It’s a Christmas affair to remember as a Hollywood mogul discovers his inner cowboy—and the woman of his dreams—amid the rugged beauty of Wyoming.

Raine McCall would take snow-covered mountains over a star-studded premiere any day. But when hotshot movie executive Mick Branson arranges dinner on Christmas Eve to discuss a work opportunity, she’s intrigued—by the offer and the man. She’s a no-makeup, no-frills single mom, who’s happy with her quiet life. Sharing chili cheeseburgers and sizzling kisses with Mick is sure heating up her holiday, but country girl and power player don’t mix...

It’s not just work that’s brought Mick back to Mustang Creek. Since he first visited to oversee a documentary, free-spirited graphic designer Raine has been in his head. Her approach to life is as unconventional as her quirky holiday ornaments. Their attraction is undeniable—and so are their differences. Putting down roots in the Wild West wasn’t in the script. But there are some Christmas gifts you can’t walk away from, even when they turn your whole world upside down...

A Snow Country Christmas

Linda Lael Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

December 23rd

The young lady sat with her chin on fist, the firelight shining off her dark hair. She was reflective but not pensive, content in her solitude on this cold evening. A log in the old stone fireplace snapped and crackled and there was the smell of pine in the air. Her father’s old dog lay asleep at her feet, gently snoring; the sound comforting. Two days to Christmas and she’d spend it alone for the first time.

From the opening paragraph of The Aspen Trail

Matthew Brighton, 1965

1

RAINE MCCALL FIRST frowned at the screen and then stared at the clock.

Her computer was right. Two in the morning? No way.

Oh, she’d be the first to admit that when she was working she lost track of time, but she was always there to put her daughter on the school bus and make sure Daisy had done her homework and had a healthy breakfast.

She’d always suffered from what she called WSS. Whimsical Sleep Schedule.

Awake at all hours, losing track of time if the muse was in the mood, and she’d been guilty of falling asleep in the chair at her desk. Daisy had told her more than once, with a maturity beyond her years, she thought she worked too hard, but then Raine didn’t really think of it as work. Spinning dream images into reality was a unique joy and she felt sorry for every person in the world that had a job they disliked.

She wasn’t the only one awake, either. Taking a break, she checked her email and was startled. Mick Branson? The Mick Branson had sent her a message? Hotshot Hollywood executive, way too focused, and no sense of humor—though come to think of it, he did smile now and then. He was good-looking, but she couldn’t get beyond the sophisticated polish. She was a Wyoming girl through and through and thousand dollar suits weren’t her preference. Give her a hat, jeans, and some worn boots.

Of course she’d met the man quite a few times at the ranch because he was the driving force behind the documentaries that Slater Carson, her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child, made, but getting an email from him was a definite first. Sent five minutes ago? She was too intrigued not to open it.

I’m going to be in Mustang Creek for the holidays. Can we have a business meeting? Maybe over dinner?

That was interesting, but currently she was up to her ears in deadlines trying to produce artwork for the labels for Mountain Vineyards wines. Her graphic design business had really taken off, and she wasn’t sure she could handle another project.

From what she knew of Mick Branson, it wouldn’t be a small one, either.

She typed back. When did you have in mind?

Tomorrow night? If you don’t already have plans, that is.

On Christmas Eve?

Well, Daisy did usually spend that evening with her father’s family and Raine spent it alone with a nice glass of wine and a movie. They always invited her, but she went the next day instead for the big dinner celebration and skipped the night before in favor of solitude. It was never that they made her feel like an outsider; quite the opposite, but Slater needed some time with his daughter to make memories without Raine always in the background. So while she appreciated the invitation, she’d always declined. It had been difficult when Daisy was little to spend such a magical evening away from her, but he was entitled. He was a wonderful father.

She typed: On the 24th of December, I assure you no place is open in Mustang Creek. This isn’t California. You’d have to come to my place and I usually just eat a hamburger and drink wine.

He wrote back: That sounds fine. I like burgers and I enjoy wine. Let me bring the beverages. Please excuse me if I’m inviting myself.

She couldn’t decide if he had, or if she’d done it. She really did need to get more sleep now and then. She typed: Mountain Vineyards for the wine.

You got it.

Have a safe flight.

Thank you, but I’m already here. See you tomorrow. Don’t mention to anyone, especially Slater, that I’m in town please.

Raine sat back and let out a breath. She hadn’t ever anticipated spending an evening with someone like Mick Branson, much less Christmas Eve.

Luckily, she thought, she’d thoroughly cleaned the house the day before when she realized that sound she abstractly heard in the background was the vacuum. Daisy was voluntarily doing a chore she usually argued over? Raine decided then and there—once she recovered from her shock—that maybe she had been spending too much time in her office. Sure enough, the house needed dusting, the kitchen floor had crumbs on it and the laundry room was in dire need of a workout.

Not that someone like Mr. Hollywood Executive Mick Branson, who probably lived in a mansion in Beverly Hills, would be impressed with her small and eclectic house anyway, no matter how tidy. Wait until he got a look at her Christmas tree. There was no theme to the ornaments; if something caught her eye, she bought and it put it up. There were owls, glittery reindeer, a glass shrimp with wings wearing a boa, all right alongside her grandmother’s collection of English traditional antique glass orbs in brilliant colors. Those heirlooms were hung up high thanks to Mr. Bojangles, her enormous Maine coon cat. He was somewhat of a reclusive character, but he became positively playful when the Christmas tree went up. Walking past it usually meant an unexpected guerilla attack on your ankles because he considered it his covert hiding place every December. Therefore the ornaments on the bottom were soft stuffed squirrels and bunnies with a few fake pine cones he could bat around. Add in Daisy’s giant dog, Samson, who accidentally knocked an ornament off every time he walked by, and her tree had no hope.

“Definitely not a designer tree, unless a deranged leprechaun arranged it” was how Daisy described it.

Raine loved it.

It was exactly her style. There was nothing wrong with being quirky. She went and switched off the lights and headed off to bed, wondering how she’d gotten roped into this situation.

Hollywood Hotshot Mick Branson eating hamburgers at her house on Christmas Eve?

Slater Carson was going to laugh himself into a fit.

* * *

The plane had touched down on a snowy runway and Mick had said a small prayer of thanks for an experienced pilot and maybe some luck of the season as the snow continued to pile up. It had been a bumpy ride and he wasn’t at all a nervous flyer, but coming over the mountains he’d had a moment or two.

He’d been everywhere. Asia, Africa, South America, Australia, Europe...he lived in Los Angeles, but he liked Wyoming. It felt like being on vacation and he could really, really use a vacation.

It wouldn’t be a hardship to see Raine McCall again, either.

