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

The laughter died away as she recalled the things Cort had said to her. She was ugly and flat-chested and he could never be attracted to her. She looked down at her slender body and frowned. She couldn’t suddenly become beautiful. She didn’t have the money to buy fancy clothes that flattered her, like Odalie did. In fact, her wardrobe was two years old.

When her father had been dying of cancer, every penny they had was tied up trying to keep up with doctor bills that the insurance didn’t cover. Her father did carry life insurance, which was a lucky break because at his death, it was enough to pay back everybody.

But things were still hard. This year, they’d struggled to pay just the utility bills. It was going to come down to a hard choice, sell off cattle or sell off land. There was a developer who’d already been to see Maddie about selling the ranch. He wanted to build a huge hotel and amusement park complex. He was offering her over a million dollars, and he was persistent.

“You just run a few head of cattle here, don’t you?” the tall man in the expensive suit said, but his smile didn’t really reach his eyes. He was an opportunist, looking for a great deal. He thought Maddie would be a pushover once he pulled out a figure that would tempt a saint.

But Maddie’s whole heritage was in that land. Her great-grandfather had started the ranch and suffered all sorts of deprivations to get it going. Her grandfather had taken over where he left off, improving both the cattle herd and the land. Her father had toiled for years to find just the right mix of grasses to pursue a purebred cattle breeding herd that was now the envy of several neighbors. All that would be gone. The cattle sold off, the productive grasslands torn up and paved for the complex, which would attract people passing by on the long, monotonous interstate highway that ran close to the border of the ranch.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she told him, nodding. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, either.

He pursed his lips. “You know, we’re looking at other land in the area, too. You might get left out in the cold if we find someone who’s more enthusiastic about the price we’re offering.”

Maddie didn’t like threats. Even nice ones, that came with soft words and smiles.

“Whatever,” she said. She smiled again. “I did say I’d have to think about it.”

His smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. “You have a prime location here, only one close neighbor and a nearby interstate. I really want this place. I want it a lot.”

“Listen, I hate being pressured…!”

He held up both hands. “Okay! But you think about it. You think hard.” His expression became dangerous-looking. “We know how to deal with reluctant buyers. That’s not a threat, it’s just a statement. Here’s my card.”

She took it gingerly, as if she thought it had germs.

He made a huffing sound and climbed back into his fantastically expensive foreign car. He roared out of the driveway, scattering chickens.

She glared after it. No more eggs for two more days, she thought irritably. She’d rather starve than sell the ranch. But money was getting very tight. The drought was going to be a major hit to their poor finances, she thought dismally.

“Miss Maddie, you got that rooster locked up?” Ben called at the fence, interrupting her depressing reverie.

She turned. “Yes, Ben, he’s restrained.” She laughed.

“Thanks.” He grimaced. “Going to feed the livestock and I’d just as soon not be mauled in the process.”

“I know.” She glanced at the wire door behind which Pumpkin was calling to the hens in that odd tone that roosters used when there was some special treat on the ground for them. It was actually a handful of mealworms that Maddie had tossed in the henhouse to keep him occupied while she locked him in.

Two of the hens went running to the door.

“He’s lying,” Maddie told them solemnly. “He’s already eaten the mealworms, he just wants out.”

“Cort left town, you hear?” Ben asked.

Her heart jumped. “Where did he go?” she asked miserably, waiting to hear that he’d flown to Italy to see Odalie.

“Wyoming, one of his cowboys said, to see his sister.”

“Oh.”

“Mooning over that Odalie girl, I guess,” he muttered. “She said she hated men who smelled like cattle. I guess she hates her dad, then, because he made his fortune on the Big Spur raising cattle, and he still does!”

“She’s just been spoiled,” Maddie said quietly.

Ben glanced at her irritably. “She was mean to you when you were in school. Your dad actually went to the school to get it stopped. He went to see Cole Everett about it, too, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She flushed. She didn’t like remembering that situation, although Odalie had quickly stopped victimizing her after her father got involved.

“Had a nasty attitude, that one,” Ben muttered. “Looked down her nose at every other girl and most of the boys. Thought she was too good to live in a hick town in Texas.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s going to come a cropper one day, you mark my words. What’s that quote, ‘pride goeth after a fall’? And she’s got a lot farther to fall than some women.”

“There’s another quote, something about love your enemies?” she teased.

“Yes, well, she’s given a lot of people reason to put that one into practice.”

Maddie grimaced. “It must be nice, to have beauty and talent. I’d settle for one or the other myself.” She laughed.

“You ought to be selling them little fairy statues you make,” he advised. “Prettiest little things I ever saw. That one you sent my granddaughter for her birthday sits in the living room, because her mother loves to look at it. One of her friends has an art gallery in San Antonio. She said,” he emphasized, “that you could make a fortune with those things.”

Maddie flushed. “Wow.”

“Not that those pretty drawings are bad, either. Sold one to Shelby Brannt, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She’d loved the idea of Cort having to see her artwork every day, because she knew that Shelby had mounted it on a wall in the dining room of her home. But he probably never even looked at it. Though cultured, Cort had little use for art or sculpture. Unless it was a sculpture of one of the ranch’s prize bulls. They had one done in bronze. It sat on the mantel in the living room of the Brannt home.

“Ought to paint that rooster while he’s still alive,” Ben said darkly.

“Ben!”

He held up both hands. “Didn’t say I was going to hurt him.”

“Okay.”

“But somebody else might.” He pursed his lips. “You know, he could be the victim of a terrible traffic accident one day. He loves to run down that dirt road in front of the house.”

“You bite your tongue,” she admonished.

“Spoilsport.”

“That visitor who came the other day, that developer, you see him again?” Ben asked curiously.

“No, but he left his name.” She pulled his business card out of her pocket and held it up. “He’s from Las Vegas. He wants to build a hotel and amusement park complex right here.” She looked around wistfully. “Offered me a million dollars. Gosh, what I could do with that!”

“You could sell and throw away everything your family worked for here?” Ben asked sadly. “My great-grandfather started working here with your great-grand-father. Our families have been together all that time.” He sighed. “Guess I could learn to use a computer and make a killing with a dot-com business,” he mused facetiously.

“Aw, Ben,” she said gently. “I don’t want to sell up. I was just thinking out loud.” She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I’d put a lot of people out of work, and God knows what I’d do with all the animals who live here.”