by Anna Lowe
Tina set the coffee aside and pulled her mate back into her arms. At some point or another, she’d have to get going on the day, but not yet. They’d been working long, grueling hours for weeks now; they’d earned a few days off.
“Wow, it snowed,” she murmured, looking over the landscape. The red-hued hills of Bitterroot Valley were dusted with white. Even the lower-lying mesa wore a thin coat of lace. In Arizona, snow was a special treat, even at nearly five thousand feet elevation.
He nodded. “Snow on Christmas Eve.”
“Merry Christmas Eve, my love,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas Eve.” Rick smiled and pulled her into a hug. One arm curled around her ribs while the other gestured across the room. “Looks like Santa was here.”
The apartment was nestled under the eaves of the barn, and the stockings she’d pinned up on one of the roughhewn beams bulged with some sweet surprise.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Rick murmured, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
“Wait—on Christmas Eve?”
He shrugged. “Santa couldn’t wait.”
Her upper lip caught the lower and held it tightly, looking at the stockings. A tiny gesture like bulging stockings shouldn’t warm her heart by ten degrees, but it did. Growing up in a screwed-up family made her treasure the little things all the more. Like a Christmas stocking she didn’t have to fill for herself to gain a little holiday cheer.
She held Rick tighter and looked at the stockings for a good long time.
“Best Christmas ever,” she whispered. “And it hasn’t even officially started yet.”
Rick’s eyes sparkled. “So let’s get it started.” His finger twitched against the soft skin of her breast. A hint? An accident? A question?
She tested the “hint” theory by kissing him full on the lips. The right guess, apparently, because his tongue swept eagerly into her mouth, and he rolled back on top. Touching. Exploring. Begging for more.
Within seconds, she was on fire. Both of them were, kissing and reaching and moaning their desire for more.
“So good,” she whispered when he nudged her legs apart and slid in deep.
“So good,” he echoed, pulling back then driving back in.
She splayed her fingers over his back and tugged in rhythm to his thrusts. An unhurried, lazy rhythm perfectly suited to a morning like this. Even so, it wasn’t long before she lost her breath and let go at the very same moment as him.
“Rick!” she cried as shudders racked her body.
He murmured urgently, stiff as a statue.
“Oh, Rick,” she whispered, slowly wafting down to earth again.
“Okay,” he panted into the pillow a minute later. So close, it tickled her ear. “I declare Christmas officially started now.”
“And what if I said I never wanted this morning to end?”
Her traitor of a stomach rumbled, though, and he slid down her body to kiss her belly. “I’d say the stockings aren’t the only treat I have planned.”
She arched her right eyebrow and slid a hand over the solid curve of his shoulder. “You mean, yet another treat, after all this?”
He chuckled. “Told you I was just getting started.”
The man wasn’t kidding, either, as she discovered when they finally dragged themselves out of bed, showered, and dressed.
“Right this way, ma’am.” He nodded toward the door.
“What about breakfast?” She glanced at the kitchenette.
“Exactly. Breakfast.” He threw a jacket over her shoulders and tugged her down the stairs. “Morning, Blue,” he called as the horse whinnied.
A dog poked a cautious nose out of the little den Rick had built for him in a corner of the barn, then came out, wagging his tail.
Tina petted his brindle coat. “Morning, Tex. Morning, Star,” she called to the palomino nickering a greeting from her stall. “Merry Christmas Eve!”
Rick tugged her into the crisp morning air, then across the barnyard to the main house, waving to one of the new ranch hands.
“Morning, Jake!”
Jake broke off the tune he’d been whistling quietly on the sun-drenched porch of the bunkhouse. “Mornin’.” He tipped his hat and sipped from a steaming mug.
Tina waved absently and looked ahead to the Seymour homestead. Her cheeks flushed under the cool kiss of winter. What was Rick up to?
“Breakfast in the main house? Here?” she asked in surprise.
