Susan Meier: Single Dad's Christmas Miracle

He needs a helping hand…

Having recently lost his wife, Clark Beaumont is trying to make it through the holidays for the sake of his kids. But with his son failing at school and his little girl talking only in whispers, he needs nothing short of a miracle.…

…when one arrives on his doorstep!

Althea Johnson is only meant to tutor Clark’s son. But with her help the Beaumont family begins to come alive again, and against the odds Althea hopes that when Christmas morning arrives there will be four stockings hanging over the fireplace.…

Dear Reader,

Clark Beaumont has a twelve-year-old son, Jack, who is failing his classes, and a four-year-old daughter, Teagan, who talks only in whispers. The last thing he needs is to fall in love.… Or is it?

Althea Johnson is a sweet, smart teacher who doesn’t merely see Jack’s problems and create a plan to help him push through his difficult semester; she also brings Teagan out of her shell.

But Althea comes with secrets. And Clark has already had more than his fair share of secrets and lies.

This is the story of a hero and heroine forced to come to terms with their pasts in order to have a future. Though some parts about the abuse in Althea’s past were difficult to write, I think you’ll enjoy their journey to a real, forever love that never disappoints. Especially since Clark and Althea are a hero and heroine who deserve real love!

Susan Meier

Single Dad’s Christmas Miracle

Susan Meier

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN MEIERspent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of reallife experience watching romance blossom in unexpected ways. She lives in western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, three children, and two overfed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at: www.susanmeier.com.

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For Jack and Helaina

(the inspiration for Jack and Teagan)

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

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“TURN RIGHT.”

The soothing voice of the GPS rolled into Althea Johnson’s car, and she maneuvered her vehicle as directed, onto the snow-covered Main Street of Worthington, Pennsylvania. The week after Thanksgiving, the little town sparkled with the spirit of Christmas. Tinsel connected to telephone poles looped above the street. Huge evergreen wreaths decorated with shiny multicolored ornaments covered the top half of shop doors. Silver bells glistened in the sun that managed to peek through the falling snow.

But as quickly as she entered the tiny town, she exited. The GPS stayed silent so she continued up the winding road and climbed a tree-covered mountain.

Up and up she went for a good ten minutes, causing her palms to sweat as her car just barely chugged through the wet snow. Positive she’d missed an exit, she was about to look for a place to turn around when the GPS sang out, “In thirty feet, turn left.”

With a sigh of relief, she braked slowly, carefully. She’d learned to drive in Maryland winters, but she’d spent the past twelve years in sunny Southern California. Her car didn’t have snow tires and her driving skills were a bit rusty.

“Turn left.”

Braking again, she guided her little red car down a short lane lined with snow-coated pine trees. A huge Victorian house came into view. A pewter-colored SUV had been parked haphazardly in the driveway. A man reached in and pulled grocery bags out of the open hatch. Snow fell on him like cotton balls from heaven, covering his shoulders and back, and icing the evergreens that ringed his property. A big black dog bounced around him. A little girl clung to the hem of his jacket.

Frazzled.

That’s the word that came to Althea’s mind. She stopped her car, pushed open the door and slid out. The big dog bounded over with a “Woof.” In one quick movement, he jumped on his hind legs, his paws landed on her shoulders and she fell backward into the snow.

Cold seeped through the back of her lightweight jeans and Southern-California hoodie. Huge white flakes billowed down on her.

Trapped by the dog—who had his paws on her chest as if he were holding her down until the police could get there—she only saw boots rapidly approaching.

“Crazy!”

The man gave the dog a nudge. The beast bounced off with another “Woof!”

He extended his hand. “Let me help you up.”

She gaped at him. His face was perfect with a straight nose, angled cheekbones and the tint of five o’clock shadow, even though it was only noon. “Did you just call me crazy?”

“The dog’s name is Crazy. Her given name is Crazy Dog. If she had a birth certificate that’s what would be on it.”

She laughed.

She came up so fast that she stopped inches away from his nose. This close, she could see his whiskey-brown eyes that perfectly matched his light brown hair.

“You named your dog Crazy Dog?”

He stepped back, putting some space between them. “After the way she knocked you down, I would think you wouldn’t be surprised.”

She laughed again. Cold air filled her lungs. She slapped her hands together to remove the snow.

“Let me get your back.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he turned her around and brushed the snow off her back and then did a quick sweep over her bottom.

“If this stuff melts on your clothes you’ll be wet all afternoon.”

Her nerve endings tingled. Her breath stuttered in and out. The intimacy of it should have made her indignant. Instead, it felt surprisingly...normal. This was a man who saw a problem and fixed it. For him, his brushing her butt was nothing more serious than that. For her...well, she hadn’t had a man touch her in years. So even that simple brush zinged through her and sent the wrong kind of warmth careening through her bloodstream.

She pivoted to face him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to brush anymore.”

“That big, stupid dog should know her place.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her hoodie and jeans. “I’m hoping you have a coat in the car.”

“I’m from Southern California.” Funny how easy that came out of her mouth when really she was “from” right down the road. Newland, Maryland, was only fifty or so miles away from the green hills of Pennsylvania, where Clark Beaumont lived.

“California?” He stepped back. “Are you Althea Johnson?”

“In the snow-covered flesh.” She extended her hand to shake his. “I take it you’re Clark Beaumont.”

He caught her hand, gave one quick pump and pulled back. “I thought you weren’t coming until Friday?”