Home For Christmas (A Copper Mountain Christmas) (5 page)

She'd been on her way.

Before falling like a soufflé.

She would rise again. All she needed was time to regroup and replenish her savings account. Two things she could accomplish in Montana.

Ty burst into the kitchen, his eyes widening at the site of houses covering the island and counters. "Check out all that gingerbread. I hope you had time to make lunch, kiddo. The others are on their way."

"The stew's on the stove. Salad's in the fridge. Bread's in the oven."

Nate motioned to the island. "Gingerbread for dessert."

"Brownies, too," she said.

Ty nodded. "Told ya my little sis would take good care of us."

Rachel picked up a dishtowel and snapped it at her brother. "I'm not little."

"Shorter, then." With a wide grin, he headed toward the bathroom. "I'm going to wash my hands."

"I'll get the table set," she said.

"I'll help." Nate removed plates and bowls from the cupboard before she got the chance. "A home-cooked meal beats a cold sandwich."

She put on oven mitts. "Is that what you usually eat?"

He took flatware from a drawer. "It's self-serve in the winter when we don't have a kitchen
staff."

Rachel pulled the bread from the oven. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who only knows how to boil water, heat cans of soup or chili, and use a microwave."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

She poured the stew into a large serving bowl. "This kitchen seems like overkill if that's the limit of your culinary skills."

He moved closer to the oven, to her. "I didn't say anything about my cooking abilities." He picked up a ladle then handed it to Rachel. "You did."

"I assumed…"

"Assumptions can be dangerous." A mischievous, sexy grin spread across his face.

Her pulse accelerated. She took a step away from him before she dropped the stew.

"Well, you know your way around the kitchen." She needed to keep her distance. He made her heart go pitter-patter too much for Rachel to think getting close to him would work out well for her. "You must cook."

"Yes, but if I had my choice I'd grill everything on a barbecue." He grabbed napkins. "In the summer, the chef and cooks make sure these fancy appliances don't go to waste."

"And during the off-season?"

"They're used, but not often. Which is why you're welcome to the kitchen while you're in town."

Bowl of stew in hand, she followed Nate into the breakfast room to the right of the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through windows that provided a gorgeous view of a snow-covered pasture with mountains in the background. "You really don't mind?"

He set the long wood table. "Not if we're going to get a hot meal at noon."

She placed the stew on the table. "That's the least I can do."

"You've got a deal."

"You haven't tasted lunch yet."

"I trust Ty's judgment."

She headed back to the kitchen. "My brother thinks I'm the next Julia Child."

Nate followed. "Maybe, but he knows I like to eat. He wouldn't lie to me."

She removed the salad from the fridge. Took a step back. Bumped into Nate. The scent of him, dirt and animals, made her think of kissing and rolling around in a hay bale.

Not with any random stranger.

With him.

The image appealed to her more than it should, especially with his lips so close to hers.

Hot and bothered, Rachel shoved the salad bowl at him. "Put this on the table."

He did.

She sliced the bread, hitting the cutting board with the knife. Better not take her frustrations over Nate out on the loaf of French bread. She grabbed the serving utensils, the plate of brownies, and butter dish. "Looks like we're ready."

Nate carried in a pitcher of milk, one of water, and a carafe of coffee. He surveyed the table. "The boys are going to love this. And you."

"Thanks." She knew better than to date any cowboys. But she could cook for them. "Just so you know, I take menu requests."

Nate pulled out her chair. "How are your oatmeal raisin cookies?"

She sat, liking his manners. "Blue ribbon at the Arizona State Fair."

"How can I say no to award winning cookies?"

She wondered what he would say no to. Or yes…

Strike that.
Rachel placed her napkin on her lap. None of her business. She only hoped Nate realized that her baking was none of his.

CHAPTER THREE

The next day, morning chores were completed and Arrow exercised, but Nate was restless. The biggest item on his To Do list needed attention. He saluted the wranglers in the snow-covered pasture. "See you at lunch."

He hopped on his snowmobile with one thought on his mind—Rachel.

The prospect of Ty moving back to Arizona had made for a sleepless night. When Nate decided to turn the Bar V5 into a working dude ranch, Ty wanted to leave. Instead, they'd worked out an arrangement—a partnership. Nate owned the land. Ty provided the livestock, ones he'd purchased from Nate's father when his dad decided to sell off everything and additional animals Ty purchased himself. Nate handled the finances, and Ty ran the operation. A great team. Nate didn't want to run the place on his own.

Ty was the true cowboy, the one who made guests return year after year. He could match a horse to a skittish guest so well they'd miss each other until next summer. He belonged here as much as, maybe more than, Nate.

Thanks to an early morning call with Carson Scott, a friend and school classmate, Nate's plans on how to get Rachel to stay in Montana were coming together. Carson's Christmas tree farm would be the perfect place to sell gingerbread.

Time to kick off Operation: Hansel & Gretel.

Back in his venture capital days, Nate used code names to make eavesdropping on his conversations at meetings or a trendy lunch spot in Palo Alto a useless endeavor. Silicon Valley was full of corporate spies and people wanting insider knowledge of the next hot IPOs and anticipated product releases. He wasn't worried about that here in Marietta, but if Rachel kept shutting down his offers of help, Nate didn't want her to know what he was doing. Just a hunch, but if Rachel found out he was going to make her gingerbread business soar so she'd stay in Montana, she would probably catch the next flight back to Phoenix and take Ty with her.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

A few minutes later, Nate parked outside the main house. He headed to the mudroom, anticipation building over seeing Rachel and telling her about the tree farm.

