The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride. Jill Kemerer

      He shook his head. Him protecting her? What a laugh. She didn’t need someone like him.

      She stepped forward and wobbled.

      “Have you eaten lately?” He moved closer, ready to catch her if she fainted.

      “What?” She blinked, shaking her head, and swayed. He reached for her, steadied her.

      “Come on, I’ll take you back. You need some food.”

      “I’m fine.” Her protest sounded weak. “I had some toast a little bit ago.”

      “It’s five thirty. You need a meal.” He kept a loose hold on her arm and led her to the door. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had dropped. “Zip up. You don’t want to catch cold.”

      To his relief, she didn’t argue. She zipped her coat and fell in beside him. When they reached the house, he followed her inside. A napkin with a half-eaten piece of toast lay on the end table. Probably the only food she’d eaten today.

      “Sit on the couch, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

      “I couldn’t ask you—”

      “I’m not driving back to Cheyenne on an empty stomach. I’ll make some supper and get out of here.”

      She sat on the couch, looking lost. “Okay.”

      He opened her fridge and pantry. Chicken broth, noodles, frozen carrots. “Are you saving the chicken in the freezer for anything?”

      “There’s chicken in the freezer?”

      He chuckled under his breath. “I’m using it.”

      After opening cupboards and drawers, he had a good idea of where everything was stored. He chopped an onion, defrosted and diced the chicken, and heated oil in a frying pan. He filled a large pot with the chicken stock and set it on the stove to boil.

      Lexi crept up and sat on one of the bar stools opposite him. “What are you making?”

      “Chicken noodle soup.”

      “Really, you can cook?”

      He nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be here, in her house, going through her kitchen. It was too intimate.

      She wiped her fingers across her forehead. “I never really learned.” Her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” She hurried to stand by the patio door as she answered the phone.

      After stirring the chicken frying in the pan, he tracked her moves. Voice bright and confident, hand reaching for the pen and paper on the coffee table. Phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she scribbled something. When the call ended, she seemed to deflate, and he quickly turned away.

      “I forgot to mention I’ll be out of town next Thursday through Sunday. It’s the final wedding I’m in charge of for the year. My other planners are organizing the rest.”

      “Okay.” He slid the cooked chicken into the boiling pot along with the noodles, onions and carrots. A pinch of salt and pepper, and he dialed the burner down to simmer for a while. “If you don’t cook, what do you do for meals?”

      “Well, in Denver, I order a lot of takeout. I’m usually working late, anyhow.”

      “But you’re here. And there’s no takeout.”

      “I manage.”

      Not very well, from the looks of it. He doubted she’d eaten more than a bowl of cereal all week. “Why don’t you eat with the rest of the crew?”

      She grimaced, shaking her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable, and neither would they.”

      She had a point there. “You mentioned a cook—Sarah, right? She would probably fix you a plate.”

      Lexi shrugged, a wistful expression in her eyes. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      He could tell she had no intention of asking Sarah for a meal. He’d stop over at the manager’s house soon and have a quick chat with Logan and his wife. One of the hands could pick up a meal from them to drop off at the main house each night. Whether Lexi ate it or not wasn’t his concern.

      Her phone rang again. She smiled an apology and answered it, walking away. He couldn’t imagine a job with constant phone calls. He stirred the soup, decided it was ready, and ladled out a bowl for her. She was sitting in a chair, saying something about bouquets and cost overages. He’d done his duty. Made her food. She wouldn’t even notice if he left without eating. Sharing a meal with her seemed a little too cozy at this point.

      But as he sneaked out to his truck, his mind kept returning to her and the bowl of soup he’d left. He didn’t want her fainting. Didn’t like that her clothes were hanging from her.

      She’s not my problem.

      He’d been hired to manage the ranch, not the ranch owner. Sure, she was alone and grieving and not taking proper care of herself, but fixing it wasn’t within his realm.

      As he drove past the paddocks, he barely noticed the property that had so mesmerized him earlier. He’d better get his focus back on the cattle and the land where it belonged. He’d finally gotten the nerve to try working on a ranch again. He couldn’t make another mistake and ruin this, too.

       Chapter Two

      Visions of weddings and twinkle lights and Clint filled Lexi’s head. Well, not all three together. She sprayed glass cleaner on the new desk she’d installed in the front den. Clint was only on her mind because he was on his way over for their first official ranch meeting. She hoped it wouldn’t be awkward. The weddings and twinkle lights were remnants from the weekend, when she’d organized her final wedding of the year.

      Two weeks had passed since she’d hired Clint, and she hadn’t seen him much, except in passing. They’d nod and exchange pleasantries before going their separate ways. Strictly business.

      Strictly business was good. She could pour her energy into weddings, where it belonged. Except she kept thinking back to the night she’d hired him. He’d cooked her soup. Soup! And it had been the best chicken noodle soup she’d ever tasted. She’d indulged in two bowls that night. She’d slept well, too, which was saying something, considering her sleep had been spotty and elusive for a long time.

      After wiping the desk clean, she straightened the shelves and displayed the latest bridal magazines she’d brought back with her from Denver. She moved the floor lamp to the corner and studied it before picking it up once more.

      “Can I help you with that?” Clint stood in the doorway. He wore a plaid navy-and-white Western shirt with jeans and boots, and a file was tucked under his arm.

      “No, just finishing up.” She plastered on her brightest smile. “Come in. Sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

      “No, thanks.”

      “Well, have a seat.” She sat in the swivel chair behind the desk and fired up her laptop. “How is your house? Are you settling in okay?”

      “It’s fine.”

      Didn’t exactly answer her question, but she wasn’t surprised. Something told her their weekly meetings weren’t going to be as conversational as the ones she led in Denver. She was used to chatting about the latest trends in weddings in her chic conference room with her team of creative professionals. Talking about the ranch with Clint would most likely be brief and to the point.

      Clint was currently eyeing her new office. She almost laughed at the frightened look on his face when his gaze landed on her vision board. Swatches of silks, photos of various flowers and motivational quotes in gold calligraphy adorned it.

      She took pity on him and clicked through to the checklist she’d created. “Before we get started,