“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

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.

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

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

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

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.

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