A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (10 page)

Greta smiled at the sound of the soft, gentle snoring.
“I can't believe no one has stepped forward to claim them yet,” she said.

Me, either,
Ally thought.

The woman stood and regarded her with a soft, maternal expression. “So. How are you doing, dear?”

Ally swallowed. “Good,” she lied. Then added, more honestly, “Considering.”

Greta gently patted her arm. “This must be really hard for you, coming home for the first time after the funeral.”

Ally nodded—it had been. Happy to have some female company, she picked up the coffeepot off the stove. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Love some,” Greta said.

Relieved that Hank's mom appeared in no hurry to go, Ally poured two mugs of the fresh brew and brought out a tin of sugar cookies from the grocery store. As they enjoyed their snack, they talked about the progress Ally had made thus far, updating the ranch house.

Greta cast her an appreciative glance. “It's not just the house that has benefited from your presence. Hank seems to be really flourishing since he's been around you, too. Bringing in a Christmas tree…”

Which was still undecorated, Ally thought, a little guiltily.

Greta ran a hand through her silver-blond curls. “Organizing that wallpaper removal party…”

Ally rubbed the edge of her plate with her thumb. “I was really surprised.” And maybe a little thrilled.

Greta studied her over the rim of her mug. “He feels for you,” she observed tenderly. “Probably because he knows what it is to lose a loved one.”

Was that all that was drawing him to her? A mixture of
empathy and lust, with a healthy dose of property hunger, thrown in? Ally wondered.

Oblivious to the nature of her thoughts, Greta ran a nicely manicured hand over the tabletop, lamenting, “We never thought Hank would get over losing Jo-anne. But the years in the marines, and now this ranch, have brought him back to life.”

And Hank's mom was happy to see that, Ally noted.

“I know you're getting ready to put the ranch on the market….”

If I don't sell it to Hank first,
Ally thought, wishing all the harder he would find a way to make a decent bid, so she could accept it and move on. She would have peace of mind knowing the property was in the right hands to make it thrive, the way it should have all along.

Greta patted Ally's hand. “I know the process can be difficult, particularly when it comes to sorting through your parents' belongings. It can be a lot to take on alone, as well as very emotional, so if you need help…let me know. And before I forget, Shane and I would very much like for you to come to the annual open house at our ranch, on December 23….”

The day she was supposed to hear about whether or not she still had a job. Ally hesitated. “I'm not sure that will be a great time for me,” she said.

“Nonsense. You have to eat. In the meantime, if you need help with anything at all, you let Hank's father and me know. We're only eight miles down the road. And it's not just a family thing that has us making the offer—or the fact that Hank is temporarily absent. It's part of the code of survival around here. Ranchers help each other out.” She smiled warmly at Ally. “But having grown up on Mesquite Ridge, surely you know that.”

Actually, Ally didn't. Her parents had always kept
pretty much to themselves, and never asked for help for themselves—or gone out of their way to assist anyone else, even their closest neighbors. But maybe it was time that changed, too, she thought. For as long as she stayed in the area, anyway…

She thanked Greta again and walked her to the door, then went back to get Duchess and take her out into the yard.

As she went back inside, she noticed the message light blinking on the answering machine. There were two calls from Premier Realty and the title company, another from Porter, wanting to know if she'd heard anything more about the layoffs, and finally, one that was definitely not for her.

“Hank, honey, it's Lulu. Are you ready for dinner?” the chic divorcée asked enthusiastically. “'Cause I'm starving after the day we've had together! Oh, wait, I think I just dialed your home number instead of your cell. Never mind. I'll just come and find you.”
Click.

Ally sat staring at the phone. The call had come in at six-fifteen, when she was out walking Duchess in the yard. The screen ID said the call had come from a luxury hotel in Dallas.

So that was where Hank had gone! Ally realized, stunned. Lulu Sanderson was the client he was flying around? And now they were in Dallas together, sharing a hotel, if not a room? What in heaven's name was going on?

