This couldnât be happening.

She couldnât 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 wouldnât 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 RITAÂ® 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

Dear Readers,

I donât 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 butter 1 cup brown sugar Â½ cup corn syrup 2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk 1 teaspoon vanilla butter (for greasing pan) nonstick aluminum foil or parchment paper wax 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 canât thank you enough!

Chapter One

Much as he loved Pine Gulch, Trace Bowman had to admit his town didnât offer its best impression in the middle of a cold, gray rain that leached the color and personality from it.

Even the Christmas decorationsâwhich still somehow could seem magical and bright to his cynical eye when viewed on a snowy December eveningâsomehow 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 townâs 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 yearâthe week after Thanksgivingâin 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. Heâd eaten a quick sandwich for dinner around 6:00 p.m. More than twelve hoursâand the misery of dealing with a couple of weather-related accidentsâlater and he was craving one of Lou Archuletaâs 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.

âMorning, Chief!â Jesse Redbear called out from the booth reserved for the dinerâs regulars.

âHey, Jesse.â

âChief.â

âChief.â

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, Destryâs, 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? Heâd been busy working double shifts after the wife of one of his men had a baby and he hadnât 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 sheâd hit seventy.

âHey, Chief,â Lou Archuleta, Donnaâs husband and the cook, called out from behind the grill before Trace could ask Donna about the solitary girl or the new waitress. âLong night?â

How did Lou know heâd 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.

âIt was a rough one. That freezing rain always keeps us hopping. Iâve been helping the state police out on the highway with a couple of weather-related accidents.â

âYou ought to be home in bed catching up.â 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.

âThatâs my plan, but I figured Iâd sleep better on a full stomach.â

âYou want your regular?â she asked in her raspy ex-smokerâs voice. âWestern omelet and a stack?â

He shook his head. âNo stack. Iâm in the mood for one of Louâs sweet rolls this morning. Any left?â

âI think I can find one or two for our favorite man in blue.â

âThanks.â

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 Haskellâs coffee cup. Ronny didnât seem to mind. He just smiled, somewhere in the vicinity of her chest region.

âDo you want something else to drink?â Donna asked him, apparently noticing he hadnât lifted his cup.

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

âI should have thought about that. One OJ coming up.â

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 thatâs why theyâd added a server to help with the breakfast crowd.

âBusy morning,â he commented to Donna when she came back with the sweet roll, huge and gooey and warm.

âLet me tell you something. Iâve survived my share of Pine Gulch winters,â she said. âIn 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 weâve got more of the latter today.â

The new waitress eased up to the window and tentatively handed an order to Lou before heading back to take the order of a couple of new arrivals.

âWhoâs the new blood?â he asked with a little head jerk in her direction.

Donna stopped just short of rolling her eyes. âNameâs Parsons. Rebecca Parsons. But heaven forbid you make the mistake of calling her Becky. Itâs Becca. Apparently she inherited old Wally Taylorâs place. His granddaughter, I guess.â

That was news to Trace. He narrowed his gaze at the woman, suddenly put off. Wally had never spoken of a granddaughter. She sure hadnât been overflowing with concern for the old man. In his last few years, Trace had just about been his neighborâs only visitor. If he hadnât made a practice of checking on him a couple of times a week, Wally might have gone weeks without seeing another living soul.

Trace had been the first to find out that heâd passed away. When Trace hadnât seen him puttering around his yard for a couple of days or out with his grumpy mutt, Grunt, heâd stopped by to check and found him dead in his easy chair with the Game Show Network still on, Grunt whining at his feet.

Apparently his granddaughter had been too busy to come visit him but she hadnât blinked at moving in and taking over his house. It would serve her right if he dropped Grunt off for her. Lord knew he didnât need a grouchy, grieving, hideously ugly dog underfoot.

âThat her kid?â he asked Donna.

She cast a quick look toward the booth where the girl was still engrossed in whatever she was reading. âYeah. Fancy French name. Gabrielle. I told Becca the girl could spend an hour or so here before school starts, long as she behaves. This is her second morning here and she hasnât looked up from her book, not even to say thank-you when I fixed her a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, on the house.â

She seemed to take that as a personal affront and he had to smile. âKids these days.â

Donna narrowed her gaze at his cheek. âIâm just saying. Somethingâs not right there.â

âOrder up,â Lou called. âChiefâs omeletâs ready.â

Donna headed back to the window and grabbed his breakfast and slid it expertly onto the counter. âYou know where to find the salt and pepper and the salsa. But of course you wonât need anything extra.â

She headed off to take care of another customer and he dug into his breakfast. In the mirror above the counter, he had a perfect view of the new waitress as she scrambled around the diner. In the time it took him to finish his breakfast, he saw her mess up two orders and pour regular instead of decaf in old Bob Whitleyâs cup despite his doctorâs orders that he had to ease up on the real stuff.

Oddly, she seemed to be going out of her way to avoid even making eye contact with him, though he thought he did intercept a few furtive glances in his direction. He ought to introduce himself. It was the polite thing to do, not to mention that he liked to make sure new arrivals to his town knew the police chief was keeping an eye out. But he wasnât necessarily inclined to be friendly to someone who could let a relative die a lonely death with only his farty, bad-tempered dog for company.

Fate took the decision out of his hands a moment later when the waitress fumbled the tray she was using to bus the table just adjacent to him. A couple of juice glasses slid off the edge and shattered on the floor.

âOh, drat,â the waitress exclaimed under her breath. The wimpy swear word almost made him smile. Only because he was so damn tired, he told himself.

On impulse, he unfolded himself from the barstool. âNeed a hand?â he asked.

âThank you! I â¦â She lifted her gaze from the floor to his jeans and then raised her eyes. When she identified him her hazel eyes turned from grateful to unfriendly and cold, as if heâd somehow thrown the glasses at her head.

He also thought he saw a glimmer of panic in those interesting depths, which instantly stirred his curiosity like cream swirling through coffee.

âIâve got it, Officer. Thank you.â Her voice was several degrees colder than the whirl of sleet outside the windows.

Despite her protests, he knelt down beside her and began to pick up shards of broken glass. âNo problem. Those trays can be slippery.â

This close, he picked up the scent of her, something fresh and flowery that made him think of a mountain meadow on a July afternoon. She had a soft, lush mouth and for one brief, insane moment, he wanted to push aside that stray lock of hair slipping from her ponytail and taste her. Apparently he needed to spend a lot less time working and a great deal more time recreating with the opposite sex if he could have sudden random fantasies about a woman he wasnât even inclined to like, pretty or not.

âIâm Trace Bowman. You must be new in town.â

She didnât answer immediately and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Why the hesitancy? And why that little hint of unease he could see clouding the edges of her gaze? His presence was obviously making her uncomfortable and Trace couldnât help wondering why.

âYes. Weâve been here a few weeks,â she finally answered.

