Angels are all around us—especially at Christmas! Greg Bennett hates Christmas. Divorced, almost friendless and about to lose his business, he has no time for what he considers sentimental nonsense. It takes three irrepressible angels to show him the truth. Shirley, Goodness and Mercy shall follow him—until he learns what Christmas is all about! Those Christmas Angels come down to earth again to respond to Anne Fletcher's prayer request. She wants her son, Roy, to meet a special woman—and the angels contrive to throw Julie Wilcoff in his path (literally!). Another Christmas, another angelic rescue. The three heaven-sent messengers reunite a divorced couple, bring peace of mind to an elderly man and grant a little boy's fondest wish. Because there's always joy Where Angels Go. Three stories of hope and seasonal cheer from Debbie Macomber, Official Storyteller of Christmas! "Call Me Mrs. Miracle is an entertaining holiday story that will surely touch the heart... Best of all, readers will rediscover the magic of Christmas."-Bookreporter.com There's Something About Christmas is "a tale of romance in the lives of ordinary people, with a message that life is like a fruitcake: full of unexpected delights."-Publishers Weekly "Macomber once again demonstrates her impressive skills with characterization and her flair for humor." -RT Book Reviews on When Christmas Comes When Christmas Comes "is a sweetly satisfying, gently humorous story that celebrates the joy and love of the holiday season."-Booklist "THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT CHRISTMAS is a wonderfully funny, and at times heart-wrenching story of finding the right person to love at the most delightful time of year." -Times Record News, Wichita Falls, TX Debbie Macomber, with more than 100 million copies of her books sold worldwide, is one of today's most popular authors. The #1 New York Times bestselling author is best known for her ability to create compelling characters and bring their stories to life in her books. Debbie is a regular resident on numerous bestseller lists, including the New York Times (70 times and counting), USA TODAY (currently 67 times) and Publishers Weekly (47 times). Visit her at www.DebbieMacomber.com. Greg Bennett had always hated Christmas. He'd never believed in "goodwill toward men" and all that other sentimental garbage. Christmas in the city—any city—was the epitome of commercialism, and San Francisco was no exception. Here it was, barely December, and department-store windows had been filled with automated elves and tinsel-hung Christmas trees since before Thanksgiving! Most annoying, in Greg's opinion, was the hustle and bustle of holiday shoppers, all of whom seemed to be unnaturally cheerful. That only made his own mood worse. He wouldn't be in the city at all if he wasn't desperately in need of a bank loan. Without it, he'd be forced to lay off what remained of his crew by the end of the year. He'd have to close the winery's doors. His vines—and literally decades of work—had been wiped out by fan leaf disease, devastating the future of his vineyard and crippling him financially. He'd spent the morning visiting one financial institution after another. Like a number of other growers, he'd applied at the small-town banks in the Napa Valley and been unsuccessful. His wasn't the only vineyard destroyed by the disease—although, for reasons no one really understood, certain vineyards had been spared the blight. For a while there'd been talk of low-interest loans from the federal government, but they hadn't materialized. Apparently the ruin hadn't been thorough enough to warrant financial assistance. For Greg that news definitely fell into the category of cold comfort. It left him in a dilemma. No loan—no replanted vines. Without the vines there would be no grapes, without the grapes, no wine, and without the winery, no Gregory Bennett. What he needed after a morning such as this, he decided, was a good stiff drink and the company of a charming female companion, someone who could help him forget his current troubles. He walked into the St. Francis, the elegant San Francisco hotel, and found himself facing a twenty-foot Christmas tree decorated with huge gold balls and plush red velvet bows. Disgusted, he looked away and hurried toward the bar. The bartender seemed to sense his urgency. "What can I get you?" he asked promptly. He wore a name tag that identified him as Don. Greg sat down on a stool. "Get me a martini," he said. If it hadn't been so early in the day, he would have asked for a double, but it was barely noon and he still had to drive home. He didn't feel any compelling reason to return. The house, along with everything else in his life, was empty. Oh, the furniture was all there—Tess hadn't taken that—but he was alone, more alone than he could ever remember being. Tess, his third and greediest wife, had left him six months earlier. The attorneys were fighting out the details of their divorce, and at three hu