So here she was in league with the sheriff. It was a strange bonding, one fraught with frightening possibilities. At any moment he could decide the risk of harboring her was too great.

Josh sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders. She rested against him, as soft as a pillow of clover. And then his lips were on hers, and even vestiges of sane thought were stripped from his mind.

He knew he was making a monumental mistake. But still he didn’t pull away.

Chrysie trembled as Josh’s lips claimed hers. The passion surging through her was almost as frightening as the fear, the sweet, salty taste of Josh’s mouth foreign and forbidden. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong man. But the kiss deepened, and she couldn’t fight the thrill of Josh McCain along with everything else she had to battle.

Maverick Christmas
Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A heartfelt thanks to Paula Haines, Jay Miller, Vicki Sucher

and Joyce Keiler, my golfing buddies who keep me sane. And

always, a special word of appreciation to my wonderful editor

Denise Zaza, who puts up with me. A hug to my husband, who

has the patience to live with a writer. And most especially,

happy holidays to all my fantastic and very loyal readers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.

Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Chrysie Atwater—Child psychologist on the run who thinks Montana will be her haven, until she crosses paths with the handsome sheriff.

Sheriff Josh McCain—He’ll break every rule in the book to keep Chrysie and her daughters safe.

Jenny and Mandy—Chrysie’s two preschool daughters.

Danny and Davy McCain—The sheriff’s six-year-old twin sons.

Logan and Rachel McCain—Josh’s brother and sister-in-law.

Jonathan Harwell—Chrysie’s murdered husband, a man with lots of secrets.

Buck and Evelyn Miller—The cabin that Chrysie rents in Montana is on their land.

Cougar—The part-time deputy.

Vanessa Templar—Ex-secretary and possible lover of Chrysie’s late husband.

Luisa Pellot—Jonathan Harwell’s law partner before he was killed.

Angela Martina and Juan Hernandez— Houston homicide detectives.

Mac Buckley and Sean Rogers—Paid killers.

Grecco—Josh’s friend, who works for Homeland Security.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Chrysie Atwater rushed across the creaking floor of the civic center to pick up her young angel, who’d just been shoved to the floor by the unruly reindeer. The boy and his twin brother had been out of control all night, totally undisciplined and requiring constant supervision.

“I want to go home,” Jenny announced as Chrysie helped her back to her feet and straightened her wings.

“You don’t want to let one reindeer keep you from being in the pageant.”

“He’s not a reindeer. He’s just an annoying boy.”

A very astute judgment, but Chrysie wasn’t ready to pull Jenny out of the performance. Both of her young daughters needed some normalcy and social interaction with their peers, especially Jenny. Moving from town to town had been stressful for her.

Which was why Chrysie was out on a frigid night, volunteering her services to Jenny’s kindergarten teacher, who’d taken on the unenviable task of directing the community Christmas pageant.

Mrs. Larkey had the reindeer collared and was leading him toward them. “Tell Jenny you’re sorry, Danny,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stamping at the floor like a frisky pony and showing no sign of remorse. In fact, mischief danced in his dark eyes.

“No more pushing,” Mrs. Larkey said. “If you do, I’ll have to tell your father.”

“Aw, don’t tell him. I’ll be good.” The kid looked up at the teacher and smiled, showing a gap in front where one of his baby teeth was missing.

Chrysie followed Mrs. Larkey as she walked back to the stage to corral the singing Christmas trees, who were rummaging through the toys that were meant to be props. “Are those two boys always so disruptive?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Mrs. Larkey said. “Such a shame when their father is so nice.”

“It’s none of my business, but…” She let the comment drop. None of her business was the operative phrase here.

“Okay, Christmas trees,” Mrs. Larkey said, “put down the toys and get back on the platform. You have to be ready to sing as soon as Santa Claus delivers the bad news to the reindeer.”

She turned back to Chrysie. “The sheriff does the best he can, but the boys are just too much for him.”

The Sheriff. Chrysie groaned inwardly. If she’d known the sheriff or any other lawman was even remotely connected to the pageant, she’d never have volunteered or let the girls participate. Better if the guy didn’t even know she existed.

She turned away just in time to see Danny’s brother crash into the Christmas tree they were using as the main prop. The tree rocked back and forth a second, then toppled to the floor, eliciting piercing squeals from the young girls who’d been standing under it and loud laughs from the boys.

Instinctively Chrysie grabbed the guilty child by the arm. “That was not funny, young man. You could have hurt someone.”

“Leggo of me. It was an accident.”

“An accident that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been practicing with the other reindeer.”

“Daddy!” The deafening holler played havoc on her eardrums.

The boy broke away from her and rushed down the steps, hurling himself into the arms of a cowboy who’d apparently come in the back door unnoticed.

A gorgeous, dark-haired hunk of a cowboy. Wouldn’t you know?

“Is there a problem?”

“Your son knocked over the Christmas tree.”

“It was an accident, Daddy.”

The cowboy walked up on the stage, looking tough and incredibly sexy. He rocked back on his heels and studied the tree. “Tree looks like it survived. Was anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine, Sheriff McCain.” He’d directed the question at Chrysie, but Mrs. Larkey had rushed over and answered for her.

“Then I guess no harm was done.” The sheriff picked up the tree and set it in an upright position. “How’s that?” he said, standing back to see if the tree was straight.

Mrs. Larkey smiled up at him as if he’d accomplished some miraculous act. “It looks perfect, Sheriff McCain.”

