Her Christmas Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

She smiled. “So it is. Good morning, Caleb.”

  Damn, but she was pretty. His brain melted down when she turned that smile on him. He nearly dropped the box in his hands, distracted, and juggled it in his arms as he headed inside. Greet her, he told himself. Talk to her. Small talk. Kiss her. Something. Don’t just stand there like a mute when she talks to you.

  “What’s all that in the box?” she asked in a drowsy voice, padding behind him as he went into the kitchen.

  He wanted to tell her. He wanted to say a million things to her, but they were all frozen inside his paralyzed brain. It was like his damn jaw wouldn’t unclench to say a proper greeting. How was he ever going to date her—or romance her—if he couldn’t even talk to her? He set the box down on the counter and noticed that the coffee maker he’d gotten her was now out of its box and plugged in. Good. That meant she wasn’t rejecting him or his gifts like he’d worried. He could talk to her. He could.

  Caleb turned around and focused on her. She gazed up at him with those heartbreakingly blue eyes, her hair messy as if she’d just risen from bed. Her feet were bare and her robe gaped in the front, just a little, showing inviting smooth skin that begged to be touched and . . . and he still couldn’t think of a thing to say. He tried focusing on her face, the expectant look in her eyes as she waited for him to say hello to her just making things worse.

  Then he saw the light switch on the wall behind her. Without thinking, he reached over and flicked it off. The kitchen immediately became dark again, the only light behind them from the small window over the sink. Amy’s face hid in shadows, and a tiny chuckle rose from her throat.

  Caleb crossed the two steps between them and kissed her. She made a sound of surprise; then her hands slid to his waist as his tongue slicked into her mouth and he kept kissing her. Amy moaned against his mouth, her tongue flicking to greet his. It didn’t matter that she tasted like morning breath—hell, he probably tasted like the two cups of coffee he’d already downed—she was the best thing he’d ever tasted and he wanted to keep kissing her forever. Eventually, though, he pulled away, giving her mouth one last gentle peck.

  “Good morning,” he managed.

  “Hi,” she said, dazed. Her hands still clung to his waist. “We . . . we better now?”

  “I think so.” It was true. Something about crossing the distance between them and claiming that first kiss of the day had helped. It helped that she melted against him, encouraging his kiss. It meant he was doing something right and that she wouldn’t laugh at him if he was tongue-tied. That she liked him anyhow. Reluctantly, he moved over and flipped the light switch on again.

  Amy’s mouth was pink and swollen from his kisses, her skin reddened from his beard. He wanted to caress her face, to take away whatever discomfort he’d caused her. But she smiled at him, that gorgeous, brain-numbing smile, and he forgot near everything.

  “Did you bring coffee?” she asked. “Or do you want me to make some?”

  Her prompt helped. It reminded him that he’d arrived with a box of useful things. Unable to resist, Caleb leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers one last time and then turned to the box of goods he’d brought. “I brought some to brew,” he told her. “Wasn’t sure what flavor you liked.”

  “I like hazelnut,” she admitted, moving to his side. “But I just buy whatever is cheapest at the store.”

  He made a mental note. Hazelnut. And she liked her coffee sugary sweet with tons of cream. He knew that much, and he’d brought both just in case. He started to unload the box, setting things on the counter. “I brought things for you.”

  She peered around him, her chin practically resting on his sleeve, and he wanted her to move closer. “I see flour and sugar, and . . . garlands?” Amy giggled. “What exactly are we making here?”

  “We’re decorating your tree for Christmas,” he told her. “And we’re making cookies.”

  “Oh, I love that idea,” Amy gushed, all enthusiasm. “Do you know I’ve never made Christmas cookies?”

  He hadn’t, either, but he knew she loved sweet things, and so it seemed like a smart idea. “I noticed the tree I got you was naked,” he pointed out, his face heating at the word “naked.”

