A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (3 page)

“Seriously,” Ally replied in a flat, no-nonsense tone.

Hank debated giving the dog more food, then decided to wait an hour, rather than overdoing it initially and having the food come right back up.

He headed for the living room, and motioned for Duchess to follow. Once there, he glanced out the window at the increasingly gloomy sky, then walked over to build a fire in the grate. The retriever collapsed beside him while Ally lingered in the doorway once again. “Well, for starters, I can't imagine anyone no longer wanting such a beautiful, loving dog,” Hank said. “Duchess's temperament and behavior indicate she has been very well cared for up to now,
wherever her home was. So it follows that whoever bought her the collar must be missing her desperately, wondering what's happened to her.
Especially
now.”

Ally blinked. “What do you mean, especially now?”

Hank glanced at the dog's drooping, barrel-shaped belly. “You really don't know?” he asked in amazement.

Ally waved an impatient hand. “Don't know and don't care. The point is, Hank…” she paused and stared at him defiantly “…the dog can't stay here.”

As if on cue, a cold rain began to beat against the windows. After lighting the fire, he looked out at the gloomy sky again and knew the winter storm they had been anticipating had finally arrived. He turned back to Ally, not about to throw out into the elements the dog he had just painstakingly cleaned up. “I don't know why not. It's not as if I'm asking
you
to do anything, Ally. I plan to take care of her.” He lit the fire.

Crossing her arms yet again, Ally watched the blaze take off. “I don't want a dog in the house,” she stated.

Hank moved his gaze away from the contentious stance of her shapely legs. “Well, I do. And since we have no formal written legal agreement in place banning a pet of any kind—and you already gave me another two weeks before I have to vacate the property—it looks like Duchess
will
stay. You, on the other hand…” he paused to let his words sink in “…are welcome to find a room at the inn.”

Ally did a double take. “You're seriously trying to kick me out of my own home?” she asked, aghast.

Hank gave the logs another poke and replaced the screen. Slowly and deliberately, he rose to his feet. Noticing how his large body dwarfed her much smaller, delicate one, he murmured. “I'm just saying you have a choice, Ally. You can stay. Accept that it's Christmas—a time of giving—and that this golden beauty landed on our doorstep, in need of
shelter and some tender loving care prior to the big event. Or…”

“
What
big event?” Ally interrupted, her brow furrowing yet again. “What are you talking about!”

Hard to believe this woman had grown up on a ranch. With a sigh of exasperation, Hank took another step closer and spelled it out for the gorgeous heiress. “Duchess is going to have puppies. And judging by the size of her belly, it's going to be soon.”

Ally stared at Hank and the rotund golden retriever curled at his feet, already half-asleep. “Puppies,” she repeated in shock.

Crinkles appeared at the corners of Hank's eyes. He gestured magnanimously. “Merry Christmas.”

Ally pressed a hand to her temple and sagged against an overstuffed club chair in a hideous floral pattern that clashed with the yellowed horse-and-hound wallpaper.

“This is surreal,” she gasped.

Hank strode past her and went back up the stairs, leaving Ally to follow. He went into the bathroom. “More like one of those holiday commercials you see on TV, with all the cute little golden puppies running around. Or it will be, once Duchess delivers her brood.”

He grabbed a bottle of spray disinfectant and liberally spritzed the floor and tub. With the ease of a man used to doing for himself, he tugged another clean towel off the shelf and used it to wipe down the dampened areas.

Aware that she was close enough to touch him, Ally stepped back to let him work. “She can't do that here!”

He gathered up the wet, filthy towels and mat, and dumped them into a plastic laundry basket he pulled from the bottom of the linen closet. His sensually shaped lips twisted cynically. “You keep saying that…” he chided
softly. He gave her a long considering look, then brushed past her once again, headed purposefully back down the stairs.

Duchess barely lifted her head as he strode by to the mudroom beyond.

Ally worked to retain her outward composure as she watched Hank dump the soiled linens into the washing machine. She clenched her teeth while he added detergent and set the dials. “I mean it,” she insisted.

He pulled the knob, then leaned a hip against the washer, and folded his brawny arms in front of him. “Listen to me, Ally.” The water rushing through the pipes forced him to raise his voice slightly. “Hear what I'm saying. There is
no way
I'm putting that sweet lost dog in an animal shelter during the holiday season. Or at any other time, for that matter. Not when I've got the capacity to take care of her myself.”

Ally had never encountered such fierce protectiveness. Despite the fact that it countered her current request, she couldn't help but admire Hank's gallantry. Or wish, just a little impractically, that one day someone would feel that way about her.

“Fine.” She swallowed, struggling to hold her own with this very determined man. “But the dog doesn't have to stay in the house.”

Hank took a moment to scowl at her before he replied. “Where would you have me put Duchess? In the barn?”

