White Christmas: Woman Hater / The Humbug Man

Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

DIANA PALMER

‘Palmer demonstrates, yet again, why she’s the

queen of … quests for justice and true love.’

—Publishers Weekly on Dangerous

‘Nobody does it better.’

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

‘The popular Palmer has penned another winning

novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.’

—Booklist on Lawman

‘Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly … heartwarming.’

—Publishers Weekly on Renegade

‘Diana Palmer is a mesmerising storyteller who

captures the essence of what a romance should be.’

—Affaire de Coeur

‘Sensual and suspenseful’

—Booklist on Lawless

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise

Title Page

Woman Hater

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

The Humbug Man

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Copyright

One

When Gerald Christopher first suggested going to his family ranch in Montana to rest his recently diagnosed ulcer for a few weeks, Nicole had instant reservations. He was the boss, of course, and if he wanted to go to Montana, there was no reason he shouldn’t. But Nicole liked the pleasant routine of life in Chicago, where she’d spent the last two years working for the Christopher Corporation. At twenty-two, Nicole White had found a nice, pleasant rut for herself and she didn’t particularly like change.

The problem was that if Mr. Christopher went to Montana for a month, as he was threatening, and closed down his personal office while he was gone, Nicole would be out of a job until his return. Despite her adequate wages, trying to live for a month without any salary was a frightening thought. That was almost laughable considering her background, because Nicole’s family had been one of the old moneyed ones of Kentucky. Her father, in fact, was still one of the jet set, a noted sportsman as well as a horse-racing magnate, and lived the part. Nicole had long since renounced her share of the family fortune and gone to work for a living.

Her mother’s death had been the last straw. Her father had been with his latest mistress at the time, not that he’d ever been home a lot. That hadn’t mattered at the time, because Nicole had been sure that her new fiancé, Chase James, would set up their marriage and that his job as a real estate agent would make it possible for him to support the two of them. She’d figured wrong. Once Chase found out that Nicole had been foolish enough to give up her family fortune—and when he realized that she couldn’t possibly be talked out of it—he asked for his ring back. His immediate defection to one of Nicole’s moneyed and eligible girlfriends had shattered her young life.

At the age of twenty, she’d left the elegant brick mansion of her childhood in Lexington, Kentucky, and a racehorse farm worth millions, to live the frugal life as a secretary in Chicago, where she had a friend with whom she could room. She smiled, remembering her lack of skills at the time, and how patient Mr. Christopher had been until she’d crammed in some courses at the local secretarial school. Lucky for her that he’d liked her personality and had decided to take a chance on her secretarial skills improving. They had. She’d graduated from the course at the top of her class.

It all seemed a long time ago now, a part of her life that was like some slowly fading photograph of a reality she no longer belonged to….

“You’ll like it there, Nicky,” Gerald Christopher said dreamily, staring out the window. “The ranch is in the southern part of the state, nestled in the Rocky Mountains. It’s rich with forests, lakes, rivers, peace and quiet. Just the thing to help me get over this ulcer they’ve diagnosed. We can work in peace and you can have plenty of free time to yourself.”

“But your brother and his family—won’t they mind having your secretary to house and feed?” she asked, her pale green eyes hesitant in a plain but interesting oval face, surrounded by naturally curling short dark hair. Despite the fact that she’d worked for him for two years, she knew very little about his private life. He’d never made a habit of talking casually about anything personal, as some employers did. She knew he had a brother, and he’d mentioned a woman named Mary, whom she’d assumed was his sister-in-law. But that was really all she knew about him in any personal way.

“Winthrop doesn’t have a family,” he said, smiling as he turned toward her. He was tall with brown hair and dark brown eyes. Not a bad-looking man and he seemed pleasant enough, but he wasn’t a woman chaser or a ladies’ man. He was very businesslike and a terrific boss, and Nicky adored him. In a purely businesslike way, of course. Her heart was pretty impregnable these days, hardened by Chase’s cruel defection. That had ended her dreams of marriage. The hated wealth that had blinded her to men’s greed was gone now, too. And without her designer clothing and her diamonds, men didn’t seem to notice her at all. Of course, her manner was stiff and off-putting with most men, but she didn’t even realize it.

