His Holiday Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “Are you kidding? I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face out there. I’m glad the cattle are safe. The good thing about this storm is the rustlers aren’t likely to come back. At least, not right away.” She wondered if they had gotten away with any livestock and, if so, how many. Remembering the mix of brands, she knew it would take time to sort out.

  “Dad said the new sheriff is all right.” Addy swung her legs over the arm of the chair. “That’s good.”

  “He is all right.” Handsome. Surprising. Interesting. All of that had nothing to do with Ford Sherman’s lawman skills and everything to do with the man.

  He’s the sheriff, Autumn. You have to think of him that way and no other.

  Boots stomped on the porch, the back door opened with a bang as the wind caught it and a cold gust blew through the house. Dad’s low baritone mixed in conversation with another man’s. She would know that voice anywhere. It came as if in her dreams, sharp and crisp and clearer than all others. Ford Sherman strode into the room with snow dappling his dark hair and his face flushed from the cold. Not many men could hold their own alongside her dad, but Ford did. He was just as strong, just as tall, just as impressive. Integrity radiated from him.

  “Stay for grub, Sherman,” her dad offered as he accepted one of the full coffee cups Rori handed out. “We’ve got plenty, and as your nose is probably telling you, it’s tasty. We’ve got the best cook this side of White Horse County.”

  Autumn held her breath. Would he stay? Would she be forced to sit across the kitchen table from him? Somewhere deep inside she wanted him to, but that was craziness. Idiotic. Inviting certain disaster. Please say no, she wished.

  His gaze met hers across the length of the room. In the background she vaguely heard Rori’s cheerful answer. “Oh, I’m not that good of a cook. You’re a sweet-talker, Frank Granger.”

  “Sure I am,” Dad quipped. “Guilty as charged. But you’re about to become my daughter-in-law. I had better talk you up. You’re family, girl. The wedding just makes it official.”

  The wedding. Ford did not blink, his gaze did not flicker, but she could hear his question as clearly as if he’d asked it with words instead of the arch of one eyebrow. She felt a tug at her heartstrings, a pull of emotions she could not give in to.

  She shook her head slightly. No, she could not go out with him. She didn’t mind if he was able to read her regret. There were days she wished she were someone different, too—a girl who felt at ease in a dress and heels, who was more comfortable handling a mixer than a revolver, who could stuff a turkey with more pizzazz than she could rope a running calf. But she wasn’t. Ford Sherman didn’t know that about her yet, and that’s the way she wanted it.

  Disappointment crept into his eyes. His arched brow relaxed. The corners of his mouth turned down. As if he’d taken a punch, he let out a breath. Had she hurt him? She feared she had as he straightened his shoulders, drew up his chest and gave her a shrug. No big deal, he seemed to say, but the shadow in his gaze said differently.

  “No, Granger, thanks, but I’d better get to town while the roads are still passable.”

  “Then how about some coffee and food to go? Would that be any trouble, Rori?” Dad asked.

  “Already working on it.” The sounds of the oven opening, the quiet thunk of a travel mug hitting the counter, the splashing of coffee into the mug, the rustle of tinfoil and the pleasant murmur of conversation faded into the background.

  Autumn stared down into her cup, inexplicably mixed up inside. She had done the right thing. Go out with Ford Sherman? That would be a mistake of gargantuan proportion. So what if she liked the guy? Ford was likeable. Denny Jones had been, too. Best not to open herself up to that again.

  “I’ll let you know when I know more,” Ford said on his way out the door.

  “I sure appreciate that, Sheriff.” Dad walked him out, their voices echoing in the mudroom. A cold gust of wind hurled through the house, the door whooshed shut and Ford was gone.

  She must be starting to thaw because she could feel the fire. Suddenly her shirt and jeans were burning hot, so she turned around to warm her front, glad that it served another purpose. No one in her family could notice the sadness shadowing her. No one could guess that she wished things between her and Ford could have gone another way.

