Books by Fern Michaels
Fancy Dancer
Tuesday’s Child
Betrayal
Southern Comfort
To Taste the Wine
Sins of the Flesh
Sins of Omission
Return to Sender
Mr. and Miss Anonymous
Up Close and Personal
Fool Me Once
Picture Perfect
About Face
The Future Scrolls
Kentucky Sunrise
Kentucky Heat
Kentucky Rich
Plain Jane
Charming Lily
What You Wish For
The Guest List
Listen to Your Heart
Celebration
Yesterday
Finders Keepers
Annie’s Rainbow
Sara’s Song
Vegas Sunrise
Vegas Heat
Vegas Rich
Whitefire
Wish List
Dear Emily
Christmas at Timberwoods
The Godmothers Series
Breaking News
Deadline
Late Edition
Exclusive
The Scoop
The Sisterhood Novels
Home Free
Déjà Vu
Cross Roads
Game Over
Deadly Deals
Vanishing Act
Razor Sharp
Under the Radar
Final Justice
Collateral Damage
Fast Track
Hokus Pokus
Hide and Seek
Free Fall
Lethal Justice
Sweet Revenge
The Jury
Vendetta
Payback
Weekend Warriors
Anthologies
A Winter Wonderland
Making Spirits Bright
Holiday Magic
Snow Angels
Silver Bells
Comfort and Joy
Sugar and Spice
Let It Snow
A Gift of Joy
Five Golden Rings
Deck the Halls
Jingle All the Way
Books by Holly Chamberlin
Living Single
The Summer of Us
Babyland
Back in the Game
The Friends We Keep
Tuscan Holiday
One Week in December
The Family Beach House
Summer Friends
Last Summer
Books by Leslie Meier
Mistletoe Murder
Tippy Toe Murder
Trick or Treat Murder
Back to School Murder
Valentine Murder
Christmas Cookie Murder
Turkey Day Murder
Wedding Day Murder
Birthday Party Murder
Father’s Day Murder
Star Spangled Murder
New Year’s Eve Murder
Bake Sale Murder
Candy Cane Murder
St. Patrick’s Day Murder
Mother’s Day Murder
Wicked Witch Murder
Gingerbread Cookie Murder
English Tea Murder
Chocolate Covered Murder
Easter Bunny Murder
Books by Kristina McMorris
Bridge of Scarlet Leaves
Letters from Home
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Winter Wonderland
FERN MICHAELS
HOLLY CHAMBERLIN
LESLIE MEIER
KRISTINA MCMORRIS
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Books by Fern Michaels
Title Page
A Winter Wonderland
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
The Joy of Christmas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
The Christmas Thief
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Christmas Collector
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Copyright Page
A Winter Wonderland
FERN MICHAELS
Chapter 1
December 2012
Angelica Shepard tossed aside the script she’d been reading. It was beyond her skills as an actress even to begin to get into character for a part in yet another off-off-Broadway play under financial duress, and most likely—and this is only if she was lucky—it would have a short run, and the reviews would be atrocious.
When she began to study acting right out of high school, she’d given herself ten years to “make it” to the top. Meaning, she would be able to support herself and, if the gods smiled on her, she’d be able to quit her second job. At eighteen, ten years had seemed like a lifetime. Now at thirty-two, four years past her self-imposed deadline, she was still searching for the role that would catapult her to stardom.
She glanced at the script, then told herself to forget it. Something better was sure to come along.
A cup of tea would be nice right now, she decided as she walked three feet from her living room/bedroom to the small kitchen—if you could even call it a kitchen. It consisted of one small counter, four cabinets that hung above the countertop, a mini-stove, and a refrigerator. She’d made the best of the limited space, calling it home for more than ten years. It was a small studio, even by New York standards, but Angelica couldn’t help feeling a wee bit of pride. Purchasing the place on her own, and in the city, was quite an accomplishment. Yes, she had to supplement her acting career with a part-time job bartending at one of New York’s hottest nightspots, but without that job, she would never have been able to pay the mortgage, much less continue to pursue an acting career. Many times, Angelica had wanted to throw in the towel and just work at the cl
ub full-time, but she was determined to pursue an acting career a while longer. Maybe after six months, she would once again reevaluate her career choice.
