Christmas in Cold Creek Read online

  “Another time, maybe. I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I dropped my dog off at home after we cut the tree down and I probably need to head back and put him out.”

  She nodded and walked him to the door, where he retrieved his parka from the hook by the door. “Well, thank you again,” she said. “It really was a kind thing to do. Please tell your niece we appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do that.” He shrugged into his coat. He reached for the door handle, then completely on impulse, leaned in and kissed her cheek. She smelled delicious, sweetly female, and her skin was warm against his mouth.

  It was a crazy gesture and totally unlike him and he had no idea what had compelled him. Must be some weird holiday insanity. When he drew away, she was staring at him, her eyes as huge as Gabi’s had been when she first saw the tree.

  “Good night,” he said quickly and opened the door before she could respond.

  What just happened there? he wondered as he climbed into his pickup for the half-block drive to his house. He really had planned to just drop off the tree and go. Instead, he had spent more than an hour helping her set up the tree and then decorate it. And then he had complicated matters by that ridiculous brush of his mouth on her cheek.

  He felt sorry for the woman and her kid. That was all. She was obviously in a tight spot financially. She was alone in a new town without friends or family. He was only helping her out, doing just what any good neighbor would do.

  He refused to think he allowed himself any other motive. He wasn’t at all eager to throw his heart out there again—and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t hand it over to a woman like Becca who was obviously hiding something from him. He’d learned his lesson about lying women.

  Chapter Four

  “Would any of you like a refill?” With the pot of decaf in one hand and the good stuff in the other, Becca smiled at The Gulch regulars, a group that had met there every single morning since she’d started working at the diner.

  She had come to find great comfort in their consistency, listening to them bicker and joke around with each other and other restaurant patrons. Though they all apparently came from very different demographic and socioeconomic backgrounds, they seemed like a family, dysfunctions and all.

  “Top me off, would you?” Mick Malone gestured to his cup and she was rather proud of herself for remembering he drank only decaf. She managed to pour his refill without spilling a drop, another mark of just how far she’d apparently come in the nearly two weeks since she’d started working at the diner.

  “Another stack, Sal? I can have Lou throw a few more cakes on the griddle.”

  “This ought to hold me until lunch, darlin’.”

  She smiled at the older cowboy. He had to be in his seventies and so skinny he probably had trouble keeping his jeans up, but the guy had the metabolism of a hummingbird, apparently, and could eat every other one of the regulars under the table.

  “Anyone else need anything?”

  “I’ll take one of those pretty smiles if you’ve got another one to spare.” Jesse Redbear, missing his left front tooth, gave her a flirtatious grin that lifted all his wrinkles. She shook her head but couldn’t resist a smile.

  “That’s the one.” He winked at her. “I think I’m good now.”

  She shook her head again. “I’ll check on you all again in a minute,” she said, then moved to the other side of her section to check on a couple of customers who had just sat down.

  She couldn’t say she would be sorry to leave waitressing behind when she finished the requirements to transfer to the Idaho state bar, but she had certainly learned a lot the last few weeks working at The Gulch. She had learned that sometimes the stingiest-looking customers could be the biggest tippers, that keeping beverages topped off could go a long way and that sometimes a friendly, apologetic smile could make all but the most dour customers forgive her frequent mistakes.

  “Order up,” Lou called from the grill, and she finished taking the newcomers’ orders then headed back to pick up the breakfast specials for a young family she’d seen around town before. When the bell chimed on the door, heralding a new arrival, she looked up just as everyone else did.

  The chief of police walked in looking dark and gorgeous, and her stomach fluttered wildly, until she noticed the pretty ski-bunny type who came in with him, hanging on his arm as if she were a bounty hunter and he was prey about to escape.

  They didn’t take a table, just stood for a moment near the entrance. To Becca’s dismay, he gave the woman a playful kiss and it was obvious they’d just spent the night together. Her stomach dived down to her feet and she thought of how stupid she’d been to have cherished that sweet little kiss on the cheek he’d given her nearly a week earlier when he’d come to help them with their Christmas tree.

  “Come have a cup of coffee at least,” he said in a low bedroom voice.

  “I can’t stay,” the woman protested. “I’m already late for work. I’ll see you later, though, right?”

  “Plan on it.” He kissed her again, and the ditzy-looking woman left the diner with a longing sort of backward glance.

  Becca somehow wasn’t surprised when he sat down in her section. Annoyed with herself for the completely unreasonable jealousy seething through her, she set the menu down in front of him with a little more brusqueness than normal. “Good morning, Chief. Do you want coffee this morning?”

  She heard the coolness in her voice and he must have picked up on it, too, because he finally met her gaze with a surprised sort of look. Becca faltered. This wasn’t Trace Bowman. It must be his twin, she realized with growing mortification.

  “I’m so sorry. You’re not Chief Bowman.”

  “Actually, I am. Just not the only Chief Bowman.”

  Trace’s twin was the fire chief, she remembered belatedly. Now that she had a better look at him, she realized that while they were identical twins, there were definite differences. This Bowman was a little broader in the shoulders, his hair was a little shaggier and he didn’t come across quite as dangerously masculine.

