âI really am blown away by you, do you know that?â
And then Dax leaned over and kissed her.
After an instant of shock, Shandie discovered she was kissing him back. But too soon he ended the kiss altogether.
She must have looked as stunned as she felt, because Dax said, âIâll let myself out. Iâll pick you up tomorrow at seven-thirty.â
With the memory of his lips on hers, the image of him walking away with that confident swagger, she thought that it was no wonder heâd been one of Thunder Canyonâs hottest properties. The man had a certain something, there was no denying it.
She only wished she were immune to itâ¦
VICTORIA PADE
is a native of Colorado, where she continues to live and work. Her passion â besides writing â is chocolate, which she indulges in frequently and in every form. She loves romance novels and romantic movies â the more lighthearted, the better â but she likes a good, juicy mystery now and then, too.
Dear Reader,
A Family for the Holidays touches on a whole lot of my favourite things â the time of year and the season, and Thanksgiving and the beginning of the Christmas preparations and celebrations. I like the snow, the food, the lights, the decorations, the movies, the whole shebang. I also like kids and writing them into my books â I just donât think you can find funnier things than what kids say, and whenever I hear a good line, I like to use it (youâll find a couple of those inside). Toss in a bad-boy hero who gets won over by a three-year-old and a heroine whose attitude and outlook I really admire, and youâve got a great holiday story.
I particularly enjoyed writing this book. I hope you enjoy it as much, and that your own holidays will be especially fun and joyous this year.
Happy, happy holidays!
Victoria Pade
Chapter One
Dax Traubâs motorcycle sales and repair shop in the heart of Thunder Canyon might as well not have been open on the Monday before Thanksgiving. It was after four oâclock in the afternoon, and not a single person had come through the glass door or so much as paused to peer into the showroom through the storefront windows. Heâd spent the day doing exactly what he was doing at that momentâreading articles in motorcycle magazines that were depressing the hell out of him. Articles thatâonce upon a timeâhad been about him. Articles that could have been about him now, had things turned out differently.
âScooz me.â
The radio was on in the background, and at first Dax thought the small, quiet voice had come from there. But then he realized that a song was playing and that didnât seem likely.
Maybe Iâm hearing thingsâ¦
âScooz me.â
No, he was sure he was hearing something. But with the radio louder than the voice he couldnât tell where the voice was coming from.
He was standing at the counter, facing the front of the store, and no one had come in. But even though it didnât make any sense, he leaned far over the counter and peered down just in case heâd missed something.
There was no one there.
âScooz me!â The small voice became more insistent and slightly louder. Loud enough for him to finally realize it was coming from behind him.
Dax straightened and glanced over his shoulder.
Sure enough, there stood a little girl to go with the small voice.
He pivoted on his heel to face her, dropping his gaze to the height of a motorcycle tire on display just to the right of the doorway that led to the garage portion of the shop in the rear of the building. Thatâs where the child was standing without any sign of timidity, her head of tousled blond curls held high, her crystal-clear blue eyes waiting expectantly for his attention.
âHi,â he said with a note of question in his tone.
âHi,â the bit-of-nothing responded.
âCan I help you?â he asked.
âI wanâ one of these big shiny bikes,â the child announced, bypassing Dax and rounding the counter to go into his showroom, dragging a large shoulder-strapped purse along with her.
Dax looked beyond the spot the child had abandoned, wondering if someone elseâan adultâwas going to appear, too.
No one did, and his tiny customer wasnât allowing him time to investigate because she was talking to him, apparently explaining her need for one of his big shiny bikes.
âJackass says Iâm a baby and my bike is jusâ a baby bike and his is a big boy bike and I wanâ one thaâs bigger ân his âcuz Iâm not a baby. And red.â
Dax followed her onto his showroom floor.
âJackass?â he repeated, knowing he sounded thick but unsure exactly what this kid was doing here and talking about.
âHeâs in my school and he lives on my street, too.â
âThatâs somebodyâs name? Jackass? Or is that just what you call him because he calls you a baby?â Which was an idea that secretly appealed to the ornery side of Dax.
âThaâs his nameâJackass,â the barely-bigger-than-a-minute child said as if it should have been obvious.
Still, he persisted skeptically, asking, âThatâs his name?â