A Celebration Christmas

—Get Dr Cullen Dunlevy’s house—and foster kids—under control

—Stop the children from creating “potions” in the bathroom and putting rubber snakes in my candy

—Bake Christmas cookies together—as a family

—Stop thinking about Cullen’s—I mean, Dr Dunlevy’s—sexy dimples … and how cute he is with his children

—Hang the mistletoe—right where Cullen can see it …

—Decorate the tree with the kids to create the best holiday ever

—Have a forever family with the man—and family—of my dreams …

***

Celebrations, Inc: Let’s get this party started!

A Celebration Christmas

Nancy Robards Thompson

Award-winning author NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON is a sister, wife and mother who has lived the majority of her life south of the Mason-Dixon line. As the oldest sibling, she reveled in her ability to make her brother laugh at inappropriate moments, and she soon learned she could get away with it by proclaiming, “What? I wasn’t doing anything.” It’s no wonder that upon graduating from college with a degree in journalism, she discovered that reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Since she hung up her press pass to write novels full-time, critics have deemed her books “funny, smart and observant.” She loves chocolate, champagne, cats and art (though not necessarily in that order). When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking and doing yoga.

This book is dedicated to

Kathleen, Lori, Cindy, Kathy and Mary Louise.

Thanks for always being there.

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Cullen Dunlevy had never begged for anything in his adult life, but right now he was desperate. “I’ll pay you triple your salary if you’ll stay for two more hours, Angie,” he said. “And you don’t have to clean up after the kids.”

“Dr. Dunlevy, there isn’t enough money in the world to make me stay.” Unmoved, the housekeeper brushed past him. She paused at the top of the stairs. “Call me when you find a home for them.”

A home for them? They’re kids, not stray animals.

Cullen glanced down at ten-year-old Megan Thomas. All the color had drained from her already pale cheeks. Then his gaze found its way back to the hall-bath toilet, which was overflowing with some kind of expanding blue goop that seemed to be growing exponentially. The prank had been the final straw, the reason for Angie’s noon phone call to Cullen at the hospital, informing him he had exactly one hour to get home because she was fed up and leaving.

What happened to the theory “it takes a village”?

Couldn’t Angie have a little heart? Sure, the four of them were unruly, but anyone with an ounce of compassion could see their disobedience stemmed from grief.

The kids had lost both their parents in a car accident. Their dad, Greg Thomas, had been Cullen’s lifelong friend. Given the lingering sting of his own grief, he couldn’t imagine what the kids must be going through. They were homeless and alone in the world except for each other. And they were at the mercy of the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services.

A pang of guilt coursed through Cullen. He had room for them in this big, empty house, but was that enough? Didn’t kids deserve two loving parents? He was married to a job that demanded sixteen-hour days. He worked and slept, only to get up day after day to repeat the routine. He didn’t know anything about raising kids. Hell, he’d thought he was doing the right thing by leaving them with Angie.

Obviously that had been a colossal mistake.

Standing there, alternating glances between Megan and the creeping blue foam, Cullen realized if he were any further out of his element he might sprout fins and gills and start flopping on the tile.

He swallowed an expletive and reminded himself that he might not be the best candidate to parent his friends’ children, but the one thing he could do to honor Greg and his wife, Rosa, would be to make sure the kids stayed together. The kids would live with him until he found the right family that would take all four of them.

In the meantime, he needed to convince Angie to stay just a little longer.

The kids ranged in age from five to ten years old. They were relatively self-sufficient. In other words, Angie wouldn’t be warming bottles and changing diapers. Just one more hour—give or take a few minutes—during which she could go on about her usual housecleaning duties, toilet-clogging blue foam exempted, while he interviewed Lily Palmer, the nanny candidate. At least Lily had agreed to change her schedule and move up their interview to one o’clock that afternoon.

Until he’d explained his dire straits, she hadn’t been free until the end of the week. At least she was flexible. Of course, he’d cushioned the story, telling her that his temporary child care had fallen through and he was in a pinch. There was no way he was going to scare her off with the gory details of pranks and temper tantrums. He prayed to God that she was right for the kids and available to start immediately.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Cullen,” said Megan. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He’d known Megan and her brother and two sisters since birth. Hell, he’d known their father since the two of them were in kindergarten. Uncle Cullen was an honorary title that he didn’t take lightly, especially now that Greg was gone.

“I told George not to dump the potion in the toilet,” she continued earnestly.

Nine-year-old George was the second oldest after Megan, and he was conspicuously absent at the moment.

As chief of staff at Celebration Memorial Hospital, Cullen ran a tight ship and prided himself on being unshakable even in the face of the most horrific medical emergencies. However, after taking in Greg’s kids, Cullen had discovered he wasn’t as unflinching as he thought.

But wait—

“The potion?” Cullen asked, Megan’s words belatedly sinking in.

