Her Christmas Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  And stopped.

  The coat and her nice new boots, her scarf and her hat? Those were all tainted until she found out who was gifting them. Frustrated, she put on her lightweight camel jacket instead. She’d just shiver, damn it.

  When Amy came out of her room with her bag, she beamed a brilliant smile at Caleb, who was frowning at her. He looked vaguely displeased, and so she said, “I hope it won’t be a problem to take me out? If it is, I can call an Uber.”

  “I got it,” he mumbled, ducking his head as he went to the front door and held it open for her.

  All right, then. She gave him her most brilliant smile, determined to be cheery despite everything going wrong. If he was going to help her out, the least she could do was be good company. So she kept smiling all the way out to the car, and she smiled on through the brief drive to Main Street, where her accountant’s office was. She arrived just as Layla was putting the key in the door.

  Her friend’s eyes widened at the sight of Amy. “Oh! Hey there. Did we have an appointment? I was going to run out early and do some shopping—”

  Amy put a hand on Layla’s arm and leaned in. “Can we talk in private? Five minutes, tops.”

  Layla glanced at Caleb’s truck and then nodded, opening the door to the office again. “Of course.”

  “Any sign of my alimony?” Amy asked as they paused in the entryway.

  “Girl, you know that answer as well as I do.” Layla pushed up her heavy glasses. Unlike Amy, who only wore her glasses to read, Layla wore hers constantly. Her long, silky straight hair was caught up in a bun with three pencils shoved through it, and she was wearing a blazer over a Star Wars tee. “It’s not coming anytime soon.”

  “I know, but I need money.” Amy held out her bag. “You remember this?”

  Layla froze. Her fingers fluttered as her hand went to her own purse. “Your Birkin?”

  “Yeah. It’s too expensive for me to use day to day, so it’s just sitting in my closet.” She’d gone into her first meeting with Layla with the purse, back when she’d first moved to Painted Barrel. Layla had absolutely swooned over it. “I’ll sell it to you for a hundred fifty.”

  Layla shoved her glasses up her nose again. “Um, aren’t they worth like ten grand or something?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. My ex bought it for me. I could really use the money, Layla.” Amy held it out to her accountant and friend. “Please.”

  The other woman touched the bag with trembling fingers. Through a few casual texted conversations, Amy knew Layla loved funky accessories and expensive shoes. Apparently she also loved expensive bags. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Please. It’s either you, or I take it to a pawnshop and hope they give me money—”

  Layla squeaked in distress and clutched the bag to her chest. “You will not pawn my precious!” She mockingly pretended to claw at the air. “But you have to ask for more money, Amy, that’s just not right.”

  “Two hundred?” Amy joked.

  “I won’t give you a penny less than three hundred,” Layla said, hugging the purse to her. “Will you take a check?”

  “Only if the bank will let me cash it tonight.”

  Layla grimaced. “Friday night after five? Cash it is. Give me a sec.” She trotted back to her office, leaving Amy nervously waiting in the small lobby. To her relief, Layla reappeared a minute later with a stack of twenties. “Here you go, and Merry Christmas to me. You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure.” She was so relieved to see that money that she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the best. Thank you so much, Layla.”

  “Girl, no, thank you.” She stroked her hand over the purse again. “If you change your mind, I’ll give it back to you, I promise.”

  Amy wouldn’t change her mind. She hugged Layla, thanked her again, and then tucked the money into her smaller Prada purse and headed back out to Caleb’s truck. As they pulled away from the curb, she watched Layla leave the office, petting the massive new purse on her shoulder.

  “Wasn’t that yours?” Caleb asked, sounding as surly as ever.

  “Yeah. I sold it to her for some quick cash.” Amy sighed with relief. She already felt ten pounds lighter, some of her worries gone for the day. She could buy groceries. She could get presents for her kids to give to them at the carnival tomorrow night. She could pay Caleb back for some of the things he’d done. “Can I give you two hundred now and more later when I get back on my feet on payday?”

  “No.” He glared at the windshield. “Where to?”

  “I need to give you some money at least,” Amy protested. “Let me—”

  “Where to?” he repeated again.

  She lost her temper. Maybe it was all the weirdness of the week or the worry about her car and her finances, but she was tired of his short, shitty mood. “You are the most stubborn son of a bitch ever, I swear.”

  He looked over at her in surprise . . . and then laughed.

  That surprised her just as much. Not the cussing—it was a habit she was trying to break—but his smile. It changed his somber, bearded face into something breathtaking. Oh. He had beautiful teeth, too, white and straight, and he was just . . . charming as hell when he smiled.

  For a brief moment, she wished he was her Secret Santa after all. That someone as kind and thoughtful as Caleb was her secret admirer. Maybe that would get him to open up and really talk to her. In this moment, that was what she wanted more than anything, her loneliness a constant ache in her soul.

  “Where to?” he asked again, a little more gently this time.

  Amy sighed, the moment gone. “To town hall. I have to pick up my costume for tomorrow night. Have you gotten yours?”

  He glanced over at her as he turned the truck. “Costume?”

  “For Santa? You know, to play Santa Claus? I’m going to be Mrs. Claus?”