The woman was married, and the guy still had her eating out of his hands. Chrysie stepped between Mrs. Larkey and the sheriff. “Actually, it’s not quite perfect. It’s leaning toward the left.”

Mrs. Larkey looked from the tree to Chrysie, then shook her head as if she thought Chrysie was wrong. But she gathered the children and sent them back to their places.

The sheriff ignored the tree and looked Chrysie right in the eye. “Everything looks fine to me.”

“The tree is leaning.”

“If you say so.” He adjusted the angle. “Does that suit you? If not, I can always move it another fiftieth of an inch.”

“Now it’s leaning to the right.”

He eyed it critically. “Looks straight to me, but maybe I’m just not quite as uptight about Christmas trees as you.”

“It was straight before—” She caught herself before she said more. It was the stress of the situation that was getting to her, stress that had nothing to do with Christmas or the sheriff’s son. “Tree’s fine,” she said, then turned her back on him and walked away.

She could kick herself for having said anything at all to the man. Riling the sheriff was the last thing she needed. Keeping a low profile was the name of the game—and the game was staying alive.

“EAT YOUR CEREAL, Danny.”

“I am eating.”

“Eat faster. It’s snowing, and driving will be a…” Josh McCain bit back the word he would have used before the boys had come to live with him. Who’d have thought two small boys could turn his life totally upside down?

“Daddy, Davy’s slurping his hot chocolate, and my teacher said it’s bad manners to slurp.”

“That’s just when you’re at school, right, Daddy? Cowboys can slurp at home.”

“Best not to.” Josh grabbed a piece of cold toast as he passed the table. He only managed to wolf down one bite before his cell phone jangled.

“Sheriff McCain.”

“Sheriff, this is Cindy Gathers. I really hate to call you with this, but you’re going to have to find someone else to keep the boys after school. I thought I could handle it, but it’s just too much on me what with my arthritis and all.”

He groaned. It was the fourth sitter he’d lost in six months. The boys went through them almost as fast as they went through a box of cereal.

“I hope you can give me time to find another sitter before you bail on me.”

“I’m sorry about this, Sheriff, real sorry, but I just don’t think I can handle them another day. You know how it is. I love them, but they just don’t mind. It’s worse than riding herd over wild horses.”

“They’re just being boys.”

Danny jumped down from the table and went tearing down the hall with Davy hot on his trail.

“You hit me first.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

A little undisciplined, Josh admitted to himself, but they weren’t bad kids. The problem was probably more his fault than theirs.

He didn’t know squat about raising kids. Cattle, yeah. That he could handle. Even sheriffing seemed to come naturally to him. But fatherhood had him over a barrel. It had just come at him too fast and with too little warning.

His cell phone rang again. This time it was Bone-head up on Highway 12. Someone had cut some of his fences, and a couple of his prize bulls had gotten out. He figured it was the Grayson boys since he’d demanded they pay for a sheep they’d shot when they were hunting on his land. Josh promised he’d be out to check the fences as soon as he dropped the boys off to school.

“I’m counting to five,” Josh yelled. “You best be in the truck and ready to go to school by the time I finish.” Normally they would have ridden the school bus, but he’d let them sleep a little later since he had to make a trip into town this morning anyway.

It took three more warnings to get the boys and their book bags into the backseat of his double-cab pickup truck. The snow was falling pretty good, but the weatherman hadn’t predicted anything but flurries today. The real storm wasn’t due until tomorrow.

They were almost to school when he spotted the blue compact car parked at the side of the road with the hood up. He pulled up behind the vehicle. The woman who’d been staring at the engine waved and smiled. He didn’t recognize her until the hood of her parka blew off and he caught sight of her short blond hair snaring snowflakes.

It was the woman who’d gotten all bent out of shape last night over the Christmas tree mishap at the civic center. Obviously she wasn’t as demanding that her husband keep her car in good working order. But then, if you had a woman that cute around the house, you might have better things to do than work on cars.

“The motor died on me,” she said as he walked up. “And then it wouldn’t start again.”

He looked around under the hood, but didn’t see anything obvious. “Probably the battery,” he said. “I can give you a jump.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll get the cables and be right back. You can wait in the car if you like.”

“I’d definitely like. Are winters always this cold in Montana?”

“It’ll get a lot colder than this. Where are you from?”

“The South.”

“That covers a wide area. I’d guess Texas, judging from your accent.” If he was right, she didn’t admit it. “What brings you to Montana?”

“Just wanted a change of scenery.”

“Are you and your husband ranchers?”

“No.”

He strode to the truck, checked on the boys—who were arguing about whether Ice Age or Ice Age 2 was the better movie—then returned with the jumper cables. It didn’t take but a minute to bring the engine to life.

The woman put her head out the car window. “I really appreciate the help, Sheriff.”

“No problem.”

“Can I pay you?”

“A good cowboy doesn’t take pay for helping a lady in distress.”

He clapped his hands together to warm them. “Your husband needs to replace that battery. It’s going to be a long winter, and you don’t want to risk getting stuck out in a blizzard.”

“Thanks. I’ll see that it’s done. Are you sure I can’t pay you for your trouble?”

Actually, he did need a favor. But she had two little girls sitting in the car with her right now. What would she know about caring for two rambunctious first-grade boys? For that matter, what did he know about it?

