Книга - Their Christmas Angel

Their Christmas Angel
Tracy Madison


‘Watch out, Daddy!’ When Parker Lennox brakes to an icy halt, he narrowly misses hitting…a Christmas angel?Wait, that's Miss Bradshaw, his daughters' music teacher. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But one look in those angel eyes and the single dad falls hard. Parker never thought he'd feel this way again…now every day feels like Christmas!Nicole Bradshaw is no angel – at least not yet. This cancer survivor has plenty of life to live…and a planned pregnancy to prove it. So when Parker literally slides into her life, it's like she's opened her presents early. She loves what she's getting, but can Parker accept that she survived, when cancer that took his wife, and love a child that isn't his?







“Watch out, Daddy!”

When Parker Lennox brakes to an icy halt, he narrowly misses hitting...a Christmas angel?

Wait, that’s Miss Bradshaw, his daughters’ music teacher. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But one look in those angel eyes and the single dad and widower falls hard. Parker never thought he’d feel this way again...where every day feels like Christmas!

Nicole Bradshaw is no angel—at least not yet. This cancer survivor has plenty of life to live...and a planned pregnancy to prove it. So when Parker literally slides into Nicole’s life, it’s like she’s opened her presents early. She loves what she’s getting, but can Parker accept that she survived the cancer that took his wife...and love a child that isn’t his?


“Hmm,” he said, still sounding amused. “I don’t believe I’ve knocked a woman off her feet in thirty-plus years, and now it’s happened twice in one night.

“Should I be flattered or concerned enough for your safety that I keep a certain distance between us?”

Laughing, she scanned the area for Roscoe and tried to ignore the attraction sizzling in her blood. Hard to do, especially when combined with the security, the stability, she’d experienced while in his arms. Something she absolutely could have used those many days and weeks she’d spent in the hospital, when—between the horrors of chemotherapy and several surgeries—she feared that fate would not grant her another tomorrow, let alone a baby.

Fortunately, she had survived. And four years later, she remained blissfully healthy.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said in response to Parker’s question, “but you shouldn’t feel flattered or concerned. I’ve simply had one of those days. We all have them.”

“That we do.” Tucking his arm into hers, as if he’d done so on numerous occasions in the past, he said, “But since today is one of those days for you, I will feel significantly better if I do everything in my power to see that you don’t fall down again.”

* * *

The Colorado Fosters: They’d do anything for each other…and for love!


Their Christmas Angel

Tracy Madison






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


TRACY MADISON is an award-winning author who makes her home in northwestern Ohio. As a wife and a mother, her days are filled with love, laughter and many cups of coffee. She often spends her nights awake and at the keyboard, bringing her characters to life and leading them toward their well-deserved happily-ever-afters one word at a time. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com.


To my mother, for the strength and courage you have always shown. Thank you!


Contents

Cover (#ue593c542-261f-5851-acab-e4d15bc4047e)

Back Cover Text (#u91d9de93-6ee2-50c1-b565-350e6d92164e)

Introduction (#u01e3d036-ffa1-5291-b8f0-f1d3539f5f03)

Title Page (#u97696478-1c1e-5262-9e86-f7397be5461a)

About the Author (#udc8399ec-3674-5f6f-8158-76c1532ab133)

Dedication (#ua362a7fd-4440-52f6-9e09-010040632d6b)

Chapter One (#u57169216-6e9b-57e8-9183-3f8d7251ca4f)

Chapter Two (#u6e75ffa8-6144-5afe-9885-d31488ef1256)

Chapter Three (#ue21721a7-9ce1-52cc-a5c3-4a221e784bc4)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ued85788d-54f8-5ef8-9f68-f39d93919a6b)

Cotton-puff snowflakes shimmered in the glow of the neighborhood’s streetlights as they lazily dropped from the sky. A pretty sight, Parker Lennox thought—the way they twirled and whirled in the air with gentle, perfect grace reminded him oddly of the ballets his late wife used to drag him to when they lived in Boston.

Hard to believe that the last ballet Parker attended was over seven years ago now, and that Bridget had been gone for close to six. Didn’t seem possible some days. Other days—like today—those six years were akin to an entire lifetime. Either way, he missed his wife.

Everything about Bridget, Parker missed. Her wide, effortless smile, her laugh—sometimes sweet and quiet, other times chortling and boisterous—the way she would look at him from across a room and how her body spooned into his while they slept.

Lord. Six years. How had that even happened?

In that time, he’d packed up his two young daughters, Erin and Megan, and moved them to his hometown of Steamboat Springs, Colorado, to settle and get away from the constant memories of Bridget. Remaining in Boston, with the same restaurants and parks and shops and, well, the same everything, let alone living in the house they’d shared as a family, had quickly become an act of torture. For him, but more important, for his daughters.

Erin had been only four, Megan two, when Bridget’s cancer won its long-fought, grisly battle. The aftermath of losing their mother had left his little girls in a somber, colorless world filled with pain and heartache. Him, too, naturally, but age made a huge difference in how a person processed grief. As an adult, he knew he had to push through the darkness of Bridget’s death in order to find whatever light existed at the other end.

His girls, though? They did not understand this, and the morning Parker had found Erin and Megan huddled together in his bedroom closet with their mother’s clothes wrapped around their small, slender bodies and tears coursing down their cheeks had made that fact crystal clear.

That morning had ended his ongoing mental debate on whether they should stay in Boston, where the familiar could, over time, prove healing, or relocate to Steamboat Springs, where the girls might find breathing—just breathing—a little easier. So, despite his mother- and father-in-law’s objections and just shy of a year following his wife’s passing, Parker sold his house, quit his job and brought his family here, to a less expensive home and new surroundings.

And in the five years since, he’d doubted this decision only once. A skiing accident had come too damn close to taking his life and leaving his precious daughters as orphans. In those precarious seconds and minutes after the accident, and during those first awful few weeks in the hospital, his choice to move had seemed foolhardy. If they’d stayed in Boston, he likely would not have found himself twisted in a broken heap halfway down a friggin’ mountain.

Fortunately, he’d survived, and another three years had somehow elapsed, along with a multitude of other positive and affirming changes. His girls were flourishing here, and Parker’s momentary doubt had long since faded into nothingness. Steamboat Springs had become more than a new place with new surroundings. They had created a home here, in every way possible.

But yeah, the damn dancing snowflakes reminded him of those ballets and, therefore, his beautiful, loving wife. The good—the glorious years they were lucky enough to spend together—and the bad, the years since, the years that cancer stole from his family.

Sighing, Parker stopped at a red light about three blocks from the elementary school and yanked himself to the present. Two hours ago, he’d driven this exact path to pick up his daughters and take them to dinner. Now they were returning to the school for the upcoming Christmas play tryouts. Afterward, they’d go home and finish their evening routine, and since it was a Friday, he’d let the girls stay up a bit later than normal. Then he really should put in a few more hours of work, otherwise he’d have to fit it in over the weekend.

In Boston, he’d supervised the marketing department of a large national corporation. Ever since their move, though, Parker had worked for himself. In the beginning, he focused solely on designing websites, blogs and the like, but due to his clients’ needs, he had eventually broadened his scope to include a range of internet marketing services.

Finances during those first few years were rough, but he budgeted every penny of Bridget’s life insurance benefit, along with what was left over from the sale of the Boston house after buying their home here, in order to make the transition a success. He used the living room, kitchen, his bedroom and sometimes—specifically the nights either Erin or Megan were ill or having trouble sleeping—the hallway outside their door as his roaming office. Didn’t matter, really, where he worked. To him, the point was that he was at home. With them.

