A Cowboy's Christmas Carol

by Brenda Harlen

  “Is she settling in okay?”

  “Seems to be. It helps that Agatha’s taken her under her wing.”

  “Your cranky old goat Agatha?”

  Daphne carefully removed the ornament he’d just hung and shifted it four inches to the left. “She has surprisingly strong maternal instincts.”

  “Imagine that,” he mused.

  He hung another ornament, and Daphne moved that one, too.

  “Why don’t I put the hangers on the ornaments and then you can hang them on the tree?” he suggested.

  She had the grace to look chastened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you had two silver balls hanging side by side.”

  He didn’t ask why that was a problem, he just handed her the next ornament and let her place it on the branch.

  He reached into the box again and was surprised to pull out a plastic character in orange overalls with a pink baseball cap over a mass of wild red hair. In deference to its purpose as a holiday decoration, the character was holding a Christmas wreath in her hands.

  “You have a Messy Marsha ornament.”

  “I got that in my stocking when I was a kid.” She took it from him now, a smile curving her lips in response to the obviously happy memory. “I’ve also got the complete set of books.”

  “I’ve got the books, too,” he said. “All thirty-five of them.”

  “You were a fan of Messy Marsha?”

  “Not the stories as much as the pictures,” he said. “My grandmother was the illustrator.”

  “Your grandmother is Dorothea McGowan?”

  He nodded. “But if artistic talent is a genetic trait, it definitely skipped me, because I can’t draw a stick figure.”

  “You tell a pretty good story, though,” she noted.

  “It’s easy when you’ve got a captive audience.”

  She hung the last ornament on the tree, then stood back to assess the overall effect. “I think it looks pretty good. Certainly not any worse for wear after our wrestling match.” She turned to him. “What do you think?”

  But he was looking at her instead of the tree. “I think I’m really glad I stopped by today.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “So what are your plans for Christmas?” he asked, after the boxes were put away and they were sitting down to a meal of tofu pad Thai that Daphne had quickly thrown together. His contribution had been setting the table.

  “Jordan and Camilla might stop by in the afternoon, if they can squeeze in a quick visit between holiday celebrations with their respective families. I’d be skeptical that they’ll have time, except that Camilla told me she has a present for Tiny Tim and I know she’ll want to give it to him.”

  “Your future sister-in-law has a Christmas present for your pig?”

  “She fell for him the first time she saw him—kind of like you and Billie.”

  “It’s hardly the same thing,” he said. “Billie is an adorable baby goat. Tiny Tim is...big. And...a pig.”

  She shrugged. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “You mentioned Jordan,” he said, circling back to the original topic of conversation. “But don’t you have another brother?”

  “Actually, I have three other brothers. Brandon is two years younger than Jordan and two years older than me, then there’s Dirk and Dustin, my twin half brothers from my father’s second marriage to Tania.”

  “Will you see any of them on Christmas?”

  “Probably not,” she said. After the blowup at Thanksgiving, the last thing she wanted was to ruin another holiday for everyone. Based on their recent telephone conversation, her father seemed willing to pretend that their conflict over the menu had never happened, but Daphne had a little more trouble letting go of the hurt. And she had no intention of setting herself up for a repeat performance.

  “What about your mom?” he asked.

  “We haven’t celebrated a holiday together since... I can’t even remember when. But I won’t be on my own,” she was quick to assure him. “I’ve got Barkley to keep me company and chores to keep me busy.”

  Okay, maybe her plans did sound a little lame when she said them out loud, but she didn’t want Evan to feel sorry for her. If he wanted to include her in his holiday plans, such as they were, that would be great, but she didn’t want a pity invitation.

  Thankfully, he didn’t offer one.

  And she wasn’t the least bit disappointed—or at least that was what she told herself.

  After they’d finished eating, including leftover triple-chocolate brownies for dessert, he helped her tidy up the kitchen. There wasn’t a lot of room around the sink, which meant that there was a lot of unintentional—and some not-so-accidental—body contact as they worked side by side. And with each fleeting touch, her awareness of him grew sharper and stronger.

  She’d known him a little more than two weeks, but she felt confident that she knew everything she needed to. And as much as she enjoyed the flirting and the kissing, she was more than ready to take their relationship to the next level.

  As he was wiping the frying pan with a towel, she glanced through the window over the sink and discovered that it had started to snow again.

  “I’m feeling pretty good about our odds for a white Christmas,” she remarked. “They’re calling for another four-to-six inches tonight.”

  “In that case, I should probably be on my way,” he said.

  Was that a note of regret she heard in his voice?

  Or was she projecting her own feelings onto him?

  Was it possible that she was the only one who wanted more than a few steamy kisses?

  “It’s not coming down too hard just yet,” she pointed out.

