A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  On impulse, she set out cinnamon-scented candles flanking the festive fall cornucopia in the center of the table, certain the delicious aroma would stir feelings of Christmas for their guests the same as it did for her. It was never too soon to start celebrating.

  Fortunately for Molly and Bridget, the ranch’s launch wedding was on the smaller side—only twenty-seven people including the bride and groom. The most their chapel could accommodate was forty-five. The veranda held thirty for those who preferred an outdoor ceremony. For larger weddings, folding chairs could be set up on the lawn.

  Over the next hour, whenever the ranch phone rang, Molly dove for the polished mahogany counter in the foyer that served as her workstation and registration desk. She answered the callers’ questions about the open house, praying that she and her sister could indeed pull off the event without their grandmother.

  Expecting a delivery from the florist, Molly didn’t think twice when the front door opened. Hearing the tat-tat-tat of running feet on the foyer’s wooden floor and a child’s squeal, she paused. This was no floral delivery.

  A little girl no older than three burst into the parlor at the exact moment Molly entered from the kitchen. She was quickly followed by a boy of possibly five. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed and clothing askew, the pair skidded to a halt and stared at her.

  “Oh.” Molly stared back. “Who are you?”

  The next instant, the boy reached out with both arms and shoved the girl from behind. She tumbled face-first to the floor, landing half on and half off the braided rug. Instantly, a high-pitched wail filled the room. The boy, her brother given their resemblance, simply stood there, his expression a combination of victory, contrition and dread.

  Molly started forward. She didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but she could tell the girl wasn’t hurt. Not really. A bruised knee, perhaps. Molly and her sister had regularly engaged in these types of scuffles during their childhood.

  “Are you okay?”

  She was halfway to the girl when the arched doorway separating the parlor from the foyer and the chapel was filled by a pair of broad shoulders, a tall lanky form and a dark brown Stetson.

  Molly came to a halt. She’d seen plenty of attractive cowboys since moving to Mustang Valley, but this one in his pressed jeans and Western-cut suede coat rated right up there. The fact that he balanced a third child in his left arm, this one a toddler, diminished none of his good looks.

  Assuming they’d arrived early, Molly produced a smile and said, “I’m sorry. The open house doesn’t start until noon.”

  “Actually...” He bent and assisted the little girl to her feet, restraining her when she would have shoved her brother in retaliation. “I’m Owen Caufield. And you must be Molly O’Malley, right?”

  His name didn’t ring any bells. “Am I expecting you?”

  “You are.” An appealing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  She grew suddenly tense. Something told her that she was in for a surprise and not the happy kind.

  “I’m your substitute minister. Homer Foxworthy’s my great-uncle.” Owen set the toddler down to join her siblings. “I’m staying here for the next month, through Christmas, while he and your grandmother are on their trip. Along with my kids.”

  She stared at him, every particle of her being resisting. Please, someone tell her this wasn’t happening.

  * * *

  “NO OFFENSE, BUT you don’t look like a minister.”

  Owen didn’t blame Molly for doubting him. He wasn’t really a minister. And his three intent-on-misbehaving offspring were hardly aiding his image.

  “I got ordained online,” he explained. “A buddy asked me to officiate his wedding a few months ago. We had this bet and, well...”

  “Is that even a real thing? Getting ordained online?”

  He corralled his children closer. They’d attempted to wander off in three different directions, and the room had far too many breakables for his comfort level. “I guarantee you, I can legally marry people. In Arizona, at least.”

  “Do you have any credentials?”

  “I didn’t bring my certificate. I figured Uncle Homer had vouched for me.”

  “What’s his cell phone number?”

  Owen chuckled. “You plan on calling him to verify my story?”

  “Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I do.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Oh?” She drew out the word.

  “You said ‘I do.’ Like in a wedding vow. And I’m an online minister.”

  “Huh.”

  All right, not funny. Ms. O’Malley apparently lacked a sense of humor.

  Then again, Owen was a complete stranger, and he’d obviously caught her at a bad moment, when she was overwhelmed and not expecting him. Anyone’s sense of humor would desert them.

  She lifted one side of the apron she wore and produced a phone from her jeans pocket. Swiping the screen, she raised her brows expectantly. “What’s your uncle’s number?”

  Owen obliged her, and she quickly entered it. He might have spent more time losing himself in the depths of her incredible green eyes, but his son chose that moment to renew the squabble with his sister.

  “Cody, that’s enough.”

  Owen blocked his son’s hand right before it connected with his oldest daughter, Marisa. Cody was strictly forbidden to tease or torment his little sisters. Unfortunately, that seldom deterred him, and Marisa was his target more often than Willa, the youngest.

  In response, Marisa dropped to the floor and resumed crying. “I wanna go home.”

  Willa collapsed beside her sister, whining in solidarity, while Cody grabbed Owen’s arm and, lifting his feet, dangled in his best monkey impersonation.

  Owen attempted to quiet the girls and sent Molly an apologetic smile. This wasn’t the auspicious beginning he’d envisioned.

  The sad truth was Owen didn’t know his children very well or they him. He’d been away more than he’d been home in recent years and was sorely lacking when it came to parenting skills.

