The Rancher's Family Thanksgiving Read online

  Susie studied him. “Got anyone in mind?”

  Tyler beamed. When opportunity knocked… “Glad you asked. As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Knowing where this was heading, she held up a hand. “No…”

  “You’re a fabulous cook.”

  “Only because I had nothing else to do those months I was sick and my mom let me amuse myself by giving me free rein in the kitchen.”

  “And that time certainly paid off.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her chin. “So how about it? Will you help me make some pies?”

  Susie looked deep into his eyes. “On one condition.”

  Tyler dropped his hand and snapped his fingers. “I knew it,” he lamented dramatically. “There’s always a condition with you.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him, and continued firmly, “You have to help me find the quotes and design the stupid gratitude books.”

  Spending time alone with Susie was not exactly what he would call a hardship, even if they were doing a task she would prefer not to be executing. “If I do it, it’s not going to be stupid,” Tyler warned.

  Susie scoffed and added two more slim landscaping plant volumes to the ones he was already holding. “Please. You’re one of the least sentimental guys I know.”

  Tyler pressed his free hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

  She didn’t buy it. “You wish.”

  He turned serious. “I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you.” Susie shut the door and locked her truck.

  “Where are we going with these books, by the way?”

  “Up to see Emmaline. I want her to make a list of all the flowers and trees that she likes. She’s got a chemo treatment tomorrow that’s going to run for half the day. It’ll give her something to do while she’s getting the IV.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Susie edged closer to Tyler. “I really feel for her.”

  “I know you do.” Tyler gave Susie’s shoulders a companionable squeeze. “I do, too.”

  Briefly, she turned her head and rested her face against his shoulder. “Life just isn’t fair sometimes.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t.” Tyler paused to wait their turn at the lobby door. He used the opportunity to lose himself in her eyes. “But we have to soldier on nonetheless.”

  Susie’s expression went from wistful to cynical in sixty seconds. Too late, Tyler realized that was exactly the kind of platitude she would have expected from a guy.

  “I think I have my first quote for the gratitude book,” she said drily, as the two of them crossed the lobby and stepped into the elevator.

  Tyler accepted Susie’s ribbing in the good-natured way it was given. He remembered how much his “when-the-going-gets-tough, the-tough-get-going” attitude had helped her when she was sick, even if it sometimes made her mad as hell. The same advice had helped him innumerable times.

  Tyler pretended pique even though he knew his eyes were as alight with amusement as hers. “Good as my advice is, I think the event planners had something much more eloquent—”

  “Don’t you mean touchy-feely?”

  “—in mind for the journal,” he finished. “And you—”

  “Make that we,” Susie corrected.

  “—better deliver,” Tyler said seriously, “or our mothers are going to send us right back to the drawing board.”

  “HI, EMMALINE.” SUSIE AND TYLER entered her hospital room together.

  Emmaline held up a hand and continued writing.

  “Have we come at a bad time?” Susie asked.

  “No. It’s okay.” Emmaline finished and put down her pen. Her pale face radiated with happiness. “I’m just addressing envelopes. My parents said I could invite all my old girlfriends over for a slumber party the weekend before Thanksgiving.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Tyler said.

  Emmaline blushed and fiddled with the knit cap on her head. “Thanks for making me realize that my friends weren’t psychic. I guess I haven’t been very good at keeping in touch with them, either. Hopefully, a party at my house will help us feel close again.” Emmaline looked at the books Tyler was carrying. “What have you-all got there?”

  “Something important for you to study.” Susie sat down beside Emmaline. Tyler handed over the books and hung out with them while they selected all the shrubs, trees and flowers that appealed to Emmaline. When they had finished, Susie encouraged Emmaline to show what she liked to her parents and get their input, too.

  “Call me when you’ve made your choices and I’ll set up a time to take a look at your yard, so we can plan the next phase of the landscaping,” Susie said.

  “I will. And thanks, Susie,” Emmaline said.

  “No problem.” Susie grinned.