“Yeah,” said the little girl. “We like to pretend we’re scientists and the bathroom is our lab. We make potions out of all the things we find in there.”

He tried to remember where Angie stored the cleaning supplies that produced noxious fumes if mixed together—like bleach and ammonia.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun,” he said. “But it can be kind of dangerous. So you have to be careful. What did you mix together to make the potion expand like that?”

The girl had started to give him a laundry list of ingredients when Angie called from downstairs, “Goodbye, Dr. Dunlevy. I’m leaving now.”

He’d let her go downstairs to cool off a bit, hoping he could talk some sense into her. Or bribe her.

“Angie, please wait.”

He looked at the little girl. “I need to go apologize to Angie and try and talk her into staying. We’ll talk about the potion later. In the meantime, please don’t conduct any more chemistry experiments. And don’t flush anything else down the toilet. Will you please make sure your brother and sisters don’t, either? I’m counting on you, okay?”

Megan nodded and swiped at her tears. He ruffled her hair to show her he wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at the situation, but what else could he do except go down and plead with Angie?

He was so out of his league. But when he’d gotten Megan’s distress call three days ago, he’d had no choice but to bring the kids to live with him.

People could say a lot of things about Cullen Dunlevy, but no one could deny that he was a man of his word.

Six months ago, after Greg and Rosa’s funeral, it seemed as if the kids were settled. They were set to move in with a great couple. Dan and Carla, friends of Greg and Rosa, had agreed to take in the kids—all four of them. They’d promised to love them as their own. But then Carla had gotten sick. Terminally ill. In the weeks before the adoption was to become final, they had to back out.

No warning. No opportunity for Cullen to point out that he wouldn’t make a good guardian since he practically lived at the hospital. But he’d made a promise to Megan at her parents’ funeral. He’d told her if she needed anything—anything at all—she could call him and he’d be there.

When he’d made that promise, he’d intended anything at all to mean money, a ride, advice. He’d never imagined the little girl would call, asking him to give her and her brother and sisters a temporary home.

But she had called, and he intended to keep his word for as long as it took to find the kids a new adoptive family where they could stay together—all four of them.

Cullen swallowed bile as he headed toward the kitchen to try to sweet-talk Angie into staying until he’d had a chance to talk to Lily. He and the kids would sort out the blue mess in the bathroom and their behavior later.

“Angie, will you please just help me out today? I’m desperate. I need you. Just until after the interview. And maybe to show the nanny the ropes. Then you’re off the hook.”

When Cullen had asked Angie to watch the kids, she’d made it very clear that her schedule was full. She’d built a nice business cleaning house for many of the doctors and professionals at Celebration Memorial. In fact, she delighted in telling him she had a waiting list, which Cullen knew mostly consisted of single doctors who worked so many hours that they were never home to mess up their homes. Of course, dust fell and spiders spun webs whether or not a person was home.

Angie had found her niche. It was a pretty good gig. The only reason—besides the monetary incentive—she agreed to put in extra hours at Cullen’s house to babysit was that he was her original client.

He’d milked that for all it was worth. And then he’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Now she was threatening to quit altogether.

Why should he be surprised? Had he ever been able to count on anyone?

“Please, Angie. Stay.”

With her purse on her arm, the harried fiftysomething woman sighed and shot him a pained look. The unspoken reality was that the four kids needed to be watched. Like a hawk. They wouldn’t sit quietly in front of the television or entertain themselves. In the three days they’d been at Cullen’s house, he’d discovered entertaining themselves produced foaming blue potions that clogged toilets and stained bathroom floors.

Angie, who had confessed that she didn’t like kids, had told him that while she had her eye on one or two of them, the others would be doing something behind her back.

“It’s a wonder they haven’t burned down the house,” she’d said. Until today, Cullen thought she’d been exaggerating.

“You don’t have to clean up the mess they made. I’ll deal with that. All I’m asking you to do is keep the kids occupied until after I interview Lily Palmer. Play a game with them. One hour at the most and then you can go. I promise.”

He wasn’t even going to think about what he might do if Lily didn’t work out or if she couldn’t start today.

Before Angie could answer, Cullen’s cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. So that meant he had to answer it. Lily might be calling to say she was lost...or to cancel. Maybe he shouldn’t answer.

He was already pushing it by leaving the hospital in the middle of the day, asking his colleague Liam Thayer to cover for him. Thayer was the one who had recommended Lily. Cullen prayed to God that she was as perfect for the job as Liam’s wife, Kate, had promised.

“Please, Angie.” He was relieved when she heaved a resigned sigh and set her purse on the kitchen’s granite-topped center island.

“I need to take this call. Just play a game with them. Please. And thank you.

“Cullen Dunlevy,” he said as he made his way to his office, where he could still hear the doorbell if the nanny arrived while he was on the phone.

