“You’re just in time to see some bucking bulls get loaded onto a truck.”
Behind them, an 18-wheeler headed up the lane.
Molly lifted her son into her arms.
The three of them watched as the truck parked just outside the barn. The driver—a husky, dark-haired cowboy in his early fifties—got out. “Three of our bulls are going to compete in a rodeo in Arizona next weekend,” Chance explained.
Molly blinked. “They’re leaving now?”
Noticing Braden was a little heavy for Molly, Chance put out his hands. Grinning, Braden slid into his grip. Amazed at how right it felt to hold the little tyke in his arms, Chance explained, “Bucking bulls can only travel ten hours in one day before needing to be pastured at night at one of the rest ranches along the way. And then they need an equivalent time to recover from the rigors of travel once they do arrive at the rodeo site.”
Chance’s hired hand Billy walked the first bull out of the barn. The sleek Black Angus had a name tag on his ear and, as always, was perfectly content to be led into the divided compartment readied just for him on the truck. “That’s Kringle,” Chance explained.
A second bull was walked out by Pete with equal calm.
“And Saint Nick,” Chance said, grinning as the third bull was walked out.
“And last but not least, Dasher,” Chance concluded as Braden waved merrily at the bulls.
Amused, Billy and Pete both waved back at Molly’s son.
She turned toward him in a drift of orchid perfume. Was that new? If it was, he had to admit he really liked it.
“Are all your bulls named in response to the Christmas holiday?” Molly asked wryly.
His gaze trailed over the hollow of her throat, past her lips, to her pretty amber eyes. “You might say we have a theme going.”
She shook her head, clearly not sure what to make of that.
Before she could say anything more, a ruckus sounded in the pasture. Noticing what was going on at the semitrailer, Mistletoe had crossed the grassy terrain and come to the fence. Looking straight at the truck, he lifted his head and let out another loud bellow.
Molly moved in closer to Chance and put a hand up to protect her son. “What’s going on?” she whispered nervously.
Chance laughed. Holding Braden in one arm, he wrapped his other around Molly’s shoulders. “Mistletoe may be retired, but he’s still a prime athlete and he still wants to compete. He understands getting on a semitruck means riding to a rodeo, and he wants to go, too.”
Braden looked at Chance, listened to Mistletoe and then let out a loud bellow of his own. “Mist’toe,” the little boy repeated, then again imitated the loud bellowing sound.
Chance and Molly both laughed.
Mistletoe looked in their direction and bellowed again.
Chance shook his head. “What can I say?” he joked as Molly, understanding they were in no danger, relaxed beside him. “Once a competitor, always a competitor.”
The driver came over. Last-minute instructions were given. Papers signed. They all waved as the truck headed back down the lane. Mistletoe remained against the fence in disappointment.
“You want to know what might make Mistletoe Jr.’s daddy feel better?” Chance murmured.
“What?” Braden asked eagerly.
“A bath.”
* * *
MOLLY STARED AT CHANCE. This morning was turning out to be quite a surprise. She had worried a little he had just invited them out to try to hit on her. However, she could see, given how much was going on at the ranch, she needn’t have worried.
There was a lot more to him than an ability to make mind-blowing love and seduce her into tearing down boundaries and spending time with him. He was good with kids. Especially Braden. Kind. And fun to be around.
Had she not been moving 150 miles away, he might have been the perfect man.
If he hadn’t also grown up wealthy, that was.
Aware Chance was grinning at her, as if wondering where her thoughts had drifted, she blinked herself back to ranching activity. “Bulls take baths?”
“Well, more like a shower, but yeah, they do.”
Braden clapped his hands in excitement. “Hurrah!”
“This we’ve got to see,” Molly agreed.
While she took charge of her son again, Chance grabbed a halter from the barn and went to get Mistletoe. As he brought his prize bucking bull back across the yard, he pointed toward a building on the other side of the complex of barns and training facilities.
At the end of the big bull barn was a cement-floored paddock that was the size of a drive-through car wash. The sides were open, but there was a stop gate along the back. The big black bull stepped calmly up to it. Whistling merrily, Chance tied Mistletoe to the steel gate, then went to get two folding chairs for Molly and Braden and a box full of grooming gear.
He got them situated on the other side of the stop gate, far enough away so there appeared to be no risk of them getting wet, then walked around to grab the long hose hanging on the wall.
“Do all bulls get washed?” Molly asked.
Chance put down the hose long enough to remove his denim jacket. He tossed it on the grass next to Molly, then pushed up the sleeves on his light gray thermal-knit T-shirt. “All of mine do.”
Molly’s mouth went dry as she watched the powerful muscles of his arms and back flex beneath the clinging cloth. Remembering how all that satiny skin and sinew had felt the day before, beneath her eagerly questing hands, she asked, “How often?”
“Once or twice a month.”
“Do you always do it yourself?” she asked.
“Pete and Billy help out.” He turned on the water. “But I usually wash Mistletoe myself,” he admitted.
It was clear, Molly thought, from the way Chance looked at the bucking bull that Mistletoe was as much a beloved family pet as impressive revenue source. Which went to show yet again how loving and gentle a man Chance was, deep down.
