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Praise for Lenora Worth and her novels
“Lenora Worth’s Christmas tale will warm the cockles of readers’ hearts.”
—RT Book Reviews on I’ll Be Home for Christmas
“Lenora Worth’s One Golden Christmas is another jewel shining like the brightest star atop the Christmas tree.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Lacey’s Retreat by Lenora Worth is rich in characterization and romance with an endearing hero.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Lenora Worth creates a character with a Heart of Stone that will have readers longing to melt it. Her best story yet.”
—RT Book Reviews
I’ll Be Home for Christmas & One Golden Christmas
Lenora Worth
LENORA WORTH
has written more than thirty books, most of those for Steeple Hill. She also works freelance for a local magazine, where she had written monthly opinion columns, feature articles and social commentaries. She also wrote for the local paper for five years. Married to her high school sweetheart for thirty-three years, Lenora lives in Louisiana and has two grown children and a cat. She loves to read, take long walks and sit in her garden.
Contents
I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
ONE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS
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
Epilogue
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
—1 Corinthians 13:13
To Jean Price and Dee Pace,
for taking a chance on me, and To my mother, Myla Brinson Humphries, who’s in heaven with the angels.
Chapter One
He was tired.
He was hungry.
He wanted a big roast beef sandwich from that roast Henny had baked early in the week, and then he wanted to go to bed and sleep for at least fourteen hours.
Nick Rudolph shifted against the supple leather seat of his Jaguar sedan, his impatient foot pressing the accelerator further toward Shreveport, Louisiana, the interstate’s slippery surface spewing icy rain out around the sleek black car.
He was also late. Very late. Carolyn would be fuming; he’d have to smooth things over with her. Right about now, he was supposed to be escorting her to the mayor’s Christmas party. Instead, he was making his way along a treacherous stretch of icy road, on the coldest night of the year.
His mind went back to the meetings in Dallas he’d had to endure to cut another deal for Rudolph Oil. After all the hours of endless negotiations, he still wasn’t sure if he’d closed the deal. They wanted to think about it some more.
That he wasn’t coming home victorious grated against his ego like the ice grating against his windshield wipers. Over the last few years, work had always come first with Nick Rudolph. It was an unspoken promise to his late father, a man Nick hadn’t understood until after his death. Now, because he’d seen a side of his father that still left him unsettled, Nick preferred to concentrate on tangible endeavors, like making money.
Nick Rudolph wasn’t used to losing. He’d been blessed with a good life, with all the comforts of old money, and he didn’t take kindly to being shut out. He’d win them over; he always did. He might have given up every ounce of his self-worth, but he wasn’t about to let go of his net worth.
As the car neared the exit for Kelly’s Truck Stop, he allowed himself a moment to relax. Almost home. Soon, he’d be sitting by his fire, the cold December rain held at bay outside the sturdy walls of his Georgian-style mansion. Soon.
Nick looked up just in time to see the dark shapes moving in front of his car, his headlights flashing across the darting figures rushing out onto the road in front of him.
Automatically slamming on his brakes, he held the leather-covered steering wheel with tight fingers. His mind screamed an alert warning as the car barely missed hitting a small figure standing in the rain before it skidded to a groaning halt.
“What in the world!” Nick cut the engine to a fast stop, then hopped out of the car, his mind still reeling with the sure knowledge that he’d almost hit a child. Coming around the car, his expensive loafers crunching against patches of ice, he looked down at the three people huddled together on the side of the interstate. Tired and shaken, he squinted against the beam of his car’s headlights.
The sight he saw made him sag with relief. He hadn’t hit anyone. Immediately following the relief came a strong curiosity. Why would anyone be standing in the middle of the interstate on a night like this?
The woman stood tall, her chin lifted in proud defiance, her long hair flowing out in the icy wind, her hands pulled tight against the shoulders of the two freezing children cloistered against the protection of her worn wool jacket.
The