“Your brother came to the office once, didn’t he?” she ventured, recalling vaguely a tall, very cold sort of man she’d barely glimpsed on an unusually hectic day and had learned later that it was Mr. Christopher’s mysterious older brother.

“Yes, he did,” he said. “Winthrop owns a small share in the corporation, you see, but he’s the silent partner. He doesn’t care for desks and boardrooms. Dad left him the ranch, which is worth a mint, and I have an equally small share in that. He’s primarily a cattleman, and I’m a businessman, so we each have what we like most. He’s something of a loner. But as long as we keep out of his way, we won’t have any trouble.”

That sounded ominous. She looked at the green-lined white steno pad in her lap. “A month is a long time,” she said slowly.

“Come on, Nicky, what have you got going that you can’t walk away from?” he chided gently. “No boyfriends, no evening classes. A month in the country would do you good. If that wealth of potted plants you surround your desk with is any indication, you must be a country girl at heart. Or at the very least, a frustrated gardener.”

She laughed. “I do love plants. And, yes, I’m a country girl. I was born and bred in Kentucky,” she confessed, “and I guess I do miss it sometimes. My people were farmers,” she added, tossing off the white lie as easily as she twirled the pen in her slender hand. That was the story she told people, anyway, and it prevented a lot of embarrassing questions about why she’d given up all that money.

“And farming isn’t the best profession to be in these days,” he agreed with a fond smile. “I can see why you came to the big city. But since you do like the country, I presume, where’s the problem?”

She sighed. “It’s not quite orthodox.”

“No, little puritan, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But for the next month, you’re my private secretary and I’ll even increase your salary to make it more acceptable.”

“Oh, but that’s not nec—” she began.

“Certainly it is,” he countered, waving a lean hand at her. “I’m tired of the rat race, Nicky. I need rest or this ulcer is going to put me in the hospital. We’ll both benefit from some mountain air.”

“It’s October,” she reminded him. “Late October. Doesn’t it snow in Montana in late October?”

“Oh, frequently,” he agreed. “And the ranch is way up in the Rockies, near the Todd place—” he paused, glancing at her with an odd expression “—you remember Sadie, don’t you?”

“Yes. She was very nice.” A nurse, in fact, and Nicole’s taciturn young boss had dated her and had been devastated when she left several months ago to take care of her invalid mother. Hmm, Nicole thought, that was about the time his health problems reared their ugly head.

“Anyway, the ranch is near the Todd place,” he continued, “and we used to get snowed in a good bit. But we always get a chinook when we need one, and we can dig our way out. Stop worrying.”

“What’s a chinook?”

“A warm wind that comes unexpectedly to melt the snow,” he said, smiling. “You’ll love it there, Nicky. I promise.”

I hope so, she thought. All at once she wondered if he had more than just health reasons for wanting to work at home. Sadie had managed to drag him out of his shell, and there had been a tangible something between them before her abrupt departure. It might turn out to be an interesting trip. “All right, I’ll go,” she agreed. “But you’re sure your brother won’t mind?”

He looked vaguely disturbed for a second. Then he smiled. “Of course I’m sure.”

Nicky wondered later about that hesitation. Mr. Christopher had hardly ever mentioned his brother in all the time she’d worked for him. But through the office grapevine there had been some small bit of gossip about the Montana rancher, something someone had whispered just after his brief visit. If only she could remember it.

Becky, a blonde and vivacious woman who worked for one of the vice presidents, breezed into the office after Mr. Christopher had left for the day.

“What’s this I hear about some exotic vacation you’re taking with the big boss?” she teased.

