A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  In hindsight, if Hank had known Ally intended to act this soon, he would have had his business plan all ready to go.

  She sighed dramatically. “And it’s Christmas again, or it will be in two weeks, and I don’t want to be here for the holiday.”

  Hank wrested the suitcases from her hands and, ignoring her frown of disapproval, carried them to the porch for her. “Then why not wait until spring to put the property on the market?” he pressed.

  She shrugged. “I have vacation days that need to be taken before the end of the year.”

  Something in her expression said that wasn’t the whole story. Curious, Hank asked, “The company you work for wouldn’t let you hold them over to the new calendar year?”

  Ally’s eyes became even more evasive. “The one I used to work for, before the merger, would have. The financial services firm I work for now is a lot more hard-nosed.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t happy with her new bosses. “You could always quit,” he pointed out. “Work the ranch instead.”

  He may as well have suggested she take a bath with a skunk.

  “Not in a million years,” she retorted, stomping around to the passenger side. “Besides, there’s no way I’m voluntarily giving up my management position.”

  She removed a heavy leather briefcase on wheels and a shoulder bag from the front seat, then headed toward the steps.

  Hank strode down to help her with them, too. “No doubt you’ve risen fast in corporate America. And worked hard to get there.” He lifted the heavy briefcase onto the porch and set it beside her suitcases. “Your mom used to brag all the time about how well you were doing in the big city.”

  Hurt turned down the corners of her soft lips. “Just not my dad,” she reflected sadly.

  Hank opened the front door and set her belongings in the foyer. “We all knew how he wished you’d returned to Laramie to work, after college. But parents don’t always get what they want in that regard. Ask my mom. She about had a fit when I told her I was joining the marines.”

  Ally lingered on the porch, turning her slender body into the brisk wind blowing across the rolling terrain. “Your dad understood, though.”

  Hank tracked her gaze to the small herd of cattle grazing in the distance, then glanced at the gloomy sky. “Dad rodeoed before he settled down. He understands risk is a part of life, same as breathing. Mom, once she had kids, well, she just wanted to protect her brood.”

  Turning back to face him, Ally leaned against the porch column. “Yet you came back for good last summer, anyway.”

  Hank shrugged, not about to go into the reasons for that, any more than he wanted to go over the reasons why he had left Texas as abruptly as he had. “Laramie is my home,” he said stubbornly.

  Ally’s delicate brow furrowed. She jumped in alarm and squinted at the barn, pointing at the open doors. “What was that?” she demanded, clearly shaken.

  Hank turned in that direction. “What was what?”

  Shivering, Ally folded her arms again. “I thought I saw some animal dart into the barn.”

  Hank saw no movement of any kind. “You sure?”

  “I’m positive!” she snapped, visibly chagrined.

  Her skittish reaction clued him into the fact that she was definitely not the outdoorsy type—which did not bode well for ranch activity of any sort.

  “What kind of animal?” he persisted. “A fox? Weasel? Snake? Armadillo?”

  Ally shivered again and backed closer to the house. “None of the above.” She kept a wary eye on the barn.

  Hank was about out of patience. “Describe it.”

  She held her hands out, about three feet apart. “It was big. And brown…”

  Which could be practically anything, including a groundhog or deer. Unable to help himself, he quipped, “We don’t have grizzly bears in these parts.”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “I did not say it was a grizzly bear! I just don’t know what kind of mammal it was.”

  Realizing the situation could be more serious than he was willing to let on, particularly if the animal were rabid, Hank grabbed a shovel from the bed of his pickup truck. “Then you better wait here.”

  ALLY HAD NEVER LIKED taking orders.

  But she liked dealing with wildlife even less.

  So she waited, pacing and shifting her weight from foot to foot as Hank strode purposefully across the gravel drive to the weathered gray barn. Seconds later, he disappeared inside the big building. Ally cocked her head, listening… waiting.

  To her frustration, silence reigned. Hank did not reappear.

