His Holiday Bride

“He was a trainer, but he kept his own stable. It’s where I learned to ride.”

She had leaped to far too many conclusions. A small twist of shame spread through her, something that not even the bitter cold could dull. “And when you and your grandfather would sit and read Westerns together, it was in Kentucky?”

“Technically in his house in Kentucky.”

Impossible to miss the amusement in his voice. Embarrassment flooded her. “You didn’t know anything about cattle. What was I to think?”

“You were relying on what you knew of me. I’m sure Tim, the mayor, had no problem telling everyone I was from a big city.”

“It caused a big ruckus at the town meeting, since all the ranchers on this end of the county showed up demanding the council hire someone sympathetic to our needs. I was in that room, so I know.” She remembered how outraged several ranchers had felt when the new hire had been announced. “My dad said we ought to give you a chance, and I can see he was right. I guess I expected someone much different from you.”

“And you can admit you were wrong about me?”

“It appears I’m going to have to.” They crested a hill, and the wind picked up, whipping with a frenzy and driving ice through her clothes. Ford’s phone rang. For a moment there she’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

Chapter Five

His call done, Ford flipped his phone shut and jammed it into his pocket. He could have used some good news since he was frozen. Even his bone marrow was officially iced over. When he’d been cozied up in his old apartment near Chicago’s Chinatown considering a change, being a small-town sheriff sounded nice. Friendly. Warm. Especially since he’d interviewed in September when the temperatures had hovered in the high seventies.

He was glad it would be exciting, too. Nothing like chasing cattle rustlers to liven up things. Might as well start his new career off with a bang. It had a huge perk, too. Maybe lovely Autumn Granger was looking at him with a new perspective.

“Sheriff Benton said they lost the trucks. Because of the storm, they had to put down.” He hated to have to deliver the news.

“I’m thankful no one was seriously hurt this time.”

He heard that catch in her voice, the grip of emotion she probably thought she could hide. “This time?”

“We’ve had rustlers before. Didn’t the mayor fill you in?”

“He mentioned a little trouble now and then.” Now that he was clued in on the definition of trouble in these parts, it all made sense. Trouble at the Green Ranch last spring, a few incidences of it through the year. First thing Monday morning he would be in the office going over old files. “What happened?”

“My dad.” Her voice wobbled, betraying her. He didn’t have to ask to know it had been a serious hit. He waited for her to clear the emotion from her throat, wanting the rest of the story.

“He was in the ICU for six weeks. For the first two we didn’t know if he would live or die. I stayed at the hospital with him, and I can’t tell you how terrifying it was to wait through every minute of those two weeks praying he would survive.” She took a shaky breath, batted snow from her face and turned her horse cross-ways into the wind. “Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have let him come out tonight. Next time I’ll remember to hogtie him in the kitchen.”

He heard a tad of humor in her words and a daughter’s love. “You wouldn’t do it, and he wouldn’t want you to.”

“True. Plus, he’s a good shot. He brought down the helicopter, so it’s good I allowed him out of the house.”

“Something tells me you know how to use that rifle you’re carrying. You’re just as good a shot.”

“Sure, because my dad taught me.” More warmth and way too much affection to measure. A shadow rose out of the storm—the roofline of a stable. She dismounted clumsily, a little frostbitten. “This probably doesn’t come as a surprise, but I was a tomboy. I loved being outdoors with my dad riding horses, mending fences, feeding the cows.”

Daddy’s girl. It was easy to picture her trailing after Granger, her red hair up in pigtails, riding the fields and hills just as she’d ridden them tonight. He tried dismounting and found that his right leg didn’t want to move. After some encouragement he managed to swing it over the horse’s rump and land on the ground, not that he could exactly feel his feet.

“You’ll thaw,” she informed him breezily as she whistled and the horses followed her. Light and warmth beckoned through the fierce storm. When he closed the stable door behind them, he discovered he couldn’t feel his hands as well as he’d thought. The Lord was busy in this world full of strife, but Ford really didn’t want to lose a finger. It was his fault he didn’t have a better pair of gloves with him. A mistake he would not make again. He peeled off his mittens and blew out a sigh of relief. Pink skin, not white.