“I was told dinner was at one sharp.”
“My advice is don’t be late. You’ve met Harry.” The Carson housekeeper, Harriet Armstrong, was a legendary cook, but also an unstoppable force of nature. All three of the Carson sons considered her a second mother. “If you’re late, you get to do all the dishes. Take it from someone who has made that unfortunate mistake. I’m habitually running behind, but not if Harry is involved. I toe the line around her.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be prompt. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.”
She glanced at the time display. “Today, actually. I’d apologize for dragging you out so late, but I happen to know you’re also a night owl. I just forget what time it is. A personal flaw.”
“You can get a lot done when it’s quiet and your phone isn’t beeping, and no one is sending emails.”
“You emailed me at two in the morning.”
“I didn’t expect you’d be awake.”
“I certainly didn’t expect to get an email from you, either. Slater had some part in that, didn’t he? I know you’ve never asked me for my email address.”
“I asked if he thought you’d be interested. He said you were definitely a woman who made her own decisions, but if an animation film fell into your lap, you might jump on the idea.”
“I see.”
“There’s a firm rule in business. It never hurts to make a proposition.”
“Just in business?” She raised her brows, knowing it was probably more than a little dangerous to flirt with this man, but somehow unable to stop herself.
“Timing is everything.”
At least he was reading the signals with unerring accuracy. She wasn’t ready for a holiday romance when he would just get on a plane afterward and head back to California.
He wasn’t serious, she told herself; he was just casually interested. She’d run across that before. Careless bachelors that came around, most of them shying away when they discovered she had a daughter, but Mick knew about Daisy already so she wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted.
Mustang Creek definitely looked festive, with the streetlights adorned with wreaths and holiday lights strung in the windows of the closed shops. The streets were utterly deserted and no doubt everyone was snug in their beds. Her eclectic tree looked good from the street, she noticed as she pulled into the driveway. At the sound of the car, an indignant furry face appeared in the window, Mr. Bojangles monitoring—as always—her every move.
Had to love that cat. He was spoiled since she worked at home, but they were definite roomies.
“I think someone believes you’ve been out past your curfew,” Mick said with a laugh. “He probably scared Santa Claus half to death while we were gone when Santa tried to put presents under the tree.”
“Jangles wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just looks fearsome.” She’d invite him in, but it really was late, and he still had to drive to the resort.
“I won’t argue that point.” Mick studied her for a moment, as if reading her mind. “I had a very nice evening. Thanks again for the burgers and ice cream, and for introducing me to Big Jake. See you later today.”
He walked her to the door and then everything changed. “By the way, nice kiss earlier but I think maybe we could go it one better.” His dark eyes really could smolder, and she’d thought that was just a creative myth.
It was irrefutable that his kiss was more memorable than her brief impulsive peck back in the cabin. He was really good at it too, but then again, he was probably good at just about everything.
However, he seemed almost more off balance than she was when he finally let her go. He left without a word, getting swiftly into his rental car and backing out of the driveway, and she was almost amused as she watched him drive off. Raine went inside and sat down on the couch, Jangles immediately snuggling close. She remembered the piece of paper that she’d absently picked up in the cabin, and retrieved it from her pocket, wondering what it would say.
It was the end of a chapter.
The old man tentatively approved of the greenhorn, though he wasn’t sure city folks were quite his type. Maybe he had real promise.
Raine laughed and scratched under the cat’s chin. “You see,” she whispered, “I knew Grandpa liked him.”
5
FOR GIFTS, RYDER had been easy. Mick had once been a teenaged boy, so he had a fair idea of what they liked, but times changed. He’d opted for a gift card to a very popular online store.
Daisy had been more of a challenge.
He really knew nothing about a girl her age, and his childless sister-in-law was no help. In the end, he’d asked his mother’s opinion.
“A purse,” she announced promptly. “I have plenty of friends with granddaughters, not that I have any yet, so I will ask what brands are popular right now.”
He ignored the implied criticism. “I’d appreciate it, but I can’t pick out a purse.”
“Sure you can. You have wonderful taste.”
Well, he had asked, he thought as the call ended. The idea was better than nothing, which was all he’d had before. So he’d gone into the closest trendy store and asked the young clerk if she was Daisy’s age what she might want. Directly she went to a rack, selected a purse he would never have picked out in a million years, and handed it over. “She’ll faint over this,” she informed him. “If we hadn’t gotten a shipment in today we wouldn’t have it on the shelf.”
He took her word for it and had it gift-wrapped, along with some nail polish the knowledgeable clerk promised with a dimpled smile was popular with girls Daisy’s age. For Blythe, a small Victorian tabletop greenhouse because she was the ultimate gardener, and for Harry, who always had a cup around as far as he could tell, a genuine English antique tea set. Grace and Luce were getting robes his sister-in-law swore by, since she claimed they were just the right weight, yet warm and cozy, and the Carson men were getting handmade leather gloves.
