“Did that hurt?”
“What? Popping my neck?”
Creed grinned and his eyes twinkled. “No, ma’am. That probably felt good. I was talking about it hurting to say thank you.”
The worst blizzard the canyon had seen in her lifetime looked like it would go on for three days past eternity. She was stuck in a house with no electricity and a cowboy she didn’t know and didn’t even want to like. And he was sexy as the devil when he grinned.
“Yes, it did. I speak my mind too, Creed,” she said.
Grand had been talking about selling the ranch for years, but it had all been a ploy to make her find a husband and settle down, raise a canyon full of kids, and be happy. The old girl could never get it through her thick Indian skull that Sage didn’t need a man to provide happiness. Her paint palette and easel did that job just fine.
Her cell phone rang as she smeared butter on her pancake. She recognized the ringtone as the one she’d assigned to her grandmother and jumped up so fast that her chair flipped over backwards. She didn’t even take the time to set it upright but dived for her purse, which was still on the credenza.
They called it a credenza but it was really the bottom half of an old washstand that had belonged to Grand’s grandmother. The bow that held the towel had long since broken off and probably burned in the fireplace, but the rest of the burled oak washstand was still as sturdy as the day it was made. She fished the phone from her purse and hiked a hip on the edge of the credenza as she answered it.
“Hello, Grand,” she said breathlessly.
“Well, you did make it home,” her grandmother said through a buzz of steady static. “Looks like the blizzard is messing with the lines. Just wanted to be sure you were safe.”
“Grand, what have you done?”
Grand giggled. “I told you I’d sell when I felt like the time and the buyer were right. Well, Creed Riley walked up on the porch and I knew it was time. I could feel it in my bones and it was even an omen that his name starts with a C. He agreed to keep the Rockin’ C brand, so that was another good sign. I gave him a good deal and he took it. Live with it or move out here with me.”
Sage shouted into the phone, “To Pennsylvania in the mountains! No thank you!”
“I love it. Wasn’t sure I would, but it’s beautiful. And me and Essie are doing just fine in this big old barn of a house she’s got. I’m going to take care of the two old milk cows and we’ve got this little fruit stand out in front of the house where we’ll sell stuff in the summertime. And the neighbors stop in every day to buy what milk we want to sell.”
“All that will wear off before long,” Sage told her.
“I don’t think so. I knew when I looked into Creed’s eyes that he was the one. My sense never fails me. And Essie needs me. She’s getting feeble, Sage. You are cutting in and out so bad that I’m hanging up now…”
The phone went dead in her hands before she could say good-bye.
Sage redialed but got the no service message again. She picked up the landline and got nothing. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter 2
Sage painted when she was sad. She painted when she was happy. She painted when she was nervous, and she painted when she was antsy, like she was that morning.
Her supplies had been stored in the bunkhouse when she finished the last canvas and headed to Denver and Cheyenne to the two showings. There weren’t many days in a year when she couldn’t paint outside. Sometimes spring rains kept her inside, but that wasn’t every single day. And bitter cold didn’t last long in the wintertime, but the way the snow kept falling, it looked like it might go on until eternity.
She finished the pancakes, drank two more cups of coffee, and started toward her bedroom to haul her heavy coveralls out of the closet. She could stoke up a fire in the bunkhouse and do her painting there. She weighed the consequences. If she escaped to the bunkhouse, Creed would think he had run her off. This was her house, not his. Or she could ignore him and show him exactly who the boss of the Rockin’ C was.
She might have to share space with him, but that did not mean she had to talk to him. Knowing his name was enough, and she’d have been quite happy not even to know that much. She could have referred to him as “hey, you” or simply “cowboy” for three weeks.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?” he asked.
She turned around in the middle of the living room. “I’m going to get my supplies out of the bunkhouse, take a shower, and then paint until the light fades so much I can’t see. And FYI, cowboy, I do not like people to talk to me while I’m painting.”
“In cold water?”
Was he stupid or what? An idiot knew you didn’t paint in water.
He grinned. “Are you going to take a shower in cold water?”
Dammit! Why couldn’t he have one of those big toothy grins that turned a woman off? Oh, no! Grand had to leave her with a cowboy who had a smile so sexy that it lit up the whole universe.
“The hot water tank runs on propane. Grand thinks a total electric house is a joke. The trick to having a hot shower is to keep the generator that runs the well pump filled with gas. That means twice a day, and I like hot water enough to do it myself if you don’t want to.”
If anyone had told her two days ago that she’d be explaining the workings of her home to a complete stranger, she would have thought they were crazy. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Grand would ever go this far in selling the ranch. But it happened and it hurt to admit it, but his green eyes were mesmerizing, his pancakes were good, he was good to the dog, and when he grinned her heart got a hitch in the beating process. She’d bet dollars to cow patties that if there were kids around they’d flock to him like flies on the kitchen table in the summertime. That must have been what Grand saw in him when he appeared on the porch.
Grand might have enough clout with God to get Him to send the storm to the canyon so Sage would have no choice but to spend days and days with the cowboy, but Ada Presley had met her match. Sage had three whole weeks to fire up her temper and work on her arguments.
