The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride

Just like that? She wanted to raise her fist and yell, “Yippee!” but she said a silent prayer of thanks instead. “Perfect. As for the living arrangements, I appreciate you allowing Logan and Sarah to stay in the larger house, but I insist you take the two-bedroom guest cabin. You’re in a position of authority here, and your lodging should reflect it.”

He nodded.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked. “Any concerns?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Clint, we graduated high school together. Ma’am makes me feel like I’m a hundred and fifty years old. Call me Lexi.”

“I don’t know if I feel right doing that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, if you’re going to be my boss, I think it should be more formal.”

“I will be your boss, but we’re going to have to be comfortable enough with each other that you can come to me with any problems. We’ll be meeting weekly on Thursday mornings to discuss the ranch. I might not be involved in the daily operations, but I am very invested in its future.”

“I’m glad to hear that. This is your ranch. You should be invested.”

“Exactly. Jerry has paperwork for you to fill out. I’ll meet you down there in half an hour to show you to your new home.” She held out her hand. “Thanks, Clint, for coming today. Welcome aboard.”

The warm strength in his callused hand assured her she’d chosen wisely. He dipped his head and left. As soon as the front door clicked shut, she went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Her hand trembled as she filled the cup. She kept forgetting to eat. Maybe a piece of toast to go with the tea...

How had her life changed so drastically? One minute she was on top of the world, succeeding at her dream job. The next, plunged into the abyss of her father’s death.

Six months. That’s how long it had been since she’d visited Daddy. He’d appeared to be in fine health in May. They’d ridden on horseback around the ranch the way they always did. She’d had no idea he had cancer.

Had he known?

Of course not.

If he had known, he would have told her. She would have come back, gone to the doctor with him, made sure he got chemotherapy and radiation and anything that would have saved him. But they hadn’t known. And now it was too late.

Why didn’t I make more of an effort to come home this summer? He must have been sick. Must have had some symptoms. And I wasn’t here to notice.

Her throat tightened the way it had repeatedly since she’d gotten the call from Jerry saying her father had died.

When she’d told Clint this ranch was the only thing left of her parents and her childhood, she’d meant it. And she wasn’t about to lose it, too.

* * *

As Lexi gave him the tour of the two-bedroom log cabin, Clint mentally tallied a to-do list. It was dusty, but the open area with the kitchen, dining and living room was larger than his current apartment’s, and the master bedroom had a nice view of the mountains. He planned to take his coffee first thing each day on the covered porch. Frankly, it was the nicest place he’d lived in and, even unfurnished, it felt like home.

Home. A sense of foreboding killed his good mood. Had he ever belonged anywhere? If he started identifying this place as home, he’d lose it, the way he’d been torn from every other place where he’d felt comfortable.

He needed to remain detached.

At least the main house was up the lane far enough for him to maintain a necessary distance from his boss. Other than weekly meetings, he saw no reason why they would need to see each other.

“The river’s great for fishing, and feel free to use the ATVs anytime. If you need help moving in, just holler. I’m sure one of the ranch hands would be happy to lend a hand.”

“Yes, ma’a—” He caught himself. “Thank you, Miss Lexi.”

She leaned against the kitchen counter and glared. “Clint, Jerry, who is seventy-five years old, calls me Miss Lexi. It’s Lexi. Just Lexi.”

He itched to smile, but she looked paler, more tired than she had earlier. He studied her more closely.

Thin. Too thin. Dark smudges under her eyes. Cheekbones jutting out. Her clothes hung on her. Was she eating enough? Or at all?

She had the look of someone who’d had to be strong for too long. It reminded him of moving into his first foster home after his grandfather died when Clint was six. Even though Grandpa had been mean as a rattler, when the man passed, Clint knew deep inside he was all alone in the world and his life would never be the same. Did Lexi feel alone, too? He wanted to tuck her under a blanket on the couch. Protect her.

He shook his head. Him protecting her? What a laugh. She didn’t need someone like him.

She stepped forward and wobbled.

“Have you eaten lately?” He moved closer, ready to catch her if she fainted.

“What?” She blinked, shaking her head, and swayed. He reached for her, steadied her.

“Come on, I’ll take you back. You need some food.”

“I’m fine.” Her protest sounded weak. “I had some toast a little bit ago.”

“It’s five thirty. You need a meal.” He kept a loose hold on her arm and led her to the door. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped. “Zip up. You don’t want to catch cold.”

To his relief, she didn’t argue. She zipped her coat and fell in beside him. When they reached the house, he followed her inside. A napkin with a half-eaten piece of toast lay on the end table. Probably the only food she’d eaten today.

“Sit on the couch, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I couldn’t ask you—”

“I’m not driving back to Cheyenne on an empty stomach. I’ll make some supper and get out of here.”

She sat on the couch, looking lost. “Okay.”

He opened her fridge and pantry. Chicken broth, noodles, frozen carrots. “Are you saving the chicken in the freezer for anything?”

“There’s chicken in the freezer?”

He chuckled under his breath. “I’m using it.”

After opening cupboards and drawers, he had a good idea of where everything was stored. He chopped an onion, defrosted and diced the chicken, and heated oil in a frying pan. He filled a large pot with the chicken stock and set it on the stove to boil.

Lexi crept up and sat on one of the bar stools opposite him. “What are you making?”

“Chicken noodle soup.”

“Really, you can cook?”