And he continued to work entirely from home until his youngest daughter, Megan, was firmly settled in first grade. By then, Parker’s business was solvent enough to rent actual office space about three miles from the school. Most of the time, he managed to complete his work responsibilities during their school hours, but every now and then—like tonight—he’d finish one project or another at home, using his laptop and the kitchen table as his desk.

Life was busy, but good. Oh, there were the stray melancholy moods that elicited memories of his wife, along with the random bursts of loneliness that sometimes popped into being, but Parker was grateful that he had nothing of true merit to complain about.

Thanksgiving was a mere two weeks away, and he had so very much to be thankful for. His daughters were healthy. He was healthy. They had food on their table every night, a roof that didn’t leak over their heads, sufficient funds in the bank account, friends and family to cherish, and plenty of activities to keep them involved and happy. Other than the impossible wish of having Bridget back in their lives, what else could he want?

Braking again, this time at a stop sign, Parker glanced in the rearview mirror and said, “Almost there now, girls. Are you excited?”

“Yes!” said eight-year-old Megan from the back seat. “I can’t wait! I want to be one of the angels! But so does Erin. Do you think both of us can be picked for angel parts?”

“Don’t be silly, Megan,” said ten-year-old Erin, offering her opinion in her typical to-the-point fashion. “There’s lots of angels in the play, so of course we can both be angels.”

“Only if we’re chosen,” Megan argued. “Only if we’re good enough.”

“Well, I guess I don’t know if you’re good enough, but I am. So maybe I’ll be one of the angels and you’ll be a...a...star or a tree or—”

“Daddy!” Megan squealed, interrupting her sister. “Erin’s being mean! And besides that, she’s wrong. If only one of us can be angels, it will be me because...because I have blond hair, like angels are supposed to!”

“Angels can have any color of hair, even red,” Erin fired back, her voice indignant. “And telling the truth isn’t the same thing as being mean! And I didn’t say you weren’t good enough to play an angel, Megan. I said that I didn’t know if you were. That’s different!”

“Girls, stop,” Parker said, crossing the sleepy intersection and driving toward the school parking lot, which was about a half a block straight ahead. “Hair color doesn’t matter at all. And you’re both good enough, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get the parts you want.” Every kid who showed tonight would be involved in the play, in one way or another. Whether that would be as an angel, a star, a tree, some other part, or helping behind the scenes. “Let’s try to remember that the goal is to have fun and celebrate Christmas. Okay?”

The girls were silent for a few seconds before a muffled chorus of “Okay, Daddy,” reached his ears. He hoped either they’d both be cast as angels or neither would, otherwise keeping the peace for the next six or so weeks would become highly difficult.

On the other hand, he supposed if such a scenario were to happen, it would provide a valuable life lesson that the girls would eventually have to learn. He just hated any possibility that brought so much as a lick of pain or disappointment to his daughters. In his estimation, they’d already faced their fair share of heartbreak in their young lives. If the choice was his, Parker would move heaven and earth to keep Erin and Megan from experiencing another drop of sadness. He couldn’t, naturally, but the wish remained.

“Oh! Look, Erin,” Megan said as they approached the school, “is that a—”

“Watch out, Daddy!” Erin hollered. “Don’t hit the angel!”

Don’t hit the...what? But her words, along with her volume and the frightened quality of her tone, shocked Parker into a state of alert awareness, and his heart leaped to his throat as he saw that, yes, an angel—or rather, a woman dressed as an angel—was barreling at top speed from the sidewalk to the street, in chase of some type of large, fast-moving animal. A dog? Maybe, but the beast seemed to have horns, so he couldn’t say for certain.

Acting on instinct and adrenaline, Parker muffled a curse and swerved slightly to the left, in the opposite direction of the halo-adorned female, while simultaneously braking the car. He would not be father-of-the-year if he ran over a friggin’ angel, especially with his daughters—both of whom were now yelling, “Daddy! Stop! Please stop!”—as witness.

God must have tuned in at the exact right second, because several blessed events happened in quick succession. One, he managed to stop the car without too much hassle and he did not hit the woman or the runaway creature. Two, the left-hand side of the road—where half of his car now resided—stayed miraculously free of oncoming vehicles.

Parker inhaled a long, stabilizing breath and put the car into Park. The angel-woman now stood almost directly in front of him, and the car’s headlights illuminated her startled expression and rounded eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself and her lips moved in an expletive that Parker identified without being able to hear her voice. Lord. That was close.

Mirroring his thoughts, Megan said in a hushed and somber voice, “I can’t believe you almost killed a beautiful angel, Daddy. That would’ve been so bad. Very, very, very bad. The police would probably have put you in jail! And thrown away the key! And...and—”

“Look at her again, Megan,” Erin said. “She’s not a real angel. She’s close enough now that I can see it’s really Miss Bradshaw.”

“Oh! It is Miss Bradshaw,” Megan said. “Why does she look like an angel?”

“I bet she’s dressed that way for the tryouts,” Erin said. “So Daddy almost killed our music teacher, not an angel. That would’ve been bad, too, because she’s really great.”

“Yeah! Really bad!” Megan chimed in. “We love Miss Bradshaw!”

Hmm. This woman was the new music teacher? Why didn’t he remember meeting her at the school’s open house last month? He always made a point of talking to the girls’ teachers, to explain about Bridget in the hopes of avoiding confusion, but Erin hadn’t felt well—the beginnings of a cold—and Megan’s excitement level had skyrocketed through the roof that night. Those two hours had passed swiftly, and no...Parker wasn’t sure if he’d met Miss Bradshaw.

“I did not almost kill anyone, angel or teacher,” Parker said, unbuckling his seat belt. Even if he had hit her—and yeah, thank God he hadn’t—he’d been driving slow enough that it was unlikely a collision would’ve caused life-threatening injuries. Probably, anyway.

He could’ve hurt her, though, and it did not matter in the slightest that the woman—Miss Bradshaw—should have known better than to run pell-mell into a street, especially at twilight. The possibility of what could’ve occurred made him sick to his stomach.

“But you might have,” Erin said, “if you’d hit her with the car.”

“But I didn’t,” Parker replied.

“Yeah, Erin. He didn’t!” Megan added.

“Well, I know that, Megan. I do have eyes, you know!”

“Wait here, girls,” Parker said, breaking into their almost argument. “Let me make sure your angel-teacher is okay, and then—”

His jaw slammed shut as Miss Bradshaw, in attempting to walk toward his side of the car, slipped and lost her balance. She landed on the ground, bounced to her feet instantly and scowled while wiping the snow from her behind. Ouch, that had to hurt. And again, she mouthed an expletive that he easily identified without the benefit of sound.

“Wait here,” he repeated, flipping on the emergency lights. Once he knew that she wasn’t hurt in any way, he had to get his car out of the wrong lane of traffic. “I’ll only be a second.”

By the time he exited the car, she’d moved closer and was standing only a few feet from where he stood. “I’m so, so, so sorry,” she said in rushed syllables as they came face-to-face. “Roscoe—that would be my dog—got loose, and I...well, I was only thinking of catching him before he got too far away or hurt. I wasn’t thinking about the road at all.”

And oh, if ever a living and breathing human could actually be an angel, it was this woman. She was as close to fitting the description of ethereal as Parker had ever seen, with her long, pale blond hair, thickly lashed eyes—green, he thought, but he’d require better light to be 100 percent positive—full mouth and the gentle, almost-delicate arc of her cheeks.

A white, ankle-length and cinched-at-the-waist dress—complete with wings attached to the back—didn’t hide her curvy figure, and while he had no idea if she wore high heels or flats, he guessed she couldn’t be taller than five feet plus an inch or three. There wasn’t any way he wouldn’t remember this woman, so no, Parker had not met her during the open house.

