by Janet Dailey
“I’ll tell you what,” her mother said. “When Santa’s sleigh comes by, you take a really good look and let me know if he’s real.”
“Okay!” The little girl jumped up and down, trying to see if the sleigh was coming.
Travis nudged Maggie. “We’ve got an expert here,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to hear what she has to say.”
“I just hope she won’t be disappointed.” Maggie’s heart skipped as the sleigh came into sight, gliding like magic on its runners behind the majestic Percherons. Brass bells jingled on their harnesses as they walked along at an easy clip over the packed snow.
The little girl was still jumping up and down. “I see him! There he is! Look—he’s got a funny dog with him—a dog in a Santa suit!”
“But is he the real Santa?” her mother asked.
The little girl paused, but only for an instant. “Yes! Look at him! He’s so happy! He’s the real Santa! I can tell!”
She waved her hands. Hank waved back at her. At that moment he was, as the little girl had said, the real Santa, perfect in every detail. Bucket sat next to him in his costume, head up, tail wagging, loving the attention.
Travis glanced down at Maggie. “Good Lord, woman, you’re crying! Are you all right?”
Maggie smiled and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. This happens to me every year. You’ll just have to get used to it.”
His arm tightened around her. “Yes,” he said. “I plan to.”
* * *
The Cowboy Christmas Ball that night was as grand and festive as it had ever been. The tree in the high school gym glowed with its traditional lights and ornaments. The buffet table groaned under the weight of donated hams, casseroles, breads, salads, and dazzling desserts. A crystal fountain, resplendent on its own table, poured cascading streams of sparkling red punch.
The Badger Hollow Boys were in fine form, the dancers and merrymakers looking like something out of an Old West movie in their party finery. This was a magical night—a night to celebrate the blessings of friends and family, a night of feasting, fun, and Christmas spirit.
For Maggie, the most magical thing of all was being on the dance floor, in Travis’s arms. She could feel his possessive pride and see the love in his eyes as he held her. She didn’t mind a bit that people were looking at them. She could imagine them saying, Well, it looks like Maggie’s finally caught herself a man. It’s about time!
Francine and Hank sat on the sidelines, holding hands. Hank didn’t dance. But Maggie knew that Francine would be itching to get out on that dance floor and that Hank would enjoy watching her. She gave Travis a smile. “I need to play mayor and do some meeting and greeting. Would you be a sweetheart and ask Francine to dance? She’ll enjoy it, and so will you. Maybe your friends can give her a few twirls around the dance floor, too. I warn you, she’s one hot dancer!”
“I already figured that.” He gave her a wink and a grin as she slipped out of his arms. Then he turned and strode over to where Francine sat, fresh from the beauty shop and looking spectacular in her red satin saloon-girl dress.
At the edge of the dance floor, Maggie paused to catch her breath and look around. Conner was surrounded by a clutch of high school girls who were teaching him fancy dance steps. Rush was alone. He was gazing around the gym as if searching for someone he couldn’t find. But the looks that some of the women were giving him told Maggie he wouldn’t be alone for long.
From where she stood, she could see Katy and Daniel on the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes. Katy looked adorable, wearing a dress that matched her blue eyes and a dreamy smile that seemed to light up the whole gym. The little friendship ring sparkled like a diamond on her finger. Daniel made a handsome and gallant cowboy in jeans, boots, and a leather vest.
Connie and Silas stood nearby, as if keeping a protective eye on their daughter. Maggie moved to their side. “Can I take it that your supper went all right?” she asked.
Connie gave her a tentative smile. “He’s a nice boy. And his family is nice, too. They’re as concerned as we are. But what can we do?”
“I haven’t met Daniel’s family,” Maggie said. “Are they here?”
“No,” Connie said. “His mother is in a wheelchair from a car accident years ago. It’s hard for her to get out, and her husband doesn’t like leaving her except for work. They have an older daughter, too, who’s grown up and lives in California.”
Maggie watched Katy and Daniel a moment longer. “They really do make a lovely couple,” she said.