She filled the white ceramic teakettle from the tap and placed it on top of the burner. Walking the few feet back into the living room/bedroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the small chest of drawers that held her entire wardrobe. She had medium-length coffee-colored hair and hazel eyes, which were just beginning to reveal the first signs of crow’s-feet. Her skin was still smooth, her lips full, her teeth perfectly aligned, but she could see the beginning signs of aging. Maybe she should consider having Botox injections. Her friends swore by the stuff. But the thought of injecting botulism in her system was a bit too much.
She’d had high hopes for a part she’d auditioned for just last week. The role had called for an actress in her mid to late twenties who could sing reasonably well, dance, and, of course, act. Her agent, Al Greenberg, a kindly old guy who’d been in the business forever, had promised her he would call and tell her if she’d gotten the part. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than her cell phone’s musical ring filled the small studio apartment at the same time the teakettle began its low whistle. She grabbed her cell phone, leapt to the stove, and removed the kettle.
“Hello,” she said anxiously.
“Angelica, my dear, how is my favorite client?”
She took a deep breath. “It depends on why you’re calling,” she said, hoping to sound light and silly rather than dark and desperate.
Al laughed before responding. “Now, now, don’t hold me responsible for your moods, kiddo.” He paused.
Angelica heard his intake of breath and knew then that his reason for calling was not to impart the news she’d hoped for. A heavy sigh escaped her before she spoke. “Go ahead, Al. Shoot.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard it myself. Ross called.” Ross was the director and producer of the play Angelica had auditioned for. “He wants Waverly Costas for the part.”
Silence.
Al did not need to explain to her what that meant. Waverly Costas was twenty-three, with beautiful ash brown hair and a body to match. The sad thing was, and Angelica couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact, the younger woman was actually a gifted actress. Her stomach instantly knotted, and her eyes pooled.
Darn, dang, and double darn! She’d really wanted the part! Inhaling, then slowly exhaling as she’d been taught in her yoga class, Angelica chewed her bottom lip, then plunked down on the cream-colored sofa. “It’s okay, Al. As you always say, it must not be the right part for me.”
She heard Al’s heavy sigh. “That’s true. It takes time. Everyone wants to star on Broadway. You know the competition is tough, but your time will come, Angie.” He used the pet name that he’d given her years ago.
“Sure, Al. You’ve been telling me that for how long now?” Of course, she knew exactly how long. He’d been her agent for twelve years. Yes, she’d had a number of good roles, all supporting, but never a lead.
“Ahh, come on, Angie, don’t be discouraged. I hear that Johnny Jones has something in the works. It’ll be the perfect role for you. Rumor is that Morgan Freeman has accepted the leading male role.”
How many times had she missed out on “the perfect role”? And this one was with Morgan Freeman? Her favorite male actor in the world. Al knew it, too. She could just see it now. Her name beneath his on the playbill. Blotting her eyes with a corner of the dark green throw tossed on the back of the sofa, Angelica took another deep breath. “Listen, Al. We both know I’m not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time to call it quits. We know youth rules the business these days. The younger, the better. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, truly I do. Maybe I’ll take some time off during the holidays, rethink my career choice.”
Al’s robust laughter filled her ears. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Angie, best I’ve heard all day. Why don’t you head out West? I know how much you enjoy skiing. Hell, who knows, you might even meet some lucky ski bum.”
Her spirits sank even further. Al sure had a way of making her feel good about herself today. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. As a matter of fact, I’ll call the travel agency now. I’ll get in touch when I return.”
“See? That’s the attitude! You have a Merry Christmas, kid, and I’ll see you when you come home. Who knows what’ll be waiting for you?”
“Yeah, who knows? Merry Christmas, Al.” Angelica disconnected. She suddenly felt as though she were about to say a final good-bye to her dreams.
Fourteen years of hard work.
Down the drain.
Chapter 2
Dr. Parker North, trauma surgeon at Denver’s Angel of Mercy Hospital for the past eight years, dropped the blood-soaked bluish-green scrubs into a disposal bin. The coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils as he removed the paper covers from his Nike cross trainers. Inside the physicians’ changing room, he took from his assigned locker his favorite pair of faded Levi’s and a worn-out gray T-shirt that read HARVARD MEDICAL in faded black letters, and tossed both articles of clothing on a metal chair. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he saw that his dark hair was in need of a trim. Gray half-moons rimmed his dark eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep, but apparently his eyes had another story to tell, looking like he’d just woken up.