  Which could not be good, since she had definitely seen something dash furtively through those wide doors.

  When yet another minute passed and he hadn’t reemerged, she decided to head over to the barn herself. There was no need to worry, Ally told herself. Hank was probably fine. Had there been any kind of trouble, he would have let out a yell.

  He probably had whatever it was cornered already—or was trying to figure out how to prompt it to run out the back doors, assuming he could get them open….

  Her heart racing, Ally reached the portal. Looked inside. Hank was twenty feet to her right, hunkered down, the shovel lying by his side. With his hat cocked back on his head, he was peering silently into the corner.

  “What is it?” Ally strode swiftly toward him, her heels making a purposeful rat-a-tat-tat on the concrete barn floor. And that was when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Two

  Hank had seen his fair share of startled animals in the midst of a fight-or-flight response. So the commotion that followed Ally’s rapid entry into the shadowy barn was no surprise.

  Her reaction to the cornered creature’s bounding, snarling brouhaha was.

  She stumbled sideways, knocking into Hank, and screaming loudly enough to alert the entire county. An action that caused their unexpected intruder to lunge forward and frantically defend its temporary refuge.

  In the resulting cacophony, Hank half expected Ally to scream again. Instead, like a combat soldier in the midst of a panic attack, she went pale as a ghost. Pulse leaping in her throat, she seemed frozen in place, and so overcome with fear she was unable to breathe.

  Afraid she might faint on him—if she didn’t have a heart attack, that was—Hank gave up on trying to soothe the startled stray. He vaulted to his feet and grabbed hold of Ally. “It’s all right. I’ve got it under control.”

  Although she barely moved, her frantic expression indicated she disagreed.

  “Just stay here and don’t move,” he told her, as the frantic leaping, snarling and snapping continued.

  He started to move away, but Ally clutched his sleeve in her fist and gave him a beseeching look.

  Unfortunately, Hank knew what he had to do or the situation would only get worse.

  “Stay here and don’t move,” he repeated, in the same commanding voice he had used on green recruits.

  He pried her fingers from his arm and stepped closer to the other hysterical female in the room. He approached confidently but cautiously, hand outstretched.

  “Come on, now. Let’s just simmer down.” He regarded the mud-soaked coat studded with thorns, looked into dark, liquid eyes. “I can see you tangled with a mesquite thicket and lost,” he remarked in a low, soothing voice.

  He stopped just short of the cornered animal and hunkered down so they were on an equal level.

  As he had hoped, the aggressive growling slowed and finally stopped.

  Another second passed and then his fat-bellied opponent collapsed in weary submission on the cold, hard cement.

  ALLY WATCHED AS HANK slowly stood and, talking gently all the while, closed the distance between himself and the intruder. Confidently, he knelt in front of the beast.

  The muddy animal lifted its big square head off the concrete and ever so gingerly leaned over to sniff Hank’s palm. While Ally stood frozen in place, still paralyzed with fear, Hank calmly murmured words of comfort to the wild anima
l.

  The beast answered his kind welcome with a thump of its straggly tail, then dropped its big nose and licked Hank’s palm. A broad smiled creased the cowboy’s handsome face. Chuckling, he lifted his other hand to the back of the filthy animal’s head and began to scratch it consolingly behind the ears, his touch so obviously gentle and tender Ally wished she could experience it.

  Apparently their trespasser felt the same, because it thumped its tail even harder.

  Ally stared at the long creature with the drenched and filthy coat and unusually round middle. As she calmed down, she could see that the “savage beast” was actually a big, scraggly dog that had just been looking for shelter from the approaching winter storm. She knew she had just made a pretty big fool of herself in front of the ex-marine. Unfortunately, her fear, irrational as it might have been, was not entirely gone yet, despite the fact that their barn crasher was now putty in Hank’s large, capable hands.

  Telling herself she would not give Hank McCabe reason to think less of her than he probably already did, Ally willed herself to take several deep breaths. Suddenly he turned his head to look at her. Although he didn’t speak, he seemed to be wondering why she hadn’t budged from where he had left her.

