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It Started At Christmas…
Jo McNally
She was hired to design his house. Instead she created a home. Interior designer Amanda Lowery can turn Blake Randall’s crumbling castle into a Gallant Lake showplace. But helping the real estate mogul with his guarded heart and his troubled, orphaned nephew? A much bigger challenge. Will Christmas help these two see their own possibilities…
She was hired to design his house.
Instead she created a home.
Interior designer Amanda Lowery can turn Blake Randall’s crumbling castle into a Gallant Lake showplace. But helping the real estate mogul with his guarded heart and his troubled, orphaned nephew? A much bigger challenge. With demons in her own past, Amanda yearns to help them both heal. But will she find the family and safety she’s craved…or become a Christmas casualty in Blake’s latest business plan?
JO MCNALLY lives in coastal North Carolina with one hundred pounds of dog and two hundred pounds of husband—her slice of the bed is very small. When she’s not writing or reading romance novels (or clinging to the edge of the bed), she can often be found on the back porch sipping wine with friends while listening to great music. If the weather is absolutely perfect, Jo might join her husband on the golf course, where she tends to feel far more competitive than her actual skill level would suggest.
She likes writing stories about strong women and the men who love them. She’s a true believer that love can conquer all if given just half a chance.
You can follow Jo pretty much anywhere on social media (and she’d love it if you did!), but you can start at her website, jomcnallyromance.com (http://www.jomcnallyromance.com)
Also by Jo McNally (#ue07cc01e-077a-5315-956d-800791bb16e1)
A Man You Can Trust
Nora’s Guy Next DoorShe’s Far From Hollywood
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
It Started at Christmas
Jo McNally
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09192-3
IT STARTED AT CHRISTMAS
© 2019 Jo McNally
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#ue07cc01e-077a-5315-956d-800791bb16e1)
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This book is dedicated to my smart,
talented, funny agent, Veronica Park,
for never giving up on this story of my heart.
Contents
Cover (#ub0906086-b7bf-5c1d-b755-2703a729717d)
Back Cover Text (#u4bcd7a3c-5d03-5a85-8185-0e828721dc1e)
About the Author (#u6d3676b6-c726-55c0-9d27-0d460180b61e)
Booklist (#u76acd59d-9e09-530e-9dcd-dcf707888a99)
Title Page (#ucb5d2558-e0b9-53be-b4f0-587f5e341170)
Copyright (#ude4dc120-8c28-5e7b-adff-8100b9fc58f8)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#uc680a719-0c2f-53f5-836c-382e73f7147a)
Prelude (#u16d7cb55-ca01-5f93-8c4f-57406fb2a65d)
Chapter One (#u3442fe3e-5d46-55e3-9290-632d346d2c0b)
Chapter Two (#u6d24eb63-b9a6-5927-b503-39d4aa872d81)
Chapter Three (#udef37f83-803d-5a9c-91e2-f60b0204ea42)
Chapter Four (#uda3f18be-4968-5b73-81e7-85c346df7d25)
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)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prelude (#ue07cc01e-077a-5315-956d-800791bb16e1)
Three days after Christmas…
Big fat snowflakes swirled through the air at the cemetery, making everything look fuzzy three days after the worst Christmas ever. Zachary watched the people walk back to their cars. Big piles of flowers surrounded his mother’s grave.
“Do you think Mom sent the snow?”
“What?” Uncle Blake looked down at Zachary and frowned.
“Maybe…maybe Mom sent the snow. Like a message or something. She taught me how to catch snowflakes on my tongue, like this…” Zachary stuck his tongue out. A white flake landed, melting in a quick, cold burst. Uncle Blake’s face screwed up like he’d just stepped on a Lego, but Zach rushed on. “Remember how much she loved Christmas, Uncle Blake? Maybe she’s still here, but you can’t see her…like the ghost of Christmas future in that story—”
“No.” His uncle’s voice sounded rough and scratchy. “She’s not here, Zach. Your mom isn’t a ghost. She’s just…gone.”
He meant Mom was dead. Zach wasn’t stupid. He knew what dead meant. What he didn’t get was, why wouldn’t people just say it?
Uncle Blake looked up at the snow for a minute. “She loved Christmas so much because it’s for little kids, and she never stopped… She never really grew up.” He knelt in front of Zach, one knee in the snow. “I know this was a lousy holiday, and I’m sorry. I miss her, too. But you’re going to have to be a man now. You need to leave make-believe for the little kids, okay?”
