The Rancher's Christmas Song

She punched in the numbers they gave her without much confidence she would actually be connected to Beck, but to her surprise he answered.

“Broken Arrow,” he said, with a brusqueness she should have expected, especially considering he probably didn’t recognize her phone number.

Those two simple words in his deep, sexy voice seemed to shiver down her spine as if he’d trailed a finger down it.

“Beckett, this is Ella Baker. I was wondering...that is, your sons were wondering, uh, are you coming to pick them up?”

Darn it, she hated being so tongue-tied around the man. She had all the poise and grace of a lumbering steer.

There was a long, awkward pause, then he swore. He quickly amended it. “Uh, shoot. I totally forgot about that. What time is rehearsal done?”

“About twenty minutes ago,” she answered, letting a bit of tartness creep into her voice.

He sighed. “I’ve got the vet here looking at a sick horse. We’re going to be another ten minutes or so, then I’ll have to clean up a bit. Can you give me a half hour?”

He still couldn’t seem to bring himself to ask for her help. Stubborn man. She glanced over at the boys, who were admiring the giant Christmas tree in the lodge. She wasn’t sure she had the physical or mental capacity to keep them entertained and out of trouble for another half hour.

“I can give them a ride home, if you would like. It’s an easy stop on my way back to the Baker’s Dozen.”

“Could you? That would be a big help. Thank you.” The relief in his voice was palpable.

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to drop them at the barn or the house?”

“The horse barn, if you don’t mind. That’s where I’m working.”

She was suddenly having second thoughts, not sure she was ready to see him two days in a row.

“All right. We’ll see you shortly, then.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

She managed to round up the boys in the nick of time, seconds before they were about to test how strong the garland over the mantel was by taking turns dangling from it.

How had Beck’s house not burned down to the ground by now, with these two mischievous boys around?

“Why are you driving us home?” Colter asked when they had their seat belts on in her back seat. “Where’s our dad?”

“He’s taking care of a sick horse, he said. The vet’s there with him and they lost track of time.”

“That’s Frisco. He was our mom’s horse, but he’s probably gonna die soon.”

She wasn’t sure how to reply to that, especially when he spoke in a matter-of-fact way. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s really old and too ornery for us to ride. He bites. Dad says he better not catch us near him,” Trevor said.

She shivered, then hoped they couldn’t see. She had to get over her fear of horses, darn it. After more than a year in horse and cattle country, she thought she would be past it—but then, twenty years hadn’t made a difference, so why should the past year enact some miraculous change?

“You better do what he says.”

“We don’t want to ride that grumpy thing, anyway,” Trevor said. “Why would we? We both have our own horses. Mine is named Oreo and Colt’s is named Blackjack.”

“Do you have a horse, Miss Baker?”

She remembered a sweet little roan mare she had adored more than anything in the world.

“I used to, when I was your age. Her name was Ruby. But I haven’t been on a horse in a long, long time. We don’t have any horses on the Baker’s Dozen.”

In one bold sweep, her dad had gotten rid of them all twenty years ago, even though he had loved to ride, too. Thinking about it always made her sad.

“You could come ride our horses. We have like a million of them.”

Familiar fear sidled up to her and said hello. “That’s nice of you, Colter, but I don’t know how to ride anymore. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in a saddle.”

“We could teach you again,” Trevor offered, with a sweet willingness that touched something deep inside. “I bet you’d pick it up again easy.”

For a moment, she was very tempted by the offer but she would have to get past her phobia first. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, and left it at that. The boys didn’t need to know about her issues.

“Hey, you know how to sing, right?” Colter said suddenly, changing the subject.

Considering she had one degree in music therapy and another in music education, she hoped so. “Yes. That is certainly something I do know how to do.”

“And you play the guitar. You do it in school sometimes.”

And the piano, violin and most other stringed instruments. “That’s right.”

“Could you teach us how to play a song?” Colter asked.

“And how to sing it, too?” Trevor said.

She glanced in her rearview mirror at their faces, earnestly eager. “Does either of you know how to play the guitar?”

“We both do, kind of,” Colter said. “Uncle Dan taught us a couple chords last summer but then he said he wouldn’t teach us anymore because we played too hard and broke all the strings on his guitar.”

“Oh, dear.”

These boys didn’t do anything half-heartedly. She secretly hoped they would continue to be all-in as they grew up—with a little self-restraint when it was necessary, anyway.

“But we would never do that to your guitar, if you let us practice on it,” he assured her with a grave solemnity that almost made her smile.

“We promise,” his twin said. “We would be super careful.”

She couldn’t believe she would even entertain the idea for a moment, but she couldn’t deny she was curious about the request. “What song are you trying to learn how to play and sing?”

“It’s a good one. ‘Christmas for the Cowboy.’ Have you heard that one?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s about this cowboy and he has to work on Christmas Eve and ride his horse in the snow and stuff,” Trevor informed her.