'Twas the Week Before Christmas

by Olivia Miles

  Given the choice between sleep and a pristine house, he had opted for the former, especially since he knew damn well that Caidy, ever efficient, had made arrangements for a cleaning crew to come in today to mop up after the big party.

  He grabbed his improvised breakfast and whistled to Tri, then headed through the party carnage into his office, doing his best to ignore the mess as the dog hopped along behind him.

  Though it was Saturday, Ridge had plenty of work to catch up on, especially since the past few weeks leading up to his sister’s wedding had been so chaotic. He had several emails to deal with, a phone call to a cattle broker he worked with, ranch accounts to reconcile. Finishing off the last bite-sized ham sandwich on his plate sometime later, he glanced up at the clock and was shocked to realize two hours had passed.

  He frowned. Where was the cleanup crew? He was positive Caidy had said they would be here at ten, but it was nearly noon.

  As if on cue, the doorbell suddenly rang, and Tri jumped up, gave one little well-mannered bark and raced to the front door as fast as his little hoppy, butt-bouncing gait would take him.

  The housecleaners really had their work cut out for them, he thought as he walked back through the house. He only hoped they could finish the job before midnight.

  With Tri waiting eagerly to see what exciting surprise waited on the other side of the door, Ridge opened it.

  Instead of the team of efficient-looking workers he expected to find, he found one woman. One small, delicate-looking woman with big blue eyes and a sweep of auburn hair that reminded him of the maple trees down by the creek at the first brush of fall.

  She wore jeans and a short black peacoat with a scarf tied in one of those intricate knots women seemed to like.

  Overall, he had the impression of fragile loveliness, and he wondered if the scope of the cleanup job would be too much for her. He pushed the thought away. He had to trust that Caidy had hired a reputable company and that she knew what she was doing. He sure as hell didn’t want to clean the mess up himself, especially after he had rebuffed everybody else’s offers to help.

  “Mr. Bowman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hello. My name is Sarah Whitmore. I’m sorry to...”

  He didn’t wait for her apology, he just opened the door wider for her. “You’re here now. That’s the important thing. Come in.”

  She gazed at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open and an odd expression on delicately pretty features. After a slight pause, she walked inside.

  “I thought you were supposed to be here two hours ago.”

  “I...was?”

  The cleaning service must have mixed up the time. While he was usually hard-nosed about punctuality, she appeared so befuddled and a little overwhelmed— probably at the mess confronting her inside the house—that he decided not to sweat it.

  “As long as you put in an honest day’s work and do what you were hired to do, I don’t see why I need to tell the company about this.”

  “The...company.”

  With a slight blush staining her cheeks, she gazed around at the muddle of crumbs, discarded napkins, empty champagne bottles. “Wow. What happened here?”

  Man, he would have to talk to Caidy about her choice in cleaning services. The woman’s bosses really should have filled her in about the particulars of the situation.

  “Wedding reception. My sister’s, actually. It was after two when the party finally broke up, and since I had ranch chores to deal with early this morning, you can probably tell I just left things as they were.”

  “It’s certainly a mess,” she agreed.

  “Nothing you can’t handle, though, right?”

  “Nothing I can’t...”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured her quickly. He really didn’t want to clean all this up by himself. “The catering crew took care of the kitchen, so there’s nothing to do in there. Just this space, a few of the bedrooms where guests changed clothes and the guest bathrooms here and on the second floor. You should be done in three, four hours, don’t you think?

  She gazed at him, a little furrow between her brow, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

  Completely out of nowhere—like a sudden heat wave in January—he had a wild urge to be the one nibbling on that delectable lip.

  The urge shocked him to his toes. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t responded like this to a woman in a long, long time but something about her soft, lovely features, the soft eyes and that silky spill of auburn hair sent raw heat pooling in his gut.

  He set his jaw, shoving away the inappropriate, wholly unexpected reaction.

  “Cleaning supplies are in the closet in the mudroom, which is just off the kitchen back there. You should find everything you need. I’ll be in my office or out in the barn if you have any questions,” he said, already heading in that direction in his eagerness to get away from her.

