Home for the Holidays Read online

  Praise for

  Leanne Banks

  “When life gets tough, read a book by Leanne Banks.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich

  “A master of love and laughter, Ms. Banks delights both heart and soul.”

  —Romantic Times

  Praise for

  Dixie Browning

  “There is no one writing romance today who touches the heart and tickles the ribs like Dixie Browning. The people in her books are as warm and as real as a sunbeam and just as lovely.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts

  “Each of Dixie’s books is a keeper guaranteed to warm the heart and delight the senses.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

  Praise for

  Kathie DeNosky

  “Kathie DeNosky pens a wonderful story with great character development and an engaging premise.”

  —Romantic Times on The Rough & Ready Rancher

  “Kathie DeNosky will delight readers this month with a heart-warming love story with fabulous characters, a powerful premise and a tangible conflict.”

  —Romantic Times on His Baby Surprise

  LEANNE BANKS,

  a USA TODAY bestselling author of romance and 2002 winner of the prestigious Booksellers’ Best Award, lives in her native Virginia with her husband, son and daughter. Recognized for both her sensual and humorous writing, having received two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times, Leanne likes creating a story with a few grins, a generous kick of sensuality and characters that hang around after the book is finished. Leanne believes romance readers are the best readers in the world because they understand that love is the greatest miracle of all. Contact Leanne online at [email protected] or write to her at P.O. Box 1442, Midlothian, VA 23113. A SASE for a reply would be greatly appreciated.

  DIXIE BROWNING

  Author of more than one hundred works under three pen names, both historical and contemporary, Browning draws from her experience as an award-winning painter, a country musician, president of a prestigious retail business and a variety of interests ranging from archaeology to politics. A wife, mother and grandmother, she’s the daughter of a former big-league baseball player and the granddaughter of a sea captain. Both her grandfather and great-grandfather were keepers of the world-famous Hatteras Lighthouse. Contact Dixie at www.dixiebrowning.com, or at P.O. Box 1389, Buxton, NC 27920.

  KATHIE DENOSKY

  lives in her native southern Illinois with her husband and one very spoiled Jack Russell terrier. Writing highly sensual stories with a generous amount of humor, Kathie has had books appear on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and received the Write Touch Readers’ Award and National Readers’ Choice Award. She enjoys going to rodeos, traveling to research settings for her books and listening to country music. Readers may contact Kathie at: P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, Illinois 62948-5264 or e-mail her at [email protected]

  Home for the Holidays

  Leanne Banks

  Dixie Browning

  Kathie DeNosky

  Contents

  FAITH’S SUGAR PLUM DADDY

  Leanne Banks

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  CHRISTMAS EVE REUNION

  Dixie Browning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  NEW YEAR’S BABY

  Kathie DeNosky

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  FAITH’S SUGAR PLUM DADDY

  Leanne Banks

  This story is dedicated to Tony and Alisa.

  Thank you for all the dinners, chocolate and support during my deadline madness!

  Chapter 1

  Dear Santa,

  How is everything at the North Pole? We’re being good down here in Texas. My brother Jason and I would trade all our toys if you could get our mommy a restaurant where she could cook. She’s the bestest cook in the world. She can cook everything. She even makes broccoli taste good. She’s the nicest mommy in the world and she takes very good care of me and my brother all by herself. She took care of my great-aunt Beth while she was sick too, but then my great-aunt had to go to Heaven. I know you’re busy, but my brother Jason wanted me to ask if you could get us a daddy for Christmas, too.

  Sincerely,

  Becky Donner

  P.S. If you find a daddy, please tell him my mommy smells like cookies!

  So earnest. So sweet. So out of place among the neat stacks of statistical and accounting reports, business development and strategy plans, and laptop computer on his gleaming mahogany desk. Gabriel Raines glanced up from the newspaper article that had been placed on his desk and waited expectantly for an explanation from his public affairs director, Rob Crandall.

  Rob cleared his throat. “One of the objectives we developed after the Enron mess was to take a more proactive approach to improving our company’s image in the communities.”

  “You think playing Santa Claus to some kid in Mission Creek is going to help our image,” Gabe said doubtfully.

  “It can’t hurt. Plus this article made both the Dallas and Houston newspapers. If we move on it, they’ll want to do a follow-up.”

  “Okay. Write a check and accounting will take care of it,” Gabe said, lifting the article to return it to Rob.

  Shaking his head, Rob cleared his throat again, betraying a tinge of nervousness. “Actually, sir, charitable acts performed by the president of the company tend to have a greater impact.”

  Gabe paused for a long moment and swallowed a sigh. He knew he made Rob nervous. He made a lot of people nervous. He didn’t do it on purpose. A friend had once told him that his size and deliberate manner were intimidating enough without adding the power and wealth he’d gained from making his mark in the oil business.

