His Holiday Bride. Jillian Hart
Читать онлайн книгу.
Alone in his new place, he paced across the high-gloss oak floor and stared out the bay window. The horse barn had been totally remodeled with sedate gray siding, white trim, ivory walls and indoor plumbing. He batted at the lone fly, smiling as he thought of Autumn Granger. He did not know what to think about the woman, but he liked her. Hard not to like a gal who carried a holstered .45 at her hip and a lasso on her saddle.
Granddad would have loved seeing all this. Ford frowned, shaking his head. Too bad he hadn’t made this change earlier, when his grandfather had been alive and he’d been more optimistic about his life.
Regrets. He shrugged them off. A pack of cows was grazing out beyond the small patch of lawn behind red posts and three skinny strands of barbed wire. He saw one of them eyeing his Jeep and hoped to high heaven those animals didn’t get out and gnaw something else off the poor vehicle. One of the first things on his list would be to drop by the feed store for treats. Without them, he feared the Jeep wouldn’t last long.
His stomach rumbled. That got him thinking about dinner. Maybe he would mosey down the street and see what he could rustle up.
“WHAT ARE YOU still doing here?”
“Good question.” Autumn leaped over the last two stairs, landed in the kitchen and grabbed her purse off the table by the back door. She tossed a grin at Rori, her friend, the family’s temporary housekeeper and her older brother’s fiancée. “I’m about an hour late. My friends are going to disown me.”
“You? Never.” Rori hefted a big pan of pasta over the sink and upended it. Water and noodles tumbled into a steel colander. “Have fun.”
“I intend to.” For a change. First it had been calving and foaling season, then it had been harvest and hay. “The last time I had a free night in town it was February.”
“The life of a rancher. Why exactly did you want to do this for a living?”
“No idea. Must have been out of my mind.” She found her truck keys in a drawer, wished Rori a good night and flew out the door.
“Whoa there, little lady.” Her dad, Frank Granger, caught her before she charged into him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“It’s my night off, remember?”
“I didn’t know you were allowed one of those.” He chuckled. That was her dad, Mr. Humor.
“Ha, ha. I won’t be out too late, but don’t wait up.” She danced around him, skipping down the porch steps, two at a time.
“You’ve got a four-thirty wake-up call, girl.”
“I know!” As if she could forget. She’d been waking up that early as long as she could remember. Really. Dad must think he was hilarious. She could be a comedian, too. “Hey, guess who I’m giving a riding lesson to on Saturday?”
“Uh, are you still doing that?” Frank swept off his Stetson. Something passed across his rugged face that looked a lot like interest.
Yeah, that’s just what she’d thought. She kept going, running backwards. “Cady Winslow. The nice lady new to town who bought one of my horses? You remember her, right?”
“I suppose.” He cast his gaze down, as if looking at some trouble with one of the porch boards.
Good way to hide his interest, but she wasn’t fooled. She tripped along the concrete path. “You could drop by the arena tomorrow if you want. Hang around. Offer some advice.”
“I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” A faint blush crept high on his face. “Have a good time tonight, darlin’.”
“Sure.” That was the problem with men in this family. They didn’t give much away. They acted as if real feelings were something to be wrestled down and extinguished.
“Autumn, you know we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Her older brother Justin called out as he slipped between the fence boards. “Don’t be too late.”
“Late is the story of my life.” The dinner bell on the back porch clanged, signaling the time as she hauled open the garage door. Six o’clock. Late, late, late. Her friends were used to it. She’d been leaving them to order for her for years.
She jammed the key into the ignition, turned over the engine and took the driveway as fast as she dared. Gravel crunched beneath the tires and dust rose up in her back trail, blocking all views of the pretty two-story ranch house tucked between the orchard and a copse of aspen.
The second she hit the county road, images of the new sheriff dogged her. His wide-shouldered stance. The dimples bracketing his grin. Confidence beaming from him like the sun from above. Gorgeous. She was a total softy when it came to a man with dimples and big baby blues. A sign she couldn’t give this man an inch. She gave the truck a little more juice, ignored the posted speed limit by a few miles per hour and kept an eye out for wildlife and livestock.
The trick was to keep the to-die-for new sheriff out of her mind. She glanced at the dashboard clock—eight minutes after six. Yikes. A hawk swooped low in the road in front of the truck. She hit the brakes to miss it. The creature sailed away, and in that unguarded moment her thoughts returned to Ford Sherman. She would never forget the look on his face when he realized the cows were destroying his Jeep. That’s something you don’t get in a Western movie, she thought.
If only she could have witnessed the look on his face when he saw his remodeled barn. That would have been priceless. No doubt he was mighty relieved to discover he had indoor plumbing and not a single barnyard animal sharing his living quarters.
The radio blared, and Christian country songs accompanied her all the way to town. She skidded into a spot in front of the diner, leaped out of her truck and hit the ground running. After she popped through the front door and glanced at the clock behind the till, she wanted to pump her fist in the air. She’d shaved two minutes off her drive time.
“There she is.” Merritt waved from a booth halfway down the long stretch of front window. “I can’t believe my eyes. She’s here almost on time.”
“Before we had to order for her.” Caroline twisted around to wave, too. “Glad you could make it. We figured you got held up on the ranch.”
“Broken fence line, escaped cattle, met the new sheriff. I didn’t think I would make it, but Scotty offered to take care of Aggie for me.” Bless their best hired man. She dropped into the booth beside Caroline. “Otherwise, I’d still be in the stables. How have you been?”
“Let’s go back to the part about you meeting the new sheriff.” Merritt flipped a lock of brown hair over her shoulder and leaned one elbow on the table. “So, spill. Is he young or old?”
“Cute or ugly?” Caroline took a sip of soda.
“He’s somewhere in this thirties.” She grabbed the laminated menu and flipped it open. “Not too ugly, I guess.”
“Well, he at least sounds promising—” Merritt fell silent, her sentence unfinished. Her eyes rounded.
A battered roll of duct tape landed on the edge of the table, held in place by a sun-browned hand. The hand was attached to a muscled arm, and she didn’t have to look farther to know who belonged to that arm. Ford Sherman.
“Not too ugly?” His baritone warmed with amusement.
Okay, not the most comfortable situation she’d ever been in. Good going, Autumn. She squirmed on the vinyl bench seat, wishing she could disappear beneath the table, spontaneously combust, anything to escape the embarrassment. She’d wanted to hide her interest in him, that was all. What she needed was a snappy comeback. “What do you think, girls? We have certainly seen worse in these parts.”
Not a snappy comeback, but the best she could do under the circumstances.
“Worse?” Ford’s gaze latched onto hers, an intense, uncomfortable probing that only made his dimples