Mistletoe Miracles

by Jodi Thomas

  “Wow. That’s some backstory. Shouldn’t we call the sheriff? The guy should be tracked down.”

  “All the sheriff has on him right now is a restraining order. Unless she wants to press charges, all the law can do is make sure the guy stays away from her.”

  “Do you think she’d tell me all about what happened? I’m transporting a victim. We’re helping her escape sure death. That’s a real plot and a half going here.”

  “Aren’t you worried about her?”

  Tim looked guilty for a moment, then admitted, “Of course I am. She’s as much kin to me as she is to you, Jaxson. Add to that, she’s interesting. I want to help her, but I also have to know how she feels, what she’s thinking. It’s research. I can’t help myself. All writers are miners for emotions. It’s who we are, what we do. I just want to talk to her, when she’s better, of course.”

  “Mallory hasn’t said a word. I don’t know if she’s afraid the guy who beat her will find her or afraid the paper will give more information away. The sheriff knows the car she was driving was registered to a Curtis Dayson. Sheriff Cline has probably already called him.”

  Tim filled in details he’d learned from dropping by the station. “Dayson must be well off, because he’s got a place south of here and another in Dallas. Thatcher said the guy went crazy when he saw the wrecked sports car but didn’t even ask if the driver was hurt. He just demanded to know where she was. When Thatcher played dumb, the boyfriend left. He was back in the office two days later telling Pearly he was losing his mind because he couldn’t find his girlfriend.”

  “Everyone in town knows Mallory was admitted to the hospital.”

  “Yeah, and everyone’s probably talking about it, but you know locals. They don’t tend to give out much information to strangers. Besides, he could claim the injuries are from the wreck.”

  “Are they?” Tim asked.

  “Scratches, maybe a head injury, but the ground was wet, muddy. Toni said she saw new wounds on top of old bruises. But you’re right. It would be hard to prove in court.”

  “I don’t care. Our job is to protect her.”

  “Right,” Jax answered.

  “That’s all I need to know for now.” Tim smiled. “I always wanted to be a superhero. So come on, Robin, let’s save the lady.”

  Jax laughed. “I thought I was Batman. You’re Robin.”

  “No. I’m the one driving the Batmobile pickup. Robin never gets to drive.”

  “But I’m the one holding the damsel in distress.” They passed through the sleepy little town of Crossroads, and Jax added, “Make sure we’re not followed.”

  “Will do.” Tim turned serious.

  As they headed down the lonely county road, Jax relaxed a bit. He could feel Mallory slow breathing against his chest. She was safe.

  “Do you know where this cousin of ours lives?”

  “Sheriff said she was driving fast on the road coming from the east. Her license had a former address. She hadn’t lived there for months, but she hadn’t changed her address on her license.”

  “Which means?”

  “Coming from the east...maybe she was running away. She was on the back road, thinking he might be trying to follow. I have no idea why she didn’t change her address. Maybe she was living with the guy but saw it too temporary to list.”

  “Did this guy Dayson take the wrecked car?”

  “Nope. He had a tow service pick it up. If he ever shows up again, the sheriff plans to have a long talk with him after Mallory is able to tell him the facts.”

  “Strange,” Tim said after a moment of silence. “Two cars hit that long line of fence running the Maverick Ranch that night. What are the chances of that?”

  Jax wanted to say the chance was probably a thousand to one. He’d never seen a wreck out on that road. Of course, the odds were probably even higher that he’d find a near-dead dog and then locate Mallory and bring her home with him.

  But the chances were good that she’d be safe with him, and that was what mattered.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Maverick Ranch

  WYATT JOHNSON HATED driving onto a stranger’s land, crossing uninvited under someone’s gate. It was something that didn’t seem to sit right. He’d seen enough Westerns, even modern day ones, to know folks were armed out in the country, but it was time to face what he’d done.

  Maverick’s grassland had been left wild and open. Beautiful in its colorful breaks and winding streams. The kind of place where movies about the Old West could be filmed. A view a man could look at all his life and never get tired of the untamed beauty.

  Wyatt made it to the first step of a forty-foot-wide porch before a man a few years younger than him and looking just as tough opened the massive door and walked outside.

  “You lost, stranger?” the cowboy asked with no sign of friendliness in his voice.

  “No. You Griffin Holloway?”

  “I am, but if you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

  Wyatt smiled. He might be a soldier and this man a rancher, but he had a feeling they understood one another. No nonsense. “I’m Captain Wyatt Johnson. I’m not from around here, but I was passing by on the county road almost a week ago and—”

  “You’re the man who took out a quarter mile of my fence.”

  “Right. I’ll be happy to pay for—”

  “I’m not interested in your money. How about you help me put it back in place?”

  “All right. I’m staying over at—”

  “I know who you are, Captain Johnson. The sheriff told me you were on leave from the army. I figure you might help me mend the fence while your wife is in school.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all, but I got to ask you something first. Do you ever let a man finish a sentence?”

  “Not lately.” Griffin grinned, looking younger. “You see, I’ve got fog-snot for brains lately, Captain. I’m getting married and—”

  “Enough said,” Wyatt interrupted. “What time you want me here tomorrow?”

