He laughed at himself. Even his inner thoughts were beginning to sound like those of a rancher. The transition to ranch life had been more natural than he’d expected. There wasn’t much of his old life he missed. It was easy to keep in touch with his friends on Facebook, and he’d made plans for a ski trip with some buddies for the week after Christmas. He did worry about his mother, who was making slow, painful progress with her rehab. She’d put up a brave face when he was home, and so had his father.
“We’re fine, son, don’t you worry. By next spring your mother will be almost as good as new. We’re so excited to see the Circle C when all the new calves are being born.”
Court was excited for that, too. But first he had winter to get through. His first order of business once he returned from St. Paul was to have several meetings with Red, and one with the entire staff. He practically begged Callan to attend as well, but she refused.
He didn’t know what she was doing with her time. Every morning she went to the barn to feed and groom Montana Sapphire and Cinnamon Girl, then she’d drive off somewhere in her old blue truck and wouldn’t return until almost dark.
A few times he’d attempted to “accidentally” run into her in the horse barn, but she seemed to be able to sense when he was around and varied her chore time accordingly.
Perhaps he should forget about her. Let her move on and make a new and different life for herself. But that approach didn’t sit well. Callan was a pebble in his boot, annoying and impossible to ignore. Yet, unlike the pebble, alluring as well.
Finished with the pork chop, onion and mushrooms he’d fried up for dinner, Courtmicrowaved coffee left over from the morning and went out to the deck. It was cold, but he was wearing a coat, and the view was worth it.
He settled into the gliding chair that had come with the place and rested his boots up on the deck railing. A yawn overtook him and he found himself craving sleep. The early mornings were catching up to him. But at least he was learning a lot from Red about how to operate the Circle C.
What he’d been putting off, maybe out of a sense of complacency, was the business end of things. According to Red, Hawksley had paid all the bills and kept all the records in his study. If Callan got home at a decent hour, maybe he’d see about fetching them tonight.
He took another sip of coffee and sighed. The quiet out here was intoxicating. Cradling the mug between his hands, he was just nodding off when the sound of an approaching vehicle cut into the silence. He opened his eyes in time to see Callan’s blue Ford turning down the lane to the Circle C. With one long gulp he finished off the coffee and left the mug on the railing.
The cabin was just a short walk from the ranch house, through a grove of cottonwoods that offered a shield of privacy to both places. More in the summer when the leaves were on the trees but even now that they were bare, there were enough of the slender, pale trunks to block the one home from the other.
He decided to try the back door first, and shortly after he knocked Callan opened it. She was wearing a basic outfit of jeans and a sweater with her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, yet to him she was still gorgeous. She also smelled incredibly sweet and delicious.
Her first reaction was to frown at him. “What are you doing here?”
The emphasis was on the “you,” making it clear she found the surprise visit unpleasant.
“I was hoping I could take a look through Hawksley’s accounts and records. Since you told me they’re all manual, I bought a computer yesterday and an accounting software package. I figured I should transfer over the balances and get everything set up.”
While the will was in probate, Ren Fletcher’s office was overlooking the cash transactions, making sure all the necessary bills were being paid. At some point he had to be prepared to take over all of that.
“Yeah. I figured you’d want that stuff eventually. I’ve got everything ready, in boxes. You might want to get your truck.”
“Mind if I see?”
She shrugged then stepped aside for him to enter. Once he’d pulled off his boots she led him down the hallway to the office at the front end of the house. Inside were about fifteen cardboard banker boxes.
He gaped.
“Hawksley wasn’t much for throwing things away. I tried to organize the papers by year. But—” Again, she shrugged.
He reconsidered her idea of getting the truck. But if he did that, he’d have no more excuses to drop by. “Any idea which of these are most recent?”
“The dates are written on the sides of the boxes.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He waited, hoping she would offer him a drink. But no, this was Callan. Of course she wouldn’t do anything so normal and polite.
