DEBBIE MACOMBER is a number one New York Times bestselling author. Her recent books include 44 Cranberry Point, 50 Harbor Way, 6 Rainier Drive and Hannah’s List. She has become a leading voice in women’s fiction worldwide and her work has appeared on every major bestseller list. There are more than one hundred million copies of her books in print. For more information on Debbie and her books, visit www.DebbieMacomber.com.

To Doris LaPort and Teresa Colchado,

who keep my house clean and my life sane.

Dear Friends,

I’m delighted to have Silver Bells included in this volume, along with novellas by Sherryl Woods and Robyn Carr (who just happen to be wonderful friends as well as talented authors).

My wish for you this Christmas is that you’ll have time to relax with a good book or two—hope this is one of them!—and that you and your family receive all the blessings of Christmas.

PS I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me in two ways: either by logging on to my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com and signing the guestbook, or by contacting me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

One

“Dad, you don’t understand.”

“Mackenzie, enough.”

Carrie Weston hurried through the lobby of her apartment complex. “Hold the elevator,” she called, making a dash for the open doors. Her arms were loaded with mail, groceries and decorations for her Christmas tree. It probably wasn’t a good idea to rush, since the two occupants appeared to be at odds—which could make for an awkward elevator ride—but her arms ached and she didn’t want to wait. Lack of patience had always been one of her weaknesses; equally lacking were several other notable virtues.

The man kept the doors from closing. Carrie had noticed him earlier, and so had various other residents. There’d been plenty of speculation about the two latest additions to the apartment complex.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes met those of the teenager. The girl was around thirteen, Carrie guessed. They’d moved in a couple of weeks earlier, and from the scuttlebutt Carrie had heard, they’d only be staying until construction on their new home was complete.

The elevator doors glided shut, as slowly as ever, but then the people who lived in the brick three-story building off Seattle’s Queen Anne Hill weren’t the type to rush. Carrie was the exception.

“What floor?” the man asked.

Carrie shifted her burdens and managed to slip her mail inside her grocery bag. “Second. Thanks.”

The thirtysomething man sent her a benign smile as he pushed the button. He stared pointedly away from her and the teenager.

“I’m Mackenzie Lark,” the girl said, smiling broadly. The surly tone was gone. “This is my dad, Philip.”

“I’m Carrie Weston.” By balancing the groceries on one knee she was able to offer Mackenzie her hand. “Welcome.”

Philip shook her hand next, his grip firm and solid, his clasp brief. He glared at his daughter as though to say this wasn’t the time for social pleasantries.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Mackenzie continued, ignoring her father. “You look like the only normal person in the entire building.”

Carrie smiled despite her effort not to. “I take it you met Madame Frederick.”

“Is that a real crystal ball?”

“So she claims.” Carrie remembered the first time she’d seen Madame Frederick, who’d stepped into the hallway carrying her crystal ball, predicting everything from the weather to a Nordstrom shoe sale. Carrie hadn’t known what to think. She’d plastered herself against the wall and waited for Madame Frederick to pass. The crystal ball hadn’t unnerved her as much as the green emeralds glued over each eyebrow. She wore a sort of caftan, with billowing yards of colorful material about her arms and hips; it hugged her legs from the knees down. Her long, silver-white hair was arranged in an updo like that of a prom queen straight out of the sixties.

“She’s nice,” Mackenzie remarked. “Even if she’s weird.”

“Have you met Arnold yet?” Carrie asked. He was another of the more eccentric occupants, and one of her favorites.

“Is he the one with all the cats?”

“Arnold’s the weight lifter.”

“The guy who used to work for the circus?”

Carrie nodded, and was about to say more when the elevator came to a bumpy halt and sighed loudly as the doors opened. “It was a pleasure to meet you both,” she said on her way out the door.

“Same here,” Philip muttered, and although he glanced in her direction, Carrie had the impression that he wasn’t really seeing her. She had the distinct notion that if she’d been standing there nude he wouldn’t have noticed or, for that matter, cared.

