“Don’t thank us. Thank Hank. He’s the one who pulled it all together on short notice!” Hank’s baby sister, Emily, came forward. The feisty twenty-eight-year-old beauty was chef and owner of the Daybreak Café. She had one of Duchess’s puppies in her arms. “Hank told me you’re in love with the littlest one, Gracie, and I have to tell you, Ally, I completely understand! I’m in love, too. In fact, I think I’d rather have a dog than a man. They’re much more loyal and dependable.”
Ally couldn’t help but laugh, as did everyone else gathered around.
Jeb McCabe, Hank’s older brother, came down off a ladder and sauntered forward. “Hey, Ally,” he said. “Good to see you!” The former rodeo star gave her shoulders a casual squeeze, then turned back to his sister. “As for you—you wouldn’t have trouble in the love arena if you picked good guys to begin with.”
Emily scowled.
Apparently, Ally thought, this was an old and familiar argument.
Holden McCabe, Hank’s younger brother, joined the conversation. Serious and responsible to a fault, even before his best friend’s untimely death a year before, the horse rancher regarded his baby sister kindly. “If you’d just let the men in the family vet your choices first…”
“He has a point,” Hank said protectively. “There’s no way you’d end up with losers if the three of us put them through the gauntlet first.”
Emily glared at all her big brothers. “What you mean is there’s no way I’d ever have another date in my life, if the three of you were involved! Although,” she declared cantankerously, as the front door opened and closed, “I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing!”
Behind her, Lulu Sanderson swept in. Gorgeous as ever, the sophisticated former prom queen made a beeline for where Hank and Ally were standing. Unlike everyone else in the room, dressed for manual labor, Lulu was wearing a Stella McCartney suede jacket, skinny jeans and Jimmy Choo heels.
The petite brunette smiled at Ally. “Hank told me you were back! And here I am, too, doing what I said I’d never do—working for my dad’s barbecue restaurant.”
This was a surprise, given that Lulu had gone to an Ivy League college and business school and—last Ally had heard—was successfully climbing the career ladder on the East Coast.
“Anyway…” Lulu turned back to Hank. She reached into her carryall and pulled out a piece of paper. “You can kiss me now, because I found a crew, and they’ll have half a dozen workers here tomorrow to paint the entire interior. They think they can do it in two days, as long as you email them before six tomorrow morning to let them know the color choice.”
Ally blinked in surprise and scanned the information handed her. “How did you manage that?”
Lulu lifted her hand in an airy wave. “Oh, I have connections all over the place. The crew is coming from San Angelo.” Correctly guessing the reason behind Ally’s concern, she continued, “And don’t worry about the cost. Hank has it covered.”
Ally turned back to him in stunned amazement.
He reassured her with a sober glance. “I know you want it done, as soon as possible, and I figure it’s the least I can do since you let me stay here rent-free the last six months.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Emily McCabe interjected. “Hank is just trying to soften you up so you’ll let him buy Mesquite Ridge.”
Was that the case? Ally wondered. Was that the only reason he was being so incredibly generous and nice? His expression gave no clue.
WHILE HANK WALKED LULU OUT, Ally retreated to the kitchen to see what she could do about rustling up some refreshments for all the people who had turned out to help her. Emily tagged along, the puppy still in her arms. She knelt to replace the little dog in the warmer and pet Duchess and the other pups for a moment. Then she went to the window overlooking the side yard, where Hank stood, hands in his pockets, conversing privately with Lulu Sanderson.
Moving to the sink to wash her hands, Emily inclined her head toward the window and muttered, “I wish I could figure out what’s going on with the two of them.”
Me, too. Ally pushed aside the whisper of jealousy and worry floating through her. Why should she care who Hank chatted up?
Emily stood on tiptoe to get a better view. “They’re not dating, and yet…they seem almost intimate on some level. It’s like they’ve got something secret going on between them.”
