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    Home For Christmas
    Home For Christmas
    Home For Christmas
    Ebook361 pages6 hours

    Home For Christmas

    By Patricia Potter

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook


    FAMILIES ARE FOREVER

    HOLIDAY HERO?

    Through smoke and mayhem, two strong arms and a gentle voice coaxed Julie Farrell and her precious boy to safety. To mom and son, Ryan Murphy was a hero. To everyone else, he was a killer, destined to remain behind bars for life.

    Instead, Julie brought him home.

    Her lawyer's instinct and woman's intuition screamed that this saviour without a memory was a good man, an honourable man an innocent man. Together, they were the perfect team and a perfect family. But Julie had been wrong once before, and she only prayed that her heart hadn't led her to invite a murderer home for Christmas .

    Happily ever after with kids!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateJul 1, 2012
    ISBN9781460868249
    Home For Christmas
    Author

    Patricia Potter

    Julianna Morris happily reports that she and her own Mr. Right are working on a shoreline home in the Great Lakes area. Not only does Mr. Right get along with her cat, but he's introduced her to the chaotic joy of a multiple dog household. Of course, the cat still rules, but felines are loveable dictators...most of the time. Her feline sidekick is now over 20 pounds, leading some visitors to suspect she has a mountain lion living in the house. One of his cherished pastimes is pulling paperback books out of the bookshelf. He's quite comical standing on his hind legs, slipping and sliding on the books already on the ground, yet determined to clear the rest off of the shelf. In Julianna's opinion anyone who lives with a feline-or a husband-desperately needs a sense of humor. Luckily hers is quite intact and a little offbeat, so she laughs when those books come off the shelf, instead of worrying about having to pick them up again. Like a cat, Julianna is curious about everything. Her interests range from history, science and photography, to antiquing, traveling, walking, gardening and reading science fiction. She draws, paints, collects teapots and recipes, has taught classes in American patchwork and quilting, and tries to find time for everything else she wants to do. People often ask about her favorite movies and actors, and the answer changes constantly. But she's particularly fond of old movies, like The Wizard of Oz, The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, and The Major and the Minor. More recent movies she's enjoyed are Calendar Girls, The Lord of the Rings trilogy and Luther. As for actors and actresses, she thinks Cary Grant was gorgeous, Jean Stapleton marvelously talented and that Sean Connery is sexy at any age. Julianna's love of writing was born out of a passion for reading-one of her most valued possessions as a child was her library card. The worlds opened by books were such magical places that it wasn't long before she wanted to create a few of her own. Her first Silhouette book was published in August 1995.

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      Home For Christmas - Patricia Potter

      Chapter 1

      A split second. A lifetime.

      From the instant Julie Farrell felt the shock of another car smashing into hers, heard the grinding sound of folding metal, felt the incredible impact of an air bag exploding, she believed she would die.

      And, dear God, her son!

      I killed my husband, now I’ve killed my baby. The thought flashed through her consciousness like lightning through a storm. Terror filled her Stark terror Not for her For her son

      Please God, let him live!

      Pain ripped through her chest from the impact of the safety bag. Still, her panic focused on her son, Nick, silent in his car seat in the back Ignoring the chest-crushing agony, she twisted against the seat belt that held her in place. The top of the car had crunched inward. She couldn’t reach him. Frantically, she fumbled to unfasten her own seat belt, and tried again to reach out to her son, bent metal blocked her

      She smelled the acrid odor of smoke, felt the heat beginning to crawl into the car, and saw flames dart from the engine. Desperate, she tried to open the door but it was crumpled, jammed

      Nick, my baby! She heard herself scream in her mind. She heard more sounds. More crashing metal. Something that sounded like a shot Yelling. Screaming. Her own screaming.

      How long before the car exploded?

      Where was help?

      Nicholas, she screamed. A cry answered her. She squirmed around, trying once more to stretch out her hand to him, but he remained out of reach.

      The smoke grew heavier. She could barely breathe Words strangled in her throat Dear God, help Nicholas. He’s only four Tears mingled with blood blinded her as she frantically tried to reach her son, talk to him, calm the fear in his sobs.

