by Various
In hindsight, that last minute addition to her gift was probably a mistake. Photoshopping I love you, before the word Santa on the banner hanging above his head in the photo had been a bad idea. The worst. She should have just left it at the divorce papers and the photo album.
They had a deal, and she had reneged on it by falling in love with him. But there was no taking it back now. Maybe he wouldn't see it, she thought, and some of her tension eased. If he was upset, he would call her. If he didn't call, that meant he was glad to be rid of her. Either way, Hope would deal with it.
Just as she raised her mug to her mouth again, someone banged loudly on her door and cocoa sloshed all over her pajama pants. Hope rubbed her stinging skin and set the mug down on the end table. The banging got louder, and her heart sounded the same way in her ears as she walked to the door. She tiptoed to look through the peephole and her eye met Cord's angry blue eyes.
"Open the door, Hope. Now," he growled. "I hear you breathing in there."
How could he not hear her loud wheezing as she tried to catch a breath? He could probably hear her pounding heart too, she thought and put a hand there.
She reached for the chain lock and her hand shook violently. Fumbling with the deadbolt, she flipped it then released the door lock. Before she could twist the knob, the door came open and she stumbled backwards.
Cord strode through the door looking like a homeless man masquerading as old Saint Nick. His beard hung crazily on his chin with strands stuck in his black beard stubble. The white, curly wig listed to one side of his head, looking like a wild pop culture haircut. And his Santa suit was wet. Hope sniffed the air and crinkled her nose. Was that whiskey she smelled on his breath? Cord Dixon smelled like a drunk, wet dog.
What was most alarming though was how red his face was. That wasn't rouge on his cheeks to make him look jolly. It was scorching anger she saw. His blue eyes blazed with it. But he was the best thing she'd seen in a month. Her heart practically danced in her chest, she was so happy to see him.
Cord took a step toward her and wobbled on his feet. He put a hand on the table beside the door to steady himself. "You left me," he accused angrily. "And you didn't even have the fucking courtesy to say goodbye." His tone held hurt and what sounded like hatred. "Well, Tinkerbell, I drove all the way to Dallas to personally d-deliver your f-f-fucking present," he said as he shoved his fist toward her.
Hope's heart lurched. She reached for the red stocking he held out to her then took a step back and leaned on the sofa as she looked inside.
"Sticks?" she asked, looking back up at him. Either Cord Dixon was supremely snockered, or he'd lost his fricking mind.
"Switches," he corrected with his fists clenched at his sides. "That’s what bad girls get from Santa for Christmas."
Switches were for spanking. A thrill shot through her, but was quickly replaced by fear. As drunk as he was, and considering the mood he was in, that dark tone he used did not excite her this time. It scared her. He scared her.
"Cord, you probably need to leave."
His face fell and his shoulders slumped. "I have another present for you," he said soberly. "Open it then I'll leave if you want me to go." Cord reached behind him and dragged a small, red Santa bag out of the waistband of his pants. His hand shook as he opened the bag and pulled out a box. He held it out to her in his palm.
Hope reached for it. "You didn't have—"
"Open it," he said tersely.
Cold air whipped past him through the doorway and Hope shivered. "At least close the door. It's freezing outside," she said, wrapping her arm over her stomach. Hope walked around the sofa and sat down, putting the box on her lap. She pulled the gold ribbon, and the bow unraveled.
The front door shut then she felt Cord hovering behind the sofa. She took a deep breath then slid her fingernail under the tape at the side and quickly finished removing the paper. She lifted the lid off the white box and saw two smaller boxes sitting on a pile of confetti that looked like shredded office paper.
"Open that one first," he told her, pointing at the larger of the two boxes.
Whatever was in the box rattled as she lifted it and slid off the lid. Hope gasped when she saw a silver, heart-shaped locket. She pushed the release button on the side and it clicked open. Inside was a photo of Cord dressed in his Santa suit. It was one of the ones she'd taken at the mall. She gasped and tears burned her eyes as she clutched it to her chest.
"It's beautiful, Cord. Thank you," she said in a shaky whisper.
He leaned in and took it from her hands to drape the delicate chain around her neck. It took him a minute, but he got the clasp closed. His finger trailed along her neck to straighten the chain, and she shivered.
Cord leaned down next to her ear and his whiskey-tinged breath teased the tendrils of hair at the side of her face. "Since you ripped my heart out, I thought you should have it to wear around your beautiful neck."
Hope whimpered and leaned forward to stand, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her. His fingers dug in to burn her skin. "Open the second one, Hope."
"I don't want to." What she wanted to do was get him out of her apartment before she broke down and told him what he obviously hadn't seen in the photograph she left for him. Cord hadn't gotten the message, and after seeing how he was now, she was almost glad.
He leaned forward again and reached inside the box on her lap and jerked the smallest box out. He shoved it into her chest. "Open it!" he growled.
Hope's hands shook as she lifted the lid on the box. On a bed of cotton inside lay the engagement ring he had given her and the wedding ring. Hope's breathing hitched as she lifted them out of the box. What did this mean? She looked up at him.
"Those are your rings. I gave them to you and I want you to put them back on."