“Hey, Doc, it’s Max Cabot. Got a sec?”

Max was the contractor who was building the new pediatric surgical wing at the hospital. The entire Celebration community had rallied to raise money for this much-needed improvement to Celebration Memorial Hospital.

A door slammed in another part of the house. Cullen heard kids shrieking and laughing. Franklin the dog, who had come as a package deal with the kids, barked.

Had they been outside? Wasn’t it raining? Judging by the noise level, they were definitely inside now.

“Hold on, Max.” Cullen put his hand over the phone. “Hey, guys, can you keep it down, please? I’m on the phone. Play a game with Angie. Play that new Monopoly game we just bought.”

His words were lost in the cacophony and the sound of running feet—like a herd of stampeding buffalo. He shook his head.

“Max, I have to call you back, buddy. This is not a good time. I have...a situation here, and I have an appointment that should arrive any minute.”

“No problem,” said Max. “If you’re at home, I’m going to drop by some documents for you to review. I won’t stay. It’ll just be a drop and run.”

Before Cullen could answer, Angie’s voice screeched above the kid noise and the barking dog. “Get down! Get off me. You nasty mutt. You stink. Ugggh!” She made a guttural sound like an angry bear. “What is this? What did that dog get on my pants? Get him out of here before I open the front door and put him out myself!”

What the hell?

The dog’s bark had changed to a protective growl.The kids were all talking at once. One of them started crying as Angie continued her nasty-dog tirade.

Cullen put his hand over his free ear as he walked toward the kitchen to make sure Angie and the kids hadn’t come to blows. “Good, Max. See you soon. I have to go.”

Cullen hung up the phone and hurried into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked. “Why all the noise?”

Angie had a wet paper towel in her hand and was dabbing at something brown and suspicious on the thigh of her khaki pants. The wet dog, a shaggy black Heinz 57 variety, had taken a protective stance and continued his growl-bark at Angie. Hannah, the youngest of the four kids, was sobbing into her hands. “You can’t put him out front. He’ll go away just like Mommy did.”

The middle girl, Bridget, put her arms around her little sister and hugged her. “Don’t worry, Hannah. I won’t let her do anything to Franklin.”

Angie looked over at Cullen with crazy eyes. “I did not sign up for this.” Her hand made a sweeping gesture. “This dog has ruined my new pants with his filth and he’s tracked up the floor I mopped. You’re going to have to clean that up yourself along with the blue mess, Dr. Dunlevy, because I quit. I’m out of here.”

She tossed the wadded paper towel into the garbage, grabbed her purse and speed-walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.

“Good! I’m glad she’s gone,” said George. He punctuated his declaration with a loud raspberry.

Oh, for the love of all things holy. “Angie, wait, please. Send me a bill for the pants. I’ll replace them.”

One hand on the door, she paused and looked back. “They cost ninety-five dollars. You can include it in my final paycheck, which you may mail to my house.”

Ninety-five dollars? Was she kidding? Who wore expensive pants to clean a house? Of course, with her cushy gig, she didn’t have to get her hands—or her pants—very dirty. Angie was all about making the most money expending the least amount of energy.

He and his colleagues were the ones who paid her.

Who was the smart one in this scenario?

Angie opened the door and nearly missed running head-on into a perky blonde who stood there smiling, one hand raised as if to knock on the door.

Lily Palmer? Had to be.

One look at her sparkling green eyes and her dimpled smile and Cullen had to fight the urge to hire her right on the spot. She looked like a blonde angel backlit by a ray of sunshine that had finally broken through the gray storm clouds.

As the sound of bickering kids trailed through the half-open front door, he wondered if he could interview her on the front porch and not let her inside until she had taken an irrevocable pledge to work as a nanny for the month of December, which was the length of time she was available to nanny.

God, please don’t let the kids run her off the same way they sent Angie packing.

“Hello,” she said. Her smile didn’t falter and the sparkle in her green eyes didn’t fade despite the unwelcoming sounds coming from the house and the figurative horns and fangs that Angie sported as she stood next to Lily on the front-porch step.

“I’m Lily Palmer. I’m looking for Dr. Cullen Dunlevy. I’m here to interview for the nanny position.”

“I’m Cullen Dunlevy.” That was when he noticed that her eyes weren’t just green; they were flecked with gold and her full lips were...stunning. For a fleeting moment he wanted nothing more than to taste those lips, but he mentally shook away the inappropriate thought.

This wasn’t a speed-dating interview.

He needed her.

Uh— He needed her to watch the kids. He’d be wise to keep himself in check.

Angie laughed. It was a bitter sound.

“I have two pieces of advice for you, Lily Palmer,” she said. “Run while you can. Run and save yourself.”

* * *

Lily looked at the shockingly handsome man who had answered the door and then back at the frazzled-looking middle-aged woman, who made a snorting sound as she turned away from them and virtually jogged toward the driveway.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Lily asked.