  He thought the dog would follow him, but Tri seemed more interested in the new arrival. Not that Ridge could blame the dog for a minute.

  “But, sir,” she called after him, a slight note of panic in her voice. “Mr. Bowman. I’m afraid—”

  The phone in his office rang at just that moment, much to his relief. He didn’t want to stand here arguing with the woman. She was being paid to do a job, and he wasn’t the sort of boss who stood around like a hall monitor, making sure his people did what was expected of them. She could ask any of his ranch workers and they would tell her the same thing.

  The phone rang again. “I’ve got to take this,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie, as it was probably the hay supplier he’d been trying to reach. “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea what a godsend you are. Let me know if you need anything.”

  He left her with her mouth slightly ajar and that look of dismay still on her features.

  Okay, so he had run away like he was twelve years old at a school dance and the girl he liked had just asked him to take a spin around the floor with her. It was strictly self-preservation.

  The last time he had been so instantly tangled up by a woman, he had ended up married to her—and look how delightfully that had turned out.

  All he could think was that it was a good thing she would only be there for a few hours.

  * * *

  Sarah now understood the definition of the word dumbfounded.

  After Ridge Bowman—at least she assumed it was Ridge Bowman—hurriedly left her alone with a funny-looking little three-legged dog, Sarah stood motionless in the big, soaring great room of the River Bow ranch house trying to catch her breath and figure out what had just happened.

  Okay, this did not go the way she had anticipated.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she certainly had never guessed the man would mistake her for someone else entirely.

  She stood with her hands in her pockets, gazing down at the little dog, who was watching her curiously, as if trying to figure out what move she would make next.

  “I would love to know the answer to that myself,” she said aloud, to which the dog cocked his head and studied her closer.

  The cold knot that had lodged under her breastbone a week ago as she stood inside that storage unit seemed to tighten.

  She ought to chase after the man and explain he had made a mistake. She wasn’t from a cleaning crew. She had flown out from California expressly to talk to him and his siblings, though she would rather have been anywhere else on earth.

  She drew in a breath, her nails digging into her palms. Do it. Move. Tell him.

  The annoying voice of her conscience urged her forward in the direction the ruggedly handsome rancher had gone, but she stood frozen, her attention suddenly fixed on a wall of framed family pictures, dominated by a smiling older couple with their arms around each other.<
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  Sarah screwed her eyes closed. When she opened them, she looked away from the pictures at the great room, with its trio of oversize sofas and entwined antler light fixtures.

  He really did need help. The house was a disaster. The wedding of Caidy Bowman must have been quite a party, at least judging by the disarray left behind.

  Why couldn’t she help him?

  The thought sidled through her. In that brief interaction, she had gained the impression of a hard, uncompromising man. She couldn’t have said how she was so certain. If she helped him tame some of the chaos in his house, he might be more amenable to listening to her with an open mind.

  As a first-grade teacher used to twenty-five six-and seven-year-old children, she was certainly used to cleaning up messes. This wasn’t really all that unmanageable.

  Besides that, she wasn’t in a particular hurry to chase after him. If she had her way, she would put off telling him what she had found in that storage locker as long as humanly possible.

  The truth was, the man terrified her. She hated to admit it, but it was true. He was just so big, a solid six feet two inches of ranch-hardened muscle, and his features looked etched in granite.

  Gorgeous, yes, okay, but completely unapproachable.

  He hadn’t smiled once during their brief interaction—though she couldn’t necessarily blame him for that since he thought she was a tardy cleaning service. She dreaded what he would say when she told him why she had really come to the River Bow ranch.

  What would it hurt to help the man clean his house for an hour or two? Afterward, they could have a good laugh about the misunderstanding. Who knows? He might even be more favorable to what she had to say.

  Okay, good plan.

  She tried to tell herself she was only being nice, not being a total wuss. She unbuttoned her coat and hung it on a rack by the door, grateful her extensive wardrobe debate with herself had resulted in simple jeans and a lovely wool sweater. As much as she loved the sweater, wool always made her itch a little so she wore a plain and practical white long-sleeved T-shirt underneath.