  Chapter Six

  Cady Winslow stood at her kitchen window and watched the snow drive down like debris from a tornado. Not that she’d ever been in a tornado or seen one, but neither had she ever been in anything like this. Living in Wyoming was a definite change from her old life in Manhattan, but she was finding it exciting. Even her first blizzard. White was all she could see—white wind, white snow, white fury and the rest of the world had disappeared.

  Lord, please look after anyone caught out in that storm. She thought of her neighbors down the road, elderly Mr. and Mrs. Plum, who might have a hard time coping with this weather, and wondered if they were all right. It was Saturday morning, so the carpenters and subs wouldn’t be braving these treacherous conditions to work on the punch list of the beautiful old lodge she was renovating. She hoped Tim Junior, her contractor, and his workers were all safe and snug in their homes. How anyone could even drive in this storm was a mystery.

  Which meant she wouldn’t be going out to the Grangers today. Disappointment wrapped around her. Autumn had already called to reschedule. Cady sighed, pushed way from the windowsill and grabbed a clean ceramic mug from the top rack of the dishwasher. It was ridiculous to feel this way. She poured fresh coffee, shaking her head at herself. She was being silly. She would be just fine staying home for the day. So, she missed a riding lesson. Misty, her beautiful mare, wasn’t going anywhere. She was well cared for and out of the conditions in a roomy corner stall on the Granger ranch. There was no crisis and certainly no need to be upset.

  You know the real reason you’re down, Cady, and it has nothing to do with a riding lesson and everything to do with Autumn’s father. She crossed the kitchen, sighing at herself, the sound lonely in the small room. She was sweet on rugged Frank Granger. While he was never anything more than courteous to her, she always found herself watching for him during her riding lessons.

  Completely foolish because she was too old for wishes. She’d turned fifty last May, and standing squarely in midlife, she had to face facts. Fairy-tale love only happened to the young. There wasn’t a single storybook tale about a fifty-year-old Cinderella. She was a practical woman. At her age she wasn’t about to turn any man’s head. But did that stop her from wishing Frank would notice her?

  Not a chance.

  The fire in the living-room hearth snapped and popped, getting her attention. The dancing flames were amazing to watch. Wonderful, radiant heat chased away every chill from the floorboards as she padded around the couch to check on any stray embers. Nothing smoked on the area rug she’d laid down in the sitting area. The house was too quiet again. That was the thing she disliked most about being alone, so she grabbed the TV remote. Only a blank screen showed, along with a message that the receiver was searching for information. She clicked it off. The satellite dish must be completely buried.

  Oh, well. Maybe she would read. The phone rang, stopping her from grabbing her book. She retraced her steps to the coffee table, scooped up the cordless and smiled, recognizing the long-distance number. An old family friend. “Hi, Adam.”

  “Just saw a national weather report.” Dr. Adam Stone sounded the same as he had since his wife left him a few years ago, subdued and serious. Always serious. He’d had a tendency to be somber. She knew because she’d babysat him when he was a toddler and she was fifteen. “They say you’re in the middle of a blizzard.”

  “They are right. I can’t see two feet out my windows.”

  “I got worried about you, so I called. You still don’t regret leaving it all behind to move to Wyoming?” Leave it to Adam to phrase the question that way. He was a glass-is-half-empty kind of man.

  “I can’t say I
haven’t had my doubts. When a herd of cattle got out the other day and blocked the road to my inn and the delivery of the new heating system, I began to second-guess myself.” She took her coffee cup and the phone and sank into her favorite overstuffed chair. She moved her copy of Persuasion onto the coffee table and draped her legs over one well-cushioned arm.

  “A herd of cattle? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that before.” Adam’s voice smiled. “You sound good, Cady. You sound happy.”

  “I am. I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been. I’ve made a lot of new friends. The people here are solid and kind, and the landscape—gorgeous.”

  “I admire you. A lot of people dream of it, plan for it one day, but they never do it. You did.”

  Was that a hint of wistfulness she heard in Adam’s voice? She’d never heard such a thing before. He was a deeply practical cardiologist. “How are things going with you, Adam?” Time to turn the tables. Maybe she could get him to open up this time. “How are my goddaughters?”