She could hear a barking dog and children’s voices somewhere behind the half-open front door. The sounds were temporarily eclipsed by the cranking engine of the woman’s sports car.

Dr. Dunlevy smiled sheepishly. A dimple winked at her and his hazel eyes shone with boyish charm. Were they hazel or green? She resisted the urge to stare.

“Actually you couldn’t have arrived at a better time. I’m sorry about all of this.” He held out his hands, palms turned toward the gray sky. “Just so you know, Angie wasn’t here applying for the job. Actually she was my housekeeper. Emphasis on the was. She just quit. I hope that won’t scare you off.”

Lily glanced over her shoulder in the direction of where the woman’s car had been parked. “Well, no. I teach second graders during the school year. I don’t scare that easily. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

If she didn’t need this job so badly, she might admit that Angie’s exit did concern her just a wee bit. But the private school where Lily taught was closed for the entire month of December—for family ski trips and holiday celebrations. Having a month off was a nice perk for the privileged, but for those who needed money, the unpaid vacation was a hardship.

When she’d heard that Dr. Dunlevy, who worked with the husband of her friend Kate Thayer, was looking for a temporary nanny, it sounded like the perfect job. Especially when she learned he was paying two and a half times what she could earn working a temporary seasonal retail position. She wouldn’t let a disgruntled former employee and a barking dog scare her off.

She swallowed her apprehension.

“I guess you really do need extra help,” she said.

“You can say that again. Let’s go inside. I need to check on the kids. You can meet them, and then we can start over.”

Dr. Dunlevy pushed open the door and motioned her inside. He was tall and much younger than she had imagined when Kate had explained the sad situation—that the kids’ parents had died in a car accident and the family that was supposed to adopt them had to back out at the last minute. Lily had envisioned Celebration Memorial’s chief of staff to be...older and distinguished. But not quite so tall, broad shouldered and good-looking.

She leaned her umbrella against the porch rail and stepped into the foyer. Loosening her scarf, she used the opportunity to take a good look around. Nice place. From the foyer, Lily could see into the living room. It was a bit on the cold and formal side for her taste, but it was nicely done. The high ceilings made the large room, with its stark white walls and modern art, gray marble floors and light-colored leather furniture, look even more expansive. The place definitely had a decorator’s touch, and it looked utterly unlived in. It reminded her of the cold, formal feel of a modern museum she’d visited on her senior class trip to New York City. It was interesting to look at, but she couldn’t imagine getting comfortable in a place like this. She certainly couldn’t imagine young children living here. Not with all this white and glass. It would show every little smidgen of dirt, but it wasn’t her place to judge.

Lily caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. When she looked closer, she saw a small girl with dark, curly hair, who couldn’t have been any older than four or five, huddled in the corner by the sofa. She had her arms around a big, black wet-looking dog, who sat panting patiently, letting the little girl hug him.

Lily touched Dr. Dunlevy’s arm and gestured with a slight nod of her head in the girl’s direction.

“That’s Hannah,” he said and turned his attention to the child. “What are you doing, Hannah? Are you okay?”

The girl didn’t answer but seemed to tighten her hold on the dog’s neck.

“Hannah, will you come over here, please?” His voice sounded as if he was purposely trying to infuse a smile into it. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The girl gave a quick shake of her head and buried her face in the dog’s shaggy back. Dr. Dunlevy looked at Lily and gave an exasperated shrug. He looked exhausted. Lily held up a finger and then walked over to the girl.

“Hi, Hannah, I’m Lily. When I was about your age, I used to have a dog that looked an awful lot like yours. Mine was named Scout. What’s your dog’s name?”

Hannah remained silent and sullen. Lily sat down on the edge of the couch nearest the girl and the dog. She reached out a hand and let the dog sniff it. He licked her and Lily took that as an invitation to give him a scratch behind the ears.

“You’re a good dog, aren’t you?” Lily cooed. He was a little smelly, emitting an odor of eau de wet dog, but he was definitely a gentle animal.

“His name is Franklin,” the girl said in a small, shaky voice. “Will you protect Franklin from Angie? Angie said she was going to put him out in the front yard. She wants him to go away like my mommy did.”

Lily’s heart tightened. She slanted Cullen a concerned, questioning look. He knit his brow and gave a quick shake of the head.

“Hannah, she didn’t mean it,” he said. “Angie was just upset because Franklin got mud on her new pants. We’re not going to let anything happen to your dog. I promise.”

“I don’t like Angie.” Hannah was crying. “She’s mean.”

“Oh, honey, please don’t cry.” Lily took a chance and reached out and smoothed a dark brown curl off the girl’s tearstained cheek. Hannah didn’t pull away. “Did you hear what Dr. Dunlevy said? We promise you no one is going to make Franklin go away. If they try, they’re going to have to tangle with me.”