Silent Night in Dry Creek

“Do you always loom over your prisoners like this?” Jasmine asked.

Wade was standing so close she could count the whiskers on his chin. He stepped back in surprise. “You’re not my prisoner. I’m protecting you.”

She stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I don’t think anyone camps out in freezing temperatures because they’re protecting someone.”

“I do,” Wade said quietly.

“Yeah, well, Lonnie isn’t coming here. He doesn’t even know how to get here.” She saw the doubt race across his face. “I know I could have told him how to find me, but I didn’t. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

Jasmine wasn’t looking at Wade, but she knew if she looked up she would see an expression of incredulity on his face. A lawman could never trust an ex-con, not entirely….

JANET TRONSTAD

grew up on a small farm in Montana that had a barn, even if it wasn’t big enough for an angel to swing from the rafters. Maybe that’s why Dry Creek has a barn big enough so the angel can really fly. Janet has always loved a story that’s better than life. Today, she lives in Pasadena, California, where she works as a full-time writer.

Silent Night in Dry Creek

Janet Tronstad

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

—Luke 2:11

I have been blessed in my life to have some

warm, wonderful aunts (my mother’s sisters).

This book is dedicated to them:

Wilma A (deceased now but I think of her often),

Grace L, Alice N, Mary M and Gladys B.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“You want me to keep an eye on her?” Wade Sutton pushed the café curtain aside and looked through the window to the only street in Dry Creek, Montana. Clumps of melting snow lined the rough asphalt road and the one vehicle in sight was an old motorcycle leaning against the corner of the hardware store. A tall, red-haired woman was walking toward that store right now, swinging her arms as if she was on some mission from God.

Wade grinned slightly as the edge of his hand pressed against the cold window. It was a cloudy December day and seeing the woman in her bulky, gray sweater and faded dress made his heart beat faster. He liked a strong woman and he could tell by the way she walked that she was a fine one.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the woman’s skirt up to her knees. She caught the material before it could go any higher. Now, that was the problem with all the piety in this small town, he thought. What was the point of a woman wearing a dress if she didn’t show more leg than that?

Wade leaned forward to see if the wind would blow again.

“Nice looking, isn’t she?” Sheriff Carl Wall said, moving the toothpick in his mouth. The two men were sitting in the café with their empty breakfast plates on the table in front of them. It was ten o’clock in the morning and the waitress was back in the kitchen. No one else was around.

“She’s a regular movie star.” Wade let the curtain fall into place and turned his attention to the other man. He knew the woman couldn’t be as pious as she looked. Not if the sheriff had asked him to come up from Idaho Falls to watch her. “What’s her thing? Stolen property? Blackmail? Arson?”

Wade was ready to sink his teeth into a surveillance job. Until six months ago, when he’d injured his leg while taking down some drug dealers, he’d been the busiest independent private investigator in the Rocky Mountain area. Now, no one except his old friend here was willing to defy the doctors and consider hiring him while he was still in physical therapy.

“Jasmine Hunter hasn’t done anything,” the sheriff said as he leaned back. “In fact, she even agreed to be the angel in the Christmas pageant this year, so she’s real popular around here.”

Wade remembered those pageants. “Then she’s just plain nuts.”

The annual pageant was held in an old barn on the edge of Dry Creek. The angel traditionally flew over the crowd with the help of a pulley in the hayloft. Wade had been the last kid allowed to swing as the angel. Now, it was always an adult.

“They’ve retired that leather pulley system you used. The pageant committee put in a whole new rope and wheel job. It’s as safe as riding in an airplane.”

Wade grunted. He’d take his chances with the old system; he didn’t trust anything designed by a committee. Either way, it took nerve, though. Maybe that was why the sheriff had asked him here. “You want me to keep an eye on your angel so she doesn’t skip town before the pageant? Is that it?”

“Very funny,” the sheriff said without a smile as he leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “The truth is, I’m not worried about what she’ll do, but what someone might do to her—if you get my meaning.”

