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Clambering up from her knees, she floundered on. Her face was numb; her hands were freezing through her gloves. But she’d finally reached the pines. She could make out individual trees in the darkness, including one that looked like it might do. She checked it with the flashlight. There wouldn’t be time to dig down to the base of the tree. She would have to cut it off at the snow line. But from what she could see of it, the top had a nice shape—and, anyway, she was too exhausted to keep looking.

Moving in closer, she shook the weighted boughs, sending snow showers over her clothes and boots. When she’d cleared off as much as she could, she stuck the base of the flashlight into the snow, unfolded the saw blade from its handle, knelt in the snow, and groped under the tree for a place to cut. Pinewood was soft, with the trunk no thicker than her forearm. It shouldn’t take long to cut the tree down, load it in the back of the station wagon, and head for home.

Her conscience whispered that she was breaking the law, taking something that wasn’t hers. But when she thought of Amy’s tear-filled eyes and Hunter, trying so hard to be a man, Kylie knew she had to do this.

Working the saw blade against the trunk, she drew it back and made the first cut. The cold air was making her nose drip. She paused to wipe it with the back of her glove.

The spotlight that struck her eyes turned everything a blinding shade of white. Kylie’s hand jerked up to shield her eyes against the glare. For the space of a breath, she was bewildered. Then, as she glimpsed the flashing blue and red lights from the road and realized what was happening, her heart plummeted.

“Put down your weapon,” a gruff male voice boomed. “Hands up, where we can see them. You’re under arrest.”

As promised, Shane had brought his guitar that night for the Christmas songs. With Muriel, Henry, and the children singing along in various keys, he’d fumbled his way through “Jingle Bells,” “Silent Night,” and “The Little Drummer Boy.” But no one was in much of a mood for singing—not when one silent question hung over the dismal little celebration.

Where was Kylie?

Muriel glanced at the mantel clock. “Kylie told me she’d be running errands in town. But it’s almost eight. No stores would be open tonight. I’m wondering if she had car trouble.”

“Maybe she ran into an old friend.” Henry tried to sound cheerful. “She went to school with a lot of people in this town.”

“She’s not answering her cell phone,” Hunter said. “I’ve tried to call her, but it just rings. Maybe she forgot to charge it.”

“I’m getting worried.” Amy voiced everyone’s fear. “What if something’s happened to her?”

Shane rose from his seat on the couch. “I warned her about those bald tires. She could’ve slid off the road and gotten stuck in some snowbank. I’m going to drive out and look for her. The rest of you stay here in case she calls or shows up. Hunter, you’ve got my cell number. Call if you hear anything, and I’ll do the same.”

Lifting his sheepskin coat off the rack, he slipped it on and walked calmly out the back door. He didn’t want to alarm the others, but a mother as dutiful as Kylie wouldn’t just lose track of time on Christmas Eve. Something was wrong.

Worry gnawed at him as he climbed into his pickup, fastened his seat belt, and started the engine. If he had to venture a guess, it would be that her station wagon had slid off the road or broken down and was stranded somewhere. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she used her cell phone? What if she was hurt or trapped? What if she’d decided to leave the car and find help—an open invitation to danger on a dark, freezing night?

As he drove, scanning the sides of the road, Shane mouthed a silent prayer. He tried to think good thoughts, to imagine finding her safe, then holding her close and chiding her for making her loved ones worry. Damn it, she had to be all right. How could he stand it if anything happened to that woman?

Kylie had come to mean a lot to him, he realized. The notion of leaving her and her children was becoming harder to live with every day.

He remembered seeing Amy, slipping out of the shed behind the others with that guilty smile on her face.

Then, when he’d found the axle and confronted her about taking it, she’d stepped up and given him a piece of her mind. Her childish wisdom had left him smarting and strangely moved. Kylie’s daughter wanted him to stay—enough to pull a prank that might keep him from leaving. That meant a lot.

And it wasn’t just the children. Henry and Muriel had both been on his case. Could they be right? If he left Branding Iron, would he be riding away from his best chance at happiness?

But never mind all that. The one person who mattered most had yet to give him a word of encouragement. Kylie seemed resigned to the idea of his going, almost as if she didn’t care.

