Free Three Nights before Christmas by Kat Latham Page B

didn’t get much fresh coffee over the past few years.” Nice one, dickhead. Why bring up prison?
    “Hot liquids were kind of a no-no. We got tepid stuff, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure it had never had a passing acquaintance with a coffee bean.”
    “I don’t think I could live without strong coffee.”
    “You’d be surprised what you can live without.”
    He closed his eyes, annoyance washing hotly through him. “I don’t know why I keep bringing it up.”
    She shrugged and took a sip. “It’s the main thing you know about me. What else would we talk about?”
    “Anything.” He gestured toward the junk heap jacked up above the tracks. “Trains, maybe.”
    “I’d bore you to tears if I started talking about trains. Plus, trains lead back to prison talk. Dave used me for my train, and that got me sent to prison. Being in prison means I lost my career. Vicious cycle. Let’s not talk about trains.”
    Dave used me for my train. That had been her defense, despite her ex claiming that it had been her idea to use her train as cover. Sounded like she was sticking to it. Weariness settled into his bones. “Okay, then. How about friends?”
    She stiffened and put her coffee cup down. “How about we don’t talk?”
    He’d had the sad misfortune to be taking a sip when she said it, and he sputtered as his brain conjured up all kinds of ways they could pass the time not talking.
    “You okay?”
    “Mmm.” Not really . He thumped his chest until the coffee went down. When he finally regained control, he tried to change the subject. “Have you ever met Molly Dekker?”
    “Josh’s mom? I was a year behind her in high school, but we moved in different circles.”
    “What circles were those?”
    “Well, she got engaged while we were still in school, so I mostly remember her making puppy eyes at Greg Dekker all day long. He seemed like a massive douchebag, so I didn’t go out of my way to talk to her. Why?”
    He tried to sound casual. “Just thought you guys might have a lot in common.”
    “Me and Molly? Are you kidding?”
    “No.”
    Her laughter was short, sharp, and humorless. “Does she have a secret prison record I don’t know about?”
    “Now who’s bringing up prison?”
    “Me. I’m allowed to bring it up. If you do, you’re a jerk.”
    He grinned. “Hardly seems fair.”
    “Life’s not fair, buddy.”
    “True. And that’s what I think you’d have in common with Molly. Her life has been flipped upside down a couple of times, but she always comes out fighting.”
    Her mouth opened as if to reply, but she shut it again. She lifted her arms to pull down the rubber band holding back her ponytail. She jerked her fingers through her hair, messing it up as if she needed something to hide her face.
    Clearly agitated, she walked away from him and crouched next to one of the piles she’d made. He didn’t think she was going to reply at all, but after a long, tense minute, she muttered, “Who’s a woman gotta screw to get some Christmas music in here?”
    Apparently they wouldn’t have a bonding moment after all.

Chapter Seven
    ‡
    O ver the next few days, Lacey settled into a routine of waking early, getting a lift up the mountain from Joel and Tony, working till sunset and getting a ride to Austin’s place, where she worked till dinnertime. Usually he was there the whole time, seemingly happy to act as her assistant. Tonight, though he had to work late, leaving her on her own to monkey around with Lucinda.
    That was the name Lacey had chosen for her steamy friend—Lucinda. Never Lucy, a name that evoked silly capers and histrionics in the face of a stern Cuban husband. No, the train was definitely a Lucinda, named after one of Lacey’s favorite singers. She was bluegrass and country, soulful and throaty. She had plenty of tough history, but she’d chugged through it and come out the other side. She was a survivor and would touch a part of her riders’ souls that needed to believe