Miracle Under the Mistletoe

She stumbled, sure she was about to get up close and personal with the ice, when Grady’s arms pulled her to him. She heard the swish of his skates, his legs locked, and she halted against his chest midfall.

“Gotcha,” he whispered, his lips near her ear. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall, baby.”

And then, magic happened. She lifted her chin to look into his eyes, and a snowflake landed on her cheek. “It’s snowing! Look, Grady!”

“I can’t,” he said, sounding strangely muffled. “Not when you’re so beautiful my eyes don’t see anything else.”

Dear Reader,

There is a magic to Christmas that makes me believe in miracles. Some of this is based in tradition: baking cookies with my kids that I baked with my mother, decorating the tree with ornaments from Christmases past, and even drinking hot chocolate on Christmas Eve with my children.

These traditions filter through the years, combining the past with the present and laying a framework for the future. What I learned, I am teaching my children, and in turn, they will eventually teach theirs. For me, the simple beauty of this is part of what makes Christmas so magical.

What happens when a couple has endured a horrible tragedy just days before Christmas? How do they find the beauty, the magic, in the Christmas season again? More important, how do they find their way back together when every tradition reminds them of what they have lost? These are the questions that propelled me to write Miracle Under the Mistletoe.

In this book, you’ll meet Grady and Olivia, a husband and wife who are facing their third Christmas without their beloved son. Olivia believes that divorce is the only way to heal, while Grady refuses to give up on the woman he loves. He has a plan to convince her to give their marriage another chance, but even he admits he might need a miracle.

I truly hope you enjoy Grady and Olivia’s story and come to love them and the rest of the Foster clan as much as I do.

Happy reading and happy holidays!

Tracy Madison

Miracle Under the Mistletoe

Tracy Madison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TRACY MADISON

lives in Northwestern Ohio with her husband, four children, one bear-size dog, one loving-but-paranoid pooch and a couple of snobby cats. Her house is often hectic, noisy and filled to the brim with laugh-out-loud moments. Many of these incidents fire up her imagination to create the interesting, realistic and intrinsically funny characters that live in her stories. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com.

To my children: the light of my life.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

This is a mistake.

Olivia Markham-Foster knew it the second she entered the dimly lit Italian restaurant. She’d arrived early to get her bearings, and the maître d’ had led her to a tucked-away-in-a-corner table that offered plenty of seclusion and privacy. She welcomed the privacy, but the lovey-dovey atmosphere was all wrong. Romance and seduction licked through the air, dripping from the chords of the softly played violin music, twisting her stomach into knots.

Oh, yes. This was most definitely a mistake.

Goose bumps coated her skin and she shivered. She choked down a sip of red wine before placing her finger-entwined hands on her lap. Tonight wasn’t about romance or seduction, but Grady… Well, she figured he’d stroll in, take one look at her sitting in this restaurant, at this table, and draw the completely wrong conclusion.

Her husband, for every inch of his tough exterior, was a romantic through and through, with a soft, melty heart that believed in happily ever after just as fervently as he believed in baseball. Add in the fact that when Grady wanted something, he usually got it, and tonight promised to be more than difficult. He so wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

But Olivia had made a decision and, come hell or high water, she was going to proceed as planned—even if she felt ridiculous for bringing him to a swanky restaurant for an intimate dinner. Maybe the location was Samantha’s fault, but it was too late to change that. Now, she had to follow through. Her life depended on it. If she was being honest, Grady’s life depended on it, too. Continuing on this way, stuck in place at opposite ends, was hurting both of them.

Olivia sighed and fiddled with her wineglass. He wouldn’t see it that way, though. He’d toss the same arguments at her that he always did, remind her of what they’d once been—as if she could possibly forget—and try to cloud her decision so she’d back down.

“Not this time,” she whispered. This time, she would stay strong.

Without warning, her throat tightened and telltale tingles sped along her arms. Whatever composure she’d managed to cling to evaporated in a rush of recognition. He was here. She didn’t need to look up to know that. Her body sensed Grady. Hell, her soul sensed him. It had been that way from the very beginning. She looked up anyway.

And that was another mistake.

She blinked, tried to force herself to look beyond him, but that proved impossible. Grady Foster didn’t simply walk into a room. His long-legged gait held equal amounts of danger and grace—like a panther, wild and untamed. Blacker-than-coal hair framed a sculpted, almost chiseled face, ending just above the hard angle of his jaw, pulling attention to the high-planed lines of his cheeks.

His gaze met hers. The distance between them didn’t mask the glitter of recognition, anticipation, in his cinnamon-speckled eyes. Her heart rippled like a caged butterfly, its wings beating mercilessly against her breastbone, begging for release—for freedom. Again, the image of a panther, catching sight of its prey and moving in for the kill, winged into her mind. And she was Grady’s prey.

