Christmas in Cold Creek

Christmas in Cold Creek
RaeAnne Thayne

A Sexy Sheriff for ChristmasShe claimed to be a waitress and a single mother, yet Sheriff Trace is certain Rebecca isn’t telling the whole truth. Still, one look in her vulnerable green eyes and his protective instincts go into overdrive. Becca will do anything to protect her little sister Gabi from their con-artist mother, even lie about their identities.When Trace shows up at their house with a Christmas tree and romantic intentions she can’t afford to indulge, Becca longs to surrender to him. But her past is catching up with her – fast. Can Trace perform a Christmas miracle and bring them all peace and happiness at the most wonderful time of the year?

This couldn’t be happening.

She couldn’t really be kissing the chief of police.

No, it was real enough. She seemed hyper-aware of each of her senses. He tasted of cocoa and hot male and he smelled like laundry soap and starch and a very sexy aftershave with wood and musk notes. As she had expected, Trace Bowman kissed like a man who knew exactly how to cherish a woman, who would make sure she always felt safe and cared for in his arms. He explored her mouth as if he wanted to taste every millimeter of it and wouldn’t rest until he knew every single one of her secrets.

About the Author

RAEANNE THAYNE finds inspiration in the beautiful northern Utah mountains, where she lives with her husband and three children. Her books have won numerous honours, including RITA

nominations from Romance Writers of America and a Career Achievement award from RT Book Reviews magazine. RaeAnne loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.raeannethayne.com.

Christmas in Cold Creek

RaeAnne Thayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Readers,

I don’t know about you, but Christmas at my house is all about easy. With a packed calendar of parties, shopping, wrapping and generalized chaos, I try to find the simplest ways to do things while still enjoying some favorite traditions. This recipe is perfect for those of you who (like me!) love homemade candy but not all the fuss. All my best to you and yours this joyous season.

Easy Vanilla Microwave Caramels

4 tablespoons butter1 cup brown sugar½ cup corn syrup2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk1 teaspoon vanillabutter (for greasing pan)nonstick aluminum foil or parchment paperwax paper, cut into 4-5 inch squares

Butter an 8x8-inch pan. Line the pan with nonstick foil or parchment paper, folding any excess over the outside edges; set aside. Mix the butter, brown sugar and corn syrup in a microwave-safe glass bowl or measuring cup. Microwave on high for two minutes. Stir mixture and return to microwave for two minutes longer. Add 2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk and stir well. Microwave three and a half more minutes. Remove from microwave and stir in 1 tsp vanilla. Pour into prepared pan, scraping any residue from the sides of the bowl. Set aside and let cool to room temperature. When the caramel is cooled, remove liner from the pan. Cut into approximately 1 inch squares with a well-buttered knife. Butter your hands well, then place one caramel in the middle of a wax paper square. Roll it into a cylinder, then twist the ends. Store the wrapped candies in a cool, dry place.

RaeAnne

To Sarah Stone, our angel, for a year full of adventure. We can’t thank you enough!

Chapter One

Much as he loved Pine Gulch, Trace Bowman had to admit his town didn’t offer its best impression in the middle of a cold, gray rain that leached the color and personality from it.

Even the Christmas decorations—which still somehow could seem magical and bright to his cynical eye when viewed on a snowy December evening—somehow came off looking only old and tired in the bleak late-November morning light as he parked his patrol SUV in front of The Gulch, the diner that served as the town’s central gathering place.

That sleety rain dripping from the eaves and awnings of the storefronts would be snow by late afternoon, he guessed. Maybe earlier. This time of year—the week after Thanksgiving—in Pine Gulch, Idaho, in the western shadow of the Tetons, snow was more the norm than the exception.

He yawned and rotated his neck to ease some of the tightness and fatigue. After three days of double shifts, he was ready to head for his place a few blocks away, throw a big, thick log on the fire and climb into bed for the next week or so.