Wade didn’t have a clue as to his meaning. The sheriff’s square, homely face didn’t give much away. Wade hadn’t been able to read Carl’s face forty years ago when they were boys, so he didn’t know why the man thought he could do it now.

“Has she requested protection?” Wade finally asked. The woman out there walking in the wind didn’t look like she’d welcome someone stepping into her business. “I don’t think anyone would attack an angel, especially not before Christmas.”

“It’s got nothing to do with the pageant. And no, she hasn’t asked for help. She’s too proud. That’s why you need to be discreet, so she doesn’t know you’re keeping an eye on her.”

Wade wondered what the angel was up to in her spare time. “This better be good. What is it? Abusive husband? Witness protection? What?”

Wade hoped it wasn’t a domestic problem. The holidays brought out the worst in some families. He should know. As a boy, he never had a list for Santa Claus. All he wanted for Christmas was a safe hiding place so he wouldn’t meet up with his grandfather’s fists.

“There’s no husband,” the sheriff said as he leaned back again. “Not even a boyfriend hanging around. It’s just a hunch I have.”

The room was silent.

“That’s it?” Wade finally asked to be sure he wasn’t missing something. It wasn’t only a desire to get back to work that brought him here. His savings were almost gone so he really needed this job, but still—this was Carl. “I remember your hunches. They didn’t always pan out.”

“This one’s different.” The sheriff crossed his beefy arms. “You’ll see.”

Wade lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you and your hunch are going to be around to post bail when this woman hauls me to court for following her around for no good reason. That’s what will happen, you know. She’ll call me a stalker. Just being worried is no excuse to put a tail on someone.”

Wade didn’t have much, but he prided himself on being a fierce defender of the law. He didn’t take bribes, he didn’t look the other way and he sure didn’t violate anyone’s rights by surveilling an innocent woman for no reason—especially not one who was as good-looking as that redhead. She wouldn’t be the only one who would think he was a stalker; he’d half believe it himself. Even Scrooge would hesitate to put a tail on the Christmas angel.

“Now, don’t go getting ahead of yourself. I’m not asking you to follow her exactly. She’s staying out at her father’s place—Elmer Maynard. You remember him? I just thought you could keep an eye on her. There’s no law against seeing what’s in front of your face.”

“Elmer doesn’t have a daughter.” He remembered more than he cared to about his days growing up in this small town. The Maynards owned on the place next to his grandfather’s farm so he knew them well. The man didn’t have any sons, either.

“It turns out Elmer had an affair back when we were kids. Not that he knew anything about Jasmine until she showed up in Dry Creek last fall, fully grown and cruising past forty.”

So she was around his age, Wade thought in satisfaction. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. He made it a point never to socialize with church women and he’d guess she was a staunch one if she’d agreed to swing on that rope in the pageant. Besides, he was here on business.

He went back to the sheriff’s comment. “I bet the tongues are still wagging over Elmer having a daughter.”

Even as a boy, Wade knew how much Elmer and his wife wanted children. Of course, Elmer’s wife was dead now so she would never know that her husband had a kid all along.

The sheriff shrugged. “People can only talk about things like that for so long. By the time Jasmine found the three men who might have been her father and figured out Elmer was the one, well, people had sort of gotten used to her. And Edith Hargrove stood up for her, which helped a lot. She’s Edith Nelson now that she married Charley, but I’m sure you remember her.”

“Of course, I remember her.”

Who could forget Edith? She was a warrior. When he was six, she had knocked on his grandfather’s door and announced that Wade belonged in Sunday school. His grandfather had been too drunk to respond and Edith boldly took his silence for agreement. Every week after that, she stopped by to pick Wade up on her way to church. His grandfather never looked happy about it, but he didn’t stop her.

