The Forest Ranger's Christmas. Leigh Bale

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       Chapter One

      Jocelyn Rushton decreased her speed and switched on the windshield wipers as she entered the sleepy mining town of Camlin, Nevada. Home for the holidays. Or at least the only place on earth Josie had ever considered a real home.

      As she turned down Garson Way, a siren sounded behind her. She peered into her rearview mirror at the squad car coming up behind her. Great! Just great. A speeding ticket to welcome her home.

      The deep-throated noise escalated to a shrill whine. She slowed her compact car, the tires slicing through furrows of slush covering the black asphalt. Inching her way over into a drift of snow, she hoped she didn’t get stuck in the frozen mud.

      Red lights flashed and she shook her head. She hadn’t been speeding. Not on these slick roads. Maybe she had a taillight out. Maybe...

      The patrol car zipped past and Josie expelled a breath of relief. Then her mind went wild as she thought about where the police car might be headed. Her grandfather’s house was on this street. He’d lived here most of his life. A cul-de-sac, with no outlet. What if...?

      A blaze of panic burned through her chest. Glancing in her rearview mirror again, Josie pulled her car back onto the icy pavement and drove steadily toward Gramps’s house. Forcing herself not to speed. Anxious to see Gramps and know that he was all right.

      Rows of quaint little homes with spacious yards covered in pristine snow flashed past her window. Fresh wreaths of pine boughs and holly decorated almost every door front. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated strings of red, yellow and green Christmas bulbs hanging along each roof.

      Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as she forced herself to remain calm. To take deep, even breaths. In these slippery conditions, it’d do no good if she ended up sliding into the shallow irrigation ditch bordering the narrow road.

      Finally she saw Gramps’s white frame house. A bevy of ice-crusted vehicles sat parked out front. The squad car dominated the scene, perched at an odd angle in the driveway. It blocked a green Forest Service truck.

      Josie pulled up in front of the house. Two elderly women wearing heavy coats scurried through the snow toward their cars. The siren still blared and they clapped their hands over their ears to shut out the deafening noise. No doubt they were eager to vacate the premises, now that the police officer was here.

      Hearing the siren, neighbors came outside and perched on their front porches like gawking fowl. They crossed their arms against the chilly temperature and crinkled their noses at all the commotion.

      Josie killed the engine and clicked off her seat belt. She scanned the area for an ambulance, then remembered this tiny town didn’t have one. Just a volunteer fire department, with the nearest hospital sixty-eight miles away in Bridgeton. One more reason for her to worry about Gramps. If he ever needed quick medical care, he could be in real trouble. And who would drive him to Bridgeton? With her living ten hours away in Las Vegas, Gramps was all alone. Something she hoped to change very soon.

      She threw her car door open wide. Stepping out in her tennis shoes, she skirted a pile of slushy snow. She glanced at the roof of the two-story house, searching for smoke or some sign of a break-in. Except for a cluster of missing shingles on the west side, nothing looked out of place. No obvious reason that would warrant a cop.

      Maybe Gramps had collapsed.

      Lengthening her stride, she hurried toward the driveway. Her gaze scanned the yard...and screeched to a halt when she saw Gramps. In a flash, she took in his ruddy cheeks, lumpy coat, orange knit cap and black floppy galoshes. At the age of seventy-eight, he seemed perfectly strong and healthy. He stood beside another tall, muscular man Josie immediately recognized from her previous visits to her grandparents’ home.

      Clint Hamilton. The local forest ranger.

      His drab olive-colored shirt, spruce-green pants and bronze shield lent him an air of authority. Even his broad shoulders couldn’t withstand this intense cold. He jerked a heavy coat out of his truck and pulled it on, zipping it up to his chin. He towered over Gramps and the policeman, his muscular legs planted firmly beneath him. As he lifted his head and stepped closer to Gramps, he dominated the scene, strong and in control. But what was he doing here? And what did he want with her grandfather?

      Josie’s gaze shifted to Officer Tim Wilkins, one of her childhood friends. Another one of her failed relationships. If you could call a school dance at the age of sixteen a failure. They’d gone out twice, but she’d broken it off when he’d asked her to go steady. As a teenager, she’d tried not to hurt Tim’s feelings, but she had. Her parents’ nasty divorce, followed by her father’s death a year later, had made her wary of falling in love. She’d promised herself she’d never get married if there was any chance it wouldn’t last. If she didn’t involve her heart, she wouldn’t get hurt. It was that simple. Yet since that time, she’d been engaged twice. Her two ex-fiancés made her realize those relationships had been based on something other than love and respect. She’d wanted to be engaged, to feel normal and safe.

      So she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

      Shaking off those somber thoughts, Josie refocused on the present. Tim was a grown man now with a family of his own, and she hoped he wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge. In comparison to Clint, he looked rather silly, with his officer’s hat perched at an odd slant and his hands resting on his thin hips.

      Slogging through the foot-deep snow, Josie made a mental note to shovel it off the sidewalk before she unloaded her suitcase from her car. Her breath puffed on the air with each exhalation. As she bustled up the path, she surveyed Gramps’s house one more time. A single strand of colored lights hung from a protrusion of rusted nails that edged the front porch. A skimpy showing compared to the rolls of bulbs Gramps normally stapled to the house every December.

      This wouldn’t do. Not at all. Josie had never hung lights on a house before, but she would learn how. And soon. No matter what, she wanted this to be the best Christmas ever. Because it might be their last here in Camlin.

      A rivulet of meltwater ran from the gutters. Her gaze scanned the peeling paint and missing shingles. Without repairs, the moisture might soon invade the interior. Further proof that Gramps could no longer keep up the place on his own. He needed help. He needed her. She couldn’t stand the thought of him collapsing on the floor of his house and lying there for days on end until someone found and helped him. But asking a man like Frank Rushton to leave his home and move with her to Vegas might ruin Christmas. Regardless, she had to do it. Because as much as she loved her job, she was tired of being on her own. If Gramps lived nearby, she could check in on him often. Neither of them would be alone anymore. It’d be good for Gramps. And good for her, too.

      She hoped.

      She shielded her eyes against the blare of red lights emanating from the squad car like the beacon of a lighthouse. The men were talking and gesturing, but she couldn’t make out their words over the piercing squeal of the siren. It СКАЧАТЬ