The doors started to shut when Mackenzie yelled, “Can I come over and talk to you sometime?”

“Sure.” The elevator closed, but not before Carrie heard the girl’s father voice his disapproval. She didn’t know if the two of them were continuing their disagreement, or if this had to do with Mackenzie inviting herself over to visit.

Holding her bags, Carrie had some difficulty unlocking and opening her apartment door without dropping everything. She slammed it closed with one foot and dumped the Christmas ornaments on the sofa, then hauled everything else into her small kitchen.

“You’d been wanting to meet him,” she said aloud. “Now you have.” She hated to admit it, but Philip Lark had been a disappointment. He showed about as much interest in her as he would a loaf of bread in the bakery window. Well, what did she expect? The fact that she expected anything was because she’d listened to Madame Frederick one too many times. The older woman claimed to see Carrie’s future and predicted that, before the end of the year, she’d meet the man of her dreams when he moved into this very building. Yeah, right. She refused to put any credence into that prophecy. Madame Frederick was a sweet, rather strange old lady with a romantic heart.

Carrie pulled out the mail, scanned the envelopes and, except for two Christmas cards and a bill, threw the rest in the garbage. She’d just started to unpack her groceries when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello again,” Mackenzie Lark said cheerfully when Carrie opened the door. The quickness of her return took Carrie by surprise.

“You said I could come see you,” the teenager reminded her.

“Sure, come on in.” Mackenzie walked into the apartment, glanced around admiringly and then collapsed onto the sofa.

“Are you still fighting with your dad?” Carrie asked. She’d had some real go-rounds with her mother before Charlotte married Jason Manning ten years earlier. At the time, Carrie and her mother had been constantly at odds. Carrie knew she was to blame, in part, but she was also aware that her mother had been lonely and unhappy.

Hindsight told her that the root of their problem had been her parents’ divorce. Carrie didn’t remember a lot about her father—her parents had separated when she was four or five. As she grew older, she came to resent that she didn’t have a father, and for reasons that were never clear, she’d blamed her mother.

“Dad doesn’t understand.” Mackenzie lowered her eyes, her mouth turned down.

“About what?” Carrie asked gently.

The girl stood and walked over to the kitchen and watched Carrie put away groceries. She folded her arms on the counter and then rested her chin there. “Everything. We can’t talk without fighting. It’s tough being a teenager.”

“You might find this difficult to believe, but it’s just as difficult raising one,” Carrie said.

Mackenzie sighed. “It didn’t used to be like this with Dad and me. We got along really well. It wasn’t easy when Mom left, but we managed.”

“So your parents are divorced?” Although she didn’t mean to pry, she was definitely curious.

Mackenzie wrinkled her nose. “It was awful when they split.”

“It always is. My parents divorced when I was just a kid. I barely remember my dad.”

“Did you see him very much afterward?”

Carrie shook her head. It had bothered her when she was younger, but she’d made her peace with it as an adult. She’d felt hurt that her father didn’t want to be part of her life, but ultimately she’d decided that was his choice—and his loss.

“I’m spending Christmas with my mom and her new husband.” Mackenzie’s eyes brightened. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year. She’s been busy,” she said. “Mom works for one of the big banks in downtown Seattle and she’s got this really important position and has to travel and it’s hard for her to have me over. Dad’s a systems analyst.”

Carrie heard the pain in Mackenzie’s voice. “You’re fifteen?” she asked, deliberately adding a couple of years to her estimate, remembering how important it was to look older when one was that age.

Mackenzie straightened. “Thirteen, actually.”

Carrie opened a bag of fat-free, cheese-flavored rice cakes and dumped them onto a plate. Mackenzie helped herself to one and Carrie did, as well. They sat across from each other on opposite sides of the kitchen counter.

“You know what I think?” Mackenzie said, her dark eyes intense. “My dad needs a woman.”

The rice cake stuck midway down Carrie’s throat. “A … woman?”

