A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  “I... No...I can’t.” She was spared having to say more by the low rumble of an approaching truck.

  “I bet that’s the guy delivering our firewood.” She hesitated at the door, her hand resting on the jamb. “Thanks again for taking care of the horses.”

  “No problem.”

  Jumping into her SUV, she executed a U-turn and beeped her horn, waving at the driver to follow when she had his attention. As she led him to the north side of the clubhouse, she was thinking not of the firewood but of going on a trail ride or watching the bull riding with one very handsome cowboy at her side.

  * * *

  AFTER INSTRUCTING THE delivery guy where to stack the half cord of firewood, Molly went inside the house. It was just before noon, time to begin waiting on the internet service technician who probably wouldn’t arrive until closer to six.

  No matter, Molly had plenty of tasks to accomplish, including a training session with Nora on guest relations. The ranch’s next wedding, on Thursday, would be held outside on the veranda. The bride was a former army officer who’d suffered third-degree burns on over 50 percent of her body in a bomb explosion. Now, two years later, she was walking down the aisle.

  Molly was determined that everything be perfect, right down to the tiniest detail. To that end, she started on the Christmas decorations, first stringing lights along the veranda railing and then tying big red ribbons on the columns. She was almost done with hanging a sprig of mistletoe in the foyer when she heard the wood delivery truck leaving.

  Annoyed that the driver hadn’t checked in with her first, she set aside the pruning shears, brushed off the front of her pants and trotted down the steps. She’d no sooner rounded the house than she spotted the stacked wood, thirty feet from where it should be and out in the open rather than tucked beneath the shelter of the eave.

  “What the...!”

  She immediately dialed the delivery guy’s number. Naturally, he didn’t pick up. Why hadn’t she stayed and watched him? This was her fault, which irritated Molly all the more.

  Huffing, she stared at the stacked wood, willing it to magically transport itself to the right location.

  “Something wrong?”

  She whirled at the sound of Owen’s voice. He’d developed this irritating habit of sneaking up on her.

  “The guy left the wood in the wrong place. It’s supposed to be stacked against the building and out of the elements. I called but he won’t answer his phone.”

  “I’ll move it for you.”

  She eyed him dubiously. “That’s a lot of work. You just unharnessed the horses and carried in ten sacks of grain.”

  “I don’t mind. Really.”

  “It’s all right.” She huffed again. “I’ll take care of it. Somehow.”

  “Come on. Let me help.”

  She wavered. “What about the kids?”

  “Tracee is watching them. I called her earlier.”

  She noticed he held his truck keys. “You obviously have plans or you wouldn’t have hired her to babysit.”

  “I was hoping to get a jump on some Christmas shopping before the rush. Other than the kids and Uncle Homer, all my gift recipients live in another state. Then I saw you standing here looking mad.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “I can go another day. Or shop online and have the packages shipped like the rest of the world.”

  “I refuse to let you pay for a babysitter while you’re restacking firewood for me. Let me at least reimburse you what she charges.”

  “No way.”

  “Owen.” Molly planted her hands on her hips. This was too reminiscent of their conversation in the stables. Her in a fix and him offering to help.

  “Tell you what. I’ll trade you.”

  “Trade me?” she asked suspiciously.

  “The kids want to come to the campfire tonight.”

  “Of course they can come. You don’t have to restack the firework for that.”

  “And some of Bridget’s homemade macaroni and cheese. The kids love it.” He grinned. “Okay, I confess. I love it, too.”

  Macaroni and cheese would require that Molly involve her sister, which definitely wasn’t her preference. On the other hand, if Owen didn’t move the firewood, that left it up to Molly. She either battled the delivery guy to come back and fix his mistake or she moved the firewood herself.

  “Quit being stubborn,” he said.

  “You’re doing so much already.”

  “I like earning my keep.”

  Only because she wanted Thursday’s wedding to be perfect, right down to the grounds being in tip-top shape, she relented. “You have a deal.”

  His grin widened as if he’d just won the lottery.

  She showed him exactly where she wanted the firewood stacked and then started for the house. But not before getting one last look at him over her shoulder. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his muscular, tanned forearms. When he waved at her, she quickly pivoted, pretending not to have seen him.

  Her cheeks were still burning when she entered the kitchen, slamming the back door a little too forcefully. Bridget was sitting at the table with her feet propped on an adjoining chair. She’d been staring at her electronic tablet until Molly entered.

  “Easy there,” Bridget cautioned. “That door’s breakable.”

  Molly ripped off her sweatshirt and made straight for the refrigerator and a cold soda. While there, she began lifting lids and peering beneath plastic wrap for something to eat. She should finish trimming the roses but had decided on a lunch break instead.

  “What’s wrong?” Bridget asked when Molly surfaced with a bowl of chicken salad.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “The delivery guy stacked the firewood in the wrong place.” She wasn’t about to admit to her sister that she was embarrassed because Owen had caught her checking him out.

  “Won’t he come back and move it?”

  “Owen’s doing that now.”

