by JoAnn Ross
From New York Times bestselling author JoAnn Ross comes a classic tale about finding love for the holidays!
Actress Shiloh Beauregard has no luck when it comes to finding a reliable man. When her sister invites her to a New Year’s Eve party in Aspen, she jumps at the chance to meet someone new. But when Shiloh is stranded in a snowstorm, she is forced to seek shelter in the small town of Paradise. It’s the last place she thinks to find love, but the irresistible doctor Matt McCandless sweeps her off her feet. For one night she allows herself to indulge in the holiday magic. It’s a new year, yet her fresh start might have more than one surprise in store…
Originally published in 1996.
Champagne and Moonlight
JoAnn Ross
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
They could have been cherubim, looking down from a celestial mural painted on the gilded ceiling of a Renaissance cathedral. Two plump, stunningly beautiful babies—a boy and a girl with chubby pink cheeks, rosebud mouths and intelligent, thoughtful faces—sat side by side on the puffy white cloud, arguing, as they had been for what seemed an eternity.
“So what’s the holdup?” the baby boy complained. “We’ve been hanging around here forever.”
“This isn’t such a bad place to be,” the baby girl said, pointing out what she’d already told him time and time again.
“It was fun in the beginning. Flying around and playing hide-and-seek in the clouds.” His rosy mouth pouted. “But New Year’s Eve’s coming, and I’m going to make a resolution.”
“We don’t make resolutions.”
“But mortals do. So, that’s my resolution. To be mortal.”
It was, she admitted secretly, a wonderfully appealing resolution. “These things take time.” Unfortunately, in their case, an extraordinarily long time. She couldn’t even count the number of children who’d passed them by and were now living happily with their new parents.
“That’s what everyone keeps saying. But I’m tired of always being reminded to polish my wings. And my halo’s too tight.”
“That’s because it’s crooked. Again.” With a sister’s tolerance, she straightened the gleaming band of light.
“On earth a guy doesn’t have to worry about any stupid halo,” he grumbled.
“On earth a boy can’t fly.”
“I know.” Sunlight glinted blindingly off his short wings as he shrugged, giving her that point. “But there’s lots of other neat stuff to do. Like playing baseball, and riding bikes, and going camping—”
It was her turn to make a face. “Camping’s dirty.”
“It’s fun.”
“There are bugs and snakes.”
“That’s what makes it fun, silly.” He sighed and shook his head, which resulted in the halo tilting askew again. “I don’t understand why we have to keep hanging around up here. How long can it take to find us parents?”
“Our mother’s already been selected,” she reminded him in that superior way little girls often adopted when speaking to lesser beings—boys. “But before we can be born, we need a dad.” It was her turn to sigh. “Unfortunately, it’s taking longer than expected to find him.”
The sad truth was that Shiloh Beauregard had horrendous luck with men. The one last summer had run over her cat. Unfortunately, it had not been an accident. The man before him—an express mail pilot—had conveniently neglected to mention he had a wife and three children tucked away in a two-story brick house in suburban Des Moines. And the one before that…well, the girl didn’t even want to think about him!
“So what’s wrong with the guy our mom’s dating now?” the boy argued. Like his earthly young counterparts, patience was not his strong suit.
“He’s not right for her.”
“I think she’s being too picky.”
Pale blond curls bounced as she shook her head in frustration. “As usual, you just don’t understand…. Here. See for yourself.”
With a single wave of her chubby little hand, the girl parted the white cotton-candy clouds, allowing them to look down on the physical world they were both so eager to join.
CHAPTER ONE
The scream, torn from the woman’s throat, reverberated through the night. A full white moon cast a ghostly glow on the Louisiana bayou, illuminating Shiloh Beauregard as she raced through the murky swamp, her long hair streaming behind her like a gilt flag.
“Damn, damn, damn!” The flowing skirt of her nightgown had caught on a low branch, holding her hostage. Frantic, Shiloh ripped it loose, leaving behind a swatch of ivory silk as she took off running again.
Close behind her, she heard branches breaking, the insistent pounding of feet, the harsh breathing of a man capable of chasing her to hell and back.
No! She couldn’t die! She was too young. She still had too much living to do. And although she’d been running too late this morning to check her day planner, Shiloh was absolutely certain that dying had not been on the agenda. Besides, her horoscope assured her that today was a day of changes. A day when she’d receive an unexpected surprise. A day that would change her life.
Thinking about it, Shiloh realized that being chased through an alligator-infested swamp was definitely a surprise. And wouldn’t dying change her life? Like in a major, permanent way?
Distracted by that unpalatable idea, she tripped over the moss-covered roots of a century-old oak and went sprawling. A heartbeat later, her pursuer caught up with her.
“No!” Shiloh’s anguished scream caused a flurry of wings as night birds took to the inky sky.
She scrambled to her knees, breasts heaving beneath the lace bodice of the nightgown. Her cornflower blue eyes were wide with horror as she stared into the face of the man she’d loved. Although the night was hot and steamy, she was ice-cold and trembling.
“Please, Damian. You don’t want to do this!”
