"MARK MY WORDS, Joe. Sex will lead to the end of the world as we know it." Colin Lyons glanced at the hospital bed, where his adoptive father and mentor lay sleeping.

Asleep, not dead. Thank God. After finding out Joe had had a stroke, Colin had hightailed it home from South America. He'd been covering a rigged election in a country where money laundering commingled with drug trafficking and guns blazed on the sunbaked streets. Now, one week later, Colin sat in the quiet hospital room watching the monitors prove to him Joe was alive. In the background, snow fell outside, a serene and peaceful reminder of winter. Of Christmas, of life and hope.

Colin had taken leave from his job to come home and run Joe's beloved Ashford Times until the older man recovered, only to discover that he'd been usurped. Prior to his stroke, Joe hadn't been feeling well. Yet, instead of calling on Colin, Joe had given his second wife, Corinne, power of attorney, which she'd used to almost run the newspaper and Joe's legacy into the ground. Colin's stomach cramped and twisted with guilt because he hadn't been around when Joe needed him. Worse, Joe hadn't thought his health was important enough to bother Colin with while he was on assignment.

He glanced toward the bed. A loud snoring sound reassured him that Joe wasn't down for the count. The doctors promised a full recovery, and he'd already begun the slow road toward recuperation. But time was something neither Colin nor the Times had on their side.