Moonlight And Mistletoe. Dawn Temple

He resented the ultimatum, but he didn’t blame the old guy. Dangling the partnership as bait was a strong, strategic move, but damn, he hated occupying the weaker position.

      He settled back into his high-backed leather chair and glared at the phone. After learning that Walker didn’t intend to deliver the quick score she’d hoped for, Patty Hoyt had gladly provided Kyle with her daughter’s number. He’d left Shayna Miller six messages since letting her slip away from the hotel. The annoying woman hadn’t returned a single one.

      The tiny doe-eyed girl he’d encountered in that hotel lobby couldn’t have been further from what he’d been expecting. Unlike her overprocessed, overpainted mother, Shayna’s skin had been naked and clear, a glossy peach lipstick her only ornamentation. She’d smelled like sunshine. After years of being assaulted by manufactured fragrances on women, the purity of her aroma had been intensely sensual. Most arresting, though, had been her wide, amber eyes. Clear, unguarded, welcoming.

      All that had changed the instant he’d introduced himself and explained his connection to Steven Walker. She’d closed up. Her smile, her eyes, her attitude. Everything went blank, as if she’d flipped a switch and turned off her inner light.

      He’d gone to that hotel for the very reason Thomas had just suggested. He’d intended to force the issue, do whatever it took to obtain her cooperation. But he’d failed. Not only had she fled before he could outline the lucrative details of Walker’s offer but watching the wary distrust that replaced her initial shy smile had thrown him off his game.

      Now, as he drummed a pen against his desk’s blotter and plotted his battle plan, he once again cursed himself for squandering his opportunity to get a handle on Shayna Miller.

      The longer he thought about that encounter, the more convinced he became that she’d been playing him. Complete lack of emotion was a learned skill, the kind of thing a calculating daughter would learn—or possibly inherit—from a calculating mother. The nut didn’t often fall far from the tree.

      So why the hell did his gut keep insisting he was misjudging her?

      “It’s just the voice,” he assured himself as he flung the pen down and spread the Walker file out on his desk. That sexy southern accent had been playing on a continuous loop through his brain for nearly a week now.

      Damned if he’d be swayed by slow vowels and exaggerated syllables. His future hinged on getting Shayna Miller to consent to the agreement Steven Walker was paying the firm megabucks to secure. And he didn’t intend to fail.

      He might not like his reputation as the office lady-killer, but he had been the one to negotiate Patty Hoyt’s lump-sum payment—contingent upon her daughter’s cooperation—in exchange for never bothering their client again. Ever.

      So what if he despised this whole case? So what if he felt Walker’s requests—both of the firm and the child he’d walked away from over two decades ago—skated ethical and moral lines. Personal feelings aside, his job was to satisfy the firm’s most influential client, and until he made partner, that was all that mattered.

      After he had his name on the letterhead, then he’d have the luxury of turning down clients who made his skin crawl, who reminded him of the human trash he’d grown up with. For now, he was one assignment away from achieving his professional goals and moving on to the next stage of his life plan: attractive trophy wife, two kids, a beach house in Malibu. By then, he hoped to hell his success would obliterate the image of the scrawny, unwanted street punk who still stared back at him in the mirror every morning.

      An unusually frigid breeze swooped beneath the hem of Shayna’s skirt as she scanned the crowd who’d turned out for today’s ground breaking ceremony. Her teeth chattered as she snuggled deeper into her green-and-gold Fighting Lions letterman sweater. Had she known winter planned to make a surprise appearance today, she’d have skipped the sweater’s sentimentality and gone with her more practical—and much warmer—parka.

      Numb fingers fluffed her hair out around her ears as she fought back sentimental tears. She loved this little tight-knit community. It was the day before Thanksgiving, with temperatures suspended in the mid-thirties, and still nearly a hundred folks were gathered in the town square to celebrate the official start of the James Miller Youth Center.

      For nearly three years, she’d dedicated herself to making the youth center a reality, helping with everything from fundraising to building plans to investigating the best playground surface material. It was scheduled to open next spring, and she—and her newly completed social services degree—had already accepted the director’s position. But to have the place named after her daddy? She couldn’t imagine a greater honor.

      He’d suffered a stroke and died seven years ago, so when the town council made the announcement earlier this year, she’d been too overjoyed to speak. They wanted to honor James Miller for his accomplishments with the high school football team—in the South, there was little that could top three consecutive state titles. But for her, his greatest accomplishment, the reason she celebrated his memory every day, was the fact that he’d saved her life. Blood relation or not, he was the only true parent she’d ever known. He’d stepped in when no one else wanted her and had chosen to love her and care for her and give her someone to love in return. He’d made them a family.

      “How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Lindy, who’d been smart enough to bundle up, sidled over to Shayna.

      “Other than wishing I’d worn long pants, I’m fine.”

      “This weather is a shocker. Weatherman’s calling for a thirty percent chance of snow for Thanksgiving.”

      “Judging by the wind blowing up my skirt, I believe him.”

      “What are you two pretty ladies whispering about over here?” Travis Monroe asked as he slipped an arm around his wife’s expanding waist and pulled her snug to his side.

      “Just griping about the weather,” Lindy told him.

      “Typical farm girls,” Travis teased. He nodded toward Mayor Evans, who stood behind the podium as he got the ground breaking underway. “You ready for your big speech?”

      “Yep,” Shayna assured him. “I’m going to keep it short and sweet so we can all get back to our warm homes.”

      Just then, the mayor announced her name, and the crowd cheered and clapped enthusiastically. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, she took the podium. “I want to thank all of you for braving this unusual weather. Daddy would have been honored—and embarrassed—by this wonderful turnout.”

      Her voice began to wobble, forcing her to pause for a second, clear her throat, gather her composure. “James Miller was more than just a great coach. He was a great man. His calm, quiet demeanor hid an inner strength he gladly loaned to anyone who needed an extra push in life, and as you all know, he was uncomfortable with public kudos.”

      The sea of heads surrounding the podium nodded as one.

      “I’ll never forget the paper’s headline after that first trip to state. ‘Coach Miller Wins Title.’ I was so proud, but Daddy said it wasn’t true. He didn’t win that title, the players did. So he rewrote that article, naming and praising the entire thirty-seven member squad. He wanted each of those boys to bask in the pride of their accomplishments.”

      A mumble rippled through the crowd, growing into another burst of applause. Several teary faces stared back at her.

      “That was typical. James Miller did great things every day and always preferred to shift the accolades to someone else. So today, in honor of his memory and because he’s no longer here to deflect the praise—” she paused for a second as she accepted the gold-ribbon-embellished shovel the mayor handed her “—I proudly dedicate this site as the future home of the James Miller Youth Center, and I challenge us all to go out every day and do something great, just like he taught us to.”

      Sniffling back the tears she could no longer contain, she gingerly placed her high-heeled shoe over the shovel’s edge and ceremoniously