A Texas Rescue Christmas

by Caro Carson

  The boy didn’t look happy about it but he finally shrugged. “Fine.”

  “We’ll pay for the window replacement, of course. If you get an estimate, you can have them send the bill to me here. Rafe Santiago. I’ll warn you that I’m only going to be in town for another few weeks, though.”

  The name seemed to strike a chord deep in her subconscious. Had they met before? Something about his hazel eyes—striking against his burnished skin—reminded her of someone but she couldn’t seem to pin down who or where.

  She didn’t remember any Santiagos living in this little house before. From what she remembered of Hope’s Crossing, this had always been a rental house, often used short-term for seasonal workers and such.

  “I will do that.” She held out her hand, deciding there was no reason they couldn’t leave on good terms. “I’m Hope Nichols. You can find me at The Christmas Ranch, in Cold Creek Canyon.”

  At her words, something sparked in those hazel eyes but she couldn’t identify it.

  “Nichols?” he said sharply.

  “Yes.”

  Perhaps he knew her sisters, though Faith went by her married name now, Dustin, and she couldn’t imagine quiet, introverted Celeste having much to do with a rough and tumble man like him. Maybe Joey had caused trouble at the library where Celeste worked. She could believe that—though, okay, that might be a snap judgment.

  “Can I go inside?” Joey asked. “Snow got in my boots and now my feet are freezing. I need to dump it out.”

  “Yeah. Go ahead. Dump the snow off on the porch, not inside.”

  Joey raced off and after a moment, Rafe Santiago—why was that name so familiar?—turned back to her.

  “I’m sorry about my nephew,” he said, rather stiffly. “He’s had a...rough time of it the past few weeks.”

  She wondered what had happened, but when he didn’t volunteer any further details, she accepted it was none of her business. “I’m sorry if I came down too hard.”

  “I didn’t say you did. Whatever he’s been through isn’t an excuse anyway. I’ll talk to him about this stupid contest and make sure he and his friend both realize it’s not a good idea.”

  He gave her another searching look and she had the strangest feeling he wanted to say something else. When the silence stretched between them, a little too long to be comfortable, she decided she couldn’t wait around for him to speak.

  “I should go. My family is waiting for me. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Santiago.”

  “Rafe,” he said gruffly. Was that his normal speaking voice or did she just bring out the rough edges? she wondered.

  “Rafe. Nice to meet you, even under the circumstances.”

  She hurried back to her pickup truck and continued on toward home, though she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that something momentous had just happened.

  * * *

  Rafe watched the taillights recede into the early evening gloom until she turned a corner and disappeared. Even then, he couldn’t seem to make himself move, still reeling from the random encounter.

  Hope Nichols.

  Son of a bi...gun.

  He checked the epithet. He was trying not to swear, even in his head. Joey didn’t need any more bad habits. If Rafe didn’t think the words, he wouldn’t speak them. It was a logical theory but after twenty years in the navy, seventeen of those as a SEAL, cleaning up his language for the sake of a seven-year-old boy with an enormous chip on his shoulder was harder than he ever would have imagined.

  He didn’t have a choice. Like it or not—and he sure as he—er, heck, didn’t—Joey was his responsibility now.

  Hope Nichols. What were the odds?

  He knew she and her sisters had come to live in Pine Gulch, Idaho, after. He might have been a green-as-alfalfa rookie who had never been on an actual mission before that tense December day seventeen years ago, but keeping track of the Nichols girls had been a point of honor.

  They had an aunt and uncle here who had taken them in. He remembered being grateful for that, at least that they had someone. He had received a letter from the oldest, he remembered, a few months afterward...

  The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen but she had written to him like a polite old lady.

  He had memorized the damn—er, darn—thing.

  Dear Special Warfare Operator Santiago,

  Thank you for participating in rescuing us from Juan Pablo and his rebel group. You and the other men in your navy SEAL platoon risked your lives to save us. If not for you, we might still be in that awful camp. You are true American heroes. My sisters and I will never forget what you have done for us.

  Sincerely, Faith Marie Nichols

  PS: It is nobody’s fault that our father died. We don’t blame anyone and know you tried your best to save us all.

