If she was married, he'd made a fool of himself all night.
Was she married? She'd mentioned the wedding ring, but the way she'd looked at him, the way she’d felt in his arms on the dance floor… He'd seen through her denial to the attraction she felt.
Married women could run around. He knew that. But some sixth sense told him Delaney wasn't like that.
Or maybe that's just what he wanted to believe.
Mallory would know. She might not have an employee file on Delaney, but his sister would've done some kind of interview. She had Dad's knack for finding out all about a person.
But Mallory was nowhere to be found.
Cash sighed and started picking up the folders and papers for the second time. Wondering about Delaney didn't change what he needed to do.
As he cleaned up after himself, he swept his hand across the plush carpet, being sure to cover every inch of the floor, even under the desk.
Make things right. He could almost hear Dad's voice.
Delaney had lost something precious to her somewhere in this room. Or somewhere in the house. And he was determined to find it.
Delaney stuck the last piece of tape to the last present and pushed the gift beneath the tree. She sat at the foot of the colorfully-lighted tree. It was so late—or early, rather—that her eyes were crossing with exhaustion.
Sitting beneath the tree that was so much smaller than the one in the Trudeau's ballroom made her feel like it was a Charlie Brown tree.
It wasn't. It was a decently full fir that she'd bought from the stock in the grocery store parking lot. Evan had loved it. They'd spent an entire afternoon stringing lights and decorating it. It smelled just as heavenly as a rich person's tree!
She was just being maudlin. Christmas Eve did that to her. At least, it had done so the last three years. First losing Jonah, then Evan's diagnosis and fight with cancer.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes.
She couldn't stop thinking about Cash. The way he'd looked at her when he'd held her on the dance floor.
And the way the light in his eyes had died in those last few seconds, when she'd told him her identity, why she'd come.
It shouldn't matter.
But somehow, it did.
With a sigh, she stood. Her flannel pajama pants were so worn that the pattern had faded. But they were comfortable. The sweatshirt she'd thrown over her T-shirt was warm enough. She quickly put away the extra wrapping paper and tape and scissors, then snuck to nine-year-old Evan's doorway to peek inside.
She'd developed the habit when he'd been on his first round of chemo. She'd had an intense, urgent need to check on him before she went to bed. Sometimes her worry would wake her in the middle of the night, and she'd sneak into his room to check his breathing.
He'd thrown off the covers from his top half. His pajama shirt had ridden up to show a slice of concave belly. One arm was thrown above his head on the pillow, his expression peaceful in sleep.
She loved him. And oh, how it hurt to watch him go through the illness and the treatments.
For a few moments tonight, she'd let her worries for her son float away on a cloud of imagination. In Cash's arms, she could've been a rancher's daughter, a princess. Someone whose only worry had been what to wear to the party.
Cash's shoulders were wide enough to bear her worries.
The random thought snuck in, and Delaney blinked at her brain's audacity.
The man might've thought he’d been attracted to her before her big reveal, but not now.
She and Evan were on their own. Besides, she didn't need anyone to lean on. She had a good-as-gold best friend in Sierra. And she had herself.
But oh, for a few minutes, she'd wanted...
Cash.
She blinked away the traitorous thoughts and the hot emotion they brought and tiptoed into Evan's room.
She shouldn't, but she climbed into the narrow twin bed anyway, nudging Evan slightly so she didn't fall off the edge. Her son murmured incoherently and rolled to his side, leaving her room to snuggle.
He was probably too big for this, but her mama's heart had been through so much this year. It couldn't be wrong to hold her son close, not when she'd come so close to losing him.
Exhaustion weighted down her bones, but with thoughts of the rancher running through her brain, it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Chapter 5
Just after dawn, Cash's butt was frozen to the Double Cross's utility vehicle bench seat, but he'd made it. He shut off the ignition, the engine ticking in the snow-covered drive in front of the tiny bungalow on the edge of town. Delaney's place.
Covered in snow, it was impossible to tell the state of her yard. The house could use a new coat of paint—but so could two or three others along this street. In the drive, her little compact car was covered in a blanket of snow.
His face was numb.
Technically, the UTV wasn't street-legal. But after a middle-of-the-night rescue of his sister when the farm truck had spun into the ditch, he'd figured the UTV with its huge all-terrain tires was safer than his two-ton truck. Even if it was freezing in the open-air cab.
The sun had just broken the horizon, and the snow had finally stopped.
After he'd delivered Mallory and Mav to the ranch house, he'd set his friend straight about his feelings for Mallory and then watched from a shadowed hallway as Mav had woken Mallory from beneath the Christmas tree with a kiss. He'd walked away before he could hear any private declarations. Mallory could tell him later.
Seeing Mav find the guts to finally claim happiness was like a kick in the pants.
Make things right.
He would.
And if there were any chance he hadn't killed Delaney's attraction by his callous actions, he was going to find out.
First, he had to unstick his hands from the UTV's steering wheel. He flexed his fingers. Even though he’d worn two layers of gloves, his joints were stiff from the cold.
