Silent Night in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

was too alive for a museum. Or any celestial gathering if it came to that. He’d never seen a woman like her. Her copper hair was spiked instead of curled like he’d thought at first. And her nose was slightly crooked. She wasn’t the angel at the top of a Christmas tree; she was the angel who’d fallen just far enough off the top to be interesting to a flesh-and-blood man like him.

      It was a good thing he was sitting down, because he felt a weakness in his knees. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure that he hadn’t hit his head in the fight six months ago. He felt a little faint and his heart was acting up. But all he could do was gawk at her like the boy he used to be when he’d lived on the edge of this small town. That same feeling of watching his dreams from afar would pass, of course, but it annoyed him all the same. He didn’t deal with dreams anymore in his life.

      Chapter Two

      Jasmine felt her breath catch. Who was that man? He stared back at her for a few seconds before looking down at his coffee cup. In the moment she met his eyes she could tell he had something to hide. At least that’s what it must be because he went pale at the sight of her.

      For a second, she wondered if he recognized her from prison. She’d told the people around here that she’d spent time in jail, but she didn’t want someone from her past to come and remind them of it. Not when she was trying to be a normal woman instead of an ex-con.

      She stood still as she looked at the man more closely. He had a fine-looking face, one she was sure she would remember if she’d seen it before. A dark growth of whiskers covered his chin and his moss-green eyes studied the pattern in the checkered tablecloth. His blue flannel shirt and jeans were both well-worn, too, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. And he had a black Stetson hat sitting on the chair next to him.

      If it wasn’t for the way he held his coffee cup, she would think he was a new cowboy heading out to the Elkton Ranch. But he held his cup loosely. Her old boyfriend, Lonnie Denton, had held his cup that way when he wasn’t sure what he’d need to do in the next minute or so. He said it gave him options. He could grab the cup and use it as a weapon or reach for the knife he kept in a sheath against his arm. He’d been proud when he explained that to her and she’d been sufficiently young and foolish to be impressed.

      Jasmine mentally shook herself. She couldn’t fall apart every time a suspicious-looking man came to town. She needed to leave her past behind if she expected others to forget it. And—most importantly—she needed to stop thinking about Lonnie. He was locked up tight in prison. He couldn’t get out and, even though he’d always been unstable, she couldn’t believe he would send someone to spy on her just because she’d sent him a pamphlet about heaven in the mail. Granted, it had been a colossal mistake; she’d known that when he had sent her that postcard in response. But that should be the end of it. She had a new life to live.

      She looked at the man’s sleeve in front of her. She couldn’t see the outline of a knife sheath.

      “I—ah—” Jasmine started to say and then stopped. She’d forgotten that her voice was raw. It sounded sultry rather than raspy, but her throat was sore all the same.

      “Here. Let me get you some coffee,” Carl said as he reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a clean cup. “It’ll make your throat feel better.”

      Jasmine had been practicing her songs for the Christmas pageant a little too much lately. She’d taken a leap of faith a few weeks ago and pledged her life to God. She’d been half surprised lightning hadn’t struck through the church roof on that day. In a burst of gratitude, she’d signed up to be the angel in the pageant.

      She owed God big-time for taking her in. Doing the angel role wouldn’t be enough to repay Him, but maybe it would be a start if she did it in some spectacular way. She was considering fireworks. Nothing too loud, of course, but maybe a sparkler trailing behind her as she swung over the audience would add pizzazz to the role.

      She accepted the cup the sheriff filled from the carafe and sat down in the chair he pulled out from the table he shared. Then she took two long sips of coffee.

      When she’d been at the hardware store just now, she had picked up her mail. She was half afraid she’d get another postcard from Lonnie, but all she’d received was an invitation from the sheriff and his wife.

      “Tell Barbara I’d love to come to dinner tonight,” she said after she swallowed a gulp of coffee.

      The people of Dry Creek had really taken Jasmine to their hearts when she volunteered to be in the pageant. Of course, she didn’t have the courage to tell anyone that she’d never seen a Christmas pageant, let alone been in one before. Growing up, her mother had avoided churches and the only thing marking the season in their apartment had been a silver aluminum tree that was perpetually bent at the top.

      The sheriff nodded at her proudly. “Dinner’s going to be great. Barbara’s got some fancy holiday menu going. She’s been baking all day.”

      Jasmine swallowed. Things like that made her realize what she’d missed. Too much of her life had been lived behind bars when other women made Christmas dinners for their families. Not that she could afford to forget all that she’d learned. She opened her mouth to tell the sheriff about knives in sleeves.

      “I’d like you to meet Wade Sutton,” the sheriff said before she could speak. “He’s a friend of mine—grew up around here. He’ll be coming to dinner tonight, too—I hope.”

      The sheriff looked at the other man as he spoke and Wade gave him a slight nod.

      Just then Jasmine placed the name. What a relief. “Why, you’re the angel! I’ve heard about you.”

      The man slouched in his chair.

      Jasmine hesitated. Maybe there were two Wade Suttons. This man didn’t look like someone who would play an angel. He didn’t even look like someone who would smile at the baby Jesus, let alone proclaim His holy birth from the rafters of the old barn. Of course, she’d heard the man was a private investigator, but that didn’t mean he had to scowl all the time.

      When she had heard the angel everyone talked about was coming to Dry Creek, she hadn’t expected someone so solidly…well, male. Now that she was sitting, she could see the snug way his jeans fit along his thigh. Maybe he still had his leg in a cast that she couldn’t see because of his jeans. No one had that much muscle, especially not someone willing to fly around on a rope. He shifted his leg slightly and she realized she was staring.

      “Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just I thought you’d look more like a ballet dancer. Because of the angel thing.”

      He shot her an incredulous look. “I was eleven.”

      She felt the heat of his indignant glare all the way down her spine.

      “It’s nothing. I was just wondering what kind of legs you had when you used those pulleys. Of course, your legs weren’t so—so—” Jasmine felt herself blush. She hadn’t blushed in years so she cleared her throat. “Well, the point is people are still talking about when you made your swing overhead. You had to be graceful. And your legs—well, I thought maybe you did something special with them as you made the swing. You know—the way you pointed your toes. That kind of thing. Really, I was just hoping you could give me some tips.”

      She didn’t want to mention the sparkler idea. But even a clue as to the real part the angel played would be welcomed. Jasmine couldn’t believe that all she was supposed to do was wave her wings over the shepherds and say a few words. Everything was too plain. She was coming to know a God who parted the seas and thundered from the rocks. He wouldn’t have announced the birth of His Son without some drama.

      “I didn’t have much sense back then,” Wade finally said reluctantly. “You should ask someone else for help.”

      “Oh.” Jasmine said. He must have done something very special if he was so closemouthed about it. But, if he wouldn’t tell her anything, how was she supposed to give a performance that surpassed, or at least equaled, his?

      There