“What are you going to do with yourself all day long?” she asked.
“Read until chore time and then afterwards read until bedtime.”
“What are you reading?”
“I got a whole pile of books in my bedroom.”
That is Grand’s bedroom. Like I said before, don’t get too comfortable, Creed Riley.
He stacked the breakfast dishes on the cabinet. “They’ll wait until after lunch and then we’ll run a sink full to do dishes.”
“We?” she asked.
“I understand you don’t cook. Some women don’t. But darlin’, you can damn sure help with the dishes. If you don’t know how to do that, I will teach you.”
“Don’t you get all high-handed with me, cowboy.”
He held up his palms and took a deep breath.
“Hey, what do you say that we start over? Hello, Sage Presley. I am Creed Riley. Your grandmother, Ada Presley, is selling me this house. She told me you’d pitch a fit and I realize it’s a shock to you, but I will buy it. I can cook. I can take care of a ranch. Looks like we are stuck together in this house for a few days. What do you say we make the best of it?”
“Don’t look like we have much choice. I will try to be civil.”
A mistletoe cowboy and a dog so ugly that its face would stop an eight-day clock—her world had turned totally upside down.
Where in the hell had those words come from about her trying to be civil anyway? She didn’t want to play nice; she wanted to kill something.
The dog crossed the living room and sat down at her feet. “Grand’s wanted me to have a pet for years and I don’t want one. He’ll have to go to the dog pound in Claude soon as this storm lets us out of the canyon.”
The dog whimpered in disagreement and rolled over on his back.
“Do you know what’ll happen to him at the pound? No one will adopt something that looks li
ke that. Can you imagine a little kid coming in and looking at that in the cage? Kid would cry and run the other way. He’d tell his momma that he’d do without a dog before he took that critter home. They won’t even wait the two weeks or however long it is before they put him down. First little kid he scares they’ll shoot him right between the eyes. You want that on your conscience, Sage? And just for the record, it’s not a boy dog. I just didn’t think anything that ugly could be a girl, and there’s more.”
“What?” Sage asked.
“If that dog ain’t pregnant then I’ll eat my socks.”
“Shit!” Sage mumbled. “I couldn’t let them kill a momma dog about to have puppies.”
“All that wiry hair and snow on her made her look like a fat old boy. But it’s a girl and she’s arrived with baggage. Hey, my coveralls are already wet with snow. Ain’t no use in you gettin’ layered up to go back out in the weather. Tell me what you want from the bunkhouse and I’ll bring it in while you shower. Then you can paint the rest of the day.”
“You’d do that?” she asked.
“We started all over. I wouldn’t have a little while ago when I was still mad because you were mean and before we found out we’re going to be grandparents.” He grinned.
“I was not mean! And that dog isn’t…” She stopped abruptly. “Thank you. My easel is in the corner. It folds up. Please bring the big black box beside it and as many stretched canvases as you can carry. It might take two trips.”
“You were mean. The dog is, and you are welcome. I’ll rap on the bathroom door between the trips in case you think of something else.”
***
The house was so small a cowboy couldn’t cuss the pregnant dog without getting a hair in his mouth. And Creed didn’t feel like spending his days in so much tension that a machete couldn’t cut through it, so making nice was the only other alternative.
He’d been engaged. He knew women could be temperamental, and from what he had heard, artists were the worst of the lot. A trip thirty yards out back to the bunkhouse wasn’t too big a price to pay for a nice quiet peaceful afternoon. Besides, when she got over the shock of the whole idea, Sage might be a right good neighbor. She was already coming around. It might take a while before she was ready to roll over on her back like the dog, but hey, a few more pancakes and a miracle or two and who knew what would happen. It was the Christmas season, snow and all. A miracle could happen.
He trudged through wet snow up to his ankles and broke a layer of ice from around the bunkhouse door to get it open. Once inside he located the easel and the black toolbox. He tucked the easel under his arm, picked up the box, and started back toward the house. The temperature kept falling steadily, and the snow stung when it hit his face. He should’ve put the face mask back on, but he’d figured it would be a fast trip.
Sage was standing in the kitchen when he shoved the door open. She wore a chocolate brown sweatshirt with paint smudges all over it. Her hair was still wet and pulled up into a ponytail, and all her makeup had been washed away.
The sweet smell of soap blended with the aroma of burning logs and coffee and he had the sudden urge to bury his face in her dark hair, just to get a better whiff of her shampoo. Tall women had never attracted him and he’d never been particularly drawn to brunettes with brown eyes, but Sage Presley was a beautiful woman. One that probably had no time at all for a rough-edged cowboy who was gun-shy when it came to commitments.
He set the paint box on the kitchen table and rested the easel against the wall. “That was a quick shower.”
“You don’t linger when it takes a generator to keep the hot water coming,” she told him. “Thanks for bringing that stuff in for me. I paint outside as often as I can so I can get the light just right.”
“And in the winter?”
“In the house mostly, but I store my stuff in the bunkhouse. Like you said, the house is small and it’s not that far to go get what I want. At least it isn’t when there’s not a blizzard blowing outside. I appreciate you going after my stuff so I can work,” she said.
