A Montana Christmas Reunion

by Roz Denny Fox

  HOLIDAY HOMECOMING

  This isn’t the first time Jewell Hyatt let Saxon Conrad go. When they were teens, she broke up with him so that he could pursue his country music career. Now, pregnant after their unexpected reunion, Jewell must prepare herself to let Saxon go again. Her heart may object, but she refuses to hold him back.

  Music never completed Saxon the way Jewell did…and still does. He’s ready to settle down, and a baby on the way makes his decision that much easier. The only hard part will be convincing Jewell to give him a chance. All of Saxon’s dreams have come true, except the most important one—a future with the woman he loves.

  “Saxon, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  Saxon, shirtless, was splitting wood. His back muscles bunched each time he swung the ax, and his skin glistened with sweat. It shocked her to see him doing physical labor. He’d never wanted to help around the ranch. But shock wasn’t all. Desire gnawed at her enough to have her clutching her stomach.

  Pausing, he spun, saw her and grinned. “I’m cutting wood. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Why?” Jewell waved a hand aimlessly, more to cool her face than anything.

  “The temperature’s gonna dip, and it might rain. I figured I’d fill the shed near the house with wood. I left you a message earlier.”

  “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

  “You did? How did that go?” Burying the blade in the stump, he reached for a T-shirt and rubbed it down his chest.

  Jewell’s eyes tracked the path of the soft fabric before she blurted, “I’m pregnant. Eight weeks.”

  Dear Reader,

  This is the third and final book in the Snowy Owl Ranchers series. Jewell Hyatt, the local veterinarian, was born and raised in the small Montana community. She and Saxon Conrad met when his parents died and he came to live with his bachelor uncle next door. Uncle and nephew had a long-rocky relationship. Jewell, who always had a crush on Saxon, took his part. She facilitated his interest in writing, singing and performing country music. The crush blossomed into love. But there came a time near the end of college when Saxon’s need to go to Nashville and make his mark in the industry conflicted with Jewell’s dream of living forever in her hometown. Of being a vet and saving a refuge for the snowy owls.

  Saxon and Jewell split up. They meet again when they’re older and more entrenched in their chosen fields. Fate and friends take a hand in bringing this couple together a third time. But is it enough even in the Christmas season of miracles to allow them to settle their differences and make a life together?

  I welcome hearing from readers via mail at 7739 E. Broadway Blvd #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941, email at rdfox@cox.net or via my website, korynna.com/rozfox.

  Sincerely,

  A MONTANA

  CHRISTMAS

  REUNION

  Roz Denny Fox

  Roz Denny Fox’s first book was published by Harlequin in 1990. She writes for several Harlequin lines and her books are published worldwide in a number of languages. Roz’s warm home-and-family-focused love stories have been nominated for various industry awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award, the Holt Medallion, the Golden Quill and others. Roz has been a member of the Romance Writers of America since 1987 and is currently a member of Tucson’s Saguaro Romance Writers, where she has received the Barbara Award for outstanding chapter service. In 2013 Roz received her fifty-book pin from Harlequin. Readers can contact her through Facebook or at rdfox@cox.net, or visit her website at korynna.com/rozfox.

  Books by Roz Denny Fox

  Harlequin American Romance

  The Maverick Returns

  Duke: Deputy Cowboy

  Texas Dad

  Texas Mom

  Snowy Owl Ranchers

  His Ranch or Hers

  A Maverick’s Heart

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Annie’s Neighborhood

  An Unlikely Rancher

  Molly’s Garden

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  I’d like to dedicate this story to the National Wildlife Federation. An article in one of their magazines sparked my interest in snowy owls that generally live in the frozen tundra. But due to changing weather and an evaporating food source, they’re migrating to Canada and the lower forty-eight. I don’t know if they nest in Montana, but as some are being followed in Michigan, my story-owls settled in cold, snowy northeastern Montana.

  I’d also like to dedicate this book to Johanna Raisanen, editor, who inherited this project late in the process. My heartfelt gratitude for all of her help.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Excerpt from Twins for Christmas by Amanda Renee

  Chapter One

  Jewell Hyatt considered herself fearless. But as she emerged from the airplane at Reagan National, for the first time ever setting foot east of the Missouri River, she was overwhelmed by the crush of people. She reminded herself she’d come to Washington, DC, to convince members of the Natural Resources Committee to authorize a refuge for snowy owls. Focusing, she merged with a stream of travelers rushing to the baggage area.

  Her good friend Tawana Whitefeather was supposed to come, too, but she had ended up needing emergency gallbladder surgery. Because it’d taken months to secure the meeting, Jewell had to come alone. She was the owls’ biggest advocate—starting at age ten when she’d found a chick with a broken leg who’d blown off course and she’d nursed it back to health.

  Oh, boy! If she thought traffic inside the airport was chaotic, driving her rental car in a virtual rabbit warren of whizzing vehicles gave her heartburn.

