Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style

by Lori Copeland

  “I bet she was really worked up.”

  “Boy, was she ever.” If she’d been any more worked up, Trace would have needed a wheelchair to roll out of her place this morning. He’d used muscles he’d forgotten even existed after so many months of celibacy.

  “So what did she say? You know, when she broke the news?”

  “Just, um, that she knew.”

  “So what did she do?”

  What didn’t she do? Trace frowned. “Look, do you want to learn how to do this, or not?”

  “You don’t have to be so touchy.”

  “I’m not touchy. I’m busy. I’m working the horses for Spunk today and time’s wasting.” He reached for the packet of tobacco. “You’re biting off way too much.” He pulled out a plug. “Try this.”

  Shermin popped the tobacco into his mouth and started to chew. The next stream he sent flying sailed nearly a foot and he let out a victorious whoop.

  “That’s the way to go. Now work yourself up gradually. It’s not about chewing the biggest wad. It’s about what you do with your wad.”

  “Yeah.” Shermin started chewing vigorously and spent the next hour going through two packets of tobacco.

  “I think it’s time to call it quits,” Trace finally said. “You’re looking a little green.”

  “I’m fine.” Shermin swallowed and grimaced. “I think I’m just nervous about tonight.”

  Trace clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Just remember everything I told you.”

  “But you’ll be there in case I need to ask a few questions, right?”

  “Sorry, buddy.”

  “But it’s my big night.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “I’m sure Winnie will be there.”

  Which was exactly why he wasn’t going. After last night, because of it, he needed as much distance from her as possible. He had less than a week left before he started for Colorado, and he was leaving without a woman cluttering his thoughts. Particularly one with bright green eyes and luscious lips and the sweetest, throatiest moans when he slid just so deep…

  Uh, uh. No way. He was not going to the hoedown.

  “I SHOULD HAVE stayed home,” Lacey Mae groaned as she begged off a dance with some hunky guy to join Winnie near the refreshment table. “If another cowboy two-steps onto my feet, I’m going to scream.”

  “Say there, Lacey Mae.” Boris T. Walker materialized from the crowd and reached for her. “How’s about us taking a twirl—”

  “No, thanks.”

  “But your dad said—”

  “She can’t,” Winnie cut in.

  “But—”

  “Deadly disease,” Winnie added. “Very contagious. You should really step back, Boris, otherwise, some major body parts are liable to fall off.”

  He dropped Lacey’s hand as if it were made of fire. “Body parts?”

  “Major body parts,” Winnie added.

  “Um, maybe when you’re feeling better.” Boris darted into the crowd.

  Lacey chuckled. “That wasn’t very nice. Boris owns the land adjacent to ours. My dad really likes him.”

  “Then let your dad dance with him.”

  “If only.” Lacey sighed. “Speaking of dancing, why are you scarfing down cookies instead of doing a little slide and glide with some studly cowboy?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that very same question.” For the past three hours, as a matter of fact, since she’d walked into the VFW Hall, the sight of Nostalgia’s annual Ho, Ho, Hoedown.

  While the fire station party had been primarily for the kids, the hoedown was geared for grown-ups. Cactus Jack and the Prickly Heat set the mood for the evening with a slow, sexy, country swing. A smoky haze rose above a straw-dusted dance floor filled with couples.

  Winnie stood on the sidelines, surveying it all, indulging in a megasized dose of sugar to dull the realization that had come after an entire day spent replaying last night.

  She wanted more from Trace.

  Not more in the sense of love and commitment and a future. More as in more of last night, more of the two of them touching and kissing and burning up. As much as she’d tried to deny it, there was this chemistry between them. He looked at her. She looked at him. And something happened.

  Chemistry, she assured herself. No more, no less. Lust. Pure and simple.

  Only there was nothing pure about the thoughts that ran through Winnie’s head when Trace walked into the VFW later that night And nothing simple about the way her stomach tied itself into knots when he caught her stare across the crowded dance floor.

