Christmas with the Mustang Man

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kiss you again.”

She resisted the urge to swallow. “What makes you think I’m worried?”

The cynical slant of his lips belied the faint gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Probably the way you’re sidling up to me like I’m a hungry coyote.”

“Nothing wrong with a coyote,” she quipped. “At least he mates for life.”

His nostrils flared. “Like I said before, I don’t plan on kissing you again.”

For some reason, his cocky promise raked over every womanly particle inside of Dallas and before she realized what she was doing, she’d moved close enough to stick her face right in front of his. “I think you’re the one who’s worried, Boone.”

She watched his gaze drop to her lips, and anticipation shivered right through her.

“Me?” he asked softly. “What do I have to be worried about?”

“That you kissed me—and you liked it.”

Dear Reader,

Christmas is coming! The mere words make me want to dig out the decorations, bake all sorts of gooey, decadent desserts and race to the mall to shop, shop, shop! But mostly, Christmas turns my thoughts to family, the warm gatherings we’ve had through the years and the love we’ve always given to one another.

My heroine, Dallas Donovan, has never been away from her family during the holidays and when she unexpectedly finds herself a thousand miles from home, she can’t bear to miss all the fun of gift giving and celebrations. But she also understands that Christmas is more than parties, it’s a time of hope and dreams and sharing.

On the other hand, my hero, Boone Barnett, has forgotten how to celebrate anything. For the past years, he and his young daughter have gone through one lonely Christmas after another and Dallas soon sees that the two of them need her to fill their lives with cheer and love.

I want to personally thank all of you for continuing to read my Men of the West stories and I hope you enjoy this trip that Dallas takes to rugged Nevada, where she teaches a rancher all about sharing his heart.

Merry Christmas and God bless you all!

Stella Bagwell

Christmas with the Mustang Man

Stella Bagwell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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STELLA BAGWELL

has written more than seventy novels for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She credits her loyal readers and hopes her stories have brightened their lives in some small way.

A cowgirl through and through, she loves to watch old Westerns, and has recently learned how to rope a steer. Her days begin and end helping her husband care for a beloved herd of horses on their little ranch located on the south Texas coast. When she’s not ropin’ and ridin’, you’ll find her at her desk, creating her next tale of love.

The couple have a son, who is a high school math teacher and athletic coach. Stella loves to hear from readers and invites them to contact her at [e-mail].

To my late mother, Lucille, who always

made Christmas a special time for her family.

When gifts were spare, her love was rich.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

“What the hell?”

Boone Barnett’s muttered question was lost in the cold wind as he watched a truck pulling a horse van leave a wake of dust as it barreled its way across the desert basin. The woman from New Mexico, he decided. The rig was too fancy to belong to anyone around here. But she was supposed to have been here shortly after lunch. Not five minutes from sundown!

Damn it, he was chilled to the bone, exhausted and hungry. He was hardly in the mood to put up with a woman who’d not had the forethought or good manners to show up at a decent hour. If she expected to look at the horses now, she was in for a surprise, Boone thought. His horses weren’t pampered pets housed in luxurious stalls with overhead lights. They existed outside, as they had for hundreds of years on this Nevada range.

Dropping the feed sack near the barn door, he called to a barking black-and-white shepherd before starting the long walk to the front of the house. Frigid north wind had been gusting all day and since he’d been outdoors for most of it, his face burned from exposure and his feet weren’t in much better shape. While he waited for the truck to pull to a stop, he stomped his boots and prayed for a little feeling to return to his toes.

Next to his leg, the dog whined and Boone’s gloved hand patted the animal’s head. “You don’t need to worry about the lady, Queenie. She’s only a visitor.”

Pricking its ears, the shepherd followed Boone forward, while a few feet away, the driver’s door opened on the truck and a tall, shapely woman stepped to the ground. She was dressed in blue jeans and boots and a bright red sweater, and as she moved toward him, she quickly shoved her arms into a denim ranch jacket.

“Hello,” she called out loud enough to be heard above the wind.

“Hello,” he greeted in response.

As the two of them met on the bare, hard-packed earth, Boone removed his glove and extended his hand to her. Even though he was damned irritated at her for showing up at a ridiculous hour, she was still a potential client. And for the past few months horse buyers hadn’t exactly been beating down his door. The last thing he wanted to do was offend this one with bad manners.

“I’m Boone Barnett,” he introduced himself. “And you must be Ms. Donovan?”

A wide smile spread her cherry-colored lips and Boone found himself staring at the woman. He’d not been to town in weeks and even when he was there he didn’t take much notice of people, especially women, but something about the warmth on her face had struck him.

