The Christmas Target

He took the case from her. “I am home.”

She stopped short. “What?”

He grinned and gestured toward the front door. “I’m Ross McGarrett. My family owns Shooting Star Ranch. Welcome, Ms. Landon.”

ROSS COULDN’T HELP GRINNING even wider at Jessica Landon’s look of surprise. He’d had a hard enough time keeping from laughing earlier when she’d suggested that someone at the ranch might be out to get her. More likely she’d want to kill him when she saw the state of the ranch’s books. Nothing illegal or sinister. Just absolute, unfettered chaos. He hated paperwork worse than criminals.

Before he could say more, however, the front door swung open, and the light from the hall outlined a tall, regal figure peering into the darkness and swirling snow. “Ross, is that you?”

Beside him, Jessica’s mouth dropped open, but she snapped it shut quickly when she caught him watching her. He didn’t blame her for the reaction. His grandmother had that effect on people. Meeting her was like meeting the queen. Fiona had grown up in Manhattan, attended the best Eastern finishing schools, traveled throughout Europe and the Far East, and inherited a small fortune before she’d married his grandfather and moved to the West. After all these years in the wilds of Montana, the polished cosmopolitan aura still clung to her, from her elegant sense of style and her cultured voice and accent to her stately posture and expression, all attributes that camouflaged a heart as immense as the Big Sky State.

“It’s me, Fiona,” he called to his grandmother, “and I have Ms. Landon with me.” Taking Jessica’s elbow with one hand, her bag with the other, he helped her up the broad icy steps into the house.

“Welcome, Ms. Landon,” Fiona said. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m glad you’re both here safe and sound, Ross. There’s a blizzard coming.”

Jessica looked surprised and cocked her head toward the door. “What we came through wasn’t a blizzard?”

Fiona shook her head. “The weather’s mild now compared to a real storm.”

Jessica shook off her surprise and became the professional, competent woman he’d first noticed in the bank. “Then it’s good I’m here so I can begin work right away.”

Ross had to give her credit. She’d been caught in the middle of a bank holdup, shot at, and run off the road, all in one day, yet none of her troubles seemed to have daunted her. The woman was either an incurable workaholic or had nerves of steel. Or both.

Jessica’s small stature and fragile beauty were deceiving. When Fiona had told him she’d engaged a top financial consultant from Miami, Ross had expected an Ivy League male with a button-down collar, expensive suit, a sharp mind and an eagle eye for details. The lovely Jessica had been a pleasing surprise.

On the one hand.

On the other, bad enough having another man chastise Ross for his sloppy bookkeeping. He could only imagine the disdain the superefficient Ms. Landon would have for his records.

And on another hand—

“No need to start work tonight,” Fiona was saying graciously. “Come into the living room. We’ll have a glass of wine before dinner.”

“Maybe Ms. Landon would like to see her room and settle in first,” Ross suggested, catching sight of Jessica’s ruined stockings. “She’s had a rough day.”

“Of course,” his grandmother replied. “The guest suite’s ready. Will you take her bag?”

Jessica reached for her luggage. “I can manage—”

“Nonsense,” Fiona said in that tone of hers that squelched any argument. “Ross doesn’t mind.”

Ross hefted the suitcase, which, judging from its weight, couldn’t possibly hold enough clothing for December on the Montana prairie. Then again, Jessica probably expected to spend the entire time indoors with her very pretty head buried in his accounts.

“Your room’s upstairs,” he said. “I’m right be hind you.”

Jessica started up the stairs and Ross followed, unable to keep his eyes off the sculpted curve of her calves, the slender turn of her ankles, the subtle swing of her shapely behind. For such a small package, she certainly packed a wallop. She mesmerized him more than any woman ever had. Which was unfortunate. The last thing he needed now was a distraction from his job.

“This is it.” He indicated a doorway on the right, halfway down the hall, waited for her to enter, and followed inside with her bag.

Jessica gazed around the room, her eyes alight with approval. “It’s beautiful.”

Seeing the room through her eyes, as if for the first time, Ross agreed. A fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace with comfortable chairs grouped in front of it. Piles of pillows edged with lace were heaped at the head of the four-poster mahogany bed. “Fiona uses all her favorite antiques in here. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“Do you always call your grandmother Fiona?” Jessica asked.

Ross nodded. “She never liked to be called grandma. Said it made her feel old and dowdy.”

“She’s definitely neither,” Jessica noted. “She’s an impressive woman.”

He placed Jessica’s bag on an eighteenth-century blanket chest at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom’s through the door on the left. Closet’s on the right. Join us downstairs when you’re ready.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.” Looking only slightly dazed, especially in light of all she’d been through, Jessica closed the door behind him when he left.

Ross hurried down the stairs and found Fiona in the living room in her favorite chair by the fire.

“Where’s Courtney?” he asked.

“She’s asleep,” Fiona said. “I fed her early. She was completely tired out.”

Ross gazed at his grandmother with concern. “I wish you’d let me hire someone to look after her. I’m afraid she’s too much for you.”

“The day a two-year-old is too much,” Fiona said with a grimace, “you’ll have to hire someone to look after me.”

He’d had this argument and lost many times before, so he went on to the subject weighing most heavily on his mind.

“You didn’t tell me Rinehart and Associates were sending a woman,” he said in an accusing tone, one he’d seldom used with his grandmother.

“Jessica Landon is the best at what she does, according to Max Rinehart,” Fiona replied easily, apparently unperturbed by his disapproval. She reached for the novel on the table beside her chair, her usual signal that the current discussion was closed.

“It’s not her accounting skills that concern me.” He paused, reluctant to report bad news. “It’s happening again.”

Her hand froze in midair at the grimness in his tone, and the color left her face. “You’re certain?”

Ross shrugged. “Not a hundred percent, but a man would be better able to take care of himself.”

Fiona closed her eyes as if gathering strength, then opened them again. “Another accident?”

“She was run off the road. Said a pickup slammed into her car twice and kept going. Didn’t sound like an accident. And she’d have frozen to death if I hadn’t come along.”

“You have to tell her. Warn her.”

Ross nodded. “But not tonight. She’s been through enough already today. And she’s perfectly safe here.”

Fiona compressed her lips and shook her head. “When is this going to stop?”

Ross sank into the seat across from her, weariness seeping through his bones. “Not until I catch the killer.”

Chapter Three