“Sorry, my love.” His teeth flashed in a deadly smile that made a mockery of the drawled endearment. “But this is exactly what I want to do.”
She could not understand how such a seemingly gentle, caring soul could have turned into such a monster overnight. For a man who was always fastidious about his appearance, his beard was thick and rough. And as he ran his hand down her cheek, Shiloh could have sworn that his palm felt oddly furry.
“But why?” she asked.
When he gave her another of those dangerous smiles, she wondered why she’d never noticed how large his teeth were. And how sharp. They glinted in the cold white moonlight like jagged steel saw blades.
“Because it’s my nature, of course.” He twisted his hand in her golden hair, tilting her head back. “You see, my darling, I’m a werewolf.”
She was still desperately struggling to process that horrifying, impossible statement when his shaggy head swooped down. Razor-sharp canine teeth clamped down on her throat, causing crimson blood to gush forth as if from a geyser.
And as the life drained from her limp body, the man on whom Shiloh had pinned all her romantic hopes tore into her, growling as he fed on her tender, perfumed flesh.
“Cut!” the director called out.
“Cut!” the assistant director echoed.
“That’s a wrap, boys and girls,” the director said with obvious pleasure. “And right on schedule.”
Shiloh leaped to her feet and hugged the director. “Thank you, Brandon. You’re a darling.” She’d been so hoping they wouldn’t end up shooting over the Christmas
holidays.
“You’re not so bad yourself, kiddo.” Brandon O’Roarke tousled her hair, dislodging fake leaves. “I’ve never known a woman with your lung power.”
“That’s ‘cause she’s got great lungs.” Michael Davis, her werewolf lover-killer, cast an exaggerated leer at her remarkable breasts, so dazzlingly displayed in the lace-and-silk nightgown.
Shiloh laughed, taking no offense. She knew she owed her successful Hollywood career to the generous gene pool that had gifted her with beauty and a Playboy centerfold’s body.
“It’s a tough job, playing the soon-to-be-dead bimbo,” she said with self-deprecating humor. Her voice was warm and rich with the flavor of the South. “But somebody’s got to do it.”
The crew laughed as she gathered her belongings and headed to her car. Everyone liked Shiloh. During her years in Hollywood, she’d earned a reputation for being genuinely nice, treating everyone from the producer to the lowliest grip with the same natural friendliness. As a bonus, she always came to work with her lines memorized and didn’t agonize over character motivation like those prima donna method actors.
She understood that the horror movies she worked on—most of which were destined to go directly into the video market—didn’t have excess retake funds built into the budget, and was known in the genre as “One Take Shiloh.”
And then, of course, there were the gift baskets of peanut-butter fudge and home-baked Christmas cookies she’d handed out this morning. She’d baked the sugar cookies last night, after Kenneth Patterson, the man she’d been dating for six months, had called, complaining of a migraine that forced him to cancel their date. Secretly, Shiloh hadn’t minded missing his faculty Christmas party at the University of Malibu.
She understood that her less than stellar acting career wouldn’t garner a great deal of respect from his colleagues in the literature department. But the last time she’d attended a cocktail party for a visiting lecturer, Kenneth’s graduate assistant—a young girl with stick-straight hair and a figure to match—had been openly hostile.
Well, Shiloh would see Kenneth tonight. She twisted the dial on the car radio until she found a station playing carols. After making a quick stop at a store, she was merrily singing along to “Winter Wonderland” and pulling into the driveway of her rented bungalow, located in funky west Hollywood.
“In the lane, snow is glistening,” she sang as she carried the treats she’d picked up on the way home into the compact kitchen. She took two champagne flutes from the pine hutch in the corner, and digging around in the back of a cupboard, she found a frosted crystal plate decorated with bells for the glistening black caviar she couldn’t really afford.
“But it’s a special night,” she said to herself. Not only had Swamp Wolf wrapped on time and under budget, Kenneth had received notification that the Ph.D. dissertation he’d been working so hard on all these months was going to be published.
She carried the champagne and caviar into the living room, dimmed the lights and turned on the Christmas tree. As an actress, Shiloh knew the importance of setting a scene. She was bending down to turn on the stereo when she noticed an envelope bearing the return address of the University of Malibu that had been pushed through the mail slot in her front door. The note was brief and to the point.
After skimming the few lines quickly, hoping against hope that there was a reasonable explanation for this, Shiloh read it again. Then she sat there for a long, silent time.
The room was draped in deep purple shadows when she opened the bottle of champagne. Impossibly expensive, imported from France, it opened with a discreet pop. She poured it into a flute, debated tossing the other against the wall, then decided Kenneth Patterson was not worth shattering good Waterford over.
She took a long swallow of the sparkling wine, which was a lot more fizzy than the supermarket vintage she usually drank. Since she honestly preferred the cheaper kind, she decided this was yet more proof that she wasn’t really cut out for stardom.
“I should have saved the money,” she muttered as she tuned the radio to a country station, scooped up some caviar and began to celebrate Christmas Eve as she had so many others.
Alone.
