Christmas Daddy: A DDLG MC Western Crossover

by March, Daisy

  Christmas Daddy

  A DDLG MC Western Crossover

  Daisy March

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Join my mailing list

  Also by Daisy March

  F.A.Q about DDLG

  For all those who need looking after

  1

  Holly

  * * *

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Holly had barely finished attaching her name badge. The pin was sticking out of her plain blue blouse like a miniature sword. “I fought my way here through the snow. I nearly came off the road twice. I almost died!”

  Opposite her, Mr. Fraser cleared his throat. “You’re late, Holly. You know how I feel about lateness.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  He tapped the file on the desk. “I managed to get here on time, isn’t that funny?”

  “Because you walk here from the apartment over the road. I have to drive in.”

  “Excuses will not work. I’ve made my decision. My partner will take your position.”

  “This is because of yesterday, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. This has nothing to do with you giving away our stock for free.”

  “It was one sandwich. What was I supposed to do? The kid came in and he was starving and freezing. I told you I’d pay for it out of my wages.”

  “That’s not the point. You give one of those criminals a freebie and before you know it we have a queue of them lining up around the block, scaring away all the regular customers.”

  “It’s not a crime to be homeless, Mr. Fraser.”

  “Well, if it isn’t, it should be.” He opened the file and ran his hand down a densely printed sheet. “Your contract entitles you a month of pay upon termination and that is here in this envelope.

  “Take it and think hard before you consider another position elsewhere, Miss Hardacre. No one is going to want to hire someone who gives things away for nothing and can’t get to work on time. That is not how business works.”

  He shut the file, sliding the envelope toward her. “Good day, Miss Hardacre.”

  “But you can’t just fire me. I need this job. It’s Christmas Eve, Mr. Fraser.“

  “You should have thought of that before you started giving things away for nothing. Oh, and hand in your badge and your alarm key before you go.”

  She looked down at her name badge, detaching it from the blouse, dropping it on the desk. “So that’s it? I work seventy hour weeks, come in first thing to open up without getting paid for it, work that coffee machine that you know should be condemned, and you’re dropping me for giving away one sandwich I already said I’d pay for?”

  “Good day, Miss Hardacre.” He turned his chair toward the computer and began typing. “I am sure Veronica will be able to handle the coffee machine.”

  Holly got to her feet, taking the envelope with her, passing out of the office, through the prep room, out of the sandwich shop, and into the snowy street.

  “Wow,” she said to herself as she looked at the church clock on the street corner. Eight fifteen. Not even nine o’clock yet. What a great start to the day.

  She started walking, opening the envelope as she went. A too-thin wad of banknotes inside kept her attention too long.

  By the time she noticed the figure beside her, he’d already snatched the envelope and was sprinting off down the street. “Hey!” she shouted after the retreating figure but he was already gone.

  “Fantastic,” she yelled. No job, no money. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Her cellphone rang in her handbag. She dug it out, wondering if it was a recorded announcement telling her the world had been canceled. Nope, just her landlord. She swore quietly before answering. “Tony, listen, about the rent.”

  “No excuses,” he screamed down the line at her. “I’m in your place now and it is a tip, Holly. A shitstorm. You do not live here anymore. I warned you last month.”

  “Wait, you can’t just evict me like that. I have rights.”

  “Lost rights when you sublet and have a cat.”

  “It wasn’t my cat. It was Jessica’s and she left with it last week.”

  “So you admit the subletting. One person rent, one bed, Holly. Your stuff is in the corridor now. One hour then I take it to the dump, yes?”

  “No. You can’t do this, Tony! I’m not subletting. She had nowhere else to stay. She was my best friend. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You have the rent you owe me?”

  “I had it in my hand just now but someone just snatched it from me.“

  “Excuses, excuses. Always excuses with you. I have a business to run. One hour to get your stuff, Holly.”

  The line went dead. Holly looked up at the sky. “Why me?”

  She rushed home to find Tony hadn’t been lying. Her stuff had all been dumped in the hallway outside her apartment, the Christmas decorations strewn over the top. Her key no longer opened the door.

  Someone had clearly rummaged through the binbags of stuff as they were torn open, the contents strewn along the floor. She gathered up everything she could find, carrying it down and squeezing it into the back of her car. All except Terry the Tiger. He sat upfront with her.

  She wasn’t sure where to go. She drove out of the city with no clear destination in mind. All she knew was that she needed to be out in the countryside. If she could see a horse, it would be okay.

  Horses had always calmed her down whenever she was stressed. She used to like watching them on the ranch next to her place when she was growing up. She drove and saw nothing but empty fields.

  An idea occurred to her. Why not go home? Sure, her parents would tell her “I told you so,” about her attempts to survive in the city but at least she’d have a roof over her head and not spend Christmas Day in her car.

