Keeping Christmas. Marisa CarrollЧитать онлайн книгу.
A reason to celebrate
When Katie “Smith” and her baby boy, Kyle, appear at the Owens family home one night during a snowstorm just weeks before Christmas, it seems a cruel twist of fate. Katie looks exactly like Jacob Owens’s dead wife—and Kyle could be his son!
At first Jacob wants nothing to do with the mysterious woman. But before long, Katie accomplishes what no one had thought possible—she breaks through Jacob’s grief, giving him back his joy for life.
But how long will she stay? Katie is obviously running away from someone, though she won’t say who. Whatever happens, Jacob vows to keep her and Kyle safe with him—at least until Christmas.
“Tell me who you are, Katie.”
The request was compelling. She shook her head, fighting back tears.
“You can trust me,” Jacob said gruffly. “Let me help.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’ve put my son in jeopardy by staying as long as I have. I’ve tricked myself into thinking we were safe these past weeks. It was a mistake. I can’t make it worse by telling you everything about us. If I do let you know who I am—let you help—I won’t be able to leave.”
“You don’t have to leave. Not now. Not ever.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “We’ll fight this thing together.”
“No.” She lifted her fingers to his lips to stop his words. “Kyle and I have to leave. Soon.”
“Then all I can ask is this. Stay with us...until Christmas.”
“I will,” she said against her better judgment, because she wanted so desperately to do as he asked. “If I can.”
Keeping Christmas
Marisa Carroll
MARISA CARROLL
is the pen name of sisters Carol Wagner and Marian Franz. The team has been writing bestselling books for almost twenty-five years. During that time they have published more than forty titles, many for the Harlequin Superromance line. They are the recipients of several industry awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews and a RITA® Award nomination from Romance Writers of America, and their books have been featured on the USA TODAY, Waldenbooks and B. Dalton bestseller lists. The sisters live near each other in northwestern Ohio, surrounded by children, grandchildren, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and old and dear friends.
For our aunts whose names we borrowed without their permission
Almeda
Hazel
Janet
Faye
Lois
And in memory of Marlene and Darlene
And what the heck, for our uncles, too
John August
Robert
Dale
Earl
Contents
Prologue
“I’m scared,” Katie Moran told her sister-in-law as the older woman cuddled Katie’s fifteen-month-old son, Kyle, in her arms. “I’m scared to death and I’m getting out of here.”
“Here” was her father-in-law, Andrew Moran’s, palatial beachfront home on Key Biscayne, Florida.
“You’re bein’ melodramatic,” Patrice said in her soft Georgia drawl.
“I’m not,” Katie insisted, shaking her expensively highlighted blond head. “I’m scared.” Instinctively she lowered her voice on the words.
Katie folded her slender arms across her breasts and shivered as cold air from cleverly hidden air-conditioning vents swirled around her bare feet. Except for her lack of footwear she was dressed to go out, in cotton slacks and a matching cotton shell. It wasn’t that the room was uncomfortably cold. But the air was dry and filtered, and the windows sealed, so that they could never be opened to the sea breeze. Katie felt for a moment as if she couldn’t breathe.
She’d never liked the enormous art-nouveau-era villa; never felt at home there during six years of marriage to Andrew’s youngest son. But at least having Michael by her side had made it tolerable. Now he was gone and the huge old house seemed like a prison.
Beyond the plate-glass window behind which she stood, the ruffled blue surface of Biscayne Bay was dotted with expensive pleasure boats of all shapes and sizes. Michael had loved to sail. She had learned to love the sport, too. Someday, he’d told her, when their children were grown and he’d retired from the family investment business, they would sail around the world. Just the two of them, alone with the sea. That conversation had taken place just before Kyle’s birth. Four months later, unexpectedly, tragically, Michael was dead of viral pneumonia. He hadn’t been quite thirty years old.
Below her, on the private beach fronting the estate, she could see Andrew Moran sitting bolt upright in a wooden deck chair, as he did every fine afternoon, bald head shining, a glass of whiskey and soda in his hand, basking in the warm, late-November sun. Katie wondered what he’d do if he learned of this conversation. The thought sent another cold shiver down her spine.
“I admit Andrew is a formidable adversary when he’s crossed,” Patrice went on, generations of Southern good breeding evident in her carefully chosen words. Katie could see her plump, plain-featured reflection very faintly in the glass. Patrice bent her neck to kiss the top of Kyle’s silky head, then raised her gaze to stare at Katie across the room. “But in my opinion, you’re blowin’ things all out of proportion.”
Katie spun around ready to do battle. “You think that car jumping the curb Wednesday morning was an accident?” She held her breath. Surely she hadn’t misjudged her sister-in-law’s loyalty? Patrice was the only friend