The Christmas Challenge Read online

  Laird had a feeling Tucker’s gratitude could spell danger.

  He loved danger.

  Chapter Six

  Laird followed Tucker south out of town. They drove for over twenty minutes before she turned off the highway and bumped down a long gravel road mostly cleared of snow. He wondered if the ranch would need him to cook for longer than today. Did small towns have easy access to temporary employees, and did he want to go for the job? He hadn’t worked since his mother’s illness, and while money wasn’t an immediate problem, boredom was. Maybe a temporary job as a cook was what he needed to bring a little structure back to his days. Make him feel part of the living again.

  Tucker felt her sister’s problem was a sign that her Miracle Lake miracle was kicking in. If only it were that easy. But he’d traveled a lot. Seen a lot. Who was he to judge the course of miracles?

  And now in the spacious kitchen of the two story ranch house, Laird stood in front of a well-stocked, but boring, pantry. Lots of flour, sugar, beans, and rice but not too much in the spice area. Not a tragedy for breakfast. He needed fast, easy, and higher-end calories. He may not have ranched, but he knew cowboys had active lives. He switched to the fridge. Lots of eggs, bacon. Again, boring.

  “What do you think?” Tucker hovered at his elbow. He could smell her light scent that reminded him of sunshine and the ocean and some mountain flower. She smelled delicious, and she smelled expensive, and she was so beautiful she made his eyes hurt.

  Not for you.

  He was not in the market for a woman. Not after the last disaster.

  “I think you need an apron,” he said smiling down at her up turned face. Her complexion was so perfect, like rich cream.

  “I burn everything,” she said earnestly.

  “That I don’t doubt,” he teased.

  “But I want to help.”

  “Bring me an egg timer and your food burning days are over. Men’s libidos, hearts and fantasies I can’t vouch for.”

  She smiled, and he felt like the sun had come out. Who knew breakfast could make him feel like a hero? He’d cooked out of necessity. His mother’s long shifts as a nurse had necessitated developing his early culinary skills. He liked to eat. And he liked to eat well. Besides, while his other guides might have feared that wielding a frying pan would emasculate them, Laird had found the opposite. Women dug a man cooking for them. And no, he hadn’t shared that information.

  Thirty minutes later he had a cheesy polenta ready to go, a vegetable ragout, and several bacon and potato quiches in the oven. Tucker was pulling out her second unburned group of biscuits.

  “This looks like a feast,” she exclaimed. “The crews will be so happy. I bet they never had it this good.”

  He was curious about the expectations. Tucker couldn’t provide much on that since she hadn’t lived on the ranch in years. She didn’t even know the size of the crew only that there was a crew for the bulls and the horses and a smaller crew who kept the ranch running—fences mended, equipment running, and they also helped out bringing the animals back down to the lower pastures every late fall.

  Tucker munched on an unbuttered biscuit and watched as he plated the food onto oversized platters.

  “This food would get you fired from a Hollywood caterer,” she said. “There it’s all arugula and zucchini spears brushed with lemon zest that once met a bottle of olive oil, but didn’t get the time to chat.”

  He laughed. “I guess actors are pretty cautious with their calories, not so much cowboys.”

  “There is a lot of standing around with acting. I hadn’t expected that,” she said rolling out the last of the dough and looking up at him for approval. “Directors and casting directors loved my boobs,” she cupped them, drawing Laird’s attention to one of the two areas he’d been trying not to notice. “But then they’d be all worried about my ass.” And there was the second body part he’d been trying to give the cold shoulder to. Tucker continued talking. “Was it too big or did it resemble Kim Kardashian’s or whatever?”

  “No, no, and no,” he said, taking an intense interest checking the quiches.

  “Camera adds ten pounds.”

  “Still no.”

  “Are you sure?” Tucker turned around and looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes alight with teasing.

  “You’d tempt a saint,” he said. “And I’m no saint.”

  “Thank God.”

