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The Promise of Christmas
Tara Taylor Quinn
Leslie Sanderson's brother, Cal, is dead–and he's left behind two children no one knew he had. She and Kip Webster, Cal's closest friend, "inherit" these secret kids.As they form their makeshift family, Leslie and Kip decide to share a house. And that leads to other kinds of sharing…. One night, just before Christmas, Leslie tells him about the devastating thing that happened when she was young–something she's kept secret all this time.Because in Kip, she finds the promise of safety, acceptance and love. The promise of what family should be. The promise of Christmas….
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF TARA TAYLOR QUINN
“Quinn’s latest contemporary romance offers readers an irresistible combination of realistically complex characters and a nail-bitingly suspenseful plot. Powerful, passionate and poignant, Hidden is a deeply satisfying story.”
—Booklist
“Somebody’s Baby is an exceptional tale of real-life people, who are not perfect, feel heartache, make mistakes and have to find their inner strength…. Somebody’s Baby easily goes on my keeper shelf.”
—The Romance Reader Reviews
“Quinn explores relationships thoroughly, getting into the nooks and crannies, into the dark corners and secret cupboards. Her vividly drawn characters are sure to win readers’ hearts.”
—Romance Communications
“Quinn’s profound observations of human nature and her intimate understanding of values and prorities lend extraordinary psychological depth to all her work.”
—Wordweaving.com
“Quinn writes touching stories about real people that transcend plot type or genre.”
—All About Romance
Dear Reader,
Happy holidays! It’s been a while since I celebrated the season, my favorite time of year, with you all. I love the holiday season, the collective giving of thanks—a nation focused on being grateful, even if only for a moment. I love the season of giving, of receiving, of hope. We tend to be more openhearted this time of year, more open-minded as we look around us at the people who share our world, if not our lives. We tend to be more forgiving.
It is for this reason that I bring you this particular story now. Leslie Sanderson did not have a typical childhood. Oh, she lived on the right side of the tracks, did not want for anything materially. She had a family who loved her. She had opportunity and intelligence. She got good grades and stayed away from alcohol and drugs. And she suffered unspeakably in a way that many suffer, a way of which few speak. But this Christmas, at the age of thirty-one, Leslie chooses to speak. Trusting in the promise that the season has always represented to her, she makes the choice to live life fully, instead of allowing it to hold her hostage. I love Leslie. I love everything she stands for. I love her strength, her weakness, her willingness to get up each day and try again. And I love her jewelry! So much so that I own a number of identical pieces.
The Promise of Christmas is not a fable or a fairy tale. And yet, as I read it one final time, I felt as victorious as I ever did reading those stories of triumph. In this book, Leslie and Kip and their family find the promise that is real, not fantasy—the promise that love truly is strong enough to conquer all. Even the unseen demons that live inside.
From my heart to yours, Merry Christmas!
Tara Taylor Quinn
P.S. I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 133584, Mesa, Arizona 85216, or through my Web site at www.tarataylorquinn.com.
The Promise of Christmas
Tara Taylor Quinn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Pat Potter, who sat with me and talked about this very challenging book when she could have been at a Broadway play. I cherish your friendship. And for Paula Eykelhof, who didn’t even flinch when I pitched this special story to her over Chinese dinner after a day-long road trip. I cherish you, too.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“LESLIE, THERE’S A Kip Webster here to see you.”
The Kip Webster? As in her older brother’s best friend Kip Webster?
“Did he say what he wants?”
Nancy Maple, Leslie’s secretary of five years, shook her head. “Just wanted me to tell you he’s here.” The older woman raised her brows, her way of asking the question that might seem too personal if she actually verbalized it.
“I knew him in high school,” Leslie said, keeping her explanation simple. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since my college graduation, but I heard he’s a bigwig with Sporting International now.”
SI was the company that Leslie hoped would seal her partnership in one of the nation’s largest brokerage houses. As an investment counselor, she’d risen steadily up the ranks, due to her instincts as much as her analytical skills.
“You think he’s here about the rumor that SI’s going public?”
“What else could it be?” Leslie stood, resisting the urge to take a peek in the gilded antique mirror hanging beside her desk, to flatten the flyaway auburn curls. “I’ll see him,” she said, shoving papers back into their file. “Send him in.”
Nancy nodded. “By the way, great call on the South Seas deal. Congratulations!”
Leslie grinned, but said nothing. She’d gone against the firm’s senior partners on that one, and the payoff had been bigger than even she’d expected. Several of Tyler Investments’ clients were much richer today because of Leslie’s recommendation that they buy into a company that could’ve gone under but instead went public and skyrocketed overnight.
Damn, that felt good.
Her stomach didn’t feel so good right now, though. It couldn’t seem to decide whether to swarm with anxiety or give in to the weight of nausea.
With her secretary gone, she took a quick glance in the mirror, decided her curls were behaving themselves today, looking not bad against the shoulders of the navy suit she’d worn to work. And her lipstick was still on.
Kip Webster. Her one and only high school crush. She wasn’t ready. Juliet would disagree. Her therapist would say she could handle this. Without so much as a blip on her emotional monitor.
She reminded herself that Juliet was gifted, a miracle worker, really, as she waited for Kip’s knock. Juliet wouldn’t make a serious mistake like setting Leslie free if Leslie wasn’t ready.