âI understand your grandfather was Wally Taylor.â

âApparently.â She spoke in a voice as terse and cool as the freezing rain.

âOld Wally was an interesting guy. Kept to himself, mostly, but I liked him. You could always count on Wally not to pull any punches. If he had an opinion about something, you found out about it.â

âI wouldnât know.â She avoided his gaze, her voice low. He angled his head, wondering if he imagined sudden sadness in her eyes. What was the story here? He thought he remembered hearing years ago that Wally had been estranged from his only son. If that was the case, Trace supposed it wasnât really fair to blame the sonâs daughter for not maintaining a relationship with the old codger.

Maybe he shouldnât be so quick to judge the woman until he knew her side of things. Until he had reason to think otherwise, he should be as friendly to her as he would be to anyone else new in his town.

âWell, Iâm just up the road about four lots, in the white house with the cedar shake roof, if you or your daughter need help with anything.â

She flashed a quick look toward the girl, still engrossed in her book. âThank you. Very neighborly of you, Chief. Iâll keep that in mind. And thank you for your help with my mess. Eventually I hope to stop feeling like an idiot here.â

âYouâre welcome.â He smiled as he picked up the last shard of glass and set it on her tray.

She didnât return his smile but he wanted to think she had lost a little of her wariness as she hurried away to take care of her tray and pick up another order from Lou at the grill window.

Definitely a story there. He just might need to dig a little into her background to find out why someone with fine clothes and nice jewelry who so obviously didnât have experience as a waitress would be here slinging hash at The Gulch. Was she running away from someone? A bad marriage? An abusive husband?

Now that the holidays were in full swing, the uptick in domestic-disturbance calls made that sort of thing a logical possibility. He didnât like to think about it. That young girl looked too bright and innocent to have to face such ugliness in her life. So did the mother, for that matter.

Rebecca Parsons. Becca. Not Becky. An intriguing woman. It had been a long time since one of those had crossed his path here in Pine Gulch.

He sipped at his juice and watched her deliver the plate of eggs and bacon to Jolene Marlow. A moment later she was back at the window, telling Lou apologetically that the customer had asked for sausage and she hadnât written it down.

âShe ever done this before?â Trace asked Donna with a jerk of his head toward Becca, as the other woman passed by on her way to refill another customerâs cup.

Donna sighed. âI donât think so. Iâm sure sheâll pick up on it a little better any minute now.â She frowned at him. âDonât you be giving her a hard time, pullinâ your âIâm just looking out for my townâ routine. I get the feeling sheâs had a rough go of things lately.â

âWhat makes you think?â

Donna cast a look to make sure Becca and the girl were both out of earshot before she lowered her voice. âShe came in here three days ago practically begging for a job. Said she just needed something to tide her over for a few weeks and asked if she could work over the holidays for us. Smart girl knew to hit Lou up for the job instead of me. She must have seen he was the softy around here.â

Trace decided he would be wise to keep his mouth shut about his opinions on that particular topic. Donna probably didnât need reminding about all the free meals she gave out to anyone who looked down on his luck or the vast quantities of food she regularly donated to the senior-citizens center for their weekly luncheons.

âJust be nice to her, okay? You were friendly with Wally, about the only one in town who could say that.â

âHe died alone with only that butt-ugly dog for company. Where was this granddaughter?â

Donna patted his shoulder in a comforting sort of way, giving her raspy smokerâs cough. âI know Wally and his boy had a terrible falling-out years ago. You canât blame the granddaughter for that. If Wally blamed the girl for not visiting him, he never would have left his house to her, donât you think?â

Donna was right, damn it, as she so often was. He supposed he really would have to be a good neighbor to her and not just give lip service to the phrase.

That particular term made him think about her lips once more, lush and full and very kissable. He gave an inward groan. He really needed to go home and get some sleep if he was going to sit here and fantasize about a woman who might very well be married, for all he knew.

The chief of police. Just what she needed.

Becca hurried from table to table, refilling coffee and water, taking away plates, doing every busywork she could think of so she wouldnât have to interact with the gorgeous man who passed for the Pine Gulch long arm of the law.

It didnât seem right somehow. Why couldnât Trace Bowman be some kind of stereotype of a fat old guy with a paunch and a leering eye and a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth? Instead he was much younger than she might have expected the chief of police to be, perhaps only mid-thirties. With brown hair and those piercing green eyes and a slow heartbreaker of a smile, he was masculine and tough and very, very dangerous, at least to her.

She should not have this little sizzle of awareness pulsing through her every time she risked another look at him. Police. Chief. Did she need any other reason to stay far, far away from Trace Bowman?

With habits ingrained from childhood, she catalogued all she had picked up about him from their brief encounter. He either worked or played hard, judging by the slight red streaks in his eyes, the circles under them and the general air of fatigue that seemed to weigh down his shoulders. Since he was still in uniform and his boots were mud-splattered, she was willing to bet it was the former.

He probably wasnât marriedâor at least he didnât wear a wedding ring. She was voting on single status for Pine Gulchâs finest. If he had a wife, wouldnât it be logical heâd be going home for a home-cooked breakfast and maybe a quickie after a long night instead of coming into the diner? It was always possible he had a wife who was a professional and too busy to arrange her schedule around her husbandâs, but he gave off a definite unmarried vibe.

He didnât seem particularly inclined to like her. She might have wondered why not if he hadnât made that comment about being her grandfatherâs neighbor. He apparently thought she should have visited more. She wanted to tell him how impossible that would have been since sheâd never even heard of Wally Taylor until she received the notification of his death and his shocking bequest, right when her own life in Arizona had been imploding around her.

A customer asked her a question about the breakfast special, distracting her from thoughts of the police chief, and she forced herself to smile politely and answer as best she could. As she did she was aware of Trace Bowman standing up from the counter and tossing a few bills next to his plate, then shoving his hat on and heading out into the cold drizzle.

The minute he left, she took her first deep breath since sheâd looked up and seen the uniform walking into The Gulch.

The man didnât particularly like her and she had the vague sense that he was suspicious of her. Again, not what she needed right now.

She hadnât done anything wrong, she reminded herself. Not really. Oh, maybe she hadnât been completely honest with the school district about Gabiâs identity but she hadnât had any other choice, had she?

Even knowing she had no reason to be nervous, law enforcement personnel still freaked her out. Old, old habit. Savvy civil servants ranked just about last on her motherâs list of desirable associates. Becca would be wise to follow her motherâs example and stay as far away from Trace Bowman as possible.

Too bad for her, he lived not far from her grandfatherâs house.

She glanced at her watchâone of the few pieces of jewelry she hadnât pawnedâand winced. Once again, time was slipping away. She felt as if sheâd been on her feet for days when it had been only an hour and a half.

She rushed over to Gabrielle, engrossed in reading To Kill a Mockingbird, a book Becca would have thought was entirely too mature for her except sheâd read it herself at around that age.

