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The Drifter's Gift
Lauryn Chandler
Star light, star bright, first man I see tonight…When a sexy drifter showed up at Danielle Harmon's farm, the struggling single mom suddenly dreamed of riding off into the sunset with this ruggedly handsome man. But though Sam Mclean was as close to a prince as she'd ever come, he wasn't the type to stick around for happily-ever-after.Dani knew all the rough-edged loner needed was a little holiday spirit–and a few feminine wiles. So Dani sprigged her house with mistletoe and opened up her heart, hoping Sam would give her the one gift she was longing for….
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u70268699-4c87-5b1f-a34f-656f72e2be98)
Excerpt (#u86779dbe-2943-523c-8475-4bb0ffb33be0)
Dear Reader (#u416d4186-59af-5ada-8a1c-ce91ac2a1f55)
Title Page (#u8803d4d6-1b38-5d61-a005-7cc08123b5d8)
Dedication (#u303a306f-8862-5397-8fd7-f121521ff85c)
About the Author (#uf0ab7483-7bd8-5310-b358-af894ad90016)
Prologue (#ud3fe68ff-ca78-503a-bdd0-abd1501fc39c)
Chapter One (#ucaedb8c3-2d14-5c96-99d4-45e034de9b16)
Chapter Two (#u6b13478e-51d1-5c2c-b2cd-e3a021c1b815)
Chapter Three (#u3e97287d-4c38-57e7-8c42-e2bd84278df2)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Sam Mclean, I could kiss you for what you did for my son tonight,” Dani began.
Sam went absolutely still. The air between them whispered madly with electricity.
Dani flushed. “I mean, it was…I was…”
Sam’s eyes glowed. “I like the way you put it the first time.”
Moving slowly, he came to her side. His powerful shoulders gave the impression of strength and command, but the hand that reached out to touch her cheek was infinitely gentle.
As she stood in the living room, with the house redolent of the aroma of dinner and echoing with the sound of a child’s bedtime prayers, Dani looked into this mystery man’s eyes—the same man who poured ketchup on her roast beef hash and dried her dishes and made her heart race every time she looked at him—and realized something.
This must be what it’s like to be married.
Dear Reader,
The holiday season is a time for family, love…and miracles! We have all this—and more!—for you this month in Silhouette Romance. So in the gift-giving spirit, we offer you these wonderful books by some of the genre’s finest
A workaholic executive finds a baby in his in-box and enlists the help of the sexy single mom next door in this month’s BUNDLES OF JOY, The Baby Came C.O.D., by RITA Award-winner Marie Ferrarella. Both hero and heroine are twins, and Marie tells their identical siblings’ stories in Desperately Seeking Twin, out this month in our Yours Truly line.
Favorite author Elizabeth August continues our MEN! promotion with Paternal Instincts. This latest installment in her SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series features an irresistible lone wolf turned doting dad! As a special treat, Carolyn Zane’s sizzling family drama, THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, continues with His Brother’s Intended Bride—the title says it all!
Completing the month are three classic holiday romances. A world-weary hunk becomes The Dad Who Saved Christmas in this magical tale by Karen Rose Smith. Discover The Drifter’s Gift in RITA Award-winning author Lauryn Chandler’s emotional story. Finally, debut author Zena Valentine weaves a tale of transformation—and miracles—in From Humbug to Holiday Bride.
So treat yourself this month—and every month!—to Silhouette Romance!
Happy holidays,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Drifter’s Gift
Lauryn Chandler
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With deep gratitude to Lynda Curnyn, editor, for her kindness and
care in helping me finish this book.
Dedicated to Tim Blough—old friend, new husband!—whose arms
are the warmest place I know.
And to Laura Lea Seidenberg Warren, 1930-1997. You gave me
life and, with the courage of a lion, the gentleness of a lamb, showed me how to live it. How I miss you. L’chaim, Little Lady. To life.
LAURYN CHANDLER
Originally from California, Lauryn now lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where she can look out her window and see deer walking down the street. She holds a B.A. in Drama, and when not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and husband, going for long hikes with her dogs and finding new ways to cheat at Crazy Eights.
Lauryn is the recipient of the 1995 Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Traditional Romance.
Prologue
San Bernardino, California
“Look, Daddy, Teacher says every time a bell rings another angel gets his wings.”
“That’s right. That’s right! Atta boy, Clarence.”
The last lines of It’s a Wonderful Life competed with the phlegmy hiss of a decrepit heating unit in the corner of Sam Mclean’s motel room.
Sam gazed inexpressively at the black and white TV as Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and a gaggle of Hollywood extras gathered around a Christmas tree for a rousing chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Shifting on the lumpy, coarse motel mattress, Sam grunted. TV programmers were a sadistic bunch. Barely through one holiday, and they couldn’t wait to remind you there was another panting in the wings.
Reaching for the small plastic bottle on his night stand, he glanced at the digital clock—the most modern gadget in the room—and sighed. Four hours to go until midnight. Officially, it was still Thanksgiving.
Holding the vial of pills in his right hand, he used his thumb to pop off the plastic top. He was getting good at this—could hold, open, hang on to the top and even close the bottle again with just one hand. It was a little game he played with himself, a talent he’d perfected with lots of practice and which left his other hand conveniently free for the water chaser.