  It was with profound relief that she arrived in one piece at the hotel’s parking garage—thanks to her GPS.

  After collecting her bag, Jewell checked in.

  In her room at last, she toed off her shoes and flopped down on the bed, grateful she had a whole night to unwind before the meeting. While it was the most important part of her trip, the meeting wasn’t her only mission. A client had asked her to make a side trip to Maryland to check a stallion and possibly ship sperm home. And fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on her wavering point of view, her closest neighbor had also begged her to hand-deliver a letter to his nephew, who was headlining a nearby country-western concert.

  Leland Conrad’s request had come as a shock. Given how long he and his nephew had been estranged, Jewell wouldn’t have thought he had any idea of Saxon’s performance schedule. Saxon had lost both of his parents in a car accident at age twelve. He’d been sent to live with his bachelor uncle, for whom he’d always seemed a burden. And he’d been Jewell’s first love.

  As memories crowded in, she surged to her feet to go hang a few items in the closet. If only Leland had let her women’s group buy his forest to use as an owl refuge, this entire trip would’ve been unnecessary.

  She sank down again, rubbing her temples. Knowing she was a
scant few miles from where Saxon Conrad was due to perform made her head ache. But those counting on her to secure a refuge would expect her to be at the top of her game tomorrow instead of mooning over a lost love.

  Not lost. She had broken up with Saxon. It shouldn’t still affect her. But it did. Maybe seeing him onstage in all his trappings would let her purge him from her soul.

  * * *

  IN THE MORNING Jewell collected her notes and checked to be sure she had the credentials the committee had sent her to gain entry into the government building. Her contact recommended taking a cab, so she did.

  Once she gave the driver the address, Jewell brought up the weather. “It’s awfully cloudy. Is it supposed to rain?”

  The cabbie glanced at her. “Are you not tracking Althea’s progress?”

  “Who?”

  He laughed. “Our first named Atlantic storm of the season. It’s anybody’s guess where she’ll come ashore, or if she’ll be a hurricane. June’s early, but lately our weather’s been screwy.”

  “A hurricane?” Feeling like a parrot, Jewell ducked down for a better look at the murky sky. “I was planning to drive to Maryland this afternoon. Should I worry?”

  “Listen to advisories.” He pulled up to a guarded gate, indicating this was where she should get out.

  Rattled by the storm news, Jewell was almost too discombobulated to dig out her phone to take a photo of the Capitol to show her friends in Montana.

  A guard checked her pass and handed her off to an intern, who set Jewell at ease as they traversed corridors. Once inside the meeting room, she was surprised that instead of everyone being seated around one table, she sat alone facing three men and three women. They were elevated, making her feel a bit on trial. But one woman smiled and, following introductions, invited Jewell to state her case.

  “As I explained in emails, our ranch community was renamed for the snowy owls that migrated to our area. Everyone loves them. Local Native Americans adopted them as a talisman. The man who owns the timber I told you about has his property listed to sell. We worry a buyer may log off the trees, leaving our snowies homeless.”

  “We expected a tribal representative,” said a bespectacled man.

  Jewell quickly explained Tawana’s absence.

  “Sorry,” one of the men said. “But you seem to be the owl caretaker.”

  “Yes, I band chicks and keep a tally. Our owl numbers aren’t huge, and of course, the tundra is their normal habitat. I worry about decline.”

  Members discussed possible reasons, such as mining, logging, changing weather and food depletion, all of which Jewell knew. Then a representative who kept glancing at his watch said, “There’s a waterfowl preserve near you. Just relocate the owls.”

  “They settled of their own accord in abandoned eagles’ nests or atop boulders. The lake isn’t close. Like I said, the owner of the land where they live wants to sell. If you’d purchase that portion as a refuge, my friends and I will gladly maintain it.”

  The members glanced awkwardly at one another. The chairwoman closed her notebook. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hyatt. We thought your group had land. We post privately owned parcels or work with wildlife defenders who buy areas that we then make federal reserves.”

  “We have some funds. Far from enough to buy Conrad’s ranch. And he’s not inclined to divide his property for us. We hoped your leverage...” She didn’t finish as all the members shook their heads.

  “It’s too bad he won’t work with you,” a man said. Others rose and began leaving. The chairwoman waited. “I’ll have one of our wildlife biologists inspect your nesting site when he’s out west. We’re aware snowies are migrating and adapting. In fact, we’re following a group in Michigan. I’ll email you a list of birder groups to contact.” With that she opened the door and called the intern to escort Jewell out.

  Numb with disappointment, Jewell trudged out. Why hadn’t the person she’d emailed with told her this? It would’ve saved money and time spent on this useless trip.

  Out on the street she caught a cab. Frankly, she was so disheartened she wanted to catch the next flight home. But she’d promised Mark Watson she’d check the stallion. And while more than ever she’d prefer to skip Saxon’s concert, it was probably not the time to let Leland down.

