Page 2 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
In fact, he was no salesman, and yet it was part of his work.He’d always just hoped his own personal enthusiasm for a project would be enough to get people to at least listen.And so far, it had worked, and he’d ended up beyond successful at the relatively young age of thirty-four.
He was feeling kind of old at the moment though, after all the fallout that was still raining down.And apparently, he sounded it, too, because the last time he’d spoken to Jackson, he’d called him on it.
“You sound like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet,” he’d said.
“Is that part of your ‘trying to sound like a Texan’ campaign?”he’d asked dryly.
“Nope,” Jackson had said cheerfully, making Miles wonder if anything ever got to his friend anymore.“I borrowed it from our police chief.He’s got a ton of wise sayings.Like don’t squat with your spurs on.Don’t go in if you don’t know the way out.Then there’s one I want to use the next time Swiffer calls me, which is never miss a good chance to shut up.”
Miles had laughed at that one.“I’ll race you to be the first one to do that.”
Then something had changed in Jackson’s voice when he’d finished with, “Or the one the chief said to me, when we opened the therapy center.That pain is guaranteed, but suffering’s up to you.”
“He sounds like a levelheaded guy.”For someone from Hollywood, that was higher praise than most people realized.
“He is.So why don’t you head on out here and level your head a bit.Sounds like the crazy is getting to you.And if you time it right, you can be here for Jeremy’s birthday.”
He’d said yes before he’d even thought about it.In that moment it had just sounded so right he’d jumped at the suggestion.A few days out of the chaos and clutter sounded like a godsend, and he’d grabbed at it.He wanted to understand what it was about this place that had three people he liked so much—Jackson, Jackson’s sister Tris, and Tucker—so happy they’d upended their lives to stay.
Hoping it’ll grab you, too?
He nearly laughed aloud at himself, gave a wry shake of his head, and settled in for the last hour of the flight.
Chapter Two
Riley Garrett stretched,rotated her tight shoulders, and gratefully got up from her desk and the computer.The bookkeeping was done for October, so she could ignore the hated chore for a while.Now she could get to the chores she loved.She’d take working outside on the ranch over being buried in numbers and computer screens any day.
She had a few routine things to do, the first being checking inventory on supplies before winter really set in.They were predicting an El Niño winter, which would mean more rainfall, but given they’d said this week would be in the upper sixties to low seventies and now at two in the afternoon it was only sixty-one degrees out, she had belief problems.So she stuck to her usual strategy, which was prepare for the worst and plan for disaster.
She supposed she should feel good that she’d gotten that pile of work done, and only a week into November, but she only felt tired.She’d perk up once she got outside, she was certain.She always did.She put on her watch and automatically verified the time against her phone screen.She wasn’t one to rely on that screen every time she needed to know what time it was, because too often her hands were full and having to pull it out would be beyond annoying.
She tugged her dark hair up into its usual ponytail, stuffed it through the back of her Texas Rangers cap, smiling to herself as she avoided anything more complicated than that.
She wanted to get done with the inventory quickly, because what she wanted even more was another arena session with the agile bay gelding she’d intended to train.But early on it seemed doomed.Training a barrel horse that was apparently terrified of barrels did not seem logical.But there was no denying the horse was quick on his feet and agile, and he was young enough to learn, but she didn’t like the idea of forcing a horse to get past a fear he must have reason for.Especially not in a sport where every second counted and hesitation could be the difference between winning and losing.She was thinking of having Sage Highwater take a look at him as a reining prospect.
Sage Parrish, she corrected.She’d known Sage all her life, and it was hard to break an almost three-decades-long habit, even if she did really like and admire the man she’d married.Their story had become part of the folklore of Last Stand and made more than one person sigh at the romance of it, or nod knowingly at the inevitability of it.
“Heading out?”
She turned to smile at her father.James Garrett still stood tall at seventy, and her goal in life was to be as fit and active as he was when she was that old.Right now he was sidelined, however, because a young steer had proved a bit more active and had knocked his right knee hard enough to tear his ACL.They’d suggested at his age he might want to forego surgery and just do rehab and live with the results, but he’d laughed at them.
“My parents are living it up in Florida at eighty-nine and ninety-one.They play golf and some new-fangled thing called pickleball.I’m not going to embarrass them by giving up at seventy.”
And it had been an inspiration, watching him sail through the surgery—it had fortunately been only a grade 1 injury, a partial tear—reminding her yet again that she had a good example to live up to.But then, her father had been a good example to live up to in every area, except perhaps that of selecting a mate.Her grandparents, who had now been married for seventy-one years, had obviously had it down.But her mother had bailed for parts unknown when Riley was five years old, wanting city life more than she’d wanted her own daughter.
“It’s an addiction,” her father had muttered, and it was the closest thing to a bad word he’d ever said about her.
And she was forever grateful he hadn’t buckled and moved them all to some hideous big city.She loved life here on the ranch, and Gran had stepped up in a big way, giving her all the feminine influence she needed or wanted.Well, more than she’d wanted as a kid, but Gran had just laughingly said she’d want it someday.
“—pony out to the Baylor place?”
With a snap she tuned back in to Dad’s words.“Yes,” she said.“I’ll trailer him out there this afternoon.”She smiled.“I’m sure they want to be as certain as I am that he’s a sweetheart, perfect for the younger kids.”
Dad nodded.“I’m glad you’re helping them.”
“They’re doing a really good thing there.”
“Yes,” he agreed.He tilted his head sideways as he looked at her, and she braced herself for an unpleasant question.“It’s different, isn’t it?When kids lose a parent…that way?”
