Mistletoe Bride. Linda Varner
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up their take-out dinner and walk back to the motel. In fact, he’d probably be okay for longer than that. He was damned mature for his age.
Grinning with fatherly pride—a novel experience—Ryan sidetracked to the narrow metal strongbox hidden behind the seat of his pickup truck, where he’d stashed their traveling cash. He tucked a couple of ten-dollar bills into his wallet, then headed to the café where a long overdue hearty meal awaited. He and Sawyer had been on the road ten hours, with only quick snacks to nourish them. Both wanted the works tonight: salad, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade cloverleaf rolls with lots of real butter, apple pie and ice cream….
Ryan swallowed hard and stepped faster, his face stinging from the brisk winter wind. Wishing for his sheepskinlined jacket, which hung in the motel room, he noted how dark it was for 7:30 p.m.—black as pitch, thanks to heavy snow clouds—then glanced toward his destination, the Clearwater Café. Though a tree-tangled shortcut obscured his view of the building, Ryan could tell that vehicles filled the back parking lot. He couldn’t help but wonder why all these people weren’t at home, spending Christmas Eve with their families.
Ducking to avoid a low-hanging limb, Ryan entered the shadowy no-man’s-land that would save him steps, according to the motel desk clerk. Almost instantly, he stumbled over a rock, invisible under the patchy snow underfoot. Then a frozen tree branch slapped his cowboy hat off his head. Staggering like a wino on a cheap drunk, Ryan reseated his hat, then forged a path through the gnarled branches by pushing them, crackling and popping, away from his face.
So much for saving steps, he thought as his hat left his head again. Cursing his bad luck, Ryan bent to retrieve it. He heard the snap of a frozen twig. He sensed that he was not alone.
“Who’s there?” Ryan blurted out, words that barely left his lips before he saw a blur of motion and felt pain shoot through his head.
Humming “Blue Christmas,” the last song she’d heard inside the Clearwater Café that Thursday night, Danielle Sellica slipped behind the steering wheel of her car and set her one-more-for-the-road cup of coffee in the plastic holder designed for it.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell of old grease and cigarettes that permeated her denim jacket. Although a few minutes of fresh Colorado air would easily kill the scents, Dani didn’t get out of the car. It was already 8:30 p.m., and a one-hour drive home still lay ahead. Not that Dani minded the drive. She really didn’t. There was just so much to do before she could go to bed tonight—not the least of which was put up and decorate her Christmas tree.
A mood as blue as the Christmas of the song settled over her. Refusing to give in to it, Dani turned on the radio and quickly found a station playing something upbeat. She relished the cheerful tune, as well as the beauty of the snowflakes dancing in her headlights, for only a moment before turning the volume way up so she could sing “Holly Jolly Christmas” at the top of her voice.
It was the buzz of the car phone that brought an end to her off-key songfest some forty-five minutes later. Since only one person ever called her on the car telephonebought for emergency purposes only—Dani smiled and turned off the radio, then snatched up the receiver.
“How did you know I was in the car?” she demanded, instead of saying hello.
The familiar laughter of Jonni Lisa Maynard, a dear friend and neighbor, spilled forth. “Lucky guess.”
“Do I hear Jimmy Stewart in the background?”
“Of course. Have I ever made it through December without crying over It’s a Wonderful Life a couple of dozen times? For that matter, have you?”
It was Dani’s turn to laugh. They were both sentimental softies for sure. “No to both. Are you ready for Christmas tomorrow?”
“I’m proud to report that my presents are wrapped, my fruitcake is baked and my tree is up. How about you?”
“I’m not into fruitcakes, but my shopping, such as it is, is done.”
“What about your Christmas tree?” asked Jonni.
“The most beautiful Douglas fir in the world is in my trunk even as we speak. I’ll put it up the minute I get home.”
“And I thought I was running late! Any big plans for the holiday?”
“I’ll probably sew.”
“You mean you still haven’t finished Barbara’s wedding dress?” Jonni asked, referring to a mutual friend who planned a New Year’s Day wedding.
“Another lucky guess,” Dani told her, ruefully adding, “Would you believe she’s changed her mind about the sleeves three times?”
“I’d believe that. What I cannot believe is that you ever agreed to make it in the first place.”
“Temporary insanity?”
“Well, that beats the permanent kind, which is what I’ll be by the time Ricky goes back to school.” Ricky was Jonni’s rambunctious seven-year-old son, out of school for the holidays and already driving his mother nuts. She also had a four-year-old daughter named Pattie and was trying for a third child.
“Which reminds me—”
Thump. Thump.
A sudden sound, loud enough to make Dani abandon what she’d started to say about having presents for the children, seemed to be coming from the rear of the car. A flat? she automatically wondered with a mental sigh of dismay.
“Dani? You still there?”
“I’m here, and I’ve got a flat,” Dani replied even as she braked her car and eased off the asphalt.
“Oh, God,” Jonni exclaimed, clearly concerned. “Will you be okay?”
“Are you kidding? I can change a tire in five minutes with one hand in my pocket.” She didn’t add that she’d never had to do it on a lonely mountain road with the heavens spitting snow….
“Well, be careful. Two guys broke out of prison this morning—”
“Thanks so much for letting me know,” Dani retorted dryly, refusing to think about a prison break at Cañon City, less than fifty miles away.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry—”
“I was teasing you. I’m not a bit scared. Now, I really have to go.”
“Please call me when you get home. I’ll worry until I hear from you.”
“I’ll call,” Dani promised, wishing her friend a Merry Christmas before hanging up.
With another sigh, this one of resignation, Dani killed the engine. After checking to see that the car was easily visible to approaching traffic, should there be any, she switched on the hazard blinkers. Flashlight in hand, Dani then got out of the car.
With purposeful strides, she walked around her vehicle, inspecting each tire in turn. There was no flat. Had she imagined that awful noise…?
Thump! Thump! Thump Thump Thump! As if on cue, it came again, only louder.
Dani whirled toward the sound, which seemed to be emanating from the trunk. For the first time, she noticed that Kyle Smith, the surly teenager who’d loaded her Douglas fir in the trunk, had not tied down the lid as she’d requested, but had closed it instead.
Wondering if something besides a Christmas tree now lay inside, Dani retrieved her keys from the ignition. Had that bad-mannered young man played some sort of practical joke on her? Dani wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d made it more than plain that carrying a Christmas tree from the service station, where she’d bought it, to her car, parked behind the café next door, was beneath him. Obviously she should have supervised