  One of the reasons he’d agreed to take a month off and cover for his great-uncle was the perks that came with the job. He’d been promised a cabin and plenty of free time to connect with his estranged children.

  Never again would he pick them up for a scheduled visit only to have Willa not recognize him. The blow Owen suffered had been the motivator behind him turning a new leaf, and he’d vowed from that day forward nothing and no one would come before his children.

  “Homer’s not answering, either.” Molly disconnected and repocketed her phone.

  “I’m sure they’ll call when they reach Flagstaff. Service is pretty iffy between here and there.”

  “Did your uncle coerce my grandmother?”

  He thought at first she might be joking then realized she wasn’t. “I doubt it. She seemed pretty eager when they came by my house on Thursday to ask if I’d cover for Uncle Homer.”

  Molly’s gaze narrowed. “Just how well do you know my grandmother?”

  “We’ve met twice. I’m all the family Uncle Homer has in Arizona. Which is why, I think, they chose to elope and take a long RV trip. Uncle Homer’s son couldn’t arrange time off work on such short notice to come to a wedding, and his daughter’s scared to death of flying. He wanted your grandmother to meet his children and brothers and grandchildren, and they’re spread out over six different states. Kind of romantic, if you think about it. Eloping and touring the country.”

  “Except my mom and aunt haven’t met Homer, and none of us were invited to the wedding.”

  Owen heard the hurt in her voice she tried to mask and felt a need to ease it. “The way Uncle Homer put it, they were trying to be fair. His family couldn’t come here and you’re not able to leave. Eloping was a compromise.”

  Molly shoo
k her head. “Grandma wouldn’t up and leave. Sweetheart Ranch is too important to her.”

  “I’m sure she put you and your sister in charge because she’s confident in your abilities to manage the ranch without her.”

  “We need her. Today’s our grand opening. The mayor’s coming. And a reporter from Channel 5.” Molly glanced over her shoulder at a clock on the fireplace mantel. “They’ll be here in three hours.”

  Three and a half, to be exact. But Owen didn’t correct her as his kids were again demanding his attention.

  “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

  “Cody kicked me.”

  “Where Mama? Want Mama.” Willa stuck her pudgy thumb in her mouth and sucked lustily.

  Owen bent and scooped up his youngest. He simultaneously took hold of Cody’s shirt collar before the boy made a run for it. With her siblings restrained, Marisa was likely to stick close.

  “I know you’re busy,” Owen said. “If you can show us to our cabin, we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Your cabin,” Molly repeated.

  “Emily mentioned she’d reserved one for us.”

  “Right.” Molly’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, another sign of how hurt she was by the elopement. “I should have guessed. She’s been planning this for weeks. That’s why she insisted our vacancies didn’t matter.”

  Owen suffered a stab of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have encouraged Uncle Homer. “We can stay at the inn in town if it’s a problem.”

  “It isn’t,” Molly said.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. The cabin’s empty anyway.”

  “Daddy,” Marisa pleaded.

  “I wanna eat.” Cody twisted sideways.

  Convinced his luck was about to run out, Owen said, “Let me get the kids settled and give them a snack. Then we’ll be back, and you can put me to work.” He flashed his best sales rep smile in an attempt to win her over.

  “You’ll help?”

  “I’m capable of more than marrying people.”

  “We do need a minister,” she mused. “And someone to move furniture.”

  “I’m good at heavy lifting.”

  She returned his smile, a genuine one this time, and Owen found himself quite captivated. Strawberry blondes were his weakness, and this one came with the added bonus of freckles.

  He admired Molly for more than her looks, though. She was obviously overwhelmed from being thrust into a difficult and unexpected situation. Yet, that hadn’t prevented her from doing her job.

  A nose-to-the-grindstone attitude and the ability to navigate chaos were qualities Owen appreciated, and he cultivated them in himself. He attributed his success in two careers—professional cowboy and marketing—to those same qualities. He had every intention of applying them to repairing his strained relationship with his children.

  Before any of them had taken a step, the front door whooshed opened. Molly went visibly weak with relief. “Finally! The flowers are here.”

  Owen wished his arms were a foot longer. The better to contain Cody who was intent on beating the rest of them outside.

  “Slow down, partner.”

  Rather than the florist, a pinch-faced, pint-size elderly woman in a large, drab coat entered the parlor. Molly was about to be disappointed for a second time.

  Except she immediately brightened. “Nora! Please tell me you’re here to rescue us.”

  “What else would get me out of bed at this ungodly hour?”

  Was eight forty-five an ungodly hour? Apparently for Nora it was.

  “I assume this is Homer’s great-nephew.” Removing her coat, she gave Owen careful consideration. “He didn’t mention you were easy on the eyes.”

  Owen grinned. “He didn’t mention you were, either.”

  Her dour countenance magically transformed into a delighted grin. “And charming to boot. I do believe this next month is going to be quite enjoyable.”

  “For me, too.”

  She twittered. Owen didn’t think he’d heard a woman twitter since he first met his former mother-in-law.

  “Are you a witch?” Cody glowered at her. “I don’t like witches.”

