Maverick Christmas

“I was making us a rhubarb pie for dessert,” Evelyn said, smiling broadly. “So I made one for you and the girls, too.”

“That was thoughtful.”

“No more trouble to make two than one.” Evelyn handed her the pie. “You sure have this place sparkling. It hasn’t been this clean since Buck and the hands built it some thirty years ago.”

“I’ve enjoyed working on it.” Strangely that was the truth. Other than run the vacuum cleaner, she’d never done any heavy housework. But this was the closest thing she’d had to a real house since she’d lived in Houston. And that was only because the Millers had rented it to her for less than she’d paid for that crummy apartment they’d lived in before settling in Montana.

Evelyn straightened the stained apron that puckered around her plump waist and broad hips. She was short, probably no more than a couple of inches over five feet, big-boned, with more than ample breasts that drooped nearly to her waist and short brown hair that frizzed about her reddened cheeks. But her genuine smile and dancing eyes radiated warmth.

“I’d ask you to sit down and visit a while,” Chrysie said, “but I need to get this scrubbing finished before I have to pick up the girls.” Chrysie made sure she was always early to pick them up, Mandy first from the preschool class at the Methodist church next door to the school, then Jenny from kindergarten.

“You go right ahead. I’ll just visit with you while you work.”

Not exactly what Chrysie wanted to hear, but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Not that Evelyn wasn’t nice or that Chrysie couldn’t use a little adult female company, but making friends always led to questions. And questions led to lies.

“Most of the ranchers don’t bother with preschool for their kids. It’s just too much hassle driving into town every day.”

“Mandy only goes three days a week, and I like for her to have some social interaction with peers.” But this was the first time she’d ever enrolled either of them in anything that kept them out of her sight for any stretch of time. She was still very uneasy with it.

“You must have met the sheriff on one of your trips into town.”

Chrysie’s breath caught, and she turned away so Evelyn wouldn’t see that the comment had caught her off guard. “How do you know that?”

“He called this morning asking about you. I think he might have taken a liking to you. You’re the best-looking woman around here, and that’s for sure.”

“What did he ask?”

“He just wanted to know what I thought of you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were a real nice lady and a great mom.”

“Was that it?”

“Pretty much. But I think he might come a-calling.”

“He’s only interested in my qualifications as a babysitter. I’ve offered to fill in for his regular sitter this afternoon.”

Chrysie put on the gloves again and dropped to her knees. She’d have to work fast to finish this before she had to shower and leave for town. Buying the new battery had eaten up most of the morning and a chunk of her remaining cash.

She could probably make it through the winter on what she’d saved if they didn’t have too many emergencies, but she’d have to find at least part-time work by spring. Spring in Montana would be nice, but she never counted on being anywhere that long.

Evelyn sashayed around the edges of the damp floor. “The sheriff is a bachelor, you know. And those kids of his sure need a mother.”

“What happened to theirs?”

“No one really knows. He left here last year and came back with two sons and a new last name. He didn’t do a lot of explaining.”

“And no one asked?”

“No. That’s the way it is up here. A man’s business is his own.”

Hopefully that worked for women, as well.

“Sheriff asked about your husband. I told him you were a widow. That is what you said, isn’t it? That your husband was dead?”

Chrysie nodded. That was the one thing she hadn’t lied about.

“I should get Buck to paint this place for you. The hands aren’t all that busy in the winter. He could probably spare a couple of them for a day or two.”

“That would be great.” Chrysie looked up from the floor and stared at the dingy walls. “A yellow would really brighten up the house, maybe the color of daffodils.”

“Walls like a spring daffodil?” Evelyn looked around as if seeing the house for the first time. “I was thinking white, but yellow might be nice. Come to think of it, my kitchen could use some brightening, too.”

Evelyn stayed a few more minutes, then walked over to the door to let herself out. “You sure have yourself locked in here.”

“I like to feel safe, especially for the girls.”

“There’s no trouble here on the ranch. Buck wouldn’t have it. Someone come messing around here, he’d shoot them full of lead. Nobody messes with anything on Buck’s property.”

“That’s good to know.” But the locks would stay.

“Give some thought to what I said about the sheriff, Chrysie. He’s a good man. Nice-looking, too. All the young, single women in town are after him all the time—not that there are that many young, single women around.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

After Evelyn left, Chrysie finished the floor, then dumped the dirty water outside. She stood for a minute, letting the frigid air fill her lungs while she took in the magnificent mountain view.

This place was so perfect. Clean air. A decent house for practically no rent. A small, friendly community that had accepted them with a minimum of questions. She just had to make sure it stayed that way.

Which meant she needed Sheriff Josh McCain to forget she existed.

A good catch, maybe. But not for a fugitive from justice.

Chapter Two

The snow had been no more than occasional flurries for most of the day, but it began to fall harder just as Josh turned onto the road to Buck Miller’s house. Before he’d come to Montana, he’d thought of snow only in terms of powder quality for skiing. Now it was a way of life.

The frigid temperatures had been a rough adjustment to a Louisiana man’s system that first winter. Physical labor had been a new experience, as well. But poverty had been the real shocker. He’d never realized how important money was until he didn’t have any.

Buck had given him his first real job. The old rancher and the rest of the hands figured out pretty quickly what a greenhorn Josh was. He got all the dirty work that first year, had gone to bed with aching muscles and new calluses on top of old. But the work had accomplished what years of spending his father’s money and playing with the druggies on the streets of the Big Easy couldn’t—it had made him a man.

No one had asked Josh why he’d moved to Montana. They judged him by the job he did and his willingness to help out where needed. It was the way of life up here and the reason Josh had stayed.

He should give Chrysie Atwater the benefit of that same philosophy, but he was having trouble doing that, especially after talking to Evelyn and Mrs. Larkey about her.

He never underestimated a woman’s ability to do most things a man could do. Some of the biggest spreads in the state were owned and run by women. But Chrysie wasn’t Montana-bred. She was a single mother from the South who’d moved to a small town pretty much in the middle of nowhere where she had no job, no friends and no family. It just didn’t add up, and things that didn’t add up always made Josh suspicious.