  “You, too, Tyler.” Emmaline beamed. “It was nice of you to stop by to see me.”

  Tyler gave the ailing teenager a high five. “Good luck with your treatment tomorrow.”

  Susie echoed the sentiment. She and Tyler headed out.

  “What’s worrying you?” Tyler asked the moment they were alone.

  Susie shrugged. She should have known she couldn’t hide anything from Tyler. “I hope that slumber party isn’t a mistake.”

  Tyler frowned. The two of them stepped onto the elevator. “Why do you think it would be?”

  Susie drew a deep, bolstering breath. “Because her friends might not all come.”

  Tyler remained puzzled. “If even a few do, I’m sure she’ll be happy.”

  Susie rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “You don’t know what it’s like, to have to reach out to people you thought were your friends, and be turned away.”

  “So what’s the alternative? Should we be encouraging her to stay isolated?”

  Aware he’d struck a nerve, Susie turned her glance toward the lights above the steel doors. “There have to be kids here in Laramie who would be willing to be her friend.”

  “It’s not the same as choosing your own friends.”

  “Right.” Susie stepped out into the lobby. She waved at the volunteer at the information desk. “Anyone who would make friends with Emmaline now would sign up knowing she’s had a tough time of it, and could have an even tougher time ahead.” Susie stopped and turned so abruptly she ran into Tyler’s chest. “You didn’t desert me.”

  He steadied her with a hand to her elbow, stepped back slightly. “That’s because I’m special.” His voice was a low, sexy rumble.

  The edges of Susie’s lips curled in aggravation. “You know what I mean,” she chided.

  Compassion shone in his hazel eyes. “I know you worry too much sometimes.”

  An intimate silence fell between them.

  Abruptly, Susie had the feeling that Tyler wanted to kiss her again but wouldn’t—for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact they were standing in the hospital lobby, where everyone and anyone could see.

  With effort, she pulled herself together. “So.” Susie swallowed around the parched feeling of her throat. “When are you going to help me find all those stupid platitudes to put in our gratitude journals?”

  Looking relieved the testy banter between them had picked up once again, Tyler censured her with a look of exaggerated impatience. “Good attitude. And for your information, missy—” he tapped her playfully on the cheek “—nothing I offer up will be ‘stupid.’”

  “Hokey, then,” Susie corrected, teasing him right back. “And that,” she goaded him with a playful tap on the center of his chest, “remains to be seen.” She bet he could do hokey as well as the next person, if so moved.

  Tyler looked deep into her eyes as she slowly dropped her hand to her side once again. “Cynical to the core, aren’t you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Susie admitted happily. She propped her hands on her slender hips. “So where are we going to look for this stuff?”

  Tyler shrugged his broad shoulders affably. “The internet?”

  THEY ENDED UP AT SUSIE’S house because she
had a DSL line. He couldn’t get one out at his ranch. So it was either her place or the vet clinic, and her place was definitely cozier.

  For as long as Tyler could recall, Susie had been into comfort. That was reflected in the overstuffed red twill sofa and matching club chairs in the living room at the very front of her home, the curved leather banquette in the kitchen, and the big old-fashioned sleigh bed in her bedroom.

  Like other “shotgun houses” of the early 1900s, the abode was one room wide, with a living room in front, an eat-in kitchen and laundry directly behind that, bedroom and bath at the very rear of the dwelling.

  Susie had updated the interior with wide plank wood floors, soothing cappuccino walls that allowed her to change the color scheme as often as she wanted—which turned out to be a couple of times a year—and a mix of funky posters, stunningly serene oil paintings and of course, lots of leafy green houseplants and flowers.

  “This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be,” Susie mused, staring at her laptop.

  Tyler went to her refrigerator, helped himself to a root beer and brought one for her.

  Truth was, he didn’t care how long this took. He could happily spend days whiling away the time with her. “That’s probably because we’re going about it in the wrong way.” He twisted off the cap before handing her the bottle.

  Susie tore her gaze from the computer screen. The fire of indignation lit up her amber eyes. “Okay, smarty-pants, tell me how we should be going about it.”

