All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas

by Anthology

Her reply, “Morgan,” was more of a plea than anything, and she caught his bottom lip between hers as she begged, “Kiss me, please.”

  He moaned, creating a stimulating reverberation to race over her, and then folded his arms around her so tightly she wondered if she’d be crushed to death.

  Oh, what a heavenly death it would be, she decided as his lips maneuvered over hers in a kiss that held no reservations. It was a claiming of sorts, his and hers, a union that was much more than their wedding kiss. The overwhelming delight and harmony the connection created made her weak and powerful at the same time. She clung to him, not just to continue the kiss, but to keep from joining the melting snow covering the floor.

  When the kiss ended, Cora had to blink several times to clear her vision. Morgan’s dear handsome face came into focus and a herd of stampeding cattle couldn’t have chased away the smile that landed on her lips.

  With a tender touch, he brushed her hair from her temple. “Cora, I...”

  She refused to let anything, especially unease on his part, tarnish the moment. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me like that for some time, Morgan.”

  “You have?” he asked, somewhat skeptical.

  The thought of convincing him tickled her, inside and out. “Yes, I have.” She kissed him, quickly, softly. “For months.”

  “Cora.”

  There was such emotion in the way he said her name, she gasped, and was still holding the air in when his lips landed upon hers a second time. The first kiss had been a reconstruction of her spirit, confirming her wants and desires, whereas this one was more of a passage, a ritual that opened a new world and gave newfound awareness to the array of undercurrents leaping to life beneath her skin.

  His hands rubbed her back, flowed down her sides and back up to gently brush the sides of her breasts, leaving a trail of feverish tingles that spread across her body, making every piece of her beg to be touched, caressed.

  Cora had waited so long for this, loved him so much, the desires she’d forced to remain buried thrust to the surface with such energy she clung harder to Morgan. The passion, obsession she had for him, charged forward, leading her actions and stealing all coherent thoughts. Her body was throbbing, climbing some sort of invisible ladder, and she pressed against the length of him, from hip to chest. The echoes of her gasps filled her ears, and she searched, tried to catch his lips as they raced across her cheeks, down the side of her face and neck.

  “Morgan,” she begged when his lips eluded hers.

  The sound of his chuckle made her smile in spite of all that was happening. And his lips, as they snagged onto the corner of hers, were smiling as well.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, amazed she had the wherewithal to do so.

  “I think I am kissing you,” he said, tugging on her bottom lip with both of his.

  “Maybe you are,” she answered, swaying her hips across his.

  “Maybe?” he asked.

  “Hmm...maybe,” she teased, completely enchanted by the playfulness that had developed between them.

  With a growl that sent a wave of excitement right to her center, Morgan’s tongue entered her mouth and bred an outpouring of hunger she’d never fathomed. Matching the way he explored her mouth, she twirled her tongue with his. The dance was mystical and fueled the flame growing between her thighs. She’d known it would be like this. That once Morgan kissed her she’d want it all. It was the speed that surprised her. The demand rapidly overtaking her was like a wildfire racing across an August field of buffalo grass.

  As if he knew exactly what she needed, Morgan reached down and grasped her behind one knee. Hooking her leg around his thigh, his fingers ran along the underside of her leg, from her knee to the curve of her bottom. Arching into the touch, she grasped a fistful of his shirt.

  It was heavenly, yet hellish. The heat of his roaming hand penetrated her dress and pantaloons, but it wasn’t enough. Desperation, hot and raw, swirled out of control, and Cora lifted her leg higher, wrapping it more firmly around him.

  “Cora—”

  Before he could whisper another word, she captured his mouth and swirled her tongue deep inside. His hold compressed her harder against him. The pressure infused her heavy, aching breasts with such a sweet, agonizing pain, Cora wanted to weep with pleasure. His hand found its way inside the hem of her pantaloons. Hot, divine fingers raced along her skin, scorching and tempting as they worked their way up from her knee, closer and closer to the heat at her core.

  Throbbing with excitement, and aching for more, she shifted, giving his fingers an open invitation to find her center.

