Cathy Thacker - A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe

Ally kissed Gracie on top of her tiny head and reluctantly put her back in the warming box, next to her littermates. “I’m coming with you,” she muttered as she shrugged on her old shearling-lined denim jacket. “How long is this going to take, anyway?”

Hank slipped a hand under her elbow as he escorted her out the back door toward the barns. “As long as we want it to take.”

Ally looked up at him and smiled. It was a beautiful winter afternoon, with a slight breeze, crisp cold air and blue skies overhead.

And that suited her just fine.

THE MESQUITE RIDGE RANCH property ranged along the Laramie and Mesquite Rivers, an occasional barbed wire fence setting it off from the surrounding six ranches. Hoping Ally would appreciate what she was about to give up, once she absorbed the rugged beauty around them, Hank drove slowly along the gravel road, past thickets of juniper and holly, through acre after acre of mesquite and cedar choked hills.

He half expected Ally to complain about their unhurried progress. Instead, she settled back in her seat, and studied their surroundings in silence.

Hank wondered if she had any idea how much work he’d done the last six months, or how much more was going to be required to turn this ranch into the showplace it should be. Her pensive expression held no clue; the only thing he was certain of was that the tour was as unexpectedly thought-provoking and important for her as it was for him.

Realizing they had only an hour or so before dark, Hank finally turned the truck and circled back around to the grassy pasture that housed his herd. Ranging in size from six hundred to nearly eighteen hundred pounds, the cattle grazed sedately.

“I’ve always liked black Angus more than longhorns,” Ally murmured, with an appreciative glance at the healthy steers.

As he cut the engine and they got out of the cab, Hank realized how little he really knew about her, how much more he wanted to learn.

“How come?” He came to her side.

Ally thrust her hands in the pockets of her old farm jacket, one he recalled her wearing in high school. Now, it was something to work in. Back then it had been her one and only coat.

She grinned up at him. “Black Angus don’t have horns, and that makes ’em look cuddlier.”

“Not exactly a word I’d use for cows and steers,” Hank countered drily, thinking that if anyone here was in need of a cuddle, it was Ally. And not because a cold winter wind was blowing against them, inducing shivers.

It was more in the vulnerable way she held herself.

Knowing how completely she could give, when it came to physical intimacy.

Emotionally…well, emotionally was another matter. For every step she took nearer to him, she seemed to take another one away.

Her cheeks pinkening in the cold, Ally lazily closed the distance between them. Unable to help herself, she taunted, “And here I thought you were the more romantic of the two of us.”

As soon as the words were out, she blushed. “I meant… sentimental…when it came to ranching per se…” she choked out.

Hank chuckled. “You might be a tad sentimental and romantic, too,” he teased right back.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

Looking more like a cowgirl than ever with one booted foot crossed over the other, Ally leaned against the side of the truck, while Hank opened the tailgate. “How many cattle do you have?”

“One hundred.” He flashed a wistful grin, aware that for the first time in a very long time he actually cared what a woman thought about him. “Or two hundred less than required to have what is considered a working cattle ranch.”

Ally shot him a respectful glance from beneath her lashes. “I have every confidence you’ll get there,” she said quietly.

Hank knew he would. The only question was where would his cattle be housed. Here on Mesquite Ridge, or somewhere else by default.

Ally tugged on the leather work gloves Hank had loaned her. “They look healthy,” she observed.

Beaming with pride, Hank carried a bundle of hay out into the pasture and cut the twine. “I’ve had good luck so far.”

Ally took handfuls of alfalfa and spread it around, so the cattle didn’t have to fight for feed.

“It’s more than luck,” she remarked. A bitter edge underscored her low serious tone. “It takes skill. Dedication. The willingness to study up on animal husbandry and do all the things necessary to keep the cattle in top form.”

Hank carried another bundle over and set it down. There was an undertone to her voice that bore exploration. “Why do I have the feeling we’re not talking about me any longer?” he asked casually.

She sighed and shook out more hay. “It’s no secret my dad was a lousy cattleman. All he and my mom ever cared about was expanding the ranch.”

