Marie Ferrarella - Holiday in a Stetson - The Sheriff Who Found Christmas / A Rancho Diablo Christmas

A Holiday gift for readers of

American Romance

Two heartwarming Christmas novellas from two of your favorite authors

The Sheriff Who Found Christmas by Marie Ferrarella A Rancho Diablo Christmas by Tina Leonard

Holiday in a Stetson

The Sheriff Who Found Christmas

Marie Ferrarella

A Rancho Diablo Christmas

Tina Leonard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Sheriff Who Found Christmas

Marie Ferrarella

Dear Reader,

I have always been a sucker for a Christmas story. To date, I think I’ve seen It’s a Wonderful Life about forty times. Each year, when Hallmark airs its traditional Christmas story, I’m right there, watching every minute—even the commercials, which all have to do with Christmas cards and coming home or reconnecting with family. I get misty-eyed just thinking about it.

For me, there truly is nothing greater than a story that takes place around Christmas—unless it’s a story about a cowboy. Put the two together and, well, I’m there. So when I was asked to write a short story taking place around Christmas time and set in a Texas town, they had me at “Could you—?” Needless to say, writing this story about a withdrawn sheriff who is forced to reach out to his late sister’s newly orphaned daughter and not just give her a home but a Christmas to remember, as well—and who does so with the help of his deputy, a transplanted homicide detective from San Diego—was nothing short of a labor of love for me.

I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it at least half as much as I did writing it. In closing, I wish you love this holiday season—and always.

Love,

Marie Ferrarella

MARIE FERRARELLAis a USA TODAY bestselling author and RITA® Award winner. She has written over two hundred books for Silhouette and Harlequin Books, some under the name of Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

To Mama,

I miss you every day,

But

most of all,

I miss you at Christmas

He wasn’t a superstitious man.

He wasn’t a man who believed in very much of anything, actually. But there were times when Sheriff Garrett Tanner felt as if fate, or the powers that be, or whatever it was that gave order to the universe, had it in for him.

This feeling involved more than just his childhood, which for all intents and purposes had come to an abrupt, jarring end when he was five. That was when his father, a loving, gentle giant of a man, died suddenly. His mother, Mary, an exceedingly timid woman unable to exist without a husband, remarried less than six months later. Her second choice, made from desperation rather than anything her heart dictated, was a tough-as-nails ex-marine.

Garrett’s stepfather, Wendell Warner, never missed an opportunity to belittle him and bully him. It was a harsh childhood, but some kids had worse ones. Garrett had survived his, and ultimately, it had made him strong. Unlike some, faced with demoralizing factors in their lives, he didn’t become a homeless drifter or a serial killer, both of which, statistics were quick to point out, half the abused children grew up to become.

He’d outlived his tormentor—his stepfather had died in a drunken bar fight on the receiving end of the jagged edge of a broken bottle—and Garrett had gone on to become the sheriff of the very town his late stepfather had had nothing but contempt for.

As it turned out, his mother had exactly six months of freedom before she slipped on a patch of ice and hit her head on the curb. She died twelve days later without ever regaining consciousness. Garrett had her buried in the plot beside his father. It was his way of denying that his stepfather had ever existed.

With his parents gone, he’d wanted to do nothing more than go about his job and live out his days in the small town of Booth, Texas, southwest of Houston. He’d figured that things like having a wife and family were beyond the realm of emotionally damaged people like him, and he was fine with that. Being alone really didn’t bother him. He’d been alone even when his mother and stepfather were alive and he had lived with them.

The only person he had ever been close to during those years was his half sister, Ellen. Infused with his own father’s ethics, Garrett had looked after her while she was growing up, and had kept her, as much as he could, out of his stepfather’s way.

The situation grew more and more tense, and he’d believed that one day they would come to a head over Ellen. But then she’d abruptly quit high school—to marry a marine who’d been created in the image and likeness of her dad. Everything about Private First Class Steve Duffy reeked of the abusive ways of her father—right down, Garrett suspected, to verbally controlling her and making her feel worthless.

Just before Ellen had run off, Garrett had come as close to begging as he ever had in his life. He had asked her not to marry Duffy, but she did anyway. The morning after he’d tried to appeal to her better judgment, she was gone. Shortly thereafter, she’d called to tell their mother that she was now Mrs. Steve Duffy.

Garrett had lost track of Ellen after that. Seven whole years went by without a word from her. And then, a month ago, he’d gotten a letter. It began with her apology for allowing so much time to pass without contacting him. He suspected even more would have gone by if it hadn’t been for the fact that her husband had “died serving his country.”

Garrett was more inclined to think that the quicktempered marine had probably died in some sort of one-on-one confrontation with the relative of another woman he was attempting to hurt and brutalize.

Whatever the cause of his brother-in-law’s demise, Garrett privately thought it was a reason to rejoice more than mourn. His sister was finally free to reclaim her life, and still young enough to enjoy it and make something of herself.

When he’d read that she was thinking of coming “back home,” he’d been surprised. But once he entertained that notion, he had to admit that he was very pleased. His sister was, after all, the only person he had ever opened up to. The only person he had really cared about.

Hard though it was to own up to, he’d lost any feelings for his mother a long time ago, around the time she’d first allowed his stepfather to take a strap to him and whip him.

Anticipating Ellen’s arrival, Garrett had started getting things ready for her. He’d told her that she was welcome to stay with him for as long as she wanted. And he was completely unprepared for the phone call that came as he sat in his office this morning.

Rather than his sister, he found himself talking to a social worker named Beth Honeycutt. As he listened, a feeling of foreboding came over him. The disembodied voice told him that there had been an accident. The bus Ellen had been on had been involved in a head-on collision with a cross-country Mack truck.

The room around Garrett grew very dark, despite the fact that it was ten in the morning and the sun had until moments ago filled the small sheriff’s office.

He clutched the receiver in his hand, feeling the life drain out of him. He heard a distant voice asking if there’d been any survivors. Belatedly, he realized that the voice belonged to him.