The Cowboy's Christmas Gift

Duke nodded. “It needed some work. I spent a few days last week cleaning it from top to bottom and dropping some money at the hardware store. I’ve been doing odd jobs in between shadowing Quinn around and getting an overall feeling for the operation. There’s more here than I remember.”

“Your grandfather added the bucking stock in the past ten years. It didn’t take off the way he hoped. He needs a Kailey.”

“A Kailey?”

“She runs the program at Brandt. Our stock has potential, but needs dedicated attention. And that’s not my specialty. Nor Quinn’s. He does the best he can, but he’s not a rodeo guy.”

Duke started to laugh. “You know who’d be good at that? My brother, Rylan.”

“I heard a rumor he was still competing.” Rylan, three years younger than Duke, who’d moved to the city and then surprised everyone by becoming a bareback rider. “Joe wanted him to come back, too, you know. He always refused.”

Duke nodded, then finished his coffee and threw his cup in her garbage can. “I know. Ry was determined to make it his own way. He’s more stubborn than I am.”

“God forbid,” she said drily, and Duke’s eyes twinkled at her.

“Ry doesn’t want handouts. I get that. He got one of these letters, too—that is, if he stayed in one place long enough for the lawyers to find him.”

“He did?”

Duke nodded. “You didn’t read the whole thing, did you? The ranch is left to all three of us. I only own a third.”

Of course. She’d been silly to think that Joe would have left everything to Duke. “So he’s coming back?”

Duke’s face clouded over. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken.”

“But he’s your brother.” Growing up, Carrie would have given her left arm for a sibling. Someone to talk to and hang out with and share clothes with—who wasn’t a friend from school. Someone to share memories of her parents with or turn to with secrets and support. “Surely you guys speak to each other.”

“Not so much.”

“And you and Lacey?”

Duke frowned. “I saw her when I was first back. She’s been through a divorce, and she’s working for Natural Resources and Conservation.”

Carrie looked up at him. “You’ve got a family and you don’t even seem to care. Trust me when I say they might not always be there.”

“I know that. I lost my father, remember?”

“So what’s keeping you from the rest of your family?”

He pushed away from the counter. “I just came to bring you coffee. I should probably be going.”

“I hit a nerve,” she acknowledged. “What are you hiding, Duke?”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m back, I was at loose ends, I got the summons. I’m just here until I can figure out what I want to do next.”

A cold sensation ran down Carrie’s body. “What do you mean, you’re just here until...? What happens to the ranch if you leave?”

He shrugged. “We all have to take our place at some point during the year. If we don’t, the ranch gets sold.”

Sold out from under them all, and if things went the way they had been lately, the buyer would sell off the herd and turn the ranch land into a housing development. She’d be out of a job. Instead of Duke being some savior, it was a real possibility that this was just prolonging the inevitable. Maybe she should start looking for new employment now, so she didn’t end up scrambling. Didn’t end up defaulting on loans and payments.

The problem was she loved Crooked Valley. It was her home. A home Duke didn’t appreciate at all.

“I see,” she said weakly. “So why bother learning the ropes if you’re just going to pick up and move on again?”

“What if I don’t pick up and move? As I said, I’m figuring out what to do next. Learning about the operation is interesting.”

Carrie’s hopes were short-lived. Ranchers didn’t find things “interesting.” Ranching was part of who they were. It was something that was in the blood. It definitely wasn’t something to dabble in for fun or because you had nothing better to do. Duke would stay a few months and be gone.

“Crooked Valley isn’t really the sort of place where you just fill some of your spare time,” she replied, her voice sharp. The headache was threatening to come back, too.

“Hey, give me a break. I haven’t come anywhere close to making any sort of a decision. I’ve only been here a week. I’ve hardly had two seconds to wrap my head around all of this, let alone relax.”

“Well,” she replied, “you’d better brace yourself, then, because next weekend things are going to get a lot busier and we need every pair of hands available.”

“Get ready for what?”

“You want a taste of what ranching is really like? We move the herd back here to the mountain pastures for the winter. The folks at the Triple B will give us a hand driving the cattle, and the next week we return the favor. It’s exhausting but huge fun, too.”

“A cattle drive?”