The thought surprised him because she was so not his type. Frothy skirts, and as far as he could tell she thought makeup was optional, or maybe forgot it altogether, and if she owned a pair of heels he’d be surprised. Her artistic temperament was the antithesis of his rigidly corporate lifestyle, but he somehow found it intriguing. She was naturally beautiful without trying. Maybe that was it. There was no artifice to Raine—what you saw was what you got. Not to mention he had a feeling she could care less how much money he made. Material things, he guessed, to her, were little more than a necessity now and then.

Anyway, he had planned this trip with a dual purpose.

He wanted to surprise Slater, who was not just a colleague but a friend, with the television premier of the documentary of Wild West...Still Wild—and he wanted to see Raine. Two separate goals but also intertwined, since Slater and Raine had a past and shared a daughter. Slater was now happily married to someone else, but through a few very casual questions, Mick knew Raine wasn’t seeing anyone.

This might get complicated and he hated complications. Business deals were a dance back and forth but he kept his personal life as simple as possible.

Raine was far from simple. Her art was exemplary and over the top, and the vivid mermaid label she’d created for the Carson winery’s sparkling wine had resulted in more bottles sold in one day upon release than were sold of all their other wines combined, and they had been doing quite well before. Somehow he doubted Raine even registered the triumph.

But he wasn’t interested in her for her talent—well, he was impressed, but that wasn’t first and foremost in his mind. Maybe opposites did attract, though if you’d told him that before he’d met her through the Carson family, he’d have laughed it off.

He wasn’t laughing now. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a good reason to be in Wyoming at the moment anyway, but he was essentially there because of a certain woman he couldn’t seem to get off his mind.

Grace Carson met him in the dining room of the Bliss River Resort and Spa, her eyes sparkling, and gave him a welcoming hug. Slater really did have good taste in women because his wife was a stunning redhead with a confident air. She also apparently had a good memory, because almost immediately a waiter came over with coffee and a rack of rye toast, which was his favorite.

She joined him, pouring coffee for them both. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to not tell Slater about Christmas Day?”

“I’ve actually struggled with it myself, so maybe I do.” He admired the view of the snow-capped mountains out the huge windows as he sipped his coffee and thought about all the strings he’d pulled. Considerable was the answer. He looked back at Grace, which was also a pleasure. “The time slot was the hardest part. But everyone is pretty much home, and hopefully by then Christmas dinner will be over and there will be a worldwide desire to watch something other than the old classics.”

She added cream to her coffee. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. You do realize you just usurped my gift to him, which was a new saddle. He’ll probably kiss you under the mistletoe instead of me.”

Mick chuckled. “I doubt it, but if it happens, let’s not catch that on film.” Not knowing remote cameras were taking footage, Slater’s younger brother Drake had gotten caught in a romantic moment with his now wife, Luce, and was none too happy about it being used in the film, but had grudgingly signed the release.

“Maybe Raine will kiss you instead.” Grace took a sip from her silver-rimmed cup, a knowing look in her eyes.

He’d never understood how women had magical powers when it came to sensing a possible romance. Men just blundered on, unaware, and females were like wolves sniffing the air. He was a man who played angles, so he admitted noncommittally, “I can’t imagine any man minding that. How is the resort business these days?”

She caught on to that just as easily. “Subject changed. I can take a hint. It’s going well. Ski season is in full swing. We’re packed. The spa is booked out two months. The owner is pleased and it keeps me busy and, well, I’m expecting again. Luce is also in baby mode. We’re just waiting for the same kind of announcement from Mace and Kelly. Then all the cousins can grow up together.”

Mick pictured a bunch of toddlers running wild around the sprawling Carson ranch. To his surprise, the image was immensely appealing. He hadn’t had much exposure to babies; his only brother was childless by choice even though he’d been married a long time. He and his wife tended to spend the winter in France or at their house in the Caribbean, and as an investment banker, Ran could work from anywhere, so their attitude reflected their sophisticated lifestyle.

Prior to his business association with Slater, he hadn’t thought about it much, but Mick had to acknowledge that his upbringing had left a hole in his life. Warm family gatherings had just never happened. His parents traveled widely when his father was alive and now it was tradition to meet his mother at the country club for Christmas dinner.

Elegant, but not exactly cozy. He’d been to celebrations at the Carson ranch before and they were usually quite the boisterous experience. He said, “Congratulations. Slater is a lucky man all the way around.”

“He’ll certainly be one tomorrow,” Grace replied with a smile. “I haven’t said a word to anyone—although Blythe knows, which means Harry knows.”

“Raine knows I’m in town.” He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. “We have a business meeting tonight and she said no restaurants would be open, so she invited me over.”

Arched brows rose higher. “Did she now? She’s breaking her burger and glass of wine tradition?”

“No. I was informed that’s the menu.”

Grace gave a laugh of real merriment. “Only Raine would serve Mick Branson a burger. I love Raine but she is on the eclectic side. That’s why I was surprised the two of you hit it off so well. She’s right about Christmas Eve, by the way—we even close the restaurants here at the resort and the spa. Guests can pre-order special bags with gourmet sandwiches and salads that will be delivered via room service, but quite frankly, I just don’t believe in making anyone work who would rather be with their family on Christmas. A few staff members would rather work for holiday pay, so the resort is open, but not the dining choices. In town everything is closed.”

Vaguely he registered her words about the holiday, but his mind was caught on what she’d said about Raine. Hit it off? He chose not to comment. He could negotiate deals involving millions of dollars, but personal discussions were not his strong suit. “Los Angeles is a little different.”

“Oh, I bet.” Grace was definitely amused. Her phone beeped and she rose. “Excuse me, but that sound means something needs my attention. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After she left he finished his toast and coffee, checked his email via his phone, and headed out to his rental car. It was lightly snowing and briskly cold, the car dusted over in white, and he wished he’d thought about bringing some gloves. It wasn’t something that occurred to him back in L.A. when he packed for the trip.

The wine shop was on the main street and someone had done an artistic job of decorating the windows with snowflakes. The bells on the huge wreath on the door jingled as Mick walked in. There were several other customers and he noted Kelly Carson, Slater’s sister-in-law, was the one sitting behind the old polished counter. She looked cute wearing an elf hat and a surprised expression.

Good, his lucky day.

Or so he hoped, but it was yet another person to swear to secrecy. Her eyes had widened as she recognized him.

There was just no such thing as a secret in Mustang Creek. He’d heard that the last time he’d been in town and really hadn’t believed it, but was now starting to feel like living proof.

“Merry Christmas, Mick,” Kelly called as he approached.

“Merry Christmas,” he said. “Let me make an educated guess and assume you’re working because you wouldn’t ask any of the employees to so they could be with their families.”

She nodded and the fuzzy tassel on her hat bobbed. “You’re right. Absolutely. We’re only open until noon today anyway, holiday hours... I guess I didn’t realize you were in town. No one mentioned it.”

