The Rancher's Christmas Promise Page 4

  “Just fine, dearie. Oh, Mignon, don’t jump!”

  Mrs. Gunderson’s admonishment was too late, though, because the dog had already bounced up and into Greer’s arms.

  He was actually a little impressed that the fat Mignon could jump.

  But he was more impressed by the way Greer caught him and laughed.

  He had never heard her laugh before. Not her or her sisters. Her chocolate-colored eyes sparkled and her face practically glowed.

  And damned if he didn’t feel something warm streak down his spine.

  “You probably need a new thermostat,” he said abruptly.

  The dog was licking the bottom of her chin even though she was trying to avoid his tongue, but she didn’t put Mignon down. “How do you know?”

  “Because I checked everything else that would cause your overheating before I towed it back here.” He stepped around the two women. “And think about keeping your car key in a less obvious hiding spot,” he advised as pulled open the door to climb inside his truck.

  Greer’s jaw dropped a little, which gave Mignon more chin to lick. She set the dog down and trotted after him, wrapping her fingers over the open window. “You’re just going to leave now?”

  His fingers closed over the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. “What else do you figure I should do?”

  Her lips parted slightly. “Can I pay you for the tow at least?”

  He turned the key. “No need.”

  “Well, I should do something.” She didn’t step back from the truck, despite the engine leaping to life. “To thank you at least. Surely there’s something I can do.”

  The “something” that leaped to mind wasn’t exactly fit for sharing in polite company. Particularly with her elderly neighbor still watching them as though they were prime-time entertainment.

  He said the next best option that came to mind. “Next time I need a lawyer, you can owe me one.” He even managed a smile to go with the words.

  Fortunately, it seemed like enough. She smiled back and patted the door once. “You’ll never collect on that.” Her voice was light.

  “One thing I’ve learned in my life is to never say never.” He looked away from her ringless ring finger. “Where’d that dog go?”

  Greer looked around, giving him a close-up view of the tender skin on the back of her neck. She had a trio of tiny freckles just below the loose strands of hair. Like someone had dashed a few specks of cinnamon across a smooth layer of cream.

  He focused on Mrs. Gunderson, who was skirting the back of his trailer, calling the dog’s name. “Mignon, get out from under there, right now!”

  Greer had joined in, crouching down to look under the vehicle.

  He figured if he revved the engine, it might send the fat dog into cardiac arrest. He shut it off again and climbed out. “Where is he?”

  “He’s lying down right inside the back tire.” Mrs. Gunderson looked like she was about to go down on her hands and knees. “Mignon, you naughty little thing. Come out here, right now. Oh, darn it, he seems to have found something he thinks is food.”

  “Why don’t you get one of his usual treats?” Greer suggested.

  “Good idea.” Mrs. Gunderson set off across the street once more.

  If he’d hoped that her departure would spur the dog to follow, he was wrong. He knelt on one knee to look under the trailer. “Come ’ere, pooch.”

  Mignon paid him no heed at all, except to move even farther beneath the trailer.

  Greer crouched next to him. The bottom of her dress puddled around her. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

  Ryder slid his hand out from beneath the soft, colorful fabric that covered it. “He wouldn’t like getting flattened by my trailer, either.”

  “He’ll come out for his treats,” she assured him.

  “Since he looks like he lives on treats, I hope so.” It would take the better part of an hour to get home and he’d probably already used up Mrs. Pyle’s allotment of patience. If the treat didn’t work, he’d have to drag the little bugger out.

  “She’s actually gotten him to lose a couple pounds.”

  “He’s still wider than he is tall. Reminds me of my aunt’s dog, Brutus.” He straightened and looked across the street, hoping to see Mrs. Gunderson heading back. Instead, she was just reaching the top of her porch stairs and he could feel the minutes ticking away.

