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“Once you taste Bad Billy’s Lemon Drop Ice Cream, you’ll be hooked for life.” She wasn’t kidding. “There’s a reason I don’t dare keep it on hand all the time. That would be a desire to keep my girlish figure.”
He gave her a slow once-over as he rose, plate in hand. “There’s nothing I’d change, trust me. Let me help with the cleanup.”
She’d argue, but had a feeling Mick Branson didn’t lose verbal battles very often, maybe ever. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected, with a good dose of masculine confidence thrown in. It was telling that she wasn’t sure how to handle his obvious interest, because she’d decided a long time ago to just live her life as she wished and that her untraditional approach was a healthy outlook on life, at least for her. She’d sat down with her daughter and explained that the reason she’d never married Slater was that they were too fundamentally different for it to work out, and Daisy seemed to accept that, perhaps because she saw how much her parents loved her and respected each other.
But no one was more different from her than Mick Branson, so Raine had to question why, when their fingers brushed as she handed him the ice cream scoop so he could do the honors, there was an electric flicker of awareness between them.
He wasn’t her type.
She was definitely not his type. She wasn’t sure what his type might be, but she imagined a cool, polished blonde who’d feel right at home in pearls and a stylish black dress. Someone who’d fit in at corporate functions and with the Hollywood set.
Mick interrupted her musings as he scooped out the creamy lemon mixture into the two Victorian glasses she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Daisy is a great kid from what I’ve seen. Spunky and self-confident.”
She smiled. “That she is. It’s hard to believe she’s half-grown already. I don’t know where the time goes.”
He concentrated on scooping. “Have you ever thought about having more children?”
Raine’s expression must have reflected her surprise at the unexpected question. He caught her gaze and for a moment she found herself trapped in those dark eyes. “I just meant you’re a wonderful mother, according to Slater. You’re young, so it just occurred to me. Plus I talked to Grace this morning and she told me her news, and also about Luce.” He looked not exactly embarrassed but maybe off balance. “I didn’t mean to get so personal so quickly. I officially recant.”
Raine wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “I don’t mind the question, but turnabout is fair play. So what about you? Kids?” He was, she’d guess, around forty or so. There wasn’t a fleck of gray in that carefully tousled dark hair, but Slater had once remarked that he and Mick were about the same age.
“Do I have any kids? No. Do I want them? Maybe.”
“I feel like I don’t know that much about you. You’ve done a good job of keeping your private life, well...private.”
“Checking up on me?” He didn’t seem to mind—quite the opposite. “I keep it that way as much as possible.”
“I might have checked a little when you first showed up in Mustang Creek, but Slater likes you, so I trust you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be wasting BB’s Lemon Drop on you.”
“In that case, I hope to prove worthy of the ice cream. Sounds like a high bar.”
At least he had a sense of humor. She was discovering she liked that about him.
There were quite a lot of things she liked about him. Too many.
“It’s an honor, trust me. I don’t just give it away all the time.”
Without a blink, he returned smoothly, “I didn’t think you did.”
Raine couldn’t help but give him the look. “I thought I banned the sexual innuendos.”
“Hey, you can take that remark any way you wish.”
A man like him didn’t look boyish often, but his unrepentant expression was pretty close. And those eyes...
“Just for that, I’m going to make you watch my favorite Christmas movie, unless you have other pressing plans.”
“I’m all yours.” He deftly wielded the ice cream scoop. “In case you’re wondering—and I’m going to guess you are—my brother and his wife are in London for the holidays this year, my mother is in New York with friends, and since I have a little surprise for Slater, I decided Mustang Creek might not be a bad place to spend Christmas this year. I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s your favorite Christmas movie? Please tell me there isn’t a lot of singing and dancing.”
“Relax. There’s none. I usually watch Big Jake. You know, John Wayne.” She took two long-handled spoons from a drawer. “Not only is it a great movie, but it has sentimental value. My father loved it. I remember sitting on the couch watching it with him after my mother went to bed. Unlike you, she liked the movies with the singing and dancing and he needed a good dose of the Old West afterward. I was allowed to stay up as long as I wanted on Christmas Eve. I still do that.”
“You are a big girl, so you can do whatever you want.”
She was just going to ignore that. He was deliberately provoking her. “I always have done what I want. Make a note of it. Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“That sounds good. It’ll keep me awake for the drive back to the resort later.”
The reminder that their evening would come to an end caused an odd sinking in her stomach, one she immediately chided herself for. After all, it wasn’t like she planned to invite him to spend the night, no matter how attractive she found him. The softly falling snow outside might be adding to the ambiance of the evening, but her guarded heart was resistant to even the most romantic of trappings.
She believed in love. In loving your child, your family, and of course, she’d thought she was in love with Slater what felt like a million years ago, but that just hadn’t worked out.
It would have been easy to accept his proposal once he knew she was pregnant, to settle into a comfortable life as a Carson, but she’d known from the start that neither of their hearts would have been in it. They were friends—she genuinely liked the father of her child and was grateful for the good relationship they shared—but that wasn’t the same as love.
