Once Upon a Christmas

The Rancher Meets His Match

Raising three sons and running his ranch keeps single dad Jared McCreedy busy from sunup to sundown. Becoming involved with feisty single mom Maggie Tate is not on his to-do list. But he needs her help dealing with his youngest son’s learning problem. Like Jared, Maggie doesn’t want any romantic complications in her life...especially with a man whose take-charge attitude makes her temper flare—and her pulse race. But the risk of opening her heart is great and she has her daughter to think about. Then again, it is the season for faith and miracles....

Jared was out of his comfort zone.

He was used to women who wore comfortable shirts tucked into jeans. Maggie Tate wore enough pink to be a flamingo. She didn’t look old enough to be a parent, let alone one who gave advice when the going got tough.

“The most important things I can tell you are don’t be afraid to ask for help, take all the advice that is offered and also be willing to sacrifice to get it.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Time mostly. You asked me for advice,” Maggie reminded him. “Funny, but it all goes back to something we talked about the first time we met. Here’s the truth. When dealing with Caleb, patience isn’t a virtue—it’s your only barrier between sanity and chaos.”

Great, Jared thought, because if he remembered correctly, she had told him on that first meeting that patience was seldom found in a woman and never in a man.

PAMELA TRACY

is an award-winning author who lives with her husband (he claims to be the inspiration for most of her heroes) and son (he claims to be the interference for most of her writing time). She started writing at a very young age—a series of romances, all with David Cassidy as the hero. Sometimes Bobby Sherman would interfere. Then, while earning a BA in journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas, she picked up the pen again. (This time it was an electric typewriter on which she wrote a very bad science-fiction novel.)

First published in 1999, Pamela is a winner of the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Book of the Year award and has been a RITA® Award finalist. Readers can write to her at www.pamelakayetracy.com or c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 01279. You can find out more about Pamela by visiting her blog, Craftie Ladies of Suspense, at www.ladiesofsuspense.blogspot.com.

Once Upon a Christmas

Pamela Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the Lord searches every heart

and understands every motive behind the thoughts.

—1 Chronicles 28:9

To my vintage shopping buddies

and fellow English teachers—Marianne Botos,

Lyn McClelland and Stacey Rannik—

you guys keep me stylish and sane. Thanks so much!

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

“I didn’t hit her.” Small arms folded across his chest, bottom lip at a salute, five-year-old Caleb McCreedy looked ready for battle.

Only three months into his kindergarten year and he’d managed what his two older brothers hadn’t.

A trip to the principal’s office.

“My lunch box hit her,” Caleb finished. He made a face and paused as if in deep thought.

John Deere baseball cap in hand, Jared McCreedy shifted uncomfortably on one of the hard brown chairs in the too small office and frowned. His youngest son was no stranger to battle. He had the example of two older brothers. They, however, knew better than to bring it to school.

Mrs. Ann Tyson, principal of Roanoke Elementary for all of three months, turned to Jared as if expecting him to do something besides sit and listen as the story unfolded. Although his memories of being in trouble a time or two should have helped him speak up, they hadn’t.

All he could do was frown.

“On purpose!” This outburst came from Cassidy Tate, a loud, little girl with wild brown curls.

The principal cleared her throat, not because she needed to, Jared could tell, but to let Cassidy know she’d been out of line. Then Mrs. Tyson glanced at the referral in her hand.

Jared took the time to study Cassidy. He’d heard about her many, many times from his middle son who sat behind her in a second-grade classroom.

Cassidy tore my paper.

Cassidy pulled the head off my LEGO and now I can’t find it. Never mind that Matt wasn’t allowed to take LEGOs to school.

Cassidy keeps following me.

“I like her,” Caleb informed the family every time Matt shared a “Cassidy” story. With Caleb, it was a love/hate relationship. Caleb loved her when he wasn’t throwing lunch boxes at her, and Matt, although he wasn’t allowed to hate, avoided her at all costs.

