Kidnapped at Christmas

by Barb Han

  “You’ve had no trouble resisting,” he pointed out—though he’d never made a play for her. And wouldn’t. Havana and anyone else who worked for him was genderless as far as Callen was concerned.

  “Because I know the depths of your cold, cold heart. Plus, you pay me too much to screw this up for sex with a hotshot cattle broker with a pretty face.”

  Callen didn’t even waste a glare on that. The pretty face was questionable, but he was indeed a hotshot cattle broker. That wasn’t ego. He had the bank account, the inventory and the willing buyers to prove it.

  Head ’em up, move ’em out.

  Callen had built Laramie Cattle on that motto. That and plenty of ninety-hour workweeks. And since his business wasn’t broke, it didn’t require fixing. Even if it would mean having to listen to Myrtle for the next hour.

  “What the heck is that?” Havana asked, tipping her head to his desk.

  Callen followed her gaze to the invitation. “Billy, the Armadillo. Years ago, he was roadkill.”

  Every part of Havana’s face went aghast. “Ewww.”

  He agreed, even though he would have gone for something more manly sounding, like maybe a grunt. “The bride’s a taxidermist,” he added. Along with being Buck’s housekeeper and cook.

  Still in the aghast mode, Havana shifted the files to her left arm so she could pick up the invitation and open it. He pushed away another greasy smear of those old memories while she read it.

  “Buck McCall,” Havana muttered when she’d finished.

  She didn’t ask who he was. No need. Havana had sent Buck Christmas gifts during the six years that she’d worked for Callen. Considering those were the only personal gifts he’d ever asked her to buy and send to anyone, she knew who Buck was. Or rather she knew that he was important to Callen.

  Of course, that “important” label needed to be judged on a curve because Callen hadn’t actually visited Buck or gone back to Coldwater since he’d hightailed it out of there on his eighteenth birthday. Now he was here in Dallas, nearly three hundred miles away, and sometimes it still didn’t feel nearly far enough. There were times when the moon would have been too close.

  Havana just kept on staring at him, maybe waiting for him to bare his soul or something. He wouldn’t. No reason for it, either. Because she was smart and efficient, she had almost certainly done internet searches on Buck. There were plenty of articles about him being a foster father.

  Correction: the hotshot of foster fathers.

  It wouldn’t have taken much for Havana to piece together that Buck had fostered not only Callen but his three brothers, as well. Hell, for that matter Havana could have pieced together the rest, too. The bad stuff that’d happened before Callen and his brothers had gotten to Buck’s. Too much for him to stay, though his brothers had had no trouble putting down those proverbial roots in Coldwater.

  “Christmas Eve, huh?” Havana questioned. “You’ve already got plans to go to that ski lodge in Aspen with a couple of your clients. Heck, you scheduled a business meeting for Christmas morning, one that you insisted I attend. Say, is Bah Humbug your middle name?”

  “The meeting will finish in plenty of time for you to get in some skiing and spend your Christmas bonus,” he grumbled. Then he rethought that. “Do you ski?”

  She lifted her shoulder. “No, but there are worse things than sitting around a lodge during the holidays while the interest on my bonus accumulates in my investment account.”

  Yes, there were worse things. And Callen had some firsthand experience with that.

  “Are you actually thinking about going back to Coldwater for this wedding?” Havana pressed.

  “No.” But he was sure thinking about the wedding itself and that note Rosy had added to the invitation.

  Please.

  That wasn’t a good word to have repeating in his head.

  Havana shrugged and dropped the invitation back on his desk. “Want me to send them a wedding gift? Maybe they’ve registered on the Taxidermists-R-Us site.” Her tongue went in her cheek again.

  Callen wasted another glare on her and shook his head. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll send them something.”

  She staggered back, pressed her folder-filled hand to her chest. “I think the earth just tilted on its axis. Or maybe that was hell freezing over.” Havana paused, looked at him. “Is something wrong?” she came out and asked, her tone no longer drenched with sarcasm.

