Christmas Cowboy Kisses

by Carolyn Davidson / Carol Arens / Lauri Robinson

  What would it sound like singing a Christmas hymn? she wondered. Pure as an angel’s voice, maybe? Then again, as alluring as the devil’s.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at rehearsal tonight,” she said, and she meant it.

  Mrs. Gilman had spilled hot apple cider on his trousers. The stain still showed in a place she oughtn’t be looking at.

  “I’m sure it was an accident,” he answered.

  He settled into the chair beside her with a sigh, stretching his fingers toward the flames.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.” She set the knitting in her lap, risking a glance into green eyes that made her feel a bit dizzy. “You should know that what you saw of folks tonight is not who they normally are.”

  “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, apparently wanting to change the subject.

  “A Christmas gift for Belle.” She held up the half-finished project and turned it to catch the fire’s glow. “I’ve three more to go after this one. I expect I won’t get a wink of sleep until after Christmas.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment, his expression serious. “Can’t be easy, raising five little girls on your own.”

  “I won’t lie, it can be a challenge.”

  “Things would be easier if you accepted my grandfather’s money.”

  She couldn’t deny that. The sum the elder Mr. Lantree had offered was tempting.

  But... “Those five little girls upstairs have lost too much over the past year. All the money in the world won’t ease their pain. This home is where the memories of their parents live. Believe it or not, there are some things that money can’t buy.”

  She picked up her knitting again. She would not—could not—choose financial comfort over her nieces’ well-being.

  “I’ll give you that, but there’s no choice to be made. This town is done whether you take the money or not.”

  “But why Christmas Eve?”

  “Why not?” He looked away, clearly avoiding her frown. “It’s just another day.”

  “You saw those children rehearsing tonight. You heard their voices. Christmas is far from just another day. It’s the one time when we all feel joyful...become young again, if only for a little while.”

  “You do know there’s no such thing as Santa Claus?”

  He was as wrong as could be about that. Any healthy woman caught up in his teasing smile at this moment would swear that Santa had already left a gift.

  “I’ll be up until well after midnight—” she clicked her knitting needles at him “—proving that there is.”

  His laughter washed quietly through the room.

  “Carry on, then, Mrs. Saint Nick. I’m off to bed.” He stood up, stretched then gazed down at her. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the Jolly Old Elf.”

  “And yet you do.”

  “What’s to say I’m not the Elf? It’s all in the way one looks at things.” He winked, then turned to stroll down the hallway.

  She blessed her stars that she was already sitting down. The man was as tempting as a Christmas present wrapped in a red bow.

  “Mr. Lantree,” she called softly. “I need some help with the children’s choir. They can be a handful. If you’ll agree to assist me, I will consider your grandfather’s proposal. I’m not saying I’ll accept it—I likely won’t, but I will mull over what it has to say.”

  “Call me Rayne, and we have a bargain.”

  “Good night, Rayne.”

  “Good night, Laira Lynne.”

  She listened to his footsteps walking down the hallway, trying to pay close attention to Belle’s cap. It was difficult. She had made a bargain with the devil and only hoped it was the first step in winning him over to her side.

  Chapter Four

  Rayne had hoped that by helping with the children’s choir folks might warm up to his grandfather’s terms. While no one had dumped hot cider on his pants or called him Satan’s spawn, three days had passed and still the only person to accept his grandfather’s money was an old man who’d planned to move to another town to live with his daughter anyway.

  Rayne turned up his collar against the cold afternoon wind while he walked to the general store where he would send a wire to his grandfather.

  The old man wouldn’t be pleased, but the people of Snow Apple Woods were waiting for a Christmas miracle. No amount of convincing would make them believe that his money was the miracle.

  He sent the wire, purchased a bag of peppermint candies for the girls and then stood by the stove for a moment to gather some heat before he walked back to Laira Lynne’s place. While he stood in front of it, the pin fell out of the door hinge, rusted through.

  Absently, he picked it up and set it on the counter. He had become preoccupied with a certain pretty young woman.

  Laira Lynne...he liked the sound of her name. It was lyrical, just as she was. He was a man to appreciate a beautiful voice and hers was one of the best he’d ever heard.

  Last night in the church social room, they had sung a duet, a Christmas carol that Laira Lynne was teaching the children. Everyone down to a fussy baby had become still as stones. He reckoned it was Laira Lynne’s voice to steal their breath. He was only a backup to her.

  His appreciation of reliving that moment was interrupted when he heard sniffling.

  A child was weeping somewhere out of sight. He glanced at Daniel Bolt, who motioned him over to the counter.

  “It’s little Belle,” Daniel whispered. “She comes here to cry when she feels the need. She doesn’t want to bring gloom on her sisters, so she hides behind the ready-made gowns. I let her be, then send her home with a treat.”

  Rayne lifted the bag of peppermints. “I hope this will help.”

  He waited beside Daniel until the weeping stopped and Belle stepped out from behind the dresses with her eyes red and her nose damp.

