She made a face, but eventually took both from him. With a great deal of attitude, she lightened her coffee, took a sip. Paused to savor the taste on her tongue. Astounded, she met his eyes. “That is better,” she announced in surprise.

At last, he had done something right. Hank lifted a hand. “What’d I tell you?”

Ally beamed. “I could kiss you for this!” She flushed again, as common sense reigned. “But I won’t,” she rushed to assure him.

Hank nodded, aware that he was already hard, had been since she’d walked into the room. “Best you not,” he agreed.

Ally’s cell phone let out a soft chime. She withdrew it from her pocket, looked at the screen. Immediately sobering, she informed him, “I have to take this.” She put it to her ear and walked away.

But not far enough that he couldn’t hear some of what she was saying.

“…Calm down, Porter. It’s not like we didn’t know this was going to happen. We have no choice. Stay busy. You’re usually big on Christmas! Go see the boat parade on Clear Lake, or The Nutcracker or Handel’s Messiah… I promise I’ll call you if I hear anything at all. Yes! Okay. Bye.”

She walked back in to retrieve her coffee.

“Everything okay?”

For a moment, Hank thought Ally wouldn’t answer.

Her slender shoulders slumped dispiritedly. “All the middle managers from my firm were ordered to take the next two weeks off, so that the executives in the firm that took us over can decide who goes and who stays.” She met his eyes and admitted almost too casually. “The general idea is to keep the same number of clients and financial analysts and advisors while cutting costs…and that means a number of the higher salary employees-like myself-are going to be laid off.”

“I’m guessing Porter is a middle manager, too.”

Ally grimaced. “He started the same time I did, right out of college. We’ve worked our way up together. He’s going to be absolutely devastated if he is let go.”

As would Ally, Hank thought.

He studied her crestfallen expression. “Do you think you’re going to make the cut?”

She shrugged. Her expression became emotionally charged. “If life were fair,” she stated, “I would. But…” she swallowed, her expression suddenly remote “…you and I both know it’s not.”

“Hence, the immediate sale of the property,” Hank guessed.

Ally shrugged again. “It needs to be done, in any case. Right now I’ve got the time to get the property listed. After December 26, I may not.”

“Because you’ll either be very busy with the reorg at work…” He refreshed both their coffees.

“Or pounding the pavement, looking for another job.” She added a little more milk to hers. “Obviously, Porter and I both hope it’s the former, not the latter.”

Hank felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Realizing he was more interested in Ally than he’d thought, he stepped closer and asked, “Are you dating Porter?”

She looked surprised, then bemused by the question. “Uh…no. We’re just friends.”

Hank was relieved to hear that. Yet…he still had to ask. “Are you romantically involved with anyone?”

She rolled her eyes as if the mere notion was ridiculous. “I don’t have time for that. But what about you?” she asked curiously. “Has there been anyone since that girl you were engaged to when you graduated from college?”

Hank shook his head.

Ally walked over to test the wallpaper. She found it rigidly adhered to the wall in some places, practically falling off in others. She deposited a strip of paper in the trash, then knelt to examine the linoleum floor. The speckled yellow-green-and-brown surface was clean, but very dated and extremely ugly. “What happened to the two of you, anyway?” She ran her palm thoughtfully over the worn surface.

Hank lounged against the counter. “Jo-anne was killed in a terrorist attack overseas.”

Ally stood to face him again. “I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely contrite. “I didn’t know.” She paused and wet her lips. “Is that why…?”

Hank guessed where this was going. “I joined the marines? Yeah.”

Another silence fell, more intimate yet. “And since…?” Ally prodded softly, searching his eyes as if wanting to understand him as much as he suddenly wanted to understand her.

“I’ve dated,” he admitted gruffly. He shrugged and took another long draft of strong coffee. “Nothing…no one’s… come close to what I had with Jo-anne.” He turned and rummaged through the fridge, looking for something to eat. He emerged with a handful of green grapes. “What about you?” He offered her some.

Ally took several. “I was engaged a few years ago, before my mother got sick.”

This was news. Hank watched Ally munch on a grape. “What happened?”

“I brought my fiancé home to the ranch. Dexter was a real city boy and I expected him to share my lack of attachment to the place. Instead, he fell in love with Mesquite Ridge and thought we should both quit our jobs in Houston and settle here permanently.”