  “Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’m sure you don’t want me to get stuck here.”

  His words suggested that he was ready to go, but he still made no move toward the door.

  And that was what gave her the courage to say, “Actually...I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you inviting me to stay?” Evan asked cautiously, not certain if she was offering him a haven from the coming storm—or something more.

  Daphne lifted her gaze to his, her blue eyes dark with awareness. “Do you want to stay?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “Very much.”

  Her lips curved slowly then. “I’m glad, because that means you can help me feed and water the animals.”

  Her tone might have been teasing, but he knew that the chores needed to be done. So he bundled up and went with her, in the hope that his extra set of hands would help complete the tasks more quickly.

  She let him feed Billie while she dealt with the rest of the animals, but when they finally got back to the house, trudging through several of the forecasted inches that had already fallen, she seemed more apprehensive than eager.

  “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,” he told her.

  “I haven’t,” she said. “I’m just a little nervous. It’s been a long time for me.”

  “We’ll take it slow,” he said, a playful note in his voice. “See if that might jog your memory.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Because she would have agreed to anything he wanted. Because all she wanted was Evan. And when he lowered his head to kiss her, she exhaled a quiet sigh of both relief and anticipation.

  But he bypassed her lips to brush his own over her temple. Then his mouth touched her cheek...skimmed over her jaw...nibbled on her ear. Every teasing kiss heightened her anticipation, increased her arousal, so that when his mouth finally settled on hers, she was aching for his kiss.

  His hands found their way beneath the hem of her sweater, his fingertips gliding over skin. His hands skimmed up the sides of her torso, seeking and finding her breasts, and groaning
his appreciation when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. His thumbs brushed over the already peaked nipples, sending arrows of heat from the tips to her center, melting her bones.

  “We should go upstairs.” She whispered the suggestion against his lips.

  “Upstairs is too far.”

  “I’ve got condoms upstairs.”

  And now that she thought about it, she should probably check the expiration date on the box because she hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him it had been a while.

  “I’ve got one in my wallet,” he told her.

  “In that case,” she relented.

  He released her for a moment—just long enough to pull the blanket off the back of the sofa and spread it on the floor beside the Christmas tree, then retrieve the promised square packet and dropped it on the fleece, within easy reach.

  He took her hand then and drew her toward him.

  “You should see the way your eyes sparkle with the reflection of all the lights.”

  “I’d rather see yours,” she said.

  “I’ve got the better view,” he insisted, lifting his other hand to her cheek. “You’re so beautiful, Daphne. Sometimes I look at you, and you actually take my breath away.”

  “You don’t have to seduce me with pretty words, Evan.”

  “I’m not usually good with words,” he told her. “But you inspire me...in so many ways.”

  She was inspired, too, and reached for the hem of her sweater to pull it over her head. His gaze skimmed over her bare upper torso, his pupils growing wide. Then she unfastened the button of her jeans, but it was the rasp of the zipper that mobilized him.

  “Let me,” he said, and dropped to his knees on the blanket.

  Her hands fell away as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops to tug the denim over her hips, and lower, until the fabric was pooled at her ankles. He helped her lift one foot, then the other, then tossed the jeans on top of her already discarded sweater, leaving her clad in only a pair of pink cotton bikini panties.

  Evan’s hands slid up the back of her legs to cup the curve of her bottom, holding her in place while he pressed his mouth to the fabric at the juncture of her thighs. Daphne’s breath hitched in her throat and her knees nearly buckled as he teased her with his tongue through the thin barrier, making her panties wet both inside and out.

  “Evan.” His name was a plea.

  He responded by tightening his hold on her buttocks as he continued to nibble and lick until she was panting and dripping. Just when she was certain her knees would buckle, he eased away, drawing her down onto the blanket and whisking her panties away.

  “You’re supposed to be naked, too,” she pointed out, as he knelt between her legs.

  “I will be. But first, I need another few minutes right here,” he said, nudging her thighs farther apart and lowering his head again.

  He was wrong.

  It took less than a minute for his tongue to work magic on her bare flesh, taking her to unimagined heights of pleasure...and beyond.

  She was still shuddering with the aftereffects of a mind-bogglingly intense orgasm when he finally tore off his own clothes, readied himself with the condom and buried himself inside her. And just like that, the glorious tension began to build again.

  She lifted her hips off the floor, and their bodies moved together in an easy and familiar rhythm. At the same time, her hands explored the taut skin of his torso, tracing the contours of his muscles. For a man whose daily exercise was primarily spinning stories, he was very nicely built.

  He began to thrust faster, deeper. She could feel the tension in him, see it in the set of his jaw. She linked her hands behind his head, drawing his mouth down to hers, opening for his kiss. His tongue slid between her parted lips, mirroring the intimate strokes of his body, stoking the fire that burned between them.

