“I’m not interested!” Raff changed the subject. “So what are you going to do with the kid?”

  “What we do with all runaways. Send them to the state facility in Austin until their parents can be located.” Waylon shook his head “Of course, in this case, he might not be going back to his parents. When I was patting him down before I put him in the cell, I noticed some bruises on his lower back. He claimed they were from football, but they don’t look like any bruise I ever got from football. They look like belt marks.”

  Raff felt guilty for being so hard on the kid. “That explains why he ran away.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and massaged the tight muscles. Muscles that had been tight ever since a sassy redhead and a runaway had entered his life. “I hope you’re not going to send him back to abusive parents.”

  “I’ll file a report of my suspicions, and child protective services will investigate. But if the kid denies it and they can’t prove they’re belt marks, there’s not much we can do.”

  “And if the parents never show up?”

  “He’ll go to the state facility in Austin.”

  Raff hated the thought of the kid going back to abusive parents, but he also hated the thought of him spending the holidays with complete strangers. The last few years, Raff hadn’t spent Christmas in Bliss or with his parents in Oklahoma. It brought up too many sad memories. So he usually spent the holiday in some roadside motel with a six-pack of beer. But that was his choice. The kid didn’t have a choice.

  “It looks like they’ve figured out a way to communicate without us listening in,” Waylon said.

  Raff glanced at the computer monitor. Savannah and the kid were sitting on the bed sharing a pen as they wrote back and forth on a notepad.

  Waylon shook his head. “That’s what I get for being distracted by a pretty woman. I didn’t even notice she had a purse. Good thing she wasn’t packing or I’d be looking for another job.” He got up. “I think it’s time to crash their party.”

  When they got to the jail cell, Savannah had put the notepad and pen back in her purse and was standing by the door looking annoyed. The kid was stretched out on the bed looking smug. Obviously, she hadn’t discovered where he had hidden her journal.

  As soon as Waylon opened the cell, she stepped out and spoke to Raff. “We need to talk.”

  Waylon offered to let them use his office, but Savannah politely declined. No doubt because she thought it was wired. Once Raff had collected everything the kid had stolen, she practically dragged him out the front door.

  “The brat refuses to tell me where he hid my journal until I get him out of jail,” she said once they were outside.

  “Not happening. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Waylon can only release him to family or a state social worker.”

  “Then you better find a social worker who owes you a favor.” She took a piece of folded notepad paper out of her purse and handed it to him. “He wanted me to give you this.”

  Raff took the paper and opened it.

  Get me out and you’ll get your gun.

  “In the last year, Melanie had spent hours daydreaming about having Dax on the other end of her derringer. Now that she did, she couldn’t help but savor the moment. ‘You don’t look like such a big, bad gunslinger to me, sweetheart.’”

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you leaving me here?” Savannah hurried after Raff as he headed back to his truck. “I wasn’t the one who stole your gun. Luke did.”

  Raff stopped so suddenly she ran into him. Her heels hit a slick patch on the sidewalk, and she would’ve slid right between his legs and landed on her bottom if he hadn’t turned and caught her. He set her on her feet. “Get some sensible shoes before you kill yourself. And who is Luke?”

  She tried to ignore the sexy feel of Raff’s muscled body pressed against her, but it was difficult. He had really nice pectoral muscles. Like really hard and nice. She tried to focus. “Dominic. I told him if he didn’t give me his real name, I wasn’t going to help him get out of jail.”

  “Let me guess. His last name is Skywalker.”

  She laughed. “Maybe. But for some reason, I think he’s telling the truth this time. He looks more like a Luke than a Dominic or Dax.” She shrugged. “Anyway, that’s what I’m going to call him.”

  “I’m calling him Little Shi—”

  She placed a finger against his lips to cut off the cuss word. It was a mistake. As soon as she touched those soft lips, she remembered the feel of them against her breasts—the moist warmth of his first kiss and the heated slide of all the ones after. She wasn’t surprised that he’d gone straight for her boobs. Every man she’d ever dated had done the same thing. But those men had made her feel cheap with their rough fondling and gasping. Raff had made her feel worshipped. Like her breasts weren’t sexual objects, but things of breathtaking beauty. Just the thought of the way he’d touched her made her nipples harden.