  “So what you’re saying is that you want me to play Santa Claus to one of these kids?” he said, feeling neither a spurt of interest nor scorn. The holidays meant nothing to him these days. Ever since he’d lost his wife and daughter… Like a cold draft of air in winter, a dull pain slid underneath the steel door of his defenses. He closed his mind to memories and focused on the moment. One moment at a time was the only way to survive.

  “Yes, sir,” Rob said hopefully. “If you let me know when you’d like to go down, I’ll make sure all arrangements are made for your lodging and with the press.”

  Gabe checked his calendar. “I’ll head down on the tenth and return right after Christmas.”

  Rob’s eyes widened in surprise. “But that’s two weeks.”

  Gabe nodded. “I’ve been planning to expand my restaurant business in that area. I’ll just use the time to kill two birds with one stone.” After all, Christmas was just another day to him, he thought, glancing at the letter to Santa. He couldn’t, however, hold back a half grin at the postscript. So Becky Donner’s mom smelled like cookies.

  On December 10, Gabe walked into the Mission Creek Café. Shaking the rain off his Stetson, he took a quick look around and idly noticed the garland and lights in the windows and a Christmas tree in the corner. He spotted the Donners immediately. It didn’t take a supersleuth to conclude that the two kids doing schoolwork and eating cookies in the booth against the far wall were Becky and Jason, and the slim woman wearing
an apron and cleaning up Jason’s spilled milk was Faith. A few other patrons sipped coffee or ate pie within the cozy confines of the café, but the establishment wasn’t busy during the late afternoon between lunch and dinnertime.

  Good, he thought. He’d planned it this way. As soon as Faith finished the milk cleanup, he felt three pairs of curious brown eyes trained on him.

  “Who’s he?” Becky asked in a stage whisper.

  Faith laughed lightly and tapped her daughter’s nose with her finger. “A customer, Curious George. You do your homework while I take care of him.”

  Gabe watched Faith Donner walk toward him and took in her purposeful, feminine stride. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a French braid and as she moved closer, he noticed she didn’t wear a smidge of makeup on her fine-boned face. Even though the profile his PR manager had given him had reported her as a twenty-eight-year-old single mother, to Gabe, she looked all of eighteen, certainly not old enough to bear the responsibility of two active children on her own.

  He noted the slight stubborn tilt of her chin and the glint of determined fire in her brown eyes and reconsidered. She might look like a fragile flower, but Gabe had read a full dossier on Faith Donner and her children and she’d survived more than a few rough knocks from life.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, pulling out a pad. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu on the table or would you like me to give you a couple minutes?”

  He shrugged, opening the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “How hungry are you?”

  There was a slight hint of huskiness to her voice. He liked it. “Very. I’ve been traveling.”

  “Okay,” she said pointing to the inside page that listed daily specials. “We have one serving of the chicken potpie left.”

  “It must have my name on it,” he said.

  She smiled, revealing a dimple underneath her left cheek. “It must. You can choose a side and for dessert, I recommend the apple cobbler.”

  “Or cookies?” he mused, inhaling the scent of her. Damn if her daughter hadn’t been right. The woman smelled like sugar cookies.

  “Chocolate chip or sugar?” she asked.

  “One of each. I’ll take a side of the baked apples.”

  She nodded. “Done. Coffee to drink?”

  “Black,” he said, and glanced around the café in search of another employee. “You’re the only one here?”

  “Our regular waitress had an emergency, so I’ll do everything for the next forty-five minutes. Then I’ll get some help.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Lot to juggle.”

  She met his gaze and he saw the determination rise again. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  She turned away and his gaze dipped to the sway of her tight little rear end. He felt an unfamiliar surge of curiosity that caught him off guard. He knew all the facts about Faith Donner, and while she wasn’t a hardship to look at, she certainly didn’t do anything to deliberately attract male attention. With her husky voice and dimple, she was a cute little package of feminine fire.

  If it were left to him, he’d like to see a pair of earrings swinging from her delicate ears and a dress that would tell the tale on what he suspected was a nice pair of legs. Not that it really mattered to him, he told himself, surprised at the direction of his thoughts. He shook his head. He’d been working too many hours if a little waitress from Mission Creek could turn his head.

  Faith swung around the corner armed with a coffeepot. She turned his cup over and filled it with the steaming brown liquid. “I’ll have your chicken potpie in just a—” She whipped her head in the direction of her children. “Jason Donner, you sit yourself down before you fall sweetie,” she said with a mix of stern rebuke and affection.

  Gabe caught sight of Jason scrambling from his standing position on the bench in the booth.

  “I told you to sit down,” Becky said to him.

  Jason made a face at her. “I wanted to see those guys on skateboards.”

  Faith groaned. “He needs a skateboard like he needs a hole in his head,” she muttered. “Dear Santa, please don’t bring my son a skateboard.”

  “Too late,” Gabe said behind a chuckle as he lifted his cup to his mouth.

