “You’re having a baby.” He raised a second. “The father of that baby needs to accept his responsibilities.”

“He will,” Mary Jo murmured, although any hope that David would take care of her and the baby had long since been dashed.

“Yes, he will,” Mel said firmly, “because we’re going to make sure he does.”

“And that includes putting a wedding band on your finger,” Linc informed her, giving her a look that said he wouldn’t tolerate any argument.

The baby kicked as if in protest and Mary Jo echoed the child’s feelings. She no longer knew what she wanted. In the beginning she’d been head-over-heels in love with David. He was the most exciting man she’d ever met, and without even trying, he’d swept her off her feet. Mary Jo had been thrilled when he paid attention to her, a lowly accounting clerk. Compared to the boyfriends she’d had—as naive and inexperienced as she’d been herself—David was a romantic hero. An older man, confident, witty, indulgent.

“Mary Josephine,” Mel said loudly. “Are you listening?”

Blinking to clear her thoughts, Mary Jo focused on her middle brother. “I guess not, sorry.”

“Sorry?” Mel stormed. “We’re talking about your future here and the future of your son.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mary Jo yawned. She couldn’t help it. She covered her mouth with one hand and placed the other on her protruding belly. “I’m going to bed,” she declared.

“Mary Jo!” Linc shouted after her as if she were a marine recruit and he was her drill instructor. “We need to decide what to do here and now.”

“Can’t we talk about it in the morning?” She was too exhausted to continue this argument with her brothers at—she glanced toward the antique clock—almost midnight.

“No.”

“Linc, be reasonable.”

“We have to get this settled.” Mel joined forces with his older brother.

Again Ned didn’t speak. He cast her a look of quiet sympathy but he wasn’t taking sides. Mary Jo could see that he felt Linc and Mel were right—not about becoming Mrs. Rhodes but about the need for her to make some kind of decision. Read more

Mrs. Miracle

A lot of people want to serve God, but only in an advisory capacity.

— Mrs. Miracle

“I told you not to swear, you little shit.” Seth Webster grabbed his sons by the scruffs of their necks in order to keep his squirming twins apart. It demanded all his strength to keep the two, fists flying, from attacking each other.

“Mr. Webster!” Mrs. Hampston, his housekeeper, the third in as many months, stood with her hands braced against her hips, her mouth thinned with disapproval. “That’s hardly the example to be giving your children.”

Truth be known, Seth couldn’t have agreed with her more, but there was a limit to just how much one man could take. The minute he’d walked into the house, he’d discovered his six-year-old twins rolling around the bedroom floor, intent on murdering one another. The woman was no help. She’d stood with her back braced against the wall and barked orders, sounding incredibly like a Yorkshire terrier. Before he could fully judge the wisdom of his actions, Seth had entered the fray. Within seconds his patience was shot.

Judd swore. Seth swore. Mrs. Hampston gasped, shocked to the very tips of her toes. Jason stuck his tongue out at his brother and looked well pleased with himself.

Judd retaliated, his tongue resembling that of a Gila monster.

“Judd. Jason. Stop that this instant.”

Both children squirmed. The fight went out of Judd first, and his shoulders slumped forward. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” His son scuffed the toe of his Nike against the bedroom carpet, his gaze lowered to the floor.

The love Seth felt for his children tightened a band around his heart.

“I was wrong, too,” he admitted, affectionately mussing the boy’s brownish red hair. The last few months had been a trial for all three of them. His in-laws had raised the twins for the past four years following Pamela’s death. Judd and Jason had been toddlers at the time of the traffic accident, needy and demanding. Seth couldn’t care for them properly and maintain his engineering position with Boeing. Having the two move in with Sharon and Jerry had seemed the perfect solution. His own parents traveled extensively and were unable to help. With time and effort the twins had adjusted to life without their mother — something Seth had yet to manage.

“I need to talk to you privately following dinner,” Mrs. Hampston announced stiffly as she walked past him on her way back into the kitchen.

“She’s gonna quit,” Jason announced as soon as the housekeeper was out of sight.

“The same way Mrs. Cooper quit,” Judd added.

