by Janet Dailey
More Christmas romance from Janet Dailey
It’s a Christmas Thing
My Kind of Christmas
Just a Little Christmas
Christmas on my Mind
Long, Tall Christmas
Christmas in Cowboy Country
Merry Christmas, Cowboy
A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree
Mistletoe and Molly
To Santa with Love
Let’s Be Jolly
Maybe This Christmas
Happy Holidays
Scrooge Wore Spurs
Eve’s Christmas
Searching for Santa
Santa in Montana
JANET DAILEY
Holding Out for Christmas
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
About the Author
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Revocable Trust Created by Jimmy Dean Dailey and Mary Sue Dailey Dated December 22, 2016
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Kensington Books Hardcover Printing: July 2020
First Zebra Books Mass-Market Paperback Printing: October 2020
ISBN: 978-1-4201-5106-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5110-7 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5110-X (eBook)
With gratitude and thanks to Elizabeth Lane.
Chapter 1
Conner Branch pulled a freshly cut tree from the pile on the flatbed trailer. A cloud of pine-scented dust surrounded him as he shook the tree to fluff the branches and remove any debris. Once the tree was ready, he passed it to his partner, Travis Morgan, who carried it to the display rack in front of the old frame ranch house.
With Christmas less than three weeks away, the three partners at Christmas Tree Ranch had all the work they could handle. Trees were selling almost as fast as they could be cut and loaded. Now, just to complicate things, a big snowstorm was moving in.
Conner glanced toward the west, where angry black clouds were roiling across the sky. A speck of wet cold melted on his cheek. The storm was moving fast. The flatbed would need to be unloaded before it hit, burying the piled trees in snow and freezing them together into a worthless icy lump.
As he turned back toward the trailer, he felt the familiar stab of pain in his right hip. Nearly five years had passed since a near-fatal dismount from a bull in the Professional Bull Riders finals had ended his career as a champion rider and left him unable to even mount a horse. Bad luck—but Conner had learned to count his blessings. He was alive and able to work, with a home, good friends, and a stake in a growing business.
He grabbed another tree and shook it, striking the base hard against the ground. Heavy snow would make cutting and hauling the trees that much harder. It would also mean getting ready for the sleigh rides that had become a popular tradition at the ranch.
With so much to do, there was little time to think of anything but work. Still, Conner had managed to indulge in a few brief, secret fantasies.
At least he’d assumed they were secret. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Hey, Conner,” Travis called as he came back for another tree. “Do you think your dream woman will show up for the Cowboy Christmas Ball this year?”
Conner shrugged, feigning indifference as he handed off the tree and reached for the next one. The truth was, he’d been asking himself the same question. At last year’s ball, a female singer had performed with the Badger Hollow Boys, the Nashville band that played for every Christmas Ball. The lady had knocked his socks off. Tall and willowy in high-heeled boots, with long black hair and dark eyes that flashed like a gypsy’s, she’d been dressed like a cowgirl in tight jeans, a beaded, fringed leather jacket, and a battered Stetson. She’d had a good voice, too, with just an edge of sexiness. But it was her attitude—sassy and confident—that had really gotten to him. She was Wonder Woman in western gear—and she’d vanished before he’d had a chance to meet her. But he had learned her name. Lacy Leatherwood. Sexy. Like leather and lace.
“I take it you’re going stag,” Travis teased.
“I always go stag. It leaves me open to possibilities,” Conner said.
But that strategy hadn’t worked at last year’s ball. No sooner had he walked into the gym than Ronda May Blackburn had latched onto him and clung to his arm all evening. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Ronda May this year. She’d given up chasing him and landed a cowboy from a ranch on the far side of town. Last he’d heard, they were making wedding plans.
For this year’s Christmas Ball, Conner vowed, he’d be prepared. He would have his fun dancing with all the ladies, even some of the married ones; but he would make sure that when the entertainment came on, he was front and center alone, ready to catch his dream woman’s eye and hopefully meet her when she walked offstage.
But what if she didn’t show up? What if she came and he found out she was married or attached to a boyfriend in the band?
He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it. But cross it, he would. As a national bull-riding champion, he’d dated rodeo queens, movie stars, and supermodels. As an injured partner in a small-town ranch, he’d romanced every attractive, eligible woman in Branding Iron. But none of them had made his heart slam on sight—until a dark-haired beauty in high-heeled boots and a fringed, beaded buckskin jacket fit for a rock star had walked onstage at last year’s Cowboy Christmas Ball.