  It was her turn to moan, and she did as his fingers traveled along her inner thigh. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she pleaded, “Morgan—Morgan—” She trailed a line of kisses along his chin and down the side of his neck.

  He nibbled on her earlobe, suckled on the sensitive skin below it. “Cora, sweet, sweet Cora,” he whispered as his fingers reached their destination.

  Her moan of pleasure was so long, so intense, it left her throat raw. Nothing had ever been sweeter. His touch was perfection, gliding along, teasing her to heights that made her squeeze her eyes shut. Cora could have stayed there forever, absorbing him, living him, but with suddenness that left her reeling, Morgan scooped her into both arms and bolted across the room.

  The cabin spun before her eyes and, startled by a thunderous commotion, Cora tightened her hold around Morgan’s neck. She blinked, gaping at the tree bouncing off the floor in the exact spot they’d been standing. It was shocking, but nothing in comparison to the miniature burst that let loose in her core. The wild sensations Morgan had coaxed to a peak erupted with such sweet release she let out a tiny whimper and tightened her thigh muscles in harmony with the pleasure. At the same time, a snow shower spewed from the tree’s stiff branches and clumps of icicles bounced across the floor as the tree fluttered to a rest with a final swish.

  Cora, reveling in the unexpected satisfaction sweeping across her body, let out a sigh and laid her head on Morgan’s shoulder. She should be mortified—at least embarrassed by her complete act of abandonment, but there was no room for any such feelings.

  It may have been seconds later, or a much longer length of time, since time held no place in her mind, when Nathan’s shout of glee penetrated her contentment.

  Clapping his little hands from the safety of his chair on the far side of the table, her son gurgled excitedly. Happier than she’d felt in months, perhaps years, Cora giggled and glanced to the man holding her.

  “Are you all right?” Morgan asked.

  She nodded, not sure if her vocal cords would work yet. The way he grinned and brushed the tip of his nose against hers was all the reassurance she needed. “Actually, Morgan Palmer, I’m better than I’ve been in a very long time.”

  He cocked a brow, but before he could respond, Nathan shouted, “Do ’gain, Moga, do ’gain!”

  Cora wanted to say the same thing. Not trusting the shout wouldn’t come out on its own, she bit her lips together.

  “I can’t right now, buddy,” Morgan answered, but his eyes were on her.

  Her heart, already full, swelled even more at the promises in his gaze. Cora buried her face against Morgan’s neck, kissing the skin right where his pulse raced. His arms tightened as he continued to hold her high above the floor and he nestled his chin against the top of her head.

  Though she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t stay in his arms forever. Cora drew in a fortifying breath that was filled with his amazing scent, and lifted her head. “I best get the broom.”

  There was no doubt what he saw when he looked at her with those smoldering blue eyes. The happiness in her heart couldn’t be contained. It flowed through her body with every beat of her pulse. Therefore, it was in her eyes, on her face. And there wasn’t a thing she was going to do about it. She loved this man, and wanted him to know it. He just wasn’t ready to hear it, even with what had just happened, she understood that.r />
  Morgan brushed a kiss to her forehead as he lowered her to the floor. Her toes touched, yet still, gently, he held her until her feet were firmly planted beneath her and her legs steadied. Lacking the desire to, but knowing she should, she took a step.

  One of Morgan’s hands caught hers.

  She squeezed his fingers, and while still gazing into those glorious eyes, she sought a way to express all she felt. “Thank you, Morgan. For marrying me. For bringing us here. For being such a wonderful man.”

  His face went lax, as if her words shocked him.

  Her smile grew, and she gave his fingers a final squeeze before slipping away to retrieve the broom. Walking was a chore with her body quaking from the commotion he’d cultivated, but at the same time, she felt as if she fluttered like a spring butterfly on its way to a flower.

  By the time she found the broom and a few rags to wipe the floor, Morgan, with the help of Nathan, if you could call the efforts of a two-year-old help, carried the tree across the room to stand in front of the window opposite the fireplace.

  Morgan glanced her way and though his gaze left a million other things vying for the number-one spot in her thoughts, she nodded. It was the perfect place for the tree.

