An Outlaw's Christmas Read online

  “Now we’ve got proof!” Edrina trilled, exhibiting a burgeoning work sock of her own. A doll’s head poked out of the top, flanked by what looked like a toy horn of some kind, brightly painted and made of tin.

  “And there was a note!” Harriet added, her eyes huge with excitement. “St. Nicholas left us presents in the barn, and that’s why you have to get up, so we can all go out there together and see!”

  Sawyer thought of the two spotted ponies Clay had been hiding in the barn for three days now, and grinned. The night before, he and Clay had set the small, fancy saddles out in plain sight, on a bale of hay, and draped the bridles over them. “Go wake up your folks, then,” he said.

  Piper’s head popped out from under the covers, and she smiled sleepily at the girls, yawned a good-morning.

  Sawyer would have given a great deal for another hour alone with her, right there in the guest room bed, but he knew he was out of luck, given the combination of kids and Christmas.

  “They’re already awake!” Edrina informed him. “Hurry up—at this rate, it’ll be New Year’s before we get to see our presents!”

  “Out,” Sawyer ordered good-naturedly.

  “Go on,” Piper urged the girls, with a twinkle in her eyes. “We’ll be up and around in a few minutes, I promise.”

  Possibly because she was their teacher, as well as their mother’s cousin and closest friend, Edrina and Harriet scampered out, shutting the bedroom door smartly behind them.

  “Hurry!” one of them called back, over the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps.

  Sawyer sighed, got out of bed, and gathered up his clothes. He went into the bathroom to dress, and when he came out, Piper was fully clad and pinning up her hair in a loose chignon.

  He kissed her nape. “That was quick,” he said.

  “Christmas waits for no one,” she replied, turning in his embrace to kiss the cleft in his strong chin. “Let’s go see what St. Nicholas has left in the barn.”

  One year later

  Triple M Ranch, Indian Rock, Arizona

  THE WHOLE CLAN HAD GATHERED at the main ranch house, where Angus McKettrick officiated, from his wheeled chair, over a busy and memorable Christmas Eve. Even Clay and Dara Rose were there, with the children, having traveled all the way from Texas on the train.

  Since all the McKettricks would have separate celebrations for their own families the next day, gifts were exchanged after supper, and even after months spent with these people, Piper was amazed by the rough-and-tumble love they bore each other. They’d taken her into their lives and hearts back in June, when Sawyer had returned, bringing a new wife with him, and she’d fallen in love with them, too.

  She and Sawyer had stayed with his mother and father, Kade and Mandy McKettrick, at first, while they were building their own house and barn on a little rise with a spring and a broad view of the ranch. Mandy was still trim and agile, though she’d long-since given up sharpshooting to reign over her children and grandchildren, as well as her adoring husband.

  Besides aunts and uncles, there were sisters, too, and brothers, and cousins galore.

  Piper was still getting to know them all. Sawyer’s Aunt Katie, Angus and Conception’s late-life daughter, a particular favorite of Piper’s, was married to a United States senator and divided her time between Arizona and Washington. She was bound and determined to see that women got the vote and constantly pestered her husband and his associates to “catch up with the modern world” and do something about the problem.

  On this sacred night, Mandy approached her newest daughter-in-law and gently touched her protruding stomach. Piper and Sawyer’s first baby was due soon—she’d been hoping for a Christmas birth—but that didn’t seem likely, since there hadn’t been so much as a twinge of a contraction so far.

  “You mustn’t overdo, now,” Mandy counseled. “We’re a pretty overwhelming bunch, we McKettricks, especially when we’re all in the same place.”

  Piper smiled, caught Sawyer’s eye and received his smile like a blessing. He was standing next to Angus’s wheeled chair, listening while the older man went on about the unfortunate changes statehood had brought.

  None of them, in Angus’s view, were good.

  Sawyer winked, and Mandy, seeing the exchange, smiled at Piper again. “At least sit down,” she said, steering Piper toward one of the few unoccupied chairs.

  Chloe, a lovely red-haired woman and a teacher, like Piper, approached them, having taken a large and gaily wrapped package from beneath the towering Christmas tree. Katie and Lydia and Emmeline, the other aunts, found their way over, too, all beaming proudly.

  Chloe handed the parcel to Mandy, who gently laid it in Piper’s lap.

  Dara Rose joined them, too. From her smile, she was in on the surprise.

  “What on earth—?” Piper asked, near tears.

  “Open it,” Mandy urged eagerly.

  Carefully, her hands trembling a little, Piper removed the ribbon, draping it over the arm of her chair for safekeeping, and then smoothed back the tissue paper.

  Inside was a quilt, as wildly colorful as the northern Arizona landscape surrounding them all, exquisitely pieced.

  “We all worked on it,” Katie said.

  Lydia and Dara Rose took the quilt by its ends and unfurled it, so Piper could get a good look at the design. The Blue River schoolhouse had been faithfully reproduced in fabric and appliquéd to the center of what, to Piper, was a work of art. There were children embroidered here and there, frolicking in the schoolyard, and she saw herself standing in the tiny doorway, with Sawyer beside her.

