The Cowboy's Christmas Gift. DONNA ALWARD

“interesting.” Ranching was part of who they were. It was something that was in the blood. It definitely wasn’t something to dabble in for fun or because you had nothing better to do. Duke would stay a few months and be gone.

      “Crooked Valley isn’t really the sort of place where you just fill some of your spare time,” she replied, her voice sharp. The headache was threatening to come back, too.

      “Hey, give me a break. I haven’t come anywhere close to making any sort of a decision. I’ve only been here a week. I’ve hardly had two seconds to wrap my head around all of this, let alone relax.”

      “Well,” she replied, “you’d better brace yourself, then, because next weekend things are going to get a lot busier and we need every pair of hands available.”

      “Get ready for what?”

      “You want a taste of what ranching is really like? We move the herd back here to the mountain pastures for the winter. The folks at the Triple B will give us a hand driving the cattle, and the next week we return the favor. It’s exhausting but huge fun, too.”

      “A cattle drive?”

      She nodded. “Yup. We overnight at the old cookhouse and ride back the next day. When your grandmother was still alive, she cooked for two straight days to feed the crew when they returned. The past few years Joe brought in sandwiches and coffee for the first night’s supper and we did a potluck on the return. All the wives bring dishes and someone generally fires up some music for a bit of dancing.” She knew there was a hint of nostalgia in her voice but she couldn’t help it. It was one of the hardest and best weekends of the year, in her opinion—second only to the branding and vaccination day in the spring.

      “I’m expected to coordinate that?” Duke’s eyebrows lifted. “Why didn’t anyone mention it?”

      She shrugged. “I thought Quinn would have told you. Until last night, you barely said two words to me all week.”

      Duke shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to herding cows. And I have no idea what to do about after, either. Do people expect a party?” He looked genuinely distressed. “You’ll help me, right?”

      Ah, so here it was. Now that he was stuck he realized she existed. That’s not fair, a voice inside her argued. He sure knew you existed last night.

      Yeah. He knew she existed when it came to making out in his truck or needing a social coordinator. She lifted her chin. “Forget it, Duke. I’m the cattle foreman and I’ll be heading up the drive. I’m not a party planner.”

       Chapter Four

      For a girl who was looking a bit worse for wear after her night on the town, she sure wasn’t giving an inch. He already felt out of his depth, and now he was expected to host some sort of social event at the ranch? It didn’t help that Carrie was being stubborn and he had to sweeten her up somehow. It was his first real test at Crooked Valley and he didn’t want to blow it.

      “Of course I don’t expect you to plan it,” he replied, trying to smile at her. “Maybe you could just tell me what I need to do. Make me a list or something.”

      “A list? Really?”

      “Sure, why not?” He raised an eyebrow. “Rather than stand in your kitchen, which is charming by the way, why don’t I take you out for breakfast?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I usually find the best thing for a hangover is orange juice, bacon and eggs cooked in the bacon grease. The diner still serves that stuff, right?”

      She looked tempted. It was a good sign.

      “Come on, Freckles. You don’t have to go to work. Let me treat you to breakfast and you can tell me all the stuff I need to do before this big weekend coming up.”

      “I need to clean my house....”

      “How dirty can it be?” he argued. “You’re the only one here to mess it up. It’s just breakfast,” he challenged her. “Not a proposal of marriage.”

      “You’re aggravating.”

      But her voice had softened and he could tell she was wavering. He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

      “You’re buying?”

      “Of course. It’s the least I can do in exchange for your help.” But her question really did make him think. How hard were things for Carrie? Other than her night at the bar, there was nothing in her life to make him think she was extravagant with her money. The house was plain and her truck was old. And a night out with a friend did not constitute extravagance. Everyone deserved to get out once in a while.

      “I guess I could. I am kind of hungry.”

      Score. He nodded at her. “Great. You might want to just wash your face before we go.”

      Her lips dropped open and her eyes registered dismay. “My face? What’s wrong with my face?”

      He slid his index finger under his eye. “You melted a bit during the night.”

      She spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Two seconds later a squeal erupted, echoing off the bathroom tile. “I look like a raccoon! Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I thought I just did.” He walked down the hall and glanced in the bathroom. She ran a cloth beneath a stream of water, wrung it out and scrubbed at her eyes.

      “This is why I don’t wear eyeliner,” she groused. “Or much makeup at all. I never remember to wash my face before bed and then I get up looking like...” She broke off the sentence. “Well. Looking like this.”

      What he thought was that she didn’t need makeup to be beautiful, but he wouldn’t say that because after last night it would take on importance that he didn’t want. Or maybe he did want it but he shouldn’t, which came out to practically the same thing. Mouth closed. Boundaries set.

      “Okay. I think I’m okay now. Oh, wait. I need to brush my teeth. They’re fuzzy.”

      He chuckled. “The rum really got to you, huh.”

      She avoided his gaze. “I’d actually prefer not to talk about last night.”

      “Fine by me.” Talking about it would create one of two outcomes. Either they’d argue or they’d pick up where they left off. He didn’t want the first and he was telling himself he’d better not indulge in the second. Last night he’d been carried away. It had been nice talking to someone. To hold her close, to feel so alive. Truth was, since his accident he hadn’t felt that kind of vitality. In the end it wouldn’t be smart carrying on with her, though. She worked for him, and he definitely couldn’t afford for her to quit.