Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same about the handsome Texas cowboy standing beside her. At thirty-three, the ex-marine was sexier than ever.

Ally got a handle on her mounting tension and turned back to the Mesquite Ridge Ranch’s caretaker. Looked beneath the fringe of rumpled, dark brown hair peeking from under his Stetson, and into his midnight-blue eyes. Aware that he was just as off-limits to her as ever, she paused as another thrill coursed through her. “I wanted to get here before dark.”

Hank McCabe tipped the brim of his hat back with one finger of his work-glove-covered hand. He regarded her with a welcoming half smile. “You accomplished that, since it’s barely noon.”

He was right-she should have been at work. Would have been if…

Determined not to let on what a mess her life was suddenly in, Ally bent her head, rummaging through her handbag for her house key. “I gather you got my message?”

Hank pivoted and strode toward his pickup truck, his gait loose-limbed and easy. “That you wanted to talk?” He hefted a bundled evergreen out of the back, and hoisted it over one broad shoulder. “Sure did.” As she headed for the ranch house, he fell into step beside her.

The fragrance of fresh cut Scotch pine was nearly as overwhelming as the scent of soap and man. “I’d planned to have the tree up before you got here.”

Which was, of course, the last thing she wanted on this last trip back home. Shivering in the bitter December wind, Ally ignored the stormy, pale gray clouds gathering overhead, and held up a leather-gloved hand. “I hate Christmas.” The words were out before she could stop herself.

Hank set the tree down on the porch with a decisive thud. “Now how is that even possible?” he teased.