CAUGHT AT CHRISTMAS (Coming Christmas 2008!) PRE-ORDER THE BOOK from an independent bookstore via Book Sense or order through Amazon. EXCERPT Chapter One Jean Norville, maid of honor to her best friend from college, was dressed like a velvet grape, complete with purple hoop skirts and silver trim. Yes, she was a grape, bursting with Christmas cheer and wedding wishes. Like hell. The tightly-waisted, southern belle bridesmaid gown was too hideous for wearing--had to be viscose and not a good silk velvet--though she would have worn the dress with pleasure if any holiday spirit she'd possessed hadn't gone out the window when she'd met the man Molly was to marry, Gregor O'Bannion. Two weeks before Christmas was a terrible time to be thinking Scrooge-like thoughts, but the groom and some of his groomsmen seemed as shady as bad elves hiding from Santa. To be fair, since this was her second wedding role this year, her fourteenth lifetime opportunity to serve at a friend's big moment—but who was counting?--she wasn't exactly the poster girl of enthusiasm for maid of honor bubbliness. There was also a possibility she'd read one too many Agatha Christie's in her librarian career and was seeing trouble where there was none. Yet she was pretty certain that despite the lightly falling snow and the white Christmas lights twinkling around the Southfork Texas Wedding Chapel, there was very little romance in the air. That feeling had intensified last night at the rehearsal dinner party when she'd overheard Gregor in the gardens angrily talking to someone on his cell phone, "Find the diamonds, kill the kids, end of story is how I figure." It hadn't seemed like a very warm and fuzzy thing to say at Christmas, or anytime. Jean had accidentally caught Gregor's gaze, their eyes meeting with a jolt, his narrowing at her. She pretended she hadn't heard a thing, smiled, and airily departed. Since then, all kinds of horrible misgivings had risen in her imagination. Surely she had misheard. Surely he'd been discussing a movie or book; she shouldn't take a remark out of context when she hadn't heard all of the conversation. Likely she was suffering from wedding jitters the bride should be having. She should have stayed in New England and sent an expensive gift if she was going to be such a grumpy attendant. It was eight o'clock at night, the wedding guests were inside, the wedding party was about to make the triumphal entry into the rose-and-ivy festooned chapel, and it was too late in the game to do anything but wear the grape velvet dress Letitia, Gregor's pretentious mother, had chosen. She faked a serene, maid-of-honor smile. "Cheer up," Jean heard behind her. She turned to see Molly's brother, Sam Broadbent, looking down at her, no smile gracing his handsome face. "Right back at you." Jean clutched her huge bouquet more tightly, ignoring the zing she felt at seeing the handsome Texas Ranger. Why did the man have to be so sexy in a formal tuxedo? Dark, delicious, tall and strong; just the way a hero in a western should look. She didn't know a lot about Sam--he and Molly hadn't been extraordinarily close as kids. They were working on their relationship now, finding new pleasure in forging sibling bonds. She knew Sam was independent. Molly had told her Sam was burned out, giving the job a break for a while. Maybe a permanent break. Planned on enjoying ranch life--and he wasn't dating anyone, her friend had confided with a sisterly wink that Jean had ignored at the time. Cracks of sound shattered the nervous chatter of the bridal party. Heads turned, then screaming broke out. The rapping pops continued, and Sam dragged her away from the chapel. Her skimpy strappy sandals were only meant to look pretty, not actually be functional. The dreaded hoop skirts ballooned around her legs awkwardly. "Wait!" Jean jerked away from Sam. "What are you doing?" Cries of surprise and dismay rang out behind them. Realizing she wasn't going to be a willing escapist, Sam scooped her into his arms. He did it without grimacing, for which Jean gave him high marks. The hoop skirts weren't made for hustling down a pebbled path toward a parking lot. "You're supposed to be giving away a bride, not hauling off a maid of honor." He put her down and unlocked a silver Mercedes. "Think the plans changed. Get in." She did as he asked, sensing his urgency. It wasn't easy, considering she had to fight the skirts for every inch of the seat. "What's happening? Should we be leaving? Molly's getting married in a few—" "Don't think she'll be a bride tonight." Sam pulled out of the parking lot, swiftly heading away from the chapel. "Gunfire isn't a good sign for wedded bliss." Her heart dropped into her stomach. "Gunfire?" He nodded grimly, eyeing the road behind them in his rearview mirror. She realized he was deathly serious. As a ranger, he knew better than she the sounds of weapons being fired. "I thought it was wedding fireworks!" "No." "Somebody