Soldier Under the Mistletoe

by Lacy Williams

  She was pulling on gloves.

  "Mal," he started again. What the heck was she doing?

  "Look," she insisted.

  He glanced down at the screen. It was a black and white photo—no, there was slight movement. It was a video. A horse was lying down in a big box stall. Was that—? It seemed to be the birthing stall. He'd known every inch of the barn, explored it inside and out.

  "Is she foaling?" he asked.

  "It's a gelding. Prince. He'd been acting funny, off his feed this morning. If he's down, I'm worried it's colic."

  Prince. Her dad's horse.

  Every cowboy worth his salt knew that colic could be deadly if untreated. But she was in a party dress—

  And now looping a scarf around her neck. Reaching for the door. Was she crazy?

  "Mal—"

  "I gotta go."

  She pulled the door open, and in swirled snow and a wind that chilled him from head to toe.

  There was no way he was letting her go out to the barn in a blizzard. That dress was no protection at all, even with a coat on. What if her truck got stranded on the half-mile trip?

  She glanced over her shoulder, halfway out the door. "If I don't see you again tonight, stay safe."

  "Mallory."

  She ignored him, letting the door snap shut behind her.

  He growled a curse word under his breath and went to the pegs where Cash's work coat hung. He shrugged it on, a tight fit even though his friend was muscled from working the ranch.

  And he went out into the cold after her.

  "You are not dressed for this, woman."

  Mallory registered the big body behind her only because he blocked the wind from her back as she wrenched open the door to the farm truck.

  Maverick had followed her outside.

  She was turning to tell him off—she did not need a big brother riding drag, and apparently he never planned on being anything but a big brother.

  "Get in," he said, and his hands were at her lower back, boosting her into the truck. And then urging her across the bench seat as he followed.

  He pulled the door shut, and the silence in the cab was absolute. Except it wasn't. She could hear the howling wind outside, hear both of them breathing ragged breaths, hear the thud of her heart in her ears.

  There was no ignoring the sheer presence of the man.

  He blew on his cupped hands, then glanced her way. "Keys."

  It wasn't a question, and his presumption made her want to refuse. He was just like a bossy older brother.

  Except he wasn't her brother. Not even close.

  And it was freezing in the truck. She handed them over. They plunked into the palm of his hand with the force behind her movement.

  "I don't need you to drive me to the barn."

  "You should've sent Cash to the barn," he snapped. He cranked the ignition, and the truck turned over.

  His left hand lowered absently to massage his knee. Did he even realize he'd done it?

  Did the cold bother his injury? How bad was it? She bit back the questions, knowing he wouldn't appreciate her asking, not after he'd shut her down at the party.

  "Prince is my horse now." Prince had been Dad's faithful horse. He deserved the best care, and she intended to deliver it. Her entire night of frustration over the man beside her made her words tart. "I can take care of the problem myself. I don't need your help."

  He mumbled something under his breath and looked at her with squinted eyes. "You ever driven in a whiteout?"

  She stared him down. "Have you?"

  His eyes narrowed even more. "No. I can't remember if we've ever had one in this part of Texas."

  Ha.

  "But I've piloted a Humvee through a sand storm."

  She gritted her teeth. She didn’t need a big brother. And humiliation was still a hot stone in her chest. There was no way she was getting rid of him. So they should just get it over with.

  She gestured toward the road, eyebrows raised.

  He put the truck in gear and let off the brake, allowing them to roll forward. The snow was so thick, it was impossible to see anything beyond the flakes flying in the headlights.

  "You'd better hope your brother sends the party home, or you'll have a houseful of guests staying the night."

  She'd seen the forecast. It wasn't supposed to stick.

  Of course, the weatherman hadn't predicted a whiteout blizzard like this either.

  "Visibility is too low," she said. She popped open the glove compartment to grab the flashlight inside. Flicked it on. Batteries were strong. "Stop for a second and let me out. I'll walk ahead and make sure you keep to the road."

  He grabbed her arm before she'd even reached for the door handle. "Not in that getup, you won't."

  "It's not like there was time to go change. If I'd have tried going back through the ballroom, I'd have been grabbed six or seven times with people wanting to talk to me." And the spare pair of jeans she'd left in the mudroom had been muddied last week, and she'd forgotten to replace them.

  "Besides, the barn is heated."

  "If we make it to the barn," he mumbled.

  "My horse's life might be in danger," she said. "We have to make it. I'll lean out the window. You remember the way to the barn?"

  He shot her a look that she couldn't help returning with a grin. He'd been as horse-crazy as she and Cash during their growing up years.

  She rolled down the window, ratcheted up the heater, then levered her knees up on the seat and leaned out the window. Maverick let the truck roll forward in the blinding snow, barely nudging the gas pedal. The snow had already accumulated maybe an inch, but it would pile up quickly at this rate.

  Maybe Maverick would get snowed in. If enough snow accumulated that he couldn't dig out....

  That was wishful thinking. He'd been pretty adamant about not kissing her. She'd joked about it in the mudroom, because she didn't want him to feel sorry for her.

  He didn't want her, after all.

