Santa in a Stetson

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Want to go into the bedroom, cowboy?” Jo asked breathlessly

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Copyright

  “Want to go into the bedroom, cowboy?” Jo asked breathlessly

  “Not yet, sweet thing.” Russ reached for the front catch of her bra. “There’s a lot we can get done right here.” He flicked her bra open with a practiced hand and gently moved the material aside as his gaze lowered. “Now, if that ain’t a mighty fine sight.” He brushed his thumb lazily back and forth across her nipple.

  She closed her eyes, wondering how long her legs would support her.

  “Ah, sweetheart, you’re shaking already, aren’t you?”

  Jo opened her eyes and looked up. Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable. Never had a man brought her to the brink with just the look in his eyes and the casual stroke of his thumb.

  His warm smile and soft voice flowed over her. “Don’t be scared. It’s good to want someone like this. Some folks never let themselves.”

  She swallowed. “Do...you?”

  “I sure do,” he said. Then, with his lips near her ear, he whispered, “In fact, I’m fixin’ to wear you out....”

  Dear Reader,

  When you were five years old, you were probably pretty excited at the thought of a jolly old elf bringing you loads of presents on Christmas Eve. But let’s face it, you’re not five anymore and your taste in men has changed. So, this year, instead of a chubby guy in a red suit, I thought I’d offer you something you might like better—a drop-dead gorgeous cowboy to be your resident Santa for this special night of the year.

  Russ Gibson, my Santa in a Stetson, will arrive on your doorstep with his own sleigh and a smile that will charm your socks off. Although December 24 is one of the shortest nights of the year, this sexy cowboy knows how to make every second count. I’ve always been told that the best presents are those you’d like to receive yourself. So in that spirit, here’s Russ, with my warmest wishes for a sensual Christmas Eve and a delectable holiday season. Happy Holidays,

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  P.S. My love affair with cowboys continues into the New Year with Manhunting in Montana, an April 1998 release. Join me...again.

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  SANTA IN A STETSON

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

  MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  For my editor, Brenda Chin, who has renewed my faith in Santa Claus. Merry Christmas, Brenda.

  1

  BEING DUMPED right after Thanksgiving had been a blessing.

  Most times Jo Cassidy believed that. But tonight, exactly one year to the day since Tommy had grabbed his hat off the peg by the door and walked out, Jo was bluer than a new pair of jeans. She did her best to hide it. The cowboys who hung out at Prescott’s Roundup Saloon didn’t much care for gloomy waitresses, and she needed all the tips she could earn.

  “Hey, Jo, we could use another round,” called a grizzled old cowhand who had a hot game of pool going with one of his friends.

  “Coming up, Andy.” Jo deposited napkins and two long-necks in front of a couple of men sitting at a table by the jukebox. Then she hurried to the bar to fill Andy’s order.

  Lots of folks had gone to Phoenix to start their Christmas shopping, which cut down on business tonight The boss had already told her she could go home early, but the prospect of her empty apartment didn’t thrill her much. If only something good would happen, something really good, it might cancel out the memory of Tommy’s battered pickup pulling away for good and the buckets of tears she’d cried until dawn.

  “Have a good Thanksgivin’, Jo?” Andy asked as she handed him a beer.

  “Fine, thanks,” Jo lied. Andy wouldn’t approve of her microwaved turkey dinner. “How about you?” she asked, walking around the pool table to deliver a second one to Andy’s friend, Snuffy.

  “It was okay.” Andy took a swig of his beer. “Knowin’ you, you probably spent the day with your nose in your schoolbooks.”

  Bingo. Tommy’s rodeo prize money had been earmarked for her schooling, but it turned out Tommy liked to gamble, so now she was earning her own way. She’d chosen Yavapai College because it put more than a thousand miles and the Grand Canyon between her and her ex-husband, who was still drinking and gambling his life away in Montana. “Finals are coming up, Andy,” she said. “I’m planning on making the dean’s list.”

  Andy grinned. “The dean’s list? Did you hear that, Snuffy?”

  Snuffy spat into the tin can by his elbow. “Guess we’ll hafta call you professor pretty soon.”

  “Nope. Doctor. I’m going to be a horse vet, but that’s a lot of years away,” she said.

  “A vet, huh?” Andy said. “That don’t make you squeamish, all that blood and stuff?”

  “Not when I think of an animal needing help. I’ve wanted to do this ever since I was a kid and helped my dad deliver a foal. It was so young and helpless.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been a softie when it came to animals. What better career could I choose?”

  “We could always use a good horse vet around here,” Andy said. “‘Course, then you’ll be too high-toned to talk to the likes of us.”

  “That’ll never happen.” She flashed Andy a grin. Little did he know how much she treasured the conversations she had with her customers. She’d left her folks back in Montana, too. Between classes and working at the Roundup, she hadn’t had much time for socializing, which meant she got awfully lonesome sometimes. Tonight was one of those times.

