A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (13 page)

Merriment sparkled in her green eyes. “What makes you think I want mistletoe in my bedroom?”

Her teasing brought a smile to his face, too. She'd been so serious and bereft when she'd arrived at Mesquite Ridge the week before. It was good to see her loosening up and letting go of the grief and rigidity that had ruled her life prior to this holiday season. He winked again. “You never know when you might get the impulse to kiss someone. And need an excuse.”

Ally sauntered past him, leaving a trail of orange blossom perfume. “If I want to kiss someone, I don't need an excuse.”

“Ah,” he said, thinking of the time when he would make
love to her again, and get her to commit to more than just a momentary diversion or holiday fling. “Good to know.”

Electricity shimmered between them. Ignoring his instincts, which were to make love to her then and there, Hank continued on down the hall. Determined to give her the emotional space she seemed to need, and show her they could have a good time simply hanging out together, he stopped midway down the staircase and put one there, too.

“Now that's an interesting place,” Ally murmured.

“Isn't it?” Hank fantasized about having her beneath him, her arms and legs locked around his waist, and him so deep inside her he didn't know where he ended and she began. He continued to the front door and placed one just above it, in the foyer. One of these days, they'd make love without the sale of the ranch, and what that might or might not mean, between them…. One day soon, he'd be able to tell her how he really felt….

Oblivious to the passionate, possessive nature of his thoughts, Ally tilted her head. She studied the decoration over the portal, decreeing whimsically, “Not as original, cowboy.”

Loving the way the unexpected endearment sounded rolling off her lips, Hank pressed the remaining greenery in her hand, relishing the soft, silky feel of her palm. “There's two left. Knock yourself out.”

“Hmm.” Accepting his humorous challenge, Ally sauntered off.

She paused next to the unadorned but fragrant Scotch pine and looked around. Then, grinning, she hurried across the room and stopped in the doorway between the living room and the hall that led to the kitchen and mudroom. “How about right here?”

“Expecting an earthquake?” Hank quipped.

“Door frames can be nice to lean against—” she batted her eyelashes flirtatiously “—should you want to lean, of course.”

Hank liked this side of Ally. She was incredibly uninhibited and playful, deep down. The problem was that side of her didn't surface all that much. So far. If he had his way, that would change as readily as their relationship. “One left.”

“Obviously, we know where that will go.” Ally sashayed on down the hall and into the big country kitchen.

The plastic baby pool that served as a whelping pen had been pushed to one side of the room. Duchess lay contentedly on the blanket lining it, her back against the side. The warming box, which contained all eleven puppies, was nestled beside the mother dog.

As Ally approached, Duchess lifted her head and thumped her tail happily.

Smiling in return, Ally handed the remaining sprig to Hank. “This should go in this room because you never know when one of us is going to want to kiss Duchess or a puppy.”

Hank chuckled. He got out the step stool and fastened the mistletoe in the center of the eight-foot ceiling. “How's that?”

Ally stopped petting Duchess long enough to study the result. “Perfect.”

“Maybe we should try it out.”

“You're right.” Ally gave the dog a final pat and turned her attention to the pile of slumbering puppies. She picked up the tiniest one and lifted her gently to her chest. “This one definitely needs a kiss.”

Hank chuckled. “I'll make sure I give her one,” he drawled. “But first this…” He wrapped his arms around Ally and, being careful not to squish Gracie, capture
Ally's lips with a tender kiss that conveyed everything he was feeling and could not say.

She kissed him back just as ardently.

When he finally lifted his head and looked into her eyes, she nudged him with her knee. “You are so bad.”

“You haven't experienced the half of it.” They exchanged sexy grins.

Hank felt a surge of heat, content to wait. But it turned out his competition for Ally's attention was not.

The puppy lapped at her hand with her little pink tongue, let out a familiar squeak of hunger and began to squirm.

Smiling tenderly, Ally tore her gaze from Hank's. She glanced down, then gasped. “Oh my gosh, Hank! Look at this!”