He wet the bull from end to end, then turned a dial on the handle of the hose and directed a sudsy stream into the hide. It seemed to work on the massive animal like a massage.
“Mis’toe likes it!” Braden exclaimed, clapping his hands again.
Chance chuckled and followed the soaping with a thorough rinse. “You’re right. He does.”
Molly leaned back in her chair as the fragrant smell of the soap filled the air. “When and where did you get him?”
Smiling fondly, Chance turned off the water and plucked a big brush from the bag of grooming tools. “My first Christmas in Wyoming. I was working at a cattle ranch, and one of the pregnant cows went missing. She’d gone off to give birth, got caught in a blizzard that killed her.” Chance stopped brushing long enough to pat Mistletoe’s head. “This fella was barely breathing when I found him.”
Molly could only imagine how horrifying that had to have been. “But you revived him.”
Chance sobered. His low tone took on a sentimental rasp. “Against all odds. Even the vet said he’d never make it, but if he did, my boss said, I could have him.”
And Chance loved a challenge.
“So...” He got out the clippers and trimmed some of the stray hairs around the bull’s face and tail. “I spent the next few months bottle-feeding Mistletoe in the barn, seeing he stayed warm and healthy, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Finished, Chance dried off his hands with a towel. Pride radiating in his handsome face, he retrieved his phone and showed them more photos of the two of them in the barn. Apparently, Mistletoe wasn’t the only one who’d been young and cute, Molly noted with an appreciative smile.
Chance turned on a blower to move the air through Mistletoe’s sleek black coat.
“So now,” Molly gathered, holding on to
Chance’s phone for him, “Mistletoe is the oldest of your bucking bulls.”
“As well as a national champion and the sire to every other bucking bull I own.” Chance patted Mistletoe fondly. The bull let out a low sound that seemed like the cattle version of a purr of pleasure.
Molly flushed, recalling when she had done the same beneath the caress of those large, talented hands.
“Mis’toe likes baths!” Braden noted yet again.
“Do you think he would fit in the bathtub at your house?” Chance asked Braden with exaggerated curiosity.
Molly saw where the handsome cowboy was going with this. It was all she could do not to applaud his subtlety.
Braden shook his head defiantly. “Mis’toe too big!” he declared.
“I guess you’re right.” Chance pretended to consider the matter. “I guess he’ll have to continue taking his baths here with all the other bulls.”
Braden spread his arms wide as inspiration hit. “Mommy build big tub!” He aimed a thumb at his small chest. “My house.”
Molly had to hand it to her son. He had a talent for solving problems.
Chance squinted at Molly. “The perks of having a contractor for a parent?”
“Or a too-bright-and-imaginative-for-his-own-good offspring?”
In any case, they had yet to solve the quandary of how to convince Braden he couldn’t possibly have a real live bull for Christmas.
Pete suddenly appeared. “Boss? There’s someone here who wants a word with you.”
Chance responded to the interruption with a lift of his palm. “Tell them I’ll call them back later.”
The hired hand winced. “Ah. I don’t think she’s going to...”
She? Molly wondered.
Please tell me I haven’t made the same dumb mistake I made with Aaron, that Chance is not involved with someone else, too.
“Chance?” Delia rounded the side of the bull wash. She whipped off her sunglasses. “We have to talk!”
Of all the people Molly had expected to see that morning, Chance’s ex was not one of them. She started to rise.
Chance waved Molly back down. Then he informed Delia curtly, “Tell Babs the answer is no.”
Delia put her sunglasses on top of her long silvery-blond hair. Once again, she was dressed all in black. “You don’t even know what my mother said.”
He nodded at the folder in her hand. “Is that an offer?”
Delia straightened, indignant. “Yes.”
He handed the grooming box off to Pete. “Then we’ve got nothing to discuss.”
The hired hand exited quickly.
Ignoring Molly and Braden, Delia moved imploringly toward Chance. She looked her former lover right in the eye. “Look, I’m not into chasing lost causes any more than you are, Chance. You know that better than anyone! But Mr. X authorized our firm to purchase your bucking-bull business for well over the assessed value.”
Her words fell on deaf ears.
Chance unhooked the lead and began steering Mistletoe out of the washing area. “Maybe you and Babs should try showing him some ranches and rodeo operations that are for sale?”
Delia stomped closer to Chance, staying well clear of the bull. “He wants yours.”
His jaw set. “Then Mr. X is going to be disappointed,” he predicted grimly.
“At least think it over.” Delia pushed the folder at him. When he refused to take it, she shoved it into Molly’s hands before turning and sauntering back to the waiting limo.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU WANT me to do with this?” Molly asked Chance when the newly tranquil Mistletoe had been put back out to pasture and they’d retreated to the house for the casual lunch Chance had promised.
She couldn’t help but notice that although there had been no yuletide decorations of any sort the day before, now he had a tree up and a wreath on the front door.
Had he done all that for her and Braden?
Or just simply because it was time?
There was no clue in the impassive set of his features.
