Brenda Minton - The Rancher's Christmas Bride

Lucy’s eyes widened. “A wedding dress? That’s a part of the story no one is talking about. Including you.”

He was filled with some kind of strange loyalty and protectiveness. Hadn’t he just said he wasn’t getting tangled up in Marissa Walker’s life?

“It’s a part of the story that doesn’t need to be talked about. No one ought to be walking down a back road on their wedding day, in the dress and without the groom.”

Lucy gave him a long look. “You’re right. But when you said she needed extra clothes, you didn’t mention the dress.”

“I didn’t think it was anyone’s business but hers.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the one who found her.”

“I guess it is. I’ll see you later, sis.” He reached to open the door for her. With a quick hug, she left.

He watched her truck head down the drive and then he went back inside the garage. Focusing on the tractor helped him keep his mind busy and kept him from worrying too much about the mortgage and buying the ranch he’d always considered his home. Fixing that tractor also kept him from thinking about Marissa.

Kind of.

He didn’t want to think about blue eyes that rivaled the bluebonnets his hometown was named for. Or the blue of the sky on a clear winter day. He didn’t want to think about how she’d managed to pull herself together, even though she had to be pretty close to devastated.

He couldn’t help but think she needed family. Or a friend. Someone to help her through what had to be a pretty difficult time.

Someone who was not him.

Chapter Five

The gray light of early dawn peeked through a crack in the curtains. Marissa tried to roll over on the lumpy sofa but a bigger lump kept her from moving. She pushed at the drooling dog that had climbed up and was stretched out next to her.

“Down, Bub.”

The dog groaned, then made a noise that was followed by a foul smell. She pushed him off the sofa and sat up, holding a hand over her nose.

“You are the most disgusting animal.”

Bub just looked at her with his soulful eyes, his skin sagging downward, ears slightly perked. His tail thumped the faded carpet. Then he got up and lumbered to the door.

She followed, pushing the door open to the cool air. The rooster was sitting on the porch rail. As if on cue, he bristled his feathers and starting crowing.

“Good morning to you, too.” She closed the door, shutting out the rooster and the noxious dog.

Blurry-eyed from lack of sleep, she headed for the coffeepot. She found coffee in a canister and filters in the cabinet. The refrigerator, as she’d learned the previous evening, didn’t contain much in the way of food. Her grandfather seemed to live on eggs, skim milk and bologna.

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