“And Mrs. Larson.”

And everyone else, Seth added silently. He felt as if the entire world had quit on him. It’d all started when Sharon had phoned last July and abruptly announced it was time the twins moved back with him. It was long past time, Seth suspected, but he’d grown comfortable leaving the responsibility for the care of his children with his in-laws, comfortable in his role of weekend “Disney” dad. With Judd and Jason due to start first grade in the fall, the time for transition was now. In the months since, Seth wondered if he was ever meant to be a father.

He appreciated his in-laws’ help. They’d done more for him and the twins than he’d ever be able to repay. But Jerry had recently retired, and the two had already sacrificed four years of their lives. Their help had gotten Seth through the worst of the child-rearing years, or so he believed. He’d taken a crash course in this parenting business and discovered it wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded.

It shocked Seth how short his patience could be. Within five minutes of promising himself to set a good example, he’d referred to his own son as a little shit. Unfortunately the term fit Judd to a tee. The lad was full of piss and vinegar, into everything. Nothing was sacred. Jason was the follower. On his own he was quiet and shy, but with his brother forging ahead, he was quick to follow.

It had been much easier to consider himself a decent father when he was separated by a thousand miles. He called often, mailed the kids letters, and spent as much time with them as his schedule would allow. The lessons had come swiftly and sharply that summer when Judd and Jason had moved back in with him. The quick succession of live-in housekeepers was testimony to exactly how much of a failure he’d been.

“Are you gonna wash my mouth out with soap?” Judd asked, making a face as though he could already taste the unpleasantness.

Seth sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk bed and weighed the decision.

“He can’t,” Jason assured his twin, flopping down on the mattress beside him. “Dad said the S word.”

“Is the F word worse than the S word?” Jason looked to Seth for the answer.

“The hell if I know.”

Judd’s eyes widened with warning and he whispered, “Watch it, Dad, Mrs. Hampston doesn’t approve of the H word, either.”

“It don’t matter ’cause she’s gonna quit anyway.” This bit of wisdom came from Jason. The kid was probably right, too.

Sitting back against the wall, Seth draped an arm around each of his children’s shoulders and released a jagged sigh.

“What are we going to do now?” Judd asked.

“We need a housekeeper,” Jason added.

His son turned dark, round eyes to Seth, looking for him to supply the answers.

“Hey, she hasn’t quit yet.” Seth tried to sound optimistic but doubted that he convinced anyone. They’d seen it all too often before not to recognize the symptoms. The housekeeper wanted out.

“We tried to be good.”

“I know.” Seth was sympathetic. He’d done his best too and had repeatedly fallen short. Read more

The Snow Bride

“Alaska, Jen? This is crazy! You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.” Her mother swerved from one lane of the Los Angeles freeway to the next without bothering to glance in her rearview mirror. A car horn blared angrily from somewhere behind them, but Chloe Lyman was unconcerned; she’d never observed the rules of the road any more than she’d lived a conventional life.

Jenna Campbell swallowed a gasp and clung to her purse. When her mother was in this frame of mind, it was far better to agree with her and let her temper take its natural course. “Yes, Mom.”

“Don’t be so damned agreeable, either.”

“Whatever you say, Mom.”

“Asking me to drive you to the airport is just adding insult to injury.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but — ”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop agreeing with everything I say?”

“Yes, mom.”

“I can’t believe any daughter of mine is so . . . so mealy-mouthed. How on earth could you even think about something as ridiculous as becoming a mail-order bride? Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“I didn’t say I was marrying Dalton — ”

“That’s another thing. What kind of name is Dalton, anyway? And Alaska . . . Alaska? Have you lost your mind? This is the kind of thing I’d do, not you!”

“Mom . . . ”

Chloe Lyman veered sharply across two lanes of traffic, going twenty miles above the speed limit as she did so, and nearly collided with the concrete wall dividing the freeway. “I don’t like it.”

“Dalton’s name?” Jenna asked, purposely obtuse.

