His Holiday Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “What did he find out?” Justin strolled over, winding his scarf around his throat, ready to help Dad prep the generators.

  “You talk to him next time.” She poured a cup, head pounding. “Okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Justin pulled on insulated gloves, concentration wrinkling his forehead. He nodded as realization sunk in. “Not going well with the new sheriff?”

  “It’s not that.” She shrugged her shoulder as if she didn’t care. She didn’t. She would make sure of it even if it might take some effort. “I’m not interested in this sheriff or any sheriff. Got it?”

  “I do.” Understanding deepened his blue eyes. He was a good big brother, caring and always there for her. “I’m sorry he’s not the one.”

  “There isn’t one.” She’d given up all hope of that. She used to be more of an optimist when it came to men. Denny Jones had left his mark, and she hadn’t wanted to trust anyone since.

  “For the record,” Justin called on his way out the door, “Ford Sherman seemed to be a mighty good horseman. Not many men can keep up with you, little sister. You ought to give him a chance.”

  “No way. No chances. I’m afraid you’re stuck riding the range with me forever, big brother.”

  “I’m good with that, but—”

  “No buts.” Did he have to argue everything? Ever since Rori had come back into his life and accepted his diamond ring, Justin had lost his surly grumpiness. She loved that he cared for her and wanted her to be happy, but romance hadn’t exactly worked out for her. The last decade without a date was proof of that. “Just go help Dad.”

  The lights blinked again and went out.

  “Yep, I think I will,” Justin said as he yanked open the door. Gray daylight spilled in right along with tons of snow. Snow she would sweep up later. A few of the horses startled, and a plaintive moo rang out. Buttercup, wanting attention.

  Autumn grabbed her cup and a handful of molasses treats from the nearby bag and hiked down the breezeway. Enough light filtered in through the windows so that she could see her way to the cow’s stall. The beautiful black-and-white Hereford simply lowered her head in another mournful moo. Big brown eyes gazed up at her through long, curly lashes.

  “Buttercup, no one has forgotten you.” Autumn held out the treats, and they disappeared from her palm with a swipe of the bovine’s tongue. Buttercup’s jowls worked as she chewed the goodies with great satisfaction. Autumn rubbed her poll. “Are you better now?”

  Buttercup nodded as if to say, “Much!”

  “I see you are all comfy for the night.” She inched over to rub the heifer’s ear. “Not every cow in the county has a stall like yours.”

  As if to say, “I know,” Buttercup nodded her head and checked out Autumn’s mitten. Deciding she liked the bright blue color, she tried to pull it off by the ribbing.

  “Funny girl.” She kept her glove and rubbed the cow’s nose. “You behave, if that’s possible.”

  Buttercup seemed amused by this as Autumn pulled on her mitten and grabbed her coffee. The lights would be back on soon, and she had horses to train. If she had a single thought of Ford Sherman, then she did her best to ignore it. She grabbed a long line and headed down the aisle.

  Ford had never seen drifted snow quite like this—and having lived twelve years in Chicago, that was saying something. Lake-effect snow could be tough, but a Wyoming blizzard was, too. This was the second stranded motorist call he’d responded to, and he prayed it would be the last.

  The local radio station had lost power a while back, and so there was nothing to hold his attention as he plowed down the county road in the thin morning light. His thoughts rolled around to Autumn’s call and the apologetic rejection she’d thrown at him in her family’s kitchen. A silent rejection, no less. He didn’t think it was possible that a wordless rejection could hurt as much as a vocal one.

  She really wasn’t interested in him. That much was clear. He should have known. When Jemma had left him, she’d been pretty clear that he wasn’t much of a catch. Maybe that was Autumn’s opinion, too.

  He ignored the pinch of pain—why did it hurt, anyway?—and squinted through the downfall at what he hoped was the road. He hadn’t hit a ditch or a guard-rail yet, so he kept going. There was nothing ahead but shadowed white on the ground, in the air and in the sky. The windshield wipers squeaked as they fought to keep up with the dizzying accumulation. No sign of a stranded motorist anywhere. Just snow like a curtain between him and the world. Cold crept through on all sides, and he flipped up the heat.

