Maverick Christmas Surprise. Brenda Harlen
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according to the faded “Welcome to Rust Creek Falls” sign posted at the side the highway, she had finally arrived. She checked her speed as she drove down Cedar Street, noting that the storefronts were all decked out for the holidays with boughs of evergreen and big red bows and twinkling lights. Of course, it was late on the day after Christmas, so the stores were closed, the roads mostly empty. No doubt all the town’s residents were huddled comfortably in their homes, basking in the holiday afterglow and enjoying time with family and friends.
Certainly that was how she’d anticipated spending her holiday—not driving 1700 miles on her own, worry growing with each tick of the odometer. But missing out on the holiday didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was Cody.
Once she was reunited with her nephew, she would think about how to track down her sister. Or maybe—fingers crossed—Leighton had already decided to return to Rust Creek Falls to pick up her baby and Beth would find her sister at the Ambling A when she arrived.
Continuing to follow the directions on her phone, she finally pulled into a long, winding drive that would supposedly lead her to the Ambling A. Assuming, of course, that her GPS wasn’t sending her into the middle of a field where she’d get stuck in the snow and find herself surrounded by angry cows.
The drive had been plowed, but it was still snow-covered, making everything appear blindingly white when her headlights cut through the blackness of the night. She drove slowly, carefully, following the tire tracks to ensure she didn’t veer off the road and end up in a ditch.
The dash clock read 10:14 when she finally saw the two-story log home. Parking behind a dark pickup, she felt a slight twinge of disappointment that she didn’t see Leighton’s car, but right now her main focus was Cody.
Still, she gave herself a moment to close her eyes that were burning with strain and fatigue. But only a moment, because any longer than that and she wasn’t sure she’d manage to open them again. And anyway, as exhausted as she was, her nephew was inside that house, and she couldn’t wait a minute longer to see him.
Grabbing her purse, she pushed open the door. The blast of frigid air was a stark reminder that she wasn’t in Dallas anymore. Stepping out of the car, she nearly lost her footing on the snow-covered ground as the short-heeled boots that were perfectly suitable for winter in Texas proved to be no match for the ice and snow of Montana.
She blinked in the sudden brightness as a floodlight activated. A motion sensor, she guessed, grateful for the illumination as she moved carefully over the frozen ground.
There were no lights on inside the house, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her now.
She noted the pine boughs draped over the railing of the porch and an enormous evergreen wreath decorated with a fancy velvet bow on the door—more reminders of the holiday she’d missed celebrating. She climbed the porch steps and, after a moment’s hesitation, bypassed the bell to knock on the door instead.
When there was no response, she knocked a little harder.
Then harder again.
Finally, a light came on overhead, the door was wrenched open from the other side, and Beth found herself face-to-face with an obviously irritated man.
Actually, she was face-to-chest with his gray T-shirt, so she didn’t see the scowl that furrowed his brow until she took an instinctive step back and lifted her gaze to his face.
In addition to the scowl, he was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms low on his hips and the previously noted T-shirt that stretched across his muscular torso. He folded strong arms over his broad chest now and pinned her with a dark, piercing gaze, causing her to belatedly question the wisdom of showing up at a stranger’s door on an isolated ranch in the middle of the night.
Because she was certain that the sudden dryness of her throat and pounding of her heart were signs of fear and not an immediate and instinctive attraction to the prime male specimen in front of her.
“I don’t know where you’re from, honey, but ’round here, people don’t come visiting in the middle of the night,” he said.
The growly timbre of his voice made her shiver.
Or maybe it was just the frigid air temperature.
“Dallas,” Beth heard herself respond to what was obviously a rhetorical question. “And I’m not visiting—I’m here for my nephew.”
“You’re the woman who answered Leighton’s phone,” he concluded.
“Lisbeth,” she said. “But most people call me Beth. And you must be Wilder.”
He nodded and, after only a moment’s hesitation, stepped away from the door to allow her to enter.
She had a vague impression of a kitchen beyond the entranceway, though the interior was only dimly illuminated by the light that filtered through the window from the porch. She kicked off her boots and left them on the mat by the door and unbuttoned her thin coat as she followed Wilder further into a house that was toasty warm in contrast to the frigid air outside. “Where’s Cody?”
She sensed more than saw his frown this time. “Did your sister send you to get him?”
In retrospect, Beth would acknowledge that she should have answered his question with a firm and decisive yes. But in her agitated and sleep-deprived state, she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to see the obvious solution to her dilemma.
“No, I still haven’t heard from Leighton,” she admitted instead. “And I’m starting to worry that something might have happened to her.”
“I think what happened is that she got tired of being tied down by a baby,” he said, and handed her a piece of paper that he’d retrieved from the table.
As she unfolded the page, he turned on the light over the stove so that she’d be able to read it. Beth immediately recognized her sister’s handwriting, and her heart sank as she skimmed the brief words. Then she read them more carefully.
“I don’t understand,” she said, after she’d scanned the note a third time.
“That makes two of us.”
She looked at him again, noting the stubble that darkened his jaw and the overlong and tousled hair that suggested he’d just crawled out of bed. He was undeniably sexy with a slightly dangerous edge—exactly her sister’s type.
None of which explained why she felt a quiver low in her belly when she found him looking back at her. Of course, it was probably just that she was overtired and overwhelmed and worried about her nephew. It certainly wasn’t a visceral response to his nearness. It couldn’t be.
She cleared her throat as she refolded the note and handed it back to Wilder. “I want to see Cody now. Please.”
He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But maybe he sensed that she wouldn’t be put off—and that, if he even tried, she’d raise enough ruckus to wake the whole house—because he finally nodded.
She followed him through the darkness, up a set of stairs, then down a hall until he finally paused in an open doorway. She glanced past him, into a room dimly illuminated by a nightlight plugged in beside a crib.
“It looks like maybe you were expecting him,” she noted.
He shook his head. “Maggie and Jesse—distant but local relatives—loaned us the crib. And the rocking chair.”
Beth tiptoed to the crib, exhaling a long, quiet sigh of relief when she gazed down at the sleeping baby.
“It’s okay, Cody. I’m here to take you home now.” She murmured the words softly as she reached down to lift him into her arms and cuddle him against her chest. He squirmed a little at first, but settled quickly again without making a sound of protest.
Wilder stepped in front of the door, as if to block her path, and crossed those strong arms over his impressive chest again. “What are you talking about?”