Mistletoe Baby

Tanya Michaels

MILLS & BOON

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“I can’t look. You do it.”

“You sure?”

She just couldn’t. “I’m sure.”

Closing her eyes, Rachel waited an interminable heartbeat of time, heard David suck in his breath.

“Oh my God.” His words were a reverent whisper.

“You’re kidding!” She knew he’d never joke about this. Still, maybe he’d misread the test, or…“Let me see.”

He moved aside, letting out an earsplitting whoop even as she viewed the proof for herself. “We’re pregnant!”

Her knees trembled. She was carrying his baby. Tears welled in her eyes. Before she could classify them as happy crying or something more bittersweet, he pulled her into his strong arms.

And kissed her.

Dear Reader,

In 2007, I created the town of Mistletoe, Georgia, for a Harlequin American Christmas novella and I loved the setting and characters so much that I knew I had to return! (Luckily, my editor agreed.) Many of you wrote to ask if there would be more Mistletoe stories and the answer is a resounding yes: four, as a matter of fact! One for each season.

First up is the winter tale of David and Rachel Waide, a husband and wife who love each other deeply but have lost their way, due in part to the emotional toll of infertility struggles. The last thing they want to do is upset their loved ones at Christmas with news of a separation, especially when David’s brother is about to get married. The entire Waide family is busy with wedding preparations. So David and Rachel agree to put on a happy face until the end of December. Amid the magical holiday season and poignant reminders of what matrimony means, can they rediscover what drew them together in the first place and maybe discover brand new gifts as well?

Watch for the next book, Mistletoe Cinderella, to be out April 2009! You can learn about all four stories at my Web site, www.TanyaMichaels.com.

Happy reading & enjoy your stay,

Tanya

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tanya Michaels started telling stories almost as soon as she could talk…and started stealing her mom’s Harlequin romances less than a decade later. In 2003, Tanya was thrilled to have her first book, a romantic comedy, published by Harlequin. Since then, Tanya’s sold nearly twenty books and is a two-time recipient of the Booksellers’ Best Award as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion, National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award. Tanya lives in Georgia with her husband, two preschoolers and an unpredictable cat, but you can visit Tanya online at www.tanyamichaels.com.

This holiday story about marriage—

one couple preparing to join their lives

while another couple rediscovers their love—is

dedicated to real-life married couple Jane and Eric,

aka The Mims Who Saved Christmas. Thank you so

much for everything you’ve both done, for always

picking up the phone no matter the hour, for always

having a kitchen stocked full of comfort food, and

for always laughing at the right moments.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

It was the worst basketball game in Waide brother history—even including the one when David, at fourteen, had been showing off for a cute neighborhood girl and ended up with stitches. At least he’d sunk the layup before taking the trip to the emergency room, not to mention going on the subsequent movie date and having his first real kiss.

Given David and Tanner’s combined performance this December afternoon, however, a team from Whiteberry Elementary could probably take them. David’s shots kept going wild. He knew he was throwing with too much force, taking repressed anger out on a ball that had never hurt anyone.

“This is getting humiliating,” he called as Tanner jogged after the ball for the rebound.

“Getting?” His younger brother smirked. “Then you haven’t been paying attention for the past hour. The irony is how hard you’re trying. Last time I saw a guy push himself like that was Dylan Echols when he was up for a baseball scholarship. But you’re not a high school athlete, you’re a middle-aged store manager.”

“Thirty-one is not middle age,” David retorted. “And it’s not like you’re doing any better. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Tanner grinned, unfazed. “Guess my mind’s on my beautiful bride-to-be.”

David rolled his eyes, but they both knew he was happy for his brother. Ecstatic even. Definitely not jealous.

“So we know my excuse,” Tanner continued. “You want to tell me what’s eating you?”

No. He and Rachel had agreed not to break the bad news until after the holidays, after the wedding. Maybe by then, it wouldn’t even be necessary. Their problems could be nothing more than a temporary aberration brought on by Rachel’s medication and mood swings. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You sure? I could pay you back for all that great advice you used to give me.”

“Great advice you consistently ignored.”

Growing up, there’d been an unspoken friction between David—the oldest sibling, high school valedictorian and heir apparent at the family store—and Tanner—the restless rebel who couldn’t seem to win their dad’s approval. With time and distance, the two brothers had matured and their stern father had mellowed. Last winter, when Tanner had moved back to Mistletoe, family peace had been restored. At the same time, Tanner had rekindled his relationship with high school sweetheart Lilah Baum. On December 28, the two would finally marry.

When his brother didn’t start dribbling, David straightened. “We done?”

“Not unless your ego can’t take it anymore.” Tanner checked his watch. “I need to clean up before I meet Lilah for dinner, but she and the girls should still be at the fitting.”

David looked away; one of those “girls” included his wife. Amidst all of Tanner and Lilah’s nuptial preparations, David couldn’t help being reminded of his own wedding. How excited he’d been, how in love. He’d known from the moment he’d seen Rachel Nietermyer that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He swallowed hard.

“Can I get your opinion on something?” Tanner asked.

Only if it has nothing to do with marriage or women in general. David’s own first year of marriage had been blissful. If he could go back now, what advice would he give himself? What could he have done differently? He’d worked to give Rachel everything she needed. Of course, the one thing she’d truly wanted hadn’t been within his power.

“I might not be your best bet for wisdom,” David said. “Maybe you should talk to Dad or Mom.”

Zachariah and Susan Waide were informal experts on relationships; they’d been together nearly forty years. No Waide David knew of had ever been divorced.

Tanner laughed, the carefree sound of a confident man in love. “It’s not a huge crisis requiring the big guns. I glanced at one of Lilah’s magazines, and some bridal checklists mentioned a wedding present. I’m stymied. We’re getting married three days after Christmas. Is she going to expect something even bigger than her Christmas gifts? If I get her something too extravagant and she gets me a small token, am I going to embarrass her?”

