Her Baby's First Christmas

She squealed with laughter,dipping to gather more snow.

But before she could straighten again he was in front of her, pummeling her with snow. She gasped and inhaled a mouthful of sparkling wet crystals. Unable to breathe, she squealed, “Stop!”

He laughed. “I told you not to start something you couldn’t finish.”

But, rather than concede defeat, she used his pause to bend again, scoop up a handful of snow and toss it directly into his face.

His expression was so incredulous that Elise roared with laughter.

“Oh, this is war now.”

Before she could bob down to gather more snow, Jared plowed toward her, catching her around the waist. He hit her with enough force that she lost her balance, and they both tumbled to the ground.

She managed one squeak on the way down, but when they landed with a thump—her in the blanket of soft white snow, him on top of her—her laughter stopped. The world around them hushed. The only sound was the rasp of their breathing.

Susan Meier spent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that came before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of real-life experience watching romance blossom in unexpected ways. She lives in Western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, three children, and two over-fed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at www.susanmeier.com

Dear Reader

Every year after my son hauls the Christmas decorations into the living room, I look at the pitiful assortment and announce that next year we’re starting earlier and having a better tree.

Then I proceed to hang the toilet paper roll my daughter decorated with green paint, glitter and tinsel in pre-kindergarten in the middle, where everyone can see it.

I hang the ornament with the picture of my son when he was about seven. I hang the fancy silk and lace ornament with pearl hatpin accents my friend made me, and the light-up star that hasn’t worked in years, but which we bought on Christmas Eve in a year when we had very little money.

This year, though, I realised I wasn’t simply hanging ornaments. I was reviewing Christmases past. Seeing memories. Seeing my kids smaller and my husband younger…and myself scrambling to pull everything together so Christmas would be perfect.

I’ve got friends with Victorian trees so beautiful they’ve stolen my breath. Friends with houses decorated to rival Trump Towers. This year I finally realised I’ll always have a tree with old toilet paper rolls and pictures pasted onto ornaments by loving little hands.

May your days be merry and bright…and may all your Christmases be filled with toilet paper rolls, icing-painted cookies and memories that warm your heart.

Susan

BY

SUSAN MEIER

For Denise Meyers and Deb Mullins, who were with

me every step of the way on this one! And the 2007 Jumpstart Master Class at the beach house in South Carolina. Especially Karen Dodd, who taught me how to make Jambalaya! I miss you all!

CHAPTER ONE

JARED JOHNSON drove his black SUV out of the basement parking garage of Clover Valley Luxury Apartments onto the street and saw Elise McDermott standing on the corner in the pouring rain. Suitcase, diaper bag and small boxlike container on the sidewalk beside her feet, she held her baby in a carrier, which she protectively sheltered with her umbrella.

But the storm was relentless and Jared suspected it wouldn’t take more than a minute or two before Elise and her baby would be soaking wet. Angry with her for standing in the rain with a baby, when she could be in their building lobby, he stopped his SUV and hit the button that lowered the passenger side window.

Leaning across his seat, he yelled, “What the hell are you doing out in this storm with a baby!”

“I’m waiting for a taxi to take me to the bus station.”

With the window down he could hear the heavy California rain as it pounded his windshield, roof and hood. Obviously thinking he’d yelled to be heard over the noise and not out of anger, she stepped closer. Her pretty green eyes were dull with worry. Her thick, curly red hair danced around her in the wind.

“But I’ve been waiting a while. And the schedule I have has the bus leaving in a little over an hour. If I miss it I won’t get to North Carolina in time to do everything I need to do before Christmas. Do you think my taxi forgot me?”

“Yes!” Guilt stabbed him. She wasn’t standing in the rain like a ninny with no place to go. It sounded as if she was on her way home for the holiday. To her real home. Not a condo she was house-sitting as she’d been for the past six months for Michael Feeney while he was in Europe. And her taxi had forgotten her. She wasn’t a scatterbrain. He had to stop jumping to the conclusion that everybody who did anything out of the realm of what he considered normal was somehow wrong.