She was far younger than he’d expected and definitely prettier. Light, copper-red hair fell in thick waves to her shoulders and with each gust of wind, it tossed around her head like a bright silk scarf.

She grasped his hand in a firm shake while dimples bracketed her lips and Boone suddenly realized it was going to be an effort to do business with this woman. She had an irritating ability to remind him he was a man, one that had lived without a woman for a long, long time.

“That’s right,” she said. “Call me Dallas. And I want to apologize for showing up so late this evening. The trip out here took much longer than I expected. My truck kept trying to quit on me.”

He’d expected to hear some sort of excuse for her tardiness, but not this one. “It appeared to be running just fine when you pulled up a few moments ago,” he couldn’t stop himself from pointing out.

A faint line furrowed the center of her pale forehead. “For the past mile or two it seemed to smooth out. But several times during the trip out here the engine choked down to a crawl and died. I filled the tank with fuel at Pioche and I’m beginning to wonder if water might have been in the diesel.”

He studied the tiny movements of expression crossing her face and decided her explanation was sincere. Not that the reason for her tardiness mattered, but her honesty did. He wasn’t about to let even one of his horses go to someone who lied. Liars tended to have other faults and his mustangs were like his children. Once they left for a new home, he wanted them to be in the best of hands.

“Could be you picked up some bad fuel,” he agreed. “But whatever the problem, let’s hope it’s fixed itself.”

She let out a long breath. “I hope so, too. The truck belongs to my brother. He was kind enough to let me bring it on this trip, but he won’t be very happy with me if the engine is ruined. Especially since the truck is practically new.”

The realization that he was still holding her hand suddenly hit Boone and though his first instinct was to drop it like a hot brick, he released it slowly and then jammed his hand deep into the pocket of his coat.

She pulled a thick white scarf from the pocket on her jacket and as she quickly wrapped it around her neck, she said, “I tried calling, to give you a heads-up that I was going to be late. But my cell couldn’t pick up a signal.”

He tried to smile, but his face was stiff from the cold. Not that he could use the brutal weather as an excuse. These past few years Boone had pretty much forgotten how to lift the corners of his mouth. But something about this woman made him want to try to appear friendly and normal, even if he wasn’t particularly feeling that way.

“Cell phones are useless out here,” he informed her. “We’re too far away from civilization to have a signal tower anywhere near.”

The wind continued to blow her hair in all directions, and she caught the wayward strands with one hand as she turned her head and surveyed the open land around them. Although her clothes were casual, she wore them with class and it was easy for Boone to see that she’d not purchased them from a discount store. No, this lady was first-class all the way.

“I thought our ranch was isolated, but this place has the Diamond D beat all to pieces,” she remarked. “I don’t think I passed another house for the past fifteen miles.”

Because she’d contacted him by phone before she’d made the trip, Boone was already aware that this young woman lived in southern New Mexico, ran a riding stable for handicapped children and was interested in purchasing mustangs. Other than those bits of information, he knew nothing about her personally. But he was definitely learning fast.

He asked, “Is there someone else still sitting in the truck? You didn’t travel all this way alone, did you?”

She smiled again and his gaze automatically focused on the twinkle in her eyes. Was she just the happy sort, he wondered, or was this her way of flirting?

A woman like her flirting with a man like you? Hell, Boone, you’re really losing it.

“I made the trip by myself. None of my family or friends was available to travel with me this time.”

Boone’s gaze zeroed in on her ring finger. Did her family include a husband? He couldn’t imagine this young, attractive woman was still single. But there was no ring of any sort on her left hand.

Why are you wondering about any of that, Boone? Dallas Donovan is here to buy horses. Her marital status is none of your business.

Stunned that he’d let his curiosity wander so far, Boone did his best to jerk his focus back on the real purpose of this woman’s visit.

“Well, I’m glad you made the trip safely, only there’s not much daylight left.” He gestured toward a maze of outbuildings and connecting corrals. “You’re welcome to look around while I finish spreading feed. There’s a yard lamp on the left side of the big barn. You might be able to see a few of the horses I’ve corralled there.”

“Sure,” she happily agreed. “Now that I’m here, I’d love to see what I can.”

The man turned away from her and started walking toward a long, low barn with several adjoining corrals. Dallas fell in step beside him and as they moved along, she purposely fastened her gaze upon their destination. Yet keeping her eyes off Boone Barnett did little to push him out of her thoughts.

Meeting this man in person had been like a wham on the head. Something about him had instantly grabbed her attention and still hadn’t let go. Maybe because the real thing was a far cry from the image she’d formed when she’d spoken to him over the phone.

