Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  She remained flushed and warm. Her muscles felt weak and her nerves too sensitive.

  Then she heard his low, melting sigh, and she nearly whimpered at the flush of heat that angled down between her legs. It was not right that she should be so physically affected by just the sight of the man.

  Even though the sight of him is so wondrously masculine? And don’t forget that burning, knowing look his eyes and the wicked-yet-boyish tilt of his lips…

  As if she could.

  With a grunt of annoyance at her wayward thoughts, she rolled onto her side, only then realizing she still had her boots on. And they were dripping all over her bedding. Muttering a curse, she sat up to tug the boots off and set them in a corner of the loft before lying back down again.

  With the fire burning strongly in the hearth, her loft benefited from a constant waft of warmth. Typically, she undressed to just her flannel underwear for sleeping.

  She had no intention of doing that tonight.

  Not that she suspected the man below would do anything untoward—and even if he did, there was always her father’s old knife tucked under her pillow and the one she always kept tucked in the lining of her boot. It just didn’t seem like a very good idea for both of them to be half-naked.

  She remained wide awake long into the night, listening until the blustering wind that swirled beyond the sturdy logs of her cabin eventually calmed to an occasional gust and the roaring fire slowly died to a quiet crackle. She considered getting up to add more wood to the fireplace to prevent the naked man on her floor from waking up with chattering teeth in the morning, but before she could drag herself to the ladder to do just that, she finally slipped into an uneasy sleep.

  Five

  The sound of sizzling meat tugged Lucy from her slumber with a brief tingle of nostalgia. But as her brain fully awakened, she realized with a start that it couldn’t possibly be her father cooking.

  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she crawled to the edge of the loft so she could look down into the cabin below.

  Her guest was crouched in front of her fire, tending the coals. Lucy experienced a wave of disappointment at seeing that he was once again dressed in his shirt and britches. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was humming to himself—something low and pleasant that put her in mind of dark, green places surrounded by misty mountains.

  A quick glance around showed that he had hung his now-dry coat on a peg next to hers and had stacked his bed furs in a neat pile off to one side. Her coffeepot hung from a hook near the hearth, and her frying pan sat on her little stove, sizzling away.

  He’d apparently found her cellar and the freshly cured ham she’d brought back from town yesterday, which explained the wonderful smell filling the sleepy cabin.

  Doing her best to tame the anticipation in her belly that had nothing to do with the scent of the frying meat or the promise of steaming hot coffee, she made her way to the ladder, grabbing her boots along the way. She tried to be quiet, hoping to make it to common ground before he realized she was awake, but as soon as her feet touched the floorboards and she turned around, he was there.

  She gave a little start at his unexpected proximity and blinked at the mug he held out to her. Anything she might have said got stuck in her throat as she caught sight of his crooked smile.

  “Coffee?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

  “Uh, thank you,” she said as she tried to reach for the mug with her boots still in hand.

  “Here. Allow me to take those while you take this,” he said, taking her boots in one of his large hands while handing over the coffee. He crossed the cabin to set the boots beside the door. When he turned back, she still stood at the base of the ladder, feeling overwhelmed and out of place.

  “What is it?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

  Lucy tried to shake off her sleepy confusion. “I just didn’t expect you to be so…ambitious in the morning.”

  He shrugged and glanced about the cabin. “I had a hard time sleeping and figured I may as well get up and make myself useful.” He winked. “I wouldn’t want you to regret dragging me in out of the cold last night.”

  “There’s still time for that,” she muttered, feeling thrown off-kilter by his amiability and how it made her feel all soft and warm inside.

  “Och, you aim straight for my heart, lass,” he said in an exaggerated burr.

  She raised her brows. “Should I aim lower?”

  He chuckled. “Your tongue is as sharp as your blade.”

  “And I’m not afraid to use either.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that,” he said with an elegant bow. The courtly gesture was made slightly less effective by the fact that he stood in his stockings.

  “Were your boots not dry this morning?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “No. They are still a sogging mess.”

  She walked over to where they had been set on the hearth. Picking one up, she noted that the leather had broken down in places from the wet and cold and ceaseless wear. “These are useless for winter.”

  “I believe I noticed that yesterday.”

  She lifted her head. “Have you taken a look outside?”

  “Not yet,” he replied.

  The cold air stole her breath when she opened the door. Snow had drifted toward the cabin, covering her porch and rising above hip height beyond that. Everything was hidden beneath a thick blanket of white, and though the wind had calmed, snow continued to fall from the sky in thick, fluffy flakes.

  “Bloody hell,” George whispered behind her.

  Too close behind her.

  Sparks of awareness ran through her body at his proximity. With the cold in front of her and his warmth behind her, she felt locked in place, unsure where to go.

  “That’s a lot of snow,” he muttered in amazement.

  “We’ll have to venture out to see how bad it really is.”

