A Very Maverick Christmas

Braden reached for a throw pillow from one of the couches and threw it at him. “I don’t think she’s in the market for a cowboy. Besides, I’m not in the market, either. Now will you just lay off? I was trying to be courteous.”

Of course it didn’t end there. It never did. His brothers continued to razz him until the his mom and the growing crowd of his sisters-in-law and soon-to-be sisters-in-law reappeared. He took a few more verbal jabs, but the presence of the ladies toned them down.

And that, thought Braden, was a good reason not to get involved with a woman. Next thing you knew, you’d be leaving your boots outside the door and turning all proper-like.

That was just an excuse and he knew it. His brothers changed a bit around their ladies because with them they could show a different side, a gentler side, than they did with each other.

A good thing, he supposed. But sometimes he really did feel like the odd man out, now that they’d all found their mates. Hell, he was the last man standing. The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.

But he was sure his interest in Julie Smith had entirely to do with the aura of mystery around her and nothing to do with how pretty she was. He almost asked if anyone knew anything about her, but stopped himself just in time.

He could take the razzing, but right now he didn’t feel like taking it about Julie. She’d reached some place inside him that he didn’t want anyone else to touch.

Some dangerously protective place, which meant keeping his brothers out of this as much as possible. More remarks like the one Dallas had made tonight, and Julie Smith might vanish from town as suddenly as she had arrived.

* * *

Later, though, in a quiet moment as he was getting ready to sleep in his old bedroom rather than head over to his own place, his mother spoke to him.

“Braden?”

“Yeah?” He had one foot in the doorway of his bedroom.

“That Julie Smith.”

He tensed. “Mom...”

“Just listen to me. She’s very pretty and seems very nice. I know Vanessa, Mallory and Cecelia all like her. But no one knows anything about her, really. So, while I’d like to see you settled and happy...”

He looked into the face that had loved him since birth and turned to give her a big hug. “I’ll be careful, Mom. I always have been, much to your disappointment.”

Ellie Traub laughed. “Maybe. I’m surprised she hasn’t dated while she’s been here. And it’s not for want of guys asking, I believe.”

“She’s a wounded bird, Mom. That’s all. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Ellie’s smile faded. “That’s dangerous, Braden.”

“I know.”

“Just be careful. If I’d known how you were going to turn out, I’d probably have named you Parsival.”

“Thank God you didn’t.” He laughed. “I’m no knight errant on a quest, just a frustrated detective.”

“I hope you’re right.” She put a hand on his shoulder and drew him close for a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, my boy.”

He watched her disappear toward her room then entered his own and closed the door. The woman who’d earlier been acting as if the answer to her prayers had arrived that night was now cautioning him.

He didn’t miss her point. Not at all.

Chapter Two (#ulink_dfa43608-44b8-5ef0-b454-3bd71c4a10a6)

For the next few days, Julie felt as if the inside of her head had become a huge jumble. Her memory, if that’s what it was, of being an angel in a Christmas pageant when she was young, was really niggling her.

She pulled up that flash over and over, trying to wring every possible detail out of it that she could. Standing on stage, wings on her back, scanning a sea of faces trying to find her parents and not seeing them.

“Damn,” she cussed out loud. If that was a real memory, why couldn’t she see her parents?

But even if she had, could she rely on what she thought she remembered? She’d had some counseling since the amnesia, but it had mostly been pithy claims about how she just had to trust her memory, such as it was, and perhaps her past would return to her.

Trust it? She couldn’t even be sure it was a true memory. It might have been some kind of daydream, resulting from a desperate need to fill in the huge hole her past had become.

But maybe, just maybe, there was some link in her head with the holidays. She should make more of an effort to enjoy the season as it ramped up. Maybe it would jar some more memories loose for her. Maybe little shards would grow into big pieces.

But somehow, one little girl in an angel costume had managed to throw her entire being into some kind of blender. Conviction and doubt warred within her, alongside hope and despair.

Then there was Braden Traub. She told herself he’d just been being nice to her, but he might as well have warning flags all over him. For the first time since she lost her memory, she felt attracted to a man. Seriously attracted. Forgotten urges had wakened in an instant. Dangerous, because she had no memory. She was sure that the instant a guy found out she was amnesiac, he’d head for the hills. But apart from that, she was a babe in the woods. No memory to guide her about dealing with men. About dating.

Hell, she couldn’t even carry on much of a conversation unless it was about the last few months. So why take a risk?

She sighed and rubbed her aching head. Again and again she had been warned about trying to force her memory, but she kept trying anyway. Desperation gnawed at her.

Like looking at those family portraits at the Triple-T. She’d hoped one of them would jog her in some way, but none of them had. Instead, all they had done was make her feel even lonelier. She didn’t even have one photo tied to her past.

But then, she didn’t even know what had happened to her. The doctors theorized she might have been mugged or had an accident, but she’d been found wandering with nothing to show for her experience except a cracked skull and no memory. And her necklace. Her talisman.

And a desire for cold and snow that had led her to New England, where she’d met the man who had researched her necklace and told her the last owner had lived in Montana. Then she’d come across that blog and felt drawn here like a homing pigeon.

But what did any of that mean? Again, she was without context. In some ways that was the most frustrating thing of all: urges and impulses that drove her without having any idea why.

If she couldn’t explain herself to herself, how could she explain herself to anyone?

When she realized she was thoroughly cleaning the cabin again for the third time in as many days, she stopped and tried to give herself a wake-up call.

One of the two rooms she was working so hard on was a bathroom. Otherwise the cabin contained a larger room that held a small kitchen at one corner, an alcove beside the bathroom where she had a bed, and a beastly woodstove that terrified her because she’d never had to use one before, at least not that she could remember. As winter deepened, she prayed the power would stay on, because if it didn’t the heater wouldn’t work and she was going to get very cold. Maybe she should buy a kerosene space heater, although those were dangerous, too.

Sighing, she rubbed her temples. For three days she hadn’t gone out her front door, not since the party at the Triple-T. What was with her? The town was familiar enough now that she felt all right when she walked the streets and shopped. The woods around the cabin were like a personal cathedral for her, offering peace and serenity. So what was she doing being a hermit?

She stuffed her feet into her warm winter boots and pulled her parka off the peg. A bracing walk would do her good, clearing out cobwebs and probably settling her frantic ramblings. The winter snow was not yet deep, although she had been warned that it would get there soon enough. For now, though, she could walk in the woods or into town.

She locked up the cabin behind her, then hesitated on the stoop. The woods or town? She needed a few things from the grocery, and increasingly she had a desire to find some splash of color to add to the cabin. The inside of it was almost dismal; age had faded everything so much. A throw pillow or two, or maybe just a small throw she could wrap herself in when it became drafty. The bedding was her only addition, and sadly she’d chosen a wintry look that right now didn’t help at all.

Why did winter call to her anyway? What she needed as the days grew shorter, colder and darker, were some really bright colors.

God, she couldn’t even bring herself to put a mark on the place where she lived. She seemed to spend all her time feeling as if she might have to bolt at any moment, a purely ridiculous idea. Certainly no one had made her feel that way.

She figured she’d winter in this town then perhaps move on again if she unlocked nothing about herself. That, she thought, was her real problem: trying on places and people, then hitting the road to search for the key to her memory.

But how could she put down roots? She had two huge fears: that she might plant herself in the wrong place and thus lose any chance of finding out who she was, and that she’d find out and not like what she learned. Given that those were polar opposites, she sometimes wondered what the heck she was doing.