“Having second thoughts about getting the truck?”
“Nah, I’ll just take a few to get started.” He stacked 2013 on top of 2014, hen straightened. A closer look at Callan revealed a drop of something sticky and butterscotch-colored on the side of her neck. “What’s that?”
She reached for the spot he was looking at. “Oh. Must be caramel.” She licked the gooey dab from her finger.
“Let me guess. The newest perfume from Ralph Lauren?”
Her mouth twisted until she finally allowed a reluctant smile. “I’ve been helping Sage at her store. Stocking up on product for the holidays.”
“No wonder you smell so good.”
Her eyes widened. God, he loved when that happened.
“You should stop by the store sometime. I recommend the dark chocolate caramels with sea salt. But the ones with rosemary are pretty cool, too.”
“Great. I’ll take some to my folks for Thanksgiving.”
“So you’re going home for the holiday?”
Court hesitated. Strangely enough, the Circle C Ranch already felt like home to him. But he doubted Callan would appreciate that fact. “To St. Paul, yes. Just for a few days.”
“For Christmas, too?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it. Mom’s sister and her husband are coming for the entire month of December. They’ll have a full house.” And he wanted to be in his new home for Christmas and especially New Year’s Eve.“Anyway. I suppose I should get going.” He picked up the stacked boxes and carried them to the mudroom where he stopped to put on his boots. Callan opened the door for him but he paused when he saw how dark it had become.
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“No.” Even if he did, he had no free hand to hold it with.
“I can turn on the yard light, but it won’t get you all the way to the cabin. Hang on.” From the shelf that ran above a series of coat hooks on the wall, she grabbed an electric lantern. Then she slipped on her own jacket and boots.
Court hesitated, not liking the idea of a woman walking him home. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s cloudy out there. No moon or stars. Trust me, you need this.”
Without waiting for him to agree, she stepped outside and he followed. The lantern provided a wide swath of light, and Court was glad for it a few minutes later when he narrowly missed tripping over an exposed root from one of the cottonwood trees.
Overhead, he heard a flapping of wings. “Owl?” he guessed.
“Most likely.” Callan took a deep breath. “Smells like snow.”
He agreed. “I’ll bet this place looks beautiful after a fresh snowfall.”
“Yeah. But snow causes a lot of work. You have to put chains on the trucks, clear the snow from the yard and haul hay out to the cattle. They eat more when it’s cold. Then there’s making sure the water lines don’t freeze and...” Her words trailed off. “But Red will tell you all that.”
Once he reached the front door of the cabin, Callan stopped and began to turn around. Court dropped the boxes to the porch floor. “I almost forgot to tell you—Red says your father’s horse is off his feed.”
“Zorro?” Callan looked concerned. “Does Red have any idea what’s wrong?”
“No. He’s asked the vet
to stop by tomorrow.”
“I’ll go take a look at him now.”
“Red has him in the barn for the night. Let me grab a flashlight and I’ll come with you.”
“It’s not necessary.”
But this time he was the one not putting up with an argument. He stacked the boxes inside and found a torch which fortunately had working batteries. By the time he was back outside Callan was already fifty paces ahead of him and he had to hurry to catch up.
“How old is Zorro?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure. You’d have to check the stock records in Red’s office. At least twenty. Maybe closer to twenty-five.”
The horses nickered as they approached the paddocks. For once Callan didn’t stop to say hi to Montana Sapphire, instead hurrying inside. She hit the light switch for the central corridor and they left their torches by the door.
The equestrian barn, like everything on the Circle C, was well built and maintained but with no fancy extras or expensive finishes. The high ceiling was equipped with several fans to keep circulation moving and operated on a different switch from the lighting.
Zorro was in the first stall on the left. The giant gelding was lying down on his bed of wood chips but raised his head when Callan entered the stall.
