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Her voice trailed off. He didn’t care about that. She cleared her throat. “Right. My window. It was a very dangerous thing you did, young man. Tell your friend Samantha it’s a bad idea to throw snowballs at cars, whether the snowballs have rocks in them or not. You could distract the driver and someone could easily get hurt—maybe even you.”
The boy gave her a pugnacious sort of look but said nothing until his uncle nudged him.
“Tell the nice lady you’re sorry.”
“I don’t think she’s very nice,” he grumbled.
Again, Hope almost smiled, until she met the man’s gaze and found him looking extremely unamused by the entire situation.
Humorless jerk.
“Too bad.” The boy’s uncle—Rafe, was it?—frowned at him. “Tell her you’re sorry anyway.”
Joey looked down at the snow-covered ground again and then finally met her gaze. “I’m sorry I hit your window and not your hubcap. We don’t get any points for hitting windows.”
As apologies went, it was a little weak but she would still take it. She was suddenly weary of the whole situation and wanted to continue on toward the Star N and her family.
“In your defense, that window had a crack in it anyway. It probably wouldn’t have shattered if it hadn’t been for that.”
“You’re not going to be throwing any snowballs at cars again,” the boy’s uncle said sternly. “And you’re going to tell Samantha not to do it either, right?”
“But I was winning the contest! She was gonna give me her new Darth Vader LEGO minifig if I won and I was gonna give her my Green Ninja minifig if she won.”
“Too bad. The lady is right. It’s dangerous. Look at the trouble you’ve already caused!”
The boy didn’t look happy about it but he finally shrugged. “Fine.”
“We’ll pay for the window replacement, of course. If you get an estimate, you can have them send the bill to me here. Rafe Santiago. I’ll warn you that I’m only going to be in town for another few weeks, though.”
The name seemed to strike a chord deep in her subconscious. Had they met before? Something about his hazel eyes—striking against his burnished skin—reminded her of someone but she couldn’t seem to pin down who or where.
She didn’t remember any Santiagos living in this little house before. From what she remembered of Hope’s Crossing, this had always been a rental house, often used short-term for seasonal workers and such.
“I will do that.” She held out her hand, deciding there was no reason they couldn’t leave on good terms. “I’m Hope Nichols. You can find me at The Christmas Ranch, in Cold Creek Canyon.”
At her words, something sparked in those hazel eyes but she couldn’t identify it.
“Nichols?” he said sharply.
“Yes.”
Perhaps he knew her sisters, though Faith went by her married name now, Dustin, and she couldn’t imagine quiet, introverted Celeste having much to do with a rough and tumble man like him. Maybe Joey had caused trouble at the library where Celeste worked. She could believe that—though, okay, that might be a snap judgment.
“Can I go inside?” Joey asked. “Snow got in my boots and now my feet are freezing. I need to dump it out.”
“Yeah. Go ahead. Dump the snow off on the porch, not inside.”
Joey raced off and after a moment, Rafe Santiago—why was that name so familiar?—turned back to her.
“I’m sorry about my nephew,” he said, rather stiffly. “He’s had a...rough time of it the past few weeks.”
She wondered what had happened, but when he didn’t volunteer any further details, she accepted it was none of her business. “I’m sorry if I came down too hard.”
“I didn’t say you did. Whatever he’s been through isn’t an excuse anyway. I’ll talk to him about this stupid contest and make sure he and his friend both realize it’s not a good idea.”
He gave her another searching look and she had the strangest feeling he wanted to say something else. When the silence stretched between them, a little too long to be comfortable, she decided she couldn’t wait around for him to speak.
“I should go. My family is waiting for me. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Santiago.”
“Rafe,” he said gruffly. Was that his normal speaking voice or did she just bring out the rough edges? she wondered.
“Rafe. Nice to meet you, even under the circumstances.”
She hurried back to her pickup truck and continued on toward home, though she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that something momentous had just happened.
* * *
Rafe watched the taillights recede into the early evening gloom until she turned a corner and disappeared. Even then, he couldn’t seem to make himself move, still reeling from the random encounter.
Hope Nichols.
Son of a bi...gun.
