Must Love Christmas Cowboys

by Diana Palmer, Heather Graham

Genres: Romance Anthologies & Collections; Contemporary Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

Whether they’re out on the range or working in town, these men are rough, rugged, and ready for action. They’re true-blue cowboys and the stays of these brand new Christmas novellas from New York Times bestselling authors Diana Palmer and Heather Graham, set against the snowy backdrop of Colorado.

THE PERFECT GIFT * Diana Palmer
Rancher Ty Blakeney has more than enough reasons to be grumpy. Plus, it’s unseasonably cold, Christmas decorations are up annoyingly early, and now there’s a wailing little boy on his property, a frantic young woman chasing after him. Ty recognizes her, recently orphaned, scraping by to raise her young brother. Both of them as alone as he is. But between the three of them, along with a puppy in need of a home—and the magic of the holidays—they might just discover the gift of family comes in all kinds of packages.

CHRISTMAS, CRIME, AND A COWBOY * Heather Graham
When successful New York artist Jessy Danson inherits her beloved late grandfather’s Colorado property, she’s forced to tear herself away from her busy city life. While she hopes to wrap things up in time to leave for Christmas, her disinterest in the house’s rich history baffles Wyatt McFarlane, her grandfather’s handsome neighbor. But the house—and Wyatt—become exceptionally interesting when dangerous robbers break in, determined that Jessy will lead them to a hidden treasure. It’s a good thing there’s a hero right next door . . .

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

It had been a hell of a day already. James Tiberius Blakeney, Ty for short, was tired and half-mad. Everything had gone wrong from the time his feet had hit the floor in the morning. His ex-partner had taken off in the middle of the night months ago and married a man she’d just met—an auditor who’d done the books at the bank in Raven Springs. Ty had thought she’d be with him forever. She might not love him the way he loved her, but she loved the money.

He stared out the windshield of his late-model truck, gazing toward his sprawling cabin on a dirt road in sight of a mountain range. Colorado was beautiful. He loved all of it, but cities like Denver weren’t his taste. Neither were towns, even small ones. He had to go downtown into Raven Springs occasionally to do business with the bank where his checks were wired. Other than that, he kept to himself.

He lived in the country outside Raven Springs. It was a tiny little town, but it suited him, despite the memories connected with the house that he was trying to work through. He hadn’t produced anything since the defection of his girlfriend. He’d gone quiet and he drank too much when he was alone. He was far and away too depressed to do anything. Luckily, there were royalties. Lots of them. More on the way, too. When he had enough, he didn’t really have to work. Or so he told himself. He knew the dangers of being out of the loop too long. He’d seen it sink other professionals like himself. It was something he’d have to consider. Well, later. Much later. He was too mired in depression to produce anything saleable anyway.

Just as he was about to turn onto the dirt driveway that led to his house, he saw a beat-up old truck on the side of the road. A young woman in jeans and a T-shirt was calling a name. Loudly. He moved in behind her truck and parked his.

She turned as he got out. She wasn’t tall. She came up to his shoulder. She had short, dark, wavy hair, and eyes the color of which was hidden in the shade of an autumn-colored deciduous tree. There were tears in them.

He knew her, sort of. She was Sara Whittaker. She lived a few roads past his on a ramshackle ranch. She delivered food and did odd jobs to support herself and the little brother she’d been taking care of since her mother died a few years ago and her father passed away quite recently. Her dad drank, and when he drank, he hit her with a doubled-up belt, sometimes with his fists. He’d heard about it from the sheriff, Jeff Ralston, who was a friend.

Sad story. She loved her dad but she was terrified of him, Jeff said, and he’d been sheriff for a long, long time in Benton, up the road from Raven Springs. With her dad’s death, there was no money coming in except what little she could make. She wasn’t trained for anything, although she did beautiful paintings when she had any extra money. They were sold to tourists who came through in the summer and stopped by the art gallery. But that was only a little money. It was no longer summer. And her house was falling down around her ears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She looked up at his chin with misery claiming her face. “My little brother wandered off. I just turned my back for a few seconds, while I got my cell phone out of the truck. He went after the wuppie all by himself.”

