As a child SARAH MORGAN dreamed of being a writer and, although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isnât writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.
âMUMMY, Iâve written my letter to Santa.â
Bryony tucked the duvet round her daughter and clicked on the pink bedside light. A warm glow spread across the room, illuminating a small mountain of soft toys and dressing-up clothes. âSweetheart, itâs only just November. Donât you think itâs a little early to be writing to Santa?â
âAll the decorations are in the shops. I saw them with Grandma.â
Bryony picked up a fairy outfit that had been abandoned in a heap on the floor. âShops are different, Lizzie.â She slipped the dress onto a hanger and put it safely in the wardrobe. âThey always start selling things early. Itâs still ages until Christmas.â
âBut I know what I want, so I thought I might as well write to him now.â Lizzie reached for the stuffed mermaid that she always slept with. âAnd anyway, this present is special so he might need some time to find exactly the right one.â
âSpecial?â Bryony gave a groan and picked up the book theyâd been reading all week. âGo on.â Her tone was indulgent. âHit me with it, Lizzie. What is it this timeâa horse?â She toed off her shoes and curled up on the end of her daughterâs bed with a smile. This was the best time of the day. Just the two of them, and Lizzie all warm and cuddly in her pink pyjamas. She smelt of shampoo and innocence, and when she was tucked up in bed she seemed younger somehow, less like a seven-year-old who was growing up too fast.
âNot a horse.â Lizzie snuggled down, her blonde curls framing her pretty face. âBigger.â
âBigger than a horse?â Bryonyâs eyes twinkled. âYouâre scaring me, Lizzie. What if Santa canât find this special present?â
âHe will.â Lizzie spoke with the conviction of youth. âYou said that Santa always gives you what you ask for if youâre good.â
âAhâdid I say that?â Bryony took a deep breath and made a mental note to concentrate more when she answered her daughterâs questions in future. âWell, it does depend on what you ask for,â she hedged, and Lizzieâs face fell.
âYou said he always gives you what you ask for if youâre good.â
âWell, he certainly does his best,â Bryony said finally, compromising slightly and hoping that the request wasnât going to be too outlandish. Her doctorâs salary was generous, but she was a single mother and she had to watch her expenditures. âDo you want to show me this letter?â
âIâve sent it already.â
âYouâve sent it?â Bryony looked at her daughter in surprise. âWhere did you post it?â
âI went into the post office with Grandma and they said that if I posted it there it would go all the way to Santa in Lapland.â
âOh.â Bryony smiled weakly, her heart sinking. âSo itâs gone, then.â
Which meant that there would be no chance to talk Lizzie out of whatever it was that sheâd chosen that was obviously going to cost a fortune and be impossible to find in the wilds of the Lake District.
Bryony sensed a trip to London coming on. Unless the internet could oblige.
âUh-huh.â Lizzie nodded. âAnd heâs got until Christmas to sort it out.â
âRight. Are you going to give me a clue?â
âYouâll like it, I know you will.â
âIs it something messy?â
âNope.â
âSomething pink?â Everything in her daughterâs life was pink so it was a fairly safe bet that whatever was top of her Christmas list would be pink.
Lizzie shook her head and her eyes shone. âNot pink.â
Not pink?
Feeling distinctly uneasy, Bryony hoped that her mother had managed to sneak a look at the letter before it was âpostedâ otherwise none of them were going to have the first clue what Lizzie wanted for Christmas.