Page 5 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

“Isn’t there a treatment?”

Darla shrugs. “Not that they know of. It’s a rare affliction, so there isn’t much data on it. For now, we all agreed we need a cook on the ranch, and the boys thought it would be a good idea to give back to the community with this Path to Freedom Initiative thingy. Two birds, one stone.”

“That’s good of them. I’ll always be grateful.”

“Here’s the ranch,” she says as we pass through the front gates, which open automatically. Ahead, the two-story ranch house stands proudly. It’s painted a creamy white with brown shutters abutting tall windows. A wide porch stretches out in front supported by sculpted-wood pillars and topped with a second-floor terrace. It’s beautiful, and by its perfectly weathered look, it’s been around for a few generations at least.

“I’ve never seen a ranch house like this before,” I mutter as Darla pulls up to the front and parks next to several newish pickup trucks and a sleek-looking grey SUV.

“Nor will you. Colton had it remodeled ten years ago. That top floor is new,” Darla replies.

“I see. That makes sense.”

“It was cheaper than spreading out and losing good dirt.”

“Good dirt?”

Darla turns the engine off and motions for me to get out. “Yeah. For the back garden, for everything else. Come on, the rain’s about to get worse, and I don’t wanna end up looking like a drowned rat this early in the day.”

From the little I can see as we rush toward the house, the ranch is surrounded by rolling, hills and tall trees and I catch a glimpse of a creek in the distance.

It must be beautiful in the summertime, I think.I hope I’m still here to see it.

For now, I take a deep breath and catch a whiff of wet dirt and manure. I thought the smell would be nasty, but it’s quickly growing on me, maybe because it doesn’t remind me of the inside of a prison cell.

“So, before we go in,” Darla says, stopping at the front door for a moment. “There are a few things you should know.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” I reply, my bag on my shoulder.

“The Avery Ranch has been around for generations,” Darla explains. “It’s worth a lot, and prospectors often come with offers. Others try to force their way onto our turf. It never works out for any of them. We aren’t selling. Ever. We live on several acres of pure green gold, and the climate here loves us. We roll with it.”

“That’s pretty cool,” I say, smiling slightly. “There’s a legacy to be passed on.”

Darla sighs deeply. “Yeah, provided my boys settle down and get married. That hasn’t been in the books for them for one reason or another.” She pauses and shakes her head slowly, and I guess there’s a history I’m not yet privy to. “So, bottom line, we don’t let anyone on the property if we don’t know who they are or what they want. The boys will instruct you further on the matter.”

“I understand.”

“Second, the ranch is run by my nephews. Their parents passed away some years ago while they were still deployed. They came back to take over.”

“The boys. What are their names again?” I ask.

“Colton and Ethan. They’re twins. There’s also Mitch, their adopted brother. The three of them have the final say on everything. Remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods once, satisfied with my responses so far. “Good. Come on.”

I follow her inside and find myself instantly mesmerized by what they’ve done with the decor. They’ve kept it rustic yet modern, stylish yet cozy.

And the men who come to greet us have my full and undivided attention.

I recognize the twins quickly, even though they’re not identical. Tall as mighty oaks, with broad shoulders and the kind of arms that could easily snap me in two like a twig. The third one is different but just as gorgeous and superbly built, and they’re all in their early to mid-forties—I can tell by the fine lines around their eyes and the specks of silver in their hair and beards.

“Fellas, here she is. Your new cook,” Darla announces. “Melissa Carson, meet Colton and Ethan Avery, and this is Mitch Teller, your new bosses.”

I stand in the middle of the open living room, my eyes wide and my lips sealed shut as I try to think of something remotely clever to say. My brain refuses to cooperate, so all I manage to do is reach my hand out.

“Nice to meet you all,” I mumble.

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