Cathy Thacker - A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe

“First of all-” Hank leaned past Ally “-it’s a she. And according to the rhinestone-studded collar she was wearing-” he lifted said collar out of the cleansing bubbles in the sink “-her name is Duchess.”

Ally leaned closer and inspected the fancy collar without touching it. Then once again her gaze met Hank’s. “Who does she belong to?”

“I don’t know yet.” Ignoring the quickening of his pulse, he knelt and fastened the pink leather strap around Duchess’s throat. This was no time to want to bed a woman.

Especially when she was his landlord. “It had no ring for metal identification tags.” And hence was strictly decorative. But that confirmed Hank’s guess that Duchess was a beloved house pet, not your run-of-the-mill stray.

He gave her fur one last rub, then dropped the towel and stood, motioning for the dog to do the same.

Abruptly fearful once again, Ally moved back into the hall. “So what are you going to do next?” she demanded.

“Feed her. Get her a bowl of water.” Come back and clean up this mess. And most of all, stop feeling attracted to you. Hank moved through the door, and Duchess trotted by his side.

“And then?” Ally pressed.

He paused in his bedroom to remove his damp shirt and pull a dry, long-sleeved henley over his head. He grabbed a pair of jeans and slipped into the bathroom to change. “I already put in a call to my cousin Kurt.”

When he emerged, still zipping up his pants, Ally was staring at him as if she’d never seen a man disrobe. Her mouth agape, she watched him fish a pair of wool socks from a dresser drawer.

Hank sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the socks. Conversationally, he continued. “Kurt is a veterinarian here now.”

Scowling, Ally shook her head as if to clear it. “I know that,” she stated irritably.

“Anyway-” ignoring Ally’s sudden pique, Hank headed down the stairs, Duchess by his side “-Kurt can’t recall a golden retriever named Duchess, but he’s having his staff go through the clinic’s records to make sure she isn’t a patient of one of the other veterinarians in the practice.”

Ally followed slowly, her arms clamped defensively in front of her. Giving Duchess and Hank plenty of room, she finally reached the foyer. Lingering next to the newel post, she asked, “And what if that’s not the case? Then what?”

Hank shrugged. “Kurt’ll put out the word to other veterinarians in the area. I’ll notify the Laramie County animal shelter, the newspaper and any other organization I can think of, till we figure out where she belongs.” He strode past Ally into the kitchen, with Duchess right on his heels.

Ally followed, again keeping wide a berth from the two of them. She watched Hank pull a stoneware bowl out of the cupboard, fill it with water and set it on the floor in front of the dog.

Duchess lowered her head and drank thirstily.

Ally lounged against the aging laminate counter. “How do you know she wasn’t just dumped in the country because her owners decided they no longer wanted her?”

Hank shot her an astonished look. “Seriously?”

He went to the fridge and, for lack of anything better, pulled out a package of smoked ham and several slices of bread. He crumbled them on a plate and set that in front of the dog, too. It was just as quickly and efficiently demolished.

“Seriously,” Ally replied in a flat, no-nonsense tone.

Hank debated giving the dog more food, then decided to wait an hour, rather than overdoing it initially and having the food come right back up.

He headed for the living room, and motioned for Duchess to follow. Once there, he glanced out the window at the increasingly gloomy sky, then walked over to build a fire in the grate. The retriever collapsed beside him while Ally lingered in the doorway once again. “Well, for starters, I can’t imagine anyone no longer wanting such a beautiful, loving dog,” Hank said. “Duchess’s temperament and behavior indicate she has been very well cared for up to now, wherever her home was. So it follows that whoever bought her the collar must be missing her desperately, wondering what’s happened to her. Especially now.”

Ally blinked. “What do you mean, especially now?”

Hank glanced at the dog’s drooping, barrel-shaped belly. “You really don’t know?” he asked in amazement.

Ally waved an impatient hand. “Don’t know and don’t care. The point is, Hank…” she paused and stared at him defiantly “…the dog can’t stay here.”

As if on cue, a cold rain began to beat against the windows. After lighting the fire, he looked out at the gloomy sky again and knew the winter storm they had been anticipating had finally arrived. He turned back to Ally, not about to throw out into the elements the dog he had just painstakingly cleaned up. “I don’t know why not. It’s not as if I’m asking you to do anything, Ally. I plan to take care of her.” He lit the fire.

Crossing her arms yet again, Ally watched the blaze take off. “I don’t want a dog in the house,” she stated.

Hank moved his gaze away from the contentious stance of her shapely legs. “Well, I do. And since we have no formal written legal agreement in place banning a pet of any kind-and you already gave me another two weeks before I have to vacate the property-it looks like Duchess will stay. You, on the other hand…” he paused to let his words sink in “…are welcome to find a room at the inn.”

Ally did a double take. “You’re seriously trying to kick me out of my own home?” she asked, aghast.

Hank gave the logs another poke and replaced the screen. Slowly and deliberately, he rose to his feet. Noticing how his large body dwarfed her much smaller, delicate one, he murmured. “I’m just saying you have a choice, Ally. You can stay. Accept that it’s Christmas-a time of giving-and that this golden beauty landed on our doorstep, in need of shelter and some tender loving care prior to the big event. Or…”

“ What big event?” Ally interrupted, her brow furrowing yet again. “What are you talking about!”

Hard to believe this woman had grown up on a ranch. With a sigh of exasperation, Hank took another step closer and spelled it out for the gorgeous heiress. “Duchess is going to have puppies. And judging by the size of her belly, it’s going to be soon.”

Ally stared at Hank and the rotund golden retriever curled at his feet, already half-asleep. “Puppies,” she repeated in shock.

Crinkles appeared at the corners of Hank’s eyes. He gestured magnanimously. “Merry Christmas.”

Ally pressed a hand to her temple and sagged against an overstuffed club chair in a hideous floral pattern that clashed with the yellowed horse-and-hound wallpaper.

“This is surreal,” she gasped.

Hank strode past her and went back up the stairs, leaving Ally to follow. He went into the bathroom. “More like one of those holiday commercials you see on TV, with all the cute little golden puppies running around. Or it will be, once Duchess delivers her brood.”

He grabbed a bottle of spray disinfectant and liberally spritzed the floor and tub. With the ease of a man used to doing for himself, he tugged another clean towel off the shelf and used it to wipe down the dampened areas.

Aware that she was close enough to touch him, Ally stepped back to let him work. “She can’t do that here!”

He gathered up the wet, filthy towels and mat, and dumped them into a plastic laundry basket he pulled from the bottom of the linen closet. His sensually shaped lips twisted cynically. “You keep saying that…” he chided softly. He gave her a long considering look, then brushed past her once again, headed purposefully back down the stairs.