  And apparently he was the ladies’ man of the family. He gave her a charmer of a grin. “I’m the better-looking chief.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot you were twins.”

  “I’m Taft Bowman, with the Pine Gulch Fire Department.” He held out a hand to shake hers and she had no real choice but to reach out to return the gesture.

  “I’m Rebecca Parsons.”

  “Right. You’re new in town, Wally Taylor’s granddaughter. You must be the one with the kid our Destry’s age.”

  Our Destry. She had to admit, she was touched by his words, as if the entire Bowman clan seemed to take responsibility for the little girl. That sort of family unity was completely beyond anything in her experience.

  “That’s right.” She gave him a smile she hoped was slightly warmer. “Do you need time to look at the menu or do you know what you want?”

  This was another thing she’d learned in her few weeks working at The Gulch. Townsfolk generally already had their orders picked out before they ever walked through the doors.

  “I’m in the mood for a ham-and-cheese omelet this morning. Think you can talk Lou into making one for me?”

  Apparently Taft Bowman had enough experience with Lou that he knew he could sometimes be in a mood. “I’ll certainly ask him. He’s done a few other omelets this morning, so keep your fingers crossed. I think you should be safe.”

  His green eyes that seemed just like Trace’s gleamed appreciatively as he smiled at her. He was every bit as good-looking as his brother and she wondered why his smile didn’t stir her hormones in the slightest. She was as unmoved by his flirting as she had been to Jesse Redbear’s.

  Maybe it was because the fire chief was an obvious player, judging by the woman who had just left. But she had a feeling if Trace had looked at her that way, she would have dissolved into a puddle all over the peeled plank floor of The Gulch.

  “The fire chief would like a ham
-and-cheese omelet.”

  Lou frowned as he turned some sizzling bacon on the grill. “That can probably be arranged.”

  She realized after she gave the order that she’d forgotten to ask Trace’s brother if he wanted coffee. By the time she turned back to remedy her mistake, he had swiveled around in his booth and was talking to a couple of middle-aged women at the next table, who simpered and blushed at his teasing.

  She fought an amused smile as she headed back toward his booth. “Coffee, Chief?”

  He aimed that flirtatious grin at her. “Thanks. Give me the high-octane stuff.”

  She had only started to pour when the door opened again and the other Chief Bowman walked inside. How could she ever have mistaken Taft for his brother? They weren’t anything alike, she saw now. Her stomach gave a silly little swoop and she remembered again the soft brush of his mouth on her skin.

  “Um. Ow.”

  She jerked her gaze away at the calm words and was horror-stricken to realize she had splashed hot coffee on the fire chief’s leg.

  “Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry. Let me just …” She pulled off the towel tucked into her apron and began dabbing at the spot. He eased back in the booth and gave her an amused look, and she was painfully aware of Trace walking toward their table. When he reached it, he stood there for a moment watching her dab at his brother’s thigh before he cleared his throat.

  “What have we here?”

  “Just a little coffee mishap,” his twin said. “No worries. It’s probably not even a third-degree burn.”

  “I’ve been doing so well all morning,” she wailed, then glared at Trace. “Why did you have to come in and ruin everything?”

  Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. She was suddenly aware that both men were suddenly watching her with interest. Heat rushed to her face and she wanted to sink through the floor with mortification. Trace Bowman made her nervous and off balance and now everyone in the diner within earshot knew it.

  She took a deep breath and pulled the towel away from the fire chief, praying for composure.

  “I really am sorry,” she said to him.

  “I’m fine,” he said again. “My Levi’s took the brunt of it.”

  To her vast relief, Lou rang the bell in the window. “Order up,” he called.

  “That would be your omelet, Chief.”

  Trace, just sliding into the booth across from his brother, gave her a teasing smile. “How’d you know I was in the mood for an omelet?”

  “Get your own. That one’s mine.” Taft gave him a mock scowl.

  Trace raised an eyebrow with a meaningful look she didn’t understand. “Funny. I was just going to say the same thing to you.”

  She didn’t have time to figure out the subtext between them as she headed back toward the grill to pick up the order. Nor did she understand why, when faced with two equally gorgeous men, did only one of them seemed to possess the power to turn her into a babbling idiot?

  “Here’s the chief’s omelet,” Lou said. “Comes with a short stack.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about the other chief?”

  She let out a breath. She did not want to have to deal with the man this morning. “He said something about an omelet as well but I’ll have to go check to make sure.”

  Lou refrained from rolling his eyes but he still looked faintly exasperated, probably wondering why she hadn’t asked when she was just at the booth, but he didn’t push her. Becca grabbed the eggs and pancakes and returned to the Bowman brothers’ booth.

  She slid the plates down in front of the fire chief, along with a small syrup container. At least she didn’t spill that all over him, too.

  “Anything else I can do for you?”

  The fire chief opened his mouth, a teasing gleam in his green eyes, but then she heard a dull thud from under the table and his flirtatious expression shifted to one of almost pain. “I’m good. Really, really great. Thanks.”

  She looked suspiciously at Trace but he only smiled blandly.

