CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN Read online

  She didn't want his gratitude or a debt. She wanted something more permanent. Hope fluttered in her chest and no matter how much she told herself it was dangerous, the light, tickly feeling wouldn't go away.

  "About Christmas," he said. "You're going to spend it with Dirk?"

  "Yes." She bit her lower lip. "Do you have plans?"

  "Not really."

  "Do you want to come with me? You don't have to," she added hastily. "I mean it's going to be a big crowd and I know that's not your thing."

  "I'd like to go," he told her.

  "Good."

  The fluttering in her chest increased. She was sinking in fourteen kinds of trouble and didn't know how to keep herself from drowning.

  "What time do you want to head to the school?" he asked.

  "About nine in the morning. That will put us there around ten. They eat at two, and we can come back after dinner."

  "Works for me. I'll call Maddie before we leave."

  "Where is your sister?"

  "Somewhere in Texas. There's a series of rodeos in the area, so she's actually settled down for a few weeks. She has a lot of friends there."

  "Do you see her much?"

  "No. Maddie likes to be on the rodeo circuit. For some reason she isn't one for staying in the same place."

  "Was she like that as a child?"

  "Some. She always loved horses."

  "Unlike her older brother," Darcy teased.

  "You got that right. I don't hate them, but I don't get the fascination. And why anyone would want to spend his life looking after cows is beyond me. They're stupid and they smell."

  She laughed. "You're mocking one of Montana's prime industries."

  He winked at her, then returned his attention to the road. "Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a decent steak as much as the next guy, but that doesn't mean I want to meet my meal on the hoof."

  "It's a good thing you headed off to New York when you did," she said. "Otherwise your blasphemy would have offended the neighbors."

  "Maddie rags on me all the time," he admitted. "She says that I couldn't have been born here. That our folks must have found me on the side of the road somewhere back East but were just too embarrassed to tell anyone."

  Darcy laughed. "She sounds like fun. I'd like to meet her sometime."

  "I wouldn't mind seeing her myself." He frowned. "It's been a while. After our parents died we clung to each other. We had a great aunt. June was an incredible woman. We thought she was about as old as the hills, but in a cool way." He shrugged. "She started visiting us. First it was for a long weekend, then for a couple of weeks. Finally, she was spending more time at our place than at hers. When I finished college, she moved in so that I could head off to New York."

  "You have some wonderful memories to counteract the bad ones."

  "I guess I do."

  She wondered if he would use her to counteract his memories of Sylvia or if she would have a place of her own.

  "What happened to your house?" she asked instead. "The one you grew up in?"

  "We sold it when Aunt June died and split the money. Aunt June left us what she had. I gave that all to Maddie to buy her truck and trailer, along with the gear she needed for her rodeo career."

  "It sounds like you two had to grow up fast, too," she said. "Losing significant people has a way of doing that."

  "It taught me to be self-sufficient," Mark said. "I regret the losses but not the lessons."

  She'd learned something different, Darcy thought sadly. Instead of being autonomous, she wanted to belong – to be a part of something bigger than herself. She doubted that Mark shared her desire for home and hearth – a family. He'd already learned his lesson on that one.

  *

  Christmas Eve was perfect. The night was cold and clear, with a promise of new snow for Christmas morning. The dinner had turned out well, although there was enough ham left over to feed half of Whitehorn. Now she and Mark cuddled together on the sofa, staring at her perfect tree, watching the lights twinkle in the semidarkness.

  "That tree needs to go on a diet," Mark said.

  "And here I was thinking this was a perfect moment," she complained. "The tree is not fat. It's a little broad through the base is all."

  "It's pear shaped."

  Darcy squinted at the tree. Okay, so there was a disproportionate amount of branches at the bottom. Still it was her tree and she loved it.

  "If you'd let me get the really tall one, you wouldn't be complaining that the tree was fat."

