Chance shrugged. “So ask my mother to pasture it at the Circle H Ranch. You’re there enough anyway.”
Molly wheeled around and headed back to the driveway next to the log-cabin-style Bullhaven ranch house, where she had parked her sporty red SUV. “Even if that were a plausible solution, which it’s not, Braden and I aren’t going to be here past the first week of January.”
Squinting curiously, he matched his strides to hers. “How come?”
Trying not to notice how he towered over her, or how much she liked it, Molly fished her keys out of her jacket pocket. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re moving to Dallas.”
Chance paused next to her vehicle. “To be closer to Braden’s daddy?”
Her heart panged in her chest. If only her little boy had a father who wanted his child in his life. But he didn’t, so...
There was no way she was talking to Chance Lockhart about the most humiliating mistake she’d ever made. Or the fact that her ill-conceived liaison had unexpectedly led to the best thing in her life, a family of her very own. Molly hit the button on the keypad and heard the click of the driver-side lock releasing. “No.”
“No, that’s not why you’re moving?”
He came close enough she could smell the soap and sun and man fragrance of his skin.
Awareness shimmered inside her.
He watched her open the door. “Or no, that’s not what you want—to be closer to your ex?”
Heavens, the man was annoying!
Figuring this was the time to go on record with her goals—and hence vanquish his mistaken notions about her once and for all—Molly lifted her gaze to his. “What I want is for my son to grow up with all the advantages I never had.” Braden, unlike her, would want for nothing.
Except maybe a daddy in his life.
Not that she could fix that.
Chance’s lip curled in contempt. “Ah, yes, back to social climbing.”
He wasn’t the only one who misinterpreted the reason behind her quest to get an in with every mover and shaker in the area. And beyond...
But for some reason, Chance Lockhart’s contempt rankled.
Which was another reason to set him—and everyone else in Laramie County who misread her—straight. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. You having grown up with a silver spur in your mouth and all.”
He grinned.
“But not all of us have had those advantages.”
His hazel eyes sparkled, the way they always did when he got under her skin. “Like?”
“Private school, for one.”
Chance remained implacable. “They have private schools in Laramie County.”
“Not like the ones in Dallas.”
He squinted in disapproval. “Which is where you want him to go.”
Stubbornly, Molly held her ground. “If Braden attends the right preschool, he can get into the right elementary, then middle, then prep. From there, go on to an elite college.”
Chance poked the brim of his hat up with one finger. “I’m guessing you aren’t talking about anything in the University of Texas system.”
Molly studied the frayed collar on Chance’s flannel shirt, the snug worn jeans and run-of-the-mill leather belt. It was clear he didn’t care about appearances. Coming from his background, he did not have to. “If Braden goes to an Ivy League school, the world is his oyster.”
Chance rested his brawny forearm on the roof of her SUV. “I can see you’ve got it all mapped out.”
Molly tried not to notice how well he filled out his ranching clothes. “Yes, unlike you, Braden is going to take advantage of all the opportunities I plan to see come his way.”
“How does Braden feel about all this?” Chance asked, not bothering to hide his frustration with her.
Had Molly not known better, she would have thought that the irascible cowboy did not want her to leave Laramie County. But that was ridiculous. The two of them couldn’t get gas at the same filling station at the same time without getting into a heated argument. More likely, Chance would be delighted to see her depart. “My son is three.”
“Meaning you haven’t told him.”
“He has no concept of time.”
“So, in other words, no.”
“I will, once Christmas is over,” Molly maintained. She moved as if to get in her vehicle, but Chance remained where he was, his big, imposing body blocking the way.
“Has it occurred to you that you’re getting ahead of yourself with all your plans to better educate and monetarily and socially provide for your son?”
Chance wasn’t the first to tell her so.
She hadn’t listened to anyone else.
And she wasn’t about to listen to him, either.
Ducking beneath his outstretched arm, she slid behind the steering wheel. Bending her head, she put the key in the ignition. “What I think is that one day, my son will be very grateful to me for doing all that I can to ensure his dreams come true,” she retorted defensively.
Chance leaned down so they were face-to-face. “Except, of course, ones that have to do with livestock.”
What is it about this man? Molly fumed inwardly. He not only provoked her constantly—he had the potential to derail her at every turn, just by existing!
Pretending his attempts to delay her so they could continue their argument were not bothering her in the least, Molly flashed a confident smile. “You’re right,” she admitted with a sugary-sweet attitude even he would have to find laudable. “I have gotten way, way off track.”
He chuckled. “Back to train analogies?”
She gave him a quelling look.
He lifted an exaggeratedly apologetic hand. “I know. Even some of us big, dumb cowpokes who passed on Ivy League educations know a few big words.”
She’d heard Chance had been just as much of a problem to his wealthy parents growing up as he was to her now. “How about ‘aggravate’?” She looked him square in the eye. “Do you know what that means?”
He grinned. “I think that’s what I do to you, on a daily, hourly, basis?”
