A Rancher for Christmas. Brenda Minton

porch. The land stretching forever in front of her was different than Oklahoma, yet similar. The terrain surrounding the house was flat with small trees; the leaves had turned and were falling. An old barn stood in the field, gray wood against a backdrop of a foggy morning. A short distance away the ground rose in rugged hills, also dotted with trees. She knew there was a lake not far from Martin’s Crossing, and the creek that ran through this property emptied into that lake.

      The sun rose, turning the frosty air to morning fog and touching everything in pinkish-gold. It made her think of faith, of believing in something other than herself. She’d tried, since she was little, to capture that faith.

      Not just the faith, but what came with it. The sense of having purpose, of belonging, of Sunday dinners and laughing families.

      She wanted that life. She wanted a home that would always be hers, with belongings that were hers. Maybe she wouldn’t have to leave. Maybe she could fill this house with pictures and things she collected.

      Her gaze drifted in the direction of the metal barn, a newer structure, part lean-to for cattle and part machine shed for farm equipment. Something was off. She tried to figure out what was different. And then she saw the cattle moving outside an open gate.

      They definitely shouldn’t be out. She would have to do something about the problem.

      She set her cup down and slipped her feet into her slippers As she ran across the yard and then down the dirt track to the barn, she was struck with the realization that she didn’t have a clue what she needed to do once she reached the cattle. Of course she knew she should put them back in the field. But exactly how did a person go about putting up a small herd of cattle?

      As she ran she shouted and waved her arms. The cattle continued to drift, separating into several small groups. They were gigantic black beasts. One eyed her with a glare. She glared back.

      “Back inside that gate, you wooly mammoths.” She waved her arms and ran at the animals.

      For the most part they stood their ground. A few moved out of her way but definitely not toward the gate. Several dropped their heads to graze on winter-brown grass. One took several cautious steps in her direction.

      She paused to watch, hopeful he wasn’t going to charge her but not really positive. Time for a new tactic.

      “Back in the field. If you please, Sir Loin.”

      She shooed him with her hands. He shook his massive head. She started to run at him, slipping a little on the frosty grass.

      “Listen, hamburger, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt when I thought you were a gentleman, now go.” She charged at him, waving her arms.

      He snorted and took a few quick steps away from her before turning back to face her again. It clicked in her city-girl brain that she wasn’t going to win a battle against a one-ton animal. Plus, she had nowhere to run. The small herd of cattle were between her and the barn. The house was a few hundred feet behind her. There were definitely no trees to climb.

      Her legs suddenly grew a little shaky and she started to worry how much it would hurt to be trampled by a bull. He had turned his attention back to her. The other cows were grazing and moving away. Maybe she should have started with them because they definitely looked less aggressive.

      Walk away, slow and easy. It was the same advice she’d given herself on city streets at night when someone walked a little too closely behind her or came out of an alley looking for trouble. Never let them see your fear.

      She started to walk, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to charge. He seemed content to watch. But as she moved toward the barn, she heard him moving. She looked back over her shoulder and he was trotting toward her, his head lowered.

      “No!” She started to run.

      Sharp barks and the sound of a horse’s hooves broke through her fear-fogged brain. She saw the flash as a dog rushed past her, heard his warning barks, and then a horse moved next to her. She looked up, her entire body turning to jello as her heart tried to beat itself out of her chest.

      Jake Martin smiled down at her and then he swung, with casual ease, from the saddle. He landed lightly on the ground, all six-plus-feet of him.

      “Having some troubles, Miss Hernandez?”

      “Oh, no, I just felt like playing with the cattle, Mr. Martin. They seemed lonely. I thought the bull would like to play fetch.”

      “Yes.” He grinned. “Bulls do love to play fetch. I hate to ruin your fun, but what say we put your playmates back in the field and figure out how they got loose.”

      “Good idea.” She peeked around his horse, a red-gold animal that was huge, because a man like Jake Martin needed a huge beast to ride.

      The dog, a heeler, was having a great time circling the cattle and bringing them toward the gate.

      “Why don’t you wait inside the barn?” Jake pointed and she nodded in agreement, her insides settling now that he was there.

      He swung back into the saddle and the horse spun in a tight half circle, going after a few cows that were making for the house and the yard. Breezy watched from the door of the barn, somewhat entranced by the beauty of it. Jake’s horse seemed to obey with the slightest touch of his hands on the reins or his knees on its sides. The dog kept an eye on the cattle and an ear perked toward Jake, waiting for various commands.

      Within minutes the cattle were back in the field and the gate was closed. Jake slid to the ground again and wrapped the reins around a post. The dog plopped down on the ground and proceeded to lick his paws.

      Jake walked toward her, no longer smiling but giving the place a careful look. When he got to her, he peeked inside the barn.

      “Have you been in there?”

      She shook her head. “No. I was sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee when I saw that they were out and this door was open.”

      “The door was open?” His brows came together and his eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been out here at all?”

      “No, of course not.”

      “I’m sorry, I’m not accusing you, just trying to figure things out. Stay out here.”

      “No!”

      He smiled, his features relaxing. “Chicken?”

      “No, of course not. But why would I stay out here if you’re going in there?”

      He pushed the door open a little wider and motioned her inside. “By all means, be my guest.”

      She stepped inside the hazy, dark interior of the barn. Jake was right behind her, his arm brushing hers as he stepped around her. Without a word he headed down the center aisle for the open door at the other end.

      “You haven’t seen anyone? Any cars? Any sounds last night?”

      “Nothing.”

      He slowed as he reached the open door. For the first time she felt a sliver of fear. It shivered up her spine as she stepped close to the wall. Jake eased close to the room and looked inside. And then he stepped through that door, leaving her somewhat alone.

      “Is everything okay?” she whispered.

      He stepped out of the room, shaking his head. “The office is ransacked. I’m not sure what anyone was hoping to find in there. But I’m going to call the police and file a report, just to be on the safe side.”

      So much for her calm, peaceful existence in Martin’s Crossing. Breezy sank with relief onto an overturned bucket and watched as Jake paced a short distance away from her. He spoke quietly on his cell phone, making it impossible to hear him. But she couldn’t help wondering if he suspected her. Why wouldn’t he? She’d showed up in town, the mysterious sister of Lawton Brooks. She was a woman who had lived on the streets. Her resume included panhandling, singing for change and an arrest record—although no charges