Undercover Christmas
Author
B.J. Daniels
Reads
19.1K
Chapters
22
Can two snowed-in strangers keep their secrets buried long enough to avoid danger? The cowboy code runs deep in Chase Calloway, even after the injury that left him with gaps in his memory. His protective instincts kick in when Marni McCumber arrives at his family's ranch, and he doesn't hesitate to offer her food and shelter after a Montana snowstorm leaves the beautiful mother-to-be stranded. When the secrets they're both hiding begin to surface, it becomes clear that there are sinister threats creeping closer. Snowed in with nowhere to run, the two of them will have to work together if they was to survive past Christmas.
Prologue
November 3
A biting cold wind stole down Main Street, sending the last of the shoppers scurrying. Chase pulled his coat around him and stepped to the curb in front of the old Bozeman Hotel to check again. It wasn’t like his father to be late. But then Jabe Calloway had been doing a lot of unlikely things in the past few weeks.
Lights flickered off as downtown stores closed for the night. The traffic dwindled, exhausts cloudy and white as the vehicles passed. From the dark sky, snow sifted, covering the town in an icy layer of frost.
Worry stole Chase’s thoughts the way the cold stole his body heat. He stomped his feet and rubbed his gloved hands together trying to stay warm. No, it wasn’t like Jabe Calloway to be late nor to call his oldest son and ask him to meet him on a street corner.
The memory of something Chase thought he’d heard in his father’s voice suddenly chilled him more than the weather. He hadn’t been able to put a name to it. Probably because it was a word he’d never associated with his father. Fear. Chase glanced at his watch. Almost an hour late. Jabe had been explicit about the time. Nine sharp. Jabe had some papers he needed to sign at the family attorney’s office and he wanted Chase to go with him. But at this late hour? No, Jabe Calloway wasn’t himself lately. Either something was terribly wrong or—
Chase turned at the sound of hurried footsteps slapping the snow-coated concrete. Jabe Calloway halted beneath the streetlamp across the intersection ten yards away and glanced upward as if waiting for the traffic light to change. He wore a gray Stetson hat on his salt-and-pepper hair, and a dark plaid shirt, jeans and boots beneath the long stockman duster that flapped open in the wind. At sixty-five, Jabe still stood six feet four and looked as solid as the lamppost next to him.
And yet for one ridiculous moment, Chase thought he saw his father stagger. Thought he saw frailty in those broad shoulders. And vulnerability.
The light changed. Jabe seemed to hesitate. Worried, Chase stepped off the curb and headed toward his father. He could feel Jabe’s pale blue gaze. Eyes the same color as his own. Eyes always filled with a stubborn determination that brooked no interference.
Jabe nodded once and started across the street, all that usual arrogance and authority in his step. Chase almost laughed. Had he really thought Jabe Calloway might be in trouble? That this immovable rock of a man might need help?
The truck appeared out of nowhere. Headlights sliced through the snowfall as its engine revved and bore down on the tall cowboy in the street. Chase dived, hurling his father to the gutter as the truck’s grill connected with Chase’s left leg, the pavement with Chase’s head. The lights went out. The truck kept going.