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why it was Mick Branson who apparently inspired more than friendly feelings in her. She couldn’t have picked a man more different from her if she’d tried.
Not in a million years was she Hollywood. Not in a million years was he Mustang Creek.
Though when he settled next to her on the roomy couch, ice cream in hand, he seemed comfortable enough despite the designer slacks and tailored shirt. He took a bite and gave her an incredulous look from those oh-so-sexy dark eyes. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I told you. Billy is a burly, tattooed culinary angel.”
“I might kiss him the next time I see him.” Mick dug back in.
“And he might take exception to that.” She took a spoonful from her own dish. The ice cream was smooth, creamy yet tart, and everything she remembered. Billy only made it once a year and she always put in an order early. Picking up the remote, she pushed a button to cue up the movie. “Here we go. The Duke.”
“Pure Christmas magic in the form of an old western—sounds great to me. But I guess now would be the time to confess I’ve never actually seen it. Did you say Big Jake?”
“What?” She stared. “Never? That’s...incomprehensible.”
He shrugged. “If you met my family, well, let’s just say John Wayne was not on their radar. I’m sure they would enjoy it, don’t get me wrong, but they just wouldn’t think of it. I believe I was dragged to a Broadway play as a child before I ever watched a cartoon.”
That explained quite a lot. “Is that why you do what you do?”
“It might be. Why are you an artist? I doubt I’m going to get a straight-up answer. There probably isn’t one.”
She had to concede that one, so she changed the subject. “I can’t believe you already ate all of that ice cream.” He’d inhaled it. “Haven’t you heard of an ice cream headache?”
“I’ve never had one, but for that stuff, I’d take my chances.” He got up to go into the kitchen and she heard him rinse the bowl and considerately put it in the dishwasher.
Considerate? Oh no. That was trouble right there.
Mick Branson was larger than life in some ways. So was Slater, so maybe that accounted for the chemistry simmering between her and Mick. She was attracted to charismatic men.
She savored each spoonful as the opening movie scene unfolded, feeling oddly comfortable. Even though he wasn’t a stranger, they’d never spent time alone together before this evening, so the ease between them surprised her.
Everything about the way Mick acted said he was interested and she wasn’t positive she was ready for someone like him intruding on the life she’d so carefully built for herself and her daughter.
His life was all about reading signals. Meetings, the stock market, international affairs, how the media was cooperating...
Mick was in tune with the business side of his life. The personal side? Not so much.
Raine was clearly a free spirit but there was a wariness about her that was impossible to miss. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand being cautious; he tended to tread carefully himself, or perhaps he would have had more long-term relationships rather than just a fleeting romantic entanglement here or there.
Her wary aura aside, he wondered if she had any idea how sexy it was to watch her eat ice cream.
He forced his gaze to remain on the screen rather than her lips. There was no way he’d take advantage of softly falling snow and all the rest of the ambiance to get her into bed, though he had a lot of enthusiasm for a night with the lovely Ms. McCall. Maybe more than one night, and that was food for thought right there.
He was afraid this was going somewhere, and Mick wasn’t a man who considered himself afraid of all that much.
Luckily, John Wayne saved him along with everyone else on the screen. Well, not quite everyone, and with an analytical eye he admired the director’s decisions on how the plot played out. It was his favorite kind of script, showing people as they really were—not all good, not all bad, but a combination of both. Slater tended to roll that way in his documentaries as well, with villains and heroes side by side. His characters weren’t fictional, but balanced, and he made riveting dramas set in real places steeped in history.
“Good movie, but there’s no love story,” Mick pointed out when the credits rolled.
Raine sat easily with one leg folded under her. He’d already concluded she did yoga from the rolled-up mat tucked in the corner, so the agile pose didn’t surprise him. What had surprised him more was when her giant cat had wandered out and jumped on the couch with remarkable grace for a creature of his size, then settled down next to her. “Isn’t that what appeals to most men? All action and no sappy stuff.”
He shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “I think you have it backward. Men are more interested in romance than women are.”
“Au contraire, Mr. Boardroom.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Men are more interested in sex.”
“I sense a debate coming. Who buys flowers and candy and dutifully mows the yard just to please the woman in his life?”
She shot back tartly, “A man who wants to have sex. I appreciate a thoughtful gesture as much as any woman, but let’s not get confused about the motivation here.”
“You can’t put an entire gender in the same bracket, Ms. Artist. There are a lot of decent guys I know who would never walk into the bedroom of someone who they didn’t have romantic feelings for in the first place. Brains and beauty are all well and good, but if a woman isn’t also a nice person, no thanks. I can tell you, in the world I live in, there are plenty of women who use sex as leverage, so it could be argued that your assumption works both ways.”
Raine stroked the cat’s head and Mr. Bojangles gave a rusty purr. “I’m afraid you’re right and I was just pulling your chain. People are too complex to reduce to stereotypes. I don’t understand a lot of them, but I think I know more good ones than bad ones. It makes me glad Daisy is growing up in Mustang Creek.”