      Then she heard a noise from the back. Someone was trying to wrench open the right back door

      Dammit! The profanity ripped through the car, and she stretched around to see Two arms were reaching through the right rear window, working desperately to release Nicholas from the car seat. Please, God. she whispered. Please. please, God ..

      Then she heard a voice, the same voice that had been swearing a moment earlier. But now it was soothing, soft. It’s all right, son I have you. Someone was taking Nicholas from the car through the window He was safe! Safe. Thank you, God. Thank you.

      The smoke was denser The heat..dear God, the heat ..

      Her hand tried the door handle again Please. Please. Please. Someone please help She did not want to die. Nick needed her He had no one else No one.

      Then a bloody hand reached inside her window. She heard the same voice she’d heard seconds earlier. Steady and sure. Confident. Lady, I’ll get you out A hand tugged on the door outside as she tried from the inside. The door did not move.

      Lean back, her rescuer said, as far as you can.

      She trusted that voice She trusted its confidence. She leaned back, and heard the remainder of the broken glass being cleared from the window. Then she was being pulled out by two bloody arms. She was aware of strength, incredible strength.

      Heat singed her Flames darted out from under the hood

      Nicholas? she screamed.

      The boy’s safe, the man said as he finished dragging her out. He took her in his arms, and for the first time she felt as if she might live. There was confidence in those arms, in the stark face that looked worriedly down at her He started toward the side of the road.

      Someone yelled, It’s gonna blow

      She was hurtling through the air. He had thrown her, tossed her like a rag doll. She was rolling, rolling down an embankment just as the world exploded into noise and heat and raining particles of metal

      Nicholas, she whimpered again as she covered her head and felt tiny bits of shrapnel piercing her as she continued rolling. Then from nowhere, she heard herself whisper, Doug. Doug. Why?

      Then pain faded into darkness

      Killer Cop Saves Mother, Child

      The headline raced across the front page in letters large enough for even Julie Farrell’s fogged, aching eyes to read.

      She squinted and concentrated, trying desperately to read the subhead

      Prominent Attorney And Son

      Pulled From Flaming Car

      By Convict

      Her eyes went to the paragraph below, but the small words wriggled and dimmed until they were a mass of indecipherable blobs of ink If only the pain would fade away like the words.

      It was useless. She could only read the large type. After a moment’s frustration, she gave up, allowing the sheet of newsprint to fall on her lap as she looked up at the senior partner of her law firm, who had brought her the paper Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt. She could barely move, and when she did, every part of her—external and internal—ached, pounded or burned.

      She closed her eyes for a moment, trying desperately to arrange her thinking processes. Her first thought, when she regained consciousness at the hospital, was her son She was assured that he’d been clear of the explosion and was in much better shape than herself, though that was of small comfort, considering that she felt like a pincushion punctured with a thousand needles

      She had threatened to crawl, if necessary, to see him, and finally a volunteer had brought him to her room. Nick looked tembly small in a wheelchair, and bandages covered some cuts from glass, but his eyes were as bright as ever, and he climbed next to her, putting a chubby hand on her cheek.

      I was afraid, he said tearfully I was afraid you was going away.

      No, she said. I will never, ever leave you.

      I love you, he said with the intensity of a frightened little boy He was allowed to stay several more minutes before being taken back to the pediatrics ward.

      Then she asked about the man who had thrust her away from the burning car.

      But no one would tell her anything. They kept dodging her questions, reassuring her instead about her own injuries. But she already knew she was going to live. Painfully for a while, but live What about the stranger who risked his life for Nick and herself? She remembered being thrown away from the car; he wouldn’t have had time to escape the brunt of the explosion

      It wasn’t until David Caldwell, the managing partner of her law firm, appeared and handed her the newspaper that she received some answers. You made the news, he said in his usual no-nonsense voice. The doctors say you should rest for a few weeks, but you’re not to worry about it. Mark will take over the Crispen appeal

      She nodded, well aware of the importance of the case to the firm. a battle over a valuable patent the court ruled did not belong to their client. The deadline for the appeal was next week.

