The Christmas Promise Read online

  “Come see the kitchen. It’s my favorite room...”

  “I like the bar stools.”

  That amused Ben. “What about the rest?”

  Ella turned back to him, her face glowing. “It’s beautiful, Ben. I can’t believe this is our old cottage.”

  “Well, it really isn’t, Ella. That was torn down, remember? But I like to think it is in spirit, anyway.”

  “That’s a lovely thought.” She moved closer.

  His heart swelled. “Ella, I—”

  Her upturned face was shining with pleasure. He could barely hear what she was murmuring over the pounding in his chest.

  “This isn’t a good idea, Ben.”

  He closed his eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. Guess we better head back.”

  He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. She was leaving the next day and he had a sinking feeling that this might have been his last chance to prove they could go back in time.

  Dear Reader,

  The Christmas Promise is the second book in my Lighthouse Cove series about a tragic prank that brought long-lasting consequences to the teenage girls involved. The first book, His Saving Grace, is the story of one of the key figures in the prank.

  But there were two victims of that prank—the youth who died and the girl who was blamed, Ella Jacobs. Ella’s determination to expose the truth of that tragedy pits her against Ben Winters, her teenage crush, as well as the entire Winters family. Ben’s instinct is to protect his family from public scrutiny and to hide his own secrets. His dilemma is that he’s also determined to recapture his summer love with Ella, the girl he never forgot.

  Can one be forgiven for a thoughtless act? Is love enough to withstand the guilt and shame of that act? These are some of the questions that led me to give life to Ella and Ben, to show their struggle to regain their love and trust in each other. As they eventually learn, happy-ever-after also depends on acceptance by a whole community.

  Enjoy!

  Janice Carter

  The Christmas Promise

  Janice Carter

  Writing has been a passion for Janice Carter since elementary school, but her second career (after teaching) began with the publication of a Harlequin Intrigue novel many years ago. Janice says she’s been very lucky to be able to do what she enjoys most—writing about the connections between people, their families and the places where they live. And of course, love is always at the heart of those connections.

  Books by Janice Carter

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  For Love of a Dog

  Her Kind of Hero

  His Saving Grace

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For my family—Peter, Andrea, Kirk, Marina, Cheryl and, last but definitely not least, Sybil

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EXCERPT FROM HER HOMETOWN DETECTIVE BY ELIZABETH MOWERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  BEN WINTERS OPENED the door to Novel Thinking, his sister’s bookstore, simultaneously cursing and admiring Grace for her skillful manipulation. He was beginning to think he didn’t know his little sister half as well as he thought. Either that, or some parallel-dimension version of Grace Winters had moved into Lighthouse Cove. Certainly, the unnerving events of the past five months were proof of that theory. After the shock of her upending the whole family clan with a revelation about the past, along with the news that she’d fallen in love with a man she’d only recently met, Ben no longer knew what to expect from her.

  Yet here he was, waiting on Grace’s behalf to greet a guest author invited for a book talk and signing. And not just any author, but Ella Jacobs. Ben supposed that if he read fiction rather than history, he might have discovered sooner that the girl who’d stolen his heart seventeen years ago was now a published author. A young adult fiction author, Grace clarified. Then she’d given him a definition of that term, which he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to because all he’d heard was the sentence that she’d opened with—Ella’s coming to the Cove!

  Since his sister’s announcement, Ben had browsed the internet for all references to Ella Jacobs or E. M. Jacobs, her writing name. Of course, he’d made a few Ella Jacobs internet searches since he’d last seen her, even throughout some of the four years of his marriage, but he hadn’t done so since his return to the Cove, where reminders of Ella Jacobs were everywhere.

  He’d already known that she’d graduated with a degree in journalism from NYU and was currently a reporter for the Boston Globe. In his latest search, he’d found a short Wikipedia bio that highlighted her recent debut as a fiction writer and mentioned articles she’d written for journals and magazines. Ben had stared long and hard at the single line referring to her marriage and divorce. She’d gone on with her life, just as he had with his.

  He forced himself away from the what-if that instantly arose as it had so many times the past few years. He’d tried—half-heartedly, he had to admit—to persuade Grace to cancel the invite. What can possibly be gained by this impulsive decision? he’d asked her. He’d almost said reckless decision, because that’s what it was. There’s no going back, he’d pointed out. Then she’d gazed up at him with big dark eyes that were identical to his, and he had a flash of a young Gracie begging a favor from her big brother. He’d given in as he once used to, struggling to ignore the echo in his head—this is not a good idea.

  He walked the length of the narrow store, flicking on lights as he went. The place could be gloomy, especially now in mid-December. What it needed was a makeover. Get rid of the dark wood paneling, put in a few skylights and ceiling pot lights, enlarge the front windows and substitute the oak door for a glass one. So far in her time as manager, Grace had refused to consider any kind of reno. She’d always been drawn to old things and seemed to like it just the way it was. Besides, the store barely eked out a living and Ben knew the family construction business was in no position to undertake a free renovation. The purchase of the bookstore had been an impulsive act by their father, Charles, who reasoned having some kind of employment would keep Grace in the Cove.

