Trading Christmas by Debbie Macomber Read Free Book Online Page A

because his company had merged with another. The merger had apparently netted him a promotion.
    Like his younger brother, however, Rayburn was a disappointment in the area of marriage. Her oldest son was married to his job. He was in his midforties now and she’d given up hope that he’d ever settle down with a wife and family. Rayburn lived and breathed publishing.
    Charles, it seemed, was her only chance for grandchildren, slight though that chance might be. He was such a nice young man and for a while, years ago now, there’d been such promise when he’d fallen head over heels in love. Monica. Oh, yes, she remembered Monica, a conniving shallow little bitch who’d broken her son’s heart. On Christmas Eve, yet.
    What was wrong with all those women in Boston and New York? Both her sons were attractive; Rayburn and Charles possessed their father’s striking good looks, not that either had ever taken advantage of that. Bernice suspected Rayburn had been involved with various women, but obviously there’d never been anyone special.
    Sitting in her favorite chair with the phone beside her, Bernice wondered what to do next. This was a sorry, sorrystate of affairs. While her friends in the Arizona retirement community brought out book after book filled with darling pictures of their grandchildren, she had nothing to show except photos of her Pomeranian, FiFi. There were only so many pictures of the dog she could pass around. Even she was tired of looking at photographs of FiFi.
    Bernice petted the small dog and with a brooding sense that something was terribly wrong, reached for the phone. She pushed speed dial for Charles’s number and closed her eyes with impatience, waiting for the call to connect.
    After one short ring, someone answered. “Hello.”
    Bernice gasped. The voice was soft and distinctly female. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Hello?”
    â€œIs this the residence of Charles Brewster?” Bernice asked primly. “Professor Charles Brewster?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    Of course it was Charles’s condominium. The number was programmed into her phone and Bernice trusted technology. Shocked, she slammed down the receiver and stared, horrified, at the golf course outside.
    Charles had a woman at his place. A woman he hadn’t mentioned to his own mother, which could mean only one thing. Her son didn’t want her to know anything about this…this female. All kinds of frightening scenarios flew into her mind. Charles consorting with a gold digger—or worse. Charles held hostage. Charles… She shook her head. No, she had to take control here.
    Still in shock, Bernice picked up the phone again and pushed the top speed-dial button, which would connect her with Rayburn’s New York apartment. He was often more difficult to reach than Charles. Luck was with her, however, and Rayburn answered after the third ring.
    â€œRayburn,” Bernice cried in near panic, not giving him a chance to greet her.
    â€œMother, what’s wrong?”
    â€œWhen was the last time you spoke with your brother?” she demanded breathlessly.
    Rayburn seemed to need time to think about this, but Bernice was in no condition to wait. “Something is wrong with Charles! I’m so worried.”
    â€œWhy don’t you start at the beginning?”
    â€œI am, ” she cried.
    â€œNow, Mother…”
    â€œHear me out before you Now, Mother me.” The more she thought about a strange woman answering Charles’s phone, the more alarmed she became. Ever since that dreadful Monica had broken off the relationship… Ever since her, he’d gone out of his way to avoid women. In fact, he seemed oblivious to them and rejected every attempt she’d made to match him up.
    â€œYour brother has a woman living with him,” she said, her voice trembling.
    Silence followed her announcement. “Mother, have you been drinking hot