All She Wants for Christmas. Stacy Connelly

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СКАЧАТЬ to marry, had instantly dragged her into the past. Into her old insecurities about her self-worth.

      She wasn’t like other people. She didn’t have biological ties to bind her to another living soul. She wasn’t Bob and Carol’s daughter or Jimmy’s little sister.

      Holly had truly thought she’d escaped those stigmas, until Mark’s insensitive remark brought them all back. Now she couldn’t escape the fear that her rootless past might haunt her yet again. What if the system decided a nobody like her wasn’t good enough to be a foster mother?

      “Look, maybe there’s something I can do,” Clay offered.

      It took a second for Holly to refocus on the conversation and realize he was talking about the Santa-less Christmas party. “I don’t know what,” she said, not putting much hope in the offer as the elevator bell announced their arrival at the top floor.

      “Let’s call Charlie.”

      Slipping through the doors the moment they opened, Clay didn’t look back as his long strides carried him into the reception area. Completely focused on what he wanted, he didn’t wait to see if she followed. Holly gazed at the button for the lobby. It would be so easy to push the button and slip away from Clay Forrester, hopefully leaving her disconcerting attraction behind….

      “I don’t have his number,” she said as she stepped off the elevator and into the plush office. Her heels sank into the patterned carpet, and she glanced at the leather chairs and a circular work-station. Double doors barred the way to Clay’s inner sanctum.

      “Okay.” Her words barely slowed his stride. “I’ll call the hotel where my party’s being held and tell Charlie to go to yours instead.”

      His determination knocked the legs out from under her earlier anger. After all, Charlie was the one who’d broken his promise, but Holly couldn’t forget that Clay’s money had been the deciding factor. As always, money talked, and Holly went through life unheard.

      “What time does your party start?” she asked.

      Clay twisted his wrist to check his watch, and Holly caught a glimpse of gold and the expensive wink of diamonds. “In an hour and a half.”

      An hour and a half before they could reach Charlie—if he showed on time—then the ride from the hotel to Hopewell House…Holly shook her head. “That would be too late.”

      The children at Hopewell House were no strangers to disappointment, a feeling Holly recalled all too well from her own childhood. But how she had wanted their last Christmas together to be one to remember!

      “Too late?” Clay echoed. “Where are you supposed to be tonight?”

      “At a party at Hopewell House.”

      “What’s that?”

      “It’s a group home for foster children.”

      He stared at her. “You mean to tell me that I stole Santa Claus from a bunch of foster kids?” Regret etched a line between his eyebrows as he sank back against the reception desk, and Holly had the odd desire to make him feel better.

      “I’ll think of something.”

      Maybe the two women who ran the group home had kept Santa’s arrival a secret. Perhaps she could arrange for a different Santa to entertain the kids. It would have to be soon, though, before the children were separated and placed in new homes. Before Hopewell House closed forever.

      She was turning to leave when Clay called out, “Wait.”

      He caught her hand for a brief second, and a tingle of warmth shot up her arm, even after she pulled her hand from his grasp. Holly longed to wipe her palm against her jeans to dull the sensation. But the sudden intensity in his blue eyes indicated he’d experienced the same flare of attraction. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she couldn’t look away, the sexual connection far harder to break than the physical one.

      “Miss Bain…Holly,” he hesitated. “If there’s anything I can do…”

      She shook her head. “I don’t know how much it cost you to buy my Santa, but this isn’t a problem money can solve.”

      Holly pulled her beat-up Volkswagen Bug to a stop in front of Hopewell House. Looking at the house, with its cheery Christmas lights and welcoming glow, she took a deep breath.

      Normally, she loved volunteering at the group home. With the impending closure, she’d spent every spare moment inside its warm, loving walls. The children never failed to lift her spirits, but tonight she dreaded the thought of entering the two-story brownstone.

      After leaving Clay in his office, Holly had gone back to the flower shop. She’d worked her way through the directory listings for costume shops. Most of her calls had gone straight through to voice mail; those that had been answered had ended in disappointment, with all the Santa suits already rented.

      Her breath began to fog the windows, and Holly couldn’t put it off any longer. Bundled up against the chilly Chicago night, she climbed from the car, slammed the door, and ran up the walkway to the steps.

      The second she set foot on the porch, the front door opened, and Eleanor Hopewell waved her plump hands, urging her inside. “Come in! Come in! You’ll catch your death.”

      The sixty-something woman gathered Holly’s knitted scarf and jacket and hung them on waist-high, bright plastic hooks. “The children are so excited!” Eleanor’s faded blue eyes sparkled behind her glasses.

      Holly held back a groan. “Eleanor—”

      Before Holly had the chance to break the bad news, Eleanor’s sister, Sylvia, bustled into the foyer. “What are you doing keeping Holly in the doorway? Bring her into the parlor! Mary Jane can’t wait for you to hear her songs!”

      Flanked by the two women, Holly dragged her feet but still wound up in the parlor. A half a dozen kids, ranging in age from three to seven, looked up as she entered.

      “Holly, do you want to hear ‘Frosty the Snowman’ or ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’?” Mary Jane called out, her small hands poised above the piano’s keys.

      “That’s not a Christmas song!” a know-it-all voice shouted.

      “Is too!” Mary Jane argued. “’Cause there’s a star on top of the tree.”

      “Miss Holly?” Holly felt a tug at her sweater and looked down. Bright blue eyes stared up at her from beneath a fringe of blond bangs. She knelt down until she was face-to-face with the three-year-old boy. Longing and hope rushed through her. Would she be given the chance to adopt Lucas? To be more than Miss Holly to this little boy she adored? “Hi, Lucas.”

      A look of concern crossed his face. “How can San’a come down the chi’ney now?”

      Holly followed the chubby finger he pointed toward the fireplace. Homemade stockings hung from the mantle, and a cheery fire blazed in the hearth. The mention of Santa sent disappointment surging through her. “Lucas, about Santa—”

      Eleanor interrupted before Holly could break the news. “Now, Lucas, don’t worry. Santa Claus has to be very clever to get toys to all the good boys СКАЧАТЬ