Keeping Christmas Part 23

The new footprints began to follow the older set.

Chance frowned. Beauregard was frolicking in the snow, sniffing the tracks and racing around. From here the tracks trailed along the edge of the pines, branching off to the south.

A bl.u.s.tery wind blew across the frozen lake to whisper in the pines along the side of the mountain. The snow-filled boughs swayed in the gusts as Chance hurried. There was only one other cabin about a half mile down a narrow private road. His.

He began to run.

DIXIE STEPPED OUT the front door of the cabin and paused to look off to the right as she remembered the light she'd thought she'd seen the night before.

Odd. Chance had said his was the only cabin down this road and yet there was something down there in the trees that certainly looked like a cabin.

She moved to the edge of the deck and peered over the railing through the pines. A boathouse.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. That's where she'd seen the light last night. But as she stared at the boathouse, she could see that the outside light wasn't on.

Because it hadn't really been a light. It had been smaller and had gone out, more like a flashlight beam. Her mouth went dry at the thought. Someone had been down there.

The hair rose on the back of her neck. She swung around, shocked to find no one behind her. She looked into the darkness under the snow-filled pines, positive that she'd felt someone there.

"You're just jumping at shadows," she whispered to herself, wishing Chance would return. It was too quiet. And yet she sensed she was no longer alone.

Her breath came out in white puffs as she turned to look back down the mountainside through the pines to the boathouse. She was trying to tell herself that she'd just imagined the light at the boathouse last night when she saw something in the snow.

Her blood ran cold as she saw the single trail of footprints that led up from the boathouse and around the cabin. Chance's? No, she thought, her mouth going dry, because there was no sign of the dog's prints with them.

Behind her, she heard the wood creak as if someone had stepped up onto the decking.

This time when she turned, she knew the person who'd made those tracks would be standing right behind her.

Chapter Sixteen

Chance ran through the deep snow, breathing hard, his mind racing. Beauregard, thinking they were playing, had run ahead into the dense pines. He heard the dog let out a startled bark, then a yelp.

Furious with himself for not thinking to bring his gun, Chance shoved through the pine boughs, snow showering over him, and was struck hard. The blow glanced off the back of his head.

He could see his dog crouched down, hair standing up on his neck, a low growl emitting from his throat. Beauregard was staring at something behind Chance.

Bracing himself for whatever had been hiding in the trees, Chance swung around, ready to defend himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

DIXIE COULDN'T MOVE. She couldn't turn around. The deck creaked behind her again, this time the sound so close she thought she saw a puff of frosty breath breeze past her on the wind. Fear paralyzed her because she knew what was behind her and she had no weapon. No hope.

"Dixie?"

She spun around at the sound of the voice, frowning in surprise, then smiling as she recognized the face. Her knees went weak with relief.

"Mason." She put her hand to her heart. It was beating a million beats a second. Of course her father would send Mason to get her. Mason, who always solved all her father's problems for him. "You scared me half to death. How did you find me?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I knew Beau had hired Chance Walker, so that made it somewhat easier." He glanced toward the cabin. "Tell me it's warm in that cabin. I hiked in last night, got turned around and ended up staying in someone's boathouse."

She realized that he was shivering even though he was wearing snow boots and a heavy, hooded coat and gloves. "Not exactly Texas weather, huh." She led him into the cabin, taking off her coat to toss more wood on the fire.

"Chance should be back soon," she said. "He's just gone up the road."

Mason stood by the door, looking cold, his hands buried in his coat. He was glancing around the cabin, silent, as if trying to figure out what to say to her.

"So my father sent you to take me back to Texas," she said.

"Actually..." Mason's gaze settled on her. "He doesn't know I'm here. I told him I had to go away for a few days on a business trip." He hadn't moved from near the door. He still had his hands deep in his coat pockets and he appeared to be watching for Chance.

She felt her first stirring of doubt. "Then why-"

"I thought if I came up here that we could discuss this little problem," he said, "and come to a satisfactory conciliation."

