Christmas Lone-Star Style Read online

  “But where will you stay?”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Linda Turner

  About the Author

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “But where willyoustay?”

  “With the three of you in the apartment,” Mitch retorted bluntly. “It’ll be cramped, but it’s only a temporary measure, and I’ll be out of town a lot—which is why I need you to live here at the Social Club. You can handle whatever comes up while I’m gone.”

  Stunned, Phoebe could only stare at him. He was serious. He actually expected her to move in with him—a man she’d known for all of twenty-four hours—just because he’d offered her a so-called job! Did he think she was so destitute that she would do anything for money?

  “Let me get this straight. You’re offering me a job, but I have to live with you. And just what exactly would you be paying me for? The duties you already described, or something a little more, shall we say...intimate?”

  Dear Reader,

  Happy holidaze! The holiday season always does pass in a bit of a daze, with all the shopping and wrapping and partying, the cooking and (of course!) the eating. So take some time for yourself with our six Intimate Moments novels, each one of them a wonderful Christmas treat.

  Start by paying a visit to THE LONE STAR SOCIAL CLUB, Linda Turner’s setting for Christmas Lone-Star Style. Remember, those Texans know how to do things in a big way! Then join Suzanne Brockmann for another TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS title, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. I wouldn’t mind waking up and finding Crash Hawken under my Christmas tree! Historical writer Patricia Potter makes a slam-bang contemporary debut with Home for Christmas, our FAMILIES ARE FOREVER title. Wrongly convicted and without the memories that could save him, Ryan Murphy is a hero to treasure. Award winner Ruth Wind returns with For Christmas, Forever. Isn’t this the season when mysterious strangers come bearing...romance tinged with danger? Debra Cowan’s One Silent Night is our MEN IN BLUE title. I’d be happy to “unwrap” Sam Garrett on Christmas morning. Finally, welcome mainstream author Christine Michels to the line. A Season of Miracles carries the TRY TO REMEMBER flash, though you’ll have no trouble at all remembering this warm holiday love story.

  It’s time to take the “daze” out of the holidays, so enjoy all six of these seasonal offerings. Of course, don’t forget that next month marks a new year, so come back then for more of the best romance reading around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Seasons Greetings,

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  * * *

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  * * *

  Linda Turner

  Christmas Lone-Star Style

  Books by Linda Turner

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  The Echo of Thunder #238

  Crosscurrents #263

  An Unsuspecting Heart #298

  Flirting with Danger #316

  Moonlight and Lace #354

  The Love of Dugan Magee #448

  *Gable’s Lady #523

  *Cooper #553

  *Flynn #572

  *Kat #590

  Who’s the Boss? #649

  The Loner #673

  Maddy Lawrence’s Big Adventure #709

  The Lady in Red #763

  †I’m Having Your Baby?! #799

  †A Marriage-Minded Man? #829

  †The Proposal #847

  †Christmas Lone-Star Style #895

  *The Wild West

  †The Lone Star Social Club

  Silhouette Desire

  A Glimpse of Heaven #220

  Wild Texas Rose #653

  Philly and the Playboy #701

  The Seducer #802

  Heaven Can’t Wait #929

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Shadows in the Night #350

  Silhouette Books

  Silhouette Christmas Kisses 1996

  “A Wild West Christmas”

  Fortune’s Children

  The Wolf and the Dove

  LINDA TURNER

  began reading romances in high school and began writing them one night when she had nothing else to read. She’s been writing ever since. Single and living in Texas, she travels every chance she gets, scouting locales for her books.

  Prologue

  When the phone rang at two-thirty in the morning, it was a given that the news wasn’t good. It never was in the dark of night. Instantly awake, Mitch Ryan rolled over and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Mitch! Thank God you’re home! I was afraid you were gone on one of your business trips and I didn’t know how I was going to reach you—”

  At the sound of panic in his aunt’s voice, Mitch felt his gut clench like a fist. Alice Truelove was one of those rare people who went through life with an easygoing grace that he couldn’t help but admire. When other people were running around losing their heads, she could always be counted on to keep hers and remain calm. Something had to be very wrong for her to be rattled.

  Sitting up, he switched on the bedside light. “It’s all right, Alice,” he said quietly. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Glen,” she choked. “He’s had an accident. Emily just called.”

  At the mention of Alice’s daughter and her husband, Mitch’s lean face settled into grim lines. “How bad is it? Was Emily with him? What about the baby?”

  “No, they were both at home. Dear God, I don’t know what I would do if they’d been with him! A trucker ran a red light and hit Glen broadside, just three blocks from their house.”

  Mitch swore softly. “How badly is he hurt?”

  “He’s got a broken leg and a fractured shoulder, but that’s not the worst of it. His head went through the window, and there could be brain damage,” she said tearfully. “I have to go, Mitch. With the baby and everything, Emily needs me.”