First of all, she’d been expecting him to be at least in his fifties or sixties. Instead, he appeared to be just a few years older than her thirty-two. And secondly, he was very tall. At five foot nine, it wasn’t often that Dallas encountered a man that was a head taller than her, but Boone Barnett was that and more. And from the width of his shoulders beneath the plaid jacket, his height was backed up by a very solid foundation.

Even in the waning light, she could see his features were lean and hawkish and tanned to a nut-brown color. The somberness of his face both intrigued and bothered Dallas. She hated to think he might be a man plagued with worries and troubles. It was hard to do business with a person who couldn’t see the lighter side of things.

At the front of the largest barn, he picked up a red plastic feed bucket and pointed to a corral to their immediate left. “There’s a small herd of yearlings in that pen. The mares are next to them. Look all you want, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Glancing at him, she offered politely, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

Before she could make any sort of reply, he walked away and she was left to make her way over to the penned horses. Apparently he’d already spread the feed for this small herd. The animals were presently lined up to long wooden troughs filled with mixed grains. Nearby, a hay manger was stuffed full of dark green alfalfa.

From what she could see, the horses were well-groomed and in great shape, but as far as Dallas was concerned, their dispositions and willingness to please were more important traits. For the sake of the children, she had to make sure the mounts that made up Angel Wings Stables were dependable, trustworthy steeds.

She was still standing at the fence and sizing up the mares, when Boone finally reappeared. Darkness had now settled over the ranch yard and across the way, near the barn porch, a yard light flickered on to shed a weak glow across the dusty pens.

When he finally came to a stop a few feet away from her, she waited for him to speak.

“The geldings and stallions are penned on the back side of the barn,” he said to her. “But it’s very dark over there. It would be better if you looked at them tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to persuade me,” she said with agreement. “It’s getting colder out here.”

“I’m finished with all the outside chores. Let’s go to the house where it’s warm,” he suggested.

Dallas looked at him, but there wasn’t much to glean from his stoic features. It was impossible for her to tell if he actually welcomed her arrival on the ranch or was simply tolerating it. She probably should have stayed in Pioche and waited until morning to drive out here, she thought dismally. But once she’d checked in at a hotel and grabbed a bite to eat, she’d believed there was plenty of time to make the last leg of her journey to White River Ranch.

She’d never dreamed the drive out here would be so long and the terrain so rough. And she especially hadn’t expected Liam’s truck to start giving her problems. Now she was going to have to make a second trip out here, which would ultimately cause her to be a day late in getting back home to the Diamond D. And that thought was already weighing on her shoulders.

“I don’t want to intrude on you and your family, Mr. Barnett,” she said as she quickened her pace to match his longer strides.

“My name is Boone,” he insisted. “And since it’s just me and my daughter, you won’t be intruding.”

He had a deep, rough voice that was far more expressive than his face. Each time he spoke, his words seemed to vibrate right through her.

“Thank you, Boone. It would be nice to warm up for a minute or two,” she said, while wondering if his remark meant that he wasn’t married or that Mrs. Barnett was simply not home this evening. Either way, it was none of her business. The man was extending her a bit of hospitality and she needed to accept it graciously, the way her parents had taught her.

At a small, screened-in back porch, he held the door open for her, then did the same with a wooden door that entered the house. Trying not to put too much thought in his huge presence looming just behind her, Dallas stepped inside and found herself in a small kitchen that smelled of baking pizza.

“Have a seat at the table,” he invited. “I’ll get us something to drink. You like coffee?”

“Love it. But don’t go to any trouble,” she told him as she made her way across the room to a small round table. Piled atop it was a child’s backpack with several textbooks spilling from its open lid. Next to the books was a soda can and lying next to that, on a paper towel, a half-eaten sandwich.

Dallas pulled off her coat and placed the garment on the back of a chair, then turned to see the Nevada rancher had already removed his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The sight of him in the stark kitchen light, without the bulky jacket hiding his frame, jolted her. He was as solid as a rock and everything about him shouted the word man.

“I’d be making a pot whether you were here or not,” he explained. On his way to the cabinets, he caught sight of the cluttered table and instantly changed course. “Here, let me clear that away. Hayley’s not very good about putting her things in her room.”

Dallas chuckled. “I never was a tidy child. My mother was constantly nagging me and my younger sister to put our things where they belonged. Our older sister never got nagged at, though. She was a neat freak.”

Walking over to the table, he leaned across the expanse of worn wood to pick up the scattered items and his upper torso drew within inches of her arm. The subtle scents of hay, horses and sage drifted to Dallas’s nostrils before she instinctively stepped aside to put more breathing space between them.

“So you have sisters,” he stated.

Moistening her lips, she tried to calm the nervous bumping of her heart. “Two. And three brothers,” she answered. “I’m in the middle of the bunch.”