  She removed her finger and pulled out of his embrace. “Calling Luke names isn’t going to get your gun back—or my journal.” She mentally kicked herself once again for believing that the kid was asleep when she’d hidden the chapter in the cookie jar. He’d been wide awake, and her actions had clued him in to the fact that the chapter held value. Sheriff Kendall had verified it with his statement about the infamous Tender Heart series.

  A gust of wind swept over her, and she shivered. Raff sighed in exasperation and slipped the sheepskin jacket he carried over her shoulders and buttoned the top button. The brush of his hot fingers against the skin of her throat made her shiver again. Or maybe it was the gentlemanly gesture.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. And we’ll find your journal.” She should probably tell him the truth about the Tender Heart chapter. It wasn’t like Raff didn’t know about the chapters—he’d even found one. But for some reason, she kept her lips zipped as he continued. “He had to have hidden it and my gun back at the ranch. I can’t see the kid lugging a long rifle down the road in broad daylight. They’re probably in the same stall he slept in.” He turned and headed for his truck, leaving Savannah to hurry after him.

  “But what if they aren’t there?”

  “They better be or the kid is going to be in jail for more than being a runaway. I didn’t press charges about my clothes and a flashlight, but I damn well will over my gun.” He opened the passenger’s side door of his truck with so much force that she thought he was going to pull it right off the hinges.

  “You really need to do something about that temper of yours,” she said as she climbed in. “Maybe you should try some deep breathing or hatha yoga. There has to be something that calms you down.”

  “There is. Leaving this town.” He slammed the door.

  She waited for him to slide into the driver’s seat before she continued the conversation. “You can’t mean that it’s Bliss that stresses you out.”

  She glanced out the window. When she’d first laid eyes on Bliss she’d been thoroughly disappointed. It had been nothing like the quaint town of Tender Heart that Lucy Arrington had written about. Most of the businesses had been closed and waist-high weeds had filled every vacant lot.

  But in the last nine months, Bliss had undergone revitalization. It had started with Gracie finding the first chapter of the final book and had grown with each chapter that had been discovered. Emery believed that finding the chapters had made the townspeople remember their heritage—Gus Arrington, who had started the town in the late 1800s, and the cowboys and mail-order brides who had helped tame the Wild West. And town pride grew when Emery sold a non-fiction book about those mail-order brides to a big publishing house. Businesses had started sprucing up their storefronts and quaint old-fashioned streetlights had been put up along Main Street. The street would look even quainter with a few Christmas decorations—some twinkle lights in the trees and some greenery around the lampposts.

  “How can a cute little town stress you out?” she asked.

  “It’s not the town as much as the responsibility that comes with it.”

  She glanced over at him. “What do you mean?”

  He started the truck. “I’m an Arrington. The townsfolk expect Arringtons to be bigger than life. I’ve fallen far short of their expectations.”

  “From what I can tell, you haven’t fallen short of your family’s expectations,” she said. “They all love you. And maybe if you spent more time here, the people of the town would be a little less judgmental. Maybe all they want is for you to accept your heritage.”

  He pulled out onto Main Street. “I am who I am. Take me or leave me. I don’t really care.” The words were spoken with such vehemence that Savannah had to wonder whom Raff was trying to convince: Her or himself.

  “But if you don’t care about the people who live here, then why come back at all?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t care about the people. I just don’t care to spend my life trying to please them.”

  “Then you’re nothing like me,” she said. “I’m the biggest people pleaser on both sides of the Mississippi.” She noticed a little old woman walking along the street in a down coat and a wide-brimmed hat. “Oh, look, it’s Ms. Marble. Stop so I can say ‘hi.’”

  “I’m not stopping. I don’t have time for a women’s chat-fest. I want to find my gun.”

