Page 31 of The Cowboy's Christmas
Quinn expected an argument, but Savannah regarded him silently, as if she knew there was more and was patiently waiting for him to get to the heart of the matter. Finally, after shifting his weight and glancing past her for a few seconds, he came clean. “I keep getting mistaken for Austin. It’s driving me nuts. I’m thinking of shaving my head or something. I’d grow a beard, but it would take too long.”
“Ah,” she said softly, sounding satisfied. “That’s kind of…”
“Funny?”
“More like understandable,” she corrected. “You and Austin look a lot alike. You look like Ty, too, but he’s darker haired, so you don’t get that immediate connection.”
“I don’t know what Austin and Ty have told people—”
“There is a way you can find out.”
The words were gently spoken, but he wasn’t going to discuss his brothers. Silence hung between them for a beat too long, then Savannah, whose arms had been folded, dropped her hands to her sides.
“Fix the tractor. Help around the place. However,” she pointed a finger to his chest, almost, but not quite, touching his canvas coat, “if I want to give you a Christmas bonus, I damned well will.”
His shoulders relaxed, making him realize how tightly he’d been holding them. “Thanks.”
She gave a small shrug, as if the matter were done and she didn’t care to talk about it anymore. “I need to get to the house to spell Deke. Do you want help with the tractor?”
“Just point me to the tools.”
She gestured in the direction of the red cabinet on the opposite side of the barn. “Those are the emergency tools, and the rest are in the garage next door. Hopefully, you can find what you need. Deke is the mechanic and I’m not sure exactly what we have.” She shot a look toward the house through the open bay door. “Don’t be surprised if he joins you.”
“I believe he’d like to do that,” Quinn said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him out of trouble.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Or no Christmas bonus?”
Her soft lips curved in a rather fascinating way. “Exactly.”
*
“I’m heading outto watch,” Deke said as he maneuvered himself out of the chair, a fierce look on his face, obviously anticipating pushback from Savannah. Pushback she wasn’t about to give. It was as important to her as it was to him that the tractor be fixed correctly. Once it was, the little girls could come out with them again—after Deke healed to the point that he could handle all the levers and the steering wheel one-handed.
“Just take it easy, all right.”
“Yeah.”
She headed to the mudroom to take off her winter gear, smiling as she pulled her hands out of her gloves and the blue nails caught the light. A lot of the polish had worn off from her skin and they looked pretty good if one ignored the wrinkles in the finish. What had Quinn’s manicure looked like?
“We’re going. We’re going,” Jessa said, jumping up and down as she bounced into the room. “Uncle Deke said we can watch the tractor get fixed.”
“They’re going,” Deke echoed dryly. “This shouldn’t take long, and I know you’ll feel better with them watching me.”
“Much better,” she agreed. She picked small blue and red coats off the hooks and knelt to help her nieces slip into them. Then came the search for both mittens and putting boots on the right feet, but after a good five minutes, everyone, including Deke, who was wearing his heavy winter coat draped over his shoulders due to the sling, was ready to help Quinn.
“Don’t push it,” she said to Deke as the girls headed out the door, laughing as three dogs met them.
“This one is nice,” Jessa said, petting Pepper.
“Careful the dogs don’t knock you down,” Savannah said to the girls as they made their way down the steps. “Hurry back,” she said to Deke.
He muttered something in return that sounded like “No promises,” but she ignored it and headed to the basement stairs. Laundry was a never-ending task, especially with kids.
She folded a dry load, stacking it into baskets, transferred a wet load to the dryer, then dumped a basket of jeans into the washer. After both machines were humming along, she grabbed the broom and swept, something she didn’t do nearly often enough, because, hey—basement. Out of sight, out of mind. Once done, she stowed away the broom, then headed up the stairs, satisfied that she was on top of the basement chores and ready to tackle the kitchen floor at a time when she didn’t have too much help to be effective.
She’d just finished running the mop water when Sophie and Jess burst in through the kitchen, mittens flopping off the strings that went through their coats, their little faces bright with anticipation.