Hank knew something was going on with Ally when he returned home the following evening. He just wasn't sure what had her suddenly ignoring his calls.

He shrugged out of his leather aviator jacket and walked through the downstairs. It was clear she had been as busy and productive in their two days apart as he had. Custom slate-gray canvas slipcovers now gave the sturdy but ugly furniture a classy new look. A new area rug, colorful throw pillows and lap blankets had been strategically added.

There was still no real feeling of Christmas in the ranch house, since the tree and mantel remained undecorated. Hank was determined that, too, would change.

Thinking Ally might be with Duchess, he walked into the kitchen. All the puppies were cuddled up together in the warmer, sleeping contentedly. Duchess was lying next to it. She lifted her head and wagged her tail when Hank approached. He petted her silky head and scratched her behind the ears. “Looks like all is okay here with you and the kids,” he murmured. Was Ally okay, though?

Hank gave the sleepy Duchess a final pat and headed on up the stairs.

Ally was standing in her bedroom in front of the mirror, blow-drying her honey-blond hair. Her slender form was covered by a satin robe with a tie sash. Her feet were
encased in fuzzy slippers. Beneath the knee-length hem, her legs were bare.

Hank's pulse picked up a notch.

Was this all for him?

He hoped so.

He strode into the bedroom. Ignoring her indifferent reception, he asked, “Did you get my message?”

Ally curved the ends of her hair around a brush, held it against her chin and moved the dryer back and forth. “All six of them,” she answered, sounding distracted.

Okay, so maybe he'd been a little eager to talk with her. But it had been thirty-six hours since they had seen one another. He had missed her. Had she missed him?

Aware that Ally hadn't exactly invited him in, Hank folded his arms and lounged against the chest of drawers. He was beginning to feel a little defensive, which seemed unwarranted, given all he had been doing behind the scenes on their behalf. “Why didn't you call me back?” he asked quietly.

Ally brushed her hair into place and spritzed it with hair spray. She steadfastly averted her gaze. “The message that you were coming home by six this evening didn't exactly warrant a reply.”

Annoyed that he'd fallen so hard and fast for a woman who seemed easily able to do without him, Hank lifted a brow and said nothing in response.

Still doing her best to ignore him—although he was pretty sure she could see him out of her peripheral vision—Ally grabbed a dress out of her closet. Chin high, she headed for the bathroom across the hall. Over her shoulder, she added, “And I was busy.”

Irked by her swift, inexplicable change of attitude toward him, Hank waited for her to come back out.

She looked as incredibly sexy as he expected in a
cranberry-red dress. The V-neck exposed the lovely slope of her throat and the hint of décolletage; the fabric clung closely to her breasts, waist and hips before flaring out slightly. Ally rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a package of panty hose. “As were you, I take it.”

He had been, with extraordinarily good results.

Not that she wanted to hear about it. At least not yet…

Ally disappeared into the bathroom again. When she emerged, she wore a pair of black stilettos that made her legs look spectacular.

Which made him wonder what else she had on under that sexy dress. And how hard would it be to get her to take it off for him.

Ally applied lipstick in front of the mirror. Then mascara, eyeshadow and perfume.

She was so beautiful. And clearly, so determined to make him jealous.

Despite his pique, he couldn't stop watching her, couldn't draw his gaze from the loveliness of her features.

When she opened a velvet case and removed a gold pendant necklace, he finally gave in to curiosity. “I presume you're going out this evening?” he drawled.

“Yes.” Ally fastened the clasp around her neck and let the teardrop pendant fall between her breasts. She returned to the box for matching earrings and put those on, too. “My dinner companion should be here shortly.”

“Dinner companion,” Hank repeated.

Finished, she gave her hair a final pat and turned to him. Her green eyes held a glacial frost. “Was there something you wanted?”

Yes,
Hank thought.
You.
But aware how that would likely go over, he decided to cut to the chase, and asked instead, “Just for the record. Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” Ally replied sweetly.