He checked the epithet. He was trying not to swear, even in his head. Joey didn’t need any more bad habits. If Rafe didn’t think the words, he wouldn’t speak them. It was a logical theory but after twenty years in the navy, seventeen of those as a SEAL, cleaning up his language for the sake of a seven-year-old boy with an enormous chip on his shoulder was harder than he ever would have imagined.
He didn’t have a choice. Like it or not—and he sure as he—er, heck, didn’t—Joey was his responsibility now.
Hope Nichols. What were the odds?
He knew she and her sisters had come to live in Pine Gulch, Idaho, after. He might have been a green-as-alfalfa rookie who had never been on an actual mission before that tense December day seventeen years ago, but keeping track of the Nichols girls had been a point of honor.
They had an aunt and uncle here who had taken them in. He remembered being grateful for that, at least that they had someone. He had received a letter from the oldest, he remembered, a few months afterward...
The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen but she had written to him like a polite old lady.
He had memorized the damn—er, darn—thing.
Dear Special Warfare Operator Santiago,
Thank you for participating in rescuing us from Juan Pablo and his rebel group. You and the other men in your navy SEAL platoon risked your lives to save us. If not for you, we might still be in that awful camp. You are true American heroes. My sisters and I will never forget what you have done for us.
Sincerely, Faith Marie Nichols
PS: It is nobody’s fault that our father died. We don’t blame anyone and know you tried your best to save us all.
The carefully written letter had been sweetly horrible and he had carried it around in his wallet for years to remind him that navy SEALs couldn’t afford even the smallest error in judgment.
Hope—the annoying grammarian with the ancient pickup truck—had been the middle daughter, he remembered, all tangled blond hair and big, frightened blue eyes. She had screamed when her father had been shot, and the echo of that terrified, despairing scream had haunted him for a long, long time.
He let out a breath. And now she was here, just a few miles away from him, and he would have to interact with her at least one more time.
Had she recognized him today? He couldn’t be sure. She had given him a strange look a few times, as if she thought she knew him, but she hadn’t said anything.
Why hadn’t he identified himself and explained their old history?
He wasn’t sure—maybe because the opportunity hadn’t really come up. How does a guy say, Hey, I know this is a strange coincidence but I was there the day your family was rescued from terrorists nearly two decades ago. Oh, and by the way, my inexperience contributed to your father’s death. Sorry about that and your broken window, too.
He let out a breath, marveling again at the strange, twisting corkscrews of fate that had brought him to Pine Gulch, in such proximity to the Nichols sisters. When Cami called him in tears and explained that she had been arrested and that Joey had gone into emergency foster care, he had known immediately he had to help his nephew, whatever it took.
The fact that his path would bring him to Pine Gulch, where the Nichols sisters had landed after the tragedy of that Christmas day so long ago, hadn’t really hit home until he drove into the city limits two weeks ago.
In the midst of trying to settle into a routine with his nephew, he had wondered during those two weeks whether they were still in town and if he should try to contact any of them—and now that decision had been taken out of his hands by Hope.
That seemed to be a common theme to his life the past month—being in a position that left him few choices.
His life had changed dramatically in the past month. He had left the only career he had ever known in order to take on the responsibility for a troubled seven-year-old who wanted nothing to do with him.
He was determined to do his best for Joey. The poor kid hadn’t been given very many breaks in life.
Rafe still couldn’t quite believe how far his sister had fallen, from an honor student in high school to being tangled up with a man who had seduced her into coming to Idaho and had then dragged her into a life of drugs and crime.
He had done his best for his sister, had joined the navy the day he turned eighteen so he could support her and had sent money for her care to their aunt, who had taken her in—but apparently that effort hadn’t been enough to provide the future he always wanted for her.
He had failed with Cami. Now he had to see if he could do a better job with her son.
He opened the door to the short-term rental he had found in Pine Gulch after Cami begged him to let Joey stay here until she was sentenced, which at this point was only a few weeks away.
Joey was sitting on the bench in the foyer with his boots and coat still on, as if he were bracing himself for the punishment he fully expected.
Rafe’s heart, grizzled and tough from years of combat, couldn’t help but soften just a little at his forlorn posture and expression.
“I didn’t mean to break the mean lady’s window,” his nephew said again, his voice small.
The kid needed consequences in order to learn how his choices could have impact in others’ lives. Rafe knew that, but sometimes this parenting thing sucked big-time when what he really wanted was to gather him close and tell him everything would be okay.
