However, during the past week, he’d been telling himself he’d never see the beautiful nurse again. Then she’d suddenly been standing in front of him. It was like his daydreams had suddenly come to life.
A few minutes ago he’d watched Marcella leave the room and so far she hadn’t returned. Damn it, why was he noticing her comings and goings, anyway? She was just a pretty friend of the Calhouns and certainly nothing to him.
“Denver, would you like more cake?”
He glanced up to see that Lilly had paused in front of the chair where he was sitting in the family room.
Smiling, he shook his head. “Thanks, Lilly. It was delicious, but I couldn’t hold another bite.”
She gestured toward the opposite end of the room, where a long bar stretched across one corner. At the moment Bowie was playing bartender to Clancy and Rafe. The brothers were joking and laughing and obviously enjoying the evening. Denver was glad to see the men so relaxed. To an outsider, it probably appeared that the Calhouns had an easy life. But Denver knew firsthand how tirelessly Orin and his sons worked to keep the ranch thriving.
“Bowie has been spiking his brothers’ coffee with apricot brandy,” Lilly said with an impish grin. “You might want to join them.”
His senses were already whirling enough, Denver thought. He didn’t need to make them worse. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stretch my legs a bit and walk out by the fire.”
“Great idea,” she said, then added, “If the fire needs more wood, there’s plenty stacked on the end of the patio.”
Denver thanked her, then left the chair and slipped through the glass doors and onto the dark patio.
The night air had turned very chilly, but the fire was still burning, warming the area around the fire pit to a comfortable temperature. Grabbing a chair from the shadows, he started to drag it closer to the fire when he heard a female voice off to his left.
“You must have needed some fresh air.”
He glanced around to see Marcella walking out of the shadows. Where had she come from, he wondered—another part of the house?
“I thought I’d come out and enjoy the fire.” He gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll drag up another.”
She smiled and thanked him, and while she made herself comfortable, Denver went after another chair. By the time he’d rejoined her in the orange glow of the firelight, he was wondering if he was the luckiest man alive or the most ill-fated. Sitting out here in the dark with a beautiful redhead could be detrimental to his health, mainly his ability to think.
As he took a seat a short distance away from her, she said, “I’ve been upstairs visiting the kids. So I thought I’d come out here and enjoy the fire a bit before I rejoined everybody in the family room.”
“Do you have a fireplace in your home?” he asked.
She grunted with amusement. “Even if I did, I couldn’t afford to buy wood to burn.” She looked over at him. “I noticed you had a fireplace in your living room. Do you use it very often?”
“No. Although there’s plenty of dead wood up in the mountains here on the Horn that I could gather and burn. By the time I get home in the evenings, it’s easier just to let the heating system do its job.” Maybe if he had someone to sit with him and share the warmth of the flames, he’d feel differently, Denver thought. Maybe someone with soft curves, long red hair and lush pink lips that tilted at the corners would make building a fire all worthwhile.
“My grandparents live in Northern California in the countryside out from Redding,” she told him. “When my brother and I were just youngsters, Grandfather would build a campfire for us. We thought it was wonderful.”
He looked over at her and inwardly groaned at the sight of her delicate features bathed in firelight. Just more pleasant memories he’d have to try to erase from his mind, he thought.
“You have a brother?” he asked.
“Yes. He’s four years younger. He was married for a while, but now he’s divorced.”
“You see him often?”
“When he lived in Carson City, I saw him regularly. But he moved back to Redding to be near our grandparents. Which is a good thing. Since they’re getting older, they need help around the farm.” She cast him a curious glance. “What about you? Do you have siblings?”
“A sister. She’s five years younger than me. She lives in Gillette. Our parents live near Moorcroft. That’s a little town not far away.”
“Do your parents still ranch there?”
The fact that she remembered that much about him not only surprised Denver, but it touched him in a way he never expected. Sure, he could find a woman to have a drink with, or even share a bed with. But none of those women cared about the things that were important to him. This one did seem to care, and that made her very different.
It also makes her as dangerous as hell, Denver. Marcella is a family woman. She’s not looking for casual sex. If she ever went to bed with a man, it would be out of love. Not to ease a basic urge. Just keep remembering that when you look into those sky blue eyes of hers.
He cleared his throat while trying to rid himself of the voice of warning going off in his head. “Yes. Thankfully Dad is still in good health and able to handle the daily work. Mom helps, too. She’s pretty good with horses and a rope.”
Marcella smiled at him. “Sounds like you came by ranching naturally.”
“It’s the only life I’ve known,” he admitted. “What about you? Was your mother a nurse?”
She laughed softly. “Not hardly. Mom panics at the sight of blood. My grandmothers weren’t nurses, either. It was just something that called to me when I was about twelve years old. I like helping people—helping to make them feel well and whole again.”