“No one knows.” Well, not true. Grace, Blythe, Harry and Raine knew, and now Kelly. He smiled wryly. “Let me rephrase. I’d prefer if Slater didn’t find out I’m here. It’s about both business and friendship, so if you can keep it to yourself until tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.”

She sent him a wink. “My lips are sealed.”

“I knew I could count on you. Now, tell me, best wine to go with a burger would be...what?”

“I hate to disappoint you, but Bad Billy’s won’t be open.”

The biker bar was legendary for its burgers. “I’m not actually getting my burger from Billy’s.”

She blinked. “Oh...oh! Raine?”

It was tempting to deny it, but...well, why bother? Clearly her Christmas Eve burgers tradition was well-known. “We have a business meeting tonight. What kind of wine does she usually buy?”

“The Wildfire Merlot.” Kelly said it promptly, her expression alight with humor. “She also likes Soaring Eagle Chardonnay. Either one would be fine. At the end of the day, Mace always tells me to drink a wine you like with food you like. Don’t worry about the rest of it. He thinks snobbish pairing is overrated.”

“People all over California just fainted dead away because you said that.”

“People all over California buy our wines,” she countered with a mischievous elfin grin that matched her festive hat. “So he seems to know what he’s doing.”

Tough to argue with that. “I’ll take a few bottles of each, plus some for the Christmas gathering tomorrow, including the new sparkling wine. Just give me a case.”

2

IT WASN’T LIKE she didn’t consider what she wore, but on a scale of one to ten she would rate herself maybe a five when it came to how much thought and time she usually put into her attire.

Tonight for some reason, Raine was on the higher end of the scale.

The long red skirt and clingy black blouse looked nice, but were not exactly hamburger-worthy, she decided with a critical eye before she changed into jeans and a teal blue silk sweater. Except it occurred to her that if she dribbled ketchup or spilled even a drop of wine the sweater would be toast and she’d have to toss it—she’d known at the time it was an impractical purchase but had loved it too much not to buy it—so she changed for a third time. Black leggings and a patterned gray sweater dress won the day, comfortable but certainly dressier than she’d usually choose for a night home alone.

Well, she wasn’t going to be alone. She even set the table—which would never have happened on her traditional Christmas Eve—with what she called her December plates, white with tiny candy canes on them. Daisy had seen them when they’d been out shopping when she was six years old and begged, so Raine caved and bought them. Every year when the plates came out, it signaled the holiday season for her daughter and the sentimental value was priceless. Even though she’d been a classic example of a starving artist and had been trying to launch her business at the time, she’d also bought a set of silverware whose handles were etched with reindeer and a sleigh.

It was ironic in a good way to think someone as successful as Mick Branson wanted to meet with her on a professional level and would eat off the dishes that she’d bought when she really couldn’t afford them. Now she was so busy she doubted she could accept whatever it was he wanted to discuss even if she was interested.

Mr. Bojangles wandered past with a feline yawn, headed for his food bowl, but stopping to be petted. It was like a royal decree when a cat of his size demanded to be scratched behind the ears. Raine stroked his head. “What do you think of the table? Fancy enough for a hotshot executive?”

He yawned again, his gold-green eyes reflecting doubt. She said defensively, “Hey, I paid twenty bucks for those dishes.”

His furry face expressed his skepticism that the plates were worth even that. She argued his point. “Daisy loves them.”

He didn’t disagree, just headed off to the kitchen to chomp loudly out of his bowl. His ample backside was normal for his breed, but his love of food didn’t help matters. His vet, Jax Locke, had been diplomatic in suggesting she could maybe curtail the cat treats.

Raine agreed, but Jangles—as she called him face-to-face—was a contender when it came to getting his way. There was not much in the way of compromise on his part.

The snow was beginning to blow a little and she had started a fire in her fireplace with the push of a button. She liked ambiance and watching the flames, but as a single female didn’t want to haul in logs, so she’d had a gas insert put in a few years ago. Bypassing Christmas music, she put on some soft classical in the background, and without the World’s Largest Puppy—Samson—tearing around, the house felt downright serene. Daisy always took him with her to the ranch and he loved running free with the other dogs. The backyard at Raine’s just wasn’t as exciting as herding cattle with Drake and the other hands. Maybe when he got a little older Samson would be content to just bask in the sun. As it stood, he wanted to run amok.

Red, the head ranch hand, called the dog a log-legged galoot. That seemed about right.

When Raine saw the arc of headlights in the big front window and glanced at the fairy tale clock on the mantel, Cinderella’s glass slipper was pointed right at six sharp. Mick Branson was right on time.

She, on the other hand, was perpetually late to everything. Maybe being awake at two in the morning was the only thing they had in common. She opened the door before he knocked and in return got a capricious swirl of snow blowing into the tiny foyer.

“Thanks,” he said as he came in. “The wind is really picking up. A Merry Christmas with all the appropriate special effects.” He studied her as he wiped his boots on the mat inside the door. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And you as well.” She shut the door, peering through the side panel of glass. “It is coming down out there, isn’t it? So pretty.”

“From safe in here, it’s very pretty,” he said with his all too fleeting smile. “The wine is in this bag, and where do you want my coat?”

She recognized the bag because she’d designed the print on it. The M for Mountain Vineyards was flanked by pine trees and a hawk sat on a branch on one side. “I’ll take your coat, and the kitchen is through that doorway right there. It’s impossible to get lost in this house.”

“It’s charming.” He glanced around as he slipped off his wool coat.

She wasn’t used to men who used the word “charming” in regular conversation, but he did have nice wide shoulders, so she’d cut him some slack. Actually, everything about him was attractive: dark hair, striking dark eyes, and what she’d define as an aristocratic face that spoke of a lineage that was Old World, probably Spain or Portugal. She had an admitted fascination for history, so she’d love to know his story. “I’ll be right back. There’s a corkscrew and glasses on the counter. Go for it.”

He took her at her word, she discovered after she’d deposited his coat on the bed in the spare bedroom—one drawback to her quaint little house was no coat closet—and poured them both a glass of wine.

“Merlot,” he told her as he set the bottle on the counter. “I took Kelly’s advice and bought the wines I like best and didn’t try to match hamburgers.”

“She’s pretty good at that sort of thing.” Raine accepted a glass, looking at him as she did. “I’ve never had a business meeting on Christmas Eve, but you probably have. What’s the protocol? I don’t have a table in a conference room, but we could sit by the fire.”

“I’m not all business, just so you know. Conference tables are overrated, and the fire sounds nice.”

“I thought business was why you were here.”

“Come on, Raine, I think you know that’s not entirely it. I do have something I want to talk to you about, but I just wanted to see you.”

Well, at least he was direct. She liked that, even as the admission surprised her. “The fire it is then.”

