A Cowboy for Christmas
After being jilted at the altar, all Marissa Walker wants for Christmas is to escape her life. Fleeing to Bluebonnet Springs and the ailing grandfather she’s never known seems like the perfect solution. But when her limo breaks down, neighboring rancher Alex Palermo comes to her rescue. With his ranch in jeopardy, Alex can’t afford any distractions right now—until he sees a bedraggled runaway bride on the side of the road. Alex can’t turn his back on the spunky city girl, and soon his priority becomes convincing her to stay. Because Christmas—and his future—would be much merrier with Marissa as his bride.
“I would marry you.”
Marissa looked half afraid. “That isn’t funny.”
“No one said I was joking.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
No, Alex guessed he didn’t. Nor did she know his. He’d been known to be impulsive, but it took a certain kind of brashness to propose to a woman when you didn’t even know her name.
But he said it again. “I would marry you.”
She laughed and got out of his truck. Well, maybe he’d been wrong. He was, after all, Alex Palermo. In his experience, women wanted to date him but they didn’t want to marry him. To the people in Bluebonnet Springs, he was a Palermo. On the bull-riding circuit he was a little bit wild, and not the guy anyone wanted to settle down with.
Not only that, but most women didn’t accept proposals from strangers who picked them up on the side of the road.
Besides, she was out of his league. She knew it. He knew it. But he couldn’t help but admire her.
Brenda Minton lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday-school teacher, coffee addict and sleep deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.
Books by Brenda Minton
Love Inspired
Bluebonnet Springs
Second Chance Rancher
The Rancher’s Christmas Bride
Martin’s Crossing
A Rancher for Christmas
The Rancher Takes a Bride
The Rancher’s Second Chance
The Rancher’s First Love
Her Rancher Bodyguard
Her Guardian Rancher
Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch
The Rancher’s Texas Match
Lone Star Cowboy League
A Reunion for the Rancher
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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THE RANCHER’S
CHRISTMAS BRIDE
Brenda Minton
And we know that God causes everything
to work together for the good of those
who love God and are called according to
His purpose for them.
—Romans 8:28
To Josh and Brooke, for pitching in and making everything so much easier for me. I’m blessed to have such amazing kids. And to my editor, Melissa Endlich, because she’s awesome.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from The Christmas Baby by Lisa Carter
Chapter One
When memories crashed in on Alex Palermo, he drove. He never thought about a destination. He only knew that if he rolled down his truck windows, played some cowboy country on the radio and prayed, the memories would fade and so would the guilt. The praying part happened to be a new addition to the process. Pastor Matthews of the Bluebonnet Community Church had insisted he try it.
They’d joked that real men can eat quiche. Real men can pray. They can even cry every once in a while. As long as it didn’t become habit. They’d fist-bumped and joked over that.
On a cool day in December, Texas Hill Country wasn’t at its warmest. But the breeze coming through the open windows of his truck helped to clear his mind. He’d been doing really well, but tonight, maybe because it was almost ten years to the day since he’d killed his father, the memories had resurfaced with a vengeance.
No, he hadn’t really killed his father. Deep down he knew that he hadn’t. But for years he’d told himself he was responsible for the death of Jesse Palermo. In reality, alcohol and a mean bull had killed Alex’s father.
Earlier, standing in the arena where his father had drawn a bull rope—and his last breath—Alex had been hard put to remember that it hadn’t been his fault his dad had gotten on that bull.
The tires of his truck hummed on the pavement. He took a deep breath and turned up the radio. As if he could outrun the pain.
A few miles out of Bluebonnet Springs, he hit the brakes. Because either he’d gone crazy, or ahead of him, on the shoulder of the road, was a woman in a wedding dress. The last thing he wanted was a bride, even someone else’s bride. His common sense told him to keep on driving.
Common sense told him that he had enough problems of his own without getting tied up in someone else’s hard times. He’d taken off driving in the hopes of outrunning some of those problems.
Unfortunately he’d never been good at listening. His twin, Marcus, always accused him of being the good twin. He didn’t know if he’d agree with that, but he supposed he must have a chivalrous side. He pulled to the shoulder just ahead and got out of his truck. The woman was definitely real. And wearing a wedding dress. As if on cue, it started to rain. Steady, big drops. The kind of rain that danced across the pavement and soaked a person’s clothing.
“Need a lift?” he asked, hoping they could get back in the dry warmth of his truck soon.
Better yet, she could tell him she had a ride already on the way to pick her up. But a bride without a groom? That didn’t exactly spell wedding bells and happily-ever-after.
