The Lawman's Christmas Wish (9 page)

“Well, okay, maybe not sworn.” Exasperated, she wobbled her head and rolled her eyes. “But we're having Christmas, and you're getting presents. So deal with it.”

He stretched his feet out in front of him and folded his hands on his flat belly. Cy ambled over, sniffed his master's toes and lay down. “Okay.”

Just like that? No argument? “Start making a list.”

He tilted his head. “Now?”

“No time like the present.” And then she laughed. “Bad pun. Sorry.”

“I'll have to think about it.” He nudged her outstretched foot with his. “What do you want, Ms. Claus?”

“I want. I want—” Amy clasped her hands in front of her
and closed her eyes, almost prayerful “—Mack Tanner's treasure to be the answer to the town's problems. My boys to have a wonderful Christmas and not miss their father too much. My employees to be happy and prosperous and blessed by God.”

Suddenly, warm, hard fingers wrapped around her clasped hands. Amy's eyes flew open to find Reed watching her with a strange expression. Gently, quietly, he said, “Ben was a lucky man.”

 

“You want to go with us to find a Christmas tree?” Reed leaned casually on the washing machine next to where Granny was busy folding towels into a basket. The laundry load had tripled with the addition of two active children. Amy did laundry almost as often as Granny, but it was an ongoing process. He'd never considered how active a family would be. Or how the addition of one small woman and two much smaller boys could add so much life to his house.

“A Christmas tree?” Granny rubbed a flat palm over a fluffy towel, smoothing it to perfection. “You're putting up a tree this year?”

“I am. Want to come along?”

“Well, for goodness sake.” Granny's expression was overly interested. “Who's going?”

As if she didn't know. “Dexter, Sammy, Amy. Kids need a Christmas tree.”

If his tone was gruff, Granny wouldn't notice. He was always gruff. After the dinner with Amy the other night, when he'd blasted off his big mouth and said something incredibly stupid, he was downright cranky. What had come over him?

Ah, what was he thinking? He knew what had brought on the sappy comment about Ben being a lucky man. Amy herself. She'd sat there with her eyes closed like a saint—long
golden eyelashes brushing her cheeks, while every wish she made, every prayer she breathed was for someone else. Amy's unselfish desire to give to everyone else had gotten to him big-time.

Ben
had
been a lucky man, but Reed shouldn't have said it. And he shouldn't have touched Amy's hand that way. She was soft and velvety smooth, with just enough chill in her fingers to make him want to warm her up. If they hadn't had that paper wad fight and laughed so much, he wouldn't have let his guard down.

Now that he had, he wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want Amy thinking he was trying to take Ben's place. He wasn't. No one could replace Ben. She'd said so herself.

But he couldn't pretend much longer that he felt nothing but friendship and loyalty for Amy James.

“Are you coming or not?” he groused, irritated he was unable to stop thinking about Amy. Because of his promise to Ben, she'd occupied his thoughts for months. Now that she and those clinging, adorable, messy, funny little boys of hers were underfoot day and night, he was a wreck, thinking thoughts he shouldn't think. Behaving in ways he shouldn't behave.

The more time he spent with Amy the more he wanted—

He clenched his jaw. This wasn't about what he wanted or didn't want. It was about doing what was right, about keeping a promise, about duty and commitment.

Granny Crisp, who'd been eyeing him with a searching look, rubbed her elbow. She grimaced, a fake expression if ever he'd seen one. “You're on your own, boy. It's mighty cold, and these old bones of mine…”

Reed made a rude noise. Those old bones, as she called them, did anything they wanted to outside. She might look as skinny, wrinkled and brown as a piece of moose jerky, but
last week she'd cut a pile of firewood and stacked it on the porch—all in one afternoon.

“It won't work, so don't try it,” he said.

She reached into the warm dryer for another pile of clothes. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

“No need to matchmake. I'm going to ask her to marry me.”

Granny paused in midfold. “Well, howdy-do.”

“Ben wanted me to.”

Granny made a noise that sounded like a mix of chain saw and dog growl. “Don't do it.”

Almost grimly, Reed said, “Got to.”

“Say a word like that to her, and she'll boot you out.”

