Christmas at Blue Moon Ranch. Lynnette Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ passed, the screw of nerves inside her twisted tighter. By the time she reached the familiar gateway—an iron arch spelling out El Rancho Luna Azul, with a crescent moon on each end—Willa was a wreck. Abruptly, she steered her truck to the side of the road just inside the entrance and cut the engine. Daniel stopped behind her, but she reached his window before he could open his door, so he rolled down the glass.

      “Something else wrong?” he asked in a cold voice.

      “Stay away from me,” she told him. “If you need help, I’ll send one of my workmen to do what he can. But leave me alone.”

      Daniel took off his sunglasses, and she was surprised to see the laughter in his eyes. “You’re running scared, aren’t you, Willa? Afraid of what you felt last night?”

      Her cheeks heated up at the memory. “I don’t sleep around.”

      “I didn’t think you did. And I don’t intend to pressure you for something you won’t give freely.” He slipped the shades back onto his face. “But I do intend to make the New Moon Ranch my home. You’d better figure out how to tolerate my presence.”

      The truck engine roared, and Daniel gave her a grin. “’Cause come Christmas Day, I’ll be a permanent fixture in your life. And it’s gonna be a long fifty years if we can’t even say good morning without getting into an argument!”

      Then, without warning, he backed into a cloud of dust, turned sharply and headed up the road, leaving Willa behind.

      Chapter Three

      A mile inside the Blue Moon gate, Daniel came over a rise and saw the Mercado ranch house sitting off to his right. Easing off the gas and unclenching his jaw, he slowed down for a good look at Willa’s home.

      He’d gleaned a little of the ranch history from the attorney and the Internet, enough to know that Rafael Mercado from Mexico had taken possession of the land in the 1840s, back when Indian attacks were an ever-present threat. The tall, defensive wall Rafael had first built around the house had been lowered in the twentieth century to reveal the courtyard, filled with mature live oak trees, which surrounded the villa inside. A series of white-columned arches created a wide veranda along the two-story front wing of the house. Two side wings stretched back at right angles to form a U-shape with another courtyard in the center. Green shutters framed the windows, a sharp contrast to the creamy white stucco walls.

      Daniel squeezed a whistle through his teeth. Willa had a right to be protective—this was quite a showplace. He could imagine how much maintenance work would be involved in caring for such a property. Around the house stretched ten thousand acres of the Wild Horse Desert, where she bred and raised longhorn cattle. No doubt about it, the woman carried a heavy burden. And since her husband had died, she’d carried it alone.

      At the sound of her truck rumbling up behind him, he squeezed the accelerator and pulled away fast enough to spray gravel as he fishtailed on his way. The last thing he needed was another “get lost” lecture. She’d made her point and it was a sharp one, especially after last night’s pleasure.

      Following the winding, hilly road farther into the Blue Moon, he saw the barns, corrals and utility buildings that formed the heart of the ranching operation. Miles of wire fencing defined the pastures, which alternated between cultivated range land and the scrubby shrubs and natural grasses native to south Texas. The wild landscape held a beauty all its own, however, especially on the morning after rainstorms had cleared the dust from the air. Daniel appreciated the wide blue Texas sky, the varied shapes of the trees and cacti and bushes, the freshness of the wind.

      There was no sign to tell him when he crossed onto his own property, just a line on the map the attorney had provided. The terrain didn’t change. There were fences, and cattle…although he was sure Willa would have those rounded up and removed soon enough. She wouldn’t want to leave any of her property under his control.

      As he came over the top of yet another hill, he realized he’d reached his destination—the foreman’s cottage he’d be living in. Sited on a bare stretch of ground with only a few prickly shrubs to soften the sandy dirt, the house lacked any evidence of architectural imagination. An uncovered stoop anchored the cement-block structure, its plain front door painted a dull gray like the rest of the building. Daniel pulled into the shade of the carport attached to the side of the house and sighed as he switched off the engine. For the first time since beginning this crazy venture, he felt a little daunted.

      Inside, the rooms were clean, bare and equally uninspiring. Willa hadn’t gone to any lengths to make him feel welcome.

      Outside once again, he drove toward the barn associated with his property, visible about a quarter of a mile away from the house. The weathered, metal-sided building, surrounded by dry, dusty corrals, did little to bolster his confidence that he could develop a functional ranching business in this place. He was stuck out here in the desert with scant practical knowledge, few ranching skills and no support.

      Maybe Willa would win, after all.

      Within the barn, years—decades, maybe—of discarded equipment loomed in the corners and cluttered the aisle between stalls, which appeared to have not been cleaned for about the same amount of time. What would he do with all this space once he got it cleared out? His first task, he guessed, would be to hire a foreman. Somebody with in-depth experience, somebody who knew what the hell was supposed to happen next.

      What actually happened next was that somewhere, in a far corner of the cavernous building, someone sneezed.

      “Hello?” Daniel welcomed the prospect of a trespasser to take his mind off the mess he’d gotten himself into. “Who’s there?”

      When no one answered, he walked down the aisle, peering into the stalls as he went. “Come on…I heard you. Do I have to say gesundheit before you make an appearance? Consider it said.”

      He stopped by a narrow wooden ladder leading to the loft above the main floor and waited, without result. Then, a minute later, came another sneeze. And another. And yet a fourth.

      “Bless you.” Daniel leaned his shoulder against a stall door to take the weight off his aching leg. “I’m not leaving, so you can stay hidden and sneeze your brains out or join me in the fresh air.”

      A revealing scuffle came from overhead. He looked up and found a face looking down at him over the edge of the loft.

      “You can’t really sneeze your brains out.” Under a pint-sized Resistol cowboy hat, the boy was about ten, with dark eyes, nut-brown skin and shiny black hair.

      “Are you sure?” Daniel couldn’t mistake the kid’s resemblance to Willa. This must be the youngest boy. Toby, right?

      “Yeah. It just feels that way.” The face disappeared, to be replaced by a pair of boots reaching for the top rung of the ladder. In the next second, the kid landed with a thud on the barn floor. He turned around to confront Daniel, his hands propped on his hips and his eyebrows drawn together. In his hat, his well-worn blue-checked shirt and his weathered jeans, he looked like a miniature cowpoke. “You must be the new guy.”

      “I must be. My name’s Daniel Trent.”

      The boy gave a single nod, like an aristocrat acknowledging a peasant. “I’m Toby Mercado. This is my ranch.”

      Daniel decided not to dispute the issue at that moment. “It’s a nice place, from what I’ve seen so far.” He looked around СКАЧАТЬ