  He kissed her lightly. "If I'd let you get the tall one, we would have had to put it outside to make it fit. It would have made decorating it a cold proposition."

  Darcy opened her mouth, then closed it. She'd started to tell him that next time he could pick. She bit back the words, not knowing if there was going to be a next time. She wanted there to be. She couldn't imagine herself loving anyone else the way she loved him.

  "Come on," he said, slipping off the sofa and settling on the ground in front of the tree. "Let's open presents."

  "Okay."

  Darcy sat crossed-legged next to him, trying not to feel too nervous. She hadn't ever bought a man a present before. The goofy gifts she'd given boyfriends in high school and college didn't seem to count. She'd thought for a long time, not sure what Mark would like. Her first idea had been something to spruce up his bare apartment, but that had seemed too impersonal.

  Mark sorted through the packages. She'd been eyeing the big box he'd brought over with some trepidation. It was the size of a large laundry basket, but she didn't think that would be his idea of a gift.

  "I see several for Dirk," he said. "What did you get him?"

  "One of those robot dogs." She laughed. "I'm sure it's going to make everyone at the school crazy. Apparently it barks when it's excited and whimpers when it's lonely. It has to be fed."

  He looked at her. "What do we feed a fake dog?"

  "Some kind of fake bone." She shrugged. "According to the guy at the store, the dog can be programmed to recognize a voice and even do tricks. It will take some work, but when I talked to Andrew, he felt it would be good for Dirk. Not only fun, but it will help him read and follow directions. I also got him a remote control car, some videos and a gift certificate for clothes. The school suggested that so they can take the students shopping and teach them to make good choices on their own."

  Mark stared at her. "I didn't realize that buying for Dirk was so complicated." He looked uncomfortable. "I just got him a new basketball."

  Darcy hadn't realized that one of the presents from Mark had been for Dirk. His thoughtfulness overwhelmed her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She threw her arms around him and held him close.

  "Hey," he said lightly. "It wasn't all that big a deal."

  "Yes it was." She sniffed. "I didn't expect you to get him anything. You took time out of your busy schedule to get something special for my brother. That means a lot to me."

  He hugged her. Darcy savored the feel of his body next to hers. Although they'd been spending a lot of time together, they hadn't been making love. She didn't know what that meant and did her best not to think about it. In many ways her relationship with Mark was entirely too complicated, although very wonderful.

  She straightened and wiped away any trace of tears. "Okay. Enough foolishness. Show me the loot."

  Mark chuckled. He pulled the large mystery box toward him, then set it in front of her.

  "Here's the thing," he said. "I really wrestled with this one."

  She eyed the box. "Is it a bear?"

  "Not that kind of wrestling. I didn't know if I should get this or not. It's one of those practical presents. I know that women have a thing about that. But I did it because I worry about you and I wanted to make your life easier."

  "Is it a muffler for my car?"

  "Would you just open it?"

  She stared at the Santa paper and the crooked seams of the wrapping. The bow was off center and Mark had used enough tape
to hold together a ship. She thought the package looked wonderful.

  But what had he gotten her? She ripped paper off one side of the box. It was just a white shipping box and the plain cardboard didn't give any hits. She quickly tore the rest of it away, then pried open the top.

  Inside were packing peanuts and something large and flat. She pulled out an expensive two-layer cookie sheet, then glanced at Mark.

  He looked vaguely uncomfortable. "If you're going to be spending all your time in the kitchen, I thought you might like to be working with something better than those old pans of yours." He hesitated. "I wasn't sure because there are all those horror stories about insensitive men buying blenders for gifts. I didn't mean it like that."

  Darcy stared at the label on the pan. It was high-end stuff. More than she could afford, even on her best day. Judging from the weight of the box, it wasn't the only one inside.

  "You can't buy these here."

  "I know. I found a place on-line and got it through them."

  She dropped the pan and threw her arms around him. "Thank you. They're wonderful."

  "You're not mad?"

  "Not even a little. I think they're fabulous."