Hank polished off the rest of the grapes in his palm. “Your mom and dad must have liked that.”

“Oh, yes.” Ally made a face. “The problem was-” she angled a thumb at her sternum “-I didn’t. I’d spent my whole life trying to get away from here and-” She stopped abruptly and whirled around, staring toward the mudroom in concern. “Did you hear that? It sounded like…”

A low, pain-filled moan reverberated.

“That’s Duchess!” Without a second’s hesitation, Ally hurried toward the sound. “She’s obviously in some sort of distress!”


YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE known this was a woman who didn’t like dogs, Hank thought as Ally knelt in front of the ailing pet. She looked alarmed as she watched Duchess circle around restlessly, paw the heap of blankets, then drop down, only to get up and repeat the procedure. “What’s she doing?” Ally asked.

Hank gave Duchess a wide berth and a reassuring look. “She’s trying to make a bed,” he said in a soft, soothing voice. “Dams do that for up to twenty-four hours before they deliver.”

Ally moved so close to Hank their shoulders almost touched. “How do you know that?”

He resisted the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. “Kurt came by to examine Duchess while you were out. He confirmed she’s within twenty-four to thirty-six hours of delivering her pups.”

The news had Ally looking as if she might faint.

Hank slid a steadying palm beneath her elbow. “Kurt gave me the handout he distributes to the owners of all his patients, as well as a whelping kit and a warming box. I read through the literature before I went out to take care of my cattle.” Figuring Ally would feel better if she was similarly prepared, Hank walked back to the kitchen, with her right behind him. He found the folder and gave it to her to peruse.

She skimmed through the extensive information, troubleshooting instructions and explicit pictures with brisk efficiency. “We can’t handle this!”

It if had been a purely financial matter, Hank bet she would have said otherwise. He cast a glance toward the mudroom, where Duchess was still circling, pawing and preparing. “Sure we can.” Knowing the importance of a positive attitude, he continued confidently, “It’s been about fifteen years, but I’ve done it before. I helped deliver a litter of Labrador retriever puppies on our ranch, when I was a kid.” That had been one of the most exciting and meaningful experiences of his life.

Ally put the pages aside and wrung her hands. “Can’t your cousin do this? He is a vet!”

Annoyed by her lack of faith, Hank frowned. “There’s no reason for Kurt to do this when I can handle it.”

Ally lifted a brow, unconvinced.

Irritated, Hank continued in a flat tone. “Someone needs to be with Duchess during the entire labor and delivery process. Kurt has other patients and responsibilities. He couldn’t leave Duchess at home while he’s off working with other animals. And if he took her to the clinic, she and her litter would be exposed to the viruses other dogs bring in, and that could be lethal to the newborn pups.”

That much, Ally understood. But she was still reluctant to participate. She threw up her hands as if warding off an emotional disaster. “Okay, I get that, but I still can’t do this, Hank! It’s just too far out of my realm of expertise!”

He had thought it was a bummer that Ally Garrett loathed Christmas. With effort, he checked his disappointment about this, too. “Fine. You don’t have to help.” Holiday or not, he couldn’t magically infuse her with the spirit of sacrifice and giving. No matter how much he wished otherwise…

“Good,” she snapped, appearing even more upset. “Because I’m not going to!” After taking one long, last look at Duchess, she handed the folder to Hank, and rushed out of the kitchen.


THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY no reason for her to feel guilty, Ally told herself firmly as she went up to the second floor sewing room and checked out the bolts of upholstery fabric still on the shelves. Not when she heard the canine whimpering coming up through the heating grate.

Or when Hank ran upstairs to raid the linen closet, and hurried back down again.

Or when she heard him rushing back and forth below, his boots echoing on the wood floor.

But twenty minutes later, when a loud whimpering was followed by an unnatural stillness, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

On the pretext of getting the tape measure from the drawer in the kitchen, she went back downstairs to find the table had been pushed to one side.

Duchess was settled in a child’s hard plastic swimming pool in the center of the kitchen. Hank knelt next to her. “Come on, girl,” he was saying softly, as the animal arched and strained. “You can do it.”

Duchess let out a yelp, then looked at her hindquarters with a mixture of alarm and bewilderment. A dark blue water bag had emerged. “Get a couple of the towels. They’re warming in the dryer,” Hank directed.