Christmas In Snowflake Canyon. RaeAnne Thayne

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      “So are you pressing charges, Ms. Turner?” Officer Redmond asked.

      “Look at my nose! You’re damn right I’m pressing charges.”

      “Pat?”

      The bartender looked around. “Well, somebody needs to pay for these damages. It might as well be Mayor Beaumont.”

      “Oh! That’s so unfair!” Genevieve exclaimed. “If you hadn’t bought that stupid digital jukebox, none of this would have happened.”

      “You probably want to keep your mouth shut right about now,” Dylan suggested. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

      He ignored Jamie’s rumble of protest.

      “That’s all I care about,” Pat answered, reaching out and shaking Dylan’s hand firmly, the deal done. “Caine is right. We have bar fights in here a couple times a week. As long as somebody replaces those broken tables, I won’t press charges.”

      “It doesn’t matter whether you press charges or not. You still have to arrest and book them for assault,” the prick of an assistant district attorney said.

      “Sorry, Dylan, Ms. Beaumont, but I’m going to have to take you in.” Despite her words, Rachel didn’t sound at all apologetic.

      “You can’t do that!” Genevieve exclaimed.

      Rachel tapped the badge on her chest. “This sort of says I can.”

      The officer reached around and started handcuffing Genevieve. With all her blond hair, silky white sweater and that little stream of blood trickling down her cheek, she looked like a fallen Christmas angel.

      “Stop this. Right now,” she said, all but stamping her foot in frustration. “You can’t arrest me! My father will never allow it!”

      “Believe it or not, there are still a few things around Hope’s Crossing William Beaumont can’t control.”

      Like most of the rest of the town, it sounded as if Rachel had had a run-in or two with Mayor Beaumont, who tended to think he owned the town.

      “Why aren’t you arresting her?” she demanded with a gesture to the assistant district attorney. “She’s the one who wouldn’t stop playing the stupid songs on the jukebox. And I think she broke my foot with that hideous shoe.”

      Rachel seemed unaffected as she turned her around and started reciting her Miranda rights. Her partner turned his attention to Dylan.

      “Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” Pete ordered.

      “I’ll do my best, Officer,” Dylan answered. He twisted his right arm behind his back and twisted his left, with the empty sleeve, as far as he could.

      “Dylan,” Jamie chided.

      Redmond apparently realized the challenge. “Um, Olivarez, what am I supposed to do here?”

      Rachel paused in mid-Miranda and looked at her partner in annoyance that quickly shifted to more of that damn pity when she looked at Dylan.

      “You could always let me go,” he suggested, fighting down the urge to punch something all over again. “I was only coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress. What’s the harm in that?”

      “Or not,” she snapped, and before he realized what she intended, she reached for the cuff on Gen’s left wrist and fastened the other side onto his right.

      Oh, joy. Shackled to Genevieve Beaumont. Could he stoop any lower?

      “You can’t do this!” she exclaimed again. “I’ve never been arrested before. I can’t believe this is happening, all because of some stupid Christmas carols.”

      “I like Christmas carols,” Rachel said.

      “So do I,” Genevieve answered hotly. “Believe me, I do. But not on a Friday night when I only wanted a few drinks and some good music.”

      “You can explain that to the judge, I’m sure. Come on. Let’s go.”

      She headed for the door, pushing her still-protesting prisoner ahead of her. Dylan, by default, had to go with them.

      When she opened the door, a blast of wind and snow whirled inside, harsh and mean.

      He was aware of Genevieve’s sudden shiver beside him and some latent protective instinct bubbled up out of nowhere. “It’s freezing out there. At least let the woman put on her coat.”

      Rachel raised an eyebrow at him, as surprised as he was by the solicitude. Genevieve apparently didn’t even notice.

      “That’s right. I can’t leave without my coat. And my purse. Where’s my purse?”

      “I’ll get them,” Jamie offered.

      “Where are they?” Pete asked.

      “I was sitting over there.” She gestured toward her table. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had pressed her chest against his shoulder so she could bug Pat about her mojito. “My coat should be hanging on the rack. It’s Dior. You can’t miss it.”

      Jamie found the coat and purse quickly and handed them over. “I can’t say this is how I expected to spend my last night of leave.”

      “Sorry.”

      “No worries. I’ll call Andrew. He’ll have you out in an hour or two.”

      The only thing worse than the lecture in store for him from Pop would be the similar one their older brother would likely deliver.

      “If they send me to the big house, take care of Tucker for me, will you?”

      Jamie threw him a look of disgust. “This isn’t a joke, damn it. You’re under arrest. These are serious charges.”

      “It was just a bar fight. Drew can handle that in his sleep. On second thought, Charlotte can take care of Tuck. He likes it at her place.”

      His brother shook his head. “You’re insane.”

      He must be. Despite the indignity of being shackled to Genevieve Beaumont and hauled out through the biting snow to the waiting patrol car, Dylan was astonished to discover he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long, long time.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THIS WAS A DISASTER. A complete, unmitigated catastrophe.

      The rush that had carried her through the altercation—had she really punched a woman in the nose?—was beginning to ebb, replaced by hard, terrifying reality.

      Her father was going to kill her.

      Her mother was going to pop a couple of veins and then kill her.

      She slumped into the seat, wondering just how her life had descended into this misery. A week ago, СКАЧАТЬ