A second chance for Joy
While recovering at a remote cabin, Dr. Simon Walsh stumbles across Cara Amos. Injured and left for dead, Cara is harboring dark secrets. Yet Simon can’t help falling for his mysterious patient. As her memory returns and her injuries fade under his gentle care, he vows to help her find her missing daughter.
At The Lemonade Stand shelter, managing director Lila McDaniels is helping Cara’s estranged father, Edward Mantle, bond with his traumatized granddaughter, Joy. And his feelings extend well beyond gratitude.
Bringing this family together seems impossible... Luckily, Christmas is the season of miracles.
“I’m sorry, Cara, I can’t do it.”
Her gaze shot to his. Wide-eyed. Filled with fear.
“I’m not going to hold you hostage,” Simon quickly assured her. “You’re free to go. But if you do leave, I have to call the authorities. To alert them to the fact that I am aware of a domestic-violence situation. As a doctor, I’m under legal obligation to do so.”
Not technically. He wasn’t licensed to practice medicine in Nevada—his helping her was legal only under the Good Samaritan law. And because initially it had been an emergency situation and she’d refused outside medical care.
Her gaze hadn’t wavered. The panic was there, almost blindingly so, reminding him of a deer in headlights.
“I mean you no harm,” he told her. “To the contrary. Nor am I particularly welcoming of the company. I’m here alone by choice. My reasons for that choice have not changed.”
She blinked.
“But I can’t let you just walk out of here.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to a very, very special story in my Where Secrets are Safe series. If you’ve never been to The Lemonade Stand—please, come in. Visitors to the Stand are transitory, so you’ll fit right in with the rest of the current batch of residents, who are also new here. If you’ve been here before, buckle your seat belts, because you’re in for a double treat.
This story is very different from anything I’ve done before. It’s two full romances—taking place simultaneously in two states—that, unknown to the heroes and heroines, are intertwined. You, the reader, will see the way these people, from opposite sides of a very sad story, give their hearts and souls to try to find sense in a world that makes no sense.
Sometimes it’s hard to know what to believe. Sometimes our thoughts are born through our own perspectives that might not always be completely accurate. Sometimes we act on those thoughts with the best of intentions, and end up places we never meant to be.
Sometimes all we can do is listen to our hearts—like we did as children. Sometimes it takes a child to show us the way...
I love to hear from my readers. Please find me at www.tarataylorquinn.com, Facebook.com/tarataylorquinn and on Twitter, @tarataylorquinn. Or join my open Friendship board on Pinterest, Pinterest.com/tarataylorquinn/friendship!
All the best,
Tara
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
TARA TAYLOR
QUINN
A Family for Christmas
Having written over eighty novels, Tara Taylor Quinn is a USA TODAY bestselling author with more than seven million copies sold. She is known for delivering intense, emotional fiction. Tara is a past president of Romance Writers of America. She has won a Readers’ Choice Award and is a five-time finalist for an RWA RITA® Award, a finalist for a Reviewers’ Choice Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. She has also appeared on TV across the country, including CBS Sunday Morning. She supports the National Domestic Violence Hotline. If you or someone you know might be a victim of domestic violence in the United States, please contact 1-800-799-7233.
Books by Tara Taylor Quinn
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
Where Secrets are Safe
Wife by Design
Once a Family
Husband by Choice
Child by Chance
Mother by Fate
The Good Father
Love by Association
His First Choice
The Promise He Made Her
Her Secret Life
The Fireman’s Son
For Joy’s Sake
Shelter Valley Stories
Sophie’s Secret
Full Contact
HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING
Family Secrets
For Love or Money
Her Soldier’s Baby
The Cowboy’s Twins
MIRA BOOKS
The Friendship Pact
In Plain Sight
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com
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For my daughter, Rachel (Marie) Stoddard,
and her daughter, Morgan Marie.
I love you both more than life.
Cast of Characters
Wife by Design (Book 1)
Lynn Duncan—Resident nurse at TLS. She has a three-year-old daughter, Kara.
Grant Bishop—Landscape developer hired by TLS.
Maddie Estes—Permanent TLS resident. Childcare provider.
Darin Bishop—Resident at TLS. Works for his brother, Grant. Has a mental disability.
Once a Family (Book 2)
Sedona (Campbell) Malone—Lawyer who volunteers at TLS.
Tanner Malone—Vintner. Brother to Tatum and Talia Malone.
Tatum Malone—Fifteen-year-old resident at TLS.
Husband by Choice (Book 3)
Meredith (Meri) Bennet—Speech therapist. Mother to two-year-old son, Caleb.
Max Bennet—Pediatrician.