  She pulled the sweater over her head, rolled up the sleeves of the T-shirt to just below her elbows and headed into the kitchen for the cleaning supplies.

  He was right about the kitchen. The big, well-designed space sparkled. She headed into the area she guessed was the mudroom and found an organized space with shelves, cubbies and a convenient bench for taking off boots. A big pair of men’s lined boots rested in a pile of melting snow and she picked them up and set them aside before quickly drying the puddle.

  She easily found the cleaning supplies stored in one of the cubbies in a convenient plastic tote. She picked the whole thing up and carried it back through the house. First things first, the clutter of garbage all around, then she could start wiping down surfaces and work on the bathrooms.

  As she walked through the big, comfortable great room picking up party detritus, she wondered about the Bowman family.

  She knew a little about the family from her initial research, the quick web search she had done after finding that storage unit that had led her to this place and this moment. She had learned a little more after her arrival in Pine Gulch, Idaho last night, thanks to a casual conversation with the young, flirtatious college student working as desk clerk at the Cold Creek Inn where she had stayed the night before.

  She knew, for instance, that the charming inn where she stayed was actually owned, coincidentally, by the wife of Taft, one of the Bowman brothers.

  From the clerk, she had discovered there were four Bowman siblings. Ridge, the hard, implacable rancher she had just met, was the oldest. Then came twins Taft and Trace, the fire chief and police chief of Pine Gulch, respectively. And finally the daughter, Caidy, the one who had been married the day before—much to the chagrin of the desk clerk, who she quickly deduced had nurtured an ill-fated secret crush on Caidy Bowman, now Caldwell.

  The ranch appeared to be a prosperous one. All the buildings were freshly painted, and the big, comfortable log home could easily have doubled as a small hotel itself. It was large enough to host a wedding reception, for heaven’s sake.

  The Christmas tree alone was spectacular, at least eighteen feet tall and decorated to the hilt with ribbons, garland, glittery ornaments. More evergreen garlands twisted their way up the staircase and adorned the raw wood mantel of the huge river-rock fireplace.

  This was more than just a showplace. She could tell. This was a home, well maintained and well loved.

  As she headed up the stairs to collect a pile of napkins she could see on a console table in an upper hallway, Sarah had to fight down a little niggle of envy. She couldn’t help comparing the splendid River Bow ranch house to the small, cheerless apartments where she had lived with her mother after the divorce.

  What child wouldn’t have loved growing up here? Sliding down that banister, riding the horses she had seen running through the snow-covered pastures, gazing up at those wild mountains out the wide expanse of windows?

  She frowned as she suddenly remembered the rest. A lump rose in her throat.

  Oh. Right.

  She knew more about Ridge Bowman than how many siblings he had and the outward prosperity of his ranch. She knew he and his brothers and sister had suffered unimaginable tragedy more than a decade earlier, the violent murder of their parents in a home-invasion robbery.

  She could only guess how the tragedy must still haunt them all.

  That ever-present anxiety gnawed at her stomach again, as it had since she walked into that storage unit, and she pressed a hand there.

  She had to tell him. She couldn’t keep stalling. She had come all the way from Southern California, for heaven’s sake. This was ridiculous.

  With fresh determination, she gripped the now-bulging garbage bag and started down the stairs.

  She wasn’t quite sure what happened next. Perhaps her heel caught on the edge of a stair or the garbage bag interfered with her usual balance. Either way, she somehow missed the second stop down.

  She teetered for a moment and cried out, instinctively dropping the bag as she reached for the banister, but her hand closed around air and she lost what remained of her precarious balance.

  Down she tumbled, hitting a hip, an elbow, her head—and finally landing at the bottom with a sickening crunch of bone as her arm twisted beneath her.

  Copyright © 2013 by RaeAnne Thayne

  ISBN-13: 9781460322840

  ’TWAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  Copyright © 2013 by Megan Leavell

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