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

“Why did you do that?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, they like everything neat and correct.”

“Don’t correct it! Tear it up!”

“They’ll just do another one. The papers will print what’s on there, too. You don’t want your middle name misspelled several thousand times, do you?”

She was all but gasping for breath. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it right now. There’s plenty of time. They haven’t decided on a definite date yet, anyway.”

She stood up, wild-eyed. “You can’t let your brothers decide when and who you’re going to marry!”

“Well, you go stop them, then,” he said easily. “But don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

He pulled his hat over his eyes and walked out the door, whistling softly to himself.

Chapter Five (#ulink_264a30b5-6359-5a76-8f23-88fb456b9116)

First she did the accounts. Her mind was still reeling from Corrigan’s ardor, and she had to be collected when she spoke to his brothers. She deciphered his scribbled numbers, balanced the books, checked her figures and put down a total.

They certainly weren’t broke, and there was enough money in the account to feed Patton’s Third Army. She left them a note saying so, amused at the pathetic picture they’d painted of their finances. Probably, the reason for that was part of their master plan.

She went outside to look for them after she’d done the books. They were all four in the barn, standing close together. They stopped talking the minute she came into view, and she knew for certain that they’d been talking about her.

“I’m not marrying him,” she told them clearly, and pointed at Corrigan.

“Okay,” Leo said easily.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Rey remarked.

Cag just shrugged.

Corrigan grinned.

“I’m through with the books,” she said uneasily. “I want to go home now.”

“You haven’t eaten lunch,” Rey said.

“It’s only eleven o’clock,” she said pointedly.

“We have an early lunch, because we work until dark,” Cag volunteered.

“Mrs. Culbertson just left,” Rey said. He sighed. “She put some beef and gravy in the oven to warm. But she didn’t make us any biscuits.”

“We don’t have anything to put gravy on,” Leo agreed.

“Can’t work all afternoon without a biscuit,” Cag said, nodding.

Corrigan grinned.

Dorie had thought that Corrigan was making up that story about the brothers’ mania for biscuits. Apparently it was the gospel truth.

“Just one pan full,” Leo coaxed. “It wouldn’t take five minutes.” He eyed her warily. “If you can really make them. Maybe you can’t. Maybe you were just saying you could, to impress us.”

“That’s right,” Rey added.

“I can make biscuits,” she said, needled. “You just point me to the kitchen and I’ll show you.”

Leo grinned. “Right this way!”

Half an hour later, the pan of biscuits were gone so fast that they might have disintegrated. Leo and Corrigan were actually fighting over the last one, pulled it apart in their rush, and ended up splitting it while the other two sat there gloating. They’d had more than their share because they had faster hands.

“Next time, you’ve got to make two pans,” Corrigan told her. “One doesn’t fill Leo’s hollow tooth.”

“I noticed,” she said, surprisingly touched by the way they’d eaten her biscuits with such enjoyment. “I’ll make you a pan of rolls to go with them next time.”

“Rolls?” Leo looked faint. “You can make homemade rolls?”

“I’ll see about the wedding rings right now,” Rey said, wiping his mouth and pushing away from the table.

“I’ve got the corrected invitation in my pocket,” Cag murmured as he got up, too.

Leo joined the other two at the door. “They said they can get the dress here from Paris in two weeks,” Leo said.

Dorie gaped at them. But before she could say a word, all three of them had rushed out the door and closed it, talking animatedly among themselves.

“But, I didn’t say…!” she exclaimed.

“There, there,” Corrigan said, deftly adding another spoonful of gravy to his own remaining half of a biscuit. “It’s all right. They forgot to call the minister and book him.”

Just at that moment, the door opened and Leo stuck his head in. “Are you Methodist, Baptist or Presbyterian?” he asked her.

“I’m… Presbyterian,” she faltered.

He scowled. “Nearest Presbyterian minister is in Victoria,” he murmured thoughtfully, “but don’t worry, I’ll get him here.” He closed the door.

“Just a minute!” she called.

The doors of the pickup closed three times. The engine roared. “Too late,” Corrigan said imperturbably.

“But didn’t you hear him?” she burst out. “For heaven’s sake, they’re going to get a minister!”

“Hard to get married in church without one,” he insisted. He gestured toward her plate with a fork to the remaining chunk of beef. “Don’t waste that. It’s one of our own steers. Corn fed, no hormones, no antibiotics, no insecticides. We run a clean, environmentally safe operation here.”

She was diverted. “Really?”

“We’re renegades,” he told her. “They groan when they see us coming at cattle conventions. Usually we go with Donavan. He’s just like us about cattle. He and the Ballenger brothers have gone several rounds over cattle prods and feed additives. He’s mellowed a bit since his nephew came to live with him and he got married. But he likes the way we do things.”