“Here.” He nodded firmly, pulling her into the house just as the grandfather clock struck nine. By the third bong of the hour, Rick had led her into the kitchen at the far side of the house, where French doors opened onto the garden. Not much there to speak of just yet, but the weeds were all gone and the beds turned, awaiting spring.
“Rivera family tradition,” Rick announced with a bittersweet smile. “Pancakes on Christmas Eve.”
Tina paused in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. The table was set with a blue and white checkered cloth and matching blue napkins in silver rings. A clutch of tiny lavender flowers stood in a glass in the center—handpicked from down by the creek, no doubt. Jars of jam, glasses of juice, a bowl of sugar. On the counter, a bag of flour stood next to a mixing bowl.
By the time she caught her breath, Rick had a fire going in the stone hearth.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered.
His eyes twinkled as if there were no greater pleasure in life than to bring his mate joy. “Gets better. You have the stockings?”
Of course she had the stockings. He’d insisted that she bring both.
“Well, unpack them already.”
The bulge in the green stocking proved to be a bottle of maple syrup, and the round shape in the red stocking, a tiny flask of alcohol.
“Grand Marnier?” She gawked at the label.
“Sure,” he said, already sprinkling cornmeal into a bowl. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve never poured Grand Marnier over blue cornmeal pancakes and lit a match?”
“Cornmeal pancakes?” She was practically drooling already.
A dimple formed in the hollow of his right cheek. “Cook’s son, remember?”
Pro ballplayer, ranch manager, all-around stud. The man could have called himself any of those things, but which label did he wear with the most pride? Cook’s son.
She shook her head. Her mate. Her one-in-a-million man.
“So,” he said, cracking an egg into the bowl, “about tonight’s Christmas party. Tell me the procedure again.”
“Rick! It’s a party, not a visit to the dentist!”
“Right. More like a trip into the den of the Hawthorne clan.”
Her heart melted just a little bit. He’d come so far in such a short time as a wolf, she sometimes forgot he didn’t even know shifters existed until a few months ago.
“Hey.” She slid her arms around his waist. “You’ve done great. And you’ll keep doing great.”
He put his arms over hers, making the hug tighter.
I’ll do my best, his wolf vowed. I’ll do my best.
Easy, she wanted to say. Because he was the best. The best mate ever. But it couldn’t be easy, facing her family, not even with her help.
So she explained it all, from a rundown of who to expect to seating arrangements, to the highlight of the party—gift-giving for the kids.
“And that’s it.” She peeked over his shoulder. “Can I help with this?”
He shooed her toward a chair. “Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”
She tried, but within a minute, she was fidgeting. Enjoying the sight of him cracking eggs into a bowl was easy. Sitting and relaxing, though, were foreign concepts to a woman who’d grown up working a ranch.
“Do I have time to wrap a present or two?” she asked as Rick whipped the ingredients together with quick turns of a spoon.
“Sure,” he hummed.
A cowboy who could cook. Boy, did fate pick her a winner. She was about to stand up, but the thought kept her seated a moment longer, ad
miring her mate. She gulped a little and finally got to her feet to fetch what she needed. Silver paper, red ribbon, scissors, and the gifts she hadn’t gotten around to wrapping yet. She set everything up at the unoccupied end of the long table and got to work. Even then, a happy sigh escaped her lips.
“What?” Rick glanced over his shoulder.
Her lips moved, but nothing came out. How could she put it all into words? Her mate. Her luck. The luxury of working side by side. “This,” she managed finally, waving a hand vaguely.
He flashed a smile and nodded. “This is pretty good. And you know what?”
She cocked her head.
“It’s getting to feel like home.”
She tipped her head back and inhaled. For the past few months, they’d lived in the apartment over the barn out of deference to Lucy and Henry Seymour, the kind old couple who’d left the ranch to Rick in their will. Gradually, though, that feeling of tiptoeing around ghosts and memories was fading. The echoing rooms begged to be filled with love and laughter, ready for new memories woven by the next generation.
