Summary:
Sometimes life’s most magical journeys bring you back to where it all began…From USA Today bestselling author Emily March comes The Christmas Wishing Tree, an enchanting account of the magic and miracle of Christmas.
A man who loves adventure and the open sea, Devin Murphy returns for a short Christmas trip to his small hometown of Eternity Springs. Immersed in the joy and magic of the holiday season all around him, he doesn’t hesitate to play along when a young boy phones Santa to ask for a very special wish. Devin never guesses that a wrong number has the potential to make everything in his life so right.
Jenna Stockton adopted Reilly when he needed a mother and she intends to keep him safe. A small town across the country called Eternity Springs seems like a good place to hide from their past without any complications —until sexy Santa himself discovers her secrets. When Devin proposes a daring plan to face down the danger together and defeat it once and for all, she is tempted. Maybe Devin really is capable of making wishes come true? Perhaps in a Christmas wish they’ll both find the miracle they’ve been looking for all along…
A delightful Christmas novel in the New York Times
bestselling Eternity Springs series.
See below for excerpt and review.
Author Bio:
Emily March is the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels, including the critically acclaimed Eternity Springs series. Publishers Weekly calls March a "master of delightful banter," and her heartwarming, emotionally charged stories have been named to Best of the Year lists by Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, and Romance Writers of America. A graduate of Texas A&M University, Emily is an avid fan of Aggie sports and her recipe for jalapeño relish has made her a tailgating legend.
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NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE
Christmas carols played softly in the background. The scent
of spiced cider perfumed the air. Shoppers munched happily on gingerbread
cookies and perused the bookshelves for that perfect gift.
Dr. Jenna Stockton imagined ripping the halo off the angel’s
head and choking her with it. Instead, she reached deep within herself for
patience and managed to find a smile for the costumed character behind the
bookstore counter. “If I could speak with your manager, please?”
“She’s awfully busy.”
Jenna thought of the ridiculous length of her own to-do list
as she fought to keep her smile from turning into a sneer. “Yes, well, it’s
that time of year, isn’t it? Your manager?”
The little angel gave a haughty sniff, and then said, “If
you’ll step out of line, please?”
Without missing a beat, the angel turned a bright smile
toward the woman waiting behind Jenna. “I’m sosorry for this
unfortunate delay, ma’am. I’ll be as quick as I possibly can.”
Jenna didn’t snarl like a rabid dog. She didn’t. She smiled
at the woman behind her in line. Sweetly. Without canines.
The woman and the four people behind her each gave Jenna an
annoyed glower. She gave them all a smile too, then reached for the nearest
book, which she pretended to read until the clerk returned, accompanied by a
fiftysomething woman dressed like an elf. The angel gestured toward Jenna and
said, “This is the one, Ms. Thomas.”
The elf spoke in a harried tone. “May I help you?”
“I hope so.” Especially considering that
I went out of my way to support a local business rather than ordering online. Jenna
set down the paperback. “I placed a special order two weeks ago and someone
from this store called me last week to tell me it was in. However, your … angel
… can’t find it in your computer system, so she insists I’m mistaken.”
“Do you have your receipt?”
“Not with me, no.”
“Well, if you’ll come back—”
“I don’t have time to come back. I ordered the books for an
event that begins”—Jenna checked her watch—“in forty-five minutes. I’d like you
to check your stock room. My name is Jenna Stockton.”
“Ms. Stockton, I can’t—”
“I ordered thirty copies of New Adventures in the
Christmas Angel Waiting Room.”
“Oh.” The manager pursed her lips. “Oh. I recall that
order.”
“Good.”
Then the manager winced. Uh-oh. Maybe not so good. Jenna
drew a deep, calming breath, then asked, “If you will get it for me, please?”
“Oh dear.”
Jenna closed her eyes.
“I’m afraid we had some internal miscommunication. We sold
out of our stock of that particular title and an employee unfortunately failed
to notice the hold notice on your order. She put them on the shelf.”
“How many are left?”
“It’s a popular title,” the manager hedged.
Jenna leaned forward. “The books are for pediatric cancer
patients at Children’s Hospital. The Christmas party is at four o’clock.”
“Oh dear,” the manager repeated. “Four o’clock you say?”
Jenna nodded curtly.
“I’ll call our distributor. If you can stop back by—”
“You’ll need to deliver them directly to the hospital. To
the attention of Dr. Jenna Stockton.” She removed a card from her purse and
handed it to the manager. “Here’s the address. Take them to the information
desk in the lobby. I’ll tell the volunteers working there to expect them.”
“But we don’t have a delivery—”
Jenna folded her arms and gave the manager her best
take-no-prisoners look.
“I’ll do my best to have them there by four, Dr. Stockton. I
apologize for the inconvenience. Now, is there anything else I can help you
with? I saw you looking at the new Liza Holcomb thriller.” She picked up the
book and handed it to Jenna. “It’s a fabulous book. Scariest stalker story I’ve
read in years.”