“Are you okay?” Parker asked, vastly more concerned in establishing her welfare before worrying about her dog’s, who seemed to be long gone. “Not feeling faint or anything, are you?”

“A little shaken, but that’s to be expected. Again, I’m so sorry for almost running smack into your car.” She shivered from the cold, her fall or the near collision with his car. Or, Parker supposed, all three. Angling her body, she scanned the stretch of sidewalk and houses across the street from the school. “But you should probably move your car and I need to find my dog.”

“I... Right. Of course, but I’d like to help. Let me get my kids situated in the auditorium and I’ll come back out.” He noticed with some humor that the band around her forehead had slipped, causing her halo to droop and giving her the appearance of a disheveled angel. It was, Parker decided, fairly adorable. She shivered again and her teeth chattered, so he took off his jacket. “Here, wear this,” he said, handing her the coat, “before you freeze to death.”

For whatever reason, he expected her to argue, but she didn’t. She surprised him with a grateful smile and small nod. “Thank you. I’m Nicole, by the way, and yes...if you really don’t mind, I’d appreciate your help in locating Roscoe.”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I minded, and I’m Parker.” He was about to say more when he noticed the headlights of an oncoming car. Yeah, definitely time to get out of the middle of the road. “Be careful,” he warned as he opened his door. “And I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Miss Bradshaw!” Erin yelled from the back seat, taking advantage of the open car door. “It’s us, Erin and Megan Lennox! You look very pretty and I’m glad we didn’t run you over.”

Nicole shielded her eyes and laughed. “Well, hello there, Erin and Megan. I’m glad you didn’t run me over, too.” Looking at Parker, she said, “You’re their father, I take it?”

“I am.”

“Nice to meet you, Parker-who-is-Megan-and-Erin’s-father.” She put on his coat, which was large enough on her frame to cover her wings, and zipped it to her chin. And darn if that halo of hers didn’t droop a little more, increasing her adorable quotient by two. Or three.

“Likewise.” Waving, he got into the driver’s seat and buckled his seat belt, his interest and curiosity about Nicole already sky-high, and said to his girls, “Okay, no harm and no foul. Let’s get out of the road and into the school, before anything else crazy happens.”

“Yeah. No more crazy stuff!” Megan said. “Just fun stuff!”

In a matter of seconds, the girls were once again talking about the play and the possibility of both of them being angels. As they did, Parker watched Nicole cross to the other side of the street without incident and, even through his closed window, could hear her shouting “Roscoe!”

He grinned at the sight of a disheveled angel searching for her dog, and hoping she’d find him quickly, he turned off the car’s emergency lights and veered into the proper lane. Less than a minute later, they were in the elementary school’s parking lot. The girls were chattering in their normal manner as they left the car, and Parker tossed in a teasing comment or two.

But his thoughts were wholly focused on Nicole Bradshaw and the sizzle of electricity that had sped through his bloodstream as they talked, as he took in her crooked halo and—to him, anyway—ethereal features. He recognized the sizzle well enough, even though years had passed since he’d last experienced the sensation.

Because until just a few minutes ago, Bridget was the only other woman Parker had ever looked at and felt that same pop of awareness, of innate chemistry and bone-deep attraction. It happened on the very first day he set eyes on Bridget Delaney, later to become Bridget Lennox, and every precious day they had together thereafter.

She was the woman he’d loved with every part of his heart and soul. The woman he’d had every intention of creating a long life and growing old with. The woman he still missed and longed for on a consistent, if not daily, basis. His daughters’ mother. His wife. His Bridget.

Frankly, Parker did not know what to think of having the same—and up until now, unique—initial response to Nicole that he’d had with Bridget. But he sure as hell planned on exploring that reaction and discovering if lightning really could strike twice.


Chapter Two (#ued85788d-54f8-5ef8-9f68-f39d93919a6b)

Gosh darn it, where was that dog? Nicole swallowed the thick lump of fear in her throat and called out, “Roscoe! Come here, boy! Want a treat? Here, Roscoe!”

Nothing. Not a bark or a whine or a yelp of happiness.

Trudging forward, her eyes peeled as she yelled Roscoe’s name every few feet, Nicole silently admitted that bringing her dog had been an error in judgment. Oh, he’d done well at the other school events she’d taken him to—a few ball games last spring, right after accepting the music teacher position, and the outdoor fair last month—and he loved children, but she should’ve known better. Her dog had a serious case of wanderlust.

He loved nothing better than running off to explore and always took any chance given to escape. Due to this tendency, Nicole had learned to remain vigilant when she had Roscoe out of the house or her fenced-in backyard. Typically, she could keep his high-energy excitement under control. Tonight, in fact, was the first time in a long while that he’d managed to break free.

And no doubt about it, his getaway was her fault.

They had gone for a quick walk and had returned to the school about fifteen minutes before the tryouts were supposed to start, and no, she had not been paying close enough attention. They were in the auditorium, and she’d just finagled those stupid costume horns on Roscoe’s head. At the exact second she unclipped his leash, the janitor cracked open the outside door. The dog instantly lunged forward, out of her grasp and racing with the wind.

So here she was, anxiously searching for her dog while dressed as an angel, which made her decision to bring Roscoe tonight seem naive. The idea of doing so hadn’t even occurred to her until yesterday, and when she checked in with the school’s principal this morning—who’d met the happy and affectionate Roscoe several times—he’d given his consent.

She’d hoped the sight of her large, funny-looking mixed-breed mutt, with stuffed reindeer horns on his head, would make the kids laugh, helping them to relax and have fun. And if all had actually gone as planned, his presence would’ve provided Nicole with a much-needed surge of confidence and eased her nerves. Mainly because she hadn’t quite found her place in Steamboat Springs yet, or solid footing as the elementary school’s new music teacher.

The position became available only when the prior music teacher, Mrs. Engle, retired after forty years of devoted service. Everyone—the other teachers, the students and the parents—adored Mrs. Engle, and stepping into such beloved shoes was not a simple task. Especially since Mrs. Engle had always been in charge of the school’s music and drama productions.

A responsibility that now fell on Nicole’s shoulders, which was the primary cause for her anxiety. Oh, she’d directed many a recital in the past, while working and living in a suburb of Denver, and would do so again here without blinking an eye. But she’d never taken on the performance of an actual drama, and this one didn’t include so much as a note of music. To add to her nerves, she’d chosen to skip the school’s traditional presentation of the nativity story in favor of a lovely fairy-tale take on Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.

The kids didn’t know this yet, and since she’d heard a few of her students talking about how they wanted to play Mary, one of the three Wise Men or an angel, she worried they would be disappointed when they learned the roles now up for grabs were fairy-tale characters such as Rumpelstiltskin in place of Ebenezer Scrooge and Pinocchio for Bob Cratchit.

Or they might love the change. Unfortunately, since she wasn’t in the auditorium—where, at this moment, children and parents were waiting for her, likely impatient and wondering if they were wasting their time by sticking around—she wouldn’t know one way or the other until she found her darned dog. And who knew how long that would take?

Nicole hollered Roscoe’s name again, and then again. Still nothing. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered and tried to think rationally. Or, she supposed, like a dog.

Okay. Knowing Roscoe’s proclivity for attention, he could have already made friends with a family who lived in one of these houses, and could now be curled up—exhausted from his mad dash—on someone’s kitchen floor. Oh, Lord. She prayed that was the case. Because the possibility, however remote, of her dog being safe and sound in someone’s home alleviated the sharpest edge of her fears. Roscoe’s dog tags had all of the information anyone would require to locate her, including her name, the veterinarian’s and their individual phone numbers.

