A Cadence Creek Christmas (Cadence Creek Cowboys)

by Alward, Donna

  She shoved her fingers into the fuzzy warmth, her temper simmering. He spoke to her as if she were a child!

  “Now,” he said calmly, “where are you headed? It’s dark. I’ll walk you.”

  Her temper disintegrated under the weight of her disbelief. She laughed. “Are you serious? This is Cadence Creek. I think I’ll be safe walking two blocks to my accommodations.” Good Lord. She lived in one of the largest cities in Canada. She knew how to look out for herself!

  “Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t start texting and walk out into traffic,” he suggested. “You must be going to Jim’s then.” He named the bed and breakfast owner.

  “That’s right.”

  He turned around so they were facing the same direction. “Let’s go,” he suggested.

  She fell into step because she didn’t know what else to do. He seemed rather determined and it would take all of five minutes to walk to the rambling house that provided the town’s only accommodation. To her mind the dive motel out on the highway didn’t count. She watched as he tipped his hat to an older lady coming out of the drugstore and then gave a nod to a few men standing on the steps of the hardware. He might be gruff and bossy and not all that pretty to look at, but she had to give Rhys one thing—his manners were impeccable.

  The light dusting of snow earlier covered the sidewalk and even grouchy Taylor had to admit that it was pretty, especially in the dark with the town’s Christmas lights casting colored shadows on its surface. Each old-fashioned lamppost held a pine wreath with a red bow. Storefronts were decorated with garland on their railings and twinkle lights. Christmas trees peeked through front windows and jolly Santas and snowmen grinned from front yards.

  Cadence Creek at the holidays was like one of those Christmas card towns that Taylor hadn’t believed truly existed. Being here wasn’t really so bad. Even if it was a little...boring.

  They stopped at a crosswalk. And as they did her stomach gave out a long, loud rumble.

  Rhys put his hand at her elbow and they stepped off the curb. But instead of going right on the other side, he guided her to the left.

  “Um, the B&B is that way,” she said, turning her head and pointing in the opposite direction.

  “When did you eat last?” he asked.

  She fought the urge to sigh. “None of your business.”

  Undeterred, he kept walking and kept the pressure at her elbow. “Jim and Kathleen don’t provide dinner. You need something to eat.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. Rhys carried on for a few steps until he realized she wasn’t with him then he stopped and turned around. “What?”

  “How old am I?”

  His brows wrinkled, forming a crease above his nose. “How could I possibly know that?”

  “Do I look like an adult to you?”

  Something flared in his eyes as his gaze slid from her face down to her boots and back up again. “Yes’m.”

  She swallowed. “You can’t herd me like you herd your cattle, Mr. Bullock.”

  “I don’t herd cattle,” he responded.

  “You don’t?”

  “No ma’am. I work with the horses. Especially the skittish ones.”

  “Well, then,” she floundered and then recovered, ignoring that a snowflake had just fallen and landed on the tip of her nose. “I’m not one of your horses. You can’t make me eat just because you say so.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t make the horses do that, either. Trick is to make them want to do what I want.” He gave her a level stare. “I’m pretty good at that.”

  “Your ego isn’t suffering, I see.”

  His lips twitched. “No, ma’am. Everyone has a skill. Smart man knows what his is, that’s all.”

  God, she didn’t want to be amused. He was a bullheaded, overbearing macho cowboy type who probably called women “little lady” and thought he was all that. But she was amused and to be honest she’d enjoyed sparring with him just a little bit. At least he wasn’t a pampered brat like most people she met.

  She let out the tension in her shoulders. “Where are you taking me, then?” She’d seriously considered ordering a pizza and having it delivered to the B&B. It wasn’t like there was a plethora of dining choices in Cadence Creek.

  “Just to the Wagon Wheel. Best food in town.”

  “I’ve been. I had lunch there yesterday.” And breakfast in the dining room of the bed and breakfast and then dinner was a fast-food burger grabbed on the way back from the stationery supply store in Edmonton.

  The lunch had definitely been the best meal—homemade chicken soup, thick with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and the temptation of a warm roll which she’d left behind, not wanting the extra carbs.

  Her stomach growled again, probably from the mere thought of the food at the diner.

  “Fine. I’ll go get some takeout. Will that make you happy?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not about me. But now that you mention it, I think tonight is pot roast. I could do with some of that myself.” He turned and started walking away.

  Reluctantly she followed a step behind him. At least he didn’t have that darned proprietary hand under her elbow anymore. Half a block away she could smell the food. The aroma of the standard fare—fries and the like—hit first, but then the undertones touched her nostrils: beef, bread and baking.

  Her mouth watered as she reminded herself that she had a bridesmaid’s dress to fit into as well. Pot roast would be good. But she would absolutely say no to dessert.

  It was warm inside the diner. The blast of heat was a glorious welcome and the scents that were hinted at outside filled the air inside. Christmas music played from an ancient jukebox in the corner. The whole place was decorated for the holidays, but in the evening with everything lit up it looked very different than it had yesterday at noon. Mini-lights ran the length of the lunch counter and the tree in a back corner had flashing lights and a star topper that pulsed like a camera flash. The prevalence of vinyl and chrome made her feel like she was in a time warp.

