The Winter Man by Diana Palmer Page A

Empty and sad. Like Tony’s life.
    For all his adventures, he would never know the joy of holding a baby in his arms and reading to his child at bedtime; watching him grow and learn and laugh. Millie wanted children so badly that it was almost painful to see them with their parents in stores and know that she would never experience that singular delight. She thought back often to the night in Tony’s hotel room when she’d chosen virtue over experience, and she wondered what might have been if she hadn’t stopped him. Perhaps there would have been a child, and she could have had it in secret and he’d never have known. It made her sad to think about that. She could have loved the child, even if Tony wouldn’t let her love him.
    She did enjoy her job. She got to read to children there. In fact, on Christmas Eve the library opened up for an orphan’s home. Volunteers gathered to give presents to the children. The volunteers also read stories to the children. It was a new program that the library had only just instituted, and they were hoping that it would be a success. Millie was looking forward to it. She’d wear her red Santa Claus hat and a red dress, and for one night she could pretend that she was a mother. It was the only way, she thought wistfully, that she’d ever be one.
    * * *
    A newspaper reporter had shown up with a camera and a notebook computer to cover the event. Several otherpeople were snapping photos with their cell phone cameras and movie cameras, probably to post on the Web. Millie was having the time of her life with two little girls in her lap. She was reading the story of The Littlest Angel to them. It had been her favorite as a child. Judging by the expressions on their faces of these small children, it was becoming a favorite of theirs as well.
    She wasn’t aware of a movement in the entrance of the library. A big man in a tan cashmere coat and a suit was standing there, watching the activity. The sight of Millie with those little girls only reinforced a thought he’d been harboring for some time now—that she would be a wonderful mother.
    â€œIs it okay for me to be here?” he asked a woman wearing a name tag who was standing next to him.
    She looked way up into large black eyes in a darkly tanned face, surrounded by wavy black hair in a ponytail. She smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Do you know one of the children?”
    He shook his head. “I know the lady who’s reading to them,” he corrected. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
    â€œMiss Evans, you mean.” She nodded. She smiled sadly. “She’s had a very bad time in recent years, you know, especially when that man tried to kill her. She’s much better now, though.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou can go in, if you like,” she added. “We’ve invitedthe public to participate. Actually,” she added, “we’re hoping that the children may form some attachments here that will benefit them. Donors are always welcomed. And there might be an opportunity for adoptions as well.”
    He frowned. “I hope you’ve screened the men.”
    She grimaced. “I know what you mean,” she said softly. “No, that wouldn’t have been possible, I’m afraid. But there are two undercover police officers in there,” she added with a chuckle. “So if anybody has uncomfortable intentions, they’ll be in for a big surprise.”
    He smiled broadly. “Nice thinking!”
    She laughed. He was a very pleasant man. “Why don’t you go and speak to Miss Evans? She’s been very sad the past few weeks. I found her crying in the ladies’ room, just after she came back to work. After the shooting, you know. She said she’d been so wrapped up in herself that she’d failed someone who was very close to her.” She looked up at his expression. “That wouldn’t be