  The carefully written letter had been sweetly horrible and he had carried it around in his wallet for years to remind him that navy SEALs couldn’t afford even the smallest error in judgment.

  Hope—the annoying grammarian with the ancient pickup truck—had been the middle daughter, he remembered, all tangled blond hair and big, frightened blue eyes. She had screamed when her father had been shot, and the echo of that terrified, despairing scream had haunted him for a long, long time.

  He let out a breath. And now she was here, just a few miles away from him, and he would have to interact with her at least one more time.

  Had she recognized him today? He couldn’t be sure. She had given him a strange look a few times, as if she thought she knew him, but she hadn’t said anything.

  Why hadn’t he identified himself and explained their old history?

  He wasn’t sure—maybe because the opportunity hadn’t really come up. How does a guy say, Hey, I know this is a strange coincidence but I was there the day your family was rescued from terrorists nearly two decades ago. Oh, and by the way, my inexperience contributed to your father’s death. Sorry about that and your broken window, too.

  He let out a breath, marveling again at the strange, twisting corkscrews of fate that had brought him to Pine Gulch, in such proximity to the Nichols sisters. When Cami called him in tears and explained that she had been arrested and that Joey had gone into emergency foster care, he had known immediately he had to help his nephew, whatever it took.

  The fact that his path would bring him to Pine Gulch, where the Nichols sisters had landed after the tragedy of that Christmas day so long ago, hadn’t really hit home until he drove into the city limits two weeks ago.

  In the midst of trying to settle into a routine with his nephew, he had wondered during those two weeks whether they were still in town and if he should try to contact any of them—and now that decision had been taken out of his hands by Hope.

  That seemed to be a common theme to his life the past month—being in a position that left him few choices.

  His life had changed dramatically in the past month. He had left the only career he had ever known in order to take on the responsibility for a troubled seven-year-old who wanted nothing to do with him.

  He was determined to do his best for Joey. The poor kid hadn’t been given very many breaks in life.

  Rafe still couldn’t quite believe how far his sister had fallen, from an honor student in high school to being tangled up with a man who had seduced her into coming to Idaho and had then dragged her into a life of drugs and crime.

  He had done his best for his sister, had joined the navy the day he turned eighteen so he could support her and had sent money for her care to their aunt, who had taken her in—but apparently that effort hadn’t been enough to provide the future he always wanted for her.

  He had failed with Cami. Now he had to see if he could do a better job with her son.

  He opened the door to the short-term rental he had found
in Pine Gulch after Cami begged him to let Joey stay here until she was sentenced, which at this point was only a few weeks away.

  Joey was sitting on the bench in the foyer with his boots and coat still on, as if he were bracing himself for the punishment he fully expected.

  Rafe’s heart, grizzled and tough from years of combat, couldn’t help but soften just a little at his forlorn posture and expression.

  “I didn’t mean to break the mean lady’s window,” his nephew said again, his voice small.

  The kid needed consequences in order to learn how his choices could have impact in others’ lives. Rafe knew that, but sometimes this parenting thing sucked big-time when what he really wanted was to gather him close and tell him everything would be okay.

  “You might not have meant to cause harm, but you saw what happened. You messed up, kid.”

  The irony of those words seemed to reach out and grab him by the throat. Joey’s actions might have cost Hope Nichols a car window, something that easily could be replaced.

  His actions toward her and her sisters had far more long-reaching consequences.

  If his reflexes had been half a second faster, he could have taken out that jacked-up, trigger-happy rebel before the bastard squeezed off the shot that took her father forever.

  “Will I have to pay for the window?” Joey asked. “I have eight dollars in my piggy bank. Will it be more than that?”

  “We’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll pay her and then you can work to pay me back.”

  The boy looked out the window. “I can shovel the snow.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I was going to make you do that anyway. That’s going to be one of your regular chores, helping me with that. We’ll have to figure out how to pay back Ms. Nichols some other way.”

  As for the debt he owed her, Rafe knew there was no way he could repay her or her sisters.

  Copyright © 2014 by RaeAnne Thayne

  ISBN-13: 9781460343692

  A Texas Rescue Christmas

  Copyright © 2014 by Caro Carson

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