by Hebby Roman
“Wowie, will you?” Tim bounced on the old man’s knee. “We had such fun.”
Carrie stood frozen to her spot, her conundrum pretty much over. “Yes, will you? Please?”
“Roast chicken, roast potatoes, and green beans?”
“Done.”
Chapter Five
This one was very short. It only said:
Dear Tim,
I’m so very sorry you’re not happy. As for your request, I’m afraid I can make no promises. I’ll see what I can do,
Your friend,
Santa
Really? What did Tim ask for? And who is this? Grayson? Surely Grayson! But the handwriting! No, it couldn’t be Grayson with that big, just slightly sloppy, bold hand. Assertive. She took the letter back to Tim’s room and returned it to where she had found it. Male? Female? Maybe Tate would have an idea.
Ah, Tate. Her heart pounded when she thought of him and she couldn’t help smiling. She was certainly attracted to him; what girl wouldn’t be? Yet there was something somewhat detached about him. One moment he was all friendly and they were chattering like wind-up dolls, and the next moment Tate kept his distance. She didn’t believe for one moment that he hadn’t been embarrassed by her at the dancehall. If he truly hadn’t been, he might have tried harder to include her. Given more of an explanation to the others as to her lack of knowledge. Still, it was a first date and she wasn’t about to pass judgment on him for that straight away. In other areas, he was wonderful, a true gentleman, both fun and interesting to be with. It flit through her mind what kind of father he’d make—but being preoccupied or detached wasn’t always the best thing for a dad when around his kids.
Oh, Golly! What was she thinking? It’s a second date!
By the time Saturday rolled around, Carrie had cleared a first series of revisions from all three books she’d been hired to edit and was waiting for the first one to return. She had read up on cattle breeds and agreed with Grayson to at least proceed with a slow change to Black Angus. She had begun to read a book on cattle care and diseases, which sent her pretty much to sleep, and had had a lesson from the old man on western tack. So, she felt reasonably able to at least follow a conversation on Wyoming ranch life should one happen to pop up, without the need to go overboard to impress anyone.
The little black dress with its three-quarter length sleeves and scoop neck looked demure but went rather well with her boots. It was snowing again and, while there was some worry about driving in this weather, Carrie knew that Tate had a lot more experience than she had. The ring of the doorbell lifted her out of these apprehensions, and the aroma of the chicken she had roasted for Grayson and Tim made her hungry.
As she came down the stairs, Tim dashed out from the den to yank open the door.
“Hey, big buddy!” Tate lifted Tim and put him on his shoulders to the child’s delight. As Tate came back to a standing position, his gaze caught Carrie on the stairs and he whistled. “Well, I’ll be....”
“A blue-nosed gopher?” Carrie could feel her cheeks stretching to max.
“I haven’t heard that one for a while. My dad used to say that a lot.”
The back door creaked open and Grayson stomped off the snow on his boots before toeing them off altogether. “Well, I think we’re in for it tonight,” he barked as greeting.
“Grayson!” Tim squirmed on Tate’s shoulders so that the rancher let him down.
“Hey, buckaroo!” He caught Tim and lifted him up for a swing before setting him down again. “Ready for our man-to-man night?”
“Well, I’m sure ready for my night out.” Tate smiled up at Carrie who still watched the other two. “Ma’am?”
“Oh, sorry.” She took in Grayson with Tim and wondered again if the foreman was the ‘Santa’ of the letters. She really didn’t see who else it could be. “I’ll just get my coat.” She lifted it out from the hall closet with three sets of eyes on her. “Chicken’s in the oven with the potatoes, beans just need to be brought back to a boil to heat and you’re set. Bedtime’s at—”
“Ten because it’s Saturday and he’s been good. We know, don’t we, Tim?”
Tim just giggled and did a little ‘maybe’ dance.
“All right. Give Mom a hug please and don’t let me find you awake when I get home.” She bent to give Tim a cuddle and a kiss.
“Hat? Gloves? It’s cold out there. And snowy.” Tate raised a brow.
Carrie grabbed the items off the dining table and came back to face him, her pompom dangling like a cat’s toy.
Tate flipped it to the back.
She wished he’d lean in and kiss her. Instead, he offered her his arm.
* * *
“Where to?” Carrie’s voice had a slight uneasiness to it again.
“You’ll see!”
He held her tight as they walked to the truck. Large flakes like wads of cotton came down, sinking to earth. The flakes covered their clothes, stuck to the ground and trees, formed abstract patterns on the walkway. Tate opened the passenger door and helped her in before he dashed around to the driver’s side. He slid in next to her and met her gaze. He thought it strange to be so attracted to her one minute, and then to think of Steph the next. When would he get over that relationship? Was it his feelings for her or resentment he had wasted those years? And Carrie was so fascinating and ‘interesting’—if that was the word—and more caring than Steph ever was, but she really wasn’t his type. Too sensitive? And did she still carry a torch for her husband? He held an unexpected attraction to her, difficult to admit to. He couldn’t figure himself.
He concentrated on the driving for the first five minutes and Carrie seemed afraid of distracting him. Then they started to speak at the same moment.
