A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (9 page)

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.

 

T
HE
M
ESQUITE
R
IDGE
R
ANCH
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.”

“And you hated it.”

“Of course I hated it!” She stomped back to the truck and tried to reach another bale. “I couldn't participate in any of the extracurricular activities at school because I was expected to go home and help out with my mother's sewing business.”

Hank reached past her to pull the hay to the edge of the truck bed. “Surely your parents were proud of you when you got that big scholarship to Rice University.”

“Honestly?” Ally shrugged and walked with him back out into the pasture. “They would have preferred I stay and work the ranch with them. But I had to get out of here.” When they reached another open space, perfect for feeding,
she paused to cut the twine that held the hay together, and exhaled wearily. “So I left….”

Together, they threw out the shredded grain, as additional cattle ambled toward them. “And you never came back, except to visit,” Hank surmised when they'd finished their task.

Ally nodded grimly as they walked away. “And I didn't do that much, either, until my mother was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease.” Ally strode to the fence, where she paused to examine the thick strand of mesquite on the other side. Trees up to thirty feet high and nearly as wide sported dense, tangled greenery studded with long thorns. The heavy rain a few days before had brought forth another wave of fragrant white flowers. In the spring, the mesquite would bear fruit in the form of beanlike pods that wildlife and cattle would eat.

Right now, Hank could tell, the overgrowth was just one more mess Ally would prefer not to have to deal with.

“But you did come back, when she was sick.” Hank remembered his mother talking about that, and the fight between Ally and her parents that had evidently ensued.

Sorrow turned down the corners of Ally's mouth. “I told them about this new protocol being developed at a hospital in Houston. I wanted them to come and live with me, so Mom could get the best treatment.” She inched off her gloves and stuck them in the belt at her waist. “I knew the isolation of the ranch was no place for anyone with the kind of neurological disease my mother suffered from, that as time went on she would need more and more care, and that—like it or not—it was time they gave Mesquite Ridge up, in favor of my mother's health.”

“But your parents didn't agree with that.”

“No.” Ally's low tone was filled with bitterness. “They
didn't. They insisted they didn't need my help, unless I wanted to move back home and take over the sewing business. That, they would accept.” Her eyes gleamed with moisture. “Anything else…” she recalled in a choked voice, “forget it.”

Hank took off his gloves, too, and went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “That wasn't fair to you.”

Ally tilted her head back and relaxed against him. “I had worked very hard to get where I was in the company. I was a first line manager, about to be promoted to the next tier…on the fast track to an early vice presidency….” She swallowed. “So I said no, and I sent them money to get a caregiver to help out with my mother, instead.”

Hank didn't recall anyone saying anything about nursing care. He paused, then tensed. “Tell me they didn't…”

She looked as if she had just taken an arrow to the heart. “They bought another ten acres.”

“You must have been devastated,” he observed quietly.

“I was furious.” Ally blinked back tears. “And scared.” She pushed away from Hank. Hands balled into fists, she began to pace. “With as much difficulty as my mother was having, getting around at that point, I was afraid she was going to have a fall.”

“Which,” Hank recalled sorrowfully, “she eventually did.”

Ally swept her hands through her hair. “Unfortunately, my dad was out on the ranch, tending to his cattle, when it happened, and it was hours before he found her. By then, Mom had lapsed into a coma and she never came out of it.” Ally gestured in despair as more tears fell. “My dad
never recovered. I think that's why he had the heart attack last summer. Because…he couldn't forgive himself.”

Hank drew Ally into his arms. “The question is, can you forgive yourself?” he asked softly.

No one had ever asked her that. Could she forgive herself? Was it ever going to be possible?

Ally looked deep into Hank's eyes. “I'm not sure,” she said finally, knowing it was past time she confided in someone. The understanding glint in his dark blue eyes gave her the courage to go on. “There are times I have so much guilt I feel like I'm suffocating. Guilt because I couldn't convince my parents to handle my mother's illness any differently. I would give anything to have gotten them the help they needed, when they needed it. Instead of failing them at the toughest, most crucial moment of their lives….”

“Do you think they would have been happy in Houston?”

Her face crumpled. “No.” More tears flooded her eyes.

Hank settled his palms on her shoulders. “Do you think if they'd known they were coming to the end of their lives, they would have wanted to be right here, on the ranch?”

A sob rose in Ally's throat. She was so choked up she could barely breathe, never mind get words out. “I don't think there is anywhere else they'd rather have been.”

He threaded a hand through her hair. “I know you miss them.”

Tears blurred Ally's vision as pain wrapped around her heart. “I do.”

Hank's hands shifted to her back and he pulled her close. Unable to hold back a second longer, Ally buried her face in the solid warmth of his shoulder. And cried the way she hadn't cried when her parents had died. She cried for all the times she had had with them…and all the things that were left unsaid, for the way she had disappointed them, and the way they had disappointed her. But most of all, she cried because she loved them anyway, with all her heart, and missed them so much she felt her whole being would shatter into a million pieces. And through it all, Hank held her close and stroked her back, letting her sob her heart out.

