A Randall Thanksgiving. Judy Christenberry
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I grew up here.”
Harry gave her an assessing look. She’d lost her drawl and her hair was so short and spiky; even her jeans were designer. Sometimes, he had to admit, it was hard to remember she was from Wyoming. Aside from her little temper tantrums, she seemed sophisticated and…worldly. Anyone could see she’d spent a considerable amount of time outside of Rawhide.
He laughed to himself. Actually, he couldn’t wait to see Little Miss Parisian out there riding herd.
He tugged on Maybelle’s saddle, found it tight, and stepped back, waving his hand with a flourish. “Your mount awaits, m’lady.” Then he cracked a smile and added, “We’ll just see who’s the rider here.”
Melissa took the dare. She speared him with a look and said, “You’re on.”
Grabbing Maybelle’s reins, she led the mare out of the barn, leaving Harry to follow.
Not that it was a bad view, he admitted. He was developing quite a liking for those tight, designer jeans.
John met up with them outside the barn, having said goodbye to his mother. “We’re ready,” Harry told him.
John nodded resolutely, concern for his mother temporarily replaced by determination to get the job done. He glanced over at his sister. “Get a pair of chaps. It’s going to be cold out there. You have good gloves?”
Melissa smiled. “Yes, John,” she said patiently. “You know I’ve done this before.”
Harry snickered, but she ignored him. Instead she pointed to a pile of scarves she’d left inside the barn door. “Dad gave me those. Said we’d need them for the cold.” She looked at Harry then. “If you wrap one around your face and tie it in back, it’ll serve as a kerchief, and keep you warm, too.”
Biting back a comment, he put one on, then reached out and tied Melissa’s behind her short hair. He expected a complaint but got none. Nor did he get a thank-you.
She pulled a hat on her head, climbing into the saddle and headed out.
John rode alongside Harry into the cold, windy pasture. Had it been any other day of the week, They’d have had a number of cowboys to help out. But it was Saturday, and all the men had already gone into town. Probably all lined up for a beer already, Harry figured. Just like last night, when he’d first seen Melissa.
That scene had replayed in his head a few times—how beautiful she’d looked sitting there, sipping her beer. He wondered how different things would have turned out if he’d taken her up on her request for a dance.
He’d never know.
Once they reached the pasture by the county road, there was no time for thinking. There was a herd to gather.
Snow had begun to fall and the temperature was dropping sharply. John kept looking up at the sky, but Harry didn’t bother. Mike had already alerted them to the forecast, and it was not good. They were in for a substantial snowfall, on top of what was already on the ground.
Luckily, the herd was mostly Herefords. Their red coats showed up better in the swirling snow.
They rounded up the large herd, each working hard at the job. Even Melissa. She rode with skill and knew her way around the herd, Harry would give her that. As much as it pained him to admit it, she held her own.
By the time they dragged themselves back to the barn, it was after eight o’clock and the three of them were exhausted. The buffeting of the wind was enough to wear anyone out.
Melissa hopped down off of her mare. “If you’ll unsaddle Maybelle and give her some oats,” she told he men, “I’ll get up to the house and start supper for us.”
Harry could only stare at her. The words came out of his mouth before he could censor them. “You ride herd and cook, too? Man, you’re a rancher’s dream!”
As she strode by him, she tipped her nose in the air. “I’m not so sure that a rancher would be my dream, though.”
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