Marisa Carroll - Keeping Christmas

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.

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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

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

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 she had in Miami. Almost the only friend she had in the world.

“Yes, I do,” Patrice said firmly. “It’s just terrible an incident like that had to happen so close to the holiday. But—”

“It certainly gave me something to be thankful for when we counted our blessings at the table yesterday,” Katie agreed with a wry twist of her lips. Yesterday, of course, had been Thanksgiving. And today was Friday. The busiest shopping day of the year, a fact Katie hoped to use to her advantage.

“It was an accident,” Patrice repeated, a hint of exasperation seeping into her voice. “You know as well as I do that Dade County has the worst drivers in the world.”

“What about the roof tile last month?” Katie held out her hands for her son, needing the comfort of his warm, sturdy body in her arms. Patrice gave him up reluctantly, with a last little kiss. “The damn thing nearly killed us both.” Her grasp tightened involuntarily around the little boy as her mind skipped back to that terrible moment when the heavy clay tile had come crashing down at her feet. Kyle grunted in protest and squirmed to be free.

“That was an accident, too,” Patrice insisted, although her face had paled at the memory. “Andrew would never harm Kyle. Even if—” She stopped speaking abruptly. Her soft mouth hardened and she folded her plump beringed hands across her stomach. She was wearing one of those shapeless one-size-fits-all sweaters and a long white skirt. She began plucking at the material with nervous fingers.