  Owen was tempted to cover his son’s mouth before the boy embarrassed him further. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. Your children are adorable. Emily asked me to watch them while you’re busy marrying folks. Got a half-dozen of my own grandkids, so I’m plenty experienced.”

  Owen thought her assessment of his kids was much too kind. “I’d be very grateful and will compensate you.”

  “Emily’s paying my salary. Said childcare was part of her arrangement with you.”

  It was, but Owen didn’t want to take advantage.

  “Did Grandma tell you she was eloping?” Molly asked Nora.

  “I’m her best friend. She called me last night.”

  Molly scowled. “She left us a note.”

  “Don’t go getting bent out of shape. She didn’t tell you because you’d have tried to talk her out of it.”

  “I absolutely would have.”

  “See?” Nora moved her suitcase-sized purse to her other arm. I’m also supposed to take over guest relations for you.”

  “What?” Molly drew back. “No!”

  Nora shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s either that or wedding coordinator, and I’m thinking you’ll be a whole lot better at coordinating weddings than me, considering you have experience planning two of your own.”

  Molly ignored the comment and faced Owen. “I’ll fetch the cabin key and meet you there. Number six. Drive around back. Farthest one on the left.” With that, she left.

  Owen watched her retreating back. Molly had been married twice?

  “Touched a nerve, apparently,” Nora said, erupting in laughter.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MOLLY WALKED TO the cabins, ruthlessly zipping her jacket against the late-November chill. She shouldn’t care what Owen thought of her. She hardly knew the man. They’d met mere minutes ago. So what if he was good-looking. He had three children and was probably married.

  Then again, would a husband leave his wife for a month and take the kids? She doubted it, and he wasn’t the type. Owen Caufield had responsible written all over him.

  Rather than continue fuming, she directed her anger where it belonged. At Nora for blabbing what was Molly’s personal business to a complete stranger, and at her grandmother for leaving her and Bridget in this predicament. The Saturday after Thanksgiving, no less.

  True, Molly would have tried to talk Grandma Em out of eloping, but that was no reason to hide her plans. As her trusted employees who were expected to cover for her, and as her granddaughters, Molly and Bridget should have been told. Had deserved to be told.

  Despite what Owen said, his great-uncle must have convinced Grandma Em to elope. There was no other reasonable explanation. According to him, Grandma Em and Homer were trying to be fair. Really? There was nothing fair about excluding everyone from the wedding.

  Twice Molly had come very close to walking down the aisle. Both times she couldn’t have imagined the day without her parents, sister, extended family and friends there to share in the celebration. Not having loved ones present seemed almost...a sacrilege. It was certainly selfish, inconsiderate and hurtful to those not invited.

  Love makes people do crazy things.

  Bridget’s words echoed in Molly’s ears as she cut through the courtyard, bypassed the gated swimming pool and clubhouse, and skirted the storage room that contained bikes, hiking equipment, lawn games and a washer and dryer for the guests’ use. She emerged on the other side at the same moment a silver pickup truck, Owen’s she presumed, proceeded slowly along the dirt lane circling the back of the ranch house.

  Ahead of Molly were six cabins, spaced approximately twenty ya
rds apart. Constructed of pine to resemble the main house built in the 1880s, the cabins were new and blissfully without quirks. Rule number one in the hospitality industry: guests didn’t like being disturbed by clanging pipes, the periodic flickering light and a furnace that grumbled like an old man.

  The stables and carriage house were a short distance away. Also part of the original homestead, the twin structures had been refurbished by the same contractor who’d built the cabins. Two draft horses resided in the stables, their job to pull the wedding carriage on romantic rides through town—Sweetheart Ranch’s signature amenity for the happy couple. In addition to the carriage, the ranch also had an old farm wagon used for hayrides.

  Big Jim, a semiretired wrangler from one of the many cattle ranches in the area, worked part-time for the O’Malleys. He saw to the horses’ care and drove the team. He was in the stables now, cleaning stalls in preparation for the open house, which would include tours of the cabins and the horse facilities.

  Grandma Em had insisted on everything being spic-and-span. Except she wasn’t here to see it.

  Molly fought against the rush of tears threatening to fall. She wasn’t about to let Owen Caufield see her cry. She was on the verge of enjoying her first successful job of a thus-far lackluster hotel administration career. Without her grandmother’s guidance and support, history might well repeat itself.

  Could this be a test? Was Grandma Em attempting to determine if Molly had the necessary skills to assist managing Sweetheart Ranch and potentially take over one day? For all Molly knew, her grandmother could return tomorrow morning after the open house had bombed and tell Molly her previous employers had been right to let her go.

  Failures. Her life was full of them. Failed relationships. Failed engagements. Failed jobs.

  “Not this time,” Molly promised herself and headed toward cabin number six.

  Owen had already parked in front of the cabin when she arrived. His son immediately jumped out of the back passenger seat and landed on his feet with a thud. He then bolted for the cabin’s shaded front stoop.

  “Cody, get back here,” Owen hollered.

  Molly suspected Cody misbehaving and Owen reprimanding him was a regular occurrence.