The Spirit of Christmas Read online

  From Southern Scrooge to holiday hero?

  Brennan Henry doesn’t have time for holly and jolly. He’s been too busy boosting the bottom line for the family business. That is, until his eccentric grandfather hands over a lot of money to a stranger on the street. Some nonsense about her being the true spirit of Christmas. Yeah, right. All Brennan can see is he’s now got a situation on his hands with one Mary Paige Gentry.

  Then he meets Mary Paige. And no matter how deep he searches, it seems she’s the real deal. Kind, compassionate and just enough sass to keep him very intrigued. The spark of attraction between them could land him on the naughty list! But his is still a dollars-and-cents world…unless she can prove there’s more to the season—more to life—than money.

  Mistletoe hung from a string. Directly over her.

  “Kiss her, Brennan!” someone in the crowd called.

  Mary Paige shook her head and waved off the comment.

  “Yeah, kiss her!” More voices, more laughter.

  In a panic she glanced over to where Brennan stood. He laughed and waved off the remarks.

  “Kiss her!” More people. Clapping started. All were merry. All were bright. All were insane.

  She raised her hands to her cheeks. They were afire with embarrassment. For heaven’s sake, couldn’t they see she was not the type of girl who got kissed by the Brennan Henrys of the world? She wasn’t elegant, beautiful or—

  “Oh,” she said as Brennan loomed above her.

  Her gaze found his and there was amusement in the gray depths…and maybe something more. Satisfaction?

  Maybe. But she didn’t have time to think any more about it.

  Because at that moment Brennan kissed her.

  Dear Reader,

  I’m delighted to announce exciting news: beginning in January 2013, Harlequin Superromance books will be longer! That means more romance with more of the characters you love and expect from Harlequin Superromance.

  We’ll also be unveiling a brand-new look for our covers. These fresh, beautiful covers will showcase the six wonderful contemporary stories we publish each month.

  So don’t miss out on your favorite series—Harlequin Superromance. Look for longer stories and exciting new covers starting December 18, 2012, wherever you buy books.

  In the meantime, check out this month’s reads:

  #1818 THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS

  Liz Talley

  #1819 THE TIME OF HER LIFE

  Jeanie London

  #1820 THE LONG WAY HOME

  Cathryn Parry

  #1821 CROSSING NEVADA

  Jeannie Watt

  #1822 WISH UPON A CHRISTMAS STAR

  Darlene Gardner

  #1823 ESPRESSO IN THE MORNING

  Dorie Graham

  Happy reading!

  Wanda Ottewell,

  Senior Editor, Harlequin Superromance

  The Spirit of Christmas

  Liz Talley

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  From devouring the Harlequin Superromance novels on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath Liz’s baby-food-stained clothes, a dream stirred. She followed that dream, and after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her first contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

  Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high-school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a passel of animals. Liz loves watching her boys play baseball, shopping for bargains and going out for lunch. When not writing contemporary romances for the Harlequin Superromance line, she can be found doing laundry, feeding kids or playing on Facebook.

  Books by Liz Talley

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1639—VEGAS TWO-STEP

  1675—THE WAY TO TEXAS

  1680—A LITTLE TEXAS

  1705—A TASTE OF TEXAS

  1738—A TOUCH OF SCARLET

  1776—WATERS RUN DEEP*

  1788—UNDER THE AUTUMN SKY*

  1800—THE ROAD TO BAYOU BRIDGE*

  *The Boys of Bayou Bridge

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  For Ursuline Academy, New Orleans, for teaching me the importance of Serviam—I will serve. I will always cherish my time walking those historic halls, teaching girls who could be angels one minute, devils the next and knitting together a foundation of education and service with the best faculty ever.

  I may be gone, but my thoughts often drift back to the land of Merry Macs, Skips and Sioux. Go, Lions!

  And for the readers who reliably buy my books and tell others how great they are—there is no greater compliment than a friend who is a devoted fan. Thank you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE

  MARY PAIGE GENTRY stepped into an icy puddle of water as she exited the taxi with not only one high-heeled shoe, but both of them.

  “Darn, darn, darn!” she said, trying to turn back to the driver without stepping into the cold water again. The cabbie raised bushy eyebrows and she tossed him a glare. “I assume you didn’t see that puddle when you pulled up?”

  He shrugged.

  “Yeah, right,” Mary Paige muttered, blowing out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “Just wait for me, okay?”

  She didn’t hang around for his response because, after the day she’d had, something had to go in her favor. She slammed the door and leaped to the curb, managing to clear the puddle she’d previously waded through. Having the cab wait for her would cost a small fortune, but she was way late to her uncle’s infamous Christmas kickoff bash, thanks to her boss, Ivan the Terrible.

  The frigid water seeped into the toes of her shoes as she walked toward the iron-barred glass door of the convenience store anchoring a corner in Fat City. Stupid, stupid! If she hadn’t let vanity rule, she’d be plodding around in her cute fleur-de-lis rubber boots with warm tootsies. But because the strappy high-heel, pseudo–Mary Janes had called her name that morning, she would risk frostbite for the remainder of the evening.