was shooting? At a wedding party?" He was driving fast, she realized, his body tense. And then she got it: Sam was rescuing her from danger. "You left your sister! Turn around and go get Molly!" His cell phone rang. He tapped the speakerphone on. "It's Sam." "Sam, do you have the maid of honor?" "I do. What's going on back there?" Jean listened, her heart racing. "We're trying to figure it out. Right now, just trying to make sure everybody's all right. God in heaven, what a mess." Whoever was on the phone sighed. "Hey, keep the maid of honor gone, okay? We need her safe until we figure out what the hell happened." Sam was silent for a moment. "Can do." "Three of the groomsmen were taken away in handcuffs, but a couple escaped, as did Morrissey. Everybody saw Tommy Morrissey shooting, but we don't know why he was, obviously. Until we know more, we're keeping everybody in the wedding party protected." "Where's Molly?" Sam demanded. Jean leaned forward so she could hear every word. "We've got her covered. She wasn't hit." Jean felt her breath leave her. She felt faint. Sam clicked the phone off. "Feel better?" he asked. "Why did you grab me and not your sister? You should've protected Molly!" "May I remind you that when all hell broke loose, you and I were standing together talking, and I couldn't have gotten to Molly if I wanted?" She considered that, her pulse pounding for her friend. "So where are you taking me?" "To my ranch. I can keep an eye on you there." She started to protest, then remembered the cop on the line had requested that Sam keep her "gone." Yet she wasn't exactly comfortable about being on a ranch out in heaven-knew-where. All she had was this stupid dress--not that clothes were the most pressing of concerns, but what she wouldn't give for a worn pair of jeans and maybe some Ugg boots. And she was Molly's maid-of-honor, right? Supposed to be taking care of the bride on her big day? "There's no place else I could stay?" Preferably someplace away from Sam's watchful vision, so she could go find Molly and make sure she was all right. He turned onto the highway and hit the gas, putting distance between them and the ruined wedding. "Until the coast is clear, you're my guest." Guest. "Just for a day," she said, scrambling to sound normal, as if she just hadn't been at a wedding where guns were fired. It was the only way to calm herself. He didn't say anything. "Poor Molly," Jean said, "her wedding day disrupted by discourteous people. Hunters or something." He shook his head. "Several men at the wedding had concealed weapons. You didn't notice the occasional bulges under the jackets?" "I can't say that I did." "We'd already made some phone calls," Sam said, "to check for gun permits. It seemed suspicious for firearms to be at my sister's wedding. I mentioned it to a buddy. Some cops were called in to quietly keep an eye on things. They were the guys who weren't wearing tuxes, and who stayed out of sight until the shooting started." "Maybe it was a mistake," Jean suggested. "It doesn't make sense that this wedding would be targeted. A wedding is supposed to be a happy, romantic occasion." She knew she wasn't being rational, that she was talking about what should have been instead of what had actually happened. She still couldn't accept that criminal activity might have occurred at her best friend's lovely ceremony. He pulled into a truck stop. "We have a two-hour drive ahead of us, in case you're interested." She glanced around at the packed truck stop. "What are we doing here?" "I'm going to grab some water bottles and snacks in case you get hungry. There aren't tons of fast food sites along the highway, and I'm presuming you don't want to go out to eat in what you're wearing." She glanced down at her dress and shook her head. "Nor you, I imagine." He grimaced in agreement. "No man wears a tux willingly. I'll grab some snacks." Sam convincingly carried off wearing a tux into the truck stop. He had a strong, tall bearing; an easy walk. He was taller than her surgeon father, which was saying something. Dad's six-foot-one, just right for hanging the star on the Christmas tree, she thought wistfully. She should be home now, with her family, making holiday preparations. Her stay-at-home mom would be baking Christmas cookies with her two younger twin sisters, Trudy and Starla, twenty-four and just learning how to take care of their first apartments (only an hour from the family home, of course). The Golden retriever, Gigi, would be scampering around the house wearing her traditional loopy red bow. The stairwell would be trimmed with red and gold velvet ribbons-- She made herself quit thinking about holidays and home. There was no way she could get there--Sam had said she wasn't getting out of his sight. A truck with Vermont license plates caught her gaze. A large, strong blond woman got down out of the cab to check her tires. Jean wondered if she dared approach the trucker for a