Her fear notched up a level as she looked into his eyes. She'd known Mason Roberts her whole life. He'd been at every birthday party, every family event.

He stood with the hood of his coat up, his face in shadow. It was the way he was standing. Her heart leaped to her throat as she remembered the photograph of her mother and the man. The man had put his head down, avoiding the camera, his weight on one leg, shoulders angled away. He hadn't liked having his photo taken.

Just like Mason. She thought of what few photographs she'd taken as a kid at Bonner barbecues. Mason had always managed to be in shadow or partially hidden from view by the person next to him. Mason, a man who liked to work behind the scenes, not wanting to take credit, the problem-solver and Beauregard Bonner's closest friend and a.s.sociate.

Mason was studying her, a half smile on his face, eyes wary. "Come on, Dixie. You and I have always been straight with each other. Let's not play games now. You know why I'm here, don't you?"

She stared at her mother's former lover. Rebecca's father. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"REBECCA?" Chance gaped at the woman standing in the pines, a piece of tree limb in her gloved hands. He shook his head, thinking the blow to his head must have messed up his brain. "Rebecca?"

"Chance," she said in that breathless Southern accent of hers. "I didn't know it was you. I heard someone coming... Then I saw that big ol' dog."

All he could do was stare. It had been years and yet she seemed just the same. She was dressed in a suede coat with white fur, the same fur that was on her knee-high leather boots and her hat. She carried a large suede shoulder bag in the same color. Her blond hair curved around her perfectly made-up face as if she were going to breakfast at some fancy ski resort.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wanting to laugh. She was so Rebecca. So wrong for him. So not like her sister Dixie, who was so right for him.

"Daddy told me about Dixie," Rebecca said. "I was headed for New York to do some last-minute Christmas shopping and I decided to fly to Montana instead to try to get her home for Christmas."

He didn't know what to say. This was definitely the Rebecca Bonner he remembered. Jet-setter. Fashion plate. Privileged beyond belief.

"I tried to call," she said, and glanced at the dog who was still growling. "He isn't going to bite me, is he?"

"Put down the stick," Chance told her. Beauregard quit growling. "You just scared him."

"Not as much as the two of you scared me. I'm so sorry I hit you. But when I heard something coming, I thought it might be a bear." She smiled at him just like she used to so many years ago. The years had been good to her. He figured her money and the latest antiaging techniques and supplies hadn't hurt, either.

"Bears hibernate hibernate in the winter," he said, and rubbed the lump on his head, feeling a little dazed. "Why didn't you just follow the road?" in the winter," he said, and rubbed the lump on his head, feeling a little dazed. "Why didn't you just follow the road?"

"I saw tracks coming down this way," she said. "So I followed them."

The second tracks. He glanced past her and saw that the footprints continued on down the sh.o.r.eline- straight to his boathouse.

"Come on, we need to get up to the cabin," he said. "It's right up here."

Rebecca nodded and shielded her eyes to look up the hillside to the cabin. "I can't wait to see my sister."

"YOU b.a.s.t.a.r.d! b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Blinded by her anger at what he'd done to her mother and Rebecca, Dixie grabbed up the poker from the fireplace and came at Mason, hitting him across one arm and shoulder before he could get the gun from his pocket.

He swore as he wrenched the poker from her hands and shoved the barrel end of the gun in her face. "Try me," he snapped, his hand shaking with anger. "You think I won't pull the trigger? You're dead dead wrong." wrong."

"Oh, I know too well what you're capable of," Dixie snapped. "You hired two men to kill me and I know you killed my mother to keep her from exposing you." She wanted to fly at him again but knew he would would shoot her. shoot her.

"You're mistaken, Dixie. I didn't hire anyone to kill you. I prefer to take care of problems myself. I thought you knew that about me."

