Christmas in Cowboy Country (8 page)

“What's the matter?”

She pointed. A shadowy figure ran away from Marshall's truck.

Stone swore almost inaudibly under his breath. “I'm not going to leave you to chase him,” he muttered.

The warmth of the kiss still lingered in her body, but the fear she felt quickly dissolved it. “Do you know who that was?”

“No.”

Keeping her close to him, he walked around the truck, looking for damage and checking the locks.

“Looks like we got back just in time,” he said. “But I wonder if he watched us leave.”

Annie's reply was troubled. “No one from around here would do that. Break in, I mean.”

“Maybe that's so. Could have been someone from out of town, of course.”

“What are you saying?”

He sidestepped her question again. “There's no telling who it was. I don't see any damage and the doors are still locked. I do keep some gear in the cab.”

“Is it something worth stealing?”

His answer was slow in coming. “That would depend on the thief.”

Annie looked down. Rowdy was sniffing the ground around the truck. The dog stretched up and rested on its front paws to give the passenger-side handle a good going-over.

“He smells something,” she said uneasily.

Marshall nodded, his jaw set in an angry line. “Let's check inside, see if anything was taken. Then I'll follow your truck back to the ranch. I want to make sure you get home okay.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“It's not your decision,” he snapped. “And I think it'd be best if you stayed away from here—and from me—for a little while.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. And don't argue.”

Annie stared at him. Marshall Stone seemed to be genuinely angry. Whether it was at her or at the prowler they'd scared off, she couldn't tell.

His dark gaze met hers. If he wasn't going to explain himself, she would just have to live with that. She didn't have to know everything about him.

What she felt in his embrace was reason enough to trust him for now. He cared about her.

She knew it.

“M
om. Step away from the baking aisle. Keep your hands on the shopping cart.” Annie did her best to sound like a cop and not laugh.

Her mother shooed her off by waving the list in her hand. “Oh, stop it.”

Lou Bennett looked yearningly at the displays of sugar, spices, flour, and holiday bakeware. “I still need a few things for Christmas. Those elf cookie cutters are very cute. What if they sell out?”

Annie looped her arm through her mother's and steered the cart on. “You can order things like that online.”

“But the store's so crowded and the good stuff's going to get snapped up. I know lots of people who'd love those cookie cutters. It's not just me.”

“You're obsessed.”

“Okay, so I like to make cookies. And not just for you. Do you know how many of my friends have grown kids coming for the holidays? They always ask what I'm baking this year. By the way, I ran into that girl you used to know in high school, Darla Something, and she said you should call her.”

Darla Ulrich was nice enough, but she loved to gossip. Annie would have to set aside an afternoon just to listen without getting a word in edgewise. All her other former friends in Velde had either moved away or married or both. Annie had lost count of the number of baby photos on everyone's Facebook page. Still, she was glad that they could all sort of keep in touch online. Her pals in Aspen and Vail were way too busy during the holiday season to do more than post a few words now and then.

“Darla. Yes. I'll call her soon,” Annie promised, humoring her mother. “But right now we have to finish shopping for Thanksgiving and there's no room in the cart.”

Somewhere under bags of sweet potatoes and onions and fresh cranberries and a hundred other things was a twenty-five-pound turkey.

“I really don't think we need such a big one. It's going to be just us three,” Lou murmured.

“Dad insisted. He said a puny bird won't look right on our big platter. And he loves turkey sandwiches with your homemade gravy the next day.”

“Don't I know it,” Lou said with fond irritation. “Ty plows through the leftovers before I can make a potpie. I don't know where he puts it. It's not fair the way men can eat anything and not gain weight.”

Annie let go of the cart to stand back and assess her mother's slim figure. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks, honey. So. Are we done?”

Annie consulted the list. “Yes. Except for the marshmallows.”

“Those are in the baking aisle.”

“I don't trust you,” Annie teased her mother.

They both looked ahead when they heard beeps and giggles. Cilla Rivers had the two little girls in the toy car attached to her shopping cart.

“Jenny, Zoe, say hello,” Cilla reminded them. “This is Annie's mother, Mrs. Bennett.”

