Christmas with My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  “So much for her judgment,” he agreed.

  “She wanted me to marry and have a family.” She shrugged. “I knew that wasn’t going to happen,” she added sadly.

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  She lowered her eyes to the top button of his jacket. Snow was falling beyond the porch. “I’m clumsy and old-fashioned. Not pretty, like a lot of women. I don’t move with the times.”

  “But you’re lovely,” he said softly, scowling. “Didn’t you know? It’s what’s inside you that matters. You’re tender and loving and you never quit on the people you care about. Those are virtues.”

  “Being tender and loving with perps is not an option,” she said, trying to lighten the conversation.

  “I’ve made you feel small for years,” he said sadly. “I didn’t even know why. Picking on you became a defense mechanism.”

  She looked up, surprised. “Defense against what?” she asked blankly.

  He cupped her soft face in his big, cool hands. “Against this, honey,” he whispered as he bent to her mouth.

  The endearment stunned her. The kiss was . . . amazing. It was soft and gentle, respectful. It was the way you’d kiss someone you cared deeply for. All her adult life, Meadow had been rushed or grabbed or overpowered by dates. Here was a man she’d known forever, a man she’d loved with all her heart. And he didn’t rush or grab. He kissed her as if he . . . loved her!

  He drew back after a minute, perplexed. “When we have more time, and it’s not so late,” he mused, “I really need to do something about that ego. Not to mention your skill set.”

  “What skill set?” she asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Who’s on first, what’s on second . . .”

  “I don’t give a damn, he’s our shortstop!” he finished for her, chuckling. His hands fell away. “Call me when you want to go see Snow tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

  “Is Jarvis okay?” she asked suddenly. “He had blood on one paw.”

  “Yes, Gil thinks he scratched the perp. He got blood samples.” He glowered. “He’s got a case on you.”

  “Wh . . . what?” she stammered.

  “Blind little woman,” he mused, searching her shocked eyes. “Can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

  “Gil’s my colleague,” she said. “He isn’t a potential suitor.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.

  He pursed his lips. “Okay, then. I was wondering how much trouble I’d get in if I had to call him out,” he remarked. “Dueling with deputies is bad business.”

  Her lips fell apart. “Duels?”

  He touched her mouth with his. “You’ll work it out. One more thing,” he added, and he was solemn. “I never slept with Dana. In case the subject ever comes up. And I broke it off with her earlier today, in person.”

  She was stunned. She didn’t understand what was going on.

  “You might tell Jeff, if you think about it,” he added darkly. “And tell him he owes me.”

  “For what?”

  “He’ll know.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice faltered.

  He drew her up close. “You’ll work it out,” he chuckled as he bent his head. He kissed her hungrily. “Don’t stay up too late,” he whispered into her lips. “And keep the doors locked. A man who’ll hit a dog will hit a woman,” he added icily.

  “Dal . . .”

  “Oh, I like the way that sounds,” he whispered, and kissed her harder.

  She gave up trying to puzzle out his odd behavior and instead kissed him back with enthusiasm if not with skill.

  He let her go slowly. He smiled, his dark eyes warm and full of secrets. “Try to get some sleep. Snow’s going to be fine.”

  She drew in a long breath. She smiled back. “Okay.”

  He turned and started to the truck.

  “Be careful,” she called after him. “The roads are slick.”

  “I didn’t notice,” he drawled with amused sarcasm, and kept walking.

  She watched him swing the truck around, dazed with unexpected pleasure. He stopped in the middle of the road and powered down the driver’s side window. “Will you get inside?” he called.

  “Bossy,” she muttered.

  “Count on it. I’m a lobo wolf. You’ll never tame me. But you’re welcome to try,” he added in almost a purr.

  She laughed and went back into the house. He didn’t leave until she closed the door.

  * * *

  She went into work the next morning with a mission. She was going to find that thief.

  She downloaded some software Jeff kept that substituted for a sketch artist. She hadn’t seen the man’s face, but she did a fairly accurate tracing of his long form, just slightly bent, and his dark, unruly hair. As she started adding things to the portrait, she remembered the bag he’d been carrying. In her whole life, she’d only seen one of those big canvas bags once. She couldn’t remember where, though.

  “What are you doing?” Jeff asked when he came back in from answering a call.

  “Hi,” she greeted him with a smile. “I’m trying to make an accurate sketch of the man I saw at Dal’s house.”

  He looked over her shoulder. “Not bad, Deputy,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She glanced at him. “Dal said to tell you that you owe him. He wouldn’t say why.”

  His high cheekbones flushed a little. “I sort of took credit for something I didn’t do,” he confessed. “That pizza. I didn’t really send it to you. Dal did.”

  Her heart jumped. “He did?”

  He recognized that look on her face. He just chuckled. “No more daggers at ten paces?” he teased.

  “I don’t really know. He’s changed, all of a sudden.” She searched his eyes. “He broke it off with Dana yesterday.”

  “He did?” He had the same expression that she knew was on her face when he’d told her the truth about her pizza.

  She laughed. “So maybe I’m not the only one who’s getting a surprise.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She was looking past him. “You might turn around,” she said in a loud whisper.