“Her eyes are open!” Ally cried in amazement. She had grown used to seeing the puppies in constant play, with their eyes shut tight. Being able to look into Gracie's dark eyes forged yet another unexpected yet highly emotional connection. To the point that Ally knew leaving her was going to be excruciatingly hard.

For Hank, too, judging by the depth of affection on his handsome face. He came closer and leaned in for a better look. “Right on schedule, too.” He grinned triumphantly, then turned to Ally, his warm breath brushing her face. “I told you that Gracie might be little, but she's mighty.”

Ally glowed with pride, knowing that just ten days ago the pup nearly hadn't made it, and now she was leading the pack in development. Except…Ally frowned. “She doesn't seem to be focusing.”

Hank brushed a gentle hand over Gracie's soft head and scratched her lovingly behind the ears. “She won't be able to track an object for another two weeks, but between now and then, she'll see a little more every day.”

Ally's spirits took a nosedive as the realization hit. “Unfortunately, I won't be with her when she can see more than a blur when she looks at me. I'll be back in Houston. With or without a job…trying to put together my life there.” Ally's face crumpled as another wave of sadness moved
through her. “Gracie will never really get to know me.” She blinked back tears. “Not the way I've come to know—and love—her.”

Hank wrapped a comforting arm about Ally's shoulders. He kissed the top of her head and flashed her a consoling smile. “She knows and loves you.”

Ally luxuriated in his tenderness, even as she questioned his assertion. “How? Puppies' ears are closed when they're born, too. It takes several weeks before they can hear a loud noise. According to the handouts your cousin gave us, their lack of vision and hearing is Mother Nature's way of insuring they get enough sleep in the newborn phase.”

Hank's eyes glimmered. “But their other senses—touch, smell, and taste—are there from the outset. Trust me on this, Ally.” He tightened his grip on her protectively. “Gracie knows you, same as she knows her mama.”

Ally supposed that was true.

Which made leaving the tiny puppy all the harder.

Ally blinked back a tear as Hank knelt beside the box. The other puppies were beginning to waken, squeaking and swimming and rolling around in the search for their mother. A few more were trying to open their eyes, too.

His expression unbearably sweet, Hank lifted them one by one and put them next to Duchess to nurse. Reluctantly, Ally settled Gracie against Duchess, too, then went to prepare a supplemental bottle of puppy formula.

Not that Gracie seemed to need the extra calories as much anymore, as she was able to nurse alongside her littermates, with nearly as much vigor…

Hank held the last puppy to wake up, cradling and petting him while he awaited his turn to nurse. Duchess lay contentedly, keeping one eye on the puppy Hank held, and watching over the others snuggled at her side.

“It's amazing how fast they're all growing,” Ally
murmured. Or how content she felt, watching them. She had never thought of herself as much of a ranch person. This experience was changing her mind. She liked being around animals more than she had thought.

Hank nodded agreeably. “In another week they'll be standing. A week after that running and scampering about.”

Ally sighed. “Sounds lively.” And she would miss that, too….

The doorbell rang.

Ally looked at Hank. “Expecting anyone?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“No.” She went to get the door. Seconds later, she returned with Kurt McCabe. He had his vet bag in one hand, a file folder in another. Encompassing them both with a friendly grin, Kurt told them, “I thought I'd stop by and check on Duchess and the puppies while I was out this way. And give you the news while I'm here….”

 

T
HAT
, H
ANK THOUGHT
, could not be good. Trusting his cousin to be objective, in a situation where he might not be, Hank asked, “Did you hear something about Duchess and her puppies, and who they might belong to?”

“Maybe.” Kurt set his bag on the table. “I had a call at the clinic a while ago that sounded a little sketchy. It was from a lady in Wichita Falls named Frannie Turner.”

“That's two hundred miles from here!” Ally said.

Kurt obviously shared their consternation. “Anyway, Ms. Turner said she had agreed to watch Duchess for her sister-in-law, Talia Brannamore, who had been called off on an emergency with her great-niece's family in Nashville, Tennessee. Something about a house fire and Christmas and all the presents going up in smoke, and the family having small children and nowhere to go but a hotel, and
it all being very short notice. Apparently, there was a lot of confusion, both before Duchess was dropped off with Ms. Turner, and during the first day Duchess was there.”

