A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe by CATHY GILLEN THACKER

with a reassuring smile.
    â€œI know that,” Hank returned, just as quietly. “But I wanted to.”
    Just as, Ally thought wistfully, he clearly wanted to make love to her again. She swallowed, her fear of being hurt stronger than ever. “The thing is,” she reminded them both, “I’m only here temporarily.”
    The look in Hank’s eyes said he clearly felt otherwise. “So you’re telling me I’m nothing more than a fling to you?”
    Ally wished it were that uncomplicated. She couldalready feel herself being drawn to him again, heart and soul. The problem was, they were all wrong for each other. “We want different things from life,” she told him in a low, measured tone.
    His gaze narrowed. “Ranchers marry city girls all the time,” he returned casually.
    Marry! Telling herself they were speaking hypothetically, Ally concurred. “But in those cases, the city girls move to the ranch.” Which was clearly not going to happen here. She edged closer to make her point as gently and kindly as possible. She put up a staying hand. “I’m not saying it wasn’t great…”
    â€œThat’s good to hear,” Hank interrupted, looking her straight in the eye. “Because it was—” he paused, letting the words sink in “—great.”
    Ally flushed at the new heat in his midnight-blue eyes. “But it’s not going to happen again,” she continued, standing her ground determinedly.
    He lifted a skeptical brow. “Sure about that?” he teased.
    Ally nodded. She did not want to be hurt and instinct told her that, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Hank McCabe had the potential to break her heart. She gulped, moved closer still and inclined her head toward the adorable puppy he held in his arms. “So what’s going on here?”
    To her relief, Hank let the discussion about their lovemaking end.
    â€œWell,” he drawled, his attention returning to Duchess and the puppies, too. “You’re not going to believe what just happened,” he said. He finished giving Gracie the bottle, then held her up tenderly, to look into her cute little face and still-closed eyes. “Is she, Gracie?”
    Ally could have swore the pup gave a tiny squeak in response.But maybe that was wishful thinking, too.
    â€œWhat happened?” she asked in concern.
    Hank smiled and gently set the littlest puppy down in front of Duchess, who promptly began nuzzling the runt of the litter affectionately and cleaning her, with her tongue. That much attention from her mother was new, Ally noted with a start.
    Hank beamed like a proud papa, and languidly rolled to his feet. “Gracie nursed at her mama’s side for a good three minutes at the start of the feeding before she got too tired and fell off.”
    Nursing from the mother was much harder, physically, than taking formula from a bottle. Which meant that Gracie was not failing, after all, but getting stronger. “That’s nearly three times as long as she did this morning!” Ally noted, impressed.
    â€œNot only did she get much needed colostrum and immunity from her mama,” Hank reported happily, “but she drank most of this bottle, too.”
    Finished, Duchess nosed Gracie away from her and turned to the next puppy who needed her attention.
    Hank reached over and picked up Gracie, handing her to Ally to cuddle. As she held her, Gracie made the same sounds the other puppies were making—like the quiet purr of a well-tuned motor. The males were a little larger than the females. All the puppies, including Gracie, seemed a bit more adept at wiggling and scooting around today. Duchess seemed attached to every one of them, even the littlest one.
    â€œGracie is getting stronger, too.” Ally could feel it in the way the little puppy nestled against her.
    Hank regarded her seriously. “It won’t be long at all—maybe the