“You look awfully healthy for a dead man, Geoff.”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Copyright
“You look awfully healthy for a dead man, Geoff.”
Something flickered in his eyes and he studied her peculiarly. “Lady, my name is not Geoff.”
Devon’s jaw dropped, but she ignored him and forged ahead. “I want a divorce. If you’d come home after the accident instead of disappearing, we might have worked out our problems. But...”
“But what?” His tone sounded almost too civil. “What the hell is your name, anyway?”
“Are you telling me you honestly don’t remember? My name is Devon Grayson.”
“Grayson...” he echoed. “You’re a very attractive woman, Devon Grayson. I still don’t have a clue who you are, but I concede that it is possible that you’re my wife. And, if you are, I’d like to get to know you better. So, no, I won’t agree to a divorce.”
Dear Reader.
Happy holidaze! The holiday season always does pass in a bit of a daze, with all the shopping and wrapping and partying, the cooking and (of course!) the eating So take some time for yourself with our six Intimate Moments novels, each one of them a wonderful Christmas treat
Start by paying a visit to THE LONE STAR SOCIAL CLUB, Linda Turner’s setting for Christmas Lone-Star Style. Remember, those Texans know how to do things in a big way! Then join Suzanne Brockmann for another TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS title, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear I wouldn’t mind waking up and finding Crash Hawken under my Christmas tree! Historical writer Patricia Potter makes a slam-bang contemporary debut with Home for Christmas, our FAMILIES ARE FOREVER title. Wrongly convicted and without the memories that could save him, Ryan Murphy is a hero to treasure Award winner Ruth Wind returns with For Christmas, Forever Isn’t this the season when mysterious strangers come bearing romance tinged with danger? Debra Cowan’s One Silent Night is our MEN IN BLUE title I’d be happy to “unwrap” Sam Garrett on Christmas morning Finally, welcome mainstream author Christine Michels to the line A Season of Miracles carries the TRY TO REMEMBER flash, though you’ll have no trouble at all remembering this warm holiday love story
It’s time to take the “daze” out of the holidays, so enjoy all six of these seasonal offerings. Of course, don’t forget that next month marks a new year, so come back then for more of the best romance reading around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments Seasons Greetings,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S 3010 Walden Ave., PO Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
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A SEASON OF MIRACLES
CHRISTINE MICHELS
CHRISTINE MICHELS
is a chronic daydreamer with a vivid imagination. Since her day job as an accountant provided little outlet for her creative inclinations (creative accounting being frowned upon in professional circles), Christine turned to writing. She is now an award-winning author of futuristic, historical and contemporary romances. Christine lives on the Canadian prairies near Lloydminster, Alberta, with her husband of twenty-three years, their fourteen-year-old son and a small menagerie of pets, consisting of a finicky Pomeranian, two imperious cats and a hedgehog with a very prickly personality.
This one’s for all of you, my readers.
I wish you peace, prosperity and many, many years
of fascinating reading.
Chapter 1
This was it: Geoff’s place.
Devon Grayson stared uneasily at the charming stone and cedar facade of the rustic cabin. Red and green Christmas lights decorated the window frames and porch railing, while warm yellow light spilled from the front windows to pool on a veranda that stretched the entire width of the cabin. On a cool December evening like tonight, it looked warm and welcoming.
If only she could expect a comparable greeting from its occupant.
Turning off the Jeep and extinguishing the headlights, she closed her eyes briefly, drew a deep breath and suppressed the urge to run away. She couldn’t. There was too much that remained unfinished between them. Too much at stake for her. Finding the core of righteous anger buried deep within, she used it to gird herself to face him.
The least he could have done was call
Buttoning her jacket against the cold, she hooked the strap of her purse over her right shoulder, opened the door of the Jeep, and quickly walked up the slush-covered walk At the base of the veranda steps, she paused, lifted her face briefly to the cold caress of softly falling snowflakes, and drew one last deep fortifying breath.
Then, releasing it in a cloud of condensed moisture, she forced herself to step up onto the porch. The sound of a creaking board beneath her feet, as loud as a gunshot in the cool stillness, splintered her fragile composure, but she managed to propel her quaking legs forward. Completing the short distance to the door, she knocked before she could change her mind.
Standing there staring at the steel-clad door with its small sunburst window, at the Christmas wreath hanging there, she suddenly pictured herself poised at the fork of two roads in her life path She sensed that this was one of those moments that could forever change the course of what came after. Frightened of the consequences and events she was putting into motion, she actually turned away The urge to run was as powerful as it was illogical. But before she had taken a step, the door opened and she froze, trapped by the swathe of light like a doe paralysed by the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
There was no going back now She turned to face him
Geoff, wearing black chinos and a black turtleneck sweater that hugged the muscular contours of his chest and upper arms, stood in silhouette against the bright, warm light of the room at his back Her heart stuttered and then slammed against her chest wall in a reaction that had very little to do with fright.