Nicky laughed. “If you call the backwoods of Montana exotic, then I guess it’s true.” She sighed as she covered the computer. “I do hope you’ll come to my funeral. I have visions of being eaten by a puma or carried off by a moose.”

“You might be carried off by Winthrop.” Becky grinned. “Or haven’t you heard the grizzly tales about him?”

Nicole turned, her eyes wide and curious. “Is he terrible?”

“A wild man, from what we hear. They said some society girl threw him over a few years back, and he actually went to her engagement party with a Hollywood movie star—a girl who turned out to have been a school friend of his and owed him a favor. He called up the friend and paid her expenses all the way from Hollywood, just for the occasion. Ruined the event, of course, since the movie star got all the attention. He used to be a ladies’ man and he’s always been well-to-do, and he traveled in those very ritzy circles. But since then, he’s pretty much given up his playboy status and turned to the great outdoors. They say his experience with the blonde heiress has soured him against rich women in a big way. Can’t blame him too much, can you?”

“He sounds … interesting.” Nicky chose her words carefully; it wouldn’t do to show her fear.

“Looks that way, too, except for the scars and the limp. Although the scars had faded nicely the day he was in here.” She grinned at Nicky. “He sure gave you a look, but you were so busy you didn’t even notice him.”

“I remember him, but I didn’t look long enough to see the limp.” She frowned. “How did he get it?”

“From the wreck. Deanne Sharp—of the Aspen Sharps, you know, ski-resort wear and accessories, and Winthrop’s fiancée at the time—was driving. They crashed. He almost lost his leg, and during his recovery, she walked out on him. I guess she only liked him for his athletic ability. He was an Olympic-quality skier and they met on the ski slopes. He missed the Olympic team by a few points when he was younger.”

“That was what I was trying to remember. Someone said he’d been in a wreck, but I forgot what happened.”

“The lovely Deanne happened. I hear she’s on husband number three now, and has millions. But all that happened three years ago, the year before you came to work,” Becky said. “We all heard about it. What he did at that woman’s engagement party might have sounded cruel, if you didn’t know it all. We were in Winthrop’s corner, all of us. He got a bad break. As it is, he gets around pretty good, but he isn’t the pinup he used to be. An experience like that could make a man bitter, you know.”

Nicky drew in a slow breath. “A real woman hater.”

“Now that’s the truth,” Becky laughed. “No, he doesn’t like women. So if you go to the ranch with the big boss, make sure you take lots of warm clothing. That way you won’t get frozen—by the weather or Winthrop.”

“We may get snowed in,” Nicky moaned.

“The snows come big in Montana,” she was told. “Six feet deep and more, sometimes. My best friend worked at the hospital here until she had to go back to Montana to take care of her invalid mother a few months ago. You might remember her—Sadie Todd? The boss used to take her out.”

“Yes, I remember,” Nicky said with a smile, and kept her mouth shut about what Mr. Christopher had told her.

“They grew up together,” Becky added. “I visited her once. Montana is lovely country, but brutal. It’s frozen a lot of people, but if you want to get away from the world, there’s no better place.”

“I don’t think I want to go.”

“Don’t be silly,” Becky chided. “The big boss is a doll. Winthrop can’t be too horrible.”

But Nicky still wasn’t sure. She went home and got her small apartment in order, still with misgivings. It didn’t take long to pack, because there wasn’t a lot to pack. She had jeans and sweaters, some blouses and a single jersey dress, because she had the feeling that she would be roughing it. She took a thick winter coat as well, and some leather boots left over from the past. Her lips twisted in a thin smile when she surveyed the contents of her suitcase and she thought about the clothes and lifestyle she’d once taken for granted. She missed that easy luxury once in a great while, and when she had to pinch pennies to meet the rent, her principles didn’t help much. But she was a different girl from the arrogant little miss her parents’ financial indulgence and emotional indifference had created. And that meant a lot. She’d learned about reality in the past two years, and about real people, who didn’t put a dollar sign on their friendship. Even though her friend Dana, with whom she’d roomed, had married a year ago, Nicole still had friends like Becky, and they often went to movies or the theater together.