“I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he said, lingering by her car while he figured out if he dared leave his boys with this woman—even if she agreed to watch them. “I’m Josh McCain. I’m the local sheriff.”

“I’m Chrysie Atwater.” She ran her hands over the steering wheel, clearly ready to be off. Her children were sitting in the car, talking to each other in nice, quiet voices. He could hear his boys from where he was standing. She must know something about tending kids.

“If you really want to thank me, you could do me a favor.”

“What would that be?”

“I’m kind of in a bind. I have an important meeting with the county prosecutor this afternoon, and my sitter can’t watch the boys. I’d be much obliged if you’d watch them for me for a couple of hours.”

“Just for today?”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“I suppose I could do that.”

“I’ll pay you the going rate.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ll be repaying your favor.”

“Where do you live?”

“We’re renting the foreman’s cabin on Buck Miller’s ranch.”

“So your husband works for Buck?”

“No. I’ll take the boys home with me after school if you’d like. You can pick them up at my house when you’ve finished your meeting.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

She nodded and dropped her gear into Drive. The second he stepped away from the car, she revved the engine and pulled back onto the highway.

There was something about her that bothered him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something all the same. He figured her for a socialite, a woman used to getting her way. He’d been around enough of those in his younger days to recognize them a mile away.

Not that she was a snob. Refined was probably the better word. And she didn’t seem that fond of cold weather for a lady who’d just moved from the South to Montana for a change in scenery.

He’d give Buck’s wife a call and he’d stop and see Mrs. Larkey, as well. Unless they gave her a glowing recommendation, he’d just have to cancel the meeting with the D.A. The meeting was important, but the boys came first. He might not be the best of fathers, but he loved them like crazy. That had to count for something.

CHRYSIE WAS DOWN on her hands and knees scrubbing the old wooden floors with a vengeance when she heard the knock at the door. Apprehension hit as always, sending her pulse racing and her insides rolling. She jumped to her feet and ran to the window, not breathing easy until she spotted Evelyn Miller at the door.

She peeled the yellow rubber gloves from her hands and dropped them near the bucket of soapy water. It took several seconds to unlatch the triple security locks she’d installed herself and open the door.

“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.

But unlike everyone else who’d tried lately, she seemed quite capable of managing his sons. He’d checked on them several times this afternoon, and their complaints had assured him they were being well cared for.

Danny had said Mrs. Atwater was bossy and made him practice his reading. And Davy had whined that she made him wear his snow pants when he went outside to play and gave him fruit for his afternoon snack instead of the candy and soda he’d wanted.

Even more impressive, Chrysie had sounded calm on the telephone when he’d asked her about the boys. That in itself put her in a whole new class as far as his experience with sitters was concerned.

Not that the sexy Mrs. Atwater was perfect. Last night’s tree-falling incident had proved that the woman was wound a tad too tightly for Josh’s liking. But what the hell. Josh was desperate for someone to watch the boys on a daily basis, and she might be the ideal solution.

That is, if she checked out. Before he could ascertain that, he’d need to find out exactly what had brought her to Aohkii, Montana.

THE AFTERNOON HAD been every bit as stressful as Chrysie had expected. The boys were incorrigible, constantly pushing the limits. It was clear they’d never been disciplined appropriately. She’d love to point out to Josh McCain all the ways he was failing his sons, but she didn’t dare. The less interaction she had with the sheriff, the better.

She glanced at the clock above the kitchen counter. Six-thirty, and he wasn’t back yet. For the minute, both Davy and Danny were under control, wolfing down sloppy joes as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Jenny and Mandy were taking their usual small bites and dawdling between each mouthful.

“Can I have more?” Danny asked.

“You surely can.”

“Me, too,” Davy said, shoving the rest of his food into his mouth. “Daddy’s sloppy joes aren’t this good.”

“Sloppy joes, floppy joes, up your nose,” Danny said as she refilled his plate.

Mandy giggled as if he’d said something remarkably witty. Jenny ignored him. At five, she was not nearly as impressed with the boys’ antics as her three-year-old sister.

“Davy kicked me under the table,” Jenny complained.

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“I was just swinging my foot and your leg got in the way.”

“Stop swinging your foot at the table,” Chrysie ordered.

“My dad lets me.”

“I’m not your dad,” she said, glancing out the window as she heard an approaching vehicle. She all but shouted her relief when she saw it was the sheriff’s black pickup truck.

A minute later Chrysie opened the back door, and both boys jumped from their chairs as if shot from cannons and raced to smother their father in hugs. She wasn’t sure if that was their usual greeting or if they were just thrilled to be rescued from her.

The sheriff removed his black Stetson and raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair, smoothing the strands the hat had mussed. “Something smells good.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Atwater made sloppy joes. And they’re really good. She doesn’t put those yucky onions in them like you do, Daddy.”

“Guess I’ll have to get her recipe.”

Davy climbed back in his chair. “Can my daddy have some, too?”

“If he’d like. There’s plenty,” Chrysie said. She didn’t consider that much of an invitation, but apparently it was all the sheriff needed. He shrugged out of his parka and hung it on one of the coat hooks near the door.

He was not the kind of man a woman could just ignore, she admitted as she felt his dark, piercing gaze follow her as she grabbed an extra plate from the cupboard.

He took the only available spot—the chair at the end of the table opposite hers. She filled the plate and set it in front of him. “You can have water, milk or coffee,” she said. “I’m afraid that’s all I can offer.”