All the nurses and doctors in the world hadn’t been able to help Christa. But Denver didn’t want to think about her or that part of his past. He’d spent the past twelve years trying his best to forget it. Now was hardly the time to let those dismal memories start creeping in. Or maybe it was the perfect time, he argued with himself. Maybe tonight, more than ever, he needed to remember why he couldn’t let himself get interested in a woman like Marcella. And yet just sitting here with her by the fire made him feel like a ton of weight had been lifted from his heart.
“Does your mother work?” he asked. “I mean, an outside job.”
“Yes. She’s a waitress in a downtown restaurant. Believe it or not, she used to have a nice office job as a secretary to a banker. But it was too stressful. She likes being out among people.”
“And your father?”
“He works for a real estate firm over in Sacramento. He never cared for farming like his father up in Redding.”
“So your parents aren’t together anymore?”
She shook her head. “No. They divorced when Spence and I were teenagers. They’re still friendly, though. And neither one of them ever remarried. I think they still love each other, but throw them together for more than two hours and an argument will break out. You’re very lucky, you know, that your parents are still together and work together. I think that’s so nice.”
Lucky. Yes, in so many ways Denver knew he was blessed. But there were plenty of times, like tonight, when he looked at the Calhoun brothers with their devoted wives and growing families, that he felt like a man with a missing limb. He was surviving without any problems. But a part of him longed to feel whole again.
“Yes. My parents are special,” he replied.
She rose from the chair and backed up to the fire. Denver tried not to notice how the firelight silhouetted her curvy shape or the way it turned her auburn hair into a fiery glow around her head.
“You must like your job here on the Silver Horn a lot,” she said.
“Guess it’s obvious.”
She smiled faintly. “You’ve been here a long time. Twelve years, d
idn’t you say?”
“That’s right. When I first came here, I wasn’t sure I would like it. I’d never worked on a ranch this big before. But the Calhouns are special people. They made it feel like home. And made it clear that I was appreciated. That means a lot.”
Her expression sober, she nodded. “I guess you must have been here when Claudia, Orin’s wife, died.”
In spite of the fire, Denver suddenly felt cold inside. He’d been working here on the ranch for only two years when Claudia had taken that tragic fall down the staircase and fatally injured her head. Seeing Orin lose his wife so soon after Denver had lost Christa had been like being hit by an avalanche. He’d had to dig himself out of the misery all over again.
“Yes,” he said stiffly. “It was tragic for him. For the whole family.”
“I’m glad he’s dating Noreen now,” she commented. “But frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t married her yet.”
“I’m not,” he said bluntly.
Her brows arched slightly, and Denver knew his remark had surprised her.
“Oh. You say that as if you know what’s holding him back.”
“I do. You see, I’m a widower, too.”
She stared at him as everything from shock to empathy flickered across her face. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t say anything wrong. Besides...it happened a long time ago.”
She let out a heavy breath. “Well, I feel awful anyway. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have mentioned anything about Claudia and Orin.”
“Forget it,” he said quietly, then added, “Please.”
She hugged her arms to her and Denver realized she must be getting cold.
He said, “If you’re getting chilly, I can build up the fire.”
“No. I should probably be going back in. I told Ava and Lilly I’d visit the kids for just a few minutes. If I don’t show up soon, they’ll be going upstairs after me.”
He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to sit here with her for hours. Just the two of them alone. He wanted to keep hearing her voice and smelling her flowery scent. He wanted to touch her and feel her touching him.
Had he suddenly lost his mind? Or was he just now waking up after a long sleep? Either way, she was shaking him in ways that were downright scary.
Rising to his feet, he stood next to her and stared into the flames licking around the chunks of mesquite and pine.
“Yeah, I guess I should go back inside, too,” he admitted. “Orin and Clancy still haven’t brought up the subject of the feed program. I think they’ve forgotten the reason I’m here for this gathering tonight.”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t think they’ve forgotten.”
Intrigued by her comment, he turned his head and allowed his gaze to slide over her profile. “What do you mean?”
After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m not sure. Actually, what I’m thinking is...almost too embarrassing to repeat. But I’m beginning to think I should.”
He stepped in front of her. “What are you thinking?”
“It’s a good thing we’re standing in the dark,” she mumbled. “Or you’d see that my face is actually the same color as the fire.”
“I don’t get it.”
The sound that came out of her was supposed to be a laugh. Instead, it was more like something was stuck in her throat. “No. You wouldn’t. Because—well, I think Lilly and Rafe must be playing Cupid.”
His jaw dropped. “You mean—you and me? They think we—” He didn’t know how to finish. Like her, he was embarrassed. But not for the same reasons as Marcella. Long before Rafe had invited him to dinner he’d actually been thinking of her in those terms.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
He blew out a long breath. Now that he thought about it, Marcella’s presumptions all made perfect sense. And he didn’t know whether to be annoyed with his friends or grateful.
Without warning, she reached over and rested her hand on his forearm. The gentle touch was all it took to decide how he felt about being pushed in her direction.
“I apologize, Denver. I haven’t said anything about you to Lilly. Other than the fact that you called roadside service for me.”