  Although he felt a bit like a saint with how much focus he’d employed not watching how her small rounded ass swayed as she moved around the kitchen. And the way her breasts spilled out of her low-cut tight tee.

  And as far as her breasts, guilty! Even trying to behave he still was a man who noticed and appreciated women. And Tucker had a lot to appreciate.

  “Eight o’clock,” he said. “Let’s carry these platters in.”

  *

  Tanner McTavish was not what Laird had expected. First, she looked nothing like Tucker, not even in size or appearance. She was taller, slimmer, and had freckles flung across her face like dirt. Even though some of the most interesting international models in Europe were sporting freckles, he bet Tanner had hated them growing up and when comparing herself to her charismatic, sexy, and breathtakingly beautiful twin, he bet it was more than the freckles that had burned.

  And their personalities seemed opposite. Tanner was quiet, contemplative, serious. She tucked into her food while Tucker picked and talked fast and randomly about a lot of things, mostly about how “amazingly Laird had stepped up to bat and cooked a delicious gourmet meal.”

  That was a little embarrassing, but amusing because her praise was over the top and the meal hadn’t even tapped the shoulder of his creativity. It was also telling because Tanner finally looked up at him. Then at her sister. He couldn’t begin to interpret the look, but it shut Tucker down midstream and he found himself wanting to defend Tucker. So not his thing, to intervene in people’s relationships, especially family relationships.

  Then Tanner’s pale green gaze shifted back to him, and he felt himself assessed in a purely professional, analytical way. He had a feeling she’d look at a horse or bull she was going to buy or work with much the same.

  Usually Laird preferred to stand when scrutinized, using his height and physicality as armor. But this time, he grabbed a chair from the farmhouse table that dominated the oversized kitchen nook and turned the chair around and straddled it so that he could face her.

  Tanner stopped in the middle of spreading jam on a biscuit and looked a bit startled. He wondered if the scrape of the chair had been aggressive or if she expected the ranch hands to practice basic etiquette in her kitchen.

  “Did you grow up in…” she broke off and shook her head.

  “Bend, Oregon, and later Boulder, Colorado,” he answered her question.

  “I made the biscuits,” Tucker said.

  “Have you been to Marietta before?”

  Laird felt his interest stir. “Never,” he said, not even trying to be his usual casual, breezy self.

  “You remind me of…” she broke off again, and then looked at Tucker, who crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

  “Laird totally saved our asses today, Tanner. He doesn’t have to answer your third degree.”

  “Hardly any degree, Tucker. Just being social.” Tanner finished spreading the jam and carefully put the knife on her plate. “Thank you, Laird, for coming to the rescue. Breakfast was delicious. You in town visiting family?”

  Before Laird could answer Tucker had already pushed off the island and picked up Tanner’s empty coffee mug. “Unbelievable. ‘Not the third degree’ my ass,” Tucker said. “You done with this? I’d like to start another load of dishes because Laird and I have already made paninis for lunch that we’ll heat on the grill. Paninis are Italian.”

  Tanner was clearly unfazed by Tucker’s defensive outburst. “Not living in a cave, T.” She watched Tucker scrub down the stove for the second time. “I’ve never seen you do so much
kitchen work.”

  “Keep watching,” she said, returning to the table and sweeping up Tanner’s plate. Tanner grabbed the jammed biscuit just in time.

  “No family,” Laird said, his voice low and maybe not heard over the clatter as Tucker haphazardly loaded up the dishwasher. “And you’re staring.”

  She’d been staring at him for a while. Laird was used to women staring at him, but not like this.

  “Yes, I am,” Tanner said.

  “Why?”

  “You look familiar.”

  His heart lurched a little, but he forced his hands to drape casually over the back of the worn, hand-painted wooden chair. “That so? Maybe lost cousin or something.” He forced his tone to sound mocking when he felt anything but. His stomach was in his throat. This is why he had come, but now that he was possibly in a position to get some answers, he found himself reluctant to open that door.

  Tanner nibbled her bottom lip and it was the first indecisive move he’d seen from her. “Don’t know how it could be ‘or something,’” she said softly. “Where’d you two meet?”