  He did, to see Dana in a pretty blue coat standing just inside the front door.

  “Hi,” she called to Jeff. “It’s almost lunchtime. I was wondering if you were free.”

  “I’m not, but I’m reasonable,” he quipped.

  “Oh, you,” she teased.

  “Let me get my coat and I’ll be right with you,” he said.

  “I’ll wait in the car,” Dana said. She gave Meadow an odd look, but she softened it with a smile and a nod that said no hard feelings.

  All sorts of strange things were happening, Meadow thought to herself. Nice, but strange.

  She finished what she could recall of the man’s appearance. Gil came back in a few minutes later.

  “Snow’s getting deep,” he told her, laughing as he brushed the snow off the plastic cover of his Smokey the Bear hat.

  “I noticed. Give this a look and tell me if you’ve ever seen anyone locally who looked like my sketch, would you?”

  “Sure.” He looked over her shoulder at the screen. “That overcoat looks sort of familiar, but I can’t think why. The bag over his shoulder is unusual.”

  “I knew an artist once, in St. Louis, who carried her canvases in one. That’s the last time I saw one. I’m not sure they even sell them anymore. It looked old. I remember thinking it had a stain about halfway down . . .”

  “You didn’t see his face?”

  She shook her head. “He kept his back to me. He was running. He was fast,” she added.

  “Running in snow is not easy. I know,” Gil remarked.

  “He had long legs.” She sat back in her chair. “We don’t have that many people in Raven Springs, but it’s still a large number. There are probably at least one or two artists who live here and have bags made of heavy canvas.”
She hesitated. “Is there an art supply store?”

  “Not here,” he said. “You’d have to go to Denver for one of those.”

  “Another dead end,” she muttered.

  “How’s your dog?” he asked.

  “Better, thanks,” she replied. “Dal and I went to see her yesterday.”

  His eyebrows arched.

  “He was really sorry about what he said to me,” she told him. “He paid the vet’s bill.”

  “Nice of him,” he agreed. “I was pretty hot when I had to go out there. He should never have yelled at you without knowing what actually happened.”

  “That’s exactly what he said,” she replied. She drew in a breath. “I guess we’re all guilty of jumping to conclusions from time to time.” Her face tautened. “I want to get my hands on the man who hit Snow.”

  “I don’t blame you. I would, too. We might make copies of that sketch,” he added, “and hand them out to businesses. Someone might recognize the man.”

  “Good thinking!”

  “Oh, I’m a genius,” he returned. “It doesn’t show because I’m so modest about my talents.”

  “Is that so?” She laughed.

  He shrugged. “I guess I’d better go watch for wrecks. Good Lord, half the people in this town should never have been issued licenses. I told that to a man just this morning. He tried to run a red light, swung the car around, and fishtailed right into a parked car with a woman sitting in the passenger seat. No major injuries, but I charged him with reckless driving just the same.”

  “Good for you. Maybe he’ll learn from his mistake.”

  “Miracles happen. Can I bring you back lunch?”

  She dug in her purse. “A green salad with Thousand Island dressing from anyplace you go, and thanks.” She handed him a ten dollar bill.

  “You’re on.” He left her sitting at the computer.

  * * *

  They passed out copies of her sketch, but nobody seemed to recognize anything about the man in it.

  On a whim, Meadow stopped by the Yesterday Place on her way home to give Mike Markson a copy to display.

  He stared at the sketch, frowning. “Who do you think this is, again?” he asked.

  “The man who stole an antique writing desk from Dal Blake,” she explained. “And took a log to my dog. She’s at the vet’s with a head injury,” she added coldly. “I really want this guy. I want him badly. A man who’ll brutalize an animal will do the same thing to a person.”

  Mike seemed to go pale as he studied the sketch. “Well, yes, men . . . men like that would probably hit people, indeed.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “Your dog, will it be all right?”

  “No thanks to the thief,” she replied. “Snow was unconscious when I found her. It was a very long night until she came out of it. We weren’t sure that she would.”

  “Poor animal. I used to have a dog,” he said sadly. “A female Lab. I . . . lost her two years ago,” he added reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry. I love animals.”

  “So do I,” he replied. “It was such a shock. She’d been running around, laughing, the way they do, you know, always happy. I came home and Gary said she’d run into the road, right into a car. She died instantly. It was a head injury . . .”

  “I guess I really got lucky with Snow,” she said. “But I’m sorry for your loss. They’re like people to us.”

  “They truly are.” He stared again at the handout. “I’ll post it and see if anyone recognizes who the person is,” he told her. “If so, I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and smiled at him.

  “Any luck on the organ and the lamp?”

  She shook her head. “More dead ends, I’m afraid. Nothing new. But we’re stubborn and persistent. One day, we’ll track them down.”

  “I do hope so,” he said.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Any time.”

  She started out the door and almost collided with a tall, thin man with unruly hair. It was Gary, Mike’s son. He had a cut on his cheek. She wondered idly if he’d done that shaving. Men were careless with the razor sometimes. Her father had been.