“Seriously? These are the things you worry about?”

“Stupid, right?” Lowering his gaze, Tanner bounced the ball against the concrete. “But this is Lilah. I’ve screwed up in the past. She deserves…I want everything to be perfect.”

Remembering various anniversaries, Christmases and birthdays, David sighed. “No, it’s not stupid.” Still, perfect was a tall order.

He kept his skepticism to himself. What did he know? Maybe Lilah and Tanner would find their own version of perfect. Perhaps in marriage, the erstwhile prodigal son would succeed where the overachieving problem-solver was currently failing.

RACHEL WAIDE suspected that the best way to survive emotional trauma—separating from your husband, just as a crazy for-instance—was to depend on the support of friends and family. Which was spectacularly unhelpful in her case, since she and David had sworn not to tell any of their friends and family. Weddings should be festive, celebratory events, and she and David refused to ruin Tanner and Lilah’s moment.

Blinking away the omnipresent threat of tears, she gave her reflection a reprimanding scowl. Think happy thoughts. She wasn’t going to let herself turn into the self-centered Ebenezer Scrooge of bridesmaids, visited Christmas Eve by three vengeful wedding coordinators.

“Rach?” Lilah’s perky voice came from the other side of the thick mauve curtain. “How’s the dress look?”

Tight. Rachel dropped her gaze from the circles underscoring her gray eyes to the sparkling beadwork at the gown’s neckline. Though she’d been in for preliminary measurements, the bodice was too snug. She should’ve known better than to seek solace in the arms of salt-and-vinegar potato chips.

Then again, as a side effect of fertility treatments, Rachel had already gained a cumulative fifteen pounds. Why castigate herself over three more? She’d diet after the New Year like the rest of the free world. For now, she’d simply do her best to get through the next three weeks and invest in some bulge-minimizing undergarments for the wedding. Visions of Spandex body shapers danced in her head. On the big day, all eyes would be on the bride anyway.

For just a second, her memories reverted to her own walk down the aisle four and a half years ago. The sanctuary doors had opened, and despite the dozens of people present, her gaze had gone straight to David standing at the front of the church. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he’d been impossibly handsome in his tuxedo. It was the smile, the way he’d beamed at her, though, that had made him breathtaking.

When she’d made the painful decision after Thanksgiving to separate from her husband, it had been in part because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that smile. The two of them had become so much less than they once were, than they should have been.

Marshaling her expression into a smile, Rachel smoothed a few wayward strands of her long black hair and drew aside the curtain. “Ta-da.”

Lilah Baum clapped her hands to her cheeks, like a little girl delighted with what Santa had left. For a moment, the auburn-haired woman resembled the fourth-graders she taught. “Oh, Rachel. You look just beautiful! Everything is going to be so…so…” She fanned her fingers in front of her face, trying to stem tears as she sobbed something apologetic.

Behind Lilah, twenty-three-year-old Arianne Waide rolled her eyes with wry affection, looking a lot like her oldest brother. “She’s a little emotional lately.”

The maid of honor, petite and blond Arianne wore a dress that was completely different from Rachel’s but cut from the same green satin. Clover, the seamstress had called the color. Arianne and Lilah were longtime friends who would be sisters-in-law by the end of the month. For the past four and a half years, Arianne had been Rachel’s sister-in-law, too. Rachel was closer to the young woman than she was to her actual sister back in South Carolina. Throughout Lilah and Tanner’s engagement, Arianne had joked that at long last, women would outnumber the men in the Waide family.

Her eyes stinging again, Rachel ducked her head. “Nothing wrong with being sentimental, especially right before your wedding.”

“Yeah, but it’s not your wedding.” Arianne stepped closer while Lilah dug a tissue out of her purse. She lowered her voice, her pixie features unusually somber. “You okay?”

God, no. Ending a marriage had to be painful at any time or place, but here in the close-knit community of Mistletoe, Georgia, surrounded by people who loved her and David and didn’t know they lived in opposite sides of their house, made it impossible for her to start the grieving process and move forward. Mercifully, in a few days she’d get some respite. She’d leaped at the chance to house-sit while a neighbor with multiple dogs took a fourteen-day luxury cruise. It provided Rachel a socially plausible excuse for not sleeping under the same roof as her husband, not that she’d been sleeping much.

On the plus side, she was providing tons of job security for people who manufactured under-eye concealer.

“I bet I can guess what’s wrong,” Ari said softly.

“Really?” Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. It was bad enough she and David shouldered this secret, an ironic final intimacy; she didn’t want to burden Arianne with it.

“Maybe it’ll happen next month.” Arianne squeezed her hand. “I just know you guys will make wonderful parents.”

Rachel choked back a semihysterical laugh. She thinks I started my period. It was true that, for months, she’d thought that glimpsing those first telltale signs of blood was the most upsetting thing that could happen to her. She’d recently revised her opinion.

“Someone’s gonna have to help me with this blankety-blank zipper,” came a cantankerous voice from the third dressing room. “I ain’t as limber as I used to be.”

Lilah had blotted her eyes and was now grinning. “On my way, Vonda!”

If Lilah’s bridal party wasn’t the most eclectic ever seen in Mistletoe, Georgia, it had to be in the running. Top five, easily. She had thirty-year-old Rachel, a woman who would be trying to look anywhere but at her own husband during the wedding; a maid of honor who constantly joked that after growing up with two older brothers, you couldn’t pay her to live with a man willingly again; second-grade teacher Quinn Keller, who had the face of an angel and an unexpectedly devilish sense of humor; and seventy-four-year-old Vonda Simms Kerrigan, a town fixture who’d had a hand in Lilah and Tanner’s courtship last winter. The woman was a spitfire who won nearly every card game she played and dated younger men, or as she put it, “hotties in their sixties.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Quinn said breathlessly as a sales-woman escorted her past the mirrored dais toward the fitting rooms. “Our meeting ran over.” She was on a committee bringing Christmas to local families in need.