“I’ve looked at some land in this area,” he heard himself confessing. “I haven’t found the right combination of house and location, but I have done some research.”
She stopped petting the cat, her attention arrested. Mr. Bojangles sent him a lethal stare for interference in the petting process, clearly understanding the interruption was his fault. “Really?”
“It’s beautiful country,” he said noncommittally. “I have a vacation home in Bermuda, but while it’s nice to have sun and sea, I get bored after about two days. I’m thinking about leasing it out or selling it, and building one here, or better yet, buying a place with some history behind it. There’s more to do in Mustang Creek than lie on a beach with a drink in your hand.”
Raine looked thoughtful. “I’m the same way. I’ve tried it once or twice, but I can’t sit and do nothing for very long. I don’t find it relaxing because I feel I should be doing something.”
“We have that in common then.”
“Why do I have the feeling that’s about the only thing we have in common? Aside from a love of green chilis, of course.”
“Not true,” he told her, and gestured toward the TV. “We both like the John Wayne movie we just watched. We both like Mountain Winery merlot. We both would kill for Bad Billy’s lemon ice cream. Mr. Bojangles clearly loves us both...the list just goes on.”
“You were doing pretty good until the Jangles part. He’s really picky. I can tell he hasn’t made up his mind yet. He doesn’t trust men that easily.”
They weren’t talking just about the cat, and he knew it. “He just needs to get to know me better. Let me prove how trustworthy I am.”
“You want to prove yourself to a cat?”
“Well, he’s a really big cat. I’m kind of afraid of him.”
There was merriment in Raine’s eyes. “His girth is part of his charm, or so I tell the vet when he starts on me about Jangles’ diet. Luckily, I feed him, so he adores me.”
“He has impeccable taste.”
“I doubt you’re really afraid of him and I suppose he must like you to come out from under the tree and sit this close.”
“I respect his opinion, one male to another.”
“That’s a good way to handle him. Otherwise Jangles might boss you around.”
Mick had to raise a brow. “Maybe like his owner.”
“Oh, come on, no one owns a pet. Have you really never had one?”
“I always wanted a dog, but it never worked out.”
She only believed him—he was sure of it—because of his matter-of-fact tone. He wasn’t shallow enough to ever complain about a privileged childhood but his mother hadn’t approved of animals in the house, so they didn’t have any. End of story. He’d begged for a dog and the answer was no.
“That’s too bad. You missed out. But it’s not too late to get one now.”
“These days it’s a timing issue. Once I was out of college, I immediately joined a firm that sent me to Japan for three years. When I came back to California, I started my own company, and trust me, with the hours I kept I didn’t have the time for a dog and still don’t.”
“You need one.” Raine said it firmly as if the whole matter was decided. “Buy the land, build your house, and you’ll have no shortage of dog-sitters to pitch in if you’re out of town. I can be one of them. Daisy would be thrilled, and Samson is used to other dogs from being at the ranch so frequently. When it comes to the land, do you want real Wyoming?”
It was a generous offer about the dog, and an impulsive one, but he already had the impression that despite Raine’s wariness around him, she made a habit of following her instincts most of the time—not in an impractical way, but just acting from the heart. “Yes, that’s the plan. Real Wyoming. Solitude and a stunning view. A place where I can sit and read, maybe write something that isn’t a memo just for a change of pace, and relax on the front porch with a glass of wine or a cold beer and watch the sunset. I’m at a place in my life where I’m starting to realize that being driven has its perks, but working every second of the day isn’t necessarily good for you.”
“Write something? Like the great American novel?” She was looking at him like he’d sprouted a second head.
“Believe it or not, Ms. Artist, I do have some imagination.” He didn’t add that he could easily imagine her soft, warm and naked in his arms, but it was getting harder to banish those images from his mind.
“I have no trouble believing that, actually. Excuse me, Jangles, your new friend and I have someplace to go.” She gently scooted away from the cat and stood. “I’ll get your coat, Mr. Boardroom. Time for a scenic Christmas Eve jaunt.”
“Now?” He glanced at the clock, which had wands for hands and glass slippers in varying colors to represent the hours. Which made him think she’d designed it. It looked like, if he could read it correctly, it was nearly eleven o’clock.
“As good a time as any, right? Snow falling, the mountains in the backdrop and winter magic in the air... I want to show you something. No, now I need to show you something.”
He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but was willing to play along. “Okay, I’m game.”
“You might be when you see what I’m going to show you. I’ll drive.”
“Drive? Where—”
“Let’s go.” She opened a hall closet and took out a coat, then disappeared to return with his, pulling on fluffy white mittens as he did up his buttons. “This is perfect.”
Mystified, he said, “I’ll take your word for it. Care to give me a hint where we’re going?”
“I’m a show-not-tell kind of girl. You’ll find out.”
Two minutes later they were in the car, driving toward a destination unknown.