  “Sawyer told us he ruined your trousseau quilts by bleeding on them,” one of the women said.

  Piper’s vision was blurred, but she could still make out the words stitched, sampler style, in a rainbow arched above the schoolhouse.

  “Piper and Sawyer McKettrick,” the thread-letters read. “Blue River, Texas, 1915.”

  “It’s so lovely,” Piper whispered. “Thank you.”

  Mandy leaned down and placed a kiss on her daughter-in-law’s forehead. “No, Piper,” she said. “Thank you, for saving Sawyer’s life and for being precisely who you are.” Mandy’s gaze took in the entire gathering in one swift sweep before returning to Piper’s upturned face. “Welcome to the McKettrick family,” she finished.

  * * * * *

  Look for Linda Lael Miller’s next original novel,

  BIG SKY RIVER, on sale from

  Harlequin HQN Books in January 2013

  at your favorite retail outlet.

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Big Sky Mountain by Linda Lael Miller!

  Meet the McKettricks

  If you loved An Outlaw’s Christmas, don’t miss the rest of this New York Times bestselling series featuring the brooding McKettrick cowboys and the feisty women who lay claim to their hearts. Available wherever ebooks are sold!

  McKettrick’s Choice

  Sierra’s Homecoming

  McKettrick’s Luck

  McKettrick’s Pride

  McKettrick’s Heart

  The McKettrick Way

  A McKettrick Christmas

  McKettricks of Texas: Tate

  McKettricks of Texas: Garrett

  McKettricks of Texas: Austin

  A Lawman’s Christmas

  McKettrick’s Heart

  Don’t miss the first two titles in a brand-new series from Linda Lael Miller.

  Love awaits in Parable, Montana…

 
Big Sky Country

  Big Sky Mountain

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  CHAPTER ONE

  A FINE SWEAT broke out between Hutch Carmody’s shoulders and his gut warned that he was fixing to stumble straight into the teeth of a screeching buzz saw. The rented tux itched against his hide and his collar seemed to be getting tighter with every flower-scented breath he drew.

  The air was dense, weighted, cloying. The small church was overheated, especially for a sunny day in mid-June, and the pews were crammed with eager guests, a few weeping women and a fair number of skeptics.

  Hutch’s best man, Boone Taylor, fidgeted beside him.

  The organist sounded a jarring chord and then launched into a perky tune Hutch didn’t recognize. The first of three bridesmaids, all clad in silly-looking pink dresses more suited to little girls than grown women—in his opinion anyhow—drag-stepped her way up the aisle to stand beside the altar, across from him and Boone.

  Hutch’s head reeled, but he quickly reminded himself, silently of course, that he had to live in this town—his ranch was just a few miles outside of it. If he passed out cold at his own wedding, he’d still be getting ribbed about it when he was ninety.

  While the next bridesmaid started forward, he did his distracted best to avoid so much as glancing toward Brylee Parrish, his wife to be, who was standing at the back of the church beside her brother, Walker. He knew all too well how good she looked in that heirloom wedding gown of hers, with its billowing veil and dazzling sprinkle of rhinestones.

  Brylee was beautiful, with cascades of red-brown hair that tumbled to her waist when she let it down. Her wide-set hazel eyes revealed passion, as well as formidable intelligence, humor and a country girl’s in-born practicality.

  He was a lucky man.

  Brylee, on the other hand, was not so fortunate, having hooked up with the likes of him. She deserved a husband who loved her.

  Suddenly, Hutch’s gaze connected with that of his half brother, Slade Barlow. Seated near the front, next to his very pregnant wife, Joslyn, Slade slowly shook his head from side to side, his expression so solemn that a person would have thought somebody was about to be buried instead of hitched to one of the choicest women Parable County had ever produced.

  Hutch’s insides churned, then coalesced into a quivering gob and did a slow, backward roll.

  The last bridesmaid had arrived.

  The minister was in place.

  The smell of the flowers intensified, nearly overwhelming Hutch.

  And then the first notes of “Here Comes the Bride” rang out.

  Hutch felt the room—hell, the whole planet—sway again.

  Brylee, beaming behind the thin fabric of her veil, nodded in response to something her brother whispered to her and they stepped forward.

  “Hold it,” Hutch heard himself say loudly enough to be heard over the thundering joy of the organ. He held up both hands, like a referee about to call a foul in some fast-paced game. “Stop.”

  Everything halted—with a sickening lurch.

  The music died.

  The bride and her brother seemed frozen in mid-stride.

  Hutch would have sworn the universe itself had stopped expanding.

  “This is all wrong,” he went on miserably, but with his back straight and his head up. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t broached the subject with Brylee before—he’d been trying to get out of this fix for weeks. Just the night before, in fact, he’d sat Brylee down in a vinyl upholstered booth at the Silver Lanes snack bar and told her straight out that he had serious misgivings about getting married and needed some breathing space.

  Brylee had cried, her mascara smudging, her nose reddening at the tip.