Rachel nodded toward the space she’d just vacated. “You can use that one.”

No doubt Quinn would look sensational in her dress. Rather than try to find a gown that would suit four differing body types and ages, Lilah had asked the seamstress to create three individual dresses and, for Vonda, a suit. Quinn was the only one with the figure and attitude to pull off a strapless gown in December.

As they waited for the other women to emerge, Arianne turned to Rachel. “You know what might cheer you up? Shopping! Want to hit some stores after this?”

“Um…” In the past, she would have jumped at the suggestion, but time alone with Ari might provide too much temptation to confide in someone.

“Well, think about it,” Arianne said as she turned her attention toward a shelved display of shoes. She picked up a sling back. “Unless you and David have plans?”

“Nothing specific.” Just awkward silence and retreating to separate corners.

If she curled up in the den with a book, he turned on the television in the front living room. If she watched TV, he went for a run. She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her because he was angry or simply trying to defuse the tension by giving her space. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about it. When he was in the room with her, it was like she couldn’t breathe and just wanted either of them to be anywhere else. Yet whenever he left, her chest hitched with the urge to call him back: Don’t go, hold me, make it better.

But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

She’d met him at a time in her life when she was overstressed and questioning what she wanted in life, taking a vacation from her South Carolinian life as an advertising executive in Columbia. David was a natural-born leader, evidenced by civic committees he’d headed and his volunteer duties coaching touch football in early fall and soccer in the spring. They’d barely been on two dates before he was encouraging her to let him shoulder her burdens. He’d advised her as confidently as he did five-year-olds who were confused about which goal to kick toward. It had felt like a blessing at the time.

Unfortunately, in “simplifying” her life and inviting David to gloss over her problems, Rachel had lost herself somewhere along the way. In the past year, she’d begun to question whether her husband loved her—romantically, not just dutifully—but could she really blame him for not seeing her? She wasn’t even sure who she was. Resolution number one for the New Year: find out.

Chapter Two

David was stepping out of the shower that evening when he heard the tentative “Hello?” from the outer room. Reflexively, he clutched his towel around him, as if the woman on the other side of the door hadn’t seen his nude body a thousand times. As if she might accidentally burst in while he was undressed and make the strain between them even worse.

The thought was truly asinine on all levels. When was the last time Rachel had “burst in” anywhere? Since the miscarriage last spring, it seemed as if even rising from her chair took effort. And how on earth would it be possible for the awkwardness between them to become worse?

“In here,” he called back.

“Okay. Just checking.” Her words were followed by retreating footsteps.

He dried off and dressed, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so that he didn’t impulsively run after her. The caveman deep inside him seemed to think that tossing his wife onto the bed and making thorough love to her would somehow resurrect what they’d once shared.

Stupid caveman.

The once sexy part of their marriage had long become regulated by ovulation predictor kits, and each fruitless encounter was more perfunctory and less satisfying than the last.

So what now, genius? In school he’d excelled at problem-solving. As it turned out, participating in teen extracurricular activities for gifted students and graduating college with honors didn’t educate a man on understanding women. He’d tried so damn hard to be the perfect husband, and she’d just…walked away. Had she really become so numb that she had no feelings left for him?

As he walked down the hall, he heard her in the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. Her back was to him as he rounded the corner into the room. She poured herself some tea, presumably to wash down a couple of the aspirin in the big white bottle she held. Her shoulders were slumped in a defeated posture that tugged at his heart.

He used to hug her whenever she’d had a bad day, cajole her into a better mood. Cheer up, he’d say, you still have me. If he tried to embrace her now, would she stiffen and pull away?

“How was the dress fitting?” he heard himself ask. Inane small talk as if he were killing time on an elevator with a casual acquaintance.

His wife turned in his direction but didn’t quite meet his eyes, addressing one of the light-stained wood cabinets just past his left shoulder. “Lilah will make a beautiful bride.”

“Tanner’s a lucky man.”

She nodded, her fingers trembling a little as she tried to get the lid off the aspirin.

“Let me.” He walked toward her, palm extended.

She recoiled. “I can do it.”

“Dammit, Rachel—” Her vulnerable expression quelled the reactionary anger that had been rising in him.

She looked somehow both harder and more fragile than the woman he’d once known. Her eyes were shadowed, and there was a chafed spot on her bottom lip. She had a bad habit of chewing on her lip when she was upset. He glanced up in sudden realization that he was staring at her mouth and she’d caught him doing it.

Defensiveness made his tone gruff. “You look like hell.”

Her normally warm gray eyes were the color of cold steel. “Thank you so much.”

“I didn’t…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just worry about you.”

“That’s not your responsibility anymore,” she said with an attempt at a smile, as if she was trying to point out a positive.

His pride—his heart—stung. “I guess we can’t all just turn off our emotions and walk away from vows so easily.”

For a second, he thought she might throw the aspirin bottle at him. Instead, she turned toward the counter, dismissing him with her body language.

He clenched his fists at his sides. He’d known this woman for years. Laughed with her, loved her, said things to her he couldn’t imagine sharing with another person. Yet the prospect of beating himself upside the head with one of the pots hanging over the kitchen island seemed less painful than a three-minute conversation with her. How had they come to this?

“I’m sorry,” he said. He rarely lost his temper, and he needed his composure now more than ever. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re entitled to your anger.” With an audible pop, the lid finally came off the bottle. “It’ll be easier when I’m at Winnie’s. I’m supposed to go over tonight to spend time with the animals and look over all the instructions with her.”

