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  Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Chase

  Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks

  Cover image © AleksandarNakic/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  A Sneak Peek of One More Promise

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Kathy. Thank you for keeping me organized and focused. Thank you for being a sounding board when I need it. But mostly, thank you for being a friend.

  xoxo

  Prologue

  Christmas morning

  Everything was in place, and Ian Shaughnessy yawned broadly as he looked around the living room. It was barely five a.m.—much too early to be up—but he relished the time alone on this particular morning.

  Christmas Day.

  Lily had loved all the holidays, but Christmas had always been her favorite. She loved shopping and decorating and making sure she had gotten all the kids what they most wanted and putting it under the tree for them. Part of her fun came from placing wrapped gifts from her and Ian under the tree and then having the biggest item on each child’s list set off to the side unwrapped—except for a big red bow—from Santa. It didn’t matter how old the boys had gotten; they loved the tradition.

  Glancing over at the row of Santa gifts, he smiled. A new toolbox for Aidan, a set of luggage for Hugh, new racing gloves and a helmet for Quinn, a stereo recorder and microphone for Riley, a new telescope for Owen, and a dollhouse for Darcy.

  That’s where his gaze locked, and he felt tears burn his eyes.

  Lily had never experienced a Christmas with her daughter. As much as she had loved her boys, she’d been simply over the moon about Darcy. He chuckled as he remembered how she had started buying Christmas gifts for their daughter as soon as she was born. That first Christmas without Lily, he was thankful for the chance to put those precious gifts under the tree. Darcy wouldn’t know the difference, but he did.

  Darcy.

  His normally chatty and excitable child had been rather subdued lately—which was odd. The fact that it was so close to Christmas made it doubly so.

  Her Christmas list had been short—a dollhouse, a doll, a dress, and roller skates. Ian had expected a much longer list, but since she was only six, he supposed she’d get to that stage eventually.

  But then there was her behavior.

  She’d been good. Really good. Extra good.

  Her room had been spotless for weeks. She helped out around the house and went to bed on time without giving him any trouble at all. She was polite to everyone. And while these were all wonderful things, they weren’t completely normal for Darcy.

  “A little early for you, isn’t it, Dad?”

  Ian turned as his eldest son walked toward him. Seeing him in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, it was hard to believe Aidan was a college graduate already making plans to start his own construction company. Right now, he looked like…well, a child. Ian’s child.

  “You know I wanted to make sure everything was set up and ready. Besides, it’s not often I get to enjoy this much alone time.”

  Aidan chuckled. “I’m going to start the coffee.”

  “Already ahead of you.” Together, they walked into the kitchen, poured themselves mugs of coffee, and sat at the table. Ian decided to run his musings by his son. “Have you noticed anything odd about Darcy lately?”

  “In what way? She’s six. There are a lot of odd things about her.”

  Ian shared his observations and then waited. Aidan was his most level-headed child, and if he noticed anything, Ian might feel a little bit better.

  “It’s Christmastime, and she’s probably being good for Santa so she won’t get coal in her stocking.” He shrugged. “If you’re lucky, she’ll keep it going long after Christmas.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m failing her.”

  “Why?”

  “Aidan, she’s already figured out that she’s different from all her friends because she doesn’t have a mom.”

  “She has a mom,” Aidan replied fiercely.

  “You know what I mean. My heart breaks when I watch her with her teachers at school or her friends’ moms…hell, even watching her with Mary Hannigan. Mary was your mom’s best friend, and she’s done so much to make sure Darcy has a female figure in her life, but…”

  “But?”

  “Mary has children of her own. Bobby and Anna are growing up, and I’ve noticed how Darcy gets jealous when Mary can’t spend time with her or if she finds out Mary’s doing something with Anna and she’s not invited. How do you explain to a six-year-old that Mary and Anna are mother and daughter and can’t always include her in their plans?”

  “Dad, she’ll have to get used to it. Mary’s great, and we all appreciate everything she does, but she’s not Darcy’s mom. It’s not up to her to take on that role, and Darcy will learn to deal with it.”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it. I do my best to be both mom and dad to her. We all dote on her and make sure she’s not missing out on anything. If anything, she’s probably a little overindulged.” He paused. “That’s what makes this whole pattern of behavior so strange.”

  “I still think it’s a Santa thing. She’ll be back to her old self by the time we finish breakfast.”

