Liam loved that about her.
He’d come to the ranch almost three years prior, at Helen’s suggestion, after his discharge from the Berets. He’d applied for a position as a ranch hand and Aunt Ginny and Gus had given him the job and folded him immediately into the family, as they’d done for his sister. They’d been more his parents than anyone else and he still pinched himself that God had blessed him so richly.
Grabbing two cookies from the tray, he flung the door open to see Jingles overcome with joy, dancing on his hind legs. “Down, you mutt,” Liam thundered. The dog sat, but all of his parts seemed to vibrate with contained ecstasy. Liam sighed and flung him a gingerbread arm, which Jingles intercepted midair and swallowed, swiping a floppy tongue across his mouth.
“At least you have good taste in cooking.” Liam retrieved the repaired saddle from the workshop and loaded it in the back of the truck. When he opened the driver’s door, Jingles leaped in and scooted to the passenger seat.
Liam fired up the engine and turned on the radio to a news station. He didn’t much care about the chatter but the voices comforted him. The inevitable mental quiz scrolled through his mind. Was the sound fainter? Less distinct? A familiar twist in his stomach started up again. You can still hear it. You’re all right. But how much longer until he couldn’t? The stapedectomy on his left ear had failed to correct the otosclerosis that had forced him to leave the Green Berets. He didn’t blame God for the misfortune; he’d learned as a kid that life was sometimes a rough ride through bad country. The trick was to gather up all the joy along the way and wait it out until the end. Home with God. A perfect home. The kind he’d always envisioned.
Before he coud drive away, he spotted Chad Jaggert hauling a blue spruce out of the truck and hopped out to help. “Hey,” he called, not expecting much of a reply. Younger, leaner, and way quieter than Liam and Mitch, Chad made about as much noise as a mouse wearing slippers. Unless the topic was horses or possibly boats, it was going to be a one-sided conversation. Silent, thoughtful and fiercely loyal, that was Chad, the man Liam considered to be his younger brother.
“Hey,” Chad replied, pulling on a pair of leather gloves and shouldering the tree.
“Hasn’t Aunt Ginny got enough Christmas trees?”
Chad shrugged. “She wanted it. I got it.”
And that about summed up what any of the four—Mitch, Liam, Helen and Chad—would do for Aunt Ginny.
Uncle Gus strode up, accepting his licking from Jingles. “Another tree?” He grinned. “I’m surprised she’s limited herself to five.”
“Six,” Chad said. “Got one for the tower room yesterday.”
Gus laughed outright, pulling off his cowboy hat and scrubbing a hand through his silvered hair. “That woman delights me.”
That woman.
Liam thought for a moment of Tammy Lofton. She’d been zany and impulsive, with a fun-loving outlook, but for some reason they just hadn’t clicked. He’d had other relationships that didn’t work out of course, but when she’d gone, it had left him off balance and uncertain, like a hobbled horse. If he analyzed it, the situation might have affected him especially deeply because the relationship had failed as his hearing loss had accelerated. Good thing he wasn’t prone to self-analysis.
Uncle Gus punched him playfully on the shoulder and he realized he’d not heard the last comment. He thumbed his cowboy hat back and offered a grin, which he figured fit the previous tone of the conversation, a trick that often helped him through.
“Listen, if you see your sister, tell her I’ve got the tables she needed for the festival on Wednesday. I stopped in earlier to see her but she wasn’t available.”
That made Liam take note. Not returning calls, not available at the Lodge. “Okay,” he said. “I’m droppin’ off this saddle at the Chuckwagon and then I’m headed over there. Feed’s been delivered.”
The Roughwater Ranch cattle were grass fed, but years of drought had made it necessary to supplement with hay and alfalfa. Now that they’d gotten some winter rains, the grass was reviving, and the wells and natural springs were also gradually replenishing.
Uncle Gus headed to the kitchen door to open it for Chad. Liam and Jingles headed to the Chuckwagon.
The parking lot was full at half past ten, a sure sign that holiday crowds were building. The two enormous wagon wheels that flanked either side of the wooden doors were twined with tinsel and Christmas music wafted out as he left Jingles in the truck with the window open a few inches.
“Be right back and don’t chew the upholstery.”
Jingles looked hurt, as though offended he wasn’t invited to come along. Liam shouldered the saddle and went inside.
Nan greeted him over the noisy bustle of diners. “Here for breakfast, Liam?”
“No, ma’am. Just delivering your saddle.”
“Super, since there’s not an empty table in the place. I don’t know what I would have done if Tammy hadn’t showed up.”
“Tammy?”
“Yeah. She came in this morning and I hired her back immediately. She’s been an absolute lifesaver.” Nan shook her head. “Weird. When she was here last, she was a server only, said she couldn’t even boil water, and now it’s like she’s perfectly at home behind the stove. Even baked the pumpkin pies this morning, before her waitressing shift. I don’t know how she doctored the filling, but, man, are they luscious. Why didn’t I know she was a kitchen savant?”
Why indeed? He scanned the diners and servers. “Where is she?”
“I’m sending her over to the Lodge with the order of pies for their lunch service. Think she’s loading up the van right now.”
He thanked her and left the saddle, hurrying back outside. The Chuckwagon van was parked in the back, the rear doors open. Tammy was sliding in the last pastry box, her dark hair draped forward over her eyes. Jeans and a Chuckwagon T-shirt made her look much younger than her thirty-two years—or maybe it was her slender frame and lace-up sneakers.
“Morning,” he said.
She jumped, whirling to face him. “Oh...hi.”
“Understand you’re working here again.”
“Um, yes.” She slammed the back doors and made to edge by him to the driver’s seat. The closer he came, the more the sensation that something was amiss trickled through his gut. “Taking these pies over to the Lodge.”
“Right. Can we talk a minute?”
“No, not right now. Delivering, as I said.”
She reached for the door and he caught her hand in his. Small fingers, strong and pleasantly toughened from hard work, but tiny and delicate. Strange. He remembered her hands being soft as silk.
“Aw,” he said. “You have a half second for one quick question right? For old time’s sake?”
She froze, head angled down so the hair shadowed her face. He let go of her hand and slid a finger under her chin, gently tipping it upward. The eyes that greeted his were familiar, the combined green and brown of summer turning to fall. Familiar, but not completely. A halo of gold edged the irises, molten and vibrant. “Tam, your eyes have kind of a green tint, you know,” he said slowly. “But now I’m looking close, I see a wash of gold there, like the sun setting into the ocean.”
Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. “Uh...” she managed to finally say. “I have to hurry and get back for the lunch rush.”
He let the smile ease over his face as he leaned a fraction closer until the brim of his cowboy hat shadowed them both. “Just one question,” he murmured.
She tried to look away but again he guided her gaze back to his with the lightest pressure under her