Holiday in a Stetson: The Sheriff Who Found Christmas / A Rancho Diablo Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

then he remembered. He wasn’t alone in the house, as he had been for so many years. Ellie was here. Lani had made up the sofa for her in the den, which was two doors down the hall from his bedroom.

      Was that his niece crying?

      Why?

      Wearing a T-shirt and the worn jeans that served as his pajama bottoms, Garrett quickly padded barefoot into the hallway. Once there, he stood still and listened again for the sound that had roused him.

      In the back of his mind, he debated what to do if he did hear his niece crying. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t her. She’d been here for three days, but he was no closer to having a clue how to talk to her than he had been that first night.

      And then he heard the noise again, even more clearly. The sobs were so heart-wrenching he knew he couldn’t just ignore them—and her distress—and go back to bed. No one should sound so terribly unhappy, Garrett thought. If he heard such a mournful sound coming from an animal, he would take the creature into his house, to at least feed it and try to alleviate some of its distress. He couldn’t do any less for his own flesh and blood.

      Moving slowly toward the crowded den, which his deputy, by working a little magic, had managed to transform into a semibedroom, he kept hoping that the crying sound would stop.

      But it didn’t.

      Bracing himself, Garrett slowly eased the door to the den open. There was some illumination in the room, thanks to the night-light that Lani had brought with her and plugged in. A night-light … How had she even thought of that? She seemed to be always a couple steps ahead of anything his niece might need or want. That alone proved to him that his annoying deputy was much better at this than he was.

      The woman really did have her uses, he admitted grudgingly.

      The last time he had even thought of a night-light, he had needed one himself. Not that his stepfather would have allowed him to have any sort of light to keep the “monsters” at bay. The man had snarled at him, ordering him to “grow up and be a man, you worthless waste of flesh.”

      Garrett had been six when he’d asked for a night-light.

      The same age his niece was now.

      “Ellie?” he called softly as he slowly approached the sofa. He was aware how his deep voice rumbled, sounding like distant thunder in the bedroom.

      The crying grew louder. At the same time the little girl seemed to grow smaller, as if trying to disappear into the sofa.

      Her eyes were shut tight.

      She was asleep, he realized. Asleep and in the throes of a really bad nightmare.

      “Ellie, wake up,” Garrett urged her gently. “It’s all right, you’re just having a nightmare.”

      But his niece didn’t waken, and her crying intensified. She seemed absolutely terrified of what she was dreaming about.

      Trying to rouse her, Garrett put his hand on her shoulder—the way Chisholm had the other day, he realized abruptly.

      Startled, Ellie jumped and jackknifed into a sitting position on the sofa. At the same time, she shrank away from his hand, as if she expected to be hit at any second.

      That bastard had done that to her, Garrett thought angrily. Her father had taken his frustrations out on his daughter. Had he beaten her? Badly? There was no other reason for the little girl to act so terrified at feeling a hand on her shoulder.

      “It’s okay, Ellie,” Garrett assured her. “You’re safe. You’re here with me and you’re safe,” he repeated, doing his best to calm her.

      Dazed, his niece opened her eyes and stared at him, as if trying to make sense of the words he had just said. Her tears continued to flow, much to Garrett’s frustration.

      She was shaking, he realized belatedly. And despite the barriers he normally kept around him, despite all the effort he put into keeping those same walls up, and even despite the sheer awkwardness he felt trying to comfort the little girl, Garrett forced himself to sit down on the sofa beside her.

      Telling her it was going to be all right didn’t seem to convince her. Or get her to stop sobbing. If Chisholm were here, she would have said that the girl needed to talk things out.

      Damn it, now Garrett was channeling his deputy. Still, the notion that had popped into his head did make sense.

      He gave it his best shot. “That must have been some nightmare,” he observed.

      Hiccupping and still unable to talk, Ellie nodded her head.

      He couldn’t take it. She was just too unhappy. Before he knew what he was doing, Garrett gathered his niece into his arms and held her against him, rocking gently.

      “It’s going to be all right,” he promised. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

      She clung to him wordlessly, her tears still falling, making the front of his T-shirt damp.

      “Mama’s gone,” she sobbed at last.

      He could feel the words twisting like a knife in his own gut, not to mention bringing a lump to his throat.

      “I know, honey,” he told her. “I know.”

      Garrett held the little girl for as long as she needed him to.

       Chapter Six

      Over the next few weeks Garrett made an unnerving discovery.

      He found that the very quality that had annoyed him the most about his blonde powder keg deputy was exactly the one he was now grateful she possessed.

      Her irritating habit of taking things on and, ultimately, taking them over, turned out to be a good thing—at least in this case. Because when it came to matters that involved Ellie, he let Chisholm have free rein.

      It had been three weeks since the shattering bombshell had hit, blowing up what had been his world. Three weeks since he had gone to fetch his niece and bring her back to live with him. Three weeks since he had buried his sister—here, in the cemetery right outside of the town, the way his annoying deputy had convinced him to do.

      And he’d done it for exactly the reason she had specified. He’d done it for Ellie’s sake.

      Chisholm seemed to know instinctively what was best for the girl, maybe, he reasoned, because she’d been one herself once. He didn’t really know. But whatever the case, the woman had an inherent knack of knowing just how to treat Ellie and how to get along with her. His niece seemed to be doing better each day, except for the unnerving habit she had of referring to Chisholm as “Aunt Lani” despite numerous corrections.

      But in the sum total of things, that was a minor price to pay. So he bit his tongue and stayed out of his energetic deputy’s way, which was, he thought, tantamount to attempting to stay out of the way of a runaway steamroller.

      It wasn’t exactly a matter of choice so much as one of survival. And at times, when he was around the woman, it felt as if he were barely hanging on by his fingertips.

      Moreover, he was dealing with a strange sensation: he found himself not being as put off by the things his deputy did as he had been when she’d first shown up in his office.

      More to the point, he was attracted to her. It had crept up on him out of nowhere, nestling amid other, totally unrelated thoughts.

      He found it unnerving. Not to mention out of character for him.

      Except for the four years when he’d gone off to college, he had been a lifelong resident of Booth. Yet somehow it was Chisholm who had known what steps were necessary to get Ellie registered for school here, now that this was her new, permanent home. And Chisholm was the one who had taken his niece shopping for new, warmer clothes, because the ones she’d worn in Southern California weren’t sufficient for winters in Texas, not at this latitude.

      Chisholm,