“You mean, you’re looking for a hand?” he asked, perking right up.
“I haven’t advertised, if that’s what you’re asking,” she answered candidly. “I usually don’t need help around the place. Right now, though, I have another project going on…a wedding…and I could use a little assistance.”
Ryan sat in silence for a moment before he spoke. “When I left Oklahoma, I swore that the next ranch I worked on would be my own. Obviously that’s going to have to wait. I appreciate your job offer, and I accept.” Ryan stuck out his right hand, which she took after a moment’s hesitation. Firmly he shook it. “Thanks, um, I don’t believe I heard your last name.”
“Sellica,” she told him.
“Miss Sellica,” Cliff added, a clarification that earned him a dirty look from Dani.
“But not for long…?” Ryan looked from one to the other of them, as though waiting for them to explain something.
For a second, Dani couldn’t imagine what, then she figured it out. “The wedding I’m involved with is a friend’s, not mine. I’m sewing her dress, which has to be ready by December thirty-first. I’ve had to neglect my ranch work while working on it.”
“And now that we’ve settled that,” Cliff said a little too heartily, “why don’t the three of you hit the road? By the time you get to Dani’s, it’ll be half past Christmas.”
“Damn!” Ryan blurted out, the next instant intercepting Dani’s glare. “I mean darn. Sawyer’s present was in the back of my truck with everything else.”
“I have a remote-control race car you can give him,” Dani said quickly, without thought, as she glanced at the young boy watching TV on the other side of the room. When Ryan looked at her in surprise, she realized what she’d said. Shrugging, she explained, “I bought it for the son of a friend.”
“I’ll pay you back.” Clearly, Ryan was not comfortable accepting charity.
In spite of everything, Dani sympathized. Independent recognized independent. “Of course,” she agreed. “Now, if we just had the Christmas tree your convicts stole from my trunk.”
“They’re not my convicts,” Ryan muttered.
The sudden glint in his eye, coupled with the set of his chiseled jawline, startled her and hinted that there were other sides to Ryan Given than the side she now saw. Dani felt her stomach knot with uncertainty and something very like fear, the results of her dealings with another mystery cowboy not so long ago.
Swallowing hard, she vowed that this one would take his mysteries with him when he left on Monday. How could she be so sure? Because she would take no chances this time. Not for a moment would she let down her guard.
And because she would not, when Ryan and his son moved on, her ranch, her land, her money, and, most important, her just-repaired heart would still be intact.
“How far is it to your ranch?” asked Sawyer, now nestled among Dani’s groceries in the back seat of her car. Ryan glanced over his shoulder at his obviously excited son and smiled. Though working as a cowhand on some two-bit ranch wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind on leaving Oklahoma, his boy clearly had no objections.
“Just fifty miles,” Dani told him. “But it usually takes about an hour to get there because the last ten miles are steep and curvy. This snow isn’t going to help us, either.”
“Hey, Dad,” Sawyer then said. “How’s your head?”
“It’s fine,” Ryan replied. He did not touch the wound, which had been cleansed and was remarkably tender to the touch.
“I see bologna and bread back here,” the boy said. “You want me to make you a sandwich?” Ryan had refused all offers of food at the police station.
“Those groceries belong to Miss Sellica,” Ryan quickly replied, with a glance of apology to Dani. Once he and Sawyer were alone, he’d make plain their destitute situation for the next few days and lay down the ground rules, the first of which was take as little charity as possible until Monday. That’s when he’d call his bank in Tulsa and have some money wired to him. Just how difficult such a transaction would be now that he didn’t have his savings book, his ATM card or even ID remained to be seen.
“Feeding you is part of the bargain,” Dani tartly informed him and then glanced back at Sawyer. “I have a regular picnic in those sacks—paper plates, napkins, cookies, chips. Why don’t you rummage through them and see what you can find for your dad to eat?”
“There’s no need, Miss Sellica,” Ryan began, even though his mouth watered at the thought of food.
“I insist,” Dani coolly replied, adding, “And you may as well call me Dani since I intend to call you Ryan. We don’t stand on formality around here.”
“Right,” Ryan murmured, once again put in his place. Damn, er, darn, but it rankled having a woman tell him what to do. Darn? Darn? Was he really censoring his very thoughts? Ryan flicked a glance of annoyance at Dani, the woman to blame.
Though not a beauty by any means, she had a nice enough face, what looked to be natural blond hair, cut short and shaggy, and big, brown eyes. Her shapeless denim jacket, which came nearly to her knees, hid what curves she had. A deliberate attempt to conceal her femininity? he wondered. And if so, why?
“Go ahead and make me a sandwich, Sawyer,” he said, though his son was already rustling through the plastic bags of groceries. Ryan said it to remind Dani who was the parent here. The look she gave him said he’d made his point.
Just then, they passed the Clearwater Café, now closed and dark inside. At once Dani stomped on the brake. Muttering an apology, she began to back up the car so that she could turn into the deserted parking lot. Moments later, she killed the engine and fumbled to unfasten her seat belt.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked.
“I’m going to see if I can find my Christmas tree. Whoever stuffed you in my trunk had to have left it somewhere around here.” She felt all around on the floorboard of the vehicle. “What’d I do with my flashlight?”
“Forget the flashlight,” he told her. “Forget the tree. It’s too late to decorate it tonight, anyway. I’ll get you another one tomorrow.”
“With what?” she challenged, obviously referring to his lack of funds.
“With an ax,” he replied. “You do have at least one pine tree on your property, don’t you?”
“I have hundreds. I just prefer a Douglas fir for my Christmas tree. It’s sort of a Sellica tradition.” She sat in thoughtful silence, from all appearances in a real quandary about the switch in trees.
“For the sake of my aching head,” he said, “could you please dispense with tradition just this once?”
She looked at him with some alarm, no doubt remembering Cliff’s cautionary speech about possible concussions and certain headaches. “I guess a pine would be okay this year, but it’ll have to be perfect.”
“No problem,” Ryan said. “We’ll look until we find one, won’t we, Sawyer?”
“Yeah!” the boy exclaimed, clearly delighted with the idea. And no wonder—up until now, they weren’t going to have a tree at all.
Sawyer handed Ryan a paper plate that sagged with the weight of a thick sandwich, ridged potato