“Milk sounds good.”

She poured him a glass, then joined them at the table, though her appetite had vanished. Apprehension did that to her, and there was no way she could not be anxious as long as a man with a badge was in her house.

Jenny ran the fork around her plate, using the prongs to make a design in the sauce, before looking at Chrysie with pleading eyes.

“May I be excused?”

Chrysie stared at her daughter’s half-full plate. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m full.”

“Me, too,” Mandy said.

“Okay, you can take your plates to the sink. But it’s a long time until breakfast.”

Both girls wiped their faces and hands on their napkins, then cleared their dishes from the table. With them gone, the boys clamored all the louder for Josh’s attention, both talking at once, trying to top each other’s stories. They thrived on his attention, devouring it the way they’d gulped down their food.

That need for approval and affirmation could well be at the root of much of their truculent behavior, especially if they’d been neglected or had experienced a major emotional trauma in their past.

“Sounds as if you guys had a busy afternoon,” Josh said.

“Yeah, but we didn’t have any fun,” Danny complained. “Too many rules.”

“Yeah, too many rules,” Davy agreed, mimicking as always.

Danny cleaned his plate for the second time, then jumped down from his chair and started back to the living room, where the girls were. Davy followed him.

“Whoa!” Josh said. “You heard Mrs. Atwater. Take your plates to the sink. Rules of the house.”

Danny turned and stared at his dad as if he’d asked him to grow wings. “We don’t have to do that at home.”

“We might just start it.”

The boys muttered under their breaths but surprisingly complied without more argument. Once the plates were deposited, Danny shoved Davy and ran from the kitchen. Davy took off after him for payback.

Josh shook his head. “Guess I need to work on their manners.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Chrysie agreed.

“I really appreciate your helping out with them. I could have canceled the meeting today if it came to that, but the D.A. wouldn’t have been too happy about it. He really wants to nail old Jake Mahoney.”

She nodded but didn’t respond, hoping that would put an end to the conversation.

Josh cleaned his plate, then gulped down the rest of his milk. Apparently the boys got their appetite from him.

“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.

Instead of walking away, Josh stepped closer. “Is everything okay?”

Her insides shook. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I just get the impression that something’s bothering you.”

Dread swelled until she could barely breathe. She had to play this cooler, seem more like a woman with nothing to hide. She should have invited him to stay for pie and coffee, but then that might have led to even more mistakes.

“I’m fine, Sheriff, just tired.”

She found herself holding her breath until he’d turned and left the room. She made him a pie doggie bag, then went to tell the boys goodbye.

“Are we coming back here tomorrow?” Davy asked.

“Not tomorrow,” Josh said.

“Then who’s going to watch us?” Danny asked.

The concern in his young voice got to Chrysie, but there was too much at stake here for her to consider anyone except Jenny and Mandy.

“Don’t worry,” Josh assured his sons, “I’ll make certain you’re in good hands. Now go hop in the truck and buckle up.”

Chrysie stepped to the door and breathed in a huge gulp of the cold air as the boys raced to the truck. Unfortunately Josh didn’t race away with them.

“If you need anything, Chrysie, anything at all, just give me a call.”

She swallowed hard and shivered, chilled by the cold wind and the realization of how badly she wished she could open up to someone. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself.

Even now, she’d have to start thinking about moving on. Aohkii was no more the refuge she’d hoped for than any of her other stops had been. Safety for her and her daughters was never more than an illusion.

CHRYSIE ATWATER HAD managed to do what few women in Josh McCain’s life ever had. She’d kept him awake and thinking about her most of the night. But it wasn’t Chrysie’s good looks and great body that had caused the insomnia. Not the way her short blond hair curled around her cheeks, either. It wasn’t even about the way her jeans rode her hips, low and tight so that the back pockets seemed to be cradling her cute little butt.

It was none of that, he assured himself. It was only that she was the first person in a long time who’d handled his sons for an entire afternoon without seeming ready for the loony bin. More important, in spite of the boys’ complaints about her last night, over breakfast this morning they’d both asked if they could go back to her house after school. She hadn’t offered her services, of course, but that didn’t worry him. His powers of persuasion with the opposite sex were legend.

But so were his instinctive hunches, and Chrysie’s behavior last night had raised a couple of bright red flags. She’d been far too quick to change the subject when he’d tried to ask her about herself.

And then there was that story of reading about Aohkii in a travel magazine. Aohkii was so little it wasn’t even on most maps. The town’s only claim to fame was Ted Greely’s collection of rodeo buckles, and he hadn’t ridden a bronc since he’d been thrown and kicked in the head down in Wyoming.

Josh dropped to the worn leather chair in his office, punched a few keys on his computer and brought up the Web site for the national law enforcers’ listing of missing persons. No use to type in Chrysie Atwater. People on the run never used their own name.

He considered possibilities as the Web site continued to load. He couldn’t see Chrysie as a hardened criminal, but she might have taken her daughters and escaped an abusive husband. Women did that all the time, though frankly Chrysie didn’t seem the type to run from anything.

But then, this might be a case of kidnapping by the noncustodial parent. He could see her taking matters into her own hands if a judge had given her husband custody of the girls. But why move here? And what was she using for money?

Josh typed in the parameters for the search. Within the last three years, since he was pretty sure Mandy was no older than that. A mother and her two children, approximate ages between two and six years. That should do for starters.