  She used the last of her money to refill the tank, making it to Cypress Creek a little after seven in the evening. The snow had stopped and the roads had been cleared which was the one good thing about going home.

  She stopped at the first bar she came to. If she was going to deal with her parents, she needed to fortify herself. Not much. She still had a few miles left to drive. Just one drink.

  She parked up and headed inside, her stuffed tiger sticking out of her handbag. He’d keep her company while she drank. It was dingy inside which matched her mood.

  She ordered a glass of rosé and sat sipping it at the bar, wondering just how smug they’d be at being proved right. She had lost her job, her apartment, and the balance in her bank account was redder than the nose of the bartender serving her.

  “Anyone here own a blue Chevrolet?” a deep voice asked behind her.

  She turned to find a man standing in the doorway in cowboy boots, red check shirt, and blue jeans. “That’s me,” she said, sticking her hand in the air. “Why?”

  “I think someone just jacked it.”

  She ran past him, heading outside, stomach lurching to see the space where her car had been up until a few minutes ago.

  “Oh, that’s just fantastic,” she said, groaning loudly. “All my stuff was in there.”

  “I called the cops,” the man said, coming to stand beside her. “They’ll find it.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, turning and shoving past
him, marching back into the bar, picking up her glass and draining it in one gulp. “Another,” she said.

  The bartender poured out another glass and she drained that straight away. “Hell, make it a bourbon,” she said.

  “You sure?” a voice said next to her. She turned to see the cowboy standing there. “Don’t think you’ve had enough?”

  “What the hell’s it got to do with you?” she asked.

  A glass of whiskey appeared in front of her. The cowboy pushed it away. “You don’t want any more,” he said. “You’ve had enough.”

  “What are you, my Dad?”

  “If I was, I’d be telling you to stay sober while you try and get your car back.”

  “And if I was your daughter, I’d tell you to go to hell.”

  There was a rumble in his chest. She looked up at him. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. He had a face she vaguely recognized. Why was that? Did she know him from somewhere?

  Wide jaw, dark eyes, decent hair, flicker at the corner of his lips. Was he laughing at her?

  “I’ll go look for your car,” he said. “You stay here and don’t move.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she said, hoping the sarcasm was evident in her voice. He was already gone.

  She dug into her handbag, finding the last of her money. She tossed the lonely banknote at the bartender, snatched the bottle of whiskey out of his hand. “I’ve got somewhere to be,” she said. “Goodnight all.”

  With that said, she marched out of the bar, swigging at the whiskey bottle as she went. Outside the cold didn’t seem as bad, the liquor keeping her warm as she walked straight across the road into the field opposite.

  From here she could cut across the old Walker Ranch and get into Cypress Creek. Then it was a few miles to her childhood home. The cowboy wouldn’t find her car. It was long gone. She knew that.

  She also knew it was starting to snow again and she wasn’t drunk enough to handle that. She made a run for it through the snowy field to the barn on the horizon.

  The snow soaked her legs before she’d made it a few yards, her clothes getting colder as she cursed out loud, wondering why she’d even bothered to get out of bed that morning.

  The barn door was unlocked. She pushed it open. The interior was filled with sweet-smelling hay. Sinking into it, she wiped the rain from her eyes, shivering uncontrollably. Then she examined the whiskey bottle. More than half full.

  Could she drink it all before she passed out? She wrapped hay around herself to try and keep warm and decided it was worth a try.

  She nearly managed it.

  2

  Jack

  * * *

  When Jack got back to the bar he wasn’t surprised to find she’d gone. She seemed the type. What did annoy him was that he’d been found her car for her. It was outside.

  “You found it?” Greg asked, wiping one of the glasses behind the bar. “Where was it?”

  “Griffen’s.”

  “Might have guessed.”

  Jack had taken his car into town, knowing hers would most likely end up at the garage. It was there and so was Denton Bracewell, looking shifty as he waited outside to get paid for his work.

  “I took that car fair and square,” he said to Jack.

  “Took it from someone in my care,” Jack replied.

  The conversation grew heated. When it was over Jack walked into the garage. He then arranged for her car to be returned to the bar.

  “Did you have to knock him out,” Griffen said, coming outside and seeing Denton’s unconscious figure in the snow.

  “Took a girl’s car from outside Greg’s.”

  “Why do you care? You sweet on this girl?”

  “She looked like she’d had a shitty enough day without him getting involved, that’s all.”

  “Well, I tell you what. For old time’s sake, I’ll get the car back to Greg’s. That good enough for you?”

  “Appreciate it, Griffen.”

  Jack got back to the bar to find she’d left with a bottle of Kentucky’s roughest. He looked up and down the road but there was no sign. After telling Greg to call him if she turned up, he headed home. The animals couldn’t wait forever.

