Page 2 of Christmas Creek Cowboy

“This is bad news number two,” Mick reminded Calen. “First, that group of tourists at Kris Kringle’s Pondand now this.”

Calen was well aware of the tourists who’d walked out onto the faux icy surface to pose for pictures despite the clearly posted signs not to walk on it. The plywood surface had bobbled and toppled them into the pond. Not exactly icy but close since the temps were in the low forties. The rule-breaking morons had been rescued without injuries, and Calen had been finishing up the paperwork on that when he’d been called about the fallen Santa.

“Bad stuff comes in threes,” the deputy grumbled.

Thankfully, Calen didn’t believe in that superstition any more than he did Santa Claus. Or the stability of the fake ice on KrisKringle’s Pond.

“You okay?”Mick asked him.

Calen sighed, wishing his deputy hadn’t gone there. “Yeah,” he lied, hoping it would be the end ofit. It wasn’t.

“You think she’s okay?” Mick pressed.

Because most of the crowd was following his orders and dispersing, Calen looked behind him, following his deputy’s gaze to the one person who wasn’t moving back. Instead, the tall brunette was making a beeline toward him.

Emmy Kendrick.

Calen’s longtime friend and partner in this worst anniversary in the history of worst anniversaries. Because Emmy’s ex-fiancé, Owen Granger, had been the naughty Santa screwing around with Sasha. Emmy’s and Calen’s “we got cheated on” partnership wasn’t a situation they’d ever thought they’d find themselves in, buthere they were.

Emmy was wearing a gold Christmas fairy outfit, complete with wings and a glittery wand, and she had her purse and a grimy gray sack hooked over her shoulder. Probably,hopefully, it was a costume for children’s reading time at her bookstore, ’Twas the Night before Christmas, which was just up the street. Calen hoped Emmy hadn’t given in to the holiday spirit because he was in misery-loves-company mode and didn’t wantany more cheer.

Calen had known he’d see her today, just not this soon. He checked his watch and verified that it was only 1:00 p.m., too early for their weekly gripe session about their exes. They reserved those for after-work hours.

Emmy went to him, her troubled green eyes meeting his own brown ones, and she leaned in to put her mouth close to his ear. “If one more person asks me if I’m all right, I’m going to smack them with my magic wand,”she whispered.

Calen smiled. Ah, his kindred spirit and hater of holiday cheer. She wouldn’t blurt out any holiday greeting.

“Don’t actually make contact with the wand,” Calen advised, keeping his voice low as well. “I don’t want to arrest you for assault. I’m not sure those fairy wings will fit through the jail cell door.”

She pulled back from him and smiled too. Sort of. But it was short lived. “We have to talk,” Emmy said. “About this.” She pressed her hand to the dirt-splotched sack.

Calen huffed. “Please tell me there aren’t presents inthere for me.”

“Uh, no.” She stopped, though, her forehead bunching up as if considering the possibility. “Well, probably not. Calen, it’s bad,”she tacked on.

“Bad?” Mick questioned, obviously having heard at least part of what Emmy had said. “Is this number three? You know, like bad news coming in threes?”

“Maybe,” she muttered.

Oh, man. No more bad news, not when they still had to get through the next hours leading up to theirweekly griping.

“Come with me,” Emmy insisted, taking hold of Calen’s arm. “If anyone asks what’s going on, I’ll just let them think I’m having a meltdown because of our exes stompingon our hearts.”

There had indeed been some heart stomping, but Emmy had never been one who’d wanted to air her hurt in public. Again, kindred spirits, and they preferred to keep their pain behind closed doors.

“Can’t talk right now, sorry,” Emmy answered someone who called out aHope everything’s okay.

She threaded Calen through the remaining gawkers; then, despite the fairy wings, Emmy squeezed them around the longhorns to head toward the sheriff’s office.

“Can’t talk now, sorry,” she repeated when Gladys said she looked lower than a fat penguin’s butt and offered her tea.

Calen didn’t ask Emmy what this was about because any number of people would have heard her answer. He just allowed himself to be led and pitied by onlookers, all the way into the sheriff’s office.

Since Calen had both Mick and another deputy out patrolling, it was just him on office duty today, and that meant the only other person around was the dispatcher/receptionist, Junie Carson, who’d held the job for nearly fifty years. She’d been there when Calen had first pinned on a badge shortly after he’d turned twenty-one, and she’d remained for his five years as a deputy and the following decade as sheriff.

Wearing a Mrs. Santa costume that she donned most days—the woman must have owned a dozen of them—Junie perked up when they walked in. She was probably ready to dole out the merriment junk like everybody else, but Calen immediately cut her off.

“Hold my calls,” he said.

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