Page 12 of Cowboy’s Christmas Baker

Before long, the little village was behind them and he was turning onto Route One and headed out into the country.

The sky was like an enormous slate-gray blanket and flurries swirled over the road like little white tornados. The houses they passed gradually melted into more open fields with the occasional red barn dotting the hillsides.

Before he knew it, he was turning onto Meetinghouse Road and making a left at the bumpy gravel driveway with the red mailbox beside it.

“This is it, Katie-cat,” he said, a little nervous for her to see the place for the first time.

He’d been out here himself twice already. Once to see the place and put in an offer, and again with an inspector who kept mentioning things the bank appraiser would want to see.

But there wasn’t a bank appraiser, because there had been enough cash from Penny’s insurance to buy the place outright. It was a bittersweet irony, knowing how much she would have loved for them to have a home of their own.

A leggy rhododendron hedge flanked the driveway for a while, then suddenly opened up to reveal a rolling hillside with two barns and a small white farmhouse with black shutters.

“See the little house?” he said to Katie. “That’s where we’ll live. You can choose which room you want.”

“Okay,” she said.

He tried not to let her indifference hurt him, but his stomach twisted with disappointment anyway.

Be patient, he reminded himself.

Of all the advice he’d gotten about Katie, that bit was the hardest to follow.

He parked the truck and got out. The wind ran its icy fingers through his hair, leaving tiny snowflakes in its wake.

“Chilly up here on the hill,” he said conversationally to Katie, not expecting a reply.

They headed up to the porch together, and he retrieved the key from under the welcome mat.

“Here we go,” he said, opening up and reaching inside to flick on a light.

He’d hoped she would run in and start investigating. But Katie simply stayed by his side, so he stepped indoors himself, sliding off his boots and leaving them on the mat by the door.

Katie did the same, then followed him down the little center hallway, past the antique sideboard and the openings to a small living room and dining room, to the kitchen at the back of the house.

“This is my favorite room,” he told her. “Because when you look out the window, you can see the barn and the hill.”

Katie nodded, not taking a single step toward the window to see for herself.

He would have loved to try and get her attention by showing her the baking things, but sadly the kitchen wasn’t very well equipped yet.

“There’s a back door,” he said, pointing to it. “That’ll get me to the barn a little faster. And down there is the cellar.”

“Okay,” Katie said.

“And we’ve got three bedrooms upstairs,” he said. “You can take your pick.”

“Right now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go have a look.”

They trooped up the stairs together and looked at the rooms. They were probably nothing to write home about in anyone else’s book, but Harrison loved them. Each had a sloping ceiling with built in drawers in the eaves, and sconce lights on the walls with old-fashioned etched globes. One room looked out on the front lawn and the driveway, another was over the side of the house and the fields, and the last one had a view of the hillside in back and the creek that wended its way along the valley.

“What do you think?” he asked Katie.

“They’re all good,” she said politely.

“Do you want to keep an eye on the driveway for when Grandma and Grandpa come?” he asked her. “Or do you want a view of the cows? Or the hill?”