Starry Night
Authors: Debbie Macomber
Starry Night
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Debbie Macomber
Excerpt from
Angels at the Table
by Debbie Macomber copyright © 2012 by Debbie Macomber
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Macomber, Debbie.
Starry Night : A Christmas Novel / Debbie Macomber.
pages cm
ISBN: 978-0-345-52889-6
eBook ISBN: 978-0-345-54552-7
1. Women journalists—Fiction. 2. Recluses as authors—Fiction.
3. Alaska—Fiction. 4. Christmas stories. I. Title.
PS3563.A2364S735 2013
813′.54—dc23 2013024825
Jacket design: Lynn Andreozzi
Jacket illustration: Tom Hallman
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
A Note from the Author
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
Dedication
Other Books by This Author
About the Author
Excerpt from
Angels at the Table
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 amazing.”
Harry didn’t bother to hide his smile, knowing that all
Carrie really wanted was to get out of those ridiculous shoes. And to think she’d gotten her journalism degree for this!
Carrie knew she was fortunate to have a job with such a prestigious newspaper. A professor had pulled a favor and gotten her the interview. Carrie had been stunned when she’d been hired. Surprised and overjoyed.
Two years later, she was less so. Her assignment was the society page. When she was hired, she’d been told that eventually she’d be able to write meatier pieces, do interviews and human-interest stories. To this point, it hadn’t happened. Carrie felt trapped, frustrated, and underappreciated. She felt her talent was being wasted.
To make matters worse, her entire family lived in the Pacific Northwest. Carrie had left everything she knew and loved behind, including Steve, her college sweetheart. He’d married less than six months after she took the position in Chicago. It hadn’t taken him long, she noted. The worst part was that Carrie was far too busy reporting on social events to have time for much of a social life herself. She dated occasionally, but she hadn’t found anyone who made her heart race. Dave Schneider, the man she’d been seeing most recently, was more of a friend than a love interest. She supposed after Steve she was a bit hesitant to get involved again. Maybe once she left the
Herald
and moved home to write for a newspaper in the Seattle area, like she planned, things would be different.
——
Back inside her condo, Carrie gingerly removed her shoes and sighed with relief.
This was it. She was done. First thing in the morning she would hand in her two-week notice, sublet her condo, and take her chances in the job market in Seattle. If the managing editor, Nash Jorgen, refused to give her the opportunity to prove she had what it took, then why stay? She refused to be pigeonholed.
That decided, Carrie limped into her bedroom and fell into bed, tired, frustrated, and determined to make a change.
“You can’t be serious,” argued Sophie Peterson, her closest friend at the newspaper, when Carrie told her of her decision.