Jill Kemerer - The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride

A vision of her and Daddy riding together filled her mind, and she willed away the knot in her throat. Had he been thinner the last time she saw him? Shouldn’t there have been warning signs cancer was killing his body?

How many times had she thought she should call and check up on him? But she’d put it off. Too busy replying to texts and placing orders and calling clients.

And now it was too late.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Lord, I don’t know how to get through this. Every time I think of Daddy, I can’t breathe.

She curled her fingers into her palms. Her father hadn’t raised a coward. He’d always told her two things: “Keep your word good” and “Don’t forget to close the gate.”

She had a feeling she’d offended Clint earlier, and she couldn’t afford to lose him, not when he’d taken the weight of worrying about the ranch off her back. She hoped riding the land where she’d spent so many hours with her father wouldn’t be too difficult and the tears she’d suppressed for weeks stayed down under, where they belonged.

* * *

Clint ignored the harsh wind on his face and admired Nugget, the fifteen-hand palomino Lexi rode. A beauty of a horse. And the woman riding it? Could have been born in the saddle.

Lexi was intriguing. Sophisticated, yet completely at ease with all the ranch employees she’d shaken hands with before they’d ridden out. A shrewd businesswoman, yet utterly feminine. Sitting in her office earlier had felt like sitting in the center of a wedding bouquet. He’d never felt so out of place in his life. He preferred his ranch office with tools, rope, rags and the smells of earth and cattle.

Once again, the state of her house picked at his conscience. He’d noticed it all again when he’d left their meeting. The dripping faucet. The torn screen. The worn, neglected air of the place. The missing stones from the fireplace.

The fireplace flue probably hadn’t been cleaned out in years. What if she wanted to build a fire? It could be dangerous.

Not my problem. I’m her employee. And my place on this ranch will be secure as long as I keep my mouth shut and the operation running smoothly.

The longer he worked on the ranch, the more impressed he became. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. But as remarkable as the ranch was, its income and expenses were precarious this year.

Jerry had told him all about RJ Harrington’s plans to produce and store hay to sell throughout the country, but Clint didn’t see how they could afford to buy the farm equipment this winter.

The prices of cattle lately were low. Too low.

Should he have urged her to wait to sell the calves? When Lexi had asked his opinion earlier, he’d blanked. The decision had felt as important as pressing the button to launch a nuclear bomb. He’d mentally gone back to the day when he’d lost his land, the day he’d stopped trusting himself. And instead of telling her what he really thought, he’d backed down.

Lexi deserved better than that.

He glanced at her again. She didn’t trust him. He was used to it. As far as he could remember, no one had ever trusted him until they’d gotten to know him, and most never did. His grandfather had called him a worthless brat on a daily basis. Foster parents watched him with the eyes of a red-tailed hawk. Teachers referred to him as that Romine kid. Employers gave him the lowliest jobs before giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Trust had to be earned.

And Lexi was right not to trust him. He hadn’t told her about losing his land. But if he had, would she have hired him? Doubtful. And anyhow, he was doing everything in his power to manage Rock Step Ranch wisely.

They approached the fence line.

“I haven’t been to this pasture in a few years.” Her voice was muffled, and he strained to hear her. She faced him then, her light brown eyes wide and watery. Was the wind ripping the moisture from them, or was she about to cry?

He stilled. This was his boss, and he didn’t have much experience around tears.

She turned Nugget to the east. Ridges and gullies of windblown grass and sage surrounded them.

“Daddy and I used to ride out to check fences before I got so caught up in high school activities. I must have been eleven or twelve when we came out here on a day like this. Cold. But it hadn’t snowed yet. I’d missed a sleepover party at my friend’s house, so I was sulking. But coming out here with Daddy made my troubles disappear.”

Clint hung on every word. He almost wanted to raise his hand, to tell her to stop, to not say anything more, because sharing memories, no matter how small, would bind them. Even if he didn’t reply, he’d get more invested in Lexi as a person than he already was.

And he needed her to be Lexi, the nice lady he worked for, not Lexi, the woman he could care about.

She swept her arm across the land. “He noticed everything. An elk off in the distance, the remains of a snake near the fence where a hawk had made its meal. I remember thinking there was nothing better in the world than being out here with him. Daddy was smarter and kinder than anyone I knew. And we could just be quiet, be ourselves. You know what I mean?”

Clint did. It was how he felt about his best friends, three other foster kids from his days at Yearling Group Home. When he got together with Marshall, Wade and Nash, he didn’t have to force a conversation. He could just be himself.

She lifted her face to the sky. “Every time we’d end a ride, I’d give him the biggest hug and say, ‘I love you, Daddy.’ And he would always tug on my braid or ponytail and reply, ‘You, too, kiddo.’”

Clint’s heart was doing funny things. He’d never experienced what she described, but it moved him just the same.

“I would do about anything to be able to give him another hug and say those words again,” she said softly.

Clint moved his horse closer to her and reached over to take her hand. Her suede gloves didn’t dull the connection, and she stared at him, a tear dropping from her eye. Without thinking, he swung off his horse and held his hands out to help her down. When she’d dismounted, he drew her close, sliding a clean handkerchief out of his pocket to give her. Her slender frame shook with tears, but she didn’t wind her arms around him. She simply let him pat her back and murmur comfort.

How long they stood like that, Clint had no idea—could have been a minute or an hour—but at some point, Lexi wiped her eyes free of tears and blew her nose into the handkerchief.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I have to get back.” She set her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. “I won’t keep you. You stay and check the fence.”

He watched her urge Nugget into motion. Off to spend the rest of the day answering calls and doing whatever wedding planners did. And from what he could tell, she’d been doing it nonstop since she’d hired him. Which left no time for grieving...

It hit him then. No wonder she was as thin as a piece of licorice. She hadn’t grieved her father’s death.

There was no one here to look after her. No clients to meet with. No friends to force her to eat lunch. No father to ensure she lived in a safe, well-maintained house.

Nobody but him.

He slapped his thigh and mounted his horse. Miles of checking fence wouldn’t be enough to pretend something hadn’t shifted inside where Lexi Harrington was concerned, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

* * *

Lexi pulled her favorite velvety blanket up to her chin and pressed the mute button on the remote. Ever since leaving Clint in the pasture earlier, she’d been unable to work. Tears kept erupting.

Because everything here, in this house and on the ranch, reminded her of her father.