Sticking her hands into the pockets of the coat Parker had lent her—the act of an honest-to-God gentleman, by the way—Nicole shivered again and squinted through the snow, which was now falling at a brisker pace. Even with the glow of the streetlights and the houses’ porch lights, the curtain of white made it difficult to see very far in the distance.

“Roscoe!” she yelled as she continued her path along the sidewalk, every step taking her farther away from the school building. “Where are you, boy? Want a treat? Roscoe, come here!”

She stopped, listened and hoped. When her dog did not bound out of the shadows, she continued to walk and shout his name. The wind picked up speed and her halo slipped another inch to the side. Annoyed, she yanked the darned thing off her head and, very likely destroying it beyond repair, bent the halo in half and shoved it into Parker’s coat pocket.

Another bad idea, dressing as an angel.

She’d done so for the same reason she decorated her dog’s head: to help relax the kids and get them into the Christmas spirit, and the only other adult-size holiday costume the school had was for Santa Claus himself. While Nicole had nothing against the jolly old man, she had no desire to stick on a fake beard or wear that many layers of clothing.

Or, well, to be fully honest, the stuffed belly pillow had been what really put her off. Her deepest desire was to become pregnant, and the thought of seeing her stomach big and round due to a freaking pillow and not the baby she so yearned for had almost brought her to tears. Reason enough, right there, to go with the angel costume.

Another type of shiver—one of longing and anticipation—rippled through Nicole’s body. Had the procedure worked? Was she, even now, pregnant? Too soon to know, of course, as it had been only three days since her visit to the Denver fertility clinic for her fourth—and please, Lord, her final—attempt. Though, if she didn’t conceive this month, she’d try again. And she’d keep on trying until she ran out of her harvested eggs, funds or hope.

Whichever of the three came first, but more likely than not, the first.

A year ago, her doctor had hesitantly given her the go-ahead for one round of fertility injections, before her already-compromised ovarian function ceased to exist. It had worked, but she had only a limited number of eggs to work with, which meant she had a limited amount of time to conceive. But she wasn’t about to give up unless she had no other choice.

History had taught her the importance of always moving toward her goals and doing whatever she could to fulfill her wants today. Because tomorrow or next month or two years down the road could be too late. Life offered zero guarantees. Which was why she had gone through a round of fertility injections a year ago, despite the concerns for her health, for the possible danger of the increased hormone levels raising her risk for recurrence.

Risk versus reward. The reward, naturally, was a baby.

And oh, how she yearned to become a mother. Not only was she ready for the commitment, but with everything she’d gone through and the fears she’d faced head-on, she was a stronger woman now than ever before. She loved life. She loved her life.

All she needed to make the world—her world—complete was her child.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Nicole turned to walk in the opposite direction, having no idea which way Roscoe had lumbered off. As far as she knew, if he wasn’t safely ensconced in someone’s house or still running and exploring, he might have returned to the school and was now wandering the parking lot in search of treats, kids to play with and hands to stroke his back. Roscoe soaked in love with the absorbency of a sponge.

In her hurry, she pivoted so fast that she came close to barging into another body—a strong, tall body that belonged to none other than Parker Lennox, the handsome blue-eyed, sandy-blond widower all the teachers raved about—and her feet, which were encased in slippery-soled flats, skidded on the snowy concrete, causing her to lose her balance and topple backward.

Mere seconds before her angel-gowned behind smacked the hard, frozen ground for the second time in less than thirty minutes, Parker grabbed her by the arms and yanked her upright. The sudden change in momentum sent her tumbling forward, directly into his solid—oh, wow, very solid—chest. Strong arms came around her, holding her steady.

Security and well-being stole in, quickly followed by a strange, dizzying sensation of déjà vu. If she believed in such things, she might think that some small part of her, by his touch alone, recognized this man and had, in fact, been waiting for him to arrive in her life. To do what? Make all her dreams come true and supply her with a happily-ever-after ending?

Ha. Now, that would be a fairy tale fit for the stage.

“Tell me,” Parker said, his arms still around her and his voice somewhat amused, “are one-after-another collisions typical for you, Miss Bradshaw? Or am I a special case?”

“Nicole, please.” Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, from those out-there, happily-ever-after thoughts. She pulled free from his grasp to stand on her own, but they were still a little too close for comfort. Her comfort. Carefully retreating a few feet, she said, “And it seems you must be a special case, as no, I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“Hmm,” he said, still sounding amused. “I don’t believe I’ve knocked a woman off her feet in thirty-plus years, and now it’s happened twice in one night. Should I be flattered or concerned enough for your safety that I keep a certain distance between us?”

Laughing, she scanned the area for Roscoe and tried to ignore the attraction sizzling in her blood. Hard to do, especially when combined with the security, the stability, she’d experienced while in his arms. Something she absolutely could have used those many days and weeks she’d spent in the hospital, when—between the horrors of chemotherapy and several surgeries—she feared that fate would not grant her another tomorrow, let alone a baby.

Fortunately, she had survived. And four years later, she remained blissfully healthy.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said in response to Parker’s question, “but you shouldn’t feel flattered or concerned. I’ve simply had one of those days. We all have them.”

“That we do.” Tucking his arm into hers, as if he’d done so on numerous occasions in the past, he said, “But since today is one of those days for you, I will feel significantly better if I do everything in my power to see that you don’t fall down again.”

Nicole could have yanked her arm free and insisted she was completely able to walk without his assistance—which, of course, she was—but this time, instead of being smacked over the head with déjà vu, all she felt, from the tips of her toes to the top of her now halo-free head, was the safe, steady balance that Parker seemed to embody. And in a snap, her anxiety over her missing dog and being late at the school diminished to a much more manageable level.

So she allowed their arms to remain linked and said, “I suppose that’s fair. But if we don’t find Roscoe soon, I should probably go back to the school and...” Trailing off, she sighed. She did not want to return to the auditorium without her dog. “I just hope we find him soon.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Parker said with confidence. “Where have you looked?”

“The way I just came. But I didn’t knock on doors or look in backyards. I probably should have, but I thought he’d come when he heard my voice.” He normally did, even if it was only to show himself and take off running again. Darn it! She needed to find Roscoe.

That silly, overgrown dog was her best friend and her sanctuary. Now and when she’d fought for her life. Her parents and her brother had held her hand and helped in every way they could have back then, but Roscoe was the only soul she’d shared her worst fears with.

“Let’s go the other way past the school,” Parker said, leading them in that direction. “Don’t worry. He’s out here somewhere, and between his moose-like size and...uh...that pair of horns on his head, he’ll be hard to miss. Those were horns, right?”

“Yeah. Dumb idea, dressing him like a reindeer.”

Parker chuckled. “Maybe that’s why he ran away, out of humiliation.”

“Oh, not hardly. I used to...” Pausing, she swallowed the words she’d almost said, that she used to buy matching bandannas for her head and his neck, when she’d lost her hair and didn’t feel like wearing a wig. “He doesn’t mind being dressed in...anything. I’m more worried he might scare whomever he comes across, since it’s dark and hard to identify that he’s a dog.”

“Ah. Gotcha. What breed is he, by the way? I didn’t get a good enough look to tell.”

“Who knows?” she said with a forced laugh. “He’s a Heinz 57.”

“So he could be part moose,” Parker said. And while she couldn’t see his face, she could imagine his grin without too much trouble. “And you’re from Denver? I’m guessing, based on the reason most people move here, that you’re a skier?”