Zach straightened his shoulders. He missed his mom. She was funny, and she gave the best hugs ever. Hugs that made him feel safe, even in the middle of another move or if she was changing boyfriends again. And now he’d never have another hug from her. He blinked his eyes. Would anyone ever hug him like that? Probably not. Hugs were like Christmas—for little kids only. He looked into his uncle’s eyes and nodded.
He wasn’t really sure how to be a man, but if that’s what his uncle wanted, he’d try.
Chapter One (#ue07cc01e-077a-5315-956d-800791bb16e1)
“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“What? The shopping or the job?”
Amanda Lowery juggled the bags in her hand, laughing at her cousin’s question.
“Both, I guess. There’s no way I’ll get the job after Mr. Randall meets me tomorrow, which means I won’t be able to pay for any of this stuff.”
The two women stood on the sidewalk in Gallant Lake, New York. Like so many upstate villages, a lot of the brick or clapboard storefronts were empty. There were still a few businesses left, and they’d managed to shop in every one of them. There was just a hint of color starting to show in the mountains surrounding the lake, which glittered in the afternoon sun. Labor Day was just over a week away. Soon those trees would be ablaze in the reds and golds of autumn. Amanda and Mel were standing in front of a colorful coffee shop directly across the road from a tiny park overlooking the lake.
“Hey, you got this final interview fair and square…” Mel grimaced. “Well, not exactly fair, but you know what I mean. You’re the one who came up with the plans the guy liked.”
“Yes, but he thinks those plans came from David, not me. He’s expecting a man to show up tomorrow morning. Like I said—stupid.” She looked up at the bright orange coffee shop door. “Come on, let’s get a cappuccino before we head back to the resort.”
After ordering, they settled in at a table by the window. The café was small, but there weren’t many people inside, so Amanda didn’t have to worry about her personal space. Their table was bright blue. The chairs were each a different color. Nothing in the place matched, creating a chaotic, but energetic, atmosphere. As a designer, Amanda would describe the look as bohemian eclectic. Local artwork on the brick walls displayed widely varying degrees of talent. The place smelled of roasted coffee beans, cinnamon and sawdust. The latter was courtesy of the woodworking shop next door.
“Amanda, once this Randall guy meets you and hears that you specialize in historic homes and how many projects you’ve already managed, he’ll forget all about that little ‘mix-up’ and hire you on the spot.” Mel smiled and pushed her dark hair behind an ear. Two older men sitting near the counter were openly staring at her, but Mel was used to it. She had cheekbones most women would kill for. And legs that went on forever. And violet eyes that evoked memories of Elizabeth Taylor. Amanda sighed, glancing down at her short legs and…um…curvy figure. Genetics were tricky. That’s why Mel was a former supermodel, while women like Amanda ended up working behind the scenes with furniture and fabric.
“It wasn’t a mix-up, Mel. It was intentional. I’m a deceiver.” She was so desperatefor this job that she’d resorted to unethical business practices. That was so not who she was. But a woman had to eat, right?
Mel waved off her concerns—easy to do when you were rich and famous. “I wonder what these signs are about? I’ve been seeing them all over town.”
Mel pointed at a cardboard sign in the window with the word casino across the front in black, and a giant red circle and diagonal line over it. Amanda hadn’t noticed, too occupied with worrying about tomorrow.
The café’s owner brought their cappuccinos to the table. She was an older woman, with long salt-and-pepper hair and a heavy skirt that doubled as a floor sweeper. There was no doubt where the hippie vibe of the coffee shop came from.
“Here you go, honeys. My name’s Cathy. Anything else I can getcha?”
Mel pointed to the sign. “What’s the story with that?”
Cathy’s smile faded. “Bad news for Gallant Lake.” She shook her head, lips pressed together. “Some big-shot developer bought the old resort a couple years ago, and instead of fixing it up like we’d hoped, he wants to tear it down and build a damned casino. A casino! I mean, what is this, New Jersey? Are we going to be living in one of those De Niro movies now?” Cathy’s face twisted in disgust. “We’re fighting him, though. No way do we want some giant sign of a neon bimbo here in our town, kicking her leg at the sky.”
Mel smirked, and Amanda knew what she was thinking. Clearly, someone hadn’t been to Vegas lately. Not all casinos were gaudy and gauche. On a more selfish note, Amanda wondered if they’d hired a decorator yet.