“You might not have meant to cause harm, but you saw what happened. You messed up, kid.”
The irony of those words seemed to reach out and grab him by the throat. Joey’s actions might have cost Hope Nichols a car window, something that easily could be replaced.
His actions toward her and her sisters had far more long-reaching consequences.
If his reflexes had been half a second faster, he could have taken out that jacked-up, trigger-happy rebel before the bastard squeezed off the shot that took her father forever.
“Will I have to pay for the window?” Joey asked. “I have eight dollars in my piggy bank. Will it be more than that?”
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll pay her and then you can work to pay me back.”
The boy looked out the window. “I can shovel the snow.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I was going to make you do that anyway. That’s going to be one of your regular chores, helping me with that. We’ll have to figure out how to pay back Ms. Nichols some other way.”
As for the debt he owed her, Rafe knew there was no way he could repay her or her sisters.
Chapter Two (#ulink_90b031ef-2fa3-52f3-9842-6628988bd462)
Something was very, very wrong.
Hope wanted to think she was only upset from the encounter with Rafe Santiago and his very cute but troublesome nephew. Perhaps she was overwrought as a natural by-product from first having her window shattered in such a shocking manner and then coming face-to-face with a big, dangerous-looking man.
But as she approached the Star N and especially The Christmas Ranch—her family’s holiday-themed attraction that covered fifteen acres of the cattle ranch—she couldn’t seem to shake the edgy, unsettled feeling.
Where was everyone? As she approached, she could see the parking lot in front of the charming and rustic St. Nicholas Lodge and it was completely empty, which made absolutely no sense.
There should at least be a maintenance crew getting ready for the season. It usually took several weeks before opening day—which traditionally happened with a grand lighting ceremony at dusk on the Friday after Thanksgiving—to spruce things up, touch up the paint, repair any damage done throughout the summer.
Instead, the place looked like a ghost town. All it needed were a few tumbleweeds blowing through to complete the picture.
Maybe everybody had simply gone home for the day, but she suddenly realized the reindeer enclosure was missing slats and reindeer, nor did it look like any of the colored lights had been hung on the fence or in the shrubs lining the road.
She drove farther down the road with cold air whistling in from the shattered window. As she approached the parking lot entrance, her stomach suddenly dropped and she hit the brakes.
A banner obscured the sign that usually read Welcome to The Christmas Ranch, where your holiday dreams come true.
In huge red letters on a white background, it read simply, Closed Indefinitely.
Closed. Indefinitely.
Shock rocketed through her faster than a speeding sleigh. Impossible! She couldn’t believe it. Surely her sisters wouldn’t have closed down The Christmas Ranch without telling her! This was a tradition, a gift from the Nichols family to the rest of Pine Gulch and this entire area of southeastern Idaho.
Families came from miles around to partake of the holiday spirit. All of it. The horse-drawn sleigh rides. The sledding hill. Visits with Santa Claus. The reindeer herd in the petting zoo and the gift shop filled with local handicrafts and the huge collection of Nativities, many which had been sent from around the world by her parents as they traveled around as missionaries.
Even the cheesy little animatronic Christmas village was a family favorite.
It was a place of magic and wonder, a little piece of holiday spirit for the entire community to enjoy.
How could her sisters and Auntie Mary close it, indefinitely or otherwise?
And how many shocks in the space of an hour could one woman endure? Her hands shook on the steering wheel as she drove the remaining three hundred feet to the driveway leading to the ranch house.
She drove up the winding road with her heart pounding. At the house—a rambling white two-story farmhouse with a wide front porch—she parked and stomped up the steps.
Though she was tempted to dramatically storm inside—she had spent all her teen years in this house, after all, and still considered it her own—she forced herself to stop at the front door and knock.
Though Aunt Mary still lived here with Faith, it was really her sister’s house now and Hope didn’t feel she had the right to just barge in. Living in other cultures most of her life, barring the years she spent here, had given her a healthy respect for others’ personal space.
Nobody answered for a few moments. She was about to pound harder when the door suddenly opened. Instead of Faith or Auntie Mary, her nephew, Barrett, stood on the other side of the door.
At the sight of her, his darling face lit up with a joy that seemed to soothe all the ragged, battered edges of her spirit and made the whole long journey worthwhile.
