A Cold Creek Holiday. RaeAnne Thayne

       Nate gazed at Emery in the multicolored light from the Christmas tree.

      Her sweep of blond hair reflected sparkles of red and gold and purple. All those tender emotions he had fought so hard against returned stronger than ever and he couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward and lowered his mouth to hers.

      

      She sighed his name as he kissed her, and her arms slid around his neck.

      

      Now. Now the night felt perfect. Their kiss was slow and easy, like sinking into a soft bed at the end of a hard day.

      Her mouth made him crazy. He thought he could spend forever just exploring every inch of those lips. He pulled her closer while the fire hummed and sparked behind them.

      

      He wanted Emery Kendall more than all the Christmas presents he had ever wanted in his life put together.

      A Cold Creek Holiday

      By

      RaeAnne Thayne

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dear Reader,

      

      Being a writer is a magical thing. What a marvelous opportunity—to be able to create people out of only my imagination. By the time I’ve finished a book, my characters always feel like real friends to me.

      

      They become people I care about, who inevitably have a lasting impact in my life. That’s why it was such a delight to revisit the Dalton family in A Cold Creek Holiday.

      I’ve written other books set in Cold Creek and have had characters of previous books make guest appearances occasionally, but never to the extent of this story. So many of my previous characters played significant roles in the story of Emery Kendall and Nate Cavazos. In a way, seeing them all again was like a warm, crazy, fun family reunion. It definitely felt like coming home.

      

      And isn’t that what the holidays are all about?

      

      My very best to you and yours this holiday season.

      

       RaeAnne

      About the Author

      RAEANNE THAYNE finds inspiration in the beautiful northern Utah mountains, where she lives with her husband and three children. Her books have won numerous honors, including three RITA^® Award nominations from Romance Writers of America and a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews magazine. RaeAnne loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.raeannethayne.com.

      To Elden and RaNae Robinson, my parents, for fifty wonderful years together. I love you!

      Chapter One

      Few things gave a woman a sense of her own vulnerability like driving on an unfamiliar mountain road in the dark through a snowstorm.

      Her knuckles white on the wheel of the small SUV she had rented at the Jackson Hole Airport, Emery Kendall squinted through the blowing flakes the wipers tried to beat away, desperate for any sign she was even on the right road.

      The GPS unit on the rental wasn’t working—naturally—and the directions she had printed off the Internet had already proved fallible twice.

      She let out a breath. Stupid. This whole thing was a colossal mistake. What had seemed like such a logical plan in September, even a welcome excuse to escape the weight of her pain and grief and memories during the holidays, had lost a great deal of its allure the first time her tires slipped in the two or three inches of unplowed snow and the vehicle slid toward the ominous stretch of river ribboning beside the canyon road.

      She had every reason to hate driving in the snow. It brought back too much pain, too many memories, and she couldn’t help asking herself what on earth she was doing here. She should be safe at home in Virginia, snug in her townhouse with a fire crackling in the grate and a mug of hot cocoa at her elbow while she tried to wrap her recalcitrant head around her latest project.

      Alone.

      She clicked the wipers up to a faster rhythm as she approached a slight break in the dark silhouette of trees lining either side of the road.

      A log arch over the side road was barely visible in her headlights, but she saw enough to make out the words burned into the wood.

      Hope Springs Guest Ranch. Finally.

      The owners really ought to think about a few well-placed landscaping lights so weary travelers knew they were in the right place.

      Not that it was any of her business how they ran their guest ranch. Right now the only thing she cared about was reaching her rented cabin, hauling her things inside and collapsing on the bed for the next two or three days.

      She turned into the driveway, which was unplowed with no tracks indicating anyone else had driven this way recently, at least not since the snow started to fall.

      As the tires of the four-wheel-drive whirred through the virgin powder, that sense of vulnerability and unease returned, not so much from the weather now as the sobering realization that she was heading alone to a strange place—and, she had to admit, from the knowledge that the Cold Creek Land & Cattle Company was only a mile or so up the road.

      The Daltons. Three men, brothers. Wade, Jake and Seth.

      A tangle of conflicting emotions tumbled through her, but she quickly pushed them all away, as she had been doing since the September night when her mother’s dying confession had rocked the entire foundation of her world.

      Not now. All that could wait. At the moment, the more pressing need was to get out of this snow before she became hopelessly stranded and ended up freezing to death in a snow bank on the side of some obscure mountain road.

      No Christmas lights illuminated the night, which she found odd for a guest ranch. Even a little string of white lights along the fenceline would have provided a much more cheery welcome than the unrelenting darkness.

      Just when she was wondering if she had imagined that sign out front, she reached a cluster of buildings. A white-painted barn and a two-story log home dominated the scene and she was relieved to see the house ablaze with light.

      The woman she had spoken with when she made the reservation months ago told her to check in at the main house. She had confirmed her reservation a few weeks ago and received the same instructions, though this time from a rather flighty sounding girl who had been somewhat vague, even as she assured Emery everything was in order for her arrival.

      A cold wind dug under her jacket as she walked up the steps to the wide front porch, and she was grateful for her wool scarf and hat.

      She rang the bell beside a carved wooden door and a few seconds later she heard from inside the thud of running feet and a decidedly young female voice. “Doorbell! Somebody’s here! I’ll get it, Uncle Nate.”

      Three heartbeats later, the door swung open and a dark-eyed girl of perhaps seven or eight peered out.

      She didn’t say anything, didn’t even smile, just simply gazed out in her blue thermal pajamas, as if finding a bedraggled traveler on their doorstep in the middle of a stormy December night was a daily occurrence.

      She supposed it likely was. They did run a guest ranch, after all.

      Despite