  “You don’t mean it,” she’d said, which was her standard response to any attempt he made to put on the brakes before they both plummeted over a matrimonial cliff. “You’re just nervous, that’s all. It’s entirely normal. But once the wedding is over and we’re on our honeymoon—”

  Hutch couldn’t stand it when a woman cried, especially when he was the cause of her tears. Like every other time, he’d backed down, tried to convince himself that Brylee was right—he just had cold feet, that was all.

  Now, though, “push” had run smack up against “shove.”

  It was now or never.

  He faced Brylee squarely.

  The universe unfroze itself, like some big machine with rusted gears, and all hell broke loose.

  Brylee threw down her bouquet, stomped on it once, whirled on one heel and rushed out of the church. Walker flung a beleaguered and not entirely friendly look in Hutch’s direction, then turned to go after his sister.

  The guests, already on their feet in honor of the bride, all started talking at once, abuzz with shock and speculation.

  Things like this might happen in books or movies, but they didn’t happen in Parable, Montana.

  Until now, Hutch reflected dismally.

  He started to follow Brylee out of the church, not an easy proposition with folks crowding the aisle. He didn’t have the first clue what he could say to her, but he figured he had to say something.

  Before he’d taken two strides, though, Slade and Boone closed in on him from either side, each taking a firm grip on one of his arms.

  “Let her go,” Boone said quietly.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Slade confirmed.

  With that, they hustled him quickly out of the main chapel and into the small side room where the choir robes, hymnals and Communion gear were stored.

  Hutch wondered if a lynch mob was forming back there in the sanctuary.

  “You picked a fine time to change your mind about getting married,” Boone remarked, but his tone was light and his eyes twinkled with something that looked a lot like relief.

  Hutch unfastened his fancy tie and shoved it into one coat pocket. Then he opened his collar halfway to his breastbone and sucked in a breath. “I tried to tell her,” he muttered. He knew it sounded lame, but the truth was the truth.

  Although he and Slade shared a father, they had been at bloody-knuckled odds most of their lives. They’d made some progress toward getting along since the old man’s death and the upheaval that followed, but neither of them related to the other as a buddy, let alone a brother.

  “Come on out to our place,” Slade said, surprising him. “You’d best lay low for a few hours. Give Brylee—and Walker—a little time to cool off.”

  Hutch stiffened slightly, though he found the invitation oddly welcome. Home, being Whisper Creek Ranch, was a lonely outpost these days—which was probably why he’d talked himself into proposing to Brylee in the first place.

  “I have to talk to Brylee,” he repeated.

  “There’ll be time for that later on,” Slade reasoned.

  “Slade’s right,” Boone agreed. Boone, being violently allergic to marriage himself, probably thought Hutch had just dodged a figurative bullet.

  Or maybe he was remembering that Brylee was a crack shot with a pistol, a rifle, or a Civil War cannon.

  Given what had just happened, she was probably leaning toward the cannon right about now.

  Hutch sighed. “All right,” he said to Slade. “I’ll kick back at your place for a while—but I’ve got to stop off at home first, so I can change out of this monkey suit.”

 
“Fine,” Slade agreed. “I’ll round up the women and meet you at the Windfall in an hour or two.”

  By “the women,” Slade meant his lovely wife, Joslyn, his teenage stepdaughter, Shea, and Opal Dennison, the force-of-nature who kept house for the Barlow outfit. Slade’s mother, Callie, had had the good grace to skip the ceremony—old scandals die hard in a town the size of Parable and recollections of her long-ago affair with Carmody Senior, from which Slade had famously resulted, were as sharp as ever.

  Today’s escapade would put all that in the shade, of course. Tongues were wagging and jaws were flapping for sure—by now, various up-to-the-minute accounts were probably popping up on all the major social media sites. Before Slade and Boone had dragged Hutch out of the sanctuary, he’d seen several people whip out their cell phones and start texting. A few pictures had been taken, too, with those same ubiquitous devices.

  The thought of all that amateur reporting made Hutch close his eyes for a moment. “Shit,” he murmured.

  “Knee-deep and rising,” Slade confirmed, sounding resigned.

  * * *

  KENDRA SAT AT the antique table in her best friend Joslyn’s kitchen, with Callie Barlow in the chair directly across from hers. The ranch house was unusually quiet, with its usual occupants gone to town.

  A glance over one shoulder assured Kendra that her recently adopted four-year-old daughter, Madison, was still napping on a padded window seat, her stuffed purple kangaroo, Rupert, clenched in her arms. The little girl’s gleaming hair, the color of a newly minted penny, lay in tousled curls around her cherubic face and Kendra felt the usual pang of hopeless devotion just looking at her.

  This long-sought, hard-won, much-wanted child.

  This miracle.

  Not that every woman would have seen the situation from the same perspective as Kendra did—Madison was, after all, living proof that Jeffrey had been unfaithful, a constant reminder that it was dangerous to love, treacherous to trust, foolish to believe in another person too much. But none of that had mattered to Kendra in the end—she’d essentially been abandoned herself as a small child, left to grow up with a disinterested grandmother, and that gave her a special affinity for Madison. Besides, Jeffrey, having returned to his native England after summarily ending their marriage, had been dying.