Cathy Thacker: A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe

Something in her expression said that wasn’t the whole story. Curious, Hank asked, “The company you work for wouldn’t let you hold them over to the new calendar year?”

Ally’s eyes became even more evasive. “The one I used to work for, before the merger, would have. The financial services firm I work for now is a lot more hard-nosed.”

Clearly, she wasn’t happy with her new bosses. “You could always quit,” he pointed out. “Work the ranch instead.”

He may as well have suggested she take a bath with a skunk.

“Not in a million years,” she retorted, stomping around to the passenger side. “Besides, there’s no way I’m voluntarily giving up my management position.”

She removed a heavy leather briefcase on wheels and a shoulder bag from the front seat, then headed toward the steps.

Hank strode down to help her with them, too. “No doubt you’ve risen fast in corporate America. And worked hard to get there.” He lifted the heavy briefcase onto the porch and set it beside her suitcases. “Your mom used to brag all the time about how well you were doing in the big city.”

Hurt turned down the corners of her soft lips. “Just not my dad,” she reflected sadly.

Hank opened the front door and set her belongings in the foyer. “We all knew how he wished you’d returned to Laramie to work, after college. But parents don’t always get what they want in that regard. Ask my mom. She about had a fit when I told her I was joining the marines.”

Ally lingered on the porch, turning her slender body into the brisk wind blowing across the rolling terrain. “Your dad understood, though.”

Hank tracked her gaze to the small herd of cattle grazing in the distance, then glanced at the gloomy sky. “Dad rodeoed before he settled down. He understands risk is a part of life, same as breathing. Mom, once she had kids, well, she just wanted to protect her brood.”

Turning back to face him, Ally leaned against the porch column. “Yet you came back for good last summer, anyway.”

Hank shrugged, not about to go into the reasons for that, any more than he wanted to go over the reasons why he had left Texas as abruptly as he had. “Laramie is my home,” he said stubbornly.

Ally’s delicate brow furrowed. She jumped in alarm and squinted at the barn, pointing at the open doors. “What was that?” she demanded, clearly shaken.

Hank turned in that direction. “What was what?”

Shivering, Ally folded her arms again. “I thought I saw some animal dart into the barn.”

Hank saw no movement of any kind. “You sure?”

“I’m positive!” she snapped, visibly chagrined.

Her skittish reaction clued him into the fact that she was definitely not the outdoorsy type-which did not bode well for ranch activity of any sort.

“What kind of animal?” he persisted. “A fox? Weasel? Snake? Armadillo?”

Ally shivered again and backed closer to the house. “None of the above.” She kept a wary eye on the barn.

Hank was about out of patience. “Describe it.”

She held her hands out, about three feet apart. “It was big. And brown…”

Which could be practically anything, including a groundhog or deer. Unable to help himself, he quipped, “We don’t have grizzly bears in these parts.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “I did not say it was a grizzly bear! I just don’t know what kind of mammal it was.”

Realizing the situation could be more serious than he was willing to let on, particularly if the animal were rabid, Hank grabbed a shovel from the bed of his pickup truck. “Then you better wait here.”

ALLY HAD NEVER LIKED taking orders.

But she liked dealing with wildlife even less.

So she waited, pacing and shifting her weight from foot to foot as Hank strode purposefully across the gravel drive to the weathered gray barn. Seconds later, he disappeared inside the big building. Ally cocked her head, listening… waiting.

To her frustration, silence reigned. Hank did not reappear.

Which could not be good, since she had definitely seen something dash furtively through those wide doors.

When yet another minute passed and he hadn’t reemerged, she decided to head over to the barn herself. There was no need to worry, Ally told herself. Hank was probably fine. Had there been any kind of trouble, he would have let out a yell.

He probably had whatever it was cornered already-or was trying to figure out how to prompt it to run out the back doors, assuming he could get them open…

Her heart racing, Ally reached the portal. Looked inside. Hank was twenty feet to her right, hunkered down, the shovel lying by his side. With his hat cocked back on his head, he was peering silently into the corner.

“What is it?” Ally strode swiftly toward him, her heels making a purposeful rat-a-tat-tat on the concrete barn floor. And that was when all hell broke loose.

Hank had seen his fair share of startled animals in the midst of a fight-or-flight response. So the commotion that followed Ally’s rapid entry into the shadowy barn was no surprise.

Her reaction to the cornered creature’s bounding, snarling brouhaha was.

She stumbled sideways, knocking into Hank, and screaming loudly enough to alert the entire county. An action that caused their unexpected intruder to lunge forward and frantically defend its temporary refuge.

In the resulting cacophony, Hank half expected Ally to scream again. Instead, like a combat soldier in the midst of a panic attack, she went pale as a ghost. Pulse leaping in her throat, she seemed frozen in place, and so overcome with fear she was unable to breathe.

Afraid she might faint on him-if she didn’t have a heart attack, that was-Hank gave up on trying to soothe the startled stray. He vaulted to his feet and grabbed hold of Ally. “It’s all right. I’ve got it under control.”

Although she barely moved, her frantic expression indicated she disagreed.

“Just stay here and don’t move,” he told her, as the frantic leaping, snarling and snapping continued.

He started to move away, but Ally clutched his sleeve in her fist and gave him a beseeching look.

Unfortunately, Hank knew what he had to do or the situation would only get worse.

“Stay here and don’t move,” he repeated, in the same commanding voice he had used on green recruits.

He pried her fingers from his arm and stepped closer to the other hysterical female in the room. He approached confidently but cautiously, hand outstretched.

“Come on, now. Let’s just simmer down.” He regarded the mud-soaked coat studded with thorns, looked into dark, liquid eyes. “I can see you tangled with a mesquite thicket and lost,” he remarked in a low, soothing voice.

He stopped just short of the cornered animal and hunkered down so they were on an equal level.

As he had hoped, the aggressive growling slowed and finally stopped.

Another second passed and then his fat-bellied opponent collapsed in weary submission on the cold, hard cement.

ALLY WATCHED AS HANK slowly stood and, talking gently all the while, closed the distance between himself and the intruder. Confidently, he knelt in front of the beast.

The muddy animal lifted its big square head off the concrete and ever so gingerly leaned over to sniff Hank’s palm. While Ally stood frozen in place, still paralyzed with fear, Hank calmly murmured words of comfort to the wild animal.

The beast answered his kind welcome with a thump of its straggly tail, then dropped its big nose and licked Hank’s palm. A broad smiled creased the cowboy’s handsome face. Chuckling, he lifted his other hand to the back of the filthy animal’s head and began to scratch it consolingly behind the ears, his touch so obviously gentle and tender Ally wished she could experience it.