Ann Roth - A Rancher's Christmas

Uncle Lucky had always preferred the no-frills stuff, and his coffeemaker was the kind that percolated on the stove and took its sweet time. Compared to the state-of-the-art coffee and espresso maker at Gina’s condo, it seemed primitive.

Not that she made her own coffee often. In Chicago, she could run down the street and pick up an espresso at any number of places. But Saddlers Prairie didn’t have many options. Barb’s Café was nearly a five-mile drive from the ranch, and the Burger Palace, a fast-food place, was almost ten. Neither was open for business this early. She was stuck with Uncle Lucky’s generic brand.

While the coffee brewed, Gina cut herself a thick slab of cinnamon-raisin bread. She popped it into the toaster and waited. Without Wi-Fi, she wasn’t able to check her email and felt lost. She did have a text from Carrie. The rollout of the Grant Holiday Magic campaign had gone as smoothly as Gina had hoped, which was good news. Carrie didn’t mention the other clients, and Gina assumed that all was well.

Her assistant’s personal news was interesting. She texted she’d gone with friends to a bar after work on Tuesday and had met someone. He’d asked her to go out for dinner with him on Wednesday, and she had been about to leave for her date as soon as she fired off the report with the campaign’s numbers. Gina would stop at the Wi-Fi hotspot and read the report later.

At least one of them was dating. Gina texted back a thanks for the info and asked about the dinner date.

She didn’t need to talk to her assistant this morning, but she was used to being busy all the time, and the lack of rushing around and accomplishing things was unnerving. She dialed the office.

“Hi, Marsha, it’s Gina,” she told the receptionist. “Please put me through to Carrie.”

“She hasn’t come in yet.”

Gina checked her watch. It was after nine in Chicago, well past time to start the workday. “Where is she?”

“Well, she had that dinner date last night. Maybe she stayed out late and overslept.”

Not a good sign.

“Wait, I just remembered something,” Marsha said. “On her way out last night, she mentioned something about stopping at some of the Grant department stores today. Maybe she’s at a store right now.”

Conducting a visual check. That made sense. Gina let out a relieved breath—and then wondered what she had been worried about. Carrie was a younger version of herself. As eager as she was to move up the corporate ladder, she wouldn’t blow this.

“I’ve been thinking about you and your family,” Marsha said with sympathy. “How are you doing?”

“It’s not easy, but I’m managing,” she said and gave Marsha a few details. “Will you have Carrie call me when she comes in?”

Gina disconnected and made a mental list of what she needed to do this morning. She would start with compiling Uncle Lucky’s bank statements and legal documents so that she could take them to the meeting with the attorney. Her uncle’s office was even more cluttered than the kitchen, and finding what she needed wouldn’t be easy.

She also thought about the funeral tomorrow and all that entailed. Her family expected her to give the eulogy, which she’d started to write in bed last night. Gina didn’t plan on taking up too much time because other people also planned to speak, but she still needed to hone her speech and practice it.

At some point she needed to sort through the old papers and junk her uncle had collected. And he’d collected piles of both.

Suddenly, she felt even more tired than she had yesterday. Last night, more than a few people had offered to help her with whatever she needed. After she sorted through everything, she would take some of them up on the offer and ask for help hauling things to the dump or the nearest charity bin.

For now, clearing out the clutter would keep her busy.

At last, the coffee was ready. It didn’t smell very good, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She filled a chipped mug and searched the aging fridge for milk.

Casseroles, cheese plates and all kinds of food crammed the shelves. Thanks to the kind people of Saddlers Prairie, there was enough food in there to feed a small army. Even with Uncle Redd, Gloria and Sophie helping her eat it, there were enough meals to last until Thanksgiving.

She took her buttered toast and coffee to the table and sat down. Maybe Zach would help them eat some of this stuff.

Zach. Now there was a man. He was big and super good-looking—every girl’s dream cowboy.

Gina frowned and reminded herself that she wasn’t into cowboys. She liked ambitious men in well-tailored suits. She hadn’t met the right one yet, but she had no doubt that, in time, she would.

The coffee tasted awful. If she hadn’t needed the caffeine so badly she’d dump it down the drain. She was revising her eulogy and picking at her toast when someone knocked at the back door.

Pathetically eager for company, she jumped up and hurried to open it. Zach stood on the stoop, his face ruddy from the cold. Against the backdrop of the blue sky, his hair looked almost black and his eyes were the color of liquid silver. His heavy parka was unzipped, revealing a flannel shirt tucked into jeans.

“Morning,” he said, his breath fogging in the cold air. “I finished the chores and thought you might want company.”

How had he known?

“Sure.” She widened the door. “Come in.”

After wiping his boots on the mat he stepped inside, bringing a whiff of fresh air with him. “It’s cold out there,” he said, blowing on his hands.

“It’s nice and warm in here.”

As Zach shrugged out of his parka and hung it on one of the hooks along the wall near the door, Gina couldn’t help admiring his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs.

He caught her staring. His mouth quirked and he raised his eyebrows.

It was a good thing she didn’t blush easily. “I was wondering whether I should offer you coffee,” she said. “Lucky’s coffeemaker is older than I am, and this stuff tastes pretty bad. But there’s plenty to eat if you’re hungry.”

Zach glanced at what was left of her toast. “That looks good.”

“I’ll slice some for you.”

She started to stand, but Zach gestured for her to stay seated. “Relax—I’ll get it myself. I met the woman who made that bread when she brought it by yesterday. Her name is Cora Mullins, and she went to grade school with Lucky.”

He pulled a plate from the cupboard as if he was family. From the way Uncle Lucky had sung his praises, she knew he’d thought of him that way.

“May as well try the coffee, too,” he said, grabbing a mug.

A few minutes later, he joined her at the kitchen table. He sipped cautiously. “Compared to the sludge Lucky makes—made—this isn’t half bad.”

He made a face that coaxed a smile from Gina. “Believe me, I tasted his coffee several times,” she said. “I’m surprised I didn’t sprout hair on my chest.”

Zach’s gaze darted to her breasts. Interest flared in his eyes and her body jumped to life. Maybe he wasn’t her type, but she sure was attracted to him.

He glanced at her pad and paper. “Don’t tell me you’re working.”

“I was trying to revise what I want to say at the funeral.” She bit her lip. “But thinking about that makes me sad.”

“Talk about Lucky’s coffee. That’ll get a smile out of everyone.”

She hadn’t thought of using humor. “Smiling through the tears—I like it.”

Zach wolfed down the bread, obviously famished from whatever he’d been doing outside. “Before I forget, here’s the key to Lucky’s truck.” He raised his hip and set the key and her uncle’s rabbit foot keychain on the table. “He logged over a hundred and seventy thousand miles on it but maintained the engine beautifully. It runs great, but it’s a stick shift and doesn’t have power steering. Think you can handle that?”