He got out of the UTV hunched over like an old man. It took an embarrassing amount of time to straighten to his full height. He stomped his feet on the squeaky, packed snow, then made his way toward the two steps and the bungalow's front door.
He caught sight of his reflection in the big, square front window. He looked like a mummy. He wore two woolen hats pulled low, a scarf wound around his head, and the bulky coveralls he'd donned over everything else.
He was hoping for a warm reception, but if things went sour, he hoped Delaney would at least let him warm up for a few minutes before she sent him back into the cold.
Nothing was moving this early on Christmas morning. No movement down the entire street. He was the only person crazy enough to be out.
Maybe crazy in love, if Dad was right.
He stood on the stoop, arm raised to knock.
Was this asking for trouble? He didn't know. But he couldn't stop now.
He tapped on the door.
It took long enough for her to answer that he got even more jittery. He felt as if he'd had two too many cups of coffee.
Then the door cracked open, and Delaney peered out. Her bangs were down in her eyes, her face pink and her hair mussed as if she'd been asleep. She wore a faded sweatshirt over equally faded pajama pants.
"Yes?" she asked cautiously.
"Morning."
Her brows bunched together. "Cash?"
He was so bundled up she couldn't identify him.
He reached up and tugged the scarf down so she could see his nose and mouth. "Merry Christmas."
She still held the door mostly closed and now glanced over her shoulder quickly, then back. Spoke softly. "What are you doing here?"
His heart sank. Clearly, someone was inside. The husband?
He kept his voice low, too. "I won't stay long. Brought you something."
He used one gloved hand to pull the other glove off. His hand was shaking from the cold.
Delaney noticed. She peered over his shoulder. "You dr
ove that thing all the way here?"
"Safer than my truck. Just a little colder."
And his mission was important.
She bit her lip, glanced over her shoulder again, and then motioned him inside.
He stepped far enough in for her to close the door. He fumbled the zipper at his neck, finally catching hold of it and pulling it down far enough to get his hand into his breast pocket. It took about that long for his eyes to adjust to the interior of her house after being out in the blinding snow.
He came up with the wedding ring. A simple gold band with one square-cut diamond.
"Found this and wanted to get it back to you."
Emotion moved through her eyes. She'd kept distance between them, moving away when he'd come in. Now she reached out and took it. Her fingers held a welcome heat, and he saw her flinch at his cold skin.
That was it. He should turn around and go home.
But his feet seemed rooted to the floor.
She stared at the ring, looked up at him. "You found it?"
"Yeah." Wedged beneath a corner of the desk, where it must've fallen when she'd been trying to pick up his fallen papers. He'd combed the entire office using the flashlight on his phone before he'd caught the glint of light off the band.
She didn't need to know all that.
"Thank you," she whispered. But instead of putting the ring on her left hand, she put it on her right. Why?
Was it possible she wasn't married? But why would she have the ring?
She avoided his eyes, and he imagined that flush spreading across her collarbone.
"Delaney—"
The words to ask were on the tip of his tongue when movement from across the room interrupted him. He turned toward an archway that must lead to the bedrooms.
"Mom?"
Mom.
A boy of about seven in green-and-red plaid pajamas entered the living room. He beelined toward Delaney.
She had a kid. A son.
Heart pounding, Cash realized he'd interrupted their Christmas morning. The tree was lit, presents still underneath. He should go.
The boy came to Delaney, and she lifted her arm to hug his shoulders, pulling him to her side.
He had bright blue eyes, a match for his mom's. His shoulders seemed small and knobby beneath the pajama shirt.
His hair was cropped close to his head. This near, Cash could see it wasn't by choice. His hair was patchy in a way he recognized from visiting a buddy who'd fought and lost a battle with leukemia.
Delaney's son had cancer.
Delaney watched the realization enter Cash's eyes.
Her breath caught in her chest. So many times acquaintances, even kids from church, offered innocent comments that were painful for Evan to hear. What’s wrong with him? Is he going to die? My grandma had cancer and died...
Would Cash?
She was still reeling from his presence. She should take control of the conversation, ask him to leave, but she felt muddled by the shock of seeing him bundled up, the touch of his icy hand. He'd come all this way in a ranch UTV to deliver her ring.
Her heart was pounding and buzzing, while he seemed totally calm.
"Who's this?" he asked with that easy charm.
She couldn't let her guard down. His next question might be about Evan's health.
"This is my son, Evan."
Evan looked up at the man curiously.
"I'm Cash." He didn't add anything like I'm a friend of your mom's.
He'd been quietly serious since she'd opened the door, caution in his eyes.
And something that her heart wanted to believe was hope.
Danger, Will Robinson!
Cash shifted his feet. "I've probably interrupted your Christmas morning for long enough."
"We have Christmas pancakes," Evan blurted.
Where had that come from? Evan didn't usually warm up to strangers. He was shy until he got to know a person.
Evan glanced at her, a question in his eyes.
Sometimes, her son was too perceptive for his own good.
"You should stay and eat. Warm up before you go back outside." She made the offer tentatively. Did she want Cash to stay? She didn't know. But based on the half-second touch she'd shared, he must be freezing through.