Okay, not fair. He didn’t want to cause her harm. Just the opposite, actually. He wanted to pull her into his arms and give her the world. He wanted them to reclaim the life they’d lost, but that—like so many other things—was impossible.

He approached in ground-swallowing steps, every part of him focused on her. She stole another quick sip of wine before pulling in a breath, before relaxing her muscles and giving him the cool, practiced smile she’d perfected over the past three years. If she kept her emotions hidden and her voice calm and sure, she’d get through this. Somehow.

Just as she had everything else.

He slung his long, sinewy frame into the chair across from her and nodded. He tugged at his tie, loosening it ever so slightly. If she wasn’t fighting so hard to remain in control, she might feel ashamed for bringing him to a place that required a suit. Grady hated wearing them. A pity, really. Very few men looked quite as sexy as her husband did in a well-fitted suit.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she said in a soft, clear voice. Her hope was to take control of the conversation, of this meeting, before they lapsed into the murky footsteps of their past. She also wanted to hide how much his presence shook her. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Disbelief creased his forehead with lines. “You’re my wife, Olly. Why would you think I’d refuse to see you? I’ve been waiting for this…waiting for you to reach out…for a long time.”

“But I’m not—” She coughed to clear her throat. He was right. Regardless of how often she’d turned away from his attempts at reconciliation, she knew he’d show. He hadn’t given up hope. But she had, so she stuck with the lie. “I wasn’t sure,” she repeated.

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” The brown in his eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched tight. “I’m available whenever you need me. I’ve made that clear to you, haven’t I?”

“Y-you have, but… Well—” She broke off when she saw the waiter approaching their table. Relief that she had a few precious minutes to regain her equilibrium saturated in, easing the acid roiling in her stomach.

The waiter set menus in front of them, gave a quick rundown of the evening’s specials, and took Grady’s drink order before leaving them alone again.

Grady returned his thickly lashed gaze to hers. “Let’s start over. I’m glad you called, Olivia. I’m glad we’re here together. We haven’t been to a place like this since before—” Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he frowned. “In years,” he said, correcting his near error.

It was so very hard not to react to the words he almost said. A shot of familiar sadness swept in, nearly crippling her. If she gave in to the sadness, she’d break down. The guilt would come next and before she knew it, she’d be up to her eyebrows in emotional quicksand. So she did what she always did—she shoved her feelings away as hard and as fast as she could. “Yes. Years. And this is a nice restaurant, but Grady…”

A few seconds passed while he waited for her to finish speaking, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he raised his shoulders in question. “But what?”

Now or later? Dinner first would be best. Especially if they could manage cordial conversation. She gave her head a quick shake. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“I know you better than that, Olly. I’m here and I’m not going to bite. So tell me…but what?”

“Fine. Here goes.” Olivia inhaled a quick breath in an attempt to steady herself. “I know you’re probably thinking that I brought you here to…to…”

He sighed in exasperation. “Okay, Olivia. What’s going on? I think you asked me to meet you here for what? A good meal?” His voice held a teasing quality, but the lines in his forehead deepened even more. “Please tell me what I’m thinking.”

Oh, God. Why had she listened to Samantha? Coming here for this conversation had been her idea, and Olivia should have known better. “That I want us to get back together, and that I brought you here to discuss reconciliation.”

His entire body stilled as he appraised her.

For not the first time in her adult life, Olivia wished she had the ability to sit as still and quiet as he. To let him grow uncomfortable enough that he’d fill the silence. But he was the panther, not she. “I don’t—want to get back together, that is. I thought we could talk. We need to talk. But not about reconciliation.”

A new round of disbelief hardened his expression and glinted in his eyes. “I put on a suit, drove across town and met you in a romantic restaurant so you could inform me that nothing has changed? We could have had this conversation on the phone, or at the house, or— Hell, Olly, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking…I didn’t know— Samantha recommended this restaurant. She said the atmosphere was conducive to a private discussion. This conversation shouldn’t happen over the phone, and you haven’t lived in the house for months—close to a year, actually—so I was afraid you’d feel like we were on my turf.” Calm down, she instructed herself. Don’t get rattled. Straightening her posture, she said quietly, “I thought a place neither of us had ever been would even the playing field. So to speak.”

The tight, hard way he held his mouth relaxed. “Samantha told you to bring me here?”

“Yes. But I didn’t know—” Olivia narrowed her eyes at the devilish smirk on Grady’s face. Samantha Hagen was her best friend, but she was a huge fan of Grady’s. She wanted Olivia and Grady to reconcile almost as much as Grady did. “This isn’t funny! I’m trying to explain.”

Rather than disappearing, or even easing, the smirk widened. “I’ve always liked Sammy. I haven’t talked to her in ages. How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” Olivia snapped, annoyed with the change in his demeanor. “You could even say that business is booming.” Samantha earned her living as a divorce attorney. “In fact, she’s busier than ever.”

