Diana Palmer - Christmas with the Rancher - The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means

“Yes. Sort of like me. I’m not modern enough for most men.”

“I’m not modern enough for most women,” he replied, and smiled. “Uh, there’s going to be a dressy party over at the Hancock place to introduce a new rancher in the area. I wondered if you might like to go with me?”

“A party?” she asked. She did have one good dress. She’d bought it for a special occasion a while ago, and she couldn’t really afford another one with the ranch having financial issues. But it was a nice dress. Her eyes brightened. “I haven’t been to a party in a long time. I went with Dad to a conference in Denver before he got sick.”

“I remember. You looked very nice.”

“Well, I’d be wearing the same dress I had on then,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “I don’t follow the current fashions for women,” he mused. “I’m inviting you, not the dress.”

“In that case,” she said with a pert smile, “I’d be delighted!”

Some men dragged their feet around the room and called it dancing. John Everett could actually dance! He knew all the Latin dances and how to waltz, although he was uncomfortable with some of the newer ways to display on a dance floor. Fortunately the organizers of the party were older people and they liked older music.

Only a minute into an enthusiastic samba, John and Maddie found themselves in the middle of the dance floor with the other guests clapping as they marked the fast rhythm.

“We should take this show on the road.” John chuckled as they danced.

“I’m game. I’ll give up ranching and become a professional samba performer, if you’ll come, too,” she suggested.

“Maybe only part of the year,” he mused. “We can’t let our businesses go to pot.”

“Spoilsport.”

He grinned.

While the two were dancing, oblivious to the other guests, a tall, dark man in a suit walked in and found himself a flute of champagne. He tasted it, nodding to other guests. Everyone was gathered around the dance floor of the ballroom in the Victorian mansion. He wandered to the fringes and caught his breath. There, on the dance floor, was Maddie Lane.

She was wearing a dress, a sheath of black slinky material that dipped in front to display just a hint of the lovely curve of her breasts and display her long elegant neck and rounded arms. Her pale blond hair shone like gold in the light from the chandeliers. She was wearing makeup, just enough to enhance what seemed to be a rather pretty face, and the pretty calves of her legs were displayed to their best advantage from the arch of her spiked high-heel shoes. He’d rarely seen her dressed up. Not that he’d been interested in her or anything.

But there she was, decked out like a Christmas tree, dancing with his best friend. John didn’t date anybody. Until now.

Cort Brannt felt irritation rise in him like bile. He scowled at the display they were making of themselves. Had they no modesty at all? And people were clapping like idiots.

He glared at Maddie. He remembered the last time he’d seen her. She backed away from Cort, but she was dancing with John as if she really liked him. Her face was radiant. She was smiling. Cort had rarely seen her smile at all. Of course, usually he was yelling at her or making hurtful remarks. Not much incentive for smiles.

He sipped champagne. Someone spoke to him. He just nodded. He was intent on the dancing couple, focused and furious.

Suddenly he noticed that the flute was empty. He turned and went back to the hors d’oeuvres table and had them refill it. But he didn’t go back to the dance floor. Instead he found a fellow cattleman to talk to about the drought and selling off cattle.

A few minutes later he was aware of two people helping themselves to punch and cake.

“Oh, hi, Cort,” John greeted him with a smile. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Hadn’t planned to,” Cort said in a cool tone. “My dad had an emergency on the ranch, so I’m filling in. One of the officers of the cattlemen’s association is here.” He indicated the man with a nod of his head. “Dad wanted me to ask him about any pending legislation that might help us through the drought. We’ve heard rumors, but nothing substantial.”

“My dad was wondering the same.” John frowned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cort said, making sure that he enunciated as plainly as possible. He stood taller, although he still wasn’t as tall, or as big, as his friend. “Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s your second glass of champagne and you don’t drink,” John said flatly.

Cort held the flute up and looked at it. It was empty. “Where did that go?” he murmured.

“Just a guess, but maybe you drank it?” John replied.

Cort set the flute on the spotless white tablecloth and looked down at Maddie. “You’re keeping expensive company these days.”

She was shocked at the implication.

“Hold it right there,” John said, and his deep tone was menacing. “I invited her.”

“Got plans, have you?” Cort replied coldly.

“Why shouldn’t I?” came the droll reply. “Oh, by the way, Odalie says her Italian voice teacher is an idiot. He doesn’t know beans about how to sing, and he isn’t teaching her anything. So she thinks she may come home soon.”

Maddie felt her heart sink. Cort’s expression lightened. “You think she might?”

“It’s possible. You should lay off that stuff.”

Cort glanced at the flute. “I suppose so.”

“Hey, John, can I talk to you for a minute?” a man called to him. “I need a new combine!”

“I need a new sale,” John teased. He glanced at Maddie. “I won’t be a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. But she was clutching her small evening bag as if she was afraid that it might escape. She started looking around for someone, anyone, to talk to besides Cort Brannt.

While she was thinking about running, he slid his big hand into her small one and pulled her onto the dance floor. He didn’t even ask. He folded her into his arms and led her to the lazy, slow rhythm.

He smelled of spicy, rich cologne. He was much taller than she was, so her she couldn’t see his face. She felt his cheek against the big wave of blond hair at her temple and her body began to do odd things. She felt uneasy, nervous. She felt…safe, excited.

“Your hand is like ice,” he murmured as he danced with her around the room.

“They get cold all the time,” she lied.

He laughed deep in his throat. “Really.”

She wondered why he was doing this. Surely he should be pleased about Odalie’s imminent reappearance in his life. He hated Maddie. Why was he dancing with her?