Free A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page A

at the supplemental feed for his herd, and shot his father a knowing glance. “’Cause I know you didn’t come here just to say hello to Ally, see the new pups and help me tend my cattle.”
    â€œYou’re right.” Shane hefted a big bale of hay and carried it into the mesquite-edged pasture where the hundred cattle had weathered the cold and rain the night before. “I did want to talk to you in private.”
    Hank cut the twine and separated the feed, scattering it about so the steers could get at it easily. “What about?”
    The two of them got back in the truck and drove a little farther on before stopping and doing the same thing again.
    â€œThe word in town is that Corporate Farms is wooing Ally,” Shane stated.
    Hank shrugged. “She’s talking to a Realtor about listing the property, too.”
    His dad lifted a silver brow. “I thought you had a deal with her.”
    I thought so, too. Which was what he got for letting thearrangement be as convenient as Ally had needed it to be, when he had volunteered to watch over the property for her last summer, in the wake of her dad’s death.
    Hank went over to check the water supply. Ice had formed around the edges of the trough, so he broke it up with a hoe. “She agreed to let me run cattle here and live in the house, in exchange for my help tending to the ranch.” At the time it had seemed the perfect solution for both of them.
    Shane studied the property with a horse rancher’s keen gaze. “She knew you were interested in buying it?”
    â€œEventually.” When I had the money. “Yes.” Hank carried another bundle of feed across the rain-soaked ground. “She also figured—rightly so—that I couldn’t afford it yet.”
    Shane followed with another bundle. “I wish you had talked to me before you struck that deal,” he said with regret.
    Hank’s irritation increased. Tired of weathering his father’s meddling in his affairs, he squared off with him. “We both know what would have happened if I had!”
    â€œYou’d be better off now,” his dad countered, his disapproval as evident as his need to help.
    â€œI’d be better off if you and the rest of the family stopped trying to coddle me!” Acting as if he were some damned invalid, instead of a decorated ex-marine embarking on the next chapter of his life.
    His father grimaced like the take-charge man he was. “We’re not doing that,” he argued.
    Like hell they weren’t! “You’ve done nothing but that since Jo-anne’s death,” Hank countered.
    Shane’s jaw set. “You fell apart.”
    Hank turned his gaze away from the mounting concernin his dad’s eyes. “And I’ve long since put myself back together again.”
    Shane sighed. Tried again. “The point is, son—”
    â€œThe point is,” he interrupted curtly, lifting a staying hand, “we shouldn’t be having this conversation. Not now. Not ever.”
    Â 
    A LLY WAS UPSTAIRS IN the sewing room when Hank and Shane returned.
    It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know something had happened while they were gone. The two men appeared to be barely speaking as they parted company. Which was a surprise. Ally had thought the McCabes were a close-knit family through and through. Yet as Hank stood watching his father’s pickup disappear from view, he looked as tense and bereft as she had usually felt when dealing with her own parents.
    Not that it was any of her business, she reminded herself sternly, returning to the cutting table.
    Seconds later, she heard him come in.
    Footsteps sounded in the hall. The door to his bedroom closed.
    Fifteen minutes later, Hank emerged, looking freshly showered and cleanly shaven. He paused in the doorway of the sewing room. A smile quirked his lips when he glanced at the puppies snuggled together in the warming bed,