Ally had no idea how long they stood like that. She only knew that when the storm finally passed and she lifted her head, he wiped her tears away with the pads of his fingers and gently lowered his head to hers.

The touch of his lips was everything she had ever wanted, everything she needed. Ally kissed him back, pouring her feelings into the sweetly tender embrace.

For the first time in her life, she was really and truly happy to be right where she was. And it was all due to Hank.

He made Mesquite Ridge a different place for her.

It was still a wilderness, with so much of the four thousand acres uncared for and untamed. But when she was with Hank and saw the ranch through his eyes, she also noted the richness of possibility of the house and the land.

She saw the wonder to be had in a life here, with him.

And that made her want to be held, to be loved, to love in return.

It no longer mattered how much was holding them apart.
She wanted to be with Hank again, even if only for a brief period of time.

And he wanted her, too.

His kiss, the warmth and tightness of his embrace, told her that.

And that was, of course, when the purr of a car motor came up behind them.

Ally and Hank let each other go, turned in unison and saw Graham Penderson, of Corporate Farms, get out of his Cadillac and stride toward them.

 

“I
HAVEN'T HEARD FROM YOU,”
the small man said, as slick and falsely charming as ever. “So I thought I'd stop by to get your answer in person.”

Ally felt Hank tense beside her. Knowing it would be a mistake to show any weakness to the CF agent, she resisted the urge to take Hank's hand and hold on tight. Deliberately, she held Penderson's eyes. “Thank you for the offer—” which, technically, was about to expire “—but my answer is no.”

Ally wasn't surprised to see Penderson's expression grow more conciliatory than ever. “You understand ours is a one-time offer. Six months from now, if you still haven't sold on the open market, we won't be back with anything near what we are offering now.”

But Hank would still be there, Ally thought, wanting the land.

If his “plan” to acquire it had been put together by then…

She stopped herself. She could not allow herself to think that way; otherwise she'd be no better a business person than her father had been. And it was up to her to see the ranch sold—for a good price—so her own future would be
assured, no matter whether she got laid off from her job or not.

This was her chance to obtain the financial security that had always eluded her in her youth.

But she was going to do it her way. Not Corporate Farms'.

“I understand,” Ally said calmly. “The answer is still no. I'm not selling until I get an offer that matches what the land is worth.”

Penderson's glance narrowed. “We already gave you that.”

“No. You didn't,” Ally countered equably. “Fortunately, I have every confidence someone else will.”

Especially now that renovations on the ranch house are under way.

“Fine, then.” Penderson gave one last disparaging look at the acres of untamed land, resettled his hat on his head and stalked back to his Cadillac. “You'll be waiting a long time to realize more than what we've already offered, for property that is in such poor shape. And I'm not just talking about the house, which we planned to tear down anyway. No one can run cattle on pastureland this overgrown! The mesquite thickets alone are a hazard.”

Ally and Hank stood in silence, watching him drive off.

“He has a point about that,” she said with a sigh, as her mind returned to business. “There is mesquite everywhere and the trees are covered with two-inch thorns that can do a lot of damage to people and cattle.”

Hank wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulders. “First of all,” he soothed, “cattle are smarter than you think.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Hank squeezed her warmly and continued his
tutorial. “They know enough to stay away from anything that is going to injure them. Second, the trees don't just sport fragrant white flowers in the spring and summer, they also produce long bean pods that the cattle can graze on, and provide shelter when it's cold, and light shade in the hottest parts of the day. Mesquite adapts to almost any soil that isn't soggy. It's heat and drought tolerant, helps prevent erosion and fixes nitrogen in the soil.”

Ally thought about what the untamed growth would do to the bottom line. “Mesquite is still not popular with ranchers, since it readily invades grazing sites, and is virtually impossible to get rid of once it takes root.”

Hank tipped back the brim of his hat and gave her the sexy once-over. “And here I thought you didn't know anything about ranching.”

“I know enough to realize that a controlled burn is needed on vast parts of the ranch, to ensure the long-term health of the land. But as much as I'd like to rid the ranch of all the old dead grass, cedar, mesquite and so on, to germinate different seeds and promote steady, even growth, I'm not sure blackened land would be the best thing for any property on the market.”

Hank inclined his head. “Nonranchers might not understand.”

“And since everyone who is anyone wants a ranch these days, just so they can say they have one—even if they never really visit it…”

“It makes sense to leave the land wild and untamed, for now.”

“Right.”

They studied each other.

Ally knew Hank still didn't want her to sell to anyone else, but to her surprise, he didn't look the least bit relieved about what had happened earlier.

“Aren't you going to tell me I made the right decision regarding Corporate Farms?” She didn't know why, exactly; she just wanted to have Hank's approval about that.

He shrugged and walked toward the back of his truck. “It's not over yet.”

Perplexed, Ally trailed after him. The intimacy they'd felt earlier was gone, just like that. “What do you mean?”

Hank slammed the tailgate shut. “I know what it looked like just now, but Corporate Farms has not given up. They will wait a few days and go into phase two.”

Oh, really?
“And what the heck is that?”

