Her Single Dad Hero

Smiling, Ann climbed into the car, started up the engine and drove away, thinking how odd it was that the man who had so impacted her life would never know how he had changed things for her. Had she not overheard that conversation that day, she might well have finished school, come back to War Bonnet and...what? She’d had some vague notion of taking over the ranch at some point, but other than that...

For some reason, Dean Pryor’s face sprang up before her mind’s eye, so real in that instant that she gasped.

Heart pounding, she shook her head. Dean Paul Pryor was nothing to her. He could never be anything to her. Why, he didn’t even compare to Jordan.

She told herself that was because Jordan existed on an entirely different plane than the men in War Bonnet. He was suave, polished, always expertly groomed. She’d never seen him in anything other than a classically tailored suit. Jordan’s idea of casual wear was a suit without a tie, but even then he tended to favor silk T-shirts in place of his usual handmade dress shirts. She wondered if he even owned a pair of jeans. He must. They’d been friends for years, and she’d seen photos of him swimming and skiing. Surely he didn’t wade up out of the ocean or come down off the slopes only to relax in a nice three-piece, Italian wool suit. It was just that most of their interactions had taken place in more formal surroundings.

Truthfully, Ann didn’t have much of a life outside the hotel. Being on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week put a damper on a girl’s social life. That was why she and Jordan had become friends in the first place; she just didn’t have a lot of other options.

When Jordan had returned to Dallas to temporarily take over for her during her leave of absence so she could help her father through this health challenge, Jordan had immediately confessed that he’d formed feelings for her when he’d been her boss that had gone beyond friendship. He’d declared that he meant to sweep her off her feet, and then he’d done just that. In the three weeks they’d had to bring him up to speed on the current operations of the hotel before she’d left for Oklahoma, they’d become engaged.

Strangely, however, Jordan, Dallas and the hotel no longer seemed quite real. Instead, Dean Pryor, War Bonnet and the Straight Arrow were her current reality. Surely it was natural, then, to compare Jordan to Dean.

And yet, she could not bring herself to do it. She simply refused to compare her fiancé to Dean Pryor in any way. She didn’t even want to know why.

* * *

“Yep, those are boots, all right,” Dean pronounced, staring down at Ann’s feet on Friday morning. He was very glad that he’d kept his sunglasses on after she’d driven up and gotten out of the truck, for he feared that she’d have read in his eyes exactly what he thought of those pink-and-pearl-white, pointed-toe monstrosities.

Apparently he didn’t cover his opinion up well enough, because she brought her hands to her shapely hips and demanded, “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “They’ll protect your toes out here just fine.”

She frowned at the rounded toes of his scuffed, brown leather boots then tilted her head, obviously comparing her own footwear with his. Her boots were designed for riding, with toes so sharp that they almost curled upward at the tips. She had clearly chosen them based on color and style rather than function, but he wouldn’t embarrass her by saying so. Unfortunately, Cam wasn’t that circumspect.

One of the longtime hands at Straight Arrow Ranch, Cam had evidently known Ann from childhood. How else could he have gotten away with calling her pet names?

“You always did like fancy duds, Freckles,” Cam declared, strolling up to the harvester where Dean and Ann stood talking. “Oo-ee! You bought them boots right outta the window of the Western wear store up there in Duncan, didn’t you? Why, them things been there nigh on thirty years, I reckon.” He grinned at Dean, shaking his head. “Just goes to show that something’ll come back in style if you wait long enough, don’t it?”

Dean kept his jaw clamped and rubbed his nose, while Ann turned red. She lifted her chin and seemed about to turn on her heel when Donovan ran up behind her. He just naturally threw his arms around her thighs and hugged her, startling a high, shocked yip out of her. To Donovan, anyone he saw more than twice was a close, personal friend.

“Hello!” he sang, swinging around her body as if she were a maypole, a long-legged maypole wearing hideous boots.

She recovered quickly, smiled and smoothed a hand across Donovan’s back. “Hello. Where’s your dog?”

For an answer, Donovan put his head back and yelled, “Digger!” The dog bolted from somewhere to the boy’s side. “Here he is.”

“That’s one fine dog,” Cam declared enviously. “Show her what he can do.”

Thinking that it might take her mind off the boots and Donovan’s unorthodox greeting, Dean complied. He put Digger through a series of tricks then nodded to Donovan.

“Ready?” Donovan fell to his knees. “Digger, protect!” Dean commanded.

Instantly the dog knocked the boy to the ground and stood over him with all four legs, growling, teeth bared, while Donovan lay still beneath the animal.

“Digger, safe!” Dean said.

The dog moved to sit beside the boy, its tongue lolling happily from its mouth. Donovan hugged and petted the dog, crooning softly to it.

“That’s amazing,” Ann said.

“Wish I had me a dog like that,” Cam said, not for the first time. “You ought to think about training dogs for a living, Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Not much call for that around here, I imagine.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ann said. “Lots of local farmers and ranchers use herding dogs. They might be interested in the kind of protective training Digger has.”

Dean shrugged. “You can’t train just the dog. You have to train the owner, too.”

Donovan got up, and Dean went to dust him off, but Ann reached him before Dean did.

“How does your mama manage your laundry?” she asked, ruffling his hair.

“Don’t got a mama,” Donovan announced baldly. “Grandma does my laundry.”

“And a chore it is, too,” Dean said quickly, whacking dirt from Donovan’s bottom. “Run and get the water jug now. We’ve got work to do.”

Donovan nodded, but he stood looking up at Ann for a second longer. “I like your boots,” he said before taking off with Digger on his heels.

“Thank you,” she called after him, turning a wry smile on Dean. He had to clear his throat and swallow to keep from laughing as he turned toward the cab of the harvester.

Cam said, “That reminds me. I need to check the water in the east range.” He ambled off toward the four-wheeler that Rex had recently purchased.

Dean traded his cowboy hat for the ball cap then turned toward the combine. To his surprise, he felt Ann’s hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to find her biting her lip.

“Um, obviously I could use some...guidance.”

Guidance. Somehow he thought this could be a momentous admission for Ann Jollett Billings. Letting go of the rails, he turned to face her.

“About?”

She looked down at her toes then up at him. “I’ve been away from the ranch for a long time. Obviously I don’t have a clue about what boots to buy.”

The grin he’d been trying to hold back since she’d first climbed out of her dad’s old truck broke free at last. “They sure saw you coming, didn’t they?”

She smacked him in the shoulder, which made him laugh. Then she laughed, too.

“They were in the window. I thought they were the latest style. I didn’t even look at anything else.”

“I hope they were cheap, at least.”

“I don’t know.” She told him what she’d paid, and he nodded.

“Cheap enough.” He considered a moment and made a decision. “I’ve got to take Donovan shopping for school supplies tomorrow. If you want to come along, we’ll see about getting you into a proper pair of boots.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Donovan would love it if you came,” Dean pointed out, “especially as Digger will have to stay home.” He shook his head. “The truth is, I’m not sure how he’s going to manage school without Digger. Donovan was eighteen months old when we got that dog. I’m having to find ways to wean them apart.”