  Callen dismissed it by motioning toward the door. “Tell the Niedermeyers that I need a few minutes. I have to do something first.”

  As expected, that caused Havana to raise an eyebrow again, and before she left, Callen didn’t bother to tell her that her concern wasn’t warranted. He could clear this up with a phone call and get back to work.

  But who should he call?

  Buck was out because if there was actually something wrong, then his former foster father would be at the center of it. That Please come. Buck needs to see you clued him in to that.

  He scrolled through his contacts, one by one. He no longer had close friends in Coldwater, but every now and then he ran into someone in his business circles who passed along some of that gossip he didn’t want to hear. So the most obvious contacts were his brothers.

  Kace, the oldest, was the town’s sheriff. Callen dismissed talking to him because the last time they’d spoken—four or five years ago—Kace had tried to lecture Callen about cutting himself off from the family. Damn right, he’d cut himself off, and since he would continue to do that and hated lectures from big brothers, he went to the next one.

  Judd. Another big brother who was only a year older than Callen. Judd had been a cop in Austin. Or maybe San Antonio. He was a deputy now in Coldwater, but not once had he ever bitched about Callen leaving the “fold.” He kept Judd as a possibility for the call he needed to make and continued down the very short list to consider the rest of his choices.

  Nico. The youngest brother, who Callen almost immediately discounted. He was on the rodeo circuit—a bull rider of all things—and was gone a lot. He might not have a clue if something was wrong.

  Callen got to Rosy’s name next. The only reason she was in his contacts was because Buck had wanted him to have her number in case there was an emergency. A please on a wedding invitation probably didn’t qualify as one, but since he hated eating up time by waffling, Callen pressed her number. After a couple of rings, he got her voice mail.

  “Knock knock,” Rosy’s perky voice greeted, and she giggled like a loon. “Who’s there? Well, obviously not me, and since Billy can’t answer the phone, ha ha, you gotta leave me a message. Talk sweet to me, and I’ll talk sweet back.” More giggling as if it were a fine joke.

  Callen didn’t leave a message because a) he wanted an answer now and b) he didn’t want anyone interrupting his day by calling him back.

  He scrolled back through the contacts and pressed Judd’s number. Last he’d heard, Judd had moved into the cabin right next to Buck’s house, so he would know what was going on.

  “Yes, it came from a chicken’s butt,” Judd growled the moment he answered. “Now, get over it and pick it up.”

  In the background Callen thought he heard someone make an ewww sound eerily similar to the one Havana had made earlier. Since a chicken’s butt didn’t have anything to do with a phone call or wedding invitation, it made Callen think his brother wasn’t talking to him.

  “What the heck do you want?” Judd growled that, too, and this time Callen did believe he was on the receiving end of the question.

  The bad grouchy attitude didn’t bother Callen because he thought it might speed along the conversation. Maybe. Judd didn’t like long personal chats, which explained why they rarely talked.

  “Can somebody else gather the eggs?” a girl asked. Callen suspected it might be the same one who’d ewww’ed. Her voice was high-pitched and
whiny. “These have poop on them.”

  “This is a working ranch,” Judd barked. “There’s poop everywhere. If you’ve got a gripe with your chores, talk to Buck or Rosy.”

  “They’re not here,” the whiner whined.

  “There’s Shelby,” Judd countered. “Tell her all about it and quit bellyaching to me.”

  Just like that, Callen got another ass-first knock back into the time machine. Shelby McCall. Buck’s daughter. And the cause of nearly every lustful thought that Callen had had from age fifteen all the way through to age eighteen.

  Plenty of ones afterward, too.

  Forbidden fruit could do that to a teenager, and as Buck’s daughter, Shelby had been as forbidden as it got. Callen remembered that Buck had had plenty of rules, but at the top of the list was one he gave to the boys he fostered. Touch Shelby, and I’ll castrate you. It had been simple and extremely effective.

  “Buck got a new batch of foster kids,” Judd went on, and again, Callen thought that part of the conversation was meant for him. “I just finished a double shift, and I’m trying to get inside my house so I can sleep, but I keep getting bothered. What do you want?” he tacked onto that mini-rant.