  Their mutual pleasure continued to build with each successive stroke until it was almost too much. But still he held himself in check, waiting. Only when the waves of her release began again did he let the tide of his own climax sweep him away.

  * * *

  Jesus, it was hot.

  He lifted a hand to brush his hair away from his face dripping with sweat. He could hear something hissing and crackling, could see flickering light even through closed eyes. It was an effort to pry them open, and when he finally did, they immediately wanted to slam shut again as thick, acrid smoke made them burn and water. He tried to draw in a breath, but filled his lungs with smoke instead of air, and pushed it out again in a violent, hacking cough as he hauled himself up into a sitting position.

  He squinted through the dense gray fog, desperate to get his bearings. As if from far away, he could hear the horses whinnying as they danced restlessly in their stalls.

  That’s right—he was in the hayloft.

  With Alice.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. His skin, darkly tanned from working outside in all seasons, was a stark contrast to hers, pale and soft. Despite the gaping distance between their worlds, they’d somehow found their way to one another and fallen in love. But now was not the time for reminiscing.

  He shook her, not at all gently. Because now was not the time for tenderness or subtlety, either.

  “Alice. Wake up.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, her brow furrowed as her brain registered the heat, the smoke, the flames. She sat up, tugging the corner of the rough wool blanket to cover her naked form.

  “Ohmygod. The barn—” The rest of the words were lost in a fit of coughing. She tried again. “The horses—”

  “Let’s get you out of here first.”

  He found his discarded T-shirt and offered it to her.

  “To cover your face,” he said, when she started to pull it over her head.

  “Oh.” She held the fabric over her nose and mouth.

  He nodded his approval, trying to ignore his own rising sense of panic as he listened to the horses below growing more frantic as the fire began to spread across the roof.

  “We have to go. Now.”

  But there was already a wall of flame blocking their path to the ladder—their only means of escape...

  He jolted awake, his heart racing, his mind reeling.

  He sucked in a deep breath, desperate to draw air into his lungs as his gaze moved frantically around the unfamiliar room.

  Where was he?

  Who was he?

  “Evan?” A gentle touch on his arm. A familiar voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He scrubbed his hands over his face as his heart rate gradually slowed to something approximating normal. “I just had a weird dream.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t actually remember the details.”

  Liar.

  “That happens to me all the time.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his bare shoulder. “I think it’s the subconscious mind’s way of protecting us from things we don’t want to think about.”

  “Makes sense.”

  She hugged him a little tighter. “Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water? A glass of whiskey?”

  He smiled at that. “My grandmother’s going to love you.”

  Every muscle in her body stilled then, and he mentally cursed himself for the offhand remark even as he braced for her to ask when she was going to meet his family.

  Considering that he was right now naked in her bed, it wasn’t an unreasonable question. But it also wasn’t a step he was ready to take.

  And maybe Daphne realized that because when she finally spoke again it was only to ask, “Is that a yes to the whiskey?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t need whiskey. I just need you.”

  It shouldn’t have been an easy admission to make. He wasn’t comfortable ad
mitting to anything more than the most basic needs. Then again, he wasn’t accustomed to feeling anything more than the most basic needs.

  But everything was different with Daphne.

  When he was with Daphne, he was where he was supposed to be.

  Maybe it was fate that brought you to Happy Hearts.

  He’d been quick to dismiss the possibility when she mentioned it, but now, with her warm, naked body pressed against his, he found himself reconsidering.

  Then he found her breast with his hand and he let the pursuit of mutual pleasure chase all his thoughts away.

  * * *

  The following morning, Evan followed the scent of French roast to the kitchen where he found Daphne already dressed and standing by the stove, pouring batter onto a frying pan.

  “I smelled coffee,” he said.

  She smiled at him and pointed to a cupboard with the spatula. “Mugs are in there.”

  He headed in that direction, then paused en route to nuzzle her throat. “You were up early.”

  “That’s life on a farm,” she reminded him as she handed him a plate piled with pancakes.

  “That’s a lot of food,” he remarked.

  “I figured you burned off a lot of calories last night.”

  He smiled then. “Maybe after breakfast, we can go back upstairs and burn off some more.”

  “As tempting as that sounds, I have to open up the adoption center at eleven today.”

  He poured maple syrup over his pancakes. “You don’t even get one day off?”

  “Not without arranging in advance for somebody to cover for me.”

  She carried her own plate, with a much smaller stack of pancakes, to the table.

  “What time will you be done?”

  “We close at four, but then I usually spend another hour or so with the animals, to make sure they’re settled.”

  “And I have a tour tonight,” he noted.

  It should have been a relief. They both had things to do and it was important for a relationship to have boundaries. But after knowing Daphne only two and a half weeks, he was having trouble remembering where those boundaries were.