Page 46 of Cowboy Stolen Kiss for Christmas

“Nah, that’s okay. Best to get a good night’s sleep first.” Ames hated putting his brothers on the road for no good reason. It wasn’t as if the plane would be able to undergo any repairs before tomorrow.

“Dude!” Flint finally rejoined the conversation. “Someone tried to kill you! Probably Brex, from the way he was acting.”

“From the way he was acting,” Ames repeated slowly, “I’m thinking he might’ve been trying to take me out, but not her. Think about it. He’d have no reason to assume she’d be on that airplane. However, he was very much aware that I’d be flying out tonight.” He’d all but forgotten that detail until just now. “Laura and I ran into him at the Gingerbread House during lunch, and he didn’t act too thrilled about seeing us together. Then, out of the blue, he wished me a safe trip back to Dallas. Not sure how he even knew I was headed out of town, but there you have it.”

“I’m thinking you need to repeat word for word what you just told us to the sheriff.” Nash’s voice was firm.

“I intend to,” Ames assured. “It’s possible we’re reading things into this that aren’t there, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

He and Laura had almost died tonight. Whoever was behind the tampering had taken things to a deadly level. They needed to be apprehended and brought to justice before they tried to do any more harm.

Sheriff Dean Skelton strolled through the craft fair at the Pinetop Civic Center the next morning, waving at everyone who called out a howdy. He dutifully paused to sample the many jams, cookies, and crackers loaded with dip that they thrust beneath his nose. Though he was on the clock, he was enjoying himself. Patrolling the festive streets and buildings of his hometown was the fun part of his job.

Questioning a suspected felon was not. However, he owed it to the kind citizens who’d voted him into office to do everything he could to eliminate the growing crime rate in their town. It was a real shame about that jewelry heist and the series of petty thefts that had followed. It was like having a virus growing in their midst. Nothing like this had ever plagued Pinetop before. Some of the shop owners were blaming it on the all-time high number of visitors and tourists.

He wasn’t convinced that was the case. If all they were dealing with was a little shoplifting, then sure. He might’ve agreed. But vandalizing an airplane was more than a crime of opportunity. It was personal and vindictive. It additionally had all the earmarks of being premeditated. He wasn’t going to rest until he found out who’d done it.

He rounded the corner of the first line of craft booths with a full stomach, relieved to be leaving behind most of the food vendors. Strolling up the next row brought his target into sight. Though he didn’t have any grounds for bringing Brex Morrison into the station for questioning, there was no law against approaching the gypsy craftsman in a public place and striking up a conversation.

Brex was engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument with a man Dean didn’t recognize. The fellow was dressed similar to Brex — lots of beads, scarves, and layers. He was older than Brex by a good fifteen or twenty years, paunchier around the middle, and several decibels louder.

Despite Brex’s hand waving attempts to coax the guy’s volume to a more moderate level, he continued to bluster.

“I got every right to sell my candles and soaps at your booth. You owe me, and you know it!” The burly fellow proceeded to sweep an arm across the edge of Brex’s table, sending one of his snowman nutcrackers flying. The tall snowman bounced to the floor with a cracking sound. His hat rolled off, and one of his twiggy arms snapped in two.

“Gentlemen!” Sheriff Skelton hurried forward to intervene. “What’s going on?” Though he wasn’t the least bit happy about someone creating a scene in the middle of the craft fair, the incident was providing the perfect excuse to get closer to his target.

The burly stranger whirled in his direction. “This is a private matter,” he growled. As his gaze fell on the sheriff’s badge, however, he seemed to deflate. “Sorry for the noise, sir.” He held up his hands in surrender. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” The sheriff placed his hands on his hips, facing the guy squarely. “Normally this many days into a craft fair, you don’t see any new faces on the vendor side of things.”

The large fellow ducked his head. “I was supposed to be here a few days ago, but I got delayed.”

As far as Dean was concerned, that was a poor excuse for coming into the Civic Center and creating such a ruckus. No way was he letting the guy off the hook that easily. “I’m Sheriff Dean Skelton, and you are?” He held out a hand.

“Trent.” The man hesitated before grudgingly shaking the sheriff’s hand. He quickly let it go.

“You got a last name, Trent?” The sheriff boomed out the question in a cheerful voice. From experience, he’d learned to keep folks off guard in order to extract the maximum amount of information. He also didn’t mind creating a bit of a scene, so there’d be plenty of witnesses to their conversation.

“Yeah, er, it’s Burgess.” Trent spared him a sullen what’s-it-to-you look.

“Burgess,” the sheriff repeated. “Now why does that sound so familiar? Oh, right!” He slapped his thigh so loudly that he made the guy jump. “We had a wrangler by the name of Oak Burgess working down at Castellano’s for a while.” Unfortunately, he’d quit his job without notice the same night he’d cinched Ames Carson’s bronco too tight. “You any relation to him?” He continued to speak loudly, drawing every bit as much attention to Brex’s booth as Trent Burgess had earlier. It was satisfying giving him a taste of his own medicine.

The man nodded sheepishly. “He’s my kid. A bit of a klutz like his old man, but he has a good heart.”

Dean wasn’t ready to swallow the klutz explanation. Not for a second. The broken snowman on the floor was no casualty of a simple case of klutziness. He knew what he’d seen.

He eyed Brex Morrison as he squatted down to gather the pieces of the damaged nutcracker. “How about you just give me a quick look at your Pinetop vendor license, sir? Then I’ll be on my way.”

He could tell by the man’s startled blink that he’d caught him off guard again. “Well, now, officer,” Trent Burgess cajoled. “What Brex Morrison and I have between us is more of a gentleman’s handshake.”

Meaning he didn’t have a legitimate reason for displaying his products in Pinetop. “Mr. Burgess, as one professional to another, I’m sure you can understand why we require more than a handshake to participate in our craft fair.” He infused a hearty mix of kindness and firmness into his voice. “If you’ll just follow me to the registration table, I’m sure we can make your vendor status more official in two snaps.” After you show your proper ID and after you pay your fee, of course. “Our event coordinators will be happy to get you set up with your own table and everything.”

Trent Burgess turned a dull red. His jaw tightened, and a vein ticked in his neck. He probably knew it was no mistake that Dean’s hand was resting on the handgun tucked in his holster.

“That won’t be necessary, sir.” He spat out his words like bullets. Yanking a knobby satchel off the floor and tossing it over his shoulder, he stepped away from Brex’s booth and stomped angrily up the aisle.

Normally, Dean would’ve gone after him to make sure he left the building. However, Trent Burgess had made a big enough scene that there were probably enough eyes on him to ensure that happened.

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