by Candis Terry
“I’ll eat anything. No dietary restrictions.” Thank God. He already maintained a fairly healthy lifestyle, but with recent events, he’d decided to step everything up a notch. After his ten days of R&R. “Whatever is served will work just fine.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, he managed to tear his eyes off Faith and look around the office. The décor delivered the predictable Texas-ranch flavor without all the hokeyness of the fictional jackalope or an armadillo-shell flowerpot.
The Texas stars and rope accents had been accentuated with the telltale signs of the impending Christmas holiday. A garland of artificial evergreen dotted with pinecones and dried berries had been draped around the reception desk, and a small statue of Old Saint Nick in Western wear sat on top of the counter. The scent of gingerbread wafted throughout the room from some kind of warming device near the miniature tree, which had been decorated with small tin stars and miniature red horseshoes.
Something sneezed, and Chase looked down to find a black-and-white cattle dog sitting at his feet. “Hey, boy.” He hunkered down to pet the dog on the head. “What’s your name?”
“That’s Doc. He’s not your typical cow dog. In fact, he’s pretty lazy. But he makes a great hiking companion if you need one.”
“Thanks. I might take him up on that.” Chase smiled, righted himself, and looked into those pretty gray eyes. “I haven’t had a dog for a long time.”
Her head went back. Just slightly. But enough to let him know she was completely surprised that he . . . what? That he’d even had a dog?
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“You just don’t seem the type.”
“What type is that?”
“A dog person.” She shoved some papers into a brochure and thrust it at him. “I mean, I know people in New York City own dogs, I just feel bad for the animals that get stuck inside a small apartment all day.”
“Nice sentiment,” he said. “But you really don’t know anything about me or where I came from, do you?” The slow Southern drawl he’d traded long ago for the brisk lingo of the East Coast wouldn’t give him away either.
When she shook her head, that long ponytail swung gently across her back. “Abby didn’t say much to my sister other than you were looking for a place to land for a few days to let the . . .”
Her hesitation piqued his interest. “Go ahead and say what you’re thinking.” As a man who loved honesty and one who was enjoying the hell out of this lively conversation, he smiled. Things here were getting more interesting by the minute.
“She said that y’all needed a place to let the stink of the city off you for a few days. Sorry.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I still haven’t learned to disengage my brain from my mouth. I get in trouble for it all the time.”
He laughed. “No need to apologize. And you’re right. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Well. Then you’ve come to the right place.” From a pegged board behind the desk, she removed a skeleton key that looked too old to open anything. Then she came around the desk and headed toward the door. “I put you up in our nicest cabin being as you’re related to a good friend.”
“I appreciate that.”
“No extra charge.”
“Appreciate that too.” Although he’d walked away from his job, he had more than enough to keep him going for several years if he chose. He could afford months of front-porch sittin’ at the Magic Box Guest Ranch. But he wasn’t about to share that bit of information with someone he’d just met.
When she grasped the handle of his suitcase, he reached out to stop her. “I can carry my own bag.”
She looked up with surprise.
Was she kidding? He might have almost died a few weeks ago, but the hell if he’d let himself be treated like some pansy-ass who couldn’t carry his own damn luggage.
“You sure?” Her head cocked just slightly, and her dark eyes took a quick trip over his body. “Most folks of your . . . status who come here expect to be given the VIP treatment.”
The diss was so slight he barely recognized it. At the same time, the snub gave him a clear indication that while the Magic Box Guest Ranch might cater to the highly paid influential type, Faith herself might very well–ironically–be a bit of a snob in that direction. If so, why didn’t she just get a job somewhere else, so she didn’t have to put up with them?
“Again, you don’t really know me or my background so . . .” He left the rest unspoken, knowing she was a smart cookie and would get his meaning.
She signaled him to follow her out the door and onto the large, covered veranda that surrounded at least three sides of the huge lodge house built from sturdy pine logs. Boughs of evergreen were starting to make an appearance within the clever assortment of Texas paraphernalia set up in niches here and there. A classic country look made all the more inviting by a long procession of rocking chairs painted in Texas flag hues of red, white, and blue.
Regardless of Faith’s obvious distaste for the Brooks Brothers set, Chase didn’t mind letting her walk ahead of him. The choice had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t know where to go and everything to do with the way her hips swayed in those skintight Wranglers.
“You’re right.” Her delayed response came as she led the way across the dry patch of earth where little puffs of dust kicked up in the wake of her boots. “I don’t know you or your background.”
Chase fought a grin at her inability to zip her lip. And he wondered how she managed to keep a job that obviously left a bitter taste in that pretty mouth.
He also noticed she didn’t apologize for her blunder.
She guided him down a gravel path beneath a canopy of the far-reaching branches of live oak. Along the path, heat-tolerant shrubs and clumps of prickly pear cacti vied for dominance.
A spiny lizard darted across their path. When most girls would have screamed, Faith merely stopped to let the small reptile pass. Impressed, Chase fondly remembered the contests he’d have with his brother Boone to see who could catch the most lizards. Once their little sister Cassidy would supervise the tail count, they’d let them all go to be caught again another day.
