by Lisa Jackson
Outstanding praise for Lisa Jackson!
“No one tells a story like Lisa Jackson. She’s
headed straight for the top!”
—Debbie Macomber
“Lisa Jackson takes my breath away.”
—Linda Lael Miller
Outstanding praise for Mary Burton!
“Burton delivers action-packed tension . . . the number of
red-herring suspects and the backstory on the victims make
this a compelling romantic thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Seventh Victim
“Mary Burton’s latest romantic suspense has it all—terrific plot,
complex and engaging protagonists, a twisted villain, and enough
crime scene detail to satisfy the most savvy suspense reader.”
—Erica Spindler, New York Times bestselling author, on Merciless
Outstanding praise for Mary Carter!
“A marvelous combination of wit and heart and a reflection
of the way a couple can endure one another’s faults for
the sake of love and devotion.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Things I Do for You
“Gripping, entertaining and honest. This is a unique, sincere
story about the invisible, unbreakable bonds of sisterhood
that sustain us no matter how far they’re buried.”
—Cathy Lamb on My Sister’s Voice
Outstanding praise for Cathy Lamb!
“Lamb’s story is earnest, heartwarming and,
at times, heartbreaking.”
—RT Book Reviews on If You Could See What I See
“Julia’s Chocolates is wise, tender, and very funny. In Julia
Bennett, Cathy Lamb has created a deeply wonderful character,
brave and true. I loved this beguiling novel about love, friendship
and the enchantment of really good chocolate.”
—Luanne Rice, New York Times bestselling author,
on Julia’s Chocolates
BOOKS BY LISA JACKSON
Stand-Alones
See How She Dies
Final Scream
Running Scared
Whispers
Twice Kissed
Unspoken
Deep Freeze
Fatal Burn
Most Likely to Die
Wicked Game
Wicked Lies
Something Wicked
Sinister
Without Mercy
You Don’t Want to Know
Close to Home
Anthony Paterno/Cahill Family Novels
If She Only Knew
Almost Dead
Rick Bentz/Reuben Montoya Novels
Hot Blooded
Cold Blooded
Shiver
Absolute Fear
Lost Souls
Malice
Devious
Pierce Reed/Nikki Gillette Novels
The Night Before
The Morning After
Tell Me
Selena Alvarez/Regan Pescoli Novels
Left to Die
Chosen to Die
Born to Die
Afraid to Die
Ready to Die
Deserves to Die
BOOKS BY MARY BURTON
I’m Watching You
Dead Ringer
Dying Scream
Senseless
Merciless
Before She Dies
The Seventh Victim
No Escape
You’re Not Safe
Cover Your Eyes
BOOKS BY MARY CARTER
She’ll Take It
Accidentally Engaged
Sunnyside Blues
My Sister’s Voice
The Pub Across the Pond
The Things I Do for You
Three Months in Florence
Meet Me in Barcelona
BOOKS BY CATHY LAMB
Julia’s Chocolates
The Last Time I Was Me
Henry’s Sisters
Such a Pretty Face
The First Day of the Rest
of My Life
A Different Kind of Normal
If You Could See What I See
What I Remember Most
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
OUR FIRST
Christmas
LISA JACKSON
MARY BURTON
MARY CARTER
CATHY LAMB
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
BOOKS BY LISA JACKSON
Title Page
A RANGER FOR CHRISTMAS
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
A SOUTHERN CHRISTMAS
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
Chapter 14
CHRISTMAS IN MONTANA
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
UNDER THE MISTLETOE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Copyright Page
A RANGER FOR CHRISTMAS
MARY BURTON
Chapter 1
Austin, Texas
Friday, December 19, 7 P.M.
You’re a hard woman to find. Professor Marisa Thompson stared at the text. You’re a hard woman to find. Was this a joke? No one was looking for her. She’d barely been back in Austin forty-eight hours. But as she reasoned this was a mistake, silent warnings whispered.
As she considered responding to the number with the Texas area code, a knock at her office door had her sliding her phone back into her back pocket.
“Professor Thompson, bet you don’t know what the other professors are calling you?”
Marisa raised her gaze to the junior professor’s smiling face. Kyle Stone wore a Santa hat cocked sideways over shoulder-length sandy blond hair and his nose glowed red, a sign he’d had too much tequila punch at the history department’s holiday party. She tugged off her glasses and tossed them on a pile of manuscripts she’d marked up in red ink. She reached for a cold cup of coffee, stood, and moved to a small microwave in the corner of her office. Christmas music drifted through the hallways of Garrison Hall. “I don’t bet. But it’s Scrooge, no doubt.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest and he strolled into her office. “How’d you know?”
