Hank shrugged his broad shoulders in exasperation. “You startled her. This pretty girl didn’t know if you were friend or foe. You’ll both feel better if you take the time to make peace with her.”

Pretty? He’d called this filthy beast with the large jaws and wary eyes pretty? “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Pet her. Talk to her. Show her a little kindness,” he said as he rubbed the dog’s head and neck.

Ally watched as the powerfully built retriever luxuriated in the massage. There was no doubt she was putty in Hank’s hands, but animals sensed when humans were scared. And right now Ally was full of fear. Grimacing, she hugged her arms to her chest, not about to let herself be made vulnerable in that way. “I don’t think so.”

Hank lifted an eyebrow. “I’d ask why not,” he replied drolly, “but it’s pretty clear you’re still as frightened of this big ol’ sweetheart as she initially was of you.”

His quiet disapproval rankled. “I don’t like dogs.”

Hank’s eyes sparkled with devilry. “Dogs and Christmas. Wow. Sure your name isn’t Ebenezer Scrooge?”

Ally gave him her most repressing look. “Very funny,” she snapped, more annoyed now than embarrassed. “I was bit by a dog that strayed onto our ranch when I was five. I’ve been leery of them ever since.”

Comprehension lent compassion. “That’s a shame,” Hank said sincerely, shaking his head in regret. “You’re really missing out.”

Still keeping a cautious eye on the suddenly docile creature, Ally remained where she was. She didn’t care how friendly the big mutt looked now-there was no way Hank was getting her to venture over there. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

A car motor sounded in the drive behind them. Ally turned to see a Cadillac pulling up in front of the barn. An elegantly dressed, silver-haired man in a gray Western suit, and a Resistol hat emerged from the car.