  Ian wasn’t so sure. They sat in silence and finished their coffee.

  “The stampede should begin any minute,” Aidan said as he rinsed out his mug. “It’s funny how we never could get up on time for school, but on Chr
istmas morning, everyone’s up and ready at six o’clock on the dot!”

  Ian chuckled softly. “It’s one of the great things about being a kid. Even as an adult, you can’t help but get excited on Christmas morning. There’s something special about it.”

  Aidan nodded, looking at the floor. “It was Mom’s favorite.”

  “Yes, it was.” He was about to say more, but he heard footsteps overhead. “And so it begins.”

  “I see you’re already prepared in here too with everything ready to go for breakfast.”

  “Can’t break tradition. Belgian waffles. I know I don’t make them quite the way she did, but I’m getting better.”

  Walking over, Aidan put an arm around his father’s shoulders and hugged him. “You do great, Dad.”

  Within minutes, everyone was gathered in the living room and began tearing through their Santa gifts. Ian watched the smiles on each child’s face as they opened their presents—and he was thrilled with their reactions.

  Happiness.

  Surprise.

  Anticipation.

  And Darcy was looking a little perplexed. He was about to ask her if she was all right, but Aidan began handing out more gifts, and it distracted her, and she was smiling again. Every few minutes, however, that look was back.

  Had he missed something?

  Had he somehow forgotten something from her wish list?

  Lost in his thoughts, he missed most of the craziness of the rest of the gift exchange, and then it was time to start breakfast.

  “Okay! You know the rules. You all are in charge of getting this wrapping paper and extra boxes cleaned up. We’ll be eating in twenty minutes.”

  One of the great things about his kids—they were cooperative.

  Most of the time.

  Well, especially on Christmas morning.

  Soon they were seated, and everyone was talking excitedly about what they had gotten. Beside Ian, Darcy was daintily eating her waffle—graceful as a princess, he mused. “It looks like Santa saw what a good girl you’ve been,” he said, reaching over and stroking her dark hair.

  She nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “How’s your breakfast?”

  Looking up at him, she flashed him her most precious smile. “It’s wonderful, Daddy. You make the best waffles in the whole wide world.”

  His heart filled with pride and love and…just more of everything. “Thank you, sweet pea.”

  Around them, the boys were all talking and making plans to try out their new gadgets after breakfast. Ian had to remind them about one last round of cleanups before they could go, and once everyone finished eating, they all jumped up to help.

  “May I be excused for a minute, Daddy?” Beside him, Darcy stood.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said excitedly. “I promise!”

  Before he could comment, she was running from the room.

  “What’s with her?” Quinn asked, reaching over and picking up his sister’s empty breakfast plate.

  “Not sure,” Ian replied, slightly distracted. “C’mon. Let’s get this mess cleaned up so we can make an even bigger one later with dinner.”

  They all laughed and began to move the dishes to the kitchen. With that room under control, Ian wandered to the living room and saw Owen and Riley picking up the last of the discarded wrapping paper.

  “Hard to believe it was such a mess an hour ago, right, Dad?” Riley asked with a chuckle.

  “You boys do great work!”

  “Can I take my microphone upstairs?”

  “Can I take my telescope outside and test it out on my stand?”

  Ian was about to answer when Quinn and Hugh walked into the room. “We’re going to set up a video game tournament upstairs,” Quinn said to the twins. “Either of you want in?”

  Aidan sauntered in and smiled at them all. “Did I hear video game tournament? I think you should all prepare to lose!”

  They were so busy laughing and talking smack to one another that at first, Ian didn’t notice his daughter coming down the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the red velvet dress she had just gotten, and he could only stop and stare.

  Her hair was brushed neatly, and she had put a white ribbon in it.

  The dress was pristine, and she had already put on tights and her best shoes.

  And she descended the stairs as if she were doing it for the queen herself.

  At once, conversation stopped as all six Shaughnessy men stared.

  Darcy stopped on the landing and looked at them and then beyond them to the living room. The smile she had been wearing dropped ever so slightly. “What’s everybody doing?” she asked.

  “Um, the boys are going to play video games and—”

  “But they can’t!” she cried. “We’re not done! All the presents aren’t done!”

  Ian looked nervously at his sons before turning to his only daughter. “What are you talking about, Darce? We opened all the presents. Santa was here and gone last night and left all the gifts.”