ride. Of course she had no purse and no I.D., since they'd left the wedding in a hurry. She didn't have a cell phone. C'mon, a small voice egged, you're an independent woman. Don't let a silly purple dress slow you down! Wouldn't she be safer in New England than in Texas, anyway, despite Sam's contrary position? It was kind of dramatic to assume that she needed protection--no one had been shooting at her. "Don't even think about it," Sam said, getting into the car. "When I saw those Vermont plates, I figured you'd consider hitching a ride." She wrinkled her nose at him. "In this dress?" He laughed and handed her a water bottle. "Just say that's exactly what you were thinking and don't be annoyed that you're that easy to read. You wear your emotions on your face." "If you escorted me home, it would solve everyone's dilemma. I'd be with my family, and you'd be doing your bodyguard job. Not to mention my mom whips up a heck of a Christmas dinner. We're nothing if not addicted to Christmas." "And what if—just theorizing for a moment—what if you're part of something you haven't realized? What if someone wanted to shut you up? And followed you home?" Sam glanced at her. "Would you want to put your family in danger?" "Of course not! But that's a Hollywood plot, Sam. No one is going to care that I was at the wedding. And everybody there was an eyewitness." "But to what, exactly?" She sighed. "I don't know what you're getting at, but you're being overly cautious. Molly always said you were a deep, moody person who was hard to get to know." For some reason that made him smile. "Molly was too easy to get to know." Molly had lots of friends in college—she naturally drew people to her. "You're a more likely target than me. Dark, cynical ex-Ranger, taking a break for unknown reasons . . . maybe you ticked someone off?" Her voice sounded hopeful, and he smiled. "Dark and cynical? Did Molly say that?" "It's an observation on my part." She wasn't going to fill in the description by telling Sam that he was also handsome, sexy, smelled good, had nice hands . . . she tore her gaze away and looked out the window at the fast-passing lights. Very little else was visible in the darkness, just lights along the highway, marking how far she was from home. "I don't think I was the target," Sam said. "There are too many chances to get to me besides following me to a wedding." "True." Jean shook her head. "Anyway, Gregor seemed seedy to me. You didn't seem to like him, either. Any particular reason?" Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I think I always saw Molly settling down with someone more . . . caring. That's the word that keeps coming to my mind. I just never got the sense deep down that Gregor loved Molly for Molly." "That's interesting," Jean murmured, "I never got the sense that Molly loved Gregor with all her heart. And I was uneasy from the moment I met him." She remembered his gaze staring at her, hard, cold, and flat. "He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would want an outgoing woman like Molly." Sam grinned. "You're not exactly a shy flower yourself, for a librarian. Shouldn't you be bookish and quiet?" She looked at him. "Are you saying I'm talkative? By your definition?" He chuckled. "I think it's fair to say that this Christmas will be the most lively my ranch has seen." "I'm not your Christmas party," Jean said, her tone unamused. "If this misunderstanding hasn't been straightened out in forty-eight hours, if everybody's not safe and accounted for and returning to normal lives, you're driving me to New England to my family." Sam was silent, ignoring her demand. Jean glanced out into the darkness. She felt like they were traveling into a black hole—not a great feeling at Christmas. "So when you said you live out in the country, you meant far-out, uninhabited country." "We have a stop sign in our town." One stop sign. That meant there must be about ten residents, Jean thought glumly, not even enough for a powderpuff football game. "Is there a reason you live so far away from civilization, Sam?" "I like it," he said simply. "It gives me peace." She would never be happy with that much "peace." "I should thank you for being worried about my safety. I've just never been good with having my independence hijacked. Even when I was a child, I wanted to do everything myself. At least that's what my family says." "Molly says that's one of the things she admires about you. That go-getter thing you've got going on is energizing to people around you. And it's a warning that I'll have to keep a very close eye on you." The warning sounded like a sexy promise to her. Jean felt her whole body unexpectedly heat. She reviewed her situation: Alone with a very good-looking man out in the middle of nowhere, something some might consider a rustic getaway. Women dreamed of Santa dropping a dreamboat like Sam under their Christmas tree--but she wasn't daring enough to consider unwrapping him.