  Flashing neon signs hung garishly on the front of the store, bright cousins to the various cigarette ads, and from somewhere to her left, music bled onto the street. The door to the convenience store swooshed open, and she moved aside to avoid a woman who burst out, clutching a paper bag containing a fifth of something potent. Her elbow caught Mary Paige’s arm, but the woman didn’t even acknowledge the offense. She merely growled something about skinny blonde bitches and waddled down the block.

  “Really?” Mary Paige called after her, even as part of her relished the backhanded compliment since she’d spent the past two months doing Zumba and eating foam chips in an effort to fit into a size eight again. As she reached for the closing door handle, she heard a low moan to her right. Her hand paused in midair, hovering above the cold metal.

  Pulling her jacket closer to her chin and nuzzling into the cashm
ere scarf her ex-boyfriend had given her last Christmas, Mary Paige peered into the darkness beyond the blinking lights lining the eaves. At first, she saw nothing in the shadows, but then spied movement.

  She stepped toward the noise, her feet squishing in her wet shoes, her teeth starting to chatter. The light plink of sleet on her shoulders made her wonder if she was somewhere other than New Orleans. They rarely saw anything frozen—except daiquiris—so it had been quite the sensation when they’d gotten a blast of winter the day after Thanksgiving.

  Newspapers stirred and she made out the form of an elderly man wrapped in a thin blanket, moving among discarded boxes and newspapers quickly becoming sodden with the sleet.

  “Sir? You need some help?”

  The man stopped his rustling and flipped her the finger.

  “Guess that answers that question.”

  She turned around, ignoring the tug at her heart. Why didn’t he go to a shelter, anyway? Too cold out for someone to be sitting around with nothing more than a thin blanket. She glanced to the corner and found the cab still waiting. Good. A man who listened. An early Christmas miracle.

  She entered the warmth of the store, blew on her hands and scanned the cramped aisle. Nope, none of it would do. Bottled water, sanitary products and condoms. The necessities of life, sure, but nothing that would help her tonight.

  The second aisle proved as fruitless. Nothing but potato chips, cartons of cookies and packages of those powdery little doughnuts. Mary Paige’s stomach betrayed her with a growl as she eyed the pink snowballs. She shook her head and rounded the end cap, where she scanned the new offerings, methodically sweeping her gaze along the aisle, mentally discarding everything until… Bingo!

  Hanging innocently at the end of the aisle was the most repugnant pair of Christmas socks she’d ever seen. They were bright green with sparkly silver-tinsel trees around the ankles, adorned with bright cherry-red pom-poms. The tops had garish silver lace that matched the flashy trees and small jingly bells. They were hideous and absolutely perfect for the white-elephant gift required for Uncle Fred’s crazy pre-Christmas party. Mary Paige snatched them as if they were the Holy Grail. Finally, something had gone right.

  She hurried toward the register, hating that she’d already taken too much time in this little stop, hating that the homeless curmudgeon outside the door weighed on her conscience. Yeah, he was a miserable old goat, but it was the beginning of the Christmas season, and it was colder than normal outside.

  Perhaps she should get him a little something to warm him up?

  A coffee bar sat to her right, featuring a self-service, instant cappuccino machine. Not the best, but certainly good enough. Mary Paige glanced at the register. Only one person in line. Surely five more minutes wouldn’t hurt. She spun toward the bar, snatched a medium-size cup, centered it beneath the spout and pushed the button. It filled quickly. She plopped a lid on and grabbed two sugar packs along with a stir stick.

  Darn. Two more people had joined the queue behind the woman paying.

  She got in line, shifting back and forth on her frozen feet trying to restore the circulation and wondering why she even bothered with an old bum outside a convenience store in the middle of Metairie. He’d probably hurl the cup at her and ruin her only decent jacket. Par for the course considering the day she’d had. A run in her stockings, a nervous stomach that had sent her to the bathroom twice, a coffee stain on her pristine white blouse and a tongue-lashing from Ivan the Terrible when the towering pile of receipts on her desk didn’t add up for their biggest client. She really wanted to go home and curl up in her ratty chenille robe with a glass of wine. Instead, fierce love for Uncle Fred sent her scurrying across the city in a cab she couldn’t afford, wearing shoes now frozen stiff.

  Mary Paige finally reached the register, where the cashier snatched the socks from her, scanned them and dropped them into a plastic sack.

  “Ten thirty-seven,” the cashier said, not even bothering to make eye contact with her.

  Mary Paige rooted in her purse for her wallet. Ugh. She’d left it in her desk after doing some online Christmas shopping. But, luckily she always kept some cash in the side pocket along with her ATM card. Her fingers crisscrossed in a desperate search. No cash.

  No way.

  Thankfully a second swipe netted her the ATM card. She glanced at the cashier, who glared knowingly in return.

  “Uh, do y’all have an ATM?”

  The cashier pointed to a machine sitting below a glowing sign as a man behind her in line growled, “Jeez, get your cash before you get in line, lady.”