“I have a reputation.”
“Their teasing is good-natured.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He pouted, clearly making fun of her sour mood. “Why didn’t you make an appearance at the party?”
“Just didn’t.” She put the mug in the microwave and punched in one minute. Behind the lectern or cutting through the jungles to a Mayan ruin, Professor Marisa Thompson was at home. Ancient languages buried by time, neglect, or malice were easier to grasp than a holiday packaged in disappointment and wrapped in bows of false promises. The Christmas season was a time to be endured, not celebrated.
“More sour than usual.”
“I miss the jungle.”
You are a hard woman to find. The text tugged at her concentration before she brushed it away.
She’d returned two days ago from a six-month sabbatical spent in the jungle west of the Yucatan in Mexico, hunting for evidence of the Mayans who’d lived in the region one thousand years before the Spanish had arrived. Two weeks before she was to leave, she stumbled upon a hole in a large limestone mound. The hole had been carved out centuries ago by grave robbers and offered a glimpse into a tomb. She’d been able to squirm inside the hole and with a light had found a cavern covered with ancient writings. It had been the single most important find of Mayan language in decades. She’d wanted to keep digging and work until the entire site had been mapped and catalogued. But her time and money had run out thirteen days later and she’d been forced to leave her ruins behind, until she could find sponsors to pay for her return.
“Everyone was asking about you. This is your first Christmas back in Austin in several years.”
The seasonal travel had been deliberate. Life was easier when she vanished during the holidays. However, this year a lack of funding and the university’s schedule dictated a return to campus to teach graduate classes in the spring semester. And so here she now sat in her small office, trying to immerse herself in her ancient languages and hide from the holidays and festive coworkers. Of course, she could go home to her Hyde Park home in central Austin, but that would mean facing too many unpacked boxes delivered this morning from the storage company. The boxes had valued papers and books and memories—items that belonged to her mother, items she’d not been able to look at in the seven years since her mother’s death.
“Bradley and Jennifer were there. He’s been talking nonstop about your trip to Mexico and your find.”
She allowed a twinge of disappointment with the mention of the ex-boyfriend. “That so?”
Kyle lowered his voice a notch, speaking in a conspirator’s whisper. “He’s itching to work with you on your find.”
Six months ago Bradley had dubbed her adventure a fool’s errand. “He wasn’t the one sifting through rubble and rock in one hundred degree heat.”
“He’s never loved field work.” Kyle picked up a limestone rock from Marisa’s bookshelf. “Hard to chase the financing when you’re in the boonies.”
Marisa studied the rock in Kyle’s hand. Found at her latest dig, it reminded her that she belonged in the jungle, not here. “I suppose.” The microwave dinged; she removed her coffee and sipped. The coffee tasted bitter.
“Aren’t you supposed to pick up toys for your brothers?”
She glanced at the clock on her desk. “Damn.”
Thanks to her trips to Mexico, she had avoided family gatherings, but this year had no credible excuse exonerating her from her father and stepmother’s big holiday party. She wasn’t close to her dad and his second wife, but they had two sons, Travis and Tyler, seven-year-old twins. As much as she dreaded the holidays, she had a begrudging affection for her half brothers, whom she’d not seen in over six months.
Kyle glanced at his black explorer’s watch. “If you hurry you can make it.”
The shopkeeper had called and warned her that today would be the last day he’d be open before Christmas. He was closing early this year to go on a holiday vacation. If she didn’t pick up the toys today, she’d not get them until after New Year’s.
Marisa grabbed her leather jacket and slid it over a black T-shirt embellished with a glyph symbolizing life. Pulling her long dark hair out from under her jacket, she reached for her satchel purse. Silver and beaded bracelets rattled on her wrists as she shut off her desk lamp. “I can’t believe I forgot. I swore to myself I’d not mess this up.” She might not love the holidays now, but when she’d been seven, the holiday spirit had zapped through her body like electricity, just as it did her brothers now.
“Why didn’t you order online like a normal person?”
“Because my stepmother said the boys wanted these specialty trucks from this particular store. She had the shopkeeper set them aside for me.” She shrugged. “It would be nice if I bought a nice gift for the boys. I haven’t shared Christmas with them in years.”