"But—"
"Do it, Hope," he insisted.
Frustration and confusion warred inside of her, but Hope slid the rings on her finger and her heart squeezed in her chest at the rightness she felt in doing so.
"Now, I want you to look closely at the confetti in that box, and tell me what you see there."
Hope looked down and pulled out several strands to piece them together and gasped. He shredded the divorce papers. Maybe he was upset that she had to go the divorce route since they didn't qualify for an annulment. "I couldn't get the annulment," she explained, but he held up a hand.
His face turned a brighter shade of red. "I don't want an annulment. Or a divorce," he grated. "In fact, I will fight you with every penny I have left to keep you from divorcing me. You are stuck with me."
"But why? We agreed—"
"You reneged on our deal, Tinkerbell," he said.
Reneged on their deal? The only way she'd done that was by falling in love with this frustrating man. She gasped and looked over her shoulder at him. "You saw the photo."
"Yep. All bets are off now. Falling in love wasn't part of our deal."
She couldn't tell from his tone if he was angry. His face didn't give her a clue either, so she stuttered, "I didn't mean to fall in love with you, Cord. And I'm sorry about the photo."
Cord shook his head. He walked around the sofa to stand in front of her, and his eyes were serious. "Don't be sorry. That works out pretty well, actually. I've been thinking of how I could get out of that damn deal for a month anyway."
Hope's heart seized in her chest. "You have?"
Cord sat down on the sofa beside her and patted his thigh. "Sit in Santa's lap, Mrs. Claus," he said in that tone. Hope set the boxes at her side then scrambled onto his lap. His arms tightened around her and he smiled. "Now, tell Santa what you want for Christmas."
Gathering her confidence, channeling the inner boldness she'd always wanted to have, Hope said, "I want you, Santa. Forever."
Cord swallowed, and his gorgeous blue eyes shined when he said, "I won't need elves to give you that. I love you, Hope. I should have told you that weeks ago. You had me from the minute I saw you in that elf cos
tume."
Emotion shot up to her throat, and tears burned behind her eyes. "You are the very best Christmas present I've ever gotten," she whispered, leaning in to kiss his lips tenderly. She pulled back to meet his eyes, and said with a wink and a watery chuckle, "Now about those switches..."
A belly laugh rumbled through Cord, and he squeezed her butt. "You are definitely on my naughty list, Tinkerbell."
"Just where I want to be. For the rest of my life."
*The End*
A COWBOY FOR CHRISTMAS
Sandy Sullivan
© Copyright 2013
Prologue
Coffee, straight black. Just like he liked it. The heat from the coffee cup in his hand spread through his fingers, warming them as Eli Chandler watched the snow swirl in several different directions out the front window of his house.
Damn, it had been cold out there today when he’d ventured out into the Wyoming winter to break the ice on the water troughs. Winter had been especially harsh this year. He hoped the weather would warm up a little. Freezing temperatures made for a hard season, even harder on the cattle trying to stay warm. His horses had the barn, but the cattle had to be out in this crap.
The lamp behind him bounced his reflection off the glass. Pale blue eyes with long eyelashes, straight nose, a little crooked grin when he smiled, broad shoulders, wide chest and trim hips. His looks attracted more women than it drove away he figured, but he wasn’t the vain type. He knew the women in town stopped to stare when he made the rare trip to the feed store. He’d even taken a few of them to bed, although he felt like shit afterwards. They wanted more. He didn’t.
He sipped from the hot liquid in the cup as he stared out into the slowly fading light of the day. Some days he wished he had a woman to warm his bed, other days he was glad he didn’t have someone harping on him constantly about one thing or another. Today he wanted one here. Seemed like he thought more and more about having a woman in his life these days. Turning thirty recently might have perpetuated his thoughts or maybe the wedding of his baby sister this past summer had something to do with it.
Days like this made him remember the winter day a few years ago when he’d been traveling back from Albuquerque with some horses in the back of his rig and stopped at the little roadside café to get a bite to eat along the interstate in Colorado.
The place had been deserted except for the waitress. She’d been the cook, too, on that lonely Saturday afternoon. He wondered over the years where she was and what she thought about how things went down with them.
Chapter One.
Her eyes lit up when he walked through the door to find her reading the paper on the long old-fashioned diner bar.
"Howdy."
"Howdy." What a pretty thing. Kind of short compared to his six-foot-four frame, with brown hair, big blue eyes and a nice shape. Not skinny by any means. Curves. That’s what he liked about her. Her curves.
"Would you like a menu?" she asked as he slipped into one of the booths.
Christmas music played softly as background noise. The diner looked like it hadn’t changed since the fifties with its patent leather stools lining the bar to his right and chrome accents everywhere. Everything seemed to be in excellent shape. "Please, and some coffee would be great."
"Comin’ right up."
The day was blistery cold with snow almost blinding as he drove back toward home, but he was glad he’d noticed the little diner and stopped. It had been getting difficult to see the road with the swirling snow. The radio announcers were talking about a blizzard rolling in. He hoped he could make it home before it hit.
Once she dropped the menu at his elbow, she made her way back toward the coffee as he watched her backside sway back and forth in an enticing view. The whole thing made the trip worth it, in his opinion. Damn, she’s pretty.
