A Romance for Christmas Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  About the Author

  Books by Kayelle Allen

  Contacting Kayelle

  Before You Say Good-bye

  A ROMANCE FOR CHRISTMAS

  Kayelle Allen

  www.romancelivesforeverbooks.com

  Copyright

  Copyright ©2014 Kayelle Allen

  To my readers:

  Thank you for protecting copyright and preventing piracy. Your support means the stories in these books will continue for many years to come.

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. No portion of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher. An eBook is not transferable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this eBook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting, or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws. Pirating of eBooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published by Romance Lives Forever Books

  http://romancelivesforeverbooks.com

  Released in the United States of America

  Editor: Jean Paquin

  Cover art, cover design, and book layout by The Author's Secret http://theauthorssecret.com

  Disclaimers

  This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  To request permission for quotes and for all other inquiries, contact the author via email at [email protected] or via the website http://kayelleallen.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my sister Cherry in memory of Bill. A special thank you to my critique partners -- your encouragement means everything.

  Chapter One

  "Mommy?" Christine's young voice broke in on her thoughts.

  Dara put down the romance she'd been re-reading, the favorite she'd had since she was sixteen. She'd sold all her others at a yard sale the previous week. "What is it, sweetie?"

  "Why don't we has a real tree for Chribmas?"

  "Why don't we 'have'," she corrected. "Come sit by me." Dara patted the couch and tucked her chenille robe closer around her.

  One arm around Matilda, her cloth doll, Christine climbed up beside her mother and cuddled.

  Matilda's going to need stuffing before long. Her head flopped forward, face against her flat chest. When did the lace on her dress get so ragged? Dara smoothed the doll's dress. "Remember when Daddy went home to heaven before Christmas last year?"

  Christine knuckled her eyes and yawned. "I 'member."

  "And then Mommy got hurt in the car accident and couldn't go to work?"

  "Uh huh."

  Dara took a deep breath. "Well, it meant there was no money for a real tree this year. But I'm sure Santa will still bring you presents." Gifts Dara bought by selling her entire collection of romance novels at a yard sale at her friend Sherilyn's house. "And we drew a tree, right?" She pointed at the crayon-bright drawing taped to the wall. Construction paper ornaments decorated each branch.

  "But it doesn't smell like a Chribmas tree."

  Dara hugged her. "I know, baby. I know."

  "How will Santa leave his presents?" Christine pulled away and got on her knees. "He can't put them under the tree, Mommy."

  "Oh, honey!" She ruffled her daughter's hair, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Santa will find a way." She leaned forward and kissed her little girl. "We should get you in bed so he can come. He can't leave presents while you're awake."

  She followed her daughter into her room, got her tucked into bed and sat beside her, stroking her golden hair. Christine gazed up at her from under thick dark lashes. Her deep-blue eyes never failed to remind Dara of her late husband.

  Jack had been Dara's high school sweetheart. Tonight marked a year and nine days since the accident that had claimed his death. Neither she nor Jack had family other than each other. His coworkers knew, and they'd helped that first year, bless them. His senseless death happened right before Christmas. What if something happened to her too? As an orphan herself, Dara experienced fear and anxiety for her daughter. Tears of loneliness, terror of the future, of raising her daughter without Jack at her side. Anger at everything and everyone. At his company for sending him on the trip. At Jack for going. Guilt for feeling angry ate at her.

  The night Jack had left, they'd argued over it and he'd slammed the door when he left. But then he'd stopped the car halfway down the drive, gotten out, and had come back inside to kiss her and tell her he regretted having to go, but that he had to. He promised he'd be back before Christmas. They'd shared a long, cherishing kiss and she'd waved until he was out of sight.

  Six hours later, his plane went down over the Gulf of Mexico in a freak storm. All on board were lost.

  More guilt and doubt set in with the New Year. Things she should have said. Should have done. Why had she let him go? Why had God allowed her child to grow up without a father?

  Her friend Sherilyn had walked through it all at her side, helping her get a job, watching Christine, being there when all Dara needed was to cry. This year, the company had forgotten Jack and the family he left behind. So much for "The Company with Families at Heart." Jack's insurance had paid off the house, and there was enough money to survive for a few months. While looking for a job, she'd sold furniture, her good silver, and pawned all her jewelry, except her wedding ring.

  Dara rubbed her face with both hands, willing herself to hold on for her daughter's sake. To be strong. To be both mother and father. Women had done it for centuries. They'd survived. So would she.

  "Mommy?" Christine rubbed Dara's arm. "Read me the story about the mouse that's quiet."

  "That's a great story. My mother used to read it to me when I was little." Dara snuggled beside her, and opened her daughter's favorite Christmas book. At least she'd been able to give her the gift of reading. When Jack had been alive, he'd always made sure there was money for books. She would miss her own collection, but at least Christine would have something from Santa. "'T'was the night before Christmas..."

