A Husband For Christmas. Diana Palmer

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       7

      Cade had offered to take Abby back to see the calves, but by morning the snow had covered Painted Ridge and he was out with his men trying to bring in the half-frozen calves and their new mothers. According to Hank, Cade was cursing a blue streak from one end of the ranch to the other.

      “Wants his other gloves,” Hank growled at Calla when he paused in the hall, the familiar wad of tobacco tucked into his cheek. “Ruined a pair trying to unhook one of them damned cows from the barbed wire.”

      “He goes through gloves like some men go through food,” Calla grumbled, shooting an irritated glance at Hank for interrupting her in the middle of lunch preparation. “Only got one pair left as it is. You best remember to tell him that!”

      “Can’t tell him a damned thing,” Hank muttered, waiting uncomfortably in the hall. His wide-brimmed hat was spotted with melted snow, and his heavy cloth coat was equally damp. “He hit the ground cussing this morning and he ain’t stopped yet. I just follow orders, I don’t give ’em!” he shouted after Calla.

      “Is it bad out there?” Melly called from the den, where she was busily operating Cade’s computer.

      “Bad enough,” Hank replied. “Hope your fingers are rested, Miss Melly, ’cause you’re sure going to do some typing when we get a tally on these new calves!”

      “As usual.” Melly laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Hank, I get paid good.”

      “If we got paid what we was worth, Cade would go in the hole, I guess,” the thin cowboy said to no one in particular. He glanced at Abby, who was standing there quietly in her jeans and a blue turtleneck sweater. “I hear you’re going to stay with us till Miss Melly’s wedding. How’re you settling in?”

      She smiled. “Just fine. It feels like old times.”

      “Far cry from the city,” he observed.

      She nodded. “Less traffic,” she said with a hint of her old humor.

      Hank looked disgusted. “Give me a horse any day,” he muttered, “and open country to ride him in. If God wanted the world covered in concrete, he’d have made human beings with tires!”

      It was the cowboy’s favorite theme, and Abby was looking for a way to escape before he had time to get started when Calla came thumping back down the hall with a worn pair of gloves in her hand.

      “Here,” she said shortly, slapping them into Hank’s outstretched hand. “And make sure he doesn’t get holes in them. That’s all there is.”

      “What am I, a nursemaid?” he spat out. “My gosh, Calla, all I do is babysit cows these days. If Cade gave a hang about my feelings, he’d give me some decent work.”

      “Maybe he’ll set you to digging post holes,” the older woman suggested with malicious glee. “I’ll tell him what you said.”

      “You do,” he threatened, “and I’ll tell him what you did with that cherry cake he had his heart set on the other night.”

      She sucked in a furious breath. “You wouldn’t dare!”

      He grinned, something rare for Hank. “You tell him I like digging post holes, and I’ll do it or bust. Bye, Abby, Melly,” he called over his shoulder as he stomped out the door.

      “What did you do with Cade’s cherry cake?” Abby asked with a sideways stare.

      Calla cleared her throat and walked back toward the kitchen. “I gave it to Jeb. Cade’s not the only one who’s partial to my cherry cake.”

      Abby smothered a chuckle as she wandered into the den. With its bare wood floors, Indian rugs and wood furniture, it was a far cry from the luxury of the living room.

      Melly looked up as Abby came toward the desk where the computer and printer were set up. “I didn’t want to desert you last night,” she said apologetically. “Did you tell him?”

      “I had to,” Abby admitted, perching herself on the edge of the chair beside Melly’s. “You know Cade when he sets his mind on something. But it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. He didn’t even say ‘I told you so.’”

      “I didn’t expect him to. You underestimate him sometimes, I think.” Melly looked smug. “There’s a brown spot on the carpet in the living room.”

      Abby looked guilty. “I was afraid of that, but he wouldn’t hear of my cleaning it up.” She sighed. “He was holding the coffee cup when I told him. He...crushed it.”

      Melly closed her eyes for an instant. “I noticed his hand was bandaged this morning,” she murmured. “I wondered why...”

      “He said some things that made me think,” Abby recalled, smiling faintly. “He may not be a psychologist, but he’s got a lot of common sense about things. He said I was giving the man who attacked me a hold over me, by dwelling on it. I’d never considered it in that light, but I think he has a point.”

      Melly smiled at her gently. “Maybe he ought to open an office,” she said impishly.

      Abby grinned back. “Maybe he ought.” She studied her sister closely for a minute as her head bent over the computer keyboard while she typed in a code and glanced up at the screen. The abbreviations were Greek to Abby, but they seemed to make sense to Melly.

      “What are you doing?”

      “Herd records. We’re getting ready to cull cattle, you know. Any cows that don’t come up to par are going to be sold off, especially if they aren’t producing enough calves or if the ones they’re producing aren’t good enough or if they’re old....”

      “Slavery,” Abby burst out. “Horrible!”

      Melly laughed merrily. “Yes, Cade was telling me what you thought about veal smothered in onions.”

      “That’s really horrible,” she muttered. “Poor little thing, all cold and half-frozen and its mama turned her back on it, and Cade talks about eating it....”

      “Life goes on, darling,” Melly reminded her, “and a cattle ranch is no place for sentiment. I can’t just see you owning one—you’d make pets of all the cattle and become a vegetarian.”

      “Hmm,” Abby said, frowning thoughtfully, “I wonder if Cade’s ever thought of that?”