“How was your week—?”
“What have you been up to—?”
She laughed. It was a light ring, a sleigh bell laugh, a release of nerves. “Sorry.”
“No, go ahead. How was your week?”
He grabbed a quick glance and could see her purse her lips, reflecting.
“Pretty good, pretty good. I cleared some things for work—my editing work, that is—and I also managed to learn a few things around the ranch.”
“Okay. What did you learn this week? Did you make your decision on Black Angus?”
“I did. I decided to follow Grayson’s advice—and yours—and do a slow change over and see how it goes.”
“You won’t be disappointed.”
“So Grayson said.” She played with her bag in her lap a moment. “So what did you do? Did you go roping and riding and whatever else you cowboys do?”
He stole another glance to see if she was kidding. “We don’t do much roping this time of year. And, anyway, most of my work nowadays seems to be looking over accounts and giving orders. But, yes, I do ride out and help my men. I’m not one for being stuffed inside all day.” He wondered if she would take that as a criticism. “I mean, I like to be out and about, not at a desk. I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Tate. You don’t have to worry about insulting me. I’d prefer to be outside as well but it’s not the way my life has gone this far. That’s why I jumped at moving here. I’d like Tim to have more choices in addition to having this life for myself.”
“I don’t—”
The car in front of them slid across the road and came to a standstill facing the wrong way. Carrie gasped and caught at her throat.
Tate came to a stop to make sure that driver was okay. He got a thumbs up sign as the driver pulled around and back onto the other side in front of Tate once more.
“Holy…cow. Do you think we should turn back?”
Tate glanced across at her, and grunted his answer. “I will if you insist, but I think we’ll be fine.” He waited a moment. “Yes? No?”
“I trust you.”
“Well. That may be a mistake.” He bit his lip and drove at a slow speed.
There was no tro
uble parking in town; it was fairly deserted. Having carefully maneuvered Carrie up the steps to his chosen restaurant, they were surprised at the crowd that waited to be seated. It was as if a party was going on.
* * *
Tate took Carrie’s coat for her and she excused herself and made her way to the powder room. She pushed open the door and almost walked straight into a statuesque woman with long, straight dark hair and legs that didn’t seem to end. She glanced at the perfectly made-up face, eyelashes that no woman had a right to, and pouting lips that formed into a sneer as their owner’s gaze ran over Carrie with supreme disapproval.
“Sorry,” Carrie muttered as she started to pass the girl.
“So you should be,” came back as a snarl before the woman pranced off.
Carrie drew in a breath and stood shaken. The rudeness of the other girl didn’t bear thinking about, but the incident had her stunned. She wanted to make friends in her new hometown, not enemies. By the time she got back to Tate, she had partially recovered but the confrontation replayed in her mind. How dare that woman! All I did was open the door!
Tate glanced at her as she nervously brushed imaginary lint from her dress. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine. Just a little nonplussed by some rudeness I encountered.”
“Rudeness?”
The hostess came over to show them to their table. Carrie didn’t elucidate as she slid into a booth and adjusted her dress.
Tate seated himself opposite. “Sauvignon Blanc?”
“Wow, you remembered. Yes, please.”
Their water glasses were filled and the menus opened and handed to them. The server introduced herself as ‘Sandy’ and asked if they wanted some drinks to start the evening.
“A bottle of the Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc please.”
When the server had headed off, Carrie glanced at Tate. “Aren’t you having a beer?”
“No, I’m quite happy with the wine. Besides, I’m driving.” He gave a quick glance at the menu then put it down. “Elk stew is great here. Want to share a starter?”
“Oh. Sure. Like what?”
“Whatever you like.”
Carrie scanned the menu. “Tuna tartare? Maybe not, being in Wyoming. How about the trout paté; that sounds somewhat more local.”
“Sure.” He reached across for her hand.
She pulled her gaze from the menu to meet his glance with uncertainty, yet felt a current run through her, an immediate connection.
“Your hands are cold.” His thumb made circles on her palm before he pulled back as the ritual of the wine started.
“Good,” he said after tasting.
They watched as Sandy finished pouring and Tate gave both their orders. “So, how’s Wyoming treating you?”
“Oh, pretty well. Tim seems to be slightly more settled at school this week so that was a load off my mind. He really likes Grayson—”
“So I saw.”
“Well, it’s that grandfatherly aspect I should think. He doesn’t see much of my father and his paternal grandparents are both gone so....”
Tate raised his glass. “Then to Wyoming and grandparents everywhere.”
Carrie chortled as she took a sip. “Do you know if Grayson ever had children, even out of wedlock? I mean, he seems so comfortable with Tim, so willing to babysit, too, which for a guy like that seems almost out of character.”
Tate twirled his wine glass between his hands. “Grayson and I were pretty close when I was growing up but, no, he never married and he didn’t have any children. At least not that I know of. My own father was rather distant, preoccupied all the time with the ranch, and while he wasn’t a bad father, he wasn’t one that spent a lot of time with me. Maybe that’s why my parents never had any more children.”
“So Grayson was like a... sort of favorite uncle to you?”
“You might say that.”
The server came back with the trout paté and set two plates of crisped bread in front of them.