So true. Molly drew a calming breath. She started the ignition, then motioned for him to step away. When he did, she put her window down. “I’m going to be at the Circle H this afternoon, meeting with your mother about the proposed kitchen renovation.”
“Well, what do you know,” he rumbled with a maddeningly affable shrug. “I will be, too.”
She ignored the fact that their two contracting companies were competing for the renovation job. “Braden will be with me. It’s your chance to make things right with my son. Please, Chance.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Don’t let us down.”
* * *
IF MOLLY HADN’T framed it quite like that, maybe he could have bailed. But she had, so at five past three Chance found himself driving up the lane to the Circle H ranch house.
Molly’s SUV was already on-site. She and her son, Braden, were by the pasture, where a one-week-old Black Angus was pastured with his momma. Little arms on the middle rung of the fence, Braden was staring, mesmerized, at the sight of the nursing bull.
“Can I pet him?” Braden asked as Chance strolled up to join them.
Her pretty face pinched with tension, Molly shook her head.
Chance hunkered down beside Braden. The little tyke had the same curly red hair, cute-as-a-button features and amber eyes as his mother. “Petting the bull would scare it, buddy, and we don’t want that, do we?”
Balking, Braden bartered, “I know gentle. Mommy showed me.” Realizing Chance didn’t quite understand what he was saying, Braden continued with a demonstration of easy petting. “Kitty cat—gentle. Puppy—gentle. Babies—gentle.”
“Ah. You’re very gentle with all of thos
e things,” Chance concluded.
Braden nodded importantly. “Mommy showed me.”
“Well, listen, buckaroo,” Chance continued, still hunkered down so he and Braden were eye to eye. “It’s always good to be gentle,” he said kindly. “And it’s great to be able to see a real baby bull.”
Braden beamed. “I like bulls!”
“The thing is, Santa doesn’t really have any bulls to bring to little boys,” Chance told him, quashing the kid’s dreams against his better judgment.
“Uh-huh! At the North Pole,” Braden said. “Santa has everything!”
“No.” Chance shook his head sadly but firmly. He looked the little boy in the eye. “There aren’t any bulls at the North Pole.”
Mutinously, Braden folded his little arms across his chest. “Santa bring me one,” he reiterated stubbornly.
Out of the corner of Chance’s eye, he saw Molly’s stricken expression. Yeah. She pretty much wanted to let him have it. Given the unforeseen way things were developing, he could hardly blame her.
“For Christmas,” Braden added for good measure, in case either Molly or Chance didn’t understand him. He pointed to the pasture. “Want mommy bull. And baby bull.”
Okay, this was not going according to plan, Chance thought uncomfortably.
“Baby needs mommy,” Braden added plaintively, just in case they still weren’t getting it.
Molly lifted a brow and sent Chance an even more withering glare.
Fortunately, at that moment, his mother walked out of the recently renovated Circle H bunkhouse, where she was currently living, her part-time cook and housekeeper, Maria Gonzales, at her side. The young woman often brought her own three-year-old daughter, Tessie, to work with her. The little lass peeked at Braden from behind her mother’s skirt.
“Braden, Maria and Tessie were just about to make some Thanksgiving tarts. Would you like to help them?” Lucille asked.
He looked at his mother for permission.
Molly gave it with a nod, then pointed to the ranch house on the other side of the barns. “Miss Lucille, Chance and I are going to walk over there and have a meeting. Then I’ll come back to get you. Okay?”
Braden took Maria’s outstretched hand. “’Kay, Mommy.”
Maria and her two young charges set off.
In the past, the sixty-eight-year-old Lucille had ignored interpersonal tensions for the sake of peace. However, a recent series of life-changing events had caused Chance’s mother to rethink the idea of sugarcoating anything. And now, to everyone’s surprise, it turned out she could be as blunt as Chance’s older brother, Garrett.
“What’s going on between you two?” Lucille demanded as she looked from Molly to Chance and back again. “And don’t tell me nothing, because I can feel the mutual aggravation simmering between you a mile away!”
Chance would have preferred to keep their tiff private. Unfortunately, Molly had other ideas. “Chance told Braden that he could ask Santa to bring him a real live baby bull for Christmas!” she sputtered.
Lucille turned to him, formidable as always in an ultrasuede sheath, cashmere cardigan and heels.
“I was trying not to quash his dreams,” Chance insisted hotly.
“So, instead, you lit fire to impossible ones, and now he wants not just a baby bull but a bovine mama to go with it, too,” Molly accused him, looking furious enough to burst into tears.
“Look, I—” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Chance had to wonder how Molly had managed to put him on the defensive.
She stomped closer and waved a finger beneath his nose. “If you hadn’t brought that baby bull over with his momma to pasture at the Circle H—”
“If you hadn’t brought your son with you to discuss making a bid,” he volleyed right back.
Molly planted both her hands on her slender hips. “I had no choice!”
He mocked her by doing the same. “Well, neither did I!”