  Tears welled up in her big eyes, and for the life of him, Ian had no idea what had brought this on or what he was supposed to do.

  “But…but I sent Santa my letter,” she said, her voice trembling. “And…and he brought me everything else that was on my list. Everything! There’s only one more!” Tears rolled down her cheeks in earnest.

  Crouching beside her, Ian wrapped an arm around her tiny frame. “Sweetheart, I’m sure Santa remembered everything. You gave me your list too, remember? And everything you had on it—”

  She shook her head. “I sent him a special letter. A secret one!” she cried. “It was supposed to be just for Santa to read!”

  “O-kay,” he began cautiously. “What was in your letter?”

  And for the first time that morning, Ian saw the uncertainty. The self-awareness. His normally confident daughter suddenly didn’t seem so sure of herself, and he had a feeling it was because they were all standing around watching her. But when he was about to ask his sons to go and let them have a little privacy, Darcy spoke.

  “I asked Santa for a mommy,” she said finally. Then she looked up at him pleadingly. “Why didn’t he bring her for me?”

  Chapter 1

  There had been a light dusting of snow overnight, and as Benjamin Tanner watched the sunrise, he realized this scene never got old. This was where he was meant to be—to live and breathe—in the mountains of Washington.

  That didn’t mean he didn’t want to travel or see some of the rest of the world, but this was always going to be where he called home. His brothers had both moved away once they’d finished college, and while it meant he didn’t see them very much, Ben understood the need to forge your own path.

  The forests, the mountains, and working with actual wood had never appealed to either Jack or Henry. For as long as Ben could remember, his brothers had been athletes and intellectuals, and neither had any interest in anything remotely artistic that required working with their hands. And he was fine with it. Really. Growing up, it had meant Ben got to spend a lot of quality time with his grandfather that his brothers never got to experience. It meant that all of his grandfather’s hard work had led to something—to leaving a legacy that was now Ben’s to pass on someday.

  Some. Day.

  Maybe.

  If he didn’t start getting his priorities in order, there wouldn’t be anyone to leave this legacy to, and that made him sad. Turning away from the window, Ben looked at the open floor plan of the home’s main floor. At one time, this had been a simple three-room cabin his grandfather had built. Over the years he’d expanded, and when his grandparents had died and left the house to him, Ben knew he’d make improvements on it. And he had. Some were out of necessity, and others were… Well, everyone should liv
e in a space they enjoyed.

  The property was magnificent, and his grandfather’s workshop was still standing. There was a lot of new equipment and upgrades out there too, but for the most part, Ben preferred working with the same tools his grandfather had used. Of course, over the years, so many of them had needed to be replaced, but he did his best to stick to the basics and stay away from the newer power tools.

  Anyone could work with those.

  It took time and patience and skill to do it all by hand.

  Speaking of… He took a minute and flexed his left hand. It still hurt like a son of a bitch, and he knew it would continue to feel that way for a couple of days—not enough to make him stop working, but it was going to slow him down. And right now, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There was nothing worse than the sting of a sharp metal blade cutting through skin, no matter how many times it happened.

  Looking over at the kitchen table, he saw the letter that had turned his perfectly peaceful world upside down. He’d committed to doing a book on his art and sculptures, and he was supposed to do a fair amount of writing—including a very lengthy foreword and introduction—and he hadn’t done jack shit to get it done.

  And now he was out of time.

  As much as it pained him to admit, he needed help. Fast. He needed to find someone who was organized and had a basic knowledge and appreciation for art—specifically the kind of art that he did. On top of that, they needed to be able to write about it in a way that would make readers both intrigued and excited about his work. There was only one person he could think of to fit the bill, and that was Savannah Daly—well, Savannah Shaughnessy now. She’d interviewed him about three years ago, and even though he’d been vehemently against it at the time, she’d been fairly easy to work with—not intrusive, and she didn’t waste time. She came and got on with the interview and was gone without it being too incredibly awkward. And in the end, she’d done a kick-ass article that had garnered him enough new clients to keep him working well into the next decade.

  She’d kept in touch since then, sending him cards or notes when she’d seen or read something about his work. Honestly, if he had to have someone here in his house for a couple of days to get this whole book thing off his plate, he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want to do it. He considered her a friend.