Ally's eyes took on a cynical glint. “Kurt, this sounds like a hoax!”

Hank agreed.

“That's what I thought.” Kurt knelt next to the whelping pen, stethoscope around his neck. “Except for one thing. This woman who claimed she was keeping the female golden retriever named Duchess, knew the retriever was pregnant and about to deliver eleven whelps. We didn't put that information in any of the flyers we sent out.”

Ally blinked. “Why not?”

Hank explained, “The dogs are valuable. It's Christmas, and the demand for puppies—even those not quite ready to go home yet—is higher than at any other time of year. And these are purebred, show quality dogs. They're worth a lot.”

Kurt started examining the puppies one by one. “So the fact that Frannie Turner in Wichita Falls knows that we have a golden retriever named Duchess is great. The fact she has no proof of ownership—no papers, or pictures of this dog—gives rise to a lot of question. She says it's because Duchess isn't hers, and she was just doing a favor. And that the dog got out of her house accidentally and ran away.”

Ally pressed her lips together, clearly skeptical. “We're two hundred miles from Wichita Falls, guys. That's an awfully long way.”

Hank draped a consoling arm across Ally's shoulders. “Duchess was pregnant, about to deliver. She could have been trying to make her way home to San Angelo to deliver her puppies, and ended up here.”

Her expression thoughtful, Ally turned into Hank's embrace. He squeezed her, then let her go.

“You hear about that sometimes,” Ally murmured. “Dogs surmounting impossible odds—and doing whatever they have to do to get home.”

More than one movie had been made about this kind of true life event, Hank knew.

“And it could have happened in this case,” Kurt said as he checked Duchess. Finding everything in order, he put his stethoscope back in his bag. “Pregnant dogs have a desire to nest, and a lot of them instinctively go off in private to deliver. But it's also possible Frannie Turner could have gotten the information elsewhere. Everyone in the community is talking about it. And they're all telling their friends and family. So it's possible this woman is trying to pull a scam on us.”

Ally's brow furrowed with emotion. “So now what?”

Kurt sighed. “Apparently, Frannie didn't tell her sister-in-law the dog was missing, because she had enough to deal with and Frannie didn't want her to get upset with her. The sister-in-law is a very serious professional dog breeder, she claims. Now that Frannie knows we found the dog and that the puppies are all okay, she's not afraid to tell Talia Brannamore.” He locked eyes with Hank and then Ally. “So Frannie told me she would call Talia in Nashville, and see if she can't get us some sort of proof.”

“How long is that going to take?” Hank asked, impatient to get this resolved before he or Ally became any more emotionally involved with Duchess and the pups.

Kurt stood. “She's already done it. I spoke to the breeder right before I got here. Talia Brannamore reiterated everything Frannie already told me, but said she doesn't have any proof with her. It's all at her house in San Angelo. And she won't be back there until December 23. Talia offered
to drive through Laramie on her way home, since she'll pass right by here, and see Duchess. If her story is true, and Duchess is hers, then the retriever should immediately recognize her. If not, and we think a fraud is being perpetrated…well, I've already talked to my brother Kyle, and we'll have someone from the sheriff's department ready and waiting.”

“But you think it might be true, don't you?” Ally asked, clearly upset.

Kurt shrugged. “All I can tell you is that the woman from San Angelo was really concerned about her pregnant dog being lost and not knowing anything about it. She is exceedingly grateful to you and Ally and the vet clinic, and prepared to compensate us all for our troubles.”

Which went to confirm the value of golden retrievers, Hank thought.

He cast a sideways look at Ally. Her face had a crushed expression that mirrored his own feelings and tore at his heart.

He watched her kneel down and pick up Gracie, cradle her tenderly. He knew he'd do anything to make Ally happy. “What about the pups?” he asked.