  The tingling was back, along with hope for their future. Mark hadn't gotten her something easy and generic. He'd put a lot of effort into the bakeware. Maybe she did matter to him after all.

  He kissed her. "There's more than just the one cookie sheet. You could look at the rest of them."

  He sounded like a little kid who wanted his school project admired. She returned to the box and drew out three more cookie sheets and two sets of cake pans. There were also four loaf pans and a specially designed multilayer cooling rack. Talk about a fantasy collection.

  "I'm impressed," she said. "Thank you. I mean it."

  "Good."

  She sat on her heels and handed him a box. Shopping for him had been challenge. Not only was there the issue of her budget, but what exactly was she supposed to get for a man who didn't seem to need or want anything?

  Mark opened the box and pulled out a sweater. It was hand-knit, thick and in multiple shades of green blended with black. It had cost her a chunk of change plus two gingerbread houses.

  "It's perfect," he said, holding it up to himself. "Am I stylish?"

  "Always." She touched the wool. "Do you like it? I had it made because I'm hopeless with knitting and sewing. I know it's clothes, which isn't a guy thing, but I thought…"

  Now it was his turn to hug her. "I'm not kidding, Darcy. I really do like it. I'll wear it tomorrow when we go see your brother."

  "I'd like that."

  Darcy's expression was so hopeful, Mark found himself willing to walk through fire rather than disappoint her. At least she hadn't thought his present was stupid. He'd been worried that she wouldn't understand that he was trying to help. But even as they sat together, she kept glancing at the pans as if he'd given her an unexpected treasure. Based on what she'd told him about her life, he would bet that it had been a long time since someone had bothered to pay attention to her needs.

  He found himself wanting to step into the role. Being around her made him feel as if he belonged – possibly for the first time in years. Funny how he'd been so sure he was in love with Sylvia, yet he'd never relaxed around her. With Darcy he could be himself.

  "I have something else for you," she said, handing him a flat box that felt exactly like a book.

  He opened the package. It was a book. One on dealing with and preventing sports injuries. He chuckled. "Gee, thanks. Is this a statement on my physical prowess?"

  "Uh-huh." She laughed.

  He handed her a small box. She opened in. Inside were a dozen lottery tickets, all from different states.

  "A buffet of possibilities," he teased. "One of those might be worth millions. Or at least thousands."

  She fingered the tickets. "At this point in time I would be excited by fifty dollars. Want to open them now?"

  "If you'd like. Or we could have pie."

  She tucked the lottery tickets back in the box and put them under the tree. "Far be it from me to stand between a man and his pumpkin pie. This way, sir."

  He followed her into the kitchen. This had been the best Christmas he'd had in recent memory. There was a message in that information. Perhaps it was time for him to pay attention to it.

  *

  Two days after Christmas, Melissa North held open the front door to her house. "Thanks for coming out on such short notice," she said as Mark stepped into the foyer.

  "Not a problem."

  He followed her into her western-style living room and settled on the sofa. Melissa sat opposite in a club chair. She wore her dark hair pulled away from her face. Her fingers were restless on her lap and there was an edge of worry in her expression.

  "I was speaking with the sheriff yesterday. He says you haven't found any evidence of money laundering at my café."

  Melissa owned the Hip Hop. Mark flipped through his notes. "We've come up with exactly zero. I'm meeting with Rafe later today. We're going to pool information and figure what, if anything, we know. As far as I can tell, all your employees are clean."

  She sighed. "That's good to know. I'd been worried because I consider myself a good judge of character. It would be disconcert- ing to suddenly be proved wrong."

  She stopped talking and stared at him. Mark didn't say anything. There was something about her body language that told him she'd had another reason for asking him to stop by. Experience had taught him that silence was a persuasive tool for getting people to speak.

  "I don't even know if I should mention this," she said after a couple of minutes. "It sounds so stupid."

  "I live for stupid," he said easily. "I promise not to laugh."