  “The same.”

  His standard answer. She rolled her eyes, sipped her coffee and tried to better phrase her question. “Is it true that Jenny doesn’t like her new school?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “She’s twelve going on twenty. She doesn’t know what’s good for her, but she thinks she does.” That was the most Adam had revealed in his last half dozen phone calls. He really must be frustrated.

  “And how are you handling it?” she asked gently.

  “I scowl a lot. Ground her a lot. Little Julianna’s upset by it all.”

  “Do you need me to come out and visit? It’s a good time for me to get away. I could lend you some support. Help with the girls.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but you have the inn opening soon. Maybe the girls and I can come out your way.”

  They talked for a while longer as the snow continued to fall and her coffee cooled. She told him about her last riding lesson, he told her about the latest stray Julianna had brought home, a mean cat who hid beneath the back porch and yowled and hissed at anyone who came near, including Julianna. She told him about the paint and wallpaper she’d chosen, he told her about the practice he’d joined and the problems with it. After thirty minutes, she said goodbye with a mix of gladness and loss. Life, she’d learned, was mostly a combination of both.

  Which led her mind right back to Frank Granger. She had to stop pining after the man. He wasn’t interested in her. He wasn’t going to be interested in her. If he was, he would have let her know by now. So far all she’d ever shared with him were brief and polite conversations. He would tip his Stetson to her if their paths crossed in town. No amount of wishing for a man, no matter how good he was, could make him want her in return.

  She was a sensible woman, so she did her best to shove the images of Frank’s wide shoulders and dependable handsome strength out of her mind. She grabbed her morning devotional from the corner of the coffee table. She flipped through the pages, grateful for the abundant blessings in her life, the proof of God’s loving-kindness everywhere, even if her home was empty and she felt sorely alone.

  Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. The treasured verse reassured her and chased away worry and loneliness. God was in charge. She no longer felt alone as she settled the book on her lap and continued to read.

  Frank rammed the wire cutters into his back jeans pocket, ignored the blast of sandpaper snow against his eyes and hefted the two-hundred-pound bale off the top of the stack. The hay hit the ground and broke apart, and the last of the herd dove in, hungry in this cold weather. There. That was the last of it for now. Feed time would roll around in twelve hours, and so would the barn work.

  “That’s the last of it.” Justin fought his way toward him through the drifts.

  “It was a good idea having you and the girls drive all the cattle close to the barns.” Frank was proud of his kids. They were level-headed, worked well under pressure and knew the meaning of the word commitment—well, with one exception. He thought of his second son, Tucker, who had fled this land as soon as he’d graduated high school. Still, Tucker was a good kid. Worked hard at rodeo riding and lived honestly. Frank rubbed snow from his lashes with the cuff of his coat. It was covered with ice, so it didn’t do much good.

  “At least we know the rustlers won’t be back in this storm.” Justin accompanied him the short distance to the nearest barn. The moment they stepped out of the wind shadow of the hay shed, the blizzard hit them hard and pushed them along. “Too bad both Kent and Parnell are at the convention. I guess we’ll keep their cattle until they get back.”

  “Yep. We’ll start separating by brand today.” That was the only way to know what animals they had, whom they belonged to and if they’d lost any. He hated to think of that.

  “I’ll do the head count.” Justin had a stubborn streak and it showed now as he hefted open the barn door. “You’ve been up for hours, Dad, and you’ve been shot.”

  “It’s nothing.” He’d been hit worse and lived to talk about it.

  “Dad, you’re going in. Let Cheyenne fuss over your stitches. Let Rori fix you a nice hot lunch. There’s leftover Thanksgiving turkey and gravy sandwiches.”

  That boy, trying to use food against him. There was nothing Frank liked as much as a good meal, especially considering his former wife, Lainie, God rest her, had not been gifted in the kitchen. He had a particular weakness for Thanksgiving leftovers. He knocked the snow off his boots and barreled into the warm barn. “I’ll go in when it’s lunchtime.”