Cassidy’s mother, Maggie Tate, sat on the brown chair right next to Jared, but she didn’t look uncomfortable. At one time or another she must have spent time in a principal’s office, too, because she seemed to know exactly what to do, how to sit and what questions to ask. She looked in control, something he wanted very much to feel at the moment.

Since his wife’s death, Jared had tried for control but realized that his idea of being in control didn’t mesh with the chaos of his three sons, each with varying needs and each missing their mother.

He wished Mandy were here.

When the principal finally set down the referral, Maggie was ready. “Are you sure it was on purpose?” She didn’t raise her voice, change her expression, or so much as clench a fist.

“I’m sure.” Cassidy glared at Caleb who was trying hard not to wriggle in a couch designed for much bigger people.

That couch hadn’t been here the first time Jared had visited this office. He’d been five years old and had taken something that hadn’t belonged to him. He no longer remembered what.

The next time he’d stood before the same principal’s door, it was because the principal, Billy Staples, wanted permission to take something from Jared.

Jared remembered what. As oldest son, albeit in junior high, he’d willingly given his permission for his mother and Billy to marry.

Mrs. Tyson leaned forward, and Jared could see her fighting back a smile even as she said, “He did throw the lunch box up in the air on purpose. Three times. Along with five other little boys. The lunch aide asked them to stop. Two did. The aide was on her way over to intervene, yet again, when Caleb’s lunch box hit Cassidy in the face.”

“I wasn’t aiming for her face,” Caleb insisted, his voice breaking. “We were trying to see if—since our lunch boxes had peanut butter on them—they would stick to the roof if we threw them hard enough.”

“Ceiling,” Cassidy corrected.

Beside him, Maggie made a low-pitched, strangled sound. If Jared hadn’t been sitting so close to her, he wouldn’t have noticed. She was a master at keeping calm.

“But the fact that you might hit someone is exactly why the aide asked you to stop,” the principal said patiently.

“And you didn’t listen,” Jared added, finally getting his voice.

“But—”

“No buts.”

“If you’d packed me leftover turkey from Thanksgiving, like I wanted,” Caleb accused, “this wouldn’t have happened. Turkey doesn’t stick.”

“Caleb!”

Caleb had the good sense to stop talking.

Cassidy looked from Caleb to Jared before saying, “See, Mama, I told you it wasn’t me.”

Now that Jared looked again, the woman in question didn’t look old enough to be so in control of the situation, let alone a mama, or a business owner. Yet, she was all three. This past summer, Joel, Jared’s younger brother, had done some work on her vintage clothing shop. Because Joel’s fiancée wanted a vintage wedding, Joel had spent a lot of time talking about vintage clothes and about the shopkeeper. His description hadn’t done Maggie Tate justice.

Her deep brown hair fell in a blunt cut that was shorter than he liked and barely reached her shoulders. When she’d walked into the principal’s office, five minutes late and looking non-repentant, he’d noted the short gray-and-red dress that gave him a chance to admire a nice pair of legs encased in some sort of black tights. Black clunky shoes with ridiculous heels finished the outfit.

City girl.

She’d probably been chatting up a customer in her store when she’d gotten the call from the school. He’d been in the field wrapping up corn harvest.

She smelled of some sort of jasmine perfume; he smelled of sweat.

“...not the first time for either of them,” Mrs. Tyson was saying.

“What?” Jared straightened up. He’d missed the first half of the sentence.

Again came the half smile and Jared knew the principal was enjoying this. Maybe because Jared’s stepfather had been principal of Roanoke Elementary for thirty years and some parents still went to him first, only to be redirected back to Mrs. Tyson. Maybe because Mrs. Tyson had heard about the McCreedy boys, and their escapades, even though more than a decade had passed since they’d been students here. Maybe because Mrs. Tyson knew the color in Jared’s cheeks wasn’t because Caleb was in trouble but because it had been far too long since he had admired a pair of legs.

“I was talking about throwing lunch boxes. This is not the first time for either of them.”

Maggie looked at Cassidy. “Were you throwing lunch boxes, too?”

“Not today.”

“But some other day?” Maggie insisted. “Did you hit Caleb with a lunch box some other day?”

