LITMIR.BIZ

      “I care about you, Miranda.

       You know that.”

      He’d always cared, but she didn’t know that. These past few weeks, that old passion of his had been rejuvenated. He’d dared to dream that she might return some of his feelings. She seemed to enjoy his company. And he didn’t think he’d imagined the sexual energy between them all evening. Not judging by the conspiratorial wink he’d gotten from a friend as he was going out the door.

      Perhaps Miranda’s feelings for him just weren’t strong enough yet….

      No, that really wasn’t the problem. She was still holding on. To Chad. To the losses of her past. And he had no idea how to make her let go.

      “Warren, you’re not upset with me, are you?”

      “Absolutely not.” He wasn’t going to push her. That would be the dumbest mistake he could make. “I don’t want you to think I planned for anything to happen between us. Though I won’t deny I hoped it would….”

      She hugged him. “You’re a wonderful guy, Warren. I’m going to be very jealous when some lucky woman captures your heart and I’ve lost you forever.”

      Dear Reader,

      Several years ago, when I wrote A Daughter’s Place, I knew I would one day write more books set in the mostly fictional town of Chatsworth, Saskatchewan. And indeed, when I decided I wanted to tell the story of a woman who just can’t get over the first guy she fell in love with—a guy who married another woman, and is still married to that woman—Chatsworth seemed the perfect setting.

      It is the kind of place where it’s hard to keep a secret. Your neighbors always know, and if they don’t, they think they know. You can’t hide your past in a place like Chatsworth. People remember which kid was the brain, the athlete, the loner, which girl was most popular and which high school sweethearts were destined to stay together.

      Of course, people grow after high school. They change. And that’s what has happened to the class of 1990. As circumstances conspire to bring five of the original eleven graduating students together, they’ll have an opportunity to examine who they really are…and whom they really love.

      Hope you enjoy the story and that you are able to spend your Christmas with the ones you love.

      Happy holidays!

      C.J. Carmichael

      P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754 - 246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada. Or e-mail me at [email protected].

      Together by Christmas

      C.J. Carmichael

      A while ago I exchanged some touching correspondence

       with Dianne, a reader. She and her husband were mourning the loss of their son in a tragic car accident.

      This book is dedicated to the memory of Davin.

       His parents want him to know: “You always were, and still remain, the light of our lives. Until we meet again…”

      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

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER ONE

      MIRANDA JAMES PUSHED aside the wicker basket of crusty rolls at the center of the table and replaced it with her high school yearbook, open to the page with photos of her graduating class.

      “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But we really did go to school together. Grades one through twelve. See?” She pointed to Warren’s picture first, then her own.

      Catherine Cox, producer at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, peered through dark-framed glasses at the caption beneath the photo. “‘Warren Addison,’” she read, squinting at the small print. “‘Favorite subject: anything to do with books. Nickname: Warty.’”

      She shifted her attention to Miranda. “Warty? Warren Addison had warts?”

      “No. A pet frog in grade eight.” Miranda tapped her pen against the saltshaker, impatient to move on. But Catherine was scrutinizing the yearbook again, holding it close to the window, where the light was better.

      “Trust you to be gorgeous even in high school. Let’s see what they wrote about you….”

      “Oh, no, you don’t.” Miranda reached for the book, but Catherine shifted it just beyond her grasp.

      “‘Miranda James,’” she began, quoting the couplet beneath the photo, “‘Most beautiful and the boys’ favorite pick. If she wasn’t so nice, she’d make us sick.’”

      “Give that here!”

      Catherine relinquished the book, laughing. The husky sound caught the attention of two men lunching at a nearby table. Their glances flickered over Catherine and settled on Miranda.

      “Okay, you went to school with Warren Addison,” Catherine conceded. “But what makes you think he’ll be onside for a video biography? I’ve spoken to the publicist at his publishing house and he’s notoriously uncooperative when it comes to promoting his own work. Everyone but him is talking about Where It Began. He wouldn’t even return Oprah’s call when she asked him to appear on her show.”

      “We grew up together, Catherine. I heard him read the first story he ever wrote to the class.”

      Well, she probably had, she just couldn’t remember.

      “Don’t worry about me not being able to deliver,” she continued. “The challenge will be editing all the material down to a reasonable length.”

      Catherine opened her briefcase. “I suppose if anyone can do this, it’s you. Here. I had Accounting cut you a check.”

      Thrilled, Miranda accepted the check before Catherine could change her mind. None of her other projects had ever been accepted this easily.

      “I’d love to chat longer, but I have another meeting.” Catherine laid a fifty on the table to cover lunch. “Would you mind saving a copy of the bill for me? I need to run, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t stay and enjoy dessert and coffee.”

      “Thanks, Catherine.” For everything, she wanted to add. But the svelte producer was already hustling out of the restaurant. The two men at the next table noticed her departure, too. One of them tried to catch Miranda’s eye, but she gazed deliberately down at the yearbook still in her hands.

      “Can I get you anything else?” The server was back, whisking away the used wineglasses and salad plates.

      “Mmm…” She glanced up from the yearbook. “An espresso, please?”

      “Certainly.”

Скачать книгу