  “I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to work on repurposing the decorations I bought.” She nudged him with her hip as he opened the bag of coffee. “Remember the box that was in the trunk of my car? I bought some stuff at an estate sale but it’s all pretty old. I was hoping to be able to use some of it.”

  He remembered a humping Santa. “Those weren’t yours?”

  “They are now.” She chuckled, pulling out one of the tinsel-covered garlands and red and green wooden beads. There was a box of pretty glass ornaments, too, and she sighed happily at the sight of them. “I think I like this stuff better, though.”

  “I’m sure we can mix both,” he told her. “Your stuff and mine.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Her face held a dreamy smile. “I love Christmas. A real Christmas, you know? Where the presents mean something and aren’t just status symbols.”

  He was pretty sure he’d never been given a “status symbol” present in his life, but not everyone grew up in the remote wilds of Alaska. So he grunted a response, then added, “I wrote you a note, too.”

  Her lips quirked into a small smile. “So you, Mr. Shy, were going to show up to my house with a secret note and bake cookies? This was the plan?”

  “No,” he admitted. “The plan was to order some stuff from the bakery and send it to you with an anonymous note. But this way I get to spend time with you.”

  Amy chuckled and bumped his hip again. “No complaints here, but I have to admit I’m not much of a cook.”

  “Here I thought you were a gourmet chef, what with all that ramen.”

  She laughed even harder. “Don’t you know? Ramen is dirt cheap, my friend.” She peeked through the box, then gasped and pulled out a bag of chocolate chips. “Now we’re talking.” She tucked his note into her hand and began to open it.

  “Wait,” he said, the shyness attacking him out of nowhere. He put a hand over hers. “Don’t read that while I’m here, okay? Just . . . wait for me to go.”

  Her expression turned to one of sympathy, but she beamed at him and held it to her chest. “I’ll go put it in the bedroom so I can read it later.”

  She practically danced out of the room with the letter, much to his amusement. Hell, he guessed he was going to have to put more effort into the next one.

  She returned, dressed in yoga pants and an oversize sweatshirt that hung off one delicious shoulder, and pulled her hair into a clip. The coffee brewed, and Caleb pulled out everything in the box. The decorations were on the table and Amy moved back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, putting decorations on the tree and eating chocolate chips from the bag as she did.

  She was adorable. He couldn’t stop staring at her, even when he was supposed to be (secretly) looking up cookie recipes on his phone. Because he’d arrived with a bunch of ingredients and realized he’d left Uncle Ennis’s old cookbook back at the ranch.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she came to get a refill of her coffee and caught him peering at his phone.

  He quickly hid it. “Nothing.”

  She arched a brow and waved her fingers at him, indicating he should show her.

  “I might be looking at a recipe,” he confessed after a moment. “I’m not experienced with this kind of thing. I can dress a deer, but make a cookie? Not so much.”

  “Dress a deer?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Like . . . in a sweater?”

  Caleb stared. “Like . . . kill it and skin it and cut the meat up?”

  “Oh.” Her face turned bright red. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

  His nostrils flared. He was not going to bark with laughter in her face. He was not. “You thought
. . .”

  “That you were dressing them in little sweaters like people do their dogs, yeah.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I did mention I’m from the city, right?”

  “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

  She laughed again, the sound silly and light, and it made him smile. “Speaking of animals in sweaters, do you think Donner needs one?”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, pulling a jar of peanut butter from his supplies and digging a spoon into it. She immediately sat down on the floor and offered it to the dog, pulling the old collie into her lap as it licked the spoon. “I don’t know. People are always dressing their pets in sweaters online. I don’t want Donner to feel left out.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that. Just feed him and give him attention and let him stay inside at night, and I imagine he’ll be in love with you in no time.” If he wasn’t already. Amy was easy to love.

  “You’re the expert,” she said cheerily.

  “I am . . . at dogs, at least. Maybe not with cookies.” He tapped on his phone’s screen again. “You have any lard?”