So maybe she was having a relapse, if one had such things when it came to the afflictions of one’s past. Juliet had taught her how to shine a light on old shames and render them powerless, but right now she’d be happy if the ten years separating her and the darkness of her youth stretched into another fifty. Or eighty. That would put her at 110 and by then, surely, she’d be blessed with forgetfulness?
Her office door flew open and Kip was there, with the same dark hair that she’d always figured would be as curly as hers if he’d let it grow more than a quarter-inch. Same great shoulders in a tweed jacket she’d never seen before. Her overreaction to him was the same in Phoenix as it had always been in the Columbus, Ohio, suburb where they’d all grown up.
“God, Les, you look phenomenal.”
Same brown eyes that she’d always feared saw too much.
And just like that, ten years of sane and peaceful living disappeared as though they’d never been.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised by that,” she chuckled, trying desperately to find the quiet place inside herself that Juliet had helped her discover.
“I guess I am surprised. You…your…” His eyes scanned the short skirt of the tailored suit to her long legs. Those legs, not to mention the rest of her body, had brought her shame and embarrassment during her adolescence—feelings made worse by a promiscuous period in college. With a lot of help, mostly from books, she’d learned to feel pride in them—sometimes. Please, God, don’t let there be a run in my hose.
“Yes?” she asked, with a small grin that on another woman probably spoke of self-assurance and playfulness. On Leslie, it was a carefully learned response—all part of the game of “let’s pretend” that she’d devised when she’d reinvented herself.
“You grew up.”
“We all do, eventually.” She came around to the front of her desk. As she leaned against it, her jacket fell open to reveal just a bit of the snug red pullover she had on beneath it. She’d worn her blue-and-red Sorrelli jewelry today and the expensive Swarovski, Austrian crystal gave her confidence, reminded her that she was a woman who deserved to be happy and who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted.
She’d hot-flashed for days after buying her first piece of the designer jewelry. She’d gone back twice to return the beautiful pair of earrings, and each time had heard Juliet’s voice in the back of her head, reminding her that she was worthy.
Today, tucked away in the jewelry armoire in a corner of her large master suite at home, was Sorrelli jewelry in every color and style she could find.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” she asked. Kip had taken a step toward her, watching her, while she’d been busy searching for inner peace.
“I said you did it better than most.” He was coming closer.
She blinked and smiled wider to prevent herself from cracking into a million little pieces.
“Grew up, I mean.” He was right in front of her, his lips smiling. Close.
Aha. He was still making small talk. Meanwhile she’d started thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. How could she still be entertaining the thought, the fantasy, that had practically consumed her in high school?
“Yes, well…” She stood, slid away from him before he could touch her and practically jumped to a safe position behind her massive teak desk. “I’ve been known to get things right sometimes.”
All the time really, at least professionally. But then, professionally was the only way anyone knew her.
Except Juliet, of course—although, technically, even that relationship was professional.
Juliet, where are you when I need you?
“I know this is a surprise, my showing up like this,” Kip said, hands hanging down, crossed in front of him. “And I apologize for that—”
“No!” she said too quickly, eager to make up for the fact that she’d just turned away from him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m…glad to see you!” How she’d been able to speak in that tone, and to keep her smile, was beyond her.
“The thing is…I’m—” He stopped, his expression becoming almost morose as he glanced away, and Leslie’s smile faded.
“I’m assuming you’re here representing Sporting International.” Taking the offensive gave her strength. “And I want to assure you—and your owners—that…”
Leslie’s voice dried up in her throat as Kip turned back to her. “I’m not here on business, Les.” She didn’t recognize the low intensity in his voice. Kip had seldom been without a hint of teasing in his tone. With her, anyway.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“What then?” Leslie picked up a random file from the corner of her desk. She didn’t want to know. No matter what it was, she didn’t want to know.
“I— There’s no easy way to…”
The file said Berkeley on it. Typed in all black caps on a yellow label. Nancy color-coded everything. Yellow for potential clients, blue for—
“Cal’s dead, Les.” Kip took his hands from his pockets and reached out to her. His eyes, for the second she couldn’t keep herself from meeting them, were moist and warm. Pulling her in. “There was—”
“No,” she said with all the authority her success had earned her. “I just spoke with him two days ago. He’s rock-climbing in the Rockies. I know, because he wanted to fly out here first, but I have a couple of big meetings this week, a New York turnaround, so there was no way I could…”
She repeated the usual excuse of business commitments with the regret she’d mastered over the years.
“There was an accident,” Kip said, coming around her desk. She felt his fingers through the sleeves of her jacket. He couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t let him. Didn’t he understand that?
She stood motionless, wondering about color codes. And coping.
“His foot slipped. It was trapped between two boulders. When he yanked to free himself he flew backward, somehow got tangled in his line…”
Yes? And? You don’t die…of entanglement. Cal wasn’t dead. He owed her something. She wasn’t sure what. But he couldn’t die without somehow making it up to her…
“He was already gone by the time they got to him,” Kip said. “They said it was pretty much instant.”
“He strangled himself?” she asked. A strange twist of justice? No! Leslie recoiled from her own thoughts. Her brother was one of the most caring men she’d ever known. For years he’d been the one she looked to for security.