Cassidy’s lips went together. The answer was in her expression. Yes.

The principal’s brows went together. Clearly, this was the first she’d heard of it.

“Why did you tattle,” Maggie asked, “if you’ve done the same thing to him?”

Caleb and Cassidy exchanged a look, no longer adversaries, now conspirators.

“She didn’t tattle,” Mrs. Tyson said. “The aide did and the aide had plenty to say. Seems that while Caleb was removed from the lunchroom and escorted to his teacher, Cassidy hid his lunch box and doesn’t seem to remember where.”

Jared closed his eyes. Caleb’s teacher was soon to be Jared’s sister-in-law.

“We’ll take care of this at home,” he said firmly as he stood, giving Caleb a look that said we’re going. “I promise you that.”

“We’ll find the lunch box,” Maggie quickly offered. “Or—” she shot Cassidy a glance that could only mean trouble “—we’ll buy him a new one from your allowance.”

Cassidy’s mouth opened to an exaggerated O. That quickly, Caleb was back to adversary.

“If he threw the lunch box at her, she’s not buying him a new one,” Jared argued.

“People.” One word, that’s all it took when it was an elementary school principal.

Ten minutes later, Jared stood outside the principal’s office door tightly holding Caleb’s hand. Maggie and her daughter were still inside.

“This is my baddest day.” Caleb didn’t even try to fight the tears. Of Jared’s three boys, he was the one who cried freely, whined often and ran full tilt from the time he got out of bed until he fell back into it. He argued the most, too. But, Caleb was also the one who still climbed on Jared’s lap, laughed until tears came to his eyes and who knew the name of each and every animal on the farm.

If they didn’t have a name, Caleb gave them one.

“I doubt that,” Jared said calmly. “We’ll talk later. Now, don’t start whining.”

“I can’t help it. I really want my lunch box. It’s my favorite.”

Jared pictured the lunch boxes sitting on the kitchen counter. Grandpa Billy packed them every morning. Ryan’s was a plain blue. Nine-year-olds no longer needed action figures or at least his didn’t. Matt’s was Star Wars. Caleb’s was Spider-Man.

“We should go buy a new one,” Caleb suggested. “There’s a really cool one—”

“No, we should go to the cafeteria and see if the lunch ladies found it.”

Caleb followed, feet dragging. “I don’t want to go there.”

Of course he didn’t. The principal had just assigned him a full week of wiping down tables instead of going to recess. Jared intended to do the same at home along with no television for a week.

The cafeteria hadn’t changed all that much since Jared’s years. There were still rows of tables with benches that could be levered up to make mopping easier. Large gray trash baskets were in the four corners. Right now, decorations of snowflakes and wrapped presents were taped to the walls. Snowmen and Santas shared messages of “Don’t Forget our Winter Program.”

No way could Jared forget. He’d recently been put in charge of props. In just a few weeks, Caleb would be dressed like an elf and singing with his class. Ryan actually had the part of Santa. Matt would pretend to have a stomachache the night of the program. According to the note sent by Matt’s teacher, he had the role of delivering presents to people in the audience.

Smart teacher.

“You start in here,” Jared ordered. “I’ll go in the kitchen.”

A few minutes later, Maggie Tate joined them in the search. She poked her head in the kitchen door. “I’m so sorry. She’ll be wiping down lunch tables with him.”

Jared almost bumped his head as he looked up from the cabinet he’d been going through. “That’s okay.”

She nodded and then went into the cafeteria, presumably to search.

Jared was on his fifth cabinet when he heard the giggles.

He followed the noise to the cafeteria and stopped. In the middle of the lunchroom tables stood Maggie and the two children, all of them looking at the ceiling. In her hand, she held Caleb’s lunch box. Jared could see the peanut butter smeared all over it.

Finally, Maggie hunched down and shook her head. “Caleb, it would take a lot more peanut butter to make it stick.”

“I wondered about that,” Caleb admitted.

“I can go find some peanut butter,” Cassidy offered.