  It was unlikely that she would come to him, since of all the girls she distrusted him the most, but he held out his hand.

  She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, standing as still as a doll.

  All at once she dashed forward and wrapped her small arms around his thigh.

  He scooped her up in one arm. She nestled her head against his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to protect her. He’d never felt an urge like that before, but a child so young, so fragile, needed a man to watch over her.

  Luckily, the peppermint he placed in her fingers made her smile.

  “I reckon your auntie won’t mind,” he said, carrying her out of the store.

  When he glanced back as he closed the door, he noticed that Daniel Bolt was smiling.

  “Would you like to talk about why you were crying?”

  Belle shook her head.

  “My mama and papa died, too. I was just your age.”

  “They did?” She blinked away the last of her tears. “I was crying about the Christmas tree. My papa always went into the woods and brought us home the biggest one in the whole world. Auntie can’t carry one that big.”

  “I guess she can’t,” he answered.

  A few moments later they stepped inside the house, closing the front door on the steadily increasing wind. Belle dashed off to pass out the rest of the peppermints, laughing as if she hadn’t been weeping her heart out a few moments before.

  * * *

  From the shadow of the hallway Rayne watched Laira Lynne shrug into her coat, then put on her hat and gloves. She went outside and quietly closed the door behind her.

  It was none of his business where she was going so late at night, but he couldn’t help wondering. The town had closed up hours ago and the girls were fast asleep.

  He pulled aside the window curtain and watched her go into the barn. A few moments later she came out pulling Old Mule and
dragging an ax.

  Curiosity won out over none of his business, so he put on his coat and stepped out onto the porch. Cold air filled his lungs. It felt fresh and invigorating. He breathed deeply, savoring the scent of cedar in the nearby woods.

  Laira Lynne tugged on the mule’s lead while she tipped her face toward the star-speckled sky.

  Even in profile she had the face of an angel...purity incarnate, except for one thing. Every once in a while he noticed a glimmer of sass flash in her smile.

  Sass in a woman intrigued him. Combine that with Laira Lynne’s sweetness and her undeniable beauty... Well, he liked her. Very much.

  He’d better have a care to hang on to his heart. Once she took the relocation offer, she would probably move back to New York. In only a few days he would never see her again.

  “Come on, you old sky,” he heard her say as he came up behind her.

  “Are you waiting for a wagon to haul you to the stars?”

  She turned around, gracing him with a smile. Her face, framed by the fur lining of her hat, shone with what he could only think was pleasure at seeing him.

  All of a sudden he felt warmer by degrees. Laira Lynne had been the only one in the town to give him so much as a howdy-do. That was something he wouldn’t forget.

  “How did you know? I’m off to the North Pole to ask Santa for snow.”

  “I wish you luck with that.” He turned the collar of his coat up about his neck. The wind had gone down, but so had the temperature. “Where are you really going?”

  She tipped her head, considering, he guessed, whether to include him in the mysterious midnight outing. Moonlight caught a twinkle in her eye and shot a shiver clear to his heart.

  The sensation was unnerving. His heart had not shivered since that Christmas he had leaped from his bed, eager to see what Santa had left in his stocking.

  “It’s only two days until Christmas Eve. Naturally, I’m going to the woods to cut down the tree.”

  “It’s late.... It’s freezing. I’ll help you if you wait until tomorrow.”

  “That’s impossible, Rayne. The girls will expect to see their tree in the parlor when they wake up. It’s the family tradition.”

  “They’ll understand.”

  She pulled on Old Mule’s reins.

  “Where’s the magic in your soul, Rayne?” She hauled the mule behind her, leaving Rayne standing at the barn door.

  Where was the magic in his soul? Since when was that a requirement for a responsibly led life? He’d done just fine without it all his life.

  “Besides,” she said, glancing back at him, “if you and your grandfather get your way, this will be the last Christmas they get to spend in their family home. The girls believe that their parents will be here in spirit, so it’s especially important to celebrate the holiday the way they always have.”

  There was no if about Grandfather getting his way. He always got his way.

  Wall Street would cover losses before the old man would go out into the cold to bring home a Christmas tree, even for an eager little boy.

  It’s not as though his grandfather was a bad man. He wasn’t. He was fair, honest in all his dealings. Rayne figured he might be softer if his wife hadn’t passed on only a few years into their marriage, and later his only child and his young daughter-in-law. He had replaced his vulnerable feelings with a love of money. Dollars in the bank would never leave a man bereft.

  It was his belief that William Lantree was frightened of freely showing affection, even to his own grandson.

  He caught up with her.

  “Try and keep up,” he said, and plucked the ax from her fingers.

  The sooner they cut down the blasted tree, the sooner he would be warm in his bed.

  “No need to look so glum.” She handed him the mule’s reins, then tossed him a fetching smile. “Just think of the huge tree the girls will have with your big, strong arms to help.”

  Truth be told, he wasn’t all that glum. Midnight stars...being alone with a beautiful woman... The possibilities blossomed in his mind.