He hit the search key and waited. The list that came up seemed endless. He added a new criterion: disappeared from Texas.

The modified list was still long but more manageable. He skimmed quickly, hoping for a recognizable image of one of the three. None of the pictures triggered any kind of recognition—not until he was almost through the list. Even then, the actual picture didn’t show a lot of similarity to the girls, but the computer-generated likeness to predict what the older girl might look like today showed a distinct resemblance to Jenny Atwater.

Last seen with their mother, Dr. Cassandra Harwell. Josh studied the grainy photo of the woman. Her hair was dark and cut in a short bob. She was wearing a plain business suit with a tailored blouse. She was paler and much thinner than Chrysie, almost gaunt.

Yet there was something about the photo that reminded him of Chrysie. Maybe the eyes. And the mouth, upturned slightly as if she were forcing a smile. Chrysie had smiled that same way last night.

Reluctantly Josh hit the accompanying hot key for more information.

Sara Elizabeth and Rebecca Marie Harwell, disappeared November 6, 2003, from Houston, Texas. Believed to be in the company of their mother, Dr. Cassandra Blankenship Harwell, a child psychologist in Houston.

Dr. Harwell was wanted for questioning in the shooting death of her husband Jonathan Harwell and was considered a prime suspect in his murder.

Chapter Three

The information sent a couple of shock waves to Josh’s brain. He’d heard of man killers who looked like innocent babes before, but he’d never expected to run into one at the local civic center. But if it turned out Chrysie and the missing doctor from Texas were one and the same, he’d not only run into her but had left Danny and Davy in her care.

The heat in his office kicked on, and Josh shrugged out of his jacket as he skimmed the sparse facts. Jonathan Hawthorne Harwell, a Houston attorney, had been found murdered in his bed. His wife and their two children had gone missing four days after the crime. Dr. Harwell had withdrawn one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the full amount of her personal checking and savings accounts.

A low whistle escaped Josh’s lips. Dr. Cassandra Harwell was one tough shrew. He looked at her picture again. Not the typical face of a born killer, but she did look a little uptight—kind of the way Chrysie had looked the other night when she’d lit into him about the crooked Christmas tree.

But not the way she’d looked serving up plates of sloppy joes and washing dishes in her cozy little kitchen. Definitely not the way she’d looked when she’d stood at the back door to tell them goodbye. Her vulnerability then had really gotten to him. Of course, she could have been playing him.

He studied the picture again. Different color and hairstyle. That was easy enough to accomplish. Chrysie was shapely where the woman in the picture was too thin, but a few added pounds could explain that.

And there were some very definite similarities. The shape of the face was the same and the features were similar. Little turned-up nose, full lips. And something about the eyes. The similarities didn’t justify tearing out to the Millers’ ranch to make an arrest, but when you considered the two children were exactly the right ages, there was ample evidence to warrant further investigation.

If Chrysie was the missing psychologist, it would explain her Texas accent and the way she knew so much about handling the boys. It would also explain why she could be a stay-at-home mom. She could still be making it on the one-twenty if she’d lived as cheaply the past three years as she was now.

He should be feeling at least a hint of excitement at the possibility of arresting a fugitive practically in his backyard. Instead he felt more as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. His muscles tightened as he picked up the phone and dialed information for the phone number for the Houston Police Department. With any luck, he’d find the listing was a mistake and that Dr. Cassandra Harwell had been located months ago.

He had a very strong hunch that this was not his lucky day.

DETECTIVE JUAN HERNANDEZ hung up the phone and lumbered down the hall to his new partner’s office. Her door was open, so he walked in. Angela Martina was sitting at her desk, her breasts pushing ever so slightly against the soft cotton of her yellow blouse as she shuffled through the photos of last night’s shooting on the east side of town.

“Lousy photos,” she said. “I may have to start taking my own.”

He looked at the photo she’d just thrown to her desk. It looked fine to him. “I just got a call from a sheriff in Aohkii, Montana,” he said.

She didn’t bother to look up. “What’s his problem?”

“He was calling about Cassandra Harwell.” He knew that would get her attention. Jonathan Harwell and Angela’s older sister had been partners in a law firm before he was murdered.

Angela tossed the photo she was holding back to the desk and stared at Juan from beneath her mascara-coated lashes. “Has Cassandra been spotted in Montana?”

“Probably not. Said he had some strangers in town and he was checking them against known felons.”

“I don’t guess the strangers are a woman with two small children?”

“He said there were some children. He’d check and see if they matched the ages of the Harwell kids.”

“Did he give you a description of the woman?”

“No, only said she didn’t much favor the online photo of Cassandra Harwell.”

“So why did he call?”

“You know those Montana guys. What else they got to do up there besides cozy up to a sheep?” He laughed at his own joke. Angela didn’t.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“To check out the kids. If the woman had two girls that looked anywhere near the ages of the Harwell kids, he should get us a set of fingerprints from the woman and keep an eye on her until we checked them out.”

“Did he agree to cooperate?”

“Yeah. Said no problem. He seems on top of things, but I don’t look for anything to come of this. I can’t see Cassandra in Montana. More likely she’s down in Mexico somewhere. No reason to be freezing her ass off up there.”

Angela drummed her bright red nails on her desk. “If it’s Cassandra, someone from the department will need to go up there and fly her back. Frankly I would love to see some snow. It’s hard to get in the mood for Christmas shopping when I’m still running the air conditioner.”