Like Hank and me? Ally wondered, reflecting on the way they’d recklessly kissed…and later made love. No one knew about that, either, Ally thought uneasily. Not that it would have been appropriate to talk about, given the matter-of-fact way they’d hooked up.
Ally turned her attention back to Hank’s sister. Clearly, Emily was worried about Hank in a way Ally had never seen her be with her other two brothers. Was Hank right? Did every member of his family still treat him with kid gloves and think he needed extra protection from whatever life threw his way? It certainly seemed so.
Curious, Ally dug a little deeper. “I gather that bothers you,” she remarked casually.
Emily shrugged and turned away from the window. She knelt down to survey the puppies, many of which were twitching in their sleep, or squirming to get more comfortable. “I never thought Lulu was Hank’s type.” She smiled at the velvety soft little animals sleeping in a tangle, heads pillowed on each other’s backsides.
Then she sighed. “Or that Hank was Lulu’s type, either, since the guy she married was a very savvy investment banker. Of course, he cheated on her and they’re divorced now. And the rumor is Lulu got quite the financial settlement. So maybe she’s just looking for someone steady and dependable, who also wants to live in Laramie.” Emily chewed her lip anxiously. “And heaven knows, Hank is that. Once he commits to a woman, he’s hers, heart and soul. The only problem is, he hasn’t actually committed to anyone since Jo-anne died….”
But he had hooked up. With Ally. And maybe other women, as well. Ally realized too late that she and Hank hadn’t even discussed exclusivity, or the lack thereof. She had just assumed he was single and unattached when he made his move on her. And even though they didn’t plan to continue their relationship past the next few weeks, and maybe not even then, the thought of him with another woman rankled.
Maybe she was getting in too deep. With Duchess and the puppies. The ranch. Hank.
Ally arranged fresh fruit slices on a tray. “He thinks the family worries about him.”
Emily followed Ally’s wordless directions and arranged cheese and crackers on another tray. “I think we all just want to see him settled again with someone, even if it’s not the kind of wildly-and-passionately-in-love kind of relationship he had with Jo-anne.” She frowned. “Because honestly, until he has another woman in his life, long term, who wants the same things that he wants, I don’t think he is going to ever be really happy again.”
If that was true—and Ally had no reason to think it wasn’t—then she was definitely out of the running to be the next woman in Hank’s life. So maybe it was best the two of them kept to friendship and, despite the temptation, didn’t hook up again. Because Hank needed a woman who loved this ranch and the lifestyle that went with it, every bit as much as he did.
“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Hank asked Ally, nearly two days later. Late that afternoon the painters had packed up and left, their check from Hank in hand.
Ally couldn’t stop looking at her surroundings. In many ways, it was like having a new house, 1920s style. All the old blinds and worn area rugs had been removed. As per her instructions, the entire interior had been coated in sophisticated shades of gray that soaked up the light pouring in from the freshly washed windows. The original wide plank floors contrasted nicely with the newly painted high white ceilings and trim.
“I have to tell you I wasn’t sure about the colors you selected.” Hank surveyed their surroundings with a keen eye. “But now…wow.”
“I knew it would work,” Ally replied absent-mindedly, as she hung the long damask drapes she had made at the
front windows. “The varying shades of gray are neutral enough to appeal to a buyer of either sex, and support a rainbow of color schemes for the various rooms.” Ally climbed back down the ladder. “I’d say we just upped the value of the property by a good twenty thousand dollars.”
Abruptly, concern flickered in Hank’s eyes.
Her usual hard-edged business sense gave way to an unexpected flood of guilt. Regretfully, Ally guessed, “Which puts the asking price even further out of your reach?”
Hank shrugged, confident once again. “Not necessarily.”
What did he mean by that? Had he found a way to obtain the money, the same way Lulu Sanderson had managed to do the seemingly impossible and scrounge up a painting crew? Maybe through one of his many family or friends in the area? His expression gave no clue. Yet there was something on his mind. Something mysterious and suddenly…almost merry in intent.
