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A Daddy For Christmas Mass Market Paperback – November 11, 2008

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Product Details

  • Mass Market Paperback: 224 pages
  • Publisher: Harlequin (November 11, 2008)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0373752377
  • ISBN-13: 978-0373752379
  • Product Dimensions: 6.6 x 4.1 x 0.9 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 4.8 ounces
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #4,056,709 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Laura Marie Altom of Tulsa, Oklahoma is the best-selling, award-winning author of twenty-four books. Her works have made several appearances on both the Barnes and Noble and Waldenbooks’ Best-seller lists.  This mother of fifteen-year-old twins  has spoken on numerous occasions at both regional and national conferences, and teaches reading at a Tulsa middle school. She’s been married to her college sweetheart for nineteen years.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

If Jess Cummings didn't act fast, the colt would have to be shot.

The heartrending sound of the young quarter horse's cries, the sight of blood staining his golden coat, made her eyes sting and throat ache. But she refused to give in to tears. For the colt's sake, for the girls' sake, but most of all, for Dwayne, to whom this land and its every creature had meant so much, Jess had to stay strong.

For what felt like an eternity, while the colt's momma neighed nervously behind the broken gate the colt had slipped through, Jess struggled to free the animal from his barbed-wire cage. Muscles straining, ignoring the brutal December wind's bite, she worked on, heedless of her own pain when the barbs pierced her gloves.

"You've got to calm down," she said, praying the colt her two girls had named Honey would somehow understand.

Not only didn't he still, but he also struggled all the harder. Kicking and snorting. Twisting the metal around his forelegs and rump and even his velvety nose that her daughters so loved to stroke.

The more the vast Oklahoma plain's wind howled, the more the colt fought, the more despair rose in Jess's throat. It was only two days before Christmas, and the holiday would be tough enough to get through. Why, why, was this happening now? How many times had she spoke up at grange meetings about the illegal dumping going on in the far southeast corner of her land? How many times had she begged the sheriff to look into the matter before one of her animals—or, God forbid, children—ended up hurt? For an inquisitive colt, the bushel of rotting apples and other trash lobbed alongside hundreds of feet of rusty barbed wire had made for an irresistible challenge.

"Shh…" she crooned, though the horse fought harder and harder until he eventually lost balance, falling onto his side. "Honey, you'll be all right. Everything's going to be all right."


Cold sweat trickled down her back as she worked, and she promised herself that this time her words would ring true. That this crisis—unlike Dwayne's—could be resolved in a good way. A happy way. A way that didn't involve tears.

From behind her came a low rumbling, and the crunch of wheels on the lonely dirt road.

She glanced north to see a black pickup approach, kicking dust against an angry gunmetal sky. She knew every vehicle around these parts, and this one didn't belong. Someone's holiday company? Didn't matter why the traveler was there. All that truly mattered was flagging him or her down in time to help.

"I'll be right back," she said to Honey before charging into the road's center, frantically waving her arms. "Help! Please, help!"

The pickup's male driver fishtailed to a stop on the weed-choked shoulder, instantly grasping the gravity of the situation. "Hand me those," the tall, lean cowboy-type said as he jumped out from behind the wheel, nodding to her wire cutters before tossing a weather-beaten Stetson into the truck's bed. "I'll cut while you try calming him down."

Working in tandem, the stranger snipped the wire, oblivious to the bloodied gouges on his fingers and palms, as Jess smoothed the colt's mane and ears, all the while crooning the kind of nonsensical comfort she would've to a fevered child.

In his weakened state, the colt had stopped struggling, yet his big brown eyes were still wild.

"Call your vet?" the stranger asked.

"I would've, but I don't have a cell."

"Here," he said, standing and passing off the wire cutters. "Use Doc Matthews?"

"Yes, but—" Before she could finish her question as to how he even knew the local horse and cattle expert, the stranger was halfway to his truck. Focusing on the task at hand, she figured on grilling the man about his identity later. After Honey was out of the proverbial woods.

"Doc's on his way," the man said a short while later, cell tucked in the chest pocket of his tan, denim work jacket. "And from the looks of this little fella, the sooner Doc gets here, the better."

Jess snipped the last of the wire from Honey's right foreleg, breathing easier now that the colt at least had a fighting chance. He'd lost a lot of blood, and the possibility of an infection would be a worry, but for the moment, all she could do was sit beside him, rubbing between his ears. "I can't thank you enough for stopping."

"It's what anyone would've done."

"Yes, well…" Words were hard to get past the burning knot in her throat. "Thanks."

The grim-faced stranger nodded, then went back to his truck bed for a saddle blanket he gently settled over the colt. "It's powerful cold out here. I'd like to go ahead and get him to your barn, but without the doc first checking the extent of his injuries—"

"I agree," she said. "It's probably best I wait here for him. But you go on to wherever you were headed. Your family's no doubt missing you."

His only answer was a grunt.

Turning the collar up on his jacket, eyeing her oversize coat, he asked, "Warm enough?"

"Fine," she lied, wondering if it was a bad sign that she could hardly feel her toes.

They sat in silence for a spell, icy wind pummeling their backs, Jess at the colt's head, the stranger at the animal's left flank.