  “You’ll go in now.” That sugar-sweet voice was Autumn’s, ringing with enough authority to scare off a mountain lion at ten paces. “And don’t you worry. I just checked in with Cady, and we’ve postponed the lesson. You don’t have to worry about avoiding her at the house.”

  “Didn’t figure she would be coming.” Maybe that was why the day seemed so dark.

  The first time he’d set eyes on the woman, he’d been captivated. If beauty had a name, then it would be Cady Winslow. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but if such a thing did exist, then this would be it. Foolish, because it wasn’t as if the fancy East Coast gal would take a shine to a rough and rugged man like him. He had more failures than he could count and the scars to go right along with them. It was hard pushing the sting of pain aside so his kids didn’t notice. “Has the sheriff checked in yet?”

  “No.” She grabbed a pitchfork before he could reach it. She was pretty as a picture bundled up against the cold.

  When he looked at her he still saw the pigtailed little cowgirl trailing after him in the fields. Always determined to do everything her big brother could. Always wanted to help out her dad on the range. Affection filled him. It was a special thing to have a daughter, and he had three of them. He was a deeply blessed man. He shouldn’t be wanting more blessings to fill his life.

  “I’m not sure the phone is still working.” She laid the pitchfork over her shoulder and ambled away. “We’re lucky we have electricity.”

  “You’re right. I’d best get to work checking on the generators, getting them dusted off and set to go. You never know when we might need them.” As if to prove his point, the lights blinked off and flashed right back on. A sign of trouble to come. “Is that the phone ringing?”

  “I’ll get it.” She left Justin to deal with their father and trotted down the main breezeway. Horses poked their heads over their stall gates to watch as she hurried by. One cow called out with a plaintive moo. “Hi, Buttercup.”

  The pampered cow fell silent and threw her weight against her stall door in protest.

  “Be glad you’re in here out of that storm,” she called out to the cow on her way into the cozy office. She snatched the receiver off its cradle. “Stowaway Ranch.”

  “Autumn? It’s Ford.”

  As if she wouldn’t recognize his baritone. The rhythm of his voice, the rumble of his chuckle and the
honest question in his eyes all rushed back and crashed into her with tidal-wave force. Her hand shook as she settled the cordless on her shoulder. “Hi, Ford.”

  Had he heard the wobble in her words? The uncertain hitch in her tone?

  “Just wanted to get back to your family about a few things.” He sounded in sheriff mode, emotionless, all business.

  That helped. He’d finally gotten the message. She blew out a breath. Relief skidded through her in a cool, disappointed wave. Disappointed. That wasn’t something she wanted to think about too much.

  “The helicopter your dad shot down was stolen out of a private hangar at the Sunshine airport. The cattle haulers were stolen last week out of Utah. I’m following up on a few leads. I’ll have more information when I see where they take me.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve been busy.” More than she expected. A ribbon of gratitude curled through her, although she tried to stop it. Maybe it would be best if she felt nothing whatsoever for Ford. “I’ll let Dad and Justin know. We all appreciate everything you’ve done, considering you’re not on the job yet.”

  “I live to serve.” His tone warmed as if with a smile, but a small one. He had not forgotten she had turned him down, because he abruptly changed the subject, turning right back to the business at hand. “I’ll be in touch when I have more to report. I got ahold of Loren about replacing your fleet’s tires. He said he would call you when he gets a chance. He’s busy on a few calls right now.”

  “Thank you, Ford.” There was nothing more to say. Silence settled between them. Uncomfortable, thick silence that made her want to slam down the phone to stop it. He must have been just as uneasy, because he cleared his throat.

  “Well, that’s all. Take care, Autumn.” His words were strained.

  “You, too.” So were hers. She couldn’t bring herself to say his name one more time. “Goodbye.”

  She hung up, feeling miserable without a single good explanation as to why. Men. Who needed them? Not her, that’s for sure. No, she was just fine without a man in her life. Perfectly fine. She grabbed a cup from the cupboard and headed straight toward the coffeemaker on the counter.