Tracy Madison - Miracle Under the Mistletoe

She stumbled, sure she was about to get up close and personal with the ice, when Grady’s arms pulled her to him. She heard the swish of his skates, his legs locked, and she halted against his chest midfall.

“Gotcha,” he whispered, his lips near her ear. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall, baby.”

And then, magic happened. She lifted her chin to look into his eyes, and a snowflake landed on her cheek. “It’s snowing! Look, Grady!”

“I can’t,” he said, sounding strangely muffled. “Not when you’re so beautiful my eyes don’t see anything else.”

Dear Reader,

There is a magic to Christmas that makes me believe in miracles. Some of this is based in tradition: baking cookies with my kids that I baked with my mother, decorating the tree with ornaments from Christmases past, and even drinking hot chocolate on Christmas Eve with my children.

These traditions filter through the years, combining the past with the present and laying a framework for the future. What I learned, I am teaching my children, and in turn, they will eventually teach theirs. For me, the simple beauty of this is part of what makes Christmas so magical.

What happens when a couple has endured a horrible tragedy just days before Christmas? How do they find the beauty, the magic, in the Christmas season again? More important, how do they find their way back together when every tradition reminds them of what they have lost? These are the questions that propelled me to write Miracle Under the Mistletoe.

In this book, you’ll meet Grady and Olivia, a husband and wife who are facing their third Christmas without their beloved son. Olivia believes that divorce is the only way to heal, while Grady refuses to give up on the woman he loves. He has a plan to convince her to give their marriage another chance, but even he admits he might need a miracle.

I truly hope you enjoy Grady and Olivia’s story and come to love them and the rest of the Foster clan as much as I do.

Happy reading and happy holidays!

Tracy Madison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

lives in Northwestern Ohio with her husband, four children, one bear-size dog, one loving-but-paranoid pooch and a couple of snobby cats. Her house is often hectic, noisy and filled to the brim with laugh-out-loud moments. Many of these incidents fire up her imagination to create the interesting, realistic and intrinsically funny characters that live in her stories. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com.

To my children: the light of my life.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

This is a mistake.

Olivia Markham-Foster knew it the second she entered the dimly lit Italian restaurant. She’d arrived early to get her bearings, and the maître d’ had led her to a tucked-away-in-a-corner table that offered plenty of seclusion and privacy. She welcomed the privacy, but the lovey-dovey atmosphere was all wrong. Romance and seduction licked through the air, dripping from the chords of the softly played violin music, twisting her stomach into knots.

Oh, yes. This was most definitely a mistake.

Goose bumps coated her skin and she shivered. She choked down a sip of red wine before placing her finger-entwined hands on her lap. Tonight wasn’t about romance or seduction, but Grady… Well, she figured he’d stroll in, take one look at her sitting in this restaurant, at this table, and draw the completely wrong conclusion.

Her husband, for every inch of his tough exterior, was a romantic through and through, with a soft, melty heart that believed in happily ever after just as fervently as he believed in baseball. Add in the fact that when Grady wanted something, he usually got it, and tonight promised to be more than difficult. He so wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

But Olivia had made a decision and, come hell or high water, she was going to proceed as planned—even if she felt ridiculous for bringing him to a swanky restaurant for an intimate dinner. Maybe the location was Samantha’s fault, but it was too late to change that. Now, she had to follow through. Her life depended on it. If she was being honest, Grady’s life depended on it, too. Continuing on this way, stuck in place at opposite ends, was hurting both of them.

Olivia sighed and fiddled with her wineglass. He wouldn’t see it that way, though. He’d toss the same arguments at her that he always did, remind her of what they’d once been—as if she could possibly forget—and try to cloud her decision so she’d back down.

“Not this time,” she whispered. This time, she would stay strong.

Without warning, her throat tightened and telltale tingles sped along her arms. Whatever composure she’d managed to cling to evaporated in a rush of recognition. He was here. She didn’t need to look up to know that. Her body sensed Grady. Hell, her soul sensed him. It had been that way from the very beginning. She looked up anyway.

And that was another mistake.

She blinked, tried to force herself to look beyond him, but that proved impossible. Grady Foster didn’t simply walk into a room. His long-legged gait held equal amounts of danger and grace—like a panther, wild and untamed. Blacker-than-coal hair framed a sculpted, almost chiseled face, ending just above the hard angle of his jaw, pulling attention to the high-planed lines of his cheeks.

His gaze met hers. The distance between them didn’t mask the glitter of recognition, anticipation, in his cinnamon-speckled eyes. Her heart rippled like a caged butterfly, its wings beating mercilessly against her breastbone, begging for release—for freedom. Again, the image of a panther, catching sight of its prey and moving in for the kill, winged into her mind. And she was Grady’s prey.

Okay, not fair. He didn’t want to cause her harm. Just the opposite, actually. He wanted to pull her into his arms and give her the world. He wanted them to reclaim the life they’d lost, but that—like so many other things—was impossible.

He approached in ground-swallowing steps, every part of him focused on her. She stole another quick sip of wine before pulling in a breath, before relaxing her muscles and giving him the cool, practiced smile she’d perfected over the past three years. If she kept her emotions hidden and her voice calm and sure, she’d get through this. Somehow.

Just as she had everything else.

He slung his long, sinewy frame into the chair across from her and nodded. He tugged at his tie, loosening it ever so slightly. If she wasn’t fighting so hard to remain in control, she might feel ashamed for bringing him to a place that required a suit. Grady hated wearing them. A pity, really. Very few men looked quite as sexy as her husband did in a well-fitted suit.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she said in a soft, clear voice. Her hope was to take control of the conversation, of this meeting, before they lapsed into the murky footsteps of their past. She also wanted to hide how much his presence shook her. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Disbelief creased his forehead with lines. “You’re my wife, Olly. Why would you think I’d refuse to see you? I’ve been waiting for this…waiting for you to reach out…for a long time.”

“But I’m not—” She coughed to clear her throat. He was right. Regardless of how often she’d turned away from his attempts at reconciliation, she knew he’d show. He hadn’t given up hope. But she had, so she stuck with the lie. “I wasn’t sure,” she repeated.