Christmas in Cold Creek Page 3

  The two of them were deliriously happy now. They had adopted a little girl, who was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen, all big eyes and curly black hair and dimples, and Easton was expecting a baby in the spring. While Trace still wasn’t 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 he’d given a little more effort to it. Easton was great—warm 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 couldn’t help envying.

  Maybe he would always be the bachelor uncle. It wasn’t necessarily a bad role in life, he thought as Destry urged her pony faster on the trail.

  “Almost there!” 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 well—Trace had left Grunt, the ugly little French bulldog he’d inherited from Wally Taylor, back at the ranch house since the dog couldn’t have kept up with the horses on his stubby little legs.

  His sister didn’t help cut down the tree, only stood on the outskirts of the forest, gazing down at town.

  “How about you?” his brother asked. “You want us to cut one for you while we’re up here?”

  His brother asked every year and every year Trace gave the same answer. “Not much sense when it’s just me. Especially since I’ll be working through Christmas anyway.”

  Since he didn’t 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.

  “Hey, do you think we could cut an extra tree down for my friend?” Destry asked him.

  “I don’t mind. You’ll have to ask your dad, though.”

  “Ask me what?” Ridge asked, busy tying the sled to his saddle for his horse to pull down the mountain.

  “I wanted to give a tree to one of my friends.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. We’ve got plenty of trees. But are you sure her family doesn’t already have one?”

  Destry shook her head. “She said they might not even put up a tree this year. They don’t have very much money. They just moved to Pine Gulch and I don’t think she likes it here very much.”

  Trace felt the same sort of tingle in his fingertips he always got when something was about to break on a case. “What’s this friend’s name?”

  “Gabi. Well, Gabrielle. Gabrielle Parsons.”

  Of course. Somehow he’d 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.

  “I met her the other day. She and her mother moved in near my house.”

  Both Ridge and Caidy gave him matching looks of curiosity and he shrugged. “She’s apparently old Wally Taylor’s granddaughter. He left the house to her, though I gather they didn’t have much of a relationship.”

  “You really do know everything about what goes on in Pine Gulch,” Caidy said with an admiring tone.

  Trace tried his best to look humble. “I 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.”

  “What you’re saying, then,” Ridge said, his voice dry, “is that Donna is the one in town who knows when every dog lifts his leg on a fire hydrant.”

  Trace grinned. “Yeah. So? A good police officer knows how to cultivate sources wherever he can find them.”

  “So can we cut a tree for Gabrielle and her mom?” Destry asked impatiently.

  He remembered the secrets in the woman’s 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 hadn’t abated whatsoever. He had promised himself he would try to be a good neighbor. What was more neighborly than delivering a Christmas tree?

  “I don’t see the problem with that. I can drop it off on my way home. Help me pick a good one for them.”

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

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

  The tree easily topped nine feet and was probably that big in circumference. Trace smiled at his niece’s eagerness. “I’m 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?” 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. “I guess that would work.”

  “Here, you can help me cut it down then.” He fired up Ridge’s chain saw and guided his niece’s hands. Together they cut the tree down and Trace tied it to his own horse’s saddle.

  “I hope Gabrielle will love it. You’re going to take it to her tonight, right?” 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 Trace’s mother, the grandmother she had never met.

  “I promise. But let’s get it down the hill first, okay?”

  “Okay.” 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 Destry’s 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 didn’t 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.

  “We’re almost done, Gab. Come on. You can do it.”

  “Of course I can do it.” Though she was a foot and a half shorter than Becca, Gabi still somehow managed to look down her nose at her. “I just don’t see why I have to.”

  “Because it’s your homework, honey, that’s why.” Becca tried valiantly for patience. “If you don’t finish it, you’ll receive a failing grade in math.”

  “And?”

  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 she’d 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 mother’s 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 career—if not her reputation—intact.

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

  “If you flunk out of fourth grade, my darling sister, I’ll have to homeschool you and we both know I’ll be much tougher on you than any public school teacher. Come on. Four more questions.”

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

  “There. Are you happy now?”

  As Becca expected, her sister finished the problems perfectly. “See, that wasn’t so tough, now, was it?”

  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 Gabi’s eyes broke Becca’s heart. She wanted to hug her, tell her all over again that Monica wasn’t likely to come back.

  “I’ll get it,” the girl said quickly, and disregarding all Becca’s 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.

  “Chief Bowman,” she finally murmured. “This is … unexpected.”

  Not to mention unfortunate, unwelcome, unwanted.

  “I know. Sorry to barge in like this but I’ve been charged with an important mission.”

  She glanced at Gabi and saw a flicker of curiosity in her sister’s eyes.

  The police chief seemed to be concealing something out of sight of the doorway but she couldn’t tell what it was from this angle.

  “What sort of mission?” Becca was unsuccessful in keeping her wariness from her voice.

  “Well, funny story. My niece, Destry, apparently is in the same school class as your daughter.”

  She couldn’t 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 didn’t want him in her space. On the porch was still too close.

  “Yes, Gabi’s mentioned Destry.”

  “She’s a great kid. Always concerned about those she counts as friends.”

  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. “Anyway, Destry said Gabrielle told her you didn’t have a Christmas tree yet and your daughter didn’t know if you’d be putting one up this year.”

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

  “I’m sure we’ll get something. We just … between moving in and settling into school and work, we haven’t had much free time for, um, holiday decorating. It’s not even December yet.”

  “I 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?”

  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.

  “You don’t get any fresher than this one. We just cut it about an hour ago.”

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

  She hadn’t 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 guy—until he’d 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. “I … oh.”

  She didn’t know what to say and her obvious discomfort must have begun to communicate itself to Trace Bowman.

  “I can find another home for it if you don’t want it,” he finally said as the pause lengthened.

  “Oh, please.” 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.

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

  “I didn’t know if you would have a tree stand so I snagged a spare from the ranch house. If you’ll just let me know where you want it, I can set this baby up for you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “Have you ever set a real tree up before?”

  Real or fake, she didn’t know the first thing about a Christmas tree. Honesty compelled her to shake her head.

  “It’s harder than it looks. Consider the setup all part of the service.”

  He didn’t 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.

  “It’s beautiful,” Gabi exclaimed. “I think that might be the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.”

  Becca studied her sister. She couldn’t say she’d 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 she’d seen it yet over the last two months. Maybe Becca was entirel
y too cynical. It was Christmas. Gabi had a right to her excitement.

  “It really is a pretty tree,” she agreed. “Where would you like Chief Bowman to put it, kiddo?”

  “Right there facing the front window, then everyone will see it.”

  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 he’d measured it.

  “Right here?” he asked, his attention focused on Gabi.

  “Maybe a little more to the left.”

  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 wasn’t exactly in her skill set. Right along with waiting tables and trying to raise a precocious nine-year-old girl.

  “Gabrielle, would you mind going back out onto porch for the tree stand I left there?” he asked. “I don’t want to move from the perfect spot.”

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

  “Okay, I’m going to lift the tree and you set the stand with the hole right underneath the trunk. Got it?”

  She nodded solemnly. When Trace effortlessly lifted the tree, she slid the stand where he indicated. Becca couldn’t 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 shouldn’t 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.

  “I’m beginning to see why people prefer artificial trees.”