"Name's Gage," he said after a while. "Gage Moore."

"J-Jess Cummings." Teeth chattering, she held out her gloved hand for him to shake, but quickly thought better. A nasty cut, rust-colored with dried blood, ran the length of his right forefinger. His left pinkie hadn't fared much better. Both palms were crisscrossed with smaller cuts, and a frighteningly large amount of blood. "You need a doctor yourself."

He shrugged. "I've suffered worse."

The shadows behind his eyes told her he wasn't just talking about his current physical pain.

"Still. If you'd like to follow me and Doc Matthews back to the house, I've got a first-aid kit. Least I can do is bandage you up."

He answered with another shrug.

"Some of those look pretty deep. You may need stitches."

"I'm good," he said, gazing at the colt.

Jess knew the man was far from good, but seeing as how the vet had pulled his truck and trailer alongside them, she let the matter slide.

"Little one," the kindly old vet said to Honey on his approach, raising bushy white eyebrows and shaking his head, "you've been nothing but trouble since the day you were born."

Black leather medical kit beside him, Doc Matthews knelt to perform a perfunctory examination. He wasn't kidding about Honey having been into his fair share of mischief. He'd given his momma, Buttercup, a rough breech labor, then had proceeded along his rowdy ways to gallop right into a hornet's nest, bite into an unopened feed bag and eat himself into quite a bellyache, and now, this.

"He going to be all right?" Jess was almost afraid to ask. "You know how attached the girls are. I don't know how I'd break it to them if—"

"Don't you worry," Doc said. "This guy's tougher than he looks. I'm going to give him something for pain, have Gage help settle him and his momma in my trailer and out of this chill. Then we'll get them back to the barn so I can stitch up the little guy and salve these wounds. After that, with antibiotics and rest, he should be right as rain."

Relieved tears stung her eyes, but still Jess wouldn't allow herself the luxury of breaking down.

"How'd you get all the way out here?" Doc asked her after he and Gage gingerly placed Honey and her still-agitated momma in the horse trailer attached to the vet's old Ford. He did a quick search for Jess's truck, or Smoky Joe—the paint she'd been riding since her sixteenth birthday.

In all the excitement, Jess realized she hadn't tethered Smoky, meaning by now, he was probably back at the barn. With a wry smile, she said, "Looks like I've been abandoned. You know Smoky, he's never been a big fan of cold or Honey's brand of adventure."

"Yup." Doc laughed. "Ask me, he's the smartest one in the bunch." Sighing, heading for his pickup with Matthews's Veterinary Services painted on the doors, he said, "Oh, well, hop in the cab with me, and we'll warm up while catching up."

"Shouldn't I ride in back with the patient?"

"Relax. After the shot I gave him, he'll be happy for a while, already dreaming of the next time he gives you and I a coronary."

"Should I, ah, head back to your place?" Gage asked.

"Nope," Doc said. "Martha wanted to keep you with us 'til after the holidays, but I figure now's as good a time as any for you and Jess to get better acquainted."

"Mind telling me what that's supposed to mean?" Jess asked once she and Doc were in his truck. She'd removed her gloves and fastened her seat belt, and now held cold-stiffened fingers in front of the blasting heat vents.


"Don't act all innocent with me. You know exactly, what. Have you and my father been matchmaking again? If so, I—"

"Settle yourself right on down, little lady. Trust me, we learned our lesson after Pete Clayton told us you ran him off your place with a loaded shotgun."

"He tried kissing me."

"Can you blame him?" the older man said with a chuckle. "If you weren't young enough to be my granddaughter, you're pretty enough I might have a try at you myself."

Lips pursed, Jess shook her head. "Dwayne's only been gone—"

"Barely over a year. I know, Jess. We all know. But you're a bright and beautiful—and very much alive— young woman with two rowdy girls to raise. Dwayne wouldn't want you living like you do, with one foot practically in your own grave."

"As usual, you're being melodramatic. Me and the girls are happy as can be expected, thank you very much. I have no interest in dating—especially not another cowboy you and my daddy come up with."

"Understood," he said, turning into her gravel drive. "Which is why Gage's only in town to help you out around the ranch."

"What?" Popping off her seat belt, she angled on the seat to cast Doc her most fearsome glare.

"Simmer down. Everyone who loves you is worried. There's too much work here to handle on your own— especially with foaling season right around the corner. We've taken up a collection, and paid Gage his fi...

More About the Author

Laura Marie Altom is the author over 40 books in three different genres. She's been happily married to her college sweetheart (Go Hogs!) for 25 years and believes their boy/girl twins actively plot to drive her crazy!

Now that her kiddos are in college, Laura spends her days contentedly writing and chasing after the family menagerie of pets, ranging from a mutt named Sweet Pea, a mini-long-haired dachshund named Cocoa, a Yorkie named Daisy, and Domino--a black-and-white stealth cat she rarely sees. There are also plenty of ducks and geese who live in the backyard pond but would like to live in the house!

When night falls, Laura steals a few romantic moments for herself and her own hunky cover stud!

Laura loves hearing from readers and may be reached via email at BaliPalm@aol.com or snail mail at P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101.

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