Jenna quickly returned the book to the display table. A
stalker story? That was all she needed. “No, thank you. All I need
today is what I ordered. Thank you for the help. You have my phone number. I
trust if there is any further problem, you will give me an immediate call?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Perfect. Merry Christmas, Ms. Thomas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Dr. Stockton.” The manager gave
her a bright smile that didn’t quite hide the worry in her eyes.
Jenna headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder before
pushing it open. The elf was on the phone, the angel had been replaced at the
register by a reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman was on hands and knees beside
the urn of mulled cider wiping up a spill. She sighed. Angels with attitude
aside, she liked this little store. She really hoped they didn’t let her and
the children down.
Outside, the jangle from the Salvation Army bell ringer
mingled with the shrieks and laughter of children embroiled in a snowball fight
in the park across the street. Jenna tugged leather gloves from her coat pocket
and pulled them on as she walked to the street corner and waited for the light
to change. Her gaze drifted back to the snowball warriors. It did her heart
good to see healthy, happy children playing, especially after a morning like
this one.
When the walk signal flashed on, she crossed the street and
cut through the park headed for her car, which she’d left in a lot a block
away. Her thoughts returned to her to-do list. She could save a few minutes if
she bought cookies at the grocery store instead of making the extra stop at the
bakery before picking up Reilly from daycare. But she’d promised Reilly a
gingerbread man from—
Whack.
Something cold and wet stung her cheek. What in the
world? Reflexively, Jenna lifted her hand to her face and the remnants
of … a snowball. She’d been hit with a snowball. Had the battlefield moved
without her noticing and she’d been struck by an errant shot? Or had the attack
been deliberate? If that was the case, one of these heathens was about to get a
piece of her mind.
But when she turned to identify the culprit seconds after
the snowball landed, her gaze skidded over a group of youngsters to an adult
standing nearby. The pockets of a black wool coat concealed the man’s hands. A
black knit cap pulled low on his brow and the matching scarf looped around his
face shielded everything but his eyes.
Eyes that watched her.
A shiver of fear skidded down Jenna’s spine. She whirled
around and picked up her pace. By the time she reached her car, she was all but
running. She thumbed the key fob and unlocked the door as she approached, then
locked it again the moment she was inside. She sat behind the steering wheel
breathing hard, her heart pounding. Her gaze locked on the path through the
park.
Nobody had followed her. Chased her. She’d let her
imagination run wild.
“You didn’t imagine the face full of snow,” she muttered.
She should call the cops. File a report.
Sure. Be one of “those people.” Tie up a law enforcement
officer’s time over a child’s prank. Because surely, that’s all it had been.
One of those kids probably threw the snowball, and the guy dressed in black
probably saw it as it flew by. He’d watched her to see if she’d pitch a fit
about it.
She slipped her key into the ignition, started the car, and
did her best to dismiss the incident. Forty minutes later—after stops at the
dry cleaners, grocery, bakery, and party store—she made it back to the office
in time for her one-thirty appointment with five minutes to spare. If she’d
checked her rearview mirror more often than usual and paid close attention to
those around her as she completed her errands, well, she was simply being
responsible.
Whenever she had a few free minutes during the rest of the
afternoon, her thoughts drifted back to the troubling events of recent months.
The harassment had begun in October, although for the first few weeks, she
hadn’t recognized the threat. Everyone got hang-up calls. She explained away
the texts as wrong numbers. But once online orders she hadn’t placed began
showing up on her doorstep, she realized she had a problem.
She’d thought she’d been a victim of identity theft. She’d
spent an entire weekend canceling cards and changing accounts. Then last week
when a particularly difficult case kept her at the hospital until early morning
hours, she came out to the physician’s section of the parking garage and found
the air had been released from each of her tires.
Random vandalism, the police said. Teenage pranks. Jenna
wasn’t so certain, but she didn’t know who would be doing this to her or why.
As she exited Exam Room 4, her receptionist met her with the
news that her three o’clock was a no-show, which meant she was done for the
day. Jenna tucked away her dark worries and turned her thoughts to the light
and bright. Now she’d have time to pick up Reilly from school rather than have
his after-school caregiver drop him off at the hospital.
Luck was with her for a change because a parking place
became available just as she pulled up. As she got out of her car, a bell rang,
and the door to the kindergarten classroom opened. Reilly was the third
youngster out.
“Mom!” exclaimed her six-year-old son. “You’re here! It’s
time for the Christmas party, isn’t it? Is it time for the party? Is Santa
going to be there? I have my list all ready.”
“Hello, little man. Yes, it’s time for the Christmas party
and yes, Santa has promised to make an appearance.”
“I’m so excited!”
“Me too, Reilly. Me too.”
She’d been trying to make the Santa visit happen for two
weeks now. Because kids grew up so fast these days, she knew that this might be
the last year that Reilly believed in Santa Claus. Jenna had wanted to make it
a special event for them both.
For the initial effort, she had planned an all-day Saturday
holiday adventure beginning with breakfast at a pancake house, followed by
shopping for gifts for Reilly’s friends, then a matinee performance of Rudolphat
the children’s theater, and culminating with a visit to Santa’s Wonderland and
a conversation with the big man himself. They’d had a great time eating and
shopping and watching the play, but as they left the theater, her pager had
gone off. She’d tried again the following Saturday with a different itinerary,
but with similar Santa results. She and Reilly both were counting on “The third
time is the charm” axiom working today.