Completely exasperated, Lucille stopped worrying the pearls around her neck and stepped in between them. “Enough, you two!” she chastised. “You are acting like ornery children. It’s five weeks until Christmas...we will figure out a way to work this out.”
Chance and Molly separated once again.
Satisfied things were calmer, at least for the moment, Lucille walked up the steps to the rambling, homestead-style ranch house and across the spacious front porch. “In the meantime, I have a job big enough for the two of you,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way into the house.
Chance and his crew had spent the fall getting the two bedrooms and bathroom upstairs remodeled, the staircase rebuilt and all new energy-efficient windows installed. A new roof and fiber-cement siding had been put on, and the exterior had been painted a dazzling white with pine-green shutters. They’d also followed the plans of the structural engineer and gutted the downstairs into an open living-kitchen-dining area, a laundry room and mudroom, and what would one day be a spacious master suite with luxury bath for Lucille.
For the moment, however, only the framework of the redesigned first-floor rooms and the original wood floors—which were in need of refinishing—stood.
In the center of the space, in front of the original limestone fireplace, were two big easels. One held Molly’s proposed design, the other Chance’s.
Lucille turned to her son. “Although I love the rustic nature of your plans, honey, I am going to go with Molly’s vision for the first floor.”
There wasn’t a lot of difference in the plan for the master suite, since Lucille had been very specific in what kind of fixtures and the size closet she wanted. As for the rest...
“You know that’s going to cost you twice what mine would,” Chance pointed out.
Lucille nodded. “True. But your vision for the space is so...utilitarian.”
Exactly! It was what made it so great.
Chance pointed to the samples of his proposed maple cabinets and black granite countertops, the top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances and plentiful pantry shelving. “It’ll get the job done, Mom.”
Where he had been trying to be economical, his competition had gone all out. Dual dishwashers, two prep areas, double ovens and countless other features. Everywhere you looked there was some sort of up-charge.
Lucille smiled. “Molly captured what I was looking for. Unfortunately, I don’t think she and her crew can manage to finish the entire downstairs in the next five weeks.”
Molly’s triumph faded. “Did you say five...weeks?”
Lucille nodded. “I want to reserve December 19 for delivery of the furniture from my previous house in Dallas that’s currently in storage, the twentieth and the twenty-first for decorating and the twenty-second for my planned fund-raiser for the Lockhart Foundation and West Texas Warrior Assistance program. And of course Christmas Eve and Day for my family celebration.”
Chance frowned. “Which means all the wiring, plumbing, drywall and paint, as well as kitchen and master suite bath, will have to go in by then.”
His mother remained undaunted. “You have six people on your crew, Chance. Molly has seven. If you have all thirteen people working, it’s easily feasible. I’ll pay overtime if necessary.”
All business, Molly nodded. “How are we going to divide the work?”
Matter-of-factly, Lucille explained, “Molly will be in charge of the design and the materials, and Chance will supervise the construction and installation. Then, of course, Molly, I’d like you to do the yuletide decorating.” She flashed a smile her way. “I’ll give you a free hand with that since part of the reason for the rush is to help you showcase your skills during the fund-raising open house, and make the connections with my Dallas friends that will help you drum up business there.”
Chance turned to his mother and gave her a warning
look. He would have expected Lucille, who, better than anyone, knew the downside of leaving the warm, supportive utopia of Laramie County behind, to be urging caution. Not cheerleading. “You’re really supporting Molly in this lunacy?” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Molly had a growing business. A home. Dozens of people who looked out for her. A young son who was thriving in the small-town environment. Why she would want to leave all that for the coldness of the big city he had grown up in was beyond him.
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Lucille regarded him sternly. “And, yes, I fully understand Molly’s desire to be all that she can be.”
Resolved to inject a little common sense into the conversation, Chance scoffed, “In terms of what? Money? Social position?”
Molly glared at him. “Don’t forget dazzling professional success! And all the accoutrements that come with it.”
Chance looked heavenward. “I don’t expect you to understand,” Molly said stiffly, her emotions suddenly as fired up as his.
“Good,” Chance snapped back, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. Then, pinning her with a glare of his own, he said exactly what was on his mind. “Because I don’t.”
Chapter Two
“Avoiding me?” a husky voice taunted.
Molly thought work had wrapped up for the day. Which was, as it turned out, the only reason she was at the Circle H ranch house this late.
Turning in the direction of the familiar baritone, Molly took in the sight of the indomitable cowboy. Clad in a knit thermal tee, plaid flannel shirt and jeans, a tool belt circling his waist, Chance Lockhart strode toward her purposefully.
Working to still her racing heart, Molly held her clipboard and pen close to her chest. She lifted her chin. “Why would you think that?”
Chance stopped just short of her and gave her a slow, thorough once-over. “We’ve both had crews working here ten days straight, and you and I haven’t run into each other once.”
Thank God.
A Texas Cowboy's Christmas Page 2