That was exactly what her father and mother would have done, had they not run the pregnant dog off the property first. Ally forced herself to hang on to the Garrett family's unsentimental attitude just a little while longer. Coolly, she pointed out, “That was where Duchess was initially headed.”

Hank's handsome features tightened in reproof. “Only
because it was the best shelter she could find in which to deliver. Fortunately, we spotted her, and came to her rescue. Because if Duchess had given birth out there in the elements sometime in the next few days, with the temperature falling into the twenties at night, there's no way she could have kept her offspring warm enough. All her pups likely would have died—maybe Duchess, too.”

Ally's eyes welled with tears at the thought of yet another completely avoidable tragedy. She was responsible for a lot of bad things that had gone down on this ranch. She wouldn't be held to account for this, too. “Fine.” She finally relented, throwing up her hands. “But when you're not with her, you're going to have to figure out how to contain the dog so she's not in the way.”

Hank shrugged his powerful shoulders. “No problem.”

He regarded her in silence.

Another jolt of attraction swept through Ally. Suddenly, the dog wasn't the main danger to her well-being—the sexy cowboy in front of her was. “Well…” She gathered her composure around her like a shield. “I've got to change and go into town…for a preliminary meeting with Marcy Lyon at Premier Realty.”

Hank's eyes softened unexpectedly. His assessing gaze took her in head to toe, lighting wildfires everywhere it landed. “No business suit for that meeting, hmm?” he chided.

She fought back a self-conscious flush. “Everyone wears jeans in that office. You know that. Since they deal primarily in ranch property and are always climbing over fences and what not.”

Hank nodded and said nothing more.

But then, Ally thought sadly, he didn't have to. He did not approve of her decisions and actions any more than her
parents had, when they were alive. Now, as then, she told herself it did not matter. And still knew that some way—somehow—it did.

 

A
N HOUR LATER,
Kurt McCabe stopped by, vet bag in tow. “You were right,” he told his cousin, when he had finished his examination of Duchess. “Those puppies are coming soon.”

“How soon?” Hank asked.

Kurt shut off the portable ultrasound and folded the keyboard back against the monitor before latching it shut. “The next twenty-four, forty-eight hours.”

Hank figured they had time to prepare. “Any idea how many?”

His cousin slid his stethoscope back into his vet bag. “Looks like ten, from what I could see on the ultrasound, but the way they're packed in there, there could be one more.”

Hank knew that was standard for the breed. “You have no idea who she might belong to?”

Kurt shook his head. “My staff and I all asked around. Got nothing. And…” he paused to use the transponder wand that would have detected surgically implanted information beneath the skin “…unfortunately, she's not outfitted with a microchip that would reveal her identity.”

“Bummer,” Hank said with a frown. Kurt put the portable transponder away, too. “I can tell you that Duchess is definitely purebred. Show quality. On her own, she'd be worth a pretty penny. If those puppies are purebred, too, the whole litter could easily be worth twenty thousand dollars or more. So if that is the case, someone will definitely be looking for her.” He stood and shrugged on his yellow rain slicker. “The real question is, how is Ally Garrett taking
this? She still as standoffish as I recall her being when we were all in school?”

“Probably more so.” Hank slipped on a long black duster.

“A shame,” Kurt remarked. Together, they headed out to his covered pickup truck to get the rest of the gear. “She was one good-looking woman.” He reached inside the passenger compartment and brought out a whelping kit with printed instructions, and a warming box, handing both to Kurt. Then he picked up a bag of prenatal dog food and two stainless steel bowls. “And since you're in the market for a good-looking woman…” he teased, as they carried their loads back up to the porch and set them inside the front door.

Hank held up a silencing palm. “Just because you are happily married now, cuz—” He turned his back to the cold, driving rain blowing across the wraparound porch.

Kurt grinned even as water collected on the brim of his hat. “Paige and the triplets changed my life.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank muttered, “save the Hallmark card for later, will you?”

“Can't help it, buddy.” Abruptly, Kurt sobered. “I remember how happy you were with Jo-anne, before—”

Again Hank lifted a palm. “That was a long time ago.” He had spent ten long years, working to counter the loss. “I'm over it,” he stated flatly.

“Glad to hear it.” Kurt slapped him on the shoulder. “So maybe you'll start dating again.”

The thought of opening his heart to the possibility of pain like that had him clenching his jaw. “I've dated.”

His cousin lifted a skeptical brow.

I just haven't found a woman who could take Joanne's place.
Hank cleared his throat and focused on the situation at hand. “Right now I have to figure out
how to hang on to this ranch before Ally Garrett sells it out from under me.”

Kurt blinked in amazement. “She's really going to let the Mesquite Ridge go, given how her folks felt about the ranch?”

Hank shook his head in silent censure. “The sooner, the better, in her view.” As they headed back to Kurt's truck, Hank told him about the interest thus far from Corporate Farms and the local realty.

