The More Mavericks, The Merrier!. Brenda Harlen

Fallon agreed, because apparently she was enough of a masochist to play matchmaker for the man she’d been crushing on for more than a decade. Or maybe she was finally ready to face the truth and acknowledge that, if Jamie was ever going to show any interest in her, he would have done so years earlier. But aside from one single, solitary kiss the summer between his first and second years of college, their relationship had never been anything but platonic.

      Henry crawled into Fallon’s lap, stuffed his thumb in his mouth and dropped his head against her breast. “I think someone’s trying to tell me that he’s tired.”

      “Already?” Bella glanced at her watch. “I guess we’ve been gabbing longer than I realized.”

      Fallon nodded toward Jared, who had fallen asleep with his cheek on the carpet and a car in his hand. Only Katie was still upright, although Fallon could tell by the little girl’s flagging movements that she wouldn’t object to being put down for a nap.

      Bella helped her get the babies changed and settled into their individual cribs before she headed off to work with a reminder to Fallon about their upcoming trip to the bridal salon.

      She was genuinely happy for her best friend, and maybe feeling just a little sorry for herself, because she had no imminent plans for a wedding or a family of her own. But she would put a smile on her face, stand up beside the bride, continue to lavish Henry, Jared and Katie with attention and affection and, most important, pretend that she wasn’t seriously infatuated with their father.

      * * *

      Jamie had more than enough work to keep him busy throughout the morning and most of the afternoon. After he checked on the mare and fed the heifers, he worked on fixing the fence on the north border that was in desperate need of repair. Though he couldn’t say for certain, the look of the damage—combined with some talk he’d heard in town about Craig Garrison needing parts to fix his ATV—suggested to Jamie that his neighbor’s idiot son had run into the fence while he was out joyriding, probably in the middle of the snowstorm a couple of weeks earlier.

      He immediately felt guilty for the thought. Craig wasn’t really an idiot; he was just a teenager. The spoiled youngest son of a successful rancher who didn’t care that Jamie was struggling to keep on top of countless daily tasks without additional fence repairs added to the mix.

      He’d bought the Circle K ranch from the bank when Dierk and Gretchen Krueger opted to walk away after the floods decimated their land three years earlier. They’d worked the ranch for almost forty years with the intention of passing it on to their own children someday. But none of their children was interested in the property—especially not after the floods—so they’d opted to sell and move to a more temperate climate for their golden years.

      Jamie had been fresh out of school and eager to put down his own roots in Rust Creek Falls independent of the grandparents who had let him and Bella live with them in town but never showed them an ounce of affection. He was also familiar with the Circle K because he’d worked as a ranch hand for Dierk in the summers during high school. The old man had taught him a lot about ranch management, and though Jamie had felt uncomfortable taking advantage of his misfortune, Dierk assured him that he’d be happy knowing the ranch was in the hands of someone who cared about the land and wouldn’t turn it into some kind of tourist attraction for the Hollywood types who had been flocking to Montana in recent years to pretend to be cowboys.

      So Jamie had scraped together enough money for the down payment, financed the rest of the purchase and taken what was left of the Kruegers’ herd on a consignment basis. He renamed the property The Short Hills Ranch in recognition of its topography, then he’d refurbished the house and moved in with his new bride.

      He’d been happy then—and so full of hope for the future. Now he was just trying to get by, one day at a time.

      That was the problem with physical work—it left his mind free to wander without direction. Usually he appreciated the mundane tasks that he could perform without thinking, but today, Fallon’s desire to cut down a tree suddenly had him thinking of Christmases past.

      He had fond memories of holidays with his family during the first fifteen years of his life, before his parents had been killed in a car wreck. Hiking out into the woods to find the perfect tree, arguing over who got to cut it down—and then who had to lug it back to the house.

      While his father set up the tree, his mother would make hot chocolate, rich and creamy, and float little marshmallows on top. When the chocolate had been drunk, they’d work together to decorate the towering evergreen. Lights. Garland. Ornaments. And then, finally, the serious countdown toward Christmas would begin.

      With seven kids in the family, there was always a pile of presents under the tree. Never anything too expensive or impractical, of course, but there was always something that was needed—like an extra pair of long johns or a new razor—and something that was wanted—a coveted toy or favorite treat. And his mother always knitted a new sweater for each of her seven children.

      The first Christmas after his parents were gone had been starkly different for Jamie and all of his siblings. Agnes and Matthew Baldwin—their maternal grandparents—were their only living relatives, and they had not been pleased by the prospect of taking in seven grandchildren.

      Luke, Daniel and Bailey made it easy on them—opting to leave Rust Creek Falls to make their own way in the world. Because the three eldest siblings were all of legal age, their grandparents couldn’t stop them. But Jamie knew that they didn’t even try, that they were relieved by this immediate lessening of their responsibilities.

      And still, four kids were a lot for the older couple to take in, especially when they lived in a modestly sized house in the center of town. Without any consultation—or even any warning, Agnes and Matthew had signed the two youngest siblings over to the local child welfare authorities to be adopted. Jamie remembered saying goodbye to Dana and Liza before he left for school early one morning, and when he returned home that afternoon, they were gone.

      Only Jamie and Bella—too young to be independent like their brothers and too old to be considered adoptable like their sisters—were left. Was it any wonder that he and Bella had adopted a “you and me against the world” mentality? Or that they’d never felt close to the grandparents who had reluctantly taken them in?

      Their first holiday with the grandparents had been an eye-opener. Agnes and Matthew hadn’t bothered with a real tree for years and didn’t see any reason to change their tradition of putting out a ceramic tree on the coffee table. There were a few other decorations scattered around the house and a holly wreath on the exterior door.

      He’d thought that was quite possibly the worst Christmas ever. He’d been wrong.

      He scrubbed a gloved hand over his face as the cold wind swirled around him, making his eyes water, and forced his attention back to the fence.

      A sound came from somewhere in the distance—something that sounded like a dog barking.

      He didn’t have a dog. He’d always planned to get one, but when he’d suggested to Paula that they make a trip to the nearest shelter to pick one out, she’d balked. If they were going to bring an animal into the house, she didn’t want it to be what she called a flea-infested mongrel. And maybe that should have been one of his first clues that their differences were greater than their similarities, but he’d ignored the concerns, so certain that they could make their marriage work.

      He heard the bark again—far in the distance. Near the end of the summer, he’d noticed a dog skirting the edges of the property. A once-beautiful golden retriever now with matted fur and distrustful eyes. He didn’t know if she’d been abused or abandoned, but she hadn’t let him coax her to come near. After a few weeks, he noticed that she hadn’t ventured too far away, either.

      So he’d put a couple of stainless-steel bowls outside of the barn, ensuring one was always filled with fresh water and the other with kibble he’d picked up when he was at the feed store. And he’d hammered together some spare boards into a makeshift shelter that he’d set out on the north side of the property,