Ally supposed it wouldn’t have been-had she been a member of the famously loving, larger-than-life McCabe clan.

Aware that her fingers were suddenly trembling, she paused to unlock the front door, then stepped inside.

The foyer of the 1920s home was just as plain and depressing as she recalled. “My parents weren’t big on celebrating any of the holidays. On this ranch, December 25 was just another workday.”

Hank hefted the tree over his shoulder again and followed her into the adjacent living room. His blue eyes flickered briefly over the sadly outdated thrift store furniture and peeling horse-and-hound wallpaper, which was at least forty years old. Then he plucked a pair of scissors from the scarred rolltop desk and cut through the webbing on the tree. “That’s sad.”

Ally shrugged. “That’s just the way it was,” she said flatly.

Hank shook out the tree and set it in the waiting metal stand. “It doesn’t have to stay that way.” He moved closer and briefly touched her arm, prompting her to look him square in the eye. “People have the power to change.”

Not in her experience, Ally thought.

Although in her own way, she had tried, by leaving Laramie, Texas-and the ranch that had been the root of all her troubles-as soon as she was old enough to do so.

Oblivious to her feelings about the property, Hank strode into the equally depressing kitchen and returned with a beaker of water. He filled the stand, then stood back to admire his handiwork. One corner of his mouth crooked up, as he pivoted back to her and continued his pep talk, with all the enthusiasm of a man who was used to accomplishing whatever he set out to do. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got what it takes to infuse Mesquite Ridge Ranch with the yuletide spirit it deserves.”

That wasn’t really the point, Ally thought, as she inhaled the fresh, Christmasy scent. What did it matter if this was one of the most beautiful trees she had ever seen? “To tell you the truth, I’m not really into colored lights and presents, either.”