  “Is he?” Bridget laid down the tablet. She kept her recipes stored on it and was always researching new ones in her spare time. “That was nice of him.”

  “We made a deal.”

  Bridget’s eyes lit with interest. “What kind of deal? Please tell me it involves sharing a romantic candlelight dinner in a cozy corner booth.”

  “What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Possibly trail riding or watching the bull riding, if she said yes. Which she wouldn’t.

  “I’m not being ridiculous. Trust me. I’ve seen you looking at him.”

  How could Molly deny the accusation when only moments ago she’d been ogling Owen’s forearms?

  “I don’t know what gave you that idea.” She opened the vegetable bin and selected a beefsteak tomato purchased from the nearby farmer’s market.

  “He looks at you, too.”

  “Nonsense. He’s just being friendly and accommodating. That’s part of his job.” Which reminded her of the deal. “He agreed to move the firewood in exchange for some of your macaroni and cheese. His kids apparently love it.”

  “I can do that.” Bridget stood and stretched. “Then maybe I could take it over to his cabin. See if he looks at me the same way he does you.”

  Molly ignored the annoying twinge in her tummy, which couldn’t possibly be jealousy, and began slicing the tomato. “Suit yourself.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Okay. Good, then. Macaroni and cheese it is.”

  Bridget disappeared into the pantry and returned with a bag of elbow pasta. By then, Molly had carried her plate of chicken salad and tomato to the table.

  “Oh, my, would you look at that.” Bridget stopped in her tracks and peered out the window over the
sink.

  “What?” Molly feigned indifference.

  “Owen. He took off his shirt.”

  Her sister was teasing her. Molly was convinced of it and remained glued to her chair. The weather was warmer today but not that warm.

  “Don’t you want to see?” Bridget asked, her tone cajoling.

  “You’re just saying that so I’ll jump up and run to the window. Then you can have a good laugh at my expense.” To her chagrin, Molly had fallen for he sister’s ploy before when they were teenagers and, yes, even more recently than that.

  “I’m not joking.” Bridget released a long, lazy sigh.

  When her sister still didn’t move, Molly finally went over to join her, certain she was going to be sorry. She was.

  “Gotcha!” Bridget elbowed her in the ribs. “You’re so gullible.”

  Molly ignored her. She knew she should go back to eating her lunch. Instead, she continued to stare.

  Owen had located the wheelbarrow and was loading it with wood. When the wheelbarrow was full, he pushed it to the stack he’d started up against the building. There, he unloaded the logs, five or six at a time.

  After two more loads, Molly straightened and turned.

  “Welcome back,” Bridget said from the counter. “You were gone a long time.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I thought you’d fallen into a coma induced by the sight of his broad shoulders.”

  Molly glanced around. Either her sister had managed to heat a pot of water to boiling in three seconds and shred an entire block of cheddar cheese or she’d been staring at Owen a humiliating length of time.

  “I’m sure he’d ask you out if you dropped a hint.”

  “I don’t want to go out with him.” Molly sat at the table and attacked her lunch.

  “Why not? You’re both single.”

  “Let’s start with Cody, Marisa and Willa.”

  “You’re a kid person. What’s the problem?”

  “I’m not ready for an instant family. That’s a lot to take on and, in case you forgot, we have a brand-new business to run. Grandma’s depending on us. More so now that she’s married. She’ll want to spend time with Homer.”

  “Lucky her.”

  “Plus, Owen’s made it very clear his priority for being here is to reconnect with his children and look for a new job. I don’t want to interfere with that.”

  “What about after he’s reconnected with them and found a job?”

  “Who’s to say when that’ll happen?”

  “You’re being intentionally difficult.”

  “I am not!”

  “Oh, yeah?” Bridget selected a colander hanging from the overhead rack and set it in the sink. “Why don’t you ask your two former fiancés?”

  The dig hurt, and Molly glanced away.

  “I’m sorry.” Bridget’s tone was contrite. “That wasn’t nice. I forget sometimes how hurt you were over that last breakup. You handled it so well.”

  No, what Molly had done was throw herself into work and ignore the pain until it lessened.

  “I’m envious of you,” Bridget said.

  “And my two broken engagements?”

  “Of the fact Owen’s attracted to you and not me. And how awesome you’re doing filling in for Grandma. You’ve really stepped up in a big way.”

  “Thanks.” Two compliments in a row from her sister. Molly wasn’t sure what to think.

  Bridget dropped into the seat across from Molly. “Nora said our website hits have tripled this week and that we have fifty-something new likes on our social media page.”

  “That has nothing to do with me being awesome.”

  “Hard work deserves to be rewarded.” Bridget wriggled her eyebrows. “Go out and have some fun, will you? Good-looking man in residence...one of us should take advantage.”

  Molly changed tactics, trying to discourage her sister. “If you like Owen so much, why don’t you drop a hint, as you said, and go out with him? He’s more your type than mine anyway.”

  Bridget shrugged. “I tried that already.”

  Molly almost choked on her chicken salad. “You did?”

  “Yes. He’s super attractive, and I’m not made of stone. Naturally I flirted.”

