Teaser Tuesday: My Lucky Charm

Fate with a Helping Hand Book 4
Sometimes fate needs a little help…

A little thing called desperation had Zoey Preston under the gun. She had two choices, find a job that would help pay enough for her to stay in Boston...or face moving back to the country to a house full of family and various animals. The last thing on her mind was love...until she meets the devastatingly handsome surgeon Marcus Drake. He's like her lucky charm. He's nothing like any of the doctors she's ever met. He drives a Harley and has a thing for Irish music. Too bad she's leaving town.

Hard work never bothered Marcus until the night he returned home after a bad day and realized there was nothing there for him. At a crossroad in his life, he decides it's time to make a change. Then he meets Zoey Preston. The green-eyed girl who can't stand the sight of blood is nothing like the woman he'd imagined would one day be his wife. But he soon realizes, she's is everything he wants...for life.

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Marcus handed Zoey the envelope across the counter. His hand grazed her fingers as the exchange was made, sending tingles of sensation up her arm and making her lightheaded. His deep blue eyes were unlike anything she'd ever seen. In fact, Zoey couldn't quite figure out if she'd ever met a man as striking as Marcus Drake. And he was a surgeon. Oh, the things he could do with those hands. Her cheeks flamed.

As if he were reading her mind, he smiled and lifted his eyebrows quickly and said, "I'd better be going."

"Okay," she said in a voice that sounded much too breathless for her ears.

"Can I have my hand back?"

Zoey glanced down and saw that their hands were entwined. No, not entwined. That would mean he was holding her hand. Instead, she was clutching his, making it impossible for him to move away from the counter. Acid coiled in her stomach as she snatched her hand away.


"No need to be. Good luck with your job interview, Zoey."

"Thank you."

Vicky came up alongside her and extended her hand to Marcus. He glanced at it quickly, but instead of taking her hand, he simply nodded.

"It was nice meeting you both."

Zoey watched as Marcus left the store and then walked down the crowded sidewalk.

"My luck changed the moment I met that man. Do you have any idea what he is?" Zoey said.

Vicky crossed her arms and nodded. "Stalker."

Zoey made a disgusted face. "Don't be ridiculous. He's a surgeon at one of the best hospitals in the country."

Vicky pointed a finger at her. "Does that mean he can't be a stalker?"

"He's my lucky charm."

"What luck? You're not even Irish."

"We're in Boston. Everyone is Irish when they're in Boston."

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Teaser Tuesday: The Knight and Maggie's Baby

Fate with a Helping Hand Book 3


"The secondary characters were amazing...a very good book."
~ Cocktails and Books

"...had me in tears because it was so beautiful. Such a lovely story of two people falling in love against the odds."
~ Crystal @ Snowdrops Dreams of Books

Sometimes fate needs a little help…

Billionaire, Jonah Wallace knows what it’s like to grow up without love. Despite having more money than the Queen of England, his childhood was cold and stale as he grew up in boarding schools. He’s dedicated his life to helping homeless and displaced children find the love and support they need by creating the Haven House Foundation, work that resulted in him being Knighted by the Queen.

Now that he’s living in America, his work is going along just fine…until his grandfather gives fate a little nudge by insisting he take a wife before he can inherit.

Coffee shop owner, Maggie Bonelli, is pregnant and the baby’s dad has gone AWOL. She knows too well the pain of growing up without a daddy. So when Jonah Wallace comes into her shop proposing marriage for a year, she takes him up on his offer, even if it’s only for a year. Live in a mansion and give her baby a name and a daddy to call his/her own. But can they keep their perfect arraignment strictly business…or will fate’s helping hand bring them love at last?

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“Don't you think you're rushing things just a tad?” She lifted her hand and pinched her index finger and thumb together for emphasis.

“I'll admit my proposal is a bit abrupt,” he stammered.

“A bit?”

“We've only known each other--”

“Forty-five minutes tops,” she blurted out. “Are you out of your mind?”

Her tone was incredulous. And he really didn't blame Maggie if she thought he was nuts. He felt nuts. Desperate, too. But he found himself defending his proposal.

“Quite possibly. But you see, that’s exactly my point. I have a bit of a time-crunch here, and it seems as though--”

Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “How silly of me. Here I thought you were sweeping me off my feet.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “I do sound mad, don’t I?”

“Recognition is the first step toward recovery.”

Something rumbled up from deep inside him. Jonah laughed at himself, this disastrous day, and the absurd situation he'd been forced into by his grandfather. It felt good to laugh. That in itself was incredibly surprising, considering he hadn't managed to do much laughing at all since he'd learned of the impending plans for Wiltshire.

He peered at Maggie through moisture filled eyes. She wasn't laughing. But she was incredibly beautiful. Her sapphire eyes sparkled when she teased him. There were small freckles sprinkled across her nose that looked adorable with the sun shining on her creamy skin.

When she looked at him the way she was right now, it didn't seem like such a crazy idea to marry her. At least not for the reasons he was proposing. He hadn't given it a second thought. And yet, now he realized just how ridiculous he looked from her eyes.

“I'm not making a pass at you. Truly, I'm not.”

“You just asked me to marry you.”