Yet, he’d caught signs that she
did
care—her passionate response to his kisses, the way she looked at him. . . . Maybe she was holding back because she thought he was going to leave. She’d lost one man she loved. It made sense that she’d be wary of a second loss.

Would it make a difference if she knew he might stay for her? Did he have the courage to take that chance, especially with a widow who seemed to consider herself still married?

One thing was certain. They couldn’t continue in this limbo of game playing. When he found Kylie—
if
he found her—he would do his best to open up and be candid about his feelings, something he’d never done with any woman in his life.

He was halfway to town, still searching the roadsides for any sign of Kylie’s station wagon, when his cell phone rang. His pulse lurched. Was Kylie all right? Had she made it home? Fumbling for the answer button, he took the call.

“Shane, this is Ben Marsden.” Shane recognized the voice of the county sheriff.

“What is it, Ben?” Shane’s heart was pounding. Had something happened to Kylie? Could she have been in an accident?

“I was wondering if you’d checked your tools lately,” Ben said.

“My tools? What’s this about? I’m out here on the road looking for Kylie. She drove into town and she hasn’t come back.”

“Relax,” Ben said. “I saw her earlier at Shop Mart. She’s fine.”

Shane felt his nerves unclench, but he still didn’t know why the sheriff was calling about his tools. And how did Ben know Kylie was fine now? Nothing was making sense.

“Hear me out,” Ben said. “I’m home now, but I just got a call from one of my deputies. A woman they booked tonight was armed with a saw when they picked her up. She’s refusing to say a word, but after she was booked and put in lockup, one of them recognized your initials on the handle.”

“Wait a minute—are you saying they’ve got Kylie? She’s in jail? Damn it, Ben—”

Ben chuckled. He actually seemed to be enjoying this. “Blond, blue-eyed, a real looker, my deputy said. It’s Kylie, all right. They found her I.D. in her purse. But like I said, the lady isn’t talking. She’s refusing to let us call anybody. That’s why they called me. And that’s why I’m calling you.”

Shane shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or swear.
Kylie in jail? Unbelievable!
“It’s all right, Ben. It’s fine that she borrowed my saw. I’ll come by the jail and pick her up.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. There are charges pending against her. She’ll need to make bail.”

“Charges? Hell, Ben, that woman doesn’t even jaywalk. What charges?”

“I guess we can drop petty theft for the saw. But there’s still trespassing, as well as destruction of city property—that’s the big one. Oh, and parking on the wrong side of the road. We had to tow her vehicle to impound.”

“‘Destruction of city property’?” Shane cursed under his breath. There had to be some kind of misunderstanding. “What the hell did she do?”

“The deputies caught her at the city cemetery sawing down a pine tree.”

“Lord, have mercy!” Suddenly it all made sense—the limits to which Kylie would go to give her children a good Christmas, complete with a real Christmas tree.

“Can’t you just call your deputies back and tell them to let her go?” Shane demanded. “The woman isn’t a criminal. She’s no danger to anybody, including herself. She can come back in and straighten out this mess after the holidays. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve! Her children are waiting at home!”

There was a pause before Ben spoke. “I’m sorry, Shane. The people of this county elected me to uphold the law. That doesn’t include bending it to do favors for friends, not even you. This has to be done by the book.”

“I understand,” Shane said, and he did. His friend was a by-the-book kind of man. It was one of the qualities that made him a good sheriff.

“Call me if there’s a problem,” Ben said. “I’m in my sweats with a cold beer in my hand and a good Western on TV. But I can show up if I have to.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” Shane said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Ending the call, he checked the impulse to stomp the gas pedal to the floor. The road was slippery, and Kylie wasn’t going anywhere. She was perfectly safe.

A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. The smile stretched to a grin. Then laughter bubbled out of his chest and shook his belly.

Perfect little Kylie Summerfield Wayne. For the sake of her children’s Christmas, she’d finally done the unthinkable. She’d broken the law, gotten busted, and ended up in jail.

The truth slammed him like a lightning bolt.

Heaven help me, I love her.

There were two women in the holding cell with Kylie. One was barely more than a girl. Dressed in ragged jeans, her hoodie drawn around her face, she sat huddled in the corner with her knees pulled tight against her chest. Was she drugged? Sick? Did she need anything?