“Want to go for a ride?”
Now they were back to the chase. With Hank pursuing her, and Ally wanting nothing more than to relent. What possible good could come of this? she wondered. But found herself asking curiously, “What kind of ride?” Why did he seem so happy, when she was another step closer to selling the ranch house out from under him? Without having to resort to a sale to the greedy, undercutting Corporate Farms?
Hank shrugged, all indifferent male again. “You haven’t really seen the ranch in a while, and I need to put out some feed for my herd.” He gestured widely with his large, capable hands. With pure innocence he looked her in the eye. “You could help, if you like.”
Ally hesitated. There didn’t seem to be a sexual motive in the invitation. She tilted her head and continued studying the inscrutable expression on his handsome face. “Are you asking me to be a cowgirl?” Was this his new approach? Get her to love the ranch so much she’d be unable to sell it?
Hank shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. Holding her gaze, he rocked forward on his toes. “A windshield cowgirl, maybe.”
What was she—a one-hundred-forty-pound weakling unable to hold her own with one of the indomitable Mc-Cabes? Or a strong independent career woman capable of handling herself in any situation? Figuring it was time to remind Hank who he was really dealing with, Ally allowed, “Actually, some fresh air would be nice. Just let me change and check on Duchess and the pups first….”
He nodded. “I’ll do the same and meet you out by the barns.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ally was still in the kitchen, kneeling next to the puppies.
Hank strode back in, impatient to get going. “I knew I’d find you here,” he said.
She refused to be rushed. “Gracie needed some more cuddling before I put her back in the warming bed with her littermates.”
“Um-hmm.” Hank bent down to pet Duchess’s silky head. He angled a thumb at Ally, then told the dog in mock seriousness, “That gal over there. She’s showing favoritism. Which normally would not be cool. But your littlest one needs some extra attention, so we’re going to forgive Ally for her blatant unfairness.”
Ally rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it. Gracie needs me.”
Still keeping a hand on Duchess, Hank reached down into the warmer and lovingly petted each of the other pups in turn. “Keep it up,” he warned, “and Gracie’s going to think you’re her mother, not Duchess.”
His criticism would have been easier to take if she hadn’t caught him sneaking into the kitchen to do the same thing. Ally got down on the floor with Hank and, still holding Gracie close, used her free hand to pet the other pups, as well.
Deciding maybe now was the time, she broached what was on her mind. “I could be Gracie’s mother if I were to adopt her.”
“I thought you didn’t like dogs,” he teased.
Okay. It was time to come out and admit… “Obviously,” Ally murmured, “I was wrong. I do like dogs. In fact…” she paused and cleared her throat “…I think I actually might…love them.”
Hank grinned. “Me, too.”
Which was another thing they had in common. Not that Ally was keeping score….
“The only problem is,” Hank continued seriously, “that none of these dogs are ours to keep.”
Ally wasn’t convinced about that. “Kurt has used all his connections as a vet to put out the word, state-wide now. And no one has turned up to claim them.” She knew, because she checked with the vet daily.
“Yet. They still could.”
Ally watched Hank rise and give Duchess a final pat on the head. “Now who’s got the bah, humbugs?” she prodded.
He frowned. “I’m just being realistic.”
“Christmas is not about reality. Christmas is about hope and joy. And before you argue with me,” Ally added, her voice ringing with emotions, “I’d like to point out that you are every bit as attached to Duchess as I am to Gracie!”
For once, Hank didn’t deny it. “You going to help me feed the cattle or not?”
Ally kissed Gracie on top of her tiny head and reluctantly put her back in the warming box, next to her littermates. “I’m coming with you,” she muttered as she shrugged on her old shearling-lined denim jacket. “How long is this going to take, anyway?”
Hank slipped a hand under her elbow as he escorted her out the back door toward the barns. “As long as we want it to take.”
Ally looked up at him and smiled. It was a beautiful winter afternoon, with a slight breeze, crisp cold air and blue skies overhead.