“Yeah, she phoned to say she was in for the evening and any time was good with her. And your sister called. That’s what I came in here to tell you.” Probably he should have led with that rather than You look like hell. “She said it was important, but not bad news.”

Considering the massive heart attack that had threatened Mr. Nietermyer’s life the year David met Rachel, and the two lesser cardiac episodes that had followed, urgent messages from home tended to make her nervous.

“Thanks.” She washed down two pills with a gulp, placed her cup on the counter, then turned, clearly ready to take her leave of him.

He didn’t move aside. “Did you grab a bite with the ladies?”

“No, Lilah had dinner plans, and everyone else went shopping. I didn’t feel up to it.”

“I’ll fix you something. You should—”

“David.” She smiled tiredly. “Thank you, but I’m a big girl. I’m capable of opening my own aspirin and cooking my own meals.”

Of course she was. He was just so desperate to do something. For most of his life, he’d enjoyed a sense of purpose. His mom had raised him with the notion that he could do anything he set his mind to, and for nearly thirty years, that had held true. Then there’d come the infertility problems, which had made him crazy because there was nothing he could do to help Rach, and then her announcement that she was leaving. He’d been so dumbfounded, so struck by the unfamiliar sensation of being out of control, that he’d just let her go.

Part of him—if he were being brutally honest—might even have been relieved by the time apart, but only as a stopgap measure, not as a permanent life change.

“When you call your sister back, you aren’t going to tell her about us, are you?” It sounded autocratic even in his own ears, a demand. He couldn’t bear anyone knowing that his marriage had failed. Every person who found out would be one more severed tie cutting him adrift.

Rachel glared, exasperated. “I don’t know. I agreed with you that this is a special time for Lilah and Tanner, the whole Waide family, and I didn’t want to ruin it. But don’t you think I deserve a friendly ear? Someone to talk to?”

Why hadn’t she tried harder to talk to him? He’d always listened, always offered suggestions and attempted to soothe the problems away. “Rachel. You know that if it were in my power to—”

“I know.” She surprised him by reaching out, brushing her hand over the arm of his long-sleeved T-shirt. Then she passed by, not looking back as she added, “But it’s not.”

BECAUSE a chilly December rain had started to fall, Rachel drove to Winnie’s on the other side of the subdivision rather than walk. When the windshield wipers did nothing to clear her view, she realized the spots blurring her vision were tears. This was ridiculous. Separating was her decision, yet she’d cried every day since she’d told David that they didn’t belong together.

Despite what logic and intellect told her, on some level she felt she’d failed by not getting pregnant. Why couldn’t her body accomplish what some teenagers achieved unintentionally? When she’d suffered a first-trimester miscarriage last spring, it had devastated her, yet she’d tried to see it as a sign that at least she could conceive. But month after month, hope waned. As did her and David’s tenderness with each other. She could admit that there had been some hormone-triggered mood swings on her part and that she’d been difficult to live with. He’d been patient at first, but no sooner had she lost a child than he began touting adoption as the reasonable solution. His seemingly “just get over it” attitude trivialized everything she’d experienced and made her feel alone even when he was holding her…which was less and less.

David liked to tell people what course of action they should take, whether it was customers at his family’s store, his newly returned brother or councilmen at town meetings. Almost everyone valued his input; Rachel herself had sought his opinion in the early days of marriage. It had taken her until this year to realize how aloof he could be when people didn’t follow his advice. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he didn’t view her as an equal partner.

Tonight was one example of how an endearing habit could turn grating. She’d once found it charming that he would remind her to eat or do little things to take care of her, but lately his suggestions had begun to sound slightly condescending.

Her heart rate kicked up suddenly, her pulse pounding in her ears so loudly that she couldn’t hear her own thoughts—not an altogether bad thing considering their dark tone. Her vision swam. What the hell? Fingers clenched on the steering wheel, she hurriedly parked at the curb. Then she waited, taking deep breaths.

Was she being melodramatic, or had she just almost fainted? She’d never passed out in her life. Though her headache remained in full force, her pulse slowed enough that she could walk to Winnie’s front door and ring the bell without worrying that she looked like a deranged escapee from the nearest hospital.

Winnie Brisbane, receptionist for the town veterinarian, was one of the softest-hearted people in the county. Her two lab mixes had been with her for years; a three-legged cat named Arpeggio and a lop-eared rabbit were more recent additions. Winnie had been negotiating with local pet-sitter Brenna Pierce to care for the menagerie when she’d found an abandoned puppy in a November storm. Though she’d placed a poster in the vet’s office, most people were too preoccupied with approaching holiday chaos to take on a gangly puppy with a nervous bladder and no obedience training. By Thanksgiving, Winnie had named the mutt Hildie.

Short of Winnie canceling the cruise she and her cousins had been planning for over a year, having someone house-sit seemed the only sensible solution. Brenna’s client schedule was too full for the constant care a puppy required, not to mention how much the extra professional visits would stretch Winnie’s modest budget. She’d laughingly told Rachel that she’d blown this year’s mad money on cruise wear and was making up for it with peanut-butter-sandwich lunches and macaroni-and-cheese dinners.

“The dogs are officially eating better than I am,” she’d admitted when Rachel offered to puppy-sit.

As Winnie ushered her into the house, Rachel had a twinge of guilt over the woman’s outpouring of gratitude. Though there was no good way to explain it to sweet-natured, freckle-faced Winnie, who blushed when David so much as smiled, Rachel had taken the house-sitting gig for selfish reasons. Tonight it had hit home how impossible it was for her to be under the same roof with her husband and not just because their exchanges deteriorated into sniping or unproductive regrets.