She led the way and he followed, and as luck would have it when they passed the tree, Jangles decided on a drive-by attack to defend his territory. Maybe she should have issued a warning, but she was so used to the giant cat’s antics she didn’t think of it, and though obviously startled, Mick managed to not spill his wine even with claws in the hem of his no-doubt expensive slacks. She apologized as the cat unhooked and retreated back into his lair. “By the way, meet my cat, Mr. Bojangles. He has a perimeter staked out around the tree and he guards it. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“That’s a cat? I would have guessed African lion.”

“You should see the dog the Carson family gifted me. Mace made the mistake of suggesting Daisy help him pick out a puppy. She and that dog fell instantly in love. He’s hers now. I think one day you’ll be able to slap a saddle on that bad boy and ride out on the range. I have a sack of dog food in my pantry so big I need a furniture dolly to carry it in.” In an attempt to be a proper hostess, she asked, “Shall we sit down?”

And get the business part done so we can relax a little. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.

* * *

Mick wasn’t surprised at all by her house. Raine’s taste showed, well...everywhere. It was so different from the elegance of his childhood home, he tried to restrain his smile. No settees, no polished tables, no imported rugs or pricey oil paintings...

There was a poster of wine labels she’d created above the fireplace and the mantel was a hand-hewn log of some kind. A ceramic frog sat on the brick hearth, and there was a rusted antique toy truck on the other side. Her couch was ruby red and suited the dark wood floors, and a coffee table with a distressed finish added an artistic touch. A craftsman glass lamp patterned with butterflies and brilliant flowers adorned a bookshelf. Nothing matched, yet the décor oddly fit together.

He liked it better than his own perfectly decorated house, which he’d hired someone expensive to put together. Raine’s house was comfortable and lived-in; his place might look like it was straight out of a magazine, but it was hardly homey.

“This is nice.”

“This is probably about a tenth of the space of your house, but thank you,” she said drily. “Daisy and I don’t need more. She can get that at the ranch. I’m not really into personal possessions, which is a good thing since she acquired that enormous puppy. Along with my favorite pair of shoes, the rug in the kitchen has been a casualty. I happened to like that rug but I had no idea it was a culinary canine delight. He chewed it to pieces when my back was turned for about eight seconds.”

He had to laugh as he settled next to her on the couch. “Slater mentioned every time Mace went to acquire a pet, someone else in family became latched on to it and he had to try again.”

“It’s like visiting a zoo,” she agreed, also laughing. “The moment the infamous Mrs. Arbuckle-Calder became involved, game over. That woman makes an executive decision over whether or not you might need a pet, and if you are deemed pet-worthy, she’ll pick one out for you and just show up with it and drop it right inside your door. You don’t really get to say yes or no. How do think I ended up with the lion?”

He liked the way she kicked off her black flats and propped her feet on the coffee table, wineglass in hand. A gust of wind hit the rafters, but the fire balanced it nicely. “I wasn’t allowed pets growing up. My mother was opposed to the slightest hint of pet hair in her house, plus my parents traveled a lot, so pets were an inconvenience she didn’t want to suffer.”

Raine furrowed her brow. “No pets?”

“None.”

“Daisy would be desolate without her cat and dog.”

He’d had some moments of desolation, too, but he’d survived.

“Everyone is different. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I know someone who produces Pixel motion pictures and I mentioned you were a graphic artist. I showed him your work, and he’s interested in talking about it. He’s fairly sure Wyoming is the end of the earth, but he’s willing to come here to meet with you.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Raine had the most beautiful unusual eyes. Not green and not gold, but a starburst mixture of of both colors.

“Pixel. Motion pictures. I—”

“I know what they are,” she interrupted, groaning and briefly closing those eyes. “Oh man, I swore I was going tell you no to anything...but that changes the game.”

“Anything?”

“Stop with the sexual innuendo, I’m processing here. I don’t have the time in my day to add another thing, but I can’t possibly pass that up. I thought you liked me. How could you dangle this in front of me?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not even that qualified. I took some animation classes in college, but that’s it.”

He smiled. “My personal feelings about you aside, from what I’ve been able to see, you’re really talented. I’d never have mentioned your name otherwise. But I’m glad I did, because the producer agrees with me. He thinks you could be a valuable addition to the team.”

Raine glared at him from those vivid hazel eyes. “You knew this would be a graphic artist’s dream. This is a calculated move.”

“Of course I did. Never underestimate me.” He had known. He understood a lot about being driven. Why else would they be exchanging emails at two in the morning?

“What kind of company are we talking about?”

She wasn’t a fool, but he already knew that. “Let’s just say you’d recognize the name.”

She blew out a breath. “I knew you were trouble. I’m so busy right now as it is—”

“All you have to do is think about it and let me know if you want a face-to-face. I’m investing, so I want it to be topnotch. It’s in my financial best interest to help him find the best artist possible.” She opened her mouth again, undoubtedly to protest further, and he held up a hand. “That’s enough business for one night, especially when it’s Christmas Eve. I’m declaring the meeting portion of our evening officially over.”

Raine blinked, then raised a brow. “In that case, I think it’s time for the dinner portion of our evening. I hope you can stand spicy food.” She got to her feet. “Bring the wine, please.”

“I thought we were having hamburgers.” He followed her toward the kitchen, bottle in hand. “But yes, I do like spicy.”

Her kitchen was as interesting as the living room. A row of unmatched antique canisters sat on the polished counter. The appliances were modern but the vintage hutch in the corner held what looked like a beautiful set of old dishes and pink crystal glasses. A mobile made from tarnished silver forks hung over the farmhouse sink—another piece of décor that was quintessentially Raine and suited the room perfectly.

His mother would undoubtedly faint at the sight, but Mick again found himself both charmed and amused.

“Good.” Raine moved efficiently between the refrigerator and the counter as she set down a plate and several containers. “Green chili cheeseburgers are my indulgence on Christmas Eve. Questionably traditional, I know, but I love them.”

He grinned for what felt like the thousandth time that night. “Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “I’m from New Mexico. We didn’t move to California until I was fifteen. My aunt and uncle still live in Las Cruces. I have done some self-analyzing to try and figure out if I go to visit them, or just for the food.”

She gave him a surprised look that probably mirrored his own. “Are you serious? My cousin lives in Santa Fe. I love it there. She sends me the chilis every late August or early September and I hoard them like a miser.”

“The real deal? From Hatch? Don’t tease me.”

“Oh yeah.” Raine nodded, no doubt inwardly laughing at his expression. “I roast them myself and freeze them. I would save Daisy and the pets first in a fire, but I might consider going back in for my chilis.”

He’d just gone straight to heaven. “You’ve just given me quite the Christmas present. If I can help, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just stand here and drool.”