      He hesitated for a moment, obviously wanting to say something else. She was curious as to why he had come rather than a junior partner. David Caldwell was not known for niceties. He was always all business, often curt, even rude to his underlings, of which she was one Her gaze wandered up and down the impeccably dressed figure, noting the frown that lingered on his lips

      Well, ummmm, we’re all happy that you...and your son...were not injured more severely, David finally said.

      Thank you, she replied, wishing he would leave. Wishing she could close her eyes and forget the pain.

      He balanced on one foot, then the other, obviously uncomfortable. She wondered suddenly whether he had ever been in a hospital room before. And then she remembered the brusqueness with which he had given her the newspaper He did not like publicity The firm—Caldwell, Michaels, Evans and Cagle—did not like publicity Dammit, she didn’t like publicity. In fact, she loathed it.

      She wanted him to go She wanted to read more of the story. To heck with the publicity She wanted information.

      The news media is full of stories, Caldwell continued. That...police officer was big news ten years ago Most people believed he should have gone to trial, been sentenced to death. This will stir things up again

      Her head seemed to pound even louder. Police officer? Death penalty? She stared at the large headline again, though she had difficulty absorbing it. Did you? she asked curiously.

      He raised an eyebrow in question.

      "Did you think he should have received the death penalty?" she asked, wondering why on earth she was asking such a thing Caldwell was not someone you questioned. Yet she wanted to know She wanted to know everything about the man who had saved her son’s life. Her own

      Yes, he said harshly, surprising her I think he should have He was an officer who dealt drugs and killed his own partner.

      Condemnation hung in the room, condemnation she understood. She, too, despised duty cops.

      Caldwell looked away from her. I know the publicity isn’t your fault, he said in a voice that did not reassure her at all. But we would appreciate your discretion on the matter

      Discretion, she thought, meant ignoring the fact that the man in the article, the killer, had risked his life for hers. She didn’t answer.

      He cleared his throat, If you need anything.

      He really was trying to be kind. He just wasn’t very good at it. Thank you, she said.

      I understand your boy is doing splendidly, he said gruffly.

      We were lucky, Julie said, looking back down at the newspaper They were lucky that one man had the courage to pull them from a flaming car. One man. She swallowed hard as she remembered the headline. She wanted her visitor to leave. She wanted to read more She wanted to know how badly her savior was injured

      She closed her eyes, then opened them, feigning sleepiness She did not have to feign much. She was tired, so very tired.

      The senior partner cleared his throat. I should be going, he said They told me not to stay long I just thought you should know about .that He gestured to the newspaper Reporters have already called for information about you. They will probably be swarming all over you.

      Another not-so-subtle warning. Disappointment stabbed through her She’d thought for an instant that perhaps, maybe, he had come because someone cared

      She merely let her eyes close again. She listened to retreating footsteps and a door opening and sliding shut with a small thud. Part of her wanted to keep her eyes closed Did she really want to learn more about the man who pulled her from the car?

      But she opened her eyes and stared at the headlines, then the three accompanying pictures One was the skeletal remains of her car Another was a photo of herself She remembered that picture It had been taken after she had won her first case as an assistant district attorney eight years ago.

      The third was a man She had no idea when it had been taken He had a hawk-like face, deep-set eyes and thick eyebrows which made his eyes look sleepy. But that was his only benign feature His expression was grim And the grimness looked natural on him. The photo caption identified him as Ryan Murphy.

      Her eyes went to the columns of type She felt the heaviness of sedatives, the dullness they created, and she finally set the paper down on her lap. The headline stared back at her

      Killer Cop Saves Mother, Child

      She managed to read the first few paragraphs. The convict, Ryan Murphy. had evidently defied his guards and a warning shot to rescue Nick and herself.

      She managed a few more sentences. There had been a chain reaction of crashes, injuries, confusion which apparently was why no one else offered help. No one, other than the convicts, was near enough Apparently the guards had been indecisive on whether they should assist the wounded or watch their charges.