  Lord, please, just a little help here. He reached out in prayer. He needed guidance because he could not see. Had he gone too far, or not far enough? Was he even on the right road? This was like life, traveling the path in front of him one step at a time, never able to see far ahead. It was trust and it was faith, so he kept on going.

  Finally a pinprick of red glowed through the endless white. The flash of an emergency light. Relieved, he angled toward that faint glow. As he crept along it grew brighter until he could make out the faint shadow of an SUV.

  He turned on the strobes and bundled up. He couldn’t say why thoughts of Autumn trailed him as he faced the bitter cold. The storm hit him hard as he waded up to the driver’s side door, where a woman pale with worry rolled down her window.

  “It’s my son. He’s not breathing right, and he’s bluish. We’re on our way to the emergency room,” she said in a rush, fighting panic, that was plain to see, struggling to hold it together for her boy in the backseat.

  Ford glanced in at the little guy, who was swathed in several blankets on the backseat. His breathing was raspy and shallow. She was right. The boy’s color wasn’t good. The closest emergency room was forty minutes away in good weather.

  “Looks to me like your car is high centered.” At least she had known to back up when she’d hit the snowdrift. He knelt to make sure she hadn’t damaged the oil pan. Nothing was dripping or hanging, so he called it good. “I can plow ahead of you, if you’re up to driving behind me. I’ll get you and your boy help, if I have to carry him myself.”

  The woman’s eyes teared, and he recognized her. The waitress from the diner last night. Her name was Sierra, and she had been one of the many townsfolk who had rushed out of the diner to inspect Autumn’s slashed tires. She swiped her cheeks with her mittens. “I can’t tell you what it means that you answered my call. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Please, call me Ford.” A veil of snow swirled against his cheek. It felt like a sign from Heaven, that this was right where he should be.

  Chapter Seven

  “Fine, Mayor. I’ll get right on it. I’ve had a hectic couple of days.” Ford kept both hands on the wheel as he braved what passed for a snowplowed road. Now that the blizzard was long past, white glittered everywhere in the cheerful sunshine. Bits of snow slumped over the tops of fence posts, slung off telephone lines and frosted the hillsides. His Jeep’s tires struggled for traction on the compact snow and ice as he turned a wide, lazy corner and drove along the shady side of the hill.

  “I appreciate all you’re doing for this town.” Tim Wisener was a perfect small-town mayor—friendly and good at talking your ear off. “I’m sure we can get you some compensation for all this time you’ve put in. You just put it all on your time card when your start day officially rolls around.”

  “Okay.” Ford spotted the Grangers’ mailbox and took his foot off the gas, praying that sheet of ice wasn’t as mean as it looked. Two days had passed since the storm blew itself out, but the county sand truck hadn’t seen fit to swing this way yet. He waited for the speedometer to tick down before downshifting.

  “And I’ll give Jonah over at the paper a heads-up,” Tim continued, safe and warm over at his digs at the city building at the center of town. “He’s holding space on the front page for this story. Above the fold, he said. Folks ought to know what we’re up against.”

  “I’ll look forward to his call.” Ford turned the wheel, wat
ching for the sensation of a slide, and corrected when he felt one. The tires crunched along the snowy driveway. Looked like Granger had done a decent job plowing—no surprise there. “Look, Tim, I’ve got to go.”

  “One more thing. It was decent of you to take Sierra Baker and her boy all the way to Sunshine the other day. I heard from Betty Baker, and I guess it was just an asthma attack.”

  It hadn’t looked like an asthma attack to him, and he’d seen more than a few of them. Over his years as a cop, he’d witnessed a bit of everything. But he wasn’t one to second-guess a doctor’s diagnosis, and since the Granger home was in sight he didn’t want to extend the conversation. “I’ve got to go, Tim. We’ll talk later.”

  “Tell Frank howdy from me, I—”

  “Will do.” He disconnected and prayed Tim wouldn’t redial him.