Ty blinked. He hadn’t started drinking today. This was too soon for this sort of wild fantasy. “What the hell is a wuppie?” he asked coldly.

“I don’t know. If you find one, will you tell me? I’m all at sea.” She was looking around again. “He saw it and begged me to stop. We got out together, but I forgot my cell phone in my pocketbook and went to get it. When I got back, he’d just vanished . . . Edward!” she called. “Edward Whittaker!”

“Is that his name? Ed?”

She nodded. “Yes. He’ll be five, his next birthday.”

He shifted his eyes. He spotted red cloth moving. “Is the boy wearing red?”

“Yes!”

He pointed.

“Good eyes. Thanks! Ed!” She started moving through the brambles. That was when he noticed that she was wearing high boots and a long, closed denim jacket that stretched to her knees.

She knew to dress for the underbrush.

“Sis! I can’t find him,” called the boy.

“Well, he’ll come back if he’s meant for you, don’t you think? Now, come on. The lawyer’s waiting for us.”

“Don’t want to go.”

“Don’t fuss,” she said gently. “We don’t have time. Come on, partner.”

She picked him up, and as she approached Ty, he saw that her eyes were light, although he couldn’t tell the color. It was a beautiful combination with her dark hair and pale olive complexion.

“You said he was your brother?” he asked, curious because she had dark hair and light eyes but the child was totally blond and had blue eyes.

“We have a painting on the wall of my grandfather. Ed’s the image of him. You can’t discount genetics,” she added with a shy smile.

As she stopped and raised her eyes to his face, he saw that they were a pale, silvery blue. Odd color, with that background of dark, wavy hair. She wasn’t bad looking. And where the overcoat came unbuttoned, her nice figure was visible.

Not that he noticed, of course. He was off women.

She smiled briefly. “Thanks for helping.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. We don’t get out much,” she added.

He had to stop and think. He had two names. One was very well-known, and he didn’t want to advertise it. So he gave her the less familiar one. “Ty Blakeney.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard you mentioned,” she said. She hesitated. “You keep to yourself. So do we. Thanks again.”

She turned and headed back toward the dilapidated truck. As they moved away, he heard the child complaining.

“But what about the wuppie, sis?”

Her reply was lost in a gust of wind. He looked up. Snow clouds were forming. Winter was coming early this year. He turned back to his own truck and drove himself home.

The lawyer was standing impatiently at the door as she and Ed got out of the truck and went to let him in.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, fumbling with the key. “Ed caught sight of something and insisted on seeing it closer. I had to go and get him back.”

“I have a client coming in half an hour, so we must finish quickly,” he said, seating himself at the kitchen table.

“I tried to come and see you, but they said you’d be busy until week after next.” She paused. “I did get an appointment for then,” she added.

He ignored her, opening his briefcase. “Your greatgrandfather held these papers until they were needed. He insisted that was not to be in your father’s lifetime.” He looked up. “Sorry.”

She shrugged. “He knew all about my father. He never approved of my mother marrying him.”

He could see why, but he didn’t elaborate. He spread the papers on the table. “Your great-grandfather left the property to Ed, but you’ll be the executor and you’ll hold the property for him until he comes of age. There’s a sizeable amount of money as well, to be split between the two of you.”

“Money? But he hated my father . . .”

“And loved you,” he said, his voice softening just momentarily. “He wasn’t going to let your father get hold of a penny, but he set plans in motion for when your father was, shall we say, no longer in the picture. He never wanted you to be destitute, and it was his great wish that you continue your education so that you could have a profession.”

She sighed. “I do have one; I just didn’t have the money to pursue it.”

“Yes,” he said, looking at her over his glasses. “You have quite a talent. I’ve seen your canvases at the souvenir shops. You charge far too little for them.”

She grimaced. “I don’t know what they’re worth,” she confessed.

