The Rancher's Second Chance. Brenda Minton
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she doesn’t want to be found, Lincoln.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m going to find her.” Lincoln took a step toward him.
“Head on down the road, man. She isn’t on this ranch, and if she needs you, she’ll call.”
Lincoln looked around, then he shook his head. “I’m going to find her.”
“I’m sure you are.” Brody shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, I have some cattle to treat, so I’ll say goodbye.”
“I miss you, Brody.”
“I miss you, too, Lincoln. But you’re going to have to get in your truck and head on down the road. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come back.”
Lincoln pulled off his hat, ran a shaking hand through his hair, then smashed the hat back down on his head. “It isn’t my fault she left you.”
“I’m not having this conversation. She made her choice about us. And now it looks as if she’s made a choice about the two of you. I’d let it go if I were you.”
Lincoln made a move; his fist came back. Brody had figured he’d do something stupid, so he moved, letting Lincoln find nothing but air. Brody shook his head and turned to walk away. Lincoln came at him again, a booted foot to the back. Brody fell forward, catching himself against the barn wall and then turning, because a man didn’t take a hit to the back and walk away.
“You’re a coward, Lincoln,” Brody called out, knowing it would work.
Lincoln came at him again. Brody grabbed Lincoln by the arm. Lincoln pulled back his fist and Brody caught his hand in his own.
“I’m not going to hit you, Lincoln. It would be too easy, and you’re the only one around here who likes an easy target. I suggest you leave town before I have you picked up. I suggest you leave the state. That would be the best thing you could do.”
“I can’t leave.”
“You don’t have a choice. You either leave, or I escort you off the property.”
“Her running to you doesn’t mean she’s ready to wear your ring.”
“Since she isn’t here, it doesn’t matter.”
Lincoln shook free. “I’m leaving.”
Brody took a few deep breaths as he watched Lincoln take off in his truck, gravel flying.
“You think he’ll find her?” Duke stood behind him, holding the reins of both horses.
Brody reached for this horse. “I doubt it.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Duke headed for the barn with his big gray gelding.
“She’s fine.” He busied himself unsaddling the horse, aware that Duke watched him with that steady gaze that saw too much.
“Go check on her. I’ll finish up here.”
Brody faced his brother. “I’m taking care of my horse.”
“Right, but you’re tied up in knots worrying about her. You don’t have to get hooked up with her again, but you care. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I’ll check on her when we’re finished.”
“At least call and warn her that Lincoln is in town,” Duke suggested as he unsaddled his horse. “You don’t want something to happen to her.”
Brody’s hand went to the chain that hung from his neck. Beneath his T-shirt he felt the ring still in place next to the cross. He’d kept it since the night when he’d planned to propose to Grace. Before he’d had a chance to ask, she’d ended their relationship, telling him they were getting too serious and she wasn’t ready for that. He’d kept the ring.
It was a reminder—one he wouldn’t soon forget.
* * *
Clouds rolled on the southern horizon and the breeze had picked up. Grace stopped on the sidewalk in front of Oregon’s, unsure of which way she wanted to walk. She didn’t have a plan. She just knew she needed some fresh air. The wooden sign hanging from the overhang of the shop next door caught her attention. Mueller’s Christmas Shop. Grace told her about it earlier, about Lefty and his carved nativities and candlelit Christmas carousels.
She walked down the sidewalk to the store and reached for the doorknob. It was locked. That didn’t surprise her. Oregon had closed a short time ago. All of the shops in Martin’s Crossing probably closed early. Except Duke’s No Bar and Grill. It was still open.
Suddenly her phone rang. She reached into her pocket and answered the call from Brody.
“Are you at Oregon’s?” Brody asked.
“No, just window-shopping at Lefty’s.”
“Lincoln was here. I don’t think he’ll come to town looking for you, but you should be careful. Maybe stay inside.”
“Okay, but I’m fine.”
“I know you’re fine. Just be careful.”
As she hung up she heard a truck on the road. It probably wasn’t Lincoln, she consoled herself. He wasn’t going to risk showing up here when there could be witnesses. The coward in him only struck when no one could see. But she wouldn’t take a chance. She was too far from Oregon’s, so she went around the side of Lefty’s store.
As she ran along the back of the shop, a door opened. An older man stepped out. He waved her forward. “Come inside.”
“I’m sorry?” She hesitated and he reached for her arm. Grace froze, unsure. Her heart raced and fear kept her feet planted.
“Brody called me because he knew I’d be here and he wanted you safe. Come inside.”
She slipped through the door and it closed firmly behind her. Her legs shook as she stood there in the small living room, unsure of what to do next.
“I’m Lefty Mueller.”
“I’m Grace,” she said, flicking a quick look at the door, and taking a deep breath. “Grace Thomas.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Though not under these circumstances,” he winked as he said it.
She looked around the tiny living room with the Victorian furniture and heavy wood cabinets built into the walls. “Is Lefty your given name?”
At that the dapper man with thinning gray hair and a twinkle in his gray eyes smiled. “My given name is Matthias, but I’m left-handed. My father always wondered if I would be able to carve, being left-handed.” Lefty had moved to a small stove in the kitchen alcove of the apartment. He poured tea from a kettle and held out a cup. “Peppermint tea. Please, have a seat.”
She carried her cup to the sofa and sat. Mr. Mueller poured himself a cup of tea and sat across from her in a wing chair that seemed too large for his slight frame.
Humor teased away her nervousness as she considered her situation. She felt somewhat like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Her entire world had changed—the people in it, her surroundings... Nothing felt familiar or safe anymore. Yet here she sat drinking peppermint tea with a wood-carver named Lefty, who spoke with a slight accent that said he’d been exposed to another language for a large part of his life.
“Would you like to see my shop?” he asked after they’d finished their tea.
“I’d love to.” Grace stood, feeling a little shaky as she followed him through the double doors and into his showroom.
As she stood in awe at the many hand-carved nativities and Christmas carousels, he lit candles in an extravagant, triple-tiered carousel in the center of the room. The windmill of the carousel heated and started to turn. The carousel with the nativity figurines began to spin.
“It’s