Home for Christmas

By Janet Whitson

A sweet feel-good second chance romance novel.

April Windham is done with chasing dreams or men. In the seven years since she left St. Louis, the developers who wrecked her career should have moved on. And if not, she doesn't care. She's shifted to selling residential properties and, when the opportunity arises, buys and flips homes. She

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ormerod House
• Release date: Dec 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957628073

Janet Whitson

Janet Whitson is an author, nature-junkie, and believer in Happily Ever After. She loves the classics (Tolkien, Rowling, Lucas, TCM), fishing, outdoor photography, pizza, and collecting quotations. Her goal has always been to live a life she'd enjoy reading about. In pursuit of that she's been a mom, wife, color consultant, scientific researcher, university dean, and romance author among other things. She enjoys using her imagination to create stories of love and romance about women worth knowing and men worth loving... none of whom are perfect. Her characters are fictional, but the love she writes about is real.Janet lives on a lake in the beautiful state of Texas with her wickedly funny husband and their mixed breed dog, Lady.Visit Janet's website at www.janetwhitson.com and sign up for her mailing list!

Book preview

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Home for Christmas

Mac knew April Windham before she drove her car off the road during a freak Illinois snow storm. He knew her before she decided to leave Cedar Hill and return to St. Louis. And he knew her long before she fled her hometown to start over in Cedar Hill…

Now he’s a grown up single dad, but he’s never forgotten her. When he rescues her from her snowed-under car, all his adolescent fantasies come rushing back, in the adult male version. He can’t get her out of his head, but she hasn’t recognized him. Yet.

April Windham is done with chasing dreams or men. In the seven years since she left St. Louis, the developers who wrecked her career should have moved on. And if not, she doesn’t care. She’s shifted to selling residential properties and, when the opportunity arises, buys and flips homes. It’s time to settle down and make a life for herself, by herself.

So, when a handsome stranger rescues her from freezing to death, she is grateful, but eager to continue with her own agenda. The trouble is, she can’t forget his eyes, or her desire to run her hand along his shadowed jaw. And when he reappears in her St. Louis realty office, her entire body wages war against her wish to remain distant and unencumbered.

Home for Christmas

Janet Whitson

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Ormerod House

Copyright © 2022 by Janet Whitson

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-957628-07-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-957628-06-6

To the Bluestockings of Lincoln, Nebraska with thanks for your help and encouragement.

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

A note from the author

More than Chemistry

About Janet Whitson

Books by Janet Whitson

Chapter one

Painters’ scaffolding surrounded the graceful Queen Ann Victorian. Battered aluminum siding had been removed, revealing original fish scale shingles that covered the house from the eaves of its new gray roof to the top of the second story windows. A fresh coat of dark red paint colored all but one remaining section of scales.

It was noon. Workmen sat in the shade of trees and ate, barely looking up when the front door banged open and two men charged out, one pursuing the other.

I’m sorry but you’ll just have to give me more time, insisted the follower.

I can give you another month to pay what you owe me, but I can’t keep men on a bankrupt project, replied the first. He turned toward the workmen. Robert, get the scaffolding down. We’re finished here.

As the work crew prepared to abandon the Victorian, commercial realtor April Windham hustled into an old-style St. Louis office building nearby. Entering the elevator, she punched the fifth floor button. Metal doors slid open on an ultra-modern foyer. A wall of glass etched with the scripted words Clayton Properties lay before her. April swiped her key card through a reader and pushed open the door to the office complex. A bubble of pleasure rose in her chest as she admired the absurdly large diamond flashing in her new engagement ring.

As of two days ago, Grant Clayton, the owner of the company, was her fiancé. One major life goal accomplished. A handsome man, Grant had power and wealth.

You’ve done well for yourself, April’s mother had crowed. April’s father had been fifteen years ahead of her mom in age. So Mom was not at all concerned that her daughter would be marrying a man twenty-two years her senior. And why should she be? April and Grant had their work in common, and with his gym-firm body and precisely cut steel gray hair, he made a striking foil for her own red-headed beauty. His years in the business simply made him a valuable mentor as well as a lover.

Mom imagined she and Grant had a love match like hers had been. Mom was a romantic.

April preferred practicality. Her engagement was not a fairytale romance. But she and Grant were compatible in and out of the bedroom, and they would make a good team. Her personal life was well in hand. And today, her professional life would reach a new peak when she closed on the most important acquisition of her career to date. The flutters in her stomach were excitement, not nerves. This deal would anchor Grant’s ambition to take his company to the next level, and he had entrusted it to her.