Chantel Harris—Police officer. Friend to Max and his deceased first wife.
Child by Chance (Book 4)
Talia Malone—TLS volunteer. Public-school scrapbook therapist. Student of fashion design.
Sherman Paulson—Political campaign manager. Widower. Single father of adopted ten-year-old son, Kent.
Mother by Fate (Book 5)
Sara Havens—Full-time TLS counselor.
Michael Edwin—Bounty hunter. Widower. Single father to six-year-old daughter, Mari.
The Good Father (Book 6)
Ella Ackerman—Charge nurse at Santa Raquel Children’s Hospital. Member of the high-risk team. Divorced.
Brett Ackerman—TLS Founder. National accreditation business owner. Divorced.
Love by Association (Book 7)
Chantel Harris—Santa Raquel detective. Member of the high-risk team.
Colin Fairbanks—Lawyer. Member of Santa Raquel’s most elite society. Principal of high-end law firm. Brother to Julie Fairbanks.
His First Choice (Book 8)
Lacey Hamilton—Social worker. Member of the high-risk team. Child star. Identical twin to daytime-soap-opera star Kacey Hamilton.
Jeremiah (Jem) Bridges—Private contractor with his own business. Divorced. Has custody of four-year-old son, Levi.
The Promise He Made Her (Book 9)
Bloom Larson—Psychiatrist in Santa Raquel. Domestic violence therapist. Divorced.
Samuel Larson—Santa Raquel high-ranking detective. Widower.
Her Secret Life (Book 10)
Kacey Hamilton—Daytime-soap-opera star. Identical twin to Lacey Hamilton. Volunteer at TLS.
Mic
hael Valentine—Cybersecurity expert. TLS volunteer. Shooting victim.
The Fireman’s Son (Book 11)
Faye Walker—Paramedic. Divorced. Sole custody of eight-year-old son, Elliott, who is in counseling at TLS.
Reese Bristow—Santa Raquel fire chief.
For Joy’s Sake (Book 12)
Julie Fairbanks—Philanthropist and children’s author. Sister to Colin Fairbanks.
Hunter Rafferty—Owns Elite Professional event-planning business, specializing in charity fund-raisers. TLS is one of his clients.
A Family for Christmas (Book 13)
Lila McDaniels—Managing director of The Lemonade Stand (TLS). She has an apartment at the Stand.
Edward Mantle—Primary-care physician. Grandfather to seven-year-old Joy Amos. Father to Cara Amos.
Cara Amos—On the run from abusive ex. Joy’s mother.
Simon Walsh—Pediatric thoracic surgeon. Partially blind.
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 TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EXCERPT FROM THE UNDERCOVER AFFAIR BY CATHRYN PARRY
CHAPTER ONE
Prospector, Nevada
“DAMN.” TAKING HIS stinging toe with him, Dr. Simon Walsh carefully and deliberately lifted his right foot and took another step forward. Landed it successfully. Then picked up the left. Success. And the right. Stepping slowly. Adding roots camouflaged by dirt and other ground cover to his list of possible dangers.
After four days of traipsing around several times a day in the forest that served as the borders for his self-imposed captivity, he’d amassed a list that could have been overwhelming if he cared to believe that it would be a permanent part of his life.
He wasn’t giving it that much credence.
His left eye stared belligerently at the black patch he’d placed upon it, while his right strained to make out a shape in the cloud cover that had become its vision.
Cloud was better than nothing, which was what he’d had when he’d made it to the emergency room four weeks prior. He had six months to a year before he’d know what good his injured right optic nerve would be, if any. More than four hours of pressure due to swelling would usually be the kiss of death. His had sustained at least five hours. But death meant no sight at all. He had clouds.
And...whack! Taking an involuntary step back, Simon lifted a hand to his forehead to inspect for any damage. He was either sweating or bleeding. Didn’t feel much of a gash. Not enough to require stitches, at any rate.
His outstretched hands—one holding a stick like a blind man’s cane—had missed a branch hanging above shoulder level. And his damned eye...nothing but clouds.
His pits were wet. Long sleeves and jeans in seventy-degree weather tended to do that to a guy exerting himself. It had been forty when he’d gotten up that morning. And in the woods he wasn’t ready to trust bare limbs to his right eye.
“Whoever thought this was a good idea?” He asked the question aloud. Talking to himself. When you were a hermit, living alone in a godforsaken wasteland, you tended to do that, he’d learned.
And didn’t bother to answer himself. Something else he’d learned...your conversational skills changed when there was only one of you.
It had been his idea to cover his one good eye four times a day to force the weaker one to work. Everyone knew that muscles had to be exercised to stay strong.
