Christmas with the Mustang Man

“Love it. But don’t go to any trouble,” she told him as she made her way across the room to a small round table. Piled atop it was a child’s backpack with several textbooks spilling from its open lid. Next to the books was a soda can and lying next to that, on a paper towel, a half-eaten sandwich.

Dallas pulled off her coat and placed the garment on the back of a chair, then turned to see the Nevada rancher had already removed his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The sight of him in the stark kitchen light, without the bulky jacket hiding his frame, jolted her. He was as solid as a rock and everything about him shouted the word man.

“I’d be making a pot whether you were here or not,” he explained. On his way to the cabinets, he caught sight of the cluttered table and instantly changed course. “Here, let me clear that away. Hayley’s not very good about putting her things in her room.”

Dallas chuckled. “I never was a tidy child. My mother was constantly nagging me and my younger sister to put our things where they belonged. Our older sister never got nagged at, though. She was a neat freak.”

Walking over to the table, he leaned across the expanse of worn wood to pick up the scattered items and his upper torso drew within inches of her arm. The subtle scents of hay, horses and sage drifted to Dallas’s nostrils before she instinctively stepped aside to put more breathing space between them.

“So you have sisters,” he stated.

Moistening her lips, she tried to calm the nervous bumping of her heart. “Two. And three brothers,” she answered. “I’m in the middle of the bunch.”

After placing the books and backpack on a nearby rolltop desk, he returned to fetch the sandwich and soda can.

“Well, Hayley doesn’t have a mother to nag her, so I have that thankless job. And from the looks of it, I’m not getting through,” he added with a grimace.

Dallas didn’t make any sort of immediate reply. Since she’d never been a mother, she was hardly in a position to offer parenting advice. And without knowing exactly why his daughter’s mother was absent, she might slip and inadvertently say something he’d find offensive.

Instead, she took a seat at the table and decided to slant the conversation in a different direction. “Do you have siblings, Boone?”

Across the room, he began to put the coffee fixings together. “No. It’s just me. My dad lives in town, and that’s it.”

The information only made Dallas wonder more. Why didn’t Boone’s father live here on the ranch? Did the man’s health require him to live closer to a doctor? she silently mused. Or maybe the elder Barnett just didn’t want to live out in the remote countryside. After all, not all families lived together in one big house, like the Donovans.

“So your father isn’t a rancher?”

Damn it, she was here to buy horses from the man, not make a documentary about his life, she silently scolded herself. But she couldn’t seem to prevent the personal questions from popping from her mouth.

“My grandfather was a rancher. Dad never liked the work much,” he answered bluntly.

Deciding it would be safer to talk about her own family, she said, “The Donovans have always raised horses—Thoroughbred racers. Lately my brothers have been tossing around the idea of putting a few cattle on the ranch or maybe a running line of quarter horses, but those are just ideas. Dad is retired…or should I say semi-retired,” she added with a fond chuckle. “So he mainly lets the guys run things the way they want to.”

“Sounds like the place is a family-run operation,” he commented.

By now he’d shut the lid on the coffeemaker and the pungent smell of the brewing grounds was beginning to overpower the pizza. After driving hours and hours since early this morning, Dallas was definitely in need of the hot brew to fight off the weariness threatening to overtake her.

“It is. My grandparents built the Diamond D back in 1968 and most of the family still lives there together. Except for Grandfather Arthur, who passed away some years back.” She paused and then added, “I noticed on the road map that this ranch is located in Lincoln County. That’s the name of the county where I live.”

“So you’re from the part of New Mexico where the famous range wars occurred,” he said thoughtfully. “And outlaws like Billy the Kid roamed the land.”

Impressed by his historical knowledge, she glanced at him. “That’s right. What’s this Lincoln County known for?”

He shrugged. “Years ago it was all about gold and silver strikes, brothels and lawlessness. Now the mines are dead. But the ranchers have hung on.”

“And the mustangs,” she added.

“Yeah. Thank God for the mustangs.”

The big cowboy was looking straight at her now and Dallas was finding it extremely hard to tell whether he’d spoken with sarcasm or sincerity. He had very dark eyes that had such a piercing quality she could practically feel them sliding over her face and that in itself was enough to distract her. Not to mention the fact that he’d removed his black Stetson and his streaked brown hair had slid to a boyish bang across his forehead.

He said, “It must get interesting at your house—everybody living together. Are you one big happy family or does that only happen in fairy tales or sitcoms?”

Was he saying he didn’t believe families could live and love together? The cynical idea saddened her and put a hint of defensive pride in her voice as she replied, “I can truthfully say that ninety percent of the time we’re all pretty happy.”