She pulled out a cutting board from a side cupboard. “Somehow I suspect your culinary skills are limited to making reservations, but if you can slice an onion, you have a job to do.”

“That I can do.” She was right, he didn’t cook often, but then again, he traveled constantly and home-cooked meals were hard to come by when one wasn’t often home. Maybe that was part of what he liked about Mustang Creek—every aspect of the community felt welcoming and homey. If you walked into an establishment like Bad Billy’s Burger Palace, you’d be greeted by name.

He hadn’t even realized until recently that that appealed to him.

Maybe he was just getting a little restless in his life. Something was missing, and he knew he was in Mustang Creek for Christmas for more than just work.

Standing in Raine’s kitchen, admiring the shapely curves of her body under that silvery sweater, he wondered again what it was about her that had caught his attention. It had served him well in the business world to play hunches and go with his instincts, and his instincts had started humming the instant he’d first laid eyes on her. Raine wasn’t classically beautiful but she was one of those women who, whenever she walked into a room, unconsciously made everyone turn to look. Her vitality was part of the appeal, and since he himself was reserved and self-contained, he’d been fascinated from the start.

“Knife is in the drawer.” She looked up and caught him staring. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked down as a sudden faint hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “What?”

“You’re just so—” he cast about for the word “—alive.”

“I hope so, since the alternative is pretty undesirable.” The smile she gave him was quizzical this time.

He wasn’t about to elaborate. “True enough, Ms. McCall.”

“Knife is in the drawer, by the way.”

“You mentioned that.” He tugged open the drawer she indicated and found the object in question. “On the job.”

Mick chopped onions while she dropped the burgers in the grill pan and in less than a minute, his mouth was watering from the tantalizing smell of sizzling meat. Outside, the snow was thickening, draping the trees and the wooden fence out back in a festive wardrobe of white. The whole scene was relaxing in a way he didn’t often allow himself, a respite from the world, and the music softly playing in the background didn’t hurt one bit.

Fire in the hearth, a concerto in the background, a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal and a beautiful woman...

The perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.

3

“THAT WAS A real treat. I felt like I was home again.”

For someone who obviously hit the gym, Mick could eat on a par with the Carson brothers, and that was a high bar. As Red, the head hand at the ranch would say, he could really strap on the ole feed bag. Raine was happy she’d decided to make three burgers instead of just two because that third one disappeared quickly. Mick’s manners were meticulous, of course, but he had devoured his food with flattering enthusiasm.

“I warn you,” she informed him when she got up to clear their plates, “I learned all about how to make dessert from Blythe Carson. Ice cream is going to be all you get.”

“That sounds just fine to me.”

“Once you taste Bad Billy’s Lemon Drop Ice Cream, you’ll be hooked for life.” She wasn’t kidding. “There’s a reason I don’t dare keep it on hand all the time. That would be a desire to keep my girlish figure.”

He gave her a slow once-over as he rose, plate in hand. “There’s nothing I’d change, trust me. Let me help with the cleanup.”

She’d argue, but had a feeling Mick Branson didn’t lose verbal battles very often, maybe ever. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected, with a good dose of masculine confidence thrown in. It was telling that she wasn’t sure how to handle his obvious interest, because she’d decided a long time ago to just live her life as she wished and that her untraditional approach was a healthy outlook on life, at least for her. She’d sat down with her daughter and explained that the reason she’d never married Slater was that they were too fundamentally different for it to work out, and Daisy seemed to accept that, perhaps because she saw how much her parents loved her and respected each other.

But no one was more different from her than Mick Branson, so Raine had to question why, when their fingers brushed as she handed him the ice cream scoop so he could do the honors, there was an electric flicker of awareness between them.

He wasn’t her type.

She was definitely not his type. She wasn’t sure what his type might be, but she imagined a cool, polished blonde who’d feel right at home in pearls and a stylish black dress. Someone who’d fit in at corporate functions and with the Hollywood set.

Mick interrupted her musings as he scooped out the creamy lemon mixture into the two Victorian glasses she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Daisy is a great kid from what I’ve seen. Spunky and self-confident.”

She smiled. “That she is. It’s hard to believe she’s half-grown already. I don’t know where the time goes.”

He concentrated on scooping. “Have you ever thought about having more children?”

Raine’s expression must have reflected her surprise at the unexpected question. He caught her gaze and for a moment she found herself trapped in those dark eyes. “I just meant you’re a wonderful mother, according to Slater. You’re young, so it just occurred to me. Plus I talked to Grace this morning and she told me her news, and also about Luce.” He looked not exactly embarrassed but maybe off balance. “I didn’t mean to get so personal so quickly. I officially recant.”

Raine wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “I don’t mind the question, but turnabout is fair play. So what about you? Kids?” He was, she’d guess, around forty or so. There wasn’t a fleck of gray in that carefully tousled dark hair, but Slater had once remarked that he and Mick were about the same age.

“Do I have any kids? No. Do I want them? Maybe.”

“I feel like I don’t know that much about you. You’ve done a good job of keeping your private life, well...private.”

“Checking up on me?” He didn’t seem to mind—quite the opposite. “I keep it that way as much as possible.”

“I might have checked a little when you first showed up in Mustang Creek, but Slater likes you, so I trust you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be wasting BB’s Lemon Drop on you.”

“In that case, I hope to prove worthy of the ice cream. Sounds like a high bar.”

At least he had a sense of humor. She was discovering she liked that about him.

There were quite a lot of things she liked about him. Too many.

“It’s an honor, trust me. I don’t just give it away all the time.”

Without a blink, he returned smoothly, “I didn’t think you did.”

Raine couldn’t help but give him the look. “I thought I banned the sexual innuendos.”

“Hey, you can take that remark any way you wish.”

A man like him didn’t look boyish often, but his unrepentant expression was pretty close. And those eyes...

“Just for that, I’m going to make you watch my favorite Christmas movie, unless you have other pressing plans.”

“I’m all yours.” He deftly wielded the ice cream scoop. “In case you’re wondering—and I’m going to guess you are—my brother and his wife are in London for the holidays this year, my mother is in New York with friends, and since I have a little surprise for Slater, I decided Mustang Creek might not be a bad place to spend Christmas this year. I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s your favorite Christmas movie? Please tell me there isn’t a lot of singing and dancing.”

“Relax. There’s none. I usually watch Big Jake. You know, John Wayne.” She took two long-handled spoons from a drawer. “Not only is it a great movie, but it has sentimental value. My father loved it. I remember sitting on the couch watching it with him after my mother went to bed. Unlike you, she liked the movies with the singing and dancing and he needed a good dose of the Old West afterward. I was allowed to stay up as long as I wanted on Christmas Eve. I still do that.”

“You are a big girl, so you can do whatever you want.”