“I’m fine.” She said it with her chin raised a notch, even as the rain picked up pace. He was losing objectivity because that little lift of her chin showed some pride and big eyes that rivaled the stormy sky.
“Ri-i-i-ght.” He said it slowly. Did he point out to her that she was miles from anywhere, wearing a wedding dress and standing in the rain?
“You can go on. I know where I’m going.”
He looked around, at the open fields, pastures full of cattle and nothing else. He glanced back at her and grinned, because they both knew she was bluffing.
“I know we’re taught from the time we’re little not to get in the car with a stranger. But I think even your mama would want you to get in out of the rain.”
Hands up so she could see them, he took a step toward her.
She
reached for the bag slung over her shoulder. “Don’t come any closer. I’m armed.”
He glanced at the bag and the object pointing through the thin cotton. “With a high-heeled shoe?”
“I’m warning you.” She issued the command with a startling amount of conviction as rain poured down from the steel-gray sky. She was a tiny thing with a pixie face and a massive amount of brown hair piled on top of her head.
Rain dripped down her face and she swiped it away with her shoulder. That chivalrous side of him kicked into gear. He jerked off his jean jacket and held it out to her. She eyed it the way a stray kitten eyed a bowl of milk, but didn’t take it.
“Well, I’m not really worried you’ll shoot me with a shoe.” He grinned as he said it, hoping to put her at ease. “But I do think we’re both in trouble if we don’t get out of this rain. I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to get you off the road.”
The rain picked up and he saw her shiver. Her feet were bare. So were her arms. She took another swipe at the water dripping down her face. She eyed the jacket and his truck.
“Listen, we could stand here all night or I can just literally pick you up and put you in my truck.” He did not want to do that. She looked like the kind of female that once a man had her in his arms, he’d want to hold her forever.
He didn’t do forever.
For a full minute she stood there facing him, then she nodded, giving in. He hurried ahead of her to open the passenger door of the truck. As she struggled to get her skirts under control, he took her hand and helped her in.
That hand was like a frail bird’s, cold and fine-boned. He held it gently, afraid he’d hurt her.
“Are we on the way to the church? Or do you have somewhere else you’d like me to take you?” he asked as he climbed behind the wheel of his truck.
Huddled in the seat, her teeth chattered. He turned up the heat.
“Do you know Dan Wilson?” she asked, hugging herself for warmth.
“Yeah, I know Dan.”
“Could you take me to his house?”
He tried again to give her his jacket. This time she took it, sniffing at the collar before settling it over her bare arms.
“It’s clean,” he said, a little defensively.
“I know, I just...” She shrugged a bit and looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. If you could take me to Dan’s...”
“I can, but do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
She gave him a puzzled look. “No, I guess not.”
“Dan isn’t the most pleasant guy in the world. He’s been sick and that’s made him extra cranky.”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
He had pulled onto the road so he shot her a quick look. “Seriously? I mean, not that you can’t be. But I didn’t know Dan even had a granddaughter.”
“He hasn’t seen my mom since she was a little girl. I tried to get him to come to the wedding...” She let the words trail off as her gaze slid to the window. A delicate finger brushed across her cheek.
Tears. He’d never been good with tears. He had two sisters and fortunately neither of them was the type to cry. The Palermo siblings had learned the hard way that tears didn’t help. In fact, sometimes tears made it worse.
His dad hadn’t invented the warning “Do you want me to give you something to cry about?” but he’d definitely put action to the words. He’d put the words into action the night he’d locked Lucy in the tack room of their barn. He had put the words into action the night he’d punched Marcus in the throat. They’d all learned not to cry and they’d learned not to tell.
But that had nothing to do with now and the lady sitting beside him wanting a ride to Dan’s.
“None of my business, but does Dan know you’re coming? I don’t think he’d take kindly to a surprise family reunion.”
From the look on her face, a grim mixture of worry and sadness, she wasn’t amused by his poor attempt at humor. Some things just weren’t that funny. And a bride that was walking down a back road, still in her wedding dress, pretending a shoe was a weapon? He guessed she’d had a pretty rough day.
The road was bumpy, but as they bounced along he managed to open the glove compartment and pull out a box of tissues.
“I’m not going to cry,” she insisted. But a few tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I guess I don’t have a right to ask what happened. But if you need to talk, I’m all ears.” He glanced in the mirror. “Seriously, have you ever seen ears this big?”
She glanced at him and burst into watery laughter, shaking her head as she surveyed his ears.