“That must be nice,” he said lowly.

“It is nice,” she agreed. “Being with my family is everything to me.”

He turned his back to her and reached up to retrieve two cups from a cabinet shelf. At the table, a pent-up breath whooshed out of Dallas. What was the matter with her? Living on a horse ranch, she’d dealt with all sorts of men before. This one wasn’t necessarily any different. Except that Boone Barnett looked a little sexier, a whole lot tougher and a bit more seasoned than most.

So what if he was all those things? Dallas mentally argued with herself. After being dumped only days before her wedding, she’d learned to view men and their charms with skeptical indifference, especially men that she didn’t know. She couldn’t allow this hunk of male muscle to recklessly turn her head.

Across the room, Boone filled two mugs with coffee while thoughtfully mulling over Dallas Donovan’s remark. Maybe this woman and her “nice” family were for real. But he had a hard time buying into the idea. The Barnetts had always been fractured in some unfortunate way and he’d never been around an extended family that interacted with love and respect for each other.

Yet, in spite of that, he couldn’t say that his family life had always been lacking. For a while, when Boone had been a young boy and his grandparents still living, things had been basically good for him.

Wayne and Alice Barnett had been decent, hardworking people. They’d cared about him, looked after him, given him the love and support he’d needed, while his own parents had only made a halfhearted gesture at raising their only son.

Shoving the dismal thoughts aside, he carried the mugs over to the table, along with a bowl of sugar and a carton of half-and-half. After he’d fetched a spoon and napkin for her, he took a seat across from his guest.

Now that he could see the woman in the light of the kitchen, he decided she looked even prettier than she had in the falling dusk. She had a wide soft mouth the color of a pink seashell and her pale green eyes were veiled by thick, long lashes. A rosy tinge marked her cheeks and straight little nose, and added to the vibrancy of her face. Yet it was her smile and the cheeriness in her eyes that grabbed him the most. She seemed to radiate happiness and that intrigued him, surprised him. Were there actually people like her left in the world? he wondered. Or was she simply putting up a polite front?

“So, when did you decide to add mustangs to your herd?” he asked, while watching her stir a dollop of cream into the steaming coffee. She had long fingers with plain, short nails. There were no rings on her fingers, but there was a wide-cuffed band of silver set with a red coral stone circling her right wrist. That one piece of jewelry would probably buy two months of groceries for him and his daughter.

Thoroughbreds, a six-figure truck and horse van and a family-owned ranch. Those things, coupled with her appearance, made it clear this woman was hardly lacking in financial funds.

“Several months ago a friend purchased a stallion and I was impressed at his intelligence and manners. Seeing him prompted me to look into what the mustangs were all about. That’s when I discovered how many of them need homes. Have you been working with them very long?”

She seemed genuinely interested and Boone was beginning to see she wasn’t simply a rich woman playing at a hobby.

“Eight years. Before that I only had cattle and a few quarter horses on the ranch. When I got my first mustang I never planned on that one animal eventually turning into a business or a love affair for me.” He shrugged, while trying not to feel embarrassed for allowing this woman to see a softer part of him. “It was just something that happened.”

“I—”

She suddenly broke off and lifted her gaze beyond his shoulder. Boone turned his head just in time to see his twelve-year-old-daughter, Hayley, bound into the room. As soon as the girl spotted Dallas, she skidded to a halt and stared openmouthed at their visitor.

“Oh. I didn’t know you had company, Dad.” Keeping her eye on the two adults, she moved past a row of cabinets until she reached a gas range. “I’m cooking pizza—for our dinner. And I think it’s done.”

“Hurry up with that and come over here,” Boone told her. “I want you to meet our guest.”

From her seat at the table, Dallas studied the young girl. Like her father, she was tall and if not a teenager already, then very close to it. Her light brown hair was bobbed short and tucked behind her ears, while her clothing was a typical T-shirt and hip-riding jeans. She wasn’t a dazzling beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but she was pretty. Or at least she would be if she’d smile, Dallas decided. Apparently she took that lack of expression from her father, too.

At the stove, the girl deftly donned a pair of quilted mittens and lifted the pizza from the oven. After she placed the baked concoction on the stove top and switched the control knob to the off position, she walked over to the table and stood stiffly at her father’s shoulder.

“Dallas, this is my daughter, Hayley. And, Hayley, this is Dallas Donovan. She’s driven all the way from New Mexico to purchase a few of our horses.”

Dallas rose to her feet and offered her hand to the girl. Hayley seemed a bit surprised to be greeted in such an adult manner, but after a slight hesitation, she placed her small hand in Dallas’s.