The memory reminded him that from the moment he’d stepped foot in the Lone Star State, revisiting his family roots during his stay would need to be addressed.
Or not.
Farther down the gravel path, Faith stepped up onto the wide porch of a small cabin that resembled an old Western saloon. The only thing missing was a pair of swinging doors and a working girl hanging on a post out front. So authentic was the aged wood building, he could almost hear someone inside tickling the ivories with a lively ragtime rendition of “Buffalo Gals.”
Faith moved aside a fencepost snowman with the toe of her boot as she stuck the skeleton key in the lock and gave it a twist. When the door swung open, she motioned for him to step inside, where the scent of warm sugar cookies greeted him. He was surprised, and delighted, to find a sizable interior with a compact kitchen, dining area, king-sized bed, and sitting area all rolled into one. In a separate room was a fully upgraded bath with a whirlpool tub and a Rainforest shower system.
The cabin décor was unquestionably Western, with red gingham curtains framing the windows with rusty horseshoe tiebacks. It had also been decked out for the holiday, with a small Christmas tree in the corner of the room that glowed with tiny white lights, plus various other holiday decorations placed in strategic locations. Even a gingham-accented garland hung across the gas fireplace mantel.
From the center of the room, Faith made a wide sweep with her hand, spouting the amenities such as air-conditioning, a microwave, and a refrigerator supplied with everything from milk, eggs, and butter, to several ramekins filled with fresh quiche. Sodas and bottled water were also provided, as well as a fully stocked bar. On the rustic kitchen table was a bowl of fresh fruit and a platter of cookies.
Hell, with everything available right here, he wouldn’t have to leave the cabin for days.
Once Faith finished her well-rehearsed spiel, she turned to him with a smile that accented those delicious dimples and handed him the key.
“It’s past suppertime,” she said, tucking both hands behind her back, which in his favor, thrust her ample bosom in his direction. “But if you’re hungry, I can rustle up something in the kitchen for you to eat.”
“I’d hate to bother you,” he said, fearing his empty stomach would growl any second. “But I haven’t had anything to eat since last night.”
“It’s no bother. Our chef, Shelby, cooked a tender pot roast today, and there’s also a fresh loaf of Ciabatta. I’d be happy to put together a couple of sandwiches and a salad and bring it out to you.”
“Have you eaten?”
She blinked. “Pardon me?”
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“No . . . uh . . . I was too busy getting everything ready for your arrival.”
“You mentioned I could either have my meals here or at the lodge house. How about I meet you there after I take a shower and freshen up a little? You know.” He flashed a smile. “To get the stink of the city off me.”
“Ssssure.” Briefly, she turned away as though something he’d said had thrown her off-balance. When she came back around, she’d rediscovered her cool and her professionalism. “Your meal will be ready whenever you are. Just come through the big double doors. The dining hall will be on your right.”
“Does the staff eat in the dining hall?”
“No. We prefer the kitchen.”
“Then I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Oh.” Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, then slowly crawled back up with a definite pull of confusion to the center of her delicate brows.
She turned to go, then abruptly stopped at the door. “I meant to apologize earlier for my careless judgment of you. I’ll admit it was quite presumptuous. But honestly, Mr. Morgan, if you choose not to be judged as one of those types of clients, you really shouldn’t show up to a cattle ranch wearing an expensive sport jacket and loafers.”
Chapter Two
SOMETIMES IT TOOK a long, hot shower to make a man feel whole again. Sometimes it took a shot of whiskey. Sometimes it took a few well-spent hours with a hot-blooded female. For a change, Chase enjoyed the long, hot shower—alone—and waived the shot of whiskey in favor of a bottle of water. Not quite the way he would have managed his time a few short weeks ago.
Although he’d made a deliberate decision to quit his job and slow the hectic pace of his life, he had no intention of becoming the guy who drank wheat-grass smoothies by choice, gave up heart-pounding sex, or refused the occasional celebratory bottle of champagne. The current situation had nothing to do with his health and everything to do with wanting to be at the top of his game when he, once again, came face-to-face with the openly opinionated Faith Walker.
During their brief conversation, she’d bested him too many times before she’d blown out of his cabin like a sexy Texas tornado and left him scratching his head. He wasn’t familiar with that concept, and he was pretty sure he didn’t favor it.
He had mastered boardroom domination. He was the fast-talking, smooth negotiator who had made billions of dollars for Brite Minds Worldwide even before he’d turned the age of thirty. He’d sweet-talked supermodels into his bed and drank beer with friends on celebrity row at the Knicks games.
So how the hell had he let one little slip of a Southern girl best him at his own game?
With any luck, dinner would prove to be highly entertaining.
He smiled as he closed the cabin door behind him without locking it. He highly doubted there was anyone for miles who’d be tempted to use their five-finger-discount skills to snatch the grinning snowman perched on his mantel. Other than his Rolex, he hadn’t brought anything of value with him. Quite the contrary. At the last minute, he’d tossed a few items from his old wardrobe in his suitcase, then wondered why he’d held on to them all these years.
Nostalgia? He wasn’t that kind of guy.
