A Laramie, Texas Christmas. Cathy Gillen Thacker

unshaven—” although not unwashed “—bums in filthy clothing.”

      He looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or strike back. “So now I’m a trespassing bum?” He rubbed his jaw with the flat of his hand in a parody of thoughtfulness. “Is that a technical term?” He tilted his head. “Maybe you should call that in and let them know you’ve got a vagrant on your hands. And while you’re at it, that the bum’s name is Kevin McCabe.”

      Noelle tapped her foot on the landing and felt the rotting wood shift uncertainly beneath her feet. “No need,” she announced, “since they’ll be here at any minute.”

      He swept off his hat and started up the first two steps. They creaked beneath his weight, shedding splinters of wood and aging paint. “Look, you can dis me personally all you want, later. Right now I want to check on Miss Sadie.”

      “I told you she’s not here,” Noelle said impatiently, wondering whose idea it was to put wood steps where they would be exposed to the rain, and then fail to keep them waterproofed and painted.

      “Well, guess what?” The wood creaked again as he climbed yet another step. “I don’t believe you.”

      “Then you’re wrong.” Noelle took one step down.

      “In fact—” he came up one more “—I think you’re hiding something.”

      Only the most important thing in the world to me. Only the reason I took this opportunity so close to the holidays—against my better judgment. Only the reason I’m now so very sorry that I did.

      He lounged against the railing, studying her openly. “And I’m not leaving until I find out what you’re trying to keep me from discovering.”

      Panic swept through her. Noelle went down another step, the candy cane held in front of her like a battering ram. “I don’t care who you are or what you think. There is no way you are getting past me into this house,” she told him.

      He abruptly became reasonable again. “Look, I just want to make sure Miss Sadie and her property are all right.”

      Part of Noelle—the part that had already looked deep into his eyes and found them to be inherently kind—wanted to believe that. The cynical side of her that had learned not to trust anyone, said otherwise. “If you were really with the sheriff’s department,” she reminded him, “you would already know the answer to that.”

      He went completely still. For a split second, Noelle could have sworn that was genuine alarm in his eyes. “Has something happened to her?” he asked, concerned.

      Either he truly cared about Miss Sadie or he was one hell of an actor. Noelle regarded him skeptically. “Everyone around here knows what occurred here the day before yesterday. I know, and I don’t even live in the area!”

      He frowned. “I’ve been out of touch for the past two weeks. I’m on my way home from a fishing trip.”

      That might have rung true, in summer. Not December. Although it did explain the clothes…. Resolved not to accept anything he told her without due scrutiny, she lifted a brow. “Fishing for what?”

      “Speckled trout, red drum and white bass. I’ve got my catch on ice in my Jeep if you want to see it.”

      Okay, that had the ring of truth. However, that didn’t mean it was a good idea to let him any closer, especially given whom she had hidden inside Miss Sadie’s house. Darn it all. Where was that patrol car? She fixed him with her most threatening glare. “Once again, you need to leave.”

      His mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “Or what?”

      Obviously he was not used to being ordered around.

      “I’ll be forced to use this.” She waved her “weapon” threateningly in his direction. “To defend myself.”

      “Well—” he lifted both hands in a mock display of surrender “—now I’m scared.”

      “You should be,” she lied, gripping the large plastic ornament more tightly.

      “Oh, I can see you’re armed and dangerous.” He started toward her once again, wicked speculation gleaming in his eyes.

      She backed up ever so slightly, aware the rest of her was suddenly shaking as much as her knees. “I know how to use this.”

      “What are you going to do with it?” he taunted. “Decorate me?”

      “You wish. Now get back!” She lunged toward him.

      Probably figuring she was going to aim for his head, he brought his hands up to shield his face. She faked him out and swung low instead. He jumped left, swearing as the candy cane whacked his thigh with a dull thud.

      “Hey! Watch what you’re doing with that thing!”

      Okay, maybe she hadn’t actually hurt him, but she had annoyed him. And now that she had the upper hand… “Now do you take me seriously?” she asked.

      He grimaced, eyeing the candy cane, yet still refused to back down the steps. “Ma’am,” he drawled, tipping the brim of his hat, “I have from the first.”

      “Stop calling me ‘ma’am’.” She prodded at him like a cowpoke herding cattle into a pen.

      He gave her a pitying look, then retreated down the steps.

      It was a conciliatory move, one she’d be a fool to trust.

      “What would you like me to call you?”

      Figuring she was going to have to go through with the citizen’s arrest after all, since it was taking the sheriff’s department so darn long, Noelle followed him down the steep, rickety steps toward the van. Using the candy cane, she motioned for him to keep moving back, until his spine grazed the side of the vehicle. Summoning up every police procedural she had ever seen, Noelle barked, “Get down on your knees.”

      His brows lifted. “Now, that’s a thought.”

      “And put your hands behind your head,” she commanded.

      “Even more interesting.” He gave her a look that made her flush. “But no.”

      Ah, heck. Now what? Trying not to think what a ludicrous situation this was, Noelle brandished her “weapon.” “Don’t make me hurt you—”

      “Momma!” a familiar, high-pitched voice cried.

      Noelle turned in time to see her two-year-old son stumbling out of the house, carrying a book that was half as big as he was. Noelle jerked in a terrified breath. This was exactly what she had been trying to prevent. “Mikey—!”

      “Momma!” Still smiling, her son raced awkwardly across the landing, his feet getting tangled as he reached the top of the stairs.

      Aware it would take both hands to catch the twenty-eight-pound toddler, Noelle leaped toward him. “Mikey, no—!”

      Too late. He was already pitching forward, tumbling head over heels. Desperate to protect him, Noelle took another leap, cast the candy cane aside and bounded up the stairs in a single vault. She caught her son in her arms midtumble, just as her full weight landed hard on the rickety wooden steps. There was a crunching sound and a sick, scared feeling in her gut as wood splintered beneath them and then gave way. Noelle was sure she was going to break a limb, even as she tried her best to cradle her son protectively to her chest.

      And then it was the interloper’s turn to save the day. He caught both her and her son in his arms before they could sink all the way through the wood, and pulled them to safety. Wide-eyed, Mikey let out a startled sound that was half cry, half laugh.

      “Mikey!” Noelle murmured again, this time shuddering in relief.

      Her little boy beamed up at her before reaching over, gently patting Kevin’s beard and staring hard into his brown eyes. “Santa?” he asked.