April strode past the offices of lesser employees, secure in her own position. She had been the top agent in the company from its inception. When it came to the delicate art of negotiating property purchases, Grant knew he could rely on her expertise.

She entered her private office suite. Stanley Harris, her assistant, rose from behind his desk and handed her a folder containing the final versions of two hard-won contracts that would complete the acquisition of property for the New Hampton Multi-Use Development.

April quickly checked over the specifics. She and Stanley had joined Clayton Properties as novice agents within a few months of each other. But where April’s nearly obsessive attention to detail had moved her rapidly up the ladder, Stanley’s overly relaxed attitude had sabotaged his career. If April hadn’t offered him the position as her assistant, he’d have been dropped from the firm six months ago. As it was, she felt compelled to check any important work he did.

As she scanned the papers in her hand, she once again regretted the generous impulse that had caused her to step in on his behalf. She really needed to hire a more reliable assistant.

Stanley spoke, but April only half listened. Little of what came out of his mouth was worth her full attention.

You knocked it out of the park this time. But then, you always do. I think Grant proposed just to make sure you’d never leave his company. What a pair the two of you make—the ultimate power couple.

Her ear caught the inappropriate use of Grant’s first name. She interrupted Stanley’s fawning, speaking distinctly with eyebrows meaningfully raised. "I’ll be meeting Mr. Clayton for lunch after these are signed. This afternoon I’ll want copies of all nine New Hampton contracts compiled for him. There are a lot of pieces to pull together in this deal, and I want it all easily accessible for the negotiations with the architects."

Right, Stanley said, I’ll have everything ready for you and Mr. Clayton this afternoon.

Perfect. She turned and left for her first appointment of the day.

Stanley’s eyes narrowed. He watched April until she entered the elevator at the far end of the floor. The job she had should have been his. And it would have been if Grant hadn’t been after her hot little ass. She must realize that. She was wicked smart.

Well, he was smart too. His overlord might have a mind as sharp as the stiletto heels on her shoes, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking her down. You won’t be on top much longer, Red, he muttered, and with a satisfied smirk, returned to his files.

Three hours later, April stood in Grant Clayton’s private office, silent, as he stomped around the room bellowing like an angry bull elephant. Her meeting had not gone well, and his sauna-smooth face was red.

You realize this could destroy the company, don’t you? I trusted you to handle these negotiations and you betrayed me.

She swallowed hard, holding onto her composure and waiting for an opening in his rant where she could insert some rationality. He took a breath and she seized her chance.

Grant, I don’t know what possessed both Masters and Johnson to back out of our deal, but I can assure you it wasn’t any fault on our side of the table.

He raked her with a scornful glare. You don’t know why they backed out? Really? What about this? He pressed a button on the remote in his hand. The huge flat screen monitor on the wall sprang into life showing a recording of KCBN’s anchor presenting the local business report.

And on the outskirts of St. Louis a new development, the New Hampton Project, will draw investors from across Missouri to finance high-rise luxury apartments, gourmet restaurants, up-scale shopping, even a medical office building. April’s stomach clenched.

A large map flashed onto the screen, showing the exact location of the proposed development, and her knees went weak. Sweat trickled over her body. No wonder the price on the remaining two properties had suddenly quadrupled. She looked at Grant in disbelief. Surely you don’t think that I—

I don’t think, I know, he snapped. While you were off pretending to close the deal, I took a look at the computer in your office.

No one had ever doubted her loyalty before. Whatever else others may have criticized, everyone knew she played by the rules. Grant should know that better than anyone. She stared at him, stunned. You snooped around in my computer?

It belongs to the company, not to you. And I saw the emails you’ve been exchanging with KCBN.

Emails??

I certainly hope you’ve been paid well for the information you provided.

Her brain raced, but nothing made sense. She stood gaping, unable to form a reply.

Grant began to speak again. He had gotten himself back in hand. He spoke with deadly cold precision, nodding toward her hand. I’d like that ring back. Now. And I expect you to leave immediately. He buzzed open the door to his private office. Two security officers stood there.

At last, anger rose and rescued her from immobility. She drew a shuddering breath. You arrogant creep! Her hands trembled as she worked the ring off her finger. I had nothing to do with this. And if you’re so ready to believe I did, you can take your gaudy show-off ring and shove it. With all her strength, she threw the ring at his face.