Chloe muttered something probably best left to the imagination, then added in a more audible voice, “I don’t like anything about this. You find some man on the Internet and the next thing I know, you’re quitting a job any woman would love. You give up a beautiful apartment. You uproot your entire life and take off for Alaska to marry this character you’ve never even met.”

“I’m an executive assistant, which is a glorified way of saying secretary, and I’m only going to Alaska to meet Dalton. I never said anything about marrying him.” While that sounded good, Jenna did, in fact, expect to marry Dalton Gray.

Kim Roberts, her best friend, thought this plan of hers was wildly romantic, although she had some qualms. For that matter, so did Jenna. She wasn’t stupid or naive, but her desire to escape her mundane, predictable life outweighed her usual caution.

Once Jenna knew Dalton a little better, she sincerely hoped their relationship would evolve into something permanent. However, she wasn’t rushing into marriage, despite what Kim and her mother seemed to think.

“You’re the executive assistant to the founder and president of Fulton Industries,” her mother needlessly reminded her. “Do you realize how many women would give their eyeteeth to work for a man as rich and handsome as Brad Fulton?”

Jenna didn’t want to discuss that. Yes, she had a good job and the pay was fabulous, but as far as she was concerned, it was a dead end. She’d fallen in love with Brad Fulton, but in the six years she’d been working with him, he’d never noticed her except as his assistant. Competent, capable Ms. Campbell. Besides, she had no life. Correction, no dating life. At thirty-one she was unmarried and there wasn’t a possibility in sight. Meeting a man on the Internet wasn’t so unusual these days and it was perfect for someone like her. Jenna was shy, but when she sat in front of a computer screen, she found the confidence to assert her real personality. Dalton thought she was witty and he made her feel good about herself. Yes, this might be risky; however, Jenna didn’t care. She was about to have the first real adventure of her life, and adventure was what she craved. Nothing was going to stop her now. Not her mother. Not Kim. No one!

“Say something,” Chloe challenged.

“What would you like me to tell you, Mom? That I don’t know what I’m doing and that in a few weeks I’ll be flying home with a broken heart?” If that was the case, then so be it. At least she would’ve experienced life and had an escapade or two, which was all she wanted. Jenna had witnessed her mother’s approach to marriage, and that certainly hadn’t worked. So she was doing it her own way. Dalton might very well be her only chance. Another year at Fulton Industries and every feminine instinct would, shrivel up and die. Brad Fulton’s primary interest was his company. Jenna was convinced she could parade around the office naked and it would take him a week to notice.

“You know what they say about the men in Alaska,” her mother muttered.

“Yes, Mom, I’ve heard all the jokes. Alaska — where the odds are good but the goods are odd.

Her mother chuckled. “I hope you pay close attention to that one.”

“Alaska,” Jenna said, her voice sarcastic, “where the men are men and so are the women.”

Her mother giggled again.

“Dalton told me those, Mom. He wants me to be prepared.”

“Did he happen to mention what the winters are like in Fairbanks? It’s November, Jenna, and they have storms there, blizzards that last for days. You could freeze to death walking from the plane into the terminal. When I think of what could happen I — ”

“You don’t need to worry, Mom. Dalton sent me books and it isn’t Fairbanks, it’s Beesley. I’m flying into Fairbanks, where Dalton’s meeting me.”

“Did he pay for your airfare?”

“I wouldn’t let him do that I!” Jenna was surprised her mother would ask such a question. She had more sense than that and more pride too.

“Thank God for small favors.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Mom.”

“Jenna, oh, Jenna,” her mother cried and slowed to twenty-five-miles an hour, which made even more cars blare their horns, not that her mother was aware of it. “Why couldn’t you be like other daughters who cause their mothers grief and heartache from the ages of thirteen to thirty? It makes no sense that a daughter of mine would turn into this model of virtue.” Chloe shook her head. “Why did you wait till thirty-one to shock me like this? I’m not used to worrying about you.”

“I know, Mom.”

“By your age I’d been married and divorced twice. You were twenty before you went out on your first date.”

“I was not,” Jenna protested her cheeks heating. “I was eighteen.”

“At ten you were more adult than I was.”

“One of us had to be.”

Her mother sighed, acknowledging the truth.