âItâs almost eight. You probably need to head over to the school.â

Her half sister looked up, her eyes slightly unfocused, then released a heavy sigh and closed her book. âFor the record, I still donât think itâs fair.â

âYeah, yeah. I know. You hate it here and think the school is lame and well below your capabilities.â

âItâs a complete waste of my time. I can learn better on my own, just like Iâve always done.â

Gabi was eerily smart for her age. Becca had no idea how sheâd managed so well all these years when her education seemed to have been haphazard at best. âYouâve done a great job in school so far, honey. Youâre ahead of grade level in every subject. But for now school is our best option. This way you can make friends and participate in things like music and art. Plus, you donât have to be by yourselfâand I donât have to pay a sitterâwhile Iâm working.â

They had been through this discussion before. Her arguments still didnât seem to convince Gabi.

âI can find her, you know.â

She gave a careful look around to make sure they werenât being overheard. âAnd then what? If sheâd wanted you with her, she wouldnât have left you with me.â

âShe was going to come back. How is she supposed to find us now, when you moved us clear across the country?â

Moving from Arizona to eastern Idaho wasnât exactly across the country, but she imagined it seemed far enough to a nine-year-old. She also wasnât sure what other choice sheâd been given because of the hand Monica had dealt her.

âLook, Gab, we donât have time to talk about this right now. You have to head to school and I have to return to my customers. I told you that if we havenât heard from her by the time the holidays are over, weâll try to track her down, right?â

âThatâs what you said.â

The girl didnât need to finish the sentence for Becca to clearly understand. Gabrielle had spent nine years full of disappointments and empty promises. How could Becca blame her for being slow to trust that her sister, at least, meant what she said?

âWeâre doing okay, arenât we? Schoolâs not so bad, right?â

Gabi slid out of the booth. âSure. Itâs perfect if you want me to be bored to death.â

âJust hide your book inside your textbook,â Becca advised. It had always worked for her, anyway, during her own slapdash education.

With a put-upon sigh, Gabi stashed her book into her backpack, slipped into her coat and then trudged out into the rain, lifting the flowered umbrella Becca had given her.

She would have liked to drive her sister the two blocks to school but she didnât feel she could ask for fifteen minutes off during the busiest time of the morning, especially when the Archuletas had basically done her a huge favor to hire her in the first place.

As she bused a table by the front window, she kept an eye on her sister. Between the umbrella and the red boots, the girl made a bright and incongruously cheerful sight in the gray muck.

She had no idea what she was doing with Gabi. Two months after sheâd first learned she had a sister after a dozen years of estrangement from her mother, she wasnât any closer to figuring out the girl. She was brash and bossy sometimes, introspective and moody at others. Instead of feeling hurt and betrayed after Monica had dumped her on Becca, the girl refused to give up hope that her mother would come back.

Becca was angry enough at Monica for both of them.

Two months ago sheâd thought she had her life completely figured out. She owned her own town house in Scottsdale. She had a job she loved as a real-estate attorney, she had a wide circle of friends, sheâd been dating another attorney for several months and thought they were heading toward a commitment. Through hard work and sacrifice, she had carved her own niche in life, with all the safety and security she had craved so desperately when she was Gabiâs age, being yanked hither and yon with a capricious, irresponsible con artist for a mother.

Then came that fateful September day when Monica had tumbled back into her life after a decade, like a noxious weed blown across the desert.

âOrder up,â Lou called from the kitchen. She jerked away from the window to the reality of her life now. No money, her career in tatters, just an inch or two away from being disbarred. The man sheâd been dating had decided her personal troubles were too much of a liability to his own career and had dumped her without a backward glance, she had been forced to sell her town house to clean up Monicaâs mess, and now she was stuck in a sleepy little town in southeastern Idaho, saddled with responsibilities she didnât want and a nine-year-old girl who wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Any minute now, somebody was probably going to write a crappy country music song about her life.

To make matters even more enjoyable, now sheâd raised the hackles of the local law enforcement. She sighed as she picked up the specials from Lou. Her life couldnât get much worse, right?

Even if Trace Bowman was the most gorgeous man sheâd seen in a long, long time, she was going to have to do her best to keep a polite distance from the man. For now, she and Gabi had a place to live and the tips and small paycheck she was earning from this job would be enough to cover the groceries and keep the electricity turned on.

They were hanging by a thread and Chief Bowman seemed just the sort to come along with a big old pair of scissors and snip that right in half.

Chapter Two

Trace leaned back in his chair and set his napkin beside his now-empty plate. âDelicious dinner, Caidy, as always. The roast was particularly fine.â

His younger sister smiled, her eyes a translucent blue in the late-afternoon November light streaming through the dining room windows. âThanks. I tried a new recipe for the spice rub. It uses sage and rosemary and a touch of paprika.â

âYou know sage in recipes doesnât really come from the sagebrushes out back, right?â

She made a face at the teasing comment from Traceâs twin brother, Taft. âOf course I know itâs not the same. Just for that, you get to wash and dry the dishes.â

âCome on. Have a little pity. Iâve been working all night.â

âYou were on duty,â Trace corrected. âBut did you go out on any actual calls or did you spend the night bunking at the firehouse?â

âThatâs not the point,â Taft said, a self-righteous note in his voice. âWhether I was sleeping or not, I was ready if my community needed me.â

The overnight demands of their respective jobs had long been a source of good-natured ribbing between the two of them. When Trace worked the night shift, he was out on patrol, responding to calls, taking care of paperwork at the police station. As chief of the Pine Gulch fire department and one of the few actual fulltime employees in the mostly volunteer department, Taftâs job could sometimes be quiet.

They might bicker about it, but Trace knew no other person would have his back like his twinâthough Caidy and their older brother, Ridge, would be close behind.

âCut it out, you two.â Ridge, the de facto patriarch of the family, gave them both a stern look that reminded Trace remarkably of their father. âYouâre going to ruin this delicious dessert Destry made.â

âItâs only boysenberry cobbler,â his daughter piped in. âIt wasnât hard at all.â

âWell, it tastes like it was hard,â Taft said with a grin. âThatâs the important thing.â

Dinner at the family ranch, the River Bow, was a heralded tradition. No matter how busy they might be during the week with their respective lives and careers, the Bowman siblings tried to at least gather on Sundays when they could.

If not for Caidy, these Sunday dinners would probably have died long ago, another victim of their parentsâ brutal murders. For a few years after that fateful time a decade ago, the tradition had faded as Trace and his siblings struggled in their own ways to cope with their overwhelming grief.

Right around the time Ridgeâs wife left him and Caidy graduated from high school and started taking over caring for the ranch house and for Destry, his sister had revived the traditional Sunday dinners. Over the years it had become a way for them all to stay connected despite the hectic pace of their lives. He cherished these dinners, squabbles and all.

