Christmas in Cowboy Country (19 page)

“T
hat's a wicked cold wind out there. Just listen to it.”

Marta, the line cook on the night shift, unbuttoned her white kitchen coat and slung it over the back of a metal chair across from Bree Rivers.

Bree shook her head and dumped another teaspoon of sugar in the mug of creamy coffee in front of her. “I'd rather not.”

“No getting away from it,” Marta said. “Any more brew on the burner?”

“Yes. I just made a fresh pot. I'll get you some.”

The winter gale howled outside the cinderblock building. Listening to it, Bree frowned. She felt sometimes like the North Dakota wind could get in and find her. It blew into her dreams and troubled her sleep.

“Thanks,” Marta said. “Black is fine.” She was a stocky woman with gnarled hands that had done too much kitchen work to ever be smooth again. Her hair had never gone completely gray, but silver threads showed in the dark braids wound around her head.

Bree drank the rest of her coffee quickly, then brought the mug with her for a refill, taking another from the china cart that had just been rolled out of the industrial dishwasher. She cradled it in her palm. It was nice and warm and heavy. The mugs were nearly unbreakable, like practically everything else in the barracks-style cafeteria attached to the huge kitchen at the oil field base.

It never closed. Cooks and dishwashers and buffet servers worked around the clock. There was always another shift of riggers and roughnecks slamming through the metal doors, muttering about being half starved and colder than a dead cow.

At least they appreciated the food, so long as it was plentiful and hot.

“Here you go.” Bree returned and set the filled mug in front of Marta.

The other cook wrapped both hands around it and inhaled the aroma. “I need this.”

“Don't you go to bed right after your shift?” Bree asked.

“Not always. Sometimes I can't. I think this is going to be one of those times. They're stepping up production out there. More guys, longer chow lines, more stress. Everything aches.”

“Put a nice fat paycheck on the spot where it hurts the most,” Bree advised with a wry smile.

“You're right about that. I saved most of mine.”

“I did too. Nothing up here to spend it on, right?”

“You got those two little girls to think about.”

“I miss them so damn much.” Bree's hazel eyes were suspiciously shiny. “My cousin Cilla keeps me posted on everything they do. She and her husband never had kids, but they treat them like grandchildren. She's my angel. I know they're safe with her.”

“You wouldn't stick around here if they weren't,” Marta said.

“No.” Bree sighed. She took off her kitchen cap and smoothed her curly dark hair, then replaced the cap. “At least we can video chat, but it's not the same.”

“I understand.” Marta nodded glumly. “Even though I never had kids and never wanted any.”

“It's not like Cilla had to take them in, either. She's a lot older than me and we're only cousins by marriage. But she made me promise I wouldn't stay here indefinitely.”

“Fat chance. Take the money and run,” Marta said, rubbing her lower back with one hand.

“I will. Soon as I have enough.”

Marta stood up wearily. “Think about it. Maybe you do.”

“Huh?”

“Go home for Christmas. You mean a lot more to those little sweethearts than the dough.”

“They only have me, Marta. And I don't know when I'll get a chance to earn this much money again.”

The other cook shook her head, not in the mood to argue.

“Want to see the Christmas pageant they were in?” Bree took out her smartphone and tapped the screen to bring up the video.

“Sure.”

“Jenny and Zoe aren't in every scene, but—oh. There they are, rehearsing. And the young lady in back of them is Annie. They think the world of her. She's the daughter of my cousin's best friend—”

“Draw me a diagram,” Marta said gruffly. But she listened patiently as Bree kept right on explaining. Then she got up.

“Wait. You can't go yet. There's more,” Bree said. “A lot more.”

Marta seemed resigned to her fate. After a while she even thawed. “Aww. Those kids are so cute I can hardly stand it. And your little girls are the cutest of all. How can you bear to be away from them for so long?”

“I'm counting the days,” Bree replied. There was a stubborn set to her tired mouth. “I signed on through January in order to get the holiday bonus. That's two months' extra pay right there.”

“I know,” Marta said. “But I still think you should get home for Christmas. Come to think of it, I could cover for you. If I work twice as hard, the head cook won't even notice you're gone.” She stretched and flinched when a muscle in her side caught. “Ouch.”

“No way.”

Marta scowled at her and walked off.

The tall blue spruce from the Bennett ranch had been strung with lights and outdoor decorations. Around it was most of the children's choir and nearly every other youngster and adult in Velde.

The afternoon light was fading fast and the kids were restless. Opal raised a gloved hand and the choir launched into a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells,” to get everyone singing along. Mrs. Pearson, a quavery but determined soprano, joined in too. Annie held the hands of Jenny and Zoe, who'd run to her when Ed and Cilla gave the okay. Then Nell, who'd supplied most of the decorations from her stash, did the honors and flipped the switch.

Bright eyes reflected the dazzling illumination as everyone clapped and cheered, with Annie and her parents joining in. Photos were snapped, invitations exchanged, and the tree-lighting ceremony was over.

Attendees wandered off with bigger kids in tow. The little ones insisted on being carried and more than one young head rested on a grown-up shoulder. Not to fall asleep, but for one last look at the magical beauty of the tree.

Cilla took charge of the little girls again. They seemed more wistful than wowed by the tree, and stayed close to her. Zoe, the younger of the two, hid inside the folds of Cilla's big warm poncho like a baby chick.

