скачать книгу бесплатно
A Husband In Her Stocking
Christine Pacheco
SANTA LEFT… WHAT?Meghan Carroll said bah-humbug to Santa Claus and Christmas, until Santa's elves deposited a very handsome stranger on her doorstep. She'd sworn off men and marriage, and Kyle Murdock looked like another heartbreak-in-waiting. But with a blizzard raging, Ms. Scrooge had no choice but to usher him in… .The once-lonely, snowbound farmhouse became hotter than a greenhouse full of poinsettias as they smooched under the mistletoe and snuggled in front of the fire. Meghan never wanted the Christmas fantasy that Kyle had created to end, but the snow had stopped and he had to leave. Without a little holiday magic, she'd have another blue, blue Christmas… .
PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE PACHECO: (#u12f7ca3c-67c6-5fa9-887f-84995f4d5f71)Letter to Reader (#ue32eb6dc-8cea-5c1b-bcb5-50ccd71761e6)Title Page (#udbe61ab1-58ec-528d-b696-4a03a1435932)About the Author (#u234dc6a5-ec83-5ce1-9e5c-35afdb13327f)Dedication (#udebf77aa-defe-5f9d-8172-f194ffa276e0)Acknowledgments (#u0fc392b5-fb34-552e-b33c-b05970872b94)Chapter One (#uc2880ab5-d403-5bbd-bf66-3d4625e0eaea)Chapter Two (#ue597916d-806c-5248-92bb-7c2d1038cc25)Chapter Three (#u1a6d7906-518e-5fd7-ab4d-df60a00a2ad3)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)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE PACHECO:
“Reading Chris Pacheco is like sitting in a balmy breeze under a banyan tree and savoring your favorite drink. Her books take me away to my favorite escape. She’s sure to please.”
—bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“... terrific... imbued with heart and heat, by an author to watch for.”
—Award-winning author Mallory Rush
“Christine Pacheco packs an emotional punch.... ”
—bestselling author Leanne Banks
“This talented up and coming writer’s quick and witty pace will keep your attention riveted.... ”
—Rogena Brewer, Booklovers
Dear Reader,
Happy Holidays to all of you from the staff of Silhouette Desire! Our celebration of Desire’s fifteenth anniversary continues, and to kick off this holiday season, we have a wonderful new book from Dixie Browning called Look What the Stork Brought. Dixie, who is truly a Desire star, has written over sixty titles for Silhouette.
Next up, The Surprise Christmas Bride by
Maureen Child. If you like stories chock-full of love and laughter, this is the book for you. And Anne Eames continues her MONTANA MALONES miniseries with The Best Little Joeville Christmas.
The month is completed with more Christmas treats:
A Husband in Her Stocking by Christine Pacheco;
I Married a Prince by Kathryn Jensen and Santa Cowboy by Barbara McMahon.
I hope you all enjoy your holidays, and hope that Silhouette Desire will add to the warmth of the season. So enjoy the very best in romance from Desire!
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian. P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
A Husband in her Stocking
Christine Pacheco
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHRISTINE PACHECO
married her real-life hero, Jared, who proved to her that dreams really do come true. They live in Colorado with their two children, Raymond and Whitney.
Christine remembers always wanting to be a writer. She even talked her elementary school librarian into “publishing” her books. She notes that she always preferred romances because they’re about that special moment when everything is possible and the future is a gift to unfold.
You can write to Christine at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.
For Angie, best friend and sister.
Thanks for being my number one fan.
Also for three very special friends, and extraordinarily talented writers, Robin Lee Hatcher, Pamela Johnson and Lisa Craig. Thanks, guys, you’re all angels!
One
Kyle Murdock swore as he turned up the collar on his black leather jacket. He raised his shoulders, fighting in vain for protection against the bite of a cold December wind.
Snow dusted his hair, and several flakes settled on his nose. Odd, only a few hours ago, the skies had been incredibly blue, hardly a cloud in sight.
Now the world was a different place. The landscape had changed. Branches had been buried beneath a blanket of white, and wind had whipped innocent flakes, plowing them into one another, making minifortresses to block his path. Kyle had been left dependent on the help of a stranger.
That was, if anyone heard his knock.
For a third time, he pounded his uncovered knuckles against unyielding wood.
Someone had to be inside the farmhouse—after all, an inviting glow in the curtained window had attracted his attention, luring him from where the weather had stranded him, Kyle paused, listening. He heard nothing but a howl through the treetops.
The remnants of a waning Colorado sun offered no solace against the encroaching evening’s threat. He shivered. The three-mile journey to the nearest town of Jefferson would be hellacious. And to be honest, Kyle wasn’t sure he would even make it.
This definitely wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the holiday. His sister, Pamela, and her family were expecting him. And he’d always believed Christmas was for children. There was little Kyle enjoyed more than watching his niece and nephew on Christmas morning, expressions full of belief and wonder.
Cupping his hands near his mouth, he blew air onto them and shifted his weight from leg to leg.
Slowly, accompanied by the squeak of a rusty hinge, the door to the old farmhouse opened. Light and welcoming heat spilled through the partial opening, but the soft sound of a woman’s voice—soothing, yet steeled with hesitation—stole what little breath remained in his lungs.