In fact, he’d been called quite the opposite on many occasions. This might run counter to some of the curious observations friends had made over the years, but the one that made him question his own heart and the reason why he hadn’t been home in well over a decade remained locked away.
Night had fallen, and the short hike beneath the canopy of live oaks revealed a pathway lit by small lanterns and tiny white lights that flickered like lightning bugs in the bordering trees and bushes. Chase didn’t think these were just Christmas decorations, but they definitely added to the mood of the impending holiday. Maybe before he’d been too wrapped up in the sexy sway of Faith’s Wranglers, but as he strolled down the path toward the big lodge house, he noticed things he hadn’t caught the first time. Or maybe Faith had just been a busy girl while he’d taken that long, hot, solitary shower.
A tractor-tire-sized evergreen wreath with red berry holly hung just below the towering peak of the barn roof. Boughs and garlands bearing pinecones and white lights decorated the archway of the veranda surrounding the lodge house. And two identical wreaths brightened the large double doors. The holiday décor didn’t have a finished feel to it. More like someone had just gotten started.
A sigh pushed from his lungs. He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to escape the whole ho-ho-ho merriment when he’d left New York. Probably he was the only one who never caught the spirit that everyone else seemed to get at this time of year. Hell, for as long as he’d lived in New York, he’d never gotten the spirit. And that was damned hard to do when the city did a hell of a job to make itself shiny and bright. But for him, the season full of cheery salutations, bright, shiny packages, eggnog, and sappy Hallmark movies only brought the painful reminder of his father’s death on that fateful Christmas morning.
He’d been eighteen at the time and home from his first year at college. His brother Boone had been in his junior year of high school. And little sister Cassidy had been a freshman. All three of them had gathered in the kitchen early to make coffee and breakfast for their parents before the traditional ripping-open-of-the-packages began. From the master bedroom their mother’s bloodcurdling scream caused Cassidy to drop the glass coffee carafe, Boone to slice his finger while chopping onions, and Chase to burn himself on the cast-iron skillet.
Like the Keystone Cops, they’d tangled up in the hallway in their rush to find the source of the problem.
But they were too late.
Sometime during the night, while Santa had been ho-ho-hoing down chimneys to deliver gifts, their father had taken his last breath. A massive coronary had claimed him at the young age of forty-two on a day that should have been a celebration.
That had been the last Christmas Chase had acknowledged the holiday. It had also been one of the very last times he’d stepped foot in the home where their beloved father had left them all behind without a last good-bye.
As Chase stepped up on the veranda and a HOME FOR CHRISTMAS doormat welcomed him, the sense of loss became overwhelming. His chest tightened, and he grabbed at the front of his shirt while he inhaled a deep breath to clear the miserable clog.
Irony was a caustic witch.
He’d loved the big, rambling, ranch-style home he’d grown up in. A home that had been decorated and filled with more love than money. The memories of those happier times were so rich and so real, he could almost reach out and touch his daddy’s face. Those recollections clung to every corner of the house, barn, and corral. Unable to face the constant reminders, he’d never gone back.
On occasion, Boone and Cassidy had come to visit him in the Big Apple, as did his mother. But it wasn’t the same. It was like their father was the glue that linked them all together.
And then his mother remarried.
It wasn’t that Chase hadn’t liked Butch Reynolds, the man his mother had married, the man just made it difficult. At first it seemed as though Butch tried too hard to step into their daddy’s shoes. Then just
as fast, Butch changed his mind and couldn’t be bothered with his new wife’s adult children. Next thing they knew, their mother had put the ranch up for sale and was moving to Dallas.
Neither Chase nor either of his siblings had wanted to see their daddy’s hard work thrown away. So between the three of them, they’d come up with the money for the down payment, and their uncle cosigned on the loan. Though Chase had paid off that loan with his first incentive bonus, he remained a silent partner in the business and accepted none of the profits. At their insistence, Boone and Cassidy continued to put his share in a savings account. Though he never thought he’d need the money, it might very well come in handy now.
Sweet was only a few hours away from Stephenville. Maybe he should forge ahead with his new lease on life with a little hometown visit.
A nice thought, but the knot wound tight in the pit of his stomach knew the truth.
He might never go back.
Wiping the soles of his shoes on the HOME FOR CHRISTMAS doormat, he knocked on the big door of the lodge house, then remembered what Faith had said about just coming in. Turning the knob, he stepped inside a huge foyer, where a piped-in George Strait singing “Winter Wonderland” and the scent of warm gingerbread cookies seemed to flow from every direction. Chase refrained from rolling his eyes at the overload of cheer.
Tail wagging, Doc met him at the door. When the Border Collie looked up with his big brown eyes, Chase knelt to give him a little attention. Apparently the dog wasn’t too shy to drop to the ground and roll to his back for a belly rub. Chase finished with a quick pat between Doc’s pointy ears, then went in search of his dinner partner.
A hotly exclaimed and very un-Christmasy F-bomb exploded above George Strait’s sleigh bells ringing. As Chase came around the dividing wall he found Faith on the very top rung of an aluminum ladder, tongue caught between her teeth, and stretching to place a punched-tin star at the top of a Christmas tree that must have been all of ten feet tall.