  Trying not to think how pretty she looked with her flushed cheeks and slightly mussed hair, Tyler took a swig of root beer. “Forget the computer. Let’s do this off the top of our heads.”

  Susie reached up to take the pins out of her hair. “I’m not sure either of us is that gushy.”

  Tyler watched the wavy blond mass fall loose and free to her shoulders once again. “We don’t have to be gushy.”

  Susie removed her earrings, one after another. Then her necklace. She put all on the coffee table, next to her boot-clad feet. “Tell that to our mothers. I dare you.”

  Able to see where this was going—when her jewelry went, her shoes did, too—Tyler leaned forward to help her off with her cowgirl boots. “The point of the gratitude journals,” he said, as he removed them, one at a time, “is just to give a jumping-off point for people’s own thoughts and feelings, a retrospective of the year, right?”

  “Yes.” Susie smiled her thanks as she wiggled her toes inside her socks, then rubbed them, one against the other. Sighing, she stretched her legs, which were still covered nearly to the ankle by the silky fabric of her paisley skirt. “There’s supposed to be some type of platitude or familiar truism at the top of each page that has something to do with Thanksgiving, and that’s what is stumping me,” Susie continued.

  Tyler settled beside her, close enough so he could see the computer screen, too.

  Susie released a troubled sigh as she lifted her arms and ran her fingers through her hair. She kept her hands clasped behind her neck. “When I think of the holiday all I’m coming up with are symbols like Pilgrims and Indians and a great meal and too much football and way too many dishes….”

  With Herculean effort, Tyler did his best to keep his eyes on Susie’s face.

  She was obviously unaware of the way her current posture was showcasing the lusciousness of her breasts.

  That did not, unfortunately, mean he was unaware.

  He could feel himself getting hard.

  Not good.

  Not good at all.

  Tyler gritted his teeth and did his best to think of all things frigid. Polar ice caps. Showers in the dead of winter when the water heater was on the fritz. Snowballs dumped down the back of your neck…

  “And as we’ve just demonstrated, the internet is proving of no help,” Susie continued in mounting frustration.

  Tyler closed his eyes so he could concentrate on what she was saying. Not the sexual frustration he was suddenly feeling.

  “That’s because the internet doesn’t know what’s in your heart.” Tyler opened his eyes and nodded at the center of her chest. Too late, he realized that was a bad idea. “Or mine or anyone else’s,” he added quickly, shifting his posture slightly to ease the building pressure at the front of his jeans.

  Susie abruptly dropped her arms, straightened her spine and let her feet fall back on the floor. “I’m not sure I know what’s in there,” Susie muttered, obviously talking about her heart.

  Tyler stared at the screen again, then stood. It would be best if he put some physical distance between the two of them for a minute or two. “Let’s try another approach.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. Looked out her front window. Examined some green leafy plants, at length. “Let’s make a list of familiar sayings that have meant something to us in our lives. Stuff we hear all the time, and apply in one way or another to what we are doing and thinking.” Sure he had himself under control, he turned back to her.

  She was grinning now, as if greatly amused.

  “Like ‘don’t squat with your spurs on’ and ‘don’t dig for water under the outhouse’?” she guessed.

  “Not to mention ‘never ask a man the size of his spread,’” Tyler quipped.

  They both chuckled.

  “But I doubt our mothers and aunts would appreciate those sentiments showing up in the Thanksgiving journals, even if the men would,” he said.

  Susie exhaled in obvious disappointment. “So curtail the Texas-isms.”

  “For the most part, yeah.”

  “So what are some of your favorite mottos?” Susie asked.

  Tyler had to think a moment. “The simple ones, I guess, like ‘be true to yourself.’ And ‘count your blessings.’”

  “I’ve got one on the wall of my office. It says ‘if you do enough small things right, big things can happen.’”

  “See? We’ve got the knowledge right here.” Tyler pointed to her head, and his. “All we have to do is access it.”

