A Christmas Seduction. Daire Denis St.

      “To each their own,” he muttered before trudging toward the lodge, suitcase in hand. However, once they made their way up onto the covered porch, he turned to her. “I’ve had Sue since she was a pup. She wouldn’t hurt a flea, let alone a guest. The other two are her offspring. They’re rambunctious, but gentle as spring lambs.”

      “If you say so.” The stranger had an unmistakable Louisiana drawl, not what she expected to find in Montana. She supposed she should have anticipated dogs, however. Jo stomped her boots on the mat outside the door.

      “If you’d like, I could introduce you to them...”

      Thankfully the topic was dropped when the door swung open and a petite woman stood in the opening, a huge smile on her face and a Santa hat sitting at a jaunty angle on her head, covering red curls. “You must be Jolie! I’m Gloria Cross. Welcome to Silver Tree Ranch. We’re so pleased to have you.”

      * * *

      THAD SET JOLIE’S bag down in the entry of the ranch house. Four things tipped him off to her city-girl status. Her designer clothes, her designer bag, her ridiculous footwear and her fear of animals.

      He nodded to Gloria while the new arrival removed her winter outerwear.

      “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you by being early.”

      “No, not a problem.” Gloria glanced at Thad. “Join us for supper? I made winter soup and biscuits.”

      “I do love your biscuits, Ms. Gloria,” he said. “But I’ve got chores yet. I’ll grab something in the bunkhouse.”

      “You sure?”

      “Positive.” He tipped his hat to Gloria and when the other woman—Jolie—straightened from removing her winter boots, which were not meant for winter, he tipped his hat to her, as well. As she stood there in her oversized sweater and tights, Thad could see she was tall: arms and legs from here to there. She reminded him of the fawn that got trapped on the sheer ice of the pond last winter: brown hair, brown doe eyes with long lashes, long spindly legs...no coordination.

      The image was so striking he had to cover a chuckle with a cough.

      “Come by later if you feel like it,” Gloria called as he ducked back out. “Dillon’s itching to break into the rum and eggnog.”

      “Thank you, Ms. Gloria, but I’m saving my imbibing for Tip’s Eve.”

      The door shut behind him and he whistled for the dogs. They’d been sitting by the side of the house waiting for him, and he kneeled down in the snow to give all three a proper head scratch. As far as he was concerned, there was something wrong with a person who didn’t like dogs. Not that the canines didn’t like this Jolie woman. It was a good sign, because if the dogs didn’t like someone...well then, that meant there was really something wrong.

      No matter. It wasn’t the first time one of the guests had been skittish around the animals. Even though the ranch had been open for business for only a little over a year, he’d seen it before. While Thad didn’t understand an aversion to dogs, he recognized that anyone who was booking a stay over Christmas didn’t have any other place to be. This woman had arrived alone, which could only mean one thing: she had no family to speak of.

      Thad knew firsthand how lonely that could be over the holidays. It’d been eleven years...

      Hell, what was he doing, ruminating over the past? That never did a man any good. Particularly him.

      He stood and the biggest of the three dogs cozied up to his legs, rubbing against him before placing his paws on Thad’s thigh.

      He knew what was coming next.

      “Don’t you dare, Humper,” he warned.

      But the young dog didn’t heed the warning. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back as he launched into the action that was his namesake.

      * * *

      AFTER A DELICIOUS DINNER of hearty chicken soup and warm biscuits, Jo sat at the desk in her room—the best guest room in the whole place, Gloria had said—typing notes into the file for Travel America Magazine. Thank God they had decent Wi-Fi, though Gloria had said they’d had to install a satellite because the service was so bad when she first moved here. Impossible to have a business these days without access to internet. Jolie arched her back and rolled her shoulders just as her phone beeped for what seemed like the millionth time. She should have turned off the ringer but she supposed she’d left it on as a sort of punishment.

      “Fine,” she grumbled, picking it up and quickly scrolling through the messages. Ten from her mother. Two from her father. All with the same message.

      Call me.

      Or...

      Call your mother.

      Leaning back in her chair, she dialed her mother’s cell and waited.

      “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. Why haven’t you called me back?” she asked by way of a greeting.

      “I’m...” Jo gazed about the large room. The log walls made the space feel warm and rustic, and they were complemented by Southwestern accents: rugs, pillows, throws. “On assignment,” she finished absently.

      “Well, I need to firm up the meal for the twenty-fifth. Your father wants halibut this year, so if you could bring a pilaf or risotto and a salad... Your brother is bringing the wine. We’ll eat at two and then I’m on call at the hospital from eight to eight.”

      Jo squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not—”

      “Oh, and no gifts this year. We’re donating to Oxfam in lieu.”

      “—coming.”

      Silence.

      Finally, “Excuse me?”

      Taking a couple of deep breaths first, Jo said, “I won’t be there.”

      “Why not?” Her mother’s tone was not disappointed or hurt. Just curious.

      “I’m on assignment,” she repeated. “So, I won’t be in Chicago for Chris...for the twenty-fifth.” As theirs was an atheist household, Jolie’s parents did not approve of using the word Christmas. Instead they called it “the holiday,” “the twenty-fifth”—anything but “Christmas.”

      It’s disrespectful to celebrate a day that honors the birth of someone or something we don’t believe in was the explanation she’d received when she was eight years old.

      “Where are you?”

      “I can’t say.”

      “Why can’t you say?”

      Yeah, Jo. Why can’t you say? “I’m investigating something.” She surfed through news articles on the web, hovering over the link to one about a trial involving alleged members of an organized crime ring. Clicking on the article, she skimmed while her mind made up a tall tale to tell her mother. “It’s a big story. Organized crime. If I can be the first to break it, my career will take off.”

      “You should talk to your brother. He’s prosecuting a case right now involving organized crime.” Her mother’s tone was emotionless, which made it impossible to determine if she was trying to be helpful or making an assumption that Jolie needed the assistance of her brother.

      “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go.” She paused. “Tell Dad I said hi.”

      “Of course.”

      “I’ll miss you.”

      “Let me know how the story goes.”

      “Sure thing,” Jo said, but her mother had already hung up.

      She sat for a minute, staring blindly at her screen before finally snapping the laptop shut. What had compelled her to lie? Why hadn’t she just told her mother she was spending the holidays with friends