Christmas on the Ranch by Arlene James

Author:Arlene James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

“This is nice of you, Brett.” Elizabeth’s hazel eyes glinted gold flecks in the afternoon sun. “Snowflake isn’t the easiest place to fit in.”

“You fit in at church,” he said without thinking.

“I’ve never seen you there.” She studied him curiously.

“Dad and I usually sit in the back row.”

“You should bring him to The Roaster.” Doc’s furrowed forehead said she was rethinking this...date?

Uninvolved, remember?

“Dad wouldn’t come,” Brett said. “Zoey, how’re you doin’?”

“Are we there yet?” That age-old question of kids in a vehicle made Brett chortle.

“Yes.” He pulled onto the grassy verge of the street, wondering how to phrase his next comment. “Uh, Doc, this park isn’t paved and your shoes...”

“I always wear heels.” She glanced at her four-inch spikes. “I need the height.”

He let it go. He wasn’t going to tell classy Elizabeth, with her fashion-model hair and cover-girl makeup, her probably-cashmere jacket with the handmade angora scarf, her tailored jeans and those fascinating shoes, that she didn’t need anything.

But when she alighted, only to falter over a hole in the grass, Brett held out his arm. And she took it! Funny how the sun felt warmer.

“What’s first?” Zoey gaped at the chaos.

“Coffee.” Elizabeth grinned. “And a doughnut?”

Brett couldn’t help returning her smile. Keep your distance was easier said than done.

“Coffee and doughnuts coming up. Hot chocolate for Zoey?” He grinned when the little girl’s eager nod set her curls waggling. So cute. Stupid father.

“I want this recipe.” Elizabeth licked doughnut glaze from her fingertips.

“Good luck.” Brett snickered at her puckered brow. “Bessie Flett started selling doughnuts at The Roaster over seventy years ago. Her progeny now consider making Christmas Roaster doughnuts their civic duty. Her recipe is top-secret.”

“Local unspoken rules again.” Elizabeth’s expression softened as Zoey accepted a bright green balloon with glittery snowflakes on it from a six-foot snowflake. “Snowflake’s a great place for families.”

“Yep.” He liked that she didn’t fuss about the breeze messing her hair. “You’d find it easier to fit in if you directed the kids’ choir.”

“Mabel already hinted that.” Elizabeth’s tone was droll.

“And?” Brett asked hopefully.

“I’d make a mess of it.” She lost the sparkle in her eyes.

“We don’t need a qualified choral director, Doc. It’s just kids singing.” He could look at her all day and not tire.

“Is that the fudge booth?” She pointed to a shanty hauled onto the grounds.

“Yes. The—um, elves—” Brett grimaced “—cook the ingredients in that copper kettle. When it’s ready, they pour it on the marble slab to work. Wanna watch?”

“Elves?” Her impish grin mocked him in the nicest way. “Tradition time, Zoey.” She stepped forward, caught her heel and grabbed his hand.

While Brett squeezed her fingers, a feeling bloomed inside that had nothing to do with the temperature or her firm grip. Though indefinable, whatever that feeling was, he liked it.

“This town is quite amazing.” She forgot to release his hand as she gazed around.

Brett didn’t mind, content to hold it and watch her as she studied the fudge-making Fletts in their red pointy hats and green jackets stirring the bubbling mixture in the pot.

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