She nodded. “Yup. We overnight at the old cookhouse and ride back the next day. When your grandmother was still alive, she cooked for two straight days to feed the crew when they returned. The past few years Joe brought in sandwiches and coffee for the first night’s supper and we did a potluck on the return. All the wives bring dishes and someone generally fires up some music for a bit of dancing.” She knew there was a hint of nostalgia in her voice but she couldn’t help it. It was one of the hardest and best weekends of the year, in her opinion—second only to the branding and vaccination day in the spring.

“I’m expected to coordinate that?” Duke’s eyebrows lifted. “Why didn’t anyone mention it?”

She shrugged. “I thought Quinn would have told you. Until last night, you barely said two words to me all week.”

Duke shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to herding cows. And I have no idea what to do about after, either. Do people expect a party?” He looked genuinely distressed. “You’ll help me, right?”

Ah, so here it was. Now that he was stuck he realized she existed. That’s not fair, a voice inside her argued. He sure knew you existed last night.

Yeah. He knew she existed when it came to making out in his truck or needing a social coordinator. She lifted her chin. “Forget it, Duke. I’m the cattle foreman and I’ll be heading up the drive. I’m not a party planner.”

Chapter Four

For a girl who was looking a bit worse for wear after her night on the town, she sure wasn’t giving an inch. He already felt out of his depth, and now he was expected to host some sort of social event at the ranch? It didn’t help that Carrie was being stubborn and he had to sweeten her up somehow. It was his first real test at Crooked Valley and he didn’t want to blow it.

“Of course I don’t expect you to plan it,” he replied, trying to smile at her. “Maybe you could just tell me what I need to do. Make me a list or something.”

“A list? Really?”

“Sure, why not?” He raised an eyebrow. “Rather than stand in your kitchen, which is charming by the way, why don’t I take you out for breakfast?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I usually find the best thing for a hangover is orange juice, bacon and eggs cooked in the bacon grease. The diner still serves that stuff, right?”

She looked tempted. It was a good sign.

“Come on, Freckles. You don’t have to go to work. Let me treat you to breakfast and you can tell me all the stuff I need to do before this big weekend coming up.”

“I need to clean my house....”

“How dirty can it be?” he argued. “You’re the only one here to mess it up. It’s just breakfast,” he challenged her. “Not a proposal of marriage.”

“You’re aggravating.”

But her voice had softened and he could tell she was wavering. He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’re buying?”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do in exchange for your help.” But her question really did make him think. How hard were things for Carrie? Other than her night at the bar, there was nothing in her life to make him think she was extravagant with her money. The house was plain and her truck was old. And a night out with a friend did not constitute extravagance. Everyone deserved to get out once in a while.

“I guess I could. I am kind of hungry.”

Score. He nodded at her. “Great. You might want to just wash your face before we go.”

Her lips dropped open and her eyes registered dismay. “My face? What’s wrong with my face?”

He slid his index finger under his eye. “You melted a bit during the night.”

She spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Two seconds later a squeal erupted, echoing off the bathroom tile. “I look like a raccoon! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I just did.” He walked down the hall and glanced in the bathroom. She ran a cloth beneath a stream of water, wrung it out and scrubbed at her eyes.

“This is why I don’t wear eyeliner,” she groused. “Or much makeup at all. I never remember to wash my face before bed and then I get up looking like...” She broke off the sentence. “Well. Looking like this.”

What he thought was that she didn’t need makeup to be beautiful, but he wouldn’t say that because after last night it would take on importance that he didn’t want. Or maybe he did want it but he shouldn’t, which came out to practically the same thing. Mouth closed. Boundaries set.

“Okay. I think I’m okay now. Oh, wait. I need to brush my teeth. They’re fuzzy.”

He chuckled. “The rum really got to you, huh.”

She avoided his gaze. “I’d actually prefer not to talk about last night.”

“Fine by me.” Talking about it would create one of two outcomes. Either they’d argue or they’d pick up where they left off. He didn’t want the first and he was telling himself he’d better not indulge in the second. Last night he’d been carried away. It had been nice talking to someone. To hold her close, to feel so alive. Truth was, since his accident he hadn’t felt that kind of vitality. In the end it wouldn’t be smart carrying on with her, though. She worked for him, and he definitely couldn’t afford for her to quit.

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