Raine had taken some thought. He wasn’t trying to impress her; he was trying to show he was thoughtful enough to understand what she might like. In the end he’d stumbled upon the perfect gift—or he hoped it was, anyway. He’d found an obscure but original print of the infamous Sirens luring sailors to their demise when he was recently in Athens, the color faded because he had no idea how to date it. But the detail was so beautiful he thought she’d love it. He’d had it framed, and after seeing her house, he was sure it would fit right in. He’d liked her imaginative décor.
Packing up the gifts he’d had shipped to the hotel, Mick got in the rental car, checked his phone one last time, and shut it off. It was Christmas Day. London was hours different, his mother was in New York so he’d call her later, and no one else needed to talk to him in Wyoming.
The resort really was quiet, but Mick noticed the bar was full as he walked past, and there were a lot of skis in the lobby propped against the wall and a fire going in the giant stone fireplace. It made him reflect on how the season was celebrated, and if one person wanted to sit by a fire and another wanted to brave the slopes because the powder was perfect, that was the quintessential to-each-his-own. Both of those sounded pretty good to him, depending on the company. The Alps at Christmas that year he was sixteen had been an experience, but he preferred this homey atmosphere hands down.
He was very much looking forward to the company he would be in today.
The Carson ranch looked festive as he pulled up, the veranda of the big house decorated with twinkling lights and a garland, and there were two small trees complete with ornaments on either side of the doors. The row of cars spoke of a gathering in progress.
It was overcast and a few flakes floated down, landing on his shoulders and hair as he walked up the steps. Blythe answered the door, her smile gracious. “Mick, Merry Christmas. It’s so good to see you.”
“And you. I hope I’m not late.”
“The fear-of-Harry factor is a powerful thing.” Blythe took his coat. “You come bearing gifts. How nice of you. We were just about to start the gift exchange. Brace yourself for the usual male Carson competition. They are ridiculous. It isn’t a monetary thing at all, it’s just their nature. They have a built-in need to outdo each other whether it’s through throwing a rope on a horse or buying a toy for a child.”
“Hopefully I’ll be a contender, since I made a few educated guesses.” He stepped farther into the foyer. “But I make no promises.”
As it turned out, he won the competition.
At least with Daisy. The purse was a leaping-up-and-down hit. She gasped as she opened the package and came over and gave Mick an exuberant hug, clinging to that purse like it was made of pure gold.
He made a mental note to thank his mother later.
Grace poked him in the shoulder with an accusing finger. “How’d you manage to find that? I tried to order one online three months ago. I’m still on a waiting list.”
Raine studied him, clearly equal parts intrigued and annoyed. “Four months ago for me. Stop showing off, Branson.” She wore dark jeans and a yellow top that brought out the gold in her eyes, and looked delicious against the sweep of her hair at her shoulders.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you that all I had to do was walk into a store and there it was.” He grinned as he sat back carelessly in his comfortable chair and took a sip of the smooth merlot Blythe had handed him. He had to admit that the spirited gift exchange had been much preferable to the stuffy country club dining room where he usually spent his holiday.
Both women glared at him.
Slater told him flat-out that if he would give up his shopping secrets, they’d be friends for life. “I don’t think her first car is going to make her as happy as that purse did.”
“I thought we already were friends for life.” Mick was going to go back and give the clerk the bonus of her life. The joy of giving was defined by Daisy’s excited smile.
Slater acknowledged that with a nod of his head and a chuckle. “At least you beat out my brothers. For that, I’ll forgive you. They would create a favorite uncle pendant and ride around an arena brandishing it until next year. Boys are simple. Give them a video game or some sports equipment and you’re good to go. If Grace has a girl this time, the games will begin again. If Luce has a girl there might be an amusement park in the front yard with spinning teacups and a roller coaster.”
Mick could envision it. “A unique addition to a working ranch. And maybe worth a brand-new documentary on how fatherhood can soften even the toughest cowboy.”
“What can I say? We like to please our ladies.”
“Having gotten to know your ladies pretty well recently, I can’t say I blame you.”
Slater caught his eyes drifting to Raine and said neutrally, “My wife didn’t tell me until this morning you’d be here, but she was all too delighted to tell me about your Christmas Eve dinner plans. So how’d last night go?”
“Well. I told Raine about the animated film. She seems interested.”
Slater rubbed his jaw and laughed. “Not quite what I was asking, but that’s good.”
“She also showed me her grandfather’s cabin. I can’t believe she’s related to Matthew Brighton. I’ve been thinking about buying property here, but it was pitch-dark so I couldn’t get a feel for the view or anything else. You know the territory. Give me your opinion.”
“That’s so Raine. She took you there on a snowy Christmas Eve when there isn’t even a real road to the place? You two could have easily gotten stuck there.”
Mick couldn’t help it. “That would have been just fine with me.”
