Christmas in Texas by Rebecca Winters, Tina Leonard Page A

Taylor Kinsler in the Wedding Diner, eating with his
gang of “Bad.” Seagal pulled up a chair, spoiling for trouble. It was Christmas
Eve, and there was no better time to start ringing in the holiday.
    “Hello, fellows,” Seagal said.
    The five men stared him down. He’d gone to school with them,
played football with them, even occasionally rodeoed against them. Then their
paths had diverged. He’d gone on to become a cop, something that was as much a
part of him as breathing. Moving up to the Rangers brought him pride he could
hardly explain.
    “Don’t you have someplace to be on Christmas Eve?” Taylor
asked. “Or did the little lady kick you out?”
    “I did have plans for Christmas Eve.” He leaned back in the
chair. “Unfortunately, I had to participate in a small incident at the
Bridesmaids Bouquet flower shop. My wife owns that store,” Seagal said, “in case
you didn’t know. It means a whole lot to her.”
    The five Bads watched him carefully.
    “We found marijuana seeds in some planters from her shop,”
Seagal said in a conversational tone, “which I was surprised to find in a small
town. Funny that anyone would think a flower shop is the perfect place to
conceal drugs.”
    “Why are you telling us?” Taylor asked. “Do we look like we
care about drugs? We’re sitting here eating burgers and trying to get some
holiday spirit, which is kind of hard to do with a cop in our midst.”
    “Just letting you know I’m going to be in town for a long
time.” Seagal smiled. “In case you hear anything.”
    “We don’t know anybody who uses drugs,” one of the Bad said.
“Can’t help you.”
    “I don’t need help,” Seagal said. “I’m trying to help you.” He
got up, stared down at the five men. “It was small-time stuff, really. A
small-time criminal was sent to make the pickup, too. He squealed like a pig
when we pressed him on who’d hired him.” Seagal put some money on the table.
“I’ll buy your meal, fellows. Because I have a funny feeling it’s the last one
you’re going to be eating on the outside for quite some time.”
    He left, feeling pretty good about everything. It had all
worked out.
    Everything except his marriage.
    That was the one thing he still needed to fix.

Chapter Ten
    Capri thought long and hard before she sent the text to
Seagal.

    The babies have put cookies out for Santa. The key is under the
mat.

    She sent it, feeling nervous. But Seagal had seemed so strange
when he left. She knew something had been on his mind. Cop stuff was always on
his mind.
    But she knew she was on his mind, too. Capri knelt beside the
tree, rearranged some of the gifts people had brought for the babies and for her
and Seagal. The stockings were full of tiny baby socks and rattles, and well
wishes from friends. Her mother had come by with a carload of gifts—and a letter
from her grandmother written to Capri when she was a child, and saved by her
mother for the right time.

    Dear Capri,
    What a wonderful granddaughter you are! So headstrong and
stubborn—these are gifts—and beautiful and wise. You remind me so much of myself
at your age. I love that you come on Saturdays and work in the shop. I hope
you’ll always want to spend time with me, because you mean so much to me. I
never dreamed I’d have such a considerate granddaughter, and it makes me so
happy to see how much you and your mother love each other. We are strong women,
we Snows, and I know you will grow up to be a fine woman and mother in your own
right one day. I always dreamed I’d have a little granddaughter to make
Christmas dresses for. I’m the happiest grandmother in the world. I love you so
much, dear sweet granddaughter.
    Nana

    Capri put the letter away, glanced at the photo of her
grandmother on the mantel. “You would have loved your great-grandchildren,” she
told the photo. “Seagal and I have the most amazing angels.”
    She turned back to the tree, resettled the gifts, rearranged
some bows.