The Single Dad's Holiday Match Read online

  What just happened?

  Had it been so long since he’d been attracted to anyone other than Anne that he’d forgotten how to act around a woman as vibrant and caring as Brooke? Had his heart shriveled to a size smaller than the Grinch’s? At least the Grinch had a heart at the beginning.

  All he had to do was get in the car and wait to make sure Brooke drove off safely. That was the easy option, the option that would keep him from risking loss again. Brooke exited the building, her purse in hand.

  Eating crow wasn’t as tasty as his favorite chocolate puff cereal, but even he knew he needed to smooth things over with her.

  That was the easy part. The hard part would be doing everything within his control to keep from falling for her.

  Dear Reader,

  When I researched my debut novel, Jonathan Maxwell landed in Hollydale as its newest police officer. I knew then he wasn’t the typical rookie cop, and he’s inched his way toward his own happy ending ever since. In this first book of the Smoky Mountain First Responders miniseries, Jonathan grapples with the aftereffects of grief while raising two daughters, each with a unique personality, which, as a mother of four, I relate to all too well.

  Enter Brooke Novak, who promises her son they’ve settled in Hollydale. Brooke and I share something in common, as I moved frequently as a child, just as she does as an adult. Moving can be an exciting adventure with new opportunities around the corner and the hope of connecting with a community and friends always in sight.

  Brooke and Jonathan have issues to overcome, including the reactions of their children to their fledgling relationship—more to relate to for some readers. I hope you enjoy discovering how they navigate that challenge. I love to connect with my readers, either through my website or on my Facebook author page.

  Happy reading!

  Tanya Agler

  The Single Dad’s Holiday Match

  Tanya Agler

  Tanya Agler remembers the first set of Harlequin books her grandmother gifted her, and she’s been in love with romance novels ever since. An award-winning author, Tanya makes her home in Georgia with her wonderful husband, their four children and a lovable basset, who really rules the roost. When she’s not writing, Tanya loves classic movies and a good cup of tea. Visit her at tanyaagler.com or email her at [email protected].

  Books by Tanya Agler

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  A Ranger for the Twins

  The Sheriff’s Second Chance

  The Soldier’s Unexpected Family

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

  To my older son, Mike. I remember the first time I held you in my arms and the day you were officially taller than me. Your creativity continues to amaze me, and I love the person you are.

  To my friend and mentor, TR, who read the first pages of my debut novel and whose advice helped make the book so much better. Your friendship is a treasure.

  To all the first responders and frontline workers who give up holidays and important events for the sake of others, this book is dedicated to you with appreciation. To the teachers who take the time to make sure each child who transfers in the middle of a school year feels warm and welcome, a heartfelt thank you.

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  EXCEPRT FROM A COWBOY’S HOPE BY MARY ANNE WILSON

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEVER BEFORE HAD the first week of any of Brooke Novak’s previous five jobs, all in different states, been quite so exhilarating or exhausting. The air of The Whitley Community Center now buzzed with an energy missing when she and her son, Colin, had carried her boxes to her new director’s office, the windows of which overlooked the Great Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.

  Brooke halted on the staircase and smoothed a flyer she’d posted this morning for Trunk or Treat, one of two programs approved at her first staff meeting a few days ago. Her Halloween costume for the event hung in her temporary closet in Aunt Mitzi’s guest room. Until she and Colin found an affordable place to rent in town that would also take their rescued labradoodle, Daisy, they were staying with her favorite aunt, who hadn’t batted an eye when the dog bounded into her small house. Instead, Aunt Mitzi lavished attention on Daisy, who preened, and Colin, who pretended otherwise.

  Although her son had voiced his disappointment about leaving his friends in Houston, not to mention his hard-fought spot on the varsity basketball team, Brooke softened the blow with a promise they’d remain here until he graduated Hollydale High. No more moving.

  Besides, Aunt Mitzi was winning Colin over through his stomach. Last night he consumed three pimento cheese sandwiches and several helpings of her famous coleslaw. He’d even made a friend at school and asked if he could go white water rafting with Riley’s family.

  With a smile, Brooke climbed the remaining stairs and entered the computer room where Olivia, the youth events coordinator, led a group of homeschoolers in a coding lesson. Brooke ran her finger over one of the black computer towers in desperate need of replacement with sleek modern equipment and faster connection speeds. Tablets with the latest learning apps were also a necessity.

  Everywhere she turned, something needed improvement, and her list of expenditures for future purchases grew at an exponential rate. During her job interview, the primary benefactor and boss, Frederick Whitley, warned her she’d have her hands full considering the extent to which the previous director, Ray Hinshaw, neglected his job in his final year. Her six-month contract gave Mr. Whitley an out if she didn’t bring the center up to par.

