Her Holiday Man

By Shannon Stacey

A single mother and a handsome widower find love and healing when the holiday season brings them together in this romance from a New York Times bestseller.

Christina Forrester is starting over. After a financial scandal sent her ex-husband to prison, she’s left raising her young son without any of the comforts of their old life. Budgets, coupons, lawn care—you name it, she’s learning to do it all on her own. Well, almost on her own—she’d be lost without Gail Broughton, the kind widow across the street. But when Gail’s son comes home, Christina’s vow to never trust a man again is put to the test.

Will Broughton left town because he was tired of being “that poor man” who lost his wife and unborn child in a tragic accident. But years have passed and, with his dad gone and his mom alone, it’s time to go home. Only his mother’s not alone. She’s taken Christina under her wing, and the beautiful and determined single mother awakens something in Will he thought was buried forever.

As Will and Christina are forced to spend more time together, feelings that are more than neighborly grow between them. And with Christmas coming and a child filling both houses with holiday cheer, it becomes nearly impossible not to embrace the joy—and the love—in their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781426898969

Shannon Stacey

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shannon Stacey lives with her husband and two sons in New England, where her two favorite activities are writing stories of happily ever after and off-roading with her friends and family. You can contact Shannon through her website, www.shannonstacey.com, as well as sign up for her newsletter.

Book preview

Chapter One

Will Broughton rolled into his hometown on a Friday evening with a sad country song on the radio and everything he owned in the back of his black 1992 Ford F-150 pickup.

The town had the dreary look common around New Hampshire in the second week of November. The leaves had already gone out in a blaze of color, leaving the trees bare. And snow hadn’t arrived yet to give everything a New England winter postcard flair.

There was a new gas station since the last time he’d been home, one of those national chains, and the car dealership had put on a fancy new addition with a lot of glass. Even the neighborhood where he’d grown up had changed over the years. Many of the larger homes had been broken into apartments and there were a lot more cars in the driveways.

But when he pulled onto his street, nothing had really changed. The cars were newer and a lot of clapboards had given way to vinyl siding, but it still looked like the stomping grounds of his childhood. When he’d been home a few months before, he’d noticed the big oak tree in the Anders’ yard was gone, and his mom had told him it had fallen prey to a heavy snow load the winter before.

He pulled the truck into his mom’s driveway and killed the engine. The big New Englander his parents had bought shortly after Will was born still had clapboards painted a creamy vanilla color, with deep blue shutters framing each window. The porch was painted the same blue, and the attached, three-bay garage matched the house.

Leaving everything in the truck for the time being, Will walked the flagstone path to the front steps as his mother stepped out onto the porch, a shawl she’d knit herself pulled around her shoulders and her feet shoved into sheepskin-lined suede slippers. Only when he was halfway up the stairs did he see the way her brows were drawn together, causing worry lines across her forehead. He should have let her know he was coming.

What happened, Will? What are you doing here?

I got sick of wandering around and decided to come home.

When she opened her arms, he bent forward slightly so she could hug him. The shawl draped around his shoulders along with her arms, and he breathed in the scent of Mom. As a child, he’d wrapped himself in the soft yarn whenever he needed comfort and his mother wasn’t available for a hug.

Being enveloped in it now brought a surge of emotion and nostalgia to the surface. He squeezed her tightly, not sure if he was giving or receiving the comfort this time. Probably a little bit of both.

He’d flown home in June to bury his dad. The heart attack was so unexpected, it was all Will could do to get his mom and sister through the funeral and burial. They’d put off ordering the granite headstone until later, so Will had flown home again in September. They’d gathered at the cemetery on his dad’s birthday for the stone’s placement. It had been almost as hard a day as the actual funeral, and he’d stayed close to a week before leaving again.

You didn’t have to come home, Will, she said, releasing him and stepping back so she could look up at his face. I know I was a little emotional when you left, but I was just...having a moment.

Having a moment? She’d cried when he left and the memory of those tears had haunted him all the way back to Ohio. Then they’d kept right on haunting him for weeks until he told his boss he was done, threw his crap in the truck and started driving east.

Thanksgiving’s coming. And Christmas. Their first without his dad. He knew from experience how hard that was going to be for her.

Why didn’t you call me and tell me you were coming?

Because I knew you’d tell me you were fine and try to talk me out of it. And because she might have succeeded since flying back and forth for holidays was a hell of a lot easier on him than coming back to his hometown for good. I would have spent the entire winter worrying about you.

You don’t have to worry about me. We have good neighbors and Erin stops by when she gets a chance.

And with a husband and two young daughters, his sister probably didn’t get the chance very often. Not that he blamed her or held it against her. She had a busy life and it was a forty-minute drive one way if there was no traffic. Their home was just far enough away so stopping in for coffee required advanced planning and the drive threw off her kids’ nap times.

Even with the extended handle on the roof rake, Erin’s too short to clean the snow off the roof.

His mom smiled, which is what he’d been going for. You’ve been driving a long time. Come inside and I’ll get you a drink. Relax a bit before we get your stuff out of the truck.

He followed her into the house and hung his coat on the same hook he’d been using for as long as he could remember. He’d hit the bathroom first, and then have a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, where all the best visiting was done.

The laughter of a small child echoed through the downstairs and Will stopped dead in his tracks. It sounded like it had come from the living room, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk through the doorway and look.

I can’t wait until this old house is full of babies’ laughter.

His mom had said that the day he and Emily had spilled the news she was pregnant. They’d been sitting at the dining room table with his parents, having just demolished his mom’s legendary peach cobbler, and seeing the joy light up their faces had been one of the happiest days of his life.

