A Cowboy's Christmas Proposal

by Cathy McDavid

  He grinned. Things were continuing to go his way.

  “You two are adorable,” the columnist said when they were done with the interview and photo shoot. “Wouldn’t it be something special if you have your wedding here at Sweetheart Ranch? Wedding coordinator marries wedding officiator. You will call us and let us cover the story. Please.”

  “Really, we’re just coworkers.” Molly shifted uncomfortably.

  The columnist winked. “My husband and I started out as just coworkers. That was eight years and two sons ago.”

  “I think the interview went well,” Owen commented as he and Molly stood on the veranda watching the reporter and photographer leave.

  “Yes. Except for the pictures. I really wish they’d used a different couple. As it is, I’m already getting flack for the kiss cam video.”

  “No one will recognize us in the article. She promised.”

  Molly made a soft sound of distress. “And what if they do?”

  “They’ll realize what those ladies and the hundreds of people who voted for our kiss cam video have. And what you keep trying to deny.” He reached for her. “Mutual attraction.”

  “Owen.”

  “I’m leaving soon, Molly.” He held her by the shoulders. “Before I do, I’d like to know for certain whether or not I have a chance with you. If not right away, then when circumstances are right. Which won’t be long.” He’d see to it.

  Before she could answer, they were distracted by a compact car pulling into the drive with a big red bow on the bumper and a reindeer head on the antenna.

  “My afternoon appointment’s here.”

  Owen released her, but he wasn’t going to let her off that easy. One way or another, she was giving him an answer.

  * * *

  MOLLY HAD BEEN going full steam ahead since the moment her feet hit the floor that morning. Her grandmother and Homer were due home tomorrow afternoon. On top of that, the ranch had no less than seven weddings scheduled during the next three days, including two on Christmas Eve and two more on Christmas itself, all spaced approximately two hours apart.

  She’d agreed to the two on Christmas day because they were very small, no more than the bride and groom and a few guests. One of the brides was five months pregnant with her first baby, making it hard for Molly to refuse. The added revenue would look good on the books, too.

  Thank goodness her grandmother would be on hand to help by then. As far as having any kind of O’Malley celebration Christmas morning, there’d be little opportunity. Bridget was planning a nice, crack-of-dawn family breakfast for them, but they’d wait to open presents until that evening, when they could finally relax.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Nora bustled into the foyer and joined Molly at the reception counter. She’d been working almost as many hours as Molly and Bridget. “Owen was late returning from his last-minute meeting at Craft-Right. I couldn’t leave the rug rats.”

  Molly stopped in the middle of updating a client’s file. She wasn’t aware of the meeting. “Is he officially employed then?”

  “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.” Nora grabbed the stack of incoming mail and started sorting it. “He was wearing a big smile when he returned. If that makes a difference.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good.”

  Owen smiled a lot. Molly tried not to read anything into Nora’s remark.

  “Hey, did you see your kiss cam video is still at number one?” Nora asked. “You and Owen can make a date of the prize.”

  Did people have nothing better to do than watch and vote on kiss cam videos? “For the last time, there was nothing to the kiss.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nora chuckled sarcastically. “And I’m running for mayor.”

  “Are you?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me.” She sent Molly an impatient look. “Either go out with him or give him his walking papers. Just put him out of his misery.”

  He’d said much the same thing to Molly yesterday.

  Ignoring Nora, she flipped a page in the clients’ file. Fortunately, the older woman dropped the subject and placed a call to the florist to check on a delivery. Seemed there was a shortage of green hydrangeas, a must-have for one of the brides.

  “Did your grandmother say what time she and Homer expect to arrive tomorrow?”

  Molly had been so engrossed in thought Nora had had to repeat herself. “Afternoon. But that depends on freeway traffic and how many stops they make.”

  “Is Emily moving into Homer’s house or is he moving here?”

  Where they’d live hadn’t occurred to Molly. She’d assumed her grandmother would continue residing at Sweetheart Ranch. She was the owner after all. But what if Homer didn’t like the idea of cohabitating with a bunch of females? The newlyweds also might want more privacy.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  “She spent a lot of years in this house with your grandfather. The idea of another man occupying the same space might not appeal to her. Too many memories.”

  “True. It might not appeal to Homer, either. He could feel in competition with Grandpa.” Molly had loved her grandfather with all her heart and still missed him. That didn’t prevent her from seeing the situation from Homer’s perspective.

  Many items in the house had been acquired when Molly’s grandfather was alive—many of them built by his own hands—and were a constant reminder. While Molly and her family loved those reminders, Homer might feel uncomfortable.

  “They’ll work it out, I’m sure.” Nora checked the wall calendar. “What about your mom and stepdad? When are they due?”

  “Christmas Eve day. But we won’t be able to spend much time with them because of the weddings.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Doug is irritated.”

  “Why?”

  “Every cabin is reserved, and they have to stay at the inn.”

  “Your mother will love that. She practically grew up there.”

  “Yes. But Doug doesn’t want to pay.” Molly lowered her voice. “Not when there are perfectly good cabins where they could stay for free.”