“He eventually owned four thousand acres. Given the fact he started from nothing, that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“But no surprise,” Ally muttered resentfully. “Every cent we had went to buying more and more land. To the point that we wore sweaters instead of running the furnace in winter, and did without practically everything because every penny spent was a penny we wouldn’t have to buy more land.”

“And you hated it.”

“Of course I hated it!” She stomped back to the truck and tried to reach another bale. “I couldn’t participate in any of the extracurricular activities at school because I was expected to go home and help out with my mother’s sewing business.”

Hank reached past her to pull the hay to the edge of the truck bed. “Surely your parents were proud of you when you got that big scholarship to Rice University.”

“Honestly?” Ally shrugged and walked with him back out into the pasture. “They would have preferred I stay and work the ranch with them. But I had to get out of here.” When they reached another open space, perfect for feeding, she paused to cut the twine that held the hay together, and exhaled wearily. “So I left…”

Together, they threw out the shredded grain, as additional cattle ambled toward them. “And you never came back, except to visit,” Hank surmised when they’d finished their task.

Ally nodded grimly as they walked away. “And I didn’t do that much, either, until my mother was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.” Ally strode to the fence, where she paused to examine the thick strand of mesquite on the other side. Trees up to thirty feet high and nearly as wide sported dense, tangled greenery studded with long thorns. The heavy rain a few days before had brought forth another wave of fragrant white flowers. In the spring, the mesquite would bear fruit in the form of beanlike pods that wildlife and cattle would eat.

Right now, Hank could tell, the overgrowth was just one more mess Ally would prefer not to have to deal with.

“But you did come back, when she was sick.” Hank remembered his mother talking about that, and the fight between Ally and her parents that had evidently ensued.

Sorrow turned down the corners of Ally’s mouth. “I told them about this new protocol being developed at a hospital in Houston. I wanted them to come and live with me, so Mom could get the best treatment.” She inched off her gloves and stuck them in the belt at her waist. “I knew the isolation of the ranch was no place for anyone with the kind of neurological disease my mother suffered from, that as time went on she would need more and more care, and that-like it or not-it was time they gave Mesquite Ridge up, in favor of my mother’s health.”

“But your parents didn’t agree with that.”

“No.” Ally’s low tone was filled with bitterness. “They didn’t. They insisted they didn’t need my help, unless I wanted to move back home and take over the sewing business. That, they would accept.” Her eyes gleamed with moisture. “Anything else…” she recalled in a choked voice, “forget it.”

Hank took off his gloves, too, and went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

Ally tilted her head back and relaxed against him. “I had worked very hard to get where I was in the company. I was a first line manager, about to be promoted to the next tier…on the fast track to an early vice presidency…” She swallowed. “So I said no, and I sent them money to get a caregiver to help out with my mother, instead.”

Hank didn’t recall anyone saying anything about nursing care. He paused, then tensed. “Tell me they didn’t…”

She looked as if she had just taken an arrow to the heart. “They bought another ten acres.”

“You must have been devastated,” he observed quietly.

“I was furious.” Ally blinked back tears. “And scared.” She pushed away from Hank. Hands balled into fists, she began to pace. “With as much difficulty as my mother was having, getting around at that point, I was afraid she was going to have a fall.”

“Which,” Hank recalled sorrowfully, “she eventually did.”

Ally swept her hands through her hair. “Unfortunately, my dad was out on the ranch, tending to his cattle, when it happened, and it was hours before he found her. By then, Mom had lapsed into a coma and she never came out of it.” Ally gestured in despair as more tears fell. “My dad never recovered. I think that’s why he had the heart attack last summer. Because…he couldn’t forgive himself.”

Hank drew Ally into his arms. “The question is, can you forgive yourself?” he asked softly.

No one had ever asked her that. Could she forgive herself? Was it ever going to be possible?

Ally looked deep into Hank’s eyes. “I’m not sure,” she said finally, knowing it was past time she confided in someone. The understanding glint in his dark blue eyes gave her the courage to go on. “There are times I have so much guilt I feel like I’m suffocating. Guilt because I couldn’t convince my parents to handle my mother’s illness any differently. I would give anything to have gotten them the help they needed, when they needed it. Instead of failing them at the toughest, most crucial moment of their lives…”