âI worked all night, too, but Iâm not such a wimp that I canât take care of my fair share,â he said with a sanctimonious look at his brother. âYou sit here and rest, Taft. I wouldnât want you to overdo. Iâll take care of the dishes.â

Of course his brother couldnât let that insult stand, just as Trace expected. As a result, Taft became the designated dishwasher and Trace dried and put away the dishes while Destry and Ridge cleared the table.

Taft was just running water in the sink when Destry came in on her fatherâs heels, her eyes as huge and plaintive as one of Caidyâs rescued mutts begging for a treat. âPlease, Dad. If we wait much longer, it will be too late.â

âToo late for what?â Taft asked innocently.

âChristmas!â Destry exclaimed. âItâs already the last Sunday in November. If we donât cut down our tree soon, the mountains will be too snowy. Please, Dad? Please, please, please?â

Ridge heaved a sigh. He didnât need to express his reluctance for Trace to understand it. None of his siblings had been very crazy about Christmas for nearly a decade, since their parents were killed just before Christmas Eve ten years ago.

âWeâll get one,â his brother assured Destry.

âWhatâs the point of even putting up a tree if we wait much longer? Christmas will be over.â

âItâs not even December yet!â

âItâs almost December. It will be here before we know it.â

âShe sounds like Mom,â Taft said. âRemember how she used to start hounding Dad to cut the tree a few weeks before Thanksgiving?â

âAnd she always had it picked out by the middle of the summer,â Caidy answered with a sad little smile.

âPlease, Daddy. Can we go?â

Trace had to smile at his nieceâs persistence. Destry was a sharp little thing. She was generally a happy kid, which he found quite amazing considering her mother was a major bitch who had left Ridge and Destry when the little girl was still just a toddler.

âI guess youâre right.â Ridge eyed his brothers. âEither of you boys up for a ride to help me bring back the tree? We can get one for your places, too.â

Taft shrugged. âIâve got a date. Sorry.â

âYou have a date on a Sunday afternoon?â Caidy asked with raised eyebrows.

His brother seemed to find every available female between the ages of twenty-two and forty. âNot really a date. Iâm going over to a friendâs house to watch a movie and order pizza.â

âYou just had dinner,â Caidy pointed out.

Taft grinned. âThatâs the thing about food â¦ and other things. No matter how good the feast, youâre always ready for more in a few hours.â

âHow old are you? Sixteen?â Ridge asked with a roll of his eyes.

âOld enough to thoroughly enjoy my pizza and everything that goes along with it,â Taft said with another grin. âBut you boys have fun cutting down your Christmas trees.â

âYou in?â Ridge asked Trace.

Since he didnât have a pizza buddy right nowâor any other kind of euphemistically termed acquaintanceâTrace figured he might as well. âSure. Iâm up for a ride. Letâs go find a tree.â

He could use a ride into the mountains. It might help clear the cobwebs out of his head from a week of double shifts.

The decision had been a good one, he decided a half hour later as he rode his favorite buckskin mare, Genie, up the trail leading to the evergreen forest above the ranch. He had needed to get out into the mountains on horseback again. The demands of his job as head honcho in an overworked and underfunded police department often left him with too little leisure time. He ought to make more time for himself, though. Right now, with feathery snowflakes drifting down and the air smelling crisp and clean, he wouldnât want to be anywhere else.

He loved River Bow Ranch. This was home, despite the bad memories and their grim past. Counting Destry now, five generations of Bowmans had made their home here, starting just after World War I with his great-grandfather. It was a lovely spot, named not only for the family name but also for the oxbow in Cold Creek that was a beautiful nesting spot in the summer for geese and swans.

Below the ranch, he could see the lights of Pine Gulch gleaming in the dusk. His town. Yeah, it might sound like something out of an old Western, but he loved this little slice of western heaven. Heâd had offers from bigger departments around Idaho and even a couple out of state. A few of them were tempting, he couldnât deny that. But every time he thought about leaving Pine Gulch, he thought about all the things he would have to give up. His family, his heritage, the comfort of small traditions like breakfast at The Gulch after an overnight shift. The sacrifices seemed too great.

âThanks for coming with us,â Destry said, reining her tough little paint pony next to his mare.

âMy pleasure. Thanks for asking me, kid.â His niece was turning into a good rider. Ridge had set her on the back of a horse from just about the moment she could walk and it showed. She had a confident seat, an easy grace, that had already won her some junior rodeo competitions.

âAre you finally going to put up a tree this year, Uncle Trace?â

âI donât know. Seems like a lot of trouble when itâs only me.â

He hated admitting that but it was true. He was tired of being alone. A year ago, he thought he was ready to settle down. Heâd even started dating Easton Springhill. From here, he could see across the canyon and up to where she ran her familyâs place, Winder Ranch.

Easton wasnât for him. Some part of him had known it even as heâd tried to convince himself otherwise. Just how wrong sheâd been for him had become abundantly clear when Cisco Del Norte came back to town and he saw for himself just how much Easton loved the man.

The two of them were deliriously happy now. They had adopted a little girl, who was just about the cutest thing heâd ever seen, all big eyes and curly black hair and dimples, and Easton was expecting a baby in the spring. While Trace still wasnât crazy about Cisco, he had to admit the guy made Easton happy.

He had tried to convince himself he was in love with Easton but he recognized now that effort had been mostly based on hope. Oh, he probably could have fallen in love with her if heâd given a little more effort to it. Easton was greatâwarm and compassionate and certainly beautiful enough. They could have made a good life together here, but theirs would never have been the fierce passion she shared with Cisco.

A passion he couldnât help envying.

Maybe he would always be the bachelor uncle. It wasnât necessarily a bad role in life, he thought as Destry urged her pony faster on the trail.

âAlmost there!â she exclaimed, her face beaming.

A few moments later they reached the thickly forested border of the ranch. Destry was quick to lead the way to the tree she had picked out months ago and marked with an orange plastic ribbon, just as their mother used to do.

Ridge cut the tree quickly with his chain saw while Destry looked on with glee. Caidy and a couple of her dogs had come up, as wellâTrace had left Grunt, the ugly little French bulldog heâd inherited from Wally Taylor, back at the ranch house since the dog couldnât have kept up with the horses on his stubby little legs.

His sister didnât help cut down the tree, only stood on the outskirts of the forest, gazing down at town.

âHow about you?â his brother asked. âYou want us to cut one for you while weâre up here?â

His brother asked every year and every year Trace gave the same answer. âNot much sense when itâs just me. Especially since Iâll be working through Christmas anyway.â

Since he didnât have a family, he always tried to work overtime so his officers who did could have a little extra time off to spend with their children.

Caidy glanced over at them and he saw his own melancholy reflected in her eyes. Christmas was a hell of a time for the Bowman family. It probably always would be. He hated that she felt she had to hide away from life here with the horses and the dogs she trained.

âHey, do you think we could cut an extra tree down for my friend?â Destry asked him.

âI donât mind. Youâll have to ask your dad, though.â

âAsk me what?â Ridge asked, busy tying the sled to his saddle for his horse to pull down the mountain.

