Free CHRISTMAS AT THE CARDWELL RANCH by B.J. Daniels

he left the ranch, he drove around aimlessly, hoping he might see his father or uncle coming out of one of the local businesses. Finally, he stopped for something to eat, but barely tasted the food in front of him.
    When he came back out, he was surprised it was already getting dark. The sun had disappeared behind Lone Mountain several hours ago, and the deep, narrow canyon was shrouded in shadows. He’d forgotten how quickly it got dark this far north in the winter.
    As he drove up to his father’s cabin, he was relieved to see Harlan’s SUV parked out front. He’d half expected that, like Angus, Harlan had taken off for parts unknown on some “business” trip.
    Wading through the snow and growing darkness toward the cabin, he was determined to get the truth out of his father. No more lies. Either that or he would have to go to the marshal with what he knew. Nix that. He’d have to take his suspicions to the cops in Bozeman, since he wasn’t sure he could trust Hud. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about Mia’s death—or about his father’s possible involvement. Just a gut feeling—and a leather jacket.
    Deep shadows hunkered around the edge of the cabin as Tag started up the steps. He’d shoveled the steps and walk early this morning before he’d left to go Christmas tree hunting. That now seemed like a lifetime ago.
    There had been some snow flurries during the day close to the mountains. The snow had covered the shoveled walk. Tag slowed as he noticed the footprints in the scant snowfall.
    His father had had company. Several different boot prints had left tracks up the walk. One had to be his father’s, but there were at least two others. His brother? But who else? He’d gotten the feeling his father had few visitors. Then again, he hadn’t thought his father had female visitors and he’d been wrong about that.
    Only one light shone inside the house. It poured out to splash across the crystal-white snow at the edge of the porch.
    He slowed, listening for the sound of voices, hearing nothing. From the tracks in the snow, it appeared whoever had stopped by had left.
    He thought of Dana now. Unlike her, he had to know what was going on with his father. He wasn’t buying that they had “business” out of town occasionally. Monkey business, maybe.
    As he opened the door and looked in, all the air rushed from his lungs. The cabin had been ransacked. He stared, too shocked to move for a moment. Who would have done something like this, and why?
    He thought of the thick envelope that his father had given the marshal. Was that payoff money to keep a lid on what his father and uncle were involved in? The envelope had been thick. Where would his father get that kind of money? Not from playing his guitar at a bar on weekends.
    Drugs? It was the first thing that came to mind. Were his father and uncle in the drug business?
    At the sound of a groan, he rushed in through the debris to find his father lying on the floor behind the couch. Tag was shocked to see how badly Harlan had been beaten.
    He hurriedly pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

Chapter Six
    Hate is a strange but powerful emotion. Camilla went to bed with it each night; it warmed her like wrapping her fingers around a hot mug of coffee. It was her only comfort, locked away in this world of all-women criminals. The place didn’t feel much like a prison, though, since it was right in the middle of the city of Billings.
    Only when she heard the clang of steel doors did it hit home. She was never leaving here. At least not for a very long time.
    Of course the nightmares had gotten worse—just as the doctor had said they would. She’d known they would since they’d been coming more often—even before she’d been caught and locked up. She’d wake up screaming. Not that screaming in the middle of the night was unusual here.
    The nightmare was the same one that had haunted her since she was a girl. She was in a coffin. It was pitch-black. There was