A Coulter’s Christmas Proposal

by Lois Faye Dyer

  The four women in the kitchen were silent, listening to footsteps as the men crossed the deck. The rhythm of Eli’s and Zach’s strides was slower than normal, keeping time with the step and thump of Brodie and his cane.

  “Whew,” Cynthia said when the sound of a truck engine turning over reached their ears. “So that’s Zach’s brother, the rodeo star.” She shook her head. “He looks a little scary.”

  Amanda knew exactly what Cynthia meant. Even though he’d clearly lost weight recently, he was still a big man and the pain lines bracketing his mouth only added to the impression of darkness that he exuded. He seemed unapproachable.

  “I suggested Zach move a bed downstairs for him,” Cynthia continued. “All the bedrooms are upstairs but there’s a sunroom off the living room that’s close to the downstairs bathroom. I don’t see Brodie climbing the stairs to the second floor.”

  “No, neither do I,” Amanda said. “Not right away. I wonder if the leg will get better or if he’ll always need the cane.”

  “I hope not.” Cynthia’s blue eyes were grave. “Zach tells wonderful stories about Brodie, and nearly all of them involve something physical, like riding horses or bulls. I can’t imagine how awful it must be for him to lose that part of his life.”

  “I know,” Amanda said softly. “Eli rarely talks about his childhood without commenting on some exploit of Brodie’s.” She stared thoughtfully at the door. “I wonder how he’ll fit in here, now that he’s back.”

  “I don’t know but I’m sure his brothers are glad he’s home,” Cynthia said with conviction.

  Amanda knew from comments Eli had made that all the brothers were worried about Brodie. “Now that he’s finally here, I hope he stays.”

  “I hope so, too,” Mariah said, a smile lighting her face. “Just the other night, Cade was telling me about how much fun they used to have over the holidays when they were boys. Their mother held Christmas celebrations at the Lodge and it was clearly unforgettable for all of them. I told him I want to celebrate Christmas here this year, and now that Brodie is back, all the brothers will be home for the holidays.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Mariah,” Cynthia declared, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “We can block out guests for a long weekend and have everyone stay in the suites upstairs so we’re all together.”

  “Perfect,” Mariah told her.

  Amanda didn’t comment. It was already August and she’d be back in New York long before December arrived with its celebrations. The realization made her unaccountably sad. She glanced away from Cynthia and Mariah, who radiated happy anticipation, and found Jane. Suddenly realizing the chef had been unusually quiet, Amanda felt guilty. “I’m sorry, Jane. We’re underfoot and keeping you from your work, aren’t we?”

  “No.” Jane’s smile was brief and her face seemed paler than usual. “Not at all.”

  “Nevertheless, I should head back to town and get out of your way.” Amanda stood, gathered her dirty dishes, and carried them to the sink to rinse and tuck into the dishwasher.

  “I’d better get back to work, too,” Cynthia said. “See you tomorrow, Amanda. Come into the office and we’ll go over those invoices when you have a moment, Jane.”

  Cynthia had disappeared into the hallway that led to her office and Mariah was still rinsing her dishes when Amanda left the Lodge by the back door. As she walked briskly down the gravel road on her way to the studio, she wondered why Jane had seemed upset by Brodie’s appearance. She hadn’t commented or made any overt gestures to indicate she was anything other than an observer of a family reunion. But Amanda had picked up on a wary tenseness in Jane that seemed odd, given she’d never met Brodie before.

  Maybe Jane was just reacting to the darkness that seemed to hover around Brodie, Amanda thought. As Cynthia had noted, Brodie’s appearance was a little scary. Although personally, Amanda thought it was more the remote expression on his face, coupled with the barely leashed anger that she’d seen in his eyes, that made him seem intimidating.

  I wonder if he’ll answer some questions about his mother, she thought, hope spiking for a moment before she considered and rejected the idea. Not likely.

  Even if she had the courage to ask him, which wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime.