âI wanted to give a tree to one of my friends.â

âThat shouldnât be a problem. Weâve got plenty of trees. But are you sure her family doesnât already have one?â

Destry shook her head. âShe said they might not even put up a tree this year. They donât have very much money. They just moved to Pine Gulch and I donât think she likes it here very much.â

Trace felt the same sort of tingle in his fingertips he always got when something was about to break on a case. âWhatâs this friendâs name?â

âGabi. Well, Gabrielle. Gabrielle Parsons.â

Of course. Somehow heâd known, even before Destry told him the name. He thought of the pretty, inept waitress with the secrets in her eyes and of the girl who had sat reading her book with such solemn concentration in the midst of the morning chaos at The Gulch.

âI met her the other day. She and her mother moved in near my house.â

Both Ridge and Caidy gave him matching looks of curiosity and he shrugged. âSheâs apparently old Wally Taylorâs granddaughter. He left the house to her, though I gather they didnât have much of a relationship.â

âYou really do know everything about what goes on in Pine Gulch,â Caidy said with an admiring tone.

Trace tried his best to look humble. âI try. Actually, the mother is waitressing at The Gulch. I stopped there the other day for breakfast and ended up with the whole story from Donna.â

âWhat youâre saying, then,â Ridge said, his voice dry, âis that Donna is the one in town who knows when every dog lifts his leg on a fire hydrant.â

Trace grinned. âYeah. So? A good police officer knows how to cultivate sources wherever he can find them.â

âSo can we cut a tree for Gabrielle and her mom?â Destry asked impatiently.

He remembered the secrets in the womanâs eyes and her unease around him. He had thought about her several times in the few days since he saw her at the diner and his curiosity about why she had ended up in Pine Gulch hadnât abated whatsoever. He had promised himself he would try to be a good neighbor. What was more neighborly than delivering a Christmas tree?

âI donât see the problem with that. I can drop it off on my way home. Help me pick a good one for them.â

Destry gave a jubilant cheer and grabbed his hand. âI saw the perfect one before. Come on, over here.â

She dragged him about twenty feet away, stopping in front of a bushy blue spruce. âHow about this one?â

The tree easily topped nine feet and was probably that big in circumference. Trace smiled at his nieceâs eagerness. âIâm sorry, hon, but if I remember correctly, I think that one is a little too big for the living room of their house. What about this nice one over here?â He led her to a seven-foot Scotch pine with a nice, natural Christmas-tree shape.

She gave the tree a considering sort of look. âI guess that would work.â

âHere, you can help me cut it down then.â He fired up Ridgeâs chain saw and guided his nieceâs hands. Together they cut the tree down and Trace tied it to his own horseâs saddle.

âI hope Gabrielle will love it. Youâre going to take it to her tonight, right?â she demanded, proving once more that she was nothing like her selfish mother except in appearance. Destry was always thinking about other people and how she could help them, much like Traceâs mother, the grandmother she had never met.

âI promise. But letâs get it down the hill first, okay?â

âOkay.â Destry smiled happily.

As they headed back toward River Bow Ranch while the sun finally slipped behind the western mountains, a completely ridiculous little bubble of excitement churned through him, like he was a kid waiting in line to see Santa Claus. He tried to tell himself he was only picking up on Destryâs anticipation at doing a kind deed for her friend, but in his heart Trace knew there was more to it.

He wanted to see Becca Parsons again. Simple as that. The memory of her, slim and pretty and obviously uncomfortable around him, played in his head over and over. She was a mystery to him, that was all. He wanted only to get to know a few of her secrets and make sure she didnât intend to cause trouble in his town.

If anybody asked, that was his story and he was sticking to it.

Chapter Three

How did parents survive this homework battle day in and day out for years?

Becca drew in a deep, cleansing breath in a fierce effort to keep from growling in frustration at her sister and smoothed the worksheet out in front of them. They had only four more math problems and one would think she was asking Gabi to rip out her eyelashes one by one instead of just finish a little long division.

âWeâre almost done, Gab. Come on. You can do it.â

âOf course I can do it.â Though she was a foot and a half shorter than Becca, Gabi still somehow managed to look down her nose at her. âI just donât see why I have to.â

âBecause itâs your homework, honey, thatâs why.â Becca tried valiantly for patience. âIf you donât finish it, youâll receive a failing grade in math.â

âAnd?â

Becca curled her fingers into fists. Her sister was ferociously bright but had zero motivation, something Becca found frustrating beyond belief considering how very hard she had worked at school, the brief times she had been enrolled. In those days, she would rather have been the one ripping out her eyelashes herself rather than miss an assignment.

Not that her overachieving ways and conscientious study habits had gotten her very far.

She gazed around at the small, dingy house with its old-fashioned wallpaper and the water stains on the ceiling. She had a sudden memory of her elegant town house in an exclusive gated Scottsdale community, trim and neat with its chili-pepper-red door and the matching potted yucca plants fronting the entry. She suddenly missed her house with a longing that bordered on desperation. She would never have that place back. Her mother had effectively taken it from her, just like sheâd taken so many other things.

She pushed away her bitterness. She had made her own choices. No one had forced her to sell her town house and use the equity to pay back her motherâs fraud victims. She could have taken her chances that she might have been able to slither out of the mess Monica had left her with her careerâif not her reputationâintact.

Again, not the issue here. She was as bad as Gabi, letting her mind wander over paths she could no longer change.

âIf you flunk out of fourth grade, my darling sister, Iâll have to homeschool you and we both know Iâll be much tougher on you than any public school teacher. Come on. Four more questions.â

Gabi gave a heavy sigh and picked up her pencil again, apparently tired of pitting her formidable will against Beccaâs. She finished the problems without any noticeable effort and then set down her pencil.

âThere. Are you happy now?â

As Becca expected, her sister finished the problems perfectly. âSee, that wasnât so tough, now, was it?â

Gabi opened her mouth to answer but before she could get the words out, the doorbell rang, making them both jump. The sudden hope that leapt into Gabiâs eyes broke Beccaâs heart. She wanted to hug her, tell her all over again that Monica wasnât likely to come back.

âIâll get it,â the girl said quickly, and disregarding all Beccaâs strictures about basic safety precautions, she flung open the door.

If ever a girl needed to heed stranger danger, it was now, Becca thought with a spurt of panic at the sight of the Pine Gulch chief of police standing on her doorstep. Trace Bowman looked dark and dangerous in the twilight and all her self-protective instincts ramped up into high gear.

Gabi looked disappointed for only a moment before she hid her emotions behind impassivity and eased away from the door to let Becca take the lead.

âChief Bowman,â she finally murmured. âThis is â¦ unexpected.â

Not to mention unfortunate, unwelcome, unwanted.

âI know. Sorry to barge in like this but Iâve been charged with an important mission.â

She glanced at Gabi and saw a flicker of curiosity in her sisterâs eyes.

