A Randall Thanksgiving (4 page)

She put her hands on her hips and took a step forward. “You think so, cowboy? Remember, I grew up here.”

Harry gave her an assessing look. She’d lost her
drawl and her hair was so short and spiky; even her jeans were designer. Sometimes, he had to admit, it was hard to remember she was from Wyoming. Aside from her little temper tantrums, she seemed sophisticated and…worldly. Anyone could see she’d spent a considerable amount of time outside of Rawhide.

He laughed to himself. Actually, he couldn’t wait to see Little Miss Parisian out there riding herd.

He tugged on Maybelle’s saddle, found it tight, and stepped back, waving his hand with a flourish. “Your mount awaits, m’lady.” Then he cracked a smile and added, “We’ll just see who’s the rider here.”

Melissa took the dare. She speared him with a look and said, “You’re on.”

Grabbing Maybelle’s reins, she led the mare out of the barn, leaving Harry to follow.

Not that it was a bad view, he admitted. He was developing quite a liking for those tight, designer jeans.

John met up with them outside the barn, having said goodbye to his mother. “We’re ready,” Harry told him.

John nodded resolutely, concern for his mother temporarily replaced by determination to get the job done. He glanced over at his sister. “Get a pair of chaps. It’s going to be cold out there. You have good gloves?”

Melissa smiled. “Yes, John,” she said patiently. “You know I’ve done this before.”

Harry snickered, but she ignored him. Instead she pointed to a pile of scarves she’d left inside the barn door. “Dad gave me those. Said we’d need them for the
cold.” She looked at Harry then. “If you wrap one around your face and tie it in back, it’ll serve as a kerchief, and keep you warm, too.”

Biting back a comment, he put one on, then reached out and tied Melissa’s behind her short hair. He expected a complaint but got none. Nor did he get a thank-you.

She pulled a hat on her head, climbing into the saddle and headed out.

John rode alongside Harry into the cold, windy pasture. Had it been any other day of the week, They’d have had a number of cowboys to help out. But it was Saturday, and all the men had already gone into town. Probably all lined up for a beer already, Harry figured. Just like last night, when he’d first seen Melissa.

That scene had replayed in his head a few times—how beautiful she’d looked sitting there, sipping her beer. He wondered how different things would have turned out if he’d taken her up on her request for a dance.

He’d never know.

Once they reached the pasture by the county road, there was no time for thinking. There was a herd to gather.

Snow had begun to fall and the temperature was dropping sharply. John kept looking up at the sky, but Harry didn’t bother. Mike had already alerted them to the forecast, and it was not good. They were in for a substantial snowfall, on top of what was already on the ground.

Luckily, the herd was mostly Herefords. Their red coats showed up better in the swirling snow.

They rounded up the large herd, each working hard
at the job. Even Melissa. She rode with skill and knew her way around the herd, Harry would give her that. As much as it pained him to admit it, she held her own.

By the time they dragged themselves back to the barn, it was after eight o’clock and the three of them were exhausted. The buffeting of the wind was enough to wear anyone out.

Melissa hopped down off of her mare. “If you’ll unsaddle Maybelle and give her some oats,” she told he men, “I’ll get up to the house and start supper for us.”

Harry could only stare at her. The words came out of his mouth before he could censor them. “You ride herd and cook, too? Man, you’re a rancher’s dream!”

As she strode by him, she tipped her nose in the air. “I’m not so sure that a rancher would be my dream, though.”

“I’m not sure my sister’s dreams are like those of other women in Rawhide.”

John’s words reached Harry through his haze. He’d been too intent watching Melissa sashay up to the house to pay his friend any mind. Now he turned to John.

“They wouldn’t be, though, would they? I mean, she’s been living in Paris for six years.” He grinned. “Heck, she’s probably the only person in Rawhide who’s ever been.”

“Not so,” John said unsaddling Maybelle. “Mom and Dad went to see her awhile back.”

“Did they like it?”

“Mom enjoyed it, but she said she was glad to get back home. Dad didn’t have anything good to say about it. He’s never been happy that Melissa is living there.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Melissa says he’s trying to marry her off to someone here in Rawhide so she’ll stay here.” Harry didn’t look at his friend. He just kept taking care of the horse he’d borrowed.

“I wonder who he’s got in mind,” John said. When Harry said nothing, John stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “Harry? Do you know who Dad’s thinking of?”

“I don’t know what your dad is thinking, but Melissa said it’s me.”

“Really?” John asked eagerly. “That’d be great, Harry! Hey, snap her up at once!”

“That’s not how it works, John. Melissa has to be interested. More than interested, she has to want to marry and stay here rather than go back to France. And I don’t see that happening. Do you?”

John stood there, looking at him. Finally, he shook his head. “No, I don’t see that happening.”

“Then you should encourage your dad not to press her on that front. If she married because of him, the marriage wouldn’t last. You know how that goes.”

“You sound like a voice of experience. You’ve seen a marriage like that?”

Harry hefted off the saddle and put it in the tack room. “Yeah, my parents’. When they finally divorced it was a relief for all of us.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something you go around bragging about. But I think both my parents are happier now. Anyway, that’s why I’m not interested in Melissa. She’s beautiful and obviously talented, but I don’t want an unhappy wife.”

