A Cold Creek Christmas Surprise Read online

  “Good thing. I love you, too, ladybug. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He hung up, missing her all over again. Though his marriage had been a mistake from the beginning, he would do it all over again in order to have Destry for a daughter.

  Melinda had never been cut out for marriage to a rancher—neither the marriage part nor the living-on-a-ranch part.

  His parents had seen it from the beginning and had tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, too enamored of this vibrant, beautiful woman who claimed to adore him.

  He met her while he had taken a temporary job in Montana consulting with a movie star trying to start a hobby ranch. Melinda had been the personal assistant to the movie star’s wife. She had been fascinated by cowboys and the West, and to his shocked delight, this wild, beautiful creature had somehow been fascinated with him.

  For a month or so they had what he thought of as a fling, fiery and exciting. All that heat had already started to burn itself out when she came to him one night and told him she was pregnant. She had treated it with a casualness that had shocked him—“Oh, by the way, I missed my period. The pregnancy test was positive. Isn’t that funny?”—as if the world hadn’t just been shaken on its axis at the reality that the two of them had created life together.

  He snorted now, remembering how he had automatically assumed they would marry. The way he was raised, that was just what a man did: he stepped up to take care of his responsibilities.

  She had laughed at him and treated him like the provincial cowboy he was, but eventually he had persuaded her they could build a life together, for the sake of their child.

  His parents hadn’t approved of her or their marriage.

  He eyed that painting again. The memory still burned. At the time of their deaths, the relationship between them had been strained and distant. Just the night before their murders, he had yelled at his father on the phone when Frank suggested maybe they hadn’t known each other long enough for such a big step.

  It was a hell of a thing that he let things become so tense between them without trying to heal the rift. He hated knowing his father died with Ridge’s ugly words still ringing in his ears.

  The worst part was, they were absolutely right about her. She wasn’t cut out for this life, and both of them knew it. After his parents’ deaths, he had no choice but to return to the River Bow to take over the ranch. Neither Taft nor Trace was in a position to do it, even if they’d wanted to.

  He wanted to think Melinda had done her best, but a year after they moved to Pine Gulch and the River Bow, she had grown tired of being both a mother and a wife. Or at least being his wife. She had left both him and Destry one night with a hastily scribbled note that she was sorry but she couldn’t do it anymore. She signed over full custody of Des, sent him divorce papers a few weeks later and disappeared.

  For six months or so, she would send him emails from this spot or that one and then the correspondence became increasingly infrequent before it ended abruptly. He had suspected something had happened to her, but none of her friends could even tell him where she was when they heard from her last, and he didn’t know how to start looking.

  He really should have tried harder to find out, for Destry’s sake if not his own, but he really wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth.

  His thoughts turned to his unwilling houseguest. She was from California, too. She was also beautiful and soft. He wanted to think that was the extent of the similarities between her and Melinda—but he had learned his lesson well.

  His ranch and his family. That’s all he had time for, and he intended to keep things that way.

  He certainly didn’t have room for lovely injured schoolteachers with big blue eyes and secrets they didn’t seem inclined to share.

  * * *

  Sarah woke from painkiller-twisted dreams to find a man standing in her doorway, big and hulking in the darkness. For an instant, icy panic swamped her, and her mind froze with nightmare fears of intruders and menacing strangers. A tiny, frightened sound escaped before she could swallow it back.

  “Easy. Easy, Sarah. It’s only me. Ridge Bowman.”

  The low, familiar voice acted on her like a comforting cup of chamomile tea. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Sorry I scared you. I warned you that Doc Dalton wanted me to check on you in the night. That’s all I’m doing.”

  She drew in a calming breath and then another and willed the last shadow of panic to subside. “Of course. I remember.”

  “Mind if I turn on a lamp?”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  A moment later, he flipped a switch and a small, comforting circle of light from a lamp on one of the bureaus pushed more of her panic away.

  “There. Is that better?”

  “Much. Sorry, I just woke up disoriented and forgot where I was for a moment.”

  He moved into the room. “Understandable. You’ve had quite a day. Anyone would be a little discombobulated, a word my mother used to love.”

  His mother, who had been murdered. She shivered and drew the quilts up higher as he moved closer to the bed.

  “I’m supposed to make sure your brain is still working. Can you tell me what day it is?”

  She closed her eyes and tried to think. Her arm and head both still ached, she realized, but without the insistent sharpness of before.

  “Um, Saturday, right? Three days before Christmas.”

  “Technically it’s Sunday now, but you’re on the right track.”

  She glanced at the clock by the bed and saw it was after midnight.

  “And what’s your name again?”

  “Sarah Whitmore,” she answered promptly.

  “What’s my name?”

  “You just reminded me two minutes ago. Ridge Bowman. Not that I would have forgotten. It’s kind of an unusual name.”

  “That it is.”

  “Can I ask how you came by it?”