“I'm asking for your help.”


His lips tilted up to one side. “Again.”

Maggie took two steps down the stairs until they were both standing at eye level. “Forget the phone call, the nice air conditioned ride in the limo, the coffee, the pie—”

“Which by the way was truly inspiring,” he interjected. “If I didn’t already tell you that.”

“You did. You don't even know me. You’re asking a total stranger to marry you.”

He shrugged. “I know that. But I know you make me laugh.”

“So that's all it takes for a happy marriage? Bet we could make a killing with that book.”

“I sound delusional,” he said. “Even to my own ears, which is pretty scary.”

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Teaser Tuesday: The Marriage Contract

Fate with a Helping Hand

"Hilariously funny!" "Delightful!" 4 STARS Romantic Times Magazine

What would you do to get a second chance at love? Sometimes fate needs a little helping hand...

When Ruthie Carvalho finds an old birthday card with a marriage proposal scribbled on the back, she figures she's hit pay dirt and is destined to get her 35 year old daughter married.

The trouble is, Ruthie can't stand Cara's boyfriend and Cara is just stubborn enough to push in the opposite direction of what her mother wants.

When Devin Michaels gets a phone call from his old friend's mom, he knows Ruthie is up to something. But he's at a crossroad. It's been 17 years since he's seen Cara and memories of their soulful talks and walks on the beach make him long to reconnect.

Going back to the seaside town of Westport Massachusetts to reconnect with Cara seems like just the thing to do. One look at Cara and the years seem to melt away. With a little help and “creative” planning from Ruthie, can these old friends become lovers and have a second chance at happiness?