Once Wade got over the miracle of someone going against his grandfather, he paid attention in church. For some strange reason, Edith saw potential in him when no one else did. Of course, he knew right from the start that he’d eventually disappoint her. No one could make themselves believe something they naturally didn’t. Oh, he might have believed in God back then, but—like now—he just couldn’t believe that God was of much use to anyone in this world. Frankly, Wade didn’t trust Him.

The sheriff grinned. “Edith is some woman.”

Wade nodded. “She’s a force of nature, all right.”

However, with the state of his bank account, he didn’t have time to walk down memory lane.

“The problem is that you can’t just pay me to follow someone around,” Wade said, bringing the conversation back to what he needed to say. “Unless I’m in danger of getting shot, the county won’t want to sign the check. They keep the safe stuff for their own people even if it means overtime.”

Carl’s face flushed. “About the money—the county doesn’t exactly have a budget that—”

“Aww, man.” Wade looked across the table at the closest thing he had to a friend. “You’re joking, right? I drove all the way up here and you’re telling me there’s no money to pay for the job.”

By now Carl’s face was red, but he was sticking to his request. “Hold on. There’s money. It’s just coming from the city of Dry Creek instead of the county.”

“When did Dry Creek become a city?” Wade glanced around in bewilderment. This café hadn’t been here when he was a boy. Well, the building had been here, but it had been empty. There might be a couple of more houses behind the hardware store. And he heard they’d painted a mural on that old barn outside of town, hoping to get some tourists. He supposed it was progress, but—“It hasn’t grown that much, has it?”

“We don’t need to be big to have money.”

“Enough to hire me?”

“Of course, you. We don’t want a stranger poking around. And, if you’re here, you can spend a few days at your grandfather’s place. He’s the only family you’ve got. Besides, he’s having a hard time and it’s Christmas. It’d be nice if you visited him.”

Everything froze. Then Wade reached for his wallet. He’d pay for his breakfast and be out of here. “Christmas is just another date on the calendar as far as I’m concerned. If going to see my grandfather is part of the deal, then Dry Creek will have to find someone else.”

“Now, don’t be a fool,” Carl said when he saw Wade’s wallet. “I’m paying for breakfast. I know how it is when you can’t work. And you’re at least entitled to gas money for driving up here.”

The sheriff pulled a wad of bills out of his jacket pocket.

Wade hadn’t seen that kind of cash in months. “Don’t tell me you carry that much money around. Is that the Dry Creek money?”

Carl flushed as he laid the well-worn bills on the table. “We don’t have a checking account yet.”

A suspicion started growing in Wade’s mind. Those bills hadn’t come fresh from a savings account, either. “Have you ever done this before? Collected money to hire someone?”

Carl was quiet.

“Well, that really settles it. I don’t take charity,” Wade said as he pushed back his chair. Pride was about all he had left and those bills told the story. Someone had passed the hat for him and he didn’t like it. “You can tell everyone that I’m doing just fine.”

The two men glared at each other for a minute.

“You can tell them yourself,” the sheriff finally said. “If you’re too stubborn to take honest work—”

“What’s honest about it? I’m not going to follow some woman around just so you can give me money and make me think I earned it.”

The sheriff’s face softened. “It was either that or I’d have to deliver a carload of casseroles to your front step. You know the people around here help their own.”

Just then the door to the café opened. Wade looked up and saw the red-haired woman walk into the room. A leather bag swung from her shoulder and the faint smell of some floral perfume swirled around her. As she took a few steps, he could see he’d underrated her looks. Her delicate porcelain skin was rosy from the cold and her auburn hair curled around her face, reminding him of a Botticelli angel with a halo. No wonder the people here wanted her in the Christmas pageant. She was like a picture in some museum.

And then she walked closer and he knew he was mistaken. She was too alive for a museum. Or any celestial gathering if it came to that. He’d never seen a woman like her. Her copper hair was spiked instead of curled like he’d thought at first. And her nose was slightly crooked. She wasn’t the angel at the top of a Christmas tree; she was the angel who’d fallen just far enough off the top to be interesting to a flesh-and-blood man like him.