“Bye, Annie.” Jenny waved to her as Ed led the way to their car.

“So long.” Annie smiled. “See you around.”

“Are you coming back with us or staying in town?” The question came from her mom. Lou Bennett turned away from her husband, who was digging in a pocket for the keys to his truck.

“Coming back,” Annie said, as if they should have known that. “Let's get a roaring fire going and warm up, get started on the Christmas cookies.”

“Okay,” Tyrell said. “I was thinking we could talk to the boys on the laptop.”

“Good idea. Us Bennetts have to stay in touch.” Her mom sighed. “We get farther apart every year.”

Annie slid her arm through her mother's. “I'm right here. So don't talk like that.”

“Okay, honey.”

 

 

Nell ushered Mrs. Pearson into the saloon. “There's my son, all grown up. He's not as cute as he used to be but he turned out fine.”

Harold was tending bar. A new waitress had been hired for the season and was busy taking orders from several tables.

“My goodness. So this is your place,” Mrs. Pearson said. “It's very cozy. I approve.”

Nell guided her to a back booth. “We can have this all to ourselves. What would you like? A glass of sherry?”

“That would be very nice. You wouldn't happen to have a cookie to go with it, would you?”

“Annie Bennett brought me a box of her mom's Christmas cookies. You sit down and I'll bring everything.” She helped the old lady with her coat and hung it on the hook by the booth, then bustled away.

She returned with two tiny glasses, a bottle of sherry, and the cookie box, setting everything down and sliding into the vinyl seat bench across from Elsie's.

“What a treat this is. Thank you for picking me up.”

“Now that you have some help, you can get out more. It'll do you good.” Nell uncorked the bottle and poured out a thimbleful of sherry for the old lady, who chose a fancy iced cookie to go with it. Mrs. Pearson took a sip and coughed a little. “I don't remember the last time I had a drink.” A faint tinge of color reddened her cheeks.

The saloon keeper filled her own small glass and clinked it against Mrs. Pearson's. “Here's to the holidays.”

They chatted for a while, not noticing who came and went.

 

 

Marshall Stone entered alone, heading for the bar. He glanced at the two women in the back booth, deciding not to go over and say hello. They were deep in conversation and seemed to be the best of friends, although the lady with Nell looked to be at least a generation older.

The saloon looked about the same as always, except for a model of a covered wagon displayed in a glass case on the bar. Even from across the room, the craftsmanship and detail were impressive.

He ordered a beer and drank it slowly, thinking about his dinner options, not inclined to bring takeout back to the cabin and not particularly wanting to dine solo in public. In this friendly little town, he was beginning to be recognized everywhere he went.

Another reason he needed to move on. But he still hadn't checked a single bad guy off his list. Stone reached into the bowl of peanuts and ate a few, listening absently to what he could hear of Nell's chitchat and the old lady's infrequent responses.

His mind was elsewhere. On Annie. He still couldn't figure out exactly why her dad had stopped to talk to him.

Tyrell Bennett might not have minded her bunking down at the cabin, but he would hit the roof if he ever knew what Stone had been thinking during every minute Annie was there.

He wanted to see her smile more. Annie worried about everyone else and not herself, it seemed to him. According to that fountain of information known as Nell, she was a dutiful daughter and a good friend, loyal and loving.

However, Annie stopped short of being too good to be true—there was something wild and sweetly enticing about her and she didn't strike him as innocent. Exactly what he'd been looking for, in fact, without his ever knowing it until the day he'd seen her face. Stone had never expected to meet a woman who was so damn close to perfect.

But she wasn't his. He would have to hit the road again when this assignment was over. It would be irresponsible and wrong to go one step further with beautiful Annie Bennett.

He forced himself to not think about her.

There was the report—he'd have to print out a hard copy somehow. He'd e-mailed the file to the town clerk, who was fine with that. But Tyrell Bennett would want something he could hold in his hand to read and reread.

The old man was absolutely right about being entitled to see the surveyor's report. All owners of abutting land were supposed to, whether or not there was a dispute going on. And Bennett would be very pleased to have proof that Chuck Pfeffer had most likely reset the old split rail fence and also moved the new one that backed it.

Stone took several swallows of beer. The peanuts were making him thirsty. The thought of someone trying to put something over on honorable people like the Bennetts was making him mad all over again.

Pfeffer must have assumed that Tyrell never got out that far and wouldn't notice. But Stone had compared his new, accurate measurements against the old ones on the original deed. Numbers didn't lie. This particular neighbor did.

The sneak would have to give back every inch of the land grab he'd hoped to get away with and pay for a new fence. If he tried to unload his ranch first, he wouldn't be able to. Stone had alerted the town clerk to the discrepancy, which meant Pfeffer didn't have a clear title and couldn't sell.

Tough luck.

If only Stone could resolve the fraud case that easily. All he needed was to nab one of the crooks to get him to rat out the others as part of a plea bargain. Shep Connally had been his choice. But the silver-haired con man had slipped away after giving that speech at the Velde town meeting, except for that one time they'd spotted him going through Kerry's car.

She hadn't been able to track him down either, not even after she'd been assigned to the next county as an undercover and started to look for him in different towns farther away. Their subsequent meetings added nothing to the Connally file.