Maggie simply shook her head again, smiled at Jared and sashayed past him into the kitchen where she washed the offending lunch box before handing it to Jared.

For a brief moment he’d been worried she’d gone looking for peanut butter.

* * *

Maggie helped Cassidy into her coat and out the front door of Roanoke Elementary. Together they walked the mere block to Maggie’s shop Hand Me Ups.

Well, Maggie walked; Cassidy did more of a sideways hop with a scoot and jiggle follow-up.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I got in so much trouble,” Cassidy said after a moment. “I didn’t throw my lunch box at him, and we found the lunch box right where I hid it. And I only hid it so he wouldn’t throw it at me again.”

“But you didn’t tell people where you hid the lunch box when they asked. That was wrong.”

Cassidy contemplated, for all of thirty seconds. “But, if I gave it back, he might have thrown it at me again.”

“Once adults were involved, that wasn’t likely. You were wasting our time. I might have missed a customer at the shop. And I’m sure Caleb’s dad had work to do. Plus, even you admitted he didn’t exactly ‘throw’ it at you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And, what if the lunch box was gone when we went back to get it?” Maggie asked.

“He could have one of mine.”

Cassidy had two, both pink and both secondhand, one with Dora on it and the other with Cinderella. Cassidy’s greatest wish was to get rid of both of them in order to buy a new one with a pony on it. Maggie doubted Caleb would be inclined to accept either.

“No, if the lunch box disappeared, we’d be getting him a new one, with your piggy bank money.”

“But I have to use that money to buy presents!” Cassidy’s scoot and jiggle stopped for all of a moment. Then, she was on to a new subject: one where her piggy bank wasn’t in danger and there were other problems to solve. “Am I pretty?”

“Getting prettier every day.”

“Today, Lisa Totwell said that she was the prettiest girl in class and that I was second.”

“Well,” Maggie said carefully, “do you want to be the prettiest, or is it okay if Lisa is?”

“It’s okay if she is. She’s my best friend, you know. Cuz we’re both the new students in second grade this year. Everyone else has been here forever.”

Yesterday, Brittney Callahan had been Cassidy’s best friend. Before that, it was Sarah, a girl Maggie had yet to put a last name or a face to.

Didn’t matter. Maggie was thrilled at how quickly Cassidy was fitting in—maybe fitting in a little too well. Coming to Roanoke, Iowa, was the right choice. For both of them.

“Cassidy, you know that Caleb is only in kindergarten, right?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe you need to play with the kids in your own class.”

Cassidy stopped so quickly, she nearly stumbled to the ground. “No way, Mom. Caleb is my friend, and he’s fun. Plus, he’s Matt’s brother.”

Matt McCreedy was the subject of many a conversation. He was the only one in Cassidy’s second grade who hadn’t been given best-friend status, and Maggie suspected Cassidy might be going through her first crush.

Now that Maggie had met Matt’s dad, she figured he and Matt were cut from the same cloth—rugged, sturdy denim. Caleb seemed to be cut from a different sort of cloth.

Which meant that Mr. Jared McCreedy didn’t understand his youngest son’s creative personality.

“We’ll talk about it later.” Maggie didn’t want to dwell on the plight of the misunderstood child.

She’d been one—an army brat with an errant mother and a father who was used to giving orders and having them followed with a “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Her dad was a man who tried hard, but one who definitely didn’t understand girls.

“Mom, you’ve got that look on your face again,” Cassidy complained. “Did I do something?”

“Yes, you did something. You got sent to the principal’s office for the second time, and I had to leave work to come deal with it. After taking most of last week off, I really needed to spend time in the shop.”

Cassidy suddenly was very involved in staring at a crack in the sidewalk.

Maggie wasn’t deterred. “School’s only been in session three months. Next week is December and if you don’t...” Her words tapered off as a black truck drove by. Actually, she was glad for the interruption. She’d been about to bring up consequences, such as not attending Christmas activity at the church this Friday night or even the school’s winter play and the possibility of Cassidy not appearing in it.

Don’t threaten unless you mean it.

“Look, Mom!”

