The Rancher's Mistletoe Bride. Jill Kemerer

him with the eyes of a red-tailed hawk. Teachers referred to him as that Romine kid. Employers gave him the lowliest jobs before giving him the benefit of the doubt.

      Trust had to be earned.

      And Lexi was right not to trust him. He hadn’t told her about losing his land. But if he had, would she have hired him? Doubtful. And anyhow, he was doing everything in his power to manage Rock Step Ranch wisely.

      They approached the fence line.

      “I haven’t been to this pasture in a few years.” Her voice was muffled, and he strained to hear her. She faced him then, her light brown eyes wide and watery. Was the wind ripping the moisture from them, or was she about to cry?

      He stilled. This was his boss, and he didn’t have much experience around tears.

      She turned Nugget to the east. Ridges and gullies of windblown grass and sage surrounded them.

      “Daddy and I used to ride out to check fences before I got so caught up in high school activities. I must have been eleven or twelve when we came out here on a day like this. Cold. But it hadn’t snowed yet. I’d missed a sleepover party at my friend’s house, so I was sulking. But coming out here with Daddy made my troubles disappear.”

      Clint hung on every word. He almost wanted to raise his hand, to tell her to stop, to not say anything more, because sharing memories, no matter how small, would bind them. Even if he didn’t reply, he’d get more invested in Lexi as a person than he already was.

      And he needed her to be Lexi, the nice lady he worked for, not Lexi, the woman he could care about.

      She swept her arm across the land. “He noticed everything. An elk off in the distance, the remains of a snake near the fence where a hawk had made its meal. I remember thinking there was nothing better in the world than being out here with him. Daddy was smarter and kinder than anyone I knew. And we could just be quiet, be ourselves. You know what I mean?”

      Clint did. It was how he felt about his best friends, three other foster kids from his days at Yearling Group Home. When he got together with Marshall, Wade and Nash, he didn’t have to force a conversation. He could just be himself.

      She lifted her face to the sky. “Every time we’d end a ride, I’d give him the biggest hug and say, ‘I love you, Daddy.’ And he would always tug on my braid or ponytail and reply, ‘You, too, kiddo.’”

      Clint’s heart was doing funny things. He’d never experienced what she described, but it moved him just the same.

      “I would do about anything to be able to give him another hug and say those words again,” she said softly.

      Clint moved his horse closer to her and reached over to take her hand. Her suede gloves didn’t dull the connection, and she stared at him, a tear dropping from her eye. Without thinking, he swung off his horse and held his hands out to help her down. When she’d dismounted, he drew her close, sliding a clean handkerchief out of his pocket to give her. Her slender frame shook with tears, but she didn’t wind her arms around him. She simply let him pat her back and murmur comfort.

      How long they stood like that, Clint had no idea—could have been a minute or an hour—but at some point, Lexi wiped her eyes free of tears and blew her nose into the handkerchief.

      “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I have to get back.” She set her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. “I won’t keep you. You stay and check the fence.”

      He watched her urge Nugget into motion. Off to spend the rest of the day answering calls and doing whatever wedding planners did. And from what he could tell, she’d been doing it nonstop since she’d hired him. Which left no time for grieving...

      It hit him then. No wonder she was as thin as a piece of licorice. She hadn’t grieved her father’s death.

      There was no one here to look after her. No clients to meet with. No friends to force her to eat lunch. No father to ensure she lived in a safe, well-maintained house.

      Nobody but him.

      He slapped his thigh and mounted his horse. Miles of checking fence wouldn’t be enough to pretend something hadn’t shifted inside where Lexi Harrington was concerned, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

      * * *

      Lexi pulled her favorite velvety blanket up to her chin and pressed the mute button on the remote. Ever since leaving Clint in the pasture earlier, she’d been unable to work. Tears kept erupting.

      Because everything here, in this house and on the ranch, reminded her of her father.

      Things she hadn’t noticed for weeks—his favorite coffee mug, the faded hand towel with an embroidered cowboy boot she’d bought him for his birthday—unleashed her memories. Two hours ago she’d walked past the master bedroom’s closed door, the one she hadn’t opened since finding out he’d died, and her feet had backtracked until she stood face-to-face with the pine door. Without thought, she’d fallen to her knees, sobbing in front of it.

      It was at that point she’d given up on getting anything done. She’d changed into sweatpants, brewed a pot of tea and flipped through the channels until she found one playing original romantic Christmas movies. They always made her feel better.

      Not today, though.

      Thanksgiving was a week away. She would be celebrating the holidays alone. Oh, she could drive to Denver, join friends with their families, but she wouldn’t. Her heart couldn’t take being surrounded by happy people, people who would want to cheer her up. She was in no state to fake pleasantries while choking on tears as she ate their turkey dinner.

      And she couldn’t believe she’d broken down in front of Clint. The man probably thought she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had lost her mind. What had possessed her to start telling him those personal things?

      Unacceptable on her part. She wasn’t paying Clint to be her therapist. The poor guy. Probably worried she was having a nervous breakdown. She’d apologize. Assure him it wouldn’t happen again.

      Her phone rang.

      Clint.

      Her palms grew moist. Oh, why had she dissolved into a weepy mess in front of him?

      “Hi.” His deep voice calmed her nerves. “One of the herding dogs is missing. Banjo, the older one. I didn’t want to bother you, but I’m concerned and... Have you seen him?”

      Banjo, Daddy’s favorite border collie? “No, I haven’t. Have you tried the barns?”

      “Yeah, I’ll keep looking.” He sounded like he was going to hang up.

      “Wait!” She threw off the blanket, tired of being alone. “I’ll come with you.”

      “It’s not necessary. I know you’re busy—”

      “I’m coming.”

      “Lexi,” he said in his low, soothing tone. It was the first time she’d heard him use her name, and it did something funny to her pulse. “I don’t want to upset you.”

      “Look, I know I was overly emotional earlier, but that’s not me. I don’t cry all the time.”

      “No, that’s not what I mean.” He sighed. “Dogs hide when they’re sick or when it’s their time.”

      His words hit her in the gut. It was true. Dogs were social animals, but when it was their time, they slunk away to die by themselves.

      Not Banjo. Not on top of everything else.

      “I can handle it, Clint.” She couldn’t handle it, but being the boss meant dealing with tough situations.

      Three minutes later, she wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and shivered as Clint handed her a flashlight. Dusk had fallen, and shadows lurked.

      “I’ve checked the stables, the barns, all the obvious places.”