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  Christmas with an Angel

  Debbie Mason

  New York Boston

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Debbie Mazzuca

  Excerpt from Starlight Bridge copyright © 2016 by Debbie Mazzuca

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner

  Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First edition: December 2016

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  ISBN 978-1-4789-4809-4

  E3-20161021-DA-NF

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  A Preview of STARLIGHT BRIDGE

  About the Author

  Don’t Miss Debbie Mason’s Bestselling Christmas, Colorado Series

  Newsletters

  Chapter One

  Tomorrow was to be Michael Gallagher’s wedding day. And now it wasn’t. His bride-to-be had just called the whole thing off.

  Michael sat beside his cousin on the front steps of the manor watching the taillights of the limos that carried the bridal party fade from view, waiting for the misery and despair to kick in.

  Nothing. All he felt was relief.

  He rubbed his hands over his face as he tried to come to terms with his momentous mistake. “How did I miss it, Liam? How did I not know who Bethany really was? That…woman was not the one I fell in love with.” When Liam stayed silent, Michael lowered his hands and glanced at his cousin. “Just say it, I’m an idiot.”

  “Well…” Liam grinned and patted Michael’s back. “What can I say? You got played, bro. She showed you exactly what you wanted to see.”

  “For two bloody years?”

  “The amount of time you two actually spent together probably added up to three months.”

  “You know she’s been living with me for almost a year, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, and I know you. You’re a workaholic, and you made up for it by giving her everything she wanted. Until now.”

  Michael hated to admit it, but Liam was right. As an only child, Bethany was used to getting her way. Her parents spoiled her, and Michael had basically done the same. Now he was paying the price. Along with his Irish wolfhound, Atticus, and possibly his entire family.

  In the two hours that had passed since she’d thrown her engagement ring at him, Bethany had been busy plotting her revenge. She’d already had the locks on his condo changed, planned to keep him from his dog, and hired a lawyer who she vowed would tie Michael up in court for the foreseeable future and smear his family’s good name.

  They weren’t idle threats. Her wealthy Boston family had the clout and connections to make them happen.

  “I gotta get in touch with my dad and let him know what she’s up to.” This was going to get worse before it got better. He’d be lucky if anyone would hire him once the Adamses got through tearing him to shreds in the court of public opinion. “So, is your pal Marco just kidding around when he says he’s got mob connections? A hit man’s sounding pretty good about now.”

  “The guy has been spouting that crap since grade school,” Liam said with a laugh. Then his laughter faded. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Yeah, I just have no idea how I’m going to stop this. How I’m going to get Atticus back and protect the family and the manor.”

  “Knock it off with the I. We’ve got your back. And I’m here to look after the manor.”

  “No shit? What changed your mind?”

  “Sophie and Mia. Instead of only thinking about what the family’s lost over the past seven years, they reminded me of all the good times we had here.” Liam looked down at his hands clasped between his legs then glanced at Michael. “I’ve spent the past seven years keeping everyone at arm’s length and avoiding Greystone, and Harmony Harbor. I didn’t realize it’s exactly where I needed to be.”

  “Spoken like a man in love. And speaking as a man who’s just been duped, dumped, and possibly hung out to dry, I should probably caution you that women aren’t always what they seem, but I won’t, because you and I both know you got lucky. I’m happy for you, buddy.”

  “Thanks. Along those lines, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  Liam looked back at the closed doors then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I was wondering how you’d feel about me and Soph getting married tomorrow? I haven’t asked her yet. I wanted to check with you first. Everything’s been ordered and it seems a shame to let it go to waste. But if you—”

  “You don’t even have to ask. Well, you have to ask Sophie, but I’m good. Actually, it’s kind of perfect that your wedding’s on me. After all, you two would have gotten together a long time ago if I hadn’t screwed things up for you.” Sophie might have dated him for a couple of months that long-ago summer, but it had always been his cousin she wanted. He didn’t blame her. Back then, Liam had been the better man. Maybe Bethany was Michael’s karmic retribution.

  He’d screwed up a lot of things that summer. Including the life of Shay Angel, the girl he’d fallen in love with while he was dating Sophie. Shay had been the one who got away. The girl who’d broken his heart. He had a feeling she wouldn’t see it the same way. If he had any doubts, they’d been laid to rest Thanksgiving weekend. He’d been at the Salty Dog, her uncle Charlie’s bar. It was the first time Michael had seen her in eight years. She’d looked right through him, like he didn’t exist.