  He put the horses to bed. They’d made their own way into the stables out of the cold. Once they were all safely in their stalls, he made sure the chickens were locked up safe, checked on the sheep, and then headed into the house, taking time out to fuss Skip on the way.

  There was so much that still needed doing but it had been a long day. He kept saying he’d put some Christmas decorations up but there didn’t seem much point when there was just him in the house.

  He had too much to do anyway. At some point, he’d hopefully be able to afford to hire someone to help but he wasn’t there yet.

  They’d want paying and he had zero spare money available.

  What he did have was something much more important. The family farm, back in his hands after all this time. It had taken every penny of his savings and there was years of work ahead before it was back to its former glory but at least it was his. Being penniless and working every hour under the sun was a small price to pay.

  He thought of the woman in the bar as he settled down to sleep. There had been something familiar about her face but he couldn’t place it.

  Cute button nose, unruly hair, pout that made her lips plump up whenever she scowled, making her eminently kissable. She had a whine to her voice that made him want to pull her onto his lap and yank down her prim and proper panties, give her the spanking she so badly needed.

  Where did he know her from?

  He’d only gone into the bar because he’d seen Denton jacking a car as he drove past on his way back from the hardware store down in Bankston. He wasn’t in time to stop the son of a bitch from peeling out of the lot in the car but that didn’t matter. He’d be taking it to the garage Griffen ran.

  It was strange to think about what different direction his life had taken to Griffen. They’d both finished deployment and returned to civilian life. Jack had used his disability pension to buy his family farm back from the bank. Griffen had set up a garage that primarily bought and sold stolen cars. Go figure.

  Maybe he should have done the same. Griffen always seemed to have money where he’d had to scrape together enough to get the barbed wire from the hardware store. Griffen had women hanging off his arm every night of the week. He had the horses and an empty house.

  No, it was better this way. He might not have money but he had the ranch. He was doing what he’d always promised them he’d do, get the place back in the family hands where it belonged. He hated the bank for what they’d done, foreclosed on a dying couple who’d never done anything wrong.

  Waking up the next morning, he’d again thought of the woman in the bar. He rang Greg. “Merry Christmas, Jack,” Greg said, sounding sleepy.

  She’d not come back in to collect the car. He began to worry. She’d gone out with a bottle in her hand and a belligerent attitude. She could be freezing to death out in the snow covered fields somewhere. His fields.

  He didn’t bother with breakfast. Driving out to the bar, he left his car in the parking lot and tried to work out where she might have gone. Behind Greg’s was a ravine, river at the bottom. The same river and ravine that ran through the fields at the far end of the ranch.

  Had she fallen down there? It was fenced off pretty well and she didn’t seem the type to have a death wish. No prints in the snow either.

  That left the other direction, over the road. He closed his eyes, thinking for a moment, getting into her head. Comes out pissed that her car’s stolen, wants to get drunk to forget about it, walks over the road, into the field. He did the same. Tracing her footsteps.

  It starts to snow. She needs to shelter somewhere. Where? He looked around him. The only thing visible other than the pasture was the barn on the horizon. Could she be in there? There were some marks in the snow but the wind had drifted it overnight so they might be nothing.


  He was certain. There were more marks, a footprint right there. She had been running. What was that? He leaned down. A stuffed tiger with matted fur stuck out of the snow. He picked it up and took it with him as he approached the barn.

  The door was closed. He pulled it open. Inside all he could see was hay. Then he saw her.

  She’d pulled the hay over her but her head was still sticking out as was her right arm. In her hand was the bottle of whiskey, most of it gone, just an inch left in the bottom.

  Beside that was her handbag. She was snoring. She looked frozen, her skin as pale as the weak morning sun outside.

  “Wake up,” he said, leaning down and shaking her shoulder. “Time to get up. It’s Christmas Day!”

  She groaned loudly, her eyes tightly shut. “No, Daddy,” she muttered. “Don’t wanna get up yet. Lemme ‘lone.”

  3

  Holly

  * * *

  Holly woke up to find she was floating. The last thing she’d remembered was being wrapped up in the surprisingly warm and soft hay of the barn. Now she was out in the cold open air, floating along like a cloud.

  She tried to open her eyes. The first attempt went badly. She only caught a sliver of the bright sunlight before she clamped them shut again but it was enough to make her groan with agony.

  The sun stabbed straight through her optic nerves into her brain, taking her hangover and shaking it briskly. She retched. Was she going to throw up? No, not yet, but it was a close-run thing.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  She braced herself, trying to open her eyes again. This time she managed enough to see a figure above her. Then she clamped them shut again and kept them shut. It was a figure she recognized carrying her.