Opportunity and possibility.

He would focus on those two things when he spoke with her. Two things that helped him
when he returned to the Bar V5 four years ago. Two things that kept Ty from bailing when this place became a dude ranch. Two things that made the Bar V5 a success today.

Helping Rachel meant Ty would not only remain at the ranch, but Nate would be able to repay his friend for all he'd done for his dad and for him. A win-win-win situation. The best kind.

Movement caught Nate's attention. He stopped. Something was in the meadow behind the house. Deer?

He took a closer look. Glimpsed a flash of red.

Not a deer.

Rachel.

A gray hat covered her hair and ears. She wore a black parka with a red scarf and matching gloves. Her jeans were tucked into snow boots. She was making a snowman, one nearly as tall as her.

He walked closer and glimpsed her profile.

A nice pink tinged her cheek.

He'd thought she was pretty yesterday. Today, out here in the fresh air with a smile on her face, she looked beautiful.

Nate sucked in a breath. The cold air stung. He didn't care, didn't want to take his gaze off her.

Standing in front of the snowman, she pushed two pebbles into the face for eyes then stuck a carrot in the center for a nose. She stepped back, surveying her work.

"Aren't you a handsome fella? But something's missing." Rachel removed her scarf and tied the bright cloth around the snowman's neck. "That's better. You'll drive all the snowwomen crazy."

The way she talked to the snowman as if he were Frosty come to life was cute. She sniffled, shook her hands, and tugged on her gloves.

Knit gloves, the wrong kind for playing in the snow. But someone who wasn't from around here might not know that.

Nate took a step forward, then stopped. Telling her she needed different gloves wasn't the right tactic, given her independent streak. He'd bring her a pair. Let her see the difference herself.

He sprinted to the house, grabbed gloves from a basket in the mudroom then returned to the meadow. "Nice snowman."

She stiffened, glanced his way then looked back at her snow friend.

"A little lopsided." She stuck sticks into the sides for arms. "But not too bad considering it's been ten years since I last made one."

"Not a lot of snow in Phoenix."

She straightened the scarf. "We had a little in February, a mix of snow, rain and hail. I had to work, so missed out on the fun, though driving to and from the bakery was interesting."

"You worked at a bakery?"

"I was on the before-the-sun-rises, also known as the moonset shift. That's what we called it." She adjusted the snowman's nose. "I also worked as a pastry chef at a restaurant in the evening."

"When did you sleep?"

"Whenever I could."

"Not a lot of time for fun."

She rubbed her hands together. "The hours were hard on my social life, but I had no complaints. I made decent money, enough to save some so I could open my own business."

Nate could provide her with all the capital she needed this time. He'd spent a significant amount of money turning the Bar V5 into a working dude ranch, but had his own fund for investment ventures. He preferred investing locally so he wouldn't have to be away from the ranch.

"Your gloves look soaked." He held up the pair he'd brought out. "These are waterproof. They'll work better when you make the next one."

"Thanks, my hands are kind of cold." Little lines formed above her nose. "But how did you know I wanted to make more than one snowman?"

"I saw how much food you make. You don't seem like a less is more kind of person."

"I'm not." She struggled to remove her gloves. "But Ty is. He always put my needs ahead of his own."

Not this time, if Nate could stop him. A year from now, Rachel would be living in Marietta, unable to remember what she liked about Arizona. "Let me take off your gloves."

He expected Rachel to say no. She held out her hands instead. A good sign? He hoped so.

Nate peeled off the first glove, then the second. He tossed them on the snow. "These are soaking wet."

She wiggled her pale fingers. "It's not so bad."

"That's what they all say before frostbite sets in." His dad used to carry a handkerchief in his back pocket. Nate wished he had one now. "We need to dry off your hands."

"My scarf."

He wiped her hands with the side not touching the snowman. "That's better, but they're still cold."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, you are." He removed his gloves then tucked them under his arm next to her new ones. "But your hands aren't. Let's warm them up."

"O-kay." She sounded hesitant, anything but okay.

He covered her hands with his. So cold he let go for an instant. "You're fingers feel like popsicles."

Rachel tensed, pulled back slightly. "You're exaggerating."

He rubbed his hands over hers, trying to use the friction and his own body heat to help her hands. "This will be quick and painless."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she muttered.

"Relax." Rachel didn't have the soft, pampered skin of some women he knew. His fingers brushed over calluses and rough patches. These were the hands of a worker. His thumb ran back and over what felt like a wide scar. "What happened here?"

"A burn."

"From an oven?"

"Campfire. Making s'mores." She sighed. "I'll never get a job as a hand model."

"No hand model could bake as well as you."

Her gaze met his and sent a lightning bolt of heat crackling through him.

"Thanks," she said, her voice quiet.

Nate didn't know if she meant his compliment or warming up her hands. He didn't care. Not with awareness of this woman zinging through him. "You're welcome."

He liked the smaller size of her hand compared to his. Hers were practical hands, clipped nails with no polish. Hands that kneaded dough and worked magic with icing. Hands that belonged at the ranch, able to do long days of hard work without complaint. Hands that fed stomachs and souls.

Her skin wasn't silky smooth, but warm. He massaged each of her thin, tapered fingers.