His smirk vanished. “I’m happy for her, but—”

“You don’t believe in divorce,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“That isn’t entirely true. I don’t believe in backing away from a commitment until all other alternatives have been exhausted.” He gave her a piercing look. “You used to feel the same.”

A slew of tremors skidded down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. “I used to feel a lot of ways that I no longer do. Things change.”

Before she could blink, his hand captured hers. His touch, as simple as it was, wove into her and sparked a touch of desire deep in her belly. Dear God, she’d missed his touch. She pulled out of his grasp and flexed her fingers. “Things change,” she said again. “That hasn’t changed. You still want me. As much as I want you. Why do you fight against us so hard?”

“Because physical attraction isn’t enough.”

“You keep saying that, but—” The waiter appeared, delivering Grady’s beer, and asked for their orders.

Olivia had barely glanced at the menu. She started to say that they’d need a few more minutes when Grady stepped in and ordered for both of them. He’d ordered for her on plenty of occasions in the past, a trait she used to find endearing, but this time it riled her up. More than necessary, but she couldn’t stop her frustration from fueling into anger.

When the waiter left, she glowered at her husband. “Maybe I wanted something instead of chicken marsala. Maybe I thought the scallop linguine sounded good.”

He raised his left eyebrow. “Really? But you love chicken marsala.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

An exasperated huff pushed out of her lungs. “You could’ve asked.”

“Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you’ve always ordered chicken marsala at every Italian restaurant we’ve ever gone to.” He shook his head in confusion. “Why would I think that had changed?”

“Why would you think it hadn’t? I’m not the same woman you married. Many, many things have changed. Why can’t you accept that?”

“If you want linguine, I’ll get you linguine.” He started to raise his hand to gesture for the waiter, but she grabbed his arm and tugged.

“Stop! Please, Grady. You can’t fix everything! You can’t make everything right.” She gulped a mouthful of air. “Quit trying.”

He muttered a curse. “I apologize for ordering for you. It’s an old habit, and I did it without thinking. My intent wasn’t to upset you.”

Heavy tears pressed against her eyes. One blink and they’d come pouring out. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—cry in front of Grady. If she did, he would doubt her decision. And if he pushed her too hard, she’d probably capitulate and spend the next year, two, or possibly the rest of her life in the same empty place she’d already spent far too long. No way could she let that happen.

It was time. She needed to say what she came here to say before her emotions got the best of her. Waiting until after they ate now seemed absurd and pointless. She tried to talk, but the words got stuck in her throat.

Unsaid emotions drenched the air between them. Grady stared at her, his lips taut and his eyes hooded. Comprehension filtered over him. He expelled a harsh-sounding breath. “This isn’t about the chicken, is it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

“What is this about then, Olivia?”

She almost couldn’t say the words. Memories of their past—of how happy their lives had been—whispered through her mind. She opened her mouth but closed it just as fast.

“Well?” He sounded resigned, as if he knew what was coming and just wanted to get it over with. “It’s me. You can tell me anything.”

Raising her chin, she met his gaze with hers, and that was all it took to put her back on course. No matter how good those early memories were, they weren’t enough. “I want a divorce,” she said softly but with conviction.

His shoulders stiffened as he took in her statement. “What did you say?”

“I said that I want a divorce.” Her heart pounded so fast and so hard that her chest almost hurt from the pressure. “I’m sorry, Grady. It’s time. You know it’s time.”

“I know nothing of the sort.” Grady’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested in a divorce. And we have a long way to go before I’ll even consider it.”

“How much longer? We haven’t been a real couple for two—almost three—years.”

“We were together and happy for seven.”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

“Our lifetime, Olly. Yours and mine. Why won’t you give us a chance?” Frustration colored his tone and a gleam of hurt pooled in his eyes. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid. But you moved out of the house nine months ago. We lead separate lives. There isn’t any reason to pretend any longer, Grady.” She lifted her chin. “Our marriage is over.”

“I moved out because you asked me to. I’ve kept to our agreement of one phone call a week. I don’t drop by without your permission.” He combed his fingers through his hair in a quick, jagged movement. “And do you know why I’ve done these things?”

She knew. Of course, she knew. “Because I asked you to. Because you hoped that a little distance would bring us closer together. But that hasn’t happened.”

“Because you haven’t let it.”

One deep breath in, another out, and she said, “We’re at the end. You have to know that.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know that. What I know is that we are not finished. What I know is that there is still plenty between us. Tell me I’m wrong.”

The pain in her chest expanded. “You’re not wrong,” she said in a shaky whisper. “There are feelings here. There will probably always be feelings between us, but we can’t—”

“What?” he demanded. “We can’t what?”

“Recover. Be the same as we were. Turn back time.” But dear God, she wished they could. She swallowed a sob. “We can’t fix the one thing that needs to be fixed.”