  That went without saying. Emily was one of Mitch’s favorite cousins, and he knew that she didn’t deal well with anything that even resembled a crisis. She needed someone to lean on, to turn to when there was trouble, and with her husband out of commission for God knew how long, not to mention a two-month-old baby to take care of, the only support group she had left was her family—her mother most of all.

  “Do you want the jet? I can have it fueled up and in San Antonio within a couple of hours. You can be in L.A. by the time the sun comes up.”

  Some of Alice’s panic subsided at the quick offer, and she sighed shakily. “Thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you to help me calm down, but I won’t need your plane. I’ve already called the airlines and made a reservation for a seven-thirty flight in the morning. I just don’t know what to do about the Social Club. I may be gone a while, and that could be a problem.”

  “The only thing you need to worry about right now is Emily and Glen,” Mitch assured her. “You stay as long as they need you. The Social Club’s been there for over a hundred years. It’s not going anywhere while you’re gone.”

  “But you wanted me to get started on the remodeling of the attic,” she reminded him, “and I haven’t even had
time to talk to an architect about it yet. And what about the tenants? I can’t just leave them there with no one in charge. What if there’s a problem—or an emergency? And who’ll collect the rent? Someone has to be there.”

  “Get a temporary to take over for you,” he suggested. “Or a management service to handle things until you get back.”

  “There isn’t time. And I can’t turn the keys over to just anybody. They need to be interviewed and have their references checked, and I can’t do that from California.”

  As far as hints went, it was a fairly subtle one—for Alice. She wanted him to fly to San Antonio and take care of things until she got back. Swallowing a groan at the thought, Mitch’s first instinct was to tell her to forget it. Old man Applebee, a business nemesis, was up to his usual tricks. Mitch couldn’t leave Dallas right now without risking a major financial setback.

  But he knew how Alice felt about the Social Club. How the whole family felt about it, in fact. Back in the days after the Civil War, Gertrude Ryan, his widowed great-great-grandmother, started the Lone Star Social Club in her house on the banks of the San Antonio River. There, cowboys in town from the cattle drives could meet nice women in a socially correct setting, and for a number of years, Gertrude Ryan was not only wildly successful, but the talk of the town. But then social clubs went out of fashion and she was eventually forced to put the house on the market. It was sold to a Yankee, and for many years the family had talked of getting it back.

  So when the old Victorian house came on the market over a decade ago, he hadn’t hesitated to buy it. Located right in the heart of downtown San Antonio on the River Walk and on the verge of being torn down, it was a sound business venture he couldn’t pass up. He’d bought it for a song, restored it and turned it into eight unique apartments.

  Right from the beginning, there’d never been any question in his mind whom he would ask to live there and act as caretaker and manager. Alice had always loved the house and knew its history as well as she knew the lines on her own hand. So Mitch wasn’t really surprised that on her list of worries, the Lone Star Social Club would be right behind a family emergency. If he didn’t fly down there and make sure the right person was hired to look after the place while she was helping Emily in L.A., she’d worry about it until he did. And she had enough on her plate as it was.

  “Don’t worry about the Social Club,” he scolded. “Right now, your main concern is Glen and Emily. Go out to L.A. and stay as long as they need you. I’ll take care of things in San Antonio.”

  “Personally? You’re going to fly down here?”

  “Just as soon as I clear up a few business matters,” he assured her. “Then I’ll look around for someone to take over for you until you get back. And don’t worry—it’ll be somebody you’d approve of yourself, not a management company. Okay?”

  “But what about the remodeling? You shouldn’t have to put it off just because I have to take a leave of absence. While you’re there, why don’t you go ahead and have an architect draw up some plans? You could handle that better than I could anyway.”

  Resigned, he sighed. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll talk to an architect, a contractor, whatever you want. Now will you go to L.A.?”

  Pleased, she laughed, and for a minute, she sounded like her old self, the one who never worried. “First thing in the morning. Thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you. You’re always so sweet.”

  Applebee and any number of business associates in Dallas would have laughed at the idea of anyone calling him any such thing. Ruthless? Yes. Sharp as an executioner’s blade? Without a doubt. But sweet? Only with those he cared about. “Go to L.A., Alice,” he said dryly, grinning. “The Social Club will be well taken care of while you’re gone.”

  Chapter 1

  Mitch had never seen anything like it in his life. The front porch of the Lone Star Social Club was so packed with people that the crowd spilled down the steps and into the yard. Elbow to elbow and wedged tighter than too many teeth in a small mouth, strangers jockeyed for position and refused to budge so much as an inch as they fought to be the first through the front door.

