Christmas in Cowboy Country by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

that.”
    He looked at her like he wanted to say he was something else and not just a surveyor, that he was really a misunderstood knight in slightly tarnished armor.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t know Chuck was going to say something like that about your dad. I should’ve told him to shut up, but . . . he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. He’s a jerk.”
    â€œAnd your boss.”
    â€œTrue.”
    He let go of her. Annie couldn’t think of anything else to say. She looked down, noticing what he had in his cart. Hamburger meat and buns. A tub of dip. The same brand of extreme-cheese taco chips her father liked.
    Annie felt herself relenting ever so slightly. Inwardly. Not outwardly.
    â€œJust the usual,” he said. “Big game this weekend.”
    â€œI know.” She realized he might watch the football broadcast with Chuck, mostly because he didn’t know anyone else around Velde besides her. Tough luck. He was not forgiven for letting the rude comment about her father go past him, and she still didn’t know the whole story behind what he was doing and how he could earn enough doing it to afford a tricked-out truck like that.
    Although he wasn’t eating filet mignon and drinking champagne. She looked down into his cart again and frowned.
    â€œWhat? You don’t approve?” he asked. “Those are the basic four man-food groups.”
    â€œDon’t forget crow.” She gave him an icy smile. “And a big, juicy slice of humble pie. Made from scratch.”
    Annie pushed past him without a backward look, abandoning the cart. He didn’t even try to stop her.
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    There were youngsters decorating storefront windows all over Velde the next time Annie went in. The pre-Thanksgiving event was a yearly tradition sponsored by the scouts and local businesses. The kids wore bright new jackets against the cold snap, and their exuberant artwork made for a colorful scene.
    Closely set together, the turn-of-the-century buildings along the main street each sported a different theme. The masterpieces on glass showed a lot of imagination. Annie spotted four-legged turkeys and Pilgrims on skateboards. A few would have to be defined as works in progress. She really wasn’t sure what they were.
    She stopped to admire an abstract painting in glorious shades of amber with splotches of white, thinking that it reminded her of something. Maybe it wasn’t an abstract.
    The artist, a towheaded boy of around eight, stood to the side of his creation while his scout leader took a quick photo with a smartphone.
    â€œGreat job,” Annie said to the boy. “I love the colors. But what is it?”
    â€œCandied sweet potatoes with marshmallows,” he said proudly.
    â€œAha. Of course.” She just hadn’t recognized the side dish at nearly billboard size. “Well, keep up the good work.”
    She strolled on, seeing Cilla Rivers on the next block with the two little girls her mother was always talking about. Brushes in hand, they were busily dabbing color onto a storefront window that was low enough for them to paint.
    â€œHi, Cilla. Nice day.”
    The older woman nodded, even though she was shivering a little inside a lightweight fleece top. “Jenny and Zoe are having a great time.”
    With their tumbling brown curls and wide green eyes, it was easy to see the resemblance between the sisters, who were working on the window at different heights.
    Jenny, the older one, was adding a rainbow to a snow scene, arching stripes of color over something that looked like an upside-down broom stuck in a snowdrift.
    No. Brooms didn’t have red wattles and beady black eyes.
    Jenny stepped back, casting a critical eye on her artwork. “I didn’t do the turkey so good.”
    â€œLooks fine to me,” Annie said, and laughed.
    â€œWe used to have one just like that running around the ranch.”
    A thick brown brushstroke