“Well, don’t make any plane reservations just yet. This is a really long shot.”

“Just keep me posted.” Angela turned her gaze back to the photos.

Juan lingered. “You want to get some breakfast and then go question the usual suspects on the east side?”

“Not if we have to go to that greasy hole-in-the-wall where we went last time.”

“They make good breakfast tacos.”

“I want a bagel. And give me a few minutes. I have to make a phone call before we go.”

He started to drop into the straight-backed chair near her desk to wait.

“A private phone call.”

He grinned and left, though he’d love to hang around and listen. Angela was single and the hottest number on the force. He could imagine what a private phone call from her would sound like. Not that he’d ever get one. She’d made it clear she didn’t date police officers. He guessed that meant she wouldn’t sleep with him either.

He walked back to his office, once again thinking about the sheriff’s call. Be one great boon if it was Cassandra Harwell who’d shown up in Aohkii, Montana. He was as eager as ever to get his hands on the murdering bitch—for reasons that had nothing to do with her husband’s death.

JENNY GATHERED a handful of snow and hurled it in her mother’s direction. The snowball splattered against the leg of Chrysie’s jeans. “Okay, kid, you’re going to get it now.”

Jenny took off running, her boots sinking in the snow with each step. Chrysie caught her easily, grabbed her around the waist and swung her around while Jenny squealed excitedly.

Mandy came running over. “Swing me, too, Mommy.”

“As soon as I catch my breath.” She took a huge gulp of the cold air, marveling again at how gloriously beautiful the world looked covered in white. Last night’s snowfall had been the heaviest of the season and had left the entire mountainside glistening.

It was one more reason she’d love to stay in Aohkii. Actually, she’d love to stay almost anywhere. Constantly moving from one town to another was hard on her and even worse on the girls.

Every town they settled in seemed to have its drawbacks. At least it had seemed that way until she’d arrived in Aohkii one sunny afternoon two months ago. She’d only planned to stop for lunch, but when she’d heard some young mothers at a nearby table talking about the excellent preschool program at the Methodist church, her interest had been piqued.

And then when she’d followed up on the waitress’s suggestion that she contact the Millers about renting their cabin, she’d felt it was meant to be, had even dared to hope they could make a real life here.

But now she had Sheriff Josh McCain to deal with. If his questions and interest in her persisted, she’d have no choice but to run again. Her heart constricted at the thought of tearing her innocent daughters away from this place that seemed so perfect.

She picked up Mandy and spun her around until she grew so dizzy she had to lean against the trunk of a towering tree for support. Mandy needed no recuperation.

“Look, Mommy. I’m making snow angels,” she announced as she flopped around in the snow like an injured bird.

“That’s not how you do it.” Jenny fell to her back and started demonstrating the correct way—not that Mandy was looking at her. Mandy had already given up on snow angels and was standing and brushing the snow from her bright red parka. She wandered a few feet away, then came back and grabbed Chrysie’s hand. “Come see this, Mommy.”

“Yes. The spruce tree looks very pretty covered in snow.”

“It’s not a ’pruce tree. It’s a Christmas tree.”

“I guess it could be.”

“Can we have it for our tree? Can we, please? I love it.”

Jenny jumped up from the snow and came over to voice her protest. “It’s not tall enough to be a Christmas tree.”

“They don’t have to be tall, do they, Mommy?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no height requirement.”

“What’s height?” Mandy asked.

“That’s how you measure how tall something is.”

“I want lots of height,” Jenny said, “for the decorations. And we can put a big star on top, just like the one on the tree in The Night Before Christmas.”

“I want this tree,” Mandy insisted.

“There’s no law against having two Christmas trees,” Chrysie said. “Maybe we can leave the small one outside so that it can keep growing. We can decorate it for the birds so that they won’t go hungry for Christmas.”

“Two Christmas trees.” Jenny was clearly impressed.

The hum of an engine grabbed Chrysie’s attention, and she turned to see a truck making its way up the center of the freshly plowed road that led from the highway. She expected it to be Buck Miller or one of his hands, but as the vehicle got closer, her heart plunged to her toes. It was Sheriff McCain.

She grew instantly tense, starting the all-too-familiar acid flow to her stomach and constricting her throat so that it was difficult to swallow.

No reason to panic, she told herself. He’s just here to see the Millers. Or else he wants me to watch the boys for him. If he asks, I’ll say yes. Pretend it’s no problem. Pretend he’s no problem.

She waved and managed a smile as he stopped a few feet from them and stepped out of his truck. It struck her how well he fit in this world of snowy isolation and rugged terrain.

“Good morning,” she said, striving to sound at ease. “Back so soon?”

“That’s what happens when you feed a stray. They just keep hanging around until you run them off with a well-placed broom handle.”

“Lucky me, I have a new broom.” She turned back to the girls as he joined them. “Time to go inside and warm up.”

“Don’t go in on my account,” Josh said. “I didn’t come to visit. I was heading up to the Millers’ house to talk to Buck about some cattle he’s selling, but I saw you and the girls outside and wondered if you were having battery trouble again.”

“No, I have a new one.”

“Good thinking. Guess you just decided to give the girls a holiday. I don’t blame you. I was tempted to let the boys stay home, but once they hit first grade, the teachers frown on that.”

“I assumed school would be called off due to the weather.”

“It’s just a little snow. Plows already have the main roads cleared. And looks like Buck took care of this one.”

