C.J. Carmichael - Together by Christmas

He’d always cared, but she didn’t know that. These past few weeks, that old passion of his had been rejuvenated. He’d dared to dream that she might return some of his feelings. She seemed to enjoy his company. And he didn’t think he’d imagined the sexual energy between them all evening. Not judging by the conspiratorial wink he’d gotten from a friend as he was going out the door.

Perhaps Miranda’s feelings for him just weren’t strong enough yet….

No, that really wasn’t the problem. She was still holding on. To Chad. To the losses of her past. And he had no idea how to make her let go.

“Warren, you’re not upset with me, are you?”

“Absolutely not.” He wasn’t going to push her. That would be the dumbest mistake he could make. “I don’t want you to think I planned for anything to happen between us. Though I won’t deny I hoped it would….”

She hugged him. “You’re a wonderful guy, Warren. I’m going to be very jealous when some lucky woman captures your heart and I’ve lost you forever.”

Dear Reader,

Several years ago, when I wrote A Daughter’s Place, I knew I would one day write more books set in the mostly fictional town of Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. And indeed, when I decided I wanted to tell the story of a woman who just can’t get over the first guy she fell in love with—a guy who married another woman, and is still married to that woman—Chatsworth seemed the perfect setting.

It is the kind of place where it’s hard to keep a secret. Your neighbors always know, and if they don’t, they think they know. You can’t hide your past in a place like Chatsworth. People remember which kid was the brain, the athlete, the loner, which girl was most popular and which high school sweethearts were destined to stay together.

Of course, people grow after high school. They change. And that’s what has happened to the class of 1990. As circumstances conspire to bring five of the original eleven graduating students together, they’ll have an opportunity to examine who they really are…and whom they really love.

Hope you enjoy the story and that you are able to spend your Christmas with the ones you love.

Happy holidays!

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754 - 246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada. Or e-mail me at cj@cjcarmichael.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A while ago I exchanged some touching correspondence

with Dianne, a reader. She and her husband were mourning

the loss of their son in a tragic car accident.

This book is dedicated to the memory of Davin.

His parents want him to know:

“You always were, and still remain, the light of our lives.

Until we meet again…”

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

MIRANDA JAMES PUSHED aside the wicker basket of crusty rolls at the center of the table and replaced it with her high school yearbook, open to the page with photos of her graduating class.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But we really did go to school together. Grades one through twelve. See?” She pointed to Warren’s picture first, then her own.

Catherine Cox, producer at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, peered through dark-framed glasses at the caption beneath the photo. “‘Warren Addison,’” she read, squinting at the small print. “‘Favorite subject: anything to do with books. Nickname: Warty.’”

She shifted her attention to Miranda. “Warty? Warren Addison had warts?”

“No. A pet frog in grade eight.” Miranda tapped her pen against the saltshaker, impatient to move on. But Catherine was scrutinizing the yearbook again, holding it close to the window, where the light was better.

“Trust you to be gorgeous even in high school. Let’s see what they wrote about you….”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Miranda reached for the book, but Catherine shifted it just beyond her grasp.

“‘Miranda James,’” she began, quoting the couplet beneath the photo, “‘Most beautiful and the boys’ favorite pick. If she wasn’t so nice, she’d make us sick.’”

“Give that here!”

Catherine relinquished the book, laughing. The husky sound caught the attention of two men lunching at a nearby table. Their glances flickered over Catherine and settled on Miranda.

“Okay, you went to school with Warren Addison,” Catherine conceded. “But what makes you think he’ll be onside for a video biography? I’ve spoken to the publicist at his publishing house and he’s notoriously uncooperative when it comes to promoting his own work. Everyone but him is talking about Where It Began. He wouldn’t even return Oprah’s call when she asked him to appear on her show.”

“We grew up together, Catherine. I heard him read the first story he ever wrote to the class.”

Well, she probably had, she just couldn’t remember.

“Don’t worry about me not being able to deliver,” she continued. “The challenge will be editing all the material down to a reasonable length.”

Catherine opened her briefcase. “I suppose if anyone can do this, it’s you. Here. I had Accounting cut you a check.”

Thrilled, Miranda accepted the check before Catherine could change her mind. None of her other projects had ever been accepted this easily.

“I’d love to chat longer, but I have another meeting.” Catherine laid a fifty on the table to cover lunch. “Would you mind saving a copy of the bill for me? I need to run, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t stay and enjoy dessert and coffee.”

“Thanks, Catherine.” For everything, she wanted to add. But the svelte producer was already hustling out of the restaurant. The two men at the next table noticed her departure, too. One of them tried to catch Miranda’s eye, but she gazed deliberately down at the yearbook still in her hands.

“Can I get you anything else?” The server was back, whisking away the used wineglasses and salad plates.

“Mmm…” She glanced up from the yearbook. “An espresso, please?”

“Certainly.”

She hadn’t looked at this book for years…probably not since her mother, in one of her house-cleaning frenzies, had boxed it with a collection of other childhood mementos and shipped it to Toronto. She flipped through the glossy pages, finally returning to the photos of the 1990 graduation class.

A sweet ache lodged behind her ribs. She recognized the feeling as nostalgia, but cynically, she had to wonder. Did she yearn for what had been? Or for what never could be?

She focused on the picture of Chad English. With his smooth blond hair, tanned skin and even features he didn’t need his killer smile to stand out from the crowd. Still, he had it. As well as eyes born to flirt. She felt he was watching her from the yearbook page, about to include her in a fabulous secret.

Ah, Chad.

If she’d been the most popular girl in that small-town class of eleven students, he’d definitely been the most popular guy. Was she the only one who had seen them as the perfect couple? It seemed she’d dated just about all the guys in her grade and the one above it at one time or another. Except Chad. And Warren, of course, but he didn’t count, because as far as she knew, he’d never asked any of the girls out.