  The stately two-story house appeared very different in the daylight. With a thick coat of snow draping the long, graceful lines of the top story, it could have been a picture on a Christmas card. A wreath with a bright red bow decorated the front door, and the warm glow of sunshine laid an inviting path up shoveled steps. A shadowed movement in one of the big front windows told him that Granger had been waiting for him, but when the door swung open, a tall, willowy blonde gazed out at him with surprise.

  “You look disappointed it’s only me.” He climbed out of the rig, boots crunching in the snow.

  “No, I was expecting someone else. But come in out of this cold. I’ve got a pot of coffee freshly brewed. If you would rather have tea, it will only take me a minute.”

  He recognized her as the same young woman from the kitchen the other morning, the one who had packed him a mighty fine breakfast. Rori smiled in welcome as she wrapped her cardigan sweater more tightly around her. She had to be cold, even standing in the doorway. He shut his door, keys in hand, and plodded onto the porch. “Coffee would be fine. Is Frank home?”

  “Don’t you mean Autumn?” She didn’t seem fooled as she backed into the house to make way for him. “She’s in the arena working some of her horses. It’s real interesting to watch. You might want to wander out there. Don’t worry about your boots. A little snow won’t hurt them.”

  “No, but it will puddle on the floor.” Which was hand-worked and gleamed like a polished penny.

  “It won’t be the first of the day.” Rori threaded her way through a large, sun-filled living room with a grand piano in one corner and a wide-screen TV in another. A big, comfortable sectional sofa and chairs centered the room, which had a stunning view of the Grand Tetons. “Folks usually come up to the back door around here. You might want to try that next time. I thought you might be the woman who answered my ad in the Sunshine newspaper. Justin and I are going to be gone two weeks for our honeymoon, and someone is going to have to take over feeding Frank and the cowhands.”

  “Cowhands?” Just how big was this operation? He ambled into the kitchen and saw what the blizzard and the night had hidden from him the last time he’d been here. Vast fenced fields stretched as far as the eye could see, rolling uphill and outward toward the horizon. He counted a barn, four horse stables, several huge hay sheds and an impressive covered dome, which must be the arena. A huge black mass marred the snow in the field behind the barn—what had to be a thousand head of cattle.

  “We hired ten ranch hands. There’s more work in a day than Frank, Justin and Autumn can do alone.” Rori glided over to the counter and pulled a travel mug from the top rack of the dishwasher. “With Cheyenne and Addison back at school, this house sure seems empty.”

  “Back at school?”

  “University of Washington for Addison, Washington State University for Cheyenne. They were able to catch flights out on Monday morning.” She poured steaming, fragrant coffee into the mug. “Do you want sugar?”

  “I like it sweet.”

  “Me, too.” She added a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and gave a stir. “You seem like a good guy, Sheriff Sherman. Frank made it his business to know who the town was hiring to protect them this time around. You got his nod of approval, so that says something about you.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what,” he quipped.

  “Good things.” She popped the top onto the travel cup and handed it to him. “Be careful when you take this into the barn.”

  “Afraid I’ll spill? I can walk and drink at the same time.”

  “I’m more afraid of the livestock helping themselves. Consider that fair warning.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she abandoned the taco fillings in various stages of preparation spread out over the counter. She strolled around to face him. “Autumn is one of my closest friends.”

  “Is that right?” He took of sip of coffee, which was hot enough to warm him straight through.

  “We went to school together. I know her pretty well, and I think she likes you.”

  “Me?” Hardly. He couldn’t forget the way she’d quietly and easily rejected him. She’d met his every attempt with a rebuff. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t genuinely like her. Smitten, as his granddad would have called it.

  “She’s not about to admit it, but I think you’ve got a chance. Just hang in there.” Rori tilted her head as if to listen for something. “I think Mrs. Gunderson is here.”

  “I can find my way.” The coffee warmed his hand as he headed out the back door and ambled across the porch. Rori’s words seemed to follow him, a note of encouragement he wished were true.