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Cara Cavarlho could think of a hundred places she wanted to be right now. 
    This wasn't one of them.
    She tugged on the rope dangling above her head. A musty cloud of dust hit her in the face as the stairs leading to the attic of her parents' Westport home dropped, gaining her access. Gripping the splintered stairs, she began her ascent into the “black hole”, she so affectionately dubbed the attic in her childhood, with mixed emotion. Ever since her parents decided to sell the home she had grown up in and move to Florida with the senior league, she found herself becoming overwhelmed with emotion.
    Of course, her thirty-fifth birthday being right around the corner wasn't a big help. That her mother kept reminding her of her single, childless status only added to her emotional unrest.
    She yanked on the metal chain dangling above her head and light quickly spilled into the sweltering crawl space. “It's a furnace up here!” she called down, immediately feeling the cool air below bathe her warm face.
    Whose idea was it to delve into this black hole on a hot August afternoon? Certainly not mine! she fumed silently.
    “I know. We should have done this earlier in the day, before the sun had a chance to heat the attic,” she heard her mother, Ruthie, call up from below. “Do you want me to get the fan?”
    I want to get out of here and not do this. “No. I can't stay up here long, anyway. I'm already sweating like a pig.”
    On her hands and knees, she carefully crawled along the aged planks, feeling them bend under her weight. Aerobics twice a week and running three miles a day had her wearing the same size she had worn since college. With each creak of the aged floor boards, she was glad she’d taken pains to keep her figure trim.
    Despite the dim light, it was difficult to see. She squinted and tried to focus. Boxes. There were loads of them scattered Helter Skelter around her, tucked into corners they'd been placed in years ago and long since forgotten. The life she used to lead was lost up here. Why couldn't things ever remain the same...?
    “Just start with a few, dear. We can rummage through them first and price anything you want to include in the tag sale,” Ruthie suggested.
    “Sounds like a good idea. I'll come back up tomorrow morning before breakfast to get more. I can barely breathe up here now.” Cara's eyes roamed the piles of memories one last time. After choosing the five boxes closest to the hole and carefully lowering them to her mother, Cara descended to fresh air once again.
    She helped her mother drag the boxes down the stairs and out to the back porch of the beachfront home. Plopping the last one on the wrought iron patio table, she puffed her cheeks and slid the back of her hand across her sweated forehead. The sooner we get through this the better.
    Ruthie was the first to begin the unveiling and plunged into the first box while Cara poured both of them a tumbler of her mother’s homemade lemonade. After a few minutes of digging, Cara found her tension ease. While she'd been dreading the idea of unearthing old memories, she found the task easier once she delved in and became lost in them.
    The first box was filled with old Christmas ornaments and treasures she and her brother, Manny, had made in school when they were kids. A paper doll chain. An old wooden whale Manny had made in woodshop. The next box had old crochet blankets and booties from when they were babies. While Cara fingered the soft yarn of a baby afghan, Ruthie dove into the box filled with old yearbooks and newspaper clippings from Manny's athletic high school days.
    “You suppose Manny would want to keep any of these things?” Ruthie asked, picking up a yearbook and fanning the pages open. A candied piece of what looked like edible underwear fell to the floor boards by their feet. Ruthie retrieved the “article” and held it up in the air between her fingers.
    Cara laughed, remembering the gag gift Manny had given her years ago. It was harmless, but she knew her mother wouldn't find the truth so humorous.
    “Those are mine, Ma. Manny gave them to me before he left for the seminary.”
    As she expected, Ruthie threw her an appalled look. “How would your brother know about such things? He's a priest, for goodness sake!”
    Cara sobered immediately, sucking in her cheeks to keep her laughter at bay. She knew her mother had a hard time remembering Manny as a normal everyday teenager before he'd left for the seminary. Now wasn’t the time to remind her.
    But as usually, Cara didn't leave it alone. She reached across the table for the naughty underwear. “What size are they anyway?”
    “Never you mind.” Ruthie dropped the brittle article of “clothing” in the green rubber garbage can by the table. “If your grandmother saw this, she'd probably take them for herself.”
    Cara gasped. “She would not!”
    “Oh, you'd be surprised. The other day I caught her standing in front of the full length mirror, trying on one of those tight bustiers Madonna wears all the time.”
    “You're kidding. You are kidding, aren't you?”
    Ruthie sighed heavily, a worried looked suddenly etching her face. “I think she has Alzheimer’s.”
    Cara’s hand flew to her chest. “Why?”
    “She's acting strange.”
    “So what’s new? She always acts strange. She's a free spirit.”
    Ruthie remained somber. “As we speak, she's at church.”
    “It's Tuesday.”
    “What? People only go to confession on Sunday?”
    She slapped the yearbook on the table. “She thinks she's Madonna. And there's the fishing thing.”
    Cara held up her hand to halt her. “Fishing?”
    Ruthie sighed and reached across the table, patting Cara's hand. “You’ve been away for a while, honey. You'll see what I mean after a few days.” Cara turned her attention back to one of the boxes in front of her and pulled out a pair of white baby booties.
    “Oh, were these mine?” she crooned, examining the tiny booties.
    “No, dear. I made them for your children, just after you were born. Not that they'll ever be used,” Ruthie quipped under her breath.
    “You made booties for your own grandchildren when I was still a baby? What about me? What did I get to wear?” Cara shook her head in disbelief. Utterly bewildered, she stared blankly at the silk threads sewn in minute stitches with loving care. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the name embroidered on the heels. “Omar? What's this Omar you have embroidered here?”
    “Your grandmother made you plenty of booties when I was a little girl. I was merely passing on the tradition. One that I won't hold my breath you'll continue.”
    Oh, this vacation is going to be good, Cara thought. A full three weeks helping her parents get the house ready for sale, and listening to poor Ruthie dig about her lack of grandchildren, was going to be a slow, agonizing death.
    It was times like this she could throttle her brother for becoming a priest and dropping all the procreation pressure on her shoulders.
    “And Omar,” Ruthie continued, “is the name I picked out for your first born son. What can I say? I had a thing for Dr. Zhivago.”
    “You were already naming my kids!? Omar?” She mouthed the name with disgust.
    “You didn't like Dr. Zhivago?”
    Cara drew in a deep cleansing breath of salted sea air, wondering how she could have been born to this crazy family. This was going to be an extremely long three weeks.
    Ruthie plucked out an old birthday card from the box and read it. “Devin Michaels. Mmmm. Now that's a name I haven't heard you speak in a long time.” Turning it over, she read the ink staining the back and squealed in delight, practically jumping from her seat. “Devin proposed to you!”
    “What are you talking about? He did not.”
    “On your birthday card. He proposed!” Ruthie sputtered, “How come you never told me about this?”
    “Let me see that.”
    Cara nabbed the card from her mother and speed read the note, smiling
    I, Devin Michaels, agree to marry you,
    Cara Cavarlho should both of us still
    be single at age thirty-five.
    Signed: Devin Michaels
    “I remember this.” The memories poured back one by one. She and Devin had just toasted her birthday. After sneaking out on her own birthday party, they sat on the concrete ledge of the watchtower at Gooseberry Point, watching the midnight moon, drinking cheap wine illegally, and toasting to their future success.
    She had been lamenting about Manny leaving for the seminary and the predicament he'd left her with regarding her mother's future grandchildren. If she dared to remain single—which, given her lofty career goals, she'd whole-heartedly planned to be at age thirty-five—Ruthie was sure to hound her for the rest of her life. Or at least until menopause, whichever came first.
    Devin joked that he would be chivalrous and rescue her from being eternally damned by her mother. What was nothing more than a little joke between two friends was now coming back to haunt her.
    Cara couldn't help but smile, remembering the boy, the friend Devin had been. They'd been inseparable that summer. There’d always been something special about Devin. Something just a little bit more…
    “Devin always had a thing for you, you know.” Ruthie raised her eyebrows and shined her matchmaking smile.
    “Thirty-five seemed so old to us back then.”
    “Still is when you're single, dear,” Ruthie returned.
    Some things never change.
    Cara rolled her eyes. “We were just kids, Ma.”
    Kids or not, back then they thought they knew everything. Most of all, what they wanted in life. Devin was going to take on the world as a lawyer. From the little bits and pieces she'd heard over the years from people back home, and news coverage on the tube of the highly publicized cases he'd won, he'd done just that, as a prominent Manhattan defense attorney.
    Winning one highly publicized case he'd taken straight out of law school, one that the prosecution as well as the world thought he'd lose hands down, had propelled him into the most exclusive law firm in Manhattan. It hadn't taken him long to make a name for himself and become a much sought after, multi-million dollar baby of law.
    Cara had her own plans in which marriage had no part. She had to admit pride in the fact that, like Devin, she'd reached the pre-set goals made that fateful summer. She had worked hard and become a home interiors expert, opening her own successful shop in the posh Back Bay area of Boston nearly ten years earlier.
    Looking at her mother's bright expression, and knowing what conclusions she'd already drawn, Cara said, “This was a joke, Ma.”
    “It's in black and white.”
    “Blue and white.”
    “How many assistants have you lost to motherhood already?”
    “Four,” Cara sputtered.
    “In a month or so, Louise will make five.”
    The heaviness of her mother's statement hit Cara hard. Especially in light of the feelings she'd been having of late. Forcing the thoughts away, she tossed out the usual response she used when her mother started this line of conversation.
    “That's why I’m not getting married. In case you hadn't heard, barefoot and pregnant went out long ago, Ma. Women have careers now.”
    “That may be so, but look me. I was so thrilled when you were born, I never once regretted leaving my catering business behind.”
    “My point exactly. You gave it up.”
    Ruthie scowled and snatched the card back, holding it to her chest as if it were the only hold she had on getting any future grandchildren. “That’s right. The women of your generation want it all.”
    “You say it like it’s a dirty word.”
    “It feels like it when I have no grandbabies to spoil. Mark my words. I may just get to see your father walk you down the aisle before I die after all. I think you should call Devin.”
    Cara cocked her head to one side and blinked hard, trying her best to gather up her control. “I haven't heard from Devin in over fifteen years! I doubt he hardly remembers me.”
    Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t true. She and Devin had been inseparable. Warmth spread from the center of her chest outward just thinking of their friendship. It had been a long time since she’d thought about Devin.
    Ruthie gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous! Devin would never forget you. If I know Devin, he’ll keep his word. He’ll honor this marriage contract,” Ruthie continued, as if she were in her own world.
    “You must have some feelings for him or you wouldn’t have kept his card all this time.”
    “I didn’t even know it was there.”
    “We’ll see.”
    The way her mother clutched the card, fanning herself from mid-day August heat, Cara knew this was only the beginning. These next three weeks were going to be the longest weeks of her entire life.
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Teaser Tuesday: All I Want for Christmas is You

