The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,54

the severity, I might be able to do it myself. I had helped the guys fix a fence or two when I was young, back when I thought it was fun.

So, I dressed in my daily riding breeches and boots, my favorite lace-trimmed white blouse tucked in, with a duster jacket and my hair in a side braid. The rain was soft, but picking up, and it whipped at my face as Daisy trotted the perimeter of the Lucky B. No corset to hold me together. My hat down low. This was me. This was comfortable and practical, and if no one liked that, they could kiss things I was too polite to say. There were no ranch hands left to maintain appropriateness around, but the jacket was enough cover. I could almost ride completely naked and no one would know. The ranch might be limping right now, but it wasn’t broken completely. Someone with an eye for business—or just the funds for business—could help me get it all back on track. I knew what to do, from the fences to the breeding to the auctions. I’d done it my whole life. I just needed the money.

I sagged in my saddle as that reality hit me for the fortieth time in the last eight hours.

That horrible party had been my last shot. I was now down not only a week I hadn’t planned to lose, but also all the hope for potential marriage candidates. That had been nauseating enough, knowing that my family’s legacy would be handed legally to a stranger simply by my marrying him. That it would no longer belong to me. Now, it seemed that even that indignity was beyond my reach.

Four—well, now, three days.

Foreclosing with the bank would be my only option.

Save one.

And that thought made me want to vomit.

Especially when I rounded my favorite grove of pecan trees, and saw that option perched atop King, the same big black stallion, dressed like I remembered him in his worn jacket and black hat, and looking every bit as heart-stopping.

I couldn’t think about that, though, as my blood sped up for different reasons.

“What the hell?” I muttered, touching my heels to Daisy’s soft sides.

She picked up her pace on command, but her ears twitched and she whinnied as we approached, as if she remembered King and was happy to see an old friend.

Great.

He turned at the sound, a scowl already darkening his face.

“Excuse me?” I called out as Daisy’s gait slowed. “What are you doing here?”

“How long has it been this bad?” he asked, gesturing with a sweep of one hand.

I didn’t have to look. I knew it all too well. The meager herd, if it could even be called that these days. The stables, once so impressive due to constant maintenance, were in serious need of attention and repair since the Galveston storm, one of them listing slightly. The Southeast Texas sun and deep, salty humidity from the nearby Gulf of Mexico was additionally hard on the wood, and we hadn’t been able to keep up. The fence—my chest tightened as my quick glance told me volumes—was worse than I’d hoped. Still, I might be able to pull it off alone.

I moved a stray lock of wet hair from where it stuck to my face.

“Better question—again—is what are you doing on my property, Mr. Mason?”

He and his horse turned to look at the fence in tandem, as if that explained it.

“That doesn’t give you permission,” I seethed. “I assumed you had better etiquette than the simple ranch hand you pretended to be, although no hand I’ve ever known would breach someone else’s property line.”

His jaw tightened. Good. Maybe he’d leave and I could get back to the business of breathing at full capacity.

“I’ll apologize later,” he growled. “What the hell happened over here? And how long has it been this way?”

“Galveston happened,” I said, stiffening my spine. “No supplies for months on end. Then the disease that damn near wiped out my herd, which no breeder wants to touch and no buyer wants to get anywhere near, regardless of how many years pass. We’re tainted. And what’s that other thing?” I said, exaggerating a tap to my temple. “Oh yes, my father died. So what has you suddenly so interested?”

“Maybe just finding out that my nearest neighbor has been going under for some time and hasn’t said a word to me,” he said.

“Didn’t realize that was required,” I said. “And Mr. Green has a big mouth.