dishes.â
Of course his brother couldnât let that insult stand, just as Trace expected. As a result, Taft became the designated dishwasher and Trace dried and put away the dishes while Destry and Ridge cleared the table.
Taft was just running water in the sink when Destry came in on her fatherâs heels, her eyes as huge and plaintive as one of Caidyâs rescued mutts begging for a treat. âPlease, Dad. If we wait much longer, it will be too late.â
âToo late for what?â Taft asked innocently.
âChristmas!â Destry exclaimed. âItâs already the last Sunday in November. If we donât cut down our tree soon, the mountains will be too snowy. Please, Dad? Please, please, please?â
Ridge heaved a sigh. He didnât need to express his reluctance for Trace to understand it. None of his siblings had been very crazy about Christmas for nearly a decade, since their parents were killed just before Christmas Eve ten years ago.
âWeâll get one,â his brother assured Destry.
âWhatâs the point of even putting up a tree if we wait much longer? Christmas will be over.â
âItâs not even December yet!â
âItâs almost December. It will be here before we know it.â
âShe sounds like Mom,â Taft said. âRemember how she used to start hounding Dad to cut the tree a few weeks before Thanksgiving?â
âAnd she always had it picked out by the middle of the summer,â Caidy answered with a sad little smile.
âPlease, Daddy. Can we go?â
Trace had to smile at his nieceâs persistence. Destry was a sharp little thing. She was generally a happy kid, which he found quite amazing considering her mother was a major bitch who had left Ridge and Destry when the little girl was still just a toddler.
âI guess youâre right.â Ridge eyed his brothers. âEither of you boys up for a ride to help me bring back the tree? We can get one for your places, too.â
Taft shrugged. âIâve got a date. Sorry.â
âYou have a date on a Sunday afternoon?â Caidy asked with raised eyebrows.
His brother seemed to find every available female between the ages of twenty-two and forty. âNot really a date. Iâm going over to a friendâs house to watch a movie and order pizza.â
âYou just had dinner,â Caidy pointed out.
Taft grinned. âThatâs the thing about food ⦠and other things. No matter how good the feast, youâre always ready for more in a few hours.â
âHow old are you? Sixteen?â Ridge asked with a roll of his eyes.
âOld enough to thoroughly enjoy my pizza and everything that goes along with it,â Taft said with another grin. âBut you boys have fun cutting down your Christmas trees.â
âYou in?â Ridge asked Trace.
Since he didnât have a pizza buddy right nowâor any other kind of euphemistically termed acquaintanceâTrace figured he might as well. âSure. Iâm up for a ride. Letâs go find a tree.â
He could use a ride into the mountains. It might help clear the cobwebs out of his head from a week of double shifts.
The decision had been a good one, he decided a half hour later as he rode his favorite buckskin mare, Genie, up the trail leading to the evergreen forest above the ranch. He had needed to get out into the mountains on horseback again. The demands of his job as head honcho in an overworked and underfunded police department often left him with too little leisure time. He ought to make more time for himself, though. Right now, with feathery snowflakes drifting down and the air smelling crisp and clean, he wouldnât want to be anywhere else.
He loved River Bow Ranch. This was home, despite the bad memories and their grim past. Counting Destry now, five generations of Bowmans had made their home here, starting just after World War I with his great-grandfather. It was a lovely spot, named not only for the family name but also for the oxbow in Cold Creek that was a beautiful nesting spot in the summer for geese and swans.
Below the ranch, he could see the lights of Pine Gulch gleaming in the dusk. His town. Yeah, it might sound like something out of an old Western, but he loved this little slice of western heaven. Heâd had offers from bigger departments around Idaho and even a couple out of state. A few of them were tempting, he couldnât deny that. But every time he thought about leaving Pine Gulch, he thought about all the things he would have to give up. His family, his heritage, the comfort of small traditions like breakfast at The Gulch after an overnight shift. The sacrifices seemed too great.
âThanks for coming with us,â Destry said, reining her tough little paint pony next to his mare.
âMy pleasure. Thanks for asking me, kid.â His niece was turning into a good rider. Ridge had set her on the back of a horse from just about the moment she could walk and it showed. She had a confident seat, an easy grace, that had already won her some junior rodeo competitions.
âAre you finally going to put up a tree this year, Uncle Trace?â
âI donât know. Seems like a lot of trouble when itâs only me.â
He hated admitting that but it was true. He was tired of being alone. A year ago, he thought he was ready to settle down. Heâd even started dating Easton Springhill. From here, he could see across the canyon and up to where she ran her familyâs place, Winder Ranch.
Easton wasnât for him. Some part of him had known it even as heâd tried to convince himself otherwise. Just how wrong sheâd been for him had become abundantly clear when Cisco Del Norte came back to town and he saw for himself just how much Easton loved the man.
The two of them were deliriously happy now. They had adopted a little girl, who was just about the cutest thing heâd ever seen, all big eyes and curly black hair and dimples, and Easton was expecting a baby in the spring. While Trace still wasnât crazy about Cisco, he had to admit the guy made Easton happy.
He had tried to convince himself he was in love with Easton but he recognized now that effort had been mostly based on hope. Oh, he probably could have fallen in love with her if heâd given a little more effort to it. Easton was greatâwarm and compassionate and certainly beautiful enough. They could have made a good life together here, but theirs would never have been the fierce passion she shared with Cisco.
A passion he couldnât help envying.
Maybe he would always be the bachelor uncle. It wasnât necessarily a bad role in life, he thought as Destry urged her pony faster on the trail.
âAlmost there!â she exclaimed, her face beaming.
A few moments later they reached the thickly forested border of the ranch. Destry was quick to lead the way to the tree she had picked out months ago and marked with an orange plastic ribbon, just as their mother used to do.
Ridge cut the tree quickly with his chain saw while Destry looked on with glee. Caidy and a couple of her dogs had come up, as wellâTrace had left Grunt, the ugly little French bulldog heâd inherited from Wally Taylor, back at the ranch house since the dog couldnât have kept up with the horses on his stubby little legs.
His sister didnât help cut down the tree, only stood on the outskirts of the forest, gazing down at town.
âHow about you?â his brother asked. âYou want us to cut one for you while weâre up here?â
His