Kathleen Creighton: One Christmas Knight

The first book in the Sisters Waskowitz series, 1997

Dear Reader,

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays of all sorts and welcome to another fabulous month’s worth of books here at Intimate Moments. And here’s a wonderful holiday gift for you: Captive Star, the newest book from bestselling, award-winning and just plain incredibly talented author Nora Roberts. The next of THE STARS OF MITHRA miniseries, this book has Nora’s signature sizzle and spark, all wrapped up in a compellingly suspenseful plot about a couple on the run-handcuffed together!

We’ve got another miniseries “jewel” for you, too: The Taming of Reid Donovan, the latest in Marilyn Pappano’s SOUTHERN KNIGHTS series. There’s a twist in this one that I think will really catch you by surprise. Susan Sizemore debuts at Silhouette with Stranger by Her Side, a book as hot and steamy as its setting.

And then there are our Christmas books, three tantalizing tales of holiday romance. One Christmas Knight, by Kathleen Creighton, features one of the most memorable casts of characters I’ve ever met Take one gentlemanly Southern trucker, one about-to-deliver single mom, the biggest snowstorm in a generation, put them together and what do you get? How about a book you won’t be able to put down? Rebecca Daniels is back with Yuletide Bride, a secret child story line with a Christmas motif. And finally, welcome brand-new author Rina Naiman, whose A Family for Christmas is a warm and wonderful holiday debut.

Enjoy-and the very happiest of holidays to you and yours.

Leslie J. Wainger

Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

As anyone who has traveled 1-40 through the Texas Panhandle knows, the towns of Adrian and Vega do exist, approximately where I have placed them. So does Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Beyond that, any businesses, structures or individuals described in this story are pure fiction.

During Thanksgiving week in 1992, a blizzard swept down out of the Arctic and deep into Texas, creating driving conditions on Interstate 40 exactly as I have described them. Since that time, it is my understanding that the state of Texas has made tremendous improvements in its preparedness for and methods of handling such emergencies. I am certain that I join countless long-haul truckers in a heartfelt “‘Preciate it.”

“Lord, I hate these California turnarounds.”

I-40-Arizona

Like all well-brought-up Southern boys, Jimmy Joe Starr had been taught to respect both automobiles and good women. So when the lady in the shiny new silver-gray Lexus cut in front of him in the entrance to the Giant truck stop that was clearly marked Trucks Only, he didn’t give her a blast from his airhorn or push his Kenworth’s blue “anteater” nose up on her bumper to teach her a lesson, like some drivers he knew would have done.

But he did shake his head and smile to himself. Oh, yeah. She was a looker, no doubt about that. Just as sleek and fine and pretty a sight as you would ever want to see. And the woman behind the wheel wasn’t bad, either.

Jimmy Joe wasn’t generally all that attracted to redheads, but hers was a real nice color, a rich, glowing auburn. And she had a self-confident, bordering-on-arrogant tilt to her head that appealed to him-which was something else that set him apart from most Southern men of his acquaintance. Having been raised by a mama with pure applejack running through her veins, he was pretty well adjusted to uppity women.

There were a couple of other reasons why Jimmy Joe was inclined to be in an easygoing and forgiving mood. For one thing, that was just pretty much his basic nature. For another, it was the 23rd of December and he’d just dropped off a load of textiles in the garment district of downtown L.A. and picked up a shipment of piece goods destined for an after-holiday sale in Little Rock, after which he was going to be headin’ for Georgia, where a little boy named J.J. was waiting for his daddy to bring Christmas home with him. The Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, Jimmy Joe expected to be rolling into his mama’s front yard just in time for turkey and all the trimmings.

So that was why, when the redhead finally got herself sorted out and the silver Lexus pointed toward the four-wheeler parking lot, he just chuckled to himself and said, “Well, Merry Christmas, darlin’.” She crossed right in front of him with a saucy little flip of her sleek auburn head, and he caught a glimpse of a California license plate.

“Figures,” he muttered.

“You will never in a million years guess where I’m calling you from,” Mirabella Waskowitz said to her friend Charly Phelps, in an ambiguous tone somewhere between chagrin and glee.

“Sounds like a truck stop,” said Charly, much to Mirabella’s disappointment. She loved Charly dearly, but the woman had no respect for a punchline.

“How did you know?”

“I can hear the loudspeaker in the background. They just called some driver for something-or-other up to the fuel desk.”

“Oh,” said Mirabella, who hadn’t been paying attention. In her experience, voices on loudspeakers seldom had anything to say that concerned her.

“You would not believe this place,” she continued after a moment, her enthusiasm undaunted. “For one thing, it’s huge. Acres and acres of trucks. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s kind of awesome, actually. Oh-and they don’t call them truck stops anymore. They’re called ’travel stops’ now-I guess so they’ll appeal more to the Winnebago set. It’s like a mini-mall in here. They have all sorts of stores, a post office, a couple of fast-food places, and a regular restaurant that actually has a salad bar, can you believe that? And get this-the phones are on the tables! At this very moment I am sitting in a comfy booth, one that actually has enough room to accommodate my stomach, with my decaf and a fairly decent turkey club on whole wheat in front of me.”

“What?” said Charly drolly, “no sushi?”

“Mock if you must, but the rest rooms are clean. Oh-and Charly, you’d love the gift shop. What an eclectic mix. They have some lovely signed Acoma Indian pottery sitting right next to key chains made out of honest-to-God rattlesnake heads and license-plate holders that say Honk If You’re Horny. Oh-and my personal favorite-there’s this little bald fat-guy doll, and when you squeeze a bulb he drops his pants and moons you. I think you’re supposed to put him in the back window of your car. I’m thinking of getting one for my Lexus.”

Charly, who was originally from Alabama, laughed and said, “Get used to it. You know the place you’re heading for is the world capital of tacky.”

“I thought that was Venice Beach.”

“No, no, no, darlin’-Florida! Birthplace of the pink plastic lawn flamingo. Need I say more?”

A gasp cut short Mirabella’s chuckle of appreciation. She added, “Ouch…damn,” and as she leaned abruptly back in the booth, her gaze collided with that of a young man, obviously a trucker, who was sitting in a booth identical to hers, just catercorner across the dining room. He was on the phone, too, but not talking, and as he listened, for some reason he seemed to be frowning right at Mirabella.