“Hello, Geoff,” she managed, in a voice that she hoped didn’t sound as choked as it felt. “Surprised to see me?”
In the second of silence that followed, she sensed his gaze moving over her before he spoke. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Joke?” The shadows concealed his facial expression. She had no idea what he meant, but she couldn’t allow him to throw her off balance so quickly. “If there is one thing I’m not, Geoff, it’s in the mood to joke, believe me.” Why hadn’t he called? Instead, he’d disappeared after the accident, allowing himself to be officially “presumed dead” for more than two years. How could he have done that? But she said none of that. Not yet. “I have just driven the entire day through a snowstorm to get here. Now, do you want to discuss our private business out here, or are you going to invite me in?”
Although shadow still eclipsed his features, she sensed the frown in his expression as he considered her. A second later, he stepped back. “Come in.” For the first time, she noted that his voice was altered Once his voice had been all black velvet and Irish whiskey. Now it was silk-on-sandstone and cognac Different but, unfortunately, just as appealing She wondered what had happened to change it. The accident?
As he turned sligh
tly to grant her entrance and the light fully illuminated his features, Devon’s breath caught in her throat. Her gaze clung to him as she stepped into the house She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Every inch of his six-foot-two-inch form was more attractive than she remembered. She felt as though a man-sized fist had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart. But there were subtle changes in his appearance, too. Changes wrought during a period of time when he had cut her out of his life.
A line furrowed the flesh between his thick black brows, drawing them together over olive-hued eyes that were definitely more intense than she recalled And, his hair was subtly altered. Although still thick and black and wavy, a few strands of premature silver streaked the temples. He wore it longer now than he had in the past, medium-length waves on top and on the sides, but it brushed his shoulders in the back. A narrow white scar dissected his left brow, skirted his temple and disappeared into his hairline. The small disfigurement pulled the crest of his brow up slightly, granting him a perpetually satirical expression.
Devon’s fingers tingled with the peculiar urge to trace that scar, to soothe the hurt that had caused it, and she rubbed them against her jean-clad thighs. She longed to erase the unwelcome urge as easily as she eliminated the sensation, but it was useless Emotion rose in her throat as she stared at him hurt, caring, anger and .oh, yes, as hard as it was to admit, desire A tangle of feeling impossible to separate She refused to consider the possibility that love might still be embroiled in there somewhere, too. Taking a deep breath, she subdued the absurd yearning to throw herself into his embrace.
She was engaged to another man. She no longer had the right to feel these things for Geoff.
Bracing herself to face his anger, she lifted her gaze to meet his.
Everything within her went still. There was no anger in his eyes The expression in those dark green depths was uncaring, as cold as the December blizzard she’d braved to come this far, and somehow...empty. Despite everything she and Geoff had once shared, a shiver of apprehension traversed her spine. She felt as though she was looking into the eyes of a stranger.
The impression stayed with her even as he began to study her in return. “You saw me on television last night?” he asked as he wordlessly offered to take her coat. His tone expressed only mild interest; a man voicing an observation that meant nothing to him.
“Yes.” Setting her purse down on the floor, she handed him her jacket. She felt confused. Almost frightened There was something about Geoff that wasn’t.. wasn’t Geoff Her instincts clamored a warning of danger, but that was pure absurdity, and she ignored it. This was Geoff, and he would never hurt her no matter how angry he might be, no matter how much he wanted his anonymity. Still, a small part of her couldn’t help remembering just how isolated this cabin on the shores of Deer Lake truly was. It was a good three miles to the northern British Columbia town of Northridge, maybe more
As he turned to hang up her coat, Geoff looked at her over his shoulder. “And you thought you recognized me?”
“I didn’t think I recognized you. I recognized you.” Devon searched his face for the reason behind his cryptic comment, but his countenance gave nothing away. Although Geoff had made it very clear the previous evening that he had no interest in speaking to the reporters, a cameraman had managed to capture a full frontal image of him for a brief moment before Geoff had turned away. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you?” Devon asked. “You are still my husband, after all, Geoff. And you haven’t changed that much.”
His eyes locked on hers Was that startlement she saw in their depths? In the next instant he blinked and the expression was gone. “Right,” he drawled with a slight nod, but there was a disbelieving tone to the word that Devon failed to understand. He continued to regard her strangely, and the silence grew oppressive
To ease the strain, Devon spoke again. “The Noralco foreman you pulled from the building is extremely lucky you were there. Do they know yet what caused the explosion?”