“Yeah, a wife. All he does is work, work, work. It’s like he can forget about my mother if he stays at the office long enough.” She grabbed another rice cake. “Madame Frederick said so, too. And she says he’s going to meet someone, but she couldn’t be any more specific than that.”

“Madame Frederick?”

“She looked into her crystal ball for me and said she saw lots of changes in my future. I wasn’t too happy—except for the part about my dad. There’ve been too many changes already with the move and all. I miss my friends and it’s taking way longer to build the new house than it was supposed to. Originally we were going to be in for Christmas, but now I doubt it’ll be ready before next Thanksgiving. Dad doesn’t seem to mind, but it bugs me. I’m the one who’s going to a strange school and everything.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I want my life back.”

“That’s understandable.”

Mackenzie seemed caught up in a fantasy world of her own. “You know, I think Madame Frederick might’ve stumbled on something here.” Her voice rose with enthusiasm.

“Stumbled on something?” Carrie repeated cautiously.

“You know, about a relationship for my dad. I wonder how I could arrange that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Finding a new wife for my dad.”

“Mackenzie,” Carrie said and laughed nervously. “A daughter can’t arrange that sort of thing.”

“Why not?” She seemed taken aback.

“Well, because marriage is serious. It’s love and commitment between two people. It’s … it’s …”

“The perfect solution,” Mackenzie finished for her. “Dad and I’ve always liked the same things. We’ve always agreed on everything … well, until recently. It makes sense that I should be the one to find him a wife.”

“Mackenzie …”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, without a pause. “That my dad won’t appreciate my efforts, and you’re probably right. I’ll have to be subtle.”

Carrie laughed. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. This girl was like a reincarnation of herself eleven years earlier.

“What?” Mackenzie demanded, apparently offended.

“Take my advice and stay out of your father’s love life.”

“Love life?” she echoed. “That’s a joke. He hasn’t got one.”

“He doesn’t want your help,” Carrie said firmly.

“Of course he doesn’t, but that’s beside the point.”

“Mackenzie, if you’re not getting along with your dad now, I hate to think what’ll happen when he discovers what you’re up to. My mother was furious with me when I offered Jason money to take her out and—”

“You were willing to pay someone to date your mother?”

Carrie didn’t realize what she’d said until it was too late. “It was a long time ago,” she murmured, hoping to leave it at that. She should’ve known better. Mackenzie’s eyes grew huge.

“You actually paid someone to date your mother?” she said again.

“Yes, but don’t get any ideas. He refused.” Carrie could see the wheels turning in the girl’s head. “It was a bad idea, and like I said, my mother was really mad at me.”

“Did she ever remarry?”

Carrie nodded.

“Anyone you knew?”

Again she nodded, unwilling to tell her it was the very man she’d tried to bribe.

Mackenzie’s gaze met hers and Carrie looked away. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Mackenzie laughed. “You offered him money to date your mother. He refused, but dated her anyway. That’s great! How long before they got married?”

“Mackenzie, what happened with my mother and Jason is … unusual.”

“How long?” she repeated stubbornly.

“A few months.”

She smiled knowingly. “They’re happy, aren’t they.” It was more of a comment than a question.

“Yes.”

Carrie only hoped she’d find a man who’d make her as truly contented as Jason Manning had made her mother. Despite ten years of marriage and two children, her mother and stepfather behaved like newlyweds. Carrie marveled at the strength of their love. It inspired her and yet in some ways hampered her. She wanted that kind of relationship for herself and wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. Her friends claimed she was too picky, too demanding when it came to men, and she suspected they were right.

“My point exactly,” Mackenzie declared triumphantly. “You knew your mom better than anyone. Who else was more qualified to choose a husband for her? It’s the same with me. I know my dad and he’s in a rut. Something’s got to be done, and Madame Frederick hit the nail on the head. He needs a love interest.”

Carrie’s smile was forced. “Madame Frederick is one of my favorite people, but I think it’s best to take what she says with a grain of salt.”