  He looked at her uneasily. “Deputy,” he said, with a nod.

  “Mr. Markson.” She nodded back. She thought he looked strange, but she didn’t dwell on it. She was eager to get home and see Snow. Dal was going with her. She smiled to herself as she started up her SUV and drove away. So many changes in her life. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt happier.

  * * *

  “Jeff confessed about the pizza,” she told Dal when they were on the way to see Snow. “He said he was sorry.”

  He chuckled. “He’s a good guy,” he replied.

  “So are you. It was a lovely pizza.” She glanced at him. “How did you know I liked mushrooms and cheese?”

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” he teased. “I had supper with you and your father year before last. You ordered two pizzas. Yours only had mushroom and cheese, and your father said it was because you weren’t carnivorous like he and I were.”

  The memory came back. Dal had been sarcastic about her disdain for sausage. He’d been that way about a lot of things she liked.

  “I was a fourteen karat heel, wasn’t I, honey?” he asked softly, glancing her way. “It took me years to understand why I was so rough on you.”

  “Why were you?” she asked.

  “Oh, that’s not a question you should ask when I’m driving.”

  Her eyebrows arched.

  “How’s your manhunt coming?”

  She was diverted. “I made up a sketch of what I remembered the perp looked like,” she said, “on our computer at work. I made copies and took it by several businesses for them to post. We might get lucky.”

  “Did you bring one with you?”

  “It’s at the house,” she replied. “I had several copies left over.”

  “I’d like to take a look at one when we get back. I’ve lived here all my life,” he reminded her. “I might recognize him, if he’s local.”

  “I should have thought about that.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

  “True.”

  He pulled up at the veterinary hospital and opened the door for her.

  Snow was much better. She howled when she saw them, her blue eyes laughing.

  They laughed, too.

  “She’s responding very well to treatment,” Dr. Clay said, satisfied with the dog’s progress. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  “The seizures?”

  She sighed. “Well, yes, that’s going to be an ongoing problem, I’m afraid,” she added. “She had one earlier. But we gave her phenobarbital and she responded nicely. There’s a little hesitation with her gait as well, but I think that will go away in time. The seizures are something you’ll have to deal with.”

  “I’ve seen epileptic seizures,” Meadow replied. “My mother had them. I got very good at giving her injections.”

  “What sort of seizures?” Dr. Clay asked.

  “Grand mal,” Meadow replied.

  The vet winced. “Those can be scary.”

  “They always were,” Meadow agreed. “But we coped. I’ll cope with Snow. I’m just so grateful that she lived. Thanks for all you did.”

  “Just my job, but you’re welcome,” Dr. Clay replied with a warm smile. “I’ll leave you to visit with her while I wait for an emergency that’s coming in. Cat got attacked by a stray dog,” she sighed. “The owner was almost hysterical.”

  “I can identify with that,” Meadow replied.

  * * *

  Dr. Clay went back out front. Dal and Meadow settled down next to Snow’s cage and talked to her and petted her.

  “You’ll be coming home, soon, in case you wondered if I was going to desert you,” Meadow told her pet.

  Snow seemed to laugh. Her blue eyes were bright and attentive.

  “I miss you at night,” Meadow confessed. “The house ge
ts so lonely.”

  Snow nuzzled her hand.

  “Did you talk to your dog?” Meadow asked Dal.

  “All the time, just the way you talk to Snow,” he replied. “She was a lot of company. So is Jarvis, but he’s more arrogant and self-sufficient than a dog. He cuddles, but only on his terms.”

  She smiled. “We never had cats. Mama didn’t like them. I love Jarvis,” she added. “He’s so sweet.”

  He held out a hand with several scratches visible. “I was late getting his supper down in the kitchen,” he mused. “He took issue with me.”

  She laughed. “He’s never scratched me.”

  “He loves you,” he replied.

  “Snow loves you,” she said simply, watching the dog nuzzle Dal’s big hand.

  “They get along amazingly well, considering that they’re supposed to be natural enemies,” he commented.

  “Animals are individuals, just like people,” she said. “Some get along, some don’t.”

  He was studying her, his dark eyes warm and soft. “And some call truces after years of open warfare,” he teased.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes. Some do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dal drove Meadow back to her house and went inside with her to look at the handout she’d made of the thief.

  She gave one to Dal. He studied it with a frown.

  “Recognize anything about him?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I’ve seen that coat somewhere.”

  “Was there ever an art supply store in town?” she asked suddenly.

  “Sure, years ago,” he told her. “Markson bought it out and turned it into an antique store.”

  “He might have seen a canvas bag like that one in the sketch,” she said excitedly. “I’ll drive back over there tomorrow and ask him. Thanks!”

  “Oh, I’d do anything to help,” he said. “I’d like to have that desk back before it ends up in an auction back east. It has a history. But it’s mostly the sentiment that matters to me. My grandmother loved it.”

  She smiled at him. “She must have been a sweet woman.”

  “She was. Like you.” He grimaced. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I said to you about that desk. It wasn’t worth Snow’s life.”

  “You didn’t know she was hurt,” she said.