Her Mistletoe Cowboy (8 page)

“Yeah right. And I like wearing dresses.”

“Seriously, Pay, it’s not like that. This year Ivy lost both the grandparents who raised her and, I mean look at her, there has to be a man lurking somewhere despite her not wearing a ring. She’s vulnerable and the last thing she needs is any complications.”

“I know a long list of single cowgirls who would never call you a complication.”

He again dipped his paintbrush in brown paint. “And you also know I have a ranch to start from scratch and a promise to keep.”

“And how’s that promise to your mom coming along?”

“As good as can be expected.” He straightened and forced a smile. “But it’s Christmas, the season of miracles, so who knows, when I see you next I might have made progress. Dad and I might be able to be in the same room for longer than five minutes.”

“Rhett,” Payton’s tone was low. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. The past is exactly that. The past. Remember what I said when you were in hospital after you tried to ride Mossy drunk.” She placed a hand on his denim jacket sleeve. “Just be true to yourself.”

“How could I forget being in hospital? My knee is a constant reminder.” Bitterness grated in his voice. “There never was a fool greater than me.”

Her grip on his forearm tightened. “Rhett, you are no fool. We all deal with fear and grief in different ways.” Her gaze flicked past him and when she removed her hand from his arm he knew Ivy must be near.

He turned toward the scent of vanilla as Ivy came to his side. He thought he caught a flash of wariness in her gaze as she stared at Payton, but then her lips curved.

“Ivy, this is an old friend, Payton, and Payton, this is Ivy.”

Payton stepped forward, a paintbrush in one hand and her other hand outstretched. “Welcome to Marietta, Ivy. Even in winter it’s a beautiful part of Montana. I hope Rhett has prized himself away from fixing his barn to show you around.”

Rhett released the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t know why it mattered so much that Payton warmed to Ivy.

Ivy shook the cowgirl’s hand. “Thanks. Yes, he has. Who knew he’d be so handy tying curling ribbon?”

Payton arched a dark brow. “All these years and you never told me you had hidden talents?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a cowboy and have many hidden talents.”

“Well, cowboy,” Payton said, her grin mischievous, “maybe your hidden talents can extend to you hosting a house warming bonfire? Cordell and I still haven’t officially been invited to Little Rose Crown yet.”

“You know you don’t need an invite –” He stopped. Ivy and Payton looked at each other, their grins wide and eyes bright.

Just. Great. The two strong-willed women had bonded in a heartbeat.

“No way,” he said, voice firm. “I’m too busy.”

“Come on,” Payton cajoled, “It’s Christmas. You could have a house warming and a festive bonfire.”

“And …” Ivy added, “I can do the baking.”

He shook his head and handed Ivy the brown-tipped paintbrush. “I have a sudden need to talk to Henry about cattle. Knock yourself out party planning but it’s not going to happen.”

As he turned he caught sight of a pale-faced woman in jeans and a grey coat heading his way. She stopped beside him and he kissed her cheek. “Hey, Kendall. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too. Sorry I’m late. I didn’t think I was going to ever be able to leave the house but it feels good to be here.” She leaned against him. He put his arm around his twin sister. She seemed smaller.

He examined her delicate features as Payton introduced her to Ivy. A slow-burning anger cut through his grief. As much as he, Kendall and Peta missed their gentle mother, their father showed no sign of grieving for his wife. Instead, it was all about him and his ill health. Kendall was practically living in town with him and pandering to his needs was reducing her to a shadow. Guilt nudged him. He should see his father more often but whenever he did the visit ended in an argument. His father would never forgive him for what he considered Rhett’s desertion. Things had been tense before his mother had fallen ill but when Rhett had made sure Bluebell Falls Ranch went to Peta as the firstborn child the rift between him and his father grew canyon deep.

Lost in thought, he realized too late three pairs of expectant female eyes were zeroed in on him. He frowned. Even with him having tuned out of the conversation, he knew what the topic was.

“No. Way. No. Bonfire. I have a barn to make weather tight and fences to mend.”

Kendall hugged him, her blue eyes shining. “Come on, Rhetty. It’s been years since we had one. All you’ll need to do is drag that old tree that fell over in the last windstorm to somewhere closer to the barn. You said you were going to burn it anyway.”

Rhett returned Kendall’s hug before lifting his arm from around her shoulders. “As I said before, I have a conversation with Henry about cattle to have and a reindeer to paint. What I don’t have is time to organize a bonfire.”

But as he walked away, the trio’s laughter told him he’d lost the fight not to have a bonfire before it’d begun.

‡

I
vy slowed her
pace to make the most of the short walk from the main Rose Crown ranch house to Rhett’s cabin. She breathed in the crisp morning air. The heady space and the intense quiet seemed to reach right inside and smooth away the tension accumulated over years of deadlines and hostile clients. Payton was right. This part of Montana was especially beautiful. No wonder her forefathers had chosen this portion of Paradise Valley to settle in.

She stopped to take a better look around. Overnight snow blanketed the ground and settled on the wooden fence running alongside her. In a nearby tree snowflakes clung to bare branches like winter blossoms. She gazed beyond the tree and open field to the cloud-draped Absaroka slopes. Somewhere in the high-country was the last of the Rose Crown line cabins where a lonely cowboy would have been stationed to prevent cattle from wandering before the arrival of barbed wire fences.

A horse’s whinny broke the silence and caused her to walk again. Rhett’s bay mare had spotted her. It had become a daily ritual to feed Cherry an apple on her baking-run to Rhett’s kitchen. So far the mare’s buckskin companion hadn’t considered Ivy worthy of his attention. But Ivy continued to bring two apples. She was determined to win the aloof gelding over.