Shaking two oblong white pills into his mouth, he reached for the glass of tap water he kept by the bed, swallowed and set everything on the nightstand. Leaning on his left hip, he winced. And swore. Once again he’d waited too long to take the painkillers.
The fact that the meds were supposed to be ingested with food could not persuade him to return to the dinner he’d abandoned two hours earlier. Pressed turkey, gravy that was the same bright yellow as the bugs smashed on his windshield, and cubes of damp bread that tasted like they’d been stuck together with Elmer’s White Glue—the turkey special from Hungry Harry’s Country Diner made mess hall slop look like five-star cuisine.
Gripping the handle of the handsome walnut cane his outfit had given him the day he was discharged from the base hospital, Sam sat up and carefully lowered his feet to the floor.
Jeez!
Every move made him feel like he was being stabbed from the inside out.
He stood, gained his bearings and walked—or rather limped—to the window, passing the small round table that held his aborted meal as he went. Lying open next to a cup of piss-poor black coffee was the letter his friend Joseph Lawson had sent one week before Sam’s discharge.
Come to Idaho, Joe had written. Hang out for awhile. Take some time before you make any major decisions. And remember, there’s a job waiting at Lawson’s. Lawson’s, the family store Joe had taken over when his father passed away. Mom and the girls would love to see you again. Hell, why spend the holidays alone?
Sam adjusted his body, leaning his shoulder against the wall so his better, right leg would bear most of his weight. He ignored the remaining pain as best he could while he stared at the hazy moon.
Starless. There were too many streetlights, too much residual pollution to see the heavens here, even at night. He reached up to rub his eyes, then passed his hand over his cheeks and chin. Both were stubble free. Out of sheer habit he’d shaved this afternoon.
As a sergeant first class in the United States Armed Forces, he had spent his holidays on base or, when he hadn’t been able to avoid it, at the home of another officer. On those occasions, he’d been surrounded by laughter, good food, bright conversation.
He hadn’t felt any less alone then than he did right now.
Across the street, a red neon light blinked Bar. Sam felt his leg throb in cadence with the pulsing light, the pain an ever-present reminder that his days as a platoon leader were over. For thirteen years of service, he had belonged. If not to someone, then at least to someplace, something.
Now what? A desk job, pushing paper all day?
“Damn.” Sam whacked his cane against the wall with enough force to chip the plaster. An overwhelming sense of fruitlessness, an awful, gnawing emptiness assailed him. Without his work, who was he?
Once more his gaze fell to the letter he’d been carrying around for three weeks. There’s a job waiting at Lawson’s.
He rubbed his temples. Maybe. At least it would be somewhere to go. A way to pass the time while he figured out what to do with the rest of his life.
For a moment, he closed his eyes. The pain that washed through him this time had little to do with his leg.
When the wall heater gave a particularly nasty belch, Sam lifted his head and stared out the window, disappointed by the filmy clouds that veiled the face of the moon. Tired, he laid his forehead against the wall and came to a decision, if only to end his infernal waffling.
Maybe there would be stars in Idaho.
Chapter One (#ulink_d2633c56-7d10-5b28-9c33-c07c045384ab)
Rockview, Idaho
Thanksgiving
“Play the petunia game!”
Wriggling into the bottoms of his favorite superhero pajamas, Timmy Harmon fell back on his soft bed and thrust his bare feet in the air.
“Pick a petunia, Mommy.”
Grinning, Dani tugged her son until he was lying with his rump snuggled against her thigh, his rosy toes close enough for her to kiss. Timmy folded his hands on his belly and giggled. The petunia game was one of his favorites. It made the ritual of a nighttime bath almost worthwhile.
Bending toward her smiling five-year-old, Dani wiggled each little toe in turn. “One petunia for Timmy’s mother to pick. Two petunias for Mommy to pick…” She remembered her mother playing the silly, simple game with her. She’d loved it then as much as Timmy did now.
When she’d wriggled the last toe, Dani bent to place a noisy kiss on the arch of each child-size foot. Curled lovingly around his ankle, her fingers lingered a bit longer than usual tonight
From the first booties she’d put on him to the new blue and red sneakers he’d chosen himself for kindergarten, Dani always felt a bittersweet stir of anticipation when she looked at her little boy’s feet, so small, so wonderfully, restlessly eager. And growing so quickly.
Patting the soft skin of his instep, Dani released her hold and reached for a pair of socks still warm from the dryer. She held them up. “It’s cold tonight. You want socks?”
Timmy nodded. In the glow from the teddy bear lamp on the nightstand, her son’s hair was as russet as her own.
Dani rolled the blue cotton socks over his feet, tickling the arches as she went, filling with pleasure when he dissolved into giggles.
When the socks were in place, Timmy sat up on his knees. “Okay, Mommy, you go out now.”
“You haven’t said your prayers yet.”
“I know, but I’m going to do it myself tonight.”
I can do it was becoming an increasingly common refrain around their house, but rarely at bedtime. Resisting the urge to show her disappointment, Dani smiled and stood.