  When she noticed rancher Steve Gibson walk through the door of the Roundup, her spirits lifted considerably. Steve was one of her favorites, especially after she found out that he and his wife, Claire, spent Christmas Eve delivering surprise gifts to folks who were short on cash or joy. Jo’s neighbor, Lucile, qualified on both counts, and Jo had been waiting for Steve to show up so she could tell him about Lucile.

  Ned Kershaw, a beefy cowhand who was getting married next month, came in behind Steve, but it was the stranger following Ned who nearly made Jo lose her grip on her serving tray. She’d seen her share of good-looking cowboys. Tommy had been no slouch in that department. But the tall, dark-eyed hombre in the black Stetson had them all beat.

  He unbuttoned his sheepskin coat as he accompanied Ned and Steve to the corner table Steve always occupied. Then he shrugged out of it, revealing a spotless white shirt and a black suede vest embroidered with a feather design that emphasized his broad shoulders. Jo took in every detail, from the tilt of his hat to the shine on his belt buckle. Then he laughed, the sound rich and low, and goose bumps prickled her skin.

  “Andy, who’s that who just came in with Steve and Ned?” she asked.

  Andy squinted across the room. “Looks like Russ, Steve’s brother.”

  “Ain’t he the one that galloped his horse up the courthouse steps last summer, just for the heck of it?” Snuffy asked.

  “He’s the one,” Andy said.

  “So that’s Russ Gibson.” Jo had heard stories about him, but nobody had mentioned he was a hunk. It was a serious omission.

  Folks said h
e was a loner, a rolling stone who helped Steve with his horseshoeing business in the summer and worked for a dude ranch in Tucson during the winter. Rumor had it that Russ was wild, proven by the fact that he had no driver’s license, leaving many to speculate as to what reckless act he’d committed. He didn’t. talk much about himself, and to the residents of Prescott, that meant he was hiding some dark secret.

  “Don’t go losin’ your heart to Russ Gibson, girl,” Andy said.

  Jo was startled out of her daze. So what if Russ was gorgeous? She had no time for romance, and no good-looking cowboy would cheat her out of her dream this time. She glanced at Andy. “My heart belongs to you, handsome.”

  Andy grinned. “I always knowed that.” Then his grin faded. “Steve’s steady as they come, but I guess it don’t run in the family. From what I hear, his brother is the love-‘em-leave-‘em type.”

  “Don’t worry, Andy.” Jo patted his arm. “No fancy cowboy is going to keep me from getting my degree. I want it too bad. But I have to earn a living, so I’m going over there to find out what those gentlemen are having.”

  “Jist consider yourself warned.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Jo adjusted her uniform and took a deep breath as she crossed the room. The Roundup dressed their waitresses in a style that reminded Jo of a Dallas Cowboys’ cheerleader, with tight little shorts, white boots, hat and a snug-fitting top that displayed a generous amount of cleavage. It was a sexist outfit, but it sure brought in good tips, so Jo put up with it.

  Approaching Russ Gibson, she had the insane urge to cover up. She’d easily sidestepped the passes made by other cowboys in the months she’d worked at the Roundup, but none of them had affected her like this. Maybe her reaction to Russ had to do with her mood tonight. She’d wished something really good would happen to erase her memory of Tommy leaving, but getting involved with a stud who specialized in breaking hearts could make everything worse. She’d have to be careful.

  RUSS NOTICED HER the minute he walked into the Roundup, and something told him he ought to convince Steve and Ned to try a different bar tonight. But he knew how much they liked the Roundup and they wouldn’t appreciate being dragged down the block for reasons he couldn’t even put into words.

  The waitresses in the Roundup were always very pretty—and stacked. Russ knew that Eddie Johnson, the owner, made sure of that. Eddie tended to hire blondes, but not this time around, apparently. Her long, shiny hair reminded Russ of the brownish-red coat on a chestnut mare he’d once owned. That mare had been a favorite of his, and he’d been attracted to that hair color on a woman ever since. The waitress reminded him of the beautiful horse in another way, too—the way she carried herself. The mare had moved as if announcing she was part Thoroughbred, and so did the waitress. He’d bet she didn’t plan to be serving drinks to cowhands for the rest of her life.

  Russ pretended not to notice as she came over to take their order, but damned if she didn’t stand right beside him, her flowery scent filling his head and her creamy thigh only inches from his arm.

  “What can I get for you gentlemen tonight?” she asked.

  The sound of her voice, music that rippled down his spine, brought his head up and he looked into smoky green eyes. Lord, he shouldn’t have done that. Behind the intelligence, behind the determination he’d sensed the first time he saw her, was a deep sadness. Only someone who also nursed an open wound would see it, and it drew him like a moth to a flame.

  “Jo, I’d like you to meet my little brother, Russ,” Steve said. “Russ, this is Jo Cassidy.”

  Russ pushed back his chair and stood. “Glad to meet you, ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. He liked looking at her from this angle, too. Her mouth was wide and generous, just right for kissing. Not that he’d be doing any of that. She was way too classy for the likes of him.

  “Nice meeting you, Russ.” Her cheeks turned all pink as she glanced up at him.

