“I don’t find you plain at all, Jessica. On the contrary, I find you quite irresistibly lovely.” About the Author Title Page PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN EPILOGUE Copyright
“I don’t find you plain at all, Jessica. On the contrary, I find you quite irresistibly lovely.”
Just for a second everything in the room seemed to hang in frozen tension. The pretty Christmas tree ornaments stopped twirling, the lights ceased their tiny reflective flickerings. Even the flames in the hearth grew still. She held on to that moment as long as she could, then came straight out and asked him, “Are you married, Morgan?”
“Not anymore.”
“And do you find me intimidatingly sensible?”
“I don’t intimidate that easily, Jessica.”
“Then why haven’t you tried to make love to me?”
CATHERINE SPENCER, once an English teacher, fell into writing through eavesdropping on a conversation about Harlequin Romance. Within two months she changed careers and sold her first book to Harlequin in 1984. She moved from England to Canada thirty years ago and has four grown children—two daughters and two sons—plus three dogs and a cat. In her spare time she plays the piano, collects antiques and grows tropical shrubs.
Christmas With A Stranger
Catherine Spencer
PROLOGUE
HE WAS on the outside again. On the run. Eventually, of course, they’d catch up with him, and when they did they’d put him away for an even longer stretch. But meanwhile time was on his side. Time in which to carry out the plan he’d spent nine years perfecting. Time to exact punishment for the injustice meted out to him.
Oh, he’d been a model inmate! So clever, fooling all of them with the mealy-mouthed responses they’d wanted to hear. So eager to be rehabilitated, so willing to admit the error of his ways. Oozing humility and remorse enough to make a thinking man’s stomach revolt.
But they weren’t thinking men, they were fools. Fools and tools of the system that had rejected him—except for the man who’d put him behind bars. He was an adversary worth taking on. Outwitting him would be a triumph, something in which to take delight when they caught up with him again.
What else, after all, had he to nourish his soul? No wife, certainly, and a child who called some stranger “Father”. No home, no job. And no future. Model prisoner or not, his past would go with him wherever he went. For the rest of his life.
It was the way things were done these days. Forget all that nonsense about a man having paid for his crimes. He never wrote off the debt because they plastered his face and name on community notice boards and labeled him a dangerous offender, even if he’d been judged guilty of only one crime—and that vindicated in the eyes of God-fearing people.
Vermin, that was what he’d stamped out. A temptation of the devil’s making best wiped off the face of the earth. A cheap flirt dolled up to look like decent folk, preying on a man’s weakness when he was most vulnerable. Reaching across his desk in such a way that he was filled with the scent of her.
It would have been different if he’d been allowed his conjugal rights, but Lynn had refused him ever since she’d almost lost the baby in her fifteenth week. That had left nearly six months during which he’d been denied his husbandly prerogative. Small wonder he’d fallen victim to the other woman’s wiles.
He hadn’t meant to kill her. It had been an accident—a panic reaction. She’d made a scene when he’d told her he wouldn’t leave his wife for her, and threatened to phone his home, to tell Lynn what a louse she had for a husband, and for a few blind moments he’d lost control and it had just...happened.
He might have been acquitted—at worst found guilty of nothing more heinous than aggravated assault resulting in death. The judge had seemed inclined to sympathy at times, and the jury might have found in his favor—if it hadn’t been for Morgan Kincaid.
Kincaid was the one who’d taken everything away and left him with nothing to lose.
Well, Merry Christmas, Mr. Crown Prosecutor!
It was payback time.
CHAPTER ONE
THE snow began in earnest just as darkness fell. Dense, feathery flakes whirling across the beam of her headlights to imprison her in a closed and isolated world.
Jessica hadn’t been comfortable with the driving conditions from the start. She was used to a milder sort of winter on the island, one of west coast sea mist and wind-driven rain, not the breath-freezing cold of the high Canadian interior.
She’d spent last night in a small town tucked between a lake and the highway, in a country inn built to resemble a Swiss chalet. There’d been logs blazing in the fireplace in the lobby and a twelve-foot Christmas tree that filled the air with the scent of pine, and French onion soup smothered in melted cheese for dinner. It had been a warm, safe place now some three hundred miles behind—much too far to merit her turning back.
If she wanted shelter from the weather again tonight, her only option was to tackle the eighty miles of switchback mountain road that lay between her and her next stop on the way to Whistling Ridge.
Smearing a gloved hand across the windshield, she squinted through the swirling snow, her heart lurching as the wheels of the car skidded suddenly to the right. Upright poles planted at intervals to measure the depth of the winter snowfall were all that stood between her and the swift,