Jenna didn’t understand Chloe’s reaction. “I’d think you’d be pleased that I’m doing something exciting.”

“But I’m not,” her mother wailed. “Oh, Jenna,” she sobbed, “what am I going to do without you?”

“Oh, Mom. . . ”

“My divorce from Greg was final last month. You know how I get without a man in my life.”

Jenna did know. Husband number five had bit the dust, but considering her mother, it wouldn’t be long before she found the next man of her dreams. Dream man number six, no doubt a replica of the previous five, All of whom, Chloe had believed, would rescue her drudgery and hardships of life. Without a man she was lost. She preferred them rich and — Jenna hesitated to use the word stupid, but frankly her mother had yet to choose a husband with any common sense, let alone advanced brain power. If they did happen to have money, it never lasted for more than a few years.

Her mother frowned, shifting her eyes from the road to look at her daughter. “I can’t go to Alaska, Jenna, I just can’t. You know I have to be around sunshine. I could never take the cold.”

“I know, Mom, but I’m not sure if I’ll even be living there.”

“You’re leaving me she murmured in a hurt little-girl voice. “You’re going to marry Doug — ”

“Dalton.”

“All right, Dalton, and you’re going to love Alaska.” She said it with such finality that Jenna might as well be wearing a wedding band. Jenna pictured Dalton eagerly waiting for her at the Fairbanks Airport, with a diamond engagement ring in his pocket and a romantic proposal committed to memory. It wasn’t a likely scenario, but Jenna figured she was allowed to dream.

This romantic fantasy had originally been intended for her boss, but if Brad hadn’t even asked her out in six years, then it simply wasn’t happening. Jenna was furious at herself for all that wasted time.

Her mother bit her lower lip. “Why can’t I hold on to a man? I should’ve known better than to marry again. He’s a crook.”

“Greg isn’t a crook, he’s just, uh, creative when it comes to employment opportunities.”

Her mother snickered and let the comment pass. “You’ll phone the moment you arrive in Fairbanks?” She turned and cast Jenna a pleading glance.

“Of course I will.”

“What do you want me to tell Brad Fulton when he calls?”

Jenna stared out the passenger-side window. “Mr. Fulton isn’t going to call you, Mom.”

Her mother laughed. “Trust me, he’ll call. He doesn’t realize how valuable you are, otherwise he would never have let you go.”

“Ms. Spencer is every bit as good an administrator as I am.” In some ways, the middle-aged Gail Spencer was more efficient than Jenna because she wouldn’t be tempted to fall in love with her boss.

After a long silence, Chloe murmured, “Just promise me you won’t name any of your children after Dalton.”

“Mom, you’re making too much of this.” Nonetheless, Jenna prayed the relationship would fulfill the promise of those countless e-mails. She’d stumbled across Dalton in a poetry chat room and they’d connected immediately. After two months of chatting daily, of quoting Emily Dickinson and discussing the Shakespearian sonnets, Dalton had wooed her with his own sensitive words. Eventually they’d exchanged snapshots. Jenna had studied Dalton’s photograph, memorizing every feature. He stood stiffly by a nondescript building and stared into the camera. It was difficult to tell if he was handsome in the conventional sense because he had a full beard, but his deep blue eyes seemed sharp and intelligent. He wore a wool cap, a red plaid shirt and heavy boots; his arms were crossed over his chest as if to say he wasn’t accustomed to having his photo taken. She’d sent him her photograph, too, although he’d insisted looks weren’t important. Dalton said what was inside a person was all that counted. He possessed a poet’s heart, although Jenna had a hard time equating this with the rough-looking figure in the workingman’s clothes.

She sent her picture for practical reasons. He needed to be able to identify her when she stepped off the plane. She, too, stood facing the camera in her work uniform — a gray jacket and straight skirt. She’d worn her hair pulled away from her face, revealing features she’d always considered plain, although Kim called her looks “classic.” Her hair was a mousy shade of brown that she detested and usually lightened, but it’d been due for a treatment just then. When Dalton had e-mailed back that his first look at her photo had stolen his breath — only he’d said it much more poetically — she knew he was the one.

