Chapter One

Though Thanksgiving was still a week and a half away, Christmas apparently had already rolled into Pine Gulch, Idaho, in all its snowy glory.

Hope Nichols looked through the windshield of the crappy old Ford pickup truck she had picked up for a cool thousand dollars at the edge of a Walmart parking lot in Salt Lake City. On a late afternoon in November the storefronts of the small but vibrant downtown area were alive with Christmas displays—trees, lights, toy soldiers, the occasional Nativity scene.

As she drove through more residential areas on her way to Cold Creek Canyon, she saw the holiday spirit extended here. Nearly every house had decorations of some sort, from inflatable snowmen to a full-fledged Santa and reindeer display.

She didn’t mind even the kitschiest of decorations, even though to some it might seem early in the season. Considering she hadn’t spent the holidays at home for the past five years—or even in the country—she couldn’t wait to embrace the whole Christmas thing this year.

She supposed that was a good thing, since her family’s Ranch was the holiday epicenter around here.

This area of eastern Idaho already had a few inches of snow—not much, but enough to cover everything in a lovely blanket of white and add a bit of seasonal charm to the town she remembered with such warmth and affection.

While Pine Gulch wasn’t exactly her hometown, it was close enough. Hope and her sisters had lived here through most of their formative teen years, and she loved every inch of it, from the distant view of the west slope of the Tetons to the unassuming storefronts to the kind people who waved at her even now, though they couldn’t possibly recognize her or the old blue pickup truck with the primer on the side.

She had come to be pretty fond of the old Ford. It didn’t exactly drive like a dream, but it had four-wheel drive and all its working parts. Buying it had been an impulsive decision—she had intended to rent a car in Salt Lake City to drive home after she flew in from northern Africa, but had suddenly realized she would need transportation permanently now. This truck would get her through the gnarly winter season until she figured out what she would do next. After a decade of wandering, she was ready to stay put for a while.

Nerves in her stomach danced a little, as they had been doing throughout the five-hour drive from Salt Lake, while she tried to anticipate the reaction she would find at the Star N Ranch when she showed up out of the blue with her duffel bag.

Aunt Mary would probably cry, her older sister, Faith, would be shocked and her younger sister, Celeste, would smile in that quiet way of hers.

The children would at least be happy to see her, though she knew Louisa and Barrett—and everyone else, for that matter—were still reeling from the death of their father. Travis, Faith’s husband and childhood sweetheart, had died four months earlier in a tragic accident. Hope had come back for his funeral, of course, but her correspondence and video chats with her family since then had mostly been superficial.

It was time to come home. Past time. Since Travis’s death, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her family needed her, despite their protests that all was fine. The holiday season was insane at The Christmas Ranch and all hands were necessary, even when those hands belonged to the wanderer in the fam—

Whack!

With a noise as loud as a gunshot, something hit the passenger-side window of her truck, jerking her thoughts back to the present. In the space of a heartbeat, the window shattered as Hope slammed on the brakes, ducked and instinctively yelled a curse word her mostly Berber students taught her.

What the...?

Who would be shooting at her? For a crazy moment, she was a terrified, desperate thirteen-year-old girl again, heart pounding, adrenaline pulsing. She didn’t have flashbacks very often, but when she did, they could roll over her like a bulldozer.

She drew in a breath, forcing away the panic. This was Pine Gulch. There were no snipers here, no rebel factions. Nobody would be shooting at her. She glanced at the window. Because the truck was older, it didn’t have tempered glass and the entire window had shattered. All she found was a melting pile of snow amid the shattered glass—and a healthy-sized rock.

Not a gunshot, then. A dirty trick. Tentatively, she raised her head to look around. At first, she didn’t see anything, until a flurry of movement on that side of the vehicle caught her gaze.

A young boy stood just off the road looking shocked and not a little guilty.

Hope pulled over to the side of the road then jumped out of the driver’s side and headed for him.