It was a good thing he was sitting down, because he felt a weakness in his knees. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure that he hadn’t hit his head in the fight six months ago. He felt a little faint and his heart was acting up. But all he could do was gawk at her like the boy he used to be when he’d lived on the edge of this small town. That same feeling of watching his dreams from afar would pass, of course, but it annoyed him all the same. He didn’t deal with dreams anymore in his life.

Chapter Two

Jasmine felt her breath catch. Who was that man? He stared back at her for a few seconds before looking down at his coffee cup. In the moment she met his eyes she could tell he had something to hide. At least that’s what it must be because he went pale at the sight of her.

For a second, she wondered if he recognized her from prison. She’d told the people around here that she’d spent time in jail, but she didn’t want someone from her past to come and remind them of it. Not when she was trying to be a normal woman instead of an ex-con.

She stood still as she looked at the man more closely. He had a fine-looking face, one she was sure she would remember if she’d seen it before. A dark growth of whiskers covered his chin and his moss-green eyes studied the pattern in the checkered tablecloth. His blue flannel shirt and jeans were both well-worn, too, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. And he had a black Stetson hat sitting on the chair next to him.

If it wasn’t for the way he held his coffee cup, she would think he was a new cowboy heading out to the Elkton Ranch. But he held his cup loosely. Her old boyfriend, Lonnie Denton, had held his cup that way when he wasn’t sure what he’d need to do in the next minute or so. He said it gave him options. He could grab the cup and use it as a weapon or reach for the knife he kept in a sheath against his arm. He’d been proud when he explained that to her and she’d been sufficiently young and foolish to be impressed.

Jasmine mentally shook herself. She couldn’t fall apart every time a suspicious-looking man came to town. She needed to leave her past behind if she expected others to forget it. And—most importantly—she needed to stop thinking about Lonnie. He was locked up tight in prison. He couldn’t get out and, even though he’d always been unstable, she couldn’t believe he would send someone to spy on her just because she’d sent him a pamphlet about heaven in the mail. Granted, it had been a colossal mistake; she’d known that when he had sent her that postcard in response. But that should be the end of it. She had a new life to live.

She looked at the man’s sleeve in front of her. She couldn’t see the outline of a knife sheath.

“I—ah—” Jasmine started to say and then stopped. She’d forgotten that her voice was raw. It sounded sultry rather than raspy, but her throat was sore all the same.

“Here. Let me get you some coffee,” Carl said as he reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a clean cup. “It’ll make your throat feel better.”

Jasmine had been practicing her songs for the Christmas pageant a little too much lately. She’d taken a leap of faith a few weeks ago and pledged her life to God. She’d been half surprised lightning hadn’t struck through the church roof on that day. In a burst of gratitude, she’d signed up to be the angel in the pageant.

She owed God big-time for taking her in. Doing the angel role wouldn’t be enough to repay Him, but maybe it would be a start if she did it in some spectacular way. She was considering fireworks. Nothing too loud, of course, but maybe a sparkler trailing behind her as she swung over the audience would add pizzazz to the role.

She accepted the cup the sheriff filled from the carafe and sat down in the chair he pulled out from the table he shared. Then she took two long sips of coffee.

When she’d been at the hardware store just now, she had picked up her mail. She was half afraid she’d get another postcard from Lonnie, but all she’d received was an invitation from the sheriff and his wife.

“Tell Barbara I’d love to come to dinner tonight,” she said after she swallowed a gulp of coffee.

The people of Dry Creek had really taken Jasmine to their hearts when she volunteered to be in the pageant. Of course, she didn’t have the courage to tell anyone that she’d never seen a Christmas pageant, let alone been in one before. Growing up, her mother had avoided churches and the only thing marking the season in their apartment had been a silver aluminum tree that was perpetually bent at the top.

The sheriff nodded at her proudly. “Dinner’s going to be great. Barbara’s got some fancy holiday menu going. She’s been baking all day.”

