A reason to celebrate
When Katie âSmithâ and her baby boy, Kyle, appear at the Owens family home one night during a snowstorm just weeks before Christmas, it seems a cruel twist of fate. Katie looks exactly like Jacob Owensâs dead wifeâand Kyle could be his son!
At first Jacob wants nothing to do with the mysterious woman. But before long, Katie accomplishes what no one had thought possibleâshe breaks through Jacobâs grief, giving him back his joy for life.
But how long will she stay? Katie is obviously running away from someone, though she wonât say who. Whatever happens, Jacob vows to keep her and Kyle safe with himâat least until Christmas.
âTell me who you are, Katie.â
The request was compelling. She shook her head, fighting back tears.
âYou can trust me,â Jacob said gruffly. âLet me help.â
âI canât,â she whispered. âIâve put my son in jeopardy by staying as long as I have. Iâve tricked myself into thinking we were safe these past weeks. It was a mistake. I canât make it worse by telling you everything about us. If I do let you know who I amâlet you helpâI wonât be able to leave.â
âYou donât have to leave. Not now. Not ever.â His hands tightened on her shoulders. âWeâll fight this thing together.â
âNo.â She lifted her fingers to his lips to stop his words. âKyle and I have to leave. Soon.â
âThen all I can ask is this. Stay with us...until Christmas.â
âI will,â she said against her better judgment, because she wanted so desperately to do as he asked. âIf I can.â
MARISA CARROLL
is the pen name of sisters Carol Wagner and Marian Franz. The team has been writing bestselling books for almost twenty-five years. During that time they have published more than forty titles, many for the Harlequin Superromance line. They are the recipients of several industry awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews and a RITA® Award nomination from Romance Writers of America, and their books have been featured on the USA TODAY, Waldenbooks and B. Dalton bestseller lists. The sisters live near each other in northwestern Ohio, surrounded by children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and old and dear friends.
Prologue
âIâm scared,â Katie Moran told her sister-in-law as the older woman cuddled Katieâs fifteen-month-old son, Kyle, in her arms. âIâm scared to death and Iâm getting out of here.â
âHereâ was her father-in-law, Andrew Moranâs, palatial beachfront home on Key Biscayne, Florida.
âYouâre beinâ melodramatic,â Patrice said in her soft Georgia drawl.
âIâm not,â Katie insisted, shaking her expensively highlighted blond head. âIâm scared.â Instinctively she lowered her voice on the words.
Katie folded her slender arms across her breasts and shivered as cold air from cleverly hidden air-conditioning vents swirled around her bare feet. Except for her lack of footwear she was dressed to go out, in cotton slacks and a matching cotton shell. It wasnât that the room was uncomfortably cold. But the air was dry and filtered, and the windows sealed, so that they could never be opened to the sea breeze. Katie felt for a moment as if she couldnât breathe.
Sheâd never liked the enormous art-nouveau-era villa; never felt at home there during six years of marriage to Andrewâs youngest son. But at least having Michael by her side had made it tolerable. Now he was gone and the huge old house seemed like a prison.
Beyond the plate-glass window behind which she stood, the ruffled blue surface of Biscayne Bay was dotted with expensive pleasure boats of all shapes and sizes. Michael had loved to sail. She had learned to love the sport, too. Someday, heâd told her, when their children were grown and heâd retired from the family investment business, they would sail around the world. Just the two of them, alone with the sea. That conversation had taken place just before Kyleâs birth. Four months later, unexpectedly, tragically, Michael was dead of viral pneumonia. He hadnât been quite thirty years old.
Below her, on the private beach fronting the estate, she could see Andrew Moran sitting bolt upright in a wooden deck chair, as he did every fine afternoon, bald head shining, a glass of whiskey and soda in his hand, basking in the warm, late-November sun. Katie wondered what heâd do if he learned of this conversation. The thought sent another cold shiver down her spine.
âI admit Andrew is a formidable adversary when heâs crossed,â Patrice went on, generations of Southern good breeding evident in her carefully chosen words. Katie could see her plump, plain-featured reflection very faintly in the glass. Patrice bent her neck to kiss the top of Kyleâs silky head, then raised her gaze to stare at Katie across the room. âBut in my opinion, youâre blowinâ things all out of proportion.â