His silent, penetrating scrutiny continued Devon felt her stomach clench. And then, just when she began to believe he would not answer, he responded, “No”
Devon cleared her throat. “Well...hopefully they’ll find the cause soon ”
He nodded almost curtly, then, seeming to come to some sort of decision, he asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please. That would be nice.” She bent to unlace her ankle boots. Despite everything that was between them, Geoff’s reaction to her presence was...unlike Geoff. She had expected him to be more vocal; she’d anticipated more rancor. Where was his passion? The Geoff she knew had been passionate in everything he did, the volatile Latin temperament he’d inherited from his Italian mother readily apparent. That was what was missing in him now. Passion
She straightened, toed off her boots and bent to retrieve her purse.
Geoff led her through one end of a rustic cedar-paneled living room with a cathedral ceiling that soared into shadow overhead, creating a feeling of spaciousness often lacking in cabins. She just had tune to note cognac-colored leather chairs and a matching sofa before they entered a country-style kitchen.
Geoff waved one hand in the general direction of the table and its four arrow-back chairs. “Have a seat while I put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Thanks.” She swallowed, feeling a bit awkward and uncomfortable, and took the time to study the room before moving toward the table.
Three of the kitchen’s walls were eggshell white while the fourth was a cedar feature wall. The blue tones of a set of hand-painted delft plates hanging on the feature wall were carried forward to the ceramic countertop and used as an accent color in the cream linoleum flooring. The cabinets, table and chairs were wood—probably oak, Devon decided. A crystal vase of delft-blue silk blooms occupied the center of the table.
A woman’s touch? she wondered
Devon chose a chair at the rear of the table because it allowed her an unobstructed view of the room and, hence, of Geoff. He still had the powerfully muscled body and flat stomach of the construction worker he’d been when they’d first met, when both had been working to put themselves through university She couldn’t deny that he still fascinated her; he was still very attractive. But, Geoff was a part of her past now, and she was determined to move forward.
The coffee began to hiss and gurgle its way into the carafe, and Geoff earned a pair of cups to the table. “So.” he said. “what can I do for you?”
Startled, Devon stared at him incredulously. “What can you do for me?”
He made no response to her exclamation, merely watched her with a slightly probing expression, and waited. For the first time in her life, Devon felt the urge to slap him.
“Well, for starters, you can tell me why you took an alias and dropped off the face of the earth two years ago, Geoff You can tell me why you let everyone who cared about you think you were dead.” She knew her voice was rising with the force of the outrage that was once again tightening her chest, but she couldn’t help it. “You look awfully darned healthy for a dead man, Geoff.” Her gaze raked him heatedly. “And then, I’d really like to know who this Jack Keller is that you’re pretending to be”
Something flickered in his eyes and he studied her peculiarly “Lady, my name is not Geoff. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy.”
Devon’s jaw dropped but no words came out. If there was any response she’d been expecting, it was not this one. He was going to pretend he didn’t know her. The absolute gall of the tactic floored her. “Oh, no you don’t, Geoff. You are not going to do this. I want a divorce, and you are damned well going to give me one. Do you hear me?”
“Divorce!”
Well, it seemed that she’d been able to elicit an emotional response after all, even if it was only surprise. “Yes, Geoff, a divorce If you’d come home after the accident instead of using it as a means to disappear, there might have been a chance for us to work our problems out. But..” She shrugged and allowed her v
oice to trail off as her gaze slid away.
“But what?” He didn’t sound angry Even the inflection of surprise was gone. In fact his tone was almost too civil
“But, I refuse to allow you to make me part of this deception you’ve engineered—for whatever reason. I have somebody else in my life now. We want to get married.”
Geoff turned to the counter for a moment to retrieve a sugar bowl and pitcher of milk to place on the table. At least he looked a bit thoughtful, Devon mused as she stared absently at the small pitcher. When had Geoff begun using cream and sugar? she wondered. Or, had he already forgotten that she drank her coffee black?
“Lady....” Geoff’s voice drew her sharply back into the present. “What in blazes is your name anyway?” A trace of exasperation burned in his eyes as he stood looking down at her.
Devon froze, staring at him What was her name? Had the accident affected his memory? “Are you trying to tell me that you honestly don’t remember my name?” He didn’t respond, merely waited with a very familiar stubborn set to his chin Devon knew that characteristic well enough to know that, whether he honestly didn’t remember her or was just being obstinate for some obscure reason, if they were going to get anywhere, she’d have to play along. “My name is Devon, you jerk As if you didn’t know.”
“Devon ..?”
“Devon Grayson ” Devon bit the words off sharply.
“Grayson,” he echoed. Confusion flared briefly in his eyes, and then, abruptly, he winced as though from a sharp pain and grasped the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. For a long silent moment, he simply stood there. The coffee machine gurgled its last and he seemed to focus on that with almost single-minded deliberation. Retrieving the carafe, he poured the brew into the two waiting cups.
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