the show!
All the best,
Cathryn Parry
To Otis, who sat with me through every book, every late-night session, every sunny afternoon on the back porch.
You were a very special cat, and a true member of our family. You’ll be forever missed.
Contents
EXCERPT FROM FAMILY BY DESIGN BY CALLIE ENDICOTT
CHRISTMAS ARRIVED AT Prescott Inn the day after Thanksgiving.
Nathan Prescott stepped into the lobby just in time to see two workers erecting a large blue spruce tree. The sharp smell of pine needles wafted to his nose. The annoyingly upbeat jingle of seasonal music—Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”—met his ears.
Nathan frowned. He didn’t mind if Christmas never came this year.
The inn’s rooms weren’t filling up. Expenses were excessive. He was worried about his investors’ meeting tomorrow and what they would decide. They’d already threatened once to shut down his line of credit.
Nothing could be worse than that.
Gloom descended over his heart.
“A cup of warm spiced cider, Mr. Prescott?” His front desk clerk held out a mug that steamed with the scent of apple and cinnamon. She gave him a tentative smile.
Nathan just shook his head and continued walking toward his office.
As he strode past the stone fireplace, the commotion of tree-decorating and decking-the-halls continued around him unabated. He scowled as a worker brought in a crate of red poinsettia plants.
More money spent—expenses his investors expected him to be cutting. But as he opened his mouth to refuse the delivery, a movement behind the lobby couch caught his eye.
Nathan paused. A dark-haired boy, about six or seven years old, popped up his head. A look of terror appeared in his hazel eyes.
He recognized the boy as one of the kids from the homeless shelter. During the winter months, Nathan housed some families with young children from the shelter. This particular boy had moved in with his mother the week before Thanksgiving. His mother never seemed to be around—working, Nathan supposed. He’d noticed the boy because he always seemed interested in what was happening around the inn.
As I was at his age, Nathan thought.
Nathan should have kept walking. But the small portrait of his grandfather, Philip Prescott, seemed to wink down at him and ask him to stay.
The boy flushed and pointed to a round, red Christmas ornament. “It fell down,” he stammered to Nathan, retrieving the delicate antique and carefully placing its metal hook around a sturdy branch of the spruce tree, cut down from a forest on the mountain. Both Nathan and the boy stared at the partially decorated tree. It still needed lights. And a star for the top, but the decorators would get to that.
Nathan balled his fists in his pocket. The kid seemed so lonely, always hanging around by himself and watching whatever activity was going on in the lobby. “You like Christmas?” Nathan asked gruffly.
The boy dipped his head, but he nodded. There was a short