  “Come on, Mike. That was a long time ago. You didn’t know I was in love with Soph. If I’d told—”

  “I was a jerk back then, Liam. You know it, and I know it. So I can’t say I would have done the right thing. But I can now. The wedding’s as good as paid for. I’ve canceled my credit and debit cards so Bethany can’t totally wipe me out. Sophie and the staff worked their asses off catering to her, it’s the least I can do.” He stood up and dusted the snow from his black dress coat. “Go ask your girl to marry you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the bar to get drunk.”

  Liam scratched his chin. “Which bar?”

  “Salty Dog. I’m walking, and it’s closest to the manor.”

  “The closest bar would be in the manor. Never took you for a masochist, buddy. After tonight, do you really want to put yourself in the crosshairs of Charlie and Shay Angel?”
<
br />   Maybe he was a masochist. Or maybe he wanted to wipe out his karmic debt so he didn’t have another Bethany come into his life and take another gigantic bite out of his ass. And the one way he knew how to do that was to find a way to make up for the five years Shay had lost because of him. If nothing else, he needed her forgiveness.

  Michael stood beside a twenty-foot replica of a sailboat mast decorated with red and green Christmas lights, a fiberglass bulldog standing guard in the crow’s nest above. He glanced in the half-fogged window framed with gold garland. The bulldog could have been a stand-in for the Salty Dog’s owner, who just happened to be manning the bar tonight with a woman. Even with her back to him, Michael knew it was Shay. He’d recognize that thick fall of inky-black hair and the curves of her long, lithe body anywhere. He didn’t know why he’d expected to catch a break tonight of all nights. The last time he’d been here, Liam had snuck him in through a side door. If Charlie Angel had seen him that night, he would have run Michael out of the bar at the end of a shotgun.

  The old man blamed him for Shay’s five-year stint in prison for grand theft auto. It didn’t matter that she’d stolen Michael’s Corvette and broken his heart; in Charlie’s eyes, he was the thief who’d robbed him of his niece. Michael blamed the old man as much as he blamed himself. Like Fagin in Oliver Twist, Charlie Angel had set his niece on a life of crime.

  Maybe Liam had been right after all. On top of everything else, Michael didn’t need to deal with Charlie Angel too. Michael went to walk away at the same time a gust of wind caught the edge of the mast. The wood frame creaked and moaned. There was a loud pop, and then another. Sparks from the exploding Christmas lights rained down on his head. As he brushed them from his hair and coat, he noted the men bellied up to the bar looking at him through the window. He knew the moment Charlie Angel spotted him; the old man’s inventive curses mingled with the Christmas carols that filtered from the bar. Less than two seconds later, Michael found himself staring down the wrong end of a double-barrel shotgun.

  He ducked, moving to press his back against the brick below the window. Between Bethany and the old man, he was done. He wasn’t going to take it anymore. They could find another whipping boy. “You crazy son of a bitch, put the gun away before I call the cops,” Michael yelled, and held up his phone.

  Boom. The building rocked against his back, and glass shattered over and around him, the tips of his fingers burning as the phone was blasted from his hand.

  “Dammit, Charlie, do you know how much it’s going to cost to replace that window? Ben, see if we have any plywood at the back. Okay, good. Appreciate it,” he heard a familiar feminine voice say over the beeping car alarms and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

  Her voice was as sultry as Michael remembered. It used to turn him on, but right now it ticked him off. Her uncle had nearly blown off his hand, and all she could think about was replacing the window?

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” Michael muttered as he carefully shook the glass from his coat and hair and came to his feet. He scanned the street to make sure no one else had been hit before shoving open the door and storming into the bar. The place was packed and smelled like warm bodies, pretzels, beer, and…gunpowder. Everyone swiveled on their barstools to stare at him, people at the tables and on the dance floor craning their necks to get a look.

  He opened his mouth to tear into the old man with the full head of white hair and scruffy beard leaning against the end of the bar, but the tirade stuck in his throat. Shay stood beside her uncle with the shotgun in her hands, and all Michael could do was stare. He’d seen her briefly when he’d snuck in the bar with Liam in November. She’d been carrying a motorcycle helmet and dressed from head to toe in black leather, looking badass, ticked off when she first spotted him, and exceptionally hot.

  She looked just as hot tonight in a black thermal Henley, tight jeans, and high-heeled leather boots, but what she didn’t look like was ticked off. Which was probably a good thing since she was holding a gun. Given the man who’d raised her, she’d know how to use it. If he had to guess at the emotion in her long-lashed gray eyes, he’d say it was shock. As though to prove him right, they narrowed at her uncle. “You said you shot at a rat.”

  “Yep, it was a big bastard. About six-two with eyes of blue,” Charlie said with a smirk.