“Better get your bid in soon, then,” Kurt advised.

He nodded, accepting the advice.
If only it was that simple.

His cousin headed for the driver's seat. “Meantime, I suggest you read through the handouts in the folder I brought you. You and Ally are going to want to be prepared when Duchess tells you it's time….”

 

T
HE RAIN WAS STILL FALLING
when Ally drove up to the ranch house early that evening. Telling herself she was relieved to see that Hank's pickup was no longer parked next to the barn, she grabbed her briefcase full of information from the Realtor, her handbag and two small bags of groceries. Lamenting her lack of an umbrella, she headed swiftly for the back door.

The mudroom was as dark and gloomy as the rest of the house as Ally made her way inside. She promptly tripped over something warm and solid, and what felt like a pile of blankets.

A high-pitched yelp matched her own.

Belongings went flying as Ally threw out her arms and attempted to catch herself.

Another high-pitched yelp followed, plus the scrambling of feet on linoleum then a second crash as something hit the opposite wall.

Ally flipped on the light.

Found herself face-to-face with Duchess.

Only this time, instead of looking ferocious, the golden retriever looked hurt and stunned. And to Ally's surprise, very, very sad.

What was it Hank had said?
You'll both feel better if you take the time to make friends with Duchess. Pet her, talk to her, show her a little kindness….

Ally supposed there was no time like the present to call a truce, especially since the two of them were alone. The last thing she wanted was to get bitten by a dog again.

Swallowing, Ally hunkered down the way she had seen Hank do. Trembling with apprehension, she held out her hand and took a deep, bolstering breath. “I'm sorry, girl. I didn't know you were in here.” Which was something else she'd have to talk to Hank about. She had expected him to leave Duchess in his bedroom, not downstairs….

Her back against the wall, the dog stared at Ally and remained very still.

Ally gulped. Determined to establish peace with the lost animal, she forced herself to move closer and continue to offer her palm. After another long hesitation, Duchess dipped her head slightly and delicately sniffed Ally's skin.

Then she lifted her head and looked into Ally's eyes, seeming to want peace between them, too.

Which meant, Ally knew, she had to take the next step and pet the dog, too.

With Duchess watching as cautiously as Ally was watching her, she moved her hand once again.

Ally gently stroked first one paw, then the entire leg, before ever so tenderly moving her hand to the dog's chest, and then the sensitive spot behind her long, floppy ear. Oddly enough, the action was almost as soothing to Ally as
it was to the canine. Noting how good Duchess looked with her clean, silky-soft coat, and dark liquid eyes, Ally smiled. And could have sworn the dog smiled back at her.

Maybe this experience would help her—if not actually like dogs, then at least tolerate being around them. And vice versa, Ally thought.

Which, of course, was when the back door opened and Hank strode in.

Pleasure lit his midnight-blue eyes. “Well, now, what have we here?” he boomed in a baritone worthy of ol' Saint Nick. Clearly unable to resist, he teased, “A softening of that stone wall around your heart?”

The heat of embarrassment swept her cheeks. Ally dropped her hand and stood. “Obviously, I had to do this.”

Hank took off his wet rain slicker and hung it on the wall, then his hat. “Obviously.”

Ally watched Hank run his hands through his disheveled hair. “I startled her,” she explained.

He scanned Ally from head to toe, lingering on her rain-splattered trench coat. “And you didn't want to get bitten.”

She shrugged out of her own coat and hung it on the hook next to Hank's. “No, I did not.”

He kneeled down to pet the reclining retriever. “Hmm.”

Ally scrambled to pick up the things scattered across the floor. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to put her in the mudroom?”

He looked at the full food and water dishes in the corner, then gallantly lent a hand. “You weren't here when I left.”

Together, they carried Ally's belongings to the kitchen counter. “You could have left me a note.”

“I did.” He pointed to the message on the blackboard, next to the ancient wall phone. “I assumed you'd come in the front door.”

He went back to arrange the pile of blankets in an inviting circle, then motioned for Duchess to come toward him. She moaned as she got up and ambled stiffly forward to collapse on the soft, makeshift bed.

Hank petted her briefly, then came back into the kitchen.

He smelled like winter rain.

“How did your meeting with the Realtor go?”

Not good.
Ally unpacked the groceries she'd bought to get her through the next few days. “Marcy Lyon gave me a whole list of things that need to be done to the ranch house before the property goes on the market, if I want to get top dollar.”

“Such as…?”

Ally opened the fridge and saw a delicious looking slab of beef from Sonny's Barbecue, a restaurant in Laramie. “Removing all the wallpaper and painting the entire interior, for starters.”

While she put items away, Hank got out containers of restaurant coleslaw, potato salad and beans. “You could sell it as is.” The mesquite-smoked brisket followed.