  “We’ll sing Christmas carols along the way,” she said. “You’ll feel the spirit in no time at all.”

  He was feeling something, all right, but it was a bit south of where he figured Christmas cheer resided.

  “‘Hark! The herald angels sing—’” She began to sing, then stopped when he remained silent. “Surely you know it?”

  He knew it...had sung it in secret a few times, even.

  “‘Glory to the newborn king.’” He added the next line.

  “You have an angel’s voice, Rayne.” He’d heard that said while he’d been away at school, but Grandfather thought the talent a frivolous one, so he didn’t sing often.

  “‘Peace on earth and mercy mild,’” he continued, actually enjoying it.

  “‘God and sinners reconciled,’” they sang together.

  Her voice blended with his as though they were meant to be. The melded tones rang out over the quiet woods.

  In the distance he spotted another man and woman walking through the trees. The man carried a small pine over his shoulder. The pair of them stopped for a moment to listen.

  Clearly this young couple did not plan to be out of their home before Christmas.

  He ought to be worried, even annoyed, but the frigid beauty of the night filled him. He would think about business tomorrow.

  Or he might not think about it, after all, because suddenly a picture formed in his mind of five little girls waking to the joy of a Christmas tree in the parlor.

  It was a sweet vision, but not quite as spicy as the one he conjured a few moments later when Laira Lynne spotted “the perfect tree.”

  All of a sudden she stopped, threw her arms open wide and danced rapturously about the eight-foot pine.

  “This is it!” Her chest rose and fell with the exertion of her dance. He couldn’t see her breasts under her heavy coat, but that sure didn’t keep his imagination from conjuring them up.

  The woman did make it hard to hold on to his heart as he had determined to do.

  He set the ax blade to work at the trunk of the tree. While physical activity did distract him from imagining what was under her clothing, he suddenly took a heated interest in looking at her mouth.

  Her lips, smiling and star dusted, reflected pure joy.

  He’d like to taste that joy, borrow it from her in a slow, deep kiss. Maybe it would uncover the long-hidden magic missing in his soul.

  A quarter of a mile back down the trail, he had spotted a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the bare branch of a tree.

  A kiss under it wouldn’t change his world. They could both enjoy the tradition, then keep it as a pleasant memory.

  For a moment he wished he was not the devil in the eyes of the folks of Snow Apple Woods. Maybe he wouldn’t mind sharing some holiday hoopla with them, just one time.

  But an eviction hung over everyone.

  Just like years ago, Grandfather, through him, was about to snatch away joy.

  Chapter Five

  Laira Lynne could not deny that she’d noticed the mistletoe growing on the tree, or that it presented a very interesting image in her mind.

  What she didn’t expect was to see Rayne climb the tree and pluck it.

  “Be careful, Rayne.” She looked up, trying to see him through the tangle of branches. “The limbs are frosty.”

  He lost his footing, then his handhold. With a thump he landed flat on his back.

  “Ohhh,” he groaned, clutching his prize in his fingers.

  “Rayne!”

  She rushed forward and knelt beside him, lightly tracing the length of one arm, searching for an injury. She didn’t feel anything wrong. Far from it; this was an exceptionally well-formed,
muscular arm.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just joshing.” He grinned and winked, then poised the mistletoe over her head.

  He puckered his lips.

  “That, Mr. Rayne Lantree, was not a bit funny.” She scrambled away on hands and knees. With a quick jump, she stood as tall as she could, glaring down. “Get off the ground before you freeze.”

  “I thought this was a Christmas tradition.”

  He stood up, walked over to Old Mule then lifted the tip of the tree off the ground, taking some of the weight off the animal.

  “It is, for folks who are in love.”

  She arched her brows at him, hoping that he got the message that she would not be dallied with, especially by him.

  “Come on, Old Mule.” She patted the beast’s nose, then took up the reins.

  The walk home seemed to take a long time. Whenever she glanced behind her, Rayne was grinning.

  She could hardly complain, though. Because of him the girls were going to have a tree that would touch the ceiling.

  In spite of everything, Rayne must have a good heart buried under his wallet, because he carried half the weight of the tree all the way to the stable just to spare Old Mule.

  “We’ll have to be quiet now so we don’t ruin the surprise,” she whispered.

  She stepped lightly up the front steps of the house, then paused to watch Rayne coming up behind her, toting the tree. His arms must be every bit as strong as they had seemed when she’d touched them earlier.

  “How can it be a surprise when it’s the tradition?” He carried the tree through the front door, then set it on the floor without appearing winded.

  “It just is,” she said quietly. “It’s part of the wonder of Christmas. You know what’s coming, but it’s magic every time.”

  “Magic, is it?” He fished the mistletoe from his coat pocket and grinned his crooked smile at her. “You could be right. I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

  She stared at the six-inch sprig as if it was a serpent, and she, caught in its hypnotic spell. To be completely honest, spellbound didn’t seem such an awful plight.