  “How about we have a cup of coffee and we’ll talk about it? I think my brother ordered all we’ll need, but I’m not sure when it’ll be shipped to the hardware store in town. If it’s in, I could pick up the supplies and we could work while the weather’s clear.”

  “I’ll take you up on the offer for a cup of coffee. My—” he hesitated a moment “—wife is a great cook, but she doesn’t drink coffee. I’ve about had all the tea I can handle. The only good thing about going back on deployment is that the coffee’s always hot in the mess tent.”

  “How long you two been married?”

  It was an easy question for a husband, but Wyatt had forgotten to ask Jamie that part of the story. “Three years.” He took a guess. “Only I’m home so little we feel like newlyweds. We still haven’t learned each other’s ways.”

  Griffin walked him into a big kitchen with breakfast dishes still in the sink. As he poured coffee, the rancher asked, “You got your wife figured out yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me either. I’m pretty much hopeless when it comes to women. I just asked a lady to marry me and the next day the housekeeper turns in her notice. Says she won’t work for a woman.” Griffin slid Wyatt’s cup across the bar. “To tell the truth, I don’t think we’ll miss her. My dad used to say that since Mamie was hired on here, her main mission in life was to make every day cloudy. By the time I took over the ranch, she’d been here too long to fire.”

  “Has she ever quit before?”

  “Yeah, she quits at least once a year. It’s usually her way of asking for a raise, but this time she took most of the pots and pans with her and said she was never coming back.”

  Wyatt laughed. “Sounds like you got more problems than I do. Half the time I’m home I think I’m just playing like I’ve got a wife. Sometimes, I almost believe it
. Other times it’s just a dream.”

  “I know how you feel. I’m getting married in a little over a month, but I don’t know the first thing about being married. You ever get the feeling at birth the universe gives every girl the playbook on marriage and forgets about the boys? We start out knowing nothing and they know all the rules.”

  The two men nodded and drank their coffee. Wyatt almost believed Griffin Holloway might be in a pretend marriage like him. But what were the chances of that? Maybe every husband feels like he doesn’t really know his wife.

  Only Wyatt really didn’t know Jamie. He couldn’t name her favorite color or her birthday or even her middle name. But he knew she didn’t think she was pretty and she must not have many friends, because no one had dropped by the lake house. She never talked of family, and the phone in her place had never rung.

  He did have enough sense to know that it wouldn’t be fair to Jamie for him to make a move. He’d be gone in a little over a week. She wasn’t his type. Too curvy. Too settled. She’d been sweet to let him stay, though. Too sweet to ever hurt her. When a woman like Jamie fell in love, it would be forever, not a week. He couldn’t leave even a crack in her heart. She’d marry some nice guy. They’d have half a dozen kids and never wander out of the state for the rest of their lives.

  He had his next assignment waiting for him, and it would take all his concentration. He couldn’t allow himself to get involved with Jamie. Once he was back in the field, letting his mind drift even for a moment might put the whole team at risk.

  Wyatt tried to concentrate on the rancher’s description of how stringing barbed-wire fence worked.

  Griffin’s brother Elliot joined them for another round of coffee. After they talked about the fence, Elliot asked Wyatt what he did in the army.

  “I’m in the Signal Corps working with communications. You know, military intelligence stuff mostly. Basically, I install equipment in places no sane person would ever go. Sounds exciting but believe me, most of it is just work.” He almost added that the job he’d been waiting to do had stalled. It would be his most dangerous yet. And if they could get in? Install the equipment and get out alive.

  Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You work with computers?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Among other things.” He wasn’t about to tell anyone the details of his job or how dangerous it was at times.

  Elliot hesitated, then asked, “You wouldn’t be willing to take a look at my system? My devices don’t want to talk to each other.”

  Griffin butted in. “Elliot, he just stopped by. He doesn’t want to fix your computer.”

  “I could pay you. We can’t get any tech support out here and when I call in for help, I get the feeling they’re laughing on the other end.”

  “I got a job. Don’t need another,” Wyatt said. “But I also got a few hours to kill before I pick up my wife. I’ve already fixed everything around her house, I might as well give it a try. And the pay is if I’m still here in two hours, you feed me lunch.”

  He and Elliot refilled their coffee, and Wyatt started to follow him out the kitchen. Griffin stopped him. “One question, Captain, before you two get lost in that mess. How do you like your hamburger?”

  “With the works.” Wyatt smiled. “Onion rings and fries on the side.”

  “And beer,” Elliot added.

  Wyatt laughed. “You men really do need a cook.”

  An hour later, Wyatt couldn’t stop smiling. He loved every minute at the lake house, but it felt good to be around men. Normal. Elliot’s system was old, but it had been top of the line a few years ago. He showed the rancher a few tricks and reprogrammed it to run faster.

  They ate lunch in front of the screen as they ordered equipment that would streamline his programs. At three thirty, when he stepped off the porch to go pick up Jamie, he saw Griffin coming from the barn.

  “Tomorrow okay, Wyatt? I got a call. The fence poles will be in.”

  “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock. I’ll meet you where my car ran off the road.”