  “Well, that sounds like something that can wait until after breakfast. And another cup of hot coffee wouldn’t hurt. Unless you have a spot of brandy to warm the blood?”

  His hopeful tone had Lucy turning around. He was exactly as close as she’d thought he’d be. As she tipped her head back to meet his beautiful eyes, she forgot for a second what they were discussing.

  Everything inside her grew still and quiet. Everything except her heart, which beat at a swift and furious pace. She could smell the warmth on his skin like woodsmoke and caramel molasses.

  His eyelids grew heavy, and his gaze dropped to rest on her mouth as a ragged breath passed between his lips. Her own lips tingled in response. The odd sensation recalled her wits.

  He had asked a question… About what?

  Snow?

  Boots?

  Oh yes, brandy.

  “No brandy, I’m afraid,” she stated quickly.

  His gaze was locked on her mouth, the muscles in his jaw bunching and releasing. His tone was gravelly and low as he acknowledged her response with a sound that didn’t quite manage to be a word.

  It looked as though he wanted to touch her—kiss her maybe.

  And for a moment, she wasn’t sure she would stop him if he did.

  Then the space between his brows furrowed, and he lowered his gaze to the floor as he stepped back. The sudden loss of his nearness and warmth drew Lucy from the odd little trance, but it did not dispel the hum of anticipation in her blood.

  “No matter,” he said as he flashed her a quick smile. “We’d better eat while it’s still warm.”

  Lucy released a slow and heavy sigh as he walked back to the fire.

  Breakfast was delicious. In addition to the ham, he’d also fried some potatoes that he kept warm by the fire. This time, as they sat side by side in the chairs, it wasn’t quite as awkward as it had been the night before. And though she would have liked to take her time
to enjoy it, they needed to assess the snowfall and check on the horses.

  The blast of cold as they stepped outside seized her breath for a second. Two snow shovels were propped beside the door. She took one and handed the larger one her father had always used to George. Stepping past her porch, she started shoveling a path through the snow. George followed suit beside her.

  It took a while to get past the worst of the drift, but once they did, they paused to look around. The average height of snow was easily past their knees. It was heavy and thick and continued to fall from the pale-gray sky, weighing down tree branches and covering the trails that led to her snares. It was going to take days to dig out all her traps and reset them.

  But that wasn’t the most worrisome thought.

  She looked to the man standing beside her. His gaze, several shades darker than the sky above, scanned the white-covered land around them before coming to rest on her face.

  With the amount of snow they’d gotten through the night—not to mention what continued to fall—the narrow pass into his valley was not going to be available, even if a fallen tree hadn’t blocked the path. Lucy knew there was another way into the valley, but it was nearly a full day’s ride, and there was nothing to guarantee that way would be open either. The truth was, trying to go anywhere under the current conditions would be foolish.

  The smile he gave her might have been apologetic, if the sparkle in his eyes hadn’t killed the attempt. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for a spell.”

  “Lucky me,” she replied in a tone of dread despite the fact that dread wasn’t at all what she was feeling.

  Elation tempered by a good dose of uncertainty was much closer to the truth. There was also a hint of wary excitement for having the opportunity to more carefully explore the way he made her feel jittery and melty at the same time.

  * * *

  Over the next few hours, they cleared a good path from the cabin door and continued around to check on the horses.

  At first, all George saw was the rocky face of the mountain as it rose up beyond the cabin. But as they neared, he noticed a wooden barn door set into the rock.

  He glanced at the woman trudging through the snow beside him, but he couldn’t see beyond her furred hood to her face.

  They had to shovel more snow away to make way for the barn door to swing open, but once they did, Lucy tugged it wide enough for them to pass through. George grabbed the door to keep it from being forced shut again by the wind that had picked up over the last couple hours and gestured for her to precede him.

  She looked up at him with a questioning glance.

  George just smiled and gave a small bow of his head. “Ladies first.”

  She snorted softly. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t fit that category?”

  He tried to hold back, he really did, but George just couldn’t stop himself from sweeping an appreciative gaze over the bold feminine lines and curves of her face. Focusing on her lips for longer than he should—long enough to cause a stirring sensation below the belt—he met her gaze again. It was a good thing she was covered head to toe in furs, or his hungry gaze would have continued over every enticing dip, curve, and valley he could find. “Seems to me you fit quite well.”

  Rueful annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Being female doesn’t equate to being a lady.”

  “It does in my book,” he replied gently.

  Something fleeting and curious flickered across her face before she glanced to the side. “Fine, then. It’s certainly not worth standing in the snow to argue about.”

  She slipped into the barn, and George followed behind her, an odd tightness invading his chest. No woman should believe herself undeserving of basic courtesies, no matter how she chose to live.

  The barn door closed behind them, shutting out a great deal of the daylight. But as his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he realized there was still a steady source of light coming from above where holes and niches in the mountain allowed streams of light and fresh air to filter into the cave without allowing much of the weather to follow.