  Nothing connected to the Coulter brothers was easy, she reflected later that evening, as she climbed into bed.

  She was afraid she was more than just attracted to Eli.

  It felt too much like she was falling in love—and she had no idea if he felt the same. She’d felt a connection to him from the first moment they met, and that scared her.

  She stared up at the ceiling. It was clear Eli felt something for her, but wanting to take her to bed wasn’t the same as having deeper feelings. In some ways, Eli seemed as blocked off as Brodie. Maybe she was kidding herself to think they could have a real relationship.

  She desperately hoped she wasn’t falling in love alone.

  When they left the women at the Lodge, Brodie didn’t refuse Eli’s offer to drive his brother’s truck back to the ranch house. And Eli and Zach ignored Brodie’s insistence that he could climb the stairs to a bedroom. Instead, they installed him in the living room, stretched out on the long leather sofa, while they wrestled a bed downstairs and set it up in a room on the first floor. Once employed as a sunny sitting room by their mother, it had long been used for storage and was currently nearly empty. Within an hour, they’d put sheets and blankets on the bed and hauled in the few bags and boxes they found in Brodie’s truck.

  Brodie was sound asleep on the sofa and they decided to leave him undisturbed, returning to the Lodge to finish fixing the plumbing. Cade joined them before they were done. He had been by the house to see Brodie and agreed with Eli and Zach that their brother didn’t look well, even though he was walking.

  The following morning Eli woke to the sound of rain pounding on the roof and running off the eaves. After showering and dressing, he went downstairs and filled the coffeemaker with water. The pot had just finished brewing when Brodie entered the kitchen. His hair sleep-tousled and his jawline unshaven, he was dressed in loose sweatpants, a T-shirt and socks.

  “Morning.” Eli scanned his brother’s drawn face and took down mugs. He handed a steaming mug to Brodie without comment and followed him back into the living room, where the big leather recliner allowed Brodie to elevate his leg.

  Eli switched on the television to a news station and sat down on the sofa, stretching out his long legs to prop his boots on the scarred coffee table.

  When their mugs were empty, Eli went back into the kitchen and brought the thermal carafe into the living room, refilled both their mugs and slouched on the sofa again.

  It was a half hour before Brodie spoke. “It’s raining.”

  “Yeah,” Eli agreed.

  “What are you doing today?”

  “Hanging with you for a while,” Eli said, flashing him a grin. “Amanda shows up around ten and we’ll go work in the studio for three or four hours. Might stay longer today since it’s raining and I don’t feel like getting soaked.”

  “No emergency that has to be taken care of outside?” Brodie’s voice rasped, amused.

  “Nothing that can’t wait until the rain stops.”

  “You never did like getting wet unless you were swimming,” Brodie commented idly. “Reminded me of a damn cat.”

  “Huh,” Eli grunted. “What are you up to today?”

  “Not much,” Brodie said with feeling. “The road trip did a number on my leg. I think I’ll hang around the house.”

  “Good plan.”

  By the time ten o’clock arrived, Eli had cleared the kitchen and Brodie was asleep, stretched out on the sofa after taking pain pills. He kept straining his ears for the sound of Amanda’s car arriving. Not that he was anxious, he told himself. But when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel, he bolted for the door.

  Rain ran from the brim of his hat as he stopped at the car to talk to Amanda, who
rolled down the window to speak to him.

  “Let’s take my truck,” he told her. “We’ll leave your car here. The driveway to the studio can be muddy when it rains and I don’t want you getting stuck.”

  “All right.” She gathered her things and they hurried to his truck.

  “Wow, this weather is crazy,” she said when they were tucked inside the cab, rain dampening her jacket and hair. “Thunder and lightning and downpours.”

  “Well, it’s good for the fields,” he told her as he backed the truck and headed away from the house. He glanced sideways at her, taking in her loose hair and light jacket over blue jeans and boots.