“Hey, old boy. What’s going on?” She checked his food and water then crouched beside him and patted his neck, smoothing her fingers through his mane. “Not hungry huh? I wonder if you’ve been drinking. How about you stand for a bit so I can take a look at you?”
Court was amazed when Zorro responded and struggled up to his feet.
“Atta boy. You’re tired, aren’t you? Your eyes look a bit foggy. Let me see your teeth. That’s a good boy.”
Court leaned against the gate and watched, transfixed by this tender side of Callan. He’d hoped his time away from the Circle C had would help him sort out his feelings for her. This attraction was a complicating factor and he wished he could shake it.
But he couldn’t.
Instead of cooling off, he was more drawn to her than ever.
She took her time with the older horse, examining him carefully then shaking her head.
“I can’t see anything obvious that’s wrong. Hopefully the vet will figure this out. We should be monitoring his water. Do you know when his bucket was last filled?”
Court had to admit that he didn’t. Up until now he hadn’t much to do with old Zorro. Starting tomorrow, though, he was going to keep a close eye on him.
“You don’t suppose he misses Hawksley?” Court asked.
She tensed. “That could be part of the problem. Zorro is used to being ridden regularly. Someone should take him out for a bit tomorrow. That might perk him up. But I’d wait to get the go ahead from the vet, first.”
“Good idea. I’ll talk to Red about it in the morning.”
Callan stepped back from the horse and stood watching him for a bit. After a while Zorro’s head drooped. “He’s sleeping,” she said.
Court held the stall door open for her. As she passed by, he brushed woodchips off her arm. She paused and looked up at him. The sadness in her eyes made his gut ache. She had so much heart. When it came to animals, she wasn’t afraid to show it. But what about people? What about him?
He was afraid he knew the answer. In the best of circumstances, Callan would be a hard woman to win over. And he was in the very worst.
Callan didn’t sleep well that night. Worry about Zorro’s unexplained lack of appetite was part of the problem. But she also couldn’t stop thinking about Court and the way she felt when he was around. It was a weird combination of being off-balance and yet completely comfortable. The two things didn’t go together, which was what made it all so strange.
That moment when she’d been leaving Zorro’s stall and he’d touched her arm. She’d felt such an instant heat in her body. Which was crazy. He’d just been brushing off the bedding she’d picked up from Zorro’s stall.
And then there was the look she’d seen in his eyes. It had seemed as if he understood what Zorro meant to her and shared her concern for the old horse.
Which, of course, was also nuts. Court had no history with the old horse. He might care, but not to the degree that she did.
At dawn Callan dragged herself from bed. Checking out the window she saw that she’d been right about the snow. About an inch covered the tree branches and roofs of the outbuildings. And the fat, lazy flakes were still falling.
In the kitchen she made herself coffee, trying not to think about the many, many mornings she’d shared in this place, at this exact time of day, with Hawksley. It made no sense that she missed him because they’d barely said two words to each other.
But. She did.
Fortified by the coffee, she headed out to the horse barn. As she tracked through the fresh snow she noticed the light was already on inside. Expecting to see Derek, who often took care of the horses, she was surprised to find Court changing the bedding in Zorro’s stall.
“Good morning,” he said.
She glanced away, feeling a little flustered. “Did Zorro eat anything last night?”
“Afraid not. He did drink a bit of water this morning, though.”
“I’ll try mixing him some gruel.” By the time she’d heated the water and mixed in the grain, Zorro was back in his freshly cleaned stall lying down again, and the vet had arrived. Arch Landen was in his sixties, a little rough around the edges, but he knew what he was doing.
“Hey, Arch. Thanks for coming out here.”
“No problem. I’m shoeing horses for the MacCreadies later, anyway.” Arch took his vet bag into the stall and began his examination.
Too anxious to stand and watch, Callan went outside to check the water for the horses out in the paddock. A few of them were hiding out from the snow in the loafing shelter, but the majority didn’t seem to mind the turn in the weather.
Twenty minutes later, Arch called her back to the barn. Court was still there, looking concerned.