When he’d walked into the kitchen earlier, she’d been overwhelmed, out of the blue, by the sandalwood scent of his shampoo. Her sense of smell seemed abnormally strong, maybe because of the headache. She’d read about people with migraines having heightened sensitivities. Whatever the cause, she’d had a nearly visceral memory of him washing her hair once, the feel of his hands across her scalp, the rich lather of the shampoo, his soapy skin sliding against hers as they leaned together for a kiss, the water sluicing over both their bodies.

“Rachel? Are you okay?”

Good heavens, she’d completely forgotten about Winnie sitting across the table, summarizing pet routines that were written in a spiral notebook.

“Sorry.” Rachel swallowed. “I got a little…overheated for a moment. Can I trouble you for a glass of water?”

Winnie made a sympathetic noise. “Those medications, I expect.”

One of the positives of living in a small town was that people cared—when they asked how you were doing, they wanted an honest answer, not a rote “fine, thanks.” Susan Waide, strongly in favor of becoming a grandmother, had asked for prayer support among her friends at church on David and Rachel’s behalf. The OB’s office staff knew Rachel by name and were all pulling for her. Sometimes, having everyone within shouting distance knowing the details of her life and cheering her on was nice.

This was not one of those times.

So she kept it to herself that she wasn’t even taking the drugs anymore; she’d emptied her last prescription just prior to Halloween. The doctors had warned then that potential long-term dangers of the hormones were starting to outweigh the possibility of conception. They’d broached the subject of in vitro procedures, but she’d decided against it pretty early in the discussion process. It was expensive, offered no guarantees, and frankly, her relationship with David had cooled so much by then that she wondered if it would be fair to bring a baby into their home.

Home. Glad Winnie stood at the sink with her back turned, Rachel surreptitiously wiped away tears. When David had surprised her late in their engagement with the key to the brick house two streets over, she’d thought it was her dream home. Now it stood as a museum of their disappointments and mistakes.

The sooner I get out of that house, the better. She found herself reciting the mantra several times a day. She just wished she could convince herself it was true.

WHEN Rachel returned from Winnie’s, David was hunched over his laptop in the front living room, no doubt working on files for the store. The Waides had owned a supply store in Mistletoe for generations, but it had really grown under David and Zachariah’s partnership. In the spring, Zachariah Waide had gone into partial retirement, handing over the bulk of daily management to his oldest child. David had thrown himself into the job with gusto, seeming happier when he was at the store than he did when he was with her.

Careful not to disturb his work now, Rachel tiptoed past, stealing one undisciplined peek at his chiseled profile, bathed in blue from the monitor’s glow in the darkened room. How many pictures had she taken of that face, trying to capture perfectly on film the strength and character there? It was so unfair. While she’d been mourning the loss of her chic but no longer necessary professional wardrobe and grappling with some unattractive side effects of the medicine, David merely got sexier with each passing day. He’d doubled his jogging regimen, and now that Tanner was back, David was shooting hoops regularly in addition to the community softball he’d always played. He was in the best shape of his adult life, which made her feel even worse that her own body had turned against her.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she got to the guest room at the end of the house and finally exhaled. It was such a pretty room really, the muted pastels in the drapes and matching queen-size comforter off-setting the dark wood of the sleigh bed. A person should feel cheerful here. A person should not obsess over how this room would have made a lovely nursery.

After the miscarriage, Rachel had fallen into the habit of coming here when she couldn’t sleep, just to sit and think, then she’d awake on the bed in the morning. David never said a word about it, so when difficulties between them had reached their zenith, it had been almost a natural transition to adopt this room as her own. She hadn’t actually started moving clothes into the closet and her alarm clock onto the nightstand until after Thanksgiving, when she’d told him she couldn’t do this anymore.

She would miss a lot of things when it came time to leave Mistletoe—friends, the Waides, the chicken-fried steak down at Dixieland Diner—but she would not miss this room. Grabbing the cordless phone, she sat on the mattress. She should return Kate’s call before it got too late.

Her younger sister, who lived with her husband and eleven-month-old daughter just a few miles from Rachel’s parents, picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Rachel. David said you called?”

“Oh, hi!” Kate’s greeting was so effusive that it bordered on a squeal. Odd. The last few times they’d spoken, her sister had been subtly petulant that Rachel wasn’t coming to South Carolina for Christmas. After all, it would be little Alyssa’s first, never mind that Rachel had committed to being in a wedding and was planning to visit home for New Year’s. Rachel had even contemplated getting out of Mistletoe for Thanksgiving, but Kate had gone to her in-laws’ place in Virginia so that they could coo over the grand-baby.

“You sound like you’re in a good mood,” Rachel observed.

“The best! I’m so glad you called back. I’m having lunch with Mom tomorrow, so I’ll talk to her then, but she heard first the last time. I thought it should be your turn.”

Rachel couldn’t help smiling, Kate’s fast-paced prattle reminding her of when they were younger and her sister would burst through the kitchen door with sixty-miles-an-hour news of her day. “My turn for what?”

“Okay, you are officially the very first person in the family to hear this.” Kate giggled. “Well, except for Mike, obviously. He bought the test for me.”

“Test?” Rachel’s stomach dropped. Realization hit. I am the worst sister in the world. She didn’t want to hear this news; she wanted to slam down the phone and curl into the fetal position. Pun not intended.

“We’re expecting again! Alyssa is going to be a big sister. It’s a little sooner than we anticipated—I mean, we just started trying and you never know how long it will…” Kate trailed off in abashed silence.

“Congratulations,” Rachel said. “That’s wonderful.”