“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” they chorused. “Hi, Annie.” They spun the wheels they clutched to the right and to the left. An unknown genius had thought to put two steering wheels into the toy car as an anti-squabbling measure.

“You two look like you're having a great time,” Lou said.

“I want to get a driver's license,” Jenny, the six-year-old, said.

“Well, I want to get a ticket,” her younger sister replied.

“What for, silly?”

“Then I could go to a movie. You need a ticket to go to a movie.”

Laughing, Annie squatted down so she and the two little drivers were eye to eye. “Tell you what. My mom and Cilla want to get a head start on all the cooking, so I'll take you to a movie tomorrow afternoon if it's all right with Cilla.”

The children let go of the wheels long enough to applaud. “Can we go, Aunt Cilla? Please?”

“Sure.” Cilla beamed at Annie. “Thanks so much. I really have my hands full. There's an animated movie out at the multiplex they'd enjoy.”

The women planned the excursion on Annie's smartphone as they headed for the checkout register, the little girls beeping all the way.

 

 

A day later, Annie found herself shepherding Jenny and Zoe through the lobby of the theater as they discussed the plot of the movie they'd just seen.

There wasn't much to it. A dastardly villain planned to steal all the lollipops in the world, but a gang of plucky kids stopped him in time, for a happy ending with candy for all. But they'd enjoyed it.

Jenny turned to her. “Did you go to the movies when you were little, Annie?”

“Sure. Lots of times. I used to wish I had a sister to go with because I had to sit next to my brothers. They didn't behave very well. You two were great.”

“Thanks for taking us,” Jenny said politely.

“My pleasure.”

The girls stopped to peer at the candy under the glass counter, but Annie steered them away.

“What's next for you two?” she asked as a distraction. “Are you ready for the holidays?”

She was surprised that they didn't launch into a breathless discussion of their Christmas lists or talk about how they couldn't wait for Santa. Jenny didn't even answer. Her baby sister took the lead.

“We want to see our mommy,” Zoe mumbled.

“She's coming back,” Annie reassured her.

“Sometimes we talk to her on Aunt Cilla's computer,” Jenny said. “It's nice to see her face, but it's not the same.”

Annie reached down and took their hands. “I know what you mean. We're doing that with my brothers this year. They can't be with us for Thanksgiving, so a computer is the next best thing.”

“Is Mommy really coming back, Annie?” The younger girl looked up anxiously.

“Of course she is.” Annie smiled. “Don't you worry.”

 

 

“It's going to be just you and me, pal.” Marshall spoke to Rowdy, who jumped out of the dog bed at the sound of a grocery bag being unpacked and came over to the cabin's kitchenette.

The dog's bright eyes tracked the items as they were removed. There was half of a precooked turkey breast encased in clear plastic. A can of cranberry sauce. A box of seasoned dry stuffing. Ajar of gravy. A frozen pie. Marshall put that and the turkey into the small refrigerator. With the basics, there was something green in the crisper to microwave and throw on the plate.

“Don't look so eager. What if I screw this up?”

The dog barked once and grinned, as if it knew for sure that such a brilliant, warm-hearted guy couldn't possibly screw anything up.

Marshall went into his gear bag and pulled out a laptop. “There's gotta be a football game on somewhere.” Rowdy wagged his tail.

Up here in the high country, he couldn't download the movie of his choice—he was thinking fistfights with robot combatants up against a heroine in a slinky outfit. Everything else on offer around Thanksgiving seemed to be mostly heartwarming fare. Bad enough he had to celebrate by himself.

It'd been a long time since he'd celebrated the holiday with anyone. Since his parents had passed away years ago, he'd gotten in the habit of saying no to kind offers to join friends and distant relatives at their festive tables, and just got through the day as best he could.

He wondered what Annie was doing. Besides celebrating with her family, of course. What he wanted to know was if she was thinking about him. The downside to telling her not to argue with him was that she hadn't—and she'd stayed away. He hadn't found out anything about the potential prowler. His contact at the police department said there'd been no break-ins or any other criminal activity anywhere in Velde. According to the officer, the little town was the same as always—peaceful and prosperous—and the inhabitants were going about their business just as usual and preparing for the Christmas season.