His fist closed on it in midair. Take Ms. Windham to her office for her personal items. Retrieve her key card. Wait with her while the techs disable access to her computer. Then escort her to her vehicle. She is to speak to no one.

His cold gaze returned to April.

Righteous pride gave her strength to lock down the tears that wanted to fall. You’re making a huge mistake. And I’ve had a narrow escape. I might have actually married you.

She might not have spoken for all the impact her words seemed to have. Stay off your cell phone until the company’s computer is secure. We no longer move in the same social or business circles, April. I don’t expect to see you ever again.

The meaning behind his words was clear. Grant would let the full burden of havoc from this fiasco fall on her shoulders. With her personal integrity besmirched, there would be no clients seeking her representation. With one blow, both her personal and her professional future had been destroyed.

Adrenalin-fueled courage faded as she waited with the security guards for the IT minions to finish their work. After being escorted from the building like some kind of criminal, April’s hands shook as she dropped the box of personal items in her back seat and grasped the steering wheel to drive slowly home. The honking and curses of irate drivers failed to penetrate her stupor. Grant hadn’t even trusted her enough to listen to her.

Clouds from a late spring thunderstorm rolled in to darken the sky and colors in the landscape were faded and grey. The Victorian, with its half-finished renovation, sat beneath the dark clouds, looking abandoned and lifeless. Hopeless.

April’s cell phone rang. About to push Ignore on her dashboard screen, she saw ‘Mom’ above the caller’s number. So she sighed and touched Answer instead, preparing to steer clear of the morning’s events, which she was completely unready to share.

Hello? Mom?

Anxiety broke through April’s self-absorption. Her mother was crying.

"What’s wrong? Are you all right?

It’s your grandmother.

Grandma? Has she fallen again?

Another stroke, they think.

How bad? How’s she doing?

Not well, Honey. She’s gone.

Concerns over her own predicament dropped out of mind as she made a precarious U-turn and sped back past the Victorian toward her mother’s home. April’s grandmother had died.

A few days later, April’s mother stood at her front door, saying goodbye to a gradually diminishing flow of mourners. In front of June’s brick-ranch home, thick-trunked trees shaded a street made narrow by the cars parked on both sides. A gangly scrub pine, the only one on the block, had pride of place in the center of June’s front yard, the result of April’s fourth grade science project.

Inside her childhood home, April gathered a few plates from side tables and removed saucers and cups balanced on the arms of upholstered furniture. It was quiet, now that the relatives and Mom’s friends had departed.

She filled a dishpan with fresh water and began to clean the fragile china. Her mother entered and started putting away the dishes and silverware helpful guests had washed earlier.

Grandma left the house in Cedar Hill to you? April spoke as she rinsed the last of the china and reached for a towel to dry it. What about Aunt May?

Aunt May has the home her husband left her when he died. I think Mama wanted the property to eventually come to you—to stay in the family. I’m going to rent out this house and move up there.

Talking seemed to ease her mother’s sadness. April encouraged her to continue. Why move, Mom?

I don’t want to burden May with the responsibility of looking after the house in Cedar Hill, and I’d be closer to her and my cousins. I can rent this place to someone. My friend Margaret has been renting out her home ever since she moved to Florida. She gets a steady income from it and she told me which management company she uses. It’s been ten years since your dad died, and I don’t have many friends left in the neighborhood. Almost everyone has moved away.

Her blue-veined hands continued returning flatware to the storage box, gently nestling each piece in its velvet-lined compartment. Concern colored her voice. Do you mind, honey? It’s only a couple hours away from St. Louis by plane, even counting the drive in from Philadelphia.

No, Mom. I understand and I don’t mind at all. With most of your friends gone, there’s no reason not to move back closer to family.

Friends gone. April could relate to that. None of her business acquaintances wanted anything to do with her now. Except Stanley. He’d called the day after the New Hampton disaster, shocked and sympathetic. April got the sense that he was seeking confirmation of her innocence. She found his sympathy drained what little optimism she’d been able to muster and hoped he wouldn’t call again.

She still hadn’t told the full story to her mom. Maybe she never would. June knew the engagement was off. That was enough. She didn’t need to know that April’s reputation was in shreds, or that the future looked impossibly bleak.

April set the last stack of plates in the cupboard. St. Louis had nothing left to