It wasn’t too long after he left town that Erin had called to tell him, almost apologetically, that she was pregnant. Now his mom had two granddaughters to spoil rotten, but Will did video chats with his nieces frequently and that laugh didn’t belong to either of them.

Come meet Nathaniel, his mother said.

Nathaniel? Will followed her into the living room and saw a blond boy stretched on the couch with his chin propped in his hands so he could see the cartoon on the television. Whoever the kid was, he felt at home in the living room.

Nathaniel, come meet my son, Will.

The boy sprang to his feet and walked over to extend his hand. Surprised by the gesture, Will shook it. It’s nice to meet you, Nathaniel.

It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Broughton. The little hand had a surprisingly strong and confident grip.

You can call me Will. Freakishly good manners for a boy that was probably six or seven, he thought. Unless it’s against the rules for you to use my first name.

The boy smiled. Grammy Gail says I should call people what they like to be called.

Grammy Gail? Will watched his mom speak to the boy for a moment before letting him go back to his show, and then he followed her into the kitchen.

Grammy Gail?

She shrugged. Christina—his mother—wasn’t comfortable with Nathaniel using just my first name, but Mrs. Broughton was too much and Miss Gail sounded ridiculous, so he calls me Grammy Gail.

And who is Christina? He vaguely remembered his mom mentioning a new neighbor during one of their phone calls, but he’d been on his way out and hadn’t really paid attention to the local gossip portion of the conversation.

She’s renting the Porters’ house. They wanted to move to Florida, but they didn’t want to sell their house, just in case they don’t like it there as much as they thought they would, so they’re renting it to Christina and Nathaniel. She’s a single mother, so Nathaniel comes and visits me after school. His mom should be here any minute. She must be running late tonight, but you’ll get to meet her.

Oh, he’d definitely be meeting her. When he’d come home to be with his mom when they placed his dad’s headstone, there had been no mention of a Christina across the street. Now all of a sudden the woman’s kid was calling his mother Grammy Gail?

There were a lot of people in the world who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of a new widow’s loneliness and generosity. He intended to make damn sure this Christina person wasn’t one of them.

* * *

Christina Forrester sank into the driver’s seat of her 1996 Subaru and dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. What a day.

If anybody had ever told her that someday she’d work in a gas station convenience store and live in a rented Cape-style house in a small New Hampshire town, she would have given that somebody a polite laugh while inwardly dismissing him or her as deranged.

And if that somebody had also told her that her husband would lose literally everything they owned and end up in prison due to a financial scandal, leaving her divorced and essentially broke, she wouldn’t have believed it.

But it had happened and she’d learned very quickly she had no real friends and, having gone from the home of her wealthy father to the home of her wealthy husband, no discernible job skills. She had so few real life skills, she’d had to look up how to balance a checkbook on the computer. With the employment market still struggling, she’d lost out on job after job to people who had even a bare minimum of work experience. Until the convenience store.

She lifted her head and turned the key in the ignition. It was too cold to sit in the car feeling sorry for herself. And she was taking care of things. Her son was happy, they had a home, and Christina had a job at the QuickStop.

It was almost six-thirty by the time she pulled up her driveway and parked under the carport. She was supposed to work from ten in the morning until six o’clock, so she was home by ten after six, but her replacement had been running late. It looked like another hot dog and macaroni night at the Forrester house.

First, she had to run across the street and grab Nathaniel from Gail’s house. This was the second time Christina had run a few minutes late in the last week and she hoped the older woman wouldn’t think she was taking advantage of her. Nathaniel having a safe and loving place to be after school was everything to Christina.

Gail Broughton walking into the QuickStop had been the best thing to happen to Christina in a very long time. It had been the end of September and Christina had been working at the store for a little over a week. She and Nathaniel were living at a weekly motel and the after-school care for him was eating a bigger chunk of her paycheck than she could spare.

Gail popped into the QuickStop almost daily to get her lottery tickets and she was the sort to chat up a friendly stranger. Before the calendar had ticked into October, Christina was living across the street from Gail, in a house owned by a couple who’d wanted to live in Florida, but weren’t ready to give up their home. Nathaniel got off the bus at Gail’s house after school now and everybody was happier, especially her son.

A black pickup truck she didn’t recognize was parked in Gail’s driveway now, and Christina hoped her running late wasn’t interfering with company. She hurried across the street and up the porch steps into Gail’s house.

She went straight to the kitchen, since that’s usually where she found Gail, and almost ran smack into a solid wall of man. Stopping short, she put her hands up, just shy of putting them on the expanse of chest covered by a heather-blue Henley shirt. He had dark eyes, dark hair that curled over his ears and a frown that backed her up a step.

He was the man from the family photo hanging in the living room, she realized, which meant he was Gail’s son. According to her, Will had taken off a few months after his pregnant wife was killed by a drunk driver and had been most recently living in Ohio.

Christina had spent a few minutes looking at the framed photo once. Gail had told her it was an older picture, taken before either of her children had gotten married, and it hadn’t escaped Christina’s notice that Will Broughton was a very attractive young man.

Time certainly hadn’t done him any disservice. He’d filled out and was more rugged now, and he’d obviously spent a lot of time outdoors lately, judging by his tan. Faint lines framed his mouth and eyes, and she blushed when he

Reviews for Her Holiday Man

[amdrane2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a sweet little Christmas novella about taking second chances in love. Shannon Stacey is one of my favorite romance writers and is an automatic buy when her books come out. This was no exception on a great romance. Each of her characters were trying hard to get over their hang ups and try enjoying the holidays. It helps when you have a cute little seven year old that ties everyone together. Recommend for anyone who loves second chance romance books.Thanks to Netgalley for the ARC.