Connie nodded. “I know. But in this big, uncertain world, I can’t help being scared for them.”
Maggie squeezed her hand in a gesture of understanding before she moved on to greet other people she knew. She moved from one friend to another, feeling the warmth of community around her. Her people. Her little town.
And now the man she loved was coming through the crowd to claim her again.
Epilogue
New Year’s Eve, the same year . . .
Maggie hadn’t put up a tree in her house in years. Either she’d been too tired, too busy, or both.
But this year was different.
Travis had come with the tree on Christmas Eve and insisted they decorate it together. He had even climbed up into the cobweb-infested crawlspace under the roof to find her mother’s old box of Christmas decorations. What kind of man would do that for his woman?
Now, on New Year’s Eve, the tree stood in front of the window, glowing with the lights and ornaments she remembered from her childhood. Snuggled with Travis on the sofa, she watched the old-fashioned lights twinkle on and off. It was almost midnight. Tomorrow, sadly, she would be taking the lights down, boxing the decorations, and putting the tree outside before going back to work the next day.
“I’d forgotten how lovely it could be, having a Christmas tree at home,” she said. “Thank you again for bringing it to me and helping decorate. I wish I could leave it up forever—in fact, I wish this whole crazy holiday could last longer.”
“It’s been crazy all right.” His arm tightened around her shoulders. “But we made some good memories. I almost lost it when you took off your coat and walked into the Christmas ball in that gorgeous green western gown. It was like having a queen on my arm. I knew every man in the room must be envious of me.”
Maggie laughed. “And I loved the reaction of the single women when Conner and Rush walked in. I guarantee you, those two aren’t going to be lonely for long. It’s going to be an interesting year.”
“And a busy year for both of us.” Travis brushed a kiss across her nose. “How are we going to manage this, Mayor Maggie, with me building a ranch and you running a town? I’m already jealous of every minute I can’t spend with you.”
“We’ll find time. We’ll find time because we matter, and because what we have is too good to let go.” Maggie knew better than to rush things. They both needed time to get to know each other and work out the details of their busy lives. Right now, she only knew that she was head over heels in love with this man, and that wasn’t about to change.
“That works for me,” he said. “But only for now. This is wonderful, but damn it, it isn’t enough.”
She lifted her face for his kiss. As their lips met, they could hear the sound of bells, horns, and exploding fireworks outside. It was midnight.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered.
Read on for an excerpt from Janet Dailey’s next Tylers of Texas novel, coming soon.
TEXAS FREE
She’s a woman with a burning need to break free from her past . . .
Rose Landro is on the run. Seeking refuge at the Rimrock Ranch, she is finally ready to claim the land her granddaddy left her and make a fresh start. But her return is rife with controversy when cattle begin disappearing—and a handsome menace named Tanner McCade starts watching Rose a little too closely. Could the new cowhand be connected to the men she’s hiding from? Or is there another reason the rugged stranger is shadowing her
every move?
He’s a man ready to fight boldly for his future . . .
There’s a secret in Rose Landro’s eyes, a mystery that Special Ranger Tanner McCade is determined to uncover. Even if the beauty isn’t behind the cattle rustling he’s investigating, she’s way too skittish, and all too exquisite for Tanner to just let slide past his piercing gaze. Then he discovers a vulnerability in Rose that has him aching to protect her—and longing to possess her....
Río Seco, Mexico
April 1985
The Mexican village slumbered under the light of a waning crescent moon. In the empty plaza, windblown shadows flickered over the cobblestones. The cantina was closed for the night, its outdoor tables and chairs locked away behind corrugated metal doors. A bat fluttered from the tower of the old adobe church and melted into darkness. A skinny dog foraged for leavings in the deserted marketplace.
The night was almost peaceful. But the stillness was heavy with tension—especially in one small adobe house on a dusty side street. Nothing in Río Seco was the way it had been before the Cabrera cartel took over the town. And for Rose Landro, after tonight, nothing would be the same again.