“I do. Let me put you in touch with a gallery I know. They can advise you on how to market those canvases.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Now I need your signature on these documents.” He went on to name them and explain what each meant. By the time he was through, she was almost punch-drunk. But happy. He got her bank account information and told her that her inheritance would be wired into it soon. It was a considerable amount; well, to Sara it was, anyway.

She saw him off and went back to Ed, who was watching television on the only old black-and-white set they’d been able to afford with her father out of work half the time and refusing to let her work.

She took in a breath. “Ed, let’s see what Amazon can sell us in the way of a color TV. What do you think?”

“There’s no money,” he said, sounding just like their late father.

She smiled. “Yes, there is. Now there is! I can pay off the credit card, which means we can use it! Come on.” She sat down and hoisted him onto her lap and opened her cell phone to the Amazon app. Then they went shopping.

Her credit card was climbing into debt before they stopped. But there was now money in her savings account, and her checking account, or there would be by tomorrow. All that, besides the very large sum of money in a separate account for Ed when he was older.

It felt good to have a little cash for a change. She bought clothes for Ed and herself. Nothing expensive, but things they could really use for winter. She bought ceramic heaters for their bedrooms and slipcovers for the sofa and easy chair.

Then she stopped, because it would never do to run out of cash as soon as she’d received it. She gave a silent thanks to the dear old man who’d always been kind to his granddaughter and her children, Sara and Ed.

The first thing Sara heard the next morning was “What about the wuppie?” in a plaintive little voice.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she said after a minute. “We’ll have breakfast. Then we’ll go look for the wuppie.”

“All right!”

She was certain that there was no such thing as a wuppie. But she was going to look for one, to satisfy Ed so he’d be quiet about it. She was in a rare good mood. Things were looking up.

They stopped on the side of the road again. She got out with Ed and stood listening to the birds sing while she debated where to start looking.

“There it is!” Ed exclaimed, and started down the hill.

“No! You wait for me, buster,” she said, catching his hand. “There are bears and wolves and all sorts of predators. You stick with me.”

“But the wuppie . . . ?” he said. “Here, Wuppie, come here!” he called. “Come on!”

There was a rustle in the grass and, suddenly, a bedraggled puppy waddled out into their sight.

“The wuppie!” Ed sang.

“Well . . . my goodness,” she managed. The dog was covered with briars and brambles. It had sore places on it, as if it had been bitten by something, and it seemed full of fleas.

“We have to take care of it,” Ed said, and looked belligerent.

She agreed, but she was wondering what in the world to do. She made up her mind quickly as Ed’s face fell. “First stop, the vet,” she said, and thank God she now had money for bills like this one was going to be.

She’d packed an old blanket, just in case they actually found the wuppie. She tucked the poor little black-and-tan ball of fur into it and, placing it carefully in Ed’s lap in the back seat, she drove them to the vet.

“Oh, my,” were the first words to come out of the temporary vet’s mouth as he saw the little thing.

“I said worse words,” she replied in an undertone.

The vet unwrapped the puppy and put it on the examination table. He did a quick exam and smiled. “Mostly cuts and fleas and mats,” he said. “He needs some patching up and then he’ll just need lots of love. This breed is known for its affection and protective abilities. You’ll be happy you have him one day.”

“It’s a him?” Ed exclaimed.

“What breed?” Sara was asking.

“He’s a German shepherd,” he said.

Sara looked at him doubtfully. “He’ll eat a lot.”

“He’ll be worth every crumb,” the vet assured her. “You two live alone, don’t you? A little protection never hurts. Especially in these hard times.”

Sara smiled at him. “You’re right, of course. Ed, we’ll need a name.”

“Goose!” he said.

Sara gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“Goose! It says in my book that a goose is fierce and protects people. So, Goose.”

Sara laughed with the vet. “Okay,” she said. “Goose it is!”

Two weeks later, she wasn’t certain she was getting the same puppy back that they’d left with the vet.

Goose was gorgeous. He had fluffy tan-and-black fur, very soft, and he was already growing. He liked to run with Ed and play with the toys they bought him. His favorite was a stuffed squeaky toy that looked like a long-necked duck. He carried it everywhere and even slept with it. He slept right next to Ed’s bed, too, every night. Sara loved how those protective instincts were already showing themselves.

