was decorating. Not a single holiday passed without Betty celebrating it in style.
“Betty knows how much you used to love Christmas at Raintree.” Logan waited for her to reach his side, his big palm wrapping around her upper arm to assist her up the steps. “She wants to make this visit perfect for you. We all do.”
Amy’s blood rushed at the husky note in his voice and she curled her fingers around the handle of her bag, tamping down the urge to lean in to him.
Hold on to your heart. This time, she wouldn’t mistake friendship for love. What she felt for Logan was old-fashioned lust and misguided hero worship. She’d do well to remember that.
A loud jingle sounded, both wreaths swinging on their doors as a small figure burst out of the house.
“Amy.”
Betty’s red bangs ruffled in the night breeze, her green eyes glistening with moisture.
Amy’s vision blurred. “Hi, Mama.”
She drew her bag in against her thigh and dipped toward the floor of the porch, the length of her limbs becoming awkward. Betty’s short stature had always made Amy wither, trying not to loom over her.
Betty’s warm palms cradled her cool cheeks then traveled down her arms to caress her wrists. She gently lifted Amy’s arms out to the side, trailing her gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes.
“You look beautiful. I think you grew another inch since I saw you last. You’re just as tall as your father was.” Betty dabbed at the corners of her eyes and smiled. “I’m so glad you came home.” She stretched up on her tiptoes, her kiss grazing the curve of Amy’s jaw. “I’ve missed my sweet girl.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Much more than she’d realized. Amy wrapped her arms around her mother in a tight embrace. The rich scent of cinnamon and butter lingered on Betty’s white chef’s apron, releasing in sweet puffs with each of Amy’s squeezes.
Amy giggled and nuzzled her cheek against Betty’s silken hair. “You smell like cookies.”
“That’s because I’ve been baking your favorite ones all afternoon.”
“Cinnamon and sugar?”
“Stacked a mile high,” Betty said, laughing. She released Amy and tugged at Logan’s shoulders, kissing his cheek when he bent his head. “Thank you for bringing her home safely, Logan. I was worried the storm would keep you from making it.”
“You think we’d let a bit of ice keep us from your cooking?” A crooked grin broke out across Logan’s face and his dark eyes sparkled. “Not a chance.”
Betty patted his broad chest, her smile widening. “I made your favorites, too. The green bean casserole and sweet potato soufflé are ready and waiting.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “Let’s get inside. It’s too chilly out here for comfort.”
Logan nudged the small of Amy’s back, spurring her step on. She followed Betty’s jubilant advance into the cheery interior of the house and found the spacious foyer as warm and welcoming as it’d been in the past. The rich grain of the hardwood floors gleamed, several coats hung from a hall tree bench by the entrance and festive garlands draped elegantly from each banister of the winding staircase.
The low rumble of voices, children laughing and silverware clinking sounded from a large room on the right. Two teenage girls dressed in green-and-black chef uniforms strolled by carting pitchers of iced tea and water.
“You’ve hired some help, I see,” Amy said, noting the girls’ bright smiles and energetic expressions.
Betty nodded. “Raintree has done well the last two years. We’ve had to renovate the family floor and expand to accommodate more guests.” Her eyes brightened. “Logan and Cissy started an apprenticeship program for high school students last year. We have positions for students interested in culinary arts and equine management and the school gives them class credit on a work-based learning program. The kids learn and make money at the same time. And, believe me, those teenagers are a Godsend in the kitchen around the holidays.” She smirked. “Wish I could get your sister to peel potatoes as willingly as they do.”
Amy laughed. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
She glanced at Logan, warming at his lopsided grin. It was reminiscent of him as a teenager. Even then, he’d taken an eager interest in the business side of Raintree and had been determined to build it into a successful guest ranch. From the looks of things, he’d succeeded.
“Seems you’re doing a great job managing Raintree,” she said. “You must be proud.”
Logan shrugged. “It was mostly Cissy’s doing. She and the twins didn’t have much when Dom brought them to Raintree, and she knows how some families struggle. She wanted local kids to have as many opportunities as possible to succeed.” His smile widened. “Dom’s even getting in on the action. He’s trying to talk a friend into partnering so he can offer bull riding clinics.”
Amy smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
The warmth in Logan’s smile traveled upward to pool in his black eyes. The pleased gleam in them calmed her pulse and parted her lips. Lord, how she’d missed him. Missed talking to him, sharing dreams and celebrating successes. She missed her best friend.
“There’s our girl,” a deep voice rumbled.
Amy spun, a giggle escaping her as a tall, gray-haired man approached. Tate Slade, Logan’s father, had always held a special place in her heart. Having lost her dad to a heart attack at age seven, Amy had found a second father in Tate—or Pop, as everyone called him—as soon as they arrived at Raintree. His familiar gait and handsome smile provoked a fresh surge of tears. Pop pulled her close for a gentle hug and she pressed her cheek to his broad chest.
“It’s so good to have you home for a while,” Pop murmured.
“I’m glad to be back.”
He kissed her forehead, stepped back and nodded at Logan. “You made it back right on time. The guests have already settled in for Thanksgiving dinner and Betty has almost finished setting up the family table.”
Logan slipped the bag from Amy’s shoulder. “I’ll get Amy set up in a room and we’ll be there in a minute.
“Don’t think that’s possible.” Pop hesitated, splaying his hands. “A lot of guests missed their flights yesterday because of the storm. We’ve had to extend their stays and ended up with double bookings. Everything’s packed tight. Except for y’all’s—” he winced, nodding at Logan “—I mean, your room.”
Logan flushed. His knuckles tightened around the handles of the bags and he shifted from foot to foot. Betty fidgeted with the hem of her apron and Pop studied the toes of his boots. The silence lengthened and Amy’s heart ached at the awkward discomfort.
Logan cleared his throat. “I’ll stay in one of the bunkhouses. You can have my room.”
“Thank you, Logan.” Amy rubbed her clammy palms over her pants legs and forced a smile. “Mama, how about I help you finish setting the table while Logan puts