And that suited her just fine.
THE MESQUITE RIDGE RANCH property ranged along the Laramie and Mesquite Rivers, an occasional barbed wire fence setting it off from the surrounding six ranches. Hoping Ally would appreciate what she was about to give up, once she absorbed the rugged beauty around them, Hank drove slowly along the gravel road, past thickets of juniper and holly, through acre after acre of mesquite and cedar choked hills.
He half expected Ally to complain about their unhurried progress. Instead, she settled back in her seat, and studied their surroundings in silence.
Hank wondered if she had any idea how much work he’d done the last six months, or how much more was going to be required to turn this ranch into the showplace it should be. Her pensive expression held no clue; the only thing he was certain of was that the tour was as unexpectedly thought-provoking and important for her as it was for him.
Realizing they had only an hour or so before dark, Hank finally turned the truck and circled back around to the grassy pasture that housed his herd. Ranging in size from six hundred to nearly eighteen hundred pounds, the cattle grazed sedately.
“I’ve always liked black Angus more than longhorns,” Ally murmured, with an appreciative glance at the healthy steers.
As he cut the engine and they got out of the cab, Hank realized how little he really knew about her, how much more he wanted to learn.
“How come?” He came to her side.
Ally thrust her hands in the pockets of her old farm jacket, one he recalled her wearing in high school. Now, it was something to work in. Back then it had been her one and only coat.
She grinned up at him. “Black Angus don’t have horns, and that makes ’em look cuddlier.”
“Not exactly a word I’d use for cows and steers,” Hank countered drily, thinking that if anyone here was in need of a cuddle, it was Ally. And not because a cold winter wind was blowing against them, inducing shivers.
It was more in the vulnerable way she held herself.
Knowing how completely she could give, when it came to physical intimacy.
Emotionally…well, emotionally was another matter. For every step she took nearer to him, she seemed to take another one away.
Her cheeks pinkening in the cold, Ally lazily closed the distance between them. Unable to help herself, she taunted, “And here I thought you were the more romantic of the two of us.”
As soon as the words were out, she blushed. “I meant… sentimental…when it came to ranching per se…” she choked out.
Hank chuckled. “You might be a tad sentimental and romantic, too,” he teased right back.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
Looking more like a cowgirl than ever with one booted foot crossed over the other, Ally leaned against the side of the truck, while Hank opened the tailgate. “How many cattle do you have?”
“One hundred.” He flashed a wistful grin, aware that for the first time in a very long time he actually cared what a woman thought about him. “Or two hundred less than required to have what is considered a working cattle ranch.”
Ally shot him a respectful glance from beneath her lashes. “I have every confidence you’ll get there,” she said quietly.
Hank knew he would. The only question was where would his cattle be housed. Here on Mesquite Ridge, or somewhere else by default.
Ally tugged on the leather work gloves Hank had loaned her. “They look healthy,” she observed.
Beaming with pride, Hank carried a bundle of hay out into the pasture and cut the twine. “I’ve had good luck so far.”
Ally took handfuls of alfalfa and spread it around, so the cattle didn’t have to fight for feed.
“It’s more than luck,” she remarked. A bitter edge underscored her low serious tone. “It takes skill. Dedication. The willingness to study up on animal husbandry and do all the things necessary to keep the cattle in top form.”
Hank carried another bundle over and set it down. There was an undertone to her voice that bore exploration. “Why do I have the feeling we’re not talking about me any longer?” he asked casually.
She sighed and shook out more hay. “It’s no secret my dad was a lousy cattleman. All he and my mom ever cared about was expanding the ranch.”
“He eventually owned four thousand acres. Given the fact he started from nothing, that’s quite an accomplishment.”
“But no surprise,” Ally muttered resentfully. “Every cent we had went to buying more and more land. To the point that we wore sweaters instead of running the furnace in winter, and did without practically everything because every penny spent was a penny we wouldn’t have to buy more land.”
A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe Page 9