  He looked so handsome in worn jeans, a matching shirt tucked in at his waist, a beige cowboy hat tilted just so on his dark head. She’d seen him in full cowboy pose in the picture on Shermin’s desk, but the real thing was much more powerful. He was every Bonanza fantasy she’d ever had, and then some, and she couldn’t help herself. She held his gaze.

  Heat echoed through her body, pushing out the air and making her feel light-headed for a dizzying second.

  Chemistry, she reminded herself. Because no way was she feeling…or falling… No!

  And then she turned, breathed, and did what any good vixen would do when faced with a longing so intense.

  “I knew you’d come around, sugar cakes,” Little Jim said when she grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the dance floor. She needed a distraction.

  Or maybe a lobotomy, she decided when Little Jim’s hands slipped from her waist, down to her—

  “Little Jim,” she squeaked, pushing him back just a fraction. “I need some room to dance.”

  “It’s a waltz. No room required.” He pulled her back and she pushed him away.

  “But I might step on your feet.”

  “Step away, honey pot.”

  “But I might hug you too tight.”

  “Hug away, candy lips.”

  “But you don’t understand. I’ve got an older brother. A strong brother and we used to arm wrestle a lot and I wouldn’t want to do any damage because I don’t know my own strength.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You been drinking the eggnog?”

  Now there was an idea. “No, but I’d love some.”

  He pulled her back into his arms. “As soon as the song’s over.”

  “But I really need it—yikes!” She pulled away at the touch of his paws on her hips and faked her best cough with a wheezing sound thrown in for good measure. “Now,” she croaked. “Please.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Don’t have an attack or cough up a lung or anything like that. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared through the crowd and Winnie breathed a sigh of relief.

  So much for finding another man. If she cut out now, she could just make the end of Bonanza. Of course, the vixen thing to do would be to tell Little Jim to kiss off, grab another good-looking cowboy, like the one standing by the bar, and kick up her heels. If at first you don’t succeed, and all that.

  She eyed the heels in question, three inches of pure torture, grabbed her purse and turned toward the exit, and ran smack dab into a solid blue-jean clad chest.

  The scent of leather and aftershave and warm male surrounded her. A familiar ache started in the pit of her stomach. She knew it was Trace, even before she heard his deep drawl.

  “Hey, there, darlin’.”

  10

  “Hi.” WINNIE’S GAZE came up to meet his.

  “Great outfit.” But his attention never left her face. “I figure you’re probably mad.”

  “Mad?” Easy, Winnie. Just breathe.

  Okay, breathing was bad. He smelled too good. Too warm. Too male.

  “About me pretending and all.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She gave him her best scowl. “Very mad.” She licked her lips. “So, I, um, guess you’re probably mad, too.”

  “Mad?” His gaze fixed on her mouth.

  “Because I, um, knew and played along.”

  “Oh, yeah. Mad.”

  “Look, Winnie—”


  “Look, Trace—”

  They both started at the same time.

  He grinned. “You go first.”

  “No, you go first. Please.” Because Winnie wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t going to be what she should say. Not with him so close and smelling so warm and making her feel so…tingly.

  “I just wanted to say that it was nothing personal. I’m not the marrying kind and when Ezra said he’d won you in a domino game—”

  “Won me?”

  “Yeah, and that you were coming here to marry me, I figured you had to know, and that you wanted to marry me. Especially since you were so persistent”

  “I thought my grandpa won me the house in a domino game, and I was persistent because your grandpa asked me to look in on you and I felt I owed it to him in return for the house. He said you were shy and lonely and not too good with women, and that you liked to play checkers. The last thing I want is to get married.”

  “Then why did you seduce me?”

  “You thought you’d turn me off, so I thought I’d teach you a lesson by turning you on.” A vivid memory from last night pushed into her mind. “I guess it finally worked.”

  “Did it ever.”

