Keeping Christmas. B.J. Daniels

Then he dialed the number Bonner had left for him.

      “Hello?” Beauregard Bonner boomed.

      “It’s Chance. Any word from Dixie?” He’d been holding his breath, hoping Dixie had found her way home. Or at least there’d been some contact.

      “Nothing,” Bonner said. “I just flew into Houston and was going to find my other daughter.”

      Chance thought about telling Bonner to say hello to Rebecca, but instantly came to his senses. “Do you have a cell phone number for Dixie?”

      “No. I’m sure she has one. I tried to get the number, but couldn’t.”

      Chance smiled to himself, hearing the frustration in Bonner’s voice. Even Beauregard Bonner didn’t get everything he wanted.

      “I’ll let you know when I come up with something,” Chance said and snapped the phone shut.

      Back in the café, he kept an eye on the four-way stop, hoping he was right about Dixie. Of course, that brought up the question of why she was zigzagging across the state, why she was headed his way in the first place. If she even was.

      All he could guess was that Dixie Bonner liked to play games—just like her father.

      As Chance waited for his breakfast, he dumped the contents of the manila envelope Beauregard Bonner had given him out onto the table. Last night he’d looked at the credit card report, convinced like the police and FBI that Dixie was anything but the victim of a kidnapping.

      Disgusted, he hadn’t even bothered to see what else Bonner had provided him. But this morning, as the contents of the envelope spilled onto the table, a photograph fell out and he recalled that Bonner had said all he had was an older photo of Dixie.

      It was a three-by-five, shot by a professional in a studio, and appeared to be Dixie Bonner’s high school graduation photo.

      Strange, Bonner didn’t have a more recent photo of his youngest daughter. Not a snapshot taken at some birthday party, Christmas or family get-together. Chance wondered if that didn’t say a lot about the Bonners and what had been going on with that family since he’d left Texas.

      He stared at the young woman in the photo. Pixielike, her hair was cropped short and dyed a glaring hot pink. At the center of thick black eyeliner were two twinkling blue eyes that radiated a mischief he remembered only too well. Dixie had always been cute. The cheekbones were high and maybe her best feature. Her lips were full and turned up in a devilish grin. A hellion. Just as her father had described her.

      Chance chuckled to himself thinking Dixie probably was Beauregard Bonner’s comeuppance. Maybe there was justice on earth after all.

      “REBECCA? Rebecca.”

      Rebecca Bonner blinked.

      “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Pookie snapped irritably. They were having lunch at Rebecca’s favorite restaurant. She’d hoped that lunch with her friend would improve her mood. So far it had been having the opposite effect.

      “What is going on with you today?” Pookie demanded.

      Rebecca shook her head, realizing this had been a mistake. She should have gone shopping instead, bought something outrageously expensive and skipped lunch. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

      Pookie did an eye-roll. “What is really bothering you? Is it the kids?”

      It wasn’t the kids. Not that Rebecca had really wanted children in the first place. It was just something you did. Like the big house, the expensive car, the clothes and the husband.

      She’d had a nanny from even before she brought Linsey home from the hospital. She gave the kids little thought except when they were screaming like this morning and she had so much on her mind.

      “It’s not the kids.”

      Pookie lifted one perfectly shaped brow. “What’s the bastard done now?”

      “It’s not Oliver, either.” She sipped her strawberry daiquiri.

      “Of course it is.”

      “Have you heard something?” Rebecca asked, her heart starting to pound. Pookie often knew things almost before they happened. That was one reason Rebecca had called her for lunch today. If there was a rumor going around, Rebecca wanted to be the first to hear about it and make sure it got nipped in the bud quickly.

      “I haven’t heard a thing.” Pookie held up three fingers. As if she was ever a Girl Scout. “And I can’t believe I wouldn’t have heard.”

      Rebecca was counting on that. “You’d tell me at once if you did.”

      “Of course.” Pookie looked worried. “Why, have you heard something about Adam?” Adam was her friend’s husband. A balding, pot-bellied, thirtysomething attorney at a top agency in the city who kept Pookie in a style even better than she’d been accustomed to—which said a lot given that Pookie was born to Houston society.

      “Come on, what’s going on with you?” Pookie asked, leaning toward her, grinning. “Give. Who is he?”

      Rebecca shook her head and tried to wave away Pookie’s protests. Pookie would be surprised if Rebecca told her that she hadn’t been with a man other than her husband in months. Her friend went through a lot of men and thought everyone else did, too.

      “Come on. You and I have never kept secrets.”

      Rebecca thought how naive Pookie was. Everyone kept secrets. Even from their best friends if they were smart.

      “I told you about my pilates instructor.” Pookie pretended to pout.

      “There isn’t anyone,” she said, feeling even worse. Not even Oliver. Except for that one night. He’d acted so strangely that night. She brushed the memory away, hating to remember his attempts at lovemaking. They’d never made love that she could recall. Intimacy at their house was more like a corporate takeover.

      “Oliver’s been acting…strange,” Rebecca confided, seeing no harm in the obvious.

      Pookie lifted a brow as if to ask how she could tell. “Well, if it isn’t another woman…”

      “He’s involved in some kind of deal at work. I’m sure that’s all it is. He has this thing about winning.” That, she knew, was his form of orgasmic release. He had never seemed that interested in sex. Or maybe it was just her he wasn’t interested in.

      Pookie narrowed her eyes, studying her. “There isn’t a man? Come on, I saw that look in your eye.”

      Rebecca groaned, knowing her friend would keep after her until she gave her something. “I was thinking about Chance Walker,” she said, and braced herself for her friend’s reaction.

      WHEN HIS FOOD arrived—his usual—a slab of bone-in ham, two eggs over easy, hash browns and whole-wheat toast with blackberry jam, Chance placed the picture next to his plate, studying it periodically as he ate.

      If he was right and the photograph was taken eleven years ago, who knew how much Dixie Bonner had changed. She was probably more outrageous than ever.

      He shook his head as he thought about the kid he’d known. Would he even recognize her now?

      “Girlfriend?” the waitress asked, moving for a better look at the photo.

      “Not hardly. Actually, it’s a case I’m working on. Any chance you’ve seen her? She’d be eleven years older than when this was taken.”

      Lydia, an older, stocky woman, shook her head. “Sorry. And believe me I would have remembered the hair if it was still that color.”

      “I have a feeling this one has tried it all,” he said, looking at Dixie’s photo.

      “You sound like you know her.”

      “Used to, when she was twelve,”