“Well, a little salt enhances the flavor, right?” Mackenzie added. Excited now, she got to her feet. “What about you?” she asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Would you be willing to date my dad?”

Two

“She’s pretty, isn’t she, Dad?”

Philip Lark glanced up. He sat at the kitchen table, filling out an expense report. His daughter sat across from him, smiling warmly. The way her eyes focused on him told him she was up to something.

“Who?” he asked, wondering if it was wise to inquire.

“Carrie Weston.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “The woman we met in the elevator. We talked this afternoon.” Mackenzie rested her chin in her hands and continued to gaze at him adoringly.

Philip’s eyes reverted to the row of figures on the single sheet. His daughter waited patiently until he was finished. Patience wasn’t a trait he was accustomed to seeing in Mackenzie. She usually complained when he brought work home, acting as though it was a personal affront. He cleared his mind, attempting to remember her question. Oh, yes, she wanted to know what he thought of Carrie Weston. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the woman looked like. His impression of her remained vague, but he hadn’t found anything to object to.

“You like her, do you?” he asked instead, although he wasn’t convinced that pandering to Mackenzie’s moods was a smart thing to do. She’d been impossible lately. Moody and unreasonable. Okay, okay, he realized the move had been hard on her; it hadn’t been all that easy on him, either. But they’d be here for only six to eight weeks. He’d assumed she was mature enough to handle the situation. Evidently, he’d been wrong.

Mackenzie’s moods weren’t all he’d miscalculated. Philip used to think they were close, but for the past few months she’d been a constant source of frustration.

Overnight his sane, sensible daughter had turned into Sarah Bernhardt—or, more appropriately, Sarah Heartburn! She hadn’t whined this much since she was three. Frankly, Philip didn’t understand it. Even her mother’s defection hadn’t caused this much drama.

“Carrie’s great, really great.”

Philip was pleased Mackenzie had made a new friend, although he would have been more pleased if it was someone closer to her own age. Still, as he kept reminding her, the situation was temporary. Gene Tarkington, a friend of his who owned this apartment building, had offered the furnished two-bedroom rental to him for as long as it’d take to complete construction on his Lake Washington house. The apartment wasn’t the Ritz, but he hadn’t been expecting any luxury digs. Nor, truth be told, had he expected the cavalcade of characters who populated the building, although the woman with the crystal ball looked fairly harmless. And the muscle-bound sixty-year-old who walked around shirtless, carrying hand weights, appeared innocuous, too. He wasn’t as certain about some of the others, but then he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to form friendships with this group of oddballs.

“Dad,” Mackenzie began in a wistful voice, “have you ever thought of remarrying?”

“No,” he answered emphatically, shocked by the question. He’d made one mistake; he wasn’t willing to risk another. Laura and the twelve years they were together had taught him everything he cared to know about marriage.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not,” he said, thrusting the expense report back inside his briefcase, “just determined.”

“It’s because of Mom, isn’t it?”

“Why would I want to remarry?” he asked, hoping to put an end to this conversation.

“You might want a son someday.”

“Why would I want a son when I have you?”

She grinned broadly, obviously approving his response. “Madame Frederick looked into her crystal ball and said she sees another woman in your life.”

Philip laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that. Remarry? Him? He’d rather dine on crushed glass. Wade through an alligator-infested swamp. Or jump off the Space Needle. No, he wasn’t interested in remarrying. Not him. Not in this lifetime.

“Carrie’s a lot like me.”

So this was what the conversation was all about. Carrie and him. Well, he’d put a stop to that right now. “Hey.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I guess I’m a little slow on the uptake here, but the fog is beginning to lift. You’re playing matchmaker with me and this—” person he couldn’t recall a single thing about “—neighbor.”

“Woman, Dad. Carrie’s young, attractive, smart and funny.”

“She is?” He hadn’t noticed that earlier, but then how could he? They’d met for about a minute in the elevator.

“She’s perfect for you.”