  “Not that I meant to go that far. I was really only trying for a kiss. One fierce kiss to put you in your place, but then things got out of hand, and, well, I’ve led sort of a sheltered life, despite my current appearance. It only stands to reason when I finally hook up with someone who really knows what they’re doing, that I’d get a little carried away. Not that it matters,” she rushed on, “because it’s over and done with, right?”

  “Over. Done with.”

  “We made a mistake.”

  He nodded. “A big one.”

  “I mean, we hardly know each other.”

  “We’re practically strangers.”

  “Even though I do know your favorite color’s red, you like M & M’s and you’re allergic to peaches,” she told him.

  “And I know you like blue, chocolate chip cookies and headed the Little Joe fan club back in high school.”

  “None of that’s a basis for an intimate relationship. It’s not like we have real feelings for each other.”

  “Not a one.”

  “Except maybe lust,” she said.

  “Yeah, definitely lust.”

  “Major lust.”

  “Overwhelming lust.”

  “Because if it was just plain old lust, last night would have done the trick and, to be honest—” she took a shaky breath and his gaze snagged on her chest “—I don’t feel that much better.”

  “Me neither.” His eyes darkened to a deep, smoldering gray.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Which leaves us with two choices. One, we can—”

  “Hey, Winnie.” The greeting was punctuated by a distinct chewing sound and her gaze swung to the cowboy who’d walked up next to Trace. “Have you—”chew, chew “—seen—” chew, chew, chew “—Lacey Mae?”

  “Over by the bandstand.”

  “Thank.”

  She stared after the man and tried to comprehend what she’d just seen. “Was that Shermin?”

  “Yep. Now what was that about—”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Wranglers. Western shirt. Ropers. The usual Now about—”

  “What was that in his mouth?”

  “Chewing tobacco. Where were we—”

  “Why?”

  “For Lacey Mae. She likes cowboys, so Shermin’s going to give her one. Tonight. Now you were saying—”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It’s not that bad. His walk is a little off, but he can spit a good two feet and dance a mean two-step.”

  “Oh, no.”

  WINNIE BOLTED into the crowd, Trace hot on her heels.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To stop a major disaster. Lacey doesn’t like cowboys. Spunk likes cowboys.”

  “Spunk? And all this time I thought he was a straight-shooter—”

  “Not like like. He’s just dead set on Lacey marrying somebody who can help her out with the ranch when he’s dead and buried. But all she wants is somebody to take her out for Chinese. Somebody who smells like real cologne instead of a beat-up saddle. Who’ll bring her a dozen roses for Valentine’s Day instead of a pint of hoof and horse cream.”

  “Shermin’s her man.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling her, which is why we have to stop him before—” The words stumbled to a halt as they reached a break in the crowd.

  Thankfully, Shermin hadn’t found Lacey, but he had run into Boris T. Walker. The man towered over the bank president who’d sunk to his knees on the dust dance floor.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Shermin mumbled, clutching his stomach.

  Trace turned a black look on Boris. “What did you do to him?”

  The man threw up his hands. “Nothing. I swear. I just clapped him on the back, is all, and the next thing I know, he’s down on his knees.”

  “You hit him.”

  “I swear, Honeycutt. I didn’t.”

  “He didn’t.” Shermin mumbled. “I swallowed it.” At Trace’s puzzled look, he added, “The tobacco. He clapped me on the back and I swallowed it.” A pained look flashed across his face. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Hold on, buddy.” Trace wedged his shoulder underneath Shermin’s arm and hauled him to his feet just as Lacey reached them.

  “Shermin? What’s going on?”

  “He swallowed—” Boris started, but Trace cut him off.

  “Some bad Chinese. That’ll teach us to eat leftovers, eh, buddy? We went to that little place over in Killeen a couple of days ago and brought home a doggie bag.”

  “The Pink Duck?” Lacey rushed forward and scooted around Shermin’s other side. “Why they have the best egg rolls this side of Austin. I love them.”

  “Shermin, too,” Trace told Lacey.

