Murder And Mistletoe. Barb Han

one on the cell phone and not look back had to be a first-order jerk.

      Leanne shot a warning look, which surprised him and told him there was more to the story. “My neighbor has been a gift. She loves kids, has more grandkids than I have fingers on one hand and she’s keeping Mila for a few days.”

      “Sounds like a good setup.”

      She nodded. “Other than that, there’s not much to tell. I worked my butt off to make detective before thirty. I’ve been on the job two years, so still earning my stripes to some.” And then turned the tables on him. “What’s your story?”

      “You already know my name is Dalton Butler. I have a twin, Dade. We’re identical, so if you bump into someone who looks a helluva lot like me but says he’s not, he’s not lying.” He chuckled at her wide eyes. “What? You’ve never met twins before?”

      She made a gesture. “I guess I have. Haven’t known a lot personally.”

      “My father was fairly famous in Texas.” He paused before adding, “Infamous in some circles.”

      “I heard a lot of good things about him,” she said casually, like it was common knowledge.

      She obviously didn’t know the real man. But then, who really did?

      “I’m one of six kids, unless someone else comes out of the woodwork before the reading of the Mav’s will on Christmas Eve.” He tried to suppress the anger in his voice and figured he wasn’t doing a great job based on the look she shot him. “Four of us grew up under one roof and had the same mother.”

      “Do you work on the farm?” she asked.

      “It’s a ranch. And the answer is yes,” he said indignantly, picking up a packet of sugar. He should’ve realized a Dallas detective wouldn’t know much about ranching but calling Hereford a farm was a lot like calling a horse a cow. “All of us do in some capacity, including the new ones.”

      A moment of silence passed between the two of them before Leanne’s gaze intensified.

      “Why do you care so much about this case?” She pinned him with her stare, and he couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or through him. “Who did you lose?”

      “It’s been fourteen years, so the number fourteen might be important,” he said, redirecting the conversation. He tossed the sugar packet on top of the table.