Every hard edge softened. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath that must have reached his toes. When he opened his eyes again, she no longer saw frustration. She saw compassion, as well as the same raw pain that met her gaze every time she looked into a mirror. This was what they shared now: pain and loss. And how were they to build anything meaningful, anything positive, with that as their foundation?

“You’re right. I would do anything—give up anything—to change what happened. But I can’t, sweetheart. You can’t, either. But we—you and I—can forge something new, something different. It will never be the same, but we can be happy again. I believe that, Olly. If you’ll just give us a real chance.” His jaw set in that stubborn line. “Unless… Is there someone else?”

“No,” she said instantly. “But there never will be for either of us if we’re still married to each other.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said in a growl.

“Fine! Maybe I do! M-maybe I’m ready to start dating again.” The lie fell easily from her lips, but not so easily from her heart. “Maybe I’m ready to move on.”

“Then move on with me.”

He made it sound so easy. As if simply saying yes would magically set everything right. And she—God help her—wanted to say yes. But she’d had more peace in the past nine months than she’d had before he moved out. That made her answer clear and absolute. “I can’t. There is nowhere left for us to go. It’s been three years since we’ve been happy, Grady.”

“Yup,” he said, surprising her with his agreement. “But in those three years, have we seen a counselor? Have we had an honest conversation about what happened?” He shook his head. “No, we haven’t. Therefore, all alternatives have not been exhausted.”

“Tell me the past nine months haven’t been a relief?” she countered.

“They’ve been hell,” he said quietly.

“Not for me.” This wasn’t the entire truth. She’d missed her husband. At times, had even ached to see him, to hear his voice, to feel his arms close around her at night. But the greater part of her had found relief. Amnesty. A reprieve from the darkness. “I—I don’t need your agreement to file for divorce.”

“No. You don’t. Oregon is a no-fault state. But that doesn’t mean I won’t put up a fight.”

“It would be easier if you would agree. I would like it so much better if we were on the same page. I don’t want to fight you,” she admitted in a rush of syllables. “But I can’t stand still anymore. Please understand.”

“Understand what? That you’re my wife? I love you, Olivia. Doesn’t that mean anything to you now?”

And she still loved him. She probably always would. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. It sucked, and she hated it, but that was the way life worked. “No, Grady. It doesn’t.” She cringed at her tone—at another lie—but backing down wasn’t an option. “I need this. I need to move on, and I can’t do that until we are officially over with.”

Defeat, followed by a hot blaze of emotion ripped over Grady’s features. “What would Cody say to this? Have you thought about that?”

His words slammed into her, shaking her bravado and stealing her breath away. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you bring Cody into this.”

“Oh, come on, Olivia. Let’s be honest with each other about this for once.” Grady clenched his hands into fists. “This is completely about Cody. This has everything to do with Cody. So let me ask you again—what would our son have to say about this?”

Every iota of calmness she’d managed to maintain evaporated. This was too much. She needed to get away from here—from him. Standing from the table, she grabbed her purse and set an icy glare upon her husband. “I’m going to have Samantha start the paperwork. You might want to consider hiring an attorney.”

With that, she left the restaurant in slow, measured steps that belied her off-the-charts emotional state. Her entire body quaked as sadness mixed with shock and anger rushed through her. How dare he? Bringing their son into this was wrong.

She made it to her car without shedding a tear. Knowing Grady was apt to come looking for her, to make sure she was all right and to offer her comfort, she drove down the street a few miles before pulling into another parking lot, this one in front of a grocery store.

Crossing her arms over the steering wheel, she allowed herself a good, shoulder-shaking cry. God, she missed Grady. But she missed her little boy more. Missed every little thing about him. And that was one reason being around Grady was so difficult. Cody had been the spitting image of his daddy. So when Grady smiled, she saw Cody’s smile. When she looked into Grady’s eyes, she saw her son’s eyes. Even their laughs were the same. The resemblance between father and son kicked her in the gut every time she laid eyes on Grady.

It didn’t matter that the love she felt for her husband was as real today as it was on the day they married. It didn’t matter how often she woke in the middle of the night and reached for him, only to find herself alone. And it didn’t matter that her entire life felt emptier without him. Because as bad as all those things were, they didn’t compare to losing her child.

Grady thought she blamed him for the death of their son. Nothing could be further from the truth, not that he believed her. It would be easier if she did blame Grady, she admitted. She’d be able to forgive him. Forgiving herself, though, seemed impossible. It was her fault that her husband and son were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was her fault that they were driving on ice-slicked roads instead of where they should have been: safe and sound at home. She was the one who put off taking Cody to see Santa for weeks, and she was the one who put the bug in Cody’s ear about Daddy taking him to see Santa instead. And when Grady came to her and suggested they go together, as a family, she’d pushed the whole father-and-son-outing idea until he agreed.