Fate with a Helping Hand Book One

Sometimes fate needs a little hand…  

Santa Claus is going to have a rough season... Lauren Alexander is raising her daughter alone. Abandoned by her family for her decision to keep her daughter Kristen, she has done a pretty good job for the last six years. Or she thought she had. That's why she is crushed when little Kristen gives up her wish for a toy or goodie and instead asks Santa for a present for her mother. She wants Santa to bring a Daddy. Delivering Daddies isn't Santa's bag.

But this Santa has a plan...

Kyle Preston knows what it is like to be abandoned too. Luckily he found the support of loving adoptive parents and has turned himself into one of the most successful Real Estate developers in town.

Building a house is easy. Building someone's trust is a whole other story. But with a little helping hand, a little Christmas magic can make all the difference in the world.

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"Come on, Mommy!" Kristen Alexander said, tugging at her mother's sleeve.  "There's no one in line this time."
"Wait a minute, honey.  Let me tie your shoelace."  Lauren Alexander squatted down and blew out a quick breath as she made a bow in the Technicolor laces of her six year old daughter's sneakers.  Kristen was as hard as ever to keep up with these days.
The shopping mall had been crowded all evening, filled with holiday shoppers carefully selecting their Christmas gifts.  Scanning the area, she now saw only a handful of scattered shoppers left, carefully gripping their bundles.  With less than three weeks left until Christmas, Lauren had hoped to be farther along with her Christmas shopping.  This latest trip to the toy stores, meant as a fishing expedition to find out just what would catch Kristen's eye, had produced nothing but unrest.  She'd hoped to make this a special year for Kristen.  So far, it wasn't turning out to be what she'd planned.  There was no way she would be able to afford the kind of Christmas she'd hoped to have.
"Mommy!" Kristen squealed, "I don't want to miss Santa Claus!"
"Okay, give me a kiss," Lauren requested, reaching out to give her a brief hug.  Smiling, Kristen quickly obliged.  "Do you want me to go with you, baby?"
"No-o-o-o!" Kristen said, rolling her eyes at her mother.
"I know you're a big girl now, but I had to ask.  I'll be standing right at the end of the ramp, okay?" Lauren assured her, feeling a tug at her heart.  Her little girl was so grown up at six years old.  Time was flying by so fast.  She only wished she had more time to spend with Kristen to watch her grow.
Kristen trotted up the ramp a few feet and stopped short, abruptly turning and racing back.  "My letter for Santa!  Mrs. Hopkins helped me with it.  I forgot it at home!" she cried with all the panic of a little girl who'd just lost her kitten.
"No, Krissy, I have it.  Mrs. Hopkins gave it to me when I picked you up after work.  Remember?"  Lauren pulled the sealed envelope marked "North Pole" out of her purse and handed it to Kristen.  "Go on.  The mall is going to be closing soon."
Kristen's exasperated expression was replaced with a chubby faced smile as she clutched the letter to Santa in her little hand and bolted up the ramp. 
Thank the heavens above for Mrs. Hopkins, Lauren thought.  If she didn't watch Kristen before and after school every day, she couldn't have taken that job at Woodlawn Industries as a customer service representative.  She'd still be waitressing and paying baby-sitters top money just to make ends meet.  At least now, she had a chance to make something for herself and Kristen.  The Woodlawn position offered her the chance for advancement and training she never would have gotten if she'd remained at the restaurant she'd worked at since leaving home.
She watched Kristen race to meet Santa, determined to tell her Christmas wish.  She sighed, feeling her heart fall.  If only she had the money to give her all the things she wanted. 
* * *