  Wyatt walked back to Jamie’s old van. Neither man mentioned that the insurance he’d taken out when he rented the car would have covered the fence repair. Wyatt already had the rental car towed back to an office in Lubbock. Sometime in the next week, he’d figure out how to get another one to drive to the nearest airport. In the meantime, he looked forward to a little physical labor.

  Until his leave was up, all he wanted to do was live a normal life, and digging a few fence-pole holes suited him fine. The past three days had been great. He’d fixed everything he could find around Jamie’s lake house. Even chopped enough dead wood to keep the fireplace going till spring. But he needed something else to burn up energy.

  Every night she came home tired. They’d eaten out twice and he’d cooked one night. They’d played every game she had in the house and watched movies.

  But they were still strangers. She hadn’t asked much about his job in the army, and Wyatt didn’t want to discuss what he did anyway. The next mission haunted him enough already.

  She talked about her students at school but never mentioned why she wasn’t married. Jamie was the first girl he’d ever met who didn’t talk about her old boyfriends.

  At ten that night, when she closed the door between them and turned the bedroom door lock, Wyatt spent a few hours staring at the fireplace light and fighting the urge to knock on her door. He wanted more, but she wasn’t an “any port in the storm” kind of woman. Casual sex probably wasn’t in her vocabulary.

  And if he was being honest, it wasn’t in his either. Maybe in getting older, he’d realized there was more. Only, with his life, he didn’t have time to look for it.

  It wouldn’t be fair. She was nice, fun to talk to, but neither of them had time to fall in love. Neither one probably ever had, he guessed. She’d said they were friends. She trusted him. He was lucky she was letting him stay. Best leave he’d ever had and it had just started.

  He rationally went through every reason why her bedroom door would stay closed. Instead of counting sheep, he went over it again and again until he finally fell asleep.

  And when he did, he dreamed of home. A little house. A curly-haired wife with glasses.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Midnight Crossing

  MALLORY MAYWEATHER DIDN’T move any other part of her body as she slowly opened her eyes. She’d come awake one sense at a time. First, she was aware of the warmth. Then the silence. No traffic. No sounds of people around. Nothing moving or beeping or rattling.

  Bone deep, she knew she wasn’t in the hospital.

  Slowly, she registered the sound of a fireplace crackling. Then smells drifted over to her. The light hint of mesquite wood burning. She’d smelled it at a few steakhouses in Fort Worth. The waxy smell of a candle. The aroma of coffee brewing.

  She breathed deeper. Clean air. Fresh air. None of the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

  The night before came back to her. She remembered the stranger who took care of Charlie, explaining that she was moving locations as the sleeping pill had blanketed over her mind.

  The stranger, Jax O’Grady. He’d said he was a hermit, but he seemed to talk to her. And Charlie liked him, she could tell.

  Very slowly, her eyes opened wider. The room was in shadows. Her vision moved inch by inch outward. The hospital bed. A blanket, also hospital issue. Charlie sleeping on the floor between her and a low-burning fireplace in a room framed with logs.

  Mallory closed her eyes once more and breathed in. A calmness surrounded her. Maybe she’d died and gone to purgatory.

  She’d take one more peek, then go back to sleep. Her gaze drifted across the space. The room was maybe twelve feet wide and maybe thirty feet long. One end had a tiny kitchen all done in natural wood. The other end looked to be a library with one desk, one chair, one computer and what appeared to be at least a hundred b
ooks. No pictures; the walls were basically made of shelves. No table, no couch and no chairs, except the one by the desk.

  The windows had no curtains, and she could see the first rose color of dawn. She didn’t miss an old rifle propped up by the front door, and a worn coat on a single peg above it.

  She turned her head slowly, taking in the whole room. Front door. Back door. Maybe bedroom door.

  A rattle came from the bedroom and she realized she wasn’t alone. For a moment, she tensed, then relaxed. Charlie would have reacted if there was danger. The dog hadn’t roused.

  A man appeared from the bedroom. Jax O’Grady, the county recluse. The one who’d said he was her cousin, or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the nurse had said that.

  Mallory narrowed her eyes almost closed.

  He moved around her bed, tucking her blanket in. Then he put another log on the fire and patted Charlie on the head. Strange nurse, she thought. His hair was wild, his shirt unbuttoned and worn. Levis were tucked into his boots.

  The stranger patted his jeans and Charlie stood beside him. Silently they moved to the door. The man pulled on his coat and grabbed the rifle before he slipped outside. A few minutes later, they rushed back in.

  Charlie followed the man to the kitchen area, as if planning to help with breakfast. It was light enough to see a dusting of snow on his shoulders. He wasn’t a big man, but he seemed well balanced.

  Mallory gave up any pretense of sleep and watched them. As the sun brightened, the man seemed less careful about being silent. When he had eggs frying, he turned to her, caught her watching and grinned.

  “Morning,” he said, almost shyly. “You hungry?”

  She tried a little smile and found it not as painful today. She pointed to the plate he carried and then her mouth.

  He shook his head. “Oh, these aren’t your eggs, they’re Charlie’s. He’s always starving in the morning, and I’ve noticed he likes eggs better than bacon. Might be because I usually burn the bacon.”