He shook his head. “That’s the only thing I told Rafe. How your car broke down and I helped you.”
She pulled her hand away from his arm and let out a short, awkward laugh. “At least we got a prime rib dinner out of the deal.”
The loss of her touch made him want to gravitate closer to the warmth of her body. “Well, the way I see it, since Lilly and Rafe have gone to so much trouble, I’d hate to disappoint them. Wouldn’t you?”
Confusion puckered her forehead. “I don’t understand.”
The grin he put on his face belied the anxious rhythm of his heart. “We might as well make them happy and go out on a date together. What do you say?”
Her mouth formed a shocked O, and Denver had to fight not to bend his head and kiss the look of surprise off her lips.
“A date? With you?”
Chuckling, he glanced around at the shadowy patio. “I don’t see anyone else around here but me.”
Her gaze lifted to his and Denver suddenly wondered if the aftershock of one of California’s tremors had rippled across the border. Something was sure tilting him off-kilter.
“I have to be honest, Denver, I haven’t dated in a long, long time. I’m not sure I even remember how.”
“I haven’t dated in a long time, either. And I’m not sure I ever knew how,” he told her.
She laughed then, and the sound caused Denver’s spirits to soar. Mistake or not, his heart had never felt this light or carefree in years. And it wasn’t wrong to want to enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Even if it was just for tonight.
“Okay,” she said. “I accept.”
“Good. So what kind of date would you like? Dinner and a movie? Dancing? Live theater? Sports?”
She shot him a suspecting look from beneath her lashes. “For a man who hasn’t dated in years, you sure rattled off that list pretty quickly.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “The single ranch hands talk about their lady friends. Left to my own imagination, I’m boring.”
Her expression said she wasn’t buying that, and he chuckled again.
“I’m serious, Marcella. A man who spends his days astraddle a horse and his attention zeroed in on herds of cows and calves couldn’t be anything but boring to a woman.”
Shaking her head, she smiled. “Well, I’ll make it easy for you. Why don’t I cook dinner for you at my place? Peter and Harry will be thrilled to see you again. Uh—unless you’re worried about eating my cooking.”
An evening in her home with her two sons. It would hardly be the romantic situation he had in mind. But for now, he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to spend more time with this woman.
“I’m not worried at all,” he assured her. “Just tell me when and where.”
Her expression suddenly softened, and then before he knew what was about to happen, she rested a hand against the middle of his chest and rose up on her tiptoes. When she placed a lingering kiss on his cheek, he very nearly groaned out loud.
“What was that for?” he asked, his finger massaging the spot on his face where her lips had tasted.
“That was a small thank-you,” she said softly. “For being such a good sport about all of this. Most people don’t like being manipulated.”
“In this case, I’m a willing participant.”
Before she could make a reply to that, Denver bent his head and captured her lips with his. She tasted sweet and mysterious, and though he was trying hard to keep the kiss to a slow, simple search of lips, he couldn’t stop his hands from slipping to he
r back and drawing her closer.
When he finally eased back enough to look down at her, he could see that her eyes were closed and her nostrils flared like a skittish filly with bolting on her mind.
Licking her lips, she turned her head aside and drew in a deep breath. “I suppose you can explain what that was for.”
“That was for Lilly and Rafe...just in case they might be looking. It’ll give them something to think about.”
* * *
A week later Marcella was still thinking about the kiss Denver had planted on her lips when they’d been alone on the patio. He’d said it was for Lilly and Rafe’s sake, but they’d both known that was a ridiculous fib.
Once they’d gone back inside the house, Lilly had gone to the kitchen and Rafe had been sitting on the same stool at the bar. Neither had been anywhere close enough to witness the kiss. Thank God, Marcella thought. She didn’t want anyone, even her closest friends, knowing she’d kissed the Silver Horn’s ramrod like he was something special to her.
“What are you looking for, Marcella? Maybe I can help you find it?”
Marcella glanced away from the medical cabinet to see Paige had walked up behind her.
Sighing, Marcella answered, “I’m looking for a pair of deep brown eyes fringed with thick black lashes.”
A comical look of confusion came over Paige’s face. “What? Are you having a stroke?”
Marcella let out a short, humorless laugh. “What makes you think that? My speech isn’t slurred.”
“It’s not your diction that has me concerned! It’s what you’re saying! Brown eyes? Hmm. Chet Anderson has gray eyes, I think. And I believe Dr. Whitehorse’s eyes are sort of a greenish-hazel color. What guy around here has brown eyes?”
Chet Anderson, the director of nursing, was a nice guy. So was Dr. Whitehorse. But looking at either one of them didn’t make her feel all gooey inside. The way she felt whenever she laid eyes on Denver. God help her.
Turning back to the cabinet, Marcella pushed several small boxes of gauze and prewrapped bandages to one side of the shelf. “He’s not here in the hospital. And I’m—well, you should be worried, Paige. Because I think I’ve turned into a complete idiot.”
The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby Page 5