Rebecca Winters: The Count's Christmas Baby

“But you couldn’t be that Ric. I wasn’t able to wake him. He died in my arms—”

“No, Sami,” he countered in a husky voice. “I’m right here.”

She was so staggered to hear him use her nickname she clutched the crib railing with both hands. A small cry escaped her lips.

“You’re Ric?” She shook her head, causing her hair to swish against her pale cheeks. “I—I can’t believe this is happening. I—”

The room started to swim. The next thing Sami knew, she found herself on the bed, with the man who’d made her pregnant leaning over her. He sat next to her with his hands on either side of her head.

“Stay quiet for a minute. You’ve had another shock.”

He spoke to her in the compassionate voice she remembered—exactly the way he’d done in the avalanche. With her eyes closed she could recall everything, and she was back there with him in spirit.

But the minute her eyelids fluttered open she saw a stranger staring down at her. In her psyche Sami knew he was Ric. But she couldn’t credit that the striking, almost forbidding male who’d swept past her at the police station was the same Ric who’d once given her his passion and the will to live.

Dear Reader,

Born at the foot of the Wasatch mountains, my family has always enjoyed winter sports in our Rockies, which rise ten thousand feet. In my travels to Europe I’ve also enjoyed the winter ski areas in the Alps. Perhaps there’s no place more breathtaking than Austria, where charming villages are tucked in at the base of the mountains, all covered in snow. Innsbruck is one of my favourite places.

When I read an article about an avalanche that swept through a street in one of those Austrian villages, killing five people, I shuddered. We’re familiar with avalanches in our Utah mountains too. The tragedy stayed in my mind and wouldn’t let me go until I’d written a novel about it.

When a man and a woman are trapped in a similar Austrian avalanche, their outcome beats the odds. I hope their story will thrill you.

Enjoy!

Rebecca Winters

REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wild-flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website: www.cleanromances.com

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my darling son John, a wonderful husband and

father, who started skiing at four years of age and can

ski like a champion. His experience

and expertise both in the Utah and Colorado Rockies

have helped me to add authenticity

to the many mountain scenes in my books.

“PAT? It’s me.”

“Where are you?”

“At the Grand Savoia eating lunch in my room. You were right. It’s a lovely place with every amenity. Thanks for arranging everything for me.”

“You’re welcome. How my gorgeous baby nephew holding up?”

“He’s taking another nap right now, thank heaven. That’s giving me time to pick up where I left off last evening.”

“Couldn’t you have phoned me before you went to bed to tell me how things were going? Your text saying you’d arrived in Genoa was hardly informative. I waited all day yesterday expecting to hear more from you.”

“I’m sorry. After I reached the hotel, I began my search. But the telephone directory didn’t have the listing I was looking for. When I realized I wouldn’t find the answer there, I talked to the clerk at the front desk. He hooked me up with one of the chief phone operators who speaks English who was more than happy to help me.”

“Why?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, her suspicious sister made her laugh. “It’s a she , so you don’t need to worry I’m being hit on. When I told her my dilemma, she couldn’t have been nicer and tried to assist me any way she could. But by the time we got off the phone, I was too exhausted to call you.”

“That’s okay. So what’s your plan now?”

“That operator suggested I should call the police station. She gave me the number for the traveler’s assistance department. She said there’ll be someone on duty who speaks English. They’re used to getting calls from foreigners either stranded or in trouble and will help me. I’m going to do that as soon as I hang up from you.”

“And what if you still don’t have success?”

“Then I’ll fly home in the morning as planned and never think about it again.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. To be frank, I hope you’ve come to a dead end. Sometimes it’s better not to know what you don’t know. It could come back to bite you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. You might be walking into something you wish you could have avoided. Not all people are as nice and good as you are, Sami. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“You’re not by any chance having one of your premonitions, are you?”

“No, but I can’t help my misgivings.” Pat sounded convinced Sami had come to Italy on a fool’s errand. Maybe she had.

“Tell you what. If he’s not in Genoa, then I’ll be on the next plane home.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. Forgive me if I don’t wish you luck. Before you go to bed tonight, call me. I don’t care what time it is. Okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Sami hung up, wondering if her sister was right. Maybe she shouldn’t be searching for the grandfather of her baby. If she did find him, he might be so shocked to find out he was a grandfather, it could upset his world and make him ill. Possibly their meeting could turn so ugly, she’d wish she’d never left home.

That’s what worried Pat.

If Sami were being honest, it worried her, too. But as long as she’d come this far, she might as well go all the way. Then maybe she could end this chapter of her life and move on.

She looked at the number she’d written down on her pad and made the phone call. The man who answered switched to English after she said hello. “Yes?”

His peremptory response took her back. “Is this the traveler’s assistance department?”

“Yes—”

“I wonder if you could help me.”

“What is it you want?”

Whoa. “I’m trying to find a man named Alberto Degenoli who’s supposed to be living in Genoa, but he’s not listed in the city phone directory. I’ve come from the United States looking for him. I was hoping y—”

But she stopped talking because the man, whom she’d thought was listening, was suddenly talking to another man in rapid Italian. Soon there was a third voice. Their conversation went on for at least a minute before the first man said, “Please spell the name for me.”

When she did his bidding, more unintelligible Italian followed in the background. Finally, “You come to the station and ask for Chief Coretti.”