Page 17 of The Cowboy's Christmas
“Nice of him,” Deke mumbled.
Savannah glanced at Quinn. “Are you ready?” she asked. Her tone was cool, somewhat distant. All business, which made sense when one considered their situation—especially if he’d helped jailbreak her uncle. Did she hold him responsible?
He followed as she led the way down the hallway to the kitchen without waiting for his reply. “I didn’t know for sure that your uncle had checked himself out.”
“It was only a matter of time. Deke has no patience with holding still.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “I appreciate you bringing him home.” Her tone was a touch friendlier, but her expression remained distant.
She passed through the kitchen to an alcove off the far side that served as the mudroom. A bench sat under the row of coats needed for different types of weather and tasks. A basket of gloves and several pairs of boots, also suited to different weather and tasks, were stored neatly under the bench.
He waited as she bundled up for the morning’s work, stepping into insulated overalls, tying on a pale blue wild rag, then pushing her arms into the sleeves of an insulated jacket. Once again, she glanced at him, caught him studying her, then grabbed a fleece-lined wool stocking cap and pulled it over her dark hair.
“What’s first?” he asked.
Savannah pulled her ponytail free of her jacket. “First we pray that Old Betsy starts.”
She reached for the door handle, then glanced back toward the interior of the house. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“Sure.” Quinn stepped out into the brisk Montana air, which burned his cheeks and crystallized his breath, and stood on the porch, rocking back on his heels as he surveyed his surroundings. The Dunn Ranch was a nice little place, situated a couple miles from the highway with no neighbors in sight. Therewereneighbors—and he and Savannah would be feeding their cattle—but the ranch was a mile away, hidden by a stand of trees. Deke had pointed in the general direction as he’d given Quinn the lowdown of everything he’d be doing.
A newish John Deere tractor sat next to the barn, a weathered building with an ancient stone foundation and modern metal roof. The tractor, Quinn guessed, judging by age and the fact that an important component was missing from the loading arm, was not Old Betsy.
He turned at the sound of the back door opening, and Savannah stepped out, pulling on her gloves. “I wanted to make double sure that Deke was okay and that the girls were letting him relax.”
“And?”
She surprised him by allowing her face to relax from its tight expression. “So far, so good. They’re taking their duties seriously, but they haven’t sorted who gets which animals when they play farm, so there might be some dicey moments during the negotiations.” She moved past Quinn and started down the walk. “I just hope they let him get some sleep if he needs it.”
She spoke the last words more to herself than to him, then led the way across the driveway to the barn, where she rolled up the bay door. The catch rope dangled a little above her head when she’d finished, making Quinn wonder how she closed the door later.
“Meet Old Betsy,” she said as she moved inside the barn’s dim interior to unplug the power cord from the engine block of a 1980’s era John Deere 3040 with a forklift loader on the front. “A mostreliabletractor who is certainly going to start this morning. Right?” she asked the green machine.
If she felt self-conscious about talking to a tractor in front of a stranger, she didn’t show it, a characteristic Quinn admired. He, too, was known to have discussions, often of a contentious nature, with his equipment, particularly during times of stress.
Old Betsy did not start easily, but after three failed attempts, the rough chugs of the big diesel engine gradually turned into a stuttering roar. She wasn’t exactly purring, but she was running.
“We’ll let her warm up,” Savannah said as she stepped to the ground. She gave the tractor a satisfied pat, then turned to Quinn. “Can you ride?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“I’ll take that for a yes. We’re bringing the cattle down from the high pasture later today.” She wrinkled her nose. “Shall we move outside before Betsy asphyxiates us?”
Quinn smiled and then followed her out the bay door into the fresh winter air. Once outside she shot a quick glance toward the house, as if assuring herself that all was well with Deke and the girls, then turned back to him. A few awkward seconds ticked by, then she said, “I’ve never had a hired hand before. This might sound dumb, but I feel weird giving orders.”
Weird and uptight, apparently. Quinn gave her a half-smile. “Lucky for you, I have experience receiving orders.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “So you’ll guide me through?”
“It’s pretty easy,” he said. “You tell me what to do and I do it.”
“No arguments?”
“Not unless you ask me to get on a roof. I don’t do heights.”
“There goes my big chore of the day.”
He smiled at her, but she pulled her gaze away, glancing at the house again. Too much camaraderie too soon?
“Why don’t you line out the day?” he asked.
