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

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T he Armstrong’s yellow truck sat in front of their cabin when Rance pulled in. Lani could have driven herself over, but she hadn’t texted to back out of their arrangement. He took that as a good sign.

He'd been getting many of them today. His mom and Andy were on fire with this idea of an indie press. They’d already secured the domain name for DezAndy Press. Trent was designing a website.

Oksana had caught the indie bug and said she’d put out her next book through DezAndy Press. Bret’s wife Molly had asked to do book trailers and wanted to take a crack at cover design.

This sea change was happening whether Lani came on board or not. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope.

She stepped out the front door as he climbed down, his boots crunching on a shallow layer of overnight snow that was already starting to freeze. Sunshine was a precious commodity in the winter and only a few hours of it remained on this Christmas Eve Day.

He walked to meet Lani and resisted the impulse to hug her. “You could have driven over, after all.”

She held his gaze. “I chose not to.”

“I’m glad.” He escorted her around to the passenger side and helped her in. “I like driving you around.”

She smiled. “I think that’s why you bought this truck. To impress the ladies.”

“Initially. Until I found the one Thunder liked the best.” He closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. When a sneaky patch of ice almost took him down, he grabbed the fender and saved himself.

He might want to slow down. But damn, he was eager to get to this meeting.

Lani glanced at him as he swung into the driver’s seat. “I’m relieved to hear Thunder approves of me.”

“Oh, he does.” Buckling up, he turned the key and shifted into reverse. “You don’t fiddle with the radio, put your feet on the dash or spit out the window.”

“Spit out the window? You’ve had girlfriends who did that?”

He laughed. “No. It was just fun to say. Reminds me of when you wanted me to chew tobacco to mute my sexy factor.”

“That was a terrible idea.”

“And pointless. My sexy factor can’t be muted. It’s infinitely resilient.”

She grinned. “You’re sure in a good mood.”

“I am. Which is surprising since I’ve handed the Wenches my heart on a platter.”

“They’ll be gentle. They all adore you.”

“They all adore Mom, too, but they don’t sugarcoat their comments when it comes to evaluating a manuscript. She warned me about that last night. They believe in tough love.” Nothing they said would bother him. This meeting wasn’t about him. It was about expanding Lani’s horizons. Maybe.

“Tough love is what you want from a critique, assuming nobody’s on an ego trip.”

“They’re not. But speaking of egos, have you ever met someone who admits they’re a narcissist?”

“Is that what Irving told you?”

“Pretty much. His therapist advised him not to make this trip and he did it anyway.”

“Why didn’t the therapist want him to come?”

“Because Irving is lousy at apologies — his words, not mine — and he’d only hurt his family and screw up our holiday for nothing.” The jury was still out on that. “He says he’s a borderline personality who’s not likely to change.”

“So given all that, why did he come?”

“He’s from a long line of writers and his other two kids aren’t into it. He figured I might be because of Mom. When I accidently let it slip that I’m writing, he was ecstatic. The chain is still unbroken.”

“Is he related to Jeremy Quick, the guy who wrote historical fiction?”

“That’s the one. And before that there was a mystery writer.”

“Huh. Are you interested in these ancestors?”

“I guess not. I haven’t bothered to look them up online.” He might, though, once the dust settled.

“Has he suggested you go indie?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Don’t you dare listen to him. He might be happy you’re a writer and his precious chain is intact, but he doesn’t want to take a chance that you’ll eclipse him the way Desiree has.”

“I figured out that was his motive.”

“And dismissed the idea of going indie, I assume.”

“I did. More or less.” With an emphasis on less.

“More or less? C’mon, Rance. You said you trust my judgment and I predict you’ll go far in this business. You have bestseller written all over you.”

“Must have happened in the wash. I knew I shouldn’t have thrown a dictionary in with my clothes.”

“Very funny. Seriously, you have the potential to make the Times list, see your books face-out in the front of the store, maybe even get Tequila Shots optioned for a movie.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It will be. You’re a marketer’s dream — good-looking, quick with a joke but not full of yourself, and?—”

“Don’t go overboard, Lani-lou. I seem to recall you telling me to my face that I’m full of myself.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” He couldn’t resist teasing her. He also wanted to derail this bestseller talk.

She flushed. “Before I saw the real you.”

“Naked, you mean.”

“Not just that… well, kind of that, but really it was?—”

“The mind-blowing orgasms. You can say it. We’re totally alone in here.”

“Rance! I’m trying to convince you not to listen to Irving. This book combined with your cowboy persona will take you far. You’re the whole package.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Okay, you don’t want to get your hopes up. That’s understandable. Publishing’s not an easy business, but you have a much better chance than most to make it big. Don’t let Irving spook you.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I take it he’s still here?”

“Sure is. He wanted to come to the meeting today but Mom said no and Andy’s gonna make sure he doesn’t crash it.”

“Andy’s her knight in shining armor.”

“He sure is. He’s on guard for all of us, when it comes to that.” He parked Thunder beside Nancy’s new yellow truck. Once she’d seen what the Armstrongs bought, she’d had to make a change.

Now three Wenches drove vehicles that matched their color. The purple custom paint job on his mom’s F-350 was on purpose, but Jess had a green SUV before she was invited to join the group.

Cindy was saving for a metallic blue one and Colleen was determined to find a good deal in red. Teresa said it’d be a cold day in hell when she bought an orange truck. Practical Annette had driven her beige pickup for years and wasn’t about to search out an indigo replacement.

He'd known all the Wenches except Jess since he was a baby. And now he was counting on them to save his butt.

Lani waited for him to help her out, which was nice. She kept hold of his hand once she had both feet on the ground. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” But not for the reasons she was thinking. He closed the door and she still didn’t let go. Awesome. He tightened his grip and started toward the porch.

“It really is a good book. You must know that on some level.”

“I do. But it’s like a meal you cook for other people. It tastes fine when you sample it in the kitchen, but the minute they start eating you worry that it’s not that great and they’ll be too polite to say so.”

“But deep down you know it’s good, right?”

“Yes, but I know it can be better.”

“And that’s why we have editors in this world. I don’t know if the Wenches consider themselves editors, though.”

“Oh, they do. When they read Mom’s stuff, they go through it with a fine-tooth comb, looking for plot holes, continuity mistakes and of course, typos.”

“That’s amazing. If only the authors I work with had something like that.”

“The editors at her publishing house always say her manuscripts hardly need anything done to them.”

“Do they know about the Wenches?”

“Only that she has a book club. Their true function has always been a secret and I think they’d rather keep it that way.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ll bet people ask to join.”

“They do, and she politely tells them they’ve capped membership at seven since that’s the number of colors in a rainbow.”

“Sara told me Jess took her mom’s place, which is touching. How long have they been doing this?”

“Mom gathered the group after her first book came out, so almost forty years.”

She drew him to a stop at the foot of the steps. “This emergency meeting has something to do with us, doesn’t it?”

He hesitated.

“That’s my answer. But I can’t figure out the connection.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

“I look forward to that.”

“Me, too.” He’d lay it all on the line and leave it up to her. How would she react? He had no idea.