Jill Kemerer - The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride

Strange that the outbuildings, fences and property were in top-notch order, but this house had been allowed to fall apart.

He turned his attention to the woman he recognized from high school. Still slim in dark jeans and an oversize white sweater. Long, dark brown waves spilled over her shoulders. Her pale face held high cheekbones, full eyebrows and thin pink lips. But Alexandra wore sad the way he wore regret—it permeated her, surrounded her—and he had the strongest urge to take it from her. Which was a laugh, since he had no idea how. He’d never been around many women and probably never would be.

He did know what it was like to suddenly have no family, though. Her father had died three weeks ago. She had every right to be sad.

She took a seat on an old tan couch, motioning for him to sit opposite her, and he obliged, his cowboy hat in his hands.

“Dottie Lavert mentioned you might be interested in managing the ranch for me.” Her words were quiet but firm. “As you know, Daddy died unexpectedly, and I need someone here sooner rather than later.”

He nodded, not knowing what to think of the way she was fingering the bottom edge of her sweater. Was she nervous? No. This was Alexandra Harrington. Vice president of their senior class, organizer of proms and dances and who knew what else.

“I remember you from high school,” she said. “You worked on a ranch then, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He was surprised she remembered him at all. His one goal in high school had been to be as invisible as possible. As a teen, he’d poured all his energy into keeping his spot at Yearling Group Home for teen boys. The Laverts had been hired to run the group foster home. Back then, Big Bob Lavert kept the boys in line while his wife, Dottie, cooked their meals, made sure they did their homework and accompanied them to church. Too bad Yearling had shut down several years ago. It had helped a lot of kids like him who had nowhere else to go.

“From your résumé, I see you’ve been working for the oil company.” She smiled, her expression open, expectant. “And before that you worked on LFR Ranch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Lexi.”

Lexi? He couldn’t call her Lexi. Couldn’t even think of her as Lexi. Too familiar, too accessible. Alexandra had the right amount of remoteness for his liking.

“I learned about calving, grazing, hay production, keeping the books and maintaining the property from my years at LFR.” He paused, unsure how much more to tell her. If he confessed how he’d left LFR and then been duped out of his own tiny piece of Wyoming, she’d boot him right out the door. And if he admitted he’d spent four years avoiding working on a ranch because it had hurt too much to be surrounded by what he’d lost, she’d think he was crazy. “I’ve been working for the oil company for four years now.”

She picked up the top paper from a stack on the end table next to her. “Yes, I see you were promoted three times in as many years. Impressive.”

Impressive? Him? If she only knew... He hoped she didn’t ask about the six months between LFR Ranch and the oil company. If asked outright, he wouldn’t lie to her. And he didn’t want to return to his mind-numbing job.

“I need someone I can depend on to do all the things my father did. I own a wedding planning company in Denver. I’ve already told my employees I’ll be living in Wyoming at least until Christmas. To put it simply, my business takes all of my time. If running my company from here proves too difficult, I’ll have to move back to Colorado. In that case, I’d come to the ranch once a month or so. I need someone here who is self-motivated. Someone who can delegate work to the ranch hands. Someone I can trust.”

Could she trust him? Did he trust himself?

She continued. “The next question might seem forward, but I have to know. Do you drink?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing, clearly unconvinced.

“I’ve seen what it does to people and have no desire to try it.” He held her gaze. “I like to be in complete control of my faculties. At all times. I’ll take a drug test if you’d like.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She massaged the back of her neck. She looked tired. More than tired. Exhausted. “You’re not the first person to be considered for this position. I hired a man last week who had a problem with the hard stuff. What a disaster he turned out to be. Daddy’s right-hand man, Jerry Cornell—you’ll meet him in a little while—found him at noon on Saturday still lit out of his mind, sitting in the river in his drawers when he should have been working. When I called him into the office, he had the nerve to tell me not to worry my ‘purdy’ little head about it. Needless to say, I had to let him go.” She got to her feet and started pacing. “He’s fortunate he didn’t get hypothermia.”

Clint strangled the hat between his hands. He’d worked with plenty of cowboys who drank too much. The fact one of them would disrespect her made him want to rope the jerk up.

She spun to face him, chin high. “This is my home. The only thing left of my childhood and my parents. I have ranch hands and their families depending on me for their income. If keeping this operation profitable and in tip-top shape isn’t your number-one priority, you will not work here. It’s that simple. And, in case I didn’t make it clear, I have the final say in all ranch decisions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He could keep a ranch in tip-top shape. But profitable? He’d made a bad financial choice years ago. What if he made one again?

She sighed then, her body sagging as if someone had let the air out of her. “I’ll take you out to meet Jerry. He’ll show you around and feed you lunch. When you’re done, come back up here and we’ll talk.”

Good. She was a take-charge woman unafraid to be his boss. The firmer the line between employee and employer, the better. As long as he made wise decisions concerning the cattle, he could spend his days doing what he loved best—living the cowboy life.

Working for the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

Living the single cowboy life.

Pretty or not, no woman would want a man who’d been stupid enough to get swindled out of the one thing he’d ever wanted—a ranch of his own.

* * *

“Well, Jerry, what do you think?” Lexi sat on a stool in the ranch manager’s office adjoining the stables. The room smelled of dirt, large animals and burned coffee. Everywhere she looked, she found clutter of the male kind. Ropes, broken bridles, spray cans full of who knew what, stained papers and tools. Her office in Denver was painted the pale pink of a rose petal and smelled of magnolias. She missed it.

Which brought her back to the three-week-old question...why was she still here? After the funeral, she’d packed her suitcase with every intention of driving back to her life in Denver. She hadn’t made it off the property before turning around, filled with the sensation she was deserting the place, the same way she’d deserted her father to focus on expanding her company.

Where did she belong? Here with her memories or back in the city with Weddings by Alexandra?

“Clint’s a good ’un, Miss Lexi.” The wire-thin man scratched his chin and scanned Clint’s résumé. “His former bosses paint him as a fine man.”

She thought as much, too, but it was reassuring to hear it from Jerry. She tapped a pen against her chin. “Any reason you can think of why I shouldn’t hire him?”

“Nope.” He rolled the paper and smacked it on the plywood counter.

Taking it from Jerry, she uncurled it. Perused it once more. “What about the gap between jobs? It was four years ago, but...”

Jerry shook his head. “A lot of cowboys have periods they can’t account for.”