His Valentine Surprise Read online

  Shay swiped a damp paper towel over Vicki’s face.

  “There, beautiful again. Don’t you think so, Daddy?”

  Shay angled her body so that she was holding Vicki toward him.

  Mark’s throat closed, emotion making it impossible to breathe. The sight of his daughter balanced on Shay’s hip and snuggled against her was wrenchingly poignant. It should have been comical, those sparkly red hearts sticking out of Vicki’s mass of curls and Shay standing there with a too-small tiara perched on her head.

  I could love this woman.

  Dear Reader,

  When my son was much younger, he was in speech therapy and I remember being anxious for the day when he could share whatever he was thinking without any communication obstacles. Well, I got my wish. He has shared many things with a great many people.

  In this book, single father Mark Hathaway is about to learn that you can’t always predict what kids will say…and that sometimes they share information you wish they hadn’t. More than anything, Mark’s six-year-old daughter wants a mother and, when it becomes clear that her father is too busy with his job to date, she takes matters into her own small hands, landing Mark in the principal’s office.

  New principal Shay Morgan stepped into the role midyear when the former, much beloved, principal retired early for medical reasons. Shay is hoping to make a good impression so she will be hired permanently. Flirting with one of the students’ fathers would be a bad career move, especially a father whose first few attempts at classroom volunteering don’t go well. But Shay can’t help admiring how hard Mark works on his daughter’s behalf and how he keeps trying. She also can’t help noticing that he has a great smile and an adorable kid.

  As Mark and Shay discover, even when we’ve meticulously mapped out our priorities, life and love (and our children!) often surprise us.

  Happy Valentine’s,

  Tanya Michaels

  His Valentine Surprise

  TANYA MICHAELS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tanya Michaels began telling stories almost as soon as she could talk…and started stealing her mom’s Harlequin romances less than a decade later. In 2003, Tanya was thrilled to have her first book, a romantic comedy, published by Harlequin Books. Since then, Tanya has sold more than twenty books and is a two-time recipient of a Booksellers’ Best Award as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion, National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award. Tanya lives in Georgia with her husband, two children and an unpredictable cat, but you can visit Tanya online at www.tanyamichaels.com.

  Books by Tanya Michaels

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  1170—TROUBLE IN TENNESSEE

  1203—AN UNLIKELY MOMMY

  1225—A DAD FOR HER TWINS

  1235—MISTLETOE BABY*

  1255—MISTLETOE CINDERELLA*

  1270—MISTLETOE MOMMY*

  1279—MISTLETOE HERO*

  1311—THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS

  1321—TEXAS BABY

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  968—HERS FOR THE WEEKEND

  986—SHEER DECADENCE

  1008—GOING ALL THE WAY

  If you ever have to meet a summer writing deadline

  while the kids are out of school and underfoot,

  I highly suggest that in addition to a

  wonderful husband and mother (both of which

  I am blessed to have) you arm yourself with a team

  of incomparable friends. Thank you to Ashley Cate,

  Sally Kilpatrick, Melissa Silva and their families—

  my very own superhero squad.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Prologue

  I hate you, Santa Claus!

  Six-year-old Vicki Hathaway sat at her aunt’s dining room table, remembering how Aunt Dee took her to that mall in Charlotte to go Christmas shopping. Vicki had her picture made with Santa and told him what she wanted, really wanted, more than anything in the world. And because her dad said it was bad to be greedy, she’d only asked for one thing.

  A new mommy.

  But December was over and now it was almost the end of January. Her father hadn’t met any new women or gone on one single date. How could Santa not help her when she’d been so good? Her babysitter, Mrs. Norris, called her an angel. Vicki had been almost perfect, except for spilling juice on her dad’s inventory papers—which didn’t count because it was an accident—and sometimes fighting with her cousin Bobby (which didn’t count since he always started it by picking on her).

  “Vicki,” her aunt said, “is everything all right? You’re not eating. And you love pot roast. I made it especially for you.”

  Vicki loved almost all the food at Aunt Dee’s house. Her dad was not a good cook, which was why they ate most nights at the Braeden Burger Shop. Except on Tuesdays when Aunt Dee picked Vicki up from ballet and Vicki’s dad came here after he closed the store and they had dinner together. Tonight, Vicki wasn’t hungry. Her tummy had hurt since ballet class, but she didn’t want to tell Aunt Dee. Her aunt would make her drink that pink stuff that tasted dee-sgusting.

  Vicki’s stomach had started to feel bad when her dance teacher reminded everyone about the big April recital and said she was sending home notes to ask for volunteer “stage moms.” Lorelai Moon said right away that her mother could come.

  Lorelai’s mom was in charge of the children’s choir at church and came to their elementary school to read to the first graders after math centers. Lorelai’s mom was in the PTA with Aunt Dee. Lorelai’s mom also baked the cupcakes for their ballet class Christmas party. Vicki was the only girl in ballet—the only girl in the whole first grade—who didn’t have a mother.

