Chapter 2 Like Family
“ T he angel is still crooked.” Mallory stood back from the Christmas tree, frowning at the stubborn tree topper. “It may just have to stay that way.” Though she was determined to decorate her home for the holidays, decorating in general wasn’t one of her strengths.
Regardless, she was determined to have a real Christmas for the first time since losing her parents.
She had the Silva family to thank for her burst of holiday spirit.
Ever since they’d moved in at Evans Ranch, they’d chased away the loneliness of her workaholic existence.
It was so nice having someone like Martina to talk to, to have her and Dex to share the ups and downs of ranch life with, and to have an honest-to-goodness family to celebrate the holidays with.
Mallory had spent the last two days pulling boxes out of the attic.
Thanks to the pest control company Martina had talked her into hiring, the attic was clear of any signs of vermin.
No yucky little black pellets to step over.
No rips, tears, or tunnels in the insulation.
Just good old dusty storage containers filled with everything from decades-old garlands to wicker Easter baskets.
Besides the slightly lopsided faux pine resting a few feet to the right of the fireplace, Mallory had placed LED candles in the front windows and red holiday pillows on the sofa.
The pillows looked like they could use a little fluffing.
Or something. They were faded a few shades lighter than their original winter berry hue.
She should probably consider replacing them altogether.
Not now, though. The sale of her land was scheduled to go through before Christmas, but she didn’t want to spend the proceeds on anything as frivolous as home decor.
No, sirree! Every penny of it was going into her keep-Evans-Ranch-afloat fund.
“What do you think?” Wondering why Martina wasn’t responding, Mallory cocked her head again at the tree topper, debating whether she should get back on her ladder to adjust it some more.
“Do you always talk to yourself when you’re alone?” The sound of Tucker Pratt’s voice in her living room made her yelp and spin around.
His broad shoulders filled the arched doorway leading to the entry foyer. He studied her with a curled upper lip as he removed his Stetson.
“I’m not alone,” she snapped, wishing he didn’t look so good in, well, everything he wore—old, new, frayed, or tailored to perfection. It didn’t matter. This morning, he was filling his faded jeans and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots nicely enough to populate a magazine centerfold.
When he didn’t immediately answer, she plunged onward to fill the silence in the room. “Before you walked in, I was having a conversation with Martina.” And now I’m having a conversation with you. Unfortunately.
“I stand corrected.” He glanced around the room, where Martina was clearly no longer present, not bothering to hide his sarcastic half-smile.
“Now that you’re here,” she directed his attention to her lopsided tree topper, “I could use a second opinion. After adjusting the angel a bazillion times, I suspect we’re dealing with a crooked halo.
Something you probably know all about,” she joked, proud of herself for having come up with something so snarky on the spot.
He surveyed her with mild hauteur. “Pretty sure you’re the only one who’s ever called me an angel.”
“I didn’t—” She stopped, realizing he was goading her. Again. And she was falling for it. Again. “What are you doing here anyway?” She didn’t recall receiving a heads-up via text message, and she most definitely hadn’t invited his cranky self over.
“Touching bases with a client.” His voice was dry. “Something you claim I never do.”
Since he sounded like he was angling for another bickering match, she forced herself to count to ten before answering. Maybe she’d smother him with polite hospitality this morning, just to mix things up a bit.
“Touching bases,” she repeated in the lightest voice she could scrounge up. “Versus breaking and entering.” She spread her hands, pretending to balance the words on a scale. “I take it this is one of those tomato to-mah-to things?”
He glanced suggestively over his shoulder. “The door was open. For someone who’s always cold, you’d think you’d notice the Arctic chill blowing in.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She stomped rudely in his direction, not caring if she plowed into him on her way around him .
“I already shut it,” he informed her in the same maddeningly smug voice.
“You still could’ve knocked,” she fumed, coming to a stop in front of him, folding her arms mutinously.
“I did, but you were…” He pointed at the tree. “Having a conversation and didn’t hear me.”