* * *
It was the same every Christmas. The bright and cheery waiting room was overflowing with patients who’d fallen prey to the risks of a busy holiday season. There were the usual cases of cold and flu, along with tummy aches from overindulging in gingerbread Santas and frosted sugar cookies. Three toddlers had decided to add tinsel to their diets, there were various cuts from broken glass balls and a nip from a Christmas puppy who’d found an exuberant four-year-old a bit too much to deal with his first day in a new home.
Now a mother had dragged her twelve-year-old twin boys in, horrified to discover they’d downed an entire punch bowl of spiked eggnog she’d prepared for her Christmas Eve open house. Dr. Matt McCandless entered the waiting room to find two green-at-the-gills kids and a distraught mother.
“Suffering a bit from too much Christmas cheer, are we, boys?” he asked easily.
The boys exchanged a bleak look. Their complexion, a mossy hue somewhere between gray and green, paled. Before either of them could respond, they both threw up—in unison—over Dr. Matt’s new ostrich cowboy boots.
Having experienced far worse during his years as a family physician, Matt grinned at their mother, who began blurting out embarrassed apologies. “Guess that cures that medical emergency.” He proceeded to give the boys a friendly but stern lecture on abstinence.
“Dr. Matt is so great with kids,” the boys’ mother said later to Millie Gardner, who worked as Dr. Michael McCandless’s receptionist. “It’s a shame he doesn’t have any of his own.”
“He’d make a natural dad, that’s for sure,” Millie agreed robustly. “But the way he’s successfully dodged all the Mrs. Dr. McCandless wannabes, I don’t see that happening any time soon.”
“I’ll say this for you, Millie,” Matt said from the doorway leading to the suite of examining rooms, “when you’re right, you’re right.”
Millie tossed her dyed red head. “Your father was already married with you on the way when he was your age,” she reminded him pointedly.
“Ah, but my father was fortunate to meet the perfect woman while he was still in high school,” Matt returned. “If I ever meet a girl like the sweet old-fashioned girl who married dear old Dad, believe me, Millie, I’ll get down on my knees in a shot.”
Before Millie could respond, the phone rang. Muttering that he was too damn picky, Millie turned to answer it.
* * *
“I have good news, children.” Bathed in a shimmering light, the angel’s wings glittered like polished gold. “After exhausting research, and more than a few less than perfect candidates, I’ve managed to locate your father.”
“You have?” the little girl and little boy answered in unison.
“Who is he?” the little girl asked. “Is he nice? Does he like kittens?” When she allowed herself to dream of a mortal life on earth, those dreams invariably involved a fluffy orange kitten.
“Guys like dogs,” the boy argued.
“Kittens are fluffy. And they purr.”
“Dogs play fetch. And roll over. And play dead.”
“Why would any dog want to play dead?”
“Children, children,” the angel interjected. “There’s no need to argue. Dr. McCandless will be a perfect father, whatever his preference in pets.”
“May we see him?” the little girl asked.
“Of course.” She parted the clouds, allowing them to look down at a dark-haired man dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and boots.
“Oh, cool,” the little boy said, bouncing up and down with exuberant glee. “He looks just like a cowboy.”
“Dr. McCandless looks very kind,” the little girl said, watching as he managed to soothe a toddler’s tears after an injection.
“He is certainly that,” the angel agreed. “I think you’ll be ve
ry happy.”
“I know we will.” The little boy wondered if the cowboy doctor had a horse he could ride. “So, can we go now?”
“Not quite yet. He and your mother still have to meet. But don’t worry,” she said, her smile absolutely beatific. “It will happen very soon. And when it does, it’s going to be magic.”
As those strong, gentle hands wiped the tears from the small patient’s wind-chapped cheeks, both children exchanged pleased, knowing grins.
This time things were going to work for their long-suffering mother-to-be.
This time it would be magic.
CHAPTER TWO
“I knew he was just like the others,” Savannah Beauregard Dallas muttered.
“You only met him once.”
“That’s all it took to see his beady little weasel eyes.”
“They’re not beady,” Shiloh corrected automatically, already wishing she hadn’t been quite so forthright with her twin sister. “They’re merely a bit close together.”
“They’re beady. Why, the moment I saw him, I told myself, damn, my baby sister’s gone and done it again. Gotten herself mixed up with another loser.”
“You are only four minutes older than me, Savannah, which doesn’t exactly make me your baby sister. And he wasn’t a loser.”
“What would you call a man who allows you to practically support him while he writes his doctoral dissertation, then runs off with his graduate assistant?”
When Shiloh didn’t answer, Savannah softened her tone. “Honey, it doesn’t take a shrink to see that you keep choosing men who are the opposite side of the coin from the General.”
After a sterling military career that included several years working in the upper echelons of the Pentagon, their unbending, autocratic father had recently accepted the post of commandant of a Southern military academy. Shiloh didn’t envy the teenage would-be soldiers under the General’s charge.
“There’s nothing wrong with a man who doesn’t spend his life leaping out of bed at a five-thirty reveille,” Shiloh said, filling her champagne flute.
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