  “I got Buck and Rosy’s wedding invitation,” Callen threw out there.

  “Yeah. Buck popped the question a couple of weeks ago, and they’re throwing together this big wedding deal for Christmas Eve. They’re inviting all the kids Buck has ever fostered. All of them,” Judd emphasized. “So, no, you’re not special and didn’t get singled out because you’re a stinkin’ rich prodigal son. All of them,” he repeated.

  Judd sounded as pleased about that as Callen would have been had he still been living there. He had no idea why someone would want to take that kind of step back into the past. It didn’t matter that Buck had been good to them. The only one who had been. It was that being there brought back all the stuff that’d happened before they’d made it to Buck.

  “Is Buck okay?” Callen asked.

  “Of course he is,” Judd snapped. Then he paused. “Why wouldn’t he be? Just gather the blasted eggs!” he added onto that after another whiny ewww. “Why wouldn’t Buck be okay?”

  Callen didn’t want to explain the punch-in-the-gut feeling he’d gotten with Rosy’s Please come. Buck needs to see you, and it turned out that he didn’t have to explain it.

  “Here’s Shelby, thank God,” Judd grumbled before Callen had to come up with anything. “She’ll answer any questions you have about the wedding. It’s Callen,” he said to Shelby. “Just leave my phone on the porch when you’re done.”

  “No!” Callen couldn’t say it fast enough. “That’s all right. I was just—”

  “Callen,” Shelby greeted.

  Apparently, his lustful thoughts weren’t a thing of the past after all. Even though Shelby was definitely a woman now, she could still purr his name.

  He got a flash image of her face. Okay, of her body, too. All willowy and soft with that tumble of blond hair and clear green eyes. And her mouth. Oh man. That mouth had always had his number.

  “I didn’t expect you to be at Judd’s,” he said, not actually fishing for information. But he was. He was also trying to fight back what appeared to be jealousy. It was something he didn’t feel very often.

  “Oh, I’m not. I was over here at Dad’s, taking care of a few things while he’s at an appointment. He got some new foster kids in, and when I heard the discussion about eggs, I came outside. That’s when Judd handed me his phone and said I had to talk to you. You got the wedding invitation?” she asked.

  “I did.” He left it at that, hoping she’d fill in the blanks of the questions he wasn’t sure how to ask.

  “We couldn’t change Rosy’s mind about using that picture of Billy in the veil. Trust me, we tried.”

  Callen found himself smiling. A bad combination when mixed with arousal. Still, he could push it aside, and he did that by glancing around his office. He had every nonsexual thing he wanted here, and if he wanted sex, there were far less complicated ways than going after Shelby. Buck probably still owned at least one good castrating knife.

  “I called Rosy, but she didn’t answer,” Callen explained.

  “She’s in town but should be back soon. She doesn’t answer her phone if she’s driving.”

  Callen couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing on a personal level for him. If Rosy had answered, then he wouldn’t be talking to Shelby right now. He wouldn’t feel the need for a cold shower or an explanation.

  “Rosy should be back any minute now. You want me to have her call you?” Shelby asked.

  “No. I just wanted to tell them best wishes for the wedding. I’ll send a gift and a card.” And he’d write a personal note to Buck.

  “You’re not coming?” Shelby said.

  Best to do this fast and efficient. “No. I have plans. Business plans. A trip. I’ll be out of the state.” And he cursed himself for having to justify himself to a woman who could lead to castration.

  “Oh.”

  That was it. Two letters of the alphabet. One word. But it was practically drowning in emotion. Exactly what specific emotion, Callen didn’t know, but that gut-punch feeling went at him again hard and fast.

  “Shelby?” someone called out. It sounded like the whiny girl. “Never mind. Here comes Miss Rosy.”

  “I guess it’s an important business trip?” Shelby continued, her voice a whisper now.

  “Yes, longtime clients. I do this trip with them every year—”

  “Callen, you need to come,” Shelby interrupted. “Soon,” she added. “It’s bad news.”