  Caleb nodded slowly, though she could tell from his expression that he’d forgotten all about it. “The children will appreciate it,” she said. “But they’ll probably appreciate it more if Santa actually talks to them.”

  He grunted a response.

  “For the record, Santa doesn’t grunt, either.”

  He gave her a sharp look out of the corner of his eye.

  She didn’t care. It wasn’t like she’d forced him to sign up. He’d volunteered. He had to know what was involved with playing Santa. If he wasn’t going to do the job, he should have never thrown his hat in the ring. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but some of those children have been looking forward to seeing Santa for weeks now. There’s no mall around here for them to go and see him, so this might be their only chance to have this experience. However you feel about things, please keep that in mind and try to make this as wonderful for them as you can.”

  There was a long pause. “I’ll try.”

  Amy let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

  “It’s . . . hard for me.”

  No shit, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. He was nice, for all that she couldn’t understand what he was thinking. He had a kind heart, she knew he did, so she needed to just smile and encourage him past it. “Just remember that they’re children. Small children. All they want to hear is that they’ve been good enough to get a present from Santa. That’s all.”

  He nodded again as he pulled the truck up to the municipal office. Painted Barrel was small as far as towns went, so the post office, water department, library, and pretty much everything else were all in the same building. Amy thought it was adorable and part of the town’s charm. You literally knew everyone who lived here and what they did. It felt like a big family . . . even if she felt like the weird cousin who’d just arrived to spend the summer with relatives she barely knew.

  As they parked, Caleb frowned at the building in front of them. “It’s closed.”

  “It’s not,�
� Amy reassured him. “Sage said her new baby was fussing and her husband has a cold so she closed up early. She texted me to tell me she left a key under the mat so I can get in and take care of things. Come on.” She slid out of the truck and headed for the building.

  The key was just where Sage said it would be, and Amy flicked on a few lights, feeling a little uneasy as Caleb followed her in. She’d been glib about going in to retrieve the costumes, but now that she was inside, she felt like an intruder. Sage had told her that the costumes were in her office, so Amy headed in that direction and pushed the door open gently and turned on the light. Hanging from a hook on the wall were dry cleaner bags with AMY and CALEB paper signs taped to them. The rest of the office was covered in Christmas decor, interspersed with family photos of Sage and her husband cuddling their children. Amy picked up a recent photo, absolutely in love with Sage’s brilliantly happy smile and the dimples on the fat baby she was holding.

  “Ugly sweater,” Caleb told her, leaning over her shoulder to look at the photo.

  She chuckled. “It is not,” Amy said, feeling the need to defend Sage and her child even though they really were quite hideous sweaters. “They’re just festive. I like that they’re so happy.” That was the thing with Sage—she really was the happiest person Amy had ever met. It was impossible not to adore her. Amy set the photo down and moved toward the hanging costumes. “We’ll have to try them on—”

  “What?” Caleb blurted, looking at her with surprise.

  “We’ll have to try them on,” she stated again, pulling the hangers labeled AMY off of the hook. “Sage said there were a few different sizes of costumes, and if none of them fit, we’re going to have to do some emergency letting out. Santa can’t wear skintight clothes, you know.”

  He just stared at her, his eyes wide.

  She lowered her hanger, frowning at him. “You do know what Santa looks like, right? Kinda fat and jolly?” She wiggled a finger in his direction. “While I appreciate the fitness you’ve got going on, the kids are going to want to see a jolly old elf, so you’re going to need to stuff with a pillow.”

  He pulled off his hat and rubbed his head, and she noticed his face was bright red. Aw. He was embarrassed. Poor Caleb.

  “It’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “I’ll be at your side the whole time. The kids will love it. Here.” Amy tucked her designated costumes against her body and gestured at the bathroom down the hall. “I’ll go try mine on in the other room and you can shut the office door and try yours. If they don’t fit right, we can go to my place and fix things. That way we’re all set for tomorrow. Okay?”

  He said nothing, as usual. Just slowly took down the garment bags with a pained look on his face.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” she told him merrily. “Be right back.”

  Amy headed down the hall and closed herself into the tiny municipal office bathroom. The building was an old one, which meant the floors creaked and weren’t all that even, and all the fixtures were old. Even so, it was clean and neat, and she pulled out the first costume and tried it on.

  To her dismay, it was far too tiny. Sage was a tall, sturdy woman and so Amy had been hoping that the costume would be roomy, but it was clearly for someone several sizes smaller than her. She put it aside and pulled out two others, giving them both a shot. One was like a tent and draped so low in the front that Amy’s boobs were practically hanging out, so that one wouldn’t work, either. The third dress would have to do. It was a nice costume, red with faux fur trimming around the collar and matching hat and curly, white-haired wig. The skirt was a little shorter than she’d have liked, puffy with a crinoline, and went barely to her knees because it was supposed to show off matching knee-high black boots with white fur cuffs. There were a few problems with the costume, one being that it was extremely tight across the chest and made her nipples and bra show through the fabric. Okay, she’d have to use some tape instead of a bra tomorrow. She’d done that for special occasions in the past and she could do so again. The boots were the other problem—they were tight on her feet and made her toes cramp painfully after a few minutes. She’d take them home anyhow and hope to find something that would look okay with the costume. If not, well, she’d put up with a bit of toe cramping. Amy eyed her figure in the mirror critically. She knew Mrs. Claus was supposed to be frumpy, but the costume was an odd mixture of cheesecake and holiday. Maybe it was her hourglass figure, which had seen far too many nights with Ben & Jerry’s on the couch to be lean. Her butt was bigger than it should have been, and her boobs were, too, and maybe that was what was making the costume look so odd. Or maybe she was just paranoid. With a white wig on, wire-frame fake glasses, and some red circles on her cheeks, she’d look like a regular Mrs. Claus.

