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“I want a mommy,”
Lucy whispered in Sherrie’s ear.
Sherrie had to clear her throat. “Well, Lucy, that’s quite a wish. I’ll tell Santa what you want, but you do understand he can’t always bring children what they ask for.”
Lucy listened gravely to the practiced speech, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Claus’s face. She sighed. “I just want a mommy. Daddy and me are very lonely.”
Sherrie looked into those liquid blue eyes and felt her heart melt. Scrooge himself couldn’t have denied the appeal in that face. “Well, sweetheart,” she said softly, “we’ll just have to see what we can do, won’t we?”
Dear Reader,
What better way for Silhouette Romance to celebrate the holiday season than to celebrate the meaning of family….
You’ll love the way a confirmed bachelor becomes a FABULOUS FATHER just in time for the holidays in Susan Meier’s Merry Christmas, Daddy. And in Mistletoe Bride, Linda Vamer’s HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS miniseries merrily continues. The ugly duckling who becomes a beautiful swan will touch your heart in Hometown Wedding by Elizabeth Lane. Doreen Roberts’s A Mom for Christmas tells the tale of a little girl’s holiday wish, and in Patti Standard’s Family of the Year, one man, one woman and a bunch of adorable kids form an unexpected family. And finally, Christmas in July by Leanna Wilson is what a sexy cowboy offers the struggling single mom he wants for his own.
Silhouette Romance novels make the perfect stocking stuffers—or special treats just for yourself. So enjoy all six irresistible books, and most of all, have a very happy holiday season and a very happy New Year!
Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U. S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
A Mom for Christmas
Doreen Roberts
To Bill, who makes every day of the year as special as Christmas.
DOREEN ROBERTS
has an ambition to visit every state in the United States. She recently added several to her list when she drove across the country to spend a year on the East Coast. She’s thinking about setting her future books in each of the states she has visited. She has now returned to settle down in Oregon with her new husband, and to get back to doing what she loves most—writing books about adventurous people who just happen to fall in love.
Christmas, Matthew Blanchard kept reminding himself, was traditionally the season to be jolly. He was doing his level best to live up to that optimistic theory. He might have done a better job of it had he not been staring at a total disaster smack-dab in the middle of his Christmas display.
Every year, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, the fifth floor of Blanchard’s Department Store was transformed into a children’s fantasyland. And Matt had gone all out on this year’s Santa Claus display.
Life-size animated reindeer stood on either side of the dais, their curly eyelashes blinking and their majestic antlers solemnly swaying back and forth as each child came forward to greet Santa.
A spectacular Christmas tree stood at the back of the platform, its thick branches loaded down with red and white ornaments, twinkling lights and packages wrapped with bright ribbon bows. Close by, cardboard elves peeked from the windows of a six-foot-high gingerbread house, which was smothered in candy canes and jelly beans, while a lifelike Mrs. Claus smiled from the peppermint-studded doorway.
In the middle of all this glittering splendor sat a huge red velvet chair, and it was there that Matt’s gaze was focused in sheer disbelief. The plump, jolly old gentleman—mankind’s fond image of Santa Claus—was noticeably absent. In his place sat a ridiculous miniature of that esteemed character.
It seemed to Matt as if the damn chair swallowed up the red-suited figure. The fur-lined cap rested precariously on Santa’s lopsided eyebrows, and his feet swung an inch or two off the floor. As an added highlight, instead of boots, the delicate feet sported a pair of elegant, black high-heeled shoes.
Matt waited with barely controlled patience until the tousle-haired boy with freckles had scrambled down from Santa’s ridiculously small lap. Then, drawing in a deep, slow breath, he marched up to the dais, mounted it and held up an imperious hand.
“I’m