Jasmine swallowed. Things like that made her realize what she’d missed. Too much of her life had been lived behind bars when other women made Christmas dinners for their families. Not that she could afford to forget all that she’d learned. She opened her mouth to tell the sheriff about knives in sleeves.

“I’d like you to meet Wade Sutton,” the sheriff said before she could speak. “He’s a friend of mine—grew up around here. He’ll be coming to dinner tonight, too—I hope.”

The sheriff looked at the other man as he spoke and Wade gave him a slight nod.

Just then Jasmine placed the name. What a relief. “Why, you’re the angel! I’ve heard about you.”

The man slouched in his chair.

Jasmine hesitated. Maybe there were two Wade Suttons. This man didn’t look like someone who would play an angel. He didn’t even look like someone who would smile at the baby Jesus, let alone proclaim His holy birth from the rafters of the old barn. Of course, she’d heard the man was a private investigator, but that didn’t mean he had to scowl all the time.

When she had heard the angel everyone talked about was coming to Dry Creek, she hadn’t expected someone so solidly…well, male. Now that she was sitting, she could see the snug way his jeans fit along his thigh. Maybe he still had his leg in a cast that she couldn’t see because of his jeans. No one had that much muscle, especially not someone willing to fly around on a rope. He shifted his leg slightly and she realized she was staring.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just I thought you’d look more like a ballet dancer. Because of the angel thing.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “I was eleven.”

She felt the heat of his indignant glare all the way down her spine.

“It’s nothing. I was just wondering what kind of legs you had when you used those pulleys. Of course, your legs weren’t so—so—” Jasmine felt herself blush. She hadn’t blushed in years so she cleared her throat. “Well, the point is people are still talking about when you made your swing overhead. You had to be graceful. And your legs—well, I thought maybe you did something special with them as you made the swing. You know—the way you pointed your toes. That kind of thing. Really, I was just hoping you could give me some tips.”

She didn’t want to mention the sparkler idea. But even a clue as to the real part the angel played would be welcomed. Jasmine couldn’t believe that all she was supposed to do was wave her wings over the shepherds and say a few words. Everything was too plain. She was coming to know a God who parted the seas and thundered from the rocks. He wouldn’t have announced the birth of His Son without some drama.

“I didn’t have much sense back then,” Wade finally said reluctantly. “You should ask someone else for help.”

“Oh.” Jasmine said. He must have done something very special if he was so closemouthed about it. But, if he wouldn’t tell her anything, how was she supposed to give a performance that surpassed, or at least equaled, his?

There was a moment’s silence.

“How’s everything at the hardware store?” the sheriff finally said a little too cheerfully. “I bet they’re doing good business even in these hard times.”

“I don’t know.” Jasmine didn’t want to show her disappointment in Wade’s response so she was glad the sheriff had started a new conversation. She turned to look at him. “There was a sale on nails. No one was buying, though.”

“Things will pick up,” the sheriff added. He seemed to be struggling with his words, although she couldn’t imagine why. “People just need to be patient in these hard economic times.”

Jasmine nodded. The pastor had asked for prayer for the store last Sunday. “I buy as much as I can there.”

She tried to do everything that was mentioned in church, including the things that cost her money.

The sheriff turned a little more so she could see his face even though the other man couldn’t. Then he winked at her. “There’s no need to say anything to the people at the store about the hard times—they might be embarrassed.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Carl,” the other man spoke out. His eyes were smoldering and his jaw was clenched. “You don’t need to warn people not to say anything to me. Everybody knows I’m the one who is supposed to get the handout. The people of Dry Creek just can’t leave well enough alone.”

Jasmine wondered how anyone had ever thought that man could be an angel. He might not even be suited to being the innkeeper, and that role was written for a surly actor.

“You should be grateful someone cares enough to help you.” Jasmine refused to listen to any complaint about her friends in the church here. They were perfect—every one of them.