The Rancher's Christmas Bride

by Brenda Minton

  With the horse happily munching on hay, Alex stepped out and latched the stall door. The cat prowled past him. Alex watched it for a few seconds, then looked up, grinning at Marissa.

  “I’m assuming you won’t be here for much longer, but Sunday after this one we’re having a community dinner at church for anyone who wants to join us, and for the families who live in the shelter. My sister wanted to make sure I invited you and Dan to join us.”

  “There’s a shelter in Bluebonnet?”

  “For abused women trying to start new lives. Several have children.”

  “I’ll talk to my grandfather. If we come, what should I bring?”

  “I’m not sure. If you’d like to help me bake pies, you’re more than welcome.”

  “You bake pies?”

  “Best pies in the state. And no, I won’t give you my recipe. But I will let you slice the apples.”

  “I don’t know how I could refuse such an offer. But I’m sure I’ll be gone by then.” Because this wasn’t her life. It was a distraction. This was the adult version of a child running away, but only making it to the end of the driveway with a favorite doll and a pillow.

  This wasn’t her life. This dusty barn with the rooster eating cat food, a horse munching on hay and a cowboy offering to let her help make apple pie. None of it was hers.

  What did she have left? Not even the ring on her finger was legit. She hadn’t thought about the ring. Not until she looked down and saw the glimmering gold and the sparkling diamond. She yanked it off her finger and contemplated throwing it.

  “Don’t,” Alex said quietly, the way he’d spoken to the jittery horse.

  She held it tightly in her hand. The ring was one more thing she’d have to deal with when she got home. She’d return it the same way she would return the flatware, the china and the blender.

  “Marissa?”

  She shook her head to ward off any questions that might undo the fragile hold she had on her emotions.

  Before she could stop him he’d closed the distance between them and wrapped strong arms around her. He held her against him.

  “It’s wrong, what they say about not crying over spilled milk.” He whispered the words against her temple. “If it’s your milk and you wanted the milk, you should be able to cry about it.”

  “I don’t want to cry,” she insisted.

  Unfortunately the tears did come. Standing there in the circle of his arms, she couldn’t stop them from rolling down her cheeks. What she couldn’t tell him was that she cried more for the loss of her family than she did for the man who had walked out on her.

  * * *

  Alex hadn’t meant to hold her. It had just happened. She’d looked at him with those sky blue eyes and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from stepping forward and pulling her close. After a few minutes, she pulled free and backed away from him. With a hand that trembled, she brushed away the tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He took off his hat and swiped a hand through his hair, wishing he could think of something better to say.

  “No, I’m sorry.” She pointed to his shirt. “I might have soaked your shoulder.”

  With her tears.

  He felt his mouth kick up because she made it easy to smile. “No problem, it’ll dry. I usually waterproof my shirts when I’m planning to bring a woman to tears.”

  “You didn’t,” she said, then sighed. “It was a long night. I haven’t had a lot of sleep.”

  “All that silence,” he teased.

  Her eyes flashed with relieved humor. “Yes, it was loud.”

  “I thought I’d help you feed. I know you have the internet to look up how to do it, but it might be quicker if I start the tractor and hook a bale for you.”

  “It might be. Especially since I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pulled on the gloves she’d probably found in a drawer somewhere. They were leather and too big for those tiny hands of hers.

  He nodded his head toward the side door of the barn. “The tractor is this way.”

  They were outside in the cool air when she spoke again. “My grandfather got a call this morning. From the IRS.”

  He grabbed the handle and climbed the two steps to the door of the tractor. “They called this morning?”

  She stood a few feet below him, looking up, the sun kissing her face. Looking at her, he kind of wished he wasn’t the son of Jesse Palermo, and that he wasn’t still scraping and clawing to earn respect. He wished he hadn’t learned that he was going to have to go waist-deep into debt to keep his ranch.

  And she had her own baggage, which included a rain-soaked wedding dress and the ring she’d slipped into her pocket not fifteen minutes earlier.

  He’d had a lifetime of living with people’s suspicious looks. Kids he’d gone to school with had been warned not to hang out with the Palermo kids. He’d learned a lot of hard lessons in his life, but the hardest had been about women. They liked bad boys. They liked the boys their fathers told them to stay away from. But they didn’t marry those boys.

  Not that he planned on getting married. This woman was the type that might look twice at a cowboy like him, but she sure wouldn’t take him home to meet her parents.

  “Alex?” Her voice brought him back to the present.

  “Right, the IRS.” Something wasn’t adding up. The IRS and stolen cattle.

  “Yeah, they called this morning. I’m worried it wasn’t legit.”

  “I’m not sure, but I do know that Dan wouldn’t want you involved. He’s pretty private.”

  “He’s my grandfather.”

  “Yeah, he is. But this is his private business.”

  “I’m still going to ask him.”