“Does that mean you’ll put in a good word with Miz Ada for me?”
“Hell, no! I’m going to do my damnedest to talk her out of selling the ranch. Does that mean you won’t go get my canvases?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t mean that at all. I said I’d get your things so you can work and I’ll do it. A Riley does not go back on his word. You just watch over Miz Chris.”
“Miz Chris?” Sage asked.
“You know, our new pet. Chris for Christmas since she came to us during the season and all,” he said.
“That’s a girl’s name, not a dog’s name.”
“She is a girl. I ain’t never seen a boy dog yet with puppies wiggling around in his belly,” Creed said. “And both of my dogs have girl names—Reba and Wynonna.”
“Noel,” she said.
He ran a hand down his cheeks to cover up the victory smile.
He’d forced her to name the animal and now it would belong to her. She could take it and all the puppies to her trailer when Miz Ada had one hauled into the canyon in a few weeks. And his two hunting dogs wouldn’t be mad at him for letting another mutt live in the house when they had to stay outside.
Merry Christmas to Sage!
“Noel it is. I like that better than Chris anyway,” he said. “I’m getting too warm with all these clothes on inside the house. Easel and paints are here. Now one more trip for canvases. How many, and anything else?”
“I’ll take as many as you can carry, and bring that gallon of turpentine, please. It’s sitting against the far wall beside where the easel was.”
Snow blew in as he left, so she grabbed the broom and swept it into the dustpan along with the piece of mistletoe that had fallen off his shoulder earlier. She dumped the icy water into the kitchen sink and turned on the water to flush both dirt and snow down the drain. And there were two sprigs of mistletoe left in the wake.
Grand would find some kind of omen or magic in the fact that Creed had had mistletoe on his shoulder and that he’d tracked even more inside. But it just meant that the wind had blown a bunch from the top of a scrub oak tree and it had stuck to him. There was no reading a happily-ever-after into a couple of sprigs of mistletoe.
She peeled a paper towel from the wooden roller beside the toaster and dabbed at the green leaves and berries before placing the sprigs on the windowsill. If he kept hauling it in with every trip outside, she wouldn’t have to climb a scrub oak for a bunch to hang up with the holiday decorations.
That turned her thoughts toward putting up the tree, the lights around the barn, and all the other decorations. She’d have the whole house decorated when Grand came home on Christmas Eve. There was no way in hell Grand could sign the ranch over to a stranger when she saw the tree and the sparkling lights. They’d remind her of all the good times that had gone on during Christmas on the ranch and any notion of selling would be gone.
And then there was the three weeks with Aunt Essie. That woman was an old sweetheart, but she’d drive a person to whiskey if they had to live in the same house with her. Her house at that! She was so set in her ways that the biggest John Deere tractor on the market couldn’t budge her. And Grand was just as set in hers. Aunt Essie’s house might be nothing but splinters and chunks of age-old linoleum at the end of three weeks because the two sisters argued and fought about everything. One thing was for sure: when Grand got off that airplane in Amarillo, she would be tearing up anything that she and Creed might have signed before she left. And Sage would never hear any bullshit about selling the ranch again.
Creed took so long that she went to the kitchen window and squinted, but the snow blew so hard against the window that she couldn’t see a blessed thing. Then a bright red cardinal flew up and sat on the windowsill. It stared through the glass pane as if begging for just a little bit of the warmth to take the chill off his fluffed-up feathers.
“Can’t do it, bird. The dog force
d her way in, but you’d be really unhappy in the house,” she said.
The cardinal took flight and the snow swallowed him up. She looked at the clock. If Creed wasn’t back in five more minutes she was going to suit up in her coveralls and go find him. He could have slipped and fallen. He could be lying out there halfway from the bunkhouse to the kitchen door with a broken leg, freezing to death.
Well, that would definitely solve the dilemma of selling the ranch.
Grand’s whisper was so clear that she jumped and looked around the kitchen. In that instant, Sage convinced herself that Grand hadn’t left at all, but there was no one there.
“I don’t want him dead. I just don’t want things to change,” she said aloud.
The kitchen door swung open and the room filled up with Creed Riley. Cowboy, attitude, and force all combined together to make the whole house seem smaller. Snow drifted in behind him before he could shut the door with the heel of his boot. He set the turpentine on the table and lined the canvases up on the floor with their backs to the wall.
“That enough?” he asked. “Speak now or forever hold your peace because once I take these coveralls off I don’t plan on putting them back on until time to feed this evening.”
She counted eight in various sizes. “More than enough. That should keep me busy for weeks.”
He hung up his hat, brushed the snow from his face, and unzipped his coveralls. When they were removed for the second time that day, he kicked off his boots and left them on the rug beneath the coatrack.
“Well, let’s hope the weather lets up before you get them all painted or we’ll be covered up in it. It’s turned even wetter; it’s coming down so hard that you can’t see your hand in front of your face and the wind is bitter cold.” He talked as he peeled out of the outer clothing yet again. “I’m worried about the cattle, and I’m very glad that your grandmother had the foresight to bring them all into the feedlot right behind the barn before the storm hit.”
Mistletoe Cowboy Page 3