Kyle Preston watched as a little blue eyed cherub of a girl, no more than a first grader, came racing up the ramp toward him.  It was as hot as a burning August day in this Santa Claus suit.  He'd been wearing it for the last three hours and was soaked skin deep from his boots to his white beard.  He needed a shower and a good meal.  To say that he was tired was the understatement of the century, but seeing the delightful sparkle of a child at Christmas was worth all the hassle and discomfort of playing Santa Claus.
     "Ho!  Ho!  Ho!" he called out as the little girl came bustling toward him.  Extending his hands in front of him, he gently lifted her into his lap.  "And what's your name, little one?" he asked in his disguised Santa Claus voice.

     The little girl looked up at him with wide saucer eyes and murmured softly, "Kristen.  But my mommy calls me Krissy."

     "That's such a pretty name for a pretty little girl.  Have you been a good girl for your mommy this year, Kristen?"

     "Yep.Sometimes I don't pick up my toys before bed though.  Am I gonna git in trouble with you for that?"  She didn't look at him.  Instead, she stared off down the ramp where a woman in a bulky blue coat stood waiting.  Seeing no one else in the vicinity, Kyle presumed it to be her mother.
     "Is it all the time, or do you just forget once in a while?" he asked with Santa Claus authority.
     "I thought you were 'spose to know those things?  Mommy always says you can see me when I don't listen."  She looked up at him wide-eyed and innocent.

     He chuckled, despite himself, in his normal tone.  Then remembering his part, he altered his voice and ho-ho'd a laugh that made Kristen giggle.  "Well, Kristen, it's too big a job to look at all the kids all over the world.  So I have to ask for a little help every now and then.  You don't mind that, do you?"  He posed the question not expecting a reply, but to his surprise, Kristen looked up at him thoughtfully, contemplating her answer.

     "I don't mind.  Mommy needs help sometimes, too," she said as innocently as an angel.

     He was too much of a sap for this job, he decided.  Maybe it was his nature or maybe it was growing up in an ever expanding family, but he had a soft spot for this little girl.  She was cute as a button with her baby fine blond curls framing her face.  Looking down the ramp, he decided her mother wasn't half bad herself.  She appeared a bit tired, but pretty in a simple girl-next-door kind of way.  Her flowing ash blond hair fell both to the front and back of her knee length coat.  Even from the distance they were at, he recognized that mother and daughter bore a strong resemblance and had the same saucer shaped eyes.

     Kyle turned his attention back to the pressing matter at hand and asked, "So, what do you want for Christmas this year?"

     Kristen's little face brightened even more, if that was at all possible, and she stuck out the envelope she'd been crumbling nervously in her hand.  "Here.  I wrote it down so you won't forget."

     "Well, I'm impressed.  You did this all by yourself?"

     "Mrs. Hopkins helped me."

     He took the envelope and, after breaking the seal, plucked out the note.  "Is Mrs. Hopkins your teacher?"

     "Nope."  She shook her head back and forth with exaggerated motion.  "She's my baby-sitter.  We live on the top floor of her house.  She plays Barbies with me when Mommy can't cuz she has to work."

     "Well, let's see what toys we have here on your list."  Kyle opened the note and began to read the "Dear Santa" aloud, but stopped as soon as he began. 

Dear Santa,
Plez send me a daddy for Christmas so Mommy doesn't have to work so much.
Luv, Krissy Alexander