“Who says?” As soon as the words left his lips, Philip knew he’d made a strategic error. He’d all but invited an argument.

Mackenzie’s smile blossomed like a rose in the sun. “Madame Frederick, for one. Me for another. Just think about it, Dad. You’re in the prime of your life and all you do is work. You should be enjoying the fruit of your labors.”

“I’m building the house,” he said, wondering where she’d heard that expression.

“Sure, to impress Mom, just so she’ll know what a mistake she made leaving you.”

His daughter’s words brought him up short. Philip sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. He wanted a new home for plenty of reasons, none of which included his ex-wife. Or so he believed.

“Why would your mother care about a home I’m building?”

“Think about it, Dad.”

“I am.”

She shot him a knowing look, one tempered with gentle understanding, which only irritated him further. “Let’s leave Laura out of this, all right?” His feelings for Mackenzie’s mother were long dead. He’d tried to make the marriage work, as God was his witness. Even when he discovered she was having an affair—the first time—he’d been willing to do whatever was necessary to get them back on track. It’d worked for a few years, but for the most part he’d been deluding himself.

The divorce had come well after there was any marriage left to save. He’d berated himself for a long time before, and since. He had his daughter and his dignity, and was grateful for both. The last thing he intended to do at this point was risk that hard-won serenity.

“I want you to ask Carrie out.”

“What?” He couldn’t believe her nerve. “Mackenzie, for heaven’s sake, would you stop? I’m not dating Carrie Westchester or anyone else.”

“It’s Carrie Weston.”

“Her, either.” He stalked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took one sip, cringed at the bitter taste and dumped the rest in the sink.

“Please? She’s in Apartment 204.”

“No! Case closed! I don’t want to hear another word about this, understand?” He must have added just enough authority to his voice because she didn’t pursue the subject again. Philip was grateful.

The next time he glanced at his daughter, he saw her sitting in the middle of the living room, her arms folded tightly around her. The sour look on her face could have curdled cream.

“Say, why don’t we go out and buy a Christmas tree?” he suggested. Despite what Mackenzie might think, he didn’t enjoy fighting with her.

She turned to stare at him disdainfully and consider his proposal. With what seemed to require an extraordinary amount of effort, she said, “No thanks.”

“Fine, if that’s the way you want to be.”

“I thought you said a Christmas tree would be too much trouble this year.”

It would be, but he was willing to overlook that if it’d take his daughter’s mind off her present topic of interest. “We could put up a small one.” He figured a compromise would go a long distance toward keeping the peace.

“She likes you,” Mackenzie said with a righteous nod.

Philip didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something he’d later regret. Such as … how did this Carrie person know enough about him to either like or dislike him?

“She told me what happened to her when she was about my age,” Mackenzie continued undaunted. “Her parents divorced when she was around five and her mother didn’t date again or anything. She closed herself off from new relationships, just the way you’re doing, so Carrie felt she had to take matters into her own hands. And who could blame her? Not me, that’s for sure.” She paused long enough to draw in a breath. “By the time Carrie was a teenager, her mother had shriveled into this miserable, unhappy shrew.” She stared pointedly at him before saying, “Sort of like what’s happening to you.”

“Come on now!”

“So,” she went on, ignoring his outburst, “Carrie felt she had to do something. She offered to pay this guy to date her mother. Out of her own meager savings from babysitting jobs and walking the neighbor’s dog. She took everything she’d managed to scrape together to pay this man. She told me she would’ve done anything to give her love-starved mother a second chance at happiness.”

Philip restrained himself from rolling his eyes at her melodramatic rendition. All she needed was a violin playing softly in the background. “How noble of her.”

“That’s not the end of the story,” Mackenzie informed him.

“You mean there’s more?”

She paid no attention to his sarcasm. “When her mother found out what she’d done, she was furious with Carrie.”

“I can well imagine.” Philip crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. He glanced at his watch, indicating that there was only so much of this he was willing to listen to and he was already close to his limit.