  Faith looked at him in enquiry. “Pardon?”

  He swallowed. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  She blinked. “You’re welcome. Excuse me a moment,” she said, and turned toward her children.

  Hearing the stern tone in Faith’s voice, Gabe surreptitiously watched Jason hang his head. She followed up the chastisement with a kiss on his forehead. Gabe saw the little boy throw his arms around Faith’s neck and felt a strange tightening sensation in his throat. Odd, he thought, frowning at the response and turning away. Before he could ruminate for more than a couple of minutes, Faith reappeared with a piping hot stoneware crock of potpie and a side of baked apples. He eyed the flaky crust with approval. “Looks good.”

  “Tastes even better,” she promised.

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

  She wiped her hands down the sides of her white apron and looked at him with just a glimmer of curiosity shining through the heavy fringe of her eyelashes. “You can see for yourself.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.

  He dipped his spoon into the potpie, lifted a bite of chunky chicken and vegetables to his mouth, and nearly singed his tongue. He drew in a quick hiss of cooling air.

  “Oh, forgot to tell you. Don’t burn your tongue.”

  He tossed her a dark look, but couldn’t help admiring the gentle kick of her dry humor. Spirit. She might be down, but she wasn’t out. When the bite in his mouth cooled, he tasted a hearty, delicious combination of flavors. An idea slid through his mind.

  “On second thought, I think I want to try the prime rib,” he said. Beef was the true test.

  She stared at him in consternation. “You want to send back my chicken potpie?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m just hungrier than I thought I was. I’ll take the vegetable medley as a side and while you’re at it, I’d like to try the apple cobbler and the chocolate pie.”

  She looked at him as if she were reassessing his height and weight.

  “Six foot two and one hundred eighty-five pounds,” he said, answering her unvoiced question.

  Her cheeks flooded with color and she made a strangled little coughing sound. “Would you like your prime rib cooked rare?” she asked, and acknowledged his nod. “Okay, I’ll bring it out in a little bit. You do understand that I’ll have to charge you for another entrée and the two extra desserts?”

  “I can cover it,” he said.

  Peeking through the serving window into the dining area, Faith Donner studied the male customer who seemed to have an appetite that would rival a whale’s. She watched him take a bite and savor the food as if he were filling out a score card on each dish. If he weren’t dressed so well, she might think he was a health inspector. If she worked in a different kind of restaurant, then he might be a food critic. She glanced around the cozy, but humble café and chuckled at the grandiose thought. No chance.

  She hoped he didn’t try to skip the bill. He might have a sense of humor, but he also had a take-charge air that reminded her of her late Uncle Lloyd, who had rubbed her the wrong way with his my-way-or-the-highway attitude. This man, however, held a totally different appeal than Uncle Lloyd. This man was hot. He oozed strength and masculinity.

  Faith shook off the observation. He wouldn’t look twice at her, and she shouldn’t care, she told herself when she felt a little twinge.

  She shot a quick glance over at Jason and Becky and breathed a sigh of relief. All was well for the moment. Becky was reading and Jason was coloring a Christmas tree. Jason, bless his soul, was going to be the death of her. He was more curious than careful. If he were a cat, then he would have already used up more than nine lives, and it was all Faith could do to keep him from using up any more.

&n
bsp; Her heart twisted at the bowed heads of her two children. She’d been disillusioned and abandoned by her ex-husband, but the love and life in Becky and Jason’s eyes gave her a reason to smile every day. A reason to swallow her pride and accept charity. Faith gnawed on her lip. She still had mixed feelings about accepting gifts from the oil corporation, because it made her feel inadequate as a provider, but she couldn’t deny her children.

  Picking up the pot of hot coffee, she made the rounds to the few customers in the café. Most had left. Taking in the sight of the broad shoulders of her last customer, she made her way to his table and refilled his cup.

  “May I get something else for you, sir?” she asked, wondering what else she could dig out of the industrial-sized refrigerator in the kitchen.

  He shook his head and pressed his large hand to his flat stomach. She wondered how he managed to maintain such an impressive physique with his appetite. She would bet he looked great shirtless. Not that she should be thinking such things.

  “I couldn’t eat another bite. It was all delicious,” he said.

  She felt a rush of pleasure at the honest appreciation she saw in his blue gaze. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “It was so delicious I’d like to offer you a job as head chef for the new restaurant I’m opening here in town. The Quartermaster. Have you heard of the chain?”

  Surprise raced through her. “Of course. I’ve never eaten at one, but I’ve read about them in Texas Monthly. They’re supposed to be fabulous. You’re opening one here in Mission Creek?”

  He nodded and named a jaw-dropping starting salary. “Would you be interested in the job?”

  Her brain froze as she calculated the difference that kind of money would make for her children. “I—I—I don’t know what to say.”

  He cracked a half smile that transformed his rough-hewn features in a wholly distracting way. “Yes would be good.”