  Instead, she intended on giving him every reason to deliver a long extension, with her promise to Colin that they’d be staying in North Carolina a bonus incentive. Besides, only holding down one job instead of two, sometimes even three, was downright luxurious.

  Her vision of this becoming a real community center, a place where residents could earn their high school GED or congregate for exercise, would take longer than six months, and she wouldn’t stop there. The town needed a food bank, and this location was the perfect place to help residents survive rough patches. She knew what it was like to want and need help as a kid. If Aunt Mitzi hadn’t sent Brooke’s mom a monthly check, Brooke would have gone to sleep hungry more often than she had.

  Olivia glanced Brooke’s way and walked over. With her blond hair pulled up in a ponytail and her oversize striped oxford shirt, Olivia looked more like one of the students than their teacher. Just out of college, she was eleven years younger than Brooke, not to mention perky and peppy, two words that would never begin to describe herself. “The kids just started their assignment. What do you need?”

  Brooke reached into her oversize crossbody purse and pulled out a pen and notepad. “I called another staff meeting for tomorrow morning, and I’m bringing pumpkin muffins from the Night Owl Bakery. What’s one thing that would make more teenagers want
to come here for programs?”

  “Food.” Olivia grinned and rubbed her stomach.

  Brooke chuckled. “I should have known.” Thanks to Colin, that answer should have been obvious. Sixteen next month, her son was an endless pit and resembled a walking beanpole, his tall frame already at six feet. The three inches separating them didn’t seem like much, but he could pack away an olive-and-green-pepper pizza by himself and still have room for a salad and dessert. “Any thoughts on innovative programming?”

  “I’ll ask the group of teens for suggestions when the lesson’s done, and I’ll also research some ideas tonight.”

  Brooke’s phone buzzed. “Hold that thought.”

  She checked her incoming text and then read it again. A police officer was waiting in the lobby for her. If that wasn’t enough, the desk attendant, Betty Ruddick, the sweetest septuagenarian Brooke had ever met, had included a flame emoji along with a thermometer in the red.

  Olivia laid a hand on Brooke’s arm. “Is anything wrong?”

  “I hope not. If you finish your report before the meeting, email it to me so I can review it. Thanks.”

  Brooke hurried downstairs, her curiosity piqued. The officer’s back was to her, his police hat underneath his arm as he chatted with Betty. From the slope of his shoulders, Brooke didn’t sense urgency. Good thing, as Frederick Whitley had made it very clear his expectations of her as director included the center staying out of the news for anything other than positive publicity.

  “Ruddick. I knew that name sounded familiar. Are you any relation to Mason, the local paramedic?” The officer’s strong voice echoed in the open lobby atrium, the natural light from the skylights flooding the area with sunny brightness.

  “He’s my grandson.” Pride laced Betty’s words, and she glanced at Brooke. “Handsome as all get-out, if I do say so myself. I keep telling Brooke she needs to meet him. I’m not getting any younger, and Mason is taking his sweet time settling down. I’d like a great-grandchild while I can still hold him or her.”

  Brooke laughed at another of Betty’s attempts to set her up with her grandson, who had to be a good five years younger than her. The officer turned around, and sunlight glinted off his short brown hair, making it appear almost blond. He was no slouch in the handsome category himself, with his hazel eyes and square jaw. When she stepped closer, he smiled, and the fine crinkles at the edges of his eyes jumped out, making him look slightly older than her original guess of thirty-five.

  She extended her hand toward him. “I’m Brooke Novak, the new director. How may I be of service?”

  “Officer Jonathan Maxwell.” His smile turned into a concerned straight line. “I have a few questions for you about the center. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Is something wrong?” Not already.

  He shifted his hat to his other arm. “I’d like to review some of the center’s security precautions with you.”

  Her gaze flew to her office door, where she was still unpacking the boxes of books from her online college program. Being squished in like sardines with them might not be conducive to a serious conversation. Shuffling noises came from the direction of the gym, where some senior citizens were practicing their chair yoga positions with the instructor’s calm voice guiding them through the gentle moves for increased balance awareness. “Hold on a minute, and I’ll take you on a tour of the gardens.” Brooke closed the gym doors before grabbing her blazer from her office.

  Today’s cream pantsuit was another of her bargain thrift store scores, and she smoothed the material to gain some confidence before escorting him through the electronic front door. In no time, Officer Maxwell matched her slow steps along the sidewalk. She wasn’t accustomed to being outside this time of day, and the coolness of mid-October in the Smoky Mountains would take some getting used to after the heat of Houston.

  “Does the center employ a nighttime security guard?” He sure didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Although I admire your bluntness, can you start over and fill me in on the purpose of this visit? Since I’m still composing the letter to the local sheriff about cooperation between the center and the police department, I gather this is official business.”