  He leaned a hip against the footboard of the bed and she was suddenly keenly aware of him, his solid strength and leashed muscles.

  “My parents met in Colorado while both of them were going to school there,” he said, a small smile softening the hard lines and angles of his features. “Apparently one day Mom went hiking with her painting gear and ended up taking a bit of a tumble off a steep trail—she didn’t fall far and wasn’t hurt, but she was stranded on an isolated ledge for a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “My father happened to choose that same day to go for a trail ride—and he happened to have a lariat along. When he came across a pretty damsel in distress in need of help, he did what any smart young cowboy would. He lowered his rope and brought her up to safety. He then did what any young cowboy worth his salt would also do and asked her out.” He laughed softly at the memory. “The rest was history. Every significant moment in their life since happened in the mountains—he proposed to her on a ridgetop, they were married on another one. She used to say my name reminded her of all the happiest moments of her life and was a symbol of strength and invincibility.”

  She smiled, charmed by the sweetness of the story, until she remembered what had happened to that young couple.

  “Your mother sounds...amazing,” she murmured.

  “She was,” he said simply, then changed the subject with what she was certain was deliberate intent. “How’s the arm? Do you need more of the pain meds?”

  “Maybe just some ibuprofen. I think I had better take it easy on anything stronger. My head is spinning.”

  He crossed to the pitcher he had thoughtfully set out for her and poured a glass then brought it over to her, along with a couple of pills. For a gruff rancher, he seemed remarkably comfortable in the role of caregiver. She suspected raising a child probably contributed to that.

  She wondered again about
the girl’s mother. Were they divorced or was he a widower? She wanted to ask but figured she had already filled her nervy quotient for a lifetime when it came to Ridge Bowman.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bother. I’ll be out of the way in the morning.”

  She didn’t want to feel this subtle connection to him. She would only find it that much harder to accept when he came to hate her after the truth came out.

  “Are you supposed to be catching a flight back to San Diego in the next day or two? The way that snow is coming down, you might have a tough time making it to the airport, not to mention you might be a bit uncomfortable traveling with that broken arm for a day or two.”

  “My flight isn’t until the end of the week. I had planned to stay in Pine Gulch through Christmas.”

  He looked surprised. “I thought you said you didn’t have family around here.”

  “I don’t,” she answered. “Here, there or anywhere. Everyone’s gone. My mother passed away two years ago and, as I told you, my father died earlier this year.”

  “You were an only child?”

  “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I had an older brother but...he died twelve years ago.”

  She shouldn’t have said that. She held her breath, afraid Ridge would probably find it an unusual coincidence that her older brother just happened to have died around the same time as his parents’ murders.

  She was beginning to suspect it wasn’t a coincidence at all.

  “So you were going to spend the holidays alone?” he asked.

  “I’ve never minded my own company, Mr. Bowman.”

  “I enjoy mine, too. But not during the holidays.”

  He studied her for a long moment, and she had the odd impression he was weighing his words. “You could always spend the holidays here with Destry and me,” he finally said slowly.

  “What?” She blinked at him, certain she must have misheard.

  “The inn is a great place, don’t get me wrong. Not like it used to be, when nobody could recommend it. My sister-in-law Laura has worked hard to fix it up and all and make it a warm and welcoming hotel. But it’s still a hotel, and you’d still be on your own. We’d love to have you here. As you can see, we’ve got plenty of room in this old place.”

  For a long moment, she fought a mix of shock, bemusement and a soft, sweet warmth. Was Ridge Bowman really asking a woman he had just met to spend the holidays at his ranch with him and his daughter?

  “I...don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to decide right this minute. It’s the middle of the night. We both ought to be asleep. Good night.”

  He headed for the door, but she stopped him before he could reach it.

  “Why would you make such an offer? You don’t even know me. Why would you want a stranger to intrude in the middle of your family’s holiday celebrations?”

  He was quiet. “First of all, you wouldn’t be intruding. When we were kids, we always had a houseful of people over for the holidays. My parents were known for throwing the River Bow open to anybody in need of a little holiday spirit. I guess in the past few years, we’ve kind of lost that along the way somehow.”

  “And?”

  He scratched his cheek. “Well, you were hurt falling down my stairs. Seems to me, the least I can do is make you feel welcome here and give you a comfortable place to spend Christmas while you’re recovering.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she exclaimed. “It was my own clumsiness.”

  “We do,” he said. “Even if you hadn’t been hurt here, there’s the matter of the painting. You gave us back something we thought was lost forever. I know my brothers will want to meet you to thank you in person. You might as well get used to the idea that the Bowman family now owes you a debt and we always make good.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Just think about it. No rush. I’ll check on you again in a few hours when I head out to the barn. Meantime, try to get some rest. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile, this big, rough cowboy she found so deeply attractive, then headed out of the room with the little three-legged dog hopping along behind him.

