Starry Night

Christmas 2013
Dear Friends,
As you might have already guessed, I’m one of those Christmas fanatics. Christmas trees, nativity scenes, lights, and a multitude of decorations fill our home and yard from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. Because of my love for the season, I’ve written a Christmas story each year simply because I couldn’t allow the holidays to pass without putting my own unique stamp on them.
Many of my readers tell me they started reading my books after picking up one of my Christmas stories. Over the years I’ve penned tales involving angelic beings—Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy—and I wouldn’t dare forget to add Mrs. Miracle, one of your favorites and mine, too. Then there were the romantic comedies, some of which I wrote with tears in my eyes from laughing so hard.
Starry Night is a bit of a departure for me. It’s a romance, plain and simple. An absolutely wildly romantic tale involving one of my favorite spots on this green earth—Alaska. I’ve flown above the Arctic Circle myself with my husband, Wayne, and viewed the northern lights. Some of you might recognize Sawyer O’Halloran, who makes an appearance just for fun, from my Midnight Sons series.
I’m blessed to work with one of the most incredible teams in publishing. Shauna Summers and Jennifer Hershey edited this story. Theresa Park, my agent, has been my most ardent cheerleader, along with Rachel Bressler. The Random House crew—Libby McGuire, Susan Corcoran, Kim Hovey, and Kristin Fassler—has added its magic touches as well in making sure this story, and all my books, gets the most exposure possible. And that, my friends, is only the tip of the iceberg. My own staff—Renate Roth, Heidi Pollard, Carol Bass, Wanda Roberts, Adele LaCombe, and Katie Rouner—has become both my right and my left hand. To each one I owe a huge note of appreciation.
While I’m eager to fill in details of the story, I refuse to deny you the pleasure of sitting back, turning the pages, and digging in. And when you finish, my hope is that you will close the book, sigh, and claim this is one of my most romantic Christmas stories you’ve ever read.
Merry Christmas!

P.S. I always enjoy hearing from my readers. You can reach me through Facebook or my website at www.debbiemacomber.com or at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

Chapter One

    Carrie Slayton’s feet were killing her. She’d spent the last ninety minutes standing in two-inch heels at a charity art auction in a swanky studio in downtown Chicago. She couldn’t understand how shoes that matched her black dress so beautifully could be this painful. Vanity, thy name is fashion.
    “My name is spelled with two l ’s,” the middle-aged woman, dripping in diamonds, reminded her. “That’s Michelle, with two l ’s.”
    “Got it.” Carrie underlined the correct spelling. Michelle, spelled with two l ’s, had just spent thirty thousand dollars for the most ridiculous piece of art Carrie had ever seen. True, it was for a good cause, but now she seemed to feel her name needed to be mentioned in the news article Carrie would write for the next edition of the Chicago Herald .
    “It would be wonderful to have my husband’s and my picture to go along with your article,” Michelle added. “Perhaps you should take it in front of the painting.”
    Carrie looked over her shoulder at Harry, the photographer who’d accompanied her from the newspaper.
    “Of course, Lloyd and I would want approval of any photograph you choose to publish.”
    “Of course,” Carrie said, doing her best to keep a smile in place. If she didn’t get out of these shoes soon, her feet would be permanently deformed. She wiggled her toes, hoping for relief. Instead they ached even worse.
    Harry, bless his heart, dutifully stepped forward, camera in hand, and flashed two or three photos of the couple posing in front of what might have been a red flower or a painting of a squished tomato or possibly the aftermath of a murder scene. Carrie had yet to decide which. The title of the work didn’t offer a clue. Red . Yes, the painting was in that color, but exactly what it depicted remained a mystery.
    “Isn’t it stunning?” Michelle asked when she noticed Carrie staring at the canvas.
    Carrie tilted her head one way and then another, looking for some clue as to its possible significance. Then, noticing that Michelle, spelled with two l ’s, was waiting for her response, she said, “Oh, yes, it’s