  Good question.

  “How did you know that dog wasn’t going to bite you?” she asked eventually, hoping to turn McCabe’s attention to something other than her embarrassing display of cowardice.

  “First, it was scared and upset, not rabid. Second, it’s a golden retriever.”

  Her heart still pounding erratically, Ally discreetly wiped her damp palms on the skirt of her suit. “So?”

  Hank regarded her with the ease of a man who was clearly in his element. “Golden retrievers are one of the gentlest breeds.” He beckoned her with a slight tilt of his head. “Why don’t you come over here and say hello?”

  Ally swallowed and eyed the two warily. Hank continued to smile with encouragement. The dog lifted its big head and stared at her, considering.

  The memory of another stray dog who had stared silently—then sunk his teeth into Ally’s ankle—welled up inside her, followed by yet another wave of uncertainty and fear. “She didn’t sound gentle when she came barreling out of the corner,” Ally pointed out, taking another reflexive step back.

  Hank shrugged his broad shoulders in exasperation. “You startled her. This pretty girl didn’t know if you were friend or foe. You’ll both feel better if you take the time to make peace with her.”

  Pretty? He’d called this filthy beast with the large jaws and wary eyes pretty? “And how would you suggest I do that?”

  “Pet her. Talk to her. Show her a little kindness,” he said as he rubbed the dog’s head and neck.

  Ally watched as the powerfully built retriever luxuriated in the massage. There was no doubt she was putty in Hank’s hands, but animals sensed when humans were scared. And right now Ally was full of fear. Grimacing, she hugged her arms to her chest, not about to let herself be made vulnerable in that way. “I don’t think so.”

  Hank lifted an eyebrow. “I’d ask why not,” he replied drolly, “but it’s pretty clear you’re still as frightened of this big ol’ sweetheart as she initially was of you.”

  His quiet disapproval rankled. “I don’t like dogs.”

  Hank’s eyes sparkled with devilry. “Dogs and Christmas. Wow. Sure your name isn’t Ebenezer Scrooge?”

  Ally gave him her most repressing look. “Very funny,” she snapped, more annoyed now than embarrassed. “I was bit by a dog that strayed onto our ranch when I was five. I’ve been leery of them ever since.”

  Comprehension lent compassion. “That’s a shame,” Hank said sincerely, shaking his head in regret. “You’re really missing out.”

  Still keeping a cautious eye on the suddenly docile creature, Ally remained where she was. She didn’t care how friendly the big mutt looked now—there was no way Hank was getting her to venture over there. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  A car motor sounded in the drive behind them. Ally turned to see a Cadillac pulling up in front of the barn. An elegantly dressed, silver-haired man in a gray Western suit, and a Resistol hat emerged from the car.

  “Expecting someone?” Hank asked curiously.

  She nodded as the stranger strode over to meet them.

  I am doing the right thing, she assured herself.

  The short, slim man extended his hand and flashed a smile. “Ally Garrett, I presume? I’m Graham Penderson, of Corporate Farms.”

  SO THAT WAS WHY Ally had arrived so early, dressed in a business suit, Hank thought, a mixture of disapproval and disappointment welling up inside him. She’d known she was taking the first step to sell the ranch that had meant everything to her mom and dad.

  And now that Corporate Farms was involved, there was no doubt in his mind who would be the highest bidder.

  Ally pivoted to face him, her expression as coolly commanding as her voice. “I take it you can handle this situation?” she inquired gesturing toward the filthy stray.

  Hank lifted his free hand to tip up the brim of his hat. If she wanted him to act like the hired help, he’d do just that. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, putting as much twang as he could into the words, just to rile her, “I shorely can.”

  Ally narrowed her eyes and smiled at him deliberately.

  “All right.” She pivoted once again. “Mr. Penderson. This way…”

  Hank watched as she led the slick representative toward the ranch house. They were inside the sadly neglected domicile less than two minutes, then walked back out—maps of the property in tow—and climbed into the older man’s Cadillac.