“Hey, let’s get moving, man! No daydreaming allowed!” Travis gave him a playful punch. In the past, Conner had teased his partners unmercifully about their love lives. Now that Rush was married and Travis was planning a holiday wedding, they were repaying him in kind.
“Give me that tree. You can be lovesick on your own time.”
Travis grabbed the pine Conner was holding, gave it an extra shake, and carried it to the display rack. Bucket, the ranch’s black-and-white Border Collie mix, followed Travis to the front yard, sniffed at the tree, and lifted his leg on the trunk.
“You old rascal,” Travis scolded.
“What are you going to do when you and Conner are the only bachelor holdouts left around here? Maybe you’ll go off and find that little lady coyote you met last winter. Too bad you’re fixed, huh? But Conner, here, isn’t. What’s he going to do about that? Where’s his little lady coyote?”
If there’d been snow on the ground, Conner would have lobbed a snowball at his partner. As it was, all he could do was ignore the jab and keep working.
As he hoisted a heavy tree off the trailer, he couldn’t help thinking how much things had changed in the past year.
Last holiday season, with the tree business just getting off the ground, all the partners had been single men. Then, last summer, Rush, a veterinarian, had married Judge Tracy Emerson and moved to her house in town. But Rush was still very much a partner. He’d even built a small clinic on ranch property to supplement his mobile vet service. For the month of December, he had cut his practice back to emergencies only, so he could help with the trees and sleigh rides.
Travis and his sassy red-haired Maggie had agreed to put off their wedding until her term as mayor of Branding Iron was finished. Now that the town had elected a new mayor, who’d agreed to take over his duties early, the wedding was on for the twenty-second of December, two days after the Christmas Ball. Like Rush, Travis would be moving into town to live with his bride. But his working life would still be centered around the ranch.
Conner was still getting used to the idea that after the wedding he would be living in the ranch house alone. His partners would still be there in the daytime, for work and fun. But what would he do on those long, lonesome nights, with no company in the house except Bucket?
He’d go plain stir-crazy.
He’d finished shaking out the tree and was handing it off to Travis when Rush pulled his Hummer through the gate and climbed out. “Hey, Rush!” Travis shouted. “You’re just in time! We need to get these trees unloaded before the storm hits.”
As the tall, dark vet hurried to help, Conner glanced up at the sky. Clouds were rushing like a buffalo stampede across the sky, driven by a biting wind that blew the snow sideways, ahead of the main storm. The cold cut through Conner’s light fleece jacket as he picked up the pace, forcing even the thought of his dream woman from his mind.
By the time the partners finished unloading the trees and propping them against the racks in the front yard, clouds of snow were swirling out of the sky. Conner stayed outside long enough to park the ATV, unhitch the trailer, and pull both under the cover of the shed. Then he waded back through the storm and joined his friends and Bucket inside the house.
As he shoved the door closed against the wind, he could feel the warmth of the potbellied iron stove and smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen. Nobody had taken time to stock up on groceries, but Rush had picked up a dozen fresh doughnuts at Shop Mart on his way here. Four doughnuts for each hungry man. That sounded about right.
“I guess we could’ve ordered pizza from Buckaroo’s,” Travis said. “But I don’t think the delivery boy could make it through the storm. It’s brutal out there, especially now that it’s getting dark.”
“I’ve read stories about weather like this.” Rush poured three mugs of coffee and passed them around the table. “In the old days, sometimes farmers had to string a rope between the house and the barn to keep from getting lost on the way.”
“Well, that shouldn’t happen here,” Travis said. “I fed and watered the horses a couple of hours ago. They should be fine till morning. And since we sold off our steers last month, we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Except me,” Rush said. “If I don’t leave now, I might not make it home.”
“At least you’ve got a reason to get home,” Conner said. “If I had a woman like Tracy waiting for me, I’d drive through the blizzard of 1899 to get to her.”
Rush grinned as he buttoned his coat. “Eat your heart out,” he said. “As a consolation prize, you boys can have my share of the doughnuts. Stay warm.”
He opened the door. Wind tore the knob out of his hand, blasting cold and snow into the house as the door slammed inward against the wall. Conner sprang to shove it closed again. Bracing with his body, he waited until he heard Rush’s Hummer start up before sliding the bolt into place.
