Right to Bragg Page 8

  “Like your boots,” he said casually. A girl in boots was one of his favorite sights. “You look like a downright cowgirl.”

  “Ah, these? Well, I am a Colorado girl. But I confess. I got ’em for a Brooks and Dunn concert.”

  “Well, you did good.”

  The fragrances inside the barn always filled his nose in a most delightful way. Hay and oats, animals, and leather. During the summer, with the horses happy in the corrals or busy with wagon trains, Ma gussied up the barn and held hoedowns inside for their city-slicker visitors and anybody else who wanted to come on over. But in winter, the structure was solely a work area and stable.

  Tiffany poked her head over the stalls, reading every horse’s name. Whenever he had time, Kenn burned the names in scraps of wood. Outlaw. Alamo. Joe Montana. Crazy Horse. Sugarfoot. Winchester.

  “Peach Cobbler?’” She burst out with a laugh at the pretty Carmelo.

  “Ma’s.”

  “Ah, it fits somehow. Right as I walked in the front door, your mom handed me a plate of apple-cranberry pie.”

  “You can call the horse Peachy. She’s a real gentle one. Ma wouldn’t have it otherwise.” He chatted to the horse as he led her out of the stall, held up a foot, and explained.

  “See the studs? Horses have to wear their winter shoes. Slippery surfaces are very dangerous. Daisy’s dad is the farrier here and for lots of the ranches. He’s added screw-in studs for traction. They can be removed, kind of like chains on car tires.”

  “Ah. I get it.”

  “And Mr. Densmore—Joel—adds a pad of plastic so the horse doesn’t ‘snowball.’ This happens when mixtures of snow, mud, and even hay get trapped behind the shoe and stack up in the sole.” For a second, he crooned gently to the horse. “So it’s like the horse is trying to balance on balls of ice. This can harm their fetlocks and legs.”

  “Very interesting.” She peered as he explained, then dazzled him again. “I’m a shoe girl myself.”

  Bragg explained the saddling of the horse.

  “But how am I going to get up? She might be a girl, but she’s pretty tall.”

  “Got a mounting block outside for you greenhorns. Let’s get going while it’s still light enough.”

  ****

  Left foot in the stirrup, she grabbed the horn tight and swung her right leg over the saddle with both nerves and enthusiasm.

  “Good job! Sure you haven’t done this before?” Bragg grinned as he adjusted the stirrups and explained how to hold the reins. “The horn is for mounting and dismounting.” He gestured to her clenched fists.

  “All right. But I think I’ll need to hang on for dear life,” she told him, meaning it, despite how gentle Peachy was as they clip-clopped through the snow on the plowed drive.

  Even in the cold air, Tiffany felt warm with Bragg so close. His pine scent drifted up her nose.

  “You’re doing great.” He watched her from beneath his Stetson, his half-lidded smile making her breath catch. At least she fit well in the saddle, and her backside wasn’t taking much of a pounding.

  He pointed to some large white-roofed buildings well past the corrals and barn. “That’s where we store the covered wagons during the winter. That barn is for the draft horses. They pull the wagons all summer, then do sleigh rides all winter.”

  “As in one-horse open?”

  “Yep. They love to work. There’s a herd of elk that overwinters near here, have done so for years. We have a contract from the national forest for the rides, which includes making sure the animals have enough food.”

  “It all sounds so perfect. I’m a suburb sort of girl. I feel kind of sheltered.”

  “Well, you’re here now. I’ll make sure you get to see and do everything.”

  Everything. Ah. She loved the idea, but there was so much in the way.

  They turned on the main road to follow it for a while. Bragg had explained it as an easy ride for a first-timer.

  “Do you mind me going out with Tony?” she asked suddenly, regretting the words almost instantly. What had gotten into her?

  He started somewhat, and turned to her with eyebrows rising high into the brim of his hat. “Well, not my business, now, is it? You’re single and free. We’re just friends. Right?”

  The tone of his last word, and the look in his eyes before he turned away, assured her he would like to be more. Her heart collided with about eight ribs. Was the Rachel-employer thing really much of an excuse? The family baggage? Was it possible she deserved somebody nice?

  But, no. There was that God thing.