  The cave itself was not exceptionally large, but it was certainly big enough for the four stalls that were built into the space. The hardy workhorse he’d seen pulling her wagon in town stood in the first stall, with Thistle tucked into the one beside him. The water troughs were full and unfrozen, and buckets of half-eaten grain stood in each stall. Glancing into the two empty stalls, he saw a pile of hay, the wagon from town, and some additional tack and supplies.

  “This is quite a place,” George said.

  He turned back to watch as Lucy offered her draft horse a few friendly strokes along his muscled neck. She gazed into the animal’s eyes with true affection. “We didn’t have any animals for the earliest years of my memory. Pa would pull his furs to the trading posts on a sleigh he’d fashioned to drag easily over rock or grass or snow. But when Mother left and he had to start bringing me along, he traded for old Rupert, here, and later built this for him. I think he expected to eventually get another horse, but we never did.”

  “Impressive,” George replied, watching her as intently as her horse did, and likely with nearly as much admiration. “Why did your mother leave?”

  She slid a narrow glance at him from the corner of her eyes. “Most folks try not to pry into other people’s personal business.”

  George shrugged. “When I discover something interesting, I like to know more about it.”

  She scoffed. “I’m not that interesting.”

  “I disagree. Your past makes up part of who you are. And you are just about the most interesting person I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

  She turned her attention back to her horse, but not before George noticed the blush of color warming her cheeks and the wary shadow in her eyes. “Pa met my mother one spring when he was trading with her tribe. He says he fell in love with her on sight. I don’t know if the feeling was mutual, but she agreed to marry him when he asked. They lived together up here for a few years. They might have been happy, or maybe not. On a return trip to her people when I was barely more than a babe, she decided she wanted to stay. Pa wouldn’t leave me behind, and she wasn’t against letting me go, so…”

  “Did you ever see her again?” George asked, though he already suspected the answer by the raw note she struggled to keep from her voice.

  “Pa never went back.”

  “But you did,” George said, hearing what she didn’t say.

  She gave her horse a final pat before turning to George. “After Pa died, I went to find her. She’d died several years before, but I met a few members of her family.”

  George instinctively stepped toward her, his only desire in that moment to assuage the hard edge of loss in her voice. “I’m sorry, lass.”

  Her brown eyes reflected her sadness, though she forced a smile to her lips. “Don’t be. It’s more family than I ever had before.”

  “Do you visit them?”

  “I’ve been back a couple times.” Before George could reply, she took a deep breath and a swift glance around. “Are you satisfied with your mare’s well-being? Shall we head back to the cabin before your feet freeze in those boots?”

  “Too late,” George said, accepting her need to change the direction of the conversation. “My toes were sufficiently numbed an hour ago.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve lived in the mountains as long as you have and you don’t have better boots.”

  “Well, considering I typically stay where it’s warm and cozy, preferably with a hot cup of tea or a brandy rather than venturing outside in blizzards, I’ve never really worried about it.”

  She turned to lead the way back out into the cold. “I get the sense there are a lot of things you don’t worry about.”

  He flashed a smile. “I bloody hell try not to.”

  Six


  George was worried.

  If the snow continued to fall and the trails remained impassable, there was no telling how long he would be holed up in the cozy little cabin with the extremely fascinating and highly desirable Lucy. Considering how intense his attraction was to the woman and how swiftly it was growing, he reckoned it was going to be a torturous duration.

  Her competence as a woman living on her own in an extremely challenging and unforgiving environment was astonishing. If he were any less of a man, her proficiency in so many tasks would likely make him feel…well, less of a man. But he simply found himself in awe of her skills.

  Her slightly jaded, yet totally sheltered view of the world made him want to offer his services as protector and partner in exploring all the things she might have been kept from while living such an isolated life.

  Her occasional sarcasm made his skin tingle. Her laugh made him ache. And the way she slipped him subtle looks of curiosity and unexpected yearning drove him nearly mad.

  He was damned worried all right—worried he wouldn’t make it through another night.

  Especially after they spent nearly an hour dancing around each other in the kitchen as they worked together in readying the evening meal. Her warmth and female scent cornered him at every turn.

  And then there was the intense little moment when they both turned in unison with the intention of going in opposite directions—only to slam into each other. Their bodies met with full force from chest to knee. When he instinctively brought his hands to her hips to keep them from losing their balance, she released a weighted exhale that slid into a soft moan. Even the very brief contact was enough to give George a clear impression of her full breasts, taut belly, rounded hips, and firm thighs.

  The memory of how she felt pressed against him would likely haunt his lonely nights for weeks. As would the flickering heat in her eyes when she’d looked up at him.

  By the time they had finished their meal and were settled in the cozy chairs they’d occupied the night before, George was fighting to keep the tension from his muscles.