A Texas Cowboy's Christmas. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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set off.
In the past, the sixty-eight-year-old Lucille had ignored interpersonal tensions for the sake of peace. However, a recent series of life-changing events had caused Chance’s mother to rethink the idea of sugarcoating anything. And now, to everyone’s surprise, it turned out she could be as blunt as Chance’s older brother, Garrett.
“What’s going on between you two?” Lucille demanded as she looked from Molly to Chance and back again. “And don’t tell me nothing, because I can feel the mutual aggravation simmering between you a mile away!”
Chance would have preferred to keep their tiff private. Unfortunately, Molly had other ideas. “Chance told Braden that he could ask Santa to bring him a real live baby bull for Christmas!” she sputtered.
Lucille turned to him, formidable as always in an ultrasuede sheath, cashmere cardigan and heels.
“I was trying not to quash his dreams,” Chance insisted hotly.
“So, instead, you lit fire to impossible ones, and now he wants not just a baby bull but a bovine mama to go with it, too,” Molly accused him, looking furious enough to burst into tears.
“Look, I—” Even as the words came out of his mouth, Chance had to wonder how Molly had managed to put him on the defensive.
She stomped closer and waved a finger beneath his nose. “If you hadn’t brought that baby bull over with his momma to pasture at the Circle H—”
“If you hadn’t brought your son with you to discuss making a bid,” he volleyed right back.
Molly planted both her hands on her slender hips. “I had no choice!”
He mocked her by doing the same. “Well, neither did I!”
Completely exasperated, Lucille stopped worrying the pearls around her neck and stepped in between them. “Enough, you two!” she chastised. “You are acting like ornery children. It’s five weeks until Christmas...we will figure out a way to work this out.”
Chance and Molly separated once again.
Satisfied things were calmer, at least for the moment, Lucille walked up the steps to the rambling, homestead-style ranch house and across the spacious front porch. “In the meantime, I have a job big enough for the two of you,” she said over her shoulder, leading the way into the house.
Chance and his crew had spent the fall getting the two bedrooms and bathroom upstairs remodeled, the staircase rebuilt and all new energy-efficient windows installed. A new roof and fiber-cement siding had been put on, and the exterior had been painted a dazzling white with pine-green shutters. They’d also followed the plans of the structural engineer and gutted the downstairs into an open living-kitchen-dining area, a laundry room and mudroom, and what would one day be a spacious master suite with luxury bath for Lucille.
For the moment, however, only the framework of the redesigned first-floor rooms and the original wood floors—which were in need of refinishing—stood.
In the center of the space, in front of the original limestone fireplace, were two big easels. One held Molly’s proposed design, the other Chance’s.
Lucille turned to her son. “Although I love the rustic nature of your plans, honey, I am going to go with Molly’s vision for the first floor.”
There wasn’t a lot of difference in the plan for the master suite, since Lucille had been very specific in what kind of fixtures and the size closet she wanted. As for the rest...
“You know that’s going to cost you twice what mine would,” Chance pointed out.
Lucille nodded. “True. But your vision for the space is so...utilitarian.”
Exactly! It was what made it so great.
Chance pointed to the samples of his proposed maple cabinets and black granite countertops, the top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances and plentiful pantry shelving. “It’ll get the job done, Mom.”
Where he had been trying to be economical, his competition had gone all out. Dual dishwashers, two prep areas, double ovens and countless other features. Everywhere you looked there was some sort of up-charge.
Lucille smiled. “Molly captured what I was looking for. Unfortunately, I don’t think she and her crew can manage to finish the entire downstairs in the next five weeks.”
Molly’s triumph faded. “Did you say five...weeks?”
Lucille nodded. “I want to reserve December 19 for delivery of the furniture from my previous house in Dallas that’s currently in storage, the twentieth and the twenty-first for decorating and the twenty-second for my planned fund-raiser for the Lockhart Foundation and West Texas Warrior Assistance program. And of course Christmas Eve and Day for my family celebration.”
Chance frowned. “Which means all the wiring, plumbing, drywall and paint, as well as kitchen and master suite bath, will have to go in by then.”
His mother remained undaunted. “You have six people on your crew, Chance. Molly has seven. If you have all thirteen people working, it’s easily feasible. I’ll pay overtime if necessary.”
All business, Molly nodded. “How are we going to divide the work?”
Matter-of-factly, Lucille explained, “Molly will be in charge of the design and the materials, and Chance will supervise the construction and installation. Then, of course, Molly, I’d like you to do the yuletide decorating.” She flashed a smile her way. “I’ll give you a free hand with that since part of the reason for the rush is to help you showcase your skills during the fund-raising open house, and make the connections with my Dallas friends that will help you drum up business there.”
Chance turned to his mother and gave her a warning look. He would have expected Lucille, who, better than anyone, knew the downside of leaving the warm, supportive utopia of Laramie County behind, to be urging caution. Not cheerleading. “You’re really supporting Molly in this lunacy?” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Molly had a growing business. A home. Dozens of people who looked out for her. A young son who was thriving in the small-town environment. Why she would want to leave all that for the coldness of the big city he had grown up in was beyond him.
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Lucille regarded him sternly. “And, yes, I fully understand Molly’s desire to be all that she can be.”
Resolved to inject a little common sense into the conversation, Chance scoffed, “In terms of what? Money? Social position?”
Molly glared at him. “Don’t forget dazzling professional success! And all the accoutrements that come with it.”
Chance looked heavenward. “I don’t expect you to understand,” Molly said stiffly, her emotions suddenly as fired up as his.
“Good,” Chance snapped back, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. Then, pinning her with a glare of his own, he said exactly what was on his mind. “Because I don’t.”
“Avoiding me?” a husky voice taunted.
Molly thought work had wrapped up for the day. Which was, as it turned out, the only reason she was at the Circle H ranch house this late.
Turning in the direction of the familiar baritone, Molly took in the sight of the indomitable cowboy. Clad in a knit thermal tee, plaid flannel shirt and jeans, a tool belt circling his waist, Chance Lockhart strode toward her purposefully.
Working to still her racing heart, Molly held her clipboard and pen close to her chest. She lifted her chin. “Why would you think that?”
Chance stopped just short of her and gave her a slow, thorough once-over. “We’ve both had crews working here ten days straight, and you