She returned quickly with a steaming pot of coffee and a large mug. "Cream?"
"No thanks. Just black." He glanced around noticing they seemed to be the only two in the whole place. "You here by yourself in this crappy weather?"
"Yep. Cook called in. She couldn’t get out of her driveway with the snow so I’m doin’ double duty. Luckily it hasn’t been very busy today."
He looked at the menu a minute before he caught her gaze again. "What would you suggest?"
"The meatloaf is good. I made it myself."
"Meatloaf it is then. Mashed potatoes, gravy?"
"You got it, cowboy." She smiled, revealing straight white teeth and twin dimples in her cheeks. "What brings you out in this mess?"
"Pickin’ up a couple of horses."
"Poor things. Are they in your trailer?" she asked, glancing out the huge window over his shoulder.
"Yeah."
"There’s a round pen with a couple of stalls out back if you want to let them out for a bit. There is even some hay for them if you’re so inclined."
"Much obliged," he said sliding out of the booth. "I’ll be right back."
"I’ll keep the plate warm."
Several minutes later, he walked back through the door, bringing some of the swirling snow with him. "Damn, it’s cold out there."
"I warmed up your coffee a minute ago. Figured you could use the warmth on your fingers." She looked at his hands. "No gloves?"
"I forgot them in my truck."
"You’ll lose a finger or two doin’ that too often."
"You know ranchin’?"
"I know cold and ranchin’. My parents own a place outside of town." She tipped her head to indicate his cup. "Drink up. It’ll warm you both inside and out while I get your supper."
He took a sip, sighing at the rich taste of the beverage. She made a mean cup of coffee.
She returned several minutes later with a steaming plate piled high with food. "You look like you’re mighty hungry."
"I’m sure that’s not a normal servin’."
"It is today since I’m runnin’ the place."
"What’s your name?" he asked, taking a huge scoop of the mashed potatoes and gravy onto his fork. The concoction melted on his tongue. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted potatoes this good.
"Catlin."
"Pretty name."
"Thanks. You?"
"Eli Chandler."
"Eli, huh. That’s kind of different, but I like it."
"My dad is a bit of Irish."
"Sounds kind of Irish."
He held out his hand palm up indicating the other side of the booth. "Why don’t you get some coffee and sit with me? I’d like the company."
"I really shouldn’t. I mean, you’re a customer."
"Yeah, but you don’t have anyone else in here. Besides, are you expecting someone else anytime soon?" She laughed. He liked the soft tinkle of her laughter. It reminded him of bells on a Christmas tree.
"I guess not." She smiled at him for a minute before she turned to retrieve a cup of coffee.
Cream and sugar for her, he noticed when she sat down and poured a spoonful of sugar in her cup. How someone takes their coffee says a lot about a person. She liked things sweet and smooth.
He wondered offhandedly how she liked her lovin’. Slow and teasing or hard and fast? He’d bet his next paycheck she liked slow and easy.
"Where you from, cowboy?"
"I’ve got a little ranch outside Cheyenne." He took another bite of his food. Damn, she could really cook if all her food tasted as good as this. The smooth taste of the potatoes with the little bite of onion mixed into the meatloaf had him sighing in contentment. Better than his momma made. That said a lot since his mom was a stellar cook.
"Do you like the meatloaf?"
"It’s heavenly. I was just thinking how good a cook you are if everything you make tastes like this."
"Thank you, kind sir." She laughed before she sipped her coffee. "Actually, I’m not that good. I get by, but since I only cook for myself when I’m not cooking for this place, I don’t get a lot of practice."
"No husband…boyfriend?"
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "Nope. Not for a long time. I had a pretty serious one once, but he found someone else a little prettier."
"He ain’t worth your tears."
She shook her head, sending her soft looking brown hair swishing across her cheek. She brushed it away absently as his fingers itched to do it for her. "No tears anymore. It was a long time ago, but thank you for sayin’ that."
When he looked down at his plate, he realized he’d eaten everything she’d set in front of him. "Wow. I was hungrier than I thought, I guess."
"You’re a big guy. Big guy’s eat a lot."
"It was delicious."
"Would you like a piece of pie with some ice cream? I have some warm apple I just took out of the oven before you walked in."
"Sounds great."
She slipped out of the booth, smoothing down her skirt with her hands for a minute before she walked behind the counter. The pie case sat to the back along the wall with different kinds proudly displayed inside. When she returned a few minutes later with the pie and ice cream, he noticed she’d refreshed her lipstick.
Hmm. She’s definitely pretty enough.
"I hope you like it."
"Did you make it?"
"Yeah."
"Then I’m sure I’ll love it."
"You’re just sayin’ that." Her blush deepened to a heated red on her cheeks as she sat back down across from him in the booth.
"No I’m not. You’re a good cook from what I’ve tasted so far." He slid a forkful of the sweetness between his lips and groaned. "This is fantastic," he said between bites.
"Thanks for the compliment. It’s always appreciated when a man enjoys the food you make."
"Your parents have a big place?"
"Not too big. A few hundred acres."