Silver Bells by Debbie Macomber In this classic story, Debbie brings those Manning men and Manning sisters home for a mistletoe marriage when a single dad finally says "I do." The Perfect Holiday by Sherryl Woods Will bachelor Trace Franklin become a groom-to-be by Christmastime? He sure will…if Savannah Holiday's aunt Mae has anything to do with it. Under the Christmas Tree by Robyn Carr When the folks of Virgin River discover a box of adorable puppies under the town's Christmas tree they call on local vet Nathaniel Jensen for help. But it's his budding romance with Annie McCarty that really has tongues—and tails—wagging! Debbie Macomber is a #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author and a leading voice in women’s fiction today. She is a multiple award winner with more than 200 million copies of her books in print. Five of her Christmas titles have been made into Hallmark Channel Original Movies, as well as a series based on her bestselling Cedar Cove stories. For more information, visit her website: www.DebbieMacomber.com . With her roots firmly planted in the South, Sherryl Woods has written many of her more than 100 books in that distinctive setting, whether in her home state of Virginia, her adopted state, Florida, or her much-adored South Carolina. Sherryl is best known for her ability to creating endearing small town communities and families. She is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 75 romances for Silhouette Desire and Special Edition. Robyn Carr is an award-winning, #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty novels, including highly praised women's fiction such as Four Friends and The View From Alameda Island and the critically acclaimed Virgin River, Thunder Point and Sullivan's Crossing series. Virgin River is now a Netflix Original series. Robyn lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. Visit her website at www.RobynCarr.com . That Holiday Feeling Silver Bells\The Perfect Holiday\Under the Christmas Tree By Debbie Macomber Mira Copyright © 2009 Debbie Macomber All right reserved. ISBN: 9780778328377 "Dad, you don't understand." "Mackenzie, enough." Carrie Weston hurried through the lobby of her apartment complex. "Hold the elevator," she called, making a dash for the open doors. Her arms were loaded with mail, groceries and decorations for her Christmas tree. It probably wasn't a good idea to rush, since the two occupants appeared to be at odds—which could make for an awkward elevator ride—but her arms ached and she didn't want to wait. Lack of patience had always been one of her weaknesses; equally lacking were several other notable virtues. The man kept the doors from closing. Carrie had noticed him earlier, and so had various other residents. There'd been plenty of speculation about the two latest additions to the apartment complex. "Thanks," she said breathlessly. Her eyes met those of the teenager. The girl was around thirteen, Carrie guessed. They'd moved in a couple of weeks earlier, and from the scuttlebutt Carrie had heard, they'd only be staying until construction on their new home was complete. The elevator doors glided shut, as slowly as ever, but then the people who lived in the brick three-story building off Seattle's Queen Anne Hill weren't the type to rush. Carrie was the exception. "What floor?" the man asked. Carrie shifted her burdens and managed to slip her mail inside her grocery bag. "Second. Thanks." The thirtysomething man sent her a benign smile as he pushed the button. He stared pointedly away from her and the teenager. "I'm Mackenzie Lark," the girl said, smiling broadly. The surly tone was gone. "This is my dad, Philip." "I'm Carrie Weston." By balancing the groceries on one knee she was able to offer Mackenzie her hand. "Welcome." Philip shook her hand next, his grip firm and solid, his clasp brief. He glared at his daughter as though to say this wasn't the time for social pleasantries. "I've been wanting to meet you," Mackenzie continued, ignoring her father. "You look like the only normal person in the entire building." Carrie smiled despite her effort not to. "I take it you met Madame Frederick." "Is that a real crystal ball?" "So she claims." Carrie remembered the first time she'd seen Madame Frederick, who'd stepped into the hallway carrying her crystal ball, predicting everything from the weather to a Nordstrom shoe sale. Carrie hadn't known what to think. She'd plastered herself against the wall and waited for Madame Frederick to pass. The crystal ball hadn't unnerved her as much as the green emeralds glued over each eyebrow. She wore a sort of caftan, with billowing yards of colorful material about her arms and hips; it hugged her legs from the knees down. Her long, silver-white hair was arranged in an updo like that of a prom queen straight out of the sixties. "She's nice," Mackenzie remarked. "Even if she's weird." "Have you met Arnold yet?" Carrie asked. He was another of the