She was just going to ignore that. He was deliberately provoking her. “I always have done what I want. Make a note of it. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“That sounds good. It’ll keep me awake for the drive back to the resort later.”

The reminder that their evening would come to an end caused an odd sinking in her stomach, one she immediately chided herself for. After all, it wasn’t like she planned to invite him to spend the night, no matter how attractive she found him. The softly falling snow outside might be adding to the ambiance of the evening, but her guarded heart was resistant to even the most romantic of trappings.

She believed in love. In loving your child, your family, and of course, she’d thought she was in love with Slater what felt like a million years ago, but that just hadn’t worked out.

It would have been easy to accept his proposal once he knew she was pregnant, to settle into a comfortable life as a Carson, but she’d known from the start that neither of their hearts would have been in it. They were friends—she genuinely liked the father of her child and was grateful for the good relationship they shared—but that wasn’t the same as love.

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why it was Mick Branson who apparently inspired more than friendly feelings in her. She couldn’t have picked a man more different from her if she’d tried.

Not in a million years was she Hollywood. Not in a million years was he Mustang Creek.

Though when he settled next to her on the roomy couch, ice cream in hand, he seemed comfortable enough despite the designer slacks and tailored shirt. He took a bite and gave her an incredulous look from those oh-so-sexy dark eyes. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I told you. Billy is a burly, tattooed culinary angel.”

“I might kiss him the next time I see him.” Mick dug back in.

“And he might take exception to that.” She took a spoonful from her own dish. The ice cream was smooth, creamy yet tart, and everything she remembered. Billy only made it once a year and she always put in an order early. Picking up the remote, she pushed a button to cue up the movie. “Here we go. The Duke.”

“Pure Christmas magic in the form of an old western—sounds great to me. But I guess now would be the time to confess I’ve never actually seen it. Did you say Big Jake?”

“What?” She stared. “Never? That’s...incomprehensible.”

He shrugged. “If you met my family, well, let’s just say John Wayne was not on their radar. I’m sure they would enjoy it, don’t get me wrong, but they just wouldn’t think of it. I believe I was dragged to a Broadway play as a child before I ever watched a cartoon.”

That explained quite a lot. “Is that why you do what you do?”

“It might be. Why are you an artist? I doubt I’m going to get a straight-up answer. There probably isn’t one.”

She had to concede that one, so she changed the subject. “I can’t believe you already ate all of that ice cream.” He’d inhaled it. “Haven’t you heard of an ice cream headache?”

“I’ve never had one, but for that stuff, I’d take my chances.” He got up to go into the kitchen and she heard him rinse the bowl and considerately put it in the dishwasher.

Considerate? Oh no. That was trouble right there.

Mick Branson was larger than life in some ways. So was Slater, so maybe that accounted for the chemistry simmering between her and Mick. She was attracted to charismatic men.

She savored each spoonful as the opening movie scene unfolded, feeling oddly comfortable. Even though he wasn’t a stranger, they’d never spent time alone together before this evening, so the ease between them surprised her.

Everything about the way Mick acted said he was interested and she wasn’t positive she was ready for someone like him intruding on the life she’d so carefully built for herself and her daughter.

His life was all about reading signals. Meetings, the stock market, international affairs, how the media was cooperating...

Mick was in tune with the business side of his life. The personal side? Not so much.

Raine was clearly a free spirit but there was a wariness about her that was impossible to miss. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand being cautious; he tended to tread carefully himself, or perhaps he would have had more long-term relationships rather than just a fleeting romantic entanglement here or there.

Her wary aura aside, he wondered if she had any idea how sexy it was to watch her eat ice cream.

He forced his gaze to remain on the screen rather than her lips. There was no way he’d take advantage of softly falling snow and all the rest of the ambiance to get her into bed, though he had a lot of enthusiasm for a night with the lovely Ms. McCall. Maybe more than one night, and that was food for thought right there.

He was afraid this was going somewhere, and Mick wasn’t a man who considered himself afraid of all that much.

Luckily, John Wayne saved him along with everyone else on the screen. Well, not quite everyone, and with an analytical eye he admired the director’s decisions on how the plot played out. It was his favorite kind of script, showing people as they really were—not all good, not all bad, but a combination of both. Slater tended to roll that way in his documentaries as well, with villains and heroes side by side. His characters weren’t fictional, but balanced, and he made riveting dramas set in real places steeped in history.

“Good movie, but there’s no love story,” Mick pointed out when the credits rolled.

Raine sat easily with one leg folded under her. He’d already concluded she did yoga from the rolled-up mat tucked in the corner, so the agile pose didn’t surprise him. What had surprised him more was when her giant cat had wandered out and jumped on the couch with remarkable grace for a creature of his size, then settled down next to her. “Isn’t that what appeals to most men? All action and no sappy stuff.”

He shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “I think you have it backward. Men are more interested in romance than women are.”

“Au contraire, Mr. Boardroom.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Men are more interested in sex.”

“I sense a debate coming. Who buys flowers and candy and dutifully mows the yard just to please the woman in his life?”

She shot back tartly, “A man who wants to have sex. I appreciate a thoughtful gesture as much as any woman, but let’s not get confused about the motivation here.”

“You can’t put an entire gender in the same bracket, Ms. Artist. There are a lot of decent guys I know who would never walk into the bedroom of someone who they didn’t have romantic feelings for in the first place. Brains and beauty are all well and good, but if a woman isn’t also a nice person, no thanks. I can tell you, in the world I live in, there are plenty of women who use sex as leverage, so it could be argued that your assumption works both ways.”

Raine stroked the cat’s head and Mr. Bojangles gave a rusty purr. “I’m afraid you’re right and I was just pulling your chain. People are too complex to reduce to stereotypes. I don’t understand a lot of them, but I think I know more good ones than bad ones. It makes me glad Daisy is growing up in Mustang Creek.”

“I’ve looked at some land in this area,” he heard himself confessing. “I haven’t found the right combination of house and location, but I have done some research.”

She stopped petting the cat, her attention arrested. Mr. Bojangles sent him a lethal stare for interference in the petting process, clearly understanding the interruption was his fault. “Really?”

“It’s beautiful country,” he said noncommittally. “I have a vacation home in Bermuda, but while it’s nice to have sun and sea, I get bored after about two days. I’m thinking about leasing it out or selling it, and building one here, or better yet, buying a place with some history behind it. There’s more to do in Mustang Creek than lie on a beach with a drink in your hand.”

Raine looked thoughtful. “I’m the same way. I’ve tried it once or twice, but I can’t sit and do nothing for very long. I don’t find it relaxing because I feel I should be doing something.”

“We have that in common then.”

“Why do I have the feeling that’s about the only thing we have in common? Aside from a love of green chilis, of course.”