She pulled on a pair of cotton pajamas, washed her face and went to bed. It wouldn’t do any good to worry about the past or the future. It was enough to cope with the present.

A week later, Nicole and Mr. Christopher flew out to Montana in the corporation jet. She wore the gray jersey dress for the flight, along with a minimum of makeup. She looked sweet and young and totally unlike a glamorous socialite. She didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by deliberately antagonizing the elder Mr. Christopher, who had plenty of reason to dislike that type of woman.

“You don’t mind if I work?” Gerald Christopher asked with a smile, looking up from the papers in front of him.

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’m not nervous of flying.”

The flight seemed to take a long time, but perhaps that was because Nicole wasn’t reading. She stared out at passing clouds, a little anxious about the welcome she was going to get when they got off the plane.

“Mr. Christopher, your brother does know I’m coming?” she asked him when they were over Butte and about to land.

His dark eyebrows arched. “Of course. Don’t worry, Nicky, everything’s going to be fine.”

Sure it was. She knew that the instant they got off the plane and she got a good look at the expression on Winthrop Christopher’s face.

She recognized him at once. He was a big man. Taller than his brother, broad shouldered and lean hipped. He was wearing work clothing—jeans and dusty boots, with a checked shirt under a massive sheepskin jacket. On his head was a battered black Stetson twisted into an arrogant slant over one dark eye. He looked like a desperado. He hadn’t shaved, and the white line of a scar curved from one cheek into the stubble on his square chin with its faint dimple. His face was rather square, too, and his features severe. He had a straight, rather imposing nose, and his black eyes gleamed with a cold light. In one lean, dark-skinned hand he held a burning cigarette. And the look he was giving Nicky would have curdled fresh milk.

“Hello, Winthrop,” Gerald said, shaking his brother’s hand. He glanced at Nicky with a smile. “In our childhood days, I used to call him Winnie, but I gave it up when he blacked one of my eyes. Despite all that, I know he’d die for me,” he added with a grin, which the older brother didn’t return. He was too busy glaring at Nicole, his dark eyes cutting into her oval face, looking for imperfections, making an unpleasant inventory of what he saw. “Winthrop,” Gerald continued quickly, “this is my private secretary, Nicole White.”

“How do you do, Mr. Christopher,” Nicky said politely and she actually managed to smile, but her knees felt unsteady. This was no welcome at all. Dislike was too mild a word for what she read in those eyes. Wounded man, she thought, even while she wished she could run. She understood the meaning of betrayal, because she knew it intimately. For the first few months of her exile, Chase’s handsome face had imposed itself over every letter she typed, every book she read, every television program she watched.

Winthrop’s dark eyes narrowed. His thin, chiseled lips pursed thoughtfully, but there was no smile to ease the hardness of that rugged, unshaven face. “Yes, I remember you,” he said curtly. His voice was deep and curt. “You’re young.”

“I’m twenty-two,” she said.

“Young.” He turned abruptly, with a care that no physically fit man would have had to take. “I’ve got the pickup. Does your pilot want to come out to the ranch and have something to eat?”

“No, he’s due back to fly one of the other executives over to New York,” Gerald replied, clapping an affectionate hand on Winthrop’s shoulder. Brave man, to touch that walking inferno, Nicky thought as she fell into step behind them.

“I’ll get the luggage.” Winthrop started toward the plane, favoring one leg, and Nicky hesitated, her eyes speaking her thoughts. He gave her a look that stopped her from moving or speaking. He could have stopped a brawl with that glance. Her half-formed offer to help was frozen solid on her lips. With a violent flush, she turned away and followed Gerald.

“Don’t ever offer to help him,” her boss cautioned in a soft, quiet tone. “He’s a little less sensitive about it these days, but soon after it happened, he threw a punch at one of the cowboys just for offering.”