Kyle felt his chest tighten.  This letter decided it.  He was much too much of a sap for this job.
"You don't have a daddy, Kristen?" he asked softly as he re-folded the note.
"What happened to him?" he asked, immediately doubting the wisdom of putting forth such a question to someone so young.
"We never had one.  Mommy says we do just fine as a twosome.  That means just Mommy and me," she clarified, nodding her head with certainty.
"Oh.  You're pretty smart for a girl your age." 
"I know.  Mommy tells me so all the time," she said unabashed.
"What's your mommy's name?"
"Lauren Alexander.  She's over there.  Hi, Mommy!" Kristen waved her hand frantically.  The woman at the end of the ramp beamed with pride and waved back.
"Your mommy is very pretty," Kyle said mostly to himself when he saw how Lauren Alexander's beautiful wide smile brightened her face and made what he mistook as being simple much more appealing.
"Yep," she answered as if the point was not debatable.
He looked down at Kristen and smiled.  "There must be some toy you'd like Santa...uh...me to bring you Christmas morning."
"Nope.  Just a daddy.  I think my mommy could use it."
Kyle couldn't help but laugh at the double meaning of her words.  "Glad to see you're looking out for your mommy, Kristen.  But what about you?"
"I never had a daddy."  Her eyes narrowed in as she frowned.  "So I don't know.  Does that mean you're not gonna git us one?"
Kyle had spent the first twelve years of his life being shifted around until he found a family that would love him no matter what.  The most impressionable years of his life were spent thinking no one cared, that he was nothing special.  Looking at Kristen, he knew she was special, but did she?
And Lauren Alexander.  Obviously she was alone, raising her daughter the best way she could.  It had to be a hard thing to have no one to lean on. 
Looking back on his life, Kyle realized he'd pretty much forgotten what that had been like.  These days, as far as family went, his cup runneth over.  There were a lot of people to do the leaning and even more to do the leaning on in the Preston household.  Yeah, it had to be hard for Lauren Alexander if her young daughter felt it necessary to give her Christmas wish away.
"No, Kristen.  That doesn't mean you're not going to get a daddy.  It's just..." he started, but couldn't quite find the words to explain the complications involved in such a request.  Especially when Kristen looked up at him with wide puppy-dog eyes.
Why couldn't she have asked for an Easy Bake Oven?
All of the sudden, he found himself feeling abundantly protective of Kristen and her mother.  This was, after all, the holiday season.  It was a time when all should reach out to their fellow man, woman, or as in this case, child.
He tried a different tactic, hoping the little girl would quickly see the flaw in her request and ask for something more Santa Claus possible.  "Don't you think that your mommy would want to pick out a daddy on her own?  What if she doesn't like the daddy I bring?" 
Kristen looked puzzled.  Exactly what he'd wanted, although he had to admit to himself he didn't enjoy trading innocence for the turmoil in her expression.  He just couldn't see any other way around this without flat out telling her he couldn't do it.  That would be like telling her Santa Claus didn't exist at all and there was no way he'd be the one to say such an evil thing.
"But Mommy doesn't have any time to find a daddy.  That's why I figure it's up to me."  She nodded her head with determination.
 If there was any way to bottle that kind of pure love and devotion, he'd do it.  That soft spot was turning to mush as Kyle felt his heart grow warmer with every thump.  He knew he couldn't do his usual routine and tell the child she'd only get her wish if she was real good and picked up her toys when asked.  In the end, she'd only surmise she'd done something wrong for Santa not to grant her Christmas request.
"I can tell you love your mommy a whole lot," he murmured softly. 
Kristen nodded her reply.  A weary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  Or maybe she was tired, he thought, remembering the time.  The mall was closing at any moment.  The grilled gates had already been slammed down and locked up on the front of some stores.  Custodians were busy emptying the trash cans and vacuuming the carpets.  As Kyle panned the area, he saw that the last remaining shoppers had already vacated the premises. 
Turning his attention back to Kristen, who was now yawning as she lazily leaned against his chest, he said, "I can't make any promises for this year, honey.  Being so close to Christmas, all the daddy's have already been spoken for.  But I'll see what I can do for next year," he promised.
He wasn't at all pleased with his answer.  What he wouldn't do to make Kristen's dream come true?  He looked down the ramp at Lauren Alexander.  She gave him a forced smile that hinted of impatience as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands jammed deep in her coat pockets.
"You be the good girl I know you are and there will be something extra special for you on Christmas morning.  Okay?" 
It was late.  He was hot as hell.  He had to get home, have a hot shower, and grab a good meal. 
But none of that mattered, because now he just felt like a dog.  Why couldn't she have asked for a puppy? he thought as he watched Kristen trot toward her mother.  He could have easily run right down to the pet shop at the mall and picked out a golden retriever, or collie, or whatever kind of puppy looked cute as a button, just like the little girl.  Instead, she asked for the one thing a Santa had no control over.
There were times in his life when Kyle had known failure.  Going from nothing to being the owner of his own shopping mall in Western Massachusetts had given him cause to stare failure right between the eyes.  But in all his thirty years, he never felt as low and pitiful as he did right now.
His appetite suddenly gone, he decided the heck with the dinner.  He changed out of his straight jacket and called it a day.