Food first. He’d eaten a quick sandwich for dinner around 6:00 p.m. More than twelve hours—and the misery of dealing with a couple of weather-related accidents—later and he was craving one of Lou Archuleta’s sumptuous cinnamon rolls. Sleep could wait a half hour for him to fill up his tank.

He walked in and was hit by a welcome warmth and the smell of frying bacon and old coffee. From the tin-stamped ceiling to the row of round swivel seats at the old-fashioned counter, The Gulch fit every stereotype of the perfect small-town diner. The place oozed tradition and constancy. He figured if he moved away for twenty years, The Gulch would seem the same the moment he walked back through the doors.

“Morning, Chief!” Jesse Redbear called out from the booth reserved for the diner’s regulars.

“Hey, Jesse.”

“Chief.”

“Chief.”

Greetings assailed him from the rest of the booth, from Mick Malone and Sal Martinez and Patsy Halliday. He could probably have squeezed into their corner booth but he still headed for an empty stool at the counter.

He waved at them all and continued his quick scan of the place, an old habit from his days as a military MP that still served him well. He recognized everyone in the room except for a couple he thought might be staying at the hotel and a girl reading a book in the corner. She looked to be his niece, Destry’s, age and he had to wonder what a nine-year-old girl was doing by herself at The Gulch at 7:30 a.m. on a school day.

Then he noticed a slender woman standing at one of the back booths with an order pad in her hand. Since when did The Gulch have a new waitress? He’d been busy working double shifts after the wife of one of his men had a baby and he hadn’t been in for a week or two, but last he knew, Donna Archuleta, the wife of the owner, seemed to handle the breakfast crowd fine on her own. Maybe she was finally slowing down now that she’d hit seventy.

“Hey, Chief,” Lou Archuleta, Donna’s husband and the cook, called out from behind the grill before Trace could ask Donna about the solitary girl or the new waitress. “Long night?”

How did Lou know he’d been working all night? Was he wearing a sign or something? Maybe the man just figured it out from his muddy boots and the exhaustion he was pretty sure was probably stamped on his features.

“It was a rough one. That freezing rain always keeps us hopping. I’ve been helping the state police out on the highway with a couple of weather-related accidents.”

“You ought to be home in bed catching up.” Donna, skinny and feisty, flipped a cup over and poured coffee into it for him. The last thing he needed was caffeine when he wanted to be asleep in about five minutes from now, but he decided not to make an issue of it.

“That’s my plan, but I figured I’d sleep better on a full stomach.”

“You want your regular?” she asked in her raspy ex-smoker’s voice. “Western omelet and a stack?”

He shook his head. “No stack. I’m in the mood for one of Lou’s sweet rolls this morning. Any left?”

“I think I can find one or two for our favorite man in blue.”

“Thanks.”

He eased his tired bones onto a stool and caught a better look at the new waitress. She was pretty and slender with dark hair pulled back in a haphazard sort of ponytail. More curious than he probably should be, he noted her white blouse seemed to be tailored and expensive. The hand holding a coffeepot was soft-looking with manicured nails.

What was someone in designer jeans doing serving coffee at The Gulch?

And not well, he noted as she splattered Maxwell House over the lip of Ronny Haskell’s coffee cup. Ronny didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled, somewhere in the vicinity of her chest region.

“Do you want something else to drink?” Donna asked him, apparently noticing he hadn’t lifted his cup.

He gave her a rueful smile. “To be honest, I need sleep more than caffeine today. A small orange juice will do me.”

“I should have thought about that. One OJ coming up.”

She headed toward the small grill window to give his order to her husband and returned a minute later with his juice. Her hand shook a little as she set it down and he noted more signs of how Donna and Lou were both growing older. Maybe that’s why they’d added a server to help with the breakfast crowd.

“Busy morning,” he commented to Donna when she came back with the sweet roll, huge and gooey and warm.

“Let me tell you something. I’ve survived my share of Pine Gulch winters,” she said. “In my experience, gloomy days like this make people either want to hunker down at home by themselves in front of the fire or seek out other people. Guess we’ve got more of the latter today.”