A Randall Thanksgiving. Judy Christenberry
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Harry Gowan, deputy sheriff.”
“Nice to meet you, Harry Gowan, deputy sheriff.” She flashed him a brilliant white smile, momentarily stunning him. He was about to ask her name when Josh strode up, the dancer cowboy following.
“Hey, Melissa, this is Dwight Barnes.”
“How nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” Melissa said.
Harry watched her flutter those same lashes at Barnes and was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only man who melted at her feet.
He guessed Ms. Randall was telling the truth. She did know how to handle men.
MELISSA RANDALL RETURNED to her parents’ house at 11:00 p.m., an incredibly early hour if she were still in Paris. It was even early in Rawhide, Wyoming, on the weekend.
Her parents were waiting up for her, making her feel more like an eighteen-year-old than a twenty-six-year-old who had lived abroad for six years.
“Hello, dear,” her mother said with a smile. “Did you have fun?”
Melissa debated how to answer that question. She loved her mother dearly and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but Paris was so much more exciting than Rawhide. “Uh, yeah, it was all right.”
Griff Randall eyed his daughter a bit sharply. “Did you meet anyone new?”
“Dwight Barnes.”
“Dwight Barnes?” he blustered. “You need to keep away from him!”
“I know,” Melissa said.
Her mother frowned. “What do you mean by that? Did he do something he shouldn’t have?”
“No, but the deputy sheriff warned me about him.”
“Which deputy sheriff?” her father demanded.
“You mean Rawhide has more than one?” Melissa asked in mock awe.
“That’s enough of that, young lady,” he retorted. “Now tell me his name.”
“Harry Gooden, I think.”
“And I think that would be Harry Gowan.”
“Oh. Well, I was close.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” her father said, letting his sarcasm show.
“Dad!” Melissa protested, dragging the word out as a teenager would do.
“And here I thought our daughter had grown up.”
“Griff, you’re being too hard on her. She just got back the other night. She probably still has jet lag,” her mother protested.
“That’s her own damn fault, Camille. She lives too far away from home. This is her first visit in six years!”
“But you and Mom came to see me. Wasn’t that fun?”
“It was for me, sweetheart,” her mother immediately said. “But these past four years have seemed like forever.”
“I know, Mom, and I intended to come home before now, but—but I got busy and—”
“And then there was Pierre,” Griff growled.
“You told me you liked him!” Melissa protested.
“That was before I knew he was your lover!”
“Dad!”
“Griff!” Camille protested at the same time. Before Melissa could say anything else, her mother added, “You promised, Griff.”
“I know, but she asked!”
“Both of you, go to bed. I can’t handle the arguments this late at night!” Camille said in exasperation.
Both father and daughter, so much alike, immediately said they were sorry. Camille accepted their apologies but insisted she was heading to bed, and Griff immediately agreed to join her. They both kissed their daughter good-night and left the kitchen together.
Melissa stood there, thinking about one of the things she’d missed in her glamorous life in Paris. It was seeing how much her parents loved each other and remained faithful to one another no matter what.
She didn’t know any older married couples in France. Still, she was pretty sure that a marriage like her parents’ wasn’t normal anywhere. Her father wasn’t about to let his wife go to bed without him, especially when he was afraid she was still a little mad at him.
Melissa found a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart as she thought about her parents’ love affair. Even while growing up, she’d noticed their devotion to each other. She’d never had any doubt about their faithfulness. As an adult, she realized how unusual it was, though she knew her dad would just tell her it was a Randall trait.
Melissa really wasn’t sleepy, but she strolled to the room that had been hers before she’d gone to France. The move had been a hard-fought battle, one she hadn’t thought she could win. She couldn’t have without her mom’s backing. But Melissa had done so well in French in her first two years of college that her professor had helped convince her mother to let her live in France for one semester.
And she’d never come home.
Until now.
When she’d asked her mom what she’d like for Christmas, her mother had simply said, “For you to come home for the holidays.”
Melissa couldn’t say no to her. Camille was such a sweet, gentle person. But she was also a fighter. When she realized how much Melissa had wanted to go to France, she’d fought hard for Griff’s approval. There had been several days when Camille wouldn’t even speak to her husband.
Melissa owed her mother big time.
HARRY WAS PUMPING IRON, his muscles straining under the two-hundred-pound bar. He’d just finished a half hour on the treadmill, set at a steep incline, and he was still sweating. But he needed it. The workout center had been added on to the Sheriff’s Office several years ago. When Mike Davis had become sheriff, he’d wanted his men to be in good physical shape so that using a firearm was not their first thought when subduing a lawbreaker.
Mike had asked the Randalls if they could get together with other ranchers in the area to contribute a modest sum for a couple of weight machines. The Randalls, who never did anything in a small way, had showed up at his door the next morning to begin remodeling the storeroom into a first-rate workout facility.
In gratitude, Mike had opened the facility to all the men in town as long as his staff had dibs at certain times of the day. Right now only Harry and his partner, Steve Lawson, were working out, spotting each other.
Harry had just returned the heavy bar to its stand and sat up, sweat dripping from his brow, when a sweet voice asked from the doorway, “Is Harry Gowan in here?”
Steve whirled around, almost losing his balance. “Lady, this is a men’s facility. You can’t come in here!”
With a pouty smile that Harry recognized at once, Melissa Randall said, “Well, technically, I haven’t come into the room. Oh, hi, Harry,” she said, her smile widening as she saw him turn to face her.
Harry was wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. Now he wished he had a T-shirt or a towel nearby so he could cover up a little. “Hello, Melissa. I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll be right out.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, her smile increasing as she took in the sight of his muscled chest.
“Yeah, but I do. I’ll be right with you.”
Conceding gracefully, Melissa fluttered her fingers in a wave as she stepped back and let the door shut again.
Steve stared at his partner. “Who was that? I’ve never seen her before.”