Nashville, and see if she can’t get us some sort of proof.”
“How long is that going to take?” Hank asked, impatient to get this resolved before he or Ally became any more emotionally involved with Duchess and the pups.
Kurt stood. “She’s already done it. I spoke to the breeder right before I got here. Talia Brannamore reiterated everything Frannie already told me, but said she doesn’t have any proof with her. It’s all at her house in San Angelo. And she won’t be back there until December 23. Talia offered to drive through Laramie on her way home, since she’ll pass right by here, and see Duchess. If her story is true, and Duchess is hers, then the retriever should immediately recognize her. If not, and we think a fraud is being perpetrated…well, I’ve already talked to my brother Kyle, and we’ll have someone from the sheriff’s department ready and waiting.”
“But you think it might be true, don’t you?” Ally asked, clearly upset.
Kurt shrugged. “All I can tell you is that the woman from San Angelo was really concerned about her pregnant dog being lost and not knowing anything about it. She is exceedingly grateful to you and Ally and the vet clinic, and prepared to compensate us all for our troubles.”
Which went to confirm the value of golden retrievers, Hank thought.
He cast a sideways look at Ally. Her face had a crushed expression that mirrored his own feelings and tore at his heart.
He watched her kneel down and pick up Gracie, cradle her tenderly. He knew he’d do anything to make Ally happy. “What about the pups?” he asked.
Kurt knew where this was going. He shook his head. “They’re all spoken for, every last one.”
Hank swore silently to himself. “Including the runt of the litter?” He had to make sure.
Kurt nodded and confirmed grimly, “Gracie, too.”
ALLY SAT IN THE KITCHEN, devastated, while Hank walked his cousin out. She had known this could happen. She had just been hoping that it wouldn’t…
Hank strode back in, an old-fashioned hatbox, emblazoned with his name, clasped in his hands. Wordlessly, he set it on the table and came around to where she was sitting. He knelt in front of her, like a knight before a queen, and covered her hands with his warm ones.
Ally lifted her head. How easy it would be to depend on him this way. And how foolish. Since she wasn’t staying, and he wasn’t about to leave, and the sale of the ranch still stood between them…
Hank searched her face. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she countered grumpily.
“You’ve gotten attached to Gracie.”
Against all common sense, she reminded herself unhappily. “And you’re attached to Duchess. And we always knew this would happen.” She drew a deep breath, then added honestly, “I wished it wouldn’t. I just hoped I’d be able to find a way to keep the littlest one. But that’s not going to happen,” she said, the bitterness of old coming back to haunt her. Like every other situation at Mesquite Ridge, this event had a bad ending. For her, anyway…
Hank looked into her eyes as if he shared her heartache. “You can get another puppy,” he murmured softly, as if there was no place on earth he would rather be.
She gripped his hands, drawing on his strength despite herself, and blinked back tears. “I know,” she said thickly.
But it wouldn’t be the same, Ally knew.
With effort, Ally pushed her melancholy thoughts away. Hank was right-she could get another puppy. Someday. In the meantime, she had four days left in Laramie. She wasn’t going to let the bleakness of her future life ruin what she had today. She was going to do what she’d never been wise enough to do before. Enjoy the here and now, and forget about whatever tomorrow might bring.
Swallowing, Ally nodded at the box in Hank’s hands, determined to try to get back in the holiday spirit and be cheerful if it killed her. “What’s that?”
“My mom sent it over. Kurt almost forgot to give it to me.”
Okay, that told her absolutely nothing, except that his mother apparently liked fancy hatboxes, and this one looked as if it had been around for a while. In fact, there was even a little dust on it. “Aren’t you going to open it?” Ally prodded.
Hank shrugged, as maddeningly determined as she was impatient to learn more. “Sure. If you want.” He flashed her a grin that upped her anticipation even further. “That is-” he leaned forward intimately, more than ready to lend a little sensual distraction “-if you’re ready to do
Hank chuckled as if it were already a fait accompli. He took the lid off the hatbox. It was filled with a breathtaking array of amazing and unique ornaments. Some wrapped in tissue, some not. He picked up a ceramic Western-boot-wearing Santa Claus driving a sleigh filled with presents. “I got this one when I was five.”
Ally could imagine him hanging it on the tree, as an adorable little boy. “Cute,” she murmured, intrigued by this glimpse into his holidays past.
Hank fingered a Nutcracker soldier and reflected fondly, “This came from Dallas the year I turned eight. Mom and Dad took the whole family to see the ballet at Christmastime.”
The wooden figure was exquisite, even without the beautiful memories. “So everything in here has special meaning.”
He nodded, then gathered the box in one arm, took her by the hand with the other and led her into the living room.
Belatedly, Ally realized there were electric lights on the tree. Hank had to have put them up. When, she wasn’t sure.
Chuckling at her surprise, he leaned over and plugged in the cord. The tree lit up with a rain of tiny sparkling lights.
He reached for the box and fished out an ornament with a picture of him as a gap-toothed first grader on it. He walked over and hung it on the tree they had yet to decorate. “When I was a teenager, I found this photo hideously embarrassing.”
Ally sauntered closer. “And now?”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “It brings back memories. Good ones.” He paused. “I guess this isn’t so great for you, though.” He started to remove the ornament. “Maybe we should just stick to the decorations I bought at Neiman Marcus.”
Ally looked over at the shopping bag he had brought home days before. “We can use those,” she told him happily, returning to the hatbox full of memories. “But let’s use these, too.” It was fun, hearing his stories. Learning about his childhood made her feel closer to him in a way she hadn’t expected.
Hank studied her with concern. “It’s not really fair to have a tree for us that says everything about my childhood and nothing about yours, though.”
Ally raised a hand, promising cheerfully, “We can rectify that. Wait here.” She darted upstairs, anxious to surprise him, too. She came back several minutes later with a cloth-covered shoebox, and opened the lid. Inside was a collection just as unique.
His dark brow furrowed. “I thought you said your family didn’t celebrate Christmas.”
Ally sent him a wry look. “They didn’t.” She unwrapped a paper chain and another of artificial popcorn and cranberries, aware she was sentimentally attached-to every ornament of her youth, as he was to his. She smiled, belatedly realizing that “Christmas” was found in the unlikeliest of places. Like here, with Hank.
“But the teachers at school did,” she continued, surprised to find herself eager to share her past with Hank. “And when I was younger, we made stuff in art class, too.” She had tucked it all away, in the very back of her closet, where it would be safe.
Hank’s eyes locked with hers.
“I used to get it all out and look at it over the holidays,” she confessed.