Kylie touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Leave me alone, bitch!” the young woman snarled.

Kylie drew back like she’d been singed. No one had ever spoken to her that way. But then, she’d never been in jail before.

“Leave her be. That little chick’s in here for dealin’ meth. She’s in big trouble. Nothin’ we can do.” The other woman was leaning against the wall. She was in her late forties, with bleached blond hair, Dolly Parton makeup, and a plump body crammed into black stretch pants and a skintight sweater. Kylie’s mother would have branded her a “floozy.” But at least she was friendly.

“First time in here, honey?” she asked.

Kylie nodded.

“What’d they bust you for? Impersonating a Barbie doll?”

“Not quite.” Kylie chose to ignore the good-natured jab. “I was arrested for cutting down a tree in the cemetery—or at least trying to.”

The woman stared at her, then doubled over, quaking with laughter. Only then did Kylie realize she was drunk. “Cuttin’ down a tree—and in the cemetery! Now, there’s a new one!” She clutched her knees. “Oh, Lordy, stop me! I’m gonna pee my pants!”

“It wasn’t that funny,” Kylie said. “My children needed a Christmas tree. I couldn’t find one anywhere else.”

The woman straightened and wiped her eyes. “Well, good for you, honey. It wouldn’t do to let your kids go without a tree on Christmas, would it? Too bad you got busted. Now, less’n somebody springs you, they won’t have a tree for Christmas or a mom, either.”

Kylie blinked back tears. She’d been too embarrassed to call anybody for help or to give the deputies any personal-contact information. What would Muriel think? What kind of example would she be setting for her children? She knew they’d be worried about her by now, but there had to be a way out of this. Surely, the sheriff would let her go. He wouldn’t keep a mother away from her children on Christmas Eve.

But the woman’s remark had slapped her with the cold shock of reality. Unless some miracle happened, she wouldn’t be getting out of here tonight.

“Sit down, sweetie. You look ready to drop.” The woman guided Kylie to one of the benches that lined the wall of the holding cell. She smelled of whiskey and stale tobacco; right now, she was the closest thing to a friend Kylie had. “Looks like we’ll be stuck here awhile. I’m Francine.”

“I’m . . . Kylie.” She checked the impulse to give a fake name. “How about you, Francine? What are you doing here?”

Francine laughed. “Oh, the usual. Some jerk down at the pool hall thought he could put his hands anyplace he wanted. I taught him different. Whacked him with a bottle. Started a free-for-all. It was fun while it lasted. Kinda hoped I’d end up here for the night. Better than spending Christmas alone in that rat hole where I bunk.”

“Hey, Francine!” a male voice called from beyond the door to the office. “We’re orderin’ pizza. What’s yer pleasure?”

Francine glanced at Kylie, one eyebrow raised in question. Kylie shrugged. “What-ever.”

“Hawaiian,” Francine yelled. “Make it an extra large.” She turned back to Kylie. “See, I got good buddies here. Not the worst place to spend Christmas Eve.”

“For you, maybe.” Kylie couldn’t help it. A tear escaped one eye and trickled down her cheek. She wanted to be out of here, with her children, with Muriel and Henry . . . and with Shane.

Suddenly the ache of missing him was more than she could stand. She wanted to curl up in his arms and feel safe, to swim in his clean, leathery man-scent and be swept away by the raw power of his kisses. And she wanted more. She wanted
him
—and the forbidden passions she hadn’t known since her marriage. She wanted to wake up to his sleeping face on the pillow, to feel the sweet burn of his unshaven stubble on her skin. She was tired of being good, tired of playing the virtuous, grieving widow. She wanted to feel alive again.

Kylie forced her thoughts back to the present. It was easy to dream from behind bars. But right now, she had more urgent concerns. How was she going to get out of here? Maybe it was time to shake her fist and demand a lawyer.

But who would she know to call? And what lawyer would drive over dark, icy roads to help her on Christmas Eve? All she’d wanted was to make her children happy. Instead they would remember this as the worst Christmas of their lives—a Christmas with no green tree and no presents, a Christmas with their father gone and their bungling, inept mother in jail.