A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(26)

She’d said the same thing. Trust was very important to her. Then he swept back her hair and kissed the nape of her neck just as she hit the throttle.

He had good technique and timing, she’d give him that.

Excellent technique, she recalled, thinking again of last night. Her burning cheeks appreciated the cold bite of the air as they took off. They were clearing the streets now, but not with big plows, more ranchers with trucks and blades, and they blew past without effort and were hardly the only ones on a snowmobile. The minute they were out of town she hit the back trail. Of course her phone started to vibrate and she fished it out of her pocket and held it over her shoulder. “Mind answering this?”

Mick objected. “It’s your phone.”

“I don’t have a lot of secrets and it could be my daughter. So please do it with my complete permission.”

He did, though she couldn’t really hear the conversation too well, but she had the feeling he’d just met her grandmother.

Clara was not a Slater Carson fan, which was much more a reflection of her old-fashioned values than the man himself, and Raine had patiently explained time and again that he’d offered marriage. The opinionated woman didn’t like the fact they’d slept together before Raine had stood in a frothy white dress in front of an altar, wearing a lacy veil and flanked by six bridesmaids as a grave minister made her repeat vows.

The truth was, Raine hadn’t ever really coveted that scenario. An image of Mick in a tux flashed into her mind and she quashed it as quickly as it appeared.

“Tell Gran I’ll call later,” she said over the sound of the engine.

A minute later he handed back the phone. “She said she liked the sound of my voice.”

“She did?”

“What? I don’t have a nice voice? She asked me to tell you Merry Christmas.”

This wasn’t the moment when she could go into a long convoluted explanation about how her grandmother formed opinions first and asked questions later. Instead she said, “Look at that view.”

The soaring vista before them was incomparable, and just one of the many reasons she loved where she lived. The streets of Mustang Creek gave way to a county road as they breezed through, and within fifteen minutes they were gliding along toward her grandfather’s property.

Trees; leafless now but he should see them in the spring, summer, and fall. Even now their branches were decorated with white, making them graceful and glistening. The background behind it all was beyond imagination. The Grand Tetons were very grand indeed after a snowfall like last night’s.

His arms tightened briefly. “You’re beautiful. The mountains look wonderful, too.”

Well, he’d survived feeding Jangles and talking to her grandmother—sometimes a lesson in patience—so she’d skip pointing out that that was a tired line. The man was probably just plain frazzled. “Wait until we go around the curve.”

They crested the hill where she’d put the lane to the property if it was her decision, even if it was a steep incline and there would be a curve. Although the snowmobile was loud, she had the satisfaction of hearing Mick catch his breath.

So he should. The unobstructed view of mountains, a frozen lake, and the quaint little cabin could have been straight out of one of her grandfather’s books. She was fairly sure the chimney needed to be rebuilt and cleared, since birds considered it a wonderful place to nest and over time part of it had toppled over, but it was definitely picturesque.

If Mr. Boardroom had ever wanted to be a cowboy, he could fulfill that dream right here.

“Raine.”

“I know, right?”

“You could get a million dollars for this.”

“I don’t need a million dollars. I need someone who will keep it intact and let my daughter come visit. I need someone who won’t develop it, won’t tear down the old corral and won’t destroy the cabin.” She stopped the sled in a flurry of disrupted snow. “Call me crazy, but I think that person could be you.”





9

THE VIEW FROM the Carson ranch was spectacular.

This view might very well be better, if that was possible.

Mick had to admit he was wowed. Yes, the cabin was beyond quaint with its sagging porch and drooping, snow-laden roof, like a framed picture of a holiday card you might pick up at a boutique and mail to your friends, but the lake and the mountains took his breath away.

Stately firs stood in stands sprinkled with the aspens that had no doubt inspired Matthew Brighton’s manuscript, and there was no one around for literally miles.

And miles.

Taking in the spectacular scenery, sensing the peace that came from such solitude, Mick knew Raine was right about this place being perfect for him. He’d been thinking for a long time about a change in venue to Wyoming, and certainly Slater’s documentary influenced him, but he’d never quite envisioned anything quite like this. He could build the house of his dreams right here. They got off the snowmobile and stood knee-deep in drifts and he inhaled the quiet.

“Thoughts?” Raine read his expression perfectly. It was there in her eyes.

“I’m afraid that you already know what they are.”

“Does it get any better than this?”

“I’m doubting it.”

“You accept my terms then?”