  Not until after she changed into clothes suitable to visit the horse farm did Jewell remember her first cab driver’s warning about the weather. It was one o’clock. The sky looked the same. She took a moment to phone Tawana to share the bad news and see how her friend was doing.

  “I hope I’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow. Gosh, Jewell, I can hear how upset you are. When you return, let’s call the Artsy Ladies together and figure out a next step. Hey, I saw on TV that DC may get socked by a hurricane. Are you in danger?”

  “It’s not certain where or when the storm will land. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay, be careful.”

  Jewell said goodbye and turned on the TV as she donned her boots. A local station showed three places the storm might make landfall. But they said Althea had slowed and it’d probably be midnight before she came ashore.

  Jewell snagged her jean jacket, then hurried to the parking garage to reclaim her rental. She hadn’t driven far before she fervently wished for the wide-open spaces of home. However, once she reached Maryland, the countryside became awash with fields of lush grass and white rail fences, and she relaxed.

  But even with a GPS, she somehow got off on a wrong freeway and ended up in West Virginia. She had to stop and phone the owner of the horse farm. Thankfully, he provided her better directions.

  As it turned out, the owner and his wife were delightful. They had beautiful horses. Jewell had completed ordering the sperm sent to Mark when the owner mentioned the hurricane.

  “Montana gets a lot of wind and snow, but I’ve never been close to a hurricane.”

  The owner’s wife checked the weather on her cell phone and told Jewell the storm was spinning offshore. The couple assured her she’d have ample time to drive back to DC.

  Jewell didn’t volunteer that she was making a side trip about an hour away. Perhaps the storm warnings were telling her she should skip Saxon’s concert. But Leland had paid for her ticket.

  Stopped at a crossroad, Jewell studied the blustery sky. She didn’t know how much of the pewter color was due to the late hour and how much to an impending storm. She snapped on the radio. A woman said the hurricane had stalled. A man interrupted to say it had gathered strength. Nothing in their banter sounded so dire to Jewell that it would hurt her to swing by the town hosting the concert. If reports worsened, she could run in and give Leland’s letter to someone associated with Saxon and hurry back to her hotel.

  After meandering for another hour through horse country, Jewell spotted the rustic theater advertising Saxon’s concert on its marquee.

  Not detecting any change in the weather, she paid to park in a lot a block away but didn’t immediately get out. Her stomach churned at the prospect of seeing Saxon. Probably it was good that she’d skipped lunch.

  Even now she had trouble understanding how she and Saxon had gone from best friends to lovers to virtual strangers. She’d followed his career for a while, until she began to see him paired with a pretty blonde singer. Only then did she date. She had even briefly been engaged to the son of a local rancher. But there was no spark, so she’d returned his ring.

  Gripping the steering wheel, she hung on tight. From the time Saxon arrived in Snowy Owl Crossing, they’d been inseparable. She was his shoulder to lean on. He and his uncle constantly clashed. She always took Saxon’s side. And he had spent every minute he could at her home. It was where he developed a love of music. Her dad had owned a guitar. Saxon spotted it and spent hours teaching himself to play, often missing chores his uncle gave him.

  Jewell ha
d always had a crush on Saxon. She’d been the one to first convince him to play and sing for friends. Later she found him gigs at county fairs and rodeos—anything to keep him in her sphere and give him a break from Leland’s nagging him to knuckle down on the ranch.

  Looking back with more clarity than she’d had when they’d split, Jewell realized it shouldn’t have shocked her to learn near college graduation that nothing on earth could entice Saxon to return to his uncle’s. Not even her.

  Maybe if she hadn’t been so single-minded, so deep in her own studies and plans for the future, she’d have anticipated how it’d end when he left agriculture and switched to a music track.

  The awful truth didn’t register until he announced that he was going to Nashville. He assumed she’d go along to support him. He even said once he signed with a label, she could enroll in vet school in Tennessee. But Nashville wasn’t Snowy Owl Crossing, and Tennessee wasn’t Montana. Looking back, she saw it was obvious their love hadn’t been strong enough.

  Rain began striking her windshield. Jewell released her death grip on the steering wheel and found a tissue to blot her tears.

  Assuming she wouldn’t get close enough to Saxon to hand him Leland’s letter, she figured she could ask someone on his staff to deliver it. She’d come this far. And a sick man back home counted on her. At least, Doreen Mercer, who owned the café and kept tabs on Leland, claimed he wasn’t well.

  Dashing to the theater, Jewell dug out her ticket. She was maneuvered into a line of noisy people filtered between two sets of velvet ropes.

  Making sure the letter hadn’t fallen out of her purse, she peered around two women directly in front of her and her breath stuck in her throat. Saxon stood up ahead cordoned off by the left rope. He appeared to be greeting concertgoers, thanking them for coming and handing out T-shirts bearing his likeness.

  Panic gripped Jewell. She should flee before she made a spectacle of herself and fainted or threw up. But she was hemmed in by the boisterous crowd. The line inched forward. Everyone wanted to speak to Saxon. Most wanted his autograph.