  “I thought you might. Do you want to climb up here and I’ll help you get a bale of hay?” He reached down and she took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. The cab of the tractor wasn’t meant for two but he squeezed her in next to him.

  She smelled of spring flowers and soap. It was a sweet combination.

  “What do we do?” she asked. “I mean, about the hay, not the IRS.”

  “We spike a bale and move it to the field for the cattle. I noticed the mules are grazing the grass down to the dirt. I’ll get them a bale, too, so you don’t have to worry about handling the square bales.”

  “Where is the hay?”

  “Dan bought a truckload in the fall. The bales are against the fence row,” he told her as he started the tractor. “Hands on the wheel. I’ll handle the gears this time and you watch what I do so you can do it next time.”

  He bit back a grin as she took the wheel in her hands and focused.

  “By myself?” She said it softly.

  “Of course. If you’re going to take care of things for Dan, you have to know how to drive the tractor.”

  She worried her bottom lip but she nodded. “Of course.”

  The tractor jumped as she hit the accelerator. To compensate she hit the brake. It reminded him of teaching his little sister to drive. Alex steadied himself and swallowed a chuckle when she shot him a questioning look. He raised a hand and nodded, indicating she should keep driving. She hit the accelerator again, this time a little more smoothly, and he relaxed.

  When it came to backing the tractor in the direction of a bale of hay, he had to call it quits. He didn’t think he or the tractor could take much more.

  “I thought I was doing great,” she said with amusement glimmering in those blue eyes of hers.

  “Oh, you were amazing, but I’d feel like a slacker if I didn’t do something.”

  “I doubt you’re ever a slacker.”

  He chuckled. “And now she compliments me.”

  “I mean it.”

  “You don’t know me well enough. I promise, I’m v
ery good at messing up.”

  He wished he’d said anything but that because she got that look in her eyes. She wasn’t the first or last woman that would look at him as a project, a man in need of a woman’s soft touch.

  She was the first to make him believe she might actually stand a chance. She didn’t look strong enough to stand up against a stiff breeze. And yet, he almost believed she could stand up against his past. He always wondered what that woman would be like, the one he thought would be able to handle it.

  He got his wayward thoughts back on track because it wasn’t real. She had enough on her plate without hearing about his life or the baggage he’d been dragging around for most of his twenty-seven years.

  “Let’s get this hay to the cattle and I’ll take you to town for breakfast.”

  There went common sense and logic. Out the window.

  Fortunately she shook her head. “I need to go see my grandfather.”

  “How are you getting there?”

  “I’m driving his truck. The keys were hanging by the door.”

  He dropped the bale and for a minute he didn’t comment on the idea of her driving Dan’s farm truck to Killeen. He positioned the spikes and got the bale rolling. Behind them the cattle were moving in on the hay he’d spread across the ground.

  She watched, clearly thinking farmwork was a lot of fun and not the hard work it really was. He knew her kind. She’d enjoy it for a few days, then head on back to Dallas.

  “You can’t drive the truck,” he told her as he headed the tractor back to the equipment barn. The three-sided building had an open front. Dan parked his baler, the tractor and the ATV inside. There was also an old tractor he’d retired but couldn’t part with. The tractor had rolled with Dan on it once, about fifteen years ago. Still, he held on to the rusted-out piece of junk.

  “Why can’t I drive the truck?”

  “Because it doesn’t have tags. And I doubt you know how to drive a stick shift. Those are two pretty good reasons.”

  “His truck doesn’t have tags?”

  “Nope. It’s a farm truck. Not that it’s legal for him to drive it that way, but everyone kind of turns the other way when they see Dan driving through town. He doesn’t leave Bluebonnet Springs and he does have insurance. But you can’t drive it.”

  “Can I drive it to town to get groceries?”

  Hadn’t he just told her she couldn’t? He shook his head.

  “I can drive you to the store or the hospital.”

  He helped her down from the tractor, her small hand in his. He let go as soon as her feet hit the ground because her hand in his made him want to hold on a little longer.

  But he didn’t have time for chauffeuring her all over the state.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she told him, letting him off the hook.

  He repositioned his hat on his head as he studied her determined face. “Suit yourself. If you run into trouble, give me a call.”

  Then he left, telling himself he should feel as if he dodged a bullet. Instead he felt more like he’d just left a defenseless kitten on the side of the road. He wanted to go back, but he couldn’t. He guessed he’d have to look at her the way he would look at that kitten. If he didn’t help her, someone else would.

  Chapter Six

  It took Marissa a whole day to work up the courage to drive the truck. After she’d fed the livestock the next morning she grabbed the keys and headed out the door, glad that Alex hadn’t shown up and wouldn’t see her poor attempts at driving a stick shift. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she had watched a video showing her how to drive a stick-shift car.

  Bub the bloodhound followed her across the yard to the truck. He plopped down under a tree, a big rawhide chew bone held beneath his paws. She thought he might be as skeptical as Alex. He chewed on the bone but occasionally he’d lift his head and watch her.

