Wild West Christmas: A Family for the Rancher / Dance with a Cowboy / Christmas in Smoke River. Kathryn Albright

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СКАЧАТЬ up, boys,” she said to Colin and Cody. “The sink is in the kitchen.”

      “What smells so good?” asked Bill, limping by Alice on his way past the boys.

      “Beef in a red wine sauce over egg noodles,” said Alice.

      Dillen stared at her in fascination, as if seeing her for the very first time.

      “Where’d you get supper?” he asked.

      She laughed and stroked his cheek. The sparkle in her green eyes, the curling of her lips and the warmth of her fingers trailing over his cold skin worked like a magnet to metal shavings. He actually bucked forward, drawn in as she spoke.

      “I made it, silly.” She turned and headed through the empty dining room toward the kitchen. “You smell like horse, Dillen. Soap is on the sink.”

      He trailed after her exactly like Dasher had followed him around the ring, but unlike Dasher, Dillen was interested in much more than a pat on the chest and a bucket of grain. After supervising their washing up, Alice directed them to sit at the large kitchen table and served them the best meal Dillen had ever eaten. That included the one-dollar steak he’d had at that fancy hotel in Dodge City the fall he’d worked a cattle drive.

      She’d even managed a bread pudding for dessert that was riddled with streaks of brown sugar and plump raisins.

      “That sure was a fine meal, Miss Truett,” said Bill Roberts. “So happy you could come and stay awhile.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Would you care for more coffee?”

      He lifted his cup and she poured. She seemed content and comfortable in this kitchen, thought Dillen, as if she belonged here. It was an adjustment for him, seeing her out of her glittery bangles. She reminded him of the woman he’d first met, the one that was a lie, or was it? She actually seemed more at ease now than in her fancy duds. Maybe the elegant, wealthy woman was the lie.

      Ridiculous—wasn’t it? He knew she was kind, educated, refined. He knew from seeing her work as her father’s assistant that she was not squeamish and that they shared a love for animals, riding and music, and that she could sing like an angel. Still, she seemed suddenly a stranger and at the same time more approachable.

      “Dillen, are you all right?”

      He snapped out of his woolgathering. Alice Truett had a bright future and could likely do far better than his mangy hide. Why hadn’t she?

      Stop it, he admonished. She was here to do a friend a favor because she was a fine Christian woman. Not because she wanted him. His mind flicked back to that kiss. Maybe she did want him. But that only showed one tiny blind spot in her good judgment. He’d be a scoundrel to take advantage of her.

      “Dillen, is there anything else I can offer you?”

      There sure the hell was, but he couldn’t say it out loud.

      “Nothing. Thanks,” he managed. “Fine meal, that.”

      She beamed. “Thank you.”

      Gosh, she was a beauty, especially when she smiled.

      Roberts rose. “Let’s go tuck in by that hearth. Dillen, go get your fiddle.”

      “Oh, no. Alice doesn’t want to hear my fiddling.”

      She pressed her hands together. “Yes, I do. Bring it, please.”

      He left her to go get his father’s fiddle, and when he returned, Roberts was smoking by the fire, telling the boys about an Indian attack that had happened years ago, though whether in Bill’s memory or his imagination was unclear. Alice was nowhere to be seen.

      “Alice?” he asked, laying his fiddle on the mantel.

      Bill thumbed toward the back of the house. “Chased us out of her kitchen.”

      Dillen headed through the dining room and found Alice drying the last of the dishes.

      “Need a hand?” he asked.

      She startled and then smiled, returning the plates to the cupboards. “All finished.”

      He approached, seeming unable to keep his distance from this woman. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

      “I’d imagine there are many things you don’t know about me.” She reached behind her back and untied her apron, ducking out of the collar and setting it aside before brushing off her skirts.

      “I’ve never seen you in a dress like that before,” he said.

      “It’s new.”

      He frowned. Of course it was. Likely she bought it, perhaps an entire wardrobe for her little rustic adventure.

      Alice’s brow knit as if she recognized the misstep. “Do you like it?” She lifted the skirts and turned this way and that. Here was the Alice he recalled. Charming, bubbly and full of unreasonable optimism where he was concerned. She’d overestimated everything about him, especially his prospects.

      “Yes,” he said truthfully, stepping in, looping an arm behind her back even as he told himself to leave her be.

      She rested her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. For just a moment he pretended that she was his, that those boys were their children and she was a mother instead of a lady of means.

      “Thank you for taking such good care of them,” he whispered.

      “You’re welcome.” Her hand lifted and stroked the rough stubble at his jaw. She cast him a winning smile. “I saw your performance. You are a trick rider!”

      He stiffened. “How?”

      She motioned toward the window above the sink. The world beyond was now dark, but he realized she would have a fine view of the riding ring from here. The fact that she’d seen his shenanigans did not please him.

      He did not share her delight. Rather he felt a wash of shame. A man might have to dig ditches for a living or dress like a clown to put food on the table, but it didn’t make him proud.

      Dillen released Alice and stepped away. “I did a stint with the circus.”

      “Really?” She still seemed fascinated, but her smile now looked brittle.

      “Yeah.” He rubbed his neck. “Want to...” He motioned his head toward the living room.

      “Oh, yes.”

      For the next hour, Dillen played and Alice sang. Bill even sang a tune or two and the boys joined in on anything they knew. It was a magical evening. But afterward Dillen forced himself to remember that despite her wardrobe change, Alice was still a lady and he was still a saddle tramp.

Chapter Eight

      Alice rose from her chair and eyed the boys, who correctly judged her intent and groaned in unison.

      “Bedtime,” СКАЧАТЬ