Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe by Cassie Miles Page A

have a horse?”
    â€œI don’t think so.” But he did own a gun. Should she talk to Abby about gun safety? “He was a friend of your daddy.”
    â€œThen he’s my friend, too.”
    A child’s view of life was so wonderfully simple. “If you have any questions about anything, talk to me about it. Okay?”
    â€œOkay, Mommy.”
    Their short ride was over. Fiona parked outside the garage, not wanting to pull inside where it was dark. She’d always been afraid of shadows, and now she had a tangible reason to avoid the dark corners.
    After she unbuckled Abby from her car seat, she held her daughter’s hand and walked toward the front door. Sheriff Trainer had been considerate enough not to festoon her house in yellow crime scene tape. Though some of the low-lying shrubs had been trampled, her log cabin looked pretty much the same. The curtains were drawn, but the porch lamp glowed cheerfully.
    Jesse opened the front door before they got there. The porch light shone on his thick black hair. Standing above them on the porch, he appeared taller than his six-foot height. Though he was lean, his shoulders were wide. He looked strong and capable, even with his left arm in a sling. She was incredibly glad that he was staying with them.
    He ushered them inside quickly and closed the door. When she introduced him to Abby, he squatted down to the child’s level and extended his good hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.
    Abby’s blue eyes brightened as she shook his large hand and studied him. With her blond curls and dimples, she looked like a little pixie. “Jesse, are you an Indian?”
    â€œNavajo,” he said. “Half Navajo.”
    â€œNavajo,” she repeated. “Thank you for the maize and turkey you gave the pilgrims.”
    Fiona wasn’t surprised that Abby remembered the Thanksgiving stories she’d learned in preschool. This year, when she and her daughter were celebrating, Abby insisted on doing her own version of the Thanksgiving story, complete with dancing turkeys and a singing yam.
    â€œThat wasn’t my tribe,” Jesse said. “But you’re welcome.”
    â€œHow come you don’t wear a feather?”
    Though Fiona winced at the stereotyping, Jesse grinned.“Different tribes wear different clothes, but we all believe in hospitality and sharing. I have a gift for you.”
    â€œYou do?”
    Jesse stood and went to the hooks by the front door where his denim jacket with the Longbridge Security patch was hanging. From an inner pocket, he took out a small leather bag and opened the drawstring. “My grandfather was a wise man, and he gave me many totems.”
    â€œWhat’s a totem?” Abby asked.
    â€œIt can protect you. Or it can remind you of your heritage or your dreams. A totem can be anything. A necklace or a coin or a picture.”
    â€œI have a locket with a note inside from my daddy. It says, ‘I love you, Abigail.’”
    Fiona’s heart clenched. Though she tried to shield her daughter, life happened. Her father was dead, and Abby understood the importance of cherishing the past while looking toward the future. Quite possibly, she’d learned that lesson better than her mother.
    Though the limited use of his left hand made him slightly clumsy, Jesse opened the bag and took out a small blue stone. In an open palm, he held it toward Abby. “It’s turquoise. This stone will bring you luck.”
    â€œThank you.” Solemnly, she took it from him. “When I get my pony, I’m going to name him Turquoise.”
    â€œThat’s a wonderful idea,” Fiona said, “and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
    â€œMy pony will have a blue tail.”
    â€œI’m sure he will.” She smiled. “Now, it’s late. You need to get ready for bed. Don’t forget to—”
    â€œBrush my teeth.” Abby twirled once and