  He laid the tree on the floor and knelt in front of Nathan. “You stay here. I’m going to get some boards to nail to the trunk so it won’t tip over again.”

  Cora didn’t need to look to know the child nodded in agreement. He’d agree with anything Morgan asked—as would she. Cleaning up the mess of water and ice and frozen pine needles, she watched Morgan cross the room to the door on the back side of the kitchen that led to the lean-to. It was a small addition he’d built after she’d arrived, where he stacked cords of firewood so she wouldn’t have to traipse through the snow. It was thoughtful on his part, she knew, but also not necessary since he always made sure the log bins were full.

  After disposing of the wet rags and pile of needles, Cora rinsed her hands and went back to the sugar cookies she’d been mixing when Morgan decided to carry in the tree. She’d planned on cutting the cookies into star, bell and heart shapes to hang on the branches, and now the idea seemed even more pleasing. Nathan would help frost them, and so would Morgan. She could almost envision the three of them sitting around the table, tying ribbons on the cookies, and laughing, talking and maybe feeding each other icing off the tips of their fingers.

  While Cora stood in the kitchen, dreaming about cookies, Morgan was in the lean-to, reliving the nightmare he’d created in the kitchen. Pressing both hands to his temples, he sat down on the upturned tub, the one they used for bathing. A fiery sting bit into his backside and he leaped to his feet. It wasn’t the cold metal, but the thought of Cora, naked in the object, that made him lean against the woodpile instead.

  What had come over him? Why had he kissed her like that? Why had he touched... Damn if it wasn’t all he’d known it would be—and more. She lit a fire in him that not even a spring flood could dowse.

  If that tree hadn’t fallen over he’d have carried her to the bed. Still wanted to. The blood in his veins pounded, hot and swirling like a swollen river, and Cora’s fascinating, divine scent lingered in his nostrils. His loins, throbbing painfully, ached to feel her hips pressed against his again—but without the barrier of clothes.

  He was split right down the middle and didn’t like it. For one, he’d never been here before. His entire life he’d known right from wrong. The pit of his stomach grew heavy. What had just happened was wrong. Yet, he had to admit, nothing had felt more right. A blazing six-shooter couldn’t have stopped him from kissing her when she’d looked up at him with all the want of the world glimmering in her eyes. No man could have denied her.

  He punched the wall. She better not look at other men the way she looked at him. Nor touch them the way she touched him. Even the most innocent touch of her hand had his insides sparking like dry kindling. A whole other surge of frustration rolled in his stomach. It wasn’t her fault, none of it. He was the only one to blame. Cora probably thought that’s what he expected—most men did, expected their wives to take care of all their needs, to bear their children. His body started humming again, imagining Cora round and plump with his child. Now, that would be something. He pondered the thought, imagined it fully before he let out a heavy sigh. When had he let his guard down, the one he’d erected years ago, about never letting a woman get inside him? It had been there for years, shortly after he’d witnessed one man steal another man’s wife.

  Morgan spun around, trying to reroute wandering thoughts that wouldn’t solve anything, and his toe caught on something. He reached for the woodpile, but the log his hand landed on flipped, knocking others aside as it rolled. He stumbled, trying to catch his fall as logs knocked into one another. What happened next was a colossal run of events. That one log, awkwardly flipping about, unbalanced half the structure, knocking his feet out from beneath him in the process.

  When the ruckus ended, after the last log found a place to land, painfully bouncing off his inner thigh first, Morgan lifted his arms away from his face. Cora stood over him. The first thought he had was the lantern she’d brought into the dark space turned her hair a golden-red and gave her an overall angelic glow. The second thought was he loved her. Loved every bit of her sunshining face, glorious tempting body and sweet, loving soul. And would until the day he died, or longer.

  “Morgan?” She knelt down beside him and started tossing logs aside. “Morgan, are you all right?”

