The Christmas Cradle. Linda Warren

fast. This is no time to be breaking a horse.”

      “Getting soft?” Colter teased, but he knew he was about to do a stupid thing. It wouldn’t be the first time, he told himself, but if he could obliterate Marisa’s memory for those few minutes, it would be worth it.

      COLTER HAD A RURAL ADDRESS, but it was easy to find. A couple of miles down the country road she came to a large brick entrance with a huge overhead sign in wrought-iron letters that read Circle K Ranch. She drove over the cattle guard onto a gravel road that led to a house.

      Her eyes opened wide in appreciation of the scene that met her. The land was flat and a two-story brick colonial house nestled among huge oaks. Now bare, the trees stood proudly against the chilling wind, enhancing the beauty of the house with its white pillars and mullioned windows. Beyond the detached four-car garage were various barns, outbuildings and corrals, all neatly maintained. She couldn’t help thinking that even her mother would be impressed.

      Parking on the circular drive, she took a steadying breath, then ran up the paved walk to the front door. The wind bit through her clothes; it had definitely grown colder. She pulled her cashmere coat tighter around her and rang the doorbell.

      There was no answer, so she rang it again. Still no answer. She felt a deep sense of disappointment. It’d been difficult to make the trip at all, and now that she was here, she hated to leave without seeing him. But it seemed she had no choice. It was after four, anyway, and she needed to return to Dallas for the dinner party her father had planned.

      As she left the circular drive, a movement from one of the corrals caught her eye. A small child sat perched atop a fence, and Marisa drove in that direction. She stopped some distance away, got out and ran over, hoping she might find Colter.

      The child, huddled in a winter coat with the hood pulled over her head, was too engrossed in what was going on inside the corral to notice Marisa. Following the child’s gaze, she caught her breath at the sight of Colter astride a big red stallion.

      The horse jumped and twisted, determined to dislodge his rider. Bending his head close to the ground, the horse struck out with his back legs, to no avail.

      Marisa walked closer so she could see better. Too late, she realized her mistake. The child turned to look at her at the same time Colter did. As his concentration was diverted, the horse gave a wild kick that sent him flying against the fence.

      Stunned, Marisa watched the horse run wild, his hooves threatening to trample Colter’s inert body lying in the dirt. Without thinking, she hitched her skirt high and climbed over the fence. Someone yelled, “Stay back! Stay back!” but she didn’t stop until she heard the sound of hooves close by.

      She saw a man waving a rope above his head, trying to guide the horse into another pen. She felt a wave of panic as she realized she was in the corral with a wild horse. All those years ago, she’d been afraid of horses, that hadn’t changed. She held her breath as the horse thundered past her through a gate.

      Her high heels hindered her progress over the loose dirt but nothing deterred her as she hurried to Colter’s side. When she reached him, the child called Ellie was already there, holding Colter’s head, crying, “Daddy, wake up! Please wake up.”

      Marisa squatted beside them, her hand gently brushing the brown hair from his face. He was completely motionless, and her whole body felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

      Ellie glanced up at Marisa, tears streaming down her face. “Is my daddy dead?”

      “No, no,” Marisa insisted, staring into green eyes so much like Colter’s. She quickly looked back at Colter, feeling the cold hand of fear grip her heart as she stared at his eyelashes, so dark against the pallor of his skin. His broad chest moved slightly, and she sucked in a breath of frosty air.

      Her eyes traveled down to his legs. “Oh, my God,” she said. Something on the fence had ripped his jeans and blood was soaking through the denim.

      The man came running over. “Is Colter okay?”

      “He’s cut his leg. Would you get me a clean cloth to stop the bleeding?” she asked him.

      The man hesitated for a second, then walked off to the double doors that opened into the barn and came back with a small towel. She pulled the jeans away and saw a gash about three inches long. It wasn’t deep. That was good, anyway. She pressed the towel against the wound and gave a sigh of relief as the bleeding slowed.

      Colter’s eyelids fluttered open.

      “Daddy, Daddy,” Ellie cried, kissing his face.

      “Oooh,” he groaned, his eyes blinking. “What happened?”

      “That mean old horse threw you,” Ellie told him.

      “Damn.” He sat up, and as his hand went to his head, his eyes caught hers. “What are—?”

      “You cut your leg on the fence,” she broke in.

      Colter’s dazed eyes focused on her.

      “Please leave,” he muttered in a thick voice.

      “Colter, you’re hurt and…” Her voice trailed away as he struggled to his feet.

      Marisa and Tulley immediately tried to help him.

      Colter shook off Marisa’s arm.

      “Who are you?” Ellie asked, staring at her.

      “Uh—I’m Marisa Preston, a friend of your dad’s. I knew him a long time ago.” Silence followed.

      “Lots of people know my daddy,” Ellie declared a moment later. “He’s a famous rodeo rider.”

      The two men walked slowly to the house, Ellie and a grayish brown dog running ahead. There was no invitation for Marisa to come in, but she hesitated only a fraction of a second before trailing after them. She had to talk to Colter.

      As they walked to a covered walkway, a light sleet began to fall and the cold wind tugged at their clothes. Shivering, she followed the others through the door and down a hallway—there was a laundry room to the right and a closet on the left. They entered a spacious breakfast nook and a kitchen decorated in a lovely country style. Touches of cobalt-blue and white milk glass were here and there, and the white-and-blue tiled floor only added to the feeling of warmth.

      Marisa looked around for Shannon but didn’t see her. It suddenly dawned on her that this was inappropriate. She shouldn’t be here interrupting his family life. She should have called and arranged a meeting—that would’ve been the proper thing to do. Since confronting him in the store, though, she hadn’t been thinking too clearly.

      “Ellie, turn up the heat. It’s getting cold,” Colter said, and slumped into a chair.

      Ellie disappeared, and the man knelt in front of Colter with a first-aid kit and began to clean the jagged cut.

      “Can I help?” she asked.

      “I’ve been fixing his cuts, bruises and broken bones for more years than I care to remember,” the man replied. “So, no, I don’t need any help.”

      That voice finally jogged her memory. “I’m sorry, Tulley, I didn’t recognize you.”

      Tulley slit Colter’s jeans slightly to bandage the cut, then rose and faced her. “It’s been a long time, Marisa, and under the circumstances I think it’d be best if you left.”

      Marisa bit her lip for fear it would start to quiver. This man had been kind to her once, but now kindness was not extended. She should leave; she’d already acknowledged that, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself go. The urge to talk to Colter was still strong, overriding good manners and common sense, and it kept her rooted to the spot.

      “Daddy, what’s all that noise?” Ellie asked, running into the kitchen.

      The adults had been so involved with one another that they hadn’t noticed it was sleeting in earnest