Nicole yelled for Roscoe before responding. “I can ski, but I’d prefer not to. Much to the dismay of my family, who are all avid skiers. My brother, Ryan, relocated here several years ago because of the skiing, and about six months later, my parents followed. They’re all about the slopes, so you were right in a way, but I moved here to be close to family.”

“I see. Well, that’s important.”

“Yep. I...didn’t have any real reason to stay in Denver and my family is one of those super-duper, annoyingly close types. Of course, I had to find a job here first, and since music teacher positions are relatively scarce—especially in smaller communities—I had to be patient.”

The entire statement held 100 percent truth, but Nicole didn’t share that the largest portion of her decision was due to wanting a baby. If that hope came to fruition, living near her parents and Ryan would be paramount. For support and love, yes, but also... Well, she’d already had cancer once. She could become ill again. A horrible consideration, but one she had to take seriously before bringing a child into this world. Because if fate dealt her such a vicious blow a second time, and she didn’t survive, her parents would become her child’s guardian.

And if that happened? Living here would ensure that her son or daughter wouldn’t have to move to a new city, change schools or make new friends in the midst of his or her grief. It was the best she could do in controlling an otherwise-uncontrollable situation.

Oh, no way in hell was she planning on dying. Nicole was planning on living to the ripe old age of one hundred. Or longer! But she couldn’t have a baby without considering every possibility. Even the bad ones that you never wanted to think about or prepare for.

Today, though, she was healthy. Strong. Happy. And she might already be pregnant! All she needed in this minute was to find her dog, get herself to the school and do her job, and then wait on pins and needles for ten or so days until she could take a pregnancy test.

“Family is everything,” Parker said quietly, interrupting her thoughts. “My parents retired to Florida a while back, and my sister lived in California for quite some time. She lives here now, though. Happily married with a couple of kids. Twins.”

“My brother was recently married, but they don’t have any kids yet.” They probably would soon, though, and then Nicole would be an aunt. She’d love and spoil her niece or nephew, without doubt, and she adored her new sister-in-law. Andi was sweet and funny and perfect for Ryan. Even so, Nicole couldn’t deny that a pang of jealousy swirled in with the rest. “But wow, twins,” she said, forcing herself to continue the conversation. “That seems crazy and wonderful, all at once. Boys or girls? And are they identical or fraternal?”

“One boy, one girl, so that means they’re fraternal. They’re toddlers, so my sister and brother-in-law—their names are Daisy and Reid—have their hands full. Big-time.” Parker laughed and then, raising his voice, called out for Roscoe. “But yeah,” he said a minute later, “it’s always good to have family nearby. Makes the difficulties of life easier.”

Did it ever. Nicole sighed in disappointment when her dog failed to appear and in, well, another shot of envy. “Two babies, one of each, at the same time,” she said. “How perfect is that? If you don’t mind me asking, what are their names?”

“Why would I mind? The twins are Charlotte and Alexander. My girls are like little mothers whenever we’re all together. It’s kind of great to see, actually.”

“I bet it is.” She took a turn hollering for her absentee dog, and again, no sound or sight of the furry, lovable canine followed. Emotion she’d so far managed to repress kicked in good and hard, and she inhaled a large breath in an attempt to calm down before breaking into tears in front of a man whom, while kind and charming, she did not really know.

The idea of crying in Parker’s presence sent her tears scurrying for cover. Nicole disliked crying in front of anyone except for Roscoe. At first because the only time her tears seemed able to show themselves was when she was alone at home, with just her dog for company.

Now she thought this tendency had more to do with her intense desire to present a strong, calm visage to the world, no matter the circumstances. Doing so helped her feel less vulnerable to forces outside of her control, even though she knew full well that keeping her emotions under wraps wouldn’t stop her from being hurt or becoming ill again.

“Roscoe! Come here, boy!” Parker’s deep voice whipped into the night air, likely carrying much farther than hers could and startling her to renewed awareness. His hold on her arm tightened, and again, she felt that irresistible wash of comfort and absolute security.

“Thank you,” she said to Parker, “for not running over me or my dog and for going above and beyond.” Her hair was wet from the snow, her legs and feet were freezing, the wind stung her cheeks. But thanks to Parker’s close proximity and his coat, the portion of her body from hips to shoulders remained toasty warm. “You didn’t have to give me your coat or leave your kids to come out here and try to help find Roscoe. I... You’ve been very nice.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “But trust me, I’m equally as glad I didn’t mow you or your dog over, and helping is the right thing to do. My girls are fine. They’re waiting with some friends, being watched over by plenty of adults. And frankly, what kind of man would I be if I allowed an angel’s wings to freeze?”

“Well...still. You have to be frozen.”

“Nah. I’m wearing a couple of layers, so I’m okay. Let’s just focus on getting Roscoe back to you. Where he belongs.”

By now, they’d just about reached the section of houses that stood directly across from the school, and Nicole considered calling a temporary halt to the search. For the sake of her job and the many kids and parents waiting. Yet, how could she give up when Roscoe was out here, somewhere in the dark, cold and maybe hurt—oh, she prayed, don’t let him be hurt—all by himself? She couldn’t. So that left her with one alternative.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asked, going with her gut. “I can’t stop looking for him, but I also can’t ignore that people are waiting for me in the auditorium. Could you let everyone know that I’ll reschedule the tryouts for...oh, next week, I guess? Since today is Friday.”

“Sure. I can do that for you, no problem,” Parker said instantly, making her believe he was more than ready to give up the search even if she wasn’t. Duh. Of course he was. The responsibility to locate her dog fell on her shoulders, not his. They barely knew each other.

“Thank you,” she repeated. “I really appreciate—”

“If you want my opinion, though,” Parker broke in, “I think you should come inside and change out of that costume into something warmer. When you’re all set, we can continue the search by car. We’ll be faster if we drive a loop around the entire area than if we keep walking.”

Nicole blinked, surprised and warmed through and through by Parker’s offer. “You don’t have to. I mean, you’ve already done more than enough. But changing into my normal clothes is a great idea, so I can get my coat and return yours.”

“Again, I wouldn’t have offered unless it was something I wanted to do,” Parker said as they started the trek across the street. Still arm in arm. “Besides which, my daughters will want to help. Actually, they’ll insist. And let’s face it—four pairs of eyes are far better than one.”

“Okay, I accept,” Nicole said after only the slightest of hesitations. If Parker wanted to lend a hand, then why argue? Especially since he was right. The more people on the lookout for Roscoe, the better chance she had of finding him tonight. “Redundant maybe, but thank you.”

A soft, husky rumble of a laugh emerged from his chest. “I have never been thanked so often in such a short amount of time, but you’re very welcome, Nicole. While the circumstances are less than ideal, I’m enjoying this—getting to know you—quite a bit.”

Nicole’s cheeks burned even hotter. It had been a while since a man’s comments had made her blush. So long, she couldn’t even remember the last occurrence. Of course, she hadn’t dated seriously since before her illness and had dated only a few men after. One of whom could have become a long-term partner—she’d liked him enough for that to happen, at any rate—but once she told him that she was a cancer survivor, he disappeared into thin air.

As in, she had never heard from him again. Not a phone call or an email. Not even a cowardly text message. Evidently, her cancer confession had spooked the man and sent him running for the hills. She understood why, and it wasn’t as if they’d dated for very long, but his vanishing act without so much as a goodbye hurt. It made her realize that most men would likely view her as damaged goods, and she did not need that label put on her. From anyone.

Easier to call a halt to dating altogether.