  A third thought came then, one that wasn’t as welcome as the other two. He was a scoundrel. A low-down, dirty, mud-sucking scalawag for coveting another man’s wife. Lying on the frozen dirt, covered in a cord of wood, the truth hit him. He’d been in love with Cora Fisher since the moment he saw her, over three years ago when she and Orville moved onto the forty next to his land. And that day, he’d become the man he’d always claimed he’d never become—just like Matthew Stone, the man who’d taken his mother away and left his father with four young boys to raise.

  “Morgan, talk to me.” Cora patted his cheeks. “Please, Morgan, talk to me.”

  “Mama? Moga?”

  Morgan rolled his head, glanced to the doorway. His saving grace—the child. The only barrier he had against his lust for Cora. “Hey, buddy,” he said to Nathan. “Go check on the tree.”

  The child spun around and ran back into the kitchen.

  “You,” Cora started, her face inches from his, “scared the dickens out of me.” A frown twisted her petal-shaped mouth. She patted his cheeks, then shoulders and arms. “Are you all right? Nothing’s broken?”

  He stopped her hands before they went to his waist. His back could be broken and still her nearness made him grow hard. “Yes, I’m fine,” he half growled. The want to kiss her again was gutting him. It was a strong emotion that she’d opened up inside him—this love he’d never known—and it left him helpless. He had no control when it came to her. None. Not over his heart, nor his body. An urge to put some distance between them had him shoving aside a few stray logs. “The, uh, woodpile fell over.”

  “I know that.” She planted both hands on his chest, kept him from rising. His muscles were much greater than hers, but her simple hold rendered him weak, and the glimmer in her unique smoky eyes made his breath sit in the back of his throat as if someone had slid a lynching rope over his head.

  For a split second, Morgan thought she was going to kiss him. His body froze and blazed with heat at the same time.

  Her head fell onto his chest. “Oh, Morgan,” she whispered. “I’d die if anything happened to you.”

  Shame flooded his system, and he draped his arms around her, pressed a kiss to the softness of her hair. He was such a fool. So worried about his own feelings, his wants and desires, he hadn’t thought about hers. She’d already lost one husband. He certainly didn’t want to bring that type of pain upon her or Nathan.

  “I’m fine,” he offered. “And I’m not going anywhere. I won
’t leave you and Nathan to fend for yourselves again.”

  She stiffened and sat up, stared at him with a perplexing gaze. “What?” Shaking her head, she asked, “Why?”

  His mind went blank. “Why?”

  Leaning back farther, eyeing him warily, she braced both hands on her hips. “Yes, why won’t you leave me and Nathan?”

  His tongue had grown thick and heavy, didn’t seem to want to work right. “Well, because.”

  “Because why?” she insisted stubbornly.

  The coldness of the space entered his bones, threatened to freeze his blood right where it had stopped in his veins. There was no way he could tell her the truth, but lying wasn’t an option, either. He pushed the remaining logs away, careful of Cora and the lantern she’d set on the ground beside him, and rose before offering her a hand.

  She stood, pointedly ignoring his proffered hand, and picked up the lantern so swiftly the little flame fluttered inside the glass globe. “Why, Morgan?”

  He used the pretense of brushing bark and dirt from his clothes, and then flexed as if to make sure nothing had been injured. “Because,” he answered, feeling a bit annoyed since he had no idea what she expected him to say. At that moment he felt, well, vulnerable. Leastwise that’s the only word he could use to describe the sinking in the pit of his stomach. No matter what he said, it was going to be wrong.

  “Because...” she said, giving him no extra time to find an answer.

  “Because you’re my wife, Cora. Nathan’s my son.” Her intake of breath had him sputtering, “Well, my adopted son.”

  Cora’s eyes had turned dark gray, like a storm brewed in them—one that made the blizzard outside look like a simple skiff of snow. “Why did you ask me to marry you, Morgan?”

  Her freezing tone made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as if it were a frost-covered flagpole.

  Chapter Four

  A massive wave of tears pressed at the back of her eyes. Cora blinked, refusing them permission to come forward. Morgan’s face had gone ashen and his Adam’s apple quivered in his neck. She took a deep breath, pulling strength from the very core of her being, and turned, gallantly putting one foot in front of the other.