We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus Read online

  A Sampling of Praise for Brenda Novak

  “What a wonderful love story…. An emotional, romantic journey you’ll not want to miss!”

  —Rendezvous on Expectations

  Brenda Novak’s “books are must-reads for those hopeless romantics among us.”

  —Bestselling author Merline Lovelace

  “In her first Superromance, Ms. Novak has given us a wonderfully warm story. This is a definite keeper!”

  —AOL Writers’ Club Romance Group on Expectations

  “…three-dimensional, very real characters with realistic problems. These characters touched my heart and had me reaching for the tissues.”

  —Scribes World Reviews on Snow Baby

  Brenda Novak’s “powerful storytelling voice sweeps the reader through a stormy past and a painful present, providing the novel with depth seldom matched in this genre…. I very highly recommend that you read Snow Baby.”

  —Cindy Penn, WordWeaving

  “Baby Business is a heart-wrencher with a knock-your-socks-off ending!…One thing is for sure: I know I never, ever want to miss a book by Brenda Novak.”

  —Suzanne Coleman, The Belles and Beaux of Romance

  “This one kept me turning the pages. A tautly written suspense plot, an interesting setting, well-drawn characters and an enjoyable romance.”

  —Jean Mason, The Romance Reader on Dear Maggie

  Dear Reader,

  Sometimes we come to a point in life when we have to look honestly at our situation—and the decisions that have brought us to where we are—and face the fact that it isn’t where we want to be. Maybe we took a wrong turn somewhere. Maybe someone else took the turn that threw us offtrack. Either way, changing requires a great deal of strength and determination. In We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, Jaclyn Wentworth is a woman who won’t settle. She digs deep inside herself for the courage to do what must be done, and as she grows in wisdom and confidence, she eventually finds what we all want most—love and happiness. I hope you enjoy her journey.

  I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611. Or simply log on to my Web site at www.brendanovak.com to leave me an e-mail, check out my book signings or learn about upcoming releases.

  May we, like Jaclyn, find the courage to make the changes that are best for us!

  Brenda Novak

  P.S. Merry Christmas!

  Books by Brenda Novak

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  899—EXPECTATIONS

  939—SNOW BABY

  955—BABY BUSINESS

  987—DEAR MAGGIE

  We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

  Brenda Novak

  To my mother, LaVar Moffitt,

  the inspiration for Jaclyn’s strength and spirit.

  And to Ted Novak, my own self-made man.

  Cole has nothing on him.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  THIS WAS IT, the absolute last straw. Jackie Wentworth couldn’t take any more.

  Numb, she sat in her new Suburban, the engine idling, as she stared in sickened wonder at her husband’s 1997 Dodge Ram with its identifying Rodeo bumper stickers. She’d spent hours looking for him, worried when she’d returned home from her friend’s place in Utah a day early to find their bed, their entire section of his parents’ home, empty. Even though it was the middle of the night, she’d driven past his friends’ houses, his two sisters’ houses, and gone all the way out to Sand Mountain, his favorite weekend haunt.

  But she’d been fooling herself, of course. His dune buggy, or “sand rail,” as they were now called, was still in the garage. She just couldn’t bring herself to believe the worst, at least not at first, not after all the counseling sessions and promises and hard-won confessions they’d been through—and finally, finally the forgiveness she’d managed to wring from her own heart.

  What a waste. Jackie closed her eyes, hoping she’d see something different when she opened them again. But the scene was just the same. Her husband’s truck sat in the dimly lit parking lot of Maxine’s, one of the legalized houses of prostitution that stood neighborless in the barren desert just outside Feld, Nevada.

  Behind her, Mackenzie and Alex were wearing their pajamas and fighting over the pretzels Jackie had bought to keep them occupied. Alyssa, the baby of the family at two years old, wailed miserably in her car seat. It was nearly three in the morning. Jackie couldn’t blame them for feeling put out. But she heard the noise they made as though it came from somewhere far away. Her ears were ringing too loudly, her heart thumping too hard, to hear anything clearly.

  Opening her door, just in case she was going to be sick, Jackie put her head between her legs and took long, deep breaths. It’s okay. You’re okay, she told herself.

  But she wasn’t okay. She didn’t know if she’d ever be okay again. She only knew she’d leave Terry. She’d take the children with her if she had to crawl on her hands and knees and carry the three of them on her back. And this time she wouldn’t let anything undermine her determination.

  “Mommy? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

  “Mom, Alex is touching me.”

  “Shut up. You’re such a pain.”

  “You shut up. You’re the one who started it.”

  Jackie couldn’t answer. She straightened, thinking of the movie classic Gone with the Wind. She pictured Scarlett O’Hara crying and angry and shaking her fist at the sky, swearing she’d never go hungry again, and finally understood the depth of that kind of resolve. Because she felt the same way.

