by Maggie Wells
Alicia didn’t care if Harry thought she was a reckless hothead; someone had to act. Turning to the person beside her, she thrust the now squirming child into their arms and swung back to the manger. Grasping it by the spindly legs, she swung the wooden crate upward. Straw flew everywhere, raining down on her as the side of the wooden manger made contact with Rinker’s outstretched arm.
A gunshot rang out, and a chorus of wails and cries quickly followed. She swung the manger again as she rose, and this time it made a satisfying clunk when it connected with the side of Matthew Rinker’s head.
Suddenly they were swarmed.
She gained her feet in time to see Ben Kinsella tackle Rinker to the ground. The assembled group closed in on them, every person desperate to see the outcome of the commotion. Everyone except Alicia. Pushing toward the front of the set, she cried his name.
“Harry! Harrison Hayes!”
She pushed her way past body after body. Where had all these people come from? Before she could open her mouth to yell again, he appeared in front of her. His hands closed around her upper arms and he gripped her slightly harder than was absolutely necessary, but she couldn’t blame him, given the circumstances.
“You said you wouldn’t do anything reckless. You promised you’d think of the baby,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. His lips grazed her temple. She was sinking into his embrace when he thrust his arms out, pushing her away again. “Damn it, Alicia, you promised to think of our baby.”
Our. Not the or your, but our baby. Who knew a simple pronoun could mean so much?
“I was thinking of the baby,” she whispered against the fleece fashioned into his shepherd’s robe. “All I could think of was how much our baby needs a father.”
* * *
HIS HOUSE WAS CRAWLING with people. Not only were Ben, Lori and Mike taking statements for the sheriff’s department records, but also a guy named Alan Campbell, from Alicia’s department at the DEA, had been dispatched to gather information on what was happening. At first, he thought her boss sent someone to check up on her. The man’s presence got Harry’s hackles up, but he seemed to be an ally. He’d driven down to Pine Bluff on his own time to pass on some information. Harry was relieved when Alicia seemed happy to see the guy. From what Ben had told him, her current section chief wasn’t the easiest person in the world to work for.
Thankfully, Marlee Masters had arrived on his doorstep and taken dealing with the extraneous pieces of this circus out of their hands. She’d swooped in with a coffee maker under one arm and bags of snack food dangling from her fingers. With the brisk efficiency of the CEO she was, she shooed any nonessential hangers-on out the door, put Simon Wingate on refreshments duty and graciously offered the use of a Timber Masters rental home to Special Agent Campbell, effectively dismissing him, as well.
Harry thought things were wrapping up when the doorbell rang one more time. Excusing himself, he checked through the newly replaced sidelight, and a tangle of disbelieving laughter caught in his throat. US Attorney Marcus Zeller was standing on his doorstep at nearly nine o’clock on a Saturday night.
“News sure travels fast,” he said by way of greeting. He stepped back and ushered the other man in. “Come on in. I have a new coffee maker and they’re cranking it out in there. No one will be sleeping tonight.”
Zeller smiled and stepped past Harry into the foyer. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard what happened and I thought it might be better if I came here in person so we could speak face-to-face.”
Harry ushered him into the deserted living room. As usual, everyone had congregated in the kitchen. He couldn’t blame them for avoiding this room. The stench of kerosene still lingered in the air, and they’d had to order glass to replace the broken window, so the view was mostly plywood.
Zeller took it all in, before taking a seat on the sofa. Harry couldn’t help but think of how Alicia had perched on the same seat the night she’d shown up at his house out of the blue. She’d sat there with her chin tipped up in defiance, but her voice carefully controlled. She came here to tell him she was pregnant with his child. Until now, Harry hadn’t truly realized how what had seemed like a shocking disruption in his life had grounded him rather than turned his world upside down. Rinker brought the chaos. Alicia brought the calm.
“Harry, I hate to do this after all you’ve been through in the past few weeks,” Zeller began.
Harry held up his hand to stop the other man. “I’ll be asking to be removed from the case.”
Zeller blew out a breath. “Man, I hate this. You have every right to be sitting on this case, but...”
Harry shrugged. “But,” he said, as if the conjunction had magically transformed into punctuation.
“I want to assure you the chain of custody on the evidence is solid. We have more than enough to convict Coulter.”
Harry wanted to believe the other man’s assertion wholeheartedly, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Coulter would forfeit his chance to sway more than one person. The judge alone...
“I also wanted to inform you Judge Schneider has asked to be recused from hearing the case.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “He has? Why?”
“It turns out the judge isn’t wholly unconnected to what has been happening here.” He tipped his head toward the rise of voices coming from the other room and pitched his lower. Harry had to lean in to hear. “The judge is Matthew Rinker’s uncle.”
Harry’s eyes opened wide. “Excuse me?”
Zeller nodded. “Marjorie Rinker’s brother. Her maiden name was Schneider,” he explained. “The judge claims he had no knowledge of what was happening here with you and his nephew, but given the circumstances, we all agreed it was best he removed himself from the case.”