“I can’t find anything obvious. No sores in the mouth, his teeth seem good. Doesn’t seem to have any pain in the belly, or other injuries. I’ve taken some samples and we’ll run some tests. But for now I’d say try to tempt his appetite with his favorite foods, and give him some extra attention.”
It was the answer Callan had expected. There were few instant cures in animal husbandry. But she was still disappointed. Especially when Zorro refused even the gruel.
“I’ll try feed him again in a few hours,” Court said. “Maybe all this attention has made him a little tense.”
“Thank you.” As she trudged back to the house, she gave herself a lecture. She shouldn’t let herself care so much. After all, Zorro was Court’s horse now.
An hour later Callan had showered, eaten a bit of breakfast and driven to Marietta. She was glad that Sage seemed to need her help at Copper Mountain Chocolates. It was good to have a job to do every day, even if it was one she didn’t know much about.
Sage’s shop was on Main Street, but since it wouldn’t open for another hour Callan went in the back entrance. The welcoming sweet-and-rich cocoa aroma was so thick, just breathing it probably added calories. Playing softly in the background was Sage’s favorite country music station.
“I’m here,” Callan called out over Keith Urban’s cheerful, Who Wouldn’t Want To Be Me.
“Hey, Callan,” her sister answered. Sage’s beautiful red hair—which Callan had always secretly coveted, before discovering it was inherited from a Scottish sperm donor—was tied back in a tight bun and she was wearing her trademark apron. “Sure is cold this morning. Did you get snow out at the ranch?”
“A skiff, but it’s still coming.” Callan exchanged her boots and jacket for clogs and an apron, then tied up her hair and washed her hands. “Zorro is off his feed. That’s why I’m late. I stayed to hear what the vet had to say.” She didn’t mention anything about Court. He wasn’t relevant to the news.
“I wonder if he’
s missing Dad?”
Callan tried to ignore the tug Sage’s words gave to her heartstrings. Zorro was Court’s problem. Not hers. She wrapped the apron ties around her waist then glanced around. The kitchen was twice as big as the showroom out front, and looked more like an industrial factory. Sage did everything back here, from roasting and cracking the cacao beans to the final tempering and molding.
“What smells so good?”
“Orange and ginger truffles. I’m mixing up a batch now.”
“May I help?”
“I’m fine for now. But those chocolates you molded yesterday need to be packaged. Or you could chop nuts for the next batch of fruit and nut bark?”
“I’ll do the packaging first, the bark next.” Callan went to get a stack of the copper boxes.
“Thanks, Callan. This is so awesome, having your help. Especially at this time of year.”
“I’m glad to do it. So how are you feeling?”
“Ugh.” Sage made a face. “I just lost my breakfast about ten minutes ago. Who would have guessed the smell of chocolate would ever make me feel sick?”
“That is ironic. But I’m sorry you were sick. Maybe you should take a break.”
“I’m okay now. The nausea comes in waves. My doctor says it might pass altogether once I’m through the first trimester. I hope so. I can’t imagine Christmas without chocolate.” Sage put on a pair of clear plastic gloves, preparing to hand roll the truffle mixture.
“God that smells good. Can I try some?”
“Go ahead, I’d love for you to test this batch since I can’t.” She dipped a spoon into the mixture, then passed it over.
Callan placed the smooth, succulent mixture on her tongue. Immediately it began to melt and the flavors of orange, chocolate and ginger swam over her taste buds. “Yummmm.”
Sage smiled. “I’ll assume that means it passes the taste test.”
“Oh, yeah. In fact, I’d better take a box of those home with me tonight.”
“Speaking of home...how is it going living in the house alone?”
“It’s not that bad.” Which was a lie. She hated eating dinner by herself in the silent kitchen. She couldn’t turn on the TV because it made her think of Hawksley. At night she had trouble falling asleep and when she did, had awful dreams about that day on the ridge.
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