Home For Christmas. Carrie Weaver
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The one woman he can’t charm
Asking for a favor from a woman scorned isn’t Cisco “Kid” Hardin’s smartest move. But he needs Lucinda “Lucky” Littlefield’s land for his oil company. Surely enough time has passed since he left her—and his promises—behind?
Apparently not, because Lucky still holds a lot of resentment.
Then Kid learns of the baby Lucky lost—their baby—and he’s determined to right his wrongs. He needs to prove he’s a man worthy of her love and trust. And he plans to do it by transforming his sins of the past into the most glorious holiday season she has ever seen.
“What’s so bad about me?”
“Beau, you’ve been married three times. You’re a slick-talking, woman-loving son of a gun with a voice that’d melt stone. I’ve seen your kind before. Shoot, I’ve married your kind before. You’re safe with me.”
“The husband whose, um, grave you wanted to dance on? I remind you of him?”
“You could have given Eric lessons. At least you were smart enough to divorce one wife before you married another. Or am I assuming too much?”
Beau didn’t know whether to be fascinated or insulted by Nancy’s disclosure. “Your husband was a bigamist? Really?”
“Yes, really.”
No wonder she didn’t want another man in her life. It was a damn good thing he had no intention of acting on his attraction to her, because he wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell with a woman like her.
Extending his hand, he said, “We should be safe as buddies, then. Deal?”
They shook. “Deal.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of their situation. This would be a first for him since puberty. A woman as a friend. Who’d have thought?
Home for Christmas
Carrie Weaver
CARRIE WEAVER
With two teenage sons, three cats and a dog, Carrie Weaver leads a full life! She loves to wind down by indulging in chocolate and reading a good book. And yes, the pages occasionally get smudged! The stories she writes reflect real life and real love, with all the ups, downs and emotion involved.
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Dedicated to the Smith family:
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Contents
Prologue
Nancy McGuire allowed the strange sound of Russian to flow over her as the house mother and the translator conversed.
Glancing around, she noted the house mother’s office was neat and tidy, but sparse. The translator had indicated the budget was stretched to the breaking point.
Her gaze strayed to a collage on the wall. Hundreds of photos of children, some candid, some posed, most smiling broadly, attested to the orphanage’s success in finding adoptive homes in the U.S.
Nancy shifted, crossing her legs. Her foot bounced as if she were some sort of marionette. How ironic that her husband’s death should have jump-started her decision to adopt a child. Even more ironic that the sale of their house had financed her endeavor.
In some small way, it took away the sting of Eric’s betrayal. And allowed her to heal.
Leaning forward, she doubted her excitement could be contained another second. She’d been waiting for this moment her whole adult life and now that it was here, she could scarcely breathe.
A knock sounded at the door and the house mother rose. Opening the door, she stepped aside as an assistant carried in a toddler.