      Murphy had been critically injured and was in a coma, according to the report.

      She swallowed hard as she reread the headline. Killer Cop. She had known bad cops. One had lied to her and as a result she had sent an innocent man to prison; she had subsequently resigned from the district attorney’s office.

      Her hand tightened around the newspaper. Was that why no one would tell her how he was? No one thought the man worth her worry?

      A nurse came in the room with a tray. Another blood sample. She knew they worried about infection. Blood pressure and temperature were taken. A few questions were asked about nausea.

      Julie answered impatiently, then held up the newspaper. The man...in the story .is he here?

      The nurse hesitated, obviously reluctant to give out information about another patient.

      Please, Julie said He saved my son’s life And mine.

      She knew the nurse had to know about her Nurses knew everything, even in a hospital as large as Memorial. She’d discovered the power of the grapevine when her husband had been brought here years ago.

      He’s in intensive care, the nurse said

      He’s still alive then, Julie whispered gratefully.

      The nurse nodded.

      Thank God, Julie said, then her mind turned to practical things. She had to make telephone calls. She had to get someone to take care of her cat, Prissy. Her neighbor, Emily Richards, would do that; she had a key to the house. But there were other details...so many details...

      How long will I be here? she asked. All her appendages seemed to move, if painfully. Bandages covered her arms and back.

      The doctor will talk to you in the morning, the nurse said We’ll be checking you frequently through the night because of that bump on your head.

      Julie felt an onslaught of pain, then closed her eyes against it.

      She felt the paper being tugged from her hand.

      No, she said. Leave it here.

      She heard retreating footsteps, the closing of the door again She clutched the newspaper and saw the picture of Ryan Murphy in her mind. She heard his voice Lady, I’ll get you out. She remembered his calmness, the unhurried assurance that had made her believe him.

      Julie tried desperately to remember more. She had been concentrating on the heavy traffic before the accident, but she recalled seeing the white-clad prisoners on the side of the road. She had taken little notice since clean-up gangs were frequent sights on the interstates.

      Her rescuer had had tanned wrists. She remembered that, too. And a white shirt

      His voice She couldn’t get the voice from her mind. A convicted killer A confident comforting voice. Two discordant images.

      But it was the latter that remained in her mind, even after she drifted away from the pain

      Julie waited restlessly for release from the hospital. Nick had been released yesterday and was staying with Emily, the next-door neighbor with whom Julie exchanged babysitting duties. But because of Julie’s recurring headaches, the doctors had wanted to keep her an extra day.

      Emily would be here at the hospital in several hours to pick her up The doctor had already come by with a long list of instructions, and she was ready to go. Emily, however, had already organized her day around a noon release

      Julie dressed in the loose sweat suit Emily had brought the day before when she’d picked up Nick. Her head still ached, yet she couldn’t stay still. A need had been building inside her to see for herself the man who had saved her life. After receiving directions to intensive care, she started down the corridor toward the elevator

      Her heart seemed to pound faster as she reached the nurses’ station in the intensive care area. A killer. A dirty cop Everything she hated most Yet the man bad risked his life to save hers. She couldn’t forget that. Ever.

      She asked the nurse on duty about Ryan Murphy.

      He’s still in a coma.

      Will he...make it?

      I don’t know Julie knew the nurse couldn’t give out any more information than she had But she heard the doubt in the woman’s voice. I can only tell you he’s in critical condition

      Can I see him?

      I’m sorry. No visitors, said the nurse, a competent-looking woman in her forties.

      I’m the woman he saved, Julie explained, assuming the nurse knew what she was talking about. It certainly had been all over the media. And he saved my son. I was just released and I wanted to see him, to thank him...even if he’s still unconscious, she pleaded. I have to.

      The nurse—her name badge said Sarah Mashburn—hesitated You’d have to get by the police officer on duty.

      Which room is it?

      The fourth on the right You can’t miss it. It’s the one with the officer sitting in front.

      Thank you, she said.

      I didn’t say anything, the nurse said, turning around to face a board that was suddenly flashing.