  “It wasn’t in a bar,” Tucker said coming back with a spray bottle and a cloth to clean the table.

  “Chill out, T, you’re not auditioning for a new reality show for ranch housekeeper of the year.” Tanner stood up, snagging a napkin to wrap her biscuit in. “And that’s glass cleaner, not good for wood.” She took the spray bottle from Tucker’s hands.

  “I just think you’re being nosey,” Tucker said, flushing a little, which Laird thought was adorable because he couldn’t imagine anyone or anything making Tucker embarrassed, but now he knew her twin had that super power.

  “Not nosey, T. Calculating.” Tanner turned to face him. “While you’re in town not visiting family, Laird, would you be looking for any temporary, very temporary work? I’ve got twelve ranch hands to feed breakfast and lunch most days. And five who need dinner. Breakfast today was a treat. Sandwiches and soup works for lunch. Dinner can be made ahead and left to heat in the oven. The ranch hands serve and wash up. It would only be until Christmas or first of the year if you were interested.”

  She faced him squarely, ignoring her sister’s sucked-in breath, and Laird liked how her pale green gaze was steady. Intelligent. He couldn’t get a read on what she was thinking, unusual for him.

  “My cook has had a family emergency that isn’t going to resolve quickly. I’d pay you by the week, and you’d get room and board as well. My cook had his daughter to assist him. I can ask in town if anyone…”

  “I’ll do it,” Tucker came to his side and faced her sister, chin jutted a bit belligerently. “Be his sous chef. That’s French.”

  “Laird’s going to need help, T. Not play time.”

  “I did it today and kept my clothes on,” Tucker said, waving the cleaning rag at her sister like she was a spot she wanted to clean up. “I came home to help and we need help, and I can still work with the horses after meals and whatever else Laird needs me to do. So it’s settled.”

  Then Tucker turned to him, her green eyes vibrant and pleading. “Is it settled, Laird?”

  There it was. An invitation. A few weeks of work, some legitimacy, a place to stay. And cooking had always suited him, oddly since he preferred to be outside engaged in physical pursuits, yet cooking filled an artistic, nearly spiritual, urge, and he had never minded cooking for the groups he guided. Staying at the ranch could open a door to pump locals about the past. He wouldn’t be a total stranger with no tie to the town. Perhaps Tucker was right. One of his requests at Miracle Lake might already be in play.

  “Yeah. Sure,” he said. “I can be your stand-in chef until the New Year. Got no plans after that.”

  “I can’t…” Tanner swallowed hard and her voice stopped, and it seemed to take her some time to restart it. Tucker made an odd noise and took a step toward her sister, but then grabbed onto the belt loop of his pants as if to hold herself still. Their barely suppressed emotions were so unexpected and verging on strange that he had no idea what to say or how to respond. Twice now Tanner had seemed on the verge of falling apart, and her distress clearly upset Tucker. “I can’t make any promises beyond that.”

  “Don’t need promises.”

  For a moment, Tanner stared at him mutely, her face miserable, then she said, “Good. You’re at the right place,” and turned and left the room.

  She did not sound like a bride nearing her wedding. What the hell had he just walked in to?

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you think this is what it’s like to be married?” Tucker asked pushing the totally full shopping cart down the aisle of the local grocery store. He was debating getting a second cart. When he and Tucker had inventoried supplies, he’d loosely planned out some meals and then made a list of all the things he needed. Top of the list had been spices.

  “No idea.”

  “You ever think about getting married?”

  Yes.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No,” Tucker shuddered.

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Says the unmarried man.”

  “There another store in town?” he asked frowning at the spice selection.

  “Pretty much it. Can’t Amazon solve all your problems?”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid to look at the store’s wine selection.”

  “I am too,” Tucker said. “Stick to whiskey. Why wine?” she asked curiously.

  “To cook with.”

  She stopped the cart.

  “Laird, you are totally taking this seriously.”