The police chief seemed to be concealing something out of sight of the doorway but she couldnât tell what it was from this angle.

âWhat sort of mission?â Becca was unsuccessful in keeping her wariness from her voice.

âWell, funny story. My niece, Destry, apparently is in the same school class as your daughter.â

She couldnât correct his misstatement since she was the one who had perpetrated the lie. She shot a quick look at Gabi, willing her to keep her mouth shut. At the same time, she realized how rude she must appear to the police chief, keeping him standing on the sagging porch. She ought to invite him inside but she really didnât want him in her space. On the porch was still too close.

âYes, Gabiâs mentioned Destry.â

âSheâs a great kid. Always concerned about those she counts as friends.â

And he was telling her this why, exactly? She smiled politely, hoping he would get to the point and then ride off into the sunset on his trusty steed. Or maybe that pickup truck she could see parked in the driveway.

To her surprise, he appeared slightly uncomfortable. She thought she detected a hint of color on his cheekbones and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. âAnyway, Destry said Gabrielle told her you didnât have a Christmas tree yet and your daughter didnât know if youâd be putting one up this year.â

She narrowed her gaze at Gabi, who returned the look with an innocent look. They had talked about putting a tree up. Sheâd promised her sister they would find something after payday the next week. She had to wonder if the concern from Chief Bowmanâs niece was spontaneous or if Gabi had somehow planted the seed somewhere.

âIâm sure weâll get something. We just â¦ between moving in and settling into school and work, we havenât had much free time for, um, holiday decorating. Itâs not even December yet.â

âI tried to tell Destry that but when we went up into the mountains this afternoon to find a tree for the ranch house, she had her heart set on cutting one for you, too. Look at it this way. One less thing you have to worry about, right?â

Finally he moved the arm concealed around the door-jamb so she could see that he was indeed holding a Christmas tree, dark green and fragrant.

âYou donât get any fresher than this one. We just cut it about an hour ago.â

A tree? From the chief of police? What kind of town was this?

She hadnât put up a Christmas tree in, well, ever. It had seemed far too much trouble when she was living alone. Besides, she had never had all that much to celebrate, busy with clients and contracts and court filings.

For an instant, she was transported to her very best memory of Christmas, when she was seven or eight and Monica had been working to empty the bank account of a lonely widower who had either been genuinely fond of Becca or had been very good at pretending. He had filled his house with Christmas decorations and presents. A wreath on the door, stockings hanging on the mantel, the whole bit.

She had really liked the old guyâuntil heâd called the police on Monica when he began to suspect she was stealing from them, and Becca and her mother had had to flee just a few steps from the law.

Now here was the chief of police standing on her doorstep with this lovely, sweet-smelling Christmas tree. âI â¦ oh.â

She didnât know what to say and her obvious discomfort must have begun to communicate itself to Trace Bowman.

âI can find another home for it if you donât want it,â he finally said as the pause lengthened.

âOh, please.â Gabrielle clasped her hands together at her heart as if she were starring in some cheesy melodrama and trying desperately to avoid being tied to the railroad tracks by some dastardly villain. It was completely an act. The part of Pleading Young Girl will be played tonight by the incomparable Gabrielle Parsons.

Becca had no choice but to give in with as much grace as she could muster. And then figure out how she was going to afford lights and ornaments for the dratted thing.

âA tree would be lovely, Iâm sure. Thank you very much.â She was grateful. Her half sister might have the soul of a thirty-year-old con artist in a nine-year-oldâs body, but she was still a child. She deserved whatever poor similitude of Christmas Becca could manage.

âI didnât know if you would have a tree stand so I snagged a spare from the ranch house. If youâll just let me know where you want it, I can set this baby up for you.â

âThatâs not necessary. Iâm sure I can figure it out.â

âHave you ever set a real tree up before?â

Real or fake, she didnât know the first thing about a Christmas tree. Honesty compelled her to shake her head.

âItâs harder than it looks. Consider the setup all part of the service.â

He didnât wait for her to give him permission; he just carried the tree through the door and into her living room, bringing that sweet, wintry-tart smell and memories of happier times she had nearly forgotten.

âItâs beautiful,â Gabi exclaimed. âI think that might be the most beautiful tree Iâve ever seen.â

Becca studied her sister. She couldnât say sheâd figured out all her moods yet, but Gabi certainly looked sincere in her delight. Her eyes shone with excitement, her face bright and as happy as sheâd seen it yet over the last two months. Maybe Becca was entirely too cynical. It was Christmas. Gabi had a right to her excitement.

âIt really is a pretty tree,â she agreed. âWhere would you like Chief Bowman to put it, kiddo?â

âRight there facing the front window, then everyone will see it.â

Gabi was full of surprises tonight. She usually preferred to stay inconspicuous to avoid drawing attention to herself. Becca had been the same way, trained well by a mother who was always just a pace or two ahead of the law.

Trace carried the tree over to the window and positioned it. The tree fit perfectly in the space, exactly the right height, as if heâd measured it.

âRight here?â he asked, his attention focused on Gabi.

âMaybe a little more to the left.â

With a slightly amused expression, he moved the tree in that direction. When Gabi nodded he slanted a look at Becca. She shrugged. Christmas tree positioning wasnât exactly in her skill set. Right along with waiting tables and trying to raise a precocious nine-year-old girl.

âGabrielle, would you mind going back out onto porch for the tree stand I left there?â he asked. âI donât want to move from the perfect spot.â

She hurried out eagerly and returned shortly with the green metal tree stand.

âOkay, Iâm going to lift the tree and you set the stand with the hole right underneath the trunk. Got it?â

She nodded solemnly. When Trace effortlessly lifted the tree, she slid the stand where he indicated. Becca couldnât help but compare her eagerness to help Trace with the tree to her grave reluctance a few moments earlier to finish four measly math problems.

For the next few moments, Trace held the tree and instructed Gabi to tighten the bolts of the stand around the trunk in a particular order for the best stability.

Becca watched their efforts with a growing amusement that surprised her. She shouldnât be enjoying this. This was the police chief, she reminded herself, but it was hard to remember that when he was laughing with Gabi about the tree that seemed determined to list drunkenly to the side.

âIâm beginning to see why people prefer artificial trees.â

âOh, blasphemy!â He aimed a mock frown in her direction. âWhat about that heavenly smell?â

âA ninety-nine-cent car air freshener can give you the same thing without the sap and the needles all over the carpet.â

He shook his head with a rueful smile but didnât argue and she was painfully aware of the highly inconvenient little simmer of attraction. He was an extraordinarily good-looking man, with those startling green eyes and a hint of afternoon shadow along his jawline. Avoiding him would be far easier if the dratted man didnât stir up all kinds of ridiculous feelings.

âIâll clean up the needles, I promise.â

To Beccaâs surprise, Gabrielle seemed to glow with excitement. She was such a funny kid. Becca was no closer to figuring out this curious little stranger than she was two months ago when Monica had dumped her in her lap.

