Christmas in Cold Creek. RaeAnne Thayne
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didnât have any sort of guardianship papers or even a birth certificate. Worried that Gabi would be taken from her and placed into foster care, she had fudged the paperwork at the school. Thinking the school authorities would be more likely to take her word for things if she was Gabiâs mother rather than merely an older sister, she had called upon the grifting skills she hadnât used in years to convince the secretary she didnât know where Gabiâs birth certificate was after a succession of movesânot technically a lie.
The secretary had been gratifyingly understanding and told Becca merely to bring them when she could find them. From that moment, they were stuck in the lie. She didnât want to think about Trace Bowmanâs reaction if he found out she was perpetrating a fraud on the school and the community. She wasnât a poor single mother trying to eke out a living with her daughter. She was stuck in a situation that seemed to grow more complicated by the minute.
âI still think heâs nice,â Gabi said. âHe brought us a Christmas tree.â
She wanted to warn her sister to run far, far away from sexy men bearing warm smiles and unexpected charm. âYouâre right. That was a very kind thing to do. Actually, it was his nieceâs idea, right? You must have made a good friend in Destry Bowman.â
âSheâs nice,â Gabi said, avoiding her gaze. âWhere do you think you saw the ornaments?â
An interesting reaction. She frowned at Gabi but didnât comment, especially when her sister found the box of ornaments just a moment later, next to a box of 1950s-era womenâs clothing.
Her grandmotherâs, perhaps? From the attorney who notified her of the bequest, she had learned the woman had died years ago, before she was born, but other than that she didnât know anything about her. Since coming to Pine Gulch, she had been thinking how surreal it was to live in her grandfatherâs house when she didnât know anything about him, surrounded by the personal belongings of a stranger.
She had picked up bits and pieces since sheâd arrived in town that indicated that her father and grandfather had fought bitterly before she was born. She didnât know the full story and wasnât sure she ever would, but Donna told her that her father had apparently vowed never to speak to his own father again. She could guess the reason. Probably her mother had something to do with it. Monica was very good at finding ways to destroy relationships around her.
Kenneth Taylor had been killed in a motorcycle crash when Becca was a toddler and her parents had never been married. Her only memories of him were a bushy mustache and sideburns and a deep, warm voice telling her stories at night.
Sheâd been curious about her fatherâs family over the years, but Monica had refused to talk about him. She hadnât even known her grandfather was still alive until sheâd heard from that Idaho Falls attorney a few months earlier, right in the middle of her own legal trouble. When he had told her she had inherited a small house in Idaho, the news had seemed an answer to prayer. She had been thinking she and Gabi would wind up homeless if she couldnât figure something out and suddenly she had learned she owned a house in a town sheâd never visited.
This sturdy little Craftsman cottage was dark and neglected, but she knew she could make a happy home here for her and Gabi, their lies notwithstanding.
As long as the police chief left her alone.
Females with secrets. Heâd certainly seen his share of those.
Trace carefully wound the colored lights on the branches of their Christmas tree, listening to Becca and Gabi talk quietly as they pulled glass ornaments from a cardboard box. Something was not exactly as it appeared in this household. He couldnât put his finger on what precisely it might be but heâd caught more than one unreadable exchange of glances between Becca and her daughter, as if they were each warning the other to be careful with her words.
What secrets could they have? He had to wonder if they were on the run from something. A jealous ex? A custody dispute? That was the logical conclusion but not one that sat comfortably with him. He didnât like the idea that Becca might be breaking the law, or worse, in danger somehow. That would certainly make his attraction for her even more inconvenient.
He couldnât have said why he was still here. His plan when Destry had begged him to do this had been to merely do a quick drop-off of the tree, the stand and the lights. Heâd intended to let Becca and Gabi deal with the tree while he headed down the street for a comfortable night of basketball in front of the big screen with his squash-faced little dog at his feet.
Instead, when he had shown up on the doorstep, she had looked so obviously taken abackâand touched, despite herselfâthat he had decided spending a little time with the two of them was more fascinating than even the most fierce battle on the hardwood.
He wasnât sorry. Gabi was a great kid. Smart and funny, with clever little observations about life. She, at least, had been thrilled by the donated Christmas tree, almost as if sheâd never had a tree before. At some point, Gabi had tuned in on a Christmas station on a small boom boxâtype radio she brought from her bedroom. Though he still wasnât a big fan of the holiday, he couldnât deny there was something very appealing about working together on a quiet evening while snowflakes fluttered down outside and Nat King Coleâs velvet voice filled the room.
It reminded him of happier memories when he was a kid, before the Christmas that had changed everything.
âThatâs the last of the lights. You ready to flip the switch?â
âCan I?â Gabi asked, her eyes bright.
âSure thing.â
She plugged in the lights and they reflected green and red and gold in her eyes. âIt looks wonderful!â
âIt really does,â Becca agreed. âThank you for your help.â
Her words were another clear dismissal and he decided to ignore it. He wasnât quite ready to leave this warm room yet. âNow we can start putting up those ornaments.â
She chewed her lip, clearly annoyed with him, but he only smiled and reached into the box for a couple of colored globes.
âSo where were you before you moved to Pine Gulch?â he asked after a few moments of hanging ornaments. Though he pitted his question as casual curiosity, she didnât seem fooled.
Becca and her daughter exchanged another look and she waited a moment before answering. âArizona,â she finally said, her voice terse.
âWere you waitressing there?â
âNo. I did a lot of different things,â she said evasively. âWhat about you? How long have you been chief of police for the good people of Pine Gulch?â
He saw through her attempt to deflect his questions. He was fond of the same technique when he wanted to guide a particular discussion in an interview. He thought about calling her on it but decided to let her set the tone. This wasnât an interrogation, after all. Only a conversation.
âIâve been on the force for about ten years, chief for the last three.â
âYou seem young for the job.â
âIâm thirty-two. Not that young. You must have been a baby yourself when you had Gabi, right?â
He thought he saw a tiny flicker of something indefinable in the depths of her hazel eyes but she quickly concealed it. âSomething like that. I was eighteen when she was born. What about you? Any wife and kiddos in the picture?â
Again the diversionary tactics. Interesting. âNope. Never married. Just my brothers and a sister.â
âAnd you all live close?â
âRight. My older brother runs