So maybe he should take on Annie as his assistant. Except that would involve telling her who he actually was and what the investigation was all about. Forget it. She would drive him crazy in minutes and it had taken him months to get this far.

Marshall scrolled through the sports networks that were available and found something worth watching.

Rowdy looked longingly at the packaged foods on the counter, then settled down beside his new master on the floor.

 

 

The Bennetts' table was swathed in deep red damask and sparkling with the good china and crystal. Then there was the food.

“I made too much,” Lou fretted, finding room for a bowl of cranberry-orange relish between a platter heaped with stuffing and the gravy boat.

“Don't say that, darling.” Tyrell was beaming with anticipation. “I bet I can eat about half of everything here. You and Annie outdid yourselves. Now sit down and let's say grace.”

They bowed their heads. Their three voices were joined by four others as they all murmured the familiar words of blessing. Smiling, the Bennetts paused for a few moments before serving up the feast.

Tyrell turned to the open laptop at his side, offering a slice of turkey to the man on the screen. “White meat or dark, Sam?”

His oldest son held up a well-browned drumstick in answer. “I'm good. Working on this.”

“Looks good.”

Lou peered at the screen. “Are you all there? Can you hear me?”

There was a chorus of yeses from Sam and Nicole in Chicago, and Zach and Paula, patched in from somewhere in Oregon.

“Well then,” the patriarch said. “Let's eat.”

“So how was your Thanksgiving?” Dr. Bert Lyon slipped Annie's latest X-ray into the viewer. The overhead light of the examining room made his gray hair look almost as white as his office coat. He pushed up the glasses that rested on his beaky nose and studied the ghostly image.

“It was really nice. We didn't do anything special, though.”

“Sometimes those are the best holidays.” He tapped the X-ray. “You're making progress.”

She would have cheered, if not for the expression on the orthopedist's face when he turned to her. She didn't see the usual twinkle in his eye, which was familiar to every Velde kid who'd ever fallen out of a tree or slipped on the ice.

“But I wouldn't say the bone is one hundred percent healed,” he added.

Annie groaned theatrically. “Aarrgh. Will it ever be?”

“Yes. You've got to give it a little more time, that's all.”

“I suppose I don't really have a choice.”

“Be patient. Now let's have a look at that leg.”

She rolled up one leg of her sweatpants and pushed down her sock when he settled himself on a wheeled stool and rolled over to the examining table.

Dr. Lyon asked her to flex her foot as he ran his hand over her calf. “You haven't lost much muscle. That's a plus. Do you think you can stay off the slopes until January?”

Annie made a face. “If you say I have to, then I can.”

The orthopedist pushed away from the table and rolled toward the low counter where her file was. She covered up her leg and pulled up her sock. Dr. Lyon flipped open the manila file and leafed through it.

“Don't take chances,” he advised. “Agreed?”

“I won't. But it's going to be a long December.”

He chuckled as he took a pen out of the pocket of his white coat and jotted down a few notes. “You'll get through it.”

Annie brightened as she thought of a halfway measure. “I can ride the ski lift, can't I?”

The town boasted a decent slope that petered out where the main street began. It wasn't a black diamond run and no hotdogger would give it a second look, but it was popular all the same, especially with the locals. The creaky but serviceable ski lift started up when the snow did, around the end of September, and kept going until March and sometimes into April.

Dr. Lyon peered at her over his half-glasses. “Sure. In bedroom slippers. No skis. I mean it, Annie. Your mom and dad would skin me alive if they thought I encouraged you before it was time.”

“I won't ski, I promise. I was only thinking of taking a friend with me. The view from the top is great.”

“Can't remember the last time I saw it. Guess it hasn't changed much.” The orthopedist took a last look at her file as he capped his pen. “You going with someone from here?” he asked absentmindedly.

“No. He's from Wyoming.”

The nurse poked her head in through the door. “Dr. Lyon, your next patient is in room three.”

That spared her any more explaining. But the doctor's question had been routine.

“Thanks, Gina. We're all done here.”

Annie slid off the table and found her boots as the doctor exited. She walked through the narrow corridor to the front reception area to make an appointment for early January.