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

“They did a great job on John, for sure.” He let out a breath. “I just wish Cort would wake up. Odalie is never going to settle in a small community. She’s meant for high society and big cities. Cort would die in a high-rise apartment. He’s got too much country in him, although he’d jump at the chance if Odalie would offer him one. Just between us,” he added quietly, “I hope she doesn’t. If she makes it in opera, and I think she can, what would Cort do with himself while she trained and performed? He’d be bored out of his mind. He doesn’t even like opera. He likes country-western.”

“He plays it very well,” Maddie said softly. “I loved coming to the barbecue at your place during the spring sale and hearing him sing. It was nice of you to invite all of us. Even old Ben. He was over the moon.”

He laughed. “You’re all neighbors. I know you think of Ben as more family than employee. His family has worked for your family for four generations.”

“That’s a long time,” she agreed. “I’m not selling my place,” she added firmly. “No matter what that fancy Las Vegas man does.”

“Good for you. I’ll help you make sure of that. I’ll send Cort on over.”

“He’s back from visiting his sister?” she stammered.

“Yes. Got back yesterday. They went trout fishing.” She sighed. “I’d love to go trout fishing.”

“Cort loves it. He said they did close the trout streams for fishing a couple of days after he and Dana—Morie, I mean, went. The heat makes it impossible.“

“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Why do you call Morie Dana?” she blurted out.

He laughed. “When Shelby was carrying them, we called them Matt and Dana. Those were the names we picked out. Except that two of our friends used those names for theirs and we had to change ours. It got to be a habit, though, until the kids were adolescents.

“Hey, Cort,” she heard King call, his hand covering the receiver so his voice was a little muffled.

“Yes, Dad?” came the reply.

“I want you to go over to the Lane place and give Maddie some help with her breeding program.”

“The hell I will!” Cort burst out.

The hand over the phone seemed to close, because the rest of it was muffled. Angry voices, followed by more discussion, followed like what seemed a string of horrible curses from Cort.

King came back on the line. “He said he’d be pleased to come over and help,” he lied. “But he did ask if you’d shut your rooster up first.” He chuckled.

“I’ll put him in the chicken house right now.” She tried not to sound as miserable as she felt. She knew Cort didn’t want to help her. He hated her. “And thank you again.”

“You’re very welcome. Call us if you need help with Lawson. Okay?”

“Okay.”

True to his father’s words, Cort drove up in front of the house less than an hour later. He wasn’t slamming doors or scattering chickens this time, either. He looked almost pleasant. Apparently his father had talked to him very firmly.

Maddie had combed her hair and washed her face. She still wasn’t going to win any beauty contests. She had on her nicest jeans and a pink T-shirt that said La Vie en Rose.

It called attention, unfortunately, to breasts that were small and pert instead of big and tempting. But Cort was looking at her shirt with his lips pursed.

“The world through rose-colored glasses?” he mused.

“You speak French.”

“Of course. French, Spanish and enough German to get me arrested in Munich. We do cattle deals all over the world,” he added.

“Yes, I remember.” She swallowed, hard, recalling the things he’d said at their last unfortunate meeting. “Your father said you could help me figure out Dad’s breeding program.”

“I think so. I helped him work up the new one before he passed away,” he added quietly. “We were all shocked by how fast it happened.”

“So were we,” Maddie confessed. “Two months from the time he was diagnosed until he passed on.” She drew in a long breath. “He hated tests, you know. He wouldn’t go to the doctor about anything unless he was already at death’s door. I think the doctor suspected something, but Dad just passed right over the lecture about tests being necessary and walked out. By the time they diagnosed the cancer, it was too late for anything except radiation. And somebody said that they only did that to help contain the pain.” Her pale eyes grew sad. “It was terrible, the pain. At the last, he was so sedated that he hardly knew me. It was the only way he could cope.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t lost parents, but I lost both my grandparents. They were wonderful people. It was hard to let them go.”

“Life goes on,” she said quietly. “Everybody dies. It’s just a matter of how and when.”

“True.”

She swallowed. “Dad kept his chalkboard in the barn, and his books in the library, along with his journals. I’ve read them all, but I can’t make sense of what he was doing. I’m not college educated, and I don’t really know much about animal husbandry. I know what I do from watching Dad.”

“I can explain it to you.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

She turned and led the way to the house.

“Where’s that…rooster?” he asked.

“Shut up in the henhouse with a fan.”

“A fan?” he exclaimed and burst out laughing.

“It really isn’t funny,” she said softly. “I lost two of my girls to the heat. Found them dead in the henhouse, trying to lay. I had Ben go and get us a fan and install it there. It does help with the heat, a little at least.”

“My grandmother used to keep hens,” he recalled. “But we only have one or two now. Foxes got the rest.” He glanced at her. “Andie, our housekeeper, wants to get on your egg customer list for two dozen a week.”

She nodded. “Your dad mentioned that. I can do that. I’ve got pullets that should start laying soon. My flock is growing by leaps and bounds.” She indicated the large fenced chicken yard, dotted with all sorts of chickens. The henhouse was huge, enough to accommodate them all, complete with perches and ladders and egg boxes and, now, a fan.

“Nice operation.”

“I’m going to expand it next year, if I do enough business.”

“Did you check the law on egg production?”

She laughed. “Yes, I did. I’m in compliance. I don’t have a middleman, or I could be in trouble. I sell directly to the customer, so it’s all okay.”

“Good.” He shrugged, his hands in his jean pockets. “I’d hate to have to bail you out of jail.”

“You wouldn’t,” she sighed.

He stopped and looked down at her. She seemed so dejected. “Yes, I would,” he said, his deep voice quiet and almost tender as he studied her small frame, her short wavy blond hair, her wide, soft gray eyes. Her complexion was exquisite, not a blemish on it except for one small mole on her cheek. She had a pretty mouth, too. It looked tempting. Bow-shaped, soft, naturally pink…

“Cort?” she asked suddenly, her whole body tingling, her heart racing at the way he was staring at her mouth.

“What? Oh. Yes. The breeding books.” He nodded. “We should get to it.”