Under the Mistletoe with John Doe. Judy Duarte

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      Unable to help herself, Betsy reached out and stroked his cheek, fingering his solid, square-cut jaw, the faint bristle of his beard.

      His gaze locked on hers, stirring up something deep within her, and any reservations about getting involved with him flew out the window.

      As he lowered his mouth to hers, his musky, masculine scent assaulted her better judgment and set her mind swirling in a maelstrom of desire.

      This was so not what she’d planned, but it no longer seemed to matter.

      He brushed his lips against hers—once, twice, a third time. Then he took her mouth and claimed it.

      Dear Reader,

      I don’t think there could be a better setting for a Christmas romance than Brighton Valley, Texas.

      Within the pages of the book you’re holding, you’ll meet Dr. Betsy Nielson, a dedicated physician at the Brighton Valley Medical Center. Betsy, who was betrayed by her ex-husband, is facing the holiday season head-on, determined to focus on her work and her patients. But when a tall, dark and handsome mugging victim is brought into the E.R., battered and suffering from amnesia, Betsy is tempted to do something she’s never done before—get involved with a patient. Still, can she trust a man who doesn’t even know his own name?

      I don’t know about your life, but mine gets busy and hectic during November and December. So I try to take time for myself and relax whenever I can. One good way I relax is by curling up with a book whenever I get a chance. I hope you’ll do the same.

      Merry Christmas and happy reading,

      Judy

      Under the Mistletoe with John Doe

      Judy Duarte

      JUDY DUARTE

      always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

      Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when Silhouette Special Edition released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then, she has published more than twenty novels.

      Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Readers’ Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

      Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous but delightfully close family.

      To Janet Elmore, who reads every book I write.

       This one’s for you, Janet! I hope you like it, too.

      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

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      A Texas honky-tonk was the last place Jason Alvarez could have imagined himself being on a Wednesday night. But here he was, turning into the graveled driveway of the Stagecoach Inn.

      It had been a long day, starting with an early morning workout at the gym, followed by an executive board meeting at Alvarez Industries. After having a business lunch with his brothers at an upscale restaurant in downtown San Diego, he’d flown to Houston on the corporate jet, then rented a car and made a two-hour drive to Brighton Valley.

      He’d stopped once he’d reached the sleepy little town and asked where he could find a local watering hole. Apparently this backwoods cowboy dive was the nearest and the most popular.

      The parking lot was only half-full, though, so finding a spot was easy. He pulled in between a white Chrysler LeBaron with a missing taillight and a beat-up Chevy pickup with gun racks and pasted decals in the rear window that said the driver’s name was Eddie and his passenger was Arlene.

      Without even stepping inside the place, Jason had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the music or fit in with the crowd. But he was on a mission, and personal preferences didn’t matter.

      So he shut off the ignition of the rental car, a black Cadillac Seville, and unhooked his seat belt. But he didn’t get out right away.

      Instead, he reached for the bottle of aspirin he’d tucked into the pocket of his sports jacket and opened the child-resistant cap. Then he threw a couple of tablets into his mouth and chased them down with the remainder of the bottled water he kept in the built-in cup holder.

      His head was aching again, a result of the concussion he’d suffered earlier this week in an automobile accident.

      He’d been using the Bluetooth device on his cell phone when it happened, distracted by a business matter, his mind on everything but the road. His Mercedes had zipped right through the intersection, T-boning a minivan and injuring a pregnant blonde as well as her little girl.

      Jason, who’d suffered only a concussion and some minor bruises and lacerations, had rushed to help the other victims, calling 9-1-1 as he did so.

      Then he’d stood by helplessly as firemen used the Jaws of Life to remove the woman from the driver’s seat and the paramedics treated the child. The police had questioned him, and he’d clearly been at fault—the officers had known it, and Jason had known it.

      When they’d told him he should be checked out by EMTs and taken to the hospital just to make sure he was okay, he’d declined treatment, saying he’d see his personal physician later.

      The memories were just as clear now as they’d been on Saturday afternoon—the shattered glass, the twisted metal, the moans of the pregnant driver, the cries of the frightened little girl.

      The guilt had just about sucked the life out of him, and he’d finally confided in Mike, his older brother, telling him that he thought he should take a leave of absence. He’d just wanted some time to sort out a few things—and he wasn’t just talking about the guilt he was dealing with because of the accident. He wondered if the concussion he’d suffered might have done something to his thought process because he was questioning a whole lot of things the past few days, things he’d never even blinked at before.

      But Mike, who was facing a false accusation and a few legal problems of his own, had said, “Don’t worry about it, little brother. Accidents happen, and what’s done is done. I’ve got the company attorneys on it already.”

      Yeah, right. The same attorneys who were already at work on the allegation of sexual harassment against Mike—a charge he was probably guilty of. And one that would make the family look bad.

      Jason raked a hand through his hair, glanced into the rearview mirror at his haggard reflection, then shook his head and blew out a sigh. No matter how badly he felt about the tragic accident he’d caused, his brother had been right about one thing—there wasn’t much he could do about it after the fact.

      But the guilt and the memory of the whole surreal scene was something he’d have to live with for a long, long time.

      Now, as he got out of the car and hit the lock button on the key-ring remote, he glanced at the orange-neon open sign that hung off-kilter from a front window of the cowboy bar. He sure hoped his hunch had been right,