Saving the Cowboy’s Christmas (Rowdy Ranch #12)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“ O h, my God! That’s fabulous!”

Instantly Rance regretted not giving the manuscript to his mom. He could have given one to her and one to Lani. Hadn’t figured that out until now.

His mom scooted forward in the chair as if ready to launch herself at him and Sam dashed over to see what was going on. “I’ve always hoped you’d decide to write.”

“Fiction? Is it fiction?” Andy beamed at him. “I hope so because?—”

“It is.” He stroked Sam’s silky head and fought a queasy sensation in his stomach. “A Western.” What was done was done. It had made sense when he was planning this, but?—

“A Western! Even better! I can’t wait to?—”

“It’s contemporary and has a mystery in it. It’s gonna be a series.”

“I’m so excited, son.” Her eyes glistened. “I knew if any of my kids decided to write, you’d be the likely one, but then you seemed happy bartending. When did you start it?”

“February.”

“And you’ve kept it a secret all this time? Or am I the last to know?”

“I didn’t want anyone to find out, but…Lani knows now.” He glanced at her for moral support. She gave him a quick smile, which helped. He took another breath and faced his mom. “In fact, she’s read it.”

“Oh!” Shock and a flash of disappointment registered in her eyes, but she recovered fast. “Well, I can see why you’d… she’s an editor after all.”

Might as well spill all the beans and get it over with. “I’m submitting it to her publisher.”

“You are? I mean, that’s your choice, of course, but…” Gradually the confusion in her expression cleared. Her breath hitched. “You want to do this on your own.”

“I do, Mom. I know you’d offer me all your resources and I appreciate that more than I can say. But then I’d never really know if I made it because of my book, because of your connections, or simply because I’m your son.”

She took a shaky breath and nodded. “I understand. I like to think I’d give it an impartial reading, but maybe not. Do you… do you even want me to read it?”

“Absolutely! We brought two copies, one for you and one for Andy.”

“Where are they?”

“In the truck. I was so focused on making it into the house, I forgot to grab the box.”

Andy left his chair. “The wind’s died down. I think the storm’s letting up. I’ll go get ‘’em.”

Rance stood. “With all due respect, Andy, you’re not fetching that box. If anybody’s going out there, it’s me.”

“Or…” Andy’s blue eyes reflected a hint of steel. “We can go out together, get some fresh air and take Sam.”

The collie picked right up on that suggestion, nails clicking on the wood floor like castanets.

“It’s not War and Peace Andy. We don’t need both of us to haul in the box.”

He just smiled. “I love stepping outside after a snow, don’t you? The world looks like it just got a fresh coat of paint.”

No percentage in arguing with Andy when he’d set his mind to a task. The guy was tenacious as a honey badger and for some reason he wanted to be part of retrieving those manuscripts. He likely had something to say. “Sure, we can do that.”

“Take your time,” his mom said. “I’ll get the scoop on what Lani thought of the book.”

He wasn’t crazy about Lani giving her a preview, but that wasn’t his call.

“Sorry, Desiree. My lips are sealed. I’m sure Rance wants you to read it with no preconceptions.”

Later he’d give her lips a big ol’ kiss for that response. “Thanks, Lani.” He sent a look of gratitude her way before following Andy and Sam to the front door.

Conversation began immediately once he’d turned his back, but not about him. Sounded like a discussion about the caroling. Good Lord, his worthless father would be here for that. Probably fancied himself a singer. Anger curdled in his gut.

In the entry, Andy toed off his leather boots and put on rubber snow boots. “Your mom’s right, you know.”

“Yeah, she is.” He pulled a spare pair of rubber boots from the closet. “That doesn’t mean I have to like the idea of facing that creep.”

“Look at it this way. He’ll be alone. No allies. You have your whole family standing with you. Sky and Beau are old enough to remember him. They hate his guts.” He put on his hooded parka.

“I didn’t know that.” He smiled. “Good info.”

“Clint and Cheyenne were only four so their memory is hazy, which gives them license to make up terrible stories about him because they could be true.”

“I love it. How come I’ve never heard any of them?”

“You kept the subject locked down so they decided you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“I didn’t, but it’s nice to know they were hating on him behind my back.” He finished buttoning his coat and crammed his hat on his head. “Let’s do this.”