The mare hung her head over the top wooden rail, her warm breath tickling Ivy’s bare palm as she crunched the apple. A tiny black-and-white fluff ball flittered close to the fence. The black-capped chickadee had also made it a daily ritual to collect the fallen pieces of sweet apple.

As the mare finished and the disinterested buckskin continued to graze the pasture beneath the snow, Ivy pulled the second apple out of her pocket.

“It’s your lucky day,” she said to Cherry. “You still don’t have to share.”

When the next apple disappeared, Ivy patted the bay’s velvet neck and set off toward Rhett’s cabin. In the fresh snow a single set of boot prints led from Rhett’s side door to the barn.

She hesitated. She made sure she delivered Rhett’s Christmas treats when he’d be away from the cabin. There was no reason to now change her routine and seek him out. Even if she had enjoyed her visit to the Santa’s Workshop and being a part of the close-knit community her family had once belonged to. She had to keep her physical distance. Nowhere on her list to get herself together was opening the door to more hurt. She was here to mend her heart, and get her life back on track, not to make an unplanned detour by falling for her cowboy neighbor.

Yet when she’d seen Payton’s hand on his arm she’d been hit by such a bolt of envy she’d had to end her conversation with Henry and go to Rhett’s side. To her relief his smile for Payton had only contained friendship and the warmth in Payton’s voice when she mentioned Cordell’s name, confirmed nothing but a platonic companionship existed between Rhett and the pretty cowgirl.

The sound of hammering coming from within the barn had her change direction. She really did need to see him. She wanted to make sure he was okay about being railroaded into holding a bonfire. Her checking in on him was the least she could do after him looking out for her last night.

When Carol Bingley had given her the tenth degree about who she was and why she was in Marietta for Christmas, all the while Rhett had stood a short distance away, talking to another cowboy. Ivy had known all she had to do was to look his way and he’d have extricated her from Carol’s clutches. Even if she could more than handle Carol, it was touching to know Rhett had been there for her.

Ivy tipped her head back to examine the barn wall as she approached. Once painted red, the wood was now a mix of original timbers and unpainted planks creating a patchwork effect. No wonder Rhett was busy. Repairing even this single side of the barn would be a mammoth task. She pushed open the heavy doors, designed to allow a wagon to enter, and stepped into history.

Years of damage and decay shrouded the interior in dust and cobwebs but she gazed around as if she were entering the marble foyer of an Atlanta mansion.

This was the building where her grandfather had tended his milking cow. This was the building where the grey pony he’d learned to ride on had been stabled. Heart full, she swung around to face the doors still open behind her.

Holding her breath, she examined the scarred wood until she found what she was looking for. Two thin initials were carved into the right door. She set the shortbread container on the floorboards, peeled off her gloves and ran her fingers over her grandfather’s initials.

“Ivy?”

She stiffened. She’d forgotten Rhett was in the barn.

“Sorry.” She slowly turned. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I heard you over here and wanted to bring you the shortbread.” Throat tight, she glanced at the initials. “When I walked in, I remembered my grandfather’s stories. Especially the tale about how he’d played with kittens in the hayloft and became snowed in. While he waited for his father to dig away the snow drift from the door, he carved his initials.”

Rhett leaned in close to examine the childish ‘P B’. “That’s really special, Ivy.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It wasn’t only emotion Rhett would hear in her breathless voice. He was so close she could smell the clean scent of soap and see the vivid blue of his eyes. She bent to collect the shortbread and to put some much needed space between them.

“If it’s okay can I come back later and take a picture?” she asked.

“Of course.” Rhett ran a hand over his chin. “Ivy, this ranch is as much yours as it is mine. Please feel free to have a look around anytime. It’s a shame the snow’s so deep as there are many reminders of your family I could show you. There’s a young child’s grave in the foothills and over near where the creek narrows, grass never grows in the old wagon ruts.”

“Thanks, I’d love to take a look around. There’s also supposed to be a line cabin my grandfather used to camp in as a child?”

“Yes. It’s still there.” He paused and Ivy could have sworn, despite the barn shadows, color darkened his lean cheeks. “I see you’ve been feeding Cherry apples so aren’t worried by horses. Maybe if the weather clears we could go for a ride and check it out?”

“I’d like that. I haven’t ridden for a while but riding was Trinity’s and my favorite thing to do at camp.”

“You’ll be fine on Cherry. She’s bomb proof. I wouldn’t say the same about Tucker.”

“What’s his story anyway? I don’t know of any horse that doesn’t like apples.”

“No, he doesn’t like apples or anything else. He’s ornery and stubborn but when it comes to cattle he knows what they’re going to do even before they do it.”

“Well, I’m determined to win him over. Are you sure he doesn’t like carrots?”

“Yes.”

“What about peppermints?”

“No.”

She frowned. “There has to be some treat he likes?”

“I doubt it. Just as well I’m easier to please.” The corner of his mouth kicked into a half-smile as he looked at the shortbread she held.

“Thank goodness you are, otherwise I’d have to find another hungry cowboy to make daily deliveries to.” She grinned and handed the container to him. “Here you go. Today’s Christmas offerings.”

“Thanks. Much appreciated. I’ll need to let my belt out a hole at the rate I’m eating.”

She made the mistake of glancing in the direction of his belt buckle. Despite the thick grey sweatshirt he wore she had no trouble visualizing the rock hard abs beneath that no amount of Christmas baking could soften.

“You’d best get jogging or do whatever it is that gets your heart rate pumping because tomorrow it will be fudge.”

Something dark and dangerous flashed across his gaze but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I’ve never been a jogger so I’ll have to work out by banging in a few more barn boards.” He dipped his head toward the middle of the barn. “Coffee? I believe it’s my turn to offer?”

*