Joanna Wayne - Maverick Christmas

“I didn’t come to visit,” he said again, “but since I’m here, I sure could use a cup of coffee.”

“Sure,” she said. “I can make a fresh pot.”

Josh swooped Mandy onto his shoulders and started toward the back door. Chrysie’s legs felt leaden as she followed them inside.

JOSH STUDIED CHRYSIE’S every move as she helped the girls out of their snow pants, parkas and boots. They were happy kids. She clearly adored them. Which didn’t mean a damn thing. Danny and Davy’s mother had probably loved them, too, but it hadn’t kept her from living in a world so depraved he didn’t even like to think about it.

Mandy pulled off her mittens and held her hands out in front of her. “They’re still cold.”

Chrysie held them in hers for a second. “How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“With marshmallows?” Mandy asked.

“Marshmallows and a cookie, just as soon as I get the coffee started.”

Josh hung his jacket on one of the hooks near the back door. “Actually, the hot chocolate sounds good.”

“Then it’s hot chocolate all around.”

Josh had given little thought to how he’d handle this, mostly trusting his instincts to guide the conversation while he asked enough questions to give him a feel for whether or not Chrysie was on the run.

He watched as she measured cocoa, sugar and milk and dumped the ingredients into a small saucepan. “I didn’t know anyone still made hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.”

“I don’t always. I have instant on hand, as well.”

“So what’s the special occasion?”

“Snow.”

“I guess you didn’t get much of that back in—where was it you’re from? Texas?”

“No.” She kept her back to him. “Actually, I’m from Mississippi, but I haven’t lived there since graduating college. My husband and I moved around a lot.”

“Was that because of his job?”

“Right.”

“What kind of business was he in?”

“He was a helicopter pilot with the Army.”

“I had some friends who flew helicopters for the Army.”

He would.

“Where did your husband do his training?”

“In…in Alabama. Near Mobile.”

“Really? I didn’t know there was an Army base there.”

“No, you’re right. It wasn’t Alabama. It was somewhere in…in south Texas. I don’t know where. It was before we were married.”

The question had her flustered. He walked to the counter so that he could see her face while she worked. “How long has he been dead?”

“Almost three years. Mandy was just a baby. Jennifer was only two.” Finally she looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t like talking about this, Sheriff. My husband’s death was a very unhappy time in my life that I’m trying to put behind me.”

“I can understand that. I’m sorry I asked.” He was—and becoming more disturbed by the second. This wasn’t just about Chrysie. It was about Jenny and Mandy and what would happen to them if their mother wound up in jail. They’d be faced with the same kind of trauma Danny and Davy had dealt with, except there wouldn’t be a father to step in and love them.

“How many Christmas trees are you going to have?” Mandy asked.

“One.”

“We’re going to have two. One for the birds and one with a big star.”

“Boy, two trees. That’s pretty cool.” So Mandy was three, Jenny was five—exactly the same ages the Harwell girls would be. If Chrysie was on the run, she should have lied about that, but that would have meant having her girls confused about their ages and starting them in school at the wrong age. She was probably too good a mother for that.

Chrysie filled two cups when the chocolate was little more than lukewarm. She waited until it was steaming to fill the other two colorful pottery mugs. Each cup received two fluffy marshmallows. The girls got a sugar cookie with their drink. He got a piece of nuked pie. He forked a bite when they’d all sat down at the kitchen table, though he’d lost his appetite.

“Are you going to Mississippi to see your grandparents for Christmas, Jenny, or are you going to stay up here and have a white Christmas with us?”

“My grandma and grandpa are in heaven with my dad,” Jenny said, “so we can’t visit them.”

Josh wondered if the grandparents were really dead or if that was part of the altered reality of a woman on the run.

“You were great with the boys yesterday,” Josh said, deciding to take a different path with his questioning. “You would have made a great teacher.”

“I doubt I have the patience for that.”

“What was your major?”

“My major?”

“Yeah, in college. You said you didn’t leave Mississippi until after you got your degree.”

She hesitated way too long, and her hands tightened on her cup as if she thought it might jump off the table if she didn’t hold it down. She was saved by Mandy when she accidentally knocked over her drink, sending a river of chocolate across the table.

“It’s okay,” Chrysie said as she jumped up to get a handful of paper towels. “Accidents happen.”

“Some gotted on my pants,” Mandy said.

“And all over my hands,” Jenny said.

“Okay, everybody to the bathroom. Will you excuse us, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely.” Josh waited until they were out of sight before walking to the counter and using two fingers to pick up the measuring cup Chrysie had used for the milk. He’d watched and knew it would have a good set of fingerprints and figured she’d be less likely to miss it than one of her pretty cups. Careful not to smudge the prints, he slipped it into the plastic zip bag he’d brought with him.

He stashed it in the pocket of his jacket and went back to his pie and chocolate. When Chrysie returned, it was just to stick her head in the doorway.

“I hate to be a terrible hostess, but I need to get these clothes off to soak before the stains become permanent.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her deep blue eyes. When he stared into their smoky depths, he saw the same vulnerability that had gotten to him last night.

“That’s okay. I need to get a move on myself. Thanks for the pie and chocolate.”

“You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t actually feel the weight of the cup in his pocket as he left, but he was intensely aware of it as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck. He hoped to hell the prints were not those of Cassandra Harwell.

Yet he was almost certain that they were. And just as certain that arresting her might top his list of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

CHRYSIE’S HEART WAS pounding like mad as she watched the truck disappear down the road, not toward the Millers but back to the highway.

He knew. She was sure of it.

The references to Texas. The questions about her husband’s helicopter training, her parents and her education. And the missing measuring cup. He’d probably though she wouldn’t notice. He was wrong. She hadn’t avoided capture for three years by letting anything go unnoticed.

He had her fingerprints, and as soon as he had them tested, he’d be back to arrest her. She had to move quickly, had only hours, maybe minutes, to throw what she could into the car. Only moments to tear the girls away from the place they already thought of as home.

Tears burned at the back of her eyelids as she hurried to her bedroom and pulled the battered suitcases from the top shelf of the closet. She carried two to the girls’ room. Her hands flew as she packed their socks, undies and pajamas, hoping to finish before they wandered in and saw what she was doing.

Better to get them in the car and on the road without their knowing what was going on. That way they couldn’t say anything to anyone when they stopped at a service station for fuel or at a fast-food restaurant for a bite to eat.