  A chance with Autumn? Not likely. He couldn’t picture it. He plodded down the steps and across the snowy lawn, shaking his head. All he could imagine was Autumn on her horse, the sun at her back, turning him down. Autumn in the diner playing down her experience of meeting him. Autumn at the fireplace with an apologetic “no” in her eyes.

  That looked like no chance at all to him.

  Stunning. That was the only way to describe the sensation as he trudged across the lawn and up the plowed roadway between the fence lines. Crisp blue sky, open land larger than life all around him. He could have been a cowboy in one of the Westerns he loved so much. A very cold cowboy. He zipped his coat as high as it would go and made a mental note to find his good winter scarf among the dozens of cardboard boxes he had yet to unpack. The moving truck had arrived to dump his stuff into the living room. Talk about a mess. Good thing his brother was coming out in a few days to help him settle in. Shay would like Wyoming, too.

  Horses ran up to him to greet him on the right side of the fence. Beautiful creatures with intelligent eyes and remarkable conformation. Nickers rose on the air, hooves crunched on the snow, and misty clouds of breath rose up as a handful of mares spotted his bright blue metallic cup and whinnied their interest.

  “Sorry, ladies.” They chased him along the fence line, determined not to give up. A few cows on the left-hand field raced up to their fence and did the same. The mooing and whinnying made enough noise to bring someone out of the barn.

  “Ford, I was just about to call you.” Frank Granger clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for giving Loren a heads-up. We’ve got all the tires replaced.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He stepped into the shelter of the barn. The scent of horse, hay and sweet alfalfa greeted him with memories, winging him back in time. Reminding him of walking side by side with his grandfather down an aisle of stalls, horses stretching their necks to see what was going on. Hooves stomped, nickers rang out, bright brown eyes watched with curiosity. Ford couldn’t resist reaching out and stroking one or two of those velvety noses.

  “The county crime unit will give you a call. Someone should be coming by tomorrow.” He wished he had better news for the Grangers. Turning his mind to the present, not the past, he spotted Autumn at the far end of the aisle. While she was tightening a horse’s cinch, a palomino mare playfully stole the knit cap off her head.

  “Hey!” Autumn’s laughter jingled with merriment. “Give that back, Misty.”

  The mare raised the cap as high as she could stretch, shaking it l
ike a child playing keep-away. Autumn wrapped her arms around the horse and gave her a hug. “You are trouble, girl. I’m going to warn Cady to watch out.”

  The mare responded with an affectionate nicker at the sound of the name, and her gentle chocolate eyes searched the barn as if looking for the woman.

  “We had best skedaddle,” Frank said, taking a left where two aisles intersected. “Autumn’s got a riding lesson soon. Don’t want to be in the way.”

  Strange, how fast the man moved when the barn door slid open behind them. Ford glanced over his shoulder to see a middle-aged woman in an ivory parka. A cloud of brown curls peeked out from beneath her fuzzy knit hat. The polite thing would be to meet the lady, but Frank was already an aisle away and walking fast. Ford had to jog to catch up with him.

  “I doubt they’ll find anything at the crash site.” Frank shrugged one shoulder, practical as he stopped to rub a bay gelding’s nose. “These jokers are professionals. They won’t leave behind any evidence.”

  “True, but we’ve got to try. These jokers, as you put it, knew you and Justin and some of your neighbors were supposed to be out of town. They disabled every vehicle on the ranch. The neighboring ranches, the Parnells’ and the Kents’, reported the same thing.” It was well planned and well executed. “If you hadn’t shot them down, they would have gotten away with a fortune in cattle.”

  “And we would have taken a hard loss. I appreciate you taking this so seriously.” Frank turned grim. “You think it’s someone in the area? Someone local?”

  “It did occur to me.” But not necessarily. “It wouldn’t be hard to figure most ranchers in these parts would be heading to the convention.”

  “At least they didn’t get away with our cattle. The Good Lord was watching out for us.” Frank paused as the woman walked past, an aisle away. His gaze sharpened, his posture straightened and his jaw tensed.