Christmas on the Run Read online

  “You’re up early,” she said, and he chuckled.

  “Says the woman who’s awake at five every day. What are you up to?”

  “Hanging garland, trying to get ready for your parents’ visit.”

  “Have I thanked you recently for allowing my parents to be part of today?”

  “You did. Last night, yesterday afternoon. Yesterday morning. And I keep telling you there’s no need to thank me. I’m happy to include them.”

  “And dreading it, too?”

  “You know me well, Dallas,” she responded, laughing a little as she tied a red velvet bow to the garland. “I’m an introvert. I like my space, but I also like your parents, and I want them to enjoy their grandson.”

  “They love Zane, but that’s not why Mom wanted all of us to spend the day with you.”

  “No?”

  “My twins were due on Christmas Eve. It’s a difficult day.”

  Her heart dropped, and she sat on the steps, the garland and bows forgotten, everything out of her head but Dallas and his loss. “I’m so sorry, Dallas. I thought they were probably due around this time, but I didn’t want to ask. It seemed too personal.”

  “It’s not something I talk about often, but I wanted you to know.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Besides be here for you?”

  “Spend tomorrow with me. Mom always has a big Christmas bash to try to distract me. I’d love it if you, Zane and Jazz would come.”

  “Zane and I will be there. I’ll try to talk Jazz into it. She’s been a little...down.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about that, trying to come up with something that might help. Last night, an idea came to me. If you open the door, I’ll explain it.”

  “Open the... You’re here?” She nearly flew across the foyer, unlocked the front door and stepped into his arms. He smelled like leather and snow and winter fires, and he felt like home.

  She burrowed closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him tight as if that could somehow take his sorrow away.

  “I’m just so sorry, Dallas,” she whispered, her head against his chest.

  He stroked her hair but didn’t speak. His muscles were tense, his movements tight.

  There were no words for his kind of grief. She knew that, and she let the silence settle.

  Wind blew in through the still-open door, but she didn’t reach to close it.

  She waited, holding him as tension eased from his muscles, as his hands slid to her waist. When he kissed her, it was sweet and tender, gentle in a way no kiss had ever been before. And when he finally broke away, she wanted to pull him close again.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice gruff, his eyes dark.

  “For the kiss?”

  “For being here. Last night was rough. I’ve been driving around since midnight, and I finally decided I wanted to come to the only place that has felt like home since...” He shook his head. “I missed you,” he finished, and she let that be enough for both of them.

  “I missed you, too. Which is funny, since I saw you—” she glanced at her watch “—less than ten hours ago.”

  “Ten hours is a long time,” he said, finally smiling. “Is Jazz still sleeping? I want to show you what I got for her.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “No,” Jazz corrected, walking down the steps, her jeans and T-shirt baggy around her gaunt frame. “It’s Christmas Eve. We need to decorate this place up. Right, sport?” she called, her voice so overly cheerful it was almost painful to hear.

  “That’s right!” Zane called, racing down after her, his blue pajama bottoms an inch too short, his hair spiked up around his head. “We haven’t even hung the stockings yet, Uncle Dallas! You want to help?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, just ran to the nearest box and started digging through it, pulling out one Christmas item after another.

  “At least one of us is having fun,” Jazz said with a tired grimace. “You’re here early, Dallas. Want some coffee?”

  “Maybe in a minute. I brought something for you, and I don’t want to leave it in my car for much longer.”

  “For me?” Jazz said, her gaze darting to Carly. “What is it?”

  “I have no idea. He was about to tell me when you came down.”

  “Wait here. I’ll bring it in,” Dallas said, walking back out into the blue-gray morning.

  “Why would he get me something?” Jazz asked. “Because he pities me? That’s the last thing I want.”

  “No one pities you.”

  “No, you just feel sorry for me. It’s pretty much the same thing.” She sighed, smoothing her hair. “It better not be a coupon for counseling. Or a tub of ice cream. If one more person tells me I need to eat, I’ll scream.”

  “Ice cream?” Zane shouted. “Are we having that for breakfast?”

  “No. Your uncle got a gift for Jazz. He’s about to bring it in. She thought it might be ice cream.”

  “Or counseling,” she muttered.

  “I bet it’s even better!” Zane said. “I bet it’s a pink pistol.”

  “What would I even do with that?”

  “Shoot bad guys?”

  “He wouldn’t get her a gun,” Carly cut in, trying to reroute the conversation.

  “Oh! I know. I think it’s a clown, because clowns make people happy.”

  “I’m happy,” Jazz said.

  Zane put his arms around his aunt’s waist and hugged her. “You will be. Once you have a clown.”

  “Whatever it is,” Carly said, “it’s taking him a long time to get.”

  “That’s because,” Dallas said, stepping back inside and closing the door, “it wasn’t all that keen on leaving the car.”

  “It?” Carly asked, frowning as something beneath his coat wiggled.

  “What is it?” Zane whispered, taking a step closer.