  “Did he actually say that?”

  Molly shrugged. “Mom put a different spin on it, but I could tell.”

  “Don’t make trouble for your mom where there isn’t any,” Nora cautioned.

  She was right. “I can’t help it,” Molly lamented. “I wanted more for Mom than to settle.”

  “She wanted more for you, too.”

  The observation gave Molly pause. Had her mother not liked her former fiancés? She’d always believed the opposite, that her mother was fond of them, or at least considered them good prospects. She should have noticed the small signs that her mother didn’t fully support Molly’s decisions to rush into marriage.

  And rush she had, convinced if she didn’t quickly seal the deal, the man would slip through her fingers. Funny how she’d lost them both anyway in the end.

  “They weren’t right for me. I see that now.” What Molly really saw was she hadn’t been right for them.

  “You’re just lucky you didn’t go through with the marriages. Hard as it was for you, ending an engagement is far easier than coping with a messy divorce. That could be why your mother stays with Doug.”

  “You can bet it’s one of the reasons.”

  What, Molly wondered, would her mother think of Owen? She didn’t have to ask, she knew. Her mother would adore him and his children on the spot. He’d remind her of Molly’s father, less in looks and more in personality.

  She’d be right, of course. Owen was a lot like her father and, if not for those excuses she’d been manufacturing, he was the kind of man Molly had sworn she wanted to marry.

  The revelation gave her a start. As did the chiming doorbell.

  “Grab the phone if it rings, will you?” she asked Nora, pushing out of h
er chair.

  The visitor turned out to be a deliveryman with no less than eight packages. Most had Molly’s name on them. Buried with work, she’d done her last-minute Christmas shopping online. Not five minutes later, the florist arrived, followed soon after by a group of schoolchildren selling candy for their sports team.

  Molly sped from one room to the next. She should have been paying better attention. She nearly collided with Owen as she came around the blind corner into the kitchen. A delicious aroma of gingerbread filled the air. For one crazy second, Molly thought it came from Owen, only to realize Bridget was baking more delicacies.

  “Whoa! Slow down there.” He grabbed her arms.

  “Oops, I didn’t see you.” Ignoring her sister’s nosy stare, Molly dipped her head and extracted herself. The next second, she turned back around. “Any chance I can get you to hang the silver bells from the ceiling in the chapel?”

  “Silver bells?” An amused grin spread across Owen’s face. “Like in the song?”

  “Just like in the song.” She stopped to give him an inquiring glance. “Where are the kids?”

  “No need to worry. Tracee is watching them. Watching Cody, mostly, and making sure he stays quiet while the girls nap.”

  She dispatched him to the garage for the six-foot ladder. Upon his return, they quickly established a routine. She held the ladder to steady it and handed Owen the plastic, glitter-covered bells. He hung them where she directed, and they finished in no time.

  “We make a good team,” she said without thinking.

  “In more ways than one.”

  Ah, that sexy quality to his voice always turned her insides to mush. She required a full three seconds for his statement to sink in. In some—no, many—ways they did make a good team. What should she do about that?

  Unable to wait, and hoping she wasn’t ruining any plans of his to make a big announcement, she asked, “Did Craft-Right accept your counteroffer?”

  He collapsed the ladder, making it easier to carry. “The board is reviewing it. I should hear by tomorrow. Christmas Eve at the latest.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “That they’re considering my terms?”

  “No. That they aren’t waiting until after Christmas. A lot of companies shut down or significantly slow down this time of year.”

  “The president said they wanted to lock their decision down before everyone took off.”

  “How’d they react?”

  “Positive, I’d say.”

  “That’s good, right? The job will be more to your liking.”

  Grinning, he handed her the box of screw-in fasteners. “It is good. For you and me.”

  Against her will, she returned his grin. “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

  “As promised. I happen to think you’re worth it.”

  Before he could weaken her defenses further, she said, “By the way, our first wedding on Christmas Eve is turning into a major production. The Millers would like you to drive the bride to the house in the carriage. The groom is riding up on horseback. They’ve hired a videographer to film the entire thing. Oh, and Southwest Bride Magazine will be here to take pictures.”

  “They will?”

  “Yeah. The columnist called this morning with some follow-up questions. When I mentioned this particular wedding, she insisted on pictures. How could I say no? Now Grandma can be included in the article.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m glad she’ll have a chance to meet your children before they leave,” Molly said.

  “Me, too.”

  “You ready?”

  Owen shook his head. “I haven’t so much as cracked open a suitcase.”

  “I meant, are you ready for the children to leave?”

  His demeanor changed, becoming introspective. “Not at all. It’s been a great month, and I’m going to hate not having them around.”

  “There’s always the kitten.”

  “Don’t remind me. Marisa’s beside herself, refusing to part with Pinkie Pie.”

  “Molly!” Bridget hollered from the kitchen. “Nora and I need you.”

  “I’m being summoned.”

  “Before you go.” Owen slid his fingers into her loose hair. “Join me and the kids at the campfire tonight after supper. While they’re roasting marshmallows we can talk.”

