THE MAVERICK'S CHRISTMAS BABY Read online

  “And not only did we come out with three weddings, but Gage Christensen has the flood to thank for bringing him Lissa,” the young mayor continued. “And my brother Sutter and our fifth-grade teacher, Paige Dalton, have reunited after five years, and just announced to us that they’ll be having a January wedding—so that makes three engagements, too.”

  Collin winked at Sutter and Paige, who had also told the family that Paige was pregnant—although they didn’t think it was good for her image as a schoolteacher to let that news get around until after the wedding.

  “The efforts to help Rust Creek Falls survive and come back better than ever have brought out the best in us all, I think,” Collin said. “It’s even offered an opportunity for redemption for some—particularly for Arthur Swinton.”

  Nina saw the reservations that name raised in the crowd that was clearly unsure what was to come, since the Thunder Canyon former city councilman and mayor had taken such a big fall from grace in the past few years.

  “Due to the persistence of Arthur’s newfound son, Shane Roarke, and Shane’s adopted family, Arthur’s sentence has been commuted and he’s been released from jail.”

  There were mutterings about that that weren’t all favorable.

  But before they got out of hand, Collin said, “I know some of you won’t agree with that, but Arthur has vowed to devote the rest of his life to positive change and I, for one, wish him the best in that pursuit. Arthur has set about proving his intentions by raising—legally—a large sum of money that he’s donating to our town renovation project to ensure that Rust Creek Falls continues to rebuild and grow!”

  Collin’s victorious tone was answered with more applause, though even that held some reserve.

  When it died down once more, Collin concluded his speech, reminding them all of a few humorous moments during the past year, sending out some tongue-in-cheek congratulations and lightening the tone from there.

  Then he said, “That’s about it for me tonight. But DJ’s Rib Shack, owned by my cousin DJ Traub in Thunder Canyon, has provided us with a full meal to mark this occasion. We’ll be setting up for that while you all tour the school, and when you get back here dinner’ll be served.”

  Enthusiasm for that was unmistakable.

  “And just let me be the first to wish us all a Happy New Year!” Collin concluded.

  “Happy New Year!” the crowd echoed as everyone stood to take the school tour.

  A beautiful job had been done restoring, rejuvenating and restocking the building, and that was all pointed out by the principal, who gave the tour.

  Along the way, Robbie took the hand of Laura Crawford—whom he’d developed a fondness for—on one side, and his own grandmother on the other. Nina saw it and couldn’t help smiling at how both women put aside their differences to indulge the little boy—a sign of the future, she hoped.

  By the time everyone returned to the school cafeteria it had been transformed back into just that, with bench-lined tables all set out and the kitchen open and ready to serve the delicious meal that was one of several gifts the Thunder Canyon branch of the Traub family had sent to help its neighbors during these long months of struggle.

  And as Nina sat with Dallas by her side, who was still cradling Noelle in one arm while keeping his other arm around her, she felt such a sense of happiness and contentment come over her that it made her well up.

  Rust Creek Falls would survive and go on providing the home she’d always known, the home she never wanted to leave. And now, not only did she have the child she’d wanted and been denied for too long, but she had Dallas and Ryder and Jake and Robbie—an entire family—to share it with.

  “What are you thinking about, Miss-Nina-with-the-tears-in-her-eyes?” Dallas asked, leaning close to her ear so that she alone could hear him, he alone noticing that she was in the throes of emotions.

  “I was just thinking how much I love you,” she said. “And Noelle and the boys, and this whole town. And how glad I am to spend the rest of my life here with you.”

  Dallas pressed a warm kiss to her cheek and stayed there a long moment before he nuzzled her ear with his nose and whispered, “If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be where I am now, I’d have called them a liar. But the truth is, you’ve made me the luckiest man on earth.”

  Nina could only smile at that and turn to kiss him, knowing that luck had shone down on them both through the blinding blizzard and opened their eyes to what was right there waiting for them in each other.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HER HOLIDAY PRINCE CHARMING by Christine Flynn.

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  Prologue

  “What’s on your Christmas list this year? No matter how big or how small, you’re sure to find what you’re looking for at Seattle’s one-stop answer to all your holiday—”

  With a quick flick of the dial, Rory silenced the cheerful voice suddenly booming from her car radio. In an attempt to drown out her worries while she waited to pick up her son from kindergarten, she’d turned the music to a decibel she’d never have considered had her five-year-old been in the vehicle.

  The ad had just brought to mind the one thing she’d been desperately trying not to think about.

  She’d hoped to make the holiday special for her little boy this year. Not just special, but after last year’s unquestionably awful Christmas, something wonderful. Magical.

  As of three days ago, however, she was no longer sure how she would keep a roof over their heads, much less put a tree under it. Due to downsizing, her telecommuting services as a legal transcriptionist for Hayes, Bleaker & Stein were no longer required. She’d needed that job to pay for little things like food and gas and to qualify for a mortgage.

