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Vienna Boys' Choir. With his left hand, he reached to one side, sprung the door latch, and somehow found a way to roll out from under the dog and onto the street.
    Of course, he landed on a rock that jammed his right knee. So he'd have a limp. At least his nuts would recover. And at the moment, that's all he was concerned with. Kneeling on all fours on the damp street, he took several deep breaths before trusting himself to move. When he did, he swiveled his head and came eyeball to eyeball with the beast.
    "You lousy, no-good son of a—"
    "Not in front of the baby," Carol warned from the

    back seat. "And besides, it wasn't Quinn's fault. You upset me and that upset him."
    The dog was upset?
    "Right." Jack choked out another groan and shook his head as his breathing evened out and the pain subsided into a dull throb he'd probably carry for the rest of his life. "You two were upset. I need a hospital, but that's not important."
    "For heaven's sake, you're not bleeding "
    He glanced up and caught her eye through the side window. "There are some things more important to a man than a slashed artery."
    "Pizza and beer?"
    "That, too."
    She smiled. "Are you okay?"
    "I'm a soprano, but I'll live."
    "Not that you're exaggerating or anything."
    That smile of hers was damn near lethal. He watched her face in the glow of the streetlights and almost wished he was a different man. But if he was a different man, he wouldn't be back in Christmas and he never would have met her, so no sense in that.
    Climbing to his feet, he glared at the big dog as it jumped out with a lunge of movement and stood beside him. The damn thing nearly hit Jack's hip. He'd never seen a dog so big. Well, except for a Great Dane ... but somehow, this dog even looked bigger than a Dane. Maybe it was the coarse, wiry gray hair that stood up on end all over his body. Like a punk rocker dog. Or maybe it was the deep rumblings of sound that kept roaring out around them. And maybe, he thought, pulling his foot out from under one huge paw, maybe it was just its weight.
    Soon, he promised himself silently, Sheriff Thompson

    would be back at the helm of Christmas where he belonged, Jack took a breath and got a grip. Hell, he'd grown up in Christmas. He could handle the place for a few more weeks. Then he'd be gone again, and from now on, he'd limit himself to weekend visits with his family. Preferably somewhere far, far away from Christmas.
    He opened the back door for Carol, and she held the baby out for him to take her. He took one step forward, the dog growled, low and throaty and with a definite threat, and he stepped back, hands in the air. Glancing at the dog first, he then looked at Carol and said, "I don't think so. Your personal guardian doesn't approve."
    "But—"
    "You take her," he said. "I'll get the stuff from the trunk."
    Carol just stared at him. She didn't think it was just because of Quinn that he'd backed off from handling the baby. For one brief second, she'd thought she saw a sheen of panic in his eyes. But that was ridiculous. He was the oldest in a family of five kids, and two of his sisters had children, so he'd had to have been around babies more than she had.
    But, now that she thought about it, she realized, he'd kept his distance from the infant from the moment he'd stepped into Phoebe's office.
    Interesting.
    But not fascinating, so she scooted inelegantly out of the car, holding the baby carefully, terrified of dropping her, and then walked around the back end of the black Mustang and headed for the house. Quinn padded right behind her, his nails clicking in a comfortable pattern against the asphalt.
    It was her habit to let her gaze sweep across the home she'd made in the last two years, and as always, the sight

    of the old Victorian filled her with a sense of... belonging. She'd carved out a space of her own in this little town. She'd planted her petunias and stock and columbine. She decorated her porch, stocked her store, and kept her