“Fine. I’ll drop the B&E charges.” She fought to control her temper and recover the polite tone of voice she’d been intending to use on him. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Before I do.” He jutted his chin at her. “I’d like to point out that Martina sprinted out the front door the moment I pulled up and hightailed it to the barn.”
“So?” Mallory was sick and tired of him finding fault with everything her staff did. “Maybe Dex needed her for something.”
“Or maybe she’s avoiding me,” he countered.
“Do you blame her?” Mallory swung away from him and returned to the tree, not wanting him to see how twitchy his piercing gaze made her. “I mean, you treat her like she’s some low-level thug.” She climbed nimbly up her stepladder to give herself something to do.
“Just doing my job, Mal.” To her surprise, he followed her across the room to curl one large hand around one of the legs of her ladder. It immediately stopped wiggling beneath her.
Mal. It was the first time he’d ever shortened her name like that. The low, husky way he’d said it surrounded her like a fuzzy throw blanket, warming her all the way to her toes.
Since she no longer felt like she was teetering on the edge of the world, she took her time adjusting the tree topper .
“A little more to the right,” he urged.
Really? We’re hanging Christmas decorations together now? She was so astonished that all she could do was follow his suggestion. This wasn’t how two people who completely despised each other were supposed to be acting.
“Are you going to make me wait all day for your big news?” She didn’t dare glance down at him. Sometimes, the way he looked at her made her dizzy. She’d just as soon not toy with a bout of lightheadedness while this high in the air.
“Nope. Just didn’t want to distract you while you’re working.” He crooked his elbow at her as she descended the ladder, inviting her to lean on his arm if she needed it.
She was doing a really good job of ignoring his offer until she got eye level with him. She paused on the last rung of the ladder to meet his gaze. It was a mistake. His gold-brown gaze clashed with hers, and the familiar whirl of lightheadedness slammed into her.
The next thing she knew, she was in his arms being hefted to the ground. “How’d you even make it to adulthood?” he grumbled.
She had a ready answer to that question. “Without you here to annoy and distract me.”
“Which I made up for by not letting you fall,” he shot back. “So, here’s the deal. I may have located Old Glory.”
His abrupt change of topic made her head spin even more. A small cry of exultation skidded out of her. Instead of stepping away from him, she clamped her hands down on his forearms. “Tell me everything,” she demanded breathlessly.
He quickly filled her in on the bull sighting.
“According to our facial recognition software, he’s on a ranch about a hundred miles south of here.
Some passerby was so impressed with his size that they took a snapshot of him and posted it on social media.
I’m hitting the road now to go check it out. Just wanted to let you know first.”
“This is huge, Tucker!” Mallory’s heart was galloping like an entire herd of wild horses through the canyons.
“If it’s really him…” She gulped. “Well, there’s no better gift anyone could give me for Christmas,” she finished shakily.
It was all she could do not to break into a dance right there in the middle of the living room.
“Just doing my job,” he said again with a pointed look at the grip she still had on his arms.
Right. Your job. She dropped her hands as if he’d scalded her and curled her hands against her jeans. Why did she even bother being nice to him? He rebuffed her every attempt at friendliness.
“Add it to my tab.” She forced her voice back into the bland range.
All irritation with the man standing in front of her aside, there was no price she wouldn’t pay to get Old Glory back.
He was more than a bull to her. Not only was he one of her last ties to her father, he represented everything that made Evans Ranch what it was.
“Will do.” Tucker backed toward the entry foyer, returning his Stetson to his head.
Then he was gone in a swirl of winter wind.
She heard his truck roar to life outside and drive off, leaving her in the living room with the faint scent of his aftershave and the reminder of how strong and steady his arms had felt around her.
The feminine side of her wanted to read more into the nickname he’d given her and the careful way he’d braced her ladder.
But the nickname might’ve been an accident, and his interest in her safe descent from the ladder might’ve only been about protecting a client’s income stream on behalf of his employers .
The front door banged open and shut, and Martina returned to the living room. “He’s gone.” She sounded relieved. “Can’t say I’m disappointed.” She shivered as she hugged her too-thin sweater jacket around her.