  Was that a good idea? Clearly, he wanted to discuss their potential relationship. How she answered in this moment would dictate where they went from here. Yes, she was willing to move forward. No, not a speck of hope for them.

  Molly considered a few more seconds before answering, “I’ll see you then.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  OWEN LEANED AGAINST the veranda railing and observed the O’Malley family reunion, his uncle Homer and Emily the center of attention. The RV had pulled into the ranch not five minutes earlier. At the first sound of an approaching vehicle, Molly had torn free from Owen’s arms and run through the house to the front door.

  Not that they’d been kissing or snuggling or anything remotely intimate. No, Owen had been helping Molly down from the attic stairs. Located in a nook above the second floor, the small storage area contained mostly holiday decorations and keepsakes.

  Molly had been determined to locate a doll cradle her grandparents had given her one Christmas when she was Marisa’s age. Last evening at the campfire, Molly had told the little girl about the cradle, and she’d been instantly enthralled.

  He knew the cradle was special to Molly and warned her that letting Marisa play with it might end badly. Molly was insistent, however, and Owen didn’t argue. He liked that she wanted to share something special from her childhood with his daughter.

  Beating Owen and Bridget out the door, Molly had flung herself at Emily the second she emerged from the RV’s passenger side door. The next instant, she’d burst into tears and was only now starting to collect herself.

  “You’re finally home,” Molly said between sniffles. “Now it feels like Christmas!”

  Emily beamed. “And we’re glad to be here.”

  We’re. Not I’m. Owen noticed Molly’s smile falter a fraction before resuming. He didn’t think the reason was a dislike of Uncle Homer. Not in the least. But her grandmother no longer belonged exclusively to the O’Malleys. That would probably require some getting used to for Molly. She was very close to her family.

  “Who are they?” Cody asked. He stood beside Owen along with both his sisters.

  “Miss Molly’s grandmother and my uncle Homer. You remember him.” The kids had met Owen’s great-uncle once several months earlier. That was long ago for them, and they may not remember him.

  Nora waited on Owen’s other side, holding back while Molly and Bridget took turns fussing over their grandmother.

  “We’ll just give them another minute,” she said to Owen.

  Bridget muscled past Molly to embrace her grandmother. Once there, she didn’t let go. “We missed you so much.” When she was, at last, through, she turned to Uncle Homer and enveloped him in a warm hug. “Welcome to the family.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” he asked with a chagrined smile. “For stealing your grandmother?”

  “We were a little at first,” Molly admitted before hugging him, too. “Only because you didn’t tell us.”

  “But we’re over it,” Bridget assured him when his expression faltered. “And can’t wait to celebrate after the vow renewal ceremony.”

  “We cleared New Year’s Day. Yours is the only wedding scheduled,” Molly interjected. “And even though we’re working Christmas day we’re going to have the best celebration that night. The whole family.”

  “Please don’t tell me you turned away paying customers. Didn’t I teach you better than that?” Emily sighed, only to loop an arm around Molly’s waist and tug her close.
“Thank you, darling. That was very thoughtful of you.” She let her arm drop and looked about. “Now, where’s everyone else hiding?” Spotting Owen, Nora and the kids, she exclaimed, “There you are!”

  Nora scampered down the veranda steps, displaying remarkable agility for a woman her age. She’d been the only one who stopped first to grab a coat and the flaps billowed like wings.

  “Didn’t think you had it in you, old girl,” Nora said. She and Emily clung to each other. “Proved me wrong.”

  “Please say you’re happy for me.”

  “Over the moon. You got yourself a good one.”

  “I did!”

  Uncle Homer climbed the veranda steps after letting Nora first scold him and then kiss him soundly on the cheek. When he went to shake Owen’s hand, Owen pulled him into a bear hug. “Congratulations. She’s a great gal. How’d you get so lucky?”

  “I’m blessed, no question about it.” Before he averted his gaze, Owen caught a glimpse of tears in his great-uncle’s eyes. “I appreciate you covering for me, son.”

  “It was my pleasure and my honor.”

  “How are the youngins doing?” Uncle Homer bent to address the kids. “You three have been keeping your dad on his toes, I hear.”

  Willa shied away from him and gripped Owen’s leg. Marisa nodded solemnly.

  Only Cody responded. “I’m being good.”

  “Santa will be leaving you lots of presents, then.”

  “I asked him for a bike. A two-wheeler.”

  Uncle Homer patted Cody on the shoulder and straightened. “That’s a fine gift.” He winked at Owen. “I hope you get it.”

  “We’ll see” was all Owen would say. Finding a place to hide the kids’ presents where they wouldn’t find them had proved a challenge until Molly suggested a closet in the clubhouse. One large enough for a bike.

  “When are you thinking of leaving?” Uncle Homer asked.

  “Jeanne is coming by Christmas morning to pick up the kids. The next day, I suppose. Molly invited me to Christmas dinner.”

  Two days from now. He’d be alone and dreaded the moment. In one short month he’d gone from having a lousy relationship with his kids and his youngest barely recognizing him to Cody, Marisa and Willa being his entire world. What would he do with himself?