Maverick Christmas

“It’s not what it seems,” she whispered. “It’s not.” She looked back at the girls, and he could have sworn he could hear the splintering sounds of her heart breaking.

“I’m sorry, Chrysie, but you’re under…” He looked into her eyes. They seemed to be miles deep, all mist and pain—and pleading.

“I didn’t do it. Just let us go and I’ll be out of your life and out of your county.”

She made it sound so simple. It wasn’t. “It’s out of my hands.”

“No. It’s in your hands. We’re in your hands—me and Jenny and Mandy.”

She moaned softly and her head fell against his shoulder. She jerked it away only to let it fall to the back of the seat. Her eyes were rolling about in her head now and she was incredibly pale.

“My mommy’s hurt,” Jenny said. “She needs to go see the doctor. You have to help her.”

From the mouths of babes. “You’re right. She needs a doctor.” He slipped his arm around Chrysie’s shoulders while he called for an ambulance. He didn’t have a doubt in the world at this point that she’d lied about who she was. She was Cassandra Harwell, a wanted woman.

But he couldn’t bring himself to cuff her in front of the girls, especially not in her condition. She’d been on the run for three years. Another few hours wasn’t going to make that much difference.

“If she goes to the hospital, who’s going to take care of us?” Mandy asked.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got everything under control,” he lied.

Mandy reached over from the backseat, stretched her short arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his ear. “Thank you, Mr. Sheriff.”

Yeah, Sheriff Judas, saying all the right things while he made plans to ruin their lives in the name of the law. But then, what choice did he have?

IT TOOK TWELVE stitches to close the wound in Chrysie’s head. It hadn’t been all that deep, but it had stretched from an inch or two inside the hairline down the temple, apparently caused by one of the girls’ toys that had flown into the front seat and gotten caught between Chrysie’s head and the window during the wild skidding.

Cougar, Josh’s friend and sometimes deputy, had checked out the scene of the wreck. He’d reported that the vehicle had been slowed by the mounds of snow left by the plow that morning, easing the impact and likely saving the occupants’ lives.

Josh hadn’t left the hospital, hadn’t even left Chrysie’s bedside except when they’d taken the patient for X-rays and when the nurse had sent him out so she could undress Chrysie and get her into a hospital gown.

She’d given her name as Chrysie Atwater when she’d checked in. He hadn’t protested. Truth was, he still thought of her that way, almost as if his emotions were overriding his mind. And therein lay most of his problems.

The consensus of medical opinion was that she had a mild concussion but that there were no serious external or internal injuries. A couple of days’ rest and she should be as good as new. The bruises on her arms and legs would take a little longer to disappear.

Josh had called Evelyn Miller, and she’d come to stay with the girls while they were examined. Once they had been declared in good shape, Evelyn had insisted that she take the girls and his sons home with her for the night.

Chrysie moved her arms from beneath the covers. He had the crazy urge to take her hand. He fought it for a second, then gave in when she moaned as if in pain.