She saw pain in his eyes and desperation. He didn't want to kill her. She felt confused. Why had he come here if not to keep her from exposing him? Could she be wrong about him being a killer? Then how did she explain the gun he held on her?

"You were like family," she snapped.

He laughed. "Dixie, I am am family. Haven't you figured it out yet? My father was Earle Bonner. Just because the son of a b.i.t.c.h denied me the same way he did Carl..." family. Haven't you figured it out yet? My father was Earle Bonner. Just because the son of a b.i.t.c.h denied me the same way he did Carl..."

She heard the bitterness in his voice. The jealousy she'd seen between him and Carl. It all made sense now. "That's why you pretended to be Beauregard Bonner in Idaho."

"Don't read more into this than is there. I just used his name," Mason said. "I love your father like the brother he is."

She smirked at that. "Is that why you killed the woman he loved, my mother?"

"Your mother died in a car accident. I would imagine she couldn't face your father with the truth and found driving into the lake easier."

"That's a lie. She wouldn't have killed herself, not with two babies at home and a husband she loved," Dixie snapped. "Were you jealous because she fell in love with my father? Or was it only ever about money?"

"I made your father what he is today," Mason said. "I was the one who talked him into doing the test well on the farm. He wouldn't be anything without me."

"And you got rich right along with him."

He shook his head. "It's not the same. Beau's never understood that taking handouts from him isn't the same as being the man behind the fortune. It makes a man bitter."

"Especially if he's a thankless b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said.

"Dixie, Dixie, why couldn't you have just left things alone?" Mason said in his conciliatory tone.

She heard a sound outside the cabin.

Unfortunately, Mason heard it, as well. He stepped to her, grabbing her arm as he shoved the gun into her side, shielding himself behind her as she heard the dog bark at the cabin door.

Chance. Her heart dropped. She opened her mouth to call to him, to warn him he was about to walk into an ambush. Mason clamped his hand over her mouth, the gun barrel now at her temple as he whispered, "Make a sound and the last thing your boyfriend will see is your brains blown all over his cabin."

CHANCE SAW Beauregard sniffing at two sets of tracks on the deck. He motioned for Rebecca to hang back as he flung open the cabin door. Beauregard bounded in. Chance ducked and rolled, coming up behind the couch.

In that split second, as the door swung in, he'd taken in the scene in front of the fire. His heart had dropped like a stone as he saw Dixie, the gun to her head, and Mason Roberts with his hand over her mouth. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and fury.

He came up from behind the couch just as Mason started to swing the barrel of the gun toward the dog. Dixie saw it, too, and made her move, just as Chance had known she would. She wasn't going to let Mason shoot the dog-or him. Chance could never have loved her more than at that moment.

As he leaped over the couch, Dixie elbowed Mason in the ribs and grabbed the wrist holding the gun. The shot went wild. The gun fell to the floor, skittering away as Chance tackled Mason and took him down, Dixie falling with them onto the floor in front of the fireplace.

It all happened in an instant. Chance got a choke hold on Mason, who seemed to instantly drain of fight. Chance had an age advantage, as well as self-defense training. But still it surprised him that Mason didn't seem to have the fight of a killer.

Dixie scrambled to her feet to find the gun Mason had dropped. Chance had the man down, but she wasn't taking any chances.

At the sound of a low growl, Dixie turned to look back at Chance. He'd completely neutralized Mason, who sat against the wall breathing hard, head down, looking beaten.

Chance reached to jerk Mason to his feet, turning as Dixie did to see what Beauregard was growling about.

Dixie blinked in astonishment. "Rebecca?"

She stood just inside the front door of the cabin. In her hand was Mason's gun, the one Dixie had been looking for.

"I thought I told you to call off your dog?" Rebecca said as she leveled the gun at him.

"Beauregard," Chance ordered. "Down."

The dog stopped growling, but like everyone else in the room kept his gaze on Rebecca.

"What are you doing here?" Dixie asked.

"Didn't Chance tell you? I came to see you, little sister."