Kurt knew where this was going. He shook his head. “They're all spoken for, every last one.”

Hank swore silently to himself. “Including the runt of the litter?” He had to make sure.

Kurt nodded and confirmed grimly, “Gracie, too.”

 

A
LLY SAT IN THE KITCHEN,
devastated, while Hank walked his cousin out. She had known this could happen. She had just been hoping that it wouldn't….

Hank strode back in, an old-fashioned hatbox, emblazoned with his name, clasped in his hands. Wordlessly, he set it on the table and came around to where she was sitting.
He knelt in front of her, like a knight before a queen, and covered her hands with his warm ones.

Ally lifted her head. How easy it would be to depend on him this way. And how foolish. Since she wasn't staying, and he wasn't about to leave, and the sale of the ranch still stood between them…

Hank searched her face. “Are you okay?”

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Why wouldn't I be?” she countered grumpily.

“You've gotten attached to Gracie.”

Against all common sense, she reminded herself unhappily. “And you're attached to Duchess. And we always knew this would happen.” She drew a deep breath, then added honestly, “I wished it wouldn't. I just hoped I'd be able to find a way to keep the littlest one. But that's not going to happen,” she said, the bitterness of old coming back to haunt her. Like every other situation at Mesquite Ridge, this event had a bad ending. For her, anyway…

Hank looked into her eyes as if he shared her heartache. “You can get another puppy,” he murmured softly, as if there was no place on earth he would rather be.

She gripped his hands, drawing on his strength despite herself, and blinked back tears. “I know,” she said thickly.

But it wouldn't be the same, Ally knew.
Just like making love with another man won't be the same. Not after you.

With effort, Ally pushed her melancholy thoughts away. Hank was right—she could get another puppy. Someday. In the meantime, she had four days left in Laramie. She wasn't going to let the bleakness of her future life ruin what she had today. She was going to do what she'd never been wise enough to do before. Enjoy the here and now, and forget about whatever tomorrow might bring.

Swallowing, Ally nodded at the box in Hank's hands,
determined to try to get back in the holiday spirit and be cheerful if it killed her. “What's that?”

“My mom sent it over. Kurt almost forgot to give it to me.”

Okay, that told her absolutely nothing, except that his mother apparently liked fancy hatboxes, and this one looked as if it had been around for a while. In fact, there was even a little dust on it. “Aren't you going to open it?” Ally prodded.

Hank shrugged, as maddeningly determined as she was impatient to learn more. “Sure. If you want.” He flashed her a grin that upped her anticipation even further. “That is—” he leaned forward intimately, more than ready to lend a little sensual distraction “—if you're ready to do
your
usual thing and get your bah, humbug on.”

Hilarious.
“Can't wait, cowboy.” Ally dared him with a glance. “Do your best to get me in the spirit.”

Hank chuckled as if it were already a fait accompli. He took the lid off the hatbox. It was filled with a breathtaking array of amazing and unique ornaments. Some wrapped in tissue, some not. He picked up a ceramic Western-boot-wearing Santa Claus driving a sleigh filled with presents. “I got this one when I was five.”

Ally could imagine him hanging it on the tree, as an adorable little boy. “Cute,” she murmured, intrigued by this glimpse into his holidays past.

Hank fingered a Nutcracker soldier and reflected fondly, “This came from Dallas the year I turned eight. Mom and Dad took the whole family to see the ballet at Christmastime.”

The wooden figure was exquisite, even without the beautiful memories. “So everything in here has special meaning.”

He nodded, then gathered the box in one arm, took her by the hand with the other and led her into the living room.

Belatedly, Ally realized there were electric lights on the tree. Hank had to have put them up. When, she wasn't sure.

Chuckling at her surprise, he leaned over and plugged in the cord. The tree lit up with a rain of tiny sparkling lights.

He reached for the box and fished out an ornament with a picture of him as a gap-toothed first grader on it. He walked over and hung it on the tree they had yet to decorate. “When I was a teenager, I found this photo hideously embarrassing.”

Ally sauntered closer. “And now?”