“Dig in.” Tate nodded to her, as a smile lit his face.
Carrie was thoughtful as she spread some of the trout on the bread. Her attraction to him was intensifying and she wondered what he thought of her. That first impression didn’t seem to make a difference, the day she was running and gave him the letters. The letters.... “Someone’s been writing to Tim, pretending to be Santa. I keep thinking it must be Grayson but the handwriting doesn’t look like his.”
Tate chewed his own morsel of food and stared at the paté. When he swallowed, he asked, “Are the letters upsetting Tim?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I sneak in and read them though Tim tries to keep them private, but I felt I had to make sure there was nothing untoward in them, that ‘Santa’ wasn’t fishing for something…or someone. But it seems genuine. Whoever it is wrote a lovely reply the first time when Tim wrote, apparently asking to return to New York, and ‘Santa’ advised him to try to settle in here. I’m not sure what the second letter was about.”
“There used to be something called Operation Santa or something like that. Maybe someone has picked it up, someone you don’t know, and it’s all above board.” He carefully spread some more trout on his piece of bread. “Quite honestly, Carrie, I wouldn’t worry.”
“No, I’m not worried—just curious. I—” She froze in mid-sentence as the amazon from the powder room headed toward their table in quick-march time. What now? Another complaint?
* * *
Tate’s thoughts on whether he should just tell Carrie came to an abrupt end as he stared in disbelief. Stephie Kelton marched toward their table. He took in the way she swung her hips like a model on a runway, the self-assurance, the purpose in her walk, and he recoiled from it all. The perfectly made-up face, the hair with not a strand out of place, and the plastered smile. Had he ever really liked that? Loved her? Like a virus you feel leaving your body, he felt all his emotional attachment to her disappear with a thoroughness that surprised him.
“Tate, sweetheart! How wonderful to see you! And on a night like this!” She folded over to give Tate a peck on his cheek as he rose and wiped his napkin across his mouth.
“Hi, Steph. Fancy seeing you here.” His tone wasn’t overly warm or excited, as he tried to keep it noncommittal.
“Yes, I’m with Royston and a bunch of the men from the Double F. You must come over and say hello.” She plucked at his sleeve.
“Maybe later. Steph, this is Carrie Mathe—”
“Really, Tate, we haven’t seen you for so long,” she plowed on. “And I think you and I really need to talk.”
He straightened. “I don’t think so, Steph. I think we had that talk. And this sure isn’t the place or time.”
Steph’s gaze ran over Carrie as she sat there, motionless. “I think you’ll find later on you’ve made a mistake, Tate.” He thought her tone too serious now, restrained so as not to cause a scene. “I don’t think you really want to be throwing away—”
Tate lurched as he clasped Steph by the arm. “Let me walk you back to your table, Steph, if Carrie will excuse me for a moment.” He gazed down at her, an apologetic smile just turning up his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Carrie nodded, wishing she could sink into the banquette and disappear. So Tate had an ex. Well, what could you expect? A guy like that wouldn’t be single for long. He’d have a bunch of local belles after him, and a bunch of friends and acquaintances with whom she’d never fit in. For a moment, it crossed her mind she could just get up and leave as she watched them stand at another table, the men all rising and greeting Tate, sharing some laughs. He and that woman certainly made a handsome couple, a model couple like out of a Ralph Lauren ad. What the heck was Tate doing, going out with Carrie?
She watched as he extricated himself from the group, gestured a hand in farewell at them, and headed back toward her. As he slid into the banquette, he avoided her scrutiny, then let his gaze meet her
s, before he stared down at his plate.
“I’m... really sorry about that, Carrie. You’ve obviously guessed that was my ex.”
Carrie just nodded. And waited.
He started to say something and then stopped. “We only just broke up a few months ago so she’s still...hopeful we’ll get back together.” His voice was thoughtful, pensive, and quiet.
“And will you?”
Tate’s head jerked up. “Heck, no.” He kept his eyes focused on her now. “Look, I’m really sorry but I obviously had no control over who we’d bump into, but I don’t want you thinking I’m using you, or playing you, or just dating you on the rebound.”
“Aren’t you? Dating me on the rebound?”
Tate sighed. “So, a guy isn’t allowed to date anyone a few months after he breaks up with a girl. Is that what you think?”
Carrie swished a morsel of bread through the trout and looked at it, before dropping it on her plate. She’d lost her appetite. “It’s fine,” she said at last. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly good evening out.”
Tate stared at her as Sandy came over and asked if she could take the plates away.
“Carrie?”
“I’m finished, thanks.”
There was a frigid silence as Sandy cleared the starter and laid new flatware for the next course. Carrie couldn’t look at Tate and knew the poor server sensed something amiss.
“Listen,” he started when the waitress had gone. “If I didn’t want to go out with you I wouldn’t have—”
The ring on Carrie’s phone made her jump. She shuffled in her bag and glanced at the screen. “Excuse me, it’s Tim; he probably just wants to say good-night. Hello, Button?” She could feel her blood drain as she heard the words on the other end of the line and a quick glance to Tate told her he now knew something was wrong.
