Cowboys and Cabernet

He didn’t really know why he’d formed such a negative mental image of the woman. Maybe it was his recollection of that one time he’d seen her, years ago. He remembered her as a mousy quiet child with a skinny awkward body and teeth covered in ugly braces.

Of course, she’d really suffered badly in comparison with her friend. Tyler smiled, remembering the ripe body of that other girl, the silly blond one. Misty? Molly? Whatever her name was, she’d certainly made an impact on his raging young hormones.

No wonder little Ruth Holden, sulking in a chair behind a book, had seemed so homely and unappealing. Tyler could just visualize the kind of woman she’d turned into. He pictured her with thick ankles and a severe look, her colorless hair hanging lank and unwashed around her ears. She’d be wearing thick glasses and carrying a clipboard at all times, and she’d probably be dressed in a white lab coat over a baggy gray flannel skirt.

This image had grown so real to him during the past few days, ever since he heard about the woman’s impending visit, that now, as Tyler glanced frequently into the arrivals area, he expected to see her come marching up the ramp, clipboard and all.

But the lounge was mostly empty, except for a few long-suffering people who were still waiting for the flight from Abilene.

Tyler became aware of a small movement beside him, a sudden charged air of expectancy.

The little boy was gazing up at him with wide eyes, holding out his hand. A tiny object rested on the small damp palm, and Tyler bent closer to look. It was a futuristic warrior figure, beautifully detailed, complete with small swords and laser guns.

Tyler nodded solemnly and smiled down into the sparkling blue eyes, understanding that the figurine was just being displayed for his enjoyment, not offered as a gift.

“That’s real nice,” he murmured to the child, who grinned happily.

Tyler smiled back and dug into his jacket pocket again, taking out his keys and snapping a small object off the key ring. It was a tiny leather saddle, no bigger than the end of his thumb and intricately crafted with miniature swinging stirrups and a little horn and cantle. He placed the saddle on his hard callused palm and held it out for the child’s inspection.

The boy gasped and stared at this enchanting object, then looked up at Tyler again, holding his breath and putting two fingers automatically into his mouth.

“Take it,” Tyler whispered. “You can have it.”

His seatmate gazed at him with astonishment and growing wonder. A small hand crept out cautiously and touched one of the little stirrups in an agony of longing.

“Michael!” the harried young mother said abruptly, turning away from her crying baby in the stroller. “What are you doing?”

“It’s all right, ma’am,” Tyler assured her with his most engaging grin. “I told him he could have it.”

The woman glanced uncertainly at the tall, handsome rancher, then at her little boy, who was now holding the miniature saddle, his face pale with tension.

“Well, all right,” she said reluctantly. “Michael, say thank-you.”

“Sanks,” the child whispered, drumming his feet on the chair and gazing ecstatically at the tiny object in his hand. He balanced the saddle on one small finger and set the stirrups swinging gently, his pink face rapt with happiness.

“You’re welcome, cowboy,” Tyler said cheerfully. The woman smiled, then gathered her children and hurried toward a short cheerful man in a crumpled suit who stood waiting by the entry gate.

While Tyler watched, the young father gathered the baby into his arms, kissed his wife and caressed the shining head of the little boy, who was joyously hugging his legs. The man bent to hear what his son was saying, then knelt and studied the tiny saddle that was held up for his inspection. He listened, smiled briefly over the child’s head at Tyler and turned back to his family.

Tyler smiled automatically in return, feeling a familiar vague sorrow as he watched this small tableau.

Nobody would ever know how much Tyler McKinney longed for children of his own, how deeply he yearned for the love of a small son like that little fair-haired child. This emotion was something Tyler hid from everybody, even his family and closest friends, most of whom considered him ambitious, cold and clearheaded, probably even a little ruthless.

But Tyler knew himself better, knew that he had great depths of tenderness to give the right woman, though he’d never managed to find the one he dreamed of. Dark or fair, short or tall—her looks didn’t really matter—but she’d have a sweet voice and gentle hands and a tender caring manner similar to his mother’s. Tyler knew this was an old-fashioned picture, and that women just weren’t like that nowadays. But still, he longed to find a woman who fulfilled his fantasies, who’d give him love and support and some little children to hold.

But his soul mate never seemed to come along, or else he’d just never found time to search for her. Tyler had been so busy during his college years, driven by his need to excel both scholastically and athletically. Then there’d been the absorbing interest of his new position as a full partner in the ranch, trying to use his training in business to develop methods of making the huge unwieldy operation more efficient and profitable.