âOkay, moment of truth.â Trace stepped back to look at his handiwork. âDoes that look straight to you two?â

Gabrielle moved toward Becca for a better perspective and cocked her head to the side. âIt looks great to me. What about you, Beâum, Mom?â

Gabi stumbled only slightly over the word but it was still a surprising mistake. Her sister was remarkably adept at deception. No surprise there since sheâd been bottle-fed it since birth. Becca glanced at the police chief but he didnât seem to have noticed anything amiss and she spoke quickly to distract him.

âLooks straight to me, too.â

âI think youâre both right. It is straight. Amazing! That didnât take long at all. Youâve got some serious tree setup skills, young lady.â

Much to Beccaâs astonishment, her sister giggled. Actually giggled. Gabrielle blinked a little, clearly surprised at the sound herself.

âNow what are we going to decorate it with?â the girl asked.

âIâve got a couple strings of lights out in the truck. We can start with that.â

âI can probably find something around here,â Becca said quickly. âIf not, I can pick some up tomorrow.â

She didnât want him here. It was too dangerous. The more time they spent with the police chief, the greater the chance that either she or Gabi would slip again and he would figure out things werenât quite as they seemed. She had the distinct impression he was suspicious enough of them and she didnât want to raise any more red flags.

Her unwilling attraction to him only further complicated the situation. She just wanted him to leave so she could go back to duct-taping her life back together.

âIâve already got the lights out in my truck. Why go to so much trouble of tracking down more?â

âYouâve already done more than enough.â

âHereâs something good to know about me.â Trace grinned. âIâm the kind of guy who likes to see things through.â

For an insane instant, she imagined just how he would kiss a womanâwith thorough, meticulous intensity. Those green eyes would turn to smoke as he took great care to explore and taste every inch of her mouth with his until she was soft and pliant and ready to throw every caution out the windowâ¦ .

She blinked away the entirely too appealing image to find Trace watching her. His eyes werenât smoky now, only curious, as if wondering what she was thinking. Heat rushed to her cheeks with her blush, something she hadnât done in a long time. He wouldnât be talked out of helping them decorate the tree. Somehow she knew she was stuck in this untenable situation and continuing to protest would only make him wonder why she was so ardently determined to avoid his company.

Gabi was obviously pleased to have him here and it seemed churlish of Becca to make a deal about it. How long would it take to decorate a tree, anyway?

âThank you, then. I think I saw a box of old ornaments up in the attic in my â¦ my grandfatherâs things.â

âGreat. I guess weâre in business.â He headed for the door and returned a moment later with a box that had Extra Christmas Lights written on it with black permanent marker in what looked like a womanâs handwriting. He didnât have a wife, she knew, so who had written those words? Maybe he had an ex or a steady girlfriend. Not that it was any of her business who might be writing on his boxes, she reminded herself.

He immediately started untangling the light strings and she watched long, well-formed fingers move nimbly for a moment then jerked her attention away when she realized she was staring.

âGabi, come help me look for the ornaments.â

Reluctance flitted across the girlâs features as if she didnât want to leave Trace Bowmanâs presence, either, but she followed Becca up the narrow stairs to the cramped storage space under the eaves adjacent to the room Gabi had claimed as her own bedroom.

The space smelled musty and dusty and was piled with boxes and trunks Becca had barely had time to even look at in the few weeks theyâd been in Pine Gulch. She pulled the string on the bare-bulb light and could swear she heard something scurry. They needed a cat, she thought. She didnât want to add one more responsibility to her plate but a good mouser would be just the thing.

âI think I saw the ornaments somewhere over by the window. Help me look, would you?â

She and Gabi began sorting through boxes filled with the detritus of a lonely old manâs life. It made her inexpressibly sad to think about the grandfather she hadnât even known existed. Monica had told her very little about the paternal side of her heritage. She had known her father had died when she was just a baby and Monica had told her she didnât have any other living relatives on either side.

Big surprise. Sheâd lied. This was just one more thing her mother had stolen from her.

âHeâs nice, isnât he?â

She glanced at Gabi, who was looking toward the doorway and the stairs with a pensive sort of look.

âHeâs the police chief, Gab. You know what that means.â

âWe havenât done anything wrong here.â

âExcept tell the world Iâm your mother.â

She never should have done it, but it was one of those tiny lies that had quickly grown out of control. When sheâd tried to enroll Gabi in school after they arrived in Pine Gulch, Becca had suddenly realized she didnât have any sort of guardianship papers or even a birth certificate. Worried that Gabi would be taken from her and placed into foster care, she had fudged the paperwork at the school. Thinking the school authorities would be more likely to take her word for things if she was Gabiâs mother rather than merely an older sister, she had called upon the grifting skills she hadnât used in years to convince the secretary she didnât know where Gabiâs birth certificate was after a succession of movesânot technically a lie.

The secretary had been gratifyingly understanding and told Becca merely to bring them when she could find them. From that moment, they were stuck in the lie. She didnât want to think about Trace Bowmanâs reaction if he found out she was perpetrating a fraud on the school and the community. She wasnât a poor single mother trying to eke out a living with her daughter. She was stuck in a situation that seemed to grow more complicated by the minute.

âI still think heâs nice,â Gabi said. âHe brought us a Christmas tree.â

She wanted to warn her sister to run far, far away from sexy men bearing warm smiles and unexpected charm. âYouâre right. That was a very kind thing to do. Actually, it was his nieceâs idea, right? You must have made a good friend in Destry Bowman.â

âSheâs nice,â Gabi said, avoiding her gaze. âWhere do you think you saw the ornaments?â

An interesting reaction. She frowned at Gabi but didnât comment, especially when her sister found the box of ornaments just a moment later, next to a box of 1950s-era womenâs clothing.

Her grandmotherâs, perhaps? From the attorney who notified her of the bequest, she had learned the woman had died years ago, before she was born, but other than that she didnât know anything about her. Since coming to Pine Gulch, she had been thinking how surreal it was to live in her grandfatherâs house when she didnât know anything about him, surrounded by the personal belongings of a stranger.

She had picked up bits and pieces since sheâd arrived in town that indicated that her father and grandfather had fought bitterly before she was born. She didnât know the full story and wasnât sure she ever would, but Donna told her that her father had apparently vowed never to speak to his own father again. She could guess the reason. Probably her mother had something to do with it. Monica was very good at finding ways to destroy relationships around her.

Kenneth Taylor had been killed in a motorcycle crash when Becca was a toddler and her parents had never been married. Her only memories of him were a bushy mustache and sideburns and a deep, warm voice telling her stories at night.

Sheâd been curious about her fatherâs family over the years, but Monica had refused to talk about him. She hadnât even known her grandfather was still alive until sheâd heard from that Idaho Falls attorney a few months earlier, right in the middle of her own legal trouble. When he had told her she had inherited a small house in Idaho, the news had seemed an answer to prayer. She had been thinking she and Gabi would wind up homeless if she couldnât figure something out and suddenly she had learned she owned a house in a town sheâd never visited.