  But Ms. Marble wasn’t a person you drove past. When she spotted them, she held up her white-gloved hand like a traffic cop.

  “Great,” Raff grumbled as he pulled to the curb.

  “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” Savannah said before she climbed out of the truck to give Ms. Marble a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Ms. Marble. How have you been?”

  “Busier than a bee in a field of sunflowers, what with the diner and the orders for holiday baked goods.” She squeezed Savannah’s hand. “And what are you doing here in Bliss? I thought you weren’t due in for another week.” She glanced at Raff who was walking around the front of the truck, and a smile creased her wrinkled face. “And with the town bad boy, no less.”

  Surprisingly, Raff gave Ms. Marble a big hug. “Don’t be calling me bad. My daddy told me about some of your exploits when you were younger. The rest of the town might think you were a sweet little schoolmarm, but I know better.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “You watch your p’s and q’s, young man, and show respect for your elders.” Her words were stern, but her eyes twinkled. “Or I’ll have to put you in time out like I did when you were in my first grade class. And get your hat off when you’re in the company of ladies.”

  Raff rolled his eyes, but took off his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at the plastic-wrapped plate in her hands. “Are those your famous cinnamon-swirl muffins I’m smelling?”

  “They certainly are.” He reached for the plate, but she smacked his hand. “They’re for Joanna Daily. She just suffered a gallbladder attack and had to have surgery.”

  Raff looked genuinely concerned, which verified his love for the people of the town. “Is she okay?”

  “She just needs a little bed rest, and she’ll be right as rain. But unless we can find someone to take over the Christmas pageant, we might have to cancel. You wouldn’t know anyone who has pageant experience, would you?”

  Raff’s gaze shifted to Savannah, and before she could shake her head, he spoke. “As a matter of fact, Savannah was just telling me about her pageant experience.”

  “That was just a little ol’ beauty pageant,” she said. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Now don’t be modest,” Raff said with an evil lopsided grin that made her want to kick him hard in the shin. “You told me you won the title of Miss Georgia with your amazing singing voice. I’d say that’s a big deal.”

  Ms. Marble’s direct blue eyes pinned Savannah like a butterfly to an insect board. “Miss Georgia? That sounds like you’re more than qualified to me. The children already have their parts in the nativity story, all you have to do is go to a few practices and organize them.”

  The last thing Savannah needed to worry about was a Christmas pageant. Not only because she needed to concentrate on getting Raff to sell her Lucy’s desk, but because she wasn’t all that comfortable around children.

  “I’d love to,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’ll be too busy helping Emery decorate the baby’s room and Gracie decorate her new house.”

  “But I was just at Cole and Emery’s the other day,” Ms. Marble’s said. “And the baby’s room looks like it’s almost done. Emery said you’d helped her pick out all the paint and furnishings online. And Gracie and Dirk are in San Antonio as we speak picking out the furniture for their new house.”

  Savannah scrambled for another excuse. “I’m an atheist.”

  “Now, don’t lie, Savannah,” Raff said. “You can’t be an atheist when all you talk about is Sweet Baby Jesus.”

  She wasn’t going to kick the man. She was going to strangle him.

  “It’s fine, dear,” Ms. Marble said. “If you really don’t want to do it, we can cancel. I’m sure people won’t be that disappointed.” She paused. “Although it will be the first time it’s been canceled in close to a hundred years.”

  The people-pleaser part of her folded like a cheap lawn chair. “I’ll do it.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Ms. Marble patted her shoulder. “The first auditions are tonight at seven.” She directed her unyielding gaze at Raff. “You can come too, Raff. We need someone to help build the manger and stables.”

  Raff held up his hands. “I’ll have to pass. Dirk is the handyman, not me.”

  “Dirk won’t be able to make it. The highways are a mess with all the downed trees and ice, and he and Cole don’t want to chance being stranded with two pregnant wives. Dirk called me this morning and told me they decided to stay another night. Besides, you’re much better at carpentry than he is.” She straightened her hat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get these muffins to Jo.” Without another word, she headed down the street.

