The Rancher's Christmas Match

She came around the back of her little car and stepped in front of him, blocking the path to his truck. She was a head shorter than his almost six feet, and she was too thin. She was kind of pale, too. Like she didn’t sleep much.

He shouldn’t judge. It wasn’t like he got a full eight hours every night. More like eight hours every two days. And a woman definitely didn’t want someone pointing out that she needed a steak, mashed potatoes and more sleep.

At that moment she was surveying him with a less-than-appreciative gleam in her milk-chocolate brown eyes.

“Balance, my foot. Hand over your keys.” She tipped her chin up. “I have a nine-year-old daughter, and the last thing I want is someone in your condition behind the wheel of a car. Or a truck.”

He grinned a little and her eyes narrowed.

She extended her hand, nails manicured to perfection with the prettiest dark pink polish, and arched an eyebrow at his reluctance to hand over his keys. It took him at least five seconds to realize she thought he was drunk. He almost laughed. Almost.

She was pretty enough that he didn’t mind the insult. After all, she had no way of knowing. People, he realized, saw what they wanted to see.

As it happened, she smelled like sunshine and he wouldn’t mind a ride home.

“Stop grinning and say something!” she demanded. Most women waited until they’d known him at least a day or two before they reached that level of outrage.

The two of them were causing a scene. People were starting to stare. A few locals grinned and marched on by, willing to leave him to his fate. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in her very lovely hand.

“Where do you live?” she demanded, a little less confident now that she had his keys. He figured she might be afraid.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

At his declaration she stepped back, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed a little bit of her outrage and dealt with her fear. If he had to guess, she wasn’t usually the kind of woman who made impulsive decisions, and demanding his keys had been a rash one.

“Of course you won’t,” she stated. “I have a child in my car. I really do not want any trouble.”

He noticed her lips were the same shade as her nail polish, and she bit down on the bottom one, her gaze darting about.

“Looking for a better option?” he asked. “I assure you there isn’t a taxi or Uber in sight.”

“Of course there isn’t.” She looked at the keys in her hand. “Get in my car.”

He wanted to say a mighty loud, “Thank you, God.” But he refrained. His head was killing him and he didn’t really care what she thought of him. He slid into the passenger seat of the tin can she called a car and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

Miss Sunshine and Happiness got in on the driver’s side. Man, she smelled good.

She said something, but since she was talking into his bad ear he didn’t catch a word of it. He glanced her way, started to ask her to repeat, then noticed she really did have a child in the car. The little girl appeared to be nine or ten. She had wide brown eyes and the same honey-colored hair as her mother.

“Mom, didn’t you say we never talk to strangers?” she asked, a cheeky grin on her face. He instantly liked the kid. She might be a replica of her mother, but there was a happy sparkle in her eyes. Life was still an adventure at that age.

He shifted his gaze from the girl to the woman in the driver’s seat. The movement caused a sharp pain in the side of his head. At this point he usually had a cup of his sister-in-law Kylie’s tea in hand as he crawled into a dark room.

“I said to buckle up,” Miss Sunshine and Happiness said with a dose of aggravation, which meant she’d already said it once.

He guessed it was too late to explain that he wasn’t intentionally ignoring her. He buckled up.

“Where do I take you?”

“Mercy Ranch.”

“Mercy Ranch? The ranch owned by Jack West?”

“The same. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. West.”

Interesting. She’d been on her way to the ranch. She didn’t look like a veteran. Jack and his ranch for wounded warriors had become nationally known in the last couple years. But then, what did a wounded warrior look like? They weren’t all men with big scars on the sides of their heads, or missing limbs. Some injuries were internal. Some were heart deep and resulted in nightmares and anxiety.

He was curious, but not curious enough to continue the conversation.

“Do you work at the ranch?” the child in the back seat asked.

It was difficult to hear when her voice had to compete with road noise, the whistle of wind battering the window of the car and the oldies station playing on the radio. Any other time he might have glanced back. At the moment, movement was not his friend and it was best to remain still, his head turned toward the driver.

As a matter of fact, his stomach was suddenly making him feel less than manly.

“My daughter asked you a question,” Miss Happiness and Sunshine informed him.

“Yes.” The one word came out a little curt. He could do better than that. “I work at the ranch.”

“Are you going to be sick?” the child asked.

“Maybe,” he muttered.

He thought of a scenario a little more to his liking, one in which he rescued this woman and showed her that a real man didn’t need to be given a ride home, didn’t need to be coddled and talked to like he was five. He had a feeling this woman, Miss Happiness and Sunshine, didn’t like being rescued. She didn’t strike him as a damsel in distress.

She probably slayed dragons and stormed castle walls. He could do those things on an average day. Unfortunately, today wasn’t his best knight-in-shining-armor day.

The random thoughts worked, the way they sometimes did, to calm his brain and lessen the head pain. Not moving happened to be another key to ridding himself of the knife-sharp ache.

“You do look a little green,” the woman said as she gave him a quick glance. What was her name? he wondered.

“Paula,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Trying to guess your name.” He slid the hat back a fraction just so he could see her face. He caught what might have been the beginning of amusement hovering in her eyes. “Rachel?”

“No.”

The child in the back seat laughed. The sound bounced around the vehicle. “Rebecca. Her name is Rebecca.”

Isaac’s eyes widened and he reached for the door. “Stop the car.”

The woman quickly pulled to the shoulder and he practically fell as he escaped the car and stumbled to the ditch. He didn’t lose his lunch, but came pretty close to losing his confidence.

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