This sturdy little Craftsman cottage was dark and neglected, but she knew she could make a happy home here for her and Gabi, their lies notwithstanding.

As long as the police chief left her alone.

Females with secrets. Heâd certainly seen his share of those.

Trace carefully wound the colored lights on the branches of their Christmas tree, listening to Becca and Gabi talk quietly as they pulled glass ornaments from a cardboard box. Something was not exactly as it appeared in this household. He couldnât put his finger on what precisely it might be but heâd caught more than one unreadable exchange of glances between Becca and her daughter, as if they were each warning the other to be careful with her words.

What secrets could they have? He had to wonder if they were on the run from something. A jealous ex? A custody dispute? That was the logical conclusion but not one that sat comfortably with him. He didnât like the idea that Becca might be breaking the law, or worse, in danger somehow. That would certainly make his attraction for her even more inconvenient.

He couldnât have said why he was still here. His plan when Destry had begged him to do this had been to merely do a quick drop-off of the tree, the stand and the lights. Heâd intended to let Becca and Gabi deal with the tree while he headed down the street for a comfortable night of basketball in front of the big screen with his squash-faced little dog at his feet.

Instead, when he had shown up on the doorstep, she had looked so obviously taken abackâand touched, despite herselfâthat he had decided spending a little time with the two of them was more fascinating than even the most fierce battle on the hardwood.

He wasnât sorry. Gabi was a great kid. Smart and funny, with clever little observations about life. She, at least, had been thrilled by the donated Christmas tree, almost as if sheâd never had a tree before. At some point, Gabi had tuned in on a Christmas station on a small boom boxâtype radio she brought from her bedroom. Though he still wasnât a big fan of the holiday, he couldnât deny there was something very appealing about working together on a quiet evening while snowflakes fluttered down outside and Nat King Coleâs velvet voice filled the room.

It reminded him of happier memories when he was a kid, before the Christmas that had changed everything.

âThatâs the last of the lights. You ready to flip the switch?â

âCan I?â Gabi asked, her eyes bright.

âSure thing.â

She plugged in the lights and they reflected green and red and gold in her eyes. âIt looks wonderful!â

âIt really does,â Becca agreed. âThank you for your help.â

Her words were another clear dismissal and he decided to ignore it. He wasnât quite ready to leave this warm room yet. âNow we can start putting up those ornaments.â

She chewed her lip, clearly annoyed with him, but he only smiled and reached into the box for a couple of colored globes.

âSo where were you before you moved to Pine Gulch?â he asked after a few moments of hanging ornaments. Though he pitted his question as casual curiosity, she didnât seem fooled.

Becca and her daughter exchanged another look and she waited a moment before answering. âArizona,â she finally said, her voice terse.

âWere you waitressing there?â

âNo. I did a lot of different things,â she said evasively. âWhat about you? How long have you been chief of police for the good people of Pine Gulch?â

He saw through her attempt to deflect his questions. He was fond of the same technique when he wanted to guide a particular discussion in an interview. He thought about calling her on it but decided to let her set the tone. This wasnât an interrogation, after all. Only a conversation.

âIâve been on the force for about ten years, chief for the last three.â

âYou seem young for the job.â

âIâm thirty-two. Not that young. You must have been a baby yourself when you had Gabi, right?â

He thought he saw a tiny flicker of something indefinable in the depths of her hazel eyes but she quickly concealed it. âSomething like that. I was eighteen when she was born. What about you? Any wife and kiddos in the picture?â

Again the diversionary tactics. Interesting. âNope. Never married. Just my brothers and a sister.â

âAnd you all live close?â

âRight. My older brother runs the family ranch, the River Bow, just outside town. We run about six hundred head. My younger sister helps him around the ranch and with Destry. Then my twin brother, Taft, is the fire chief. You might have seen him around town. Heâs a little hard to miss since weâre identical.â

âWow. There are two of you?â

âNope. Only one. Taft is definitely his own man.â

She smiled a little as she reached to hang an ornament on a higher branch. Her soft curves brushed his shoulderâcompletely accidental, he knewâand his stomach muscles contracted. He hadnât felt this little zing of attraction in a long, long time and he wanted to savor every moment of it, despite his better instincts reminding him he knew very little about the woman and what he did know didnât seem completely truthful.

She moved away to the other side of the tree and picked up a pearly white globe ornament from the box.

He thought her color was a little higher than it had been before but that could have been only the reflection from the Christmas lights.

âYou havenât had the urge to explore distant pastures? See whatâs out there beyond Pine Gulch?â

âBeen there, done that. I spent four years as a Marine MP, with tours in the Middle East, Germany, Japan. I was ready to be back home.â

He didnât like to think about what had happened after he came home, restless and looking for trouble. Heâd found it, far more than he ever imagined, in the form of a devious little liar named Lilah Bodine.

âAnd the small-town life appeals to you?â

âPine Gulch is a nice place to live. You wonât find a prettier place on earth in the summertime and people here watch out for each other.â

âIâm not sure thatâs always a good thing, is it? Isnât that small-town code for snooping in other peopleâs business?â

What in her past had made her so cynical? And what business did she have that made her eager to keep others out of it?

âThatâs one way of looking at it, I suppose. Some people find it a comfort to know theyâve always got someone to turn to when times are tough.â

âIâm used to counting on myself.â

Before he could respond to that, Gabi popped her head around the side of the Christmas tree, a small porcelain angel with filigree wings in her hand. âThis was the last ornament in the box,â she said. âWhere should I put it?â

Becca looked at the tree. âWell, we donât have anything at the top. Why donât we put her there?â

âThat seems about right,â Trace said. âA tree as pretty as this one deserves to have an angel watching over it.â

âOkay. Iâll have to get a chair.â

âWhy?â He grinned at the girl and picked her up. She seemed skinny for her age and she giggled a little as he hefted her higher to reach the top of the tree. She tucked the little angel against the top branch and secured her with the clip attached to her back.

âPerfect,â Gabi exclaimed when she was done.

He lowered her to the ground and the girl hurried to turn off the light switch to the overhead fixture and the two lamps until the room was dark except for the gleaming, colorful tree.

They all stepped back a little for a better look. Much to his surprise, as he stood in this dark, dingy little house with that soft music in the background and the snow drifting past the window and the tree lights flickering, he felt the first nudge of Christmas spirit heâd experienced in a long, long time.

âItâs magical,â Gabi breathed.

Becca leaned down and hugged her. âYou know what, kiddo? Magical is exactly the right word.â

They all stood still for a moment. Becca was the first to break the spell.

âIâm sorry we kept you so long.â She smiled at him and he had the feeling it was the most genuine smile sheâd ever given him. âYou didnât need to stay to help us decorate the whole thing.â

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