  Normally she was good at explanations, could simplify terms and make logical sense, but lately she ended up bawling in Bragg’s arms like a high school prom queen who had lost her crown. Self-control had always been her name and her game.

  “Yeah. We’re friends. Of course.” It hurt to agree, but she’d started it all, refusing his date last week. “It’s just…my baggage is so heavy, Bragg. And Tony, well, we seem a good fit. He’s a mess, too.”

  Bragg shook his head. “You should be with someone who lifts you up.”

  He meant himself. She wasn’t fool enough to think otherwise. But she knew he would talk about God again. As he reined up a little rise, she followed.

  “Lean forward in the saddle,” he ordered, and she did so, recalling his instructions of leaning forward when going up, leaning back when going down.

  When they got back to the flat path, she figured he needed to know for sure. “Bragg, your way, your family’s way, just isn’t my way. God is too important to you for the likes of me.”

  “What?” He pulled up and looked down, eyes soft, but mouth stern, and her heart did crazy things. “God’s for everybody. ’Specially when you’re down. You reach for His hand, lean against Him when you stumble.”

  “Maybe that works for you. But He’s never been there for me.” The sadness lay heavy on the cold air.

  “Tiffany, He sent His own Son to become one of us. Jesus understands. He’s here. Right now.” Bragg waved a hand to indicate the magnificent terrain around them, then placed that hand on his chest. “And here. And everywhere.”

  Then he pulled off his glove, and his beautiful hand reached out to touch her cheek. “Did you ever ask Him for help?”

  She laid her mittened fingers over his, wishing it was flesh to flesh. “You just said it. Isn’t He all around?”

  “Well, yeah. But you gotta ask. And another thing…” His voice fumbled off on the breeze and he looked away.

  Suddenly she got it. As confident as he was in his beliefs, Bragg was finding it hard to preach to her. Well, make that share with her. Preach sounded so judgmental, like a lecture, and that wasn’t at all what was going on. He was trying to show her a glimpse of his heart. She decided to help him along. “What’s that?”

  “You say you’ve begged your family to forgive you.”

  Pain smacked her between the eyes, clamped so hard around her heart she couldn’t breathe. If he hadn’t been in the way on a stretch narrowed by snowdrifts, and if she hadn’t been sitting on a horse for the first time in her life, she would have trotted away. Why did he have to toss this at her? Didn’t she deserve one day without the agony of the past assailing her?

  His warm hand touched her again, and her pique almost evaporated. She almost ached for more. His fingers lay gentle, the calluses soft against the skin underneath the scarf at her neck, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, give in to his touch .He’d removed his glove and somehow the gesture begged for her to trust him.

  “Ask them to forgive me? Yes, I have.” She told him true, not mincing a thing. “A bunch of times. And nada. Nada, nada, nada!” Bitterness swamped her and she slumped in the saddle, aching for Bragg, for something to uplift her.

  Bragg’s fingers stroked her beneath the fuzzy wool, then cupped her jaw, holding her face steady so she couldn’t look away. “Well, have you ever forgiven them?”

  Her neck stiffened with shock, but he held firm. Underneath her, P
eachy shifted, restless, apparently eager to continue her walk. Frosty air whiffed around them as the late afternoon wind kicked up, but the warmth of Bragg’s gaze and fingers sufficed.

  “Forgive them? For what?” She managed before she drowned completely in his champagne eyes.

  “For abandoning you. For blaming you. For casting you out.” His voice softened to a whisper over the wind. “They wronged you, too.”

  No. In her hurt and loneliness, in her retreat, doing so had never occurred to her. Her mouth opened and cold air rushed in. All she’d done was cry and run away.

  Just then, a whirring on the wind immediately drew their attention. From the nearest hills, a black speck quickly morphed into a helicopter, sparing her an answer. For now.

  While she knew Bragg wouldn’t let the subject drop, her heart lightened. He’d certainly brought a new kind of peace upon her.

  He drew close, over both their horses, and pulled her opened mouth against his for a quick but staggering kiss. The taste of winter melted to summer, and her heart thrummed. As he pulled back without a word and headed home to Hearts Crossing, she reckoned if he ever pulled her close for a real man-woman kiss, not one based on her wreck of a life, she might just collapse.

  The helicopter landed in a flat area past the barn. Bragg turned in his saddle, his face lit with joy. “It’s Kelley! Praise God. It’s Kelley!”

