Christmas At Cardwell Ranch. B.J. DanielsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he added quickly as he pulled the gun from behind him and handed it to her through the window. “It’s ready to go. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Aim for the largest part of a person.” He saw her cringe. “You can do this.”
She nodded, a determined look settling on her features.
He gave her a smile, then pulled off his glove and reached through the broken window to touch her face with his fingertips. She closed her eyes, leaning into his warm palm. Tears beaded her lashes when he pulled his hand away.
Christmas at
Cardwell Ranch
B.J. Daniels
USA TODAY bestselling author B.J. DANIELS wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a four-and-a-half-star review from RT Book Reviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue that year. Since then, she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and many nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
To contact her, write to B.J. Daniels, PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, or email her at [email protected]. Check out her website, www.bjdaniels.com.
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In memory of Rita Ness, who will always be
remembered as the bright ray of sunshine she was.
She is dearly missed.
Contents
Chapter One
Huge snowflakes drifted down out of a midnight-blue winter sky. Tanner “Tag” Cardwell stopped to turn his face up to the falling snow. It had been so long since he’d been anywhere that it snowed like this.
Christmas lights twinkled in all the windows of the businesses of Big Sky’s Meadow Village, and he could hear “White Christmas” playing in one of the ski shops.
But it was a different kind of music that called to him tonight as he walked through the snow to the Canyon Bar.
Shoving open the door, he felt a wave of warmth hit him, along with the smell of beer and the familiar sound of country music.
He smiled as the band broke into an old country-and-western song, one he’d learned at his father’s knee. Tag let the door close behind him on the winter night and shook snow from his new ski jacket as he looked around. He’d had to buy the coat because for the past twenty-one years, he’d been living down South.
Friday night just days from Christmas in Big Sky, Montana, the bar was packed with a mix of locals, skiers, snowmobilers and cowboys. There’d be a fight for sure before the night was over. He planned to be long gone before then, though.
His gaze returned to the raised platform where the band, Canyon Cowboys, was playing. He played a little guitar himself, but he’d never been as good as his father, he thought as he watched Harlan Cardwell pick and strum to the music. His uncle, Angus Cardwell, was no slouch, either.
Tag had always loved listening to them play together when he was a kid. Music was in their blood. That and bars. As a kid, he’d fallen asleep many weekend nights in a bar in this canyon listening to his father play guitar. It was one of the reasons his mother had gathered up her five sons, divorced Harlan and taken her brood off to Texas to be raised in the Lone Star State.
Tag and his brothers had been angry with their dad for not fighting for them. As they’d gotten older, they’d realized their mother had done them a favor. Harlan knew nothing about raising kids. He was an easygoing cowboy who only came alive when you handed him a guitar—or a beer.
Still, as Tag watched his father launch into another song, he realized how much he’d missed him—and Montana. Had Harlan missed him, as well? Doubtful, Tag thought, remembering the reception he’d gotten when he’d knocked at his father’s cabin door this morning.
“Tag?”
“Surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” his father had asked, moving a little to block his view of the interior of the cabin.
“It’s