“But she withstood her mother’s outrage. Knowing she was right, Carrie gladly accepted the two-week restriction her mother placed on her.”

The strains of the violin grew distinctly louder.

“Carrie didn’t pick just any Tom, Dick or Harry for her mother, though. She carefully, thoughtfully surveyed the eligible men around her and chose this really cool guy named James … or something like that. His name isn’t important—what is important is that Carrie knew her mother well enough to choose the perfect man for her. She chose the very best.”

Now his daughter was beginning to sound like a greeting-card commercial. “This story does have a point, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes gleamed with triumph. “Not more than three months later, four at the most, Carrie’s mother married Jason.”

“I thought you said his name was James.”

“I also said his name doesn’t matter. The point is that he married her and they’re both happy.”

“That must have cost her a pretty penny, since Carrie had already paid him everything she’d saved just for that first date.”

“He married her for free.”

“Oh, I see, she was on sale.”

Mackenzie frowned at him. “You’re not funny. Carrie told me that meeting Jason was the best thing that ever happened to her mother. Once a year, on the anniversary of their first date, her mom sends her flowers out of gratitude that her daughter, the very one she’d restricted for two whole weeks, had cared enough to find the man of her dreams.”

As her voice rose victoriously, the violin faded and was replaced with a full choral arrangement of God Bless America. Philip could just about hear it. His daughter was Sarah Heartburn during her finest hour.

“Now,” she said, “will you ask Carrie out? She’s perfect for you, Dad. I know what you like and what you don’t, and you’re gonna like her. She’s really nice and fun.”

“No.” He yawned loudly, covering his mouth.

“I’ve never said anything, but I’d really love to be a big sister, the way Carrie is to her two half brothers.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” The kid was actually beginning to frighten him. Not only was she telling him he should date a woman he’d barely met, now she was talking about them having children together.

“Don’t do it because I asked it of you. Do it for yourself. Do it before your heart turns into a hardened shell and you shrivel up into an old man.”

“Hey, I’m not dead yet. I’ve got a good forty or fifty years left in me.”

“Maybe,” Mackenzie challenged. “If you’re lucky.” With her nose pointed at the ceiling she exited the room with all the flair and drama of an actress walking offstage after the final curtain call.

Grinning to himself, Philip opened his briefcase. He removed a file, then hesitated, frowning. It was one thing to have his daughter carry on like a Shakespearean actress and another for an adult woman to be feeding her this nonsense. While he couldn’t remember much about Ms. Carrie Weston, he did recall that she’d appeared interested in him, judging by the intent way she’d studied him. Perhaps he’d better set the record straight with her. If she intended to use his daughter to get to him, then she was about to learn a thing or two.

He slammed his briefcase shut and marched toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Mackenzie asked, returning—of course—at that very instant.

“To talk to your friend,” he snapped.

“You mean Carrie?” she asked excitedly. “You won’t be sorry, Dad, I promise you. She’s really nice and I know you’ll like her. If you haven’t decided where to take her to dinner, I’d suggest Henry’s, off Broadway. You took me there for my birthday, remember?”

Philip didn’t bother to inform his daughter that inviting Carrie to dinner wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. He walked out the door and nearly collided with the old biddy clutching the crystal ball.

“Good evening, Mr. Lark,” Madame Frederick greeted him with a tranquil smile. She glanced at him and then at the crystal ball and her smile grew wider.

“Keep that thing away from me,” he told her in clear tones. “I don’t want you doing any of that hocus-pocus around my daughter. Understand?”

“As you wish,” she said with great dignity and moved past him. Philip glared at her, then sighed, exasperated. He headed for the stairs, running down to the second floor.

When he reached Carrie Weston’s apartment, he was winded and short-tempered. She answered his knock almost immediately.

“Mr. Lark.” Her eyes widened with the appropriate amount of surprise, as though she’d spent the past five minutes standing in front of a mirror practicing.

“It seems you and I need to talk.”

“Now?” she asked.

“Right now.”

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