  Without a job, she had no hope of buying the little Cape Cod she’d thought so perfect for her and little Tyler. She had no hope of buying or renting any house at all. Since the sale of the beautiful home she’d shared with her husband closed next week, that left her four days to find an apartment and a job that would help her pay for it.

  A quick tap ticked on her driver’s side window.

  Through the foggy glass, a striking blonde wearing studious-looking horn-rimmed glasses and winter-white fur smiled at her. The woman didn’t look at all familiar to Rory. Thinking she must be the mom of an older student, since she knew all the moms in the kindergarten class, she lowered her window and smiled back.

  Chill air rushed into the car as the woman bent at the waist to make eye contact. “You’re Aurora Jo Linfield?”

  Rory hesitated. The only time she ever used her full name was on legal documents. And she rarely used Aurora at all. “I am.”

  “I’m Felicity Granger.” Hiking her designer bag higher on her shoulder, she stuck her hand through the open window. The cold mist glittered around her, clung, jewel-like, to her pale, upswept hair. “But please, call me Phil. I’m an associate of Cornelia Hunt. You’ve heard of Cornelia, haven’t you?”

  Rory shook the woman’s hand, watched her retract it. “I’ve heard of her,” she admitted, wond
ering what this woman—or the other—could possibly want with her. Nearly everyone in Seattle had heard of Mrs. Hunt, the former Cornelia Fairchild. She’d been the childhood sweetheart of computer genius Harry Hunt, the billionaire founder of software giant HuntCom. Rory recalled hearing of their marriage last summer, even though she’d been struggling within her fractured little world at the time. Media interest in their six-decade relationship had been huge.

  “May I help you with something?”

  “Oh, I’m here to help you,” the woman insisted. “Mr. Hunt heard of your situation—”

  Harry Hunt had heard of her? “My situation?”

  “About your job loss. And how that affects your ability to purchase another home.”

  “How does he know that?”

  “Through your real estate agent. Mr. Hunt knows the owner of the agency she works for,” she explained. “Harry bought a building through him last month for his wife so she’d have a headquarters for her new venture. When he learned why you couldn’t move forward with the purchase of the house you’d found, he remembered Mrs. Hunt’s project and thought you’d be a perfect referral. So we checked you out.” Her smile brightened. “And you are.

  “Anyway,” she continued, anxious to get to her point. “Cornelia knows of a property for sale that you might want to purchase. She’s aware of your current unemployment,” she hurried to assure her, “but she said you’re not to worry about that little detail right now. Just look at the place. If you’re interested, suitable arrangements can be made for you and for the seller.

  “It’s not exactly what you told your agent you want,” she cautioned, reaching into a pocket of her coat. “But it could be perfect for you and your little boy. You really do need to keep an open mind when you see it, though,” she warned. “Don’t judge it as is. Look for the possibilities.

  “You’ll be met at the address on the back.” She held out a white, pearlescent business card. “The owner’s representative will be there at ten tomorrow morning. A man by the name of Erik Sullivan. He’s quite knowledgeable about the property, so feel free to ask him anything that will help you decide whether you want the place or not. You should keep an open mind about him, too.

  “I have to run now. Double-parked,” she said, explaining her rush but not the warning. “If you like what you see, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Rory took the pretty little card. Neatly hand-printed on the back was an address outside Port Orchard, a short ferry ride across the sound from Seattle.

  With questions piling up like leaves in the fall, she glanced back up.

  The woman was gone.

  Seeing no sign of her in the Pacific Northwest mist that was closer to fog than rain, she looked back to the shimmery little card.

  The past fourteen months had left her without faith in much of anything anymore. The sudden, devastating loss of her husband to an uninsured drunk driver who’d run a red light. The whispered and crushing comments about their marriage that she’d overheard at his funeral. The exodus from her life of people she’d once thought of as family and friends. Each event had been shattering in its own right. Together, they’d made her afraid to trust much of anything. Or anyone.

  And that had been before she’d lost the job Harvey Bleaker had said was hers for as long as she needed it.

  The lovely woman with the bookish glasses had appeared out of nowhere. As if by magic, she’d disappeared into the mist the same way, like some sort of a fairy godmother dressed in faux fur and carrying Coach.

  Dead certain her sleepless nights had just caught up with her, Rory dropped the card into the open compartment on the console. Whatever had just happened had to be either too good to be true or came with a spiderweb of strings attached to it.

  Probably, undoubtedly, both.

  Still, she, Tyler and the for-rent section of the newspaper were going apartment hunting in the morning. Having just picked up a check for the small down payment she’d put on the house she hadn’t been able to buy, less fees, she had enough for three or four months’ rent and expenses. In the meantime, feeling a desperate need for either magic or a miracle, she figured she had nothing to lose by checking out the address on that card.