  Something inside Mary Paige snapped. “Listen, buddy. I have had a hell of a day and my ex-boyfriend stole all my cash. Give me an effing break here!”

  The man stepped back, throwing up his hands before giving her a smart-ass gesture toward the ATM.

  “Thanks.”

  She prayed as she entered her PIN that her account wasn’t overdrawn. Things had been so hectic lately she couldn’t remember the last time she balanced her bank statement. Please, please let the stupid machine spit out the money.

  The machine whirred and coughed out the amount she’d requested—thirty bucks.

  Whew. Hibernia Bank had just earned itself a place on her Christmas-card list.

  Mary Paige popped back in line as the rude construction worker rolled his eyes and blew garlicky breath on her neck with theatrical exaggeration. Mary Paige shrugged at the cashier. “Happens to the best of us, right?”

  The cashier held out a palm and gave no response, making Mary Paige feel like even more of an idiot. She placed a ten-dollar bill in the outstretched hand of the cashier along with three dimes and a nickel, the sum of all the change she could scrape up from the bottom of her purse. The cashier cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the money.

  “Oh, sorry.” Mary Paige scooped two pennies from the take-a-penny, leave-a-penny container on the counter. “There you go.”

  She grabbed the coffee and the plastic bag, swerved around Big and Beefy, desperately wanting to give him the finger—much as the old bum had given her earlier—and stalked out the door.

  “Ow.” Hot coffee splashed on her fingers through the open drinking spout. “Double darn it.”

  She shook the liquid from her fingers and caught sight of the cab out of the corner of her eye. Thank God he’d waited, and thank God the ATM had delivered the money she needed to pay for the cab. Shoving the bag with the socks under her arm, she held up a finger indicating she would be a minute longer, then headed around the corner to the old man.

  As she approached the alley, she was swamped by a feeling of déjà vu. How many other times had she done this kind of thing? Ten? Twenty? More? As much as she would like to be a hard-ass career gal, she knew her heart was of the Stay Puft variety. Not even rudeness would deter her from doing what was right.

  “Yoo-hoo? Mister? I have a little something here to warm you.” She stood in front of a Dumpster bookended by two large cardboard boxes. Flaps hung over, providing little shelter, and the man seemed to be curled into a pile of wet newspapers. A broken cyclone fence stretched behind him, leading the way to an abandoned bakery showcasing yawning windows. Dismal wasn’t the word for the small corner of the world this man occupied in the frozen rain. “Sir?”

  He said nothing.

  “I’ve brought you some coffee.”

  The papers moved. “What the hell ya want?”

  “Just thought you might like something to warm you.”

  “Coffee?” The papers shifted as the man unfurled like a gray troll from beneath a bridge, his grizzled face parting sodden sales flyers, pinning her with sleepy blue eyes. “Coffee, did you say?”

  Mary Paige thrust the cup toward the man.

  His eyes swept Mary Paige from head to foot, causing a flash of alarm within her, but then he looked away before extending a thin arm toward the steaming cup. As he leaned forward, the papers parted, revealing a body woefully unprepared for the frig
id weather. His pants were thin and patched, his flannel shirt threadbare in a few spots, but most frightening of all were his bare feet.

  Aw, heck, no. Not bare feet. Anything but bare feet.

  The plastic bag holding the socks grew heavier.

  Pretend like you didn’t see his bare feet, Mary Paige. Just hand him the coffee and go.

  But she knew she would not. Could not.

  Triple darn.

  No time to get another pair. Plus, the only other socks inside were a pair of plain blue ones. There had been only one pair of perfectly horrendous Christmas socks, and she knew they hadn’t been intended for anyone at Uncle Fred’s house. Not Aunt Betty with her giant mole, or Cousin Trav with his ugly comb-over, or Mr. Dan the eccentric butcher, who showed up to Uncle Fred’s party every year uninvited. Nope, these Christmas socks were for the bum who had flipped her the finger.

  She sighed and bent down, meeting his gnarled fingers with the cup. “You don’t have any socks. It’s awfully cold out here for bare feet.”

  The man took slurping sips of the scalding liquid as if it were nothing more than lukewarm tea. “Yes, socks t’would help, I imagine.”

  “Yes, well, I happen to have a pair right here. How about we put these on so you don’t freeze your toes off? And then, I can take you to a shelter where you can get some hot food and a warm place to sleep.”

  The man peered at her over the rim, his disarming blue eyes measuring her. She ripped her gaze from his and dug the ugly socks from the plastic bag, eyeing his dirty but, oddly enough, well-manicured toes. She tore the tag from the socks and bent toward the man, uncertain as to whether she should actually lift his foot. “Should I help you put these on?”

  The old man clasped her hands, stilling them as she picked at the sticker stubbornly gunking up a sparkly silver tree.

  “You ever read A Christmas Carol?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You know…old Ebenezer Scrooge?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course.” She nodded and the blunt ends of her bob swung into her eyes. She tucked the wayward strands behind her chilled ears. “The socks. Let’s get them on you.”