He couldn’t believe he was using the words
Melissa
and
wife
in the same thought. He laughed to himself as he absently brushed down the borrowed horse. The matchmaking Randalls were legendary in these parts. But they’d met their match in Melissa.

Once he and John fed the horses, they bundled up again for the trek to the house. The snow was falling heavily now, and blowing around, nearly obliterating the building in front of them. Trudging through the storm they reached the mudroom and shed their coats and boots, which were wet and covered in crusty snow.

Melissa called out from the kitchen. “Come on in. It’s almost ready.”

Suddenly, Harry hesitated. The scene was almost too domestic. Him coming in from work, Melissa having dinner ready. “Maybe I should go on back to town. I’m supposed to be on duty tonight.”

John stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding! Didn’t you see how bad this storm is? I don’t think you’re going back to town until it stops, Harry. You’d be crazy to try.”

“Well, I’m certainly not spending the night here!”

John ignored him and ushered him inside. “Come in and call Mike. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

Harry pulled his cell phone off his belt, but found he had no service, probably due to the storm. Now he had to go in and use the house phone.

John led the way into the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Melissa asked as the men walked through the room.

“To the phone,” her brother told her. “Harry wants to drive back to town now.”

She looked at Harry. “Are you nuts? It’s not safe.”

“I’m on duty tonight,” he said, as if that was sufficient reason to try.

She raised her chin and gave him a glare as cold as the great outdoors. “And we certainly know how you take your duty seriously.”

John looked at him, puzzled. “What does she mean?”

Harry ignored his friend, his eyes never leaving Melissa. So she’d thought about that night at the steak house and bar, too?

Not that it mattered, he reminded himself quickly. Nothing could ever happen between them.

He went to the phone and called Mike, who, as he’d suspected, told him to stay put. The roads were a mess and the day shift deputies were pulling double duty.

“What did Mike say?” John asked as he came to the table.

Harry frowned. “I guess I’m staying, if y’all don’t mind putting me up.”

Melissa answered before her brother could. “Of course we don’t. It’d be pretty rude of us to refuse when you helped move the herd.” She put bowls of hot soup in front of them.

“What’s this?” John asked.

“French onion soup.”

He frowned. “You made us French food? Dad said he almost starved to death before he got home.”

“Oh, just try it, John,” Melissa said, losing her patience. “It’s hardly French. It’s onion soup with melted cheese.” She muttered, “If you want French, try eating snails.”

John looked about ready to pass on dinner.

Harry tried the soup. “Hey, this is good. Did you make it?” he asked Melissa.

“Yes. And thank you.” She gave him a smile.

The smile warmed him as much as the hot soup.

They ate silently until the phone rang, shattering the quiet.

John jumped up to answer it. “Hello? Oh, hi, Dad. How’s Mom?”

Immediately, Melissa’s attention was focused on her brother. Harry watched her, seeing the anxiety she was feeling. It must’ve been hard to come out with them instead of going to the hospital with her mom.

When Melissa realized he was staring at her, she stiffened and turned to eat the rest of her soup.

“You should’ve gone with your mom instead of helping us,” Harry said softly.

“I wanted to, but Dad needed to be alone with her tonight. He didn’t have time to prepare for any separation or the threat of a serious illness.”

“They’re that close?”

Melissa looked at him in surprise. “Yes. Aren’t your parents?”

He gave her a wry look. “Not for a long time. They divorced ten years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. It’s not a sensitive subject for me. They’re much happier since they split up.”

“Are you an only child?”

“No, I have a younger sister. She had a harder time with the divorce. She was just fourteen. She’s married now and I don’t see her that often. I don’t much like her husband.”

“How old were you when your folks divorced?”

“Eighteen. That makes me twenty-eight now.”

Melissa flashed an embarrassed smile. “I guess I wasn’t subtle enough.”

“So how old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You moved to France when you were twenty? Was your dad crazy?”

Her spine stiffened. “He wasn’t crazy at all. He and Mom realized what a great experience it would be for me.”

John, who had just hung up the phone, entered the conversation, “You mean, Mom decided it would be a great experience for you, and forced Dad into agreeing.”

“How did she do that?” Harry asked.

John rolled his eyes, but Melissa said, “She stopped speaking to him until he gave in.”

Harry looked at John, “How long did that take?”

“A couple of days,” Melissa stated. Suddenly she noticed John smiling and Harry looking at him, nodding.

“What?”

Her brother shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

She turned to stare at Harry. “Why were you nodding?”

“I was just acknowledging what you said,” he replied. He certainly didn’t want to tell Melissa that her mother might have withheld more than her conversation. Sleeping on a lonely sofa could convince a man quickly.

“Is this soup all we’re having, sis?” John interjected. Harry recognized the subject change.

“Oh! I forgot the steak.” Melissa jumped up and headed into the kitchen.

“Good save,” Harry whispered.

“I see you thought what I thought. I didn’t ask Dad, but I figured if she wasn’t speaking to him, even Dad wasn’t going to try anything.”