  “I told you we should’ve driven past the woman,” Raff grumbled as he walked back to the truck.

  “Don’t you dare blame me. You were the one who had to go open your big mouth and get us stuck with the Christmas pageant.”

  He grinned as he held her door open. The impish smile made him look almost boyish with his tousled brown hair and twinkling hazel eyes. “It was fun seeing you squirm.”

  “You just wait, Raff Arrington. Paybacks are hell.”

  His smile deepened, bringing out a dimple in his cheek. “Did southern belle Savannah just cuss?”

  She lifted her chin. “Hell is not a cuss word. It’s a place. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to stop at the diner. I’m starving.”

  Lucy’s Place Diner was decorated fifties style with a black and white checkered tile floor, shiny chrome and red upholstered barstools and booths, and plenty of pictures of Lucy Arrington and the Tender Heart novels. Savannah wanted to sit in the booth that Lucy had sat in to plot all her books, but Raff was in too much of a hurry to get back to the ranch and search for his precious gun. She was in a hurry to look for the Tender Heart chapter too, but not so much that she couldn’t enjoy the ambience of the diner—and possibly a slice of Ms. Marble’s double fudge cake for dessert.

  Raff stood at the cash register and placed their order to go. He ordered a cheeseburger, but Savannah ordered the daily special of chicken and waffles the Sanders sisters had put on the wipe-off board. Carly had hired the sisters to help her out at the diner. When Carly was supervising, they stuck to her chic California recipes. But when their boss was gone, they went full-out country comfort food with plenty of butter.

  While Raff was paying for their order, Savannah noticed Old Man Sims sitting at the counter eating his lunch. Mr. Sims claimed to have been Lucy’s lover when he was younger, which made him the number one suspect for hiding the chapters. Savannah hoped it wasn’t true. The man had been married numerous times and was rumored to be a horrible womanizer. Which was confirmed when he glanced over, and his gaze zeroed in on her breasts.

  “You’re that big-busted gal that’s friends with Emery and Carly, ain’t ya?”

  She ignored his rudeness because of his age—and because she wanted to find out more about his affair with Lucy—and moved closer so he could hear her. The man was hard of hearing. “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “I dated a few big-busted women in my day, including my first wife. Worst mistake I ever made.”

  She sat down on the barstool next to him. “I heard you dated Lucy Arrington too.”

  His bushy eyebrows waggled like furry caterpillars. “I don’t know if you’d call it dating. And Lucy wasn’t one of the big-busted gals. Her boobs were no bigger than tangerines.”

  She wanted to ask if he was basing his observation on appearance or feel, but she figured that would be getting a little too personal. “How long did you and Lucy . . . see each other?”

  “Long enough.” He leaned closer. “You single?”

  Before she could answer, Raff walked up with a large carryout bag. “Hello, Mr. Sims. I can see you haven’t changed much since I’ve been gone.”

  Mr. Sims glanced at Raff, then back at Savannah. “You with him?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he leaned closer to whisper. Except it wasn’t much of a whisper. His voice carried through the entire diner and had the Sanders sisters peeking out from the kitchen. “You better be careful with that one. He’s a pyro. Burned his family’s house right down to the ground.”

  “It had been difficult not to touch Melanie when she’d been fifty feet away. When she was within two feet, it was impossible. Dax gave in to the ache that had been eating him alive for the last year. Ignoring the gun aimed at his heart, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.”

  Chapter Eight

  Raff didn’t find his Winchester. He looked in every possible place in the barn the kid could’ve hidden it and came up empty. Savannah didn’t find her diary either, and she looked as hard as he did. Maybe even harder. As he searched, he could hear her opening and closing drawers and moving around furniture. But while he was ticked off when he didn’t find what he was looking for, she wasn’t. In fact, she seemed quite happy. That happiness didn’t even dim when Carly called and said that their ranch hand needed to see a specialist and they wouldn’t be returning from Austin until the following morning.

 

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