“First, they tried to take advantage of you. That didn't work, nor did playing hardball with you. So, figuring the third time is the charm, the next time they'll come back to woo you. And give you an offer you'd be nuts to refuse, with absolutely no time limit on deciding.”

Ally shook her head. “I don't think so. Graham Penderson was pretty clear just now, that this was it—they wouldn't be back.”

Hank folded his arms in front of him. “We'll see who's right. The question is, what are you going to do if they come back with a much higher offer?” He scanned her face. “Will you sell to them, knowing what you do about their overall intent, and how they do business? Or wait for another buyer?”

 

H
ANK HAD HOPED
—unreasonably, he knew—that Ally would have had time by now to really think about what she was going to do, and commit to selling to him. If only because he had the ability and the drive to turn the ranch into the financial success it always should have been.

Instead, the hard-edged business person in her kicked back in. “If Corporate Farms were to come back with another offer, I would of course listen to what Graham had to
say. Just like I will consider any and all offers that Marcy Lyon at Premier Realty brings to me, after the property is listed. And should you come to me with a serious offer that meets my asking price, of course I'll listen to that, too.”

Hank's gut tightened with disappointment. “But in the end the highest dollar wins,” he guessed.

Ally nodded reluctantly. “I may not have a job in another ten days. This property still has a mortgage on it. Up to now, I've been making the payments and paying the utilities out of my savings, but I can't keep doing that when I have no revenue of my own coming in. Even if I somehow manage to keep my job, it's still too much of a stretch to continue for very much longer.”

Hank understood.

“I suspect the people at Corporate Farms suspect that, which is why they thought they could come in with a low offer and I'd jump on it.”

Hank's cell phone rang. Frowning, he pulled it out of the leather holder attached to his belt. Looking at the screen, he saw his cousin was returning his call. “I've got to get this. Hi, Will…”

Hank listened as Will confirmed the details. “Yeah. Eight tomorrow morning. The usual deal. Okay, thanks, see you then.” He ended the call.

Trying to figure out how much he could tell Ally, without betraying the confidentiality of the business deal under way, Hank explained, “My cousin, Will McCabe, owns a charter service out at the Laramie airstrip. It used to be just private jets, flying in and out of there, but since I came back to the area he's added a helicopter to his fleet. So whenever he gets a request—usually from a big oilman or one of the other prominent business people in the area—I fly the chopper.”

“Sounds lucrative.”

It was. “The revenue from those gigs is responsible for all the cattle I've bought thus far, and the additional money I have saved.”

Ally eyed him with respect. “How long will you be gone?”

Long enough to get the deal done, Hank thought resolutely. But wary of telling Ally anything before the plan was set, he replied cautiously, “I'm not sure. The person I'm taking wants to go to Dallas, with a couple of stops along the way, stay overnight, and then do the same thing the following day, en route back. Which brings me to the next question. Are you going to be able to handle Duchess and the puppies, or do you want me to bring someone else in to care for them?”

Ally glowered. “Seriously?”

“I did promise it wouldn't be your responsibility,” Hank reminded her.

“Yeah, well, it's not the first promise around here that hasn't been kept.”

Hank let that one pass.

She lifted her hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry. It just seems that whenever something goes wrong in my life, it happens here at Mesquite Ridge.”

Hank tugged Ally close for another long, thorough kiss. Only when she was putty in his arms did he lift his head. “Things have gone right here, too, Ally,” he whispered.

Very right.
And one day he hoped she would see that.

 

G
RETA
M
C
C
ABE APPEARED
on the ranch house doorstep at six o'clock the following evening. Hank's mother smiled warmly as Ally ushered her in out of the cold. “I tried calling before I came over, but there was no answer.”

Ally didn't mind her stopping by without an invitation. It had been a little lonely since Hank had left for his trip
early that morning. “I must have been out walking Duchess,” she explained.

Greta cast an admiring look at the newly painted woodwork and walls, then turned back to her and handed over a large paper bag bearing the insignia of Greta's restaurant in Laramie.

“You didn't have to do this.” Ally beamed with pleasure.

“I figured you'd be too busy to cook, given all you have to do around here,” Greta said.

She was right about that. Ally had been working hard all day, making washable canvas slipcovers for the living room furniture.

“I wasn't sure what you liked so I put in a couple of different entrées. Just follow the reheating directions on the foil containers when you're ready to eat,” Greta said. “And of course, the salads and desserts are ready to go.”

“Thank you. This is so nice.” Ally basked in the thoughtfulness.

“So how are Duchess and the puppies?” Greta asked.

Ally gestured toward the kitchen. “Come and see for yourself.”

While Ally put the food in the fridge for later, Hank's mother knelt to say hello to the golden retriever and all eleven of the newborns. Nearly a week had passed since Duchess had given birth. All the pups except Gracie, who still lagged a little behind, were now close to two pounds in weight. And although their eyes were still sealed shut, they were getting about with increasing mobility, rolling and squirming across the warming bed when they were awake. Right now, they were all sound asleep in a pile of puppy arms and legs.