      Julie went by several rooms, each separated from the hall by a wall of glass Most had one or two people huddled inside next to a patient. She reached the cubicle where a uniformed officer sat. He stood as she approached.

      She noted his name on his shirt.

      I’m Julie Farrell, she said. I was an assistant district attorney with Dan Watters’s office

      He relaxed and nodded. I recognize your name. You’re the one he pulled from the car.

      As well as my son. I was hoping I could see him for a moment, thank him

      He’s unconscious

      I know, she said. Still, it’s something I need to do. My son is just four years old.

      I have a kid myself, the officer said. If the nurse said you could, maybe it would be all right. I’ll have to go in with you.

      Of course, she said. You can search me if you want.

      He looked embarrassed, but all the same he patted her down. Okay Only a moment

      She went inside, aware of the officer behind her like a shadow. She stood next to the bed. Numerous tubes ran in and out of Ryan Murphy His arm was in a cast, and much of his body was wrapped in bandages. One wrapping partially covered the side of his head. Abrasions marred a face that was all angles and planes. His features should have looked relaxed in sleep, but they didn’t. His mouth was grim even in unconsciousness. Yet there was an odd little twist at one end that also gave him a quizzical look. His eyes were closed, covered by thick, black lashes, and what hair escaped the bandage was thick and just as dark as his lashes He wasn’t exactly handsome, but his features were strong, compelling.

      She touched his hand Thank you, she whispered. I know you can’t hear me, but thank you. She felt the warmth of his hand, and her own fingertips tingled with the touch. He was so still, the beeping of the monitor so ominous. Live, she said in a low, demanding voice. Ryan Murphy, live. You have to live. Fight, dammit. Fight.

      She willed his fingers to move, but they didn’t She stood still, trying to pass some of her life force into him.

      I’m sorry, Mrs. Farrell, but you have to go This could cost me my job.

      Of course, she said. She gave Murphy’s hand one last squeeze, then turned and walked out the door Outside, she thanked the officer, then turned back to look through the window. He looked so still It’s all right, son, I’ll get you out. She thought she would always remember that voice, that reassurance The feel of his arms as he’d lifted her from the car.

      He’d paid a terrible price for it.

      She felt her heart constrict as she forced herself to look away and leave.

      Fear crawled through him It was a terrifying, insidious thing that filled every crevice of his mind.

      He had grown used to the pain as he slowly emerged from darkness. For a while, the crushing, smothering pain shoved everything else from his consciousness. But as that pain receded ever so slowly, something else filled the void it left: emptiness.

      His head pounded He could barely breathe through the soreness in his throat.

      Mr Murphy? He heard the sounds, tried desperately to understand them. Who was Murphy? He’d heard the name before. Over and over as if someone was pounding it into his skull But it made no sense to him

      He opened his eyes, saw several blurry forms. Slowly, they came into focus, their mouths making noises as they opened and shut One of the figures—a man in white—leaned over him.

      Can you answer me, Mr. Murphy?

      He tried, but his throat ached and his mouth felt as if it were stuffed with some dry substance. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

      Only with intense effort could he fathom the conversation taking place. He’s conscious. Then the face neared his again and a hand held out a glass with a straw to him, guiding the straw into his mouth. He sipped slowly, using the time to try to understand what was happening. So good. It tasted so good. But then it was taken away.

      Mr Murphy? Do you remember anything? Can you tell us how you feel?

      There was an expectant silence.

      He swallowed with difficulty His mouth was still dry, hurting His throat was raw, sore beyond imagining. He ached all over, but his head his head was agony.

      Mr Murphy, came the voice again. You’re in a hospital, but you’ll be all right

      All right? He felt terrible He moved slightly, and his chest felt as if someone had pounded his ribs with sledgehammers. His hands and wrists were bandaged, and one arm lay stretched out in a cast. His throat

      And who was Murphy? Suddenly the pain faded as he frantically sought information, explanations, but nothing came

      He could only look up at the source of the voice. He remembered hearing it before when he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered questions that had made no sense. Nagging, insistent questions he didn’t want to acknowledge

      The woman and child...they will live, thanks to you. The man was speaking again.