  Her eyes hurt, and her throat felt sore like the time she got so sick she could hardly swallow. “I’m not hungry.”

  Vicki’s dad looked up from his plate. He hadn’t said much tonight, and Vicki thought he looked sad. He looked like that a lot lately, probably because he was lonely.

  “You didn’t work up an appetite in dance class, Vicki-bug?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Can I be excused?”

  Aunt Dee frowned at her, and Vicki thought she would say no. But sometimes grown-ups surprised you. “I guess you can go up to Bobby’s room while we finish our meal. Bobby, you got some new board games for Christmas. I’m sure your cousin would enjoy playing with you.”

  Not really. The main thing in the house Vicki liked playing with was Butterscotch, her aunt’s poodle. But they always put the dog outside during meals.

  “I’m eleven!” Bobby whined. For a big kid, he whined a lot. “The games I got aren’t for six-year-olds. Besides, I have homework. You said I could use your computer to do my report.”

  Aunt Dee’s computer was in her office, with a door that shut. “Can we both go in your office?” Vicki asked. “Bobby can do his report, and I’ll bring Butterscotch in there with us. Then she couldn’t beg.”

  After Aunt Dee agreed, Vicki followed her cousin into the office.

  Bobby spoke to her in his usual mean tone. “This is important schoolwork, so don’t bother me, okay?”

  “I won’t!” Why would she want to talk to Bobby? He was a jerk.

  When she sat down, she patted her knees so Butterscotch would come to her. She put
her arms around the dog and hugged the poodle, burying her face in the soft fur. Aunt Dee took Butterscotch to the groomer every week, so the dog smelled like fancy shampoo.

  Vicki sniffed and sniffed again. She didn’t know when she’d started crying. But now she couldn’t stop.

  “Hey!” Bobby sounded scared. “Stop that. They’re gonna think I did something to you. Knock it off.”

  “I—I can’t.”

  “What are you even crying for?”

  “B-because I don’t have a m-mom.”

  He shut up. Even Bobby wasn’t a big enough jerk to tease her about that. Instead, he sat down on the floor on the other side of Butterscotch to pet her, his fingers bumping against Vicki’s arm.

  “Do you remember her?” he asked. “You were just a little kid when she died.”

  That was funny because he called her a little kid now. She couldn’t answer him, though, because she was crying too hard.

  “Aunt Jessica was pretty great,” Bobby said. “I told her once I wanted to be a scientist and thought she might laugh at me, but she gave me a microscope for my birthday.”

  Vicki’s dad bought her birthday presents, but he didn’t wrap them. He just stuck them in a bag. Sometimes Aunt Dee used bags, too, but when she did, there were bows on the outside and colored paper tucked in with the gift.

  “I need a mother.” She rubbed the snot off her nose. “Santa Claus was supposed to bring me one, but he didn’t.” Spring would be here in a few months—Vicki learned all about seasons back in kindergarten—so maybe she could ask the Easter Bunny for help.

  Bobby opened his mouth and took a breath. He looked like he was about to start explaining stuff, like when he’d bored her that one time talking about different kinds of rocks. Then he shook his head. “You don’t need Santa, kid, you need Promises Dot Com.”

  “Promises?” Vicki knew about “dot com.” Sometimes her dad let her use his computer to play games; plus her teacher, Mrs. Frost, sent them to different websites to practice phonics or math facts. But she hadn’t been able to work on her dad’s laptop much lately. He was too busy with stuff for the store to share.

  “Haven’t you ever seen one of those sappy Promises commercials?” Bobby asked. “People meet each other on the computer, through email and messages, and start dating. Your dad would have to sign up.”

  Vicki wasn’t sure he would do that. “If he meeted her on the computer, how would I know if I liked her?”

  “Met, doofus. Maybe he’s already met someone,” Bobby said. “I mean, not on the computer, but in real life. He could date someone from church or our school. That way, you’d know immediately if you liked her.”

  “But he doesn’t talk to any of those ladies from church or school.”

  Bobby’s forehead got all squiggly, the way it did when he was thinking really hard. “Do you know what a Sadie Hawkins Dance is?”

  “No.”

  “They had one at the middle school. The girls ask the guys to be their dates. Maybe we can get a woman to ask out Uncle Mark.”

  “How?” And who? Vicki’s Sunday school teacher, ballet teacher and first-grade teacher were all married.

  Bobby stood up, looking at all of the stuff on his mom’s desk. He picked up a little yellow book that had the words Woodside PTA on the front. “If I helped you find a mom, you guys probably wouldn’t be over here so much.”

  “You’ll help? Really?”

  Nodding, he flipped open the book. “I have a plan.”

  Vicki had stopped crying already. Now she smiled and hugged Bobby. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  It was a weird day when you could trust your jerky cousin more than you could trust Santa Claus.

  Chapter One

  “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.” The ridiculous rhyme rolled off Mark Hathaway’s tongue from habit—it had been the way Jess used to cajole their daughter out of bed for preschool.