“Holy—” Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, staring at Marcus again in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“I wish I weren’t. But you know how it is around here, Harry. It’s not unusual to have relations spread all over the county and beyond. Folks generally don’t stray too far from home.”
“True,” Harry said. He took in the living room where he’d watched television with his parents and sister growing up. Sure, the place looked completely different since he’d renovated, but it was still the home he’d always known. Shaking himself from his reverie, he tried to focus on the practicalities. “What does this mean for the trial?”
“The trial will go on as planned. We’ve asked for a change of venue. We’ll try him before Judge McIntosh in Macon. He’s made room on the docket so there will be no need to postpone. I’ll be taking a second chair on from within my own department.”
“Wow. Okay. You sure can get a lot done fast.”
“Harry, I want to assure you I’m going to do everything in my power to convict Samuel Coulter on the evidence and put him away. We’ll be charging Matthew Rinker in federal court, as well.”
Harry’s head jerked back. “You will?”
“The cases are tied together. One of the guys over at the DEA uncovered some proof Coulter’s been in communication with Matthew Rinker.”
“Alan Campbell.” Harry let his eyes drift up to the ceiling. “I can’t believe all this was going on right under our noses.”
Zeller snorted. “Well, you’ve been distracted. We all thought this was the usual petty stuff surrounding a high-profile case. We didn’t see something bigger happening here, and I apologize. We should have dug deeper the first time you called and told me you were getting vandalized. But you know how it is. This stuff comes with the territory.”
Harry’s lips thinned into a grim line, but he bobbed his head in agreement. “Yeah, it does.”
A sudden burst of laughter came from the kitchen, and Harry wished he was in on the joke, whatever it was. He hated not being in there. Hated being separated from Alicia even for a brief time. They had far too much to iron
out.
Slapping his knees, he rose and offered his hand to Zeller. “Thank you for coming to tell me in person. I hate you had to drive all this way at this time of night to do it, but I appreciate the effort.”
“It was the least I could do.” Zeller clasped his hand. “And don’t think I won’t be calling you, you know, in case I need to get some particulars once the case starts rolling.”
“It would be my pleasure. Nine days and counting,” he said.
“Nine days and counting,” Zeller repeated. Then he cracked his first smile. “We’ve got him, Harry. We’ve got him, and we won’t let him get away.”
“All I need to hear.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alicia sensed Harry’s approach. When he appeared, he stood in the doorway, staring at them each in turn as if trying to get a sense of what he’d missed. Alicia tried to see things through his eyes. She, Ben, Lori and Marlee sat in the chairs surrounding his kitchen table. Mike Schaeffer stood hunched over the counter, scribbling notes and shoveling a steady stream of chips and salsa into his mouth. Simon Wingate leaned against the counter, a bottle of beer in his hand and his trademark smirky smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He stared at the back of Lori’s head, clearly smitten.
Alicia envied Mike his ability to eat. For once, her queasiness had nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with the echo of a gunshot in her mind. Her stomach had been tied in knots since the second she realized she couldn’t see Harry at the front of the set.
She hadn’t been kidding when she said she wanted their baby to have its father. What was more, she wanted their baby’s father.
“Guys?” she said, interrupting some playful bickering between Marlee and Ben. The room fell instantly silent. “If you don’t mind, Harry and I have some things to talk over, and it’s getting late.”
Almost as one, they rose or straightened, murmuring about their own need to get home. Lori and Marlee extracted a promise she’d meet them for breakfast at the bakery the following morning. Knowing she couldn’t put their interrogation off entirely, she agreed.
She stayed put at the table as Harry showed them out. Snippets of conversation drifted back to her, but she was too tired to piece them together. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and forced herself to take three slow breaths. The edge of panic in Harry’s tone jerked her from her meditation.
“Are you okay?”
She exhaled, lifting her head, and met his concerned gaze squarely. “I’m fine. It’s only... If there’s going to be any more talking tonight, I think it needs to be you and me.”
He tipped his head to the side slightly, as if needing to translate her words. Then he moved so fast he became a blur. He stood beside her, but rather than taking the seat Lori had vacated, he reached for her hand and pulled her up. Alicia was half-afraid he was going to go all protective but distant on her again. Peck a gentle kiss to her forehead and lead her to the guest-room door with promises to talk more when they were thinking clearer. But she didn’t want promises or protection. She wanted—
His mouth.
He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss so ardent it almost hurt. Before she could catch on, he broke away and pulled her hard against his lean body. “Damn, I was so scared,” he murmured into her ear. “I couldn’t see you, and I was so scared.”
“I couldn’t see you. I was scared for you,” she corrected, turning her face into his neck. If she was settling for a hug, she was going to take a big hit of his scent while she could. “For us,” she added.