Arriving at the hospital, she took advantage of valet
parking due to the amount of party supplies she had to tote inside. She loaded
up a collapsible wheeled cart with gifts and decorations and bakery boxes, then
Reilly helped her tug it inside, where she approached the information desk with
trepidation. “I’m Dr. Stockton. Do I have a package waiting, I hope?”
“Books,” the volunteer said. “Yes, they’re here.”
Yes!
She reached beneath the counter then pulled out a box. Jenna
spied twice as many gift-wrapped items as she’d expected. The folded note taped
to the front of the box read, “Your complete order is enclosed. In addition,
please accept these thirty copies of the first book in the Christmas Angel
Waiting Room series as a gift to the children from the staff here at Hawthorne
Books.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?” Jenna murmured.
“Isn’t what nice, Mom?”
“The Christmas spirit.”
He nodded in all seriousness. “I love the Christmas spirit.
I wish it could last all year long.”
“You and me both, little man. You and me both.”
The Christmas party that followed was a bittersweet success.
Local and a few national celebrities showed up to shower attention and gifts
and good cheer on the patients of Children’s Hospital and their families. It
was always nice to see the smiles, but invariably, tears were shed too. The
what-ifs and if-onlys were unavoidable. Hospital events always caused Jenna to
hug Reilly a little tighter and spend a little more time on her nightly
prayers.
The books Jenna gifted were well received by parents and
patients alike. Reilly finally had his visit with Santa, and Jenna shed a tear
or two of her own while she snapped photos of the moment with her phone.
In the car ride on their way home, Reilly bubbled about the
party—the food, the games, the gifts. “There were a lot of dads there,” he
observed. “Did you see, Mom? There were a whole bunch of dads.”
“Yes.” Then, in an effort to alter the direction of the
conversation, she said, “I was surprised to see how many football players
attended. How many autographs did you get?”
“I don’t know,” Reilly answered with a shrug before proving
that he was not to be distracted. “I thought Dr. David would be there. Why
didn’t Dr. David come?”
Oh, Reilly. Dr. David Henderson was Reilly’s
pediatrician, a widowed father whom she’d dated briefly last summer. “I told
you he moved back to Minnesota to be closer to Bella and Jessie’s grandparents.
Dr. Larimer is your new doctor.”
Reilly gave a long sigh. “I pretended I forgot. I thought he
would make a really good daddy for us, Mom.”
“Oh, Reilly.”
“We really do need a daddy.”
“Reilly,” Jenna said, warning in her tone. “Please. It’s
been a long day. Let’s not get started on that subject again.”
“But, Mommy…”
She silenced him with a stern glance. Her son could be a
terrier when he got an idea in his head, and lately, every time she turned
around, he’d been yipping and yapping about needing a daddy.
How about I just order one online? Everything
else was showing up at the house. She’d certainly have more use for a daddy for
Reilly than a yodeling pickle electronic noisemaker.
She switched on the radio, which was tuned to the Christmas
music station. Listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks hope that Christmas wouldn’t
be late wasn’t much better than the yodeling pickle. However, the music did
manage to distract Reilly, who sang along the rest of the way home, so she
wasn’t about to complain.
Her son helped her unload the car, and then he dashed about
the house turning on the lights of all of their Christmas decorations while
Jenna sorted through the mail. One envelope in particular caught her notice.
Whitewater Adventure Rafting on the Snake River? Her stomach took a sick little
flip.
Dread filled her as she stared down at the envelope
addressed to JENNA M. STOCKTON, MD.
This was coincidence, surely. Just bad timing of an
advertisement that probably went to everyone in her zip code.
She slid the letter opener blade beneath the envelope flap
and removed the folded paper.
A reservation for one. Paid in full. January 23rd at 10:00
a.m.
She dropped the paper as if it were on fire. Her hands
trembled. Her heart pounded.
Her always-adventuring parents had drowned in a whitewater
rafting accident seven years earlier … on January 23.
“Mom, can we read a story?”
Jenna saw her son standing in the doorway with his stuffed
Rudolph beneath his arm. His request was a life preserver tossed to a drowning
person. “Absolutely. I have a new book for us.”
Because she wasn’t on call tonight and she had no patients
she suspected of being in imminent need of her services, she poured herself a
glass of wine, traded her shoes for slippers, and settled into the overstuffed
easy chair in the family room with the copy of The New Adventures in
the Christmas Angel Waiting Room that she’d reserved for her own
family. “In my lap, little man.”
He bounded over to her, his face alight with joy.
Story time was special for them both. She’d finished the
first book and allowed herself to be talked into reading a second and a third.
They were negotiating a fourth when she answered the doorbell to a pizza
delivery she had not ordered.
By nine thirty, her doorbell had chimed eleven more times
with deliveries of eleven more cheese and mushroom pizzas. Jenna was allergic
to mushrooms.
At nine forty-five she called the police.
Copyright © 2018 by Emily March in The Christmas Wishing Tree and reprinted with permission from St.
Martin’s Paperbacks.
