Lindsay Longford - A Kiss, A Kid And A Mistletoe Bride

Who wouldn’t want to be Stranded with a Tall, Dark Stranger—especially an embittered ex-cop in need of a good woman’s love? Laura Anthony’s tale of transformation is perfect for the holidays! And speaking of transformations... Hayley Gardner weaves an adorable, uplifting tale of a Grinch-like hero who becomes a Santa Clans daddy when he receives A Baby in His Stocking.

And in the New Year, look for our fabulous new promotion FAMILY MATTERS and Romance’s first-ever six-book continuity Series, LOVING THE BOSS, in which office romance leads six friends down the aisle.

Happy Holidays!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my very own “scullery wenches” who gave of their

time and of themselves on a difficult day:

Suzette Edelen, Patty Copeland, Myrna Topol and

Margaret Watson. You worked like dawgs, you were

sunshine through the clouds and you gave me the

greatest gift of all: yourselves. I don’t have words

eloquent enough to thank you.

LINDSAY LONGFORD,

like most writers, is a reader. She even reads toothpaste labels in desperation! A former high school English teacher with an M.A. in literature, she began writing romances because she wanted to create stories that touched readers’ emotions by transporting them to a world where good things happened to good people and happily-ever-after is possible with a little work.

Her first book, Jake’s Child was nominated for Best New Series Author, Best Silhouette Romance, and received a Special Achievement Award for Best First Series Book from Romantic Times Magazine. It was also a finalist for Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award for Best First Book. Her Silhouette Romance Annie and the Wise Men won the RITA for the best Traditional Romance of 1993.

Dear Reader,

Recently my nineteen-year-old son casually asked, “So, Mom, were you a virgin bride?”

After I picked myself up off the floor and hemmed and hawed a few minutes, I answered him. Then we talked for two hours about love and sex and commitment. And, no, I didn’t blush!

Kids. They’ll surprise you every time.

I was touched by his explanation that for him, sex without emotion wasn’t worth much. Love, he explained with all the wisdom of his accumulated years, is the emotional bond that makes everything meaningful because you care about the other person’s feelings as much as you care about your own. And the one you love puts your feelings first, too. Love is worth waiting for, he said.

When I thought about Gabrielle, the heroine of A Kiss, a Kid and a Mistletoe Bride, I wanted a heroine who was virgin by choice, not because she’d never had the opportunity to date, not because she’d had a terrible childhood. I wanted a smart, caring woman who knew the value of her own heart—and body—especially in today’s risky world. She knows what she wants, what she deserves, and she’s not willing to settle for less. Gabrielle is a woman whose first love is her only and forever love.

First love has an incredible power. It’s the one we never forget. Sometimes we’re lucky and our first love is the right love, the person who completes us and makes us better for knowing him. That man becomes our time capsule, the guy who remembers us when we were young, the person who knows us at our deepest levels, both good and bad, and still loves us. My husband of thirty-three years was my first love, a boy when we fell in love, and a man of courage and kindness. I think he would be proud of his son, who knows the value of love.

First love is special, like no other, and that’s what I wanted for Gabrielle. Like her, may you, too, discover love with all its magic and power, whether it’s your first love. only love or last love.

Chapter One

“You can’t have that Christmas tree. It’s mine.”

The voice came at Gabrielle from between two low-slung branches. A foot stomped down, hard, on her instep. Startled, she tightened her grip on the scratchy bark.

Chin jutting out, a pint-size male face scowled at Gabrielle. “So put it back, you hear?” He wrapped stubby fingers around the branch nearest him and jiggled impatiently.

Needles sputtered onto the soggy ground. “Me and my dad already chose this tree. It’s ours. You gotta find another tree.”

Not wanting to encourage the scamp, Gabrielle bit back her laughter and surveyed the small bundle of determination.

His shirt was carefully tucked into new blue jeans, his face was clean, and his eyes, dark brown and anxious, glared back at her. Someone had made a valiant attempt to slick down the cowlick at the crown of his head. The shoelaces on pricey new athletic shoes were double-tied.

Someone had taken pains to spiffy the boy up. Clearly, he didn’t need her pity, but some thin edge of desperation or loneliness underneath his tenacity called to her.

Maybe it was only Christmas, the lights and smells of hope reaching out to her, making her vulnerable to this belligerent, wide-eyed waif. Or maybe it was her own loneliness and need for a perfect Christmas that shone back at her from this boy’s eyes.

“So, lady, you understand? Right? You gotta find yourself another tree, okay?”

She heard the aggression, heard the rudeness. And in the soft darkness of a Florida night sweet-scented with pine and cinnamon and broken only by the glow of twinkling lights strung high from utility poles, she saw the bone-deep anxiety deepen in those eyes frowning up at her.

It was that anxiety and his dogged insistence that got to her. Bam. Like a hand reaching right into her chest, his need squeezed her heart.

But it was her damnable curiosity, which had been a besetting sin all her life, and maybe amusement that kept her interest as she watched him stiffen his shoulders and glower at her, waiting for her answer.

He was a pistol, he was, this tough little guy who wasn’t about to give an inch just because she was bigger than he was. She took a deep breath. Somewhere in happy song land, elves were shrieking in glee because Santa had asked Rudolph to lead his sleigh. But here in Tibo’s tree lot, as she stared at the pugnacious urchin, Gabrielle felt like the Grinch who was about to steal Christmas.

Wanting to erase that dread from his face, she dropped her hand. The tree wobbled, and she reached out to steady it. The boy’s face scrunched in alarm as she grasped the tree again, and she released it as soon as she saw he was able to keep it upright. “How do you know I didn’t see it first?” she asked, curious to see what he’d say.

“‘Cause I was standing here guarding it. That’s why.” His not-Southern voice dripped with disbelief that she could be so dumb. He let part of the tree’s weight rest against him. “My daddy’s over there.” Keeping his grip on the tree, the child jerked his chin toward the front of the lot “He went to get Tibo. Tibo’s gonna saw off the bottom so the tree can get enough water and last a-a-all Christmas,” he said, finishing on a drawn-out hiss of excitement. “And in case you got any ideas, lady, you better not mess with my tree or with me ’cause my daddy’s real tough. You’ll be sorry,” the boy said, never blinking. “You don’t want to tangle with me and my daddy ’cause we’re a team and we’re tougher ’n a piece of old dried shoe leather.”