Andy unhooked a towel from the coat rack. “For Sam.”

“Good call.”

Reaching for the door, Andy pulled it open to reveal a world transformed. A few flakes drifted down from the cloud-covered sky, but the storm was over.

A crust of snow had formed against the bottom of the door. Stepping over it, Andy walked out on the porch, his boots crunching on several inches of the white stuff. Sam streaked past him, scattering snow as he bounded down the steps and leaped through the drifts with yips of joy.

“There goes your fresh paint job.” Rance closed the door behind him and stood beside the man who’d been more of a father to him in the past two years than his biological parent ever could be.

Irving Quick had zero chance of gaining parental status. The position belonged to his mom, Andy, Buck and Marybeth, the four people he credited with molding him into a decent human being.

Even some of the other dads had treated him with fatherly affection, bringing gifts and encouraging him in whatever activity he happened to be into when they visited. Gestures like theirs emphasized that his father was, in Andy’s words, a dick.

He let out a breath, creating a cloud of condensation. “Thanks for reminding me I have a cheering section.”

“I’d say it’s a lot more powerful than that.” Andy fished gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. “Quick has no idea what he’s getting into. He left a woman surrounded by little kids and a kindly couple who were helping her raise them. The McLintocks have become a force to be reckoned with and he’s inflicted harm on one of their own. I don’t envy him.”

“Do you feel sorry for him?”

“Hell, no.” Andy chuckled. “I can’t wait to see his scared rabbit expression when he realizes who he’s dealing with and what he’s up against. I don’t want him here, but since I agree with your mother that you should confront him, I’ll take pleasure in watching you reduce him to a sniveling shadow of a man.”

“I don’t know if I can?—”

“Of course you can. You’re a writer. Use your words.”

“Speaking of that, why did you want to help me get the manuscripts?”

“I needed to find out beforehand if you dedicated it to your mother.”

“Sure did.”

“Good man. Did you by chance put the dedication page in these manuscripts?”

“I did. Probably an amateur move to include it in a submission, but I wanted her to see it was there, ready to go once it was published.”

“I don’t care if it’s an amateur move. It’s the right move, and I intend to make sure she opens to that page immediately.”

“I hurt her feelings by not giving it to her first. I know she was disappointed, but?—”

“It has to be complicated when you want to write and your mom’s already a well-known author.”

Andy’s kind words eased the turmoil in his gut. “Very complicated.” Watching Sam cavorting in the snow helped, too.

“At least she doesn’t write under her own name. I didn’t think to ask. Are you using a pseudonym?”

“I’m not planning to. Rance McLintock sounds like a Western writer. But if I want another layer of anonymity, I could go that route. Her real name is getting out there and it’ll be in the dedication.”

“It’s out there but it doesn’t have traction. Not many will make the connection. If you don’t draw attention to it, you should be able to use your real name and find your own success independent of hers.”

“I hope so. Eventually it won’t matter, but with this first book, especially since it’s a Western….”

“I totally get it. She does, too. And seeing the dedication will go a long way to soothe her ruffled feathers.”

Rance gazed at him. “I didn’t realize how much you look out for her.”

“Always.”

“It’s nice, Andy.”

“It’s nice that she lets me. There was a time she couldn’t imagine leaning on anyone.”

“Maybe because you’re the first solid guy she’s come across. Anyway, if that’s all you’re here for, to find out about the dedication, you might as well stay on the porch while I go fetch the box.”

“There was one other thing.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t help thinking you had an ulterior motive for giving Lani the book.”

He grimaced. “I did, but things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. I can’t see her leaving that job. You should see her face when she talks about it.”

“You should see her face when she looks at you. And vice-versa.”

“That obvious, huh?”

‘Yes.”

“To everyone?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could say it’ll all turn out, but I can’t see a path leading to a happy-ever-after.”

“Gonna keep looking for one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my boy. Now go get those manuscripts while I use this towel on Sam.”

“Yes, sir.” He headed down the snow-covered steps. That’s my boy. Andy might not know how much those simple words meant. He was Andy’s boy and so were his brothers. Angie was his girl as much as Jess, the daughter he’d sired.

Andy hadn’t just married their mom. He’d married all of them, stepping into the role of father with grace, compassion and a wicked sense of humor. Who needed effing Irving Quick? He had Andy Hartmann.