The Sharpest Edge. Stephanie Rowe

raised an eyebrow. “Wow, that must be some gift.”

      Watson chuckled nervously. “Thank you for coming to see me today, Hunter.” He eased the little boy off his lap. “I hope you have a merry Christmas. Make sure you get a candy cane from my helper.”

      He steered Hunter toward the steps, where the grandmotherly ErmaJean Hicks waited. With her silvery hair tucked inside a green felt hat, she resembled a jolly, if somewhat plump, elderly elf.

      Watson caught Jonas’s coat sleeve. “Uh, Stone. I feel I ought to warn you.”

      He frowned. “Warn me? About what?”

      “I’d hate for Hunter to be disappointed.” The mayor cut his eyes to where Hunter waited at the bottom of the steps, happily licking the red stripe off the peppermint cane. “Telling a Christmas wish isn’t the same as blabbing a birthday wish...”

      “Hunter’s a great kid,” Jonas agreed. “If he only wants one thing for Christmas, I’ll do my best to make sure he gets it.”

      The mayor cleared his throat. “Fact is, Jonas, the only thing Hunter wants for Christmas this year is a mommy.”

      Jonas stared at him. “A what?”

      “You heard me.” Watson winced. “I wish you well with that. Next?”

      He moved aside as Hunter’s best friend, little Maisie McAbee, scrambled onto Santa’s lap, clutching a list in her small hand.

      What had just happened?

      “Here.” Smirking, ErmaJean thrust a candy cane at Jonas. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

      Stifling a groan, he scanned the crowd milling around the square for the rest of the Double Name Club—GeorgeAnne Allen and his great-aunt, IdaLee Moore. The trio were notoriously known as the Truelove Matchmakers, and where there was one, the others weren’t usually too far behind.

      The three old ladies were infamous for poking their noses where they didn’t belong. They took the town motto—Truelove, Where True Love Awaits—a little too seriously.

      Ethan Green—ErmaJean’s grandson—and his wife, Amber, had been the matchmakers’ most recent matrimonial success story.

      But after Jonas’s wife, Kasey, walked out on them, he had decided women were trouble he didn’t need. He’d take his life on the ranch with Hunter any day over some high-maintenance, commitment-phobic woman. He didn’t need that kind of heartache. Once burned, twice shy.

      Clamping his Stetson onto his head, he shouldered past the older lady. “Excuse me, Miss ErmaJean.”

      Married, divorced or spinster, the “Miss” was an honorary title of respect bestowed on any Southern lady who was your elder. No matter if the woman was elderly or not.

      Lines fanned from the corners of ErmaJean’s glacier-blue eyes. “You’re on my radar now, Jonas Stone.” She wagged a bony finger. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint a child at Christmas, would we?”

      Grunting, he took hold of his son. “On the way home, we need to have a talk, Hunter.”

      Shaken by the heartbreaking scene she’d stumbled upon, AnnaBeth Cummings ran toward the bridal dressing room. Gut clenching, she left her engagement ring beside her bouquet and quickly scribbled a note.

      Please don’t try to find me, Scott. Be happy, MaryDru. I’ll be in touch. I need a little breathing room. All my love, AnnaBeth

      Strains of organ music filtered from the sanctuary where family and friends awaited a Saturday-morning wedding that was never going to happen. The wedding her stepmother, Victoria, liked to call The Social Event of the Season.

      AnnaBeth’s heart raced. She had to hurry before it was too late. Before her father and Scott stopped her.

      Or worse, Victoria, who was a force of nature. As in a hurricane. Tornado. Tidal wave. Firestorm.

      She must make her getaway before Victoria could strong-arm her and Scott into doing something they’d regret.

      AnnaBeth had no idea where she should go or what she should do with The Rest of Her Life. Yet a strange certainty that she was doing the right thing began to build inside her. And a budding excitement.

      Grabbing her coat and her suitcase—she was glad it hadn’t already been transferred to the limo—she ran for the parking lot. She ran for her life. She ran to find her life.

      Leaf-barren trees lifted forlorn branches to the desolate, late November sky. Behind the wheel of her car, she turned off her cell phone and glanced in the rearview mirror. With a pained expression, she adjusted the ridiculously large, ivory satin bow affixed to the Juliet cap on her head a smidgeon. It didn’t help.

      “Sweet potatoes,” she muttered.

      But after such a dire beginning, the day could only get better from here. Right?

      Snowflakes began to fall from the leaden sky. Headed west on Interstate 40, she drove for hours. Plenty of time to reflect on where everything had gone so catastrophically off-course.

      Awaiting her father’s arrival to escort her down the aisle, she’d been stricken with anxiety over her upcoming nuptials. So she’d decided to break tradition and see Scott one more time before the ceremony.

      And discovered more than she’d ever bargained for when she found her two most favorite people in the world—Scott and her younger half sister, MaryDru—in each other’s arms, saying an agonizing goodbye. She’d slipped away before either of them spotted her.

      Images from the last few months filtered through her mind. Like suddenly coming upon her sister and Scott. The stammers. MaryDru’s blushes. One or both of them always making an excuse for not being together in the same room.

      How had everything gone so terribly wrong? How could she have not seen the love blossoming between her sister and Scott?

      From the beginning, she’d had doubts about marrying Scott. But probably a thousand times since his proposal, she’d reassured herself that what she was feeling was nothing more than prewedding jitters.

      So what if in their eight-month engagement he’d kissed her a total of once? So what if that one time had been akin to kissing a cousin? So what if there’d been no fireworks?

      Not only had she not experienced lightning, but she’d also felt nothing.

      She’d chalked it up to unrealistic expectations. She told herself they shared something far more solid than sparks—friendship. Their fathers were business associates and golf buddies. She and Scott had known one another forever.

      “Love will grow,” she whispered repeatedly. But it hadn’t.

      Now it wasn’t so much sorrow she felt as giddy relief. She didn’t love Scott, and he didn’t love her. She refused to stand in the way of MaryDru’s happiness.

      AnnaBeth’s stomach growled. Perhaps it was time to refuel, and not just the gas tank. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, she hadn’t eaten more than a bite. And in increasing dread of having to put on The Dress, she hadn’t eaten much of anything for the past month.

      She shivered. The higher the elevation, the colder it became. AnnaBeth turned the heat in the car on full-blast.

      The slim-fitting mermaid wedding dress wasn’t something she would’ve chosen for herself. Her hips weren’t exactly her best feature, but Victoria had been insistent. Of course, the wedding dress would’ve been perfect for MaryDru.

      After driving past a sign indicating a town called Truelove was ten miles ahead, she exited the highway and veered onto a secondary road. The irony of the town’s name didn’t escape her. Maybe when she stopped for gas, she’d meet the man of her dreams.

      Hey,