  “He,” Dallas corrected, reaching under his coat and pulling out a bundle of black-and-white fur. “I found him at the local shelter a few day ago. It looked like he needed a little extra love.”

  “A puppy!” Zane gasped.

  “A puppy?” Carly repeated, even though she could see very clearly that it was.

  “You brought him for Jazz, so he can stay with us, right?” Zane said, reaching out to touch the puppy’s nose. It licked his hand, and he giggled.

  “Yes. If she wants him.” He glanced at Jazz. She hadn’t said a word. Maybe she was thinking it was a pity gift. Maybe she wasn’t interested in taking on the responsibility of a puppy.

  Carly shouldn’t have been interested, either. Their lives were busy, and a puppy was one more thing to worry about, but it was the cutest puppy she’d ever seen, its eyes dark brown, its fur thick and soft looking.

  “If she doesn’t want it,” Dallas continued, “I’m sure I can find it another home.”

  “Your place?” Carly guessed, and he shook his head.

  “I’m not home enough. It wouldn’t be fair. One of my coworkers might be interested. A couple of them have kids, and this little guy would be great to grow up with.” He set the puppy down, and it shook itself out, then scampered across the wood floor, skidding as it tried to stop.

  “Does he have a name?” Zane asked, laughing as the puppy grabbed a red bow and sprinted across the room with it.

  “Moose,” Jazz said suddenly, and the puppy’s floppy ears perked up.

  “What?” Carly asked, surprised to see a half smile curving the edges of Jazz’s lips.

  “His name is Moose.”

  “Moose like the animal? Or Mousse like the dessert?” she asked as though it really mattered, and Jazz’s smile broadened.

  “Like the animal, because that will make people smile, and I’m realizing that smiles
aren’t always that easy to come by.” She sat on the floor, crossing her legs and patting the floor. “Moose. Come!” she called, and the puppy ran right to her, climbing into her lap and jumping up to lick her face.

  She kissed his nose and patted his head, then called Zane over to pet him. While he did, her smile stayed in place, her eyes shining with it.

  “Wow,” Carly said quietly, whispering in Dallas’s ear. “That’s the first time she’s smiled in almost a month.”

  “She hasn’t had a lot to smile about,” Dallas responded, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “Are you angry?”

  “About the puppy? Why would I be?”

  “It probably wasn’t the best idea to let Zane see him before I consulted with you.”

  “I’m pretty sure you knew I wouldn’t be able to say no. Even if Jazz didn’t want him.”

  “You do have a soft heart,” he murmured.

  “And a big enough house to fit an army of puppies,” she responded.

  “Are we getting more puppies?” Zane asked excitedly.

  “Let’s just enjoy this one for a while,” Jazz said, her expression soft and unguarded, her cheeks pink with pleasure.

  It gave Carly hope to see her like that. It made her think that maybe Jazz really would be all right.

  “You look happy,” Dallas murmured.

  “I am. Are you?” She searched his face, tried to find some hint of the memories she knew were haunting him somewhere.

  “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

  “I’m happy when I have coffee,” Jazz interjected. “Maybe one of you can make a pot while Zane and I entertain our new friend.”

  “I’ll do it,” Carly offered, walking toward the doorway that separated the living room from the hall, Dallas right beside her. It felt good having him here. It felt like joy and peace and contentment. It felt like all the dreams she’d had as a kid coming true, all of her prayers being answered.

  It felt like love, and she wasn’t too afraid to admit it, because it was nothing like what she’d had with Josh and everything like it should be.

  “Stop there for a second, Carly,” Jazz called.

  Surprised, Carly did as she asked, glancing over her shoulder and smiling when she saw Moose sitting in Jazz’s lap, staring at her adoringly—floppy ears and huge paws, big brown eyes and scrawny body under puffs of wool-like fur.

  “Do you want me to try to scrounge up some food for him while I’m in the kitchen?” she asked, assuming that was what Jazz wanted.

  “I have a fifty-pound bag in my trunk,” Dallas said. “And a few toys. And a stuffed dog that’s supposed to make him not miss his littermates. Actually, I may have gone overboard and bought most of what they had in the pet store near my house.”

  Carly met his eyes and grinned, suddenly caught in his gaze, in his gorgeous eyes and amused expression.

  “Perfect,” Jazz said. “But I hadn’t even thought of food for Moose. I just wanted to give Dallas an opportunity to take advantage of the situation he was about to find himself in.”

  “What situation?” Carly asked, and Jazz pointed to the area above her head.

  Carly looked up—and saw a sprig of mistletoe hanging from a hook above the door. “Because true love’s kiss,” Jazz continued, “can be as elusive as a smile.”

  “True love’s kiss, huh?” Dallas took Carly’s hand and pulled her close. His palm was warm, his gaze somber. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too,” she responded, and he smiled.

  “Should we give it a try?”

  “The kiss?”

  “True love. With a kiss thrown in for good measure.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” she responded, laughing as Moose ran past, a velvet bow tied around his neck, Zane racing after him.

