“Will Santa skip us this year because he doesn’t know we’re at a hotel instead of our old, burned-up house?”
Dylan swallowed, his heart aching for the child’s worries. The boys wouldn’t fully understand how much they’d lost in the fire for a while—the memories and surety that they would always be safe.
“We’ll leave a note at our old house with a cookie and some milk,” the boy’s twin brother said, and a smile replaced his worried look.
The children’s parents turned to Dylan and Jenna. “Thank you for all you’re doing for us. It’s so hard…to accept help.”
Jenna reached over and squeezed her hand, a warm smile on her face. “When you’re back on your feet, you can pay it forward, help someone else who’s going through a tough time. That way, the help keeps moving.”
Dylan stared at Jenna. Who was this woman and what had she done with the real Jenna Scott?
DANA CORBIT
Dana Corbit started telling “people stories” at about the same time she started forming words. So it came as no surprise when the Indiana native chose a career in journalism. As an award-winning newspaper reporter and features editor, she had the opportunity to share wonderful true-life stories with her readers. She left the workforce to be a homemaker, but the stories came home with her as she discovered the joy of writing fiction. The winner of the 2007 Holt Medallion competition for novel writing, Dana feels blessed to share the stories of her heart with readers.
Dana lives in southeast Michigan, where she balances the make-believe realm of her characters with her equally exciting real-life world as a wife, carpool coordinator for three athletic daughters and food supplier for two disinterested felines.
His Christmas Bride
Dana Corbit
And Jesus looked at them and said, “With men it is impossible, but not with God; for all things are possible with God.”
—Mark 10:27
To the Baxter boys—Brock, Dylan and Logan— who have inspired my fictional stories in more ways than just by lending me your names. You are all amazing young men, who I’m sure will be real-life heroes in the future. Also, to Melissa, my own Amy Warren. And, as always, to the POTLs, the six amazing women who inspire and push me to tell stories from my heart.
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 Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
The house looked like a fire-department statistic just waiting to happen. Either that or the trigger for a power outage the likes of which southern Indiana had never known. Jenna Scott couldn’t decide which as she tromped up the walk toward the redbrick colonial, passing a riot of Christmas lights and a holiday amusement park along the way.
On one side of the walk, a half-scale crèche rested serenely on the lawn with animals, shepherds and wise men focused on the Christ child. On the other side, a trio of plastic carolers sang a scratchy version of “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and a herd of mechanical reindeer bent to munch on artificial snow.
Could someone say “over the top”?
Her mother hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d mentioned that the Warrens’ Christmas display was “a sight to behold.” The celebration was also another excuse for best friends and matchmakers Trina Scott and Amy Warren to force their adult children together. They’d been campaigning for an event like this ever since the Scott-Warren matrimonial merger six months before. Jenna figured that whatever the evening held in store for her personally, it promised to be entertaining.
As she stepped to the door, decorated in green-foil gift wrap, a hum of voices spilled from inside, competing with Elvis bellowing “Blue Christmas.”
“So much for a quiet Christmas at home,” she told the life-size Santa doll that smiled at her from a wicker chair on the porch.
Suddenly that bah-humbug spirit filled her again, making the winter wonderland feel claustrophobic. It was only the second Christmas since her father died, and she doubted it would be any easier than last year. Visiting Markston wasn’t like coming home for the holidays, anyway. Markston wasn’t her home. Nowhere was, really.
Someone yanked open the door before she had the chance to knock, and Jenna found herself wrapped in a hug warm enough to cut through the December freeze.
“Jenna, dear, you finally made it,” Mrs. Warren said.
She stepped out of the woman’s embrace, glancing back at the outdoor decorations. “Wow. This is great.”
“I’m glad you like it. Now come in out of the cold before you catch your death.” Already Amy Warren was pulling Jenna into the entry where the rest of the Scotts and Warrens were gathered. Just being in the house again made butterflies flutter in her stomach.
Her mother gripped her in a tight hug. “We thought you’d never get here.”
“I told you my flight would get in after dinner, and I came straight from the airport.” Jenna gestured toward the deep-blue airline-attendant uniform she’d been wearing since she’d left her apartment that morning in Romulus, Michigan, and headed to Detroit Metro.
“It doesn’t matter now because we’re all here together again,” Trina told her.
“All here?” Jenna asked.
She scanned the faces of the other guests waiting to greet her. Newlyweds Matthew Warren and her younger sister, Haley, smiled over at her, Matthew’s four-year-old daughter, Lizzie, resting on his hip. Jenna’s other sister, Caroline, stood next to them, and the youngest Warren brother, Logan, was there, as well, but appeared to be inching toward the door.
They were not all there—the one member of the Warren family she’d hoped most to see was missing: Dylan. He was the whole reason she’d agreed to participate in this joint holiday celebration in the first place. The whole reason she hadn’t canceled the trip and stayed in Michigan.
“Am I missing something?”
Jenna startled at the sound coming from behind her, butterflies continuing their mad dance inside her belly. Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the gruff voice she would have recognized anywhere. Leaning over the staircase railing with his wavy brown hair falling forward on his forehead was the best friend she’d ever had. The one who’d left a hole in her life when he’d removed himself from it.
For the space of a few breaths, she could only look up at him, following the lines of his face and settling on his warm chocolate eyes. Those eyes were amazing. If he were anyone else besides Dylan Warren…Jenna blinked, surprised by the strange path her thoughts had taken. But this was Dylan, even if the passing years had put more granite in the chiseled cheekbones, which had always contradicted his teddy-bear personality. His smile probably