The Cowboy's Christmas Bride. Patricia Johns

had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. And Andy had been Dwight’s best friend—it said something about the kind of man Andy was, in her estimation. Birds of a feather and all that.

      “So your eggs tasted funny, did they?” she asked, casting him a wry smile.

      Andy shook his head. “You know, in a place this small you get to know everybody, but you also get to tick everybody off in one fell swoop, too.”

      “So why come back?” she countered. “I’ve heard that you’re set up pretty well in Billings, and while I get helping out your brother, Elliot could have led this drive easily enough.”

      In fact, she’d heard that Andy was rich, if she had to be entirely honest. Apparently he was making money hand over fist in the city, which was one more reason for people around here to resent him. It was easier to feel sorry for a guy who ended up down on his luck after pulling a stunt like that, but to have him actually prosper...

      “I am set up pretty well.” His tone became more guarded and he looked away for a moment. “Let’s just say that some sentimental nonsense got the better of me.”

      “Is that code for a woman?” she asked dryly. With Andy it usually came down to a woman.

      “No.” He barked out a laugh. “Is that what you think of me, that I’m some kind of womanizer?”

      Dakota shrugged. She couldn’t see any reason to lie. He had to know his own reputation. “Yes.”

      He eyed her for a moment as if not sure how to take her frankness, then he shrugged.

      “Well, this particular sentimental nonsense has nothing to do with a woman. This is about my dad, rest his soul, and my brother. I guess I missed...them. This. Fitting in. Like I said, nonsense. There is no turning back that clock.”

      She didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t exactly denied being a womanizer, but she did feel a little pang of pity at the mention of his father. Mr. Granger had died about four years earlier in a tractor accident. The whole town had showed up for the funeral. Even the truck stop closed down for a couple of hours so that everyone could attend; that’s how loved Andy’s father had been. She inwardly grimaced.

      “I didn’t send the horses out to pasture today,” Andy went on, saving her from finding an appropriate reply.

      He led the way around the side of the newly painted barn toward the corral. As they stepped into its shadow, the December day felt distinctly colder. This winter would make up for lost time; there was no doubt about it.

      Andy glanced over his shoulder and his green eyes met hers. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

      Her pulse sped up at the directness of that look and the very fact that he was working his blasted Granger charm on her was irritating.

      “This isn’t for you, Granger. It’s for Chet.”

      She wasn’t falling for any of Andy’s charms, but she could certainly understand why some women did. He was tall, muscular, with rugged good looks and scruff on his face that suggested he’d missed a couple of days of shaving. But Andy also represented something that hit her a little closer to home—the kind of guy who could walk away without too much trouble. Her brother had fallen for the female version of Andy Granger in the form of Nina Harpe, and she wasn’t about to repeat Brody’s mistakes. She had a lot of reasons to be wary of Andy Granger.

      The corral was attached to the back of the barn, bathed in midmorning sunlight. At this time of year the sunlight was watery, but the air was surprisingly warm—about four or five degrees above freezing. Beyond the corral was a dirt road that lead toward different enclosed pastures, rolling hills of rich, golden cinnamon grass glowing in late autumn splendor. And beyond the fields were the mountains, rising in jagged peaks, hemming them in like majestic guards.

      Several horses perked up at the sight of them, ears twitching in interest. Andy reached into a white bucket that sat in the shade and pulled out a fistful of carrots. He rolled them over in his hands, rubbing off the last of the dirt, and headed for the fence. Two of the horses came right over when Andy walked up—a dun stallion named Romeo and a piebald mare. Chet’s horse, a chestnut gelding named Barney, stood resolutely on the far side of the coral, ignoring them.

      “Have you ridden any of them yet?” Dakota asked, stopping at Andy’s side. He held a carrot out to the mare.

      “I’ve ridden Romeo, here,” he said, reaching out to pet the stallion’s nose. Romeo leaned closer, nosing for a carrot, and Andy obliged.

      “How about Barney?” she asked, nodding toward the gelding that was inching closer around the side of the corral, wanting his own share of the treats.

      “He bit me,” Andy retorted.

      Dakota choked back a laugh. “Not sweet old Barney.”

      “Sweet?” Andy shook his head. “That horse hates me. Every chance he gets, he gives me a nip. I just about lost the top of my ear last time.”

      “Okay, well, not Barney, then,” she replied with a shake of her head. In fact, if Andy wasn’t going to ride Barney, she was inclined to take him herself. He was an experienced horse for this ride, a sweetheart deep down...if you weren’t Andy, apparently.

      “So what do you think?” he asked.

      She paused for a moment, considering.

      “Romeo, here, is young and strong. He’s a runner. He’ll go and go, so he’ll definitely have the energy for a cattle drive. But he doesn’t have the experience.”

      “I like him, though,” Andy said. Romeo crunched another carrot, his jaw grinding in slow, satisfied circles. “He wasn’t Chet’s first choice, either.”

      “Which horse did Chet recommend?” she asked.

      “Patty,” he said, nodding to the piebald mare. “But what do you think?”

      Dakota looked over the horses. “I’d have said Barney, but if he really hates you that much—”

      “And he does,” Andy replied in a low laugh.

      “Patty is a good horse. She’d do well.” She paused, watching the way Romeo stretched toward Andy for another carrot. “But you seem to have a good bond with Romeo. I don’t know. I’d say it’s between Patty and Romeo. Patty would be my first choice. I think Romeo’s a risk.”

      Andy nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He gave the last carrot to Patty and showed Romeo his empty hands. “Sorry, buddy. All out.”

      Andy pushed himself off the fence and Dakota followed him as he headed back the way they’d come. Sunlight warmed her shoulders and the top of her head. She glanced around the yard as they walked, inhaling the comforting scent of hay and autumn chill.

      “So?” she prodded.

      “When have I ever been one to take good advice?” he asked with a grin. “I’m taking Romeo. If I’m going to ride for four days, I’d rather have it be with a horse that wants to move.”

      Somehow this didn’t surprise her in the least, and not in a pleasant way. Andy Granger had always made his own rules. “Fair enough.”

      “What?” He cast her a quizzical look.

      “Did you really want my advice, or just a vote for what you already wanted to do?”

      “Hey.” His tone grew deeper and his eyes met hers. “I might not be the rancher of the family, but I’m not exactly a lost kitten, either. I can ride.”

      Dakota dropped her gaze, her cheeks warming. Andy had an effective stare.

      “I grew up here, too, you know,” he added. His stride was long and she had to pick up her pace to keep up with him.

      He may have grown up in Hope, but she knew he’d never taken ranching very seriously.

      “You clowned around,”