“Why did you call Goose a wuppie?” she asked Ed one morning.

“He was just a widdle puppy,” he said. “Wuppie!”

She laughed. “So he was,” she agreed, and leaned down to ruffle the puppy’s fur.

She’d taken two paintings to the Benton gallery that the attorney had referred her to, owned by Charles and Delia Gray, and was told that the asking price of her paintings should be in the thousands, not in single or double digits. She’d been shocked. They told her that the quality of her work was exceptional.

She’d never thought of her paintings as anything valuable, but she went to the gallery once a week and learned how to market them online. It was eye-opening. She was invited to a show in Denver, but she hesitated.

“Why not go?” the gallery owner’s wife, Delia Gray, asked curiously after Sara had delivered one of her latest canvases to the small gallery. It was out of the way, but many tourists came to Raven Springs, and the gallery did a booming business in the summer and fall, before snow started falling.

“I have a four-year-old brother and nobody to keep him, and I don’t own a single dress,” she said quietly. “I had a dress, but I wore it out going to church, even though I only went in cold weather.”

She frowned. “Why was that?”

“I only had one dress,” she emphasized, seeing that the woman didn’t understand. “I only went when I could wear a coat, so nobody knew I only had one dress.”

The owner’s wife had to hide the anguish she felt for the younger woman. “Didn’t your father know?”

“He was mostly drunk,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had to fight him to go to church. He didn’t believe in it. After living with him, anybody would have believed in it,” she added. “It was all that kept me going. Church, and little Ed.” She smiled. “My baby brother was an accident, but he’s my treasure. Mama almost died having him.”

The girl’s family tragedy made the gallery owner’s wife doubly grateful for what she had. “Listen, I’ll keep Ed for you.”

“Mrs. Gray, my truck won’t make it to Denver and I can’t afford to buy a new one. Not right now, at least.”

“Is that all?” she exclaimed. “Well, I’ll find you a ride with an upright person,” she added when Sara looked worried. “Somebody dependable, okay?”

“If you can do that, I’ll go. But I still need a dress.”

“Can you afford one?”

Sara smiled. “Yes. I’ve been saving up. And the dress shop in town is having a sale.”

“Okay. Go shopping.”

“I will. And thanks so much!”

“It’s no problem. If you can’t find something you like, I’ll loan you one of my dresses. We’re the same size.”

“Oh, goodness, but I don’t own any high heels,” Sara told her miserably.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

“A seven.”

Delia laughed. “So do I. No problem about that. Forget the dress shop for now. I’ll deck you out, Cinderella,” she teased.

Sara let out a sigh. “Mrs. Gray, that’s so kind of you . . .” she replied, choked up with threatening tears. The gallery owner’s wife was such a sweet person.

“It’s not hard, being nice to sweet people, Sara,” came the soft reply. “So stop worrying about clothes. I even have several evening bags. You can pick one out.”

Sara took a breath. “You’ve just solved all my problems. Thank you!”

There was a lilt in the other woman’s voice. “I used to be young. I think,” she added on a laugh. “We’ll make you the envy of all the other women present. Wait and see!”

The night of the gallery showing, Sara was decked out in a gorgeous black-and-silver dress with rhinestone inserts. It was a loaner from the gallery owner’s wife, who really was just about Sara’s size. And the dress was a knockout. It came up to her ears in a Victorian swath of lace that trailed down into the bodice and outlined it down to the waistline. The skirt featured more rhinestones. She had strappy black patent high heels to wear with it as part of the ensemble. Her makeup was impeccable, applied by the gallery owner’s wife. She was loaned a pair of rhinestone earrings. She looked dazzling. The silver in the jewelry was almost the color of her odd eyes.

When Mrs. Gray finished, Sara looked very different from the young woman who never wore anything except blue jeans and T-shirts.

“You’ll knock ’em dead,” Delia pronounced.

“You look beautiful!” Ed enthused.

Sara, in front of the mirror, was dumbfounded. “Is that me?”

A door opened. “I d. . .