A Miracle For Christmas

By Grace Green

A Christmas courtship

Damian McAllister didn't do Christmas. No presents, no carols, no mistletoe kisses. Christmas was just another day. Without the family he'd lost, what else could it be? It would take a miracle for him to fall in love again.

Stephanie Redmond believed in happy–ever–afters and miracles. It must have been fate that stranded her on Damian's doorstep one snowy Christmas Eve with a sack of presents in her arms! Soft toys, cute fluffy animals but no gift–wrapped miracles for Damian. One look into Damian's beautiful, sad eyes, however, and Stephanie was determined to work her own miracle with him!

"Ms. Green spins an enchanting tale with marvellous characterization."
Romantic Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460866214

Grace Green

Grace was born in the Highlands of Scotland, and grew up on a farm in the Scottish northeast. As an eleven year old, she earned her very first paycheck by gathering potatoes during the school holidays - "tattie-howking" as it was locally known; back-breaking work as it was generally acknowledged! Then, earnings in hand, she cycled to Elgin, a nearby town, and with the precious pound bought a shiny black Waterman fountain pen. Grace had always loved writing, and with the treasured pen she continued to write...diaries, letters, and poetry...and fan mail to faraway movie stars living at, what seemed to be, a very romantic address: Culver City, California. Little did she dream that just over two decades later, she would move to North America with husband and children and eventually settle in Vancouver. It was there that she began to write novels...and all because of a newspaper article she read, about a popular Harlequin romance author. Until then, Grace had always believed writers to be extraordinary people, who lived in ivory towers, and she had considered it would be presumptuous for any ordinary person to aspire to become one. But the author in the article appeared much like herself... a housewife, a mother, and Scottish to boot. So should she give it a shot? Having always enjoyed writing and always enjoyed a challenge, Grace decided she would. And after a five-year period of hard work and several rejections - which she likes to think of as a five-year apprenticeship - she finally made the first of many sales. Since her childhood days, Grace has graduated from laboriously writing copperplate with her Waterman pen, to clattering the keys of an ancient Olivetti typewriter, to typing on a second-hand IBM Selectric, to using a computer, as she now does. But no matter the tool, her attention remains firmly focused on the writing itself, and the spinning of emotional, family-oriented love stories that come from her heart.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

DAMIAN MCALLISTER hissed out an oath as he glared at the toy store situated directly across the street from his office. That damned sign in the window! Its neon message had been winking at him since November and was driving him crazy:

Merry Xmas To U And Yours

I can’t stand it. He fisted a hand hard against the top of his mahogany desk. I can’t stand it one more minute.

He lurched to his feet.

‘Mrs. Sutton!’ he bellowed.

Marjorie Sutton, the McAllister Architectural Group’s senior secretary, put down the chocolate doughnut she’d been on the point of dunking into her morning coffee. Casting it a regretful sigh, she heaved her snugly corseted body out of her chair and walked through to the adjoining office.

Her boss’s blue eyes, she noted, had a wild expression, and his black hair looked as if he’d been trying to tear it out, strand by glossy strand. Yet she wished—as she did on a disturbingly regular basis considering she was quite happily married—that either she were thirty years younger or that the president of the M.A.G. wasn’t such a dreamboat.

‘Yes, sir?’ Her tone was light.

His answering scowl was dark. ‘Cancel all my appointments till the New Year. I’ve decided to take off for my place in Vermont earlier than planned.’ As he spoke, he kept his back rigidly to the window, though he could have sworn he saw the reflection of the toy store’s Christmas lights and gratingly upbeat message flickering on the wall facing him.

‘Are you feeling all right, Mr. McAllister? You look white. As if you’d...seen a ghost.’

The ghost of Christmases past. ‘I seem to be coming down with something...probably that flu that’s going the rounds.’ Dismissively he slackened the knot of his silk tie, and flicked open the top button of his gray shirt. ‘Now—’

‘What about the big party Friday night?’

‘Party?’

‘The Anthony Gould cocktail party. Your invitation came in the mail last month. You accepted, remember?’

Last month. When he’d convinced himself that this year would be different. This year he wouldn’t be a coward. This year he wouldn’t run from Christmas. ‘I remember. Gould’s going to be showing off his new fiancée.’ He cleared his throat...and winced. His tonsils felt as if he’d raked a cheese grater over them. He opened his desk drawer, rummaged till he found a cough drop and thrust it into his mouth. ‘Cancel,’ he mumbled around the cherry-flavored lozenge. The last thing I feel like doing at this moment is watching Boston’s finest parade his latest trophy—’

‘Mr. McAllister!’

He heard the chiding in her tone, but there was no evidence of remorse in his eyes...eyes that had begun to water as he felt a sneeze gather. ‘Phone.’ He accepted the man-size tissue his secretary obligingly whipped from the box sitting by his fax machine. ‘Get me off the hook?’

‘Right. So—’ she paused while his sneeze reverberated through the office and fluttered a blueprint that lay on his drawing board ‘—will that be all, sir?’

Grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair, he shrugged it on, and crossed to hold the door open. ‘I’ll leave everything in your capable hands.’

Mrs. Sutton walked past him but instead of taking her seat at her desk, stood by it...as if waiting for something.

He gritted his teeth. Season’s greetings, perhaps?

He opened his mouth, tried to say the words—Merry Christmas—but they stuck. He muttered something unintelligible. She could decipher his mumblings however she wished, he decided with a feeling of desperation.

And fled.

When he drove out of the underground parking lot a few minutes later, he kept his eyes averted from the Warmest Fuzzies Toy Store...and what a pie-in-thesky name that was! But even with his attention focused glazedly on the traffic ahead, he couldn’t block out the neon pattern of reds and greens winking from the store window...or the sound of the music blasting from a purple Corvette in the next lane...

Garth Brooks, informing him—and possibly everyone else in Boston—that ‘Love Came Down at Christmas.’

Stephanie Redford bit her lip uneasily as she searched the black-tie, black-dress crowd. Where was Tony? She had to talk with him right away. What the Whitneys had said—it was surely all a silly mistake—

Her taffeta blouse rustled as somebody trailed a light fingertip down her spine. She spun around, spilling a few drops of champagne from her glass...and there was Tony, his wavy blond hair gleaming under the crystal chandelier.

His pale eyes were warm with approval.

‘Darling.’ He ran a possessive hand up her arm in an intimate caress. ‘You’re a huge success. I’m so proud of you. Now you must come and be introduced to the Cabots. They’re eager to meet the future Mrs. Anthony Gould—’

‘Tony, the Whitneys just told me that you—’

‘Lower your voice, darling.’ A shadow of displeasure flickered over her fiancé’s patrician features. ‘Paula Whitney’s looking this way.’ Grasping her arm, with smoothly murmured apologies he wove a path through the crowd and out into the deserted hallway. This was the first party he’d put on at his penthouse condo since he’d had it redecorated, and Stephanie knew he wanted nothing to mar the occasion.

‘Now, darling—’ his lips were curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes ‘—what exactly is the problem?’

Stephanie placed her champagne glass on the Louis XVI table by her side and took in a deep breath.

‘The Whitneys,’ she said, ‘have just told me they’re delighted we’ve accepted their invitation to spend Christmas week with them at Aspen.’

‘You’ve never been to the Whitneys’ ski lodge, darling. It’s old-world bijou—you’ll love it—’

‘Tony, we agreed weeks ago that we’d drive to Rockfield and spend the holidays with my folks. The Redford clan always get together for Christmas—it’s a family tradition.’

Tony took her left hand and held it, palm down, by her fingertips. He let his gaze linger for a long thoughtful moment on her lustrous sapphire ring before he responded.

‘Stephanie, rm going to be marrying you soon. You’ll be a Gould, and we’ll be making our own traditions. You’ll be moving in a different circle. My circle. My friends all like you, darling—the Laskers, the Gibsons, the Loebs...’

Stephanie drew her fingers free. Although Tony’s condo was electronically kept at a very comfortable temperature, the air seemed suddenly chilly. ‘You promised, Tony. My parents are looking forward to meeting you—’

‘Darling.’ Tony’s eyes had a coaxing glint. ‘I believed the Whitneys were planning to go abroad this year, and they were... but their arrangements fell through, so they’ve organized this ski party and it’s going to be a blast—’

‘I don’t want to go to Aspen.’ Stephanie met his gaze steadily. ‘I want to go home.’

The tension that had been sputtering between them exploded with an intensity that rocked her. Tony obviously felt it, too. His eyes became wary, a nerve ticked in his neck, directly above his bow tie...

And then, with an unexpectedness that totally threw her, he grinned. Cocking a teasing brow, he drew her into his arms. ‘Darling,’ he said ruefully, ‘are we having our first fight?’ Without giving her a chance to reply, he pulled her hard against him and kissed her.

After a brief moment of resistance, Stephanie exhaled a sigh and yielded. She did love him so, and the comfort and pressure of his body, along with the expert thoroughness of his kiss, swiftly dissipated her tension. Tony loved her, just as she loved him, and he’d sworn, when he proposed to her, that he’d devote his life to making her happy. He wouldn’t let her down. Not on this. It was too important.

She pulled back, and looked up at him with a tender smile. ‘We’ll go, then,’ she said softly, ‘to Rockfield?’

He released her abruptly. ‘Stephanie.’ Irritation emanated from his every pore. ‘Have you not been listening to what I’ve been saying? We’re going to Aspen. You know how important the Whitneys are to me. They were my first clients when I set up my law practice, and they are still my biggest clients—’

‘You’re missing the point.’ Stephanie threaded a shaky hand through the heavy mass of chocolate brown hair that tumbled around her shoulders. ‘A promise is a promise. You just have to tell the Whitneys we’d already made plans. They seem like nice people... they’ll understand.’

‘I’m going to Aspen, Stephanie, let me make that quite clear. You have a choice. You can spend Christmas in Vermont with your family, or you can spend it in Colorado with me.’