“Not true,” he told her, and gestured toward the TV. “We both like the John Wayne movie we just watched. We both like Mountain Winery merlot. We both would kill for Bad Billy’s lemon ice cream. Mr. Bojangles clearly loves us both...the list just goes on.”

“You were doing pretty good until the Jangles part. He’s really picky. I can tell he hasn’t made up his mind yet. He doesn’t trust men that easily.”

They weren’t talking just about the cat, and he knew it. “He just needs to get to know me better. Let me prove how trustworthy I am.”

“You want to prove yourself to a cat?”

“Well, he’s a really big cat. I’m kind of afraid of him.”

There was merriment in Raine’s eyes. “His girth is part of his charm, or so I tell the vet when he starts on me about Jangles’ diet. Luckily, I feed him, so he adores me.”

“He has impeccable taste.”

“I doubt you’re really afraid of him and I suppose he must like you to come out from under the tree and sit this close.”

“I respect his opinion, one male to another.”

“That’s a good way to handle him. Otherwise Jangles might boss you around.”

Mick had to raise a brow. “Maybe like his owner.”

“Oh, come on, no one owns a pet. Have you really never had one?”

“I always wanted a dog, but it never worked out.”

She only believed him—he was sure of it—because of his matter-of-fact tone. He wasn’t shallow enough to ever complain about a privileged childhood but his mother hadn’t approved of animals in the house, so they didn’t have any. End of story. He’d begged for a dog and the answer was no.

“That’s too bad. You missed out. But it’s not too late to get one now.”

“These days it’s a timing issue. Once I was out of college, I immediately joined a firm that sent me to Japan for three years. When I came back to California, I started my own company, and trust me, with the hours I kept I didn’t have the time for a dog and still don’t.”

“You need one.” Raine said it firmly as if the whole matter was decided. “Buy the land, build your house, and you’ll have no shortage of dog-sitters to pitch in if you’re out of town. I can be one of them. Daisy would be thrilled, and Samson is used to other dogs from being at the ranch so frequently. When it comes to the land, do you want real Wyoming?”

It was a generous offer about the dog, and an impulsive one, but he already had the impression that despite Raine’s wariness around him, she made a habit of following her instincts most of the time—not in an impractical way, but just acting from the heart. “Yes, that’s the plan. Real Wyoming. Solitude and a stunning view. A place where I can sit and read, maybe write something that isn’t a memo just for a change of pace, and relax on the front porch with a glass of wine or a cold beer and watch the sunset. I’m at a place in my life where I’m starting to realize that being driven has its perks, but working every second of the day isn’t necessarily good for you.”

“Write something? Like the great American novel?” She was looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

“Believe it or not, Ms. Artist, I do have some imagination.” He didn’t add that he could easily imagine her soft, warm and naked in his arms, but it was getting harder to banish those images from his mind.

“I have no trouble believing that, actually. Excuse me, Jangles, your new friend and I have someplace to go.” She gently scooted away from the cat and stood. “I’ll get your coat, Mr. Boardroom. Time for a scenic Christmas Eve jaunt.”

“Now?” He glanced at the clock, which had wands for hands and glass slippers in varying colors to represent the hours. Which made him think she’d designed it. It looked like, if he could read it correctly, it was nearly eleven o’clock.

“As good a time as any, right? Snow falling, the mountains in the backdrop and winter magic in the air... I want to show you something. No, now I need to show you something.”

He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but was willing to play along. “Okay, I’m game.”

“You might be when you see what I’m going to show you. I’ll drive.”

“Drive? Where—”

“Let’s go.” She opened a hall closet and took out a coat, then disappeared to return with his, pulling on fluffy white mittens as he did up his buttons. “This is perfect.”

Mystified, he said, “I’ll take your word for it. Care to give me a hint where we’re going?”

“I’m a show-not-tell kind of girl. You’ll find out.”

Two minutes later they were in the car, driving toward a destination unknown.

* * *

The place looked as she remembered it the day she put it up for sale, but was also lit by the moon now that the snow had subsided to flurries, and she spotted the twinkle of a star or two as the clouds moved overhead in the brisk December wind.

Maybe fate had smiled on her twice this night.

Raine took in the weathered structure before them and tried to stifle a pang over the prospect of it being torn down. She warned herself that a man like Mick Branson probably wouldn’t want the dilapidated wreck, and she could hardly blame him for that, but the setting was incredible.

“If you want Wyoming, this is it,” she said as she parked the SUV. “There’s a small lake behind the house, fed by a spring. It’s so crystal clear, fishing should be a crime there because you can drop a hook right in front of a fish. I know it’s frozen over right now, but in the warmer weather it’s perfect for swimming in. And you have never seen anything so amazing in your life as the view from the back porch when you sit and watch the sun come up.”

He was diplomatic, but she expected that. “The cabin looks really old.”

“That’s the understatement of the century. The house is falling down.” She shut off the vehicle. “It was once just one room, but sections were added on here and there over the past century. Keep in mind the location. It isn’t a lot of land, just a hundred acres, but you don’t want to run cattle, correct? Just have a place to get away. Let me show you the inside.”

“One hundred acres in L.A. isn’t even a possibility. Neither is me running cattle, since I’d have no idea what to do. I do just need a place to get away... Raine, why do you have a key?”

“You can tear it all down as far as the buildings go, though I wish you wouldn’t, but this is really a nice piece of property.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She sighed and turned to face him. “It belonged to my grandfather.”

He paused. “Okay.”

“And it belonged to his grandfather before him.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re joking, right?”

She wasn’t. “It was built a very long time ago obviously. Don’t those old pictures you’ve seen strike a chord? Slater featured a before and after of this place in his documentary. I have to say, he made his point about continuity across the generations. It hasn’t changed.”

Snow was still drifting down as she stood there, reminded powerfully of Slater’s film. Mick said, “I remember. He didn’t tell me this belonged to your family.”

Drily, she remarked, “When Slater is in work mode, the rest of the world just goes away. Plus I doubt he thought it’d matter to you one way or another. Wait until you see the inside.” She pulled out the flashlight she’d brought, the powerful beam catching the sagging facade. “No electricity. The water is piped in straight from the lake with no filtration system whatsoever, but since my grandfather grew up here, he just drank it anyway and swore it was better than any city water could ever be. I’d skip that top step—it was dicey the last time I was here and I doubt it has improved any.”

Mick had a bemused expression on his face. “This has certainly been an interesting first date. Lead on.”

She slanted him a sidelong look and hopped up over the tricky step. The entire porch creaked, but it had done so for as long as she could remember. “Date, huh? I thought it was a business meeting.”

“I guess now’s the time for me to confess that that was a ploy to get you to have dinner with me. My reasons for talking business with you were genuine, but the minute that discussion was over, it became a date.” He was tall enough to step smoothly over the dicey step. “See how devious I am? You fell right into my wicked trap.”