  After Christine drifted off to sleep, Dara pushed off the bed. She was gaining strength daily, and would finish therapy the first week of January and return to work. Disability paid for the basics - lights, phone, water, trash collection, and she'd never bought anything on credit, refusing to dig herself into a hole she'd never escape once it got started.

  It'll be great to have a full income again! I wish it could have come in time for Christmas.

  She went to the closet and pulled down a box with a ball, crayons, paper, and three books. Sherilyn had brought over a few things as well. This wasn't the grand Christmas that Dara had wanted for Christine, but Dara had already sold her other valuables. There was nothing left but her wedding ring.

  She didn't wear it. Removing it had been part of saying good-bye to Jack.
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  Sherilyn had said it would help, and it had. Sort of. But not much.

  Dara sank into one of the kitchen chairs and put her face in her hands.

  Sometime later, when the doorbell rang, she grabbed a paper towel and dried her eyes. The clock over the stove said nine o'clock. Who would be calling at this hour on Christmas Eve? She stuffed the wet towel in her robe pocket on the way to the door.

  The peephole showed a policeman in a crisp black uniform, wearing one of those Smokey Bear hats. It took her back to the night Jack had died. She unlatched the door and opened it an inch, dread tightening her chest.

  "Oh, my God. Is something wrong, Officer?"

  "No, ma'am." He removed his hat. His smile showed sparkling white teeth and a shock of bright blond hair that fell over his brow. "I'm Scott Gregori. My daughter Susan and your Christine are in the same preschool class. I don't suppose you remember me. I was at your husband's funeral last year."

  In a flash, she remembered him.

  Their daughters' preschool was part of a small church. The school had sent a notice that the mother of one of their students had passed away, along with suggested ways to discuss the death of a loved one with children. Dara had attended his wife's funeral to pay her respects. When Jack died, only about a month later, Scott had come to pay his.

  Unlike Jack, Officer Gregori had brown eyes. Her heart fluttered in a way it hadn't since--

  Instantly ashamed of herself for such a visceral reaction, she clutched her robe against her throat. "Oh, yes. I remember. Please, won't you come in?" She opened the door wider.

  "I brought you and Christine something." He bent down and picked up an oversized box before stepping inside. "This morning, I heard about your accident, and I thought-- Well, maybe you could use some help with Christmas presents for your daughter." He added, "If you wouldn't mind."

  Dara shut the door behind him. "It'll make Christine happy, and that's what counts. You're so kind to do this."

  He waved off her thanks with a quick gesture and set down the box. "All of us at the station chipped in and I went shopping. We figured money was tight so we wanted you to have this." He handed her a fat envelope.

  She opened it, gasped and covered her mouth. A pile of twenties, tens, fives and ones filled it. "Oh. Oh, my-- my goodness."

  He was smiling. "We all have families, and we help each other when things--" He swallowed. "Anyway, you know how it is in a town this size. We watch out for each other. The crew at the station and I wanted you to have that. And don't try to refuse." He set a hand over hers. "All of us have been there. Use it however you need."

  Shaking, she refolded the envelope with extreme care. Words wouldn't come. She slid it into her pocket. "Thank you," she whispered, tears blurring her vision.

  "The cop who filed the police report on your accident is my cousin, which was how I heard about your accident. I saw the papers on it when he filed the final report today and recognized your name. He finally caught the guy who hit your car."

  She clasped her hands. "He caught him?"

  "Sure did." He reached into the box. "He was insured, so you'll probably end up getting a good-sized settlement." He held up a stuffed dog as big as her daughter. "Where would you like me to put these toys?"

  "Oh!" Dara grabbed the wet paper towel from her pocket and wiped her eyes. Happy tears this time. Unable to speak, she gestured toward the paper Christmas tree.

  Officer Gregori unloaded the biggest pile of toys she'd ever seen. Christmas morning was going to be such fun, watching Christine realize "Santa" had indeed found a way. That would make Dara's entire day.

  When he finished, he smiled at her, hat in hand. "There's one more thing in this box. I know you're going to think I'm some kind of sap, but--"

  "I think no such thing! I think you're the most wonderful Santa I've ever seen." Dara blushed at the blurted confession, and they both shared an embarrassed laugh.

  "I'm more like an elf, actually. Santa sent me to help you, that's all."

  Dara smiled at that. "Please. Show me what's in the box."

  "Well, my wife used to read a lot, and I never had the heart to give her books away. I stopped by my house and picked some up. I thought maybe you'd like to have them." He tipped the box on its edge and showed her.

  All of them were romance novels.

  When she started crying, he helped her to a chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

  "Not sad," she squeaked. "Happy. Romance-- it's my favorite." She grabbed another paper towel and wiped her eyes and nose. "This is the nicest Christmas I've ever had."