“I am so sorry.” Kate sounded horrified. “That was a really insensitive way to put that. I was just so excited—”

“As you should be! And you were right, a woman never does know how long it will take.” Or if it will happen, ever. “Don’t worry. I’d be a lousy person if I weren’t thrilled for you.”

“You’re sure?”

Hell. Once again, tears threatened to well in Rachel’s eyes—what was that, the sixth time today?—but she was determined not to let Fertile Myrtle know. She coughed, trying to keep her voice even. “Absolutely! I owe you a huge congratulatory hug when I see you in January.”

“Yeah, you’ll want to do it then before I get too big to wrap your arms around,” Kate joked.

They talked for a few more minutes, but it was clear that neither one of them was entirely comfortable.

“Oh, dear,” Kate said, interrupting as Rachel answered a question about Lilah’s wedding plans. “That’s Alyssa crying. I’d better go. See you in a few weeks!”

“Right. See you then.” Rachel disconnected, flopped back on the mattress and glared at the ceiling.

Well, at least now when she announced to her parents—who were already baffled as to why she was “wasting” her college degree in a “dinky” North Georgia town—that her marriage had crashed and burned, the Nietermyers would have Kate’s pregnancy as a happy distraction.

Yeah, that made Rachel feel much better.

Chapter Three

Mental note. Rachel squeezed herself behind a kitchen chair for safety. Never, never ask a bunch of animals “Who wants to go for a walk?”

Unless, of course, she wanted to be trampled to death. The two labs were scrambling to reach her, and Hildie was probably waking up the neighborhood, running circles on the tile and barking her head off. Although the dogs enjoyed playing in their own fenced backyard, Winnie had mentioned that walks were a special treat. Bristol and Rembrandt shared a double-dog leash, and in theory, Rachel should be able to walk Hildie with her own leash held in the other hand.

Faced with the challenge of harnessing all this uncoordinated enthusiasm, however, Rachel was suddenly dubious. If she had any common sense, she’d probably be snuggled under the covers; she wasn’t due for work at the print shop for another two and a half hours.

But she hadn’t been asleep anyway. She’d been up three times during the night, probably because the unfamiliar noises of pets in the house kept waking her. Shortly before 6:00 a.m., it had become clear that no matter how exhausted she was, she was awake for the duration.

Awake and cowering behind furniture.

She cleared her throat, hoping to project authority. “Sit. I mean it, you guys. Sit!”

The labs’ collective butts hit the floor, their tails sweeping in noisy arcs. Hildie continued to run in demented circles, woofing happily. Two out of three is close enough. Rachel edged from behind the chair, maintaining stern eye contact while she picked up the leashes. She shrugged into a flannel-lined, double-breasted coat. It was bulky, especially over her blue sweat suit, but it was indisputably soft, as if she were walking around in a much-needed hug.

Though she’d never been a morning person, there was something surprisingly invigorating about stepping outside into the chilly air, watching the sun rise in golden-orange streaks that gilded the clouds. That would make a pretty picture. Even if she hadn’t busted her camera last month, she didn’t exactly have a free hand right now. And the dogs definitely lacked the patience for her to stop and take in picturesque scenes—they were already straining against their leashes.

They set off at a brisk pace, Rachel’s breath puffing out in foggy bursts. If she was lucky, she might even lose a pound or two before the wedding and her trip home. Should she return to South Carolina at her current weight, her mom—a slim woman with a closet full of Power Suits—would cluck her tongue disapprovingly. Mrs. Nietermyer had mastered the many fine nuances of Clucking 101. Mr. Nietermyer habitually called his wife honey, but Rachel swore that, once or twice, what he’d really said was henny.

Lost in her thoughts and the steady rhythm of the dogs’ toes clicking on the pavement, she was startled when Hildie shot after a trio of sparrows.

“Whoa!” Rachel gripped the leash tightly. “Sit. Sit.”

No one listened. Instead, Hildie’s sudden dash whipped the other two dogs into a fervor. They quickly tangled their lines, threatening to ensnare Rachel. She managed to sidestep Bristol, but tripped over Rembrandt. Falling toward the sidewalk, Rachel reflexively braced herself with one hand. Which was, she acknowledged as pain radiated up her arm, stupid. She was lucky she hadn’t broken her wrist. Of more immediate concern, however, was that, in thrusting her hand out, she’d let go of Hildie’s leash. The little terror went flopping toward the spot where the birds had been.

Dammit. Cold seeped through the layers of cotton covering her butt.

Rachel got to her feet and approached the puppy slowly, not wanting to chase her into the intersection. Though it was still early, some people would be leaving for work soon and the dog wouldn’t be easily visible in the early-morning light. Scanning the area for any threats or surprises, Rachel sidled toward the mutt. When movement caught her eye, she turned and saw someone cresting the hill on the parallel sidewalk. A jogger, whose gait and clothes she recognized even at a distance.

She’d always thought that particular blue T-shirt brought out the color in her husband’s eyes. Her heart thumped against her ribs. She turned to Hildie. “If you will come to me right now, I swear you can have as many puppy treats as you want when we get home.”

Hildie yipped once, scooting farther away and wagging her tail in appreciation of the new game.

“Dog, I am not playing with you. Get over here.” Now the footsteps across the street were audible. Slap, slap. Slap, slap. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she wasn’t actually outside at dawn with three dogs who’d alternately tried to escape and hog-tie her. Maybe she was simply having a nightmare. Her dreams, when she slept long enough to have them, had been bizarrely vivid of late.

“Rach?” Opposite her, David slowed to a stop. The inquisitive note in his voice probably stemmed from wondering why the heck she was out stalking an ill-behaved puppy instead of comfortably drinking coffee in Winnie’s kitchen while the dogs cavorted in their own backyard. Rachel was wondering the same thing herself.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said. She’d been so relieved to be out of the oppressive atmosphere in their house that she hadn’t considered she would be walking dogs in the same neighborhood where he routinely ran. Somewhat unnecessarily, she added, “Hildie got away from me.”

