Christmas with the Rancher: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means. Diana Palmer

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      “Shut up in the henhouse with a fan.”

      “A fan?” he exclaimed and burst out laughing.

      “It really isn’t funny,” she said softly. “I lost two of my girls to the heat. Found them dead in the henhouse, trying to lay. I had Ben go and get us a fan and install it there. It does help with the heat, a little at least.”

      “My grandmother used to keep hens,” he recalled. “But we only have one or two now. Foxes got the rest.” He glanced at her. “Andie, our housekeeper, wants to get on your egg customer list for two dozen a week.”

      She nodded. “Your dad mentioned that. I can do that. I’ve got pullets that should start laying soon. My flock is growing by leaps and bounds.” She indicated the large fenced chicken yard, dotted with all sorts of chickens. The henhouse was huge, enough to accommodate them all, complete with perches and ladders and egg boxes and, now, a fan.

      “Nice operation.”

      “I’m going to expand it next year, if I do enough business.”

      “Did you check the law on egg production?”

      She laughed. “Yes, I did. I’m in compliance. I don’t have a middleman, or I could be in trouble. I sell directly to the customer, so it’s all okay.”

      “Good.” He shrugged, his hands in his jean pockets. “I’d hate to have to bail you out of jail.”

      “You wouldn’t,” she sighed.

      He stopped and looked down at her. She seemed so dejected. “Yes, I would,” he said, his deep voice quiet and almost tender as he studied her small frame, her short wavy blond hair, her wide, soft gray eyes. Her complexion was exquisite, not a blemish on it except for one small mole on her cheek. She had a pretty mouth, too. It looked tempting. Bow-shaped, soft, naturally pink…

      “Cort?” she asked suddenly, her whole body tingling, her heart racing at the way he was staring at her mouth.

      “What? Oh. Yes. The breeding books.” He nodded. “We should get to it.”

      “Yes.” She swallowed, tried to hide her blush and opened the front door.

       Chapter Three

      Maddie couldn’t help but stare at Cort as he leaned over the desk to read the last page of her father’s breeding journal. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. And that physique! He was long and lean, but also muscular. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and in the opening of his chambray shirt, thick curling black hair peeked out.

      She’d never been overly interested in intimacy. Never having indulged, she had no idea how it felt, although she’d been reading romance novels since her early teens. She did know how things worked between men and women from health class. What she didn’t know was why women gave in to men. She supposed it came naturally.

      Cort felt her eyes on him and turned, so that he was looking directly into her wide, shocked gray eyes. His own dark ones narrowed. He knew that look, that expression. She was trying to hide it, but he wasn’t fooled.

      “Take a picture,” he drawled, because her interest irritated him. She wasn’t his type. Not at all.

      Her reaction shamed him. She looked away, cleared her throat and went beet-red. “Sorry,” she choked. “I was just thinking. You were sort of in the way. I was thinking about my fairies…”

      He felt guilty. That made him even more irritable. “What fairies?”

      She stumbled and had to catch herself as she went past him. She was so embarrassed she could hardly even walk.

      She went to the shelf where she’d put the newest one. Taking it down very carefully, she carried it to the desk and put it in front of him.

      He caught his breath. He picked it up, delicately for a man with such large, strong hands, and held it up to his eyes. He turned it. He was smiling. “This is really beautiful,” he said, as if it surprised him. He glanced at her. “You did this by yourself?”

      She moved uneasily. “Yes,” she muttered. What did he think—that she had somebody come in and do the work so she could claim credit for it?

      “I didn’t mean it like that, Maddie,” he said gently. The sound of her name on his lips made her tingle. She didn’t dare look up, because her attraction to him would surely show. He knew a lot more about women than she knew about men. He could probably tell already that she liked him. It had made him mad. So she’d have to hide it.

      “Okay,” she said. But she still wouldn’t look up.

      He gave the beautiful little statuette another look before he put it down very gently on the desk. “You should be marketing those,” he said firmly. “I’ve seen things half as lovely sell for thousands of dollars.”

      “Thousands?” she exclaimed.

      “Yes. Sometimes five figures. I was staying at a hotel in Arizona during a cattlemen’s conference and a doll show was exhibiting at the same hotel. I talked to some of the artists.” He shook his head. “It’s amazing how much collectors will pay for stuff like that.” He indicated the fairy with his head. “You should look into it.”

      She was stunned. “I never dreamed people would pay so much for a little sculpture.”

      “Your paintings are nice, too,” he admitted. “My mother loves the drawing you did. She bought it at that art show last year. She said you should be selling the sculptures, too.”

      “I would. It’s just that they’re like my children,” she confessed, and flushed because that sounded nutty. “I mean…well, it’s hard to explain.”

      “Each one is unique and you put a lot of yourself into it,” he guessed. “So it would be hard to sell one.”

      “Yes.” She did look up then, surprised that he was so perceptive.

      “You have the talent. All you need is the drive.”

      “Drive.” She sighed. She smiled faintly. “How about imminent starvation? Does that work for drive?”

      He laughed. “We wouldn’t let you starve. Your bull calves are too valuable to us,” he added, just when she thought he might actually care.

      “Thanks,” she said shyly. “In that journal of Dad’s—” she changed the subject “—he talks about heritability traits for lean meat with marbling to produce cuts that health-conscious consumers will buy. Can you explain to me how I go about producing herd sires that carry the traits we breed for?”

      He smiled. “It’s complicated. Want to take notes?”

      She sighed. “Just like going back to school.” Then she remembered school, and the agonies she went through in her junior and senior years because of Odalie Everett, and her face clenched.

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