  She could do this. She’d show them all. She shoved the key in the ignition and turned. The truck jumped forward and died. Bub picked up his bone and moved a safe distance away.

  Aggravated, she ran through the instructions from the video she’d watched. The clutch. She’d forgotten to use the clutch. She tried again. This time she got the thing started, eased off the clutch and moved forward about twenty feet. The truck shuddered to a halt and died.

  It took ten minutes for her to figure out the nuances of the gearshift, the clutch, the gas and brake. It took another five minutes to make it down the driveway to the road. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, pushing her to keep trying. She also didn’t like to give up. One way or another she would learn to drive this truck.

  She was tenacious. That’s what her grandmother had told her. And from her grandmother, it had been a compliment. She’d told Marissa it took a strong woman to overcome difficult situations and survive in this world.

  She wondered why her grandmother hadn’t been more tenacious in her relationship with Dan Wilson.

  Once she got to the main road she sort of had the hang of things. There were a few jerky starts, but she got the truck headed in the right direction. She also found that it wasn’t so easy to drive. It constantly pulled toward the left and she had to fight to keep it in the lane.

  When she reached the Bluebonnet city limits she took a deep breath and let her shoulders relax. She’d made it. She had driven the old truck all the way to town.

  A siren split the air and she jerked her attention to the rearview mirror. The police car behind her definitely wasn’t there to give her a friendly escort. She pulled over to the shoulder, the truck shaking at her quick maneuvering and downshifting. It spluttered to a stop and she sat there, hands on the wheel, breathing past the tightness in her chest. She glanced in the mirror again.

  The officer got out of his car, his hand on his sidearm. As if dangerous criminals drove old farm trucks. He glanced at the back of the truck and then at her. She closed her eyes briefly and opened them to smile at the officer when he walked up to the window.

  “Driver’s license and registration. And could you tell me what you’re doing in Dan Wilson’s truck?”

  “I’m his granddaughter, Marissa Walker.” She reached for her purse.

  “Slow and easy, keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Yes, she would keep her shaking hands where the officer, named Jones, could see them. “Dan is in the hospital. I needed to pick up groceries.”

  “I know where Dan is. I also know he’s had some cattle disappear. So why don’t you go ahead and show me your license and we’ll figure this out.”

  A truck drove past. A familiar dark red truck.

  “Great,” she muttered to herself.

  “Problem?” Officer Jones asked. He momentarily shifted his attention to the truck that slowed as it moved to the shoulder of the road just in front of them.

  “No.”

  Other than being pulled over. Humiliated. Jilted. She could go on, but he didn’t want the list. He didn’t want to know that it had been a horrible few days. He didn’t care that until he’d pulled her over, she’d actually been feeling very proud of herself because she was not only surviving, but she’d also managed to drive the stupid truck.

  Although she tried to fight the urge to glance at the truck on the shoulder just fifty or so feet ahead of her, she couldn’t help but look. Alex was just getting out. He adjusted his black cowboy hat, shook his head and started their way. Officer Jones let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I’m going to have to call this in,” he told her. “Take the keys out of the ignition and hand them to me. And don’t get out of the truck.”

  “I’m not going to drive off.”

  The officer looked skeptical and held out his hand for the key.

  “Tim, is there a problem?” Alex asked as he finally reached them.

&n
bsp; “I know Dan is in the hospital, so I was surprised to see his truck heading down the road. I’m checking it out now.”

  “This is his granddaughter. If you’ll let her go, I’ll make sure she gets it parked before she runs someone off the road.”

  “I’m right here and I resent that,” she informed the too-confident cowboy. He leaned against the side of the truck, then shot her a grin and winked.

  She resented that wink. That smile. As if he was there to get her out of trouble. She could get herself out of trouble. She also resented the way she suddenly felt better, as if his presence changed things for her.

  He was the last thing she needed.

  The police officer glanced at her driver’s license and then he handed it back to her. “I’m not sure why you think I should take your word for this, Alex.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Tim.” He said it casually. But she noticed the way his mouth tightened and his eyes lost their humor.

  “No?” Officer Jones asked. This time neither man smiled.

  “No.” Alex moved away from his casual position against the side of the truck. “I help Dan at his place. I’m not the person who would take from an old man.”

  The officer handed her back the keys she’d given him. “Get it off the road. I’ve turned a blind eye to Dan driving back and forth to town, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “I understand.”

  “We’ll park at the café and I’ll have it towed back to Dan’s place.” Alex stepped a little closer and she could see how tense he was.

  “Good plan.” Officer Jones nodded in her direction. “Give Dan my best.”

  “I can just drive back to my grandfather’s place,” Marissa offered after the policeman had walked away.

  Alex leaned against the door, and she pretended not to notice that he smelled good. Not expensive-cologne good, but soap-and-country-air good.