  She waggled a brown paper bag. “I had the café pack a lunch for us this morning so we wouldn’t have to go out if it’s still raining at noon.”

  “I like a woman who plans ahead,” he said with approval.

  “How’s your brother?” she asked. “Is he feeling better this morning?”

  “He took pain pills and I left him sleeping on the couch,” Eli said, turning off the gravel road and easing the big pickup down the short dirt driveway to the studio. “He looks like hell, but I’m glad he’s here and not a thousand miles away in California.” He braked, parking close to the front door, and switched off the engine. “Stay put. I’ll come around and get you.”

  Amanda gathered her things and prepared to dash to the studio. But when Eli opened the truck door, he reached in and plucked her off the seat, swinging her out of the truck in his arms before she could protest and shoving the door closed with his shoulder. His long strides quickly reached the studio and he bent his knees to turn the knob. Then they were inside, the door closed behind them to shut out the damp.

  Eli set her on her feet, letting her legs slide down the length of his while his arm at her back kept her close. This hands-off policy was killing him. He hoped it was getting to her, too.

  Then he frowned, raising his hand to test her hair between thumb and forefinger.

  “You’re wet,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. He released her and disappeared into the bathroom. “Take off your jacket and anything else that’s wet.”

  She wondered with amusement just how much of her clothing he thought she would shed, but then he was back, a thick towel in hand.

  “Turn around,” he told her.

  She obeyed and felt his hands as he carefully blotted the towel against the damp ends of her hair.

  “That’ll do,” he muttered. “Why aren’t you wearing the hat I gave you?”

  “It wasn’t sunny out,” she told him as he took her purse and the paper bag from her hands and set them on the workbench. “I didn’t think about wearing it to keep the rain off.”

  “I suppose you use an umbrella at home.” He took her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, then shrugged out of his own wet coat. He removed his hat and hung it on a hook just inside the door before slinging the coat over the back of a second chair.

  They settled to work, he at the workbench, she at her table. This time, for some reason, the silence did not seem companionable. Eli was about ready to jump out of his skin. That brief physical contact with Amanda had put all his nerve endings on high alert.

  Finally it was lunchtime. Eli suggested they eat on the sofa. He was clearly a glutton for punishment, he thought.

  Amanda had brought roast beef sandwiches, the café’s homemade potato chips, thick-sliced dill pickles and a variety of small pastries.

  “I forgot to bring anything to drink,” Amanda told him as she took napkins and plastic forks from the bag.

  “There might be something in the fridge. I’ll check,” he told her. “If not, we can always have water or coffee.” He reached the kitchenette and peered into the fridge. “We’re in luck. I found a bottle of wine.” He rummaged in a drawer for an opener, removed the cork and carried the bottle back to the sofa, along with two squat tumblers. “No wineglasses, so we’ll have to make do with these.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  A half hour later the remains of their lunch were strewn on the table and Amanda sat beside Eli on the comfortable sofa, a tumbler half full of wine in one hand. Her feet were curled beneath her, while his long legs were stretched out, stockinged feet propped on the edge of the coffee table. His boots sat at the end of the sofa, next to her much smaller ones. It was a cozy picture—but Eli was feeling anything but serene. What would she do if he reached over and…

  “I talked to Lindsey this morning, before I drove out,” she said, breaking him out of his reverie. “Tom was at the house and I spoke with him briefly, too. He reminded me that the gallery exhibit and auction are only three weeks away.” She looked at Eli. “And my return ticket to New York is in five days.”

  His face tightened. “Stay until the gallery showing in a few weeks. We’ll fly back together.”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t. Mom and Dad’s anniversary is in a week and I promised I’d be there for the celebration. Lindsey planned a surprise party with all their friends.” She shook her head. “I can’t miss it.”

  “I understand,” he said quietly. “I wish you didn’t have to leave, but having parents to celebrate with is a big deal.”

  He leaned forward and set his empty tumbler on the table.