  Although Vicki had more practice getting up early and getting ready for school, she was no more cheerful about it now than she had been at three. Muttering something that was no doubt a variation of “go away,” his first grader scooted farther beneath the pony-print comforter. Not even the curly top of her head was visible.

  With a sigh, he flipped back the corner of her blanket. “Up and at ’em, Vicki-bug. You have school, and Daddy has an important meeting this morning. Tomorrow’s Saturday, we’ll both sleep late then, okay?” If today’s breakfast meeting went well maybe he’d finally be able to get a decent night’s sleep.

  “Don’t feel good,” she muttered. It was her standard second line of defense, after hiding beneath the covers.

  “What hurts?” When she didn’t answer, he placed a hand over her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Come on, hurry up so you can help me pick out your clothes. How about…your orange bathing suit with some polka-dot socks?”

  Some mornings, his attempts at humor were only met with a sleepy glare. Today, he was rewarded with a half giggle.

  “I can’t wear a bathing suit to school, Daddy! And plus it’s winter.” She sighed, clutching her stuffed horse close. “Do I have to get out of bed?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Hug first?” she pleaded. Of all her regular procrastination techniques, this was his favorite.

  “Absolutely.” He sat at the foot of her bed, leaning back along the wall, and she scooted into his lap, snuggling against him. He kissed her on top of the head, breathing in the apple-scented detangler he’d combed through her unruly hair last night. Even with the spray-conditioner, she still winced when he hit a knot. And he was completely hopeless when it came to fixing her hair for ballet class—he barely managed simple pony-tails and barrettes for school. The coppery curls were untamable. No matter what style he attempted, it ended up lopsided.

  With his everyday shortcomings, it was little wonder the poor kid had been dropping hints for the past few months. Mark was not oblivious to the fact that his daughter yearned for a mother figure. Thank God for Dee, Jessica’s older sister. How would he have survived the past two years without his sister-in-law’s help?

  If the store closed, would Vicki have to move away from her aunt and uncle? The knot of dread which had recently taken up residence in his chest tightened. She’s already lost too much. No little girl should have to grow up without a mother. How could he possibly take her away from her friends and family in Braeden, North Carolina, the only home she’d ever known?

  He tried to shake off the omnipresent worry. Extra stress wouldn’t change the outcome of today’s meeting. Besides, he’d been working quite a few extra hours lately, and Vicki deserved the benefit of his full attention.

  “You know I love you, right, Bug?”

  “Love you, too.”

  “We make a good team, you and me.”

  “Teams can be lots of people,” she said. “Like when Coach B splits us up to play kickball at school. Two isn’t very many.”

  Her words sliced through him, her delicate suggestion that, much as he loved her, he wasn’t enough.

  Mark chose his response carefully. “Two might not sound like very many, but when you think about it, we have plenty of other people who love us. Aunt Dee, Uncle Frank and Bobby, Mrs. Norris, Lucy at the store, Cade…”

  Cade Montgomery had become Mark’s best friend since Jess died—because the sometime white-water-rafting guide, sometime carpenter was single. It was so much less awkward to hang out with Cade than all the married couples Mark and Jessica had known. Cade was about as confirmed a bachelor as a man could get, but he was surprisingly good with Vicki. He’d even promised to come to her ballet recital.

  Of course, he’d later asked Mark if any of the little ballerinas had hot single moms.

  Mark sighed. “Honey, is this about wanting a mom?”

  “Will I ever have one?”

  He knew the answer she wanted to hear, but the few dates he’d had in the past two years had left him cold. And even if he had more interest in the idea, h
e would put it on the back burner right now while he tried to sort out his job situation. Providing a stable home and financial security for his daughter were his priority.

  “Someday, maybe.” It was the best he could offer her without being dishonest.

  “Are you shy?” she asked. “We talked about shy at school, like when you don’t know how to make a new friend or are nervous to sing in music class. If you feel shy with girls, I can help!”

  He grinned at that, imagining his six-year-old coaching him through first-date nerves. “You can, huh? Well, that’s very nice of you, but it will have to wait until later. Right now, you need to get ready for school. We’re already running late.”

  “Okay.” She sat up, patting him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry, Daddy. I have a plan. A good one.”

  Oh, boy. Part of him was amused and curious, wanting to ask his inventive daughter for details. On the other hand, he’d rather not encourage her Mommy Quest. It had wrecked him when he opened the letter to Santa she’d given Mark to mail—the one she’d insisted on writing all by herself. Mark had tried throughout November and December to get her to tell him what she wanted for Christmas, but she’d coyly refused to answer. Anxious to make sure “Santa” met her request, he’d finally seen it spelled out in green crayon. As a result, he’d over-compensated in the toys he’d bought her. She’d seemed delighted with them on Christmas morning, but after a week had passed, she’d turned pensive again.

  Maybe if they didn’t discuss her “plan” to overcome his supposed shyness with the ladies, she’d eventually forget about it. Yet even as he wanted to cling to that hope, he knew better. Vicki had inherited her mother’s curly locks and big brown eyes—but she had Mark’s stubborn streak.