* * *
The click of a boot heel on the tiled patio startled Rose to full alertness. Lying fully dressed in the dark, she checked the impulse to sit up, fling aside the covers, and bolt out of bed. She was a small woman. Face-to-face, she’d be no match for the burly intruder who was stalking her. Her only chance of survival lay in surprise.
The loaded Smith and Wesson .44 was a cold lump under her pillow. As footsteps clicked across the patio, she closed her hand around the grip, cocked the hammer, and slid to the floor. Her free hand bunched the pillows into a semblance of her sleeping body and covered them with the blanket.
She knew who was coming for her. Lucho Cabrera, younger brother of the local cartel boss, was built like a short pile of bricks. He wore high-heeled cowboy boots to make him appear taller. The sound of those boots, clicking across the kitchen, chilled Rose’s blood.
Gripping the heavy pistol, she crawled across the floor and pressed upward to stand against the wall, in the shadows behind the door. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
The cartel would kill anyone who stood against them. They had already murdered Ramón and María Ortega, who’d taken Rose into their home twelve years ago. Rose would have fled for her life before now, but she could not leave without avenging the couple who’d cared for her like their own daughter.
Honor. The Ortegas had lived by that code. Now it was Rose’s turn to carry on the tradition.
The footsteps were coming closer. Would Lucho stand in the doorway and fire at the lump in her bed, or did the sadistic pig plan on raping her first, as he’d done two months earlier when he’d caught her walking home alone after dark?
At the memory of his filthy, sweating body, her finger tightened on the trigger. If ever a man deserved killing, it was Lucho Cabrera. Only his older brother, Refugio, was worse.
The bedroom door creaked open. Rose held her breath as Lucho stepped into the room, his pistol drawn. The faint moonlight, falling through the high, barred window, cast black shadows across his fleshy face. As he neared the bed, he holstered the gun. One hand fumbled with his belt buckle. Good. This was almost too easy. She could shoot him now, in the back. But something in her wanted more. She wanted him to see her. When the bullet tore into his body, she wanted him to know who had fired it.
She forgot to breathe. Every muscle was a coiled spring as she waited for the right moment.
“Brujita fea . . .” he muttered. The name, given to Rose because of the birthmark on her face, meant “ugly little witch.” Over the years she’d learned to bear it with a measure of pride. Superstitious people tended to fear her, especially some of the men. But that wouldn’t stop Lucho. He might even be planning to take a trophy back to his brother—an ear, a hand, or even her head—as proof of his bravery.
Still muttering, he loosened his trousers and jerked back the blanket. That was when he realized he’d been tricked. He spun around, cursing as Rose stepped out of the shadows, the .44 gripped between her hands.
“Muera, pendejo. Die, you bastard,” she said, aiming the heavy revolver at his chest.
Lucho had no time to draw his weapon, but in the instant her finger tightened on the trigger, he lunged for her. The pistol roared, but Lucho’s move had thrown off her aim. The bullet struck his right shoulder, barely slowing the brute’s charge.
Slammed by the recoil, Rose staggered backward. Her feet tangled in the loose rug on the floor. Losing her balance, she went down hard, landing on one arm.
She managed to keep a one-handed grip on the gun, but now he was standing over her, blood streaming down his sleeve. She could hear the hiss of his breath between his teeth as he reached for his holster, then paused, cursing. That was when Rose realized her shot had disabled his shooting arm. The flicker of distraction as he switched to draw with his left hand gave her the only chance she had left.
She cocked the .44 and pulled the trigger.
photo credit: copyright © by Sigrid Estrada
About the Author
JANET DAILEY’s first book was published in 1976. Since then she has written more than 100 novels and become one of the top-selling female authors in the world, with 300 million copies of her books sold in nineteen languages in ninety-eight countries. She is known for her strong, decisive characters, her extraordinary ability to recreate a time and a place, and her unerring courage to confront important, controversial issues in her stories. You can learn more about Janet at www.JanetDailey.com.