  Kelley, the sister who had restaurant in Sunset Hills. Tiffany had met her briefly at Pike and Daisy’s wedding, but Rachel had mentioned her younger sister wouldn’t be arriving until Christmas Eve.

  Tiffany could anticipate the shrieks of joy inside the house.

  From the big front porch, Mrs. Martin’s substantial arms would wave in joy.

  As Tiffany guided Peachy into the corral, she watched Bragg jump off Winchester to run to Kelley’s side. They hugged like there was no tomorrow, and Tiffany held off hot tears as the breach with Paul broke her heart one more time. He’d held her just that way on his wedding day, and when she’d graduated from college. The day Connor was born.

  The pilot, vaguely familiar, got out and lifted a suitcase in each arm.

  As if remembering the greenhorn still stuck on Peach Cobbler, Bragg loped back to Tiffany, his face red. “Sorry, sweetie. Now stand up in the left stirrup, hang on the horn, swing your right leg over until you hit the ground. Then bring your left leg down.”

  Once she was safely on terra firma, Bragg yelled “good job” and the helicopter’s new arrivals reached them.

  He took the reins of both horses. “Kelley, you remember Tiffany Vickers, Rachel’s nanny-paralegal?”

  Kelley bounced forward and hugged Tiffany like she was a sister. “Of course. Rachel talks about you all the time. All good. You know that means you’re one of us now.”

  Tiffany was no such thing, but she couldn’t help a smile as she hugged back, shoving Paul far back into the emptiness.

  Kelley addressed everybody. “We’re snowbound in Sunset Hills. I haven’t had a customer for two days.” Her voice darkened. “Well, make that three days. Tofu molded into a turkey shape, and honey-baked veggie bacon doesn’t quite cut it for holiday fare in ranch country. So I sent the fresh stuff home with my wait staff for their Christmas dinners and closed shop.”

  When Bragg tensed, Tiffany suspected there was more to this story than Kelley was revealing, but he had the good manners not to pursue. Instead, he gestured to the tall man next to his sister. The guy wore a fleecy jacket with a buffalo plaid scarf, but a regular New York Yankees hat sat atop his head, and Tiffany recognized, but couldn’t place him. Maybe he was a client of Rachel’s.

  “So I hitched a ride with Doyle here.” Kelley affectionately squeezed the man’s arm.

  Bragg continued the introductions. “Tiffany Vickers, meet Doyle Calhoun, better known as The Last Real Rancher.”

  Of course! The reality show Paul had loved beyond any football game. The cable channel Nature Time featured a regular ranching family’s every-day activities on an hour-long show Thursday nights. Doyle, in his mid-sixties, rode herd on his fifty-thousand acres via ’copter, as well as ATV and horseback. He was one of only a handful of ranchers certified to perform Caesarean births on struggling heifers when a veterinarian such as Pike Martin was unavailable.

  “Oh, my goodness me. My brother’s a slave to your show!” She couldn’t hold back her exuberance as she recalled Paul’s happy face, but pain soon roiled through her.

  “Y’all cowpokes, then?” Doyle Calhoun winked at her.

  “Aw, no. Paul works for a small PR firm in Denver.”

  “Hmmm. PR now.” He sort of tasted the words. “The producers are always hounding me to get a publicist. Website. Blog. T-shirts. Nonsense like that.”

  Tiffany recalled her manners and held out her hand, and Doyle Calhoun encased it heartily in his own.

  “How do you do, Mr. Calhoun.” Tiffany found herself more star-struck at meeting this regular guy-famous person than any favorite country music star.

  “I’m Doyle, pretty lady. And I couldn’t bear this other pretty lady getting stuck in them thar hills when she has to get Christmas dinner ready here at the ranch.” He squeezed her hand again and tossed Kelley an enormous grin. “I’m out and about getting my ma at the airport in Walden, so no big never mind. Right on my way. Let me get inside and say halloo to Kelley’s mama before I take off.”

  “It’s not going to be that easy, you know that.” Bragg laughed. “She won’t let you escape without a four-course meal. If you’re in a hurry, don’t even…”

  “Aw, it’s Christmas. I got time.”