So she had, and until now, she hadn’t really missed having a man in her life. But Parker—by virtue of his kind, considerate behavior and, okay, enormous sex appeal—had seemingly ignited her onetime yearning for love. A yearning that wouldn’t do her any good at all. Unlike her deep desire for a baby, which she potentially—and with a lot of help—had the power to fulfill, wishing for a man to love her was completely useless.

She couldn’t visit a clinic to get a man, now, could she?

The simplest and sanest explanation for Parker’s attention boiled down to good manners and a normal inclination to help someone in need. Even if he was somewhat interested in her as a woman, he would change his mind the second he discovered her rocky medical history. Why wouldn’t he? Not only was Parker a widower, but if what Nicole had heard was correct, his wife had died from the same disease that could have claimed her life: breast cancer.

Yeah. He’d run for the hills, too. And she wouldn’t blame him.

So tonight, she’d accept his help and revel in his attention, and perhaps a friendship between them might develop. But no more than that. For his sake, his daughters’ sakes and even for Nicole’s. She might be pregnant. In a year’s time, she might be a mother.

Therefore, despite her body’s reactions to Parker and the slight—very slight—possibility of his interest in her, she had zero room in her life for anyone or anything else. Nicole’s entire focus needed to remain on her good health, getting pregnant and becoming a mother.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter. Simple as that.


Chapter Three (#ued85788d-54f8-5ef8-9f68-f39d93919a6b)

The next morning, Parker and the girls were finishing their breakfast, and naturally, the topic of discussion was the night before. His daughters had already reenacted their version of “Daddy almost killing an angel who really turned out to be Miss Bradshaw, the best music teacher ever!” and had now moved on to their sadness that Roscoe hadn’t been located.

Not that they hadn’t tried. Once Nicole had promised those waiting in the auditorium that the tryouts would be rescheduled for next week, she changed out of her angel getup and into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. The four of them—Parker, Nicole, Erin and Megan—had then driven at a snail’s pace the two blocks in each direction around the school.

They’d searched for over an hour, to no avail. And Parker would’ve kept on searching, but without so much as a glimpse of the moose-size dog and the difficulty of seeing much of anything in the dark, Nicole insisted that they’d done enough for the night. He hated giving up. He hated the tears he heard in her voice when he dropped her off at her car, back at the school, and they said their goodbyes. But in the end, it was her dog and her choice.

Though, despite her assurances that she was going home, he had an inkling that she’d continued looking on her own and was mainly set on letting him off the hook. Without doubt, his preference was to stay with Nicole and help, but he didn’t argue. Again—her dog, her choice. Besides which, he had the sense that she needed to cry and wouldn’t do so in front of him or his daughters. None of this stopped him from taking one more trip around the school, just in case Roscoe was ready to be found, before he and the girls went home.

If Nicole hadn’t had any better luck once they parted ways, he knew her plan was to phone the various animal shelters the second they opened today. Perhaps she’d already had good news and would shortly be reunited with her dog. He hoped so.

As if reading his mind, Megan said, “Do you think Miss Bradshaw found Roscoe yet?”

“I don’t know, honey. But it would be really great if she has.”

“We should find out, Daddy,” Erin said. “You should call her and ask. Because if she hasn’t, we can draw posters and put them up all over, so people know to watch for him.”

It wasn’t the worst idea Parker had ever heard. Actually, it was a damn good one. He particularly liked the “you should call her” portion of Erin’s suggestion. Supposing, of course, Nicole’s phone number was listed. “You know, I like that plan, kiddo,” he said to Erin. “Why don’t you two grab the art supplies and start on the posters now? That way, if Roscoe hasn’t been found, we save a little time. And I’ll see if I can get a hold of your music teacher.”

“Okay, Daddy!” Erin shot to a stand. “Come on, Megan! Let’s get the markers and glue and glitter and... Oh, but we don’t have any pictures of Roscoe. We don’t really know what he looks like, just that he’s big and brown, so how can we make signs for people to find him?”

“We can use stickers!” Megan said. “We have lots and lots of puppy dog stickers.”

“But we don’t know if Roscoe looks like any of the dogs on those stickers.” Erin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “This won’t work without any pictures of Roscoe.”

“Sure it will,” Parker said, automatically offering encouragement. “Think about the problem for a minute. It’s true that we don’t have any photos of Roscoe, but someone else likely has a ton of pictures. Who might that person be?”

“Miss Bradshaw,” Erin and Megan said at the same time.

“That’s right. And I’m sure she’ll let us pick the best one to use.” Assuming she hadn’t already located her missing pooch. “Then we can make however many copies of it we need and glue them to the signs. Just remember to leave a big enough space in the middle when you’re making them, and we’ll be all set. Do you think that will work?”

“Yes!” Megan jumped to her feet and tugged her sister’s arm. “Let’s go get everything and make the best dog signs ever, Erin. For Miss Bradshaw, so she isn’t sad anymore.”

It didn’t surprise Parker that Megan had tuned in to Nicole’s sadness last night or that she wanted to help alleviate that sadness. Both of his daughters tended to be very aware of the people around them and their moods. Probably due to the last weeks of their mother’s life, when the house had been filled with friends and family wanting to say their goodbyes. And while Megan’s personal recollections of her mother were very sparse—almost, sadly, nonexistent—that didn’t mean the experience itself hadn’t carved into her heart, her soul, and etched an indelible mark.

Some moments, some types of pain, were unforgettable. No matter the age.

Parker repressed a sigh and waited for the girls to climb the steps to retrieve the art supplies from the upstairs hall closet before powering on his laptop. It didn’t take long to ascertain that Nicole’s number was not listed or, perhaps, that her number was so new it had yet to make it to the online directories. There were several other Bradshaws, though, and while Nicole hadn’t mentioned her parents’ first names, she had identified her brother as Ryan.

And thankfully, within the half-dozen Bradshaws that were listed, there was only one Ryan. So, hoping he didn’t come off as a crazy stalker, Parker dialed the number and crossed his fingers that Ryan was home. And that he’d either give Parker his sister’s phone number—doubtful, because if some stranger contacted Parker looking for Daisy, no way, no how would he give out her personal information—or be willing to pass on a message to Nicole.

The man answered almost instantly, and after he got over his surprise and had asked several pointed questions, he promised to contact Nicole on Parker’s behalf. Fifteen minutes later, with the girls avidly focused on their Find this Dog! Please! posters, Parker’s phone rang.

It was Nicole. Anticipation of hearing her voice, of possibly seeing her today, sent his pulse into overdrive and his stomach into a series of wicked fast, hard somersaults. Responses that also reminded him of the early days with Bridget, when she’d consumed his thoughts and he’d gathered every strand of his young man’s courage to ask her out for a date.

Yeah, he liked Nicole. A lot, if his body’s reactions were anything to go by—and of course, they were. He’d acted on those instincts with Bridget.

So why wouldn’t he act on them now?

Parker inhaled a stabilizing breath, grinned at his daughters, who were watching him with expectant, eager eyes, and, doing his level best to keep his voice at an even keel, picked up and answered his phone. To talk to the woman he could not get out of his head.

* * *

Why, oh, why had she agreed to let Parker and his daughters come over? Nicole tugged the window’s curtain to the side and peeked out, anxious to start searching for Roscoe. When she contacted the shelters an hour ago, none of them had any dogs that even remotely resembled him. Now at least they had her information. So if he was brought in and had somehow lost his dog tags, she’d be notified. But oh, was she disappointed.

All she could do was get back on the street and scour every nook and cranny. She’d start at the school, follow the same path they had last night and then branch out in a wider circle, asking anyone she came across if they’d seen Roscoe. Certainly, she’d have better luck today.

Ready to get moving, Nicole gathered her coat, gloves and the picture of Roscoe she’d printed from her computer to show people and put them in a neat pile near the front door before returning to her post at the window.