  Two-thirds of the tables were filled with people, all talking animatedly over the music. Rhys gave a wave to a group in a corner and then, to her surprise, slipped behind the cash register and went straight into the kitchen.

  Through the order window she saw him grin at an older woman in a huge cobbler’s apron who laughed and patted his arm. Both of them turned Taylor’s way and she offered a polite smile before turning her attention to the specials menu on a chalkboard. Takeout was definitely the way to go here. This wasn’t her town or her people. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

  She was just about to order a salad when Rhys returned. “Come on,” he said, taking her elbow again. “Let’s grab a seat.”

  “Um, I didn’t really think we were going to eat together. I was just going to get something to take back with me.”

  “You work too hard,” he said, holding out a chair for her and then moving around the table without pushing it in—polite without being over the top. “You could use some downtime.”

  She shifted the chair closer to the table. “Are you kidding? This is slow for me.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Then you really do need to stop and refuel.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket and hooked it over the top of the chair. She did the same, unbuttoning the black-and-red wool coat and shoving her scarf in the sleeve. She wore skinny jeans tucked into her favorite boots—red designer riding boots—and a snug black cashmere sweater from an expensive department store in the city. She looked around. Most of the men wore thirty-dollar jeans and plaid flannel, and the women dressed in a similar fashion—jeans and department store tops.

  Just as she thought. Sore thumb.

  When she met Rhys’s gaze again she found his sharper, harder, as if he could read her thoughts. She dropped her
gaze and opened her menu.

  “No need for that. Couple orders of pot roast are on their way.”

  She put down the menu and folded her hands on the top. While the rest of the decorations at the diner bordered on cheesy, she secretly loved the small silk poinsettia pots with Merry Christmas picks. “What amusement are you getting out of this?” she asked. “From what I can gather you don’t approve of me but you do enjoy bossing me around.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because so far you’ve found fault with everything I say or do?”

  “Then why did you come with me?”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice.” She pursed her lips.

  “You always have a choice,” he replied, unrolling his cutlery from his paper napkin.

  “Then I guess because I was hungry,” she said.

  He smiled. “You mean because I was right.”

  Oh, he was infuriating!

  “The trick is to make them want to do what I want.” He repeated his earlier sentiment, only she understood he wasn’t talking about horses anymore. He’d played her like a violin.

  She might have had some choice words only their meals arrived, two plates filled with roast beef, potatoes, carrots, peas and delightfully puffy-looking Yorkshire puddings. Her potatoes swam in a pool of rich gravy and the smell coming from the food was heaven in itself.

  She never ate like this anymore. Wondered if she could somehow extract the potatoes from the gravy or maybe just leave the potatoes altogether—that would probably be better.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she heard Rhys say, and her gaze darted from her plate up to his face and then to the woman standing beside the table—the same woman who had patted his arm in the kitchen. Taylor guessed her to be somewhere around fifty, with dark brown hair like Rhys’s, only cut in an efficient bob and sprinkled with a few gray hairs.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, then turned to Taylor with a smile. “You’re Callum’s sister. I remember you from the christening party.”

  Right. Taylor had flown in for that and she’d helped arrange a few details like the outdoor tent, but she’d done it all by phone from Vancouver. “Oh, my goodness, I totally didn’t put two and two together. Martha Bullock...of course. And you’re Rhys’s mother.” She offered an uncertain smile. Usually she didn’t forget details like that. Then again the idea of the gruff cowboy calling anyone “Mom” seemed out of place.

  “Sure am. Raised both him and his brother, Tom. Tom’s been working up north for years now, but Rhys moved home a few years back.”

  “Your chicken tartlets at the party were to die for,” Taylor complimented. “And I had the soup yesterday. You’re a fabulous cook, Mrs. Bullock. Whoever your boys marry have big shoes to fill to keep up with Mom’s home cooking.”

  Martha laughed while, from the corner of her eye, Taylor could see Rhys scowl. Good. About time he felt a bit on the back foot since he’d been throwing her off all day.

  “Heh, good luck,” Martha joked. “I’m guessing groomsman is as close to the altar as Rhys is gonna get. He’s picky.”

  She could almost see the steam come out of his ears, but she took pity on him because she’d heard much the same argument from her own family. It got wearisome after a while. Particularly from her father, who’d never taken her business seriously and seemed to think her sole purpose in life was to settle down and have babies.

  Not that she had anything against marriage or babies. But she’d do it on her own timetable.

  “Well,” she said, a bit softer, “it seems to me that getting married is kind of a big deal and a person would have to be awfully sure that they wanted to see that person every day for the rest of their lives. Not a thing to rush, really.”

  Martha smiled and patted Taylor’s hand. “Pretty and wise. Don’t see that very often, at least around here.” She sent a pointed look at a nearby table where Taylor spied an animated blonde seated with a young man who seemed besotted with her.