Not that an optic nerve was a muscle, of course. But he couldn’t let his brain go soft. He had to keep things working so that if the nerve managed to kick into gear, the rest of him would be ready and able to support it.
His forehead stung.
Lifting the patch off his good eye long enough to get a peek at his fingers, he saw blood. But he’d seen more than that on patients four days postsurgery. He snapped the piece of black cloth back into place.
He wasn’t stopping now.
Feeling like a damned freak, he continued staring at white fog, stepping gingerly and making his way. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do with his day.
Or his life.
A one-eyed surgeon wasn’t going to...cut it.
So much for an attempt at humor. He kicked at the ground. Just to show that he could. That he wasn’t afraid to express himself. He threw away his stick. Took two steps. And lifted the patch long enough to find and retrieve the walking aid.
“If they could see me now.”
Once one of LA’s top children’s thoracic surgeons, now unshaven, wearing jeans he’d stained with jelly that morning when he’d made his right eye get him through breakfast, wandering around in a wooded valley in the northern Nevada mountains.
Until a month ago, his idea of camping out had been a room at a moderately priced chain hotel—as opposed to his more likely choice of a suite in an upscale resort. That had been before he’d needed to prove self-sufficiency.
As his spirits continued to sink, he pushed forward. Reminded himself that he was a lucky bastard. That he sure as hell had no right to feel sorry for himself.
He had a good eye. He could see. Watch TV. Read. Hell, he could even drive.
He was alive.
He just couldn’t be a surgeon.
And he couldn’t ever laugh with little Opus again. Thoughts of his adopted daughter brought him shame at his own selfishness. If ever there’d been a child who’d taken it on the chin and come up with a grin, it had been that feisty little six-year-old.
What did it mean when a guy started thinking in rhymed clichés?
In his case, it meant he wasn’t ready to think about Opus, not even after a year.
Jabbing his stick hard into the ground, Simon stood in place. Staring. Willing his eye to see something. Anything. To make out enough of a shape in the shadows to discern what it was. Just as he’d been doing pretty much every waking moment of the month he’d been holed up in his newly purchased cabin.
He’d found the place on the internet. It came furnished, with its own well and electricity provided by solar panels, wind and a generator for backup. Completely off the grid. There was only one way in—a mile-long private road. His nearest neighbor was five miles or more away. The seller was a lawyer handling an estate bequeathed to charity. No one to care. He’d paid cash on the spot. Left his cell phone at home.
He had too many well-meaning friends and peers who thought they knew better for him than he knew for himself. He had a burner phone, though. He wasn’t foolish. Careless. Or irresponsible.
He wanted to be left completely alone.
At least until he knew his options. Maybe longer. Maybe he wasn’t ever going back...
Simon’s stick hit something on the ground in front of him. Something solid...and yet not hard like a rock. Playing a game with himself, he stared in the general direction of the object, tapping around it to fill in the blanks. It was long. More than five feet. When he pushed it, it had s
ome give, but didn’t really move. A fallen tree perhaps? What kind of tree?
He continued to follow the mass. Didn’t find obvious branches. Apparently a grown man, a surgeon, no less, could be entertained by a fallen tree.
“Now, isn’t that one for the books?”
What books he wasn’t sure. He was tempted to take off his patch—to take the easy way out and see what was blocking his path. Or just step over it. But he wasn’t letting his right eye off that easy. If he’d given up on his young patients as easily as he seemed to want to give up these days, there would be far fewer homes filled with laughter in the Los Angeles valley.
Give him a chest cavity and he could delineate every nerve, vein and muscle. But trees? In Nevada? He knew next to nothing about them. So he thought about fruit. Oranges grew in Nevada. But they’d still be at the little green ball stage this early in the fall. And there were no orange trees in his new yard. Not like a tree with oranges actually growing on it would be fallen over on the ground. More likely it was some kind of cactus.
How far was he from the cabin?
He’d been out about an hour. Didn’t think he’d turned enough to be headed back. But at his pace, even walking straight, he wouldn’t have gone that far.
He came to one end of whatever was blocking the path.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, as though solving some great conundrum. In his current world, this was one. A fact that might bother him later, when darkness set in and he looked back over his day. At the moment, he was occupied.
Challenging his brain.
He took a small step forward. His walking tool gave suddenly. Stumbling, Simon let go of the stick. The log had to be rotted, which meant any number of things could be living in it. Stepping back, he straightened, instinctively yanking off the eye patch. The first thing he saw was his cabin fifty yards away.
“Damn.” He was right back where he’d started.
And then he looked down.
“Holy shit.” He hadn’t been identifying a log.
He’d prodded a body. A body! Feminine. A hooded, long-sleeved sweater covered the top half of her.
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