  “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

  “I think I know what I want.”

  She reached into her apron pocket for her order pad and was happy her fingers trembled only a little when she gripped her pencil. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

  “I changed my mind about the omelet. Think I’m in the mood for something sweet. I’ll have the French toast. Oh, and a side of scrambled eggs. Thank you.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Decaf.”

  She poured for him, focusing all her concentration on not spilling a single drop. After she finished giving his order to Lou, the large group at the corner booth next to the Bowman brothers left and she hurried over to bus their table. Though she didn’t intend to eavesdrop on the conversation of Trace and his brother, she couldn’t help overhearing a little of it as she cleared away plates.

  “Any guesses what might be going on with her?” Taft asked the police chief.

  “No. Something’s up, though. I stopped by the ranch last night to drop off a book I’d borrowed from Caidy, and Destry stayed in her room the whole time.”

  “That’s not like her.” The easy charm of the fire chief faded into concern. “Wonder if she’s sick.”

  Becca frowned as she wiped down the table with a clean cloth. She hoped not. Gabrielle seemed to be spending a lot of time with Trace’s niece. If Destry got sick, chances were Gabi would get it, too. Becca couldn’t afford to miss work to stay home with her sister if Gabi caught some nasty bug.

  “Caidy said she seemed to be feeling fine. No fever or complaining about any symptoms of sore throat or stomachache or anything. She’s just been really quiet and sad for a few days. Caidy said she’s not eating much and she didn’t want to go on a ride with her yesterday after school.”

  “That’s really not like her.”

  “I talked to Caidy this morning and she said Destry refused to stay home, said she was fine. Caidy’s worried about her, too.”

  She didn’t hear the rest as she had finished clearing off the corner booth and had no excuse to linger here, especially when she had other customers with needs. For the next ten minutes, she did her best to ignore the Bowman brothers, though she was aware of them—okay, aware of Trace—as she took orders, seated new customers, poured coffee refills.

  When Lou announced his order was ready, Becca ordered herself to be calm and collected. He was just another customer, she told herself as she set the fluffy eggs and cinnamon French toast on a tray.

  She might have even believed it if her nerves didn’t jump like crazy, simply from being this close to him.

  “Thank you.” His warm smile of appreciation didn’t help matters whatsoever. She wanted to bask in that smile like a kitten in a sunbeam.

  Becca quickly did her best to clamp down on the inappropriate response. She didn’t need a man to further snarl up her life, especially when she seemed to be doing a fine job of that all on her own.

  “More coffee?” she asked them.

  Trace nodded and she refilled his cup first then used the other pot of regular to top off his brother’s.

  “Anyway, you know how Ridge can be,” Taft said, obviously continuing the conversation between them. “If something doesn’t moo or neigh, he doesn’t pay it much attention.”

  “Hey, Becca. You live with a nine-year-old girl,” Trace said suddenly.

  “Yes,” she said carefully.

  “We’re both a little concerned for our niece, Destry. She’s been acting weird this week. Secretive, you know.”

  “It is almost Christmas. Maybe she’s working on a special present.”

  “That’s a possibility, but it’s not reading that way to me,” Trace said.

  “She’s usually the only one in the family who’s excited about Christmas,” Taft said. “Not this year, though. I offered to take her Christmas shopping over the weekend so we could get something for her dad and Caidy, and she shut me down right away.”

  “Why?”

>   “No idea,” Trace answered. “That’s what we were hoping you could shed some insight about. You being a girl and also being the mother to a girl the same age.”

  Her stomach twisted a little at the reminder of her lie and she could feel herself flush. “I meant, why doesn’t more of your family enjoy Christmas?”

  The two men exchanged a look, both suddenly solemn. “Memories,” Trace finally said. “Our parents died around Christmastime. This year is the ten-year anniversary of their deaths.”

  She had known, somehow, that he carried a deep pain around the holiday. When he had been at their house the other night helping with the tree, he had laughed and joked with them, but she had seen a shadow in his eyes a few times.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have pried. No wonder you want to avoid the holiday altogether.”

  “We might want to, but we understand that Destry’s just a kid. Since she was little, we’ve all tried to put on a good show for her.”

  Again she was struck at the Bowman siblings’ love and concern for the little girl. For a crazy moment, she was consumed with envy. She would have loved this sort of extended family when she was a child. Instead, all she’d had was Monica.

  Gabrielle had more than that, she suddenly realized. Gabi had her. She could guess that her younger sister probably didn’t have that many warm, cherished Christmas memories. Not with Monica raising her in the same haphazard way she had raised Becca. But Gabi had an older sister who could give her everything she had missed for the past nine years. Christmas carols and sleigh rides, home-baked cookies and stockings on the mantel.

  She had been trying to merely survive the holidays until she found a little better footing, but Gabi deserved more than that. Like it or not, she needed to step up for her little sister’s sake, just as the Bowmans tried to do for their niece.

  “Any ideas what we can do for Des?” Taft asked.

  They were asking the wrong person. She was just about the last one on earth with many insights into the mind of a nine-year-old girl. “You’re going to have to figure out what’s wrong first. What does she say when you ask?”