  Well, that worked, Pop!

  Now that she was engaged to the Coast Guard guy from Portland, Drew Spencer, there was no guarantee Grace would settle permanently in the Cove much less run the bookstore. However, the lighthouse restoration project she’d undertaken with Henry Jenkins and Spencer last summer would assure her presence for a while, at least until the memorial site for their cousin Brandon was completed. The whole family was still recovering from the shock of Grace’s admission months ago about her role in the prank that had led to Brandon’s drowning. Then Grace had dropped another bombshell. She’d invited Ella Jacobs to the Cove.

  Why, Grace? What good could possibly come of this? he’d asked when she’d told him.

  I have to do this, Ben. I can’t ease my soul by confessing only to the family. What happened to Ella was unfair. She took the blame. I have to make
things right between us.

  The earnestness in her face had stopped Ben from saying that none of it could possibly be made right. Brandon was dead. No confessions and apologies could ever change that. And he was just as much to blame—something he’d hoped Ella Jacobs would never have to learn.

  * * *

  EXCEPT FOR THE sprawl of new housing extending west of the town on the other side of the highway to Portland, Lighthouse Cove hadn’t changed quite as much as she had, Ella decided, parking in front of The Lighthouse Hotel. The idea that the Cove now had a subdivision was ironic enough to bring a half smile. A big reason she and her family spent every summer here had been to escape the Boston suburb where they lived.

  She was tired after the two-hour drive but didn’t rush to get out of the car. She’d had to get up early to meet with her publisher, pick up a box of books for tomorrow’s presentation and swing by her office at the Globe to submit an article for the upcoming Saturday edition. Her boss and his boss had agreed to her request for a month’s leave from her job as city reporter as long as she was willing to post an op-ed piece each Saturday.

  Initially Ella had been reluctant to shift from a reporting job to a columnist’s, but once she’d started, she’d liked the change. It gave her an opportunity to express her thoughts on any topic, and she found—to her surprise—that she had plenty of opinions. It also freed her up to devote time exclusively to her debut novel’s promotion. The book was the result of almost a year of therapy. You’re still carrying around the baggage of a summer seventeen years ago, her therapist had observed. Perhaps you could write about it in some way.

  Ella had resisted the idea for months until one sleepless night, haunted by the recurring flashbacks she’d had off and on since that summer, she’d booted up her laptop and begun to write. Surprisingly, the first draft had been completed within three months, and a contact with a Boston agent had fast-tracked her submission to a publisher. The whole process had taken a bit more than a year. Yet even now, Ella wasn’t at all certain if the work had successfully erased the still-vivid memory of that awful night.

  In retrospect, her thrill at finding a note from Ben Winters tucked into the bag of books she’d received from his sister, Grace, that summer had definitely ruled out rational thought. The day before the end-of-summer beach bonfire, he’d told her he’d be packing for his drive to college at the end of the holiday weekend and couldn’t make it to the annual event. Disappointed, she’d told Grace and Cassie Fielding, Grace’s school friend, that she couldn’t make it to the bonfire either. But when she found Ben’s note—Meet me at the path to the lighthouse about 8 tonight. I want to say goodbye—in private!—all that changed. Forever, as it turned out.

  So here she was, after all this time, in Lighthouse Cove, Maine—the vacation paradise that was ruined for her when she realized that life could be cruel. Worse, that she could be cruel. Ella unsnapped her seat belt and reached for her handbag. The card that Grace Winters had sent in care of her publisher fell out, and she picked it up, then read the message for the umpteenth time.

  Dear Ella,

  I was thrilled to learn about your debut novel, which I have just finished reading. It’s a wonderful book and I’ve purchased some copies for the bookstore I’m managing in the Cove. Maybe you remember the town’s only bookstore, Novel Thinking? I came back to the Cove almost a year ago, after my father’s heart surgery. When Henry Jenkins retired, Dad bought the bookstore and I agreed to run it. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home.

  Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming for a book signing and talk sometime in the next couple of weeks? I realize that the time frame is short, but I’ve been out of town. It would be lovely to see you again and catch up on the last seventeen years! You can email me at the address below. I’m hoping you’ll be able to come.

  Sincerely, Grace Winters

  Ella had received the card only three weeks ago, but it had drawn her thoughts every single day since—not for what was written but for what was missing. No reference to the prank. No hint of an apology. Not one word of remorse. She’d been tempted many times to toss it into the recycling bin, but a single sentence held her back. My brother, Ben, has also moved back home. It was almost pathetic that those few words could override common sense, but they had. She impulsively emailed Grace to tell her she would come. Afterward, every instinct warned her she was making a mistake, yet here she was, parked in front of a hotel that had always enchanted her and where she’d booked a superior deluxe room for two nights. While her advance for Always Be Mine was modest, this felt like the perfect chance to splurge a little. Ella took a deep breath and stowed Grace’s card in her purse.