  * * *

  Even though he didn’t say anything, Greer could feel the impatience coming off Ryder in waves. She stood, hoping that Mrs. Gunderson moved with more speed than she usually did. It was obvious that he was anxious to be on his way. “Your aunt has an overweight poodle?”

  He lifted his hat just long enough to shove his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Overweight pug.” His blue gaze slid over her from beneath the hat brim as he pulled it low over his brow. “Adelaide spoils him rotten.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “A pug named Brutus?”

  He shrugged. “She has a particular sense of irony.”

  “I love your aunt’s name,” she said. “Adelaide.”

  A dimple came and went in his lean cheek. “Coming from the woman who lives in that Victorian thing behind us, I’m not real surprised.”

  She leaned against the side rail of the trailer. “Does she live in New Mexico?” Greer and her sisters didn’t know much about Ryder, but had learned that he’d lived in New Mexico before moving to Wyoming.

  The brim of his hat dipped slightly. “She has a place near Taos.”

  “The only place I’ve ever been in New Mexico was the Albuquerque airport during a layover.” She glanced toward her neighbor’s house. The front door was still open, but there was no sign of Mrs. Gunderson yet. “Did you grow up there?”

  The dimple came again, staying a little longer this time. “In the Albuquerque airport?”

  “Ha ha.”

  His lips actually stretched into a smile. “Yeah. I spent most of my time in Taos.”

  So she now knew he had an aunt. But she still didn’t know if he had parents. Siblings. Other ex-wives. Anybody else at all besides Layla. “What’s it like there? It’s pretty artsy, isn’t it?”

  “More so than Braden.”

  “Does your aunt get to visit you often?”

  “She’s never been here. She doesn’t like to travel much anymore. If I want to see her, I have to go to her.” He thumbed up the brim of his hat and squinted at the sky.

  “You’re anxious to go.”

  “Yup.” He knelt down to look at the dog again. “My housekeeper’s gonna be peeved.” He gave a coaxing whistle. “Come ’ere, dog.”

  “Your housekeeper’s Doreen Pyle?”

  Still down on one knee, he looked up at Greer and something swooped inside her stomach. “Keeping close tabs on me?”

  She ignored the strange sensation. “Braden is a small community. And I happen to know her grandson pretty well.”

  “Dating him, are you?”

  She couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Since he’s not legally an adult, hardly. Haven’t even had a date in—” She broke off, appalled at herself, embarrassed by the speculative look he was giving her. She pointed, absurdly grateful for Mrs. Gunderson’s timely reappearance on her front porch. Her neighbor was holding something in her hand, waving it in the air as she came down the steps. “There’s the treat.”

  And sure enough, before his mistress had even gotten to the street, Mignon was scrabbling out from beneath the trailer, practically rolling over his feet as he bolted.

  Ryder straightened and gave her that faint smile again. The one that barely curved his well-shaped lips, but still managed to reveal his dimple. “Never underestimate the power of a good treat.”

  Then he thumbed the brim of his hat in that way he had of doing. Sort of old-fashio
ned and, well, rancherly. He walked around his truck and climbed inside. A moment later, he’d started the engine and was driving away.

  Mrs. Gunderson picked up Mignon, who was happily gnawing on his piece of doggy jerky, and stood next to Greer. “He’s a good-looking one, isn’t he?”

  At least her elderly neighbor could explain away her breathlessness. She’d had to climb her porch stairs to retrieve the dog treats.

  Greer, on the other hand, had no such excuse. “He’s surprising, anyway.” She gave Mignon’s head a scratch. “I’ve got to go call my dad before he drives out to haul my car that no longer needs hauling.”

  Then she hurried inside, pretending not to hear Mrs. Gunderson’s knowing chuckle.

  Chapter Three

  “Ryder Wilson towed your truck?”

  Greer tucked her office phone against her shoulder. “Hey, Maddie. Hold on.” She didn’t wait for her sister to reply, but clicked over to the other phone call while she scrolled through the emails on her computer. It was Monday morning. She wished she could say it was unusual coming in to find fifty emails all requiring immediate attention. The fact was, coming in to only fifty emails was a good start to a week.