When Ryan had phoned, his initial questions were about her—how was she, how had Roscoe gotten loose?—and then, after he’d expressed his sorrow and concern, he reminded her that he was heading to Rhode Island for a week to spend time with Andi’s family, but offered to stay and help. She appreciated her brother’s willingness to do so but told him he absolutely shouldn’t alter his plans. And that was when he finally gave her Parker’s message.

As he repeated the conversation he’d had with Parker, electricity and anticipation had zinged through her blood in a potent reminder of her attraction. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that the zing itself had felt nice. Thrilling and liberating and so wonderfully normal. It was that zing, that feeling of normalcy, that led her to return Parker’s call immediately, rather than the more sensible approach of waiting until after she’d put in a few hours searching for her dog.

The sound of his voice, calm, steady and confident, somehow strengthened her flagging hope. He’d asked about Roscoe, naturally, and if she’d made any headway with the shelters. She could hear Megan and Erin in the background, their voices almost a high-pitched squeal in their enthusiasm, begging Parker to ask Nicole their questions.

He did, in a serious manner and one after another, pass on their queries, which consisted of: “How old is Roscoe?” “Is his hair light, medium or dark brown?” “What is his favorite dog treat?” And finally, “What color are Roscoe’s eyes?”

Nicole had given the girls the same information in the car last night, but she answered the questions again in a mix of curiosity, appreciation and good humor. They were sweet kids who obviously wanted to help bring Roscoe home. So Parker’s query if they could stop by and lend their services for the next round of searching didn’t surprise her in the least. Even as she thought the words Thank you, but no, what came out of her mouth was “Yes, if you’re sure.”

Probably, Parker’s reason for extending his hand yet again had more to do with his daughters’ excitement than it did from any true desire of his own. And that was fine. It, in fact, mirrored her primary reason for accepting their assistance. How could she let down two little girls whose hearts were in the right place? She couldn’t. Add in the zing and the intoxicating quality of his voice, and she didn’t even want to decline.

But waiting around for them to arrive while her dog was still missing and running loose somewhere was beginning to take a heavy toll.

Sickness lurched in her stomach, kicking her hard and solidifying into a seemingly impenetrable mass, at the prospect that perhaps Roscoe wasn’t running loose. Because he wasn’t able to. Because he’d been hit by a car and was hurt or... No. Her dog was smart, agile and fast. She refused to go to worst-case scenarios. He hadn’t even been missing twenty-four hours yet.

Glancing through the window a second time and still not seeing any sign of Parker and his daughters, Nicole sighed in pent-up frustration and worry. She’d give them ten more minutes before sending Parker a text with her apologies and the explanation that she couldn’t wait any longer. Yes, Erin and Megan would be disappointed, but they were intelligent and compassionate little girls. They would understand and she’d make it up to them somehow.

For the next seven and a half minutes, Nicole paced her sparsely furnished living room and tried to direct her thoughts away from Roscoe’s whereabouts. She’d sold or gotten rid of most of her secondhand furniture when she moved to Steamboat Springs from Denver, knowing she would live with her parents until she found a house to purchase. She had done so in the middle of the summer and had settled in here only about a month ago. As of yet, she hadn’t finished replacing all she’d sold, preferring to go slowly in order to enjoy the process.

Her house, built in the style of a Craftsman bungalow, was a spectacular deal. The owners were relocating and had been motivated to sell fast at a below-market price; otherwise she likely would’ve had to pass. And that would’ve been a shame, as the second she walked through the front door, she had fallen completely in love.

Coming in at close to 1,700 finished square feet, the house was larger than what Nicole had been looking for, and the lowered sale price, while a great bargain, still pushed hard at the limit of her budget. But her gut had insisted she’d found her home. She trusted that instinct and, in the end, swallowed her nerves and took the plunge.

The exterior of the house featured dark blue siding with a sturdy gray brick foundation and, to her delight, a lovely screened-in front porch where she could sit and drink her tea before getting ready for work. And the interior of the house was perfect.

Every inch of the living space existed on the first floor and included three bedrooms, a cozy dining room that sat directly next to the eat-in kitchen, a laundry nook that more than suited Nicole’s needs, a spacious living room and two full bathrooms. In addition, the house boasted a second floor that had a single room, which was large but unfinished. The prior homeowners, before having to relocate, had planned on turning the upstairs room into their master bedroom.

They never had, and Nicole doubted she’d ever go to the trouble. She didn’t require the extra living space and it worked well for storage. Plus, when the home was originally built, the second floor hadn’t even been wired for electricity. Why go to the hassle and expense for an unnecessary addition, especially when she had yet to finish filling the rooms she did use?

At the moment, the only furniture in the living room was the pair of comfy, overstuffed chairs Nicole had bought at a going-out-of-business sale, a stand-up lamp she’d shoved in the corner and her television. The lamp wasn’t even hers, as she’d borrowed it from her parents. Before Roscoe’s getaway, her plans for today had included furniture shopping.

She’d hoped to find a sofa and maybe even a couple of end tables or, if she had no luck there, a few knickknacks for the brick fireplace’s mantel. A vase or—

The slam of a car door, followed quickly by another, woke her from her musings. They were here. Thank God! Nicole went to the front door and opened it without waiting for a knock or the doorbell to ring. She was instantly greeted with three voices—that of two little girls, still talking excitedly, as well as their father’s deep, resonating tone—and out of nowhere, her heart picked up an extra beat and what felt like a million goose bumps coated her skin.

What a gorgeous family these three made. The man—tall and lean, sexy and strong, with a warm smile in his sky blue eyes and on his rugged face—and those two adorable little girls by his side. Erin, with her golden-highlighted coppery-red hair gleaming in the morning sun and her pixie-like features—her softly pointed chin, small turned-up nose and finely etched cheekbones—and Megan, whose hair fell to her slim shoulders in a swoop of silky pale gold, with her expressive, friendly brown eyes and eager, happy-to-be-me grin.

Yes. They were a striking trio, and as they approached the front porch, Nicole wondered about the girls’ mother. She must have been a stunning woman. Red haired, possibly, like Erin, and almost certainly brown eyed, like both of her daughters. And Nicole then thought of the illness that had taken this mystery woman’s life, the illness she herself had fought with such vehemence, and her heart went out to these two little girls. To Parker.

Not only for the crushing, devastating loss of a mother and wife, but for the unbelievable hell that came before. The consuming fear when the diagnosis was first delivered, the slender strands of hope that couldn’t truly be grasped onto because of the overriding terror, the misery—oh, the horrible, horrible misery—of chemotherapy. Losing her hair, losing her identity, trying to have a positive attitude and keep it all together for her girls, for her husband, for herself.

Nicole didn’t have to imagine the terror or the hard-to-find hope or the god-awful misery. She was well acquainted with how it felt to watch your hair fall out, to look in the mirror and not recognize your own reflection, and to, well, to feel so ill that at times the possibility of losing the battle, of dying, came as almost a salve to the soul. Those struggles, those emotions, those realities she had experienced and would never, for the rest of her life, forget.

But she did not have children or a husband who had so needed her to survive, who depended on her and loved her, to worry about. To fear for or to try to remain strong for. Nicole could not put herself fully in this woman’s shoes, could not fathom how much courage and strength she’d been forced to find or the deep, desperate sorrow she must have felt when she knew that death was coming and that she couldn’t do anything but wait for the end.

Yes, Nicole had worried for her parents and her brother, and yes, she’d absolutely attempted to remain resilient and optimistic for their benefit, if not her own. And that wasn’t nothing. But it wasn’t the same, either. Did not, could not, hold an intensity equal to looking at your cherished children and hating the fact that you wouldn’t be there for them as they grew.