Stephanie stared at him disbelievingly. ‘A choice... or an ultimatum?’

Her fiancé lifted his shoulders in a deliberate shrug. ‘If that’s how you want to look at it.’

What other way could she look at it? Tony believed he was giving her a choice, but he was wrong. She had promised her parents she’d be home for the holidays.

Her fingers trembled as she slipped off her engagement ring. She held it out, in the palm of her hand, and the sapphire had never looked more beautiful. Tony stared at it, didn’t take it. He was obviously taken aback. It was probably the first time in his life, Stephanie reflected as she struggled to control her welling unhappiness, that anyone had ever said no to Anthony Howard Gould III.

Gold tinkled against wood as she dropped the ring on the side table. ‘I’ll go and gather up my things, then.’

‘You’re making a mistake, Stephanie. Don’t do this to me.’ For the first time, there was urgency in Tony’s voice. ‘What am I to tell the Whitneys? What am I to—’

Stephanie brushed past him, and made for his bedroom. She was thankful she was managing to control her tears; they would wait, she prayed, till she could get to her van.

Her blue canvas bag was lying half open on the burgundy duvet draped over Tony’s bed. In it she could see a fold of her black lace negligee...the filmy, outrageously expensive negligee she’d been planning to wear later tonight, when she and Tony, for the very first time—

Fiercely she rasped the bag’s zipper closed.

She shrugged on her calf-length red coat, tucked her evening purse into one of the pockets, slung the canvas bag’s strap over her shoulder and hurried out to the hallway again. Once there she paused, and then, hesitantly, looked back. Her heart gave a painful lurch when she saw that Tony was standing where she had left him. His face was as devoid of color as the snow blanketing the world outside. For a moment, she wavered—but just for a moment. She tightened her lips and pulled her coat around her, as if it were a shield. If Tony didn’t believe in keeping promises, they had no future together.

Tonight, he had revealed a side of himself she hadn’t known existed. A side she didn’t like. It must always have been there, though...only she had been too blinded by love to see it; blinded by love and—yes, she admitted with raw honesty—bedazzled by the wonder and sheer exhilaration of being courted by one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. She should have known better, she thought with an unfamiliar feeling of bitterness, than to get mixed up with someone from the so-called ‘upper crust.’ She shook her head grimly. That was one mistake she would never make again.

Her high-heeled shoes made no sound on the plush carpet as she crossed the hall toward the private elevator; the only sound she could hear was the leaden thud-thud-thud of her heartbeat against her breastbone.

She stepped into the elevator, and didn’t look around till the door began to close. Then it took only a glance to tell her that Tony was no longer standing in the hallway. It was once again deserted.

He hadn’t even waited till she was gone, she realized sorrowfully, before going back to join the party.

‘Tony Gould is a jerk.’ Janey Martin flopped down on Stephanie’s bed and watched as her flatmate rammed gaily wrapped stuffed animals into an enormous orange plastic bag. ‘Aspen indeed! I just hope he breaks a leg skiing.’

Stephanie chose not to respond to her friend’s uncharitable remarks. Instead she muttered a triumphant ‘Gotcha!’ as she finally succeeded in tucking in the neck of a two-foot-high giraffe.

‘He’s not only a jerk—’ Janey’s speckled gray eyes had a derisive expression ‘—he must be out of his mind! Where does he think he’s going to find someone like you again? Not in this life. And I’m not just talking about your looks, though Lord knows you’re gorgeous enough to be a movie star! You’re also one of the nicest people around.’

Stephanie secured the bulging bag with a twist tie, dragged it across the carpet and added it to the three others slumped by the door. Only then did she turn to Janey and say firmly, ‘I don’t want to talk about him anymore.’

‘Okay...but he was going to drive you to Rockfield in his Jag, and now you’re stuck with taking your old van, and you know it’s not all that reliable. It’s been stalling and—’

‘I’ll have my dad look at it when I get home.’

‘You should have someone look at it here, before you leave.’

‘Can’t afford garage bills right now—’

‘You almost wiped out your bank account with that Louis Féraud cocktail blouse.’ Janey sighed. ‘You were out of your league, sweetie pie—’

‘Janey...’ Stephanie’s tone had an edge of warning.

Janey scowled. ‘It’s just that I’m worried you might get stuck on a back road somewhere, and that’s no fun in these winter conditions. Why don’t you go home by bus?’

‘Can you see me carting all these bags onto a bus?’

‘Leave the toys. The kids won’t mind.’

‘My nieces and nephews won’t mind if they don’t get a sample of my Warmest Fuzzies for Christmas? Janey, my stuffed animals are a highlight of their holidays!’ Stephanie dusted her palms on the seat of her cream slacks. ‘Now if you’ll quit scolding and help me carry everything out to the van, I’d like to get on my way.’ She crossed to the dresser mirror, and sneaking the opportunity to blink away threatening tears, adjusted her white-trimmed red toque to a saucy angle that was at direct odds with her aching misery.

When