Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,133

to hear, Ted. I can’t wait to meet her again. I have to go walk my dogs now. Let me know exactly when you think you might be coming, and I’ll clear my calendar. Love you, Mom. x.

Love you, too.

Ted stared down at the exchange, trying to read nuance into his mother’s words and failing. Maybe they’d finally get around to having that all-important conversation when he visited, or maybe he’d just let it go and forgive her. He was older and wiser now, and, he hoped, more willing to listen, understand, and accept her view of what had happened, even though it might still hurt him.

Bacon let out a snore, and Ted laid him gently back in his bed, checked that he had water and food, and let himself out into the hallway. He paused in his doorway to appreciate the sight of Veronica sleeping soundly in his bed. He wasn’t falling in love with her—he was one hundred percent fallen, and he didn’t regret that.

If things stayed like this, he’d no longer be the one dreading Christmas—he’d be celebrating it as the time when all his dreams came true....

Christmas Peanut Clusters for Ted

(You’ll need a 4-quart slow cooker for this recipe.)

Ingredients:

2 lbs white almond bark, broken or chopped up

12 oz bag semi-sweet chocolate chips

4 oz bar German chocolate, chopped

32 oz dry roasted or cocktail peanuts

Christmas sprinkles

Method:

1. Spray slow cooker lightly with oil; add almond bark and both kinds of chocolate. Place a clean, dry kitchen towel over the top of the cooker, place lid on top.

2. Cook on high for one hour, reduce heat to low, and cook for one more hour, stirring every 15 minutes until everything is melted.

3. Carefully remove lid and towel and add peanuts. Stir well.

4. Line baking sheets with waxed/parchment paper. Drop candy mix by spoonful onto sheets and add Christmas sprinkles before it sets.

5. Refrigerate for an hour, then store in an airtight container for a week, or freeze.

Makes 20+ servings.

Please turn the page for an exciting peek at:

THE SNOW MAN

by

Diana Palmer

Available at bookstores and e-retailers

Meadow Dawson just stared at the slim, older cowboy who was standing on her front porch with his hat held against his chest. His name was Ted. He was her father’s ranch foreman. And he was speaking Greek, she decided, or perhaps some form of archaic language that she couldn’t understand.

“The culls,” he persisted. “Mr. Jake wanted us to go ahead and ship them out to that rancher we bought the replacement heifers from.”

She blinked. She knew three stances that she could use to shoot a .40 caliber Glock from. She was experienced in interrogation techniques. She’d once participated in a drug raid with other agents from the St. Louis, Missouri, office where she’d been stationed during her brief tenure with the FBI as a special agent.

Sadly, none of those experiences had taught her what a cull was, or what to do with it. She pushed back her long, golden blond hair, and her pale green eyes narrowed on his elderly face.

She blinked. “Are culls some form of wildlife?” she asked blankly.

The cowboy doubled up laughing.

She grimaced. Her father and mother had divorced when she was six. She’d gone to live with her mother in Greenwood, Mississippi, while her father stayed here on this enormous Colorado ranch, just outside Raven Springs. Later, she’d spent some holidays with her dad, but only after she was in her senior year of high school and she could out-argue her bitter mother, who hated her ex-husband. What she remembered about cattle was that they were loud and dusty. She really hadn’t paid much attention to the cattle on the ranch or her father’s infrequent references to ranching problems. She hadn’t been there often enough to learn the ropes.

“I worked for the FBI,” she said with faint belligerence. “I don’t know anything about cattle.”

He straightened up. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, still fighting laughter. “Culls are cows that didn’t drop calves this spring. Nonproductive cattle are removed from the herd, or culled. We sell them either as beef or surrogate mothers for purebred cattle.”

She nodded and tried to look intelligent. “I see.” She hesitated. “So we’re punishing poor female cattle for not being able to have calves repeatedly over a period of years.”

The cowboy’s face hardened. “Ma’am, can I give you some friendly advice about ranch management?”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“I think you’d be doing yourself a favor if you sold this ranch,” he said bluntly. “It’s hard to make a living at ranching, even