“I didn’t think you were motivated by guilt.”
If she hadn’t liked her brothers, she wouldn’t have taken the bait. “Easier to get the trucks, put in an appearance at their Christmas party, and be done with it all.” She scooped up her papers, dropped them in the bottom desk drawer, and digging her keys from her purse, fastened the lock. “I’ll see you after the holidays.”
“Tell me you aren’t doubling back here to the office and working on Christmas Day.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“Give yourself a break.”
“I love my work.” And it’s all I really have.
“You are hopeless.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
“Back at you.”
Christmas music chased after her as she hurried along the hallway and out the front door. Cold winds had her drawing in a breath as she tugged up her collar and ducked her head. With her mind squarely on reaching the toy store in time, she didn’t see the large man until he was feet from her.
“Dr. Thompson, you are a hard woman to find.”
The familiar deep baritone voice echoing the text message had her turning to face a man with broad shoulders. He wore a Stetson, white shirt, red tie, a heavy dark jacket, and silver-tipped boots that peeked out from crisp khakis. The Pecos star, clipped to his belt buckle, confirmed he belonged to an elite group of lawmen, the Texas Rangers. Only one hundred and forty-four men and women wore the Rangers’ star.
For a moment, she struggled to reconcile the man before her to memories she’d done her best to forget.
They had met six weeks ago on the Day of the Dead celebration that had beat with a fever pitch in Merida, Mexico, the centuries-old city that was the heart of the Yucatan. Music reverberated around the small university café built in the European style of the Conquistadors and coated with the white limestone of the Mayans. She’d been savoring a spicy hot chocolate and watching parading revelers, dressed in brightly colored Indian garb and carrying large gold crucifixes in honor of their Catholic faith.
The Day of the Dead festival was a remembrance of dead ancestors, and when she was in Mexico she always made a point to attend. A toast to her late mother had been on her lips when he’d crossed her path.
He’d worn a simple white shirt, jeans, and that Stetson. If not for the hat, certainly his commanding attitude gave him away as American. He sat at a table beside hers and ordered a beer in fluent Spanish spiced with a subtle Texas drawl.
Texans might squabble and carry on while inside their borders, but once they stepped over the state line, they shared a kinship. She’d been feeling festive that day, perhaps lonely, and so she’d done what she’d rarely done. She’d struck up a conversation with the man, Lucas, which had led to drinks, dinner, and later his room.
The next morning she’d awoken, satiated and chagrined over their encounter. Sleeping with strangers had never been her style, and she’d felt awkward. While he’d slept, she’d slipped away and returned to her jungle, certain the past would stay dead and buried.
Now as Marisa watched Lucas walk up the stairs with slow, purposeful steps, her heart dropped into her belly. What were the chances of them ever seeing each other again?
“Lucas Cooper.”
The sound of his name sharpened gray eyes. “Good memory.”
“Some say too good.” S
he glanced at her watch. Forty minutes until the store closed. Grateful for the excuse, she said a little too quickly and candidly, “I’m sorry to run off, but I have to pick up a gift for my brothers or I’ll be blackballed from my family. Have a good evening.”
As she descended the steps, he followed. “I came to see you.”
She fished her keys from her purse, energy flooding her veins. “Why?”
“Not for the reasons you might think.” He kept pace with her easily.
Heat now burning her cheeks, Marisa let the comment drift past, hoping it would carry away the night they’d shared. She tipped her head forward, letting the curtain of black hair obscure his vision of her face.
“I hear your thing is ancient languages.” His tone remained steady, though she sensed a vague insult simmering below the surface.
Her thing? She’d dedicated the last decade of study to the subject. Like her mother before her, she’d established herself in international circles as the premier linguist in the Mayan language, whose origins could be traced back over two thousand years. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“I hear you’re mighty good.” His face softened, but avoided a smile.
“So I’ve been told.” She burrowed chilled fingers into the pockets of her jacket.
“I’d like to run an idea by you.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m on a case.” Ah, so Merida hadn’t mattered much after all.
Pride piqued, her voice was more clipped. “Maybe you could call my assistant, Kyle, and make an appointment. Like I said, I must get these presents picked up. I’ll have plenty of time after the holidays.” Truth was, she had plenty of time, but his blatant dismissal of that night had her digging in mental heels. Stubbornness, she’d been told, was her greatest asset and her worst fault.