  “Mrs. Pyle, as I explained to your son last week, Judge Donnelly has refused another continuance in Anthony’s case. He’s already granted two, which is unusual. Your grandson’s trial is going to be on Thursday and my associate Don Chatham will be handling it. He’s our senior attorney, as you know, and handles most of the jury trials.” After she had handled all the other steps, including negotiating plea deals. Which the prosecutor’s office wasn’t offering to Anthony this go-round.

  Not surprising. It was an election year.

  “I know Judge Donnelly.” Doreen Pyle sounded tearful. “I can’t be in court on Thursday. If I just went to him and asked—”

  She shook her head, even though Doreen couldn’t see. “I advise you not to speak directly to the judge, Mrs. Pyle.”

  “Then schedule a different date! You know how unreliable my son is. Anthony needs his family there. If his father would have told me last week, I could have made arrangements. But I have to work!”

  Doreen Pyle worked for Ryder Wilson.

  Greer pressed her fingertips between her eyes to relieve the pain that had suddenly formed there and sighed. The only adult Anthony truly had in his corner was his grandmother. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Pyle. I’ll call you later this afternoon. All right?”

  “Thank you, Greer. Thank you so much.”

  She highly doubted that Mrs. Pyle would be thanking her later. “Don’t get your hopes up too high,” she warned before jabbing the blinking button on her phone to switch back to the other call.

  “Sorry about that, Maddie.” She sent off a two-line response to the email on her computer screen and started composing a new one to the prosecutor’s office. She wouldn’t present a motion to the court until the prosecutor agreed to another delay. “You all recovered from the baby shower?”

  “The only thing that’ll help me recover fully from anything these days will be going into labor. About Ryder—”

  “Yes, he towed my truck.” She switched the phone to her other shoulder and opened the desk drawer where she kept her active files. “I suppose Ali told you?” She’d caught their father before he’d made a needless trip out to Devil’s Crossing but she hadn’t told him the finer details of who’d taken care of the chore.

  She pulled out the file she was seeking and flipped it open on her desk. Anthony Pyle. Seventeen. Charged with property destruction and defacement. It was his second charge and he was being tried in adult court. Anthony and his grandmother had good cause for worry since he was facing more than six months in jail if convicted.

  Greer doubted that his father, Rocky, cared all that much about what happened. He provided for the basic needs of his son, but beyond that, the troubled boy was pretty much on his own. Rocky had told Greer outright that Anthony deserved what he got. Didn’t matter to his father at all that the boy had consistently proclaimed his innocence. That the real culprit was his supposed friend—and the son of the man who owned the barn that had nearly burned down.

  “Ali? No.”

  Greer held back a sigh. If Grant had told his wife that he’d seen Ryder with her, there was no way that Ali would have stayed quiet about it. And the fact that Grant hadn’t told Ali just meant that he was still conflicted over everything that had happened with his sister.

  “You know how news gets around,” Maddie said.

  In other words, Mrs. Gunderson had told someone she’d seen Ryder towing her car, and that someone had told someone, and so on and so forth.

  Greer forestalled her sister’s next question, knowing it was coming. “Ryder didn’t have Layla with him.”

  “I heard. Did you know that his latest nanny quit on him?”

  Greer’s fingers paused on her computer keyboard. Doreen hadn’t mentioned that. “That’s the fourth one.”

  “Third,” Maddie corrected. “Ray has been keeping track.”

  Greer spotted Keith Gowler in the hallway outside her office and waved to get his attention. He was one of the local private attorneys who took cases on behalf of the public defender’s office because they were perpetually overworked and understaffed. “Is Ray concerned?”

  “Not that he’s said. We have no reason to think Layla’s not being properly cared for.”

