Mistletoe Wedding Read Free Page A

and caring? Brooklyn was her priority, not some cowboy who’s killer smile, warm eyes and chiseled features made Meg’s tummy tingle.
    She gave herself a mental shake. The word honorable defined Ty. Why did she think he was coming onto her? He wouldn’t flirt, especially at work. “What’s going on?”
    “See for yourself.”
    Moving closer, a nice whiff of his freshly showered, soap scent surrounded her. No citrusy or flower undertones like the soap she and Brooklyn used. Manly. Meg hadn’t dated in so long she’d forgotten what being around men entailed, other than answering questions behind a hotel Concierge desk.
    The guys at the Bar V5 weren’t businessmen in tailored designer suits and Italian leather shoes. These were cowboys. Men’s men. No matter what the elements threw at them, they worked outside to care for the livestock and the ranch—outbuildings, fence posts, driveway and walkways. Nothing stopped them from getting the job done. That was not only sexy, but also appealed to her at a deep level.
    Would they take care of their family the same way?
    Stupid question. She shook her head.
    A relationship, even a casual one, would be too much of a distraction. Moving back to her home state of Montana from Chicago was adjustment enough. Brooklyn needed Meg’s full attention. Well, when she wasn’t working.
    Meg stopped next to Ty. She wasn’t short, but the top of her head only came to his nose. His six-foot height and wide shoulders seemed to take up the entire doorway. Had he always had such a physical presence?
    “Did one of the cats drag an ornament into your office?” she asked.
    He stepped out of the doorway, then motioned inside the office. “No, but something of yours is in there.”
    She looked inside. A pile of papers sat on a wooden desk with scratched sides. A white board with yesterday’s date and a list of items crossed off hung on the wall. In one corner was a multi-level cat tree. The Bar V5 took in unadoptable cats, as well as spayed and neutered feral felines. They lived in the two barns, outbuildings and if they were domesticated enough, occasionally the bunkhouses.
    A gray cat slept on the top level of a cat tree. A tortoise colored cat stretched against a white one on the second level. And a . . .
    That wasn’t another cat, but a child curled up in a ball on the lowest level. Meg did a double-take, recognized the pink zebra striped footie pajamas and the pink down jacket. Her heart dropped. She struggled for a breath. “Brooklyn?”

Chapter Two

    T he hundred and one questions swirling through Meg’s mind paralyzed her. She stood frozen in the foreman’s office doorway. Confusion, worry and disbelief threatened to overwhelm her, but adrenaline sent her into action. She ran to her daughter.
    Dusty, the ranch’s Australian Cattle dog, lay in front of the cat tree where Brooklyn slept, as if keeping watch. He didn’t move, making Meg go around him and her daughter’s snow boots.
    She touched Brooklyn’s arm and took a calming breath to make sure she didn’t startle her little girl. At least her daughter had used her fluffy pink parka as a blanket instead of a pillow. That was an added layer of warmth on this cold morning. “Wake up, sweetie.”
    Her six-year-old blinked. Thick, long eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings. Small pink fleece covered gloved hands flexed. A yawn followed, then a sleepy brown eyed gaze met Meg’s. “Mommy?”
    The sweet sound of her daughter’s voice sent Meg’s heart beating in triple time, catching up to her sprinting pulse. She hadn’t rock climbed since before Brooklyn’s birth, but Megan recognized the sensation of her insides tied in one figure-eight knot after another, a being at the crux of a climb feeling, as if she were hanging off a single piece of protection, hundreds of feet off the ground, with no idea how to get over the hardest part of the route. She’d felt that way many times since Brooklyn’s birth.
    Parenting was