And then, as he was trying to contend with the economic slide that followed the sudden crash in oil prices and threatened to drag the whole state of Texas into poverty, Tyler suffered the dreadful agony of his mother’s death.

The past five years in his life hadn’t been a real good time to think about building a relationship, Tyler reflected bitterly. In fact, there’d hardly been time to think about himself at all. Mostly he’d just passed those years putting one foot in front of the other, getting from day to day as best he could, hoping for some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.

Lately, Tyler had begun to hope that he’d found that light. His idea of building a winery on the Double C had thoroughly captivated him, and the more he researched the concept, the more excited he got. Miraculously, he’d even managed somehow to get Cynthia on his side, and now she was also exerting her considerable influence over his father.

But this damned Holden woman could throw a monkey wrench into the whole works, Tyler thought miserably. J.T. McKinney had tremendous respect for his old friend Don Holden, and for the success Don had had with his wine-making business. He was sure to pay some attention to the man’s daughter, possibly even to be swayed by her opinions. And if she was one of those carping, scientific doom-and-gloom types…

Tyler was so absorbed in his own gloomy thoughts that it took some time for him to remember that he and the woman with her children had been waiting for the same plane. He sprang to his feet, feeling embarrassed, and looked wildly around the receiving area.

But there was no woman anywhere who looked at all like Ruth Holden. Tyler moved uncertainly out into the lounge, hat in hand, wondering what could have happened to her.

Likely, he told himself with a wry grin, she was already in the washroom doing preliminary tests on pH levels in the Texas water.

While he was enjoying this uncharitable thought, he noticed a young woman near the luggage carousel who stood gazing at him with shy intensity. Tyler caught his breath and stared.

The woman was lovely. She wore a fitted suit of winter white with a cropped jacket and short skirt that showed off a slim, well-proportioned body and a pair of fantastic legs. Her brown hair, cut quite short, was casually windblown, and she had a beautiful complexion, creamy and warm, with the biggest, sweetest brown eyes he’d ever seen.

She paused uncertainly, a tan leather bag slung over her shoulder and another at her feet.

When Tyler gave her a startled grin of admiration she smiled back, an engaging nervous smile that tilted up on one side, causing a dimple to appear in her cheek. Tyler swallowed hard and found himself battling a crazy masculine urge to stride across the room, gather her into his arms and kiss that dimpled face.

To his astonishment, this lovely apparition lifted the bag at her feet and came toward him, extending a small hand. Tyler shook it, still surprised by her approach, and was further amazed by how hard and firm her hand was. The rest of her looked so deliciously soft, but she had a palm almost as callused as those of the Double C ranch hands.

“You must be Tyler,” she said in a low husky voice. “You look just like your father.”

Tyler, who heard this observation all the time, merely nodded and stared at her, his mind slowly absorbing the wonder of this situation.

“My God,” he said at last. “You’re not…you can’t be…”

“I’m Ruth Holden. Sorry the flight was so late,” the woman added cheerfully while Tyler stood gazing at her like a schoolboy. “They couldn’t leave Abilene because they were waiting for some kind of delivery, and apparently nobody could find it. They kept running back and forth from the terminal to the…excuse me, Tyler, are you all right?”

Tyler gathered himself hastily in hand and bent to lift the case at her feet. “Sorry,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’re just not quite what I expected, Ruth. Where’s the rest of your luggage?”

“This is it,” she said, surprising him further. “I’m only staying a week or so,” she added casually, “and Dad assured me that you people don’t dress for dinner. Mostly I just brought some jeans and shirts. I hope that’s all right.”

“That’s fine,” Tyler said, still feeling dizzied by her smile. “That’s just fine. Everybody wears jeans most all the time.”

In fact, Cynthia had made a few attempts to initiate the habit of dressing for dinner at the ranch, but the suggestion had been met with general indifference from the rest of the family, and such caustic scorn from old Hank that she’d backed off, at least for the moment.

“So, what did you expect?” Ruth asked, walking beside him to the entrance door.

“Beg pardon?” Tyler fitted his Stetson on his head and held the door for her, moving behind her into the pale sunshine.

“You said I wasn’t what you expected. I wondered how you’d pictured me.”

Tyler hesitated, his tanned cheeks flushing a little as he remembered the dowdy woman he’d visualized. “Just…different,” he said lamely. “More like a scientist, I guess.”

Ruth chuckled. “Well, it’s been a long time since we saw each other, and back then,” she added, giving him a cheerful yet pointed glance, “I’m not sure you even knew what I looked like. You spent the whole time drooling over my friend.”

Tyler grinned. “Yeah,” he said, reminiscing fondly. “What was her name? Milly?”