A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(13)
“It’s tough to get what you want without sacrifice,” he agreed quietly. “I’m living proof of that. I worked very hard to please my parents when I would have rather have been one of those daring cowboys in your grandfather’s novels.”
“Those fictitious cowhands would have thought you were the glamorous one. Ranch life is cold, it’s lonely, and you definitely don’t get any thank-you notes from the cattle. At least in your line of work you get invitations to the Oscars.”
Mick had the grace to laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly call my life glamorous, but I get what you’re saying.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I really see why Slater likes you. You’re very real.”
“As compared to being fake?”
“As compared to being a snob because you probably own suits that cost more than some of the pickups people drive around here. I’m surprised the cabin didn’t collapse when you walked in wearing a cashmere coat and loafers instead of boots.”
“There’s a part of me that would rather walk around in worn jeans and a flannel shirt. It’s all based on what we get used to, and what works for us.” He took a deep, appreciative breath as he looked out the window. “Man, it is beautiful here. Aspens in snow are about as Christmas as you can get.”
She smiled to herself. He’d mentioned the aspens. That was a sign.
It did look like quite the winter wonderland outside, the trees glistening and, now that the weather was clearing, a moon that illuminated the snowcapped mountains. Something slunk by in the shadow of the trees and disappeared before she could get a clean view beside the gleam of feral eyes. Big wolf or small mountain lion? Out here, either was a possibility.
Mick noticed it, too. “What was that?”
“Not sure.” The increasing wind picked up some snow and flung it at the windshield. “But I’m fairly certain we’d just as soon avoid it on foot if possible.”
He muttered, “Me, too. I don’t see how the ranchers out here do it. Drake Carson in particular, riding fence lines after dark every single night.”
“Not that I’ve ever known him to use it, but he carries a rifle and rides a really big horse. And I’m sure he doesn’t understand how you’re able to endure traveling the crowded L.A. freeways on a regular basis and having three-martini lunches in fancy restaurants.”
Lightly, Mick said, “I usually keep it to just two martinis, no olive, just a twist of lemon.” She caught his grin in the darkness of the car. “Actually, I tend to stick to a glass of sparkling water. I work long hours. A drink at lunch, much less three, is just bad for productivity.”
“I might do business with a winery, but I agree.”
“You see? We have another mutual philosophy. What time are you headed out to the ranch tomorrow?”
She turned on the county highway and it felt smooth as glass compared to the rutted, overgrown and disused lane that had never been graded in her memory. “About ten or so. We don’t open gifts until the morning chores are done and everyone rides back in. Cattle still need to be fed and the horses taken care of, even on Christmas day.”
“I was told dinner was at one sharp.”
“My advice is don’t be late. You’ve met Harry.” The Carson housekeeper, Harriet Armstrong, was a legendary cook, but also an unstoppable force of nature. All three of the Carson sons considered her a second mother. “If you’re late, you get to do all the dishes. Take it from someone who has made that unfortunate mistake. I’m habitually running behind, but not if Harry is involved. I toe the line around her.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be prompt. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.”
She glanced at the time display. “Today, actually. I’d apologize for dragging you out so late, but I happen to know you’re also a night owl. I just forget what time it is. A personal flaw.”
“You can get a lot done when it’s quiet and your phone isn’t beeping, and no one is sending emails.”
“You emailed me at two in the morning.”
“I didn’t expect you’d be awake.”
“I certainly didn’t expect to get an email from you, either. Slater had some part in that, didn’t he? I know you’ve never asked me for my email address.”
“I asked if he thought you’d be interested. He said you were definitely a woman who made her own decisions, but if an animation film fell into your lap, you might jump on the idea.”
“I see.”
“There’s a firm rule in business. It never hurts to make a proposition.”
“Just in business?” She raised her brows, knowing it was probably more than a little dangerous to flirt with this man, but somehow unable to stop herself.
“Timing is everything.”
At least he was reading the signals with unerring accuracy. She wasn’t ready for a holiday romance when he would just get on a plane afterward and head back to California.
He wasn’t serious, she told herself; he was just casually interested. She’d run across that before. Careless bachelors that came around, most of them shying away when they discovered she had a daughter, but Mick knew about Daisy already so she wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted.
Mustang Creek definitely looked festive, with the streetlights adorned with wreaths and holiday lights strung in the windows of the closed shops. The streets were utterly deserted and no doubt everyone was snug in their beds. Her eclectic tree looked good from the street, she noticed as she pulled into the driveway. At the sound of the car, an indignant furry face appeared in the window, Mr. Bojangles monitoring—as always—her every move.