  His gaze swept over the path ahead of them. “You’re right. I need information about your operating hours and your security detail.”

  “That’s a rather broad statement. I’d like a reason for my answer first.” She stepped over a large crack in the sidewalk, taking care with her two-and-a-half-inch black heels that brought her eye-level with Officer Maxwell. She added sidewalk repair to the long list for maintenance man Joe, who happened to be Betty’s husband. Yet another item for tomorrow’s staff meeting, and another expense.

  “There was an incident this morning involving a juvenile in a fender bender. He admitted the community center was where he acquired a fake ID. He never actually met the person he dealt with, but this was where he was told to collect the fake ID. I was wondering whether the center has any security cameras. Any footage of the possible exchange might be of assistance in the investigation.”

  Officer Maxwell’s words caught Brooke off guard, and she stumbled. He reached out an arm and helped steady her. She sent a smile of thanks his way before distancing herself. “How long ago was this possible exchange?”

  His perceptive hazel gaze met hers. “Within the past month. The center’s cooperation would be appreciated.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I can’t release any footage to you.”

  Those warm eyes cooled, although she received the distinct impression Officer Maxwell would remain friendly unless circumstances called for a different side of him. “I can get a warrant.”

  She bristled at his presumption she was being difficult. “That’s not the problem, Officer Maxwell. We don’t have exterior cameras at the present time, and our inside monitors, which are limited to the gym and a few other areas, mainly upstairs, are only on a live feed loop. Betty keeps an eye on the screens behind her desk during operating hours, and we’re looking into upgrading the system.”

  Another expense, but one she’d have to justify to Mr. Whitley during their next weekly conference call. While the center received the bulk of its funding from the state, making it a public facility, the Furniture King of North Carolina turned philanthropist supplemented the remainder of the budget from his millions. Growing up in Hollydale and now living in nearby Asheville, he oversaw the board of directors, and his last name graced the front archway and the pavilion among other areas.

  “Is someone guarding the premises 24/7? A security company?” He pulled a small notepad and pencil from his front pocket.

  “No, but I’ll look into hiring one.” She smoothed her hair, some strands escaping from her tight bun. “If you have any recommendations of where to begin, I’d appreciate it. I’ve only just started here in the past week, and I’m not familiar with local firms. However, the center will be undergoing some renovations soon.”

  “What precautions are taken to guard the property at night?” He tucked his notepad under his arm and donned his officer cap.

  “There’s a padlock on the gate you enter to gain access to the parking lot. It’s locked every night.” They turned the corner to the flat open space where a construction crew would break ground for a new aquatic addition after the start of the new year. “I unlock the front gate every morning as I’m the first to arrive.”

  “Besides you, who has keys to the facility?”

  “All the exterior locks were changed on my first day here, as well as the security codes and passwords. Myself and Mr. Whitley have the new keys.” The millionaire philanthropist was above reproach, and she held up two fingers and then three more. “The local locksmith also made keys for the assistant director, the janitor and Joe Ruddick, who’s Betty’s husband and our maintenance person.”

  “Do you also lock the fac
ility at night?”

  “Joe locks up every night except for the five times a month when we have late hours.”

  Officer Maxwell stopped walking and wrote at a furious pace. “When’s that?”

  “Two Fridays and a Saturday every month. On those days, we extend our hours and remain open late for a game night or a cooking class or some other special program for teens. There are also two Wednesday night adult programs for those who can’t make time on weekends or work during the week.” Until she could justify hiring additional staff, the current hours would remain standard operating procedure.

  “Can I get a list of the teen programs?” He glanced her way, a slight smile curling his lips.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that smile had gotten him out of trouble a time or two. “I’ll email you the list before I leave today.”

  He pulled out a business card. “This has all my work contact info.”

  She accepted it and reached for her cell phone in the inside pocket of her blazer. After snapping a picture of the card, she stored them both away. “I—” She stopped herself before mentioning how she had a habit of forgetting about business cards in her pantsuits and washing them.

  “Yes?” He held his pencil midair.

  “I was wondering if you knew anything else about the person manufacturing the IDs.”

  “Ask me that again in a couple of weeks.” There went that smile again.

  This time, however, determination lurked in his eyes, and she wouldn’t place a bet against him tracking down the responsible culprit by then.

  He closed his notepad and inserted the pencil in the spiral wire. “Does the center have a computer lab? Any laminating equipment?”

  His point didn’t escape her. “Are you suggesting the person made them here? I thought you were only investigating the location where they were sold or exchanged. I don’t even think it’s possible to manufacture them here. Our equipment is in serious need of updating.”