Christmas with the Mustang Man. Stella Bagwell
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her.
“Thank you, Boone. It would be nice to warm up for a minute or two,” she said, while wondering if his remark meant that he wasn’t married or that Mrs. Barnett was simply not home this evening. Either way, it was none of her business. The man was extending her a bit of hospitality and she needed to accept it graciously, the way her parents had taught her.
At a small, screened-in back porch, he held the door open for her, then did the same with a wooden door that entered the house. Trying not to put too much thought in his huge presence looming just behind her, Dallas stepped inside and found herself in a small kitchen that smelled of baking pizza.
“Have a seat at the table,” he invited. “I’ll get us something to drink. You like coffee?”
“Love it. But don’t go to any trouble,” she told him as she made her way across the room to a small round table. Piled atop it was a child’s backpack with several textbooks spilling from its open lid. Next to the books was a soda can and lying next to that, on a paper towel, a half-eaten sandwich.
Dallas pulled off her coat and placed the garment on the back of a chair, then turned to see the Nevada rancher had already removed his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The sight of him in the stark kitchen light, without the bulky jacket hiding his frame, jolted her. He was as solid as a rock and everything about him shouted the word man.
“I’d be making a pot whether you were here or not,” he explained. On his way to the cabinets, he caught sight of the cluttered table and instantly changed course. “Here, let me clear that away. Hayley’s not very good about putting her things in her room.”
Dallas chuckled. “I never was a tidy child. My mother was constantly nagging me and my younger sister to put our things where they belonged. Our older sister never got nagged at, though. She was a neat freak.”
Walking over to the table, he leaned across the expanse of worn wood to pick up the scattered items and his upper torso drew within inches of her arm. The subtle scents of hay, horses and sage drifted to Dallas’s nostrils before she instinctively stepped aside to put more breathing space between them.
“So you have sisters,” he stated.
Moistening her lips, she tried to calm the nervous bumping of her heart. “Two. And three brothers,” she answered. “I’m in the middle of the bunch.”
After placing the books and backpack on a nearby rolltop desk, he returned to fetch the sandwich and soda can.
“Well, Hayley doesn’t have a mother to nag her, so I have that thankless job. And from the looks of it, I’m not getting through,” he added with a grimace.
Dallas didn’t make any sort of immediate reply. Since she’d never been a mother, she was hardly in a position to offer parenting advice. And without knowing exactly why his daughter’s mother was absent, she might slip and inadvertently say something he’d find offensive.
Instead, she took a seat at the table and decided to slant the conversation in a different direction. “Do you have siblings, Boone?”
Across the room, he began to put the coffee fixings together. “No. It’s just me. My dad lives in town, and that’s it.”
The information only made Dallas wonder more. Why didn’t Boone’s father live here on the ranch? Did the man’s health require him to live closer to a doctor? she silently mused. Or maybe the elder Barnett just didn’t want to live out in the remote countryside. After all, not all families lived together in one big house, like the Donovans.
“So your father isn’t a rancher?”
Damn it, she was here to buy horses from the man, not make a documentary about his life, she silently scolded herself. But she couldn’t seem to prevent the personal questions from popping from her mouth.
“My grandfather was a rancher. Dad never liked the work much,” he answered bluntly.
Deciding it would be safer to talk about her own family, she said, “The Donovans have always raised horses—Thoroughbred racers. Lately my brothers have been tossing around the idea of putting a few cattle on the ranch or maybe a running line of quarter horses, but those are just ideas. Dad is retired…or should I say semi-retired,” she added with a fond chuckle. “So he mainly lets the guys run things the way they want to.”
“Sounds like the place is a family-run operation,” he commented.
By now he’d shut the lid on the coffeemaker and the pungent smell of the brewing grounds was beginning to overpower the pizza. After driving hours and hours since early this morning, Dallas was definitely in need of the hot brew to fight off the weariness threatening to overtake her.
“It is. My grandparents built the Diamond D back in 1968 and most of the family still lives there together. Except for Grandfather Arthur, who passed away some years back.” She paused and then added, “I noticed on the road map that this ranch is located in Lincoln County. That’s the name of the county where I live.”
“So you’re from the part of New Mexico where the famous range wars occurred,” he said thoughtfully. “And outlaws like Billy the Kid roamed the land.”
Impressed by his historical knowledge, she glanced at him. “That’s right. What’s this Lincoln County known for?”
He shrugged. “Years ago it was all about gold and silver strikes, brothels and lawlessness. Now the mines are dead. But the ranchers have hung on.”
“And the mustangs,” she added.
“Yeah. Thank God for the mustangs.”
The big cowboy was looking straight at her now and Dallas was finding it extremely hard to tell whether he’d spoken with sarcasm or sincerity. He had very dark eyes that had such a piercing quality she could practically feel them sliding over her face and that in itself was enough to distract her. Not to mention the fact that he’d removed his black Stetson and his streaked brown hair had slid to a boyish bang across his forehead.
He said, “It must get interesting at your house—everybody living together. Are you one big happy family or does that only happen in fairy tales or sitcoms?”
Was he saying he didn’t believe families could live and love together? The cynical idea saddened her and put a hint of defensive pride in her voice as she replied, “I can truthfully say that ninety percent of the time we’re all pretty happy.”
“That must be nice,” he said lowly.
“It is nice,” she agreed. “Being with my family is everything to me.”
He turned his back to her and reached up to retrieve two cups from a cabinet shelf. At the table, a pent-up breath whooshed out of Dallas. What was the matter with her? Living on a horse ranch, she’d dealt with all sorts of men before. This one wasn’t necessarily any different. Except that Boone Barnett looked a little sexier, a whole lot tougher and a bit more seasoned than most.
So what if he was all those things? Dallas mentally argued with herself. After being dumped only days before her wedding, she’d learned to view men and their charms with skeptical indifference, especially men that she didn’t know. She couldn’t allow this hunk of male muscle to recklessly turn her head.
Across the room, Boone filled two mugs with coffee while thoughtfully mulling over Dallas Donovan’s remark. Maybe this woman and her “nice” family were for real. But he had a hard time buying into the idea. The Barnetts had always been fractured in some unfortunate way and he’d never been around an extended family that interacted with love and respect for each other.
Yet, in spite of that, he couldn’t say that his family life had always been lacking. For a while, when Boone had been a young boy and his grandparents still living, things had been basically good for him.
Wayne and Alice Barnett had been decent, hardworking people. They’d cared about him, looked after him, given him the love and support he’d needed, while his own parents had only made a halfhearted