Cash cleared his throat. "I don't want to cause any problems." He looked down at his feet—or where his feet would've been out of the massive coveralls. "With your husband."
"My dad died," Evan said.
Heat filled her chest. Thank you, Evan, for blurting it out like that.
Cash didn't smile like she might've expected last night. His eyes were shadowed. "I'm sorry." There was a pause, and then Cash said quietly, "My mom and dad died last year."
"That sucks," Evan said with a child's honesty.
"Yeah." Cash blew out a long breath, and she swallowed hard at the vulnerability he was showing.
This wasn't the Cash she'd seen yesterday afternoon. Nor the one last night who'd looked at her with such intensity.
Last night she'd been charmed. But now... she felt weak in the knees.
"Come in," she said softly.
"Let me..." He gestured to his coveralls.
She let go of Evan and turned for the kitchen, leaving Cash to take off his layers.
Evan loitered, not hiding the fact that he was watching.
"You've got a lot of clothes on," she heard her son say as she crossed to the kitchen and breakfast nook off the living room.
"It's cold outside," Cash said. Her ears hurt from how closely she listened for any sign of impatience. None came. "Your mom gonna let you go out and build a snowman later?"
"A snow fort!"
"I said you could go out for a little while," she called over her shoulder as she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. She'd had the pancake batter mixed and ready when Cash had knocked. He was a big man. Pancakes wouldn't be enough.
"Mom, if you help, I know we can make a fort."
Cash followed her son into the kitchen in his sock feet. In his jeans and a flannel shirt, she couldn't help wondering, was this the real Cash? Or was it the tuxedo-clad man from last night?
The man was grinning. "Yeah, Mom. You should definitely help."
She faked a whole-body shiver as she lit two burners on the gas stovetop. "I think I'll watch from in here, where it's warm."
"Aw, Mom," Evan mock grumbled. "What about Timmy, from down the street? He could come help me."
"He had a cold two days ago. I don't think it's a good idea."
She didn't have to look over her shoulder to see the dejected slump of Evan's shoulders.
"Can you set the table, please?" She cracked several eggs into a skillet.
Cash said something in a low voice that she didn't catch.
"I can't be around people who are sick," Evan said in his matter-of-fact way. She heard the rattle of the silverware drawer. "My immune system is compromised because of chemo. Sometimes I can't go to school."
She turned, spatula in hand, ready to protect her son if Cash said one thing out of line.
But the rancher wore an expression of compassion. He held out one hand for the tableware. "That sucks," he said, echoing Evan's earlier words.
"Yeah." Evan went to the kitchen island where she'd set out plates earlier. She grabbed an extra from the upper cabinet and handed it to him.
"I'm rusty, but I used to build top notch forts when I was a kid."
Evan's head came up at Cash's words. "Do you think you could—?"
"Evan," she interrupted.
Both males looked at her, Cash looking slightly chagrined.
"I'm sure Cash has other places to get to today," she said.
Evan's excitement died, and she couldn't quite meet Cash's eyes. "Plus, we still have to open presents."
"Oh, yeah!" Evan bounced on his chair. "How could I forget about presents?"
She felt Cash's stare as she turned to flip the pancakes on the griddle and give the eggs a stir.
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She didn't know what she was doing. Cash had her all discombobulated. Surely he was heading home after breakfast, right? He probably had plans with his sister, and they probably had friends or extended family...
She wouldn't count on him sticking around, not after how she'd treated him last night.
"What do you think Santa brought you?" Cash asked.
She heard Evan's scoff. "Santa's not real. I've known for a while."
A backward glance revealed Cash's narrowed eyes. "How old are you?"
"Almost ten. How old are you?"
She caught the quickly-masked expression of surprise before she turned back to breakfast.
"I'm thirty-one," Cash said.
"That's pretty old."
She couldn't stop the twitch of her lips.
"It's not that old," Cash said. Then, "I know you're smiling over there."
Her smile grew wider, but she didn't turn around to let him see.
She plated the last two pancakes and grabbed the bowl of scrambled eggs.
"Mom's twenty-eight," Evan said.
"Hey!" Heat spread across her chest again as she moved to the table. She didn't catch Cash's eye as she put the food on the table.
Evan had slid into the seat behind the table, which left her the outside seat. It would be a tight fit at the nook table.
She hadn't thought this through, because Cash's mere size dwarfed their tiny table. Once she sat, she'd practically be in his lap.
"Coffee," she blurted to cover her sudden panic.
She whirled for the upper cabinets, glad she'd put on a pot when she'd snuck in earlier to make the pancake batter.
"Black's fine," Cash said.
She nodded, kept her eyes on her task.
She was making a fool out of herself. She hadn't had a man in her kitchen since Jonah. And Cash was... very much not Jonah. Where her husband had been laid back, mellow, Cash had only to look at her and she felt intensity radiating off of him. This was a man who made his own rules.
The Rancher’s Unexpected Gift: Snowbound in Sawyer Creek Page 4