  Drawing up to the curb before the front walk, the cab driver glanced over his shoulder at Mitch and arched a brow at him. “You sure this is the place you want to go, mister? That looks like a pretty nasty crowd to me. Somebody inside giving away free lottery tickets or what?”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously on a tall, skinny hippie-type who just then stepped out of the house clutching an antique beveled mirror to his chest like they were connected at the belly button. Mitch swore softly. “I don’t know, but I mean to find out.”

  Shoving the fare and a tip into the driver’s hand, he grabbed his suitcase and pushed open the rear passenger door. Seconds later, he was shouldering his way through the crowd. “Excuse me, please. Let me through. I just need to get around you—”

  “Hey, no cuts!”

  “Wait your turn, mister! We were here first.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, buddy, but I’ve been waiting two hours to get in this joint. If you think you can just waltz in here and push in front of everyone, you’re crazy. The line starts at the curb.”

  Angry mutterings and dirty looks hit him from all sides, but he ignored them and pushed determinedly on. Grudgingly, people gave way, but not without telling him first what they thought of him. By the time he reached the porch, he felt like a new recruit who had just run his first gauntlet at boot camp and was lucky to still be in one piece.

  But if he thought the group in the yard was a tough bunch, he soon discovered that the one on the porch gave a whole new meaning to the word unmoving. Digging in their heels, their faces as rigid as stone when he asked them to move, they just stood there like the blocks of granite at Stonehenge.

  Exasperated, he snapped, “What the hell is going on? I own this building and if somebody doesn’t tell me damn quick what you people are doing here, I’m calling the police.”

  “The police!” an older woman in the crowd gasped indignantly. “Why, I never! You just try that, young man, and you’re going to find yourself up to your ears in lawsuits! For your information, we’re here for an estate sale. One that’s advertised in this morning’s paper,” she added smugly. “Read it yourself if you don’t believe me.” Slapping him in the chest with the classified section, she jabbed at the column where the ad was printed: Estate Sale. Lone Star Social Club, Apartment 2C. Thursday, 9 to 6.

  Taking the crumpled paper from her, Mitch ground his teeth on a curse. In her late-night phone call Tuesday night, Alice had mentioned that old Lindsay in 2C had died at the beginning of the month, and that his family still had to remove his things from the apartment before the new tenants moved in next week. She’d warned him that he’d have to get the place cleaned, but she hadn’t said a word about an estate sale.

  Because, Mitch felt sure, she never would have allowed such a thing. Alice was as protective as a mother hen when it came to the Social Club, and with good cause. In spite of the fact that the old Victorian gingerbread had been divided into apartments, it still had common rooms for the tenants. And those rooms were decorated with priceless antiques and knickknacks, just the type of things that could easily disappear when there was a crowd of strangers in the house looking for a treasure.

  No, he told himself, he didn’t care that Lindsay’s heirs had placed an ad in the paper, he’d bet the grandfather clock in the foyer that they hadn’t told Alice a thing about it. And if that was the case, he was shutting them down just as soon as he could get upstairs and have a talk with whoever was in charge of the damn sale.

  “That may not be worth the paper it’s written on,” he warned the older lady as he stepped around her.

  Determined to get some answers, he was prepared to shove his way through the rest of the mob, but this time he was grudgingly allowed to pass. Then, just as he crossed the porch to the front door, the whole house seemed to shudder and groan. Inside, a man shouted a warning
that was abruptly followed by what sounded like a small explosion. A woman shrieked, then everyone seemed to be yelling.

  Swearing, Mitch pushed open the front door just as all hell broke loose. A pipe had broken in the ceiling and cold water gushed down on the crowd in the foyer like Niagara Falls. They pushed and shoved and screamed, but with so many people packed into the entrance hall waiting to get upstairs to the sale, it was impossible for all of them to avoid the icy spray. Still, they tried. And in the process, a birdlike old woman was knocked to the floor.

  “Watch it!” Mitch roared.

  No one heard him. And there was no way to get to the woman. Anxious to escape the deluge, the yelling and shouting crowd turned en masse toward where he stood just inside the front door. He either had to let them carry him with them outside or get trampled in the rush. Left with little choice, he chose the former.

  The throng on the porch, however, didn’t want to give way and lose their place in line to get inside to the sale. One man pushed another and they nearly came to blows. Mitch had never see anything like it in his life. Grown men fighting over some old furniture in a damn estate sale! And all the while, the Social Club was flooding like a sinking ship about to go under. Muttering curses under his breath, he pushed and jostled his way through the horde of bodies until he was finally able to burst free in the yard. The shutoff valve for the water was near the curb, and it only took him seconds to find it and cut off the water.

  In spite of that, Mitch knew the crisis was far from over. People were still angry and frightened, and inside, the old lady who had been flattened by the crowd was probably still on the floor. She might be injured badly. Not even bothering to consider whether he’d be able to fight his way through the mob again to get to her, he rushed around to the back and slipped inside through the garden entrance.