  Her eyes widened. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  He thought for a moment. “Maybe we should just make pancakes instead. I know how to make those.”

  “I like pancakes,” she said hopefully, smiling at him.

  After that, it got a little easier to hang out. They ate stacks of pancakes and did the dishes by hand, talking about nothing in particular. After that was done, they went to the living room and he watched as she finished decorating the tree, then put Humping Claus and his wife underneath it. “Seems a shame to separate them,” Amy told him with a mischievous look.

  “Looks like he’s giving her the gift that keeps on giving.”

  Amy broke into peals of laughter with that, collapsing next to him on the love seat. “Now I’m imagining Santa’s stamina, and that’s something I never wanted to think about, ever,” she wheezed.

  “Is this not the time to make a joke about North Poles?” He managed to say it with a straight face, to his credit.

  She laughed so hard that she wiped tears from her eyes. Still chuckling, Amy looked over at him and sighed, and then the moment changed from silliness to . . . something a lot more charged. “What are we, Caleb?”

  That old, familiar nervousness shot through his throat, locking his vocal cords. “What.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “What do you want us to be?”

  She bit her lip and leaned in closer. “I’d like to try dating, I think.” Her gaze fell to his mouth. “I really liked kissing you.”

  Hell, he’d liked kissing her, too. “We can do that.” He pulled her close and she automatically tilted her head back, welcoming his kiss. Caleb’s lips were barely on hers when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She grinned at him and broke off the kiss. “Someone’s timing is terrible.” Amy reached for the phone in her pocket and put it on the end table . . . then paused.

  She just stared at that damn phone screen. At the text she’d gotten.

  She was utterly silent for so long that he began to feel uneasy. “Everything okay?”

  “Hm?” Amy turned back to him, her eyes a little too bright, her face a little too pale. “Oh. Yeah. I’m okay. It’s just personal business.” She smiled again but this time it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. The happy sparkle in them was gone.

  He hated that. He wanted her happy, always. “Do I need to beat someone up for you?”

  “Not yet,” she told him, and her expression seemed somber. It had been a joke, but she didn’t seem to think of it as one, and that made him curious. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I need to make a few calls and then walk Donner . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Caleb said, getting to his feet. The moment was gone. He was new to dating, but he knew when he’d overstayed his welcome. Clearly whatever was in that text message had upset her, and she needed to handle it. He wanted to fix it for her, but it was also clear that she didn’t want him to be the one to fix it. So he had to leave it alone, even though it was killing him to wonder about it. “I should get going anyhow. I’ve been slacking on my chores at the ranch, so I need to go and put in some extra time before Jack loses his mind.”

  She got to her feet, too, clutching her phone to her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to run you off, Caleb. I just—”

  “Hey, it’s okay.” He wanted to kiss her again—a hundred times over—but now didn’t seem like the time. “Just text me if anything changes between us.”

  Her brows furrowed and she frowned. “What do you mean, changes between us?”

  He gestured at the phone.

  “Oh.” She shook her head, almost violently. “That’s something else entirely. You and I . . . we’re still a thing, right?” Her expression was full of hope.

  She still didn’t get it. Didn’t grasp that he’d do absolutely anything for her. Caleb nodded slowly. “You and I are still a thing, absolutely. I’ll be back in the morning to drive you to work.”

  “And with another note?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “There’s still eleven more days until Christmas.”

  It was amazing that even when he didn’t feel like laughing, she still managed to make it rumble out of him. He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, with another note.”

  “I’ll see you then.” She clutched her phone to her chest and gazed up at him. “Thank you for coming by and making me breakfast.”

  “It was supposed to be cookies.”

  “It’s the thought that counts,” she replied, managing a smile. “And you’re very, very thoughtful, Caleb.”

  Now he wanted to kiss her again. But she was distracted, so he’d be a gentleman. He nodded and pulled his Stetson onto his head, then headed out the door and into the snow.