  “That’s probably why Ryder was anxious to get moving the other evening, then. Doreen must have been watching Layla.” And that was why she was upset about not being available for her grandson’s trial.

  “She’s got a lot on her plate, too.”

  Greer glanced at Anthony’s file. Despite the jurisdiction of the case, he was still a minor, which meant the case also involved Maddie’s office. “Did you get notice of the trial date?”

  “Thursday? Yes. I can’t be there, though. Having another ultrasound at the hospital in Weaver and Linc will have kittens if I say I want to reschedule it.”

  “Everything okay?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

  “Everything’s fine, except I’m as big as a house and due in two weeks. And don’t you start acting as bad as my husband. He’s turned into a nervous Nellie these last few weeks. Driving me positively nuts.”

  “He’s concerned. You’re having your first baby.”

  “And I’m already thirty and yada yada. I know.”

  Keith stuck his head in her doorway. “Got the latest litter?”

  She nodded at him and glanced at the round, schoolroom-style clock hanging above the door. It had a loud tick and tended to lose about five minutes every few days, but it had been a gift from one of her favorite law professors what felt like a hundred years ago. “Listen, Maddie, I’ve got a consult, so I need to go. But I want to know more about the ultrasound. We’ll talk—”

  “—later,” her sister finished and hung up. At least Greer and Maddie were almost always on the same wavelength. It was too bad that Greer couldn’t say the same about Ali.

  She made a note on her calendar to call her. Maybe if Greer were the one to plan dinner next Monday, she’d get herself back in Ali’s good graces. The three of them usually tried to get together for dinner on the first Monday of each month, but their schedules made it difficult. And when it came to canceling, Greer had been the worst offender. The fact that next Monday wasn’t the first Monday of the month was immaterial. With Maddie ready to pop with the baby, this might be their only chance for a while.

  Keith tossed himself down on the hard chair wedged into Greer’s crowded office. “How many assignments this week?”

  She closed Anthony’s file and plucked a stack from the box on the floor behind her desk. “Too many. Take a look.”

  “I won’t be able to take on as many as usual,” he warned as he began flipping through the files. “Lydia
and I have set the wedding date next month.”

  Even though she’d half expected the news, Greer was still surprised. It hadn’t been that long since the lawyer was moping around from the supposedly broken heart Ali had caused him when they broke up, before she met Grant. Then he’d met Lydia when he’d taken on the defense case involving her son. “Congratulations. You’re really doing it, huh?”

  “I’d have married her six months ago, but she wanted to wait until Trevor’s case was settled. Now it is and we can get on with our lives.” He glanced up for a moment. “How’s the Santiago case coming?”

  “Pretrial motions after Labor Day. Michael has the investigator working overtime.”

  “I’ll bet he does. Because your boss wants the case dismissed in the worst way.”

  “We’ll see.” Stormy Santiago would be the jewel in the prosecutor’s reelection crown. She was beautiful. Manipulative. And charged with solicitation of murder. “Don’s already prepping to go to trial on it.”

  “I’ll bet he is. He gets her off and he’ll be onto bigger pastures, whether he’s best buddies with your boss or not. Mark my words.”

  Greer couldn’t imagine Don wanting to leave their department, where he was a big fish in a small pond. “You think?”

  Keith shrugged. He slid several folders from the stack toward her. “I can take these.”

  It was up to her to ensure the assignments were correctly recorded and submitted to the appropriate court clerk. Between municipal, circuit and district courts, it meant even more paperwork for her. “Great. See you in court.”

  Morning and afternoon sessions were held daily every Monday through Thursday, with Greer running between courtrooms as she handled arraignments and motions and pleadings and the myriad details involved when an individual was charged with a criminal offense. Occasionally, there was a reason for a Friday docket, which was a pain because they all had plenty of non-court details to take care of on Fridays. And increasingly on Saturdays and Sundays, too. Most of those days, Greer was meeting clients—quite often at the various municipal jails scattered around their region.