Christmas At Cade Ranch. Karen Rock

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      When the song finished, she punched off the player and flopped back in her seat, arms folded over her chest. She plunked her heels on the seat again and dropped her chin on top of her knees. “How come no one corrected me before?”

      “Maybe they were afraid of you,” he teased, then sobered at her horrified expression. Had he struck a nerve? Why?

      Without a word, she jerked around to face the window and rolled the glass lower. Crisp, crystal-fresh air flowed inside the cab. It carried a hint of smooth pine and diesel. Red cones appeared as they crested a small hill. A cordoned-off lane indicated upcoming roadwork and he slowed, dialing the radio tuner until he caught a Broncos away game against his favorite team, the Cowboys.

      They rode in tense silence for a few minutes.

      “Jesse used to do that,” he said. “Sing the wrong words.”

      “Whenever he sang ‘Hush Little Baby’ to Javi, he’d change all the gifts around.” She spoke without turning her head. “He’d always ask, ‘Now, what’s a baby gonna do with a diamond ring?’”

      That caught him with an unexpected warmth. “Sounds like Jesse. What’d he swap them for?”

      “I think it was something like, ‘Daddy’s gonna buy you a quarter horse. And if that quarter horse won’t canter, Daddy’s gonna buy you an alligator.’”

      A short laugh escaped him. “Yep. That’s Jesse all right.”

      “He was good with Javi.”

      James squinted his eyes and kept his expression stone. “Jesse always loved babies. So, he never gave any reason for leaving you two?”

      She bit down on the corner of her thumb for a long moment, then said, “I didn’t give him much choice when he relapsed. Didn’t want drugs around Javi—”

      Her voice broke off, and he shot her a swift look. Her hurt seemed genuine... Had his brother abandoned his child? It went against everything James knew about Jesse. Then again, his brother had kept a lot of secrets, though never one as big as this.

      “Why are they playing Jackson?” Sofia exclaimed, dragging him from his thoughts.

      Surprised she knew the name of the Cowboys’ starting wide receiver, he met her large, intelligent eyes briefly, then forced his gaze forward again. “Not a fan?”

      “After last week’s backward punt return fumble?” she exclaimed. “We need to pull the plug on him.” She jerked her bent thumb out the open window. With her hair blowing wildly around her heart-shaped face, her upward-tilting nose flaring over her rosebud mouth, she knocked the breath right out of him.

      “You saw that game?”

      Her shoulders, encased in a puffy white ski jacket his sister used to wear, lifted and fell. “The diner I worked in had a radio and the owner was a Cowboys fan. You sound surprised.”

      Eyes on the road, he chanted in his head. “I guess I’m just used to my family. They’re die-hard Broncos fans.”

      A scoffing noise erupted from the passenger side. “Guess they have to be, living up here and all.”

      He lifted his hat, then settled it on again, curving the brim in a C. “Yeah, it’s practically a requirement.”

      Her quick bark of laughter warmed his blood. “So how’d you turn traitor?”

      “Michael Irvin.”

      “The Playmaker.” She whistled. “Three Super Bowl titles.”

      “And three All-Pro selections. The man was a legend.”

      “A Hall of Famer.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Caught seven hundred and fifty passes.”

      “Sixty-five touchdowns.”

      “He was Jesse’s favorite, too.” An appalled silence descended. “I’m sorry.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her reach out, as if to touch his arm, and stop. His body tensed. The sudden wish for that touch staggered him.

      He cleared his throat. “Right. Just me and Jesse. Otherwise it’s all about the Broncos. My brother Jared, you probably know, was their starting wide receiver until he tore his ACL six months ago.”

      “Which one is Jared again?”

      James puzzled over how best to distinguish among his dark-haired siblings and went for the obvious. “The handsome one.”

      She spread her hands. “That doesn’t help. You’re all good-looking. Genetic mutants, really.”

      “Ha,” he scoffed. At her continued silence, he glanced at her, taken aback by her serious face. “Everyone says he looks like Orlando Bloom.”

      She flicked a graceful hand. “Pretty boy, then. I prefer a Jon Snow, personally.”

      He felt, rather than saw, her eyes land on him and it did something funny to his gut.

      A roar sounded through the speakers, and he gripped the wheel. Sofia dropped her feet to the mat and leaned forward. “Come on, come on. Get to the end zone,” she chanted. Then they both hollered.

      “Touchdown!”

      “Wooo-hooo!”

      “This puts them in playoff contention.”

      Despite speaking over each other, he heard every one of her words perfectly, as if they were the keys in some old-fashioned typewriter, pressing into his brain, leaving an indelible mark.

      “There’s the bank!” she exclaimed once he’d exited the interstate and onto Main Street. They cruised down the quaint downtown thoroughfare filled with a continuous line of two- and three-story brick and stone facades. Ma claimed many were the original structures built back when Carbondale became a depot town, servicing ranchers and prospectors in 1887.

      It certainly had a rustic, Western atmosphere. Boot-and-cowboy-hat-clad residents thronged the wide sidewalks. Overhead, Christmas wreaths bursting with greenery, pinecones and bright red ribbons dangled from black streetlights.

      As they parked and exited the truck, he inhaled the tangy scent of barbecue wafting from Shorty’s, a family restaurant run by an old high school friend. A marquee broadcast a country-western concert taking place later that night, Heath Loveland listed as one of the performers, and the Festival of Lights, Carbondale’s holiday season kickoff event set for next week. He hadn’t been to it since Jesse’s passing.

      Sofia’s animated face seemed closed now that they’d hit the street. She ducked her head, and her eyes darted left to right, her hands shoved deep into coat pockets. What had happened to his lyric-substituting football enthusiast? Back was the cagey woman who’d raised his suspicions last night. It reminded him not to let down his guard, no matter how easily she disarmed him.

      A couple of hours later, after checking various establishments for Sofia’s wallet, James fed another coin into the parking meter, then joined her at Timeless Gifts’ front window.

      “Javi СКАЧАТЬ