  Well, she told herself, you’ve made a commitment, but if it all goes downhill from here—which is a real possibility—you can cancel that second night. She reached into the back seat of her car for her tote bag and small suitcase, left the box of books in the trunk, and headed into the hotel. As soon as she entered the lobby, Ella realized that one’s childhood memories can be deceiving. Sure, the enormous chandelier still dangled from the ceiling, but the luster of the wood paneling had dimmed. The assortment of chairs and love seats scattered in the center of the lobby were a curious mismatch of Victorian and modern—fake leather vying with faded velveteen for attention that neither achieved. She paused for a moment to take it all in, guessing that this would be only the first of her Cove childhood memories to be altered. She walked to reception, noticing a few stains and scuff marks here and there on the marble floor.

  It took the young man on the other side of the wood counter several seconds to notice her presence. “Oh sorry. I didn’t see you coming in.”

  “I have a reservation for two nights. E. M. Jacobs.”

  He scanned the desktop computer in front of him and looked up to say, “Oh yes, here it is. A superior deluxe room.”

  “With a waterfront view.”

  “Right. A good choice.”

  Trying in vain to calm the nervousness she felt already mounting inside, Ella drummed her fingertips on the counter while the man—his name badge read Rohan—checked her in.

  When he handed back her credit card, Ella asked, “Does the rate include breakfast?”

  “No, sorry. We don’t have a restaurant, but there’s a very nice café, Mabel’s, just down the street. Here you are. Room 410, top floor. The elevator is down there—” he pointed left “—at the far corner of the lobby. Will there be anything else?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.” Ella slung her handbag over her shoulder, grabbed her tote and wheeled her suitcase toward the elevator. The fourth-floor hallway was deserted, and as Ella walked along, looking for 410, she saw that all of the doors were new—some kind of metal made to look like wood—with locks to accommodate the card key she’d been given. Upgrading of sorts was obviously happening in the hotel. But not yet inside the rooms, Ella amended as she pushed open the door. She stood on the threshold, wondering which superior deluxe room had been pictured on the hotel’s website. Definitely not this one. She sighed, thinking one night might be it, after all, for her stay in the Cove.

  Before unpacking, Ella pushed aside the heavy velvet drapes in the bay window across from the double bed. At least the waterfront view lived up to its hype. She’d never seen the town from this perspective and at this time of year. Given the passage of time as well as the wintry landscape, she needed a few seconds to identify familiar landmarks. The wooden boardwalk on the water side of Main Street seemed wider, now it was covered in snow, but the stairs connecting that upper level to the walkway below, running along the water’s edge, were still there.

  Ella’s family had often strolled along that walkway, licking cones from Tina’s Ice Cream Parlor and gawking at the collection of pleasure boats and fishing trawlers moored there. Back then, the marina had been full of boats. Today it was basically empty, though Ella assumed most boats had been hauled up on
shore somewhere for the winter. She scanned the bay beyond the marina. The open water was dark and forbidding, not the deep sea-green of summer. Far out in the larger Casco Bay, she thought she saw blocks of floating ice or snow but decided they could also be whitecaps.

  The business section of town looked the same, except for a line of snow-covered planters decorated for the holiday season with large red bows, and lampposts with hanging baskets of spruce or cedar boughs. The main road—Main Street—curved toward a residential area, which included summer cottages beyond. Ella squinted. She could barely see them, but the cupolas of the twin turrets of the Winters family home partially emerged from the bare branches of the trees around the upper story of the house. Was Grace still living there? Or Ben? No. Likely, they’d both found places of their own. Especially if they were married. If Ben was married. Ella firmly pushed aside that thought. What did it matter?

  Her eyes strained against the sunlight reflecting off snow, trying to locate the cottage her family had rented each of the ten years they’d vacationed in the Cove. She remembered it had been on the land side of the last street before the beach, tucked into the hill leading up to Grace’s house, so not visible from this vantage point. Farther east, where the paved road ended in gravel and the long arm of the cove began, was Cassie Fielding’s house. Ella couldn’t see it either, but every cell in her body sensed its presence. If she let her eyes follow the snowy beach and rocky peninsula farther along, there was the lighthouse. Ella dropped the curtain and turned away from the window.

  An hour later she’d showered and unpacked the few things she’d brought—the tailored slacks and scarlet cowl-necked sweater for her talk, a backup black skirt and cream blouse, and a pair of jeans and a more casual turtleneck for anything else she might do in town. She shouldn’t need more clothes—she doubted she’d be in the Cove for more than the two nights she’d booked. That would be plenty of time to accomplish what she’d planned.