Delores Fossen - Christmas Rescue at Mustang Ridge

By then, all of their lives here would have changed.

One way or another.

“Dad’s waiting on you.” Royce got up from the step, the Christmas lights flickering off the silver deputy’s badge he had clipped to his rawhide belt. “You okay?” Royce asked.

“No.” Jake figured a lie would just stick in his throat so he didn’t even try it.

His brother stopped a moment as if considering that, and then he made a sound that could have meant anything before he strolled inside.

Jake dismounted and led the stallion to the barn. He mumbled an apology for the hard ride while he took off the saddle and gave the horse a quick brush down. He hurried now, dreading the delay more than he dreaded the conversation that was about to take place, and Jake made his way back to the house.

The moment he opened the door, he spotted them in the great room that sprawled out in front of him.

Family.

His brother, Royce. His sister, Nell. His father, Chet.

Royce had already taken the chair near the fireplace where a stack of mesquite logs were crackling and spitting. Chet was in his leather recliner that was positioned like a throne, the toes of his black snakeskin boots aimed at the ceiling. Jake spared him a glance before he went to the room across the hall. It’d once been a guest room, but these days it was more of a home-hospital for his daughter.

Sunny Lynn McCall.

She owned every bit of Jake’s heart.

Jake didn’t go in. He watched from the doorway as the visiting nurse, Betsy Becker, gave his daughter another injection. His little girl barely moved, didn’t even open her eyes, despite the needle being jammed into her hip.

That nearly brought Jake to his knees.

Three years old was way too young to be immune to pain. Too young to die. It was up to him now to make sure that didn’t happen.

Betsy took off her surgical mask, came out of the room and dodged Jake’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in the morning.” She gave him a pat on the arm.

Betsy didn’t linger, didn’t speak to the others. She was a fixture now, appearing at the ranch every morning and leaving every night. She grabbed her things and let herself out. Jake had no doubts that come seven in the morning Betsy would be back to shove more needles into his baby.

Sometimes life just plain sucked, but it was easier to take a kick in the teeth when he was on the receiving end of the pain. Watching Sunny suffer like this was a special form of hell that he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Well, maybe there was someone.

He pulled in a long breath, went into the adjoining bathroom so he could scrub up and put on a surgical mask. He wasn’t sick, but they couldn’t take any chances with Sunny.

When Jake walked to her bed, Sunny didn’t wake up and probably wouldn’t, because lately she was more tired than not. He leaned down, kissed both cheeks, ran his fingers through her dark hair. He lingered a bit despite hearing Chet impatiently clear his throat.

The room was as cheerful as Jake had been able to make it. The floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree in the corner was decorated with lights and angel ornaments that Sunny had picked out from an online catalog. Her stuffed animals and dolls were nearby. Coloring books, too.

“You gonna make us wait all night?” Chet snarled.

Chet always sounded as if he was picking a fight. Except when he talked to Sunny. Jake’s baby girl had wrapped her grandpa around her pinkie and vice versa. And that was the reason that Jake could still love his dad.

Of course, Jake didn’t like him much, but that wasn’t likely to change.

Jake gave Sunny another kiss, gently squeezed her hand and took off his mask so he could face his family.

“I’ll stay with Sunny while you talk,” Nell whispered. His sister didn’t know what was up, but Jake knew she would always step in to take care of her niece.

He was counting heavily on that.

“Well?” Chet, again. Another snarl. “Did you find her?”

Jake waited until Nell had closed the door to Sunny’s room before he answered Chet’s questions. “I found her. More or less.”

Royce knew where this was going, and that was no doubt why he cursed and probably wished he had another smoke or two. “She’s in the Witness Security Program.”

“She’s where?” Chet snapped.

“WITSEC, witness security,” Jake supplied, though Chet had no doubt heard him the first time. The man was sixty-four, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. Or his mind. “She was placed in the program after, well, just after,” Jake settled for saying.

Chet cursed. “The marshals won’t tell you where she is.” It wasn’t a question, and it was followed by more cursing.

Royce took up the explanation since he’d been at the sheriff’s office when Jake had gotten the news. “We sent a request all the way up to the head of WITSEC, but our request was denied.”

Chet got to his feet and started to pace. “If I could get my hands around her neck—”

“She probably doesn’t know Sunny’s sick,” Jake interrupted. “And we don’t know if it’ll be worth it to even find her.”

That was the hardest part of all.

This could all be for nothing.

“I don’t know how much the Justice Department is telling her because—” Jake had to pause and breathe “—it could be dangerous if anyone found out her new identity and her location.”

“Damn right it’s dangerous,” Chet snapped. “It’s dangerous for Sunny, too. And if she can help, then I don’t care about compromising her identity. Hell, I don’t care if somebody guns her down like—”

Thankfully, Chet had the good sense to stop. Jake already had enough bad things to deal with tonight without the memories of his late wife’s murder. Of course, the memories of Anna were there.

Always.

Even though she’d been dead and buried for over two and a half years now, since Sunny was just a baby.

“Are we just going to keep calling her she and her?” Royce asked. He huffed, but Jake didn’t know if he was just riled about the situation or the pronoun use. “Because she’s got a name, you know?”

“Yeah, and it’s a name not welcome here,” Chet insisted.

His father wasn’t the forgive-and-forget sort.

Neither was Jake in this situation.

But Sunny needed her. And that meant Jake needed her, too.

“Maggie Gallagher,” Jake said aloud. It was the first time that name had crossed his lips in two years, eight months and five days.

Maggie, his former sister-in-law. Or would that be his late wife’s sister? Or how about the woman who’d gotten Anna killed? Yeah, that was the label that fit her best.

Maybe Chet had the right idea about not saying her name.

Chet stopped pacing and snapped toward Jake. “How you gonna convince those marshals to give us her location?”

The million-dollar question. Jake had a fifty-cent answer.

Jake shook his head. “I can’t convince them. Royce and I have already tried.”

“We have,” Royce agreed. He glanced at Chet. “The Justice Department can’t tell us where she is because during her relocation processing, Maggie specifically said she didn’t want contact with any of us.”

Chet cursed again.

If Jake had been feeling charitable—he wasn’t—he would have pointed out that Chet had warned Maggie that if she ever came back to Mustang Ridge, he’d kill her and the horse she rode in on. Hardly a welcome-mat greeting. And it was that threat that had no doubt caused Maggie to include the no-contact order.

Chet lifted his hands, palms up. “So, that’s it? You’re just gonna give up?”

It took Jake a moment to rein in his voice. “I’ll never give up.”

Chet shook his head, riffled his hand through his hair. “Then never giving up better come with some kind of plan attached.”