* * *

Lauren turned the key in the ignition for the second time and said a silent prayer that the car's engine would turn over. 
"Not now," she moaned, a sinking feeling flooding her.  She'd already secured Kristen in the back seat and fastened her seat belt.  A quick glance in the rear view mirror showed the little girl had already fallen asleep. 
Popping the lever that released the hood of her late model sedan, she noticed the light panel.  Her hands instinctively pushed the knob on and off in frustration when she realized she'd left her lights on the entire time she'd been shopping.  Now her battery was dead.
"Good going, Lauren," she chided herself.
After climbing out into the cold, she lifted the hood and blankly stared down at her car engine, feeling the bitter cold sting her exposed cheeks.  Taking in another frosty breath, she realized she had no idea what she was looking at and no idea what to do.  Cursing, she kicked the air in frustration.
To add insult to injury, it had begun to snow while she'd been in the mall.  Any other time it would have brought out the playful spirit of Christmas in her.  She'd always loved a white blanket of snow on the ground during the Christmas season. 
She glanced over at Kristen and saw that she was already fast asleep, slumped over in the back seat.  The snow was going to make it more difficult to carry her to a pay phone and call a tow truck, but she had no other choice.  The temperature had dropped considerably in the few hours they'd been shopping and it wasn't safe to stay exposed for too long.
Twisting her body around, she saw that the parking lot was empty.  At least she'd parked in a well-lit area just below a lamppost, something working late nights at the restaurant had taught her to do many years previous.  As she gazed up at the bright light above her, she became hypnotized for a fleeting moment by the colors of the dense snow falling like crystals from the sky.
"You stuck?" a deep voice, one that sounded much too close for comfort, called out and startled Lauren, causing her to swing around. 
She licked her chapped lips and stared at the tall man who had seemingly come out of nowhere.  His hair was wet and matted, colored a mousy blond.  He was hunched forward slightly with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his sporty ski jacket.
"No," she lied.  The last thing she needed was some deranged wanderer to come by and steal what little she didn't have.  Lauren quickly shifted her thoughts to Kristen, sleeping in the back seat.  He could take anything he wanted, but she'd walk through fire to protect her precious daughter from harm.
"Interesting," he returned, darting a glance in the direction of her exposed engine.
"What is?"  She tried desperately to appear unfazed.
"Well, I'm no expert, but I have never known someone to fill their engine with snow before taking it out for a drive," the stranger said teasingly, his hot breath misting as it hit the cold air.  He moved to the front of the car, half out of her view, presumably looking at the engine.
Crow bar!  That's what she needed now, she decided.  If she only knew where it was kept in her car, she was sure she could make good use of it, if need be.  Now was no time to beat herself up about not paying attention during drivers Ed class.  Something else to thank Kristen's father for at some later date since he was the subject of her attention during that fateful time in her life.  In any case, it didn't stop her stomach from lurching forward with every move this stranger made.
The man stuck his head out from behind the hood.  "Nothing seems to be disconnected.  Let me try the engine."
"That won't be necessary," she blurted out.  There was no way she was going to let some stranger climb into her car and drive away with her baby.  In an attempt at bluffing, she informed him, "I've already called my husband, and he'll be here any minute."
"No he won't."  The aplomb in his voice, more than his words, told her that he was unconvinced.   
She struck a threatening pose with her arms held out in front of her, fists clenched, and shouted, "Don't come any closer.  I'm a black belt in Karate."
He glanced at her blankly and darted his eyebrows upward.  "No you're not."
Lauren's pulse quickened, and she nervously shifted her body weight from one foot to the other, grounding herself in.  The mama bear in her reared up and her claws stretched out in full fighting force.  Just let him try to take her little cub away.  She'd make sure it was the sorriest day of his pathetic life.
He shot her a mocking grin that tilted ever so slightly.  "Why don't you use some of that heat to fire up the engine?"
"Huh?"  Her heart pounding in her chest, Lauren unclenched her fists and stepped back toward the driver's side door.
"Try turning the ignition."
"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously, her guard never faltering.
"You don't have to be afraid.  I just want to help you and your daughter get home before you freeze to death out here."
A bone chilling fear shot up her spine.  He hadn't been close enough to see a child in the back seat.  How could he have known?  "Are you stalking me?  I have a gun, you know.  And I won't hesitate to use it!"  She stuck her thumb and her index finger out and aimed it at the most sensitive part of his male anatomy, sneering at him.
"I believe you would," he said.  Tilting his head to one side, he blew out an exaggerated breath, emitting a cloud of mist from his mouth.  "But if you're going to bluff, at least try to be a little more convincing.  Right now, you're about as threatening as a kitten."
"Kittens have claws," she warned, flexing her fingers.
"Cats have claws," he amended.  "You, my sweet, are still a kitten."
Lauren straightened her spine and huffed.  "I'm going to scream.  Is that threatening enough for you?  The security guards will be more than willing to arrest you on the spot and throw your sorry butt in jail for...for..."
"Helping you?  No, they wouldn't do that," he said confidently.
"What makes you so all mighty sure, buster?" she shot back, verbally attacking him.  Nothing else seemed to make a dent in him and she was running out of bluffs.
"Because I'm the one who signs their pay checks."  He turned back at the mall and extended his hand.  "I own this place."
"No you don't!" she challenged.  She wasn't born yesterday.  On her own since she was pregnant at eighteen, Lauren knew a snow job when she saw one.
He blew out another quick breath and shrugged.  When he moved his hand toward his back pocket, Lauren screamed loud and long.