  “I’ll get the horses put away.” Bragg gave Tiffany a smile that set her blood pounding as he headed to the corral, and she took off for the house, arms across her fluttering tummy.

  Kelley and Doyle chatted happily at her side, and she was more than glad for their chatter, for her brain relived Bragg greeting his sister like there was no tomorrow. But in the end, she couldn’t hold back either the memory or the tears as she strode up the porch steps.

  There was no tomorrow for her and Paul. And there could be no Christmas with Bragg here at Hearts Crossing. Her heart slid to her toes. She still had a Sunday date with Tony to get through. Not just an hour’s worth of worship, but a whole Sunday brunch, too.

  7

  Within an hour, Ma and Kelley had prepared a marathon meal, but like many suppertimes at the ranch, folks ate all across the big front room, balancing plates on knees, TV trays, end tables, and ottoman tops.

  Life didn’t get any better than this, Bragg decided, fireplace roaring at his feet, and Christmas tree lights shooting colored sparkles across Tiffany’s hair. She didn’t eat much, but he reckoned her perfect figure was why. A football game blaring on the big screen caught his eye from time to time, but not the same way Tiffany did.

  Ma was glowing. “You all are spending the night. And that’s that. We’re having a sleepover,” she announced in the no-nonsense voice that never allowed a no. “Everybody’s here. I’ll get Scott to set up that Skype gizmo later on so we can say howdy to Pike and Daisy.”

  Everybody groaned as one. “They’re newlyweds, Ma. Leave ‘em alone and leave me outta that plan,” Scott managed to say after he guffawed.

  Bragg watched dismay wash over Tiffany’s face about being included in the sleepover, and his heart all but broke. Since she was Matty’s nanny, that’s just how Ma saw things. Bragg had looked forward to staying up late again, watching a Christmas movie with her next to him in front of the blazing fire. The stuff of dreams. Holding her close and sneaking a kiss. Then he remembered her church date with Tony. Tony! And his heart started cracking. He had to get it all resolved soon or thoughts like this would keep on messing with his head. His faith.

  “That was a splendid meal, Mrs. Martin. Kelley. The marbled potatoes were spectacular.” Tiffany said, not acknowledging the invitation. “The Yukon gold potatoes layered with New Zealand blue and the red rose…” Tiffany sounded like sh
e knew what she was talking about, and his mother and sister chatted with her about cooking for a few minutes.

  Feeling better, he had to admit liking the camaraderie among the womenfolk. His womenfolk, if he had his way. When Matty reached for her, Tiffany snuggled him close with kisses and coos. At the tableau of Tiffany holding a baby, for the first real time, Bragg had a weird flash of a hearth and home of his own.

  But the vision left his head as Ella’s face squished into an impossible number of muscles. “Those ‘tatoes were yucky. They’re supposed to be white, not colors.”

  “Now, now, Ella. Just for that, you gotta challenge your Uncle Scottie in computer bowling.” At that, Scott scooped her up onto his shoulders, both of them giggling like five-year olds as they headed for the pool table room.

  “Well, thank you kindly, Tiffany, for enjoying my cookin’.” Ma was holding court now. “And we’re expecting you for Christmas dinner as well. You know that, right?”

  Tiffany’s cheeks turned pretty pink but she did nod. He knew it beat her up inside, missing Christmas with Connor, with Paul. Well, the Martins would do their best to show her a real down-home, old-fashioned Christmas.

  “That reminds me.” Hooper cleared his throat and got everybody’s attention. “Ella told me her mom has no place to go for Christmas.” His statement was simple, but its deep meaning almost crackled in the air.

  “If that’s a hint she should come here, I say nay loud and clear,” sniffed Chelsea. “She messed things up way too good for you and Ella.”

  “And she did crash Kenn and Christy’s wedding,” Bragg mentioned in a tone of reason, although surprise had rendered him so speechless at first that he barely found the words.

  “Just to see Ella,” Hooper said patiently. “And we’ve always had an open door at Hearts Crossing.”

  Bragg snuck a peek at his soon-to-be sister-in-law, Mallie. Her smile was kind. A cancer survivor, she made it clear to all the Martins that she didn’t waste time on negative feelings.

  “And we sure forgave Daisy,” Kelley said, ever a generous spirit. “Look how wonderful that turned out for Pike. She’s a changed woman.”