The exit for L.A. International came into view, and her mother slowed. Irritated drivers honked their horns as the road narrowed to a single lane; cars were backed up all the way to the freeway.

“You have a place to stay?”

“Dalton’s arranging that.”

“You sincerely like this man?” Her mother’s voice softened with the question.

“Yes, Mom, very much.”

Her mother gave a shaky smile. “You’ve always been a good judge of character. But, Jenna, I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Unlike her own life, her mother’s was never dull. Even now, as she entered her mid-fifties, Chloe “Moon Flower” Campbell Roper Haggard Sullivan Lyman was an attractive, desirable woman who never lacked for attention from the opposite sex.

Her mother followed the directions to the departure area and angled between two buses and a taxicab jockeying for position. From the way she’d parked, anyone might assume she intended to drive directly into the airport.

Leaping out of the car, her mother raced around to the passenger side and hugged Jenna hard before she could even unfasten her seat belt. The death grip around her neck made it impossible to climb out. “Mother,” she protested.

“You can’t go!”

“Mom, we’ve already been through this.”

“I know, I know . . . I’ve begged you to loosen up for years and now when you do something crazy, as crazy as I would myself, I don’t want you to.”

“You have no choice, Mother. I’m leaving,” Jenna finally managed to remove Chloe’s arms from around her neck and got out of the car.

“For Dalton?” Her mother cringed as she said the name.

“For Dalton.” For life and adventure and all the things she’d missed out on, being the responsible one from far too young an age.

Her mother stepped aside as Jenna pulled her large suitcase from the back seat.

They hugged, and Jenna entered the airport. Unable to resist, she turned back for one last look and noticed an airport security guard speaking to her mother. The two appeared to be arguing and the man withdrew a book from his hip pocket and started to write a ticket.

Jenna’s first inclination was to race outside and rescue her mother as she had countless times. Instead, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to turn away. Her mother would have to cope without her.

Their lives were about to change. Jenna realized these adjustments were long overdue. For much of her life — except for brief periods during Chloe’s marriages — she’d been the one taking care of her mother. She’d provided emotional support, handled practical details and kept track of their lives. No wonder she was so good at organizing her boss, she often thought.

The first part of her journey was uneventful, and relaxing. She had a plane change in Seattle, where she boarded the flight for Fairbanks. She was assigned the window seat. The man sitting beside her had a beard similar to Dalton’s. He was also dressed in a similar manner.

“Hello,” she said, hoping to make polite conversation as a prelude to asking him a few questions.

He muttered something and stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment, then settled in the seat, taking more than his share of the arm space. She glanced around, hoping she could get another seat, but unfortunately the flight was full.

“Do you live in Alaska?”

He scowled at her and leaned back. Within seconds he was snoring. How rude!

Midway through the flight, she had to get up to use the rest room. He grumbled when he was forced to straighten so she could pass.

“Excuse me,” she said as she exited the row.

He complained again when she returned, only louder. Jenna frowned. Dalton had told her about men like this. They flew down to the lower forty-eight, squandered their money on women and booze, and then returned to Alaska hung-over and broke.

Jenna tried to read but her eyes grew heavy; she closed her magazine and felt herself drift off. She’d been up late, too excited to go to bed, carefully selecting what she’d take with her. Dalton had been wonderful, offering suggestions and assuring her he’d be at the gate when she landed.

The next thing she knew, Jenna was jarred awake. Her head rested on something hard and unyielding, and the man’s voice in her ear was — Man’s voice? She jerked upright and to her dismay discovered that she’d pressed her head against her companion’s shoulder. Read more

Alaskan Holiday

Debbie Macomber brings us to the Alaskan wilderness for a magical Christmas tale about finding love where it’s least expected. Before beginning her dream job as sous chef in one of Seattle’s hottest new restaurants, Josie Avery takes a summer Read more

Twelve Days of Christmas

Continuing in a festive annual tradition, #1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber returns with a new original holiday novel full of romance and cheer—and the magical prospect of finding love in even the most guarded hearts. Friendly and Read more