The Rancher's Christmas Promise

Instead of looking resigned and accepting, though, Mrs. Pyle was giving him an eyebrows-in-the-hairline look. “Her car? Is this female friend single?”

Warning alarms went off inside his head. “Yeah.”

She lifted Layla out of his arms. “Well, go rescue your lady friend. And give my suggestion about a wife some thought.”

He let her remark slide. “Thank you, Mrs. Pyle.”

“Not going to change my leaving in a week,” she warned as she carried the baby out of the kitchen. “And you might think about washing some of the day off yourself, as well, before you go out playing Dudley Do-Right.”

* * *

He hadn’t showered, but he had washed up and pulled on fresh clothes. And he still felt pretty stupid about it.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to impress Greer Templeton. Not with a clean shirt or anything else. And it damn sure wasn’t as if he was giving Mrs. Pyle’s suggestion any consideration.

Marrying someone just for Layla’s sake?

He pushed the idea straight out of his mind and shifted into Park at the top of the hill as he stared out at the worn-looking Victorian house.

The white paint on the fancy trim was peeling and the dove-gray paint on the siding was fading. The shingle roof needed repair, if not replacement, and the brick chimney looked as if it were related to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. But the yard around the house was green and neat.

Not exactly what he would have expected of the lady lawyer. But then again, she worked for the public defender’s office, where the pay was reportedly abysmal and most of her clients were supposedly the dregs of society.

He turned off the engine and got out of the truck, walking around to the trailer he’d used to haul Greer’s little car. He checked the chains holding it in place and then headed up the front walk to the door.

The street was quiet, and his boots clumped loudly as he went up the steps and crossed the porch to knock on the door. The heavy brass door knocker was shaped like a dragonfly.

If he could ever get Adelaide to come and visit Braden, she’d love the place.

When no one came to the door, he went back down the porch steps. There was an elderly woman across the street making a production of sweeping the sidewalk, though it seemed obvious she was more interested in giving him the once-over.

He tipped the brim of his hat toward her before he started unchaining Greer’s car. “Evenin’.”

The woman clutched her broom tightly and started across the street. A little black poodle trotted after her. “That’s Greer’s car,” the woman said suspiciously.

He didn’t stop what he was doing. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What’re you doing with it?”

“Unloading it.”

She stopped several feet away, still holding the broom handle as if she was prepared to use it on him if need be. “I don’t know you.”

“No, ma’am.” He fit the wheel ramps in place and hopped up onto the trailer. “I assure you that Greer does.” He opened the car door and folded himself down inside it.

Maybe Greer—who was probably all of five two or three without those high heels she was always wearing—could fit comfortably into the car, but he couldn’t. Not for any length of time, anyway.

He started the car, backed down the ramp and turned into the driveway. Then he shut off the engine, crawled out from behind the wheel and locked it up again before sticking the key back into the magnetic box he’d found tucked inside the wheel well.

The woman was still standing in the middle of the street.

He secured the ramps back up onto the trailer and gave her another nod. “If you see her, tell her she’s got a thermostat problem.”

“Tell her yourself.” The woman pointed her broom handle at an expensive black SUV that had just crested the top of the hill. “Bet that’s her now.”

He bit back an oath. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to haul Greer’s car into town for her, particularly without her knowledge. And his chance of a clean escape had just disappeared.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of Greer’s house. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but he definitely could see the shapely leg that emerged when the passenger-side door opened.

It belonged to Greer, looking very un-Greer-like in a flowy sort of dress patterned in vibrant swirls of color that could have rivaled one of his aunt’s paintings. Half her hair was untidily pulled up and held by a glittery pink clip.

He still knew it was her, though, and not one of her sisters. No question, considering the sharp look she gave him as she closed the SUV door and approached him. “You hauled my car here?”

“I suppose there’s no point in denying the obvious.” He watched the big SUV pull around in the cul-de-sac and head back down the hill. The identity of the driver was none of his business. He wondered, anyway. “Boyfriend?”