He already had. To his detriment. “It's my house.”

“Don't be an idiot.”

“Marrying her is the right thing to do.” And if he liked the idea of keeping her here a little too much, he'd deal with the guilt.

“Right thing. Wrong reason.” With a huff, she pressed her lips tightly together and slammed a corduroy shirt onto the dryer, dinging the metal top with the buttons.

Flummoxed, with his gut twisting in a dozen directions, Reed spun on his heel and went to find Amy and her boys.

 

Cy spotted a rare snowshoe hare and gave chase, his tightly muscled body agile in the thick, powdery snow.

Dexter shouted, “Rabbit,” and churned after the dog. Sammy followed, but his toddler legs tangled, and he toppled facedown, sinking into the frigid, white fluff.

Amy sucked in a gasp of sharp, lung-burning air. “Sammy!”

She'd been dawdling in the bright white morning, soaking up the startling beauty of the snowy evergreen forests against the backdrop of blue sky and majestic mountains.
Reed ambled along beside her, quieter than usual, as if he had something on his mind. She'd been prodding him, talking a mile a minute about socks and hockey and moose hunting, teasing him about the way he drove a snow machine. He'd come back at her a few times, but mostly he grunted. She wouldn't give up, though. She knew how much fun he could be when he let himself go. And she was determined to see Reed Truscott relaxed and happy and having a great time. Christmas was too important—and so was Reed.

The thought would have stopped her in her tracks if not for Sammy's fall. Now, at her baby's muffled cry, adrenaline kicked into high speed and her legs followed suit.

Dexter, a hundred feet ahead, must have heard the anxiety in her voice, because he spun back toward her, snow flying all around him. Cy returned, flying across the powdery terrain, legs stretched out, tail high and wagging. The dog reached Sammy first and began to nudge and whine. Reed, with his long stride, reached Amy's baby next. He put down the chain saw he'd been carrying and yanked the child up into his arms. Snow drifted off Sammy and coated Reed's jacket. It packed the edges of the little boy's hood and caked around his nose and eyes. His cheeks were bright red and tears glistened in his wide, gray eyes. Looking from Amy to Reed and down at Cy, Sammy started to whimper.

“Are you all right?” Amy asked, breathless when she reached the pair. Her hands flew over her child, wiping away snow, dabbing a runny nose with a tissue.

“He's fine, Amy. Kids fall. They get up.” Reed spoke as if he was angry.

Amy observed his expression for a split second before realizing something very important about Reed Truscott. He wasn't angry. He was shaken.

“Well, Chief Tough Cop, if you weren't worried, why did you run?”

Reed sniffed. “Smart aleck.”

Amy placed a gloved hand on the thickly quilted arm of his coat. “Caring is a good thing. Thank you, Reed.”

She reached for Sammy, but the boy wrapped his arms tightly around Reed's neck and clung like plastic wrap. “Chief Weed cawwy me.”

“Chief Weed, huh?” Amy cast an amused glance from her son to Reed. “Chief Weed?”

Chief Weed gave a grunting laugh. “Don't get cute.”

Amy wrinkled her nose, grinning. “I am cute, and you know it.”

She didn't know why she'd said a flirty thing like that, but when he laughed she suddenly felt light and happy.

Reed mumbled a surprising, “Don't remind me,” and traipsed off toward a stand of evergreens.

Amy stood with mouth open, watching the police chief's broad back stalk away from her with Sammy balanced on one hip. Did Reed find her attractive? Was that what he meant?

So what if he did? What then?

Dexter tugged on her hand. “Come on, Mama.”

Surely she'd misunderstood. Reed had told her time and again that, as Ben's friend, he was duty-bound to look after her.

Reed stopped and turned, waiting for her to catch up. “I forgot the saw.”

“Got it.” She reached down, but Dexter was already doing his best to lift the heavy piece of equipment. Amy added a hand but let her son pretend to carry the bulk.

They trudged toward Sammy and Reed, but Amy kept her focus on Dexter and the saw, aware that her feelings for Reed Truscott, Ben's best friend, were becoming increasingly complicated.
Was it possible? No, no. Surely not.

She glanced at the police chief carrying her son across the pristine snow.

Maybe.