  He sat in the chair nearest her. "I'm glad I could help."

  She wiped her eyes again. "Could you maybe-- Could you stay for some coffee, Officer Gregori?"

  "Please, call me Scott." He set his hat on the table. "I'm off work and Susan's all tucked in at my mother's. We've spent Christmas Eve there since Susan was born. I can stay long enough for coffee."

  She got up and put on the kettle as Scott stretched his long legs. the chocolate brown of his eyes was fringed by thick lashes. He gave her a slow smile.

  Is he flirting with me? Her heart made another little flutter and took wing. She pulled down two mugs with candy canes decorating them. Don't be silly, Dara! Ten minutes ago you were crying over Jack. It's Christmas, that's all. Don't go reading things into people's gestures of kindness.

  She turned back to Scott. "I don't have decaf, and it's so late. I have a couple of herbal tea bags left. Would you prefer those? I don't want to keep you awake all night."

  Scott licked his lips and then smiled, as if thinking of some private joke. "I'll probably need that caffeine. I bought Susan a three-wheeled cycle and I still have to put it together, and Mom always needs help getting the turkey into the oven. She starts it at midnight. Says if it cooks slow overnight it's so moist it--" He sat up straight. "Say, what are your plans for Christmas dinner?"

  "What?" She turned so quickly she dropped a spoon and stooped to pick it up, her face going hot when she realized it exposed her bare legs. Rising carefully, she wrapped her robe tighter and tied the belt in a double knot before getting out a clean spoon. It wouldn't do for him to see her threadbare nightie.

  Scott played with the brim of his hat. "I'd like it if you'd come over and have dinner with my family. My mother would love it."

  "Thank you, Scott, but I'm sure your mother wouldn't appreciate two extra guests at the table unannounced."

  He dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand. "Mom will be thrilled. I won't take no for an answer. She'll enjoy meeting Christine. She keeps Susan while I work and having Christine over will keep both girls busy. Besides, I promise, Mom makes the best turkey you've ever had." He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. "And my dad will bless you for saving him from eating it for the next solid week." He winked.

  "Are you sure?"

  Scott tapped his badge. "On my honor. I'll pick you up at noon. Dinner's always promptly at three, and the girls can spend some time together. We adults can have some coffee, or my mom's spiced tea, and talk."

  She ducked her head, nodding. "Okay. We'll be ready." The big stuffed dog fell over, catching her attention.

  "I'll fix it." Scott crossed the room, and bent over to right the dog and prop him against the wall.

  Dara swallowed at the sight of that tight body and long, hard legs inside his uniform. She fanned her face and turned back to the coffee. What would Jack think of me lusting after another man?

  She took a deep breath, and remembered her friend Sherilyn's words. Jack's gone, Dara. He'd want you to be happy. He'd want you to go on. Your happiness was always what he wanted.

  She poured hot water over the coffee crystals and stirred each cup. "It's ready." She carried the cups to the table and set one in front of Scott. "How do you like it?"

  Their gazes met and held. He gave her that mischievous smile of his that made her wonder what he was thinking.

  "Black's fine." He sipped the c
offee. "This is good."

  "I'm sorry I don't have anything more than instant."

  "It's what I use at home. Never could get the hang of all those filters and timer settings and the fancy espresso attachment thingy. My mom has to have everything just so, and so did my wife." He shrugged, broad shoulders filling out that uniform in a way that made Dara's mouth go dry. "To me, coffee is coffee. This is my brand. I hate that slop at the station. Always tastes like someone strained it through gym socks." He grimaced. "Now this," he held up the cup. "This is coffee worth drinking."

  "Thank you." She reached behind her for the other chair and sank into it. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter, hands folded before her on the table, trying to think of something intelligent to say. "Um, what department are you in, Scott?"

  He finished his sip of coffee. "It's a new one. We're trialing an old-fashioned way of patrolling downtown."

  "New, but it's old?"

  His grin could melt butter. She pulled the chenille robe tighter. Focus, Dara. She measured her breaths, trying not be affected by his physical appeal.

  "There are six of us who walk downtown. The beat was strictly volunteer basis. The six of us on the station track team went for it. It builds up muscle and gives us an advantage when we compete regionally."

  "A leg up, huh?"

  Scott chuckled. "Good one. You got it."

  "I used to run track in high school. Haven't been running in years. My leg is better now. I can walk normally, but maybe running -- a little -- would help me." She considered the cost of running shoes. "After I'm working again. Maybe I can start running on weekends."

  Scott finished his coffee. "Call me and I'll go with you. There's a great park on the other side of town that's built for runners." He pulled a card out of his pocket and wrote on the back. "There are mile markers and workout equipment. Places to stop and stretch, and good fountains so you won't dehydrate. Here." He handed her the card.