  Michael drew his gaze from Shay and stalked to the old man. “You think it’s funny, do you? Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I have you charged with unlawful discharge of a firearm, intent to injure—”

  The old man sneered. “It’d be just like you to charge me, Gallagher. It wasn’t enough that you had my girl locked—”

  A flush stained Shay’s cheeks as she scanned the bar before cutting off her uncle. “Knock it off, Charlie. He’s right. It was stupid and irresponsible. You could have hurt someone.”

  “Really, you’re defending him now, are you? The man who—”

  “I said knock it off.” Shay gave her uncle a don’t-mess-with-me look. It was hard, edgy. The look of a woman who’d done time and knew how to handle herself. Shay had never been soft and easy, and God how he’d loved that about her. He’d wanted her from the first moment he saw her riding her Harley down Main Street. Cocky and confident and so damn gorgeous she took his breath away. But this was a level of toughness he’d never seen in her before, and knowing the reason for the change, he felt guilty for the part he’d played.

  “Don’t know what’s got you all fired up. He looks fine to me,” Charlie said.

  “You shot my phone out of my hand and nearly blew off my fingers.” Michael held up his powder-burned digits. Come to think of it, they hurt like hell. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew on them, narrowing his eyes at Shay when she pressed her lips together, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

  As though sensing the tension had passed, someone at the bar yelled, “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here? Give him a phone and a beer on the house, will ya?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Here, Gallagher, take my seat. The night’s young,” an older man, who Michael recognized as one of Charlie’s cronies, got off the barstool and patted it. Then nudged his head at his best friend. “Come on, Angel, let’s give Ben a hand finding that plywood. It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

  Charlie slid Michael’s fingers a look as he walked by and grinned.

  “I should have my head read for not charging him,” Michael muttered as he took a seat.

  Shay bent to put the shotgun under the counter, hesitated for a minute then straightened and laid three brand-new cell phones on the bar in front of him. He looked from the cell phones to her. “Seriously? I’m an assistant district attorney, and you’re bribing me with stolen goods?”

  “Who said they’re stolen?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Put them away, and I’ll pretend that didn’t just happen.” He nudged them toward her with the tips of his fingers without thinking, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth. “Jesus, that hurts.”

  Her lips twitched as she scooped up the phones and returned them to the shelf. Then she reached for his hand, took it in hers, and softly blew on his fingers while looking at him from under her lashes. “Thank you. I appreciate you not pressing charges against him.”

  The feel of her warm breath caressing his fingers, those familiar gray eyes caressing his face, sent a shot of heated awareness through him. Shifting uncomfortably on the barstool, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t do it for him.”

  She held his gaze. “I know.”

  The spell she’d cast over him was broken by the redheaded man who sat on the barstool beside Michael. “Hey, Gallagher, whatcha doin’ here, anyway? Thought your rehearsal dinner was tonight.”

  The man on the other side of the redhead leaned forward. “Mac made the cake for your big day. It’s a beaut.”

  “My wife’s helping with the flowers. They’ve been working nonstop the past two days,” an older man a few bars
tools down said.

  Shay released his hand and avoided his eyes. “Okay, boys, who needs a refill?”

  As several of the men lifted their empty mugs, another old-timer at the far end of the bar said, “Give Gallagher a beer on me. It means a lot to all of us here in Harmony, you having your wedding at the manor, son.”

  “Yeah, give him one for me too.”

  “And me,” the redhead said, patting Michael companionably on the back.

  Feeling accepted by the people of Harmony Harbor wasn’t a common occurrence for Michael. He’d always been looked upon as an outsider and had never felt like he belonged. He was the governor’s son, one of the rich Gallaghers, a summer Gallagher. He didn’t relish the prospect of breaking the easy camaraderie, but they’d find out soon enough.

  “The wedding’s off,” he said.

  The bar went quiet, and all eyes turned in his direction.

  “Dammit,” Shay swore as the beer she’d been pouring splashed onto the bar.

  “What did you just say?” the man at the end of the bar asked, his voice not so friendly now.

  “I said, I’m not getting married tomorrow.”

  “Too bad Charlie missed,” someone muttered at the same time the man down from him said, “My wife’s been slaving away over those arrangements. What the hell are they supposed to do now?”

  “Mac’s been working overtime making sure that your wedding cake—” a man began before someone else cut him off.

  “Everyone in town—”

  Michael raised the fingers of his good hand to his lips and whistled to be heard over the people shouting their questions and recalling their offers of beer. “Calm down,” he said when they finally quieted. “There’s going to be a wedding, just not mine. Everyone will be paid.”

  There were several relieved cheers and a smattering of applause, and the music came back on.

  Shay slid a beer and a bag of ice down the bar to him.

  He glanced at her. “Thanks.”

  “So what gives? Why aren’t you getting married?” the guy beside him asked.