Hearing her name, the adolescent mongrel yipped again, sounding proud of herself. Rachel entertained a couple of fantasies that would probably not be appreciated by animal activists. David rocked back on his heels, his fledgling smile achingly familiar yet a little surprising, too. There was real amusement there and less of the strain she’d become accustomed to seeing.

“Need a little help?” he called.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. You probably just got your pulse rate in the right zone or whatever. Don’t let us derail you.” Wrapping the remaining leash tightly around her hand, she crouched down and whistled at Hildie. “Here, girl! C’mere, baby.”

Hildie took about two steps in Rachel’s direction, then turned and dashed across another yard, into the Stephensons’ driveway.

There was a muffled laugh from David’s direction, and Rachel snapped her head toward him, heat blooming in her cheeks.

As David crossed the street, her pride warred with practicality. The charm of the early-morning walk had faded, and Rachel was looking forward to getting out of the cold and spending a few dog-free moments in a hot shower. He stepped up on the curb, extending a hand so carefully that she might have laughed if she weren’t so miserable. Something about David’s manner mirrored the way she was advancing on the skittish dog.

Up close, Rachel couldn’t help noticing the slight crinkle of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. He had a great face. Masculine and friendly and reassuring and sexy all at the same time. Sometimes she just—

“Here, let me at least hold the other two while you round up the little one.”

She nodded, untangling the leash from her hand and passing it to him. David’s fingers closed over hers. Zing. In the early rays of the morning, with two labs watching her as if she was a moron and an undisciplined puppy leading her on a merry chase, Rachel Waide experienced the most surprising jolt. David’s fingers were warm but the tiniest bit rough—no girly moisturizing lotion for him, thank you very much—and the scent of him was musky and male. Her pheromones reacted with an interest they hadn’t shown in months, causing an actual twinge between her thighs.

Her jaw dropped.

“You all right?” David narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her.

Oh, please, please, don’t let him be able tell. Did he know her well enough to guess that she was unbelievably, unmistakably aroused? She was mortified. Was she one of those emotionally stunted people who only wanted someone they couldn’t have? Why was she having this inconvenient reaction now?

Maybe it was a Pavlovian response. After all, he was the only man she’d been with in years, and her body hadn’t yet adjusted to the idea of never touching him again. Never kissing him, never waking in his arms, never—

Hildie barked, mercifully interrupting the mental tangent. Circling the dog, Rachel spoke in a nonstop, cajoling murmur, forcing herself to stand patiently as Hildie got closer. Inch by irritating inch. Rachel waited until she knew with absolute certainty that victory was in her reach before she pounced, catching the wiggling puppy in her hands. Hildie’s brown eyes were wide as she licked Rachel’s cheek.

“Don’t bother with the cute,” Rachel warned. “You are in big trouble, young lady.”

David met her halfway, giving her the other leashes along with a curious once-over. “So, you’re settled in okay at Winnie’s?”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Really?”

No, not really. But she had to learn how to stand on her own two feet again. She moved her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

He bent at the waist, doing a few stretches in preparation for resuming his run. “Well, maybe we’ll meet like this again.”

She laughed ruefully. “I hope not! Somehow I don’t think morning walks are going to become a habit.”

“Guess not.” His smiled had faded. “See you at my parents’ on Friday?”

The whole family was gathering to trim the Christmas tree. She could make an excuse to get out of it, except she’d skipped it last year. As she recalled, that had been the day she’d learned she wasn’t pregnant—again—and the thought of pretending to be in a festive, holiday mood…Not that this would be her most festive year, but it would be her last Christmas as a Waide. Was it selfish to want these final precious memories, to store them away in a mental scrapbook?

Maybe one day she could reexamine those memories and remember just the warmth and good times, without the paralyzing grief.

“I’ll be there,” she said. They’d also see each other on Saturday, but there’d be a bigger crowd at the party for Lilah and Tanner so maybe it wouldn’t be too awkward. Who are you kidding? She’d be attending a couples’ shower with her estranged husband.

David nodded. “See you this weekend, then.”

As he started off again, she added, “Thanks for your help. I’m grateful our paths crossed.”

He smiled over his shoulder, but didn’t answer. She stared after his back, wondering how he felt.

Down the road, would he be glad that their paths had crossed five years ago, that he’d overcome her laughing protestations that she was only in town for a short while and had no plans to get involved with someone here? Or would he end up wishing he’d simply stayed on his side of the street and let the woman from South Carolina pass by without disrupting his life?

DAVID GRIMACED as he reached for the canister of coffee high in the supply cabinet. His sore muscles protested. Maybe he didn’t need caffeine that badly after all. Maybe what he needed was to stop pushing himself as if he were an indestructible kid half his age. After his encounter with Rachel, he’d sprinted a double circuit through the subdivision, trying to outrun the effect of seeing her.

She’d looked disarming and maddeningly adorable, all bundled up. Her eyes had been bright, almost silvery, and spots of color had livened a face that had been far too pale for far too long. This morning she’d reminded him of the woman he’d married, not the much quieter, pinched version she’d become. Seeing the improvement one night had made, he was forced to conclude that she’d been right—she was better off without him. A groan of enraged despair rumbled in his throat.

“David?” His mother’s voice, lilting in question, startled him. He’d thought he was alone in the employees-only hallway behind the store.

“Mom.” His arms dropped quickly to his sides, as if she’d caught him reaching for forbidden cookies. “I didn’t know you were in this morning.”

“Brought over some more ornaments for Ari to display. You do a great job running the store, just like your father always has, but neither of you excel when it comes to decorating for the customers.”