“Can I help you?”
He moved a few inches to the right so she could see him, while she retained protection and anonymity. With a numbed thumb, he pointed toward the Harley, which was partially buried in a ditch. “My bike’s stuck.”
She didn’t say anything, and the door denied access to her face.
“If you don’t mind, I need to use your phone, maybe call a tow truck.”
A few seconds of silence. Another heartbeat closer to hypotltermia.
Then slowly, as if on the whisper of an angel’s wings, the door opened wider.
He didn’t wait for a second invitation. Wiping the soles of his boots on the step, he entered the house, transferring his wet leather gloves into one hand.
The woman sealed out the blizzard and closed Kyle in. Heat reached out, enveloping him and allowing him to suck a welcome breath deep into his chest.
He’d barely noted her eye and hair color when the noise from a sudden crash made her face drain of color.
“Excuse me,” she said, turning.
Before he formed a word, she’d dashed away. Kyle stood there for a few moments, debating what to do. Mind his own business? Offer assistance?
“Darn it.”
The faint sound of her pseudo curse reached him, galvanizing him into action. Not stopping to think, he followed the direction she’d taken.
As he strode through the living room, a second crash exploded. Breaking into a near run, he found her in the kitchen, kneeling in front of a huge cupboard, cans of food scattered around her.
A white dog rested a paw triumphantly on a colorful bag sporting a picture of a collie.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Evidently startled, she swung around to look at him. A fringe of layered blond hair shaded her face, but not her wide and wary eyes.
Just then, the animal growled, hackles raised.
“Snowflake...” the woman warned, a sigh of exasperation escaping.
The mangy mutt stalked toward him, and Kyle remained rooted on the spot.
“He’s more bark than bite. He wouldn’t hurt a soul,” she said, pushing up to a standing position.
“Hi, guy,” Kyle said, holding his hand steady and not trusting her words of promise.
Snowflake growled again, then sniffed Kyle’s hand.
“Mind your manners, Snowflake.”
After looking toward his mistress, the dog sat. Apparently satisfied, Snowflake offered his paw. Kyle dutifully shook it.
“Some protector,” she said, but rumpled Snowflake’s fur affectionately when the dog returned to her side. “You managed to get all the way into the kitchen before he noticed you were in the house.” Snowflake stretched out and placed his head on his paws. “Now he thinks you’re his best friend.”
“Obviously he senses you’re in no danger.”
No response.
“He’s right.”
The woman wiped her hand down the thigh of cream-colored leggings. For the first time he noticed just how attractive his savior was. Blond, hazel-eyed, and with ladylike curves all in the right places. A potent combination.
“Kyle Murdock,” he said, extending a hand.
Surprisingly she took it. Heat met cold. He felt the icy tentacles of winter’s grip melting away at her touch. Maybe, just maybe, he’d survive the storm, after all.
She was more petite than he’d realized, only a few notches above five feet. Her smaller hand disappeared inside his larger one, and he had an insane urge to hold on to it longer than was polite.
With a slight smile, she extricated her hand.
Kyle realized her wide-open eyes——expressive and large—were her most compelling feature, making a man think of long, hot nights and a bed barely big enough for two.
Right now her eyes contained a hint of caution that made the hazel color appear darker than he suspected was normal. He reminded himself he should be on his way, try to find a hotel before the storm worsened.
“Mind if I use your phone?”
She pointed to a small oak stand and said, “It’s right over there.”
The woman moved aside, and he took his time removing the unnecessary aviator shades from his eyes. In anonymity, he savored her subtle beauty. She wasn’t gorgeous in the normal sense, but the aura of dignity and serenity she wore—a complete antithesis to what raged inside him—transcended the usual, making her seem extraordinary.
She seemed alluring, unpretentious. And so different from the woman he’d nearly married.
Dismissing the thought, as it was leading him in a direction he didn’t dare go, Kyle tucked his glasses inside a pocket of his jacket. He crossed to the far wall and placed his gloves on the oak telephone stand, then thumbed through the directory until he found the single listing for a towing service. He punched in the numbers.
One ring, followed by a second. Then silence ricocheted down the line. “The phone’s dead.”
She swallowed deeply, folding her arms around her middle. The action stretched the cotton material of her pastel pink sweater taut across her breasts.
Kyle gulped.
He hadn’t imagined the woman could have such unbelievable impact on his long neglected libido.
Turning away, he replaced the phone in its cradle, trying to erase the vivid sight of her from his mind.
Through the window above the sink, he saw the swirling snow and dreaded the thought of braving the brutal elements again. Facing her once more, he asked, “Maybe your husband could help me dig out the Harley?”
Several seconds of silence yawned between them.
“I don’t have a husband.”
She lived out here all alone? And opened her door to strangers? He didn’t like it. Not one bit. And the fact he didn’t like something that was none of his business irritated the hell out of him.
“But I do have a twelve-gauge shotgun.”
He raised a brow.
“And competency in its use.”
“Noted.” He allowed a smile. Her tentative one was reward enough.