  She shook her head. "I'm sure it's nothing, but it's weird and kind of creepy."

  Mark didn't like the sound of that. "What is weird and creepy?"

  "I've been getting hang-up calls. At first I thought it was someone with a wrong number, but it doesn't feel like that. I know that doesn't make sense."

  Mark wrote on his pad. "I've learned to trust people's gut feelings about this sort of thing. Anything else?"

  She paused before speaking. "I found a dead bird on the welcome mat. I don't think it died there. It's almost as if someone is sending me a message. But I don't know what it means."

  "Do you and your husband have any enemies?" Mark asked. "People who want to get you back for something?"

  "No. I've been trying to think of anyone who would want to make trouble for me. I haven't even fired anyone. My last few employees left because they wanted to. And Wyatt, my husband, can't think of anyone, either."

  Mark didn't like the sound of the calls or the dead bird.

  "I'll ask around," he told her. "If I hear anything, I'll let you know. Start keeping a log of your hangup calls. If you get more than a couple more, we'll go to the phone company and get a trace put on your line. If anything else strange happens, page me. Don't hesitate, even if it's the middle of the night."

  "Okay. Thanks."

  Mark rose and left. He'd returned to Montana expecting to find life pretty boring. First Darcy had come into his world and now this. Was it possible there was going to be trouble in Whitehorn?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mark left Melissa North's house and drove directly to the sheriff's office. Rafe was in, talking on the phone as Mark tapped on his open door. The other man waved him in. Mark took a seat and flipped through his notes until Rafe hung up the phone.

  "What's up?" the sheriff asked.

  Mark crossed his leg, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. "A couple of things. I've been through the backgrounds of every employee at the Hip Hop Café, including that of Janie and Melissa North, who owns the place. I can't come up with a single lead."

  Rafe dug through several files on his desk. The dark-haired sheriff pulled one out and opened it. "I have the report back from the forensic accountant. There's a job we sh
ould all have," he said with a grin.

  "Not me."

  "Yeah, I was never a numbers person, either. Anyway she's been through the Hip Hop's books front to back. She came up with nada."

  Mark wasn't surprised. "So we're at a dead end."

  "Do you think the phone call was a hoax?"

  Mark shrugged. "I don't know how else to explain it. The problem is, why do it in the first place? It's not the sort of thing kids would do. If it's not true, who else would bother?"

  Rafe frowned. "I see what you mean. Teenagers tend to go for splashier crimes. It's one thing to steal a car for a joy ride. There's the thrill of breaking the law and showing off to friends. But this isn't their style. So who else had something to gain by sending us on a wild-goose chase?"

  "That's what doesn't make sense. Okay, so we wasted a bunch of time. So what? It's not as if there were more pressing crimes that went without an investigation. If this were a bigger city, I would say we'd been had by a crazy person. The only person who fits that description is Homer Gilmore. He talks to himself, but I can't see him doing this, can you?"

  "No." Rafe leaned back in his chair. "Well, Mark, it looks like we have ourselves a bona fide mystery. Think we're going to solve it?"

  "No. And there's more. I went to see Melissa North today. She wanted to know how the money laundering investigation was going. While I was there she told me that she's been having hang-up calls. Someone also left a dead bird on her doorstep."

  Rafe swore. "What the hell is going on here? This is Whitehorn. We're not supposed to have serious crime here."

  "I don't know if it's serious or not. I told Melissa to keep track of the next few hang-ups. If they continue, we'll need to put a tracer on the phone line." He patted his belt. "I also told her to page me with any information or questions."

  Rafe grinned. "About time someone got you out of bed in the middle of the night. The department paid good money for that pager."

  "Because Whitehorn is so big, you wouldn't know where to find me?"

  Rafe's humor faded. "I don't like any of this," he admitted.

  "I agree. I've got a bad feeling. Plus I can't help thinking that I'm missing something really important. It's just out of reach."