  It wasn't like she had a ton of experience with men. One short-term boyfriend in high school and a couple of failed relationships in college.

  Maverick traveled the world. No doubt he was used to worldly women. Could talk about subjects that you might see in the national news. He had no interest in a small-town girl who knew more about cattle and hay prices than geopolitics.

  She'd been so sure...

  Now she didn't feel sure of anything.

  Besides, Prince was in danger. She aimed the flashlight to the ground, to the inch of snow obscuring the grass and gravel on the barn lane. There wasn’t so much accumulation that she wouldn't be able to tell if they veered off the road.

  "You're fine," she told Maverick over her shoulder. "Hit the gas."

  She heard the sound of his grunt over the roar of the wind in her ears.

  Then his big, warm hand closed over her calf where her party dress had ridden up and left only her stocking exposed above the boot.

  He held onto her leg loosely. Maybe he was afraid she'd lean too far and fall headfirst out of the truck.

  But since her head was stuck in the blinding snow and he couldn't see the emotion on her face, she pretended he’d put his hand there because he wanted to hold her.

  Chapter 4

  Maverick almost plowed into the barn. Luckily, he was only going five miles per hour, so when the side of the barn appeared out of the near-blinding snow, he jammed on the brakes and stopped the truck before they wrecked.

  Barely.

  Mallory didn't react to his abrupt stop, just pulled herself back into the cab and reached for the button that would roll up the window.

  Her head was covered in snow. She was trying not to give away that she was shivering.

  He let out a strangled, "Mal—" and hauled her over the middle seat and into his arms. With the window closed now, the heater was blasting hot air that would soon be stifling in the small enclosed space.

  Mallory clung to his chest, still trying to hide he
r trembling. It hadn't been that long, maybe ten minutes to traverse the road to the barn. Not long enough for her to be in danger.

  But he didn't push her away.

  He brushed melting snow out of her hair. It clung to her eyelashes, clumping them together.

  He cupped her jaw, the pad of his thumb catching a melted snowflake before it dripped down her cheek.

  He'd obviously killed his sense of self-preservation somewhere during the two overseas deployments.

  Because she was even closer now than she'd been earlier.

  And he really wanted to kiss her.

  He couldn't, even though holding her this close made all the reasons why fuzzy and hard to remember. Cash.

  He bent his head...

  And at the last moment, moved to press his cheek to hers. Her skin was chilled and moist, her hair curling in damp ringlets that he desperately wanted to bury his nose in.

  "This was a horrible idea," he muttered.

  She pushed on his chest, and he let her go. Hopefully she was warm enough, because he was burning up. She scooted across the seat with a huff. "I'm not going to let Prince die because it's snowing."

  She opened her door, and the wind was blowing so hard that it almost closed back on her. With a grunt, she shoved it again and then slipped out into the howling wind.

  He turned off the truck and followed her into the blizzard. It was only feet to the barn door, but he felt battered by the time they both got inside.

  At least it was warm, the heaters working merrily.

  He fell a step behind Mallory's march toward the birthing stall at the back of the barn.

  The scent of hay and horses—even the manure—brought him back viscerally to those fleeting moments in his childhood and teenage years when Cash had dragged him out here. Learning about horses and doing chores.

  For those few hours, he'd pretended he was a part of their family. A real part, not just a kid from town that the Trudeaus felt sorry for.

  He'd wanted to stay forever.

  He hadn't been allowed, because he hadn't belonged. No amount of wishing or dreaming would change that.

  And it wouldn't change anything now.

  Cash belonged.

  Mallory belonged. Even though she didn't look it right now, with her mismatched outfit—the evening gown with her barn boots and the work coat.

  He couldn't help a shake of his head and a smile. Mallory'd always marched to her own beat. It was something he admired about her.

  Even he could tell the horse was in distress when they reached the stall. Mallory had ducked into the tack room and now held a small duffel bag.

  He followed her into the stall. Knelt at Prince's head as she made quick work of looking in his mouth, taking his temperature, and then checking his heart rate. Rote, like she'd performed the routine dozens of times.

  He rubbed Prince's nose. "Hello, old mate."

  How many hours had he spent on the back of a horse, chasing Cash across the fields, scaring quail out of the long summer grasses, and wishing? Mr. Trudeau had been present in many of those memories, riding right alongside them. A good dad.

  Emotion choked his throat, surprising him.

  He brushed his hand across nose and stood. "What do we need to do?"

  She looked up at him from where she knelt at the horse's flank. He could see the surprise in her eyes. Because he'd allied himself?

  It wasn't for forever. Only for tonight, the few hours he had left.

  He'd help her save the horse, because he couldn't do anything else.

  "We need to get him up." She stood too, stowing the thermometer in her bag and then hanging the bag over the railing. She unhooked a lead rope and attached it to the horse's halter.

  "Should we call the vet?" he asked. Would a veterinarian be able to get out here in a snowstorm like this?

  "I had enough schooling before mom and dad died to administer a stomach tube, if we need it. Sometimes just getting a horse up and moving is enough to release some of the tension in his gut."

  He'd known she'd had to put school on hold when her parents died. He'd forgotten—let himself forget maybe—how passionate she'd been about being a vet.