“I know.” He ran a soothing hand over her hair. “If anything had happened to you and the baby—”
She cut him off right there. “I wasn’t scared for the baby.” When he pulled back slightly, she winced. “I mean, yeah, I was scared for the baby. Of course I was. But it’s not the baby, it’s our baby, and I needed you to be okay so I can ask you...” She trailed off, heat rising inside her.
Before she could stuff her embarrassment back down, he spoke. “Ask me anything.”
“Do you want to take a chance on seeing if there can be an our—An us, I guess,” she corrected.
“Yes,” he answered with gratifying swiftness. “Yes. Definitely.”
She tipped her face toward him. “You’d better kiss me again. Like you mean it. And if you try to tell me this is too complica—”
His lips were on hers before she could finish the word. When they parted, breathless, he peered into her eyes. “I’ll go to Atlanta if you want.”
Taken aback, she peeled away to search his eyes. “What?”
“I can get a job with the DA’s office up there, or maybe even see what they have going at the Department of Justice. Aside from Zeller down here, I know one of the US attorneys working out of the northern district offices—”
She pressed her fingertip to his lips to stanch the flow. “Do you want to leave Pine Bluff?” she asked, genuinely dubious.
He shrugged. “I’ll go anywhere.”
Alicia stared at him in amazement, wondering what had happened to the cautious, skeptical man she’d encountered a few weeks before. “I wouldn’t ask you to move.”
“But your career—”
“But your career,” she countered. “Besides, mine has not been going the way I’d like it to,” she admitted. At his puzzled frown, she sighed. “Harry, what you saw here in the fall was a fluke. I had an opportunity under a chief who wasn’t threatened by a woman who is too good at her job, and I took it.”
“How can someone be too good at their job?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.
“By standing out. By showing up the other people on her team, rather than playact at being one of the guys.” She scowled. “I won’t apologize for being the best they had, but I won’t be punished for it any longer.”
“Punished for it?”
“Relegated to research or scouring through hours of surveillance. The only reason I caught the Coulter case was because I was the one who traced and tracked him. I was the only one who thought he was the one. They thought I was on a wild-goose chase, but I proved I wasn’t. How did the agency reward me? They promoted the guy who gave me the chance and brought in another guy determined to keep me tied to a desk so I don’t dare show up anyone else.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s bureaucracy,” she countered. “If the agency can’t appreciate excellence, I will find a place where people do. Maybe someplace like Pine Bluff.”
“Alicia.” Her name came out in a tortured whisper. “I can’t ask you to move here.”
“You aren’t asking—I am,” she said, lifting her brows to drive home the point.
“But Ben’s department... There’s no budget for anyone else, and you’re grossly overqualified to be a deputy.”
“But I’m an excellent investigator. Surely I can cobble together some sort of career.”
“Sure, but is this what you want? You’ve worked so hard—”
“And it’s gotten me nowhere,” she concluded. “But the leave of absence buys me some time to think. What if I wanted something different? What if I don’t want to be chained to a desk or married to my job? What if my parents were wrong, and life is about more than the constant pursuit of excellence? Excellence has gotten me a set of credentials I rarely get to use. Some meaningless commendations, an empty apartment and no friends to speak of.”
She paused, her finger tracing the grain of the table where she’d sat surrounded by people she’d come to think of as friends. “I don’t want to be perfect. I want to make magnificent mistakes,” she said, pulling his hand around to press it to her belly. “There has to be more. I want more.”
“There is,” he assured her, his hand pressed to the slight curve of her stomach. “There already is.”
“I want a place to call home. Someone I can count on. Friends who come running with coff
ee makers, chips and salsa.”
“They’re your friends too.”
“I want you,” she said simply. “Who knew I’d discover so much when I came to Pine Bluff to arrest Samuel Coulter?”
Harry’s smile was slow to unfurl, but when it stretched fully across his face, the effect was astounding. “Special Agent Simmons, you had me at I have a warrant.”
* * *
When her estranged father dies and leaves her his sprawling Texas ranch, Janessa Parkman must come to terms with the stipulations in his will and her past. This includes confronting what happened between her and rancher Brody Harrell all those years ago...and figuring out if the magic of the Christmas season can help them pick up where they left off...
Read on for a sneak preview of
Christmas at Colts Creek by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.
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Christmas at Colts Creek
by Delores Fossen
CHAPTER ONE
“THIS IS LIKE one of those stupid posts that people put on social media,” the woman snarled. “You know the ones I’m talking about. For a million dollars, would you stay in this really amazing house for a year with no internet, no phone and some panty-sniffing poltergeists?”
Frowning at that, Janessa Parkman blinked away the raindrops that’d blown onto her eyelashes and glanced at the grumbler, Margo Tolley, who was standing on her right. Margo had hurled some profanity and that weird comment at the black granite headstone that stretched five feet across and five feet high. A huge etched image of Margo’s ex, Abraham Lincoln Parkman IV, was in the center, and it was flanked by a pair of gold-leaf etchings of the ornate Parkman family crest.
