Page 21 of Must Love Mistletoe

Cal would be mentioning no such thing.

“Hey, Sam,” Jett said next, turning toward the two boys sorting through the pile of leather strips laid out on the scarred wooden workbench. “What do you think about you and your mom being partners with us in the ranching business? Any regrets that it’s not going to be all yours in years to come?”

“You realize you don’t have to answer him,” Cal countered. What thehell? “Stop grilling the kid.”

But Sam just pulled a strip of pale tan leather from the pile and then looked up at them, his eyes way too wise for such a young, freckled face. “The cows are fed, the fences are mended, and I haven’t been late to school once this week. Mom says it’s better to be part owner of something special than full owner of something we can’t take care of properly. And she’s right.Besides, being a partner makes me, like, part Casey now, too, right?” Sam only had eyes for Cal.

And what was a man to do in the face of so much hope? Squash it? Hell, no. “You’re an honorary Casey now. We’ll do right by the ranch and by you, no matter what you want to be when you grow up. If you want to be a cowboy, you’ll have a head start. There’ll be a college fund waiting for you if you want to do something else. Because we’re partners and partners take care of each other.”

“Still want to forgo the lion’s share of the Evans ranch?” Seth murmured, because the paperwork was still with the lawyers, and because Seth was almost as good as Mason at picking on a person’s weak spot.

It was either ignore his brother or deck him, and Cal chose to be the bigger man.

“Who are you making the belt for, dude?” he asked Sam, completely ignoring his brothers. “You want more stamps to choose from? I got leaves, I got moons, I got flowers…”

“Not to mention you got the fatherhood thing down solid,” Jett murmured in Cal’s ear, before stepping back a length. “Hey, we met a Swiss snowboarder mixing drinks at the Graff the other day. Strong and fit and—looking for a cowboy to show her a good time. I mentioned you.”

“And how well does matchmaking usually work out for you when trying to matchmakeme?” Cal replied dryly, not sure if he welcomed the change of subject or not.

“Brunette,” Jett said, completely undeterred. “Blue eyes, good teeth, fun loving.”

“No.” There was only one woman filling his mind these days—and it didn’t seem as if she was going to respond to his wooing, seeing as he hadn’t heard from her in close to a week. He’d even started to catalogue their meetings. The blow up. The funeral apology. The breakfast proposal. The love language wood pile.

“How’s your mom?” Seth asked Sam with all the subtlety of a snowplow. “Still pulling all those extra shifts at the hospital?”

“She said no to one last night,” Sam stated proudly. “She’s on a baking streak and practicing huckleberry tarts and cinnamon rolls today and bringing them up later when she comes to collect me.”

“Did you know cinnamon rolls are Cal’s all-time favorite,” Seth asked.

“Yep.” Big emphasis on theP. Sam chose a diamond shaped stamp with stripes running through it and slid him a sideways glance. “And huckleberry tarts are mine.”

*

When Beth walkedinto Cal’s workshop that afternoon, she should have known there’d be a crowd of Caseys in attendance. She didn’t know what the sudden speculative silence was all about, but if hospital shifts had taught her anything, it was that filling awkward silences got easier with practice. “Greetings, busy people. I come bearing gifts.”

“Mom, close your eyes. Turn around!”

“Oh! Right.” Shuffling noises ensued, and when she finally got the okay to turn back, a heavy canvas sheet covered several feet of the workbench and two boys were leaning all over it, attempting to look angelic. “Will I get a straight answer if I ask what you’ve been making?”

“New friends,” Jett said.

“Exploring the craft,” Seth added.

“Memories,” Cal said, deadpan.

“Funny guys.” And then Sam hugged her tightly around the waist, and although it wasn’t uncommon for him to do so, thistime he seemed to be trying to take a measure of her waist. Subtlety of a strangler python, that one.

Cal suddenly disappeared around the corner, tape measure not quite hidden in hand, and Sam followed shortly thereafter. And if their reflections in the nearby window showed a boy holding his arms out wide and a big man solemnly measuring a forearm to fingertip length, well, she wasn’t the only one smirking at the sight.

She made her way to the sofa, where the twoMs, Mardie and Madeline, held court, and began unpacking the day’s baking. Perfectionism wasn’t her thing—she could put up with a few misshapen cinnamon rolls as long as they tasted good, and these tasted very good. Besides, a dusting of powdered sugar hid many imperfections.

“I didn’t hear your truck drive up,” Maddie said.

“I rode.” Now that the weight of the ranch had been lifted from her shoulders she could enjoy it again in a way she hadn’t been able to do for ages. She could see a brilliant blue sky and snow-capped mountains rather than a fence in need of fixing or a pasture already grazed out with no more growth left in it before winter. “It’s beautiful out there today. Big blue sky, snowcapped peaks, crunchy fresh snow, and sunshine. Why you’re all in here is beyond me.”

She’d made cinnamon rolls and huckleberry tarts, carrot cake, and had even tried her hand at a new cherry-chocolate brownie recipe she’d found online. She pulled out a sourdough round, hollowed out and ready for the barbecue pulled pork she’d brought along in a casserole dish. It would need heating up again if they wanted to eat it now, or Cal could tuck it away for later.

“We are definitely doing craft mornings at Cal’s place more often,” Mardie said as her little girl joined them, eager to see thegoods. “Wait, Claire. We don’t know if Uncle Cal wants to share the bounty.”

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