Decorating. He thought about his house, which was completely devoid of holiday cheer. Their first year of marriage, Rachel had barely waited for Thanksgiving before she started asking if it was too soon to put up Christmas lights. She’d seemed so happy then, as he’d promised her she’d be if she moved here to Mistletoe, enthusiastic to build their life together.

Susan brought him back to the present. “Why were you growling in the hallway?”

“I, uh, can’t reach the coffee.”

She skewered him with a raised eyebrow, then turned to open the janitorial closet behind her, revealing a small step stool that he’d known perfectly well was there. “God knows I love your brother and how spirited he is, but he was the one more likely to stubbornly pursue the impossible with no real plan on how to achieve it. You were the solution-finder.”

Really? Because David was fresh out of solutions. Feeling foolish, he picked up the stool and retrieved the coffee. “Lack of caffeine makes me grouchy. And stupid.”

Susan Waide’s gaze was steady, all-knowing in that way mothers have. “Want to tell me what’s really wrong?”

“Thanks, Mom, but it’s nothing that can be fixed with a step stool.”

“You and Rachel?”

His pulse pounded. How much of the truth had she guessed? “Is it that obvious that we’ve…hit a rough patch?”

“Oh, darling.” She ruffled his hair, even though she practically had to stand on tiptoe to do it. “I can’t imagine how difficult it was for her to lose that baby, but she’s been withdrawn for months. And you’ve been tense, short-fused. Not at all the boy I know.”

He missed the man he’d been, the one who had never questioned his wife’s love and their ability to work through any problem.

“Every couple has difficulties,” Susan continued. “Lord knows your father and I have. It’s healthy even. Once you work through to the other side, you’ll be stronger for it.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His biggest fear was that for him and Rachel, there was no other side. I shouldn’t have let her go. He could have convinced her to at least sleep on it or maybe see a counselor together. Would fighting for her now be the right thing to do or merely the selfish?

“Mom.” He hugged his mother, his voice ragged. It was nearly impossible to spit out the question. “What if—what if I can’t fix this?”

“Nonsense. You’re my son. Besides—” she smiled up at him “—you’re forgetting that it’s Christmas. The season of miracles.”

“HEREYA GO, Chloe.” Rachel passed the box of business cards over the counter. “Why don’t you take a peek at the first few and make sure they’re to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not necessary.” Chloe Malcolm glanced at the sample card stapled to the outside of the box. “You always do a great job.”

Once, Rachel had helped create regional ad campaigns for a major company. Now, it was an exciting day if she got to help someone lay out business cards—except that Chloe, who ran her own small company as a Web designer, rarely needed help. She’d brought in her file on CD, all ready to be printed. There was nothing at work challenging enough to distract Rachel from her embarrassing encounter with David earlier. Of course, there was the special project she should be working on for Lilah and Tanner’s rehearsal dinner, but she doubted that would improve her mood.

Rachel shook her head. “You couldn’t even have left a formatting error I could resolve?”

“Pardon?” The brunette blinked at her.

“Don’t mind me. Midday blahs,” she told Chloe. “I’m waiting for May to come back so I can take my lunch break. To tell you the truth, the day so far has been pretty monotonous.”

“Not too much action going on in Mistletoe, huh?” Chloe sounded wistful, which was surprising. Gifted with computers, the young woman was also incredibly introverted; she’d always given the impression she might panic at the first sign of “action.”

They both glanced reflexively toward the door when it opened, and Rachel’s co-worker May Gideon swept inside, accompanied by a winter-edged breeze. The pungent odor of a fried fish sandwich wafted from May’s white paper bag, and Rachel’s gut clenched. Her hand shot to her mouth.

“Whoa.” Chloe was blinking again. “You look really pale.”

“I, uh…I—” Terrified that she was about to humiliate herself far worse than she had that morning with the runaway puppy, Rachel bolted for the employee restroom. After splashing some cold water on her face and taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed to quell the intense nausea. It was gone almost as suddenly as it had come. Still, she waited a few minutes to make sure.

When she returned to the front of the print shop, she saw that May had completed Chloe’s transaction and was now arguing with Mrs. Nugent, who wanted them to make a personalized photo calendar as a Christmas present for her mother, but refused to accept that they weren’t allowed to reproduce copyrighted pictures of her kids.

“After what that studio charged me for the darn things, I should be able to wallpaper my whole house with them if I want to!”

May’s patient expression didn’t waver. “So long as you understand that we can’t print the wallpaper for you.”

This seemed like as good a time as any for Rachel to take her lunch hour. With a guilty half wave in May’s direction, she crept toward the door, not wanting to get caught up in Mrs. Nugent’s righteous indignation over the “highway robbery” of professional photography. Once Rachel was outside and contemplating where to go for lunch, she admitted to herself that food was the last thing she wanted.

Finally, something good about stress—it had her stomach so upset it was killing her appetite. Maybe she’d fit into that bridesmaid’s dress after all.

A niggling voice in the back of her head pointed out she’d been stressed all morning, yet hadn’t been in danger of tossing her cookies until that fish smell hit. It was similar to last spring, when…She stopped dead on the sidewalk. What a ridiculous thought. Still, now that she considered it, when had her last period been? Rachel bit her lip, not sure. For the first time in nearly two years, she wasn’t obsessively tracking her cycle, trying hard to let go and reach a healthier emotional state.

Oh, yeah, I’m a picture of mental health. She gave a quick shake of her head. Now that she was off the medications that had regulated her cycles, it wasn’t surprising that she might skip a period—or two?—as her body adjusted. In fact, her bursting into tears at the drop of a hat lately and her sensory overreaction to odors was probably just PMS. She’d start her period any day and feel silly about this.

Yep. An-n-ny day now.

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