The kid stared at her, eyes wide. He froze for only a moment as she approached, then whirled around and took off at top speed across the snow-covered lawn just as a man walked around the side of the house with a couple of snow shovels in hand.

“You’re in luck, kid,” he called. “I found shovels for each of us.”

The man’s voice trailed off as the boy raced behind him, using what were quite impressive muscles as a shield, as if he thought Hope was going to start hurling snowball-covered rocks right back at him.

“Hey. Come back here. Where do you think you’re going, young man?” she demanded sternly in her best don’t-mess-with-me teacher’s voice.

The big man frowned and set the snow shovels blade-down on the sidewalk. “Excuse me, lady. What the he—er, heck is your problem?”

She told herself her heart was racing only from adrenaline at her window suddenly shattering. It had nothing to do with this large, muscled, gorgeous man with short dark hair and remarkable hazel eyes. Somehow he seemed even bigger as he bristled at her, overpowering and male.

She, however, had gone against bullies far worse than some small-town cowboy with a juvenile delinquent and an attitude.

She pointed to the pickup truck, engine still running, and the shattered passenger window.

“Your son here is the problem—or more accurately, the rock he just tossed through my window. I could have been seriously hurt. It’s a miracle I didn’t run off the road.”

“I’m not his son,” the kid snapped. He looked angry and belligerent at the very idea.

She supposed it was only natural her mind immediately went to kidnapping, especially after the sudden flashback.

“You’re not?”

“I’m his uncle,” Sexy Dude said, with a frustrated look at the boy. “Did you see him throw it? I’m sure you must be mistaken. Joey is not the kind of kid who would throw a rock at a moving vehicle—especially a stranger’s moving vehicle.”

Was he trying to convince her or himself? His words rang a little hollow, making her wonder if Joey was exactly the kind of kid who would vandalize a vehicle, whether he knew the owners or not.

“Then explain to me why my window is shattered and why he took off the moment I stopped my truck to talk to him about it.”

The guy frowned. “Joe. Tell the nice lady you didn’t throw a rock at her window.”

The boy lifted his chin obstinately but after meeting her gaze for just a moment, he looked down at his snowboots. “I didn’t throw a rock,” he insisted, then added in a muffled sort of aside, “It was a snowball.”

“A snowball with a rock inside it,” she retorted.

He looked up and gave his uncle an imploring look. “It was a accident. I didn’t mean to, Uncle Rafe. I swear.”

“Joey.” The uncle said the single name with a defeated kind of frustration, making her wonder what the situation was between the two of them. Where were the boy’s parents?

“It was a accident,” he repeated. Whether it was genuine or an act, Joey now sounded like he was going to cry.

“An accident,” she corrected.

“Whatever,” the boy said.

“Using proper English is important when you wish to convey your point.” Yes, she sounded prim but six years of combined experience in the Peace Corps and teaching English across the globe had ingrained habits that were probably going to be tough to break.

“Okay. It was an accident,” he spoke with such dramatic exaggeration that she almost smiled, until she remembered the crisis at hand.

“That’s better, but I’m still not sure I believe you. I think you were aiming right at my truck.”

“I didn’t mean to break the window. I wasn’t even trying to hit the window, I was trying to hit the hubcap. My friend Samantha and me are playing a game and we get five points for every hubcap.”

“My friend Samantha and I,” she said. She couldn’t seem to help herself, even though she noticed the correction only made the uncle glower harder, making him look big and rough-edged and even more dangerous.

She suddenly felt small and not nearly as tough as she liked to think.

“Can we deep six the English lessons, lady, and focus on your window?”

She was nervous, she suddenly realized. Was it because of his military haircut or the muscles or because he was so great-looking? She pushed away the uneasiness and forced herself to concentrate on the real issue.

“Sorry. Reflex. I’ll stop now. I’ve been teaching English in northern Africa the past few years and was in the Peace Corps before that. I’m just returning to Pine Gulch to visit my family. They live in Cold Creek Canyon and...”

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.

Copyright © 2014 by RaeAnne Thayne