      He swallowed, trying to remember. Anything. He couldn’t. What woman and child?

      But that comment was lost in the torrent of more questions. What is your name? Do you know where you are? Do you know what month it is?

      The questions kept bouncing around him, always returning to his name He was asked it over and over again until he wanted to yell at them. Instead, he tried to retreat into himself, trying to escape into the empty, dead silence that was only a little less frightening than the incessant questions he didn’t understand and couldn’t answer.

      They wouldn’t leave him alone, though. A steady stream of people came and went, sticking him with needles and thrusting tubes into his mouth. He was washed and shaved as if he were a baby. And then the man in white returned, along with the burly man in a brown uniform.

      The questions started again. Do you know who you are? Do you know where you are? Do you know who the president of the United States is? Some he thought he knew. Like Nixon. The name just popped into his mind when he was asked again who was president But the disappointment on faces told him he was wrong He hated the feeling of searching in empty places.

      Once when he was asked his name for yet another time, he recalled the name he’d heard over and over again when he first woke up. Murphy, he said slyly, expecting the questions to stop.

      But they didn’t What’s your first name?

      He remained stubbornly silent.

      Ryan, the man in white said patiently Your name is Ryan Murphy. Does that sound familiar?

      No. He wanted to scream a denial at them, but instead he stayed silent.

      A large man in brown clothing started yelling at the questioner in the white coat. Hell, how long do we have to put up with this? He’s faking

      He puzzled over the words. He didn’t understand them, but he recognized the hostility and contempt in the voice. He closed his eyes again, willing them all to go away It had worked before.

      He’s sleeping again, said the soothing voice.

      Hell, he’s been unconscious for two weeks You would think he had enough sleep.

      He almost died. The soothing voice sharpened above him

      Too bad he didn’t, the angry voice said. Save the taxpayers from footing the bill for his keep.

      I want you out of here The mildness was gone from the calm voice

      The rough voice again: He won’t get away with the amnesia act.

      I don’t think he’s faking it.

      Then you’re a fool, Doc. You don’t know how many cons try this kind of thing Don’t remember what they did, try to get themselves transferred to some mental institution. His voice dripped his contempt

      I want you to leave, Mr...

      "Bates. Sergeant Bates. And I don’t leave until he’s secured with an ankle chain since you refuse to send him to the prison ward."

      He needs attention he can’t get there, and restraints aren’t needed He just came out of a coma Brain injury Broken arm Broken ribs. Bruised lungs. Bums. He won’t be going anywhere for a while.

      Save your sympathy, Doc He’s a lifer. A killer. A dirty cop who killed his own partner, and the rules say he has to be secured.

      I don’t care what he did. He’s my patient.

      Well, the state does care. He’ll be chained, or he goes to the jail ward

      He heard all the words, but the one that pierced the darkness was killer. He felt the cold, hard word echo crazily in his head, blocking out the others.

      The voices above him continued to argue. Then he felt something cold and hard tighten around his leg He forced himself to remain still. He wanted to fight whatever was being done to him Yet something inside told him to remain still, to listen.

      A guard will be posted outside the door until he’s moved to the jail wing, the harsh, angry voice said

      There was no reply, only retreating, heavy footsteps.

      Then silence Finally, the soothing voice again.

      You can open your eyes

      He did and stared up at the face over him.

      The face smiled at him. Good try.

      There was approval in the man’s voice, and he felt oddly comforted Someone understood. There was a brief silence "Take your time. Do you remember anything? A childhood pet? A game? Sports?"

      He tried. But the more he concentrated, the worse the pain his head became, the greater the void. He felt as if he were falling, his body twisting and turning into a great hole. I can’t remember, he said painfully.

      A hand settled on his shoulder. I’m Dr. Dailey, a neurologist Do you know what that is?

      He searched again in his limited knowledge, but he didn’t find anything.

      "I’m a specialist in the nervous system, basically injuries or diseases that affect the brain. You received a bad blow, resulting in a concussion and some damage to the brain.

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