A Randall Thanksgiving

“Well, no, he knows when he needs to be sweet, like when he found you sobbing. Not when he’s breaking up a fight.”

Melissa had to admit the logic in Caro’s response. And she acquiesced. “Okay, I’ll stop by and thank Harry. Then I’m going home to fight Mom.”

“I hope you win,” Caroline said, her face suddenly serious.

Melissa left the hospital, wrapping her coat more tightly around her. In one pocket she felt a damp cloth, and pulled out a man’s handkerchief. It must be Harry’s. She had a vague memory of him wiping her cheeks.

She received some curious stares as she walked along the sidewalk in Rawhide, where she’d grown up. It seemed almost no one remembered her, except for her cousins. Thank goodness for them, she thought. It certainly seemed strange to be almost anonymous in a town like Rawhide.

She made a mental note to ask Caro how it felt being away for so long and coming back to town.

Her mother had told her about Caroline’s belief that she couldn’t have children. She hadn’t wanted to come home from Chicago, where she did her internship, because all the Randalls seemed focused on babies. Then she’d met the sheriff and they’d fallen in love and gotten married one Christmas, and now she and Mike Davis had two little boys.

Melissa knew the family thought the world of Mike. But she herself wasn’t ready to settle down. Especially in Rawhide. It was like a company town, and the company was named The Randalls. It seemed at least half the population was kin to her.

Deep in her reverie, she almost walked past the Sheriff’s Office. Stopping, she opened the door and stepped in. There sat Harry Gowan, doing some paperwork. She cleared her throat.

Without lifting his head, Harry said, “You got anything to report, Wayne?”

Blinking in surprise, she said, “There was an hysterical female, but she’s recovered.”

He got to his feet and walked around his desk to where Melissa stood. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to thank you for helping me. I was…a little distressed.”

“A little?” he questioned with a smile.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, a little.” Then she remembered she needed to keep him in a good mood so he’d agree to her request. “I, uh, need to ask you something.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I know I lost my temper and I’m sorry, but…could you not tell my father about our meeting this morning?”

“You mean about opening the door when you shouldn’t have? And shoving the cookies at me and stomping off?”

She gritted her teeth. Did he have to list every offense? “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“I think I can manage to forget that.” He smiled at her. “The cookies were really good, by the way.”

“I’m glad you liked them,” she said, but she didn’t smile. “I should warn you that my father was matchmaking. You need to be on your guard.”

Harry looked puzzled. “Why would he do that?”

“He wants me to stay here in Rawhide. He’s trying to find someone to marry me.”

Harry grinned and raised his brows. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“If that’s a compliment, thank you, but I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Dad has chosen you as the prime candidate for my not-so-future husband. You’d better start running in the other direction whenever you see me.”

“Assuming I’m not interested.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are or not,” she told him, her voice firm. “I’m going back to France after Christmas.”

“Oh, yeah? Then I might as well kiss you goodbye,” he said, as if his words were normal, acceptable.

Without any more warning than that, he pulled her into his arms and planted a kiss on her lips like none she’d ever received. When he had her reeling, he abruptly put her away from him.

“Have a nice trip, Melissa Randall.”

She stared at him blankly, unable to figure out what she was supposed to do. Then reality poured in and she glared at him. “I will!”

And she left the Sheriff’s Office the same way she had earlier.

Chapter Three

Harry buried his head in his arms after Melissa Randall left the office. He figured he’d just made a bad mistake. He’d been tempted by her several times since he’d met her, but he’d merely imagined how it could be between them. Now he knew.

She had the most kissable lips he’d ever tasted. She fit against him perfectly.

Could she be right? Could her father be looking for a husband to keep her at home?

Harry didn’t want that role. Forcing a woman to do something she didn’t want to do was a losing proposition. He’d seen it in his parents. His mother had had hopes of going to Hollywood and being a star. His father had gotten her pregnant and married her, to keep her with him. They’d had a miserable marriage, and he and his sister had suffered.

He thought he’d learned that lesson, but when he finished college he’d almost made the same mistake as his father. The woman he’d been seriously dating had wanted to go to Denver, a big city, and he’d chosen Rawhide. He’d assumed she’d change her mind and come with him. Fortunately for both of them, she’d gone to Denver.

Forced relationships meant someone was sacrificing something that mattered a lot. He suspected whatever Melissa was doing in France—and he didn’t know what that was—it mattered to her a great deal. If she chose to live abroad, then there was no hope for a relationship. He could accept that.

As long as he kept his distance.

“Harry? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

One of the other deputies had entered.

“No, Wayne, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“Where’s the sheriff?”

“He went out to the Miller place, south of town. They think they’ve been having some cattle rustling out there, and he wanted to look around.”

“We haven’t had any cattle rustling in a while. Hope we don’t have it start up again. Is that what you’re worrying about?”

“Uh, yeah. The holidays are a bad time to be hit by rustlers,” Harry said, hoping he sounded believable. Compared to the attraction he felt for Melissa Randall, rustling was a small blip on the radar.

The door opened again and Mike Davis, sheriff of their county and husband to Dr. Caroline Randall Davis, came in.

Harry wondered how difficult it had been for Mike, being attracted to a Randall woman. He’d never really asked him about that.

Before he could do so, Wayne asked about the cattle rustlers. “Did you find anything, Sheriff?”