Abruptly, concern flickered in Hank’s eyes.
Her usual hard-edged business sense gave way to an unexpected flood of guilt. Regretfully, Ally guessed, “Which puts the asking price even further out of your reach?”
Hank shrugged, confident once again. “Not necessarily.”
What did he mean by that? Had he found a way to obtain the money, the same way Lulu Sanderson had managed to do the seemingly impossible and scrounge up a painting crew? Maybe through one of his many family or friends in the area? His expression gave no clue. Yet there was something on his mind. Something mysterious and suddenly…almost merry in intent.
“Want to go for a ride?”
Now they were back to the chase. With Hank pursuing her, and Ally wanting nothing more than to relent. What possible good could come of this? she wondered. But found herself asking curiously, “What kind of ride?” Why did he seem so happy, when she was another step closer to selling the ranch house out from under him? Without having to resort to a sale to the greedy, undercutting Corporate Farms?
Hank shrugged, all indifferent male again. “You haven’t really seen the ranch in a while, and I need to put out some feed for my herd.” He gestured widely with his large, capable hands. With pure innocence he looked her in the eye. “You could help, if you like.”
Ally hesitated. There didn’t seem to be a sexual motive in the invitation. She tilted her head and continued studying the inscrutable expression on his handsome face. “Are you asking me to be a cowgirl?” Was this his new approach? Get her to love the ranch so much she’d be unable to sell it?
Hank shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. Holding her gaze, he rocked forward on his toes. “A windshield cowgirl, maybe.”
What was she-a one-hundred-forty-pound weakling unable to hold her own with one of the indomitable Mc-Cabes? Or a strong independent career woman capable of handling herself in any situation? Figuring it was time to remind Hank who he was really dealing with, Ally allowed, “Actually, some fresh air would be nice. Just let me change and check on Duchess and the pups first…”
He nodded. “I’ll do the same and meet you out by the barns.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ally was still in the kitchen, kneeling next to the puppies.
Hank strode back in, impatient to get going. “I knew I’d find you here,” he said.
She refused to be rushed. “Gracie needed some more cuddling before I put her back in the warming bed with her littermates.”
“Um-hmm.” Hank bent down to pet Duchess’s silky head. He angled a thumb at Ally, then told the dog in mock seriousness, “That gal over there. She’s showing favoritism. Which normally would not be cool. But your littlest one needs some extra attention, so we’re going to forgive Ally for her blatant unfairness.”
Ally rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it. Gracie needs me.”
Still keeping a hand on Duchess, Hank reached down into the warmer and lovingly petted each of the other pups in turn. “Keep it up,” he warned, “and Gracie’s going to think you’re her mother, not Duchess.”
His criticism would have been easier to take if she hadn’t caught him sneaking into the kitchen to do the same thing. Ally got down on the floor with Hank and, still holding Gracie close, used her free hand to pet the other pups, as well.
Deciding maybe now was the time, she broached what was on her mind. “I could be Gracie’s mother if I were to adopt her.”
“I thought you didn’t like dogs,” he teased.
Okay. It was time to come out and admit… “Obviously,” Ally murmured, “I was wrong. I do like dogs. In fact…” she paused and cleared her throat “…I think I actually might…love them.”
Hank grinned. “Me, too.”
Which was another thing they had in common. Not that Ally was keeping score…
“The only problem is,” Hank continued seriously, “that none of these dogs are ours to keep.”
Ally wasn’t convinced about that. “Kurt has used all his connections as a vet to put out the word, state-wide now. And no one has turned up to claim them.” She knew, because she checked with the vet daily.
“Yet. They still could.”
Ally watched Hank rise and give Duchess a final pat on the head. “Now who’s got the bah, humbugs?” she prodded.
He frowned. “I’m just being realistic.”
“Christmas is not about reality. Christmas is about hope and joy. And before you argue with me,” Ally added, her voice ringing with emotions, “I’d like to point out that you are every bit as attached to Duchess as I am to Gracie!”
For once, Hank didn’t deny it. “You going to help me feed the cattle or not?”
Ally kissed Gracie on top of her tiny head and reluctantly put her back in the warming box, next to her littermates. “I’m coming with you,” she muttered as she shrugged on her old shearling-lined denim jacket. “How long is this going to take, anyway?”
Hank slipped a hand under her elbow as he escorted her out the back door toward the barns. “As long as we want it to take.”
Ally looked up at him and smiled. It was a beautiful winter afternoon, with a slight breeze, crisp cold air and blue skies overhead.
And that suited her just fine.
THE MESQUITE RIDGE RANCH property ranged along the Laramie and Mesquite Rivers, an occasional barbed wire fence setting it off from the surrounding six ranches. Hoping Ally would appreciate what she was about to give up, once she absorbed the rugged beauty around them, Hank drove slowly along the gravel road, past thickets of juniper and holly, through acre after acre of mesquite and cedar choked hills.
He half expected Ally to complain about their unhurried progress. Instead, she settled back in her seat, and studied their surroundings in silence.
Hank wondered if she had any idea how much work he’d done the last six months, or how much more was going to be required to turn this ranch into the showplace it should be. Her pensive expression held no clue; the only thing he was certain of was that the tour was as unexpectedly thought-provoking and important for her as it was for him.
Realizing they had only an hour or so before dark, Hank finally turned the truck and circled back around to the grassy pasture that housed his herd. Ranging in size from six hundred to nearly eighteen hundred pounds, the cattle grazed sedately.
“I’ve always liked black Angus more than longhorns,” Ally murmured, with an appreciative glance at the healthy steers.
As he cut the engine and they got out of the cab, Hank realized how little he really knew about her, how much more he wanted to learn.
“How come?” He came to her side.
Ally thrust her hands in the pockets of her old farm jacket, one he recalled her wearing in high school. Now, it was something to work in. Back then it had been her one and only coat.
She grinned up at him. “Black Angus don’t have horns, and that makes ’em look cuddlier.”
“Not exactly a word I’d use for cows and steers,” Hank countered drily, thinking that if anyone here was in need of a cuddle, it was Ally. And not because a cold winter wind was blowing against them, inducing shivers.
It was more in the vulnerable way she held herself.
Knowing how completely she could give, when it came to physical intimacy.
Emotionally…well, emotionally was another matter. For every step she took nearer to him, she seemed to take another one away.
Her cheeks pinkening in the cold, Ally lazily closed the distance between them. Unable to help herself, she taunted, “And here I thought you were the more romantic of the two of us.”
As soon as the words were out, she blushed. “I meant… sentimental…when it came to ranching per se…” she choked out.
Hank chuckled. “You might be a tad sentimental and romantic, too,” he teased right back.
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”