The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride. Jill Kemerer

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СКАЧАТЬ since she’d gotten the call from Jerry saying her father had died.

      When she’d told Clint this ranch was the only thing left of her parents and her childhood, she’d meant it. And she wasn’t about to lose it, too.

      * * *

      As Lexi gave him the tour of the two-bedroom log cabin, Clint mentally tallied a to-do list. It was dusty, but the open area with the kitchen, dining and living room was larger than his current apartment’s, and the master bedroom had a nice view of the mountains. He planned to take his coffee first thing each day on the covered porch. Frankly, it was the nicest place he’d lived in and, even unfurnished, it felt like home.

      Home. A sense of foreboding killed his good mood. Had he ever belonged anywhere? If he started identifying this place as home, he’d lose it, the way he’d been torn from every other place where he’d felt comfortable.

      He needed to remain detached.

      At least the main house was up the lane far enough for him to maintain a necessary distance from his boss. Other than weekly meetings, he saw no reason why they would need to see each other.

      “The river’s great for fishing, and feel free to use the ATVs anytime. If you need help moving in, just holler. I’m sure one of the ranch hands would be happy to lend a hand.”

      “Yes, ma’a—” He caught himself. “Thank you, Miss Lexi.”

      She leaned against the kitchen counter and glared. “Clint, Jerry, who is seventy-five years old, calls me Miss Lexi. It’s Lexi. Just Lexi.”

      He itched to smile, but she looked paler, more tired than she had earlier. He studied her more closely.

      Thin. Too thin. Dark smudges under her eyes. Cheekbones jutting out. Her clothes hung on her. Was she eating enough? Or at all?

      She had the look of someone who’d had to be strong for too long. It reminded him of moving into his first foster home after his grandfather died when Clint was six. Even though Grandpa had been mean as a rattler, when the man passed, Clint knew deep inside he was all alone in the world and his life would never be the same. Did Lexi feel alone, too? He wanted to tuck her under a blanket on the couch. Protect her.

      He shook his head. Him protecting her? What a laugh. She didn’t need someone like him.

      She stepped forward and wobbled.

      “Have you eaten lately?” He moved closer, ready to catch her if she fainted.

      “What?” She blinked, shaking her head, and swayed. He reached for her, steadied her.

      “Come on, I’ll take you back. You need some food.”

      “I’m fine.” Her protest sounded weak. “I had some toast a little bit ago.”

      “It’s five thirty. You need a meal.” He kept a loose hold on her arm and led her to the door. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped. “Zip up. You don’t want to catch cold.”

      To his relief, she didn’t argue. She zipped her coat and fell in beside him. When they reached the house, he followed her inside. A napkin with a half-eaten piece of toast lay on the end table. Probably the only food she’d eaten today.

      “Sit on the couch, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

      “I couldn’t ask you—”

      “I’m not driving back to Cheyenne on an empty stomach. I’ll make some supper and get out of here.”

      She sat on the couch, looking lost. “Okay.”

      He opened her fridge and pantry. Chicken broth, noodles, frozen carrots. “Are you saving the chicken in the freezer for anything?”

      “There’s chicken in the freezer?”

      He chuckled under his breath. “I’m using it.”

      After opening cupboards and drawers, he had a good idea of where everything was stored. He chopped an onion, defrosted and diced the chicken, and heated oil in a frying pan. He filled a large pot with the chicken stock and set it on the stove to boil.

      Lexi crept up and sat on one of the bar stools opposite him. “What are you making?”

      “Chicken noodle soup.”

      “Really, you can cook?”

      He nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be here, in her house, going through her kitchen. It was too intimate.

      She wiped her fingers across her forehead. “I never really learned.” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” She hurried to stand by the patio door as she answered the phone.

      After stirring the chicken frying in the pan, he tracked her moves. Voice bright and confident, hand reaching for the pen and paper on the coffee table. Phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she scribbled something. When the call ended, she seemed to deflate, and he quickly turned away.

      “I forgot to mention I’ll be out of town next Thursday through Sunday. It’s the final wedding I’m in charge of for the year. My other planners are organizing the rest.”

      “Okay.” He slid the cooked chicken into the boiling pot along with the noodles, onions and carrots. A pinch of salt and pepper, and he dialed the burner down to simmer for a while. “If you don’t cook, what do you do for meals?”

      “Well, in Denver, I order a lot of takeout. I’m usually working late, anyhow.”

      “But you’re here. And there’s no takeout.”

      “I manage.”

      Not very well, from the looks of it. He doubted she’d eaten more than a bowl of cereal all week. “Why don’t you eat with the rest of the crew?”

      She grimaced, shaking her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable, and neither would they.”

      She had a point there. “You mentioned a cook—Sarah, right? She would probably fix you a plate.”

      Lexi shrugged, a wistful expression in her eyes. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      He could tell she had no intention of asking Sarah for a meal. He’d stop over at the manager’s house soon and have a quick chat with Logan and his wife. One of the hands could pick up a meal from them to drop off at the main house each night. Whether Lexi ate it or not wasn’t his concern.

      Her phone rang again. She smiled an apology and answered it, walking away. He couldn’t imagine a job with constant phone calls. He stirred the soup, decided it was ready, and ladled out a bowl for her. She was sitting in a chair, saying something about bouquets and cost overages. He’d done his duty. Made her food. She wouldn’t even notice if he left without eating. Sharing a meal with her seemed a little too cozy at this point.

      But as he sneaked out to his truck, his mind kept returning to her and the bowl of soup he’d left. He didn’t want her fainting. Didn’t like that her clothes were hanging from her.

      She’s СКАЧАТЬ