She and Rick were that next generation. The new man and woman of the house.
She locked eyes with her mate. Nodded briefly. “You’re right.”
He nodded, took a deep breath, and grinned. “I figure right after New Year’s would be a good time to move in. What do you think?”
She strained her ears, waiting for a ghost to whisper in protest. But there was nothing, just the gleeful crackle of the open fireplace, cheering Rick’s plan. She gulped a little. Funny, how it always hit her: that feeling of hesitation on the cusp of stepping into a bright future.
“You deserve it,” Rick insisted.
Once again, the man had read her mind.
She took a deep breath and jumped over the last barriers in her imagination. She did deserve it, damn it. So did Rick and the Seymours, whose legacy would be honored and carried on.
Rick blew her a kiss and turned back to the counter. Ran his hand under the faucet then flicked it at the griddle, making drops of water dance. “Just right,” he murmured, satisfied with the temperature.
“Just right,” she echoed, letting her mind wander the rooms of the house. Henry’s office would remain the office, just as it always had been, right down to the Seymour family portraits on the walls. The formal parlor across from it could serve the same function as it always had, keeping dirty cowboy boots at the front of the house and forming a natural boundary to the private part of the house. The grandfather clock would stand sentinel as it always had in the hallway, and the big bedroom…
She got stuck there. That was the only part that didn’t feel quite right.
Rick must have seen her staring in that direction, because he chimed in on her thoughts as the first pancakes sizzled in the pan.
“I was thinking an addition.” He nodded out the side window. “Bedroom and bathroom, over there.”
When her eyes followed his, her imagination danced away on the possibilities. They could wake up overlooking the garden and the hills in the distance. They’d need big windows and doors to capture all that. The sunrise could wake them up, the stars could lull them to sleep…
She pursed her lips. “Except…”
“Except?” Rick flipped a pancake.
“Well, until we get the ranch finances back in order…” The ranch had been poorly managed before Rick stepped in, and it could take years before it turned a profit again.
He grinned and gave a cocky laugh. “I got finances, baby.”
“Oh,” she said lamely. “Right.”
Her cheeks warmed. That was another thing she loved about her mate. He was so down-to-earth, it was hard to remember he’d earned a seven-figure salary over the years he’d played pro ball. Earned it, banked it, invested it wisely. The man had finances, all right.
“Believe me, we can afford an addition.” He smiled. “Plus enough for the wallpaper I was thinking about for that room.” He tilted his head in the direction of the Seymours’ bedroom.
She tilted her head. “You’ve already got the wallpaper picked out?”
“Not quite.” His smile grew more cautious. “I can’t decide between two.”
He’d been thinking about wallpaper? For what?
He turned down the flame under the griddle. “Well, there’s the kind with little teddy bears, but I’m sort of torn between pink and blue. What do you think?”
Her cheeks turned into twin heating pads, and she inhaled so deeply, her lungs pushed against her ribs. “A nursery?”
Her inner wolf sat up and begged.
Don’t get overexcited, she told the beast. She’d already explained to Rick that wolves had a notoriously hard time conceiving, even though fated mates were said to have better luck—as her brothers and their respective mates had proven. The few times she’d broached the topic of kids, Rick had remained studiously casual.
It’ll happen when it happens, he’d said.
Or maybe not so casual, now that she thought back on it.
They’d been too busy with the ranch to give kids much thought. At least, that’s what Tina told herself every time her mind strayed to secretly compiling a list of baby names. Chloe went well with Rivera, didn’t it? Lindsay did, too. Frank, Steven, Robby…
Apparently, Rick had been thinking about it, too. Thinking plenty, right down to wallpaper for the nursery.
“Sure,” he said, feigning nonchalance. She could hear the hopeful waver in his voice, though. “Can you think of a better use for that room?”
“No,” she whispered.