She frowned. “Grant. And why did you haul it?”

No wonder the SUV had turned around and left. “You’d rather have it still sitting out on the side of the highway?”

“Of course not, but—” She broke off, looking consternated, and only then seemed to notice that they had an audience. “How are you doing, Mrs. Gunderson?” She leaned down to pet the little round dog. Ryder wasn’t enough of a gentleman to look away when the stretchy, ruffled neckline of Greer’s dress revealed more than it should have.

“Just fine, dearie. Oh, Mignon, don’t jump!”

Mrs. Gunderson’s admonishment was too late, though, because the dog had already bounced up and into Greer’s arms.

He was actually a little impressed that the fat Mignon could jump.

But he was more impressed by the way Greer caught him and laughed.

He had never heard her laugh before. Not her or her sisters. Her chocolate-colored eyes sparkled and her face practically glowed.

And damned if he didn’t feel something warm streak down his spine.

“You probably need a new thermostat,” he said abruptly.

The dog was licking the bottom of her chin even though she was trying to avoid his tongue, but she didn’t put Mignon down. “How do you know?”

“Because I checked everything else that would cause your overheating before I towed it back here.” He stepped around the two women. “And think about keeping your car key in a less obvious hiding spot,” he advised as pulled open the door to climb inside his truck.

Greer’s jaw dropped a little, which gave Mignon more chin to lick. She set the dog down and trotted after him, wrapping her fingers over the open window. “You’re just going to leave now?”

His fingers closed over the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. “What else do you figure I should do?”

Her lips parted slightly. “Can I pay you for the tow at least?”

He turned the key. “No need.”

“Well, I should do something.” She didn’t step back from the truck, despite the engine leaping to life. “To thank you at least. Surely there’s something I can do.”

The “something” that leaped to mind wasn’t exactly fit for sharing in polite company. Particularly with her elderly neighbor still watching them as though they were prime-time entertainment.

He said the next best option that came to mind. “Next time I need a lawyer, you can owe me one.” He even managed a smile to go with the words.

Fortunately, it seemed like enough. She smiled back and patted the door once. “You’ll never collect on that.” Her voice was light.

“One thing I’ve learned in my life is to never say never.” He looked away from her ringless ring finger. “Where’d that dog go?”

Greer looked around, giving him a close-up view of the tender skin on the back of her neck. She had a trio of tiny freckles just below the loose strands of hair. Like someone had dashed a few specks of cinnamon across a smooth layer of cream.

He focused on Mrs. Gunderson, who was skirting the back of his trailer, calling the dog’s name. “Mignon, get out from under there, right now!”

Greer had joined in, crouching down to look under the vehicle.

He figured if he revved the engine, it might send the fat dog into cardiac arrest. He shut it off again and climbed out. “Where is he?”

“He’s lying down right inside the back tire.” Mrs. Gunderson looked like she was about to go down on her hands and knees. “Mignon, you naughty little thing. Come out here, right now. Oh, darn it, he seems to have found something he thinks is food.”

“Why don’t you get one of his usual treats?” Greer suggested.

“Good idea.” Mrs. Gunderson set off across the street once more.

If he’d hoped that her departure would spur the dog to follow, he was wrong. He knelt on one knee to look under the trailer. “Come ’ere, pooch.”

Mignon paid him no heed at all, except to move even farther beneath the trailer.

Greer crouched next to him. The bottom of her dress puddled around her. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

Ryder slid his hand out from beneath the soft, colorful fabric that covered it. “He wouldn’t like getting flattened by my trailer, either.”

“He’ll come out for his treats,” she assured him.

“Since he looks like he lives on treats, I hope so.” It would take the better part of an hour to get home and he’d probably already used up Mrs. Pyle’s allotment of patience. If the treat didn’t work, he’d have to drag the little bugger out.

“She’s actually gotten him to lose a couple pounds.”

