Debbie Macomber: Call Me Mrs. Miracle

The second book in the Mrs. Miracle series, 2010

Christmas 2010

Dear Friends,

After the success of Mrs. Miracle, the Hallmark movie released last Christmas, I was asked to write a sequel. Naturally everyone wanted the story to be the same…only different. No pressure, right? Then I thought about one of my all-time favorite Christmas movies- Miracle on 34th Street. Hmm…can’t you just imagine my Mrs. Miracle working in the toy department of a major department store in New York? That’s when my mind started popping with ideas.

So here is Call Me Mrs. Miracle -the same, only different. I know you’re going to enjoy the story, and if everything works out according to schedule (which may require a few miracles of its own), this sequel will also be a Hallmark movie slated for December.

I’ve dedicated the book to Dan and Sally Wigutow. Dan is the movie producer who brought Mrs. Miracle to life last December on the Hallmark channel. Sally is his wife, whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Dan is a wise man to have chosen such a wonderful, insightful woman. Caroline Moore is Dan’s coproducer and was the first one to give Dan my book. “We need to turn this into a movie,” she told him. The woman is brilliant…but then what else can I say?

Getting this project together quickly has been a challenge and I owe a debt of appreciation to my editor, who worked long hours on this manuscript to whip it into shape in time to hand it off to Dan to get it to the screenplay writer to get it back to Dan and Hallmark…you’ve got the idea. Thank you, Paula.

A huge note of gratitude to Jody Hotchkiss, my movie agent, who moved heaven and earth to make this deal happen so fast, and to Theresa Park, my literary agent, as well. I am surrounded by a fabulous team.

Now the book is in the hands of the most important people of all, and that’s you, my readers. Sit back, enjoy and celebrate the season.

Christmas greetings.

P.S. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and reactions. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

Jake Finley waited impatiently to be ushered into his father’s executive office-the office that would one day be his. The thought of eventually stepping into J. R. Finley’s shoes excited him. Even though he’d slowly been working his way through the ranks, he’d be the first to admit he still had a lot to learn. However, he was willing to do whatever it took to prove himself.

Finley’s was the last of the family-owned department stores in New York City. His great-grandfather had begun the small mercantile on East 34th Street more than seventy years earlier. In the decades since, succeeding Finleys had opened branches in the other boroughs and then in nearby towns. Eventually the chain had spread up and down the East Coast.

“Your father will see you now,” Mrs. Coffey said. Dora Coffey had served as J.R.’s executive assistant for at least twenty-five years and knew as much about the company as Jake did-maybe more. He hoped that when the time came she’d stay on, although she had to be close to retirement age.

“Thank you.” He walked into the large office with its panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. He’d lived in the city all his life, but this view never failed to stir him, never failed to lift his heart. No place on earth was more enchanting than New York in December. He could see a light snow drifting down, and the city appeared even more magical through that delicate veil.

Jacob R. Finley, however, wasn’t looking at the view. His gaze remained focused on the computer screen. And his frown told Jake everything he needed to know.

He cleared his throat, intending to catch J.R.’s attention, although he suspected that his father was well aware of his presence. “You asked to see me?” he said. Now that he was here, he had a fairly good idea what had initiated this summons. Jake had hoped it wouldn’t happen quite so soon, but he should’ve guessed Mike Scott would go running to his father at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, Jake hadn’t had enough time to prove that he was right-and Mike was wrong.

“How many of those SuperRobot toys did you order?” J.R. demanded, getting straight to the point. His father had never been one to lead gently into a subject. “Intellytron,” he added scornfully.

“Also known as Telly,” Jake said in a mild voice.

“How many?”

“Five hundred.” As if J.R. didn’t know.

“What?”

Jake struggled not to flinch at his father’s angry tone, which was something he rarely heard. They had a good relationship, but until now, Jake hadn’t defied one of his father’s experienced buyers.

“For how many stores?”

“Just here.”

J.R.’s brow relaxed, but only slightly. “Do you realize those things retail for two hundred and fifty dollars apiece?”

J.R. knew the answer to that as well as Jake did. “Yes.”

His father stood and walked over to the window, pacing back and forth with long, vigorous strides. Although in his early sixties, J.R. was in excellent shape. Tall and lean, like Jake himself, he had dark hair streaked with gray and his features were well-defined. No one could doubt that they were father and son. J.R. whirled around, hands linked behind him. “Did you clear the order with…anyone?”

Jake was as straightforward as his father. “No.”

“Any particular reason you went over Scott’s head?”

Jake had a very good reason. “We discussed it. He didn’t agree, but I felt this was the right thing to do.” Mike Scott had wanted to bring a maximum of fifty robots into the Manhattan location. Jake had tried to persuade him, but Mike wasn’t interested in listening to speculation or taking what he saw as a risk-one that had the potential of leaving them with a huge overstock. He relied on cold, hard figures and years of purchasing experience. When their discussion was over, Mike still refused to go against what he considered his own better judgment. Jake continued to argue, presenting internet research and what his gut was telling him about this toy. When he’d finished, Mike Scott had countered with a list of reasons why fifty units per store would be adequate. More than adequate, in his opinion. While Jake couldn’t disagree with the other man’s logic, he had a strong hunch that the much larger order was worth the risk.

“You felt it was right?” his father repeated in a scathing voice. “Mike Scott told me we’d be fortunate to sell fifty in each store, yet you, with your vast experience of two months in the toy department, decided the Manhattan store needed ten times that number.”

Jake didn’t have anything to add.

“I don’t suppose you happened to notice that there’s been a downturn in the economy? Parents don’t have two hundred and fifty bucks for a toy. Not when a lot of families are pinching pennies.”

“You made me manager of the toy department.” Jake wasn’t stupid or reckless. “I’m convinced we’ll sell those robots before Christmas.” As manager, it was his responsibility-and his right-to order as he deemed fit. And if that meant overriding a buyer’s decision-well, he could live with that.