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss

  Lone Star Christmas by Delores Fossen,

  available now wherever

  HQN Books and ebooks are sold.

  www.HQNBooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Delores Fossen

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Rescued by the Marine by Julie Miller.

  Rescued by the Marine

  by Julie Miller

  Chapter One

  Nine months later... The Midas Lodge

  outside Jackson, Wyoming

  “Samantha, what are you doing?”

  Wishing I was anywhere else.

  Hearing her father’s tsk-tsking tone above the white noise of conversations, laughter and chamber music drifting in from the reception area of the Midas Lodge’s main lobby, Samantha Eddington bit down on the ungrateful thought and stretched up on her toes on the arm of the leather chair she’d pulled from the neighboring window alcove. She closed the back of the mantel clock and screwed the casing shut with her thumbnail before pushing it back into place over the two-story stone fireplace. “Hi, Dad. It stopped at four twenty this afternoon. Fortunately, it was just the batteries.” She showed him the oxidized rust stains on the paper napkin wadded up in her hand. “I cleaned them and put them back in, but they won’t last for long. We’ll need a new set.”

  Walter Eddington had the build and face of a bulldog, an ironic contrast to the expensive tailored suit and diamond-studded lapel pin he wore. A self-made man who’d served in the Army before Samantha was born, he was as at home in the backcountry with a hunting rifle as he was in the boardroom of the hotel empire he’d purchased on a dare and built into a fortune over the past thirty-five years. Too bad she hadn’t inherited either of those skill sets. She didn’t share his love for a good party, either, like tonight’s shindig that mixed hotel with family business.

  But she did love him. Adored him, in fact. After losing her mother when she was seven, they’d become a team—sharing grief and comfort, and helping each other pick up the pieces of their fractured lives. She’d never quite been the tomboy he wanted, nor was she poised enough to serve as the dutiful hostess and helpmate a businessman of his standing needed. And while she understood th
e numbers and demographics of the lodging and tourism industry, she’d never shared his interest in running a corporation. She loved analyzing the architectural designs and engineering strategies that went into building hotels and resort lodges, but her intellectual acumen and aversion to board meetings, press conferences, and parties like tonight’s grand opening celebration with investors and local bigwigs kept her from being the heir he’d hoped for to take over the Midas Group and run the family business one day. Still, Walter Eddington loved her anyway. He was her daddy, the first man she’d loved. And even at twenty-nine, she was his little girl.

  “Come down from there.” He held out his broad, calloused hand. She took it and smiled as he helped her down from her perch. He dropped a kiss to her cheek, just below the rim of her glasses. “This is supposed to be your party. I realize we’re combining business with pleasure by scheduling the grand opening of the new lodge with your engagement announcement to Kyle. But you know how much I want to change the press’s perception of you as some kind of eccentric recluse who never recovered from your mother’s murder. Hiding out from our guests doesn’t help change that image.”

  “I’m not a recluse. My mind just gets occupied with other things.” Too many other things. Like the guilt she felt at putting that worry dimple between his silvering eyebrows.

  “I know that,” he assured her. “But the last time your picture was on TV and in all the papers, you were only seven. You were so brave. So sad.” He captured both hands and backed up to skim his gaze from the loose bun at the nape of her neck to the unpolished wiggle of her bare toes on the woven throw rug in front of the fireplace. He smiled. “You look pretty tonight. All grown up. A woman of the world.”

  His eyes, the same shade of green as her own, turned wistful. He was losing himself in the past until Samantha squeezed his hands, bringing him back into the present with her. “I miss Mom, too. Tonight of all nights, especially.”

  Walter nodded, pulling her into his barrel chest and capturing her in one of the bear hugs she’d always loved before he set her back on her feet. He chucked her lightly beneath the chin. “I know you take after my side of the family, but...” He brushed aside a rebellious lock of dark blond hair that had caught in her glasses and tucked it behind her ear. “I see your mother in you tonight. How I wish Michelle could be here to share this with us.”