“I’ll remember.” She felt stung. The older brother was going to be hard going, and her first impulse was to ask if she could go back to Chicago.

Gerald Christopher seemed to sense her feelings, because he put an affectionately careless arm around her shoulder. “Don’t panic,” he teased. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Thank God I’ve had all my inoculations.” She sighed, but she smiled back.

Behind them, the older man was watching that exchange of smiles and the arm around Nicky and putting his own connotation on what was going on between his younger brother and his secretary. The look in his eyes was both threatening and disapproving as he picked up the cases and followed them to the cream-colored pickup truck.

It was a long ride to the ranch, down a highway dwarfed by the towering, autumn-hued peaks of the Rockies. Soon Winthrop turned off onto some mountainous dirt roads that didn’t actually seem like roads at all. To Nicky, squashed between the two men, it was a cold and unnerving experience. She could feel Winthrop Christopher’s long, powerful leg come in contact with hers every time he pressed on the accelerator, and her body was reacting to the feel of his shoulder against hers in ways she hadn’t expected. He made her tremble with awakening sensation, made her feel alive as she hadn’t felt since her late teens. She didn’t like that, or him, and her face took on the hardness of stone as the road wound on and on, through fir trees so tall and thick that Nicky stared in fascination at their girth. The forested areas were becoming thick now that they were off the rolling plain that had led to them, down country roads where houses were miles apart and traffic was practically nonexistent. Nicky, who’d read about Montana, hadn’t been prepared for its vastness, or for the glory of orange-tipped aspens with their thin silvery trunks, and cottonwoods fluffy and yellow-hued, and those incredibly big pines. Or for the sheer splendor of the mountains and the crisp, clean coldness of mountain air. She watched, rapt, as the mountains shot up in front of them. Winthrop turned onto a tiny dirt road and they started to go up.

“Not what you expected, Miss White?” Winthrop chided as she stiffened on a sudden hair-raising curve as he gunned the truck up what seemed like a mountainside. “Montana isn’t all pretty little photographs in coffee-table books.”

“It’s very mountainous,” she began.

“That it is.” He wheeled around another curve, and she got a sickening view of the valley below. It was just like the Great Smoky Mountains, only worse. The Smokies were high and rounded with age, but the Rockies were sharp and young and much higher. Nicky, who had no head at all for heights, began to feel sick.

“Are you all right, Nicky?” Gerald asked with concern. “You’ve gone white.”

“I’m fine.” She swallowed. Not for the world would she let Winthrop see what his careless wheeling was accomplishing. She held on to her purse for dear life and stared straight ahead, her jaw set, her green eyes unblinking.

Winthrop, who saw her stubborn resolve, smiled faintly to himself. Nicky might have been surprised to know how much it took to make him smile these days.

Another few miles, and they began to descend. The valley that opened before them took Nicky’s breath away. She forgot her nausea in the sheer joy of appreciation. She leaned forward, with her slender hand on the dash, her eyes wide, her breath whispering out softly.

“Heaven,” she breathed, smiling at maples gone scarlet and gold, at huge fir trees, delicate aspens and fluffy cottonwoods and the wide swath of a river cutting through it all, leading far into the distance like a silver ribbon. “Oh, it’s heaven!”

Winthrop’s eyebrows levered up another fraction as he slowed the truck to give her a better view. At the end of the road was a house, a huge sprawling two-story house that seemed part of its environs. It was made of redwood, with decks on all sides and an enormous porch that seemed to go all the way around it. It had to have fireplaces, because smoke was coming from two chimneys. Maples were all around it, too ordered not to have been planted deliberately years before, and with the mountains all around, it had a majesty that a castle would have envied.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Gerald sighed. “Every time I leave it, I get homesick. Winthrop hasn’t changed a single thing about it, either. It’s been this way for forty years or more, since our mother planted those maples around the house when our father built it.”