Maverick Christmas

“I guess you probably heard about Jake,” Josh said.

“No.”

“He’s pretty much the talk of the town these days. He seemed nice enough until he came unglued and shot and killed a couple of the hands working with him.”

“He must have had some provocation.”

“Claimed the guys were horsing around and not pulling their share of the load. Shocked everyone who knew him until we found out Jake had been committed to a mental hospital down in Mississippi a few years back for attacking his father with a knife. Don’t know what those shrinks were thinking letting him out.”

“You can’t blame the psychiatrists or psychologists for this.”

“Yeah? Who would you blame?”

“There can be any number of factors….” She stopped midsentence—before she said too much.

“Sorry,” Josh said. “I guess murders aren’t the best topic for dinner conversation. Fortunately we don’t have many around here. If we did, that wouldn’t leave me a lot of time for running the Double D.”

“Is that your ranch?”

“Yeah. I changed the name of it after I took custody of Danny and Davy. Before that it was called Timber Trails. Don’t know where that name came from. I bought the land from some actor out in California who’d bought the ranch but never lived on it.”

“I guess ranching isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Probably no one’s cup of tea. This is more a strong-coffee or cold-beer world. People either love it or hate it. So what brings you out here, Chrysie? You don’t seem like a woman with ranching in your blood.”

So it was Chrysie now. This morning it had been Mrs. Atwater. She liked it better when he used her last name. This way it seemed they were friends, and she definitely didn’t want him to get that idea.

“I don’t plan on ranching.”

“So what are you planning to do?”

“Raise my daughters.”

“Do their grandparents live in—where was it you said you were from? Texas?”

“No.” Chrysie gathered the rest of the dishes from the table and carried them to the counter, then started to fill the sink with soapy water. Surely he’d take the hint and leave.

He didn’t. Or else he ignored it. He followed her to the sink. “You wash and I’ll dry.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s the least I can do after you watched the boys for me all afternoon.”

She dipped her hands into the bubbles. “I was returning a favor. Now we’re even.”

“I doubt that. The boys are a lot more work than a battery jump.”

Josh grabbed the dish towel from the counter and took a freshly rinsed plate from her hand. The seemingly meaningless exchange shot her apprehension level straight up.

“I know they’re not the best-behaved kids in the world,” Josh continued. “I try, but I hate to be too hard on them. And I’m not a natural at the discipline thing, like you seem to be. I figured if I didn’t get that tree straight enough to suit you, you’d take me out behind the woodshed for a switching.”

“I don’t spank.”

“Well, there goes that fantasy.”

Her cheeks burned at his teasing, and she got so rattled she almost let the plate she was washing slip from her fingers. She gritted her teeth, furious with herself that she could show any weakness with a man who held so much potential for disaster. She glued her gaze to the sink and the few remaining dishes.

Josh dried the last fork, then scanned the kitchen. “This house is nice.”

“It’s quite comfortable,” she agreed.

“Twice the size of mine. I’m planning to build a bigger place when I get the time, but I’ve been concentrating on getting the ranch fixed up first.” He slapped his right hand on the tile counter. “I like this tile, too. I know Buck’s current foreman has his own place, a small ranch about twenty miles north of here, but I hadn’t heard Buck was renting out his cabin. How did you find out about it?”

“I asked around town, and someone at Humphries Bar and Grill mentioned it was empty and that the Millers might be willing to rent it.”

“How did you ever land in Aohkii to start with?”

“I read about the town in a travel magazine,” she said, sticking to the story she’d concocted on her first day here. “I was looking for an inexpensive place to settle where there were four seasons and a safe environment for my girls, and this seemed like it.”

“A travel magazine, huh? Which one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Too bad. I’m sure the locals would love to read that article.”

It was clear from his tone and the way he was looking at her that he didn’t buy her story. “Where did the twins live before you took custody?” she asked, determined to move the focus of the conversation away from her.

“New Orleans.”

“That’s a long way from Montana.”

“Another world. Have you ever been there?”

“I went to Mardi Gras once when—” She stopped. Every time she opened her mouth, she gave something away. “When I was in my early twenties, before the girls were born.”

“They’re cute girls.”

“They’re my life.”

“I can tell.” He turned his gaze to the rhubarb pie. “You’re a pretty amazing woman to manage Danny and Davy and still find time to bake.”

“Evelyn Miller made the pie.”

“It looks great. Bet it would be good with a cup of coffee about now.”

Sure. Her and the sheriff having coffee and pie in the cozy kitchen while their children played together in the living room and a quiet snow fell just outside the frosted windows.

“No coffee for me,” she said. “But you’re more than welcome to half the pie. I’ll cut it and wrap it in foil while you get the boys into their coats and boots.” She could not possibly make it any plainer that it was time for him to leave.