Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

She looked from one of them to the other. They had very suspicious expressions. “Okay.”

She was still learning to drive it, but the controls were straightforward, and it didn’t take long to learn them. The salesman had come out with it, to further explain its operation.

It had big tires, and it went down steps. That was a revelation. It didn’t even bump very much. She followed Cort and Odalie over the sandy yard to the huge enclosure where her hens lived. It was grassy, despite the tendency of chickens to scratch and eat the grass, with trees on one side. The other contained multiple feeders and hanging waterers. The enormous henhouse had individual nests and cowboys cleaned it out daily. There was almost no odor, and the hens were clean and beautiful.

“My girls look very happy,” Maddie said, laughing.

“They have a good reason to be happy.” Cort went into the enclosure, and a minute later, he came back out, carrying a large red rooster with a big comb and immaculate feathers.

He brought him to Maddie. The rooster looked sort of like Pumpkin, but he was much bigger. He didn’t seem at all bothered to be carried under someone’s arm. He handed the rooster to Maddie.

She perched him on her jean-clad lap and stared at him. He cocked his head and looked at her and made a sort of purring sound.

She was aghast. She looked up at Cort wide-eyed.

“His name’s Percival,” Cort told her with a chuckle. “He has impeccable bloodlines.”

She looked at the feathery pet again. “I’ve never seen a rooster this tame,” she remarked.

“That’s from those impeccable bloodlines.” Odalie giggled. “All their roosters are like this. They’re even guaranteed to be tame, or your money back. So he’s sort of returnable. But you won’t need to return him. He’s been here for a week and he hasn’t attacked anybody yet. Considering his age, he’s not likely to do it.”

“His age?” Maddie prompted.

“He’s two,” Cort said. “Never attacked anybody on the farm for all that time. The owners’ kids carry the roosters around with them all the time. They’re gentled. But they’re also bred for temperament. They have exceptions from time to time. But Percy’s no exception. He’s just sweet.”

“Yes, he is.” She hugged the big rooster, careful not to hug him too closely, because chickens have no diaphragm and they can be smothered if their chests are compressed for too long. “Percy, you’re gorgeous!”

He made that purring sound again. Almost as if he were laughing. She handed him back to Cort. “You’ve got him separate from the girls?”

He nodded. “If you want biddies, we can put him with them in time for spring chicks. But they know he’s nearby, and so will predators. He likes people. He hates predators. The owner says there’s a fox who’ll never trouble a henhouse again after the drubbing Percy gave him.”

Maddie laughed with pure joy. “It will be such a relief not to have to carry a limb with me to gather eggs,” she said. The smile faded. “I’ll always miss Pumpkin,” she said softly, “but even I knew that something had to give eventually. He was dangerous. I just didn’t have the heart to do anything about him.”

“Providence did that for you,” Cort replied. He smiled warmly. Maddie smiled back but she avoided his eyes.

That bothered him. He put Percy back in the enclosure in his own fenced area, very thoughtful. Maddie was polite, but she’d been backing away from him for days now. He felt insecure. He wanted to ask her what was wrong. Probably, he was going to have to do that pretty soon.

Maddie went to work on her sculptures with a vengeance, now that she had enough materials to produce anything she liked.

Her first work, though, was a tribute to her new friend. She made a fairy who looked just like Odalie, perched on a lily pad, holding a firefly. She kept it hidden when Cort and Odalie came to see her, which was pretty much every single day. It was her secret project.

She was so thrilled with it that at first she didn’t even want to share it with them. Of all the pieces she’d done, this was her best effort. It had been costly, too. Sitting in one position for a long time, even in her cushy imported wheelchair, was uncomfortable and took a toll on her back.

“You mustn’t stress your back muscles like this,” the therapist fussed when she went in for therapy, which she did every other day. “It’s too much strain so early in your recovery.”

She smiled while the woman used a heat lamp and massage on her taut back. “I know. I like to sculpt things. I got overenthusiastic.”

“Take frequent breaks,” the therapist advised.

“I’ll do that. I promise.”

She was walking now, just a little at a time, but steadily. Cort had bought a unit for her bathtub that created a Jacuzzi-like effect in the water. It felt wonderful on her sore and bruised back. He’d had a bar installed, too, so that she could ease herself up out of the water and not have to worry about slipping.

Odalie brought her exotic cheeses and crackers to eat them with, having found out that cheese was pretty much Maddie’s favorite food. She brought more art books, and classical music that Maddie loved.

Cort brought his guitar and sang to her. That was the hardest thing to bear. Because Maddie knew he was only doing it because he thought Maddie had feelings for him. It was humiliating that she couldn’t hide them, especially since she knew that he loved Odalie and always would.

But she couldn’t help but be entranced by it. She loved his deep, rich voice, loved the sound of the guitar, with its mix of nylon and steel strings. It was a classical guitar. He’d ordered it from Spain. He played as wonderfully as he sang.

When he’d played “Recuerdos de la Alhambra” for her, one of the most beautiful classical guitar compositions ever conceived, she wept like a baby.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, drying her tears with a handkerchief. “It was composed by a Spaniard, Francisco Tárrega, in 1896.” He smiled. “It’s my favorite piece.”

“Mine, too,” she said. “I had a recording of guitar solos on my iPod with it. But you play it just as beautifully as that performer did. Even better than he did.”

“Thanks.” He put the guitar back into its case, very carefully. “From the time I was ten, there was never any other instrument I wanted to play. I worried my folks to death until they bought me one. And Morie used to go sit outside while I practiced, with earplugs in.” He chuckled, referring to his sister.

“Poor Morie,” she teased.

“She loves to hear me play, now. She said it was worth the pain while I learned.”

She grinned. “You know, you could sing professionally.”

He waved that thought away. “I’m a cattleman,” he replied. “Never wanted to be anything else. The guitar is a nice hobby. But I don’t think I’d enjoy playing and singing as much if I had to do it all the time.”

“Good point.”

“How’s that sculpture coming along?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Come see.”

She turned on the wheelchair and motored herself into the makeshift studio they’d furnished for her in her father’s old bedroom. It had just the right airy, lighted accommodation that made it a great place to work. Besides that, she could almost feel her father’s presence when she was in it.

“Don’t tell her,” she cautioned as she uncovered a mound on her worktable. “It’s going to be a surprise.”

“I promise.”

She pulled off the handkerchief she’d used to conceal the little fairy sculpture. The paint was dry and the glossy finish she’d used over it gave the beautiful creature an ethereal glow.

“It looks just like her!” Cort exclaimed as he gently picked it up.

She grinned. “Do you think so? I did, but I’m too close to my work to be objective about it.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve done yet, and that’s saying something.” He looked down at her with an odd expression. “You really have the talent.”

She flushed. “Thanks, Cort.”

He put the sculpture down and bent, brushing his mouth tenderly over hers. “I have to be so careful with you,” he whispered at her lips. “It’s frustrating, in more ways than one.”