Page 7 of Her Candy Cane Cowboy
As soon as the ranch is in the rearview mirror, Mary fills the silence between us. “You’ve met Dallas before you came over to the ranch.”
It’s a statement rather than a question and I sense something is afoot. “Yes,” I answer slowly.
Mary sighs deeply. “He came to the ranch as a troubled teenager after having been in the system since he was a baby. That boy has been through the fire, let me tell you.” She pauses for a moment like she’s lost in a memory before continuing, “He was a tall, scrawny kid full of attitude and wariness. I wanted to wrap him up in the biggest hug, but he was too skittish to be touched. He expected to get hit every time someone came near. That broke my heart.”
I frown, hating that he lived like that. “You’re his adoptive parents?”
She shakes her head. “Christopher and I helped troubled youth over the years and just loved on them, that’s all.”
That’s probably not all. I suspect they’ve done a lot more and given a lot more than she’s telling me, but I get the vibe she’s not the type to seek praise or the spotlight. “He seems like such a jokester.” The observation slips out unintended.
“That’s Dallas for you.” The love she has for him shines through as she says his name. “He’s always trying to find the humor in everything. Sometimes I think laughter is his armor to avoid dealing with hurts. But that boy has a loving heart, and I know he’ll make a wonderful husband and father one day.”
The way she keeps glancing at me…if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to matchmake.
Not wanting to be rude but wanting to shut down any thought of her turning us into a couple if that’s what she’s hinting at, I steer the conversation away from the topic of the man who flusters me. “I’ll get the party set up in record time so I can make it back home by Christmas. It’s just me and my dad now. My mom passed when I was young, and my dad raised me.” There’s a note of pride in my voice.
“You’re close to your father?”
“I am. He’s an amazing father. He even learned how to style my hair.” I think of his first lopsided attempt and get a lump in my throat. “When I asked for homemade clothes for my baby dolls like the ones my friend’s mom made, he learned how to sew.”
I turn onto the road leading into town. “And when I was in high school, he helped me navigate teenage drama.” I roll my eyes as I speak. “Looking back, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Mary laughs. “All teenage drama is serious in the moment.”
“It is,” I agree, not knowing why I feel so comfortable sharing personal information with this woman.
“What do you and your father do for Christmas?” Mary asks.
“It’s our tradition to open the gifts and then have a big meal while we watch movies the rest of the day.” I stop the car by the community center. “He and I are both movie collectors.”
“Dallas is a movie buff,” Mary says. “So you have something in common.”
She’s definitely trying to matchmake.
“Is that so?” I murmur and quickly exit.
She gets out and takes a set of keys from her pocket, flipping through them until she finds the one she’s looking for. “This should be it.” She inserts it into the lock and gives it a jiggle. “I think…why won’t it…” Finally, the lock releases. “Ah. There it is.”
The door swings open and we both stop in our tracks at the sight before us. One of the walls is wet on the lower half and a musty scent hangs in the air. Water stains the drywall and a puddle is leaking out from under the baseboard, slowly spreading across a small part of the floor.
“Oh no!”
I glance at Mary’s distressed expression and give her arm a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. Judging by the current damage, it doesn’t look like it’s been leaking that long. I can fix it. Be right back.” I leave her to search for the main water valve and shut off the water to the building.
“Quick thinking,” Mary says as I rejoin her.
“My dad’s a plumber,” I explain. My ex’s family always looked down on me and my father because we’re working class while they came from money, but I’m proud of my background.
“I’ll send someone to help get this mess cleaned up.” She takes out her phone.
“I can do it alone. It’s not a big deal.” I’m used to handling situations like this because I spent a few summers working on plumbing projects with my dad. He did his best to make sure I learned how to take care of whatever might crop up.
Mary gestures. “There should be towels in the back room.”
“I’ll dry everything, then take some photos and notes on the layout here to help me plan the décor. Afterward, I’ll repair the leak,” I tell her.
“I can stay and mop, and then?—”
