His Christmas Sweetheart. Cathy McDavid
Читать онлайн книгу.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Apparently Sam wasn’t ready to cut Will loose yet. “A while.”
“Is there a reason you’re avoiding her?”
“I’m not.”
“Miranda, then.”
“I better head out while the weather’s holding.” Will didn’t wait for a response. He flung the reins over Rocket Dog’s neck and mounted her in one fluid move. Cruze jumped up from where he’d been lying and waiting.
“Sorry, boy. You need to stay here.”
The shepherd mix instantly planted his hind end on the ground. He used to hate being left behind. Lately his age had started to show, and a trip to town would exhaust him. He’d be there when Will returned, or in the barn.
“Do me a favor, will you?” Sam patted Cruze’s head, letting Will know his dog would be watched during his absence. “On your way back.”
“Sure.” As long as it wasn’t stopping by a certain elder-care group home.
“Mayor Dempsey has a package for me. Some vouchers for the contest winners. Can you pick them up at the Paydirt on your way back?”
“Will do.”
Will didn’t normally ride through town, though he had before. During Sweetheart’s early days and up until The Forty-Niners had ceased production, horses were a common sight on the streets.
Saluting Sam, Will turned Rocket Dog toward the long tree-lined drive leading from the ranch. Halfway to the main road, he chose a partially hidden trail, one used more by deer and elk than humans. He and Rocket Dog were immediately engulfed by towering ponderosa pines.
Will was in his element. He rode the mare hard, down one hill and up the next, until their breathing was labored. The terrain, still thick and green despite the encroaching winter, didn’t last. Within a mile, the forest gave way to a sea of barren, blackened land. This was how close the fire had gotten to the Gold Nugget.
Skirting the border of the vast wasteland, Will stopped occasionally to dismount and mark the trail with a red plastic tie fastened to a low-slung branch. Only the most stalwart and athletic of riders, hikers and cross-country skiers would choose this trail. He couldn’t wait to lead them.
At one point he nudged Rocket Dog across a rushing stream. Well, more like a babbling creek until spring, when the snow melted. Then crossing would be tricky. At the very top of the hill, where the stream originated from an underground spring, Sweetheart’s original settlers had chanced upon gold and had staked a claim. They’d prospected the area for thirty years until it had panned out.
Will thought the old claim, with its discarded and derelict equipment still there, might make an interesting rest stop and noted it on his map.
Hard riding and fresh air took his mind off Miranda, but only for a short while. Too soon, he was back to thinking about her. Constantly.
Had she and her father visited this mining site when she was young? Did they hike this same path? Picnic at this same spot along the creek? View the town nestled in the valley below from this same vantage point? Why did she waste even a minute of her time with him?
Will couldn’t fathom the answer.
Two hours later, the narrow trail merged with a larger and more frequently used one that led to town. By now the mare’s steps were slower, her excess energy having been spent. Will relaxed and let her set the pace for the last leg of their trip. Miranda still filled his thoughts, but caused him less anxiety.
In his opinion, the woods surrounding Sweetheart showed no signs of recovery from the fire—other than the forest service’s clearing the network of dirt roads. Scorched pine tree trunks stood at bent angles, resembling an army of ghoulish stick soldiers. Here and there a tree remained, miraculously spared from destruction. It would be years before the seeds from their cones produced new generations.
Will wondered if winter, with its gray skies and heavy blankets of snow, would be kind and hide the forest’s blemishes, or unkind and magnify them.
His ride down Matrimony Lane drew a lot of stares and a few waves, which Will returned with a nod. He didn’t admit to searching every female face for Miranda’s. At the Paydirt Saloon, he tethered Rocket Dog to the old hitching post beside the building. Drooping her head, she eagerly indulged in a well-deserved snooze.
Inside, the mayor hailed Will from behind the bar and reached for a clean mug. “The usual?”
“Not today.”
“What brings you by?”
“Sam sent me. You have some vouchers for him.”
She frowned in confusion. “What vouchers?”
“For the contest winners.”
“Don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I’ll call him.” Will reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and dialed Sam. His boss didn’t pick up. “Must be a mistake.”
“Try again in a few minutes. In the meantime, have a beer.”
“How ’bout a water?” He wasn’t in the mood for drinking.
Finding his regular stool open, he sat and attempted to reach Sam again, with the same results. Disconnecting, he debated what to do.
“You look as if you are wrestling with a mighty problem.”
At the sound of Miranda’s voice, he sat instantly straighter.
“We know it’s not Mrs. Litey, unless you’re feeling bad about ignoring her. She misses you something awful, by the way.”
Will suffered a stab of remorse.
“You shouldn’t make her pay just because you’re mad at me.”
Having no choice, he turned slowly around. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Seems like it.” She stood with a serving tray propped on her hip, a red apron tied around her waist and a pert scowl on her pretty face.
He blinked in disbelief. “You’re working here?”
“Part-time.” She squared her shoulders. “Just until I catch up on the mortgage payments. So I guess we’ll be running into each other, seeing as you’re here a lot.”
He suppressed a groan. His one place of practically guaranteed solitude had just been invaded.
It was in that moment that he realized there were no vouchers and never had been. His boss knew about Miranda’s job and had set Will up.
The snake.
“Well, what’ll it be, cowboy? Can’t rent that bar stool for free.” Miranda flashed him a saucy smile that sent his pulse rate into the triple digits. “Swiss-and-bacon burger’s on special today.”
She moved closer—on purpose, he was sure of it—until her thigh brushed his knee. He swallowed hard and waited for the panic attack, ready to bolt at the first sign.
To his shock, it didn’t come. And when he spoke, his voice sounded normal.
“I’ll take mine medium well.”
Chapter Four
Miranda made sure there was just the right amount of sway to her hips as she walked away from Will. Not so much as to be obvious and not so little as to be overlooked.
He noticed the sway. No reason to turn her head, she could feel his eyes boring into her.
Will might be shy as a choirboy with his first crush, but he was all man.
“One Swiss and bacon, medium well.” She passed the order ticket through the window to the cook