  Russ swallowed. Darned if she wasn’t reacting to him the same way he’d reacted to her. But the confusion in her eyes told him she was fighting it, just as he was.

  “Russ decided to give us the honor of his company for Thanksgiving,” Steve said.

  “That’s nice.” Jo continued to stare into Russ’s eyes.

  “Jo’s studyin’ to be a horse vet,” Ned added.

  “Well, I have to get my degree first,” Jo said, continuing to hold Russ’s gaze. “Then I’ll apply to veterinary schools.”

  “You must be a real smart lady,” Russ said.

  “I just hope I’m smart enough.” She finally seemed to find the strength to look away. “Right now I’d better quit jabbering and do my job. The usual for you two?” she asked Steve and Ned.

  “That’ll be fine,” Steve said.

  “Russ?” She glanced up at him. “What’ll you have?”

  His mind answered one way, but he managed not to say the words out loud. “A draft will do fine, thanks.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He stood there like an idiot watching her walk toward the bar.

  “You can plant yer butt in the chair, now,” Ned said. “The lady’s left.”

  With a sheepish grin, Russ sat down and adjusted his hat.

  “Hey, little brother, don’t mess with her,” Steve said. “She’s a real nice girl and is working hard to get through college. She doesn’t need her heart broke right now.”

  “What makes you think I’d do a thing like that?”

  Steve held up his work-roughened hand and started ticking off names on his fingers. “Ellen last summer, Beth last fall, Suzanne down in Tucson, Amy in Phoenix. You’re leavin’ a trail of them through the state. Not a one of them means a thing to you, do they?”

  “They were all nice girls, but...I’m just not settlin’ down, is all. I’ll leave that to you and Ned.”

  “That bein’ the case, I hope you’ll stay away from Jo. She deserves somebody who’ll hang around for a while, like about fifty or sixty years.”

  Steve was absolutely right, he knew, but Russ didn’t appreciate the lecture. He’d thought about staying in Prescott another week or so, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. “Don’t worry, big brother. I’m taking the bus back to Tucson on Sunday, so I won’t have much time to mess with her, as you put it.”

  “Sunday?” Ned asked. “But you just got here.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “Claire was hoping you’d stay through Christmas, at least.”

  “No way. You know damned well I don’t do Christmas.”

  Ned leaned forward. “Okay, I have to ask. This purely puzzles me. Here’s Steve and Claire runnin’ around every Christmas Eve bringing presents to folks, and here’s you, finding some hole to crawl into until the holiday’s over. What’s your problem with Christmas, Russ?”

  A steel gate clanged shut in his heart. “Just not into it,” he said woodenly.

  Steve cleared his throat. “By the way, Ned, are we gonna have a bachelor party for you or what? Eddie said we could reserve the Roundup if we want, and all we have to do is start plannin’ it. The night before the rehearsal dinner would be best.”

  Russ sent his brother a look of thanks. Steve might not like the way he was running his life, but he wouldn’t let anyone, not even a good friend like Ned, pry into his little brother’s private hell. Nobody except Steve and Claire knew what had happened in New Mexico three Christmases ago, and they’d promised to keep it to themselves.

  Ned glanced from Steve to Russ and back to Steve again. Then he shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Claire’s planning a shower for Sharon the night before the rehearsal dinner, so we might as well have the bachelor party at the same time.”

  “Ol’ Ned, a married man,” Russ said, clapping him on the back. “Who would’ve believed it?”

  Ned gazed at him. “Happens to most of us, sooner or later. Some sweet thing might lasso you yet, Russ.”

  “Not likely.” Russ sensed more than heard Jo approach. His body went on alert, picking
up her fragrance and relaying the message to his brain that she was too close for comfort His blood pumped a little faster.

  “A draft,” she said, setting down a napkin and putting a frosty glass in front of him.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  “A lemonade, and a long-neck,” she continued, putting the lemonade in front of Steve, who hated the taste of liquor and only came into bars for the company.

  As she leaned down to deliver the drinks, Russ caught a glimpse of shadowed cleavage and desire became a sweet throbbing in his groin.

  “Do you gentlemen want me to run a tab?” she asked, holding her tray against her hip.

  “That’d be fine,” Steve said. “If Andy ever finishes that game with Snuffy, we might even shoot some pool tonight. Claire and Sharon drove to Phoenix to do some Christmas shopping and won’t be back ‘til tomorrow, so we’re footloose.”

  “By all means make yourselves at home,” Jo said, not looking at Russ.

  He had the feeling she’d decided to avoid eye contact with him, which was a good thing for both of them. But she was standing right beside his chair, and damned if he couldn’t feel her heat. He clenched his jaw.

  “By the way, Steve,” she said. “Do you have room for another person on your Christmas Eve gift list?”

  Steve laughed. “Sure. What can we bring you, Jo?”

  “Not for me. But Lucile Varnum, the widow who lives on the other side of my duplex, could use some cheering up.”

  “We can probably fit in one more, depending on what you think she needs.”

  “Well, it might be hard to find this time of year, but her old cat just died, and she’s so lonesome. I was thinking that if you knew anybody who has a kitten, it would—”