  “What, um...” Molly couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “What was his response? He didn’t have one. Zero. I might as well have been flirting with a statue.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” Men were unable to resist her sister when she set her sights on them.

  “He didn’t respond because you’re the one he’s smitten with.”

  Molly stabbed a piece of tomato. “If that’s true, he’s wasting his time because the feeling isn’t reciprocated.”

  Bridget broke into laughter. “I’d believe you if not for all the nose prints on the window.”

  Molly ignored her sister, only to sneak a peek at the window the moment Bridget’s back was turned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I WANNA LIGHT the fire, too.” Cody crept forward, inch by inch.

  “No, son. Stay by the chairs like I told you.”

  To Owen’s increasing frustration, his three young hooligans had developed a dangerous fascination with the campfire. Marisa and Willa didn’t fully understand the concept, having no previous experience with fire. Cody was old enough to remember a week they’d spent at a lodge in the Christopher Creek area where there had also been a campfire.

  Jeanne had been eight months pregnant with Willa, and Marisa barely walking. His ex-wife had insisted on one last vacation before the birth of their third child, claiming the getaway would do their marriage good.

  Sadly, she’d been wrong. Their relationship had deteriorated beyond what a single weeklong vacation could repair. He was glad all Cody remembered from that tension-filled trip was the communal fire they’d sat at each evening and not the almost constant arguing between his parents.

  “Don’t come any closer.” Owen held his free hand up in a stop-right-there gesture when Cody continued to inch forward. “Fire isn’t a toy to be played with.”

  “I won’t play,” Cody said.

  Yeah, right. The boy’s entire life was one big playground.

  “Can I call Mommy?” Marisa asked for the third time in the last hour. She and Willa were squished together in one of the lawn chairs circling the fire pit.

  “You just talked to her before dinner.”

  “I forgot to tell her about feeding the horses.”

  Owen had held Marisa while she dumped scoops of grain into each horse’s feed trough. “You can call her tomorrow, peanut.”

  “That’s too long.”

  Satisfied the kindling had caught, Owen stood and backed away from the fire pit. For whatever reason, his kids were more homesick today than usual. And here he’d been feeling optimistic about them adjusting to life at Sweetheart Ranch. Maybe the relapse was related to Jeanne telling the kids she and her boyfriend were leaving on Thursday for a ski trip.

  Marisa had gotten confused and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, that her mother wasn’t returning until after Christmas. That morphed into Santa not visiting. Eventually, Owen and Jeanne had calmed her down but Marisa continued to be upset.

  Owen had begun to suspect that his kids’ insecurities of late had as much to do with Jeanne’s growing relationship with her boyfriend as being temporarily uprooted and left in his sole care. She and her boyfriend were discussing “the next step,” though Jeanne hadn’t told the kids. Still, they were clearly sensing a shift in the dynamics at home and possibly responding.

  Which led Owen to ponder how the kids would react if, and when, he found someone new. Naturally, an image of Molly instantly came to him.

  His attraction to her was increasing day by day. She was a complicated woman
which, in his mind, made her all the more interesting. She kept his attention when a less complicated woman would have bored him silly. Challenging, yes. She could test a man’s patience. But Owen liked challenges and seldom shied from them. Especially when they were as pretty as Molly O’Malley.

  In the next instant, common sense reared its head, warning him that diving in before either of them was ready would practically guarantee disaster. Owen listened, but it was getting harder and harder.

  He slipped the long-reach lighter he’d been using into his coat pocket. He wasn’t about to let it fall into the hands of his kids or any of the younger guests like Wayne and Tasha’s teenagers.

  “I wanna sit with Daddy,” Marisa announced the moment he lowered himself into one of the lawn chairs. Then she shoved her little sister out of the way.

  Poor Willa fell onto the cold ground and instantly started crying.

  Owen bent and lifted her onto his lap. “I have two knees,” he said, silencing Marisa’s objection. “One for each of you.”

  She crawled into his lap beside her sister. He kept an eye on both Cody and the fire, ensuring a safe distance remained between them at all times. The low circular block wall surrounding the fire pit was no deterrent to a rambunctious five-year-old.

  Snaps and pops punctuated the air as greedy flames consumed the kindling and engulfed the logs. When a small spray of sparks erupted into the air, the girls gasped with delight.

  Owen allowed Cody to retrieve a log from the stack he’d brought over and deposit it a few feet from the campfire. Molly hadn’t asked Owen to take charge of the fire, he’d volunteered. And, like before, he’d had to convince Molly to let him. She resisted being beholden to anyone. Him in particular.

  A wedge of golden light appeared on the veranda as the door to the ranch house opened. Molly stepped out, a tray balanced in her hands, and walked the hundred or so feet across the front yard to the fire pit. Owen couldn’t look away—she was a lovely sight.

  “The fire looks good,” she said, placing the tray on the folding table Owen had set up earlier. Like his kids, she was bundled up against the chilly night air. Puffy coat, knit cap, scarf and mittens. Lipstick. Yes, he noticed.