“Yes. One of his hands was out just after daybreak.”

Jenny marched to the back door, sinking her boots as far as she could into the mounds of snow. Mandy ran over and shoved her small gloved hand in Josh’s much larger one. “I can make snow angels. You wanna watch me?”

“Of course I do.” He raved over her abilities as she fell to her back and did a repeat of her flapping-arms routine.

Chrysie worked on staying outwardly calm as she watched the sheriff bond with her young daughter. It seemed a natural thing to do, yet it filled her with dread.

“I didn’t come to visit,” he said again, “but since I’m here, I sure could use a cup of coffee.”

“Sure,” she said. “I can make a fresh pot.”

Josh swooped Mandy onto his shoulders and started toward the back door. Chrysie’s legs felt leaden as she followed them inside.

JOSH STUDIED CHRYSIE’S every move as she helped the girls out of their snow pants, parkas and boots. They were happy kids. She clearly adored them. Which didn’t mean a damn thing. Danny and Davy’s mother had probably loved them, too, but it hadn’t kept her from living in a world so depraved he didn’t even like to think about it.

Mandy pulled off her mittens and held her hands out in front of her. “They’re still cold.”

Chrysie held them in hers for a second. “How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“With marshmallows?” Mandy asked.

“Marshmallows and a cookie, just as soon as I get the coffee started.”

Josh hung his jacket on one of the hooks near the back door. “Actually, the hot chocolate sounds good.”

“Then it’s hot chocolate all around.”

Josh had given little thought to how he’d handle this, mostly trusting his instincts to guide the conversation while he asked enough questions to give him a feel for whether or not Chrysie was on the run.

He watched as she measured cocoa, sugar and milk and dumped the ingredients into a small saucepan. “I didn’t know anyone still made hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.”

“I don’t always. I have instant on hand, as well.”

“So what’s the special occasion?”

“Snow.”

“I guess you didn’t get much of that back in—where was it you’re from? Texas?”

“No.” She kept her back to him. “Actually, I’m from Mississippi, but I haven’t lived there since graduating college. My husband and I moved around a lot.”

“Was that because of his job?”

“Right.”

“What kind of business was he in?”

“He was a helicopter pilot with the Army.”

“I had some friends who flew helicopters for the Army.”

He would.

“Where did your husband do his training?”

“In…in Alabama. Near Mobile.”

“Really? I didn’t know there was an Army base there.”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t Alabama. It was somewhere in…in south Texas. I don’t know where. It was before we were married.”

The question had her flustered. He walked to the counter so that he could see her face while she worked. “How long has he been dead?”

“Almost three years. Mandy was just a baby. Jennifer was only two.” Finally she looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t like talking about this, Sheriff. My husband’s death was a very unhappy time in my life that I’m trying to put behind me.”

“I can understand that. I’m sorry I asked.” He was—and becoming more disturbed by the second. This wasn’t just about Chrysie. It was about Jenny and Mandy and what would happen to them if their mother wound up in jail. They’d be faced with the same kind of trauma Danny and Davy had dealt with, except there wouldn’t be a father to step in and love them.

“How many Christmas trees are you going to have?” Mandy asked.

“One.”

“We’re going to have two. One for the birds and one with a big star.”

“Boy, two trees. That’s pretty cool.” So Mandy was three, Jenny was five—exactly the same ages the Harwell girls would be. If Chrysie was on the run, she should have lied about that, but that would have meant having her girls confused about their ages and starting them in school at the wrong age. She was probably too good a mother for that.

Chrysie filled two cups when the chocolate was little more than lukewarm. She waited until it was steaming to fill the other two colorful pottery mugs. Each cup received two fluffy marshmallows. The girls got a sugar cookie with their drink. He got a piece of nuked pie. He forked a bite when they’d all sat down at the kitchen table, though he’d lost his appetite.

“Are you going to Mississippi to see your grandparents for Christmas, Jenny, or are you going to stay up here and have a white Christmas with us?”

“My grandma and grandpa are in heaven with my dad,” Jenny said, “so we can’t visit them.”

Josh wondered if the grandparents were really dead or if that was part of the altered reality of a woman on the run.

“You were great with the boys yesterday,” Josh said, deciding to take a different path with his questioning. “You would have made a great teacher.”

“I doubt I have the patience for that.”

“What was your major?”

“My major?”

“Yeah, in college. You said you didn’t leave Mississippi until after you got your degree.”

She hesitated way too long, and her hands tightened on her cup as if she thought it might jump off the table if she didn’t hold it down. She was saved by Mandy when she accidentally knocked over her drink, sending a river of chocolate across the table.

“It’s okay,” Chrysie said as she jumped up to get a handful of paper towels. “Accidents happen.”

“Some gotted on my pants,” Mandy said.

“And all over my hands,” Jenny said.

“Okay, everybody to the bathroom. Will you excuse us, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely.” Josh waited until they were out of sight before walking to the counter and using two fingers to pick up the measuring cup Chrysie had used for the milk. He’d watched and knew it would have a good set of fingerprints and figured she’d be less likely to miss it than one of her pretty cups. Careful not to smudge the prints, he slipped it into the plastic zip bag he’d brought with him.

He stashed it in the pocket of his jacket and went back to his pie and chocolate. When Chrysie returned, it was just to stick her head in the doorway.