  “But you have to follow the reheating instructions, or it’s hello, food poisoning…” Her words faded as her gaze caught on Shermin’s feet. “Why is he wearing boots?” Her gaze traveled up as if she’d just noticed the rest of him. “And jeans? And a Western shirt? And, oh my God, he’s wearing a hat.”

  “My fault.” Trace snatched the hat from Shermin’s head and plopped it onto Winnie’s. “I bought the whole outfit for him. A Christmas present. Thought he might want to try a new look, but he hated it on sight. Not that he said a danged word. Not old Shermin, here. Nice as pie. And considerate. Hell, he wore the whole thing to keep from hurting my feelings. Ain’t that right, buddy?”

  Shermin grumbled a “yes,” then moaned.

  Lacey’s grip on him tightened. “There, there, honey. Lacey’s here and she’s going to take good care of you.”

  The crowd dispersed. Winnie followed as Trace helped Lacey get Shermin outside to his car.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Lacey said once Shermin sat in the passenger seat of his Lexus. She promptly snapped his seat belt in place, grabbed the keys out of Trace’s hand and climbed behind the wheel.

  Soon Shermin’s car had disappeared and Winnie stood alone in the parking lot with Trace. “That was really nice of you to cover for him like that,” she said. Music and laughter drifted from inside, joining the slow creak of crickets.

  “Hell, me and Shermin go way back. Besides, I owed him.” He grinned. “Who do you think turned me on to the hair gel?”

  She laughed. He laughed.

  And then the laughter died as they stared into each other’s eyes. He had really great eyes. Deep and smoky and, when they caught the overhead moonlight, they gleamed a bright silver.

  “Now what was that you were saying inside?” He backed her up against a nearby car until they stood toe to toe. Close, but not quite touching. Not yet. “Something about you and me and lust, I think it was.”

  “Major lust.”

  “Overwhelming lust.”

&nbs
p; She wiped at the sudden bead of perspiration that slid down her temple. Hot? It was fifty degrees. But it felt like a hundred with Trace so close, heating her up from the inside out.

  She cleared her throat. “I, um, was just laying out our options since we both agree we’ve got a problem on our hands.”

  “A big problem.” The big problem in question nudged her in the stomach and electricity sizzled through her.

  “One, we could just ignore it,” she went on. “I mean, it’s bound to go away on its own, eventually, providing one of us doesn’t spontaneously combust first.”

  “Not a pretty sight,” Trace added.

  “Or two—” she licked her suddenly dry lips “—we could just face this thing head-on.”

  “Take the bull by the horns, so to speak.”

  “Exactly. So what do you think?”

  His gaze captured hers. “Ladies first.”

  Silence stretched between them as her heart drummed, her blood rushed and the scent of him sent a dizzying rush through her body.

  “I vote for two,” she finally blurted. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  “DON’T…PUT…IT…THERE…” Winnie’s breathless voice echoed on her front porch. “Sometimes…you just…have to…shove it…in. Now.” Before she went up in flames right then and there.

  “I’m trying, honey. It doesn’t fit.”

  “It fit just fine earlier.”

  “Then you try it.”

  She grabbed the key, turned and fumbled with the lock. Trace’s arms came around her, his lips nibbling at her neck, his hands trailing underneath her sweater to cup the fullness of her breasts through her lacy bra. He thumbed her nipples just as she shoved the key at the hole.

  “Darn it.”

  “I told you, darlin’. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

  “Not with you doing that.” A breathy moan punctuated the sentence as he rolled her nipples between his fingers and heat speared her.

  “I could stop,” he offered.

  “No,” she blurted and he chuckled. “I’ll manage, but don’t stop. Keep doing that.” She smiled and fumbled with the lock as his hands moved down. “And that.” His fingers slid underneath her waistband as she struggled to find the keyhole. “And that.”

  A few more tries and she managed to slide the key home. The lock clicked, the door opened and Winnie turned into Trace’s kiss.