The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby. Stella Bagwell
like his grandpa Orin every day,” Clancy teased. “Growing into a real rascal.”
While Orin chuckled loudly, Olivia added, “He’s nearly three years old now and we can’t turn our backs on him, or he’ll be in the barn trying to climb on the back of a horse.”
“He and Austin are two peas in a pod,” Lilly spoke up jokingly. “When those two cousins get a little older, we’re going to have hell to pay.”
Ava put her hand on Marcella’s shoulder and turned her slightly to the left. “You have met Denver, haven’t you? He’s a lot like Clancy—you have to twist his arm to get him here for dinner.”
Denver! The man who’d been occupying her thoughts for the past week was standing right in front of her. The surprise of seeing him very nearly caused her jaw to drop, but she caught herself before that could happen and forced a cheery smile on her face.
“Uh—yes. We have met,” she said.
He extended his hand to her. “Hello, Marcella. It’s nice to see you again.”
Lilly had said this was going to be a simple gathering. What was he doing here?
Hoping she didn’t appear as caught off guard as she felt, Marcella placed her hand in Denver’s. And just like the last time, something in the bottom of her stomach flipped over. Then over again.
“Hello, Denver. How are you?”
A faint smile touched his lips, and as Marcella’s gaze zeroed in on his face, everything around her suddenly faded, except him and the feel of his big rough hand wrapped around hers.
“Fine. Thanks for asking.”
The feel of his gaze slowly meandering over her face was causing heat to pool in her cheeks. And just as she was telling herself it was time to extricate her hand from his and put an end to the strange buzzing in her head, she heard Lilly speak behind her.
“There’s Greta at the door. Let’s go in, everyone. Dinner is served.”
Denver dropped her hand and they both began to gravitate toward the back of the house with the rest of the group.
“Sounds like it’s time to enjoy Greta’s cooking,” he said. “I hope you brought your appetite.”
She’d been as hungry as a horse until she’d turned and saw him. Now her nerves were so scattered she could scarcely think about eating.
Stop it, Marcella! You’re not a teenager with a sudden crush on the cool rebel in senior class. You’re a thirty-three-year-old mother. Far too old to be getting the vapors over a sexy man.
She said, “I haven’t eaten anything since early this morning. So I’m ready to eat.”
“Did Peter and Harry come with you this evening?”
“No. They’re with their grandmother tonight. I didn’t want to overload Tessa with kids. They’ll be disappointed they missed seeing you.”
“I’m disappointed they’re not here,” he said.
His simple statement sounded so sincere, yet she told herself not to take it to heart. There were plenty of guys who pretended they liked kids. Until they were asked if they wanted to be a father, and then they stumbled backward, as if they’d just faced a rattlesnake.
With everyone in the house, the group quickly migrated to a dining room that was beautifully furnished with a carved oak table and chairs, along with a matching sideboard and massive china cabinet. Down the middle of the vast table, vases of orange and gold marigolds mixed with burgundy-colored mums alternated with flickering fat brown candles. Across the room, a row of arched windows revealed a starry night sky competing with the glow of lights illuminating a portion of the ranch yard.
The beauty of the Silver Horn never failed to impress Marcella, but tonight she wasn’t absorbing her surroundings as much as usual. Instead, every cell in her brain was focused on the tall, muscular rancher standing a few steps away.
“Ava and I didn’t bother assigning seats. So everyone just grab a chair,” Lilly announced. “Except for the end seat. That’s for Granddad Bart, of course.”
“You’re wasting your breath, Lilly girl,” Bart boomed out as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Everyone already knows this is my seat. When I’m dead and gone, my son gets it. After that, you grandsons can fight over it.”
Dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks with his thick gray hair brushed neatly back from his rugged features, at eighty-eight, Bart looked as though he was still fit enough to wrestle a bear and ornery enough to try it.
Orin pulled out a chair to his father’s right. “Dad, we’re not going to discuss your passing tonight or any night for that matter. These beautiful women don’t want to hear such morbid talk.”
“Son, I’m eighty-eight years old. What the hell do you think is going to happen? That I’m going to live forever?”
“You’re mean enough to live forever, Granddad,” Bowie spoke up teasingly. “So I say you better not mess around and get nice on us. We might lose you.”
“Bowie! That’s awful,” Ava scolded her young husband.
With a wry shake of his head, Orin looked down the table. “Denver, would you help Marcella into her seat? I’m sure you won’t mind sitting next to our pretty guest tonight.”
“My pleasure,” Denver said.
He stepped over to the table and pulled out the chair nearest to Marcella. As she sank into the padded seat, she felt as though everyone in the room was watching the two of them. And suddenly she wondered if this whole evening had been a setup to throw her and Denver together.
But that was crazy thinking. She hadn’t voiced any interest to Lilly or Ava about the cowboy. Had Denver mentioned something about her to some of the Calhouns? She couldn’t imagine that. He didn’t seem the type to discuss private issues. Even with his friends.
Glancing up at him, she smiled faintly and murmured her thanks. “Sorry. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a dining companion tonight.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage to survive,” he said in a voice only she could hear.
Near the head of the table, Orin said, “Sorry, Colley. You just happened to be on the wrong side of the table tonight.”
“It’s okay, sir,” the horse trainer said. “I don’t think I’ll be getting lonely anytime soon.”
Marcella glanced over at the young man who’d taken a chair next to Bowie. From what Lilly told her a couple months ago, Colley’s wife had divorced him and left town with a man she’d worked with at a financial firm in Carson City. No doubt he was still seeing red whenever he looked at a female.
While the remainder of the group took their seats at the table, Denver had made himself comfortable in the chair next to Marcella, and she found it impossible to keep her attention away from him.
“Lilly told me this was going to be a small group tonight,” she said to him. “I was surprised to see you here—I mean, I’ve never seen you here for dinner before.”
He shrugged, and Marcella’s gaze was drawn to his broad shoulders and the faint movement of muscle beneath the finely woven fabric of his dark gray shirt. A leather bolo tie fashioned with a silver accent set with coral stones was pushed tight against his throat, while matching cuff links fastened the cuffs at his wrist. He looked dark and dangerous and oh so handsome.
“That’s because I don’t visit the big house that often. Rafe twisted my arm to get me here tonight.”
Marcella’s mind began to spin. No way would Lilly and Ava go to this much trouble to throw her and Denver together at the same dinner table. Or would they? For the Calhouns, this gathering was little more than a regular family dinner.
“Oh.