The Rancher's Christmas Promise

She lifted Layla out of his arms. “Well, go rescue your lady friend. And give my suggestion about a wife some thought.”

He let her remark slide. “Thank you, Mrs. Pyle.”

“Not going to change my leaving in a week,” she warned as she carried the baby out of the kitchen. “And you might think about washing some of the day off yourself, as well, before you go out playing Dudley Do-Right.”

* * *

He hadn’t showered, but he had washed up and pulled on fresh clothes. And he still felt pretty stupid about it.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to impress Greer Templeton. Not with a clean shirt or anything else. And it damn sure wasn’t as if he was giving Mrs. Pyle’s suggestion any consideration.

Marrying someone just for Layla’s sake?

He pushed the idea straight out of his mind and shifted into Park at the top of the hill as he stared out at the worn-looking Victorian house.

The white paint on the fancy trim was peeling and the dove-gray paint on the siding was fading. The shingle roof needed repair, if not replacement, and the brick chimney looked as if it were related to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. But the yard around the house was green and neat.

Not exactly what he would have expected of the lady lawyer. But then again, she worked for the public defender’s office, where the pay was reportedly abysmal and most of her clients were supposedly the dregs of society.

He turned off the engine and got out of the truck, walking around to the trailer he’d used to haul Greer’s little car. He checked the chains holding it in place and then headed up the front walk to the door.

The street was quiet, and his boots clumped loudly as he went up the steps and crossed the porch to knock on the door. The heavy brass door knocker was shaped like a dragonfly.

If he could ever get Adelaide to come and visit Braden, she’d love the place.

When no one came to the door, he went back down the porch steps. There was an elderly woman across the street making a production of sweeping the sidewalk, though it seemed obvious she was more interested in giving him the once-over.

He tipped the brim of his hat toward her before he started unchaining Greer’s car. “Evenin’.”

The woman clutched her broom tightly and started across the street. A little black poodle trotted after her. “That’s Greer’s car,” the woman said suspiciously.

He didn’t stop what he was doing. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What’re you doing with it?”

“Unloading it.”

She stopped several feet away, still holding the broom handle as if she was prepared to use it on him if need be. “I don’t know you.”

“No, ma’am.” He fit the wheel ramps in place and hopped up onto the trailer. “I assure you that Greer does.” He opened the car door and folded himself down inside it.

Maybe Greer—who was probably all of five two or three without those high heels she was always wearing—could fit comfortably into the car, but he couldn’t. Not for any length of time, anyway.

He started the car, backed down the ramp and turned into the driveway. Then he shut off the engine, crawled out from behind the wheel and locked it up again before sticking the key back into the magnetic box he’d found tucked inside the wheel well.

The woman was still standing in the middle of the street.

He secured the ramps back up onto the trailer and gave her another nod. “If you see her, tell her she’s got a thermostat problem.”

“Tell her yourself.” The woman pointed her broom handle at an expensive black SUV that had just crested the top of the hill. “Bet that’s her now.”

He bit back an oath. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to haul Greer’s car into town for her, particularly without her knowledge. And his chance of a clean escape had just disappeared.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of Greer’s house. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see who was behind the wheel, but he definitely could see the shapely leg that emerged when the passenger-side door opened.

It belonged to Greer, looking very un-Greer-like in a flowy sort of dress patterned in vibrant swirls of color that could have rivaled one of his aunt’s paintings. Half her hair was untidily pulled up and held by a glittery pink clip.

He still knew it was her, though, and not one of her sisters. No question, considering the sharp look she gave him as she closed the SUV door and approached him. “You hauled my car here?”

“I suppose there’s no point in denying the obvious.” He watched the big SUV pull around in the cul-de-sac and head back down the hill. The identity of the driver was none of his business. He wondered, anyway. “Boyfriend?”

She frowned. “Grant. And why did you haul it?”

No wonder the SUV had turned around and left. “You’d rather have it still sitting out on the side of the highway?”

“Of course not, but—” She broke off, looking consternated, and only then seemed to notice that they had an audience. “How are you doing, Mrs. Gunderson?” She leaned down to pet the little round dog. Ryder wasn’t enough of a gentleman to look away when the stretchy, ruffled neckline of Greer’s dress revealed more than it should have.

“Just fine, dearie. Oh, Mignon, don’t jump!”

Mrs. Gunderson’s admonishment was too late, though, because the dog had already bounced up and into Greer’s arms.

He was actually a little impressed that the fat Mignon could jump.

But he was more impressed by the way Greer caught him and laughed.

He had never heard her laugh before. Not her or her sisters. Her chocolate-colored eyes sparkled and her face practically glowed.

And damned if he didn’t feel something warm streak down his spine.

“You probably need a new thermostat,” he said abruptly.

The dog was licking the bottom of her chin even though she was trying to avoid his tongue, but she didn’t put Mignon down. “How do you know?”

“Because I checked everything else that would cause your overheating before I towed it back here.” He stepped around the two women. “And think about keeping your car key in a less obvious hiding spot,” he advised as pulled open the door to climb inside his truck.

Greer’s jaw dropped a little, which gave Mignon more chin to lick. She set the dog down and trotted after him, wrapping her fingers over the open window. “You’re just going to leave now?”

His fingers closed over the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. “What else do you figure I should do?”

Her lips parted slightly. “Can I pay you for the tow at least?”

He turned the key. “No need.”

“Well, I should do something.” She didn’t step back from the truck, despite the engine leaping to life. “To thank you at least. Surely there’s something I can do.”

The “something” that leaped to mind wasn’t exactly fit for sharing in polite company. Particularly with her elderly neighbor still watching them as though they were prime-time entertainment.

He said the next best option that came to mind. “Next time I need a lawyer, you can owe me one.” He even managed a smile to go with the words.