The stranger stopped dead in his tracks.  "What on earth did you do that for?"
"Don't try anything funny!" she commanded, holding her hands out in front of her as a shield.
Ignoring her, he extracted his wallet.  After sifting through it, he plucked out what appeared to be a business card and extended it to her.  "See for yourself.  Kyle Preston, owner of Preston Galleria."
She quickly glanced at the card in his hand without taking it, then followed his gaze to the sign on the two story building behind him.
"How do I know you're legit?" she asked, still leery of accepting his story.  She'd been a fool once when she was young, taking every little word as being the truth.  That only left her alone, struggling to make a life for her and Kristen.  She couldn't afford to keep making that mistake.
"I assure you that my intentions aren't mercenary.  Please, just get behind the wheel and try to start the car.  If my instincts are right, all you have is a dead battery," he said evenly, seemingly tired of the game.
"I know that's all it is."  She folded her arms across her chest, feeling pretty proud of herself for at least figuring that one on her own.  "I left my lights on."
"Oh. Good," he said in resignation.  "Then I'll jump you."
"Not on your life!"  She struck her Karate pose and ground her teeth, the mama bear in her coming to life again.
When he caught the double meaning of his words, he revised, "I'll bring my car around so that I can jump start your car's battery."
With that, he was gone.  Lauren wasn't sure if he'd come back after the way she'd attacked him.  Kitten, my butt, she fumed.  She had claws just like the next cat.
Kyle was gone for what seemed liked hours, but in reality was only a few minutes.  The cold may have had a hand at the slow passing of the time.  She couldn't feel her toes in her boots anymore. 
What would it hurt to accept some help from a stranger? she thought as she moved to the back of the car.  She'd conditioned herself not to trust anyone in the past seven years.  Maybe she was becoming too hard, too cold.  And although Kyle Preston looked like he'd been put through the proverbial ringer when he appeared out of thin air, he did seem sincere about just wanting to help. 
And it was more than that, she had to admit to herself.  Except she couldn't quite put a finger on what it was about Kyle Preston that made her think she should trust him.  Without something tangible for her to grasp on to, trusting was a dangerous thing to do to say the least.
After inserting the key in the lock, she opened the trunk and pulled out the blanket she kept there for just this type of emergency.  She was just placing the blanket over Kristen when she saw headlights approach.  The vehicle stopped head to head with her car and Kyle jumped out.
"Why don't you sit in your car?  You'll be warmer.  I'll only be a minute," Kyle said as he opened the hood of his Jeep and began connecting jumper cables.
Lauren slid into the driver's seat and rubbed her hands together, thankful that this ordeal would soon be over.  She blew a hot breath through her frozen fingers before positioning them on the frigid steering wheel as she waited.
"Ready?" she called out the crack in her window after hearing a car door slam.
There was a sudden roar of the Jeep's engine.  Then Kyle hollered, "Go ahead and try to start her."
Lauren turned the key in the ignition once.  The Ford whined in protest until, finally, the engine turned over.  She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.  "Thank God," she whispered, looking up at the ceiling of her car.
"You should run it for a few minutes before trying to drive.  Let the battery get a little more juice."  Kyle quickly removed the wires conjoining the two cars and closed the hoods.
She floored the gas pedal to warm the engine and turned on the heat in the car before climbing out. 
"I don't know how to thank you," Lauren said softly.  Embarrassment flooded her with the memory of the way she'd behaved earlier.
"No need.  You're all set now."  Kyle smiled warmly.  As he spoke, the sound of his resonant baritone voice soothingly settled her fear.  She looked at him and, for the first time, she felt completely at ease.  His face was kind, his smile was warm, and she realized he meant what he said, he only wanted to help.
"I apologize for the way..." she started, staring down at the inches of snow on the ground that had accumulated during the short time.
As if sensing her embarrassment, Kyle broke in and said, "Like I said.  There is no need.  Good will toward men and all that holiday cheer.  Woman in your case, Ms. Alexander.  You and Kristen are all set now."  His eyes grew bright as he gazed at her.  Despite the calming effect the deep timbre of his voice gave her just a few short moments ago, she now felt as if she'd just been struck by a bolt of lightning. 
Fear racked her body causing her to shudder.  "How do you know my name?  M-my daughter's name?" she stammered, not missing a beat.  She hadn't told him, but he knew.  That feeling of ease was short-lived.  She trembled, more fearful than she'd been earlier when she foolishly bluffed.
Kyle dug his hand deep into his denim clad pocket and extracted a crumpled piece of paper and held it out to her.
"What's this all about," she blurted out, her eyes fixed on his hands, her breathing becoming shallow.
"You don't have to be afraid.  This will explain it all.  I promise you."  He smiled warmly and Lauren wanted to trust him if only to believe in simple kindness.
With shaking hands, she took the piece of paper, warm from being in the pocket close to Kyle's body.  She held it up straight so that she could see Kyle while reading the words on the paper.  "Dear Santa..." she read out loud, then read the next part silently.  "Oh, no," she moaned.
"I know.  That's just how I felt."
Lauren shot him a skeptical glance.  "How did you get this?"
"Kristen gave it to me."
"That's impossible.  Mrs. Hopkins just helped her with it this afternoon and-"
"And she gave it to me in the Mall," Kyle finished for her.
She looked at him quizzically, still trying to comprehend the course of events leading up to his seizure of her daughter's precious note.
"It's not that hard to figure out, Lauren," Kyle said warmly.  His dark eyes gleamed with the light from the lamppost.  He wore no hat to protect his head from the falling snow.  Now his hair was filled with powdered flakes, matting it down.  His grin was bright and wide as he informed her, "I'm Santa Claus."

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