The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle. RaeAnne Thayne

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      Carson narrowed his eyes at his foreman, whose sun-weathered features only grinned back at him. “Thanks, but no,” Carson muttered. “I don’t need help in the dating department.”

      “You change your mind, you let me know.”

      “Don’t hold your breath. I’m not interested in a social life, just in a little public relations.”

       Chapter Three

      Two hours later, he reminded himself of the conversation with his foreman as he listened to the Pine Gulch mayor ramble on about every single civic event planned for the coming year, from the Founders’ Day parade to the Memorial Day breakfast to the annual tradition of decorating the town park for the holidays.

      Public relations, he reminded himself. That was the only reason for his presence. If that meant expiring from boredom, it was a small price to pay.

      “This is a nice town, as you’ll find when you’ve been here a little longer,” Mayor Wilson assured him. “A nice town full of real nice people. Why, I don’t guess there’s a more neighborly town in all of Idaho. You could have done a lot worse if you’d settled somewhere else.”

      “I’m sure that’s true,” he murmured to the other man, wondering when he could politely leave.

      At least the mayor was willing to talk to him. He supposed he ought to be grateful for that. While he wasn’t encountering outright hostility from people at the party, he had seen little of that neighborliness Mayor Wilson claimed. Most were polite to him but guarded, which was about what he expected.

      The server walked past with more of those divine spinach rolls. He grabbed one as she passed by, hoping she wasn’t keeping track of his consumption since he knew he’d had more than his share.

      At least the food was good. Better than good, actually. He had come in with fairly low culinary expectations. A stock growers’ holiday party in Pine Gulch, Idaho, wasn’t exactly high on his list of places to find haute cuisine.

      But the menu was imaginative and every dish prepared exactly right. He paid a Cordon Bleu-trained personal chef to fill his refrigerator and freezer here and in San Francisco and he thought the food at this party was every bit as good as anything Jean-Marc prepared.

      None of it was fancy but everything he had tried so far exploded with taste, from the mini crab cakes with wild mushrooms to the caramel tart he’d tasted to the spinach rolls he couldn’t get enough of.

      He could only hope the personal chef he hired from Jackson Hole for the guests who were coming to Raven’s Nest in a few days was half as good as this caterer.

      The house party was an important one for McRaven Enterprises and he wanted everything to be exactly right, especially since he had a feeling this was his one and only chance to convince Frederick Hertzog and his son, Dierk, to sell their cellular phone manufacturing business to McRaven Enterprises.

      Frederick loved all things Western. When Carson learned he and his family were traveling from Germany to Salt Lake City for a ski vacation, he had made arrangements to fly them to Raven’s Nest for a few days in an effort to convince the man McRaven Enterprises was the best company to take Hertzog Communications and its vast network of holdings to the next level.

      He and Hertzog had had a long discussion the last time they met about some of the range policies Carson was trying to emphasize at Raven’s Nest and the man was interested to see those efforts in action.

      He expected to have more opportunities to entertain at Raven’s Nest. He preferred his solitude while he was here but he had built the house knowing some degree of entertaining was inevitable. It wouldn’t hurt to meet the caterer before he left, he decided. He could at least get a business card so he could pass it along to Carrianne, his enormously competent assistant who handled all his event-planning details.

      The kitchen was at the rear of the community center. Just before he reached it, another server came through the doors carrying a tray laden with artfully arranged holiday sweets. Cookies and truffles and slices of nut bread.

      He focused first on the food, wondering how upset she would be if he messed up her lovely tray by snatching one of those giant sugar cookies. He lifted his gaze to the server to ask and did a quick double take.

      “Mrs. Wheeler!”

      She wobbled a little and nearly dropped the entire platter. “Mr. McRaven,” she exclaimed, in the same voice she might have used if an alien spaceship suddenly landed in the middle of the room. “What are you doing here?”

      He raised an eyebrow. “I was invited. Why do you sound so surprised? This is the cattle growers’ association holiday party, right? Since I run four hundred head of cattle at Raven’s Nest, doesn’t that make me eligible?”

      She paused for only a moment and then continued to the buffet table, where she set down the tray before answering him. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. You certainly have the right to attend whatever party you’d care to. I just…wouldn’t have expected you here, that’s all. I was surprised to see you. The cattlemen’s association is usually old-timers. The local good old boys.”

      “What about Viviana Cruz? You can’t call her a good ole boy and she runs the whole association.”

      She smiled suddenly, brightly. “Point taken. Viv is definitely her own person. And we all love her for it.”

      With that smile, Jenna Wheeler suddenly looked as delicious as the food she was so carefully arranging, enough to make his mouth water. Her cheeks were flushed like the barest hint of color on August peaches and her silky blond hair was doing its best to escape the confines of the hair clip holding it away from her face.

      He wondered what she would do if he reached out to finish the job, just for the sheer pleasure of watching it swing free, but he quickly squashed the inappropriate reaction. She was an extraordinarily lovely woman, he thought, not particularly thrilled that he couldn’t seem to stop noticing that little fact about his neighbor.

      “Are you helping the caterer tonight?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “I guess you could say that. Is there something wrong with the food?”

      “No. Quite the contrary. Everything has been perfect. I’m looking for a business card, in fact.”

      She blinked at him for a long moment, her big green eyes astonished, then she quickly looked away as if she hadn’t heard him, her attention focused on arranging items on the buffet table for better access by the guests.

      As the silence dragged on, he realized she wasn’t going to respond. “So would you mind getting one for me from the caterer when you have a minute?” he pressed.

      Again she gave him that odd look, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to handle his request. Finally, she sighed and reached into the pocket of her red-and-green striped apron and pulled out a business card.

      A nice touch for the caterer, he thought, to give all his servers business cards to be handed out upon request. He scanned it quickly, then felt his jaw drop.

       Cold Creek Cuisine

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