A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (8 page)

“Gracie is getting stronger, too.” Ally could feel it in the way the little puppy nestled against her.

Hank regarded her seriously. “It won't be long at all—maybe the end of the week or so—before Gracie can take
her nourishment with her siblings, and give up the handfeeding entirely.”

Which meant, Ally realized with a pang, that Gracie wouldn't need her.

“That's great,” she choked out, telling herself that the pup's coming independence, as well as Hank's wordless departure from the bedroom, was to be celebrated, not mourned. Ever so gently, she pressed a kiss on the top of Gracie's head and handed her back to him.

Their fingers brushed during the transfer. The tenderness of his touch told her he knew just how vulnerable and exposed she felt. A humiliating sting of tears pressed against the back of Ally's eyes. She knew she had to get out of there. Now. Before she gave her heart away to more than just Duchess and the puppies.

Determined not to reveal herself even more, she whirled around. Reminding herself she could not stay in Laramie, no matter what happened with her job in Houston, Ally found her coat, purse and keys.
I'm a city girl now. And that being the case…
“I have to go into town.”

Hank's eyebrows went up. “Right now?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Ally nodded. He looked…disappointed.

The odd thing was, she was disappointed, too. But she knew it was for the best. Despite Hank's protests to the contrary, their fling was just that—a one-time event never to be repeated. Ally forced herself to hold Hank's steady, assessing gaze, and said in the most even voice she could manage, “Since I can't find a crew to do it for me, I've decided to go ahead and strip and paint at least the living room and foyer myself. Hopefully, the kitchen and mudroom, too. I'm going to pick up some paint samples before the hardware store closes, and decide on a color this evening.”

Hank settled Gracie in the warmer and began adding the other puppies, too. “Want company?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. Which was another part of the problem. She was used to weathering life's difficulties alone. Hank was going to be in her life for only twelve more days. It would be a mistake to count on him more than she already had. And an even bigger mistake to put herself in situations with him that could only lead to further intimacy.

“Thanks for the offer,” she said briskly, “but no.” For both their sakes, she flashed a too-bright smile. “I think we've imposed on one another enough.”

Much more, and she'd begin to think they were in some sort of relationship. And that was not the case.

 

“A
ND
I
THOUGHT THE
situation couldn't get any worse,” Ally's coworker told her over the phone in an anxious tone two hours later. “Unfortunately,” Porter continued unhappily, “I was wrong.”

I'm not sure I want to hear this.

Ally stopped her car at the end of the road leading to the ranch and rolled down her window. She checked the post and took out several pieces of mail, all for Hank. She set them on the seat beside her and rolled up her window again, speaking into the microphone attached to her earpiece. “What do you mean?” she asked, doing her best to remain calm.

“The powers that be have decided to notify everyone of their job status—or lack thereof—by email!” Porter railed. “If we're laid off, we're not even going to be permitted back in the building. They're going to ship our personal belongings to us.”

Ally turned her car into the lane, the golden arc of her headlights sweeping through the darkness of early evening.
On either side of the gravel path were heavy thickets of mesquite that further obscured her view. In no hurry to get back to Hank, she drove carefully. “I'm sure the new CEO thinks it will be easier that way,” she told Porter.

“Maybe for them,” he argued. “For us, it's all the more humiliating! And
depressing,
since the messages are all going out simultaneously on the morning of December 23!”

Good thing I've never been much for Christmas, or my holiday would be completely ruined.

“Couldn't they at least have kept us around until after the holiday?” Porter complained.

Ally winced as her Audi bumped through a water-filled rut that spanned the width of the gravel lane.

Was there no place on this ranch not needing repair? she wondered. Then said practically, “For accounting reasons, the company has to wrap this up before December 31. You know that. Anyway, the last I heard, the plan was to keep at least a few of the old middle managers around, to help with the transition. So you could still have a job when the dust settles, as could I.”

“I'm not counting on it, which is why I'm already sending out my résumé as we speak.” Porter paused. “At least you have a substantial financial cushion with the ranch.”

Not as much as people probably thought, given the size and value of Mesquite Ridge. Unless they had looked at her financials…

“All you have to do is sell to Corporate Farms or whoever and—”

Holy cow!
Ally blinked in astonishment as she reached the clearing that surrounded the ranch house and barn. If she hadn't known, she would have sworn it wasn't her home! She'd been gone only a little over two hours, yet half a dozen pick-up trucks and cars were parked there.

Inside the 1920s domicile, lights blazed.

Clearly, a party was going on.

Why hadn't she been invited?

Or at least advised that it was happening?

“…Whereas I will probably end up having to sell my condo,” her coworker continued. “Unless I end up getting another job right away. If we're lucky enough to get a little severance, along with our pink slips—”

“Porter,” Ally interrupted, “I've really got to go.”

“Okay. Call me.”

“I will.” She turned off her phone and dropped the earpiece into her shoulder bag.

Gathering up Hank's mail, she drew a bolstering breath. And emerged from her car just in time to see Hank stride out of the front door and head straight for her.

Grinning, Hank strolled toward her, one hand behind his back. “Ready for a surprise?”

Was she?

Before Ally could protest, he produced a red Santa hat and slid it over her head, so the white fur trim obscured her vision. Trying—and failing—to hold on to her pique regarding both his cheerful antics and the party obviously going on in her absence, Ally drawled sarcastically, “Is this necessary?” The furry brim tickled the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, ma'am,” Hank bantered back. “If you want to get in the holiday spirit…”

Ignoring the tremor of excitement soaring through her, Ally let him guide her. “I thought I told you I wasn't big on holidays.”

Hank's warm hands closed over her shoulders. Purposefully, he steered her in the direction he wanted her to go. “Yet,” he interjected, as if he expected that attitude to fall by the wayside as quickly and easily as her resistance to him had.

Talk about a one-track mind! Determined not to let him know how much she hated having to rely on him to get anywhere, Ally scowled as he helped her up the steps, onto
the front porch. Her skin tingled from the contact. “You're not going to be able to change me, you know.”

His laughter had a masculine, confident ring to it. “Famous last words,” Hank whispered in her ear. He propelled her through the front door, turned her toward the living room and whipped off her Santa hat.

“Merry Christmas!” everyone said in unison.

Ally blinked. Thanks to Hank and the twenty or so working guests, the ugly horse-and-hound wallpaper that had dominated most of the first floor was almost completely gone. The unadorned wallboard provided a clean slate. For the first time in her life, Ally had an inkling of what the space could be like. “Thank you!” she whispered, overcome by the unexpected generosity shown her.

“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.

 

W
HILE
H
ANK WALKED
L
ULU 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.

 

“S
O 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.”