  “Well, your supper’s getting cold.” Martha straightened. “And I’ve got to get back. See you in a bit.”

  Taylor watched Rhys’s mother move off, stopping at several tables to say hello. Her full laugh was infectious and Taylor found herself smiling.

  When she turned back, Rhys had already started cutting into his beef. Taylor mentally shrugged and speared a bright orange carrot with her fork.

  “So,” she said easily. “How’d a nice woman like your mother end up with a pigheaded son like you?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  TENDER AS IT was, Rhys nearly choked on the beef in his mouth. Lord, but Callum’s sister was full of sass. And used to getting her own way, too, from the looks of it. He’d noticed her way back in the fall at the christening, all put together and pretty and, well, bossy. Not that she’d been aggressive. She just had one of those natural take-charge kind of ways about her. When Taylor was on the job, things got done.

  He just bet she was Student Council president in school, too. And on any other committee she could find.

  He’d been the quiet guy at the back of the class, wishing he could be anywhere else. Preferably outside. On horseback.

  Burl Ives was crooning on the jukebox now and Taylor was blinking at him innocently. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be offended or laugh at her.

  “She only donated half the genetic material,” he replied once he’d swallowed. “Ask her. She’ll tell you my father was a stubborn old mule.”

  Taylor popped a disc of carrot into her mouth. “Was?”

  “He died when I was twenty-four. Brain aneurism. No warning at all.”

  “God, Rhys. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged again. “It’s okay. We’ve all moved well beyond the shock and grief part to just missing him.” And he did. Even though at times Rhys had been frustrated with his father’s decisions, he missed his dad’s big laugh and some of the fun things they’d done as kids—like camping and fishing. Those were the only kinds of vacations their family had ever been able to afford.

  They ate in silence for a while until it grew uncomfortable. Rhys looked over at her. He wasn’t quite sure what had propelled him to bring her here tonight. It had been the gentlemanly thing to do but there was something else about her that intrigued him. He figured it was probably the way she challenged him, how she’d challenged them all today. He’d nearly laughed out loud during the fitting. He could read people pretty well and she had pushed all the right buttons with Callum. And then there was the way she was used to being obeyed. She gave an order and it was followed. It was fun putting her off balance by taking charge.

  And then there was the indisputable fact that she was beautiful.

  Except he really wasn’t interested in her that way. She was so not his type. He was beer and she was champagne. He was roots and she was wings.

  Still. A guy might like to fly every once in a while.

  “So,” he invited. “Tell me more about what you do.”

  “Oh. Well, I plan private parties and events. Not generally weddings. Right now, in addition to Callum and Avery’s details, I’m going back and forth with my assistant about a New Year’s party we’re putting together. The hardest part is making sure the construction of the giant aquariums is completed and that the environment is right for the fish.”

  “Fish?”

  She laughed, the expression lighting up her face. “Okay, so get this. They want this under the sea theme so we’re building two aquariums and we’ve arranged to borrow the fish for the night. It’s not just the aquariums, it’s the marine biologist I have coming to adjust conditions and then monitor the water quality in the tank and ensure the health of the fish. Then there are lights that are supposed to make it look like you’re underwater, and sushi and cocktails served by mermaids and mermen in next to no clo
thing.”

  “Are you joking?”

  She shook her head. “Would I joke about a thing like that? It’s been a nightmare to organize.” She cut into her slab of beef and swirled it around the pool of gravy. “This is so good. I’m going to have to do sit-ups for hours in my room to work this off.”

  He rolled his eyes. Right. To his mind, she could gain a few pounds and no one would even notice. If anything, she was a little on the thin side. A few pounds would take those hinted-at curves and make them...

  He cleared his throat.

  “What about you, Rhys? You said you work with horses?” Distracted by the chatting now, she seemed unaware that she was scooping up the mashed potatoes and gravy she’d been diligently avoiding for most of the meal.

  “I work for Ty out at Diamondback.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “Whatever has to be done, but I work with training the horses mostly. Ty employs a couple of disadvantaged people to help around the place so I get to focus on what I do best.”

  “What sort of disadvantaged people?” She leaned forward and appeared genuinely interested.

  Rhys finished the last bite of Yorkshire pudding and nudged his plate away. “Well, Marty has Down’s syndrome. Getting steady work has been an issue, but he’s very good with the animals and he’s a hard worker. Josh is a different story. He’s had trouble finding work due to his criminal record. Ty’s helping him get on his feet again. Josh helps Sam’s end of things from time to time. Those cattle you mentioned herding earlier.”

  Taylor frowned and pushed her plate away. She’d made a solid dent in the meal and his mother hadn’t been stingy with portions.

  “So what are your plans, then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “I mean, do you have any plans to start up your own place or business?”

  “Not really. I’m happy at Diamondback. Ty’s a good boss.”

  She leaned forward. “You’re a take-charge kind of guy. I can’t see you taking orders from anyone. Don’t you want to be the one calling the shots?”