I have no idea.
Wanting peace between them, Hank guessed, “For leaving you alone with Duchess and the puppies?”
And not getting you extra help with them despite the fact you insisted you did not need it?

Ally shot down that theory with a decisive shake of her head. “I adored being with them.”

So… “It's me you'd rather not spend time with,” Hank concluded.

“Bingo.”

Another silence fell between them, and then the doorbell rang.

“That's for me!” Ally grabbed an evening bag and a black velvet jacket and headed for the stairs.

Hank ambled after her.

He was not happy when he saw her “date” for the evening.

Judging by the determined look on her face as she sailed out the door, Ally knew that.

 

“E
VERYTHING OKAY?”
Graham Penderson asked Ally as they took their seats in the Lone Star Dance Hall.

I wish you had chosen another place to dine,
she thought. But it was no surprise—Greta McCabe's restaurant, with its lively atmosphere and superb food—was
the
place to spend a social evening in Laramie. And it was clear that Graham Penderson—and by extension, Corporate Farms—were now going all out to woo her, just as Hank had predicted they would.

“Everything's fine,” she answered.
I just wish I'd had time to quiz Hank about his trip with Lulu. It would have been interesting to hear what he had to say.

Not that she wanted or needed to know, since she and Hank were history.

Still…

“We've had a chance to review the initial property assessment on Mesquite Ridge and think we might have come up a little short in our first offer,” Graham said.

No surprise there, either.

Ally turned her full attention on her dinner partner, adopting her most hard-edged business demeanor. “I'm not going to be pushed into responding to
any
offer from Corporate Farms.”

“We realize that was a mistake.”

“Any future offer that comes with a timeline will be immediately rejected.”

“Understood,” Graham assured her.

Ally folded her hands in front of her. “That said, I'd like to talk with you about what figure
might
be acceptable….”

The CFS agent pulled an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to her. Inside, typed on their letterhead, was an astounding figure. One that would leave her set for a good while, job or no job….

Throughout the rest of the meal, Graham spoke with her about the benefits of a sale to Corporate Farms, and the various ways they could accommodate her to make the transition easier. Despite herself, Ally was impressed.

She knew what the impact on the community would be, should the company get a toehold in the area with the acquisition of Mesquite Ridge. And while the sentimental, compassionate side of her would not even consider such an offer, the businesswoman in her knew she would be a fool not to.

What happened to the other ranches in the area was
not her responsibility. Her own future and financial security was.

And yet…

“Naturally,” Graham concluded with finesse, “although we want you to have as much time as you need, we are going to want to follow up on this….”

“And I,” an oh-so-familiar male voice said, “ would like to speak with you about your dessert options for this evening.”

Ally's heart skipped a beat. She turned and saw the familiar red shirt, blue jeans and black Lone Star Dance Hall apron on a very fine male form. Already knowing which handsome face she was going to see, she lifted her gaze and looked up into Hank McCabe's midnight-blue eyes.

Hank ran through the options with the finesse of a guy who had grown up waiting tables in his mama's restaurant. “We've got a fine cranberry-cherry pie, as well as a chocolate peppermint torte that is out of this world. And of course, the traditional banana pudding, pecan pie and peach cobbler. You can have ice cream with all of those. Coffee, too.”

“What are you doing here?” Ally snapped. And why did he have to look so superb? She couldn't help but note he had gone to the trouble of showering and shaving before coming in. He'd even applied the brisk, wintry aftershave she liked so much.

Hank ignored the glare he was getting from the agent, and pointed to the black change apron tied over his jeans, and the Lone Star Dance Hall badge that bore his name. His smile widened. “I'm helping out. My mom's shorthanded tonight.”

Helping out, my foot!
Ally lifted a brow in wordless
dissension. It looked as if they had plenty of waitstaff, as usual. “Um-hmm,” she said.