Chance looked at the sleek black-and-white Holcombe Business Sales & Acquisitions folder and nodded in the direction of his desk. “There’s a shredder over there.”
Molly’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
Nodding, Chance brought out what looked to be a brand-new box of plastic building blocks for Braden and set them in the middle of the living room floor. Together, they opened it and dumped them out. He patted her son’s shoulder. “Have at it, buddy.”
Braden settled in the midst of the toys, beaming up at their host. “Thanks, Cowboy Chance!”
“No problem.” He rose to his feet.
Folder still in hand, Molly followed him over to his workstation. Keeping her voice low and tranquil, she looked him in the eye. “You’re not even going to look at it?”
“No need.” Handsome jaw set, he took it from her, walked over and fed it to the shredder, cover and all. He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “Why does this surprise you?”
Her pulse raced. “I don’t know. I figured you’d at least be curious.” She would have been in his place.
He dropped his grip on her and walked into the kitchen. “I know what Bullhaven means to me.”
As always, his ultramasculine presence made her feel intensely aware of him. “There’s no price for it?” she guessed, wishing he hadn’t been quite so quick to let her go.
“No.” He went to the fridge and brought out a package of hot dogs, buns and all the fixings. “I gather you don’t feel the same way about your own home and business?”
Molly sat at the island, watching as he turned the flame on under the stove-top grill. “I love the home I grew up in. I’m going to do everything I can to keep it as a retreat. My work will go with me.”
Something flickered in his expression, then disappeared. “Any of your employees planning to move to Dallas with you?” he asked her casually.
Molly cast a look at her son, who was now happily stacking blocks. “No. But I’ve made calls on everyone’s behalf. They’ll all have jobs in the area after I leave.”
He turned, his expression deliberately closed and uncommunicative. “You didn’t call me.”
She flushed under his continued scrutiny. “We weren’t on friendly terms last fall.”
“Ah.” He moved toward her, throwing her off guard once again. He stopped just short of her. “Are we now?”
“More so...”
The wicked gleam in his eyes said if they were alone, he would have kissed her. And she would have let him. Luckily for them both, a faint chime sounded. Averting her gaze from his, she pulled out her phone.
“Expecting something?”
Molly drew a deep breath, glad to have someone to confide in about this. “A couple of things, actually. You know that special T-R-A-I-N set I had my eye on? It’s all sold out. I can’t find it anywhere online. And I’ve set up alerts.”
He picked up a pair of tongs. “A knockoff maybe?”
“The reviews on those aren’t nearly as good.” Molly sighed.
The hot dogs sizzled as they hit the grill, quickly filling the room with the delicious smell of roasting meat.
He wrapped the buns in foil and set them in the oven to warm. “What else?”
This was a little harder to talk about. But she did need to vent. Molly rested her hand on her chin. “I was supposed to hear from Elspeth Pyle, the headmistress at Worthington Academy regarding an appointment for Braden. They’re interviewing and testing prospective students and their parents next week. But so far there’s nothing on my phone, or email, although something could still come via the postman this afternoon.”
“You thought he was going to get one?” Chance asked symp
athetically.
Molly sighed again. She knew she was reaching for the stars on her son’s behalf, but she had really hoped. “Alumni recommendations are supposed to carry weight in the admission process, so the letter Sage wrote on his behalf should have helped.”
His gaze narrowed. “Is that really what you want for him?”
Why wouldn’t she? Molly ignored his clear disapproval. “The school is one of the very best in Dallas.”
“Mommy?” Braden joined them and tugged on the hem of her fleece. “Hungry.”
“Well, that’s a good thing.” Chance winked. “Because lunch is ready!”
Half an hour later, replete with hot dogs, chips, clementine slices and ice cream, Braden could not stop yawning. “I better get him home for an N-A-P,” Molly said, leery of wearing out their welcome. Though, to his credit, Chance had been a very good sport about keeping up a nonstop conversation with her loquacious three-year-old son.
“No. Nap.” Braden yawned again.
Molly figured he’d last maybe five minutes on the drive home before conking out. “You can look out the window then and wave at all the cows and horses.”
Braden cheered. “’Kay!”
Molly found her son’s jacket. “Can you say thank you to Cowboy Chance?”
Braden hugged Chance’s knees. “Thank you.”
Chance ruffled the auburn hair on the top of his head. Then he picked him up in his arms for a face-to-face goodbye. “You’re welcome, buddy.”
Molly accepted Chance’s offer to carry her son out to her SUV. Though she knew it was past time, she really hated to leave.
She paused, her hand on the driver-side door. Then she said, “Seeing the bulls was fun, even if it didn’t yet have the desired effect.”
He looked down at her, his chestnut hair glinting in the sunshine. “It’s early,” he told her with his usual confidence. “Speaking of which,” his eyes softened even more, “would it be too much for me to bring by another installment of the ‘solution’ this evening?”
Molly’s heart leapt at the thought of seeing Chance again so soon. She also knew the faster they were able to adjust her son’s expectations regarding the bulls, the better. Besides, it was Saturday. “Not at all. But come ready to work,” she cautioned with a smile, soaking in his charismatic presence.
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