After placing the books and backpack on a nearby rolltop desk, he returned to fetch the sandwich and soda can.

“Well, Hayley doesn’t have a mother to nag her, so I have that thankless job. And from the looks of it, I’m not getting through,” he added with a grimace.

Dallas didn’t make any sort of immediate reply. Since she’d never been a mother, she was hardly in a position to offer parenting advice. And without knowing exactly why his daughter’s mother was absent, she might slip and inadvertently say something he’d find offensive.

Instead, she took a seat at the table and decided to slant the conversation in a different direction. “Do you have siblings, Boone?”

Across the room, he began to put the coffee fixings together. “No. It’s just me. My dad lives in town, and that’s it.”

The information only made Dallas wonder more. Why didn’t Boone’s father live here on the ranch? Did the man’s health require him to live closer to a doctor? she silently mused. Or maybe the elder Barnett just didn’t want to live out in the remote countryside. After all, not all families lived together in one big house, like the Donovans.

“So your father isn’t a rancher?”

Damn it, she was here to buy horses from the man, not make a documentary about his life, she silently scolded herself. But she couldn’t seem to prevent the personal questions from popping from her mouth.

“My grandfather was a rancher. Dad never liked the work much,” he answered bluntly.

Deciding it would be safer to talk about her own family, she said, “The Donovans have always raised horses—Thoroughbred racers. Lately my brothers have been tossing around the idea of putting a few cattle on the ranch or maybe a running line of quarter horses, but those are just ideas. Dad is retired…or should I say semi-retired,” she added with a fond chuckle. “So he mainly lets the guys run things the way they want to.”

“Sounds like the place is a family-run operation,” he commented.

By now he’d shut the lid on the coffeemaker and the pungent smell of the brewing grounds was beginning to overpower the pizza. After driving hours and hours since early this morning, Dallas was definitely in need of the hot brew to fight off the weariness threatening to overtake her.

“It is. My grandparents built the Diamond D back in 1968 and most of the family still lives there together. Except for Grandfather Arthur, who passed away some years back.” She paused and then added, “I noticed on the road map that this ranch is located in Lincoln County. That’s the name of the county where I live.”

“So you’re from the part of New Mexico where the famous range wars occurred,” he said thoughtfully. “And outlaws like Billy the Kid roamed the land.”

Impressed by his historical knowledge, she glanced at him. “That’s right. What’s this Lincoln County known for?”

He shrugged. “Years ago it was all about gold and silver strikes, brothels and lawlessness. Now the mines are dead. But the ranchers have hung on.”

“And the mustangs,” she added.

“Yeah. Thank God for the mustangs.”

The big cowboy was looking straight at her now and Dallas was finding it extremely hard to tell whether he’d spoken with sarcasm or sincerity. He had very dark eyes that had such a piercing quality she could practically feel them sliding over her face and that in itself was enough to distract her. Not to mention the fact that he’d removed his black Stetson and his streaked brown hair had slid to a boyish bang across his forehead.

He said, “It must get interesting at your house—everybody living together. Are you one big happy family or does that only happen in fairy tales or sitcoms?”

Was he saying he didn’t believe families could live and love together? The cynical idea saddened her and put a hint of defensive pride in her voice as she replied, “I can truthfully say that ninety percent of the time we’re all pretty happy.”

“That must be nice,” he said lowly.

“It is nice,” she agreed. “Being with my family is everything to me.”

He turned his back to her and reached up to retrieve two cups from a cabinet shelf. At the table, a pent-up breath whooshed out of Dallas. What was the matter with her? Living on a horse ranch, she’d dealt with all sorts of men before. This one wasn’t necessarily any different. Except that Boone Barnett looked a little sexier, a whole lot tougher and a bit more seasoned than most.

So what if he was all those things? Dallas mentally argued with herself. After being dumped only days before her wedding, she’d learned to view men and their charms with skeptical indifference, especially men that she didn’t know. She couldn’t allow this hunk of male muscle to recklessly turn her head.

Across the room, Boone filled two mugs with coffee while thoughtfully mulling over Dallas Donovan’s remark. Maybe this woman and her “nice” family were for real. But he had a hard time buying into the idea. The Barnetts had always been fractured in some unfortunate way and he’d never been around an extended family that interacted with love and respect for each other.

Yet, in spite of that, he couldn’t say that his family life had always been lacking. For a while, when Boone had been a young boy and his grandparents still living, things had been basically good for him.

Wayne and Alice Barnett had been decent, hardworking people. They’d cared about him, looked after him, given him the love and support he’d needed, while his own parents had only made a halfhearted gesture at raising their only son.