A Laramie, Texas Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker

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      “Is Laramie always like this?

      “Everyone helping everyone else? Or is that just because it’s Christmas?” Noelle asked.

      “I think,” Kevin answered, “Christmas inspires everyone to be generous. But Laramie is a great place, year round. People here take care of each other.”

      “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

      “You being a big-city girl and all,” he teased.

      “Houston has its perks, but a small-town feel is not one of them,” Noelle replied. Then she changed the subject. “What kinds of cases are you working on?”

      “Yesterday, there was the case of the missing leaf blower,” Kevin said with exaggerated seriousness. “Turned out to be in the caller’s backyard. He’d just forgotten to bring it in, and panicked when he didn’t see it in his garage.”

      A mixture of amusement and respect sparkled in her eyes. “That sounds…”

      “Pedestrian? I guess it is. But compared to things I saw when I worked on other police forces—let’s just say I prefer small-town problems.”

      “And small-town women?” Noelle asked. “Do you prefer them, too?”

      Dear Reader,

      Christmas is a holiday that stirs strong emotions, and mine have run the gamut. There was my first Christmas as a new bride—very romantic. My first Christmas hundreds of miles away from my family—highly sentimental, and not necessarily in a good way. Our Christmases with our children when they were young and impossibly excited were very joyous indeed. The Christmas immediately following the passing of my father was achingly bittersweet.

      There are years when the holiday spirit seems determined to elude me—although I always find it eventually—and years when I am overrun with merriment and anticipation weeks before the actual day. I never know how the season is going to start—that sort of depends on what is going on around me. I always know how it’s going to end, with celebration and appreciation, love and family. And the same is true of the residents of fictional Laramie, Texas.

      I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For more information on this and other titles, please visit me at www.cathygillenthacker.com.

      Happy holidays and best wishes,

      A Laramie, Texas Christmas

      Cathy Gillen Thacker

      MILLS & BOON

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      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Cathy Gillen Thacker married her high school sweetheart and hasn’t had a dull moment since. Why? you ask. Well, there were three kids, various pets, any number of automobiles, several moves across the country, his and her careers and sundry other experiences (some of which were exciting and some of which weren’t). But mostly, there was love and friendship and laughter, and lots of experiences she wouldn’t trade for the world.

      For my buddy Regan, the best canine companion this writer could ever have. And definitely my best Christmas present ever.

      Contents

      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

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Kevin McCabe knew thirteen-and-one-half days of pure unadulterated bliss were too good to be true. It figured that on his way back to Laramie, Texas, he would see something that just had to be investigated. And that the unmarked white van currently backed up to the rear door of the Blackberry Hill mansion would be in an area with no cell phone connections. Had he been driving his work vehicle he’d have had a way to communicate his concern. Instead, he was driving the battered four-wheel drive Jeep he’d owned since high school. It had no two-way radio or emergency communication system.

      After pulling over to the side of the winding rural road and watching a woman carry armloads of stuff out of the house, stash it in the van, then dart back into the residence via the side door, he decided to scope out the situation himself. If it had been just material possessions in question, Kevin would have waited for backup. But an eighty-five-year-old woman owned the property. And Miss Sadie had had a bad year already, losing her husband of sixty-two years. Kevin wasn’t sure if she was back yet from that six-week recuperative cruise she had been on, but he knew, as did everyone else in the close-knit community, that she was due home any day. Chances were, she wasn’t there now, hadn’t walked in to witness the theft, or worse, been there when the thieves arrived. But if she was there, Kevin couldn’t drive off and leave her. Not without first making sure Miss Sadie was okay.

      Keeping an eye out for anything else suspicious, he drove slowly toward the pink brick Georgian house with the weathered gray shutters, stopping just short of the white van. Wishing he had a way to check the license plates, he cut the engine and got out. He walked down the long, tree-lined driveway toward the open side door, then paused to look in the windows of the rented van. It was loaded with Miss Sadie’s valuables, all right, he noted grimly. Everything from a Tiffany lamp to her jewelry box and favorite rocking chair.

      “May I help you?” a feminine voice asked coolly from the top of the steps. Christmas music floated merrily from the interior of the house.

      Time to appear clueless about what was going on. Kevin turned away from the loot with his best “Aw, shucks, ma’am, I’m just a dumb country boy” grin, and immediately noticed several things about the woman standing beneath the portico. She wasn’t a local. He was sure of that because had he ever encountered this very beautiful woman, even in passing, he definitely would have remembered her. She was dressed in a pair of olive wool slacks that lovingly gloved her slender hips and long lissome legs. A white cotton shirt, open at the throat, lay beneath an argyle sweater vest and tweed blazer. Her accent said Texas, born and bred. Her boots were the high-heeled, soft-leather type city slickers wore, their only purpose to change the tilt of her posture and make her legs look damn good. Which they did.

      Reminding himself he would need to make a positive ID later, Kevin estimated the interloper was around five foot six, one hundred and twenty pounds, close to his own twenty-seven years in age and, as previously noted, curvy in all the right places. Her copper hair fell to her