  He moved to the horse's rear and gave a gentle slap as Mallory coaxed the horse from its head.

  "You're going back, right?" he asked.

  He hated to think about her giving up on her dreams because of the accident.

  She urged the horse with soft words. Then to Maverick, "No, I'm not going back."

  "Why not? Once you and Cash sell the ranch, you'll have your life back."

  She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "We aren't selling the ranch."

  The utter shock on Maverick's face would've been comical if the subject had been less serious.

  She jerked her focus to the horse. Prince pawed his front feet against the ground.

  "C'mon, boy. You got this."

  Maverick shifted out of the way as the horse pushed to his feet.

  Mallory ached at the tentative way he rose, knowing he was in pain.

  "Good boy." She didn't stop to pat his neck, knowing that keeping him moving was the most important thing. She had to believe that Prince was going to be okay.

  She didn't look back as she guided Prince by the lead in a slow meander out of the stall and down the length of the barn. She didn't have to look to know that Maverick hung back.

  Her statement had thrown him. Why had he thought she and Cash would give up their family legacy?

  He stood in the open stall door when she and Prince walked back, arms crossed and with one shoulder propped against the wall. It was a casual pose, But she knew better. She could read the line of tension in his spine.

  "Mom and Dad would've been glad to see you back where you belong," she said.

  Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because his tension seemed to ratchet up a notch. She'd wanted to get him to open up, share some of the grief he must be feeling on his first time back to the Double Cross.

  But he only frowned.

  So she tried a different track. "Where did you hear that I was selling?"

  He didn't move, his stillness betraying more than he probably wanted. "Something Cash said. That y'all were thinking about a change."

  She turned the horse around, passing close enough to get a whiff of Maverick's spicy cologne. "We are."

  A muscle jumped in his jaw but then she was past him. She didn't want to shout over her shoulder, Prince was anxious enough as it was with the stomach pain.

  Plus, Maverick was too emotional about this subject. Let him stew a while longer.

  Something was going on. She might be relegated to the friend-zone, but that didn't mean she stopped caring about him. Something was eating at him.

  He was the one who called out to her on her way back, though he kept his voice even and calm. "So what does that mean then, that you're making a change?"

  "I'm hiring a foreman and Cash is going back to work in Austin."

  "He's leaving you to run the Double Cross?"

  The skepticism in his voice had her chin jerking toward the roof. "You don't think I can handle it? I didn't realize you were such a chauvinistic pig."

  Back ramrod straight, she marched away, only at the last second realizing that she might endanger the horse if she didn't calm down.

  Who cared what Maverick thought, anyway? He wasn't sticking around. He was leaving before the sun came up.

  She’d run this ranch as good as Daddy ever did. She'd prove Maverick wrong. Even if he weren’t here to see it.

  Prince pulled back on the lead, neighing. She let her eyes roam the horse and concluded that he must be reading her tension. She worked to release the tension in her shoulders, loosen her fingers on the lead rope.

  As they walked toward the opposite end of the barn, she started recounting all seven hundred muscles in the horse's anatomy.

  She'd just pretend Maverick had stayed up at the house. Or send him back. That was the answer.

  W
hen she returned to his end of the barn, Maverick still hadn't moved. His eyes followed her every step.

  She forced a smile she didn't feel. "Why don't you head back up to the house? You probably want to spend some time with Cash before you leave town. Now that Prince is up, I'll be fine out here."

  Maverick's eyes narrowed. "I'm not leaving you alone in the barn in a blizzard."

  "Stop being so overprotective. I'm not some fainting miss from a romance novel or something."

  "How're you going to get home, if I take the truck?"

  She shrugged. "I'll take one of the four-wheelers." They used them often in the warmer months to check on the herds. "Or I'll call Cash on the barn phone," she added when Maverick's frown tightened. "I'm a big girl. I can figure it out."

  He opened his mouth to say something, but then must’ve thought better of it, because his mouth snapped shut.

  "I'm here for the duration," he snapped.

  She sighed. "It might be hours before this horse poops, Mav. You don't owe me anything. My feelings aren't hurt. Just go."

  She turned away, walking the horse toward the other end of the barn. And she didn't look back, because she didn't want to watch him go. And she surely didn’t want him to see the lie in her eyes.

  This night was a disaster. Nothing had gone the way she'd hoped.

  She'd wanted a kiss. More, she'd wanted Maverick to open up to her.

  Maverick, who apparently still thought of her as an annoying ten-year-old little sister.

  Hot tears rose behind her eyes. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the stupid cowboy-slash-soldier see that he'd upset her.

  This time, when she turned back, he was gone.

  Chapter 5

  A fourteen-year-old Sam and Cash lounged on the couch in the Trudeau's living room, watching a zombie movie with the lights down low. Crumbs were the only evidence of the plate of brownies Mrs. Trudeau had sent in here with them.

  Suddenly, the lights flipped on.

  A wild war whoop preceded Mallory into the room, but not by much. She launched herself in a cannonball into the center couch cushion. Sam got kicked in the stomach and let out an "oof!"