He stepped inside the stall, hoping to wash away the day’s memories. Under the shower’s warm, pelting spray, Dr. North mentally relived every last detail of the patient he’d spent the last three hours trying to save. Eight years old. It sickened him to think of the loss, the heartache the family felt. Seeing the young girl’s parents break down had more of an effect on him than anything he had ever experienced before. Sadly, patients dying was part of the job, and Parker knew it. But seeing a perfectly healthy child die senselessly was not a part of his job that he relished. And knowing that the child’s death could have been prevented, it was hard to accept. He truly sympathized with the parents, but he was also very angry. The little girl’s death was the result of a total lack of parental responsibility.
Vigorously, he lathered up with the harsh antimicrobial soap the hospital provided. He scrubbed his skin until it hurt, but he knew that no matter how much he tried, he could not erase from his memory the image of the little girl’s lifeless body.
She had been airlifted from Aurora, the third largest city in Colorado, just eight air miles away. Parker had been informed of her arrival minutes before the life chopper had landed in its designated area. He and his trauma team were prepared for the patient’s arrival. Knowing it was a child put the team on high alert, not that an adult elicited any less of a response. They’d been informed by the paramedics that their patient had been hit by a vehicle while riding her bicycle on the street where she lived. They were also told the child had not been wearing a helmet. There were massive head injuries and severe blood loss.
Parker knew the statistics. The survival rate among children with head injuries was not good. Not at all. How could parents allow their children to ride bicycles without the proper headgear? A twenty-dollar helmet could prevent an extraordinarily large amount of traumatic brain injuries, especially in children. And donor blood could drastically improve one’s chances when a significant amount was lost. This accident could’ve been prevented.
The swish of the trauma center’s entrance doors and the thundering footsteps of the paramedics jolted him into the present. There was no time for what-ifs. He had a life to save.
Flashes of dark blue whizzed past Parker as he raced toward the gurney that held the victim. Quickly, Parker assessed the girl’s visible wounds. Her left arm was almost detached from her shoulder, her right foot was shattered, the bones haphazardly resembling a set of pickup sticks. Most concerning, she did not appear to feel any pain. After a hasty examination of the still child, Parker said, “Let’s get a CT scan, stat.”
Within seconds, a port
able computed tomography—CT unit—was quickly wheeled into the trauma unit next to the gurney. The technicians made fast work of performing the CT and getting the results to radiology.
Parker did what was required of him but knew at this point that his efforts might not save this little girl’s life. She’d lost way too much blood and was completely unresponsive. When the tech returned with the CT results, Parker’s heart plunged to his feet and back. The parents needed to be told of her condition immediately.
“Where are the parents?” Dr. North barked.
“They’re on their way,” a nurse offered.
Dr. North nodded, probed the child’s neck. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get this child to surgery. There is intracranial pressure.” He looked at the machine, which beeped with the child’s vitals. Her oxygen level was dropping. Fast.
“Let’s get moving! We don’t have much time.” Knowing the little girl’s chances were slim to none, Dr. Parker North was going to do everything within his power to see that she survived.
Two and half hours later, he knew it was time to inform the parents of their loss.
Parker turned the water off and stood inside the shower, mindless of the cold water dripping off him as he remembered his unsuccessful efforts to save the patient. A child was dead, two parents were devastated, and his skill as a trauma neurosurgeon was not up to standards, at least not his standards. He should have been able to save the girl. He had tried every medical procedure he knew, but sadly, her injuries were just too severe.
Knowing it was useless to continue to mentally flagellate himself, he reached for the white towel that hung limply on a rusting steel rod.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and in his rusted Ford pickup truck heading to his apartment just blocks away from the hospital. He was a trauma surgeon and part of the job was being there when he was needed. He could make it from bed to the hospital in nine minutes flat. Faster if he ran the two traffic lights between his apartment and the hospital.
After today’s loss, Parker North had decided to do something he hadn’t done since he’d begun his residency. He was taking some much-needed time away from his duties as a doctor. What had happened today made him realize the true value of life and his role as a doctor in saving precious lives. He’d never suffered from the God complex that some doctors did, but at that moment he wished for any other profession than that of a doctor. Seeing the looks on the faces of the parents when he had told them he hadn’t been able to save their daughter had made him cringe.
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