  Susie started typing. “Okay, cowboy,” she told him brightly, “give me all you’ve got.”

  For the next two hours, they came up with slogan after slogan.

  “Now all we have to do is narrow them down to the twenty or so they asked me to put in the gratitude books.”

  Wondering why the two of them didn’t just hang out together more often, Tyler shrugged, adding, “It shouldn’t be too hard, although you may want to think about it for a few days. It’s possible we could come up with a few more.”

  Susie nodded just as the pager on Tyler’s belt went off.

  He frowned. It was part of his job to be on call, even on the weekends. He hated having his time with Susie interrupted. “Sorry.”

  She waved off the untoward interruption. “It’s okay.”

  Tyler lifted the phone to his ear. “Doc McCabe here. Hello, Mr. Rooney. Oh. All right, don’t do anything. I’ll be right there.”

  Susie looked as concerned as Tyler felt. “What’s up?”

  Keys in hand, Tyler was already heading for the door. “It’s Catastrophe. He’s in trouble.”

  Chapter Four

  For everything there is a season.

  Catastrophe lay in the corral at the Rooney ranch, whinnying softly, eyes glazed with pain. Tyler set his vet bag down in the dirt and bent over the magnificent animal. It didn’t take long for his worst fears to be confirmed.

  “The leg is broken all right.” Tyler stroked the quarter horse gently, then reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe and a glass bottle.

  A glance at Susie—who had insisted upon accompanying him, as soon as she had heard where Tyler was going—showed she was every bit as upset as he was by the disregard for the beautiful, spirited animal’s welfare.

  Tyler stared down the kid who was responsible. “What were you doing barrel racing him tonight?”

  Jimmy Rooney paced back and forth while Tyler administered the medication.

  Tyler noted the kid looked more put-out than
sorry about the disaster his selfishness had brought about.

  “I had to practice for next week’s event,” Jimmy declared stubbornly.

  Catching sight of the ire on both Susie’s and Tyler’s faces, the kid whined, “I let him rest all day.”

  Tyler brought out a splint and moved down to immobilize the leg. “One day wasn’t enough. He needed several weeks. I told you that.”

  Mr. Rooney stepped forward. Clearly distraught and feeling the guilt and compassion his son evidently did not, he watched as Tyler secured the splint. He ran a hand over his eyes. “Look, there’s no use arguing over what’s already happened,” Mr. Rooney told Tyler miserably.

  Jimmy pushed forward. “Is Catastrophe going to be able to race again?”

  Tyler ran a hand over Catastrophe’s belly, glad the horse’s agonizing whinnying had subsided. Tyler sat back on his haunches, trying to think about the best way to proceed. “No.”

  “Then put him down,” Jimmy snarled.

  Mr. Rooney turned to his son.

  “Catastrophe’s no use to me now,” Jimmy declared.

  Tyler got to his feet and faced Mr. Rooney. “Let’s not be hasty. You can still offer Catastrophe for stud service.”

  “We’d have to get him well first.” Mr. Rooney frowned.

  “Who cares about that?” Jimmy fumed. “I need a new horse to ride by next week!”

  Sweat broke out on Mr. Rooney’s face. “How much is it going to cost to fix that leg?”

  Tyler named the fee, which stretched into the thousands.

  Mr. Rooney paled.

  “See what I mean, Dad?” Jimmy Rooney argued. “It would be cheaper and easier to get a new horse.”

  Tyler curbed his temper with effort. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to deck the kid, and shake some sense into the wimpy dad, who had—by his own weakness—let his child turn into such a selfish, unfeeling monster. “Then I’ll take Catastrophe,” Tyler said flatly, refusing to destroy an animal for nothing more than the convenience of the neglectful owners. “I’ll waive my fees, including my visit to the fairgrounds last night, in exchange for the animal.”

  Mr. Rooney looked relieved. He glanced at his son.

  Jimmy threw up his arms in disgust. “I told you,” he nearly shouted. “I don’t care what you do with this worthless stallion. Just get him out of here!”