  She was still laughing when Dallas kissed her, the warmth of his lips promising all the things she’d ever wanted: a lifetime of friendship, of laughter, of puppies and of kisses under the mistletoe.

  * * * * *

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  from Shirlee McCoy:

  PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from LONE STAR CHRISTMAS RESCUE by Margaret Daley.

  Dear Reader,

  In the silence of cold winter nights and the hush of snowy winter days, I often find myself thinking about Christ’s birth, about the way it must have felt to be Mary or Joseph or the shepherds in their fields. None of those people were rich or beautiful or well liked by the world. They were poor and humble and even despised.

  The Christmas story is told so often, depicted so frequently, that it is easy to become immune to it, to forget how miraculous the birth of Christ was, how life changing, how world changing. The message of His birth and life and resurrection is not one of divisiveness and hate, but one of love. This Christmas season, I hope you have a chance to slow down and look around, to see with fresh eyes the beauty of the world you live in. Take a walk through an icy forest, explore snow-covered paths or—if you live in warmer climates—stand on the beach and look at the vastness of the ocean and the sky. He is there with you, my friend, in all that great and wild beauty, and in the smallest, darkest place in your heart.

  Blessings,

  Shirlee McCoy

  Lone Star Christmas Rescue

  by Margaret Daley

  ONE

  Texas Ranger Drake Jackson hiked to the edge of the cliff and stared at the raw beauty stretching out before him. Not far away was the Rio Grande and Mexico. The case he’d been assigned involved a human smuggling ring that worked both ways—trafficking people both into and out of the United States. One of their corridors had recently been rumored to be along this part of the border in his territory, but every time the task force got close, someone ended up dead and the route disappeared.

  If only they could catch a break.

  A vision of his younger sister materialized in his mind. Smiling. Laughing at something he’d said. But that was fifteen years ago, before she vanished without a trace. At that time, he’d been a Texas highway patrol officer and had taken vacation days to work the case. But he could never find her. In his gut, and based on the evidence he’d gathered, Drake knew she’d become a victim of a human trafficking ring. Even now, he and his family lived in limbo concerning Beth.

  He shook the image from his thoughts. He might not be able to bring Beth back, but he was determined to stop others from ending up like her. He knew firsthand what it was like for a family to have no resolution for a loved one’s fate.

  With a sigh, he turned away from the cliff’s edge. A faint cry from below caught his attention. A wounded animal? Again, the sound drifted to him. A cat—cougar?

  He lifted his binoculars and scanned Big Bend National Park’s rugged terrain below for the source of the noise. The cries grew to wails, allowing him to home in on the source. He sucked in a sharp breath. Nestled between large boulders sat a baby, tugging on the shirt of a woman sprawled on the ground. The location was an odd place for anyone to be. Quickly he checked the surrounding area. He didn’t see anyone nearby. Returning his attention to the lady, he noticed she wasn’t moving or reacting to the crying baby next to her. Something was wrong.

  He shrugged off his backpack and dug into it for the rope and gear he used for rappelling. It would take two or three times longer for him to hike down to the canyon. If the woman was injured, she might need help right away. After putting in his anchors, setting up his rigging and double-checking all the
equipment, Drake stepped off the cliff with his backpack. Facing the rock facade, he walked down it at a sixty-degree angle.

  The baby’s continuous bawling urged him to move as fast as he could. Drake kept looking over his shoulder at the pair below. When his feet hit the bottom, he unhooked himself, then hurried the few yards to the woman and child. By the time he reached them, the little boy’s face was beet red, tears running down his cheeks. Dressed in jeans, a dirty long-sleeved white shirt and tennis shoes, the lady beside the child appeared as though she was taking a nap—no obvious signs of an injury.

  Drake knelt next to the child and stroked his hand up and down the baby’s back. “Shh. I’m here to help,” he said in a soft voice and removed a water bottle to offer the little boy a few sips.

  As he continued to pat the child, he turned his attention to the woman, relieved to see her chest rising and falling with each breath. When he felt for her pulse on the side of her neck, its racing beat didn’t surprise him.

  The baby, probably no more than six or seven months old, calmed down and looked at Drake with big brown eyes and long black lashes. Assessing him.

  “You aren’t alone.” He wished he could ask the child what had happened and get an answer.

  What was wrong with the young woman? Why was she out here with a baby and no backpack—or water?

  Heatstroke? He touched her smooth, soft skin, pinkish from the sun but not badly sunburned. He ran his fingertips over her forehead, her flesh sweaty but not hot enough to indicate heatstroke. He breathed a little easier—although it wouldn’t take long for her to become dehydrated, and then her body would shut down.

  Drake leaned down and said in a firm voice, “Wake up, ma’am.” He gently shook her shoulder.

  No response.

  After another glance down the front of her body, he returned his attention to her face, with long light brown hair framing it. Still no obvious sign of why she wasn’t responding. He hated to stop soothing the baby, but he needed to find out why the lady was unconscious.