“So I gathered,” Slater said drily. “As for the property, it’s a wonderful piece of land but you can’t run cattle there, it needs a road, there’s no electricity, and that old cabin is supposed to be haunted now. That’s nonsense I usually don’t believe in, but I was up there once because Raine asked me to check on it and I’ll be damned if I didn’t hear someone say in a deep male voice: Howdy, Slater. I knew I was alone, so I about jumped out of my skin.” He shook his head, chuckling at himself. “On the positive side, that lake is so scenic you could make a fortune just selling postcards and the view of the mountains just can’t be beat. You’d wake up to bears and elk wandering past the decaying front porch, but when it comes to peace and quiet, if that’s what you’re after, you’d have it in spades.”
Mick refrained from mentioning the sudden breeze that had swept through the cabin last night. He was also a skeptic but that had been an odd moment. He took a sip of wine and studied his glass thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’d mind sitting on a porch with a cup of coffee in the morning and waving hello to a bear. I’d build a house with all the modern amenities, but the cabin would stay.”
“That would make Raine really happy, but I think you just did anyway.” Slater pointed.
She’d unwrapped the illustration and her rapt attention was emphasized by the reverence with which she ran a finger over the glass, tracing an outline of one of the figures. Raine was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the enormous tree. She looked over at him. “Mick, where did you get this?”
“Santorini. I was in Athens on business. I couldn’t skip a tour of the island while I was already in Greece.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
He held her gaze for a beat. “Maybe that’s why I thought of you.”
* * *
Well done.
Raine was fairly sure that smooth compliment was overheard by almost everyone in the room. If nothing else, Mick Branson had style down pat.
It was unsettling to be under the Carson microscope at this particular moment. She was grateful for the extended family for both her daughter and herself, but the scrutiny that accompanied it was a bit much. Slater was fine, they’d come to an understanding a long time ago, and she was genuinely happy he was married to Grace. She loved Drake, Mace and their wives as well, but she wished they’d focus on their own gifts right now.
Instead, all eyes were on her and Mick.
She was keenly aware of it, and so was he from his expression.
The framed print he’d given her was simply priceless. No matter what he’d spent—and she didn’t want to think about what it had probably cost him—it was the fact that he’d seemed to know exactly what she’d love that moved her the most. She figured she could forgive him the purse triumph. She was touched he’d thought of Daisy at all.
Both gifts were the perfect choice.
The same was true for what he’d selected for Ryder, and everyone else; he’d clearly put some time into it, and no small amount of thought.
No one had ever managed to gain her attention in quite this way. It wasn’t his money. She was fine all on her own. For that matter, if money was a draw for her, she’d have married Slater all those years ago when he asked.
Mick had read her grandfather’s books. He could easily name his favorite, and since it was hers, too, well...
A small voice in her head said: Watch yourself, McCall.
“And now yours.” She took a box from under the tree, wading through the sea of wrapping paper. Drake and Mace were supposed to be keeping up with gathering the discarded colorful paper and putting it into bags as each gift was eagerly unwrapped, but there was quite the crowd, a ridiculous amount of gifts, especially for the kids, and they’d finally looked at each other and declared jointly they’d pick it up afterward.
“Mine?” Mick raised his brows. “You didn’t have a lot of shopping time.”
“I didn’t need it.” She perched on the edge of his chair, sharing it with him. She wanted to see his expression when he opened it.
Delilah, Ryder’s little long-haired mutt, had taken a shine
to Mick and was currently draped over his expensive shoe and his gentle attempts to dislodge her merely made her wag her floppy tail, so he’d evidently resigned himself to her adoration and the amount of hair being deposited on his tailored pants. Samson was having a ball attacking discarded wads of paper, while Drake’s two well-behaved German shepherds watched with superior resignation, as if inwardly they were shaking their heads. Blythe’s cat was used to the turmoil enough to doze on the top on the couch, having an afternoon siesta.
A man like Mick Branson probably thought he was having Christmas at a zoo. He accepted the box with a look of protest. “You didn’t have to—”
“Give? None of us have to, we want to. Now open it.”
He obligingly tore open the paper and lifted the lid on the box. His expression went from curious to stunned. “You’re kidding. An original manuscript? I don’t recognize the title.”
“It’s never been published,” she explained as he stared at the manuscript, reverently touching the title page. “Grandpa started it right before he died. The Aspen Trail was something he thought about for a long time, one of the books that run circles in your head, he told me once. He still used that old typewriter, so you’ll find some penciled-in corrections.”
He tore his gaze away from it to look at her. “You can’t give me this. It’s probably worth a small fortune.”
“I just did. But, well, it comes with a catch.”
“What?” He was understandably wary.
“Could you maybe finish it?”
“What?”
“Read it. I want to know what happens next.”
“I can’t possibly—”
“Put that English minor to good use. You said you have imagination. So prove it.”
Harry emerged from the kitchen right then and saved Mick by making the grand announcement. “Okay, ladies and gents, it’s time.”
A Snow Country Christmas Page 5
