Framed For Christmas. Jaycee Bullard
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chimneys, offering the promise of a warm fire and protection from the storm.
Gideon caught her surprised look and smiled.
“I built the place two years ago when I retired. From here it looks small, but inside there’s a large open space where you and the kids can bunk for the night.”
“You’re retired?” Josh sidled up beside them and joined the conversation. “I thought you had to be at least sixty before you did that.”
“Most people are,” Gideon said. “Not me.”
Josh nodded, accepting the answer, but Dani sneaked a surreptitious glance at their host. He walked with the easy gait of someone accustomed to a lot of exercise. She’d guess his age to be late thirties, at the oldest, though it was difficult to tell through his insulating gear.
And then there was the beard. Bristly, untrimmed and peppered with flecks of gray, it looked like a throwback to a different age. But none of the kids seemed bothered by the fact that their host was twice as big as any of them, and three times hairier. They were smiling as they made their way down the ridge, joking about their rescue from the storm. But try as she might, Dani couldn’t help feeling just a little bit nervous about entrusting their lives to a stranger, especially one as large and imposing as Gideon Marshall.
Gideon stopped at the bottom of the steep slope and waited for the group to catch up. He hadn’t expected the journey to be so slow and arduous. It didn’t help that most of the kids were wearing thin canvas sneakers that offered little traction in the deep snow. What had they been thinking when they packed for their trip? It was, after all, mid-December, and a sudden change in the weather was not uncommon for this time of year.
It was hard to blame the kids when their chaperone appeared to be equally unprepared. In her fancy boots and white wool coat, Dani Jones looked like she was heading to a tea party, not a Sioux reservation. Still, he had to give her credit for one thing—he had yet to hear her complain. Lots of people in her position would be grousing about the treacherous conditions, but apparently, she was made of sterner stuff. The expression on her face was kind and sympathetic as she trudged along, offering encouragement to the kids.
Although he had moderated his pace to accommodate the group, Lou showed no such restraint. The high-spirited shepherd leaped from one snowbank to another like a nimble jackrabbit on the chase. At first, Gideon assumed that his dog was just excited to have company along for his walk. But then he began to notice that Lou kept circling back toward the road, his ears perked up on high alert.
The last time he had seen Lou this agitated was during a drug bust on the outskirts of Miami. That had been three years ago, but Gideon could still picture the reactions of the three criminals when the shepherd sniffed out the cache of contraband hidden under the tiles of their kitchen floor.
He hated to say it, but given the way Lou was acting, there was good reason to suspect that there were drugs hidden somewhere in the van. He shot an assessing glance at each of the kids. Three boys and four girls. He wasn’t great at estimating ages, but he’d say they all looked to be in their early teens. Sixth or seventh graders, he’d hazard a guess, wholesome and rambunctious with their colorful parkas and expedition backpacks.
Which left Dani Jones. The chaperone. At first glance, she appeared to be a nice enough woman. Pretty, too, with her dark curly hair and bright flashing eyes. But if there was one thing he had learned in his fifteen years on the job at the DEA, it was that appearances could be deceiving. And she sure had acted nervous when Lou tried to put his front paws inside the van. Of course, there was always the chance she was just afraid of dogs, but his gut told him it was more than that. He had seen panic in her eyes when she’d stepped down from the driver’s seat, a look of dread that seemed to mask something deeper and more profound. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret inviting the group to his home. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. He wasn’t about to leave them at the bottom of the ravine in the middle of a raging snowstorm.
It was going to be strange to have company after two years of living alone. But being hospitable didn’t mean turning a blind eye to signs that something was amiss. Gideon watched as his dog ran in wide circles around the kids, his excitement evident in his every move. Even though Lou couldn’t use words to communicate, he knew how to make his thoughts known in other ways. There was a definite set to the shepherd’s eyes, a tension in his jaw. And when he started pawing at the ground, as he had been doing when they were back at the van, it was a signal that he was on aggressive alert.
Gideon made a split-second decision as he waited for Dani and the teens to make their way down the incline. As soon as they were settled in for the night, he’d double back to investigate. Even though he no longer worked for the DEA, he still had a responsibility as a citizen. If there were drugs in the cargo hold of the van, he would do his part to stop them from reaching the reservation.
Inside the cabin, he showed the kids where to stow their gear and offered a two-second tour. “Bathroom, bedroom and open space for all the rest.” The kids shuffled into the main room and made a beeline for the floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a panoramic view of a full moon illuminating the frozen lake.
“Wow!” one of the older boys said as he peered through the glass. “How far is it to the other side?”
“About three miles straight across.” Gideon tossed a couple of logs onto the fire and then pointed to a cluster of lights on the other side of the shore. “That’s the town over there. Tomorrow morning, if it’s clear, you’ll be able to see the reservation on the left.”
As the kids gathered for a glimpse of Dagger Lake, he rummaged through his cabinets and located a couple of bags of chips. He set them on the counter next to a jug of orange juice and a stack of plastic cups. “Make yourselves at home. I have a few things to do outside, but I’ll work on supper as soon as I get back.” Five minutes inside a one-bedroom cabin with seven noisy teenagers, and he was more than ready for another walk with Lou in the brisk night air.
The snow was still coming down hard, and a sharp north wind had buried the remnants of their footprints under heavy drifts. Not for the first time, Gideon was thankful for the insulating layers of clothing he was wearing underneath his parka. He had learned early the benefits of trapping his body warmth to keep his core at a comfortable temperature, even when it was below zero.
He’d been five when he experienced his first North Dakota winter, a city boy unaccustomed to the harsh winds and cold temperatures of the northern plains. His father’s unexpected passing had left his Sioux mother shattered and bereft, so it fell on her brother, a tribal elder, to take his nephew under his wing. And thirty years later, those early life lessons still remained a part of Gideon’s daily routine.
Slipping a high-beam flashlight from his pocket, he flicked it on, even though it didn’t look like he was going to need it to help him find his way. The sun had set an hour ago, but the moonshine reflected against a ceiling of light clouds cast a polished brightness on the snow.
In places, the drifts were several feet deep, but he made quick time as he covered the distance between the cabin and the ridge. It was familiar territory. He and Lou hiked this path almost every day. He couldn’t recall a time when his loyal shepherd wasn’t ready for a walk, and tonight was no exception. Lou might be over-the-hill when compared to his canine colleagues at the DEA, but in many ways, he still seemed like an energetic puppy, always ready to play. But at the moment, Lou stuck close beside him, almost as if he recognized that this particular trek was for work and not pleasure.
As Gideon reached the top of the ridge, he stopped for a moment to enjoy the sharp bite of bitter cold that always made him feel especially alive. This was his favorite time of the year, even though these short days of mid-December held the promise of even chillier weather in the weeks to come. Usually, when he got to this point in his walk, he would hear the gentle hum of traffic on the road ahead. But because of the travel advisory, most people had opted to stay inside for the night. Except... Now, that was odd. A tan SUV with tinted windows and a cracked bumper was parked on the shoulder, its engine idling.
His suspicions clicked to high alert as he approached