  After he left, Sarah stared at the doorway, overwhelmed by his invitation.

  She knew she shouldn’t find the idea of staying in this warm house for the holidays so very tempting. She didn’t belong here at the River Bow. Her whole presence at the ranch had been a misjudgment on her part and a case of mistaken identity on his.

  No, she couldn’t accept. She would have to simply make her excuses in the morning and return to the Cold Creek Inn—no matter how depressed that prospect left her.

  Chapter Six

  As predicted, the snow that had been lightly but steadily falling when he finally tumbled into bed the night before had become a full-on Rocky Mountain blizzard by morning.

  After checking on his soundly sleeping guest and leaving a note for her outside her room where she couldn’t help but see it, Ridge bundled into all his warmest gear and headed out into a miserable wind that blew ice into every available crevice.

  At least a foot of snow had fallen during those few hours of restless sleep, and he couldn’t see any sign of it easing up in the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had a good two feet for St. Nick and his reindeer to struggle through. Add in the wind that blew giant drifts to pile up in front of doorways and bury anything uncovered—like certain rental vehicles, for instance—and he didn’t see how Sarah would have any other choice but to stay put on the River Bow for now.

  He certainly wouldn’t be able to take her anywhere for several hours. Most of his day would be spent digging out, clearing paths, repairing any damage from the winds.

  Both of his brothers would probably be running all day responding to slide-offs and other weather-related issues in their respective emergency personnel modes, which meant that Destry would likely be stuck at Trace’s house, too, at least until evening.

  After a few hours of running the plow on the tractor—with many more to go—he decided to take a quick break. He needed more fuel than the quick cup of coffee and yogurt he had grabbed on his way out the door.

  The contrast between the howling, bitter wind and the warmth of the mudroom was startling—and so was the tantalizing smell of frying bacon that drifted over him the moment he walked inside.

  Hmm. Apparently his hunger was giving him aromatic hallucinations. There was a first.

  By the time he shrugged out of his winter gear and walked into the kitchen, he discovered he wasn’t imagining things.

  Sarah stood at the stove, wearing a deep green robe that must have been one of Caidy’s and an apron she must have found hanging in the pantry. Her casted arm looked pale and fragile in contrast.

  “What’s all this?” he demanded in surprise.

  She flipped a strip of sizzling bacon in the pan. “Great timing, that’s what it is. I woke up and saw you outside shoveling all that snow. When I came into the kitchen, I couldn’t see any sign you’d had breakfast. I thought you might eventually come in to grab a bite so I started cooking. And here you are. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He laughed. “Wrong question to ask a cowboy, if he minds somebody fixing him a meal. The answer to that question will always be no. I had resigned myself to a cold bowl of cereal so this is a great surprise. Just one question. How did you manage all this with a broken wing?”

  “I would like to tell you it was easy, but that would be stretching the truth. The trickiest part was opening the bacon package, but somehow I managed.”

  She gave a rueful smile that completely charmed him—as if the breakfast wasn’t enough on its own.

  She scooped several perfectly crisp slices of bacon onto a plate and slid it across the isla
nd to him, followed by fluffy scrambled eggs and several pieces of toast. She dished out a much-smaller portion for herself.

  He poured two glasses of juice from the refrigerator and then sat down across from her at the island, suddenly famished.

  “Wow. This is delicious,” he said after his first bite of eggs that were perfectly cooked. “Thank you.”

  She looked pleased. “You’re welcome. I like to cook, even one-handed. I don’t get the chance to do it for someone else very often.”

  “I don’t mind cooking, either, when I have the time. Our parents made sure we all learned to fend for ourselves if we had to. I just rarely have the time—and I’ve never much needed to, with Caidy around. All that will change now. I’m looking to hire a housekeeper, but I figured I would wait until Destry and I have a chance to settle into a new routine and see what holes need filling.”

  “Is your sister moving far with her new husband?”

  “Just a few miles away, actually. I imagine Caidy will take pity on us once in a while and throw a meal or two this direction, though she’s got two stepchildren to take care of and a busy veterinarian for a husband.”

  She studied him while she ate a small forkful of scrambled eggs. “You’re very close, aren’t you?”

  He sipped at his juice, remembering how radiant his baby sister had looked when he gave her away. Out of nowhere, he felt a little melancholy. All his siblings were moving on with their lives while he was here shoveling the same damn driveway, repairing the same damn barn roof.

  “Hard not to be,” he answered. “Caidy has been helping me out with my daughter since Destry was in diapers. We would have been lost without her after my wife took off.”

  Now why the hell had he told her that? Ridge set down his fork, losing a little of his appetite despite the delicious breakfast. He rarely talked about Melinda anymore. What was the point? Yet here he was blurting out the pleasant news that she had left him alone with a young baby.

  “What a loving sister,” she murmured.

  He found himself unexpectedly amused that she had jumped there instead of the obvious.