“Or you fell into mine.” She jiggled the key in the ancient lock. There was an art to cajoling it to cooperate. “Have I mentioned this place is haunted?”

“No, but what would Christmas Eve be without a snowy haunted old cabin? If it wasn’t, I’d be disappointed.” His tone was dry, but he looked intrigued.

She liked his understated sense of humor. To her that was more important than good looks or money. The door finally decided they could come inside and obediently creaked open. “Here’s your slice of history.”

4

THE INSIDE OF the cabin was like a time capsule.

Mick couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Old wooden armchairs around a table made from what looked like an old trough turned upside down, an ancient washtub in the corner, a very old rifle over the hearth of a fireplace he suspected had been the only source of heat for the place. There was even a tin cup sitting on the table like it had been left there by the last occupant.

And everywhere there were books. In homemade shelves against the walls and stacked on the floor. An ancient dry sink was part of the kitchen area, as was a rusted metal work table and several shelves with some significantly old dishes. In the corner, a wooden bucket right next to it was probably the way to wash them.

Raine stood next to him, her mittened hands in her pockets, and said neutrally, “No electricity, no heat, and if you look around for the bathroom, it’s out back. My grandfather was a minimalist. He read Walden and never glanced back. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Matthew Brighton.”

Mick about fell over. “The author?” It would certainly account for all the books...but really?

“That’s the one.”

“He was your grandfather?”

“Yes.” She’d put on this cute white knit hat before they left the house and it set off her dark hair. Her nose was tinged pink from the cold.

He couldn’t believe it. “My father had some of his books. I read them as a kid. That’s how I got hooked on Westerns. Are you serious?”

“Would I lie?”

He didn’t think she ever would. In his estimation she was probably as honest as it was possible to hope for a person to be.

He found himself grinning. “I loved those books. My favorite was Paintbrush Pass.”

She smiled. “Mine, too. Do you realize that was set right here?”

“Here...here? Like on this property here?”

“Exactly.”

Oh hell, that intrigued him. “I knew Slater’s film emphasized the legacy of a famous Western author and it was Brighton. I liked seeing the town through that lens.”

Her eyes suddenly glossed over. “This is where my grandfather wrote. He sat right at that desk.” She pointed to the corner. “Impressive, right?”

It wasn’t, certainly not by modern standards. But it was perfect—an old wagon wheel on a post covered with pieced together lengths of hand-shaved wood no one had ever bothered to finish other than to roughly plane it with a tool that gave it a moderately flat surface. Brighton’s typewriter was still there and should probably be in a museum.

“He told me once that was all he’d asked for in his life. Solitude and a place to write suited his needs perfectly. Central air was an option he didn’t worry about, he’d just open the windows. He didn’t need a dishwasher since he had two perfectly good hands and that old bucket.”

Mick walked over and ran his hand reverently over the surface on the typewriter, coating his fingers with dust. “I can’t believe this.”

Raine still missed her grandfather. He could hear it in her voice. “He was a rather salty old character, but all in all, a happy man.”

“I can imagine. You know, thanks to him I wrote a couple of short stories in college that actually got published. My major was business, but my minor was English. I started a novel, but then I got that fairly high-powered job right after graduation.” He lifted his shoulder in a negligent shrug, but life was full of what-ifs and he knew that. “Going that direction certainly made more sense at the time.”

“This property would be a great place for a house.” She looked him in the eye. “I swear you’d get a bargain price if you’d just let the cabin stand. There’s lots of space to build. I’ve tried the Bliss County Historical Society, but they think it’s too remote to really be a tourist draw, so they can’t justify the funding for a decent road and maybe they’re right. Not even Mrs. Arbuckle-Calder can whip up some support. I want someone to enjoy the place and not tear down the cabin. If you want a scenic spot, this is it. Just tell me you won’t raze the cabin and I’ll practically give it away.”

So this was why she’d dragged him halfway up a mountain in the middle of a snowy night. He sensed from the way she looked at him that she was somehow confident he was the man who might be worthy enough to take on this legacy that mattered to her.

He had to admit he was flattered—and humbled. It mattered to him, too. He’d devoured Brighton’s books, reading a lot of them in one sitting. He couldn’t agree more that the place should stay exactly as it was.

“I’m not quite ready to sign on the dotted line, but I’m definitely intrigued. Second date? We can come back and you can show me the property in the daylight.” It was difficult not to confess he’d see footage of it tomorrow, but especially now, he wanted her to be as surprised as Slater and the rest of his family when the documentary aired.

“Second date.” Her smile was tremulous and he doubted that happened often with her. “I never wanted to sell it in the first place, but taxes are expensive. And though Daisy and I come up here for a picnic now and then, as ridiculous as this sounds, I think the cabin is starting to get depressed about being abandoned. I want someone who appreciates the history and doesn’t just see a dilapidated wreck. If you didn’t have vision, you and Slater wouldn’t get along.”

He needed to set the record straight. “If he wasn’t a brilliant filmmaker we wouldn’t get along on a business level, but he is, and as a person I like him very much. It has nothing to do with me except I help other people believe in what he has in mind.”

Her breath was frosty as she blew out a laugh. “He’d so disagree. I believe he calls you ‘the driving force.’”

“Maybe I am, of the funding of the production. He’s the inspired one. It’s collaboration, a sum of the parts.”

“Slater Carson doesn’t collaborate with just anyone Take my word for it. I’ve known him for a while.” She suddenly put those fluffy mittens on his shoulders and rose up to give him a light kiss that was very nice but not nearly all he wanted. Her lips were warm and smooth. She whispered, “I’m glad you’re here. Merry Christmas.”

At that moment a breeze brushed by, ruffling a stack of old, yellowed papers still sitting on the cluttered desk. Startled, he looked around, but the door was firmly shut and so were the windows. She said blithely, “I told you it was haunted. I think he likes you. Let’s head back.”

One of the pages had floated to the floor and she bent to pick it up.

* * *

Well, there was no question she was an idiot.

A sentimental idiot, but so it went. The minute Raine heard Mick Branson was looking for property in Wyoming, she thought about her family legacy. That he knew her grandfather’s name blew her away. That he’d read his books made it even more special.

Fate, plain and simple.

She was a great believer in spiritual signs, no matter if it was labeled fate or attributed to some divine power. If Mick bought the property, maybe he would leave the cabin standing. She’d resigned herself to saying goodbye to it someday, and Blythe had kindly offered to have the Carson Ranch pay the taxes, but Raine wanted someone to use the land, to enjoy the breathtaking views, to appreciate and find joy in it like her grandfather had his whole life. She’d thought about someday building a house on it, but it would have to be after Daisy was out of school. Their modest little house suited them perfectly for now.

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