“He’s still wider than he is tall. Reminds me of my aunt’s dog, Brutus.” He straightened and looked across the street, hoping to see Mrs. Gunderson heading back. Instead, she was just reaching the top of her porch stairs and he could feel the minutes ticking away.

* * *

Even though he didn’t say anything, Greer could feel the impatience coming off Ryder in waves. She stood, hoping that Mrs. Gunderson moved with more speed than she usually did. It was obvious that he was anxious to be on his way. “Your aunt has an overweight poodle?”

He lifted his hat just long enough to shove his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Overweight pug.” His blue gaze slid over her from beneath the hat brim as he pulled it low over his brow. “Adelaide spoils him rotten.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “A pug named Brutus?”

He shrugged. “She has a particular sense of irony.”

“I love your aunt’s name,” she said. “Adelaide.”

A dimple came and went in his lean cheek. “Coming from the woman who lives in that Victorian thing behind us, I’m not real surprised.”

She leaned against the side rail of the trailer. “Does she live in New Mexico?” Greer and her sisters didn’t know much about Ryder, but had learned that he’d lived in New Mexico before moving to Wyoming.

The brim of his hat dipped slightly. “She has a place near Taos.”

“The only place I’ve ever been in New Mexico was the Albuquerque airport during a layover.” She glanced toward her neighbor’s house. The front door was still open, but there was no sign of Mrs. Gunderson yet. “Did you grow up there?”

The dimple came again, staying a little longer this time. “In the Albuquerque airport?”

“Ha ha.”

His lips actually stretched into a smile. “Yeah. I spent most of my time in Taos.”

So she now knew he had an aunt. But she still didn’t know if he had parents. Siblings. Other ex-wives. Anybody else at all besides Layla. “What’s it like there? It’s pretty artsy, isn’t it?”

“More so than Braden.”

“Does your aunt get to visit you often?”

“She’s never been here. She doesn’t like to travel much anymore. If I want to see her, I have to go to her.” He thumbed up the brim of his hat and squinted at the sky.

“You’re anxious to go.”

“Yup.” He knelt down to look at the dog again. “My housekeeper’s gonna be peeved.” He gave a coaxing whistle. “Come ’ere, dog.”

“Your housekeeper’s Doreen Pyle?”

Still down on one knee, he looked up at Greer and something swooped inside her stomach. “Keeping close tabs on me?”

She ignored the strange sensation. “Braden is a small community. And I happen to know her grandson pretty well.”

“Dating him, are you?”

She couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Since he’s not legally an adult, hardly. Haven’t even had a date in—” She broke off, appalled at herself, embarrassed by the speculative look he was giving her. She pointed, absurdly grateful for Mrs. Gunderson’s timely reappearance on her front porch. Her neighbor was holding something in her hand, waving it in the air as she came down the steps. “There’s the treat.”

And sure enough, before his mistress had even gotten to the street, Mignon was scrabbling out from beneath the trailer, practically rolling over his feet as he bolted.

Ryder straightened and gave her that faint smile again. The one that barely curved his well-shaped lips, but still managed to reveal his dimple. “Never underestimate the power of a good treat.”

Then he thumbed the brim of his hat in that way he had of doing. Sort of old-fashioned and, well, rancherly. He walked around his truck and climbed inside. A moment later, he’d started the engine and was driving away.

Mrs. Gunderson picked up Mignon, who was happily gnawing on his piece of doggy jerky, and stood next to Greer. “He’s a good-looking one, isn’t he?”

At least her elderly neighbor could explain away her breathlessness. She’d had to climb her porch stairs to retrieve the dog treats.

Greer, on the other hand, had no such excuse. “He’s surprising, anyway.” She gave Mignon’s head a scratch. “I’ve got to go call my dad before he drives out to haul my car that no longer needs hauling.”

Then she hurried inside, pretending not to hear Mrs. Gunderson’s knowing chuckle.

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