The weight of unshed tears appeared behind Nicole’s eyes. She pushed them down deep and forced the depressing thoughts into submission. They’d be there, she knew, to later pick apart and once again consider everything she had already considered so many times: the wisdom of purposely attempting to have a child without a husband in the wings ready to take over if her life ended, whether by a stupid accident of fate or the recurrence of her deadliest and most feared enemy.

Except now, along with the scary what-ifs—if she became pregnant, if she became ill again, if she didn’t survive—she would see this family in her mind’s eye. She would think of Parker and Erin and Megan, and the undeniable facts of all they must have gone through and how very much they’d lost. And while she might already be pregnant, she’d have no choice but to once more weigh the risks against the benefits of her choice and decide if that balance had changed. If she was pregnant, she’d joyously move forward with hope and commitment. But if her fourth procedure had failed as the first three had, then yes, she’d reconsider everything from top to bottom with a different, more defined view and see where she landed.

She doubted she would change her mind, but she recognized that ignoring the weight on her heart, the stark reality of these two little girls growing up without their mother, would prove impossible. She had thought about them before, what they had experienced, when she’d first learned of their mother’s passing from one of the other teachers, but now that she’d spent time with Erin and Megan outside of the classroom, her reaction to that basic knowledge had become more intense.

But those thoughts weren’t for now. She had a dog to find and two beautiful little girls plus one handsome daddy to welcome into her home. So, centering every ounce of her energy on the present, she smiled at her guests, who had just reached the front porch, and said, “Hey there, guys! I’m glad you’re here. Come on in and we’ll—”

“Hi, Miss Bradshaw!” Erin said. “We’re glad we’re here, too. And you’ll never guess what we did! We brought you a surprise. To help us find Roscoe.”

“Oh?” She took a closer look at Parker and finally noticed a stack of large drawings, bright and colorful with stickers and glitter, in his grasp. Blinking, she read the lettering on the topmost drawing and she saw what these precious girls had done for her. And her heart melted into a pile of sticky goo. “You girls are amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Erin said. “And it was my idea.”

“But we both worked really hard,” Megan added. “Because we want Roscoe to come home so you won’t be sad and he’ll be safe. We didn’t have any pictures of him, but Daddy said we could probably get one from you and that we should just leave a big space in the middle.”

“I have plenty of pictures, for sure,” Nicole said, still surprised. Still tingly. And feeling about as fortunate and blessed as a woman with a missing dog could. “And I already have one picked out that I was going to use to show people. So, I’ll just print more.”

“Or make some copies! Daddy said that, too, and—”

“Take a breath, Megan,” Parker said, widening his smile. He winked at Nicole and now her gooey heart did the impossible. It fluttered. “I know you’re excited and want to show Miss Bradshaw the signs you worked so hard on, but why don’t we go inside first?”

Nicole returned his smile but not his wink, and opening the door another margin, she waited for all three to enter. Once they had, the girls kneeled to take off their snowy boots without being asked, and Parker handed her the stack of signs so he could do the same. Their fingers touched, for a brief, hardly there second, and the zing returned. Along with that punch—more of a wallop, really—of intrinsic recognition and connection. To this man.

Without warning, something—hope, maybe—that she’d buried in a locked, steel alloy box broke free and blossomed into being. She’d given up on the idea of love, of being lucky enough to find the right man to cherish and who would cherish her in return, to build a life with. But here it was again, as bright and shiny as a new penny. And far too appealing.

What if this recognition and connection and tingly awareness she felt toward Parker could actually become the love she never thought she’d have? Based on her past and what she knew of his, a bona fide miracle would have to occur. And really, how many miracles could a woman expect to have? She’d already been graced with her life, becoming healthy again, and she was, even now, doing everything in her power to become pregnant, which would absolutely count as a second miracle. There was Roscoe, too. Finding him would be number three.

Three miracles seemed greedy enough. How could she possibly hope for a fourth?

“I know it has to be difficult, but try not to worry too much, Nicole,” Parker said quietly, retrieving the signs from her grasp and then handing them to his daughters. They took them and rushed into the living room. “Focus on Roscoe and how he is very likely holed up somewhere safe and sound, and that he’ll be back home by the end of the day.”

“Good advice and that’s what I keep telling myself,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m just worried, I guess. I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s my best friend and an important part of my family. That might seem weird to say, but it’s true.”

“Not weird. I’d call it normal and expected. I’ve never had a dog, but my sister has a canine member of her family.” He nodded toward his daughters, who were in the process of laying the posters side by side on the living room floor. “She’s a sweet dog—feisty but sweet. Jinx adores kids, and the girls love her. It was hard on them when Daisy and Jinx moved out.”

Toddler twins, a sweet and feisty dog and a loving husband. Parker’s sister seemed to have it all. Some women really were blessed with everything. And that was fine. Good, even. Nicole did not need everything to be content and satisfied with all she did have. She wouldn’t refuse more, but who would? She just didn’t require more.

“I’m sure it was difficult,” she said. “How long did your sister live with you?”

“Oh. For a while. She took care of Erin and Megan when I was in the hospital.” A shadow crossed Parker’s features, which he quickly masked with a smile. “My point is, I have a small idea of what you’re going through, even though the circumstances are different.”

“Right. Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest that you didn’t.” She was curious about why he had been in the hospital and for how long, but didn’t ask. Even if the girls weren’t within hearing distance, it wasn’t her business. She hated talking about her illness, treatment and recovery. The entire topic made her uncomfortable. “We...uh...should get moving. I’ll print off more pictures of Roscoe so the girls can finish their amazing posters, and then we’ll head out.”

“Perfect,” Parker said, moving toward his daughters. By now, they were sitting on the floor in front of their handiwork, waiting about as patiently as two kids could. “I was thinking we might want to stop by Fosters Bar and Grill when we’re ready for a break. They get a lot of business, and my sister is married to one of the Fosters. I’m sure they’d hang one for us.”

She followed Parker’s path and stopped near the trio. “That would be great,” she said. “Thank you. And you guys wait here. I’ll be right back with those pictures. We need eight?”

“We have eight posters, so yes, please!” Erin said.

Megan worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I hope we left big enough spaces.”

“We did,” Erin said, “but we can cut the pictures smaller if we need to.”

“So long as we don’t cut off part of Roscoe’s face,” Megan said. “Because we can’t redo the posters. We left all of our art supplies at home, and we’d have to go back.”

“Girls, we won’t have to redo anything,” Parker said. “You left plenty of room.”

Nicole smiled at their chatter and went to the bedroom she used as an office. Quickly, because she was ready to search for her dog, she found the correct picture of Roscoe on her laptop and set it to print eight copies. Her brain returned to Parker’s statement about being in the hospital. Had he been sick or was there an accident or...?

Again, she reminded herself that whatever the cause of his hospital stay, it wasn’t her business. Besides which, if Parker wanted her to know more, he’d tell her on his own. If he was anything like her, and it was a topic that made him uncomfortable, he wouldn’t. And since she had firsthand experience in the discomfort of unwanted questions, she would never put another person through the same misery. But that didn’t stop her curiosity or her concern.

She hoped that whatever had happened was over and done with and well in the past.

A sigh emerged as the eighth sheet of paper spit from the printer. Today, she didn’t have to think about anything except for finding Roscoe, and she wouldn’t have to answer any of those hated questions. Parker did not know she was a breast cancer survivor. To him, she was just his daughters’ music teacher who had lost her dog. Nothing more, nothing less.





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