A Husband In Her Stocking

A Husband In Her Stocking
Christine Pacheco

SANTA LEFT… WHAT?Meghan Carroll said bah-humbug to Santa Claus and Christmas, until Santa's elves deposited a very handsome stranger on her doorstep. She'd sworn off men and marriage, and Kyle Murdock looked like another heartbreak-in-waiting. But with a blizzard raging, Ms. Scrooge had no choice but to usher him in… .The once-lonely, snowbound farmhouse became hotter than a greenhouse full of poinsettias as they smooched under the mistletoe and snuggled in front of the fire. Meghan never wanted the Christmas fantasy that Kyle had created to end, but the snow had stopped and he had to leave. Without a little holiday magic, she'd have another blue, blue Christmas… .

PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE PACHECO: (#u12f7ca3c-67c6-5fa9-887f-84995f4d5f71)Letter to Reader (#ue32eb6dc-8cea-5c1b-bcb5-50ccd71761e6)Title Page (#udbe61ab1-58ec-528d-b696-4a03a1435932)About the Author (#u234dc6a5-ec83-5ce1-9e5c-35afdb13327f)Dedication (#udebf77aa-defe-5f9d-8172-f194ffa276e0)Acknowledgments (#u0fc392b5-fb34-552e-b33c-b05970872b94)Chapter One (#uc2880ab5-d403-5bbd-bf66-3d4625e0eaea)Chapter Two (#ue597916d-806c-5248-92bb-7c2d1038cc25)Chapter Three (#u1a6d7906-518e-5fd7-ab4d-df60a00a2ad3)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

PRAISE FOR CHRISTINE PACHECO:

“Reading Chris Pacheco is like sitting in a balmy breeze under a banyan tree and savoring your favorite drink. Her books take me away to my favorite escape. She’s sure to please.”

—bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“... terrific... imbued with heart and heat, by an author to watch for.”

—Award-winning author Mallory Rush

“Christine Pacheco packs an emotional punch.... ”

—bestselling author Leanne Banks

“This talented up and coming writer’s quick and witty pace will keep your attention riveted.... ”

—Rogena Brewer, Booklovers

Dear Reader,

Happy Holidays to all of you from the staff of Silhouette Desire! Our celebration of Desire’s fifteenth anniversary continues, and to kick off this holiday season, we have a wonderful new book from Dixie Browning called Look What the Stork Brought. Dixie, who is truly a Desire star, has written over sixty titles for Silhouette.

Next up, The Surprise Christmas Bride by

Maureen Child. If you like stories chock-full of love and laughter, this is the book for you. And Anne Eames continues her MONTANA MALONES miniseries with The Best Little Joeville Christmas.

The month is completed with more Christmas treats:

A Husband in Her Stocking by Christine Pacheco;

I Married a Prince by Kathryn Jensen and Santa Cowboy by Barbara McMahon.

I hope you all enjoy your holidays, and hope that Silhouette Desire will add to the warmth of the season. So enjoy the very best in romance from Desire!

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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

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

A Husband in her Stocking

Christine Pacheco

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHRISTINE PACHECO

married her real-life hero, Jared, who proved to her that dreams really do come true. They live in Colorado with their two children, Raymond and Whitney.

Christine remembers always wanting to be a writer. She even talked her elementary school librarian into “publishing” her books. She notes that she always preferred romances because they’re about that special moment when everything is possible and the future is a gift to unfold.

You can write to Christine at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.

For Angie, best friend and sister.

Thanks for being my number one fan.

Also for three very special friends, and extraordinarily talented writers, Robin Lee Hatcher, Pamela Johnson and Lisa Craig. Thanks, guys, you’re all angels!

One

Kyle Murdock swore as he turned up the collar on his black leather jacket. He raised his shoulders, fighting in vain for protection against the bite of a cold December wind.

Snow dusted his hair, and several flakes settled on his nose. Odd, only a few hours ago, the skies had been incredibly blue, hardly a cloud in sight.

Now the world was a different place. The landscape had changed. Branches had been buried beneath a blanket of white, and wind had whipped innocent flakes, plowing them into one another, making minifortresses to block his path. Kyle had been left dependent on the help of a stranger.

That was, if anyone heard his knock.

For a third time, he pounded his uncovered knuckles against unyielding wood.

Someone had to be inside the farmhouse—after all, an inviting glow in the curtained window had attracted his attention, luring him from where the weather had stranded him, Kyle paused, listening. He heard nothing but a howl through the treetops.

The remnants of a waning Colorado sun offered no solace against the encroaching evening’s threat. He shivered. The three-mile journey to the nearest town of Jefferson would be hellacious. And to be honest, Kyle wasn’t sure he would even make it.

This definitely wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the holiday. His sister, Pamela, and her family were expecting him. And he’d always believed Christmas was for children. There was little Kyle enjoyed more than watching his niece and nephew on Christmas morning, expressions full of belief and wonder.

Cupping his hands near his mouth, he blew air onto them and shifted his weight from leg to leg.

Slowly, accompanied by the squeak of a rusty hinge, the door to the old farmhouse opened. Light and welcoming heat spilled through the partial opening, but the soft sound of a woman’s voice—soothing, yet steeled with hesitation—stole what little breath remained in his lungs.

“Can I help you?”

He moved a few inches to the right so she could see him, while she retained protection and anonymity. With a numbed thumb, he pointed toward the Harley, which was partially buried in a ditch. “My bike’s stuck.”

She didn’t say anything, and the door denied access to her face.

“If you don’t mind, I need to use your phone, maybe call a tow truck.”