  There was a knock at the bathroom door.

  Oh. Was he waiting on her to come out? She was hogging the only bathroom in the municipal office, after all. Amy opened the door and grimaced an apology . . . which died in her throat.

  Caleb was shirtless in front of her.

  Words failed Amy as she stared at him. She knew he was fit. He had to be the way he crawled all over her roof, and he worked as a cowboy. That meant he was in shape. She just hadn’t realized how in shape until she saw him now. His hand was on the Santa pants, holding them up around his slim waist, and he wore no shirt, which meant she had an impressive look at his lean, muscled chest. Dark hair lightly sprinkled firm pectorals and led down to a six-pack and obliques that rivaled any swimmer’s. She’d never seen a chest like that outside of Hollywood.

  “Oh,” Amy breathed. Her face went red as she realized she was staring at his chest like a horny teenager. “Oh. Sorry.” She forced herself to make eye contact with him.

  He was bright red in the face, as well, the flush showing above the dark beard. “Need you.”

  “Sorry, what?” Her heart thudded.

  Caleb cleared his throat and, if it was possible, turned even redder. “Can’t figure it out. The costume.” The words were choked in his throat, and he thrust an arm out to her, holding the Santa coat out.

  Oh. She took the jacket from him, trying to figure it out. It was surprisingly heavy and seemed like far too much material, so she turned it in her hands, examining it. At least, she pretended to. She couldn’t focus, because she kept thinking about Caleb’s chest.

  She really was going to be a creepy Mrs. Claus, wasn’t she?

  Forcing herself to focus, Amy held the jacket back out to him. “I think it has a loop that wraps around the arm from the inside, like a hospital robe . . .”

  He jerked his gaze away from her and snatched the coat. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Amy looked down and her breasts were squeezed like sausages against the front of her costume, her nipples clearly outlined. Well, good lord, it was worse than she’d thought, and seeing him shirtless had just made things worse. Covering her boobs with an arm, she shut the door again.

  “Mine’s fine, too,” she called out. “Let’s get dressed so we can finish running errands.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Caleb was sweating.

  Of all the things he’d expected to see when she opened the bathroom door, her breasts practically presented to him was not one of them. Thanks to the ill-fitting top of her costume, he’d been able to see everything outlined. Her nipples stood out against the shiny material, and he’d been unable to stop staring.

  He’d wanted to touch her so badly. Instead, he couldn’t think straight with those plumped-up breasts practically staring him in the face. It had made him react in all kinds of ways. His mind blanked out. His face turned red.

  His dick turned hard.

  Having an erection in a Santa suit seemed . . . wrong. So he’d hastily retreated, glad for the pants that fit in a weirdly baggy fashion.

  Now if he could just get through the rest of the evening without making a fool of himself agai
n, it’d be great. He got dressed, making sure his winter coat covered his erection, and shoved the costume back into the bag. She met him in the hall, all smiles, as if he hadn’t seen her glorious tits practically naked in that costume, and he started sweating all over again.

  He was sweating when he drove her to the closest big-box store, several towns over. She talked and chattered as if determined not to notice his silence. Inside the store, she picked through everything as he walked a few steps behind her, pausing at the clearance aisle and looking at the prices of everything before putting something into her cart. She was making gifts for her class to give out tomorrow night, she told him, and put a roll of wrapping paper into her cart. Amy fingered some of the pretty, festive bows before buying the cheapest bag possible, and then at the last minute put those back, too.

  She was breaking his damned heart.

  He noticed she bought dog food and a squeaky toy for Donner, and the largest pack of ramen noodles he’d ever seen. When they got to the register, she carefully counted each dollar out and dug around in the bottom of her purse for two pennies. He didn’t understand her—money was clearly an issue, but she wore expensive, impractical clothing. Did she have a shopping addiction or was it something else? He suspected it had something to do with the ex-husband, but he didn’t ask.

  Couldn’t ask. He’d just mess it up.

  But he lingered in the store and bought the biggest bag of damned Christmas bows himself and shoved it into her bag when she wasn’t looking.

  “Thank you,” Amy said to him softly as they drove back to Painted Barrel. “I know I’m taking up a lot of your time, but it really is appreciated.”

  As if he had anything better to do. As if he wasn’t basking in every single moment spent in her presence. He was soaking up every smile, every note of her musical voice, every time she touched her hair. This was what he’d dreamed of for months now—just being with her—and he was going to take every opportunity he could.