A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(37)

“I’ve reading some old-fashioned Westerns lately. They use comely. That’s a word that needs to be brought back. I’m just the man to do it. Consider yourself comely, ma’am.”

“You might want to work on your Western drawl, cowboy.”

“I can’t fire a six-shooter, either. Never touched a cow in my life, and oddly enough I don’t have the desire to herd one anywhere. I think you’d better go back to Mr. Boardroom.”

It was quite the hill to climb, so her laugh was just an expulsion of frosty breath. “Please tell me you can ride a horse.”

“That I’ve done. In several countries, including Argentina. And in Patagonia those vaqueros are a critical bunch.”

“Where haven’t you traveled?” she asked curiously as they soldiered up the incline. “Somehow I think that’s a shorter list than the opposite question.”

Blithely, he said, “I’ve skipped Siberia and Antarctica. Too cold, though Mustang Creek in winter might just give them a run for their money.” He sent her a wink. “I’m joking, but in reality, my parents dragged me all around the world. As I got older, I had to travel for business, so I ended up pretty much everywhere at one time or the other.”

That was so different from Raine’s conservative upbringing of childhood church camp and the occasional spring break vacation when she was in college. He came from money and she certainly didn’t. Her parents were just hardworking middle-class people who weighed their finances based on what they could afford and what they couldn’t, were practical and dependable and always there for her. What more could she ask for?

“We really couldn’t be more different.”

“So?”

“Would it work with you here?”

“My business schedule? Not all the time.”

At least he told the truth. “I can’t ask you to make that commitment.”

“I think I’m asking you.” He plowed through a deep pile of snow. “I’ve never asked anyone before, so maybe I mean it.”

“Maybe?”

“That was ill-phrased. I meant, you should consider maybe I really mean it.”

“Do I seem hesitant?”

“Do I?” He tugged the sled over a big rock. “Glad we didn’t slam into that on our way down.”

“I knew it was there.” Raine only wished she could avoid emotional pitfalls so easily. “No, you don’t seem hesitant. That might scare me the most.”

“On the same page then?”

“We could be.”

She felt her heart warm despite the fact that there was snow in her boots and her toes were cold. Was it possible she’d just gotten engaged?

No.

Well, maybe. After all, the man had slid down Dead Man’s Hill because he trusted her. He was going to move to Wyoming.

“Oh, I say ‘maybe’ and get in trouble, but you can say ‘could’?”

This wasn’t best time for verbal sparring because she was getting out of breath. Deep snow was great for sledding, but it was hell on wheels trying to walk through, especially up an incline like this one. Five seconds to get down and twenty minutes to climb back up. “We’ll debate that over the glass of wine by the fire, okay?”

“I think we just came to an agreement on something.”

“Can we agree on resting at the top of the hill for at least a few minutes before we attempt to become professional daredevils again? I felt like I was fleeing the bad guys in an action movie.”

“Would we have escaped?”

“Oh, definitely. No one would be stupid enough to follow us down this hill, not even bad guys. At least we didn’t crash into any of the headstones.”

“Like the rock, I know where those are, too, but I admit with ballast it is a little harder to steer.”

He laughed and hauled the toboggan the last length of the climb. “Maybe I should sit this next trip out then.”

“Not on your life, Mr. Boardroom.”





13

WARM, COMFORTABLE AND there was no harrowing hill right in front of him. True, a very large and still-wet dog sat at his feet, not to mention the giant cat beneath the tree, but he’d started the fire while Raine made her pizza dough, and he had a glass of merlot in his hand.

When he’d gotten back to the resort, he’d even managed to write a few pages, including the ending paragraph to a chapter: Her adventurous spirit never failed to captivate him, and the fascination didn’t end there. She was comely, but he’d met other beautiful women. She was intrepid.

If going down that slope at warp speed wasn’t intrepid, he didn’t know what was. He felt somewhat intrepid himself, so Raine definitely qualified.

He was starting to wonder if Matthew Brighton hadn’t modeled this last novel’s heroine after his lovely granddaughter.

It sure seemed like it.

Was Mick the hero?

A tall, dark-haired greenhorn was the main male character. He was starting to wonder. He didn’t really believe in premonitions but he was changing his mind. These days, he couldn’t help but feel that something was going on and he might be a part of it.

And he got to write his own ending.

Raine came in from the kitchen. “I didn’t have watermelon. Or Gouda or sardines. I’m afraid you’re stuck with my original recipe.”