The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride. Jill Kemerer
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date or risk losing valuable cattle in the frigid months ahead.
Was he making the best decisions for the ranch? Maybe he’d been lying to himself and his past was affecting his work performance.
His porch light glowed, and he muttered under his breath at the sight of Banjo curled up on the welcome mat the same way he’d been every night since Clint had found him there last Thursday. Each night he’d tried to take the dog back to the barn, but Banjo wouldn’t budge from the porch.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Clint bent to stroke Banjo’s black-and-white fur, and the dog got to his feet, wagging his tail and adoring Clint with his big brown eyes. “This isn’t your home. You can’t stay here.”
Banjo cocked his head.
“Fine. I can’t have you freezing. You can sleep on the floor. Just this once.” He unlocked the door. He’d said those same words every night, and just this once had turned into Banjo, you own me. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m a pushover. But you are sleeping on the floor.”
The idea of Banjo sleeping on the end of his bed appealed to him, but he couldn’t allow it. He didn’t want the dog living with him. Banjo was old, arthritic, and Clint doubted he would make it through the next year. Growing attached to the dog would not be smart. He’d lose him, too.
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