“They aren’t that big,” she countered. At least he’d made her laugh. He’d always been good for a laugh. And not much more.
“He picked the caterer,” she said quietly into the darkened interior of the truck. Her voice was soft, kind of sweet.
The windshield wipers clicked as they swept back and forth, and Chris LeDoux was singing “Cadillac Ranch.” Alex cleared his throat and shot her another quick look.
“Who picked the caterer? You mean you let him decide what to feed the guests and you’re upset about that? I think you’d need a bigger reason to walk out on a wedding.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No, he picked the caterer.”
He pulled to the side of the road because he couldn’t focus on the road and a conversation that seemed important. She fingered the sleeve of the jean jacket and her gaze slid to the window.
“He picked the caterer,” she said with meaning. “Not the chicken or the beef—the caterer. He picked her. Over me.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and breathed. The tears disappeared but they’d left streaks down her cheeks. They’d left marks, the way this wedding would leave marks, he knew with certainty.
Another reason he was single and planned to stay that way. People had a tendency to hurt one another. His dad had hurt everyone in his path. His mom had walked out on her own children.
He shifted and pulled back onto the road, trying to find the right thing to say. A few minutes later he drove into Dan Wilson’s driveway.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, knowing his apology wasn’t the one that mattered. She’d been left at the altar by the man she had planned to spend her life with. He could tell her hard lessons about being let down by people who should have cared, but she didn’t need to hear it from him.
He’d let down people, too. He’d let down his siblings. He’d let down his best friend. He guessed he’d let down himself a few times, too. That made him the last person who could really help the woman sitting next to him in the dim light of his truck. He reached to turn down the radio and told himself it didn’t mean a thing. This moment would pass, like so many moments in his life. For these few minutes, though, maybe he could be her hero, the person she could count on.
“He was a fool. If he picked the caterer, he didn’t deserve you.” He parked next to Dan’s old farm truck.
She leaned across the truck in a rustle of white satin and lace and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I don’t even know your name, but thank you.”
He held out his hand. “Alex Palermo, at your service.”
She took his hand and again he was surprised by the way it felt, as if he should cherish the moment a little longer. “Marissa Walker.”
The rain was steady now and the light of early evening had given way to darkness. She peered through the windshield and frowned. “Is that my grandfather’s home?”
Alex glanced away from the bride sitting next to him and nodded as he looked at the little camper, hay bales stacked underneath to keep out the winter wind. “That’s Dan’s place.”
“He lives in a camper?”
“For as long as I’ve known him. He’s always been ornery and h
e’s always lived in this camper. Don’t let it fool you. He’s one of the best horse trainers in the country and he raises some mighty fine Angus cattle.”
A gunshot split the night, ending the conversation. The woman sitting next to him screamed. “He’s shooting at us!”
“Nah,” he said with a grin. “He’s just warning us to get off his land.”
* * *
Marissa couldn’t help it; she cowered in the seat, close to the cowboy. He was a stranger, but at the moment he was the only thing she had to hold on to. The day was catching up with her. She’d been awake since sunrise, because it was her wedding day and there’d been so much to get done. And then she’d stood in the dressing room of the wedding venue waiting for Aidan. And waiting. Until he sent the text that he was on his way to Hawaii. With Linda, the caterer. Unable to face her family and friends, she’d taken off with the limousine, leaving her mom a note that she needed time.
The limousine had broken down and the driver had told her he was done. The tow truck would take him back to the city and she was on her own unless she wanted to go to Austin.
And now this. Her grandfather was a madman with a gun.
The cowboy sitting next to her rolled down his window and leaned out. “Dan, stop shooting. You’re a little shaky these days and you might accidentally shoot someone.”
“Is that you, Alex?”
“Yeah, it’s me. And you don’t usually shoot at me when I pull up.”
“Cattle thieves have hauled off three of my best heifers, Alex. I ain’t taking no chances.”
“Yeah, but I’m your neighbor, not a cattle thief. And I’ve got your granddaughter in the truck with me. This isn’t the best way to introduce yourself.”
That was her cue. Marissa got out and walked tentatively through the dark and the mud to the front of the truck, where headlights illuminated the trailer and the man standing on the rickety porch. She glanced around, looking for the cowboy, and he was there, joining her. He grinned and winked and she felt as if he was her lifeline for the time being. A stranger with dark flashing eyes, dimpled cheeks and a flirty smile. A black cowboy hat covered his head but she thought she saw dark curls peek out from beneath.
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