Jared McCreedy sat tall and oh-so-serious-looking behind the wheel of the Ford diesel truck. His three sons, the oldest in the front, two more in the back, all looked at Maggie and Cassidy. Caleb waved. Except for Matt, none of the boys appeared as serious as their father.

Cassidy frowned. “They have a dog. His name is Captain Rex.”

Something Cassidy asked for quite often, usually after figuring out that there was no way her mother would even listen when asked for a horse or a baby brother.

“Yes, they have a dog.”

Cassidy’s letter to Santa—not mailed because it wasn’t finished—had a dog in it, second on the list, right after a pair of red boots. Cassidy wouldn’t be getting a dog. The McCreedys had something Maggie and Cassidy did not: a house and yard. Maggie thought of two more things the McCreedys had: horses and baby brothers.

And family. They had plenty of family. They hadn’t had to fly to New York to celebrate Thanksgiving with her disapproving mother-in-law—the only relative who cared even to invite them.

The McCreedys, Maggie knew, had roots that ran deep in Roanoke, Iowa. She hadn’t seen Solitaire Farm, their place, but she’d heard about it and could picture what it looked like.

Big white house with a huge porch, complete with a swing and a rocker or two. Long driveway, winding its way to the front door, cars parked, meaning a large family. A barn. Lots of green, green grass to run across and trees to climb. Room to breathe. Plenty of animals, especially horses and, of course, acres of corn and soybeans.

Except for the corn, soybeans and animals bigger than a dog, what Maggie imagined was pretty much a portrait of one of her goals: a real home for Cassidy.

Too bad this farm was owned by a man who reminded her of her late husband, Dan, thinking of his duty above all else. Because, if Jared McCreedy had been a different kind of man—softer, more jubilant and easygoing—maybe Maggie would have engaged in a little flirting.

What would it have hurt?

It had been a year.

Not a chance. Jared even looked like Maggie’s late husband: tall, thick dark brown hair, and almost black piercing eyes. Both men were capable of walking into a room and suddenly making the room seem small. There were a few differences. Dan wore fatigues while Jared wore jeans and a flannel shirt. Dan had to wear his hair at a precision cut while Jared’s was long enough to cover his ears. Dan was always clean-shaven. Jared had a five-o’clock shadow that made Maggie think about how good whiskers felt during a kiss.

Whoa.

Been there, done that, not a chance Maggie wanted to deal with a man so intent on being in control that he didn’t know how to have fun.

Or appreciate the concept of getting a lunch box to stick to the ceiling with the help of a little peanut butter. Maggie smiled when she pictured the abject horror on Jared’s face when he spotted the sticky lunch box. No, Jared McCreedy was not her ideal man. No sense of thinking about him at all.

Chapter Two

It had been a tough week thanks to Monday’s phone call from the principal. And now once again, thanks to a Friday phone call from Caleb’s teacher, Jared was standing in the hallway of Roanoke Elementary.

He checked his watch. He had at least a dozen things to do today, starting with figuring out—since he was here—what props were needed for the school’s Christmas program. The father who had been in charge was now working extra hours and Beth, the woman he was about to see, had asked Joel, her fiancé and Jared’s brother, to help.

Joel had a rodeo, so right now, Jared was it.

But that had nothing to do with his visit today. No, Beth had something to say about Caleb, his youngest, who was responsible for Jared standing in the school’s hallway at four in the afternoon on a working day.

Through a window in the door, he could see Beth sitting at a small table. Someone else’s mom had her back to the door. So, maybe Caleb wasn’t the only one in trouble. Both women seemed overly fascinated by some paperwork spread out on the small table.

He didn’t intend to let any more time pass doing nothing. He needed to gather his boys, find the teacher in charge of the program, talk shop and head home. There was still an hour or two of Iowa daylight, and he had things to do and was already behind. He opened the classroom door and stepped in.

“Jared.” Beth Armstrong—Miss Armstrong to his son, Beth to him—twisted in her seat, looking surprised.

Funny, she’d called his cell phone and left a message requesting this meeting.