A second later, she jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her mate. Strong arms crushed her to his chest, and she could hear his heart beat at least as fast as hers.
“Perfect,” she murmured.
They held each other so tightly, she could feel his inner wolf reaching out to nuzzle hers. She swung her head left while he swung right, prickling her skin with a tiny layer of stubble, and their wolves hummed inside.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
And it really was, until a burning smell wafted into her senses, and she broke off the hug. “Oh!”
“Oops.” Rick scraped the pancake off the griddle then laughed. “Not so perfect.”
“Eh,” she said, running a hand down his back. “The first batch is always a little off. Tex will love you for it, though.”
She loved Rick for it, too. Because she didn’t need perfect; she just needed him.
“This time next year, we can even set up our own Christmas tree,” she said, resting her cheek against his broad shoulder and peeking into the adjacent living room.
He hugged her into his side and kissed the top of her head. “Even better.” He nodded. “Our own Christmas tree.” His eyes followed hers, and she wondered if he imagined it the same way: a Douglas fir so tall it scraped the ceiling, with a dozen presents underneath. Too many presents for two people, but just the right amount for three.
Chapter Three
“What about this one?”
Stef looked up at Kyle’s soft call. When he swung around to face her, his elbow brushed the nearest tree, and the inch of snow standing on a branch fell in a silent shower.
The mountain air was so crisp, it almost hurt to breathe. Still, Stef couldn’t hold back a deep sigh.
“God, that’s beautiful.” She meant her mate, but the flakes fluttering into the oversized footprints he’d left a moment before were pretty, too. And the tree was nice, too. “It’s a little too tall for our ceiling, though.”
Kyle raised an arm, measuring, then grinned. A full-on, nobody-but-my-mate-is-looking grin he saved for special occasions.
“Oops,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I keep forgetting.”
She knew just how he felt. They’d only recently moved in to their new house on Twin Moon Ranch after two years in the old blacksmith’s place way out on the fringes, and it still took some getting used to. It had taken ages to remodel a tired old bunkhouse into a
cozy new home, but they’d done it and finally settled in—just in time for Christmas.
“Don’t tell me you miss our old place,” she teased. “The constant squeak of the windmill…”
Actually, she’d gotten used to that, but the memory of the lethal fight around the back was harder to erase.
“Nah. Well, maybe the porch steps.”
She pointed an accusing finger at his chest. “Officer Williams, I’m outraged.” She tried to say it like she meant it, but a smile was already breaking out on her lips. For some reason, every full-moon run they’d taken as wolves seemed to end with a hot, hard fuck on the porch steps of that house. “And anyway, our new place has a nice set of steps, too.”
Of course it did. That was the first thing they’d sketched into the blueprint.
He flashed a broad smile that made her heart melt as she compared Kyle’s before and after. The wary, haunted look of the old days rarely showed these days, and the special light that had always glowed deep within the man now shone brightly on the surface for all to see. He was happy. Settled. At home in his own skin.
Like her. She’d been terrified that turning half wolf would make her lose her mind, but instead, it had given her peace. How could she feel anything but joy with a mate like Kyle at her side?
“Okay, so not this tree.” Kyle looked around. “Gotta be one somewhere…”
They’d driven an hour north of the ranch, climbing high into the mountains by car, then on foot. Twin Moon Ranch owned a couple of hundred acres of forest adjoining national park land, far from the ski fields and the crowds of northern Arizona’s San Francisco Peaks. Their packmates had already made an expedition to pick out a monster tree for the dining hall, but this day was just for her and Kyle. Their very own Christmas tree for their first-ever holiday in the new house, right in the heart of the ranch.
When Kyle swung his back to her and took a few steps into the forest, her breath caught in her throat. That was another thing she had to get used to—the sight of the baby carrier strapped to his back and the nine-month-old bundle inside. Sky blue eyes blinked at her from under a fleece beanie, and two tiny fists waved in their mittens.