Page 11 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

A few hours later, I handle the guys’ lunch with the same kind of ease.

The weather is growing colder, and since they’re taking the cattle out for one last graze before the first snowfall, I make sure their lunch is hearty and loaded with protein and good fats.

“What’s on your mind?” Colton asks.

I just finished loading the dishwasher, so deep in my thoughts, I barely noticed Ethan and Mitch heading out.

“Oh, just the usual,” I say, half-joking.

He gets up from the table and brings the last of the dishes over. “What’s the usual for you, Melissa? I’m genuinely curious.”

“Why, though? I’m just the kitchen staff. You don’t have to be friendly out of some kind of obligation.”

Colton frowns slightly, and I feel as though I keep saying the wrong things out of a fear of attachment.

“Just because you’re a Ridgeboro inmate doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of my respect,” he says. “You’re already doing a great job here, and the guys are happy.” He tilts his head as he looks at me curiously. “Are you afraid you’ll get sent back to prison if you get too friendly with the boss?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, don’t be,” he says. “And don’t ever feel like you have to be friendly with us either. You just strike me as the warm type, that’s all. If I’m wrong, and if you want me to keep my distance, say so. I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, turning around to face him. He moves around the counter and comes closer, yet I cannot read his expression. He’s got one hell of a handsome poker face. “I don’t mean to be antisocial. It’s just that I’ve been keeping my head down and my thoughts to myself for three years now. I’ve apparently forgotten how to interact with people.”

“It’s alright, Melissa. You have nothing to apologize for. I get it.”

“You do?”

“We practiced something similar during our service with the Rangers,” he says. “Once we started losing some of our guys in the battlefield, Ethan, Mitch and I decided we were better off on our own, just the three of us. We wouldn’t let anybody get close to us because we didn’t want to suffer through the pain of another loss.”

He does get it, albeit from a different perspective. His fear was of losing someone, mine was of losing myself.

“But then we came back here and had to bury our parents,” he adds with a bitter smile. “And we weren’t at war anymore. Thepeople here needed us. We needed them. It just took some time to bring our spirits over to the ranch along with our bodies, so to speak.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” I say. “May I ask what happened?”

“Car crash,” he sighs deeply. “A drunk trucker t-boned them in Long Pine.”

“Oh, God…”

He shrugs slightly. “It was over ten years ago. Time has a way of healing all wounds. It will do the same for you, Melissa. But I’ll say it again, for your peace of mind: On this ranch, we’re all equals, no matter where we come from.”

“Even if it’s Ridgeboro?” I say jokingly.

“Did you see Kyle? How skinny and fidgety he gets when he sits down at the table?”

“Yeah.”

Colton smiles. “He had a choice when the sheriff caught him abusing oxy. It would’ve been his third strike. He could either go to jail or come work here and start attending NA meetings. We supported him through every step, and now Kyle is three years sober. He’s still restless and anxious, a remnant of his uglier years, but he’s working through it. We keep him riding and we work him hard. And every night, he goes to bed a sober man. So, yeah, no matter where you’re from, once you’re on the Avery Ranch and as long as you respect and honor the place and its people, you’re one of us. Period.”

“Thank you. That means a lot,” I mumble.

“Don’t you worry. I reckon we’ll grow on you soon enough,” he says, then brings a hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is subtle yet electrifying. My heart goes galloping again like a furious mustang. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“What do you see?” I manage.

“You crave human contact,” he replies, blinking slowly as the blue pools of his eyes darken. “It’s a good thing. It means you’re a red-blooded woman. Your heart’s not made of stone.”

That I can confirm. It’s beating a thousand miles per minute.

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