Harry laughed.

When John went to help with the steak, declining Harry’s offer of assistance, Harry thought about the conversation. Clearly, Melissa’s parents had a good marriage. They still loved each other and their children. He wondered how a marriage like that would feel. And if he’d ever find out.

“Here we go,” Melissa announced, setting a thick steak down in front of Harry, steam rising from it.

John had followed her to the table, carrying his own plate.

“This looks great. Thanks. I’m just afraid I’ll fall asleep before I can finish. Have you noticed that when you warm up after being out in the cold it makes you sleepy?”

“Yes,” Melissa said with a chuckle. “Mom used to let us play outside in winter just before lunch. Then she’d feed us and put us to bed at once. We never even complained about naps.”

“Sometimes I wish I was still that young,” John said with a sigh.

Melissa frowned. “Why, John? Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. It’s just…Dad wants me to take over running the ranch, but I can feel him staring over my shoulder all the time.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

Harry cleared his throat. “That would be a little difficult, Melissa.”

“Why?” she asked, turning to gaze at him.

Harry sought for words. “It would be like you taking over the cooking. Even if your mother ate what you fixed, you probably would think she was criticizing your cooking in her head.”

“No, I wouldn’t think that.”

Harry looked at John. “I tried.”

“Thanks,” John said, before he turned to his sister. “It’s a macho thing, sis.”

“Oh, well, I think that’s silly. Dad wouldn’t turn it over to you if he didn’t believe in your ability.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s me having doubts, not Dad.”

“I can only tell you your dad always brags about your ranching knowledge when he’s talking with the other Randalls,” Harry said to reassure his friend.

“See?” Melissa echoed. “Just assume you know the best way to do things.”

“And if I’m wrong?”

“It’s just possible your father made some mistakes in his time, too,” Harry pointed out.

“If Granddad were alive, he could probably tell you,” Melissa added.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Melissa. You know he thought Dad could do no wrong.”

“He didn’t think you could, either!” Melissa said with a grin.

“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten that.”

“That’s a nice memory,” Harry said with a smile.

“Didn’t you have a grandfather who believed in you?” Melissa asked.

“Nope.” He took a bite of his steak and chewed, showing no inclination to add to his statement.

“Did you not have a grandfather?” Melissa asked, leaning toward him, sympathy on her face.

“I had two of them,” Harry said. “They were pretty ornery and we didn’t see them often. Don’t start feeling sorry for me, Melissa. I’m just fine.”

H
ARRY MAY HAVE TOLD HER
not to feel sorry for him, but Melissa couldn’t help it.

She’d tossed and turned for the last hour since coming to bed, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts of Harry that had taken hold in her mind.

Not only had his grandfathers been difficult, but his
parents had divorced, and now he had little contact with his only sibling. Poor man.

Everyone thought Harry Gowan was wonderful. Her cousins certainly did. And her father. He wanted her to marry him!

Not that she was even considering such a crazy thing. But her mother’s surgery did make her stop and think for the first time. Her entire family was here in Rawhide, and she’d spent the last six years in Europe. Six years that she’d missed being a part of her mother’s life.

Not that she didn’t have a life of her own to lead in Paris. She had friends and, until a week ago, she’d had Pierre.

But what else?

Your work,
said a voice inside her head. But as much as she enjoyed jewelry designing, she wasn’t so enamored of Monsieur Jalbert. For the past six months she’d been having doubts about remaining with him, whether she’d actually agree to the contract up for renewal. Or maybe strike out on her own.

Were they dreams?
she asked herself. Or pipe dreams?

A master jeweler and shrewd business man, Monsieur Jalbert wielded a lot of power, not only in Paris, but throughout western Europe. With one decree he could make it difficult for her to sell her designs, even downright impossible.

Could she come back to America?

There were certainly cosmopolitan locales that could
rival Paris—New York, San Francisco, maybe. And she’d certainly be closer to her parents.

In her line of work, she could set up shop anywhere in a major city where she could market her jewelery.

Wait a minute!
said that inner voice. She was going back to Paris. She had the return ticket to prove it!

Outside her window, the wind knocked bare tree branches against the house. Earlier she’d found their rhythmic tapping somewhat soothing, but now the noise made her anxious.

She needed a drink to settle herself down. Back in Paris she usually had wine with dinner, or sherry afterward with some friends. She found it helped her sleep, especially when she was jittery or stressed.

She doubted her parents had any on hand. Then she remembered the bottle of French wine she’d brought them from the vineyard in Bordeaux she’d visited a couple months ago.

It had been a wonderful afternoon, strolling through the winery, sampling different wines until she found the one she liked best. Too bad the memory included Pierre. It was supposed to have been a romantic getaway weekend; it turned out to be nothing of the kind.

Banishing the recollection, she grabbed her robe and went in search of the wine. Her parents wouldn’t mind if she opened the bottle.

The orange embers in the living room fireplace were keeping the house warm, and she didn’t bother putting
on the robe, instead throwing it over a chair on the way to the kitchen. In no time she found the bottle and poured herself a glass, which she took back into the living room.