  Hank looked down at the soaked, shivering dog cuddled against his side. “Well, I didn’t expect that, at least not today.” He rubbed some of the dirt off a fancy pink rhinestone collar hidden in the fur, which spelled out the first clear hint to the pet’s identity. “But I’ll deal with it. Meantime, what do you say we get you cleaned up?”

  An hour later, Hank was kneeling in the big, old-fashioned bathroom upstairs, toweling off his canine companion, when Ally came down the hall.

  She stopped in her tracks when she saw the mess of mud and hair and occasional spots of blood that had been left in the claw-footed tub, the pile of thorns and burrs heaped in the wastebasket.

  It had taken some doing, but Hank finally had the animal in decent shape.

  He noticed that Ally didn’t come any closer than the door frame when she set eyes on the golden retriever. “What’s that thing doing in here?”

  “Getting a bath,” he said shortly.

  Ally propped her hands on her slender hips and wrinkled her nose. “And that smell?” she asked.

  “Wet dog and my shampoo,” he explained.

  Ally studied the heap of wet towels next to the tub and made another face. “Ugh.”

  Hank passed up the opportunity to reassure her he planned to clean everything. Instead, he leveled a matter-of-fact glance her way. “Where’s your pal Penderson?” he asked.

  She tensed. “He left.”

  Slowly, Hank got to his feet and braced his own hands on his waist. “Tell me you’re not selling to Corporate Farms.”

  Ally flushed uncomfortably. “I’m not selling to anyone until I’ve had a chance to have the property appraised,” she told him quietly.

  That made sense from a business point of view, he noted. “When is that going to happen?”

  Her pretty chin took on a stubborn line. “A broker from Premier Realty in Laramie is coming out later this week, once I’ve had a chance to get the ranch house in order.”

  Wishing she’d stop looking so damn kissable, Hank pushed his desire aside and forced himself to concentrate on the very important business at hand. “And once you know what the property is worth?”

  Ally swept a hand through her sleek cap of honey-blond hair. “As in all competitions,” she replied, tucking the silky strands behind her ear, “the highest bid wins.” She let her ha
nd fall to her side and regarded the retriever with a disgruntled frown. “I really wish you hadn’t brought him up here.”

  “First of all—” Hank leaned past Ally “—it’s a she. And according to the rhinestone-studded collar she was wearing—” he lifted said collar out of the cleansing bubbles in the sink “—her name is Duchess.”

  Ally leaned closer and inspected the fancy collar without touching it. Then once again her gaze met Hank’s. “Who does she belong to?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Ignoring the quickening of his pulse, he knelt and fastened the pink leather strap around Duchess’s throat. This was no time to want to bed a woman.

  Especially when she was his landlord. “It had no ring for metal identification tags.” And hence was strictly decorative. But that confirmed Hank’s guess that Duchess was a beloved house pet, not your run-of-the-mill stray.

  He gave her fur one last rub, then dropped the towel and stood, motioning for the dog to do the same.

  Abruptly fearful once again, Ally moved back into the hall. “So what are you going to do next?” she demanded.

  “Feed her. Get her a bowl of water.” Come back and clean up this mess. And most of all, stop feeling attracted to you. Hank moved through the door, and Duchess trotted by his side.

  “And then?” Ally pressed.

  He paused in his bedroom to remove his damp shirt and pull a dry, long-sleeved henley over his head. He grabbed a pair of jeans and slipped into the bathroom to change. “I already put in a call to my cousin Kurt.”

  When he emerged, still zipping up his pants, Ally was staring at him as if she’d never seen a man disrobe. Her mouth agape, she watched him fish a pair of wool socks from a dresser drawer.

  Hank sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the socks. Conversationally, he continued. “Kurt is a veterinarian here now.”

  Scowling, Ally shook her head as if to clear it. “I know that,” she stated irritably.