“I hate to be a terrible hostess, but I need to get these clothes off to soak before the stains become permanent.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her deep blue eyes. When he stared into their smoky depths, he saw the same vulnerability that had gotten to him last night.

“That’s okay. I need to get a move on myself. Thanks for the pie and chocolate.”

“You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t actually feel the weight of the cup in his pocket as he left, but he was intensely aware of it as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck. He hoped to hell the prints were not those of Cassandra Harwell.

Yet he was almost certain that they were. And just as certain that arresting her might top his list of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

CHRYSIE’S HEART WAS pounding like mad as she watched the truck disappear down the road, not toward the Millers but back to the highway.

He knew. She was sure of it.

The references to Texas. The questions about her husband’s helicopter training, her parents and her education. And the missing measuring cup. He’d probably though she wouldn’t notice. He was wrong. She hadn’t avoided capture for three years by letting anything go unnoticed.

He had her fingerprints, and as soon as he had them tested, he’d be back to arrest her. She had to move quickly, had only hours, maybe minutes, to throw what she could into the car. Only moments to tear the girls away from the place they already thought of as home.

Tears burned at the back of her eyelids as she hurried to her bedroom and pulled the battered suitcases from the top shelf of the closet. She carried two to the girls’ room. Her hands flew as she packed their socks, undies and pajamas, hoping to finish before they wandered in and saw what she was doing.

Better to get them in the car and on the road without their knowing what was going on. That way they couldn’t say anything to anyone when they stopped at a service station for fuel or at a fast-food restaurant for a bite to eat.

She had no idea where they’d go now. Before, she’d always known, but this time she hadn’t been able to make herself think of that next move. Aohkii had seemed so perfect.

She took the suitcases to the back door, then went to the living room, where the girls were watching cartoons and coloring pictures in their new drawing pads. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “We’re going on a little trip.”

Mandy jumped off the couch. “Are we going to get a heighted Christmas tree?”

“Not heighted, tall,” Jenny corrected. “Are we, Mommy?”

“Not yet, but we’ll have fun. We’ll be riding in the car for a while, so I want you to go to your room and pick out five toys you want to take with you.”

The crayon Jenny was using slipped from her fingers and rolled along the table before falling to the floor. She stared at Chrysie questioningly. “What about the Christmas play? We have to go to practice.”

“The next practice isn’t until Monday. We’ll be back by then.” She hated lying to Jenny. Hated that she had to let her believe they’d be coming back when they never would. But she simply couldn’t take a chance on Jenny saying anything until they were far away from Aohkii.

“I don’t want to go.”

Chrysie settled on the couch beside Jenny and put her arm around her thin shoulders. “It will be okay, sweetheart. I promise you we’ll have fun.” She touched her lips to the top of Jenny’s head and felt the wispy strands of hair against her face.

“I don’t want to move again, Mommy. I like it in Aohkii.”

Chrysie pulled her close. “We don’t have a lot of time, Jenny. Just go to your room and pick out five toys. I’ll explain everything later.”

Chrysie wanted to hate Josh McCain, wanted to blame him for all this unhappiness and pain, but she couldn’t. Her own mistakes had caused this. Mistakes that she could never undo.

All she could do now was hope to outrun the killers and the law.

CHRYSIE WAS TWENTY miles east of Aohkii when she heard the approaching police siren. Impulsively she pressed her foot onto the accelerator.

Seconds later, the car hit an icy spot and started to skid. The back end of the car fishtailed to the right. Chrysie fought the wheel to straighten the car, but they were going sideways now, skidding toward the ditch and a cluster of pine trees just off the road.

The girls started to scream. She started to pray. But the horrifying siren just kept wailing right through the deafening crash.

Chapter Four

Josh hit the brakes and jumped from his truck, cursing the snow that slowed his steps as he rushed to the wrecked car. Panic and guilt whirled in a rush of adrenaline. This was his fault. He should have handled the situation better, should have confronted Chrysie at the house instead of waiting to catch her when she made a run for it.

He could hear crying as he approached the car. He jerked open the back door. Mandy was still in her car seat but sobbing. Jenny was unbuckling her own seat belt while trying to comfort her little sister.

“Don’t cry, Mandy. We’re okay.”

Mandy’s sobs slowed to a whimper at the sight of Josh. The girls appeared to be unhurt. Chrysie was a different story. She wasn’t moving, and her head was leaning against the blood-smeared side window.

“It’s okay, girls,” Josh said. “I’m here and I’ll take care of everything.” He didn’t feel nearly that confident as he tried to open the front door of the car only to find it so jammed from the wreck that it didn’t budge. He raced around the car to the passenger-side door, and Chrysie groaned and opened her eyes as he slid in beside her.

“Mandy and Jenny?”

“They’re fine,” he said.

Chrysie twisted to see for herself. Both girls were out of their car seats now and leaning against the front seat.

“You’re bleeding, Mommy.” Jenny’s small voice quivered, and that sent another shot of guilt straight to Josh’s heart. Not only could he have killed them all in a stupid car chase, he was still about to rip their mother from them.

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Chrysie’s voice was slurred, and when she turned back to Josh her eyes were clouded with confusion.

A trickle of blood ran down her right temple and dripped onto her shirt. She reached up and ran her fingers across a knot just above her ear that had already swelled to the size of golf ball.

“I was…” Reality apparently kicked in, halting her words. She started to shake. “Don’t do this, Josh.”

His throat went dry. Arresting her shouldn’t be this damn hard.

“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.

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