When they reached the pair of young males, Reed had slid Sammy to the ground and they were both walking around a stately young spruce.

“What about this one?”

“Beautiful, but kinda big,” she said. “Do we have that much room?”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Reed tilted his head back and looked up. Amy went to stand beside him, the heat from his body making a warm circle around her.

“Kinda tall.”

He glanced down at her, coffee-colored eyes dancing with merriment. “I could always cut a hole in the ceiling.”

“A possibility,” she said, holding his gaze, that happy, light feeling coming again. “Wonder what Granny would say to that?”

“She'd skin us both. I'd almost do it just to see her reaction.” He grinned down at her.

Energy buzzed between them, along with memories of their paper wad battle.

Amy giggled and bumped the side of her head against Reed's shoulder. “Why, Reed, you bad boy.”

His grin widened.

Oh, my,
Amy thought.
Oh, my. What is going on here?

“I want that one.” Dexter's small voice interrupted.

Amy turned her attention to her son. “What did you find, baby?”

“I want that one over there. See, Mama, it's perfect.”

Both adults followed the direction of Dexter's pointing finger.

“That one?”

“Yep.” The child raced toward
the
tree, the one in a thousand that had managed to catch his eye. Sammy and Cy followed, eager to examine Dexter's find.

Amy skidded to a stop, a short distance away from where Dexter and Sammy patted the branches of a spindly Sitka spruce. “Uh-oh.”

A Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

She and Reed exchanged looks. “Why this one, Dex?”

Dexter, face hopeful, said, “Look at him, Mama. He's sad. He thinks no one will like him because he's different. Like Rudolph.”

Ah. Rudolph.

Reed walked around the scrawny six-foot bundle of scraggly, asymmetrical needles. “He has character. I'll give him that.”

Amy's heart bumped. What a sweet thing to say.

“Yeah, Mom, he has character.”

Though she loved a beautiful, well-decorated tree, this year Amy didn't care if their Christmas tree was made of tin cans, as long as her boys were happy.

“Character is important.”

Dexter threw his arms around the prickly tree. “I love it. Can we take him home?”

Reed ran a gloved hand over the needles. “Well watered. Nice and green. We could do worse.”

Under her breath, Amy muttered, “How?”

Reed's eyes twinkled, but he remained serious, taking his cue from the ultraserious child. Amy was thrilled at Reed's reaction. He had to believe, as she did, that this was the ugliest tree in the woods, but his thoughtful response to Dexter's choice touched her to the core.

Sammy walked around the tree, head to one side and a fist to his hip, in imitation of Reed. He nodded sagely. “I want him, too, Chief Weed.”

Amy pressed her lips together tightly to keep from laughing. Her boys were all business, choosing this tree as though
it were the most important thing in the world. Considering all they had been through this year, maybe for them it was.

“Looks like a ‘yes' from our evergreen experts,” Reed said. “So what do you say, Mom? Is this a Charlie Brown Christmas?”

To tell the truth, they could all take a lesson from the endearing Peanuts character. Besides, she couldn't turn down Dexter's longing to find value in this one lopsided, gapped spruce.

“Nobody knows Christmas like Charlie. Let's go for it.”

A whoop of exuberant joy went up from Dexter, followed by a loud, “Yea!” from Sammy.

“Can I cut him down, Chief?” Dexter asked, reaching for the saw at Reed's side. “I'm a good hand with a saw.”

Reed scowled at Amy. “You let him use a chain saw?”

“No, of course not. Dexter, you've never used the saw. Why would you say that?”

“Because I'm big now. And this is my special tree.” He spread his blue-mittened hands to each side. “Give a kid a chance.”

Reed's response was a no-nonsense bark. “A five-year-old has no business with a saw.”

Dexter's animated expression fell, and instantly Reed relented. “Tell you what. You stand over here behind me and I'll show you the tricks of the trade. Next year, we'll use the ax. You can help with the chopping. Deal?”

Amy was sure her son had no idea what tricks of the trade were, and she wouldn't even begin to address the “next year” comment, but Dexter said, “Deal.”

He moved to stand behind Reed's right side, gray eyes focused on his latest hero and the power tool. Amy carried Sammy safely out of the way.