Three Nights before Christmas by Kat Latham

one?”
    “Definitely. Special occasion?”
    “I guess you could say that.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “First time on parole. A girl’s gotta celebrate, right?”
    The receptionist blinked, clearly unsure whether to take that as a joke. She recovered quickly, whispering back, “In that case, want our waxer to take care of those special places that are hard to shave when you’re not allowed a razor?”
    This time it was Lacey’s turn to blink in surprise. The receptionist grinned. “Or so I hear from my big sister. Besides, if you’ve been away for a while, you want to be ready for anything, right?”
    For the second time that day, Austin jumped into her mind in a totally inappropriate way.
    She nodded decisively. “Heat up a shit load of wax. My brother’s razor wept at the sight of my leg hair, and I didn’t even try to use it to tame Betty Downstairs.”
    Three hours later, she sauntered out of the salon with her shiny, all-brown hair swaying healthily in the light breeze. Despite the below-freezing temperatures nipping at her ears, she didn’t dare mess up her blow-dry by putting her knit hat on. No one really needed the tops of their ears anyway, right?
    Her brows stung where a woman with incredibly fast fingers had threaded the stray hairs into oblivion. And, thanks to her brother’s generosity, she no longer felt like a lumberjack from the waist down. Time to get underwear that didn’t cut into her skin and maybe a pair of jeans she could wear till the rest of her prison weight magically melted away. She rounded a corner on her way to a women’s clothes shop when a window display made her skid on an icy patch of sidewalk.
    Her jaw unhinged. Her two distinct brows rose. A mannequin in the shop window wore a green sweater with a snowman on it. Except the snowman was upside down, with a pointy, felt carrot protruding from where the sweater covered the mannequin’s crotch. Two big metal bells hung from the sweater’s hem, dangling like testicles right where the mannequin’s testicles would be…if mannequins had balls.
    Before she knew what she was doing, she took her phone out, snapped a picture and sent it to Austin with the message For Wyatt?
    Her phone rang immediately, and Austin’s deep voice tickled her eardrum. “Holy shit, where did you find that?”
    “It’s at a store in Bozeman.” She leaned back to read the store’s name. “Seems to be a craft shop.”
    “Where in Bozeman?”
    She gave him the address.
    “I’ll be there in five minutes. If anyone tries to buy it, tackle them.”
    Her brows ached a little as they drew together. “Five…where are you?”
    “Around the corner. I’m serious. Make a citizen’s arrest if you have to. I’ll back you up. Don’t let anyone near it. ”
    The phone went dead.

Chapter Nine
    ‡
    A ustin pulled his scarf up to keep the bitter cold from biting through his skin as he jogged down Main Street and found the cross street Lacey had said the carrot-dick sweater shop was on. He had to get that sweater, had to. Not only would he win this year’s sweater-off, but he would be the champion of all time.
    He owed Lacey so big for alerting him to the sweater’s existence. The fact she would do it surprised him. If anything, he would’ve figured she would buy it and find a way to get it to Wyatt so he could humiliate Austin. Calling him was a truly decent thing for her to do, and he’d have to find a way to thank her. Hell, she’d already committed her evenings to fixing his train. His growing debt to her made him deeply uncomfortable, but he’d been trying to let go of her past crimes and focus on the person she was now. Apparently her tough-girl shell hid a decent core, one he felt oddly happy to spend his evenings working with.
    He approached the shop, and even from across the street he could tell the sweater was perfect. But as he crossed the road, a couple of women inside started gesturing toward it. Shit. Where was