  She just hoped that this Erik Sullivan would be as accepting of her circumstances as Mrs. Cornelia Hunt seemed to be.

  Chapter One

  “Are we lost, Mom?”

  “No, honey. We’re not lost.” Parked on the dirt shoulder of a narrow rural road, Rory frowned at the building a few dozen yards away. “I’m just not sure this is the right address.”

  “If we can’t find it, can we go to the Christmas place?”

  “We’ll see, sweetie. We’re looking for a new place to live right now.”

  “I don’t want a new one.”

  “I know you don’t,” she murmured. Freckles dotted Tyler’s nose. His sandy hair, neatly combed when they’d left the house, fell over his forehead, victim of the breeze that had blown in when she’d lowered his window to get a better look at the address on the roadside mailbox.

  Nudging wisps back from his forehead, she smiled. “But we need one. And I need you to help me pick it out. It’s our adventure, remember?”

  “Then can we go to the Christmas place?”

  They had seen a banner for a holiday festival in nearby Port Orchard when they’d driven off the ferry. Tyler had been asking about it ever since.

  Everything she’d read last night on the internet made the area around the shoreline community a few miles around the bend sound nearly idyllic. The part of her that didn’t want to get her hopes up knew that could simply have been good marketing by its chamber of commerce. The part that desperately needed this not to be a wild-goose chase focused on getting them moving.

  “Not today, I’m afraid.” She hated to say no, but housing had to be their first priority. “We don’t have time.”

  It was nine fifty-five. They were to meet the seller’s representative at ten o’clock.

  Reminding Tyler of that, and agreeing that, yes, they were still “exploring,” she pulled his hood over his head and glanced to the structure surrounded by a few winter-bare trees, dead grass and a wet patch of gravel that, apparently, served as a parking lot.

  The address on the mailbox matched the one on the card. The structure, however, bore no resemblance at all to a residence. The two-story flat-roofed rectangle of a building faced a partial view of a little marina two city blocks away and backed up to a forest of pines.

  A long, narrow sign above the porch read Harbor Market & Sporting Goods. Signs by the screened door read Fresh Espresso and Worms and Closed Until Spring.

  Mailboxes farther up the road indicated homes tucked back in the trees. The only vehicle to be seen, however, was hers. With no sign of life in either direction, she was about to pull out her cell phone to check the address with Phil Granger when she remembered what the woman had said.

  She’d warned her to keep an open mind when she saw the place. To look for possibilities.

  The potential goose chase was also, apparently, a scavenger hunt.

  A narrow driveway curved around the back of the building and disappeared down a slight hill. Thinking there might be a house or cottage beyond the gate blocking it, she grabbed the shoulder bag that held everything from animal crackers to a Zen meditation manual and gamely told her little boy they were going to look around while they waited for the person they were to meet to show up.

  The damp breeze whipped around them, scattering leaves in their path as they left the car. With a glance toward the threatening sky, she was about to reconsider her plan when the relative quiet gave way to a squeak and the hard slam of a door.

  Tyler froze.

  Across twenty feet of gravel, she watched six feet two inches of broad-shouldered, purely rugged masculinity in a fisherm
an’s sweater and worn jeans cross the store’s porch and jog down its three steps.

  “Sorry about that.” His apology came quickly, his voice as deep as the undercurrents in the distant water. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I keep forgetting to fix the spring.”

  The breeze blew a little harder, rearranging the otherwise neat cut of his slightly overlong dark hair. He didn’t seem to notice the wind. Or the cold bite that came with it. All lean, athletic muscle, he strode toward them, his glance shifting between her and the child who’d smashed himself against her leg.

  That glance turned questioning as he stopped six feet from where she’d rooted herself in the driveway.

  “Are you Mrs. Linfield?”

  Surprise colored the deep tones of his voice. Or maybe what she heard was disbelief. His pewter-gray eyes ran from the wedge of auburn hair skimming her shoulders, over the camel peacoat covering her black turtleneck and jeans and up from the toes of her low-heeled boots. His perusal was quick, little more than an impassive flick of his glance. Yet she had the unnerving feeling he’d imagined her every curve in the brief moments before she realized he was waiting for her to speak.

  “I didn’t think anyone was here.” The admission came in a rush. “I didn’t see a car, so we were just going to look around—”

  “I flew over. Floatplane,” he explained, hitching his head in the direction of the water. “It’s down at the marina.

  “I’m Erik Sullivan.” Stepping closer, he extended his hand. His rugged features held strength, a hint of fearlessness. Or maybe it was boldness. Despite its lingering shadow, the square line of his jaw appeared recently shaved. He looked hard and handsome and when he smiled, faint though the expression was, he radiated a positively lethal combination of quiet command and casual ease. “I’m handling the sale of this property for my grandparents.”