  Tomorrow would come by soon enough, and he hadn’t lied—he did need to pitch in more at the ranch. There was plenty to do to distract himself and to stay busy. He knew one thing was going to be on his mind all day, however. He needed to know what had caused Amy’s smile to die, and how he could fix it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Amy clutched at her phone, her heart pounding. She wanted to tell Caleb not to drive away. Heck, she wanted to get into his truck and tell him to just drive and never stop. Just keep going forever, live like vagabonds, moving from town to town, and hide from all their problems.

  The real world didn’t work like that, though, and Amy sucked in a deep breath and then read the message on her phone again.

  BLAKE: I’m sending you a courtesy message just to let you know that I’m filing for bankruptcy.

  BLAKE: The latest start-up has been bleeding money and there’s nothing to send you. Everything’s overextended and mortgaged to the hilt, so you won’t be seeing a cent of the alimony.

  BLAKE: But I know you’re hard up for money. I’m willing to send you a little from my personal account to tide you over . . . if you apologize for humiliating me.

  BLAKE: If you don’t, you won’t see a cent.

  BLAKE: That jewelry I sent was just a taste of what you used to have. Remember? You can have that again.

  BLAKE: But you have to be sorry that you put me through this . . . and you have to make me believe it.

  Amy wanted to vomit.

  He was basically going to hold her money hostage. She would never see a dime of it. There’d be no way to get on her feet now, not with the alimony money gone. Her car payment was behind, and the small credit card limit she had was maxed. She was running out of things to pawn or sell. She was . . . well, she was screwed.

  And Blake would send her some money if she groveled. If she called him and cried and stroked his ego. If she admitted she was “wrong” and he was “right.”

  She knew how that went. She’d spent years in their marriage constantly apologizing if she so m
uch as put a glass in the wrong spot in the dishwasher. If she’d worn a dress that clashed with his tie. If she hadn’t seemed “appropriately” supportive at an entrepreneurial conference or a business dinner. For years he’d controlled her life, doing his best to make her feel stupid and helpless and like she was the problem. Her parents had just contributed to that, too. They’d told her to go along with her husband, because he was the man in the relationship and clearly the one in the right.

  She’d hated all of it. She’d never known how much she’d hated it until she went to a therapist because she was so . . . angry at the world.

  Well, she wasn’t angry anymore. Now she was just frustrated at how awful Blake was and how he wouldn’t leave her alone. She scanned his texts again. The nervous pit in her stomach had returned, as it always did when she dealt with Blake.

  The comment about the jewelry made her pause. He’d sent that? She laughed, the sound sour in her throat. What a fucking week.

  The good news was that she could pawn that jewelry and not feel a thing other than bitter joy.

  She’d never beg him for money. Never, ever again. She was going to be independent, even if it meant eating ramen for the rest of her damn life. She’d never give him the satisfaction of her asking for money ever again.

  Even so . . . the loss of all that income stung. She chewed on her lip, thinking, and then dialed Layla’s office, intending to leave a voicemail.

  To her surprise, Layla picked up. “Layla Schmidt Accounting.”

  “Oh . . . you’re there? It’s Amy.”

  “Hey! And, yeah, I’m at the office but I’m not officially working. I’d just left my crochet up here and came to retrieve it.” Layla’s bubbly voice was so fun and bright, completely at odds with the dry job of accountant. “I’m making winter cozies for the fire hydrants in town just because I thought it’d be funny to dress them up.”

  Er, okay. Layla did love a weird project. Her office was filled with all kinds of cross-stitched slogans like “A Woman’s Place Is in the Resistance” and “Fight the Patriarchy” and “Do No Harm, But Take No Shit.” This winter, she’d been wearing crazy colored scarves that were absurdly long and also absurdly huge. Layla didn’t seem to care that she didn’t fit in with the conservative, traditional town—she marched to the beat of her own quirky drummer.