  “We still have five days,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’d be glad to help you to pack your mother’s pieces for shipping. And then you’ll be in New York in three weeks. You’re going to like Tom and you’ll love his gallery and…”

  Eli laid his finger over her lips, hushing her words.

  “We only have five days, Amanda,” he said bluntly. His green eyes darkened, intent on hers. “I’d like to spend them doing more than talking.”

  She caught her breath, uncertain. She was torn between taking that step, saying the words that would free him of restraint and potentially move them closer, or remaining silent and staying safe behind her self-imposed wall.

  “Say yes, Amanda,” he urged softly. His thumb stroked slowly, seductively, over the plump curve of her lower lip.

  She felt him lift the wine tumbler from her hand and set it on the table without taking his gaze from hers. She curled her hands over his biceps, bare beneath his T-shirt, and felt the tension in his powerful body.

  She had the sudden conviction that this, their coming together, had been inevitable from the first moment at the Lodge, when she’d turned and looked up into his green, green eyes.

  Any remaining doubts fled.

  “Yes,” she murmured, her body leaning into his, her mouth nearly brushing his lips.

  It was like flipping a switch. Eli didn’t hesitate. He slid his fingers into her hair, one hand cupping her head while the other caught her waist to tug her nearer as his mouth covered hers.

  She slid her hands around his neck, her fingers spearing into the thick silk of his hair at his nape.

  His lips seduced hers, and when his tongue stroked her lower lip, coaxing the seam of her mouth to part, he tasted of the wine they’d drunk and a hotter, darker flavor that was instantly addictive.

  Her fingers flexed, holding him closer, and he groaned, shifting her until she lay flat on the wide sofa. His weight lowered over her, his powerful thighs against hers, the hard proof of his arousal nestled in the cove of her hips. Now that they’d started, they both seemed powerless to stop.

  He tugged the hem of her knit top higher and stroked his hand over the exposed skin of her rib cage, above the waistband of her jeans, before his warm palm closed over the curve of her lace-covered breast.

  Amanda groaned aloud and twisted, trying to get closer. Eli tore his mouth from hers and stood, pulling her to her feet in front of him.

  “We’ve both got too many clothes on,” he muttered.

  As he unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down her hips, she fumbled with his shirt, managing to push it off his shoulders before he tugged her hands away so he could pull her cotton top off over her head.

  The moment her hair tumble
d back to brush her shoulders, she reached for him, but he caught her hands, holding her still as he stared at her. His eyes were green fire as his gaze raked her from head to toe, returning to linger on her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice harsh, tight with arousal. He released her hands and flicked open the front clasp of her bra, his warm, bare palms cupping her breasts.

  She arched into his touch, her flesh so sensitive she caught her breath.

  Eli caught her when her knees gave way and she swayed, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing against him, the warm, hard muscles of his chest cushioning her breasts.

  He eased her down onto the sofa and knelt to pull off her socks, jeans and panties. Then he stood and, with swift, jerky movements, took a small square wrapper from his pocket and tore it open. Then he unsnapped his jeans and shoved them down his legs, taking black boxers with them, before he rolled on protection and joined her on the sofa.

  Before Amanda had time to absorb the details of his bare, fully aroused, powerfully male body against hers, his arms wrapped around her, his hair-roughened thigh nudging between hers as his mouth once again took hers.

  She wanted to explore and test the silky warm skin over the powerful muscles that lay over hers, but there was no time. Passion and lust roared out of control and all she could do was hang on as Eli nudged, pushed, then sank home. She caught her breath, adjusting to the invasion, but then he moved, surging against her, and she lost the ability to think. She could only feel as sensation and pleasure swept her under.

  Chapter Eleven

  They spent the afternoon curled up on the sofa, listening to the rain on the roof and making love. When the day darkened outside and early dusk fell due to the rain and dark clouds, they reluctantly dressed and prepared to leave.

  “Stay over,” Eli murmured, his lips moving against her hair. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”