“Rush will be all right.” Travis seemed to read Conner’s concern. “That big Hummer drives like a tank. It can go anywhere. Sit down. Have another doughnut.”
Conner sank onto a chair and refilled his coffee mug. In the box on the table, six doughnuts remained. They looked about as appetizing as lumps of Play-Doh. “I never thought I could get tired of doughnuts,” he said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather have a juicy slab of prime rib, medium rare, with potatoes and gravy.”
“Good luck with that,” Travis said. “Even the freezer’s empty. What happened to all those women who were bringing you cookies and casseroles?”
“They must’ve given up on me.”
“Maybe word’s gotten around about Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em, Conner Branch. Women do talk, you know. Have your ears been burning?”
“If they did burn, I’d be too busy to notice.”
A gust of wind rattled the windows and howled around the eaves of the old frame house. It’s a mournful sound, Conner thought. A lonesome sound.
Travis refilled his coffee mug and reached for another doughnut. “Well, since you’re going to be out here alone after the wedding, maybe it’s time you thought about finding a steady girlfriend, or even a wife to keep you warm on nights like this. You’re getting too old to be a player.”
“Old? Hell, I’m no older than you are.”
“But I’m the one who’s getting married.”
Conner was groping for a sharp comeback when his cell phone jangled. His first thought was that Rush had run off the road and was stranded somewhere. But the number on the caller ID wasn’t Rush’s. Curious, he took the call.
“Conner, this is Sam Perkins.”
Conner recognized the booming voice and name of a neighbor who lived down the highway, past the turnoff to the ranch.
“Hey, Sam, is everything all right?”
“Well, not exactly,” Sam said. “I just made it home in this blizzard. When I drove by the turnoff to your place, I noticed your sign was loose, just hangin’ by one corner from the post. If the wind catches it, it could be in the next county by morning.”
“Oh, blast it. Thanks, Sam. I guess somebody here had better make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Conner cursed the storm as he ended the call. Two months ago, the partners had invested five hundred dollars in a professionally made sign to mark the turnoff to Christmas Tree Ranch. They’d mounted it on heavy metal posts, but evidently the job hadn’t been secure enough to hold up to a storm like this one.
The sign was too valuable to lose. Somebody would need to go out and recover it.
“Somebody?” Travis raised an eyebrow.
Conner sighed. “I guess it doesn’t make sense that we should both go out there and freeze our butts off. How about rock-paper-scissors? Winner stays here.”
The two men faced each other for the old childhood game. One . . . two . . . Conner groaned. His fist had made a rock. Travis’s flat hand had made paper. Paper covered rock. No need for words.
“Take my truck,” Travis said. “It’s heavier than your Jeep, and it has a spotlight. There’s a box of tools under the seat. And don’t forget your phone. If you get into trouble, call me. Otherwise, I’ll be right here with Bucket, keeping toasty.”
“Don’t rub it in.” Conner pulled on his heavy parka, his wool seaman’s cap, and his gloves. Taking the keys Travis handed him, he managed to slip outside without losing control of the door.
The newer-model used truck Travis had bought last summer started with a roar. The snow wasn’t deep on the ground yet; however, as Conner pulled out of the driveway, onto the lane, it swirled around him in thick clouds. Even with the wipers going full speed and the defrost
er blasting heat, he was driving almost blind. Only his sense of direction, and the crunch of tires on the lane’s gravel surface, told him he was headed toward the highway.
Dim lights on his left told him he was passing the house of their nearest neighbors, the McFarlands. The intersection, where the sign was posted, would be a few hundred yards beyond it.
Guessing more than seeing, he pulled the truck to the right, into the dry weeds that edged the lane, and trained the powerful spotlight on the far side. Through the snowy darkness, he could make out a barbed wire fence. Between the fence and the road was the sign. It had torn loose on three corners. Now it hung by a single lower bolt, flapping crazily in the wind. Even if the bolt held, the valuable sign could twist or bend and be badly damaged.
In this weather, there was no way he could bolt it back into place. He would have to take it down, haul it home in the truck bed, and come back tomorrow with a ladder and the right hardware and tools.
Grabbing a wrench from the toolbox, Conner climbed out of the truck. Bent forward against the wind, he staggered through the driving snow as he followed the beam of the spotlight to the sign. Unable to work the wrench with his thick gloves on, he stripped them off and stuffed them into his pockets. By the time he got the nut loose from the bolt, his fingers were stiff with cold. But at least the sign was free.
