Christmas Guardian. Delores Fossen

      

      Christmas Guardian

      Delores Fossen

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

About the Author

       Dedication

Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Copyright

About the Author

      Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

      To Dakota and Danielle

Prologue

       San Antonio, Texas

      Jordan Taylor heard the pounding, but it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t part of the nightmare he’d been having. Someone was banging on his door.

      He checked the clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning. He cursed, threw back the covers and grabbed his Sig Sauer, because visits at this time of morning were never good.

      “Jordan, open up!” a woman said. Not a shout, exactly, but close.

      He recognized that voice and cursed again. Shelly Mackey, his ex, both as a business associate and a girlfriend. He wouldn’t need the Sig Sauer. Well, probably not. Since he hadn’t seen or heard from Shelly in months and since her voice sounded a couple of steps beyond frantic, Jordan decided to bring the gun with him anyway.

      “You have to help me!” Shelly insisted. She continued to pound on the door. “Please. Hurry.”

      That got him moving faster. Shelly wasn’t the drama queen type. Jordan didn’t bother to dress. He pulled on only his boxers and raced out of his bedroom.

      Her voice wasn’t coming from the front of the house, he realized, but from the door off his kitchen. Jordan sprinted that way.

      But the pounding stopped.

      He stopped, too, just short of the door. He waited a moment. Listened.

      And heard nothing.

      “Shelly?” he called out.

      Still nothing. That gave him another jolt of adrenaline. Shelly was likely in big trouble.

      Jordan lifted his gun as he reached for the doorknob. Then, he heard it. The sound of a car engine.

      Someone was driving away. Not fast. More like easing away, the tires barely whispering on the brick driveway that encircled his house. Jordan unlocked the door, jerked it open, but he caught only a flash of the bloodred taillights before the car disappeared into the darkness.

      With his gun aimed, he shot glances around his heavily landscaped yard. He didn’t see anyone, but the soft grunt he heard had him aiming his attention lower. To the porch.

      There was a basket with a blanket draped over it.

      “What the hell?” he mumbled.

      Jordan kept his attention on the yard, just in case the someone or something that had caused Shelly to run was still out there. He stooped down and lifted the corner of the blanket.

      A baby stared back at him.

      Jordan had never remembered being speechless before, but he sure was now. He looked beneath the blanket again, certain he was mistaken.

      No mistake.

      The tiny baby was still there. Still staring at him with eyes that seemed to ask who are you and why am I here?

      Jordan wanted to know the same thing.

      He grabbed the basket, brought it inside so he could set it on the floor and shut the door. He also reached for his phone and jabbed in Shelly’s number. Each ring felt like a week-long wait.

      “Jordan,” she finally answered. He didn’t know who sounded more frantic—him or her.

      “Talk to me,” he snarled.

      “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

      Despite the baby-in-the-basket bombshell, he wasn’t immune to the fear he heard in her voice. “Where are you? I’ll send help, and then you can come back for the little delivery you left on my porch.”

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do things this way, but I had no choice. They’re after me, because of the baby. He’s in danger, Jordan. The worst kind. And I need you to protect him.”

      Him. A boy.

      Then it hit Jordan. He threw back