A Randall Thanksgiving

“This one,” she said, pointing to one hanging nearby. “But I can saddle her myself.”

“No need. Save your energy.” He grabbed her saddle and went to work on Maybelle. “John said he has his biggest herd over in the pasture by the county road. And we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Do you know how to ride?” Melissa asked, a smile on her lips.

Harry stopped saddling the horse and looked at her. A man in Rawhide who didn’t know how to ride? What did she think he was?

“Of course I know how to ride. And drive cattle.” He tilted his hat and gave her a sharp stare. “I would venture a guess I’ve had more experience at it than you have.”

She put her hands on her hips and took a step forward. “You think so, cowboy? Remember, I grew up here.”

Harry gave her an assessing look. She’d lost her drawl and her hair was so short and spiky; even her jeans were designer. Sometimes, he had to admit, it was hard to remember she was from Wyoming. Aside from her little temper tantrums, she seemed sophisticated and…worldly. Anyone could see she’d spent a considerable amount of time outside of Rawhide.

He laughed to himself. Actually, he couldn’t wait to see Little Miss Parisian out there riding herd.

He tugged on Maybelle’s saddle, found it tight, and stepped back, waving his hand with a flourish. “Your mount awaits, m’lady.” Then he cracked a smile and added, “We’ll just see who’s the rider here.”

Melissa took the dare. She speared him with a look and said, “You’re on.”

Grabbing Maybelle’s reins, she led the mare out of the barn, leaving Harry to follow.

Not that it was a bad view, he admitted. He was developing quite a liking for those tight, designer jeans.

John met up with them outside the barn, having said goodbye to his mother. “We’re ready,” Harry told him.

John nodded resolutely, concern for his mother temporarily replaced by determination to get the job done. He glanced over at his sister. “Get a pair of chaps. It’s going to be cold out there. You have good gloves?”

Melissa smiled. “Yes, John,” she said patiently. “You know I’ve done this before.”

Harry snickered, but she ignored him. Instead she pointed to a pile of scarves she’d left inside the barn door. “Dad gave me those. Said we’d need them for the cold.” She looked at Harry then. “If you wrap one around your face and tie it in back, it’ll serve as a kerchief, and keep you warm, too.”

Biting back a comment, he put one on, then reached out and tied Melissa’s behind her short hair. He expected a complaint but got none. Nor did he get a thank-you.

She pulled a hat on her head, climbing into the saddle and headed out.

John rode alongside Harry into the cold, windy pasture. Had it been any other day of the week, They’d have had a number of cowboys to help out. But it was Saturday, and all the men had already gone into town. Probably all lined up for a beer already, Harry figured. Just like last night, when he’d first seen Melissa.

That scene had replayed in his head a few times—how beautiful she’d looked sitting there, sipping her beer. He wondered how different things would have turned out if he’d taken her up on her request for a dance.

He’d never know.

Once they reached the pasture by the county road, there was no time for thinking. There was a herd to gather.

Snow had begun to fall and the temperature was dropping sharply. John kept looking up at the sky, but Harry didn’t bother. Mike had already alerted them to the forecast, and it was not good. They were in for a substantial snowfall, on top of what was already on the ground.

Luckily, the herd was mostly Herefords. Their red coats showed up better in the swirling snow.

They rounded up the large herd, each working hard at the job. Even Melissa. She rode with skill and knew her way around the herd, Harry would give her that. As much as it pained him to admit it, she held her own.

By the time they dragged themselves back to the barn, it was after eight o’clock and the three of them were exhausted. The buffeting of the wind was enough to wear anyone out.

Melissa hopped down off of her mare. “If you’ll unsaddle Maybelle and give her some oats,” she told he men, “I’ll get up to the house and start supper for us.”

Harry could only stare at her. The words came out of his mouth before he could censor them. “You ride herd and cook, too? Man, you’re a rancher’s dream!”

As she strode by him, she tipped her nose in the air. “I’m not so sure that a rancher would be my dream, though.”

Chapter Four

“I’m not sure my sister’s dreams are like those of other women in Rawhide.”

John’s words reached Harry through his haze. He’d been too intent watching Melissa sashay up to the house to pay his friend any mind. Now he turned to John.

“They wouldn’t be, though, would they? I mean, she’s been living in Paris for six years.” He grinned. “Heck, she’s probably the only person in Rawhide who’s ever been.”

“Not so,” John said unsaddling Maybelle. “Mom and Dad went to see her awhile back.”

“Did they like it?”

“Mom enjoyed it, but she said she was glad to get back home. Dad didn’t have anything good to say about it. He’s never been happy that Melissa is living there.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Melissa says he’s trying to marry her off to someone here in Rawhide so she’ll stay here.” Harry didn’t look at his friend. He just kept taking care of the horse he’d borrowed.

“I wonder who he’s got in mind,” John said. When Harry said nothing, John stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “Harry? Do you know who Dad’s thinking of?”

“I don’t know what your dad is thinking, but Melissa said it’s me.”

“Really?” John asked eagerly. “That’d be great, Harry! Hey, snap her up at once!”

“That’s not how it works, John. Melissa has to be interested. More than interested, she has to want to marry and stay here rather than go back to France. And I don’t see that happening. Do you?”

John stood there, looking at him. Finally, he shook his head. “No, I don’t see that happening.”

“Then you should encourage your dad not to press her on that front. If she married because of him, the marriage wouldn’t last. You know how that goes.”

“You sound like a voice of experience. You’ve seen a marriage like that?”

Harry hefted off the saddle and put it in the tack room. “Yeah, my parents’. When they finally divorced it was a relief for all of us.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something you go around bragging about. But I think both my parents are happier now. Anyway, that’s why I’m not interested in Melissa. She’s beautiful and obviously talented, but I don’t want an unhappy wife.”

He couldn’t believe he was using the words Melissa and wife in the same thought. He laughed to himself as he absently brushed down the borrowed horse. The matchmaking Randalls were legendary in these parts. But they’d met their match in Melissa.

Once he and John fed the horses, they bundled up again for the trek to the house. The snow was falling heavily now, and blowing around, nearly obliterating the building in front of them. Trudging through the storm they reached the mudroom and shed their coats and boots, which were wet and covered in crusty snow.

Melissa called out from the kitchen. “Come on in. It’s almost ready.”