“Good to see you have a job to fall back on,
McCabe,
” Graham Penderson said. “You're going to need it, since the ranch where you house your cattle is about to be sold out from under you.”

Hank locked eyes with Penderson, all tough ex-marine and veteran cowboy.

Talk about a Renaissance man,
Ally thought.

Hank smiled. “I wouldn't count on it if I were you.”

Penderson ran a smug hand across his jaw. “I would.”

Wincing, Ally squirmed in her seat.

Given the high-stakes volatility of the situation, she wouldn't have been surprised to see Hank forget his manners and pull Penderson out of his chair by the knot of his necktie.

But as it happened, his expression did not change—if you discounted the slight darkening of his irises. He merely stepped an inch closer. Flashed a dangerous crocodile smile. “Still waiting on that dessert order.
Penderson.
”

Ally swallowed. She could see this situation fast getting out of hand.

She stuffed the papers the agent had given her into her handbag and shut the clasp, then held up her hands. “Actually, I don't think I want any dessert,” she told them both.

“I do,” Graham said. “And I want McCabe here to bring it to us, since he's so eager to help.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ally saw Hank's mother step out of the kitchen. Greta sized up the situation, hands on her hips. Sighed.

“Why, it'd be my pleasure,” Hank drawled. “But…” He turned with a flourish and signaled the DJ running the sound system.

The man nodded and promptly started a song by Lady Antebellum entitled “One Day You Will.”

“Well, what do you know, Ally.” Hank slid his order pad and pen back in his apron pocket. He reached down and took her hand in his, and in one smooth motion, drew back her chair and pulled her to her feet. He winked at her. “They're playing
your
song. Sorry, Penderson.”

The next thing Ally knew they were on the dance floor. Hank's left hand splayed warmly across her spine, and his right hand clasped her fingers as he two-stepped them around the floor to the strains of the romantic ballad.

Ally tried but could not stop the thrill rushing through her. “Cute, McCabe.”

He grinned, all confident male. “Like the lyrics?”

Despite her decision to remain unaffected by his chicanery, his sense of humor was contagious. “Especially the part about if I left town and never came back,” Ally retorted drolly.

He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “Like the song says, you'd be missed.” His warm, minty breath caressed her cheek. “But if you just hang in there…and wait awhile…”

“The sun will shine again and,” Ally paraphrased, “I'll find love and peace and the real me.”

The laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. “Exactly.”

If only he knew how much she wanted to believe that. As it was, the powerful lyrics combined with the soul-stirring music were drawing her in, every bit as much as the wonderfully comforting and enticing sensation of being in his arms again. Deciding she needed to reestablish some emotional boundaries, Ally lifted her chin.

Now that he had picked her tune… “What's your song?”

“Coming right up.” Hank again signaled the DJ. One tune segued into another.

Ally listened a moment to the lively beat, then looked down the bridge of her nose at him. “‘You Take My Troubles Away'?”
Seriously!

He two-stepped her around the dance floor. “Appropriate, don't you think?” His lips brushed her temple.

Another thrill swept through Ally. “If this is supposed to be a message for me…” she warned.

“It is.” Hank's voice was low and hoarse. All the pent-up affection she ever could have wished for in his gaze.

Ally had spent her high school years wishing something this out-of-control exciting and romantic would happen to her. But that didn't mean it was a good idea for Hank McCabe to go all possessive on her in the middle of a business dinner at his mother's restaurant! Particularly after what he'd done in Dallas the day before. She blushed and attempted without much success to resurrect the protective barrier around her heart. “Everyone is looking at us.”

Hank's arm tightened around her waist. Their thighs brushed as they moved to the beat. “That's no surprise. You look incredibly beautiful tonight. But then…” his voice dropped another inviting notch “…you know that.”

She felt beautiful—in Hank's arms. Ally struggled not to give in to the overwhelming emotions rising up within her. “And for the record, what on earth possessed you to pick out his-and-her songs for us?”