  “Yeah.” He felt a bit defensive. Did she think he wasn’t up to it? “It’s a job I agreed to take on for a month. If I’m cooking it’s going to be good and it’s going to be nutritious. And I think Amazon and I may have a date.”

  “What about me?” Tucker asked, the husk in her voice shot a bolt of hot sexual awareness to his gut.

  “I thought you were behaving, Tucker.”

  “I always behave,” she said. This time her lips curved in a half smile that he so wanted to dip his head down and trace with his tongue. “Just not in the way I ‘should.’”

  She did air quotes around the word “should.” “And I love how you say my name.”

  “How do I say it?”

  “Sweet. Not like a curse. Or a disappointment.”

  That was an odd thing to say.

  “Tucker McTavish! I heard you arrived back in town a couple of days ago. And not alone, of course.” The woman’s sharp eyes swept over him critically.

  Like he would care what she thought.

  “Hello, Carol,” Tucker smiled brightly, but her eyes looked like they could cut.

  “Your father must be thrilled to have you home for the last Christmas, poor man.”

  “Nobody’s dyin’, Carol, but yeah, good to be back at the ranch and hanging out with Tanner again.”

  “And you are?” Carol turned to Laird.

  He stuck out his hand, which he could tell surprised her. She reluctantly shook his hand, her grip hesitant and weak. Typical, he thought summing up the woman in seconds. “Laird Hunter. Filling in as the cook at the Triple T over the holidays.” He shook her hand with way more enthusiasm than necessary, but small towns deserved big measures.

  “Indeed? You look familiar. You from around these parts?”

  “No,” he said.

  But she stared at him. Could she know something? He was getting paranoid. And he wanted the information, so why was he too hesitant to ask? Only this was so public. Laird had always been private.

  “We really need to get the shopping done,” Tucker broke in, proving to him that she didn’t need rescuing although he kept feeling a protective urge. “Lots to do. It’s Laird’s first day.”

  “You’re helping him set up the kitchen?” Carol’s brows rose in astonishment, but her thin-lipped mouth was pure scorn.

  “Among other things,” Tucker laughed. “Bye-bye, Carol.”

  “Perhap
s the tux shop next, dear.”

  She had them there. Even Tucker took the bait. “What?”

  “Daughters of Montana are hosting a ball, a charity event to help fund the restoration of our beautiful courthouse. There’s going to be a prince.”

  “Tanner didn’t mention a ball,” Tucker said. “And a prince, really?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up dear. I’m sure he’s waiting for a royal alliance not a country girl dalliance.” The smile that touched her lips was vintage snark, and Laird had a vision of her as a teenager, malicious and fake and insecure to the bones.

  “And as for Tanner, why would she mention the ball? She can no longer dance, poor girl after her crippling injury. Bless her heart.” Carol sighed dramatically.

  Beside him Tucker tensed. He could feel her vibrating.

  “And I’m sure poor Tanner feels like snagging old Sam Wilder’s cast-off grandson from that criminal, drunk, ranch hand wannabe rodeo cowboy probably makes her feel like she’s got her prince,” Carol said, barely restraining her gleeful malice. “And now this Christmas is your last Christmas in your ranch. Where will you all go? Let me know if I can help with anything, dear.”

  “You are always the first one to step in and offer your Christian version of a helping hand,” Tucker said, her smile so fake it looked frozen. “Nothing like the magic and spirit of Christmas and civic goodwill to make neighbors step up with their opinions and help to make the holiday shine. And now to the liquor store.”

  Laird leaned back in the truck and watched Tucker drive. He liked watching her. The snow crunching under the tires gave her no difficulty at all.

  “What the hell was the deal with that woman back there?”

  “Poison,” Tucker’s eyes gleamed so green they looked like the color of grass on a sunny day. “Pure poison. She used to really try to get her hooks in me, and I could care less, but Tanner’s never had a foot out of place and Luke,” she gulped in a deep breath. “He’s a fine man.”

  Laird idly played with a lock of her hair that tumbled over her shoulder.