  “As God is my witness, I will never let myself become so dependent on another human being again,” she muttered.

  “Mommy? Why are you talking to yourself? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s sick?”

  Alyssa cried louder. “Out, out, out!” she chanted.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” Jackie said, turning, dry-eyed, to face the three of them. “We’re getting out. Soon.” Out of Feld. Out of Nevada. Out of her loveless marriage.

  Her words did nothing to placate the baby. Alyssa had no concept of soon, except that it wasn’t now, but Jackie felt infinitely better. Terry thought he had her where he wanted her. Since the car accident that had killed her parents six years earlier, she had no family to speak of. She’d spent what money she’d inherited attempting to leave him once before. And she’d married him right out of high school, so she had no college education, no marketable job skills—and three young children to care for.

  What would she ever do without him? How would she make it? They lived with his parents on his father’s ranch. Terry knew he’d inherit the whole operation someday, but they had no real money, not of their own. Her husband hung out with the same guys he’d known in high school, partied nearly as hard and cheated on his wife. And every time he got himself into a scrape, he ran to Daddy.

&n
bsp; Her life had turned out so differently from what she’d planned. She’d married Terry Wentworth because she believed in his potential, the sweetness in him. She’d wanted to see him rise to that potential. But at eighteen she probably wasn’t the best judge of character. Since then, she’d realized he was too lazy and too weak to fight the influence of having everything handed to him on a silver platter. He had no determination, no ambition, because no problem was too big for Daddy to solve.

  Except this one, Jackie promised. Burt Wentworth was a formidable foe, but if he gave her trouble over the divorce—and she knew he would—she’d fight him.

  She thought of marching into Maxine’s to tell Terry so, then decided against it. Why embarrass him? Let him have his fun. Reality would intrude soon enough. But she couldn’t leave without letting him know she’d caught him red-handed. Otherwise he’d claim she’d seen someone else’s truck in the dark. He’d lie and cry and play the martyr. And she was done with all that.

  Backing the Suburban out of the lot and parking it where the children could no longer see Terry’s truck, she retrieved the large hunting knife they kept in the glove box, got out and methodically slashed all four of Terry’s tires. The wheezing sound of escaping air followed her back to the Suburban. By now the baby was quiet, and her older children had stopped fighting, too busy turning in their seats, trying to see where she’d gone.

  “What did you do?” Alex asked, as she climbed back in.

  Jackie put the knife away and started the car again. “I just left Daddy a message,” she said.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One year later…

  JACLYN’S DIVORCE was final today, but she didn’t feel much like celebrating. Her father-in-law and ex-husband had made her life hell with all their legal motions and expensive lawyers. She’d spent almost everything she’d earned waitressing on her own pathetic attorney—had run up a sizable bill, besides—and still she’d gotten no spousal maintenance, a mere pittance for child support and no more custody rights than Terry.

  But she had escaped. Finally. She’d won in that regard and in one other: the court had given her permission to leave Feld, as long as she didn’t go farther than a two-hour drive. Now she lived in Reno, Nevada, a mini-Las Vegas, self-dubbed the “biggest little city in the world.” With a small strip of casinos, a constant influx of truckers, and slot machines in every gas station and convenience store, it wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she left the Wentworth ranch, but it was better than Feld. At least she was free to build a life for herself that didn’t include Terry’s family and their influence, or the sickening knowledge that her husband was warming someone else’s bed. No more nights spent searching for him, wondering where or when he might turn up. No more heated arguments and denials.

  And no more financial security. For better or for worse, Jaclyn was on her own. And being on her own could be downright lonely, she realized, rinsing off the knife she needed to slice pie for table number five. It was summer so the kids were out of school. Terry had come from Feld to pick them up, and now she was looking at three full days without them. She had to work tonight and tomorrow, but she was off, for a change, on Wednesday. What would she do with herself?

  Maybe she should offer to take a shift for one of the other waitresses. She was already scheduled for forty hours this week, but heaven knows she needed the money.

  “I just seated another table at your station,” the hostess informed her. “Can you handle it? Or should I have Nicole punch in?”

  It was late afternoon, before the dinner crush. Jaclyn was the only waitress on the floor and had three tables going already, but she could manage another. On a busy night at Joanna’s, the manager assigned five tables to each server. Sometimes, when they were slammed, Jaclyn took six. “No problem. I’ve got it.”

  “Two men,” the hostess responded. “And one looks good enough to eat.”

  Jaclyn didn’t care if they were handsome. She felt no desire for another relationship, at least not yet. That they were male was significant, though. In her experience, men usually tipped better than women or families or seniors.

  She delivered dessert to the four older women dining together at table five and approached the newcomers to find them both perusing the menu.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  “I’ll have a cola,” the man on her right replied. Heavyset and about forty years old, he was resisting the loss of his hair by combing the few remaining strands over the dome of his head. He certainly didn’t look good enough to eat. Which meant…

  The man on her left lowered his menu. He had warm brown eyes, black hair and a ruggedly attractive face with a slightly cleft chin. His dark tan gave the impression that he worked outdoors, despite the business suit that fit his athletic body to perfection.

  “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

  Jaclyn shook her head. Working in a café-style restaurant open twenty-four hours a day, she heard that line a lot. Only, it was usually after dark, not at four o’clock in the afternoon. Still, she had to admit it sounded better coming from a man who looked as if he could be plastered on a billboard advertising men’s briefs.

  “I doubt it. I’m new to Reno.”

  He frowned. “I never forget a face. Where did you live before?”

  “A little town off the loneliest road in America.”

  “Highway 50. You’re from Feld,” he said. “You were Terry’s girl.”

  Jaclyn blinked in surprise. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I lived there for a while.”

  Even here she couldn’t completely escape Feld or Terry. Jaclyn racked her brain, trying to remember who this man was. He looked about her age. If he’d lived in Feld long, she’d certainly know him.

  And then it dawned on her. This was Cole Perrini, the boy who’d moved in right before their senior year. The wiry, rangy youth was gone. He seemed at least two inches taller and nearly fifty pounds of pure muscle heavier. But it was definitely Cole. The eyes and that cocky grin gave him away, along with a certain hard-bitten edge that seemed to warn everyone to keep their distance or take their chances.

  “Oh, you’re Cole,” she said, remembering far more than just his name. The oldest son of a poor mining family, he’d lived in a cheap trailer just outside town and driven a beatup old truck. Terry had been voted most likely to succeed that year. Had there been a category for it, Cole Perrini would have been nominated most likely to get someone pregnant. Which was exactly what he’d gone on to do. The girls loved him because he was handsome and dangerous and, from what Jaclyn had heard, good with his hands. Terry’s crowd hated him—for the same reasons.

  “You married Rochelle,” she added.

  He winced. “We’re divorced.”

  “I know.” The beginning of Cole and Rochelle’s story was common knowledge, at least in Feld. Rochelle had loved Cole to distraction and chased him for more than a year. She’d gotten pregnant, and he’d married her. The rest Jaclyn had heard when she’d run into Rochelle years ago. Cole hadn’t been faithful—which sounded all too familiar—and the marriage had ended in divorce just a few months after Rochelle miscarried.

  “You still with Terry?” he asked.

  “No.” Didn’t finding her here tell him that?

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My life’s the way I want it,” she insisted.

  “Right. You were pregnant when I left Feld, weren’t you?”

  He remembered that? The last time Jaclyn had seen Cole Perrini was at the grocery store about ten years ago, a month before she’d given birth to Alex. Wearing an enigmatic smile, he’d shaken his head at her before strolling outside and driving away. And she hadn’t seen him since. She’d wondered what he’d been thinking, and guessed he was letting her know how crazy he thought she was for marrying Terry. He’d actually told her once, back at a high-school football game, that she’d be a fool to do so. But she’d laughed and asked him who h
e thought would be better for her—him? He hadn’t answered.

  “I have three kids,” she said. “Alex is almost eleven, Mackenzie is five and Alyssa is three.”

  “So the divorce is fairly recent.”

  “Very. It’s final today.”

  He raised his brows and looked around the restaurant, obviously taking in the fact that after twelve years and three kids, this was where Jaclyn Wentworth found herself.

  Shame warmed Jaclyn’s cheeks. Waiting tables wasn’t exactly where she’d hoped to be at thirty-one. She’d wanted to be a wife and mother, to help Terry run the ranch, to grow old and gray with him. She’d never dreamed she’d need to be more than that. But life had a way of sending one scrambling for Plan B.

  Not that her backup plan included waitressing forever. She was hoping to find something else once she got on her feet, someplace she could work during school hours, instead of nights and weekends. She just hadn’t found anything yet that paid enough to support her little family.

  She shot a look at Cole’s friend, who was watching her curiously, before asking Cole, “You still driving semis?”

  He chuckled. “No, I gave that up when I got divorced.” As though her momentary distraction had reminded him that he hadn’t introduced his companion, he said, “This is Larry Schneider with Reno Bank and Trust. Larry